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âIâm a vampire⊠Thatâs why I donât breathe right when Iâm near you.â
âOh, okay. Right. A vampire. Of course⊠Is your name actually Stefan? Is your brother Damon chilling around the corner in a leather jacket waiting to kill my roommates?â
Good news? The gorgeous, mysterious guy youâve been seeing for weeks finally admitted heâs incredibly into you.
Bad news? He chose to deliver this confession right after telling you he can hear the blood rushing behind your ears, and you're 90% sure heâs just using supernatural lore to dodge a commitment.
âą vampire!yunho x human!reader | âą supernatural au, vampire au, friends to lovers | âą yunho has a martyr complex, vampire talk, lots of the vampire diaries and twilight references, misunderstanding | âą 11.6k | âą okay listen in my defence i love the vampire diaries (team stefan, sorry to disappoint) and i actually cannot believe writing a vampire au never crossed my mind until it came up in my inbox. now that iâve started, iâm afraid youâll be seeing a lot more vampire yunho from me (i say this damn well knowing thereâs vampire yunho smut dusting in my drafts since january đ). also... doesnât the banner photo totally SCREAM vampire yunho? i rest my case. p.s sorry if i totally failed at the comedy.
âThe sun makes my eyes hurt,â heâd say, his voice as flat and unyielding as a textbook.
The first three times, youâd laughed. By the fifth, youâd stopped looking for a punchline and just started wearing an extra sweater.
âYouâre doing it again,â you muttered, your fingers tightening around the warm paper cup heâd pressed into your hand the second you met, like he always did now. A little ritual that had formed without either of you naming it. A warm drink in your hands. His gaze on your face for half a second too long. Then the careful, practiced looking-away.
âDoing what?â he asked. His eyes flicked to yours, all dark lashes and hidden depths, before he performed his signature moveâthe âcareful, practiced looking-away.â
âBeing... you,â you said, letting the steam from your drink kiss your nose. Cinnamon. He always remembered the extra dash of cinnamon. âYou didnât have to get this, you know. For the hundredth time.â
âI wanted to,â the words were simple, but they landed in your stomach with a heavy, confusing thud. It was the classic Yunho special: a dash of extreme sweetness followed by a mile-high wall of emotional unavailability. You took a sip of your drink, watching Yunho out of the corner of your eye. His posture had shiftedâshoulders square, jaw tight. He looked like a man who had just decided to jump off a bridge and was now reconsidering the height. âDo you ever...â He started, his Adamâs apple bobbing with a heavy swallow. He paused, his jaw working as he fought with whatever thought was trying to claw its way out. âDo you ever feel like youâre going to say something and itâll change everything? Like thereâs no going back to how it was five seconds ago?â
You slowed your pace, the ripples in your coffee mirroring the sudden tremor in your chest. You tried to laugh, but it came out sounding hollow. âThat sounds like a classic âYunho Thought.â Deep, slightly ominous, and very dramatic.â
âIâm serious.â
âI know,â the silence that followed wasnât the cozy, âfriends-hanging-outâ kind. It was heavy. It was the kind of silence that pressed against your ribs until it was hard to breathe. You could feel the weight of him beside youâan oddly steady, cold presence that seemed to pull the air toward him. Then, his head snapped to the leftâsharp, predatory, and way too fast. You followed his gaze into the mouth of a narrow, shadow-choked alley. You saw nothing but trash bags and darkness.
âDid you hear that?â he asked, his voice so dropping low it made the hair on your neck stand up.
You held your breath, listening to the distant hum of the city. âHear what? I donât hear anything, Yun.â He didnât answer. He just stood there, head tilted, nostrils flaring as if he was trying to catch a scent on the wind. His face was a blank mask, but his body was tense. âYunho? Youâre being weird. Even for you.â He didnât answer right away. His head tilted at a slight, unnatural angle, eyes narrowing as if he were cataloging a sound on a frequency you couldnât even perceive. His face remained blank, but his shoulders turned to stone. And thenâso quick it was almost a blurâhis nostrils flared. It wasnât just breathing, more like catching a scent. A cold knot of unease tightened in your stomach. âEarth to Yunho?â
His eyes snapped back to yours, the focus vanishing so instantly it felt like a lie. He blinked once, slow and deliberate, and when he spoke, his voice had returned to that gentle, melodic liltâthe one that always felt a little too practiced. âSorry. I thought I heard⊠something.â
You tried to laugh it off, leaning into the easy sarcasm that usually bridged the gaps between his silences. âYouâre turning into a paranoid old man.â
A ghost of a laugh escaped him, but it died before it reached his eyes. âIâm not paranoid,â he murmured, his gaze dropping. âI justââ He cut himself off, the words seemingly stuck behind his teeth.
Your fingers fidgeted nervously with the lid of your coffee cup. âJust what?â Yunhoâs gaze droppedânot to your eyes, but to your mouth. It wasn't a casual look; it was as if his eyes had slipped there against his will, drawn by a magnet he was failing to fight. Your throat went tight. For a second, the grey autumn air felt thick and suffocating.
He blinked again, sharper this time, looking startled by his own lapse in control. âNothing.â And thenâbecause he was apparently determined to kill you slowly with unspoken thingsâhe reached out to adjust your scarf. His knuckles brushed the sensitive skin of your neck, and you physically jumped. His hand wasnât just âchilly.â It was cold. It was the biting, absolute cold of metal left out in a frost. You froze. He stayed still for half a heartbeat, his dark eyes searching your face for a reaction, before he pulled back so abruptly it felt like a slap. âSorry.â
You stared at him, your skin still tingling where heâd touched you. âYour hands are freezing.â
âIâm fine.â
âYouâre literally notââ You stopped. The way he said itâthe tight, vibrating control in his voiceâmade it clear that this wasnât a conversation he was going to let you win. His jaw worked, a muscle jumping as he looked away toward the street as if the passing traffic held the secrets of the universe.
âIâm just⊠not used to the cold weather,â he said finally.
You frowned, gesturing to the grey sky. âYou only hang out on cold days.â
His lips parted, and for one dangerous second, you thought the wall might actually crumble. You could see the truth sitting right behind his eyes. Instead, he swallowed hard. âI should walk you home,â he said, the words coming out too fast, too urgent.
âWeâve been out for ten minutes!â you huffed, checking your phone. 5:43 PM. âItâs barely even dark yet.â
âPlease.â The word came out softer than the rest of him. Quieter. Like he was asking for something he didnât have the right to ask for.
You stopped. It had been months since heâd asked for your number after you bumped into each other in that coffee shop outside your workplace. Youâd still remember the smell of espresso and wet wool, the little jolt of embarrassment when youâd spilled a few drops on your white sleeve, and the way heâd reached past you to grab napkins with hands that were too pale and too steady. At first you were excited. Youâd been ridiculously excited. Youâd checked your phone too often, thumb hovering over the screen like you could will a notification into existence. Youâd wondered if heâd text, if heâd ask you out, if thereâd be a moment where the story slid into place. But it was never quite did. Youâd hang out. Talk. Walk. Heâd pay for your coffee without making it a thing. Heâd tilt his head when you laughed like he was loving the sound. And then heâd keep his distance like there was an invisible line drawn between you, like he was terrified of crossing it. No lingering touches. No flirting that lasted longer than a breath. No âI missed youâ even when he looked like he had. It got to the point where you stopped calling these meetings dates in your head. You tried to steel yourself. Tried to strip yourself of hope like it was something childish you needed to outgrow.
You swallowed, throat tight from the cold and from the stupid ache of wanting something that wasnât happening. âWhy do you always do that?â
His gaze snapped to you, and it was so intense it felt like someone had cut the air. For the first time he didnât look away. âDo what?â
You lifted your cup a little, then lowered it again when you realised your hand was shaking. âYou ask me to hang out and then youââ You made a small, sharp gesture with your fingers, like snipping thread. âYou disappear inside yourself. Youâre right here, but youâre a thousand miles away.â
His jaw worked once. He looked like he was holding something back behind his teeth âI donât,â he said, but the lie was thin.
You took one step closer. Close enough that you could feel the cold radiating off him againâthat unnatural, metal-left-outside cold that seemed to defy the very laws of biology. The streetlight painted his lashes gold, casting long, dramatic shadows across his high cheekbones. âYou do, and I canât tell if itâs because you donât want me like that⊠or because you want me and youâre fighting it so hard itâs killing you.â
Something flickered in his eyesâfast and dark, like a shadow passing over a moon. Yunhoâs hand lifted, hovering near your wrist without touching, his fingers trembling ever so slightly. Like he was asking permission from the air itself. âPlease donât do that, donât try to read me.â
âI justââ Your breath fogged between you, thin and shaky. You hated how honest your body was, how it betrayed your vulnerability before you could turn it into a joke. âWhen you asked for my number⊠did you mean it in a friendly way?â The words rushed out like you could outrun the sheer embarrassment of them. âLike⊠âIâm new to this town and I need to meet someoneâ friendly?â The wind surged, a violent shove against your shoulders that nearly knocked you off balance. You didnât budge. You were pinned by the weight of his gaze.
âA friendly way?â Yunho repeated. The words sounded foreign in his mouth. He let out a short breathâone that didnât even make a cloud in the freezing air, a detail you were too frustrated to notice. âIs that what you thought? That I was just... looking for a tour guide? Someone to show me where the best coffee shops are?â
âI donât know what to think anymore! Youâre hot and cold, Yunho. Mostly cold!â Yunho didnât flinch at the sound of your words; he didnât even blink. He just stood there with that terrifying stillness while you shivered hard enough for your teeth to click.
âIâm not looking for a tour guide.â He took a half-step toward you. The movement was predatory in its smoothnessâno sway, no heavy footfall, just a sudden, seamless shift in the space he occupied. The smell of him hit you then, cutting through the cinnamon of your drink: crisp winter air, expensive laundry soap, and something metallic, like tasting blood in your mouth when you bit your tongue too hard. âIf I wanted a friend,â he murmured, his eyes locking onto yours with a magnetic intensity that felt like it was pulling the very soul out of you, âI wouldnât spend every night staring at my phone, wondering if Iâm strong enough to see you without...â He stopped. His jaw clamped shut so hard you heard the bone grind.
âWithout what?â You reached out, your fingers grazing the rough wool of his coat sleeve. Yunho recoiled as if youâd branded him with a hot iron. He backed into the brick wall of the alley, the rough stone scraping against his coat with a harsh sound. His chest wasnât moving. You realised with a sudden, jolting clarity that he hadnât taken a single breath since youâd mentioned the word âfriendlyâ.
He looked down at your hand, then up at your throat where the scarf had loosened again, exposing the pale skin of your neck. The veins in his own neck were standing out, taut. âPlease donât do that. You have no idea what youâre asking for. You think Iâm being shy? You think Iâm... awkward?â A dark, humourless sound escaped his throat. He looked back toward the dark alley, his pupils blown wide until the brown of his irises was just a thin ring. âI can hear your heart,â he whispered, and for the first time, there was a visible tremor in his hands. He shoved them deeper into his pockets, bunching the fabric. âItâs been hammering against your ribs for the last three minutes. I can hear the blood rushing behind your ears. Itâs... it's the loudest thing in the world, and itâs all I can focus on.â
You let out a shaky breath, the fog of it dissipating against his cold, marble-like cheek. âYouâre scaring me a little. Stop talking like youâre in a movie.â
âGood,â he snapped, his eyes snapping back to yours. They looked darker now, almost black, reflecting the amber streetlamp. âYou should be scared. Iâm trying to give you a choice. Iâm trying to stay on my side of the line, for your sake.â He leaned in, his face inches from yours. The cold coming off him was like a wall, and it made your skin prickle into goosebumps. He looked at your mouth again, but this time, there was a hunger in it. His tongue swiped over his lower lip, a quick, nervous habit that seemed at odds with the sheer power radiating from his frame. âLet me walk you back home. Now.â
âAnd if I donât want to go?â You challenged, your voice small but stubborn. You were tired of the mystery. You dropped your half-empty cup onto the pavement. It spilled with a dull splash, the scent of cinnamon-sugar swirling around your boots. You stepped into his space, forcing him to either retreat further into the wall or hold his ground. Yunhoâs hands flew out, grabbing your upper arms to stop you. His grip was firmânot painful, but like iron bands that refused to let go.
âYouâre so warm,â he hissed, his eyes fluttering shut for a second as he leaned his forehead against yours. He took a breath, inhaling the scent of your skin as if it were oxygen. âYouâre so bright, and it hurts to even look at you.â One of his hands slid up, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. His skin was impossibly smooth. He paused at the pulse point just below your ear, his thumb hovering there, feeling the frantic thump-thump-thump of your life. His eyes opened, and for a split second, you saw a flash of somethingâa vein-like pattern darkening the skin beneath his eyes, a hunger so raw it made your stomach flip.
âYun, your face isââ
Then, he blinked, and it was gone, replaced by a look of profound, aching sorrow. âI want to kiss you so badly I canât think about anything else,â he whispered against your skin, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. âBut if I start... I donât know if I can stop. I donât know if Iâm strong enough.â He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye. âI wonât contact you again. Iâm sorry.â He said it like a sentence heâd rehearsed in the mirror. But his hands were still on you. Not gripping now. Not iron bands. Just⊠holding, as if letting go might send you both skidding off the edge of the world. His thumbs pressed faint, trembling half-moons into your sleeves. Yunhoâs gaze dropped to your spilled drink. Cinnamon and sugar turning to a cold puddle. He watched it like it was evidence of a crime. Then his eyes lifted again, slow. They werenât pleading. They were hungry and tired, like heâd been starving for a century and was still trying to be polite about it. You noticed the tension in his neck, the way his jaw clenched until the muscle jumped. He didnât blink.
You swallowed, and he watched the movement of your throat as if it were a confession. As if it were an invitation. You leaned in first. For one heartbeat, he didnât move. Not a flinch. Not a breath. You could feel the pause like a held knife. Then Yunho surged forwardâcontrolled, yet brutal in his restraintâand his mouth met yours.
Cold.
It was like kissing winter itself. Like your lips touched something that had no right to be this smooth, this still, this alive. His kiss wasnât soft, but it wasnât hungry eitherânot yet. It was precision. A question he had been dying to ask. Your breath hitched, warm air spilling into the space between you, and Yunho made a sound low in his throatâhalf pain, half needâas if your warmth physically scorched him. You kissed him back anyway, your hands tangling in his hair. His lips parted, just barely, and the edge of his control frayed. The kiss deepened with a slow, deliberate pressure that made your knees go unsteady. Yunhoâs hand slid up, cupping your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he couldnât help checking you were real. Your mouth tasted like cinnamon and sugar. Yunho tasted like nothing at all. And that shouldâve terrified you. Instead it made something reckless spark in your chest. His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer until your heat bled into him and he shuddered like it was too much. The world narrowed down to the scrape of brick behind his shoulders and the way he kissed you.
Then his lips broke from yours so suddenly you gasped, chasing him without thinking. âStop,â he rasped, his forehead pressing to yours again, his voice shaking so much that it felt more like a machine than a man. âIf you keep looking at me like thatâif you keep letting meââ His pupils were blown wide, the brown nearly erased by ink-black. His thumb hovered at the sensitive dip of your throat, right over the frantic, rhythmic hammering beneath your skin. He didnât pressâhe didnât even touchâbut the air in that microscopic gap felt charged like the atmosphere seconds before a lightning strike. âIâll go insane,â he whispered, the words ghosting over your dampened lips.
When he pulled back, it wasnât far, but it was enough to break the magnetic pull. Enough that you could actually see him. You saw the way his dark lashes trembled as he forced them down, the way his jaw was locked so tight you feared the bone might actually crack under the strain. Your lips stung from the cold and the bruising pressure of the kiss; your chest burned from the way youâd inhaled him, realising only now that youâd been starving for this just as much as he had.
âStop,â he repeated, the word scraping its way out of his throat. His forehead remained pinned to yours, his thumb still a prayer he refused to speak against your pulse. And something inside youâsomething that had been patient and sweet and so fucking careful for weeksâfinally went sharp.
You laughed once. It was a small, ugly burst of sound that fogged between you like a white flag you were done waving. âOkay,â you said. Your voice was quieter than you expected. Too steady. âYou want me to stop? Iâll stop.â
His eyes flicked up instantly. Dark. Blown out. Caught on your mouth again.
You stepped back. The space you left felt immediate and violent, like ripping a bandage off skin that wasnât ready to be exposed. âYou know whatâs actually insane?â you continued, because now that the seal was broken, you couldnât swallow the truth back down. Your fingers curled tight inside your sleeves, nails biting into your palms to keep from reaching out. âWeâve been doing this for weeks. Weeks! Coffee. Walks. These miserable cold days. You staring at me like Iâmââ You cut the sentence off, the heat of humiliation rising in your cheeks. âLike Iâm something youâre not allowed to want. Like Iâm a mistake youâre trying not to make.â
His throat worked. His mouth parted, but no sound came out.
âAnd I tried, Yunho. I tried to be so normal about it.â Your laugh turned into something that almost broke. âI tried to tell myself itâs fine if you donât want me like that. I can take a hint. I can take ten hints. I can take a whole fucking billboard.â The streetlight buzzed overhead, a low, electric whine. âBut you donât get to do this,â you said, and this time your voice did shake, not from the autumn chill, but from a fury that had been marinating in sweetness until it turned bitter. âYou donât get to kiss me like that and then tell me to stop like it hurts youâlike Iâm the one hurting youâwhen youâre the one who keeps pulling me close and then shoving me away the second things get real.â His fingers flexed against the air, a reflexive reach he aborted halfway through. His hand dropped slowly, as if gravity were the only law he was capable of obeying in that moment. The lack of contact was louder than the kiss had been. You swallowed, and his gaze jerked to the movement of your throat so fast it was almost violent. His shoulders went rigid, as if your voice was a sound he could no longer bear to hear. âI wonât do push and pull,â you said, softer now, because the anger had a deep bruise under it. âI wonât keep showing up just to feel like Iâm begging for basic honesty.â
Yunhoâs nostrils flared. He turned his face a fraction away, looking toward the alley as if trying to shield his eyes from a glare. Your heat âDonât.â The word was different from before. It wasnât stop kissing me. It was: donât make me choose.
âDonât what?â You hated that your voice cracked, hated that you still sounded like someone who wanted him to stay. âDonât call you out? Donât ask for more? Donâtâwhat, Yun? Donât make you admit you actually like me?â
His head snapped up. For a second, his expression was empty in a way that was genuinely terrifying. The careful, awkward Yunho had stepped aside, and something much older, much colder, was leaning forward in his place. His lips peeled back just a fractionânot a smile, but a warning of how thin his leash had become. âIâm tryingâ Iâm trying to beââ He stopped, his eyes flicking to the ground.
âTo be what?â you pushed, pressing on the bruise because the pain was already there anyway. âItâs so simple! Either you like me or you donât.â
Yunhoâs jaw clenched so hard you heard the faint, grinding sound of bone. Thenâso suddenly it made your stomach dropâhis expression sharpened into a cold, glittering anger that cut across his face like a shadow. His shoulders squared, and it was like watching a heavy door slam shut. âYou donât get to reduce this,â he said, his voice matching the freezing temperature of his skin. âYou donât get to stand there and decide what this is.â
âExcuse me?â
âYou think this is me being indecisive? Playing games? You think Iâm doing this because I like the chase?â His eyes flashed, and for a heartbeat, you could swear you saw that vein-dark pattern spidering at the edges of his lower lids. âIâm not angry at you for wanting an answer. Iâm angry because youâre acting like you have any idea what youâre actually asking for!â
Your mouth went dry. The air around him felt unnaturally still.
âYou think you want me,â Yunho continued, his voice lower, more dangerous. âYou think you want me like that because you like the way I look at you, because you like the way Iâmââ His breath stuttered. He swallowed it down. âBecause you feel like something pulls you to me. You think it's a romance.â
âThat is notââ
âYouâre right, you shouldnât play push and pull, and I donâtââ
You cut him off before he could build another wall out of excuses. âStop it! Itâs fine if weâre friends. But not like this. Not while you look at me like that.â His eyes flickeredâthat half-second of raw hunger he always tried to swallow before it reached his face. âAnd you do,â you added, sharper now. âDonât pretend you donât. You kiss me and then talk to me like youâre doing me a favour by keeping your distance. You donât get to punish me for noticing!â
âListenââ he started, stepping toward you.
âNo! You listen to me!â You stepped back, and the space between you felt like stepping off a ledge into the dark. Cold poured into the gap where his presence should be. Your mouth tasted faintly of cinnamon and the ghost of him, and it made you miserable. âWeâre adults. Iâm not doing this weird, half-lit, maybe-someday thing anymore.â
âIâm trying toââ he said, louder now, as if volume could bridge the gap.
âYouâre trying to keep me on a hook,â you interrupted, done being gentle. âAnd I canât keep navigating your mixed signals like itâs my job to translate you. I see it clearly now. This is going nowhere.â The sentence dropped between you like a stone in deep water. No splash. Just weight. He flinched as if youâd physically struck him. His hand liftedâinstinct, reflexâreaching for your sleeve, for your wrist, for any part of you he could claim without having to speak.
You took another step back, out of reach.
âWait,â he said, and the rough edge of his voice was new. Desperate. âJustâjust let me explain.â
âIâve been letting you explain. For weeks. Every time you stared at my lips. Every time you touched me like it was an accident. Every time you asked me to stop like Iâm the one doing something wrong.â He tried to talk over you, panic rising in the set of his shoulders. You didnât let him. You turned on your heel. The wet pavement flashed under the streetlight, slick as spilled ink. Your boots slapped against the ground, the sound indecently loud in the quiet alley. You didnât look back. You wouldnât give him the mercy of seeing your face break. âIâm done,â you called over your shoulder, your voice carrying like a thrown blade.
Behind you, Yunho said your nameâonce, like a warning. But you kept walking. You didnât look at him. You just left him there in the cold, where he seemed to think he belonged. The wet slap of your boots against the pavement echoed through the narrow street, a rhythmic, angry punctuation to the silence youâd left behind. You didnât look back, even though the back of your neck prickled with the heavy, unmistakable weight of his gaze. You expected him to stay there, frozen against the brick like a statue left out in the rain, but then you heard itâthe soft, unnervingly smooth scuff of his shoes following you.
âStop walking for a second,â Yunho called out, his voice sounding thinner than usual, stripped of that steady, melodic mask he usually wore.
âNo, Iâm good,â you snapped over your shoulder, your breath blossoming in front of you in a frantic, white cloud. âIâm going home to a place that has a heater and people who use their words. You should try it sometime. The words part, I mean.â You increased your pace, your fingers still stinging from the cold of his skin. He was right behind you now, not even winded, despite the speed you were trying to maintain. He didnât have that heavy, huffing footfall of a normal man; he just moved like a shadow sliding over glass.
âI am trying to use them!â he protested, and you could hear the frustration bubbling up, that awkward, clumsy sincerity that made it so hard to actually stay mad at him. âItâs just... there isnât a manual for this. Iâve never had to explain this to a human before!â
You spun around so fast you nearly tripped on a slick patch of sidewalk. âA human? What are you, an AI? A very handsome, very confusing chatbot?â You threw your hands up. âJust go home. Go back to your gloomy, sunless cave or wherever it is you spend all the sunny days in!â
Yunho stopped a few feet away, his shoulders hunched again, looking less like a predatory threat and more like a kicked puppy. He looked down at his feet, his jaw working as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. âIâm not a chatbot,â he muttered, the words barely audible over the distant hiss of traffic. He looked up, his dark lashes wet from the mist, and for a second, his pupils were so wide the brown of his eyes was almost gone. âIâm a vampire. Thatâs why Iâm cold. Thatâs why I donât... I donât breathe right when Iâm near you. Thatâs why I can hear your heart.â
The silence that followed wasnât the heavy, rib-pressing kind from before. It was the kind of silence that happens right after someone says something so profoundly stupid you have to reboot your entire brain. You stared at him. A beat passed. Two. Then, a laugh escaped your throat, sounding bright and ridiculous against the grey dampness of the evening.
âOh, okay,â you said, your voice dripping with a thick sarcasm. âRight. A vampire. Of course. How silly of me not to realise. Is your name actually Stefan? Is your brother Damon chilling around the corner in a leather jacket waiting to kill my roommates?â
Yunho flinched at the names, looking genuinely confused. âWho? No, I donât have a brother named Damon. My brother name is Geonho, he works in real estate in Busan, but thatâs hardlyââ
âAnd let me guess,â you interrupted, stepping closer, emboldened by the sheer absurdity of his lie. You reached out and poked his chestâit felt like poking a marble pillar covered in wool. âYou sparkle in the sunlight? You have a collection of graduation caps on your wall? Youâre a hundred years old and youâve decided to spend your eternity hanging out in mediocre coffee shops with a girl who works 9-to-5?â
âI donât sparkle,â he said, his voice taking on a wounded, defensive edge. âThatâs... thatâs a very weird thing to suggest. And Iâm only twenty-seven. Well, technically. Iâve been twenty-seven for a while, but I wasnât alive during the French Revolution or anything dramatic like that.â
You laughed again, but this time it had a bitter edge. You were hurt that he thought you were gullible enough to accept a literal fairy tale as an excuse for why he was a terrible communicator. âYou are unbelievable,â you whispered, shaking your head. âI ask for honesty, for a reason why youâve been treating me like a puzzle you donât want to solve, and you give me The Vampire Diaries fanfiction? Did you think that would make you sound cool? Or mysterious?â
âIâm not trying to be mysterious!â He looked frantic now, his hands hovering near your arms but never quite touching, as if he was afraid he might actually break you. âIâm trying to tell you why Iâm terrified to touch you! I can hear the blood rushing through your veins, and itâs the most beautiful thing Iâve ever heard, and I have no idea how to be a âboyfriendâ without wanting to... to...â
âTo what? Eat me?â You rolled your eyes, stepping back and turning away. âGive it a rest. Itâs actually embarrassing at this point. Iâm going home. Donât call me again. Iâm not really into the whole âundead martyrâ thing. I prefer guys who have a pulse and donât lie to my face because theyâre too awkward to admit they just arenât that into me.â
âI am into you!â he yelled at your retreating back. âIâm extremely into you! That is the entire problem!â
âGo find a Bella!â you shouted back, not stopping. âIâm sure thereâs a moody teenager somewhere whoâd love this. Me? Iâm going to go have a glass of wine and forget I ever met a guy who thinks heâs a supernatural predator because heâs bad at dating!â As you rounded the corner, you could still feel his presence at the edge of the alley, a cold, still point in a moving world. You didnât look back to see him standing there, looking perfectly, devastatingly human in the amber glow of the streetlamp.
ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ âYou had barely kicked off your boots and put on a warm hoodie when the knock cameâthree sharp, precise raps that sounded far too steady for someone who had just been told to get lost. You stomped to the door, tearing it open with enough force to make the hinges groan. Yunho was standing there, his hands shoved back into his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched.
âIf you say one word about wanting to drink my blood, I am calling the police,â you snapped, blocking the doorway with your entire frame. âOr a therapist. Honestly, Yunho, pick one.â
âIâm not here toâI donât want to drink yourââ He cut himself off, his jaw tightening as he looked at the floor of the hallway. He looked exhausted. âI just... I didnât want things to end like that. You were so angry.â
âIâm still angry!â you countered, leaning against the doorframe. âYou spent weeks acting like I was a burden for liking you, and then you try to exit the conversation by claiming youâre a character from a CW show. Itâs insulting. Whatâs next? Are you going to tell me you have a daylight ring? That youâre secretly pining for a girl from the 1800s who looks exactly like me?â
âI told you, Iâm only twenty-seven, and I actually canât find my daylight ring, thatâs why we only hang out on gloomy days.â He muttered, taking a half-step forward, then stopped abruptly, his toes hovering exactly at the line where your apartmentâs hardwood met the carpet of the hallway.
âOh, whatâs the matter?â you teased, a mean little spark of humour cutting through your fury. âDid you forget to check the moon cycle? Or are you waiting for me to throw a steak at you? No, waitâitâs the invitation thing, isn't it?â You let out a short, mocking laugh, gesturing grandly toward your living room. âCome on then, Dracula. Step into my parlour. Come tell me more about how youâve been âtwenty-seven for a whileâ while you help me fold my laundry.â
Yunho didnât laugh. He didnât even smile. He just looked at you with a an aching intensity. He shifted his weight, his upper body leaning slightly into the apartment, but his feet stayed glued to the threshold.
âIâm serious,â you said, your voice losing some of its edge as the silence stretched. âStop the act. Just walk in, sit on the couch, and tell me the truth. No more vampires, no more âI can hear your heartâ nonsense. Just... talk to me.â
âI canât,â he whispered. His throat worked as he swallowed, his eyes flicking to yours, wide and dark.
âYes, you can. The door is wide open. Iâm literally standing here.â You reached out, grabbing the sleeve of his coat to tug him forward. The moment you pulled, you felt it. Yunhoâs body jerked forward, but it was like heâd hit a wall. His shoulder slammed into an invisible barrier in the empty air of the doorway, the impact making a dull, thudding sound that vibrated through your grip on his arm. He didnât stumble; he just stopped dead, his face contorting in a brief flash of genuine frustration. You let go of his sleeve as if it had turned into fire. You looked at the empty space between the doorframes, then back at him. He was standing perfectly still again, his chest not moving, his face pale and marble-smooth. âWait,â you breathed, the teasing air in your lungs turning into a cold stone. You reached out again, slower this time, and passed your hand through the air where he had just hit the âwall.â There was nothing there for you. Just empty space. âWhy did you... why didnât you move?â
âYou didnât invite me in,â he said simply, his voice trembling just enough to break the âcoolâ persona he never quite managed to pull off anyway. He looked down at his feet, then back at you, his expression a mess of embarrassment. âI told you. Iâm trying to stay on my side of the line.â
The realisation hit you like a bucket of ice water. The metal-cold skin. The way he never seemed to breathe when things got intense. The way he looked at your throat as if it were a ticking clock. âYouâre actually...â You trailed off, your voice sounding small and far away in your own ears. You looked at him and saw the way he was shaking with a tension that had nothing to do with being awkward and everything to do with restraint.
âIâm a vampire,â he repeated, and this time, you didn't laugh. âAnd I really, really like you. Which is a catastrophic problem for both of us.â The silence in the doorway was too thick. You stared at the empty space where his shoulder had just thudded against nothingness, then back at Yunho, who was looking at his own feet as if they had betrayed him. The anger was still there, simmering under your skin, but it was being rapidly overtaken by a bewildered, scientific curiosity that bordered on the absurd. âOkay,â you breathed, stepping back into the warmth of your living room but keeping your eyes locked on him. âSo, the threshold thing. Thatâs⊠that is a very specific architectural hurdle for a supernatural predator. Itâs deeply inconvenient.â
âItâs humiliating,â he corrected, his voice muffled. He looked up, and the amber hall light caught the frustration in his eyesâthat familiar, awkward Yunho expression that usually meant heâd forgotten how to order a complicated latte. âIâve spent the last three minutes trying to figure out how to look cool while being physically barred from a studio apartment by a lack of social etiquette.â
âRight, because thatâs the part of this thatâs weird. Not the fact that youâre technically a corpse,â you shot back, though your voice lacked its previous bite. You crossed your arms, leaning against the hallway wall. âFine. You want an invitation? You can come in. But if you try to sparkle or turn into a bat or a crow, Iâm hitting you with a broom. Iâm serious. You are invited into my home. Just⊠step carefully.â He took a tentative step, and this time, there was no thud. He slipped across the line with a fluid grace that made the hair on your arms stand upâa sudden shift in the space he occupied that felt entirely unnatural. As he passed you, the air temperature in the hallway seemed to drop ten degrees. âOkay, stop right there,â you said, pointing toward the middle of the rug. He stopped instantly, his hands still bunched in his pockets. âStay. I need to check something.â
âIâm not a dog,â he murmured, but he didnât move. He watched you with that intense, magnetic gaze that used to make your stomach dip, but now it just made you want to take notes.
You hurried into the kitchen, your mind racing through every movie trope youâd ever watched. You returned a moment later, clutching a jar of minced garlic and a small, silver-plated butter knife.
âIs that⊠is that garlic?â Yunho asked, his nose wrinkling. His nostrils flared, caught by the scent. âAre you actually going to season me?â
âItâs a diagnostic test!â you countered, unscrewing the lid and holding it out at armâs length. âWell? Does it burn? Do you feel like youâre going to explode into ash?â
Yunho leaned forward, sniffing the jar with a look of profound boredom. âIt smells like a pasta night I wasnât invited to. Iâm not allergic to seasoning. I just canât digest it. It stays in my stomach like a rock for three days. Itâs⊠itâs very uncomfortable, actually.â
âDisappointing,â you muttered, setting the jar on the coffee table. You held up the butter knife. âMirror? Do you have a reflection, or am I currently talking to a very handsome hallucination?â You marched him over to the mirror in the hallway. You stood behind him, peering over his shoulder. In the glass, your own face was flushed and messy, but Yunho was there tooâsharp jawline, dark lashes, and that pale, steady stillness.
âIâm in the mirror,â he said and it sounded almost bored. Like he had done this multiple times before. âThe silver-backing thing is an old myth. Physics still applies to light bouncing off my skin, even if I donât have a pulse.â
âYou really donât have one?â You stepped closer, the fury from the alleyway turning into a reckless sort of courage. You reached out, your fingers hovering over his wrist. âCan I?â
Yunho went rigid. âOkay,â he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut as you pressed your warm fingers against his skin. There was nothing. No thrum, no rhythmic push of life. Just that impossibly smooth, marble-like surface. It was like touching a statue that breathedâexcept he wasnât breathing. You realised then, with a jolt of clarity, that his chest wasnât moving at all.
âYouâre holding your breath,â you whispered, looking up at him.
âI donât need to do it,â he rasped, finally letting out a jagged, shuddering puff of air that didnât even fog in the room. âI only do it to make people feel comfortable. But when Iâm this close to you⊠when I can hear your heart hammering against your ribs like that⊠I forget to pretend.â
âSo youâre telling me,â you said, trying to regain your witty footing because the sheer intensity of him was starting to make your head spin, âthat all those times we went for coffee, you were just⊠what? Renting a chair? Pretending to enjoy the ambiance while your internal organs were on strike?â
âI like coffee, I can have human food but it doesnât help with hunger,â he said softly, a small, genuine smile finally twitching at the corner of his mouthâthe first one youâd seen all night that actually reached his eyes. âAnd I like watching you. Youâre so bright, it actually hurts my eyes sometimes. I wasnât lying about that part.â
You huffed, crossing your arms again to hide the way your hands were shaking. âYouâre still a dork. A supernatural, immortal dork who let me think I was being rejected for a months because you were too busy being a martyr.â
âI was trying to be a gentleman!â he protested, his awkwardness returning in full force as he gestured vaguely toward the door. âI didnât want to be the guy who⊠who ruins your life because he canât stop staring at your pulse point!â
âWell, you failed,â you said, stepping into his space and forcing him to look at you. âYouâre already in the house. The garlic didnât work. Now, are you going to sit down and tell me the rest of this ridiculous story, or do I need to go find some holy water?â
The frantic, buzzing energy of the hourâthe shouting in the street, the mocking laughter, the ridiculous garlic testâevaporated all at once, leaving a hollow, ringing silence in its wake. You stood in the middle of your living room, the butter knife still clutched in your hand like a toy, while Yunho remained exactly where youâd told him to stay. He didnât shift his weight. He didnât itch his nose. He didnât even seem to be blinking. He just stood there, a perfectly rendered human shape that felt like a glitch in the reality of your apartment.
âYouâre not breathing,â you whispered, the words finally landing with the weight of lead. It wasnât a joke anymore. âYouâve been standing here for two minutes, and your chest hasnât moved once.â
âI already told you,â he said, his voice quiet, devoid of the defensive edge it had earlier. âI donât... I donât need to. Itâs a habit I keep up so people donât stare at me, but right now... Iâm a bit overwhelmed.â
You dropped the butter knife onto the coffee table. The clack of metal on wood sounded deafening. You walked a slow circle around him, your eyes scanning him with a new, terrifying clarity. You saw the way the lamplight hit his skinâit didnât look like skin, really. It looked like fine porcelain, translucent and bloodless. You remembered every time his hand had brushed yours over a coffee cup, and how youâd just thought he had poor circulation. âSo when you said your eyes hurt in the sun...â you started, your voice trailing off as you pieced the weeks together.
âThey really do,â he interrupted, his gaze following you with a slow, heavy tilt of his head. âItâs like someone is stabbing a needle into my brain.â
âAnd the mixed signals?â You stopped in front of him, close enough to feel the wall of cold air radiating from his body. âAll those times youâd lean in and then practically jump back like Iâd burned you? Was thatââ
âI was hungry,â he blurted out, then immediately looked horrified, his face twisting into a grimace of pure, awkward shame. âNo, waitâthat came out wrong. I wasnât... I didnât want to eat you. I mean, I did, but notâGod, this is why I didnât say anything! Iâm terrible at this.â He dragged a hand through his hair, the first truly human-looking gesture heâd made since entering. âI have a crush on you,â he continued, the words tumbling out in a rush, messy and unpolished. âA massive, terrifying crush. And Iâve never had one on a human before. I didnât know how to handle the fact that I wanted to kiss you and also, simultaneously, my instincts were telling me that your carotid artery was exceptionally vibrant.â
âMy carotid artery? That is the least romantic thing anyone has ever said to me.â
âI know!â he groaned, finally moving from his spot to pace the small rug. âIâm a disaster. I spent three nights practicing how to ask you to the movies without sounding like a predator, and then I realised the movie was a matinee and Iâd just spend the whole time squinting and smelling the popcorn I donât like! So I just... I didnât ask you. I thought it was better if you just thought I was a jerk.â
âYou went with âvampireâ instead of âjerkâ?â You sat down on the edge of the couch, your legs feeling a bit like jelly. The reality was sinking inâthe person youâd been falling for was a literal myth, a creature of the night who was currently pouting because he found human dating mechanics too difficult. âYou have a total martyr complex, you know that? You decided to suffer in silence and let me feel like I was crazy because you were afraid youâd... what? Bite me?â
âI donât trust myself,â he said softly, stopping his pacing to look at you. The vulnerability in his expression was devastating. He looked like he was waiting for you to scream, to throw him out, to realise he was a monster. âIâve spent a long time being very careful. Being alone is easy. Being with you is... itâs a constant test. And Iâm so tired of failing it.â
You looked at him and saw the awkward, silent boy youâd been meeting for weeks, just with a much darker secret. He wasnât a legend. He was just Yunho, and he was terrified of hurting you. âWell,â you said, your voice shaking just a little as you gestured to the empty spot on the couch next to you. âYouâre already in the house. And Iâm pretty sure youâre not going to eat me tonight. So... sit down. Stop being a martyr for five minutes and just be my friend. Or whatever this is.â
He hesitated, his eyes flicking to the door and then back to you. âAre you sure? I can leave. I can go back to Busan and work in real estate with my brother. You donât have toââ
âYunho,â you interrupted, a small, weary smile tugging at your lips. âSit. Down. Before I get the garlic again.â
He sat. It wasnât a smooth, relaxed sink into the cushions; it was a rigid, mechanical descent, his body hovering an inch above the fabric for a second before he finally let his weight settle. He looked like he was sitting on a bench made of high explosives rather than a budget-friendly IKEA sofa. âYouâre supposed to be screaming,â he gripped his knees, his knuckles whiteâor rather, whiter than usual. âYouâre supposed to be halfway down the stairs calling a priest or... or a Van Helsing. Why are you just standing there looking at me like Iâm a science project?â
âBecause the âscience projectâ currently looks like heâs about to have a panic attack, and Iâm pretty sure dead hearts donât do that,â you said, crossing your arms. The initial terror had settled into a strange, buzzing adrenaline. âBesides, Iâve seen you try to use a self-checkout machine. Youâre not exactly the King of the Damned.â
âThat machine was rigged!â he snapped, his eyes flashing a brief, startling gold before fading back to dark brown. He caught the change and immediately looked away, shamed. âSee? That. Right there. Iâm a predator. Iâve lived through three different wars and I couldââ
âYou could what? Drain me of blood?â you interrupted, moving closer. You watched him flinch, his whole body tensing as you sat on the opposite end of the couch. âLetâs get to the important part, Yun. You just admitted, in the middle of a very dramatic, very weird confession, that youâve had a crush on me for weeks.â
Yunhoâs ears turned a faint, dusty sort of grey-pinkâthe closest he probably got to blushing. âThatâs what youâre focusing on? I just told you Iâm a literal monster, and youâreâyouâre asking about my dating preferences?â
âYes! Because the âmonsterâ part explains why your hands are cold, but the âcrushâ part doesnât explain why youâve been acting like a total jerk!â You leaned in, invading his personal space, watching the way he leaned back until he was practically horizontal against the armrest. âSo, letâs be clear. You like me. Like, âI want to take you out on actual dates and hold your hand without worrying about your pulseâ like me?â
âI think about holding your hand every five seconds,â he whispered, the honesty sounding like it was being pulled out of him. âAnd it terrifies me. Because if I stop thinking about it, if I let myself just... be with you, I might forget to be careful. I mightâI donât know, I might accidentally crush your bones because I donât know my own strength when Iâm happy.â
You felt a sharp tug at your heart, the kind that was definitely too warm for the creature sitting across from you. âYouâre such a martyr. Youâve spent our entire âfriendshipâ trying to protect me from yourself, havenât you? Thatâs why you always walked me to my door and then disappeared like a ghost.â
âI didnât want to be another thing that hurt you,â he finally looked at you, and the raw vulnerability there was so human it made the vampire thing feel like a footnote. âIâm not a good person to love. Iâm a dead end. Literally.â
âWell, luckily for you, Iâm the one who gets to decide whoâs a âdead endâ or not,â you said, moving even closer until your knee brushed his. He looked like he wanted to bolt through the ceiling. âSo, what are we now? Are we still âjust friendsâ who ignore the fact that you want to bite my neck and I want to kiss you? Or are we actually doing this?â
âDoing what?â he repeated, his eyes wide. âYou want toâwith a guy who has to drink blood to stay somewhat sane? I donât even have a pulse!â
You reached out, and this time, you didnât hesitate. You took his hand. It was cold, yes, like a river stone in winter, but it was steady. âStop looking for reasons to run away. Youâre not that scary.â
âI am scary,â he insisted, though he didnât pull his hand away. Instead, his fingers tentatively curled around yours, his grip so light it was almost non-existent. âIâm a nightmare. Iâm the thing under the bed.â
âYouâre the thing that brings me my favourite coffee and listens to me complain about my boss for three hours,â you countered, squeezing his hand. âSo, answer the question.â
Yunho looked down at your joined hands, his chest finally hitching in a simulated breath. He looked back at you, a slow, shy smileâthe one that always made your heart do a stupid little flipâcreeping across his face. âIâd like to... do this,â he said, the word sounding foreign and precious on his tongue. âIf youâre sure youâre okay with... all of this.â
âIâm sure,â you said, leaning in until your forehead rested against his. The coldness was there, but so was he. âBut Iâm still making fun of the âStefanâ thing. Thatâs never going away.â
âI really don't know who that is,â he groaned, his shoulders finally dropping as he let out a long, silent puff of air. âBut I have a feeling Iâm going to hear a lot about him.â
âYou actually don't know who Stefan Salvatore is?â The shift in your tone was so sudden it made Yunhoâs head snap up. He looked at you, bewildered, as the heavy, romantic tension evaporated, replaced by a look of genuine, wide-eyed horror on your face. You werenât scared anymore; you were offended.
âIâshould I?â he asked, his voice small and genuinely concerned. âIs he⊠is he a local celebrity? Did I miss something?â
âSomething? Yunho, heâs an icon! Heâs the sensitive vampire with the hero hair!â You scrambled off the couch, paced to your TV stand, and then turned back to him, pointing a finger dramatically. âAnd youâre literally doing his whole bit! The âIâm a monsterâ speech? The âI canât be near youâ dramatic pouting? You are a walking trope, and you donât even know the source material!â
Yunho blinked, looking deeply insulted. âI am not pouting. I am experiencing an existential crisis regarding my predatory nature and its proximity to the person I care about.â
âThat is literally the definition of pouting in the vampire world!â you shrieked, a giggle bubbling up that you couldnât suppress. You felt a hysterical wave of excitement wash over you. âOh my god, this is incredible. Youâre a vampire who is culturally illiterate. We have so much work to do! Do you have a daylight ring? Please tell me you have a piece of vintage jewellery that lets you walk to the grocery store at noon.â
âI told you, I donât sparkle and I lost my a ring,â he groaned, burying his face in his hands. âSo during sunny days I just get a really bad migraine and my skin feels like itâs being poked with hot needles. Itâs a biological sensitivity, not a magical curse.â
âWhatever, weâre calling it a daylight sensitivity,â you sat back down, much closer this time, leaning into his cold side without a second thought. âWait. Can you do the thing? The eye thing? Do they go all veiny and scary when youâre hungry? Can you run really fast? Like, if I forget my phone at a cafe, can you zoom there and back in four seconds?â
Yunho peeked through his fingers, looking at you with a mix of affection and utter disbelief. âYouâre⊠youâre fangirling. I just admitted Iâm an undead creature who lives on blood, and youâre treating me like aâa marvel of modern convenience?â
âItâs cool, Yunho! Itâs objectively cool!â You grabbed his arm, shaking it. âThink about the possibilities! No more waiting in traffic! You can carry all the groceries in one trip!â
âIâm glad my curse is so âconvenientâ for your shopping trips,â he muttered, though the corners of his mouth were twitching. He looked down at where you were clutching his arm, his expression softening. The fear that had been radiating off him for the last hour was finally starting to melt. âAnd no, Iâm not zooming anywhere. Itâs exhausting. Itâs like sprinting a marathon in five seconds. Iâd rather just⊠walk. With you.â
âUgh, so Stefan,â you teased, nudging his shoulder with yours. âTotal hero hair energy. We are starting a marathon tomorrow! Eight seasons! You need to learn the rules of your own people.â
âI have my own rules,â he said softly, his dark eyes locking onto yours. He reached out, his cold thumb grazing your jawline with a tenderness that made your breath hitchânot out of fear, but because he was finally here. âRule number one: no biting the girlfriend. Rule number two: try to survive her taste in television.â The word hung in the air, vibrating with more electricity than any of the supernatural talk that had preceded it. You froze, your head still resting against his shoulder, but your eyes went wide, staring at a very specific, very un-dusted corner of your bookshelf.
âThe what?â you squeaked, your voice jumping an entire octave. You pulled back just enough to look at him, and for the first time tonight, Yunho looked truly, devastatingly caught. If he were human, heâd be a deep shade of crimson; as it was, he just looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He didnât pull his hand away from your face, but his fingers twitched against your skin.
âI... did I say that out loud?â he stammered, his eyes darting toward the ceiling as if looking for an escape route that didnât involve a door he couldnât pass through.
âYou very much did,â you said, a slow, triumphant grin spreading across your face. The anger from the alleyway was a distant memory, replaced by the chaos of the moment. ââNo biting the girlfriend.â Thatâs a very specific title. A very official, non-ambiguous, âwe-are-definitely-datingâ title.â
âI was getting ahead of myself,â he muttered, finally dropping his hand and looking at his knees. He looked so small for a guy who was technically an apex predator. âThe logic was... if Iâm staying, and youâre not screaming, and weâre doing the TV marathon... I just assumed the role was open. I didnât mean toââ
âNo, no, donât you dare backtrack now!â you laughed, poking him in the ribs. He jumped, a surprised, huffing sound escaping him. âYou canât drop the âG-wordâ and then try to hide behind your existential dread. Is that what we are? Am I the girlfriend? Because five minutes ago you were telling me to never call you again.â
âI never told you not to call me,â he protested, finally looking back at you, his expression softening into something incredibly sweet and painfully awkward. âYou told me not to call you. I was just... I was going to mope in my apartment for a few decades and wait for the regret to subside.â
âA few decades? God, youâre dramatic,â you teased, reaching out to grab the lapels of his coat, pulling him a few inches closer. âBut seriously. Say it again. Without the âno bitingâ part.â
Yunho swallowed hard. He looked at your mouth, then back to your eyes, his gaze heavy and dark. The vampire part of himâthe stillness, the intensityâmerged with the boyfriend part in a way that made your heart do a frantic dance. âYouâre my girlfriend. If youâll have a guy whoâs basically a high-maintenance houseplant that only drinks O-plus.â
âIâve had worse boyfriends,â you shrugged, though your heart was hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. âOne of them didnât even have the decency to be immortal, he didnât even have a job. At least youâre... interesting.â
âInteresting,â he repeated, a genuine smile breaking through his nerves. âI can work with interesting.â
âGood,â you said, leaning in until your noses brushed. The coldness of him wasnât a barrier anymore. âNow, as your official girlfriend, I have my first executive order: we are going to the kitchen, I am making a grilled cheese, and you are going to sit there and tell me exactly how youâve managed to live years without seeing a single episode of The Vampire Diaries. Itâs a literal hate crime.â
âCan I at least hold your hand while you do it?â
âAlways,â you whispered, tugging him toward the kitchen. âBut if you start brooding while Iâm flipping the bread, Iâm calling you Stefan for the rest of the night.â
âI still donât know who that is!â he called out, his laughterâshort, rare, and musicalâfollowing you into the warmth of the kitchen.
ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââThe grilled cheese sat forgotten on its plate, the cheese cooling. The kitchen was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the frantic, erratic thrumming of your own heartâa sound that, apparently, was currently a drum solo in Yunhoâs ears. You were leaning against the counter, and Yunho was standing directly in front of you. He had finally shed his coat, revealing a simple black sweater that made his skin look like polished cream. Up close, without the barrier of the âfriendâ label, the air between you felt charged that it made the small hairs on your arms stand up.
âYouâre staring again.â
âYouâre hard not to stare at,â you countered, your breath hitching. âEspecially now that I know youâre not just moody, youâre actually a legend.â
Yunho let out a soft, huffing soundâalmost a laugh, but more of a surrender. He reached out, his movements slow and deliberate, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His fingers were freezing, but the gesture was so tender it made your toes curl against the linoleum. He lingered there, his thumb grazing your temple, his gaze dropping to your lips with a hunger that was finally, terrifyingly honest. âCan I?â he whispered.
âIf you ask one more time, I'm revoking your invitation.â
He didnât wait. He leaned in, and when his lips met yours, it wasnât like anything youâd ever felt. There was no warmth, no soft puff of breath against your cheek, just a firm, cool pressure. It was shocking, then intoxicating. You reached up, your hands finding the back of his neck, pulling him closer, desperate to share your heat with him. Yunhoâs grip on your waist tightened. His strength was startling. Emboldened by the contact, you let your hands slide down his back, tugging him flush against you. You wanted moreâmore of this strange, chilly friction, more of the way he seemed to melt into you despite himself. You tilted your head, your teeth grazing his bottom lip, and let out a small, needy whimper.
The effect was instantaneous.
Yunho tore himself away so fast he was on the other side of the kitchen island before you could even blink. He hit the opposite counter with a heavy thud, his eyes wide. âNo,â he gasped, his hands gripping the edge of the counter so hard you heard a faint crack. âNo, stop. Donâtâdonât do that.â
You stood there, breathless and flushed, your heart hammering against your ribs. âDid I... did I do something wrong?â
âYour pulse,â he rasped, his head snapping to the side as if he couldnât bear to look at you. The veins under his eyes were prominent now, dark and pulsing. âItâs too loud. When you move like that, when you... when you make that sound... itâs all I can hear. Itâs like a siren. Itâs not just a crush anymore, itâsâitâs an instinct.â He looked at you then, and the martyr complex was back in full force, mixed with desire. âI want you so much itâs actually making my teeth ache. I can feel the venom, and I wonât... I wonât hurt you.â
âIâm not afraid of you,â you said, taking a tentative step forward.
âYou should be!â he snapped, though there was no heat in it, only desperation. He held up a hand to stop you. âPlease. Just... give me a second. I need to remember how to be the guy who likes your grilled cheese and hates your TV shows. I can't be... that other thing.â The silence returned, but this time it was heavy with the reality of what he was. You saw the struggle in the way his shoulders shook, the way he was fighting his own nature just to stay in the same room as you.
âOkay,â you whispered, leaning back against the counter, giving him the space he clearly needed to not lose his mind. âOkay. We can go slow. We can go âhuman-speedâ slow.â
Yunho closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool surface of the fridge. âThank you,â he breathed. âAnd for the record? That was... the best kiss Iâve had in about seventy years. Even if it almost killed us both.â
âSeventy years?â you chirped, trying to break the tension with a bit of your usual bite. âWow. Iâm dating a senior citizen. Stefan would never be this dramatic about a kiss, just so you know.â
âI am going to delete that show from your Netflix account,â he muttered, though the black in his eyes was finally beginning to fade.
The tension in the kitchen didnât break so much as it dissolved, melting into a domestic, slightly ridiculous warmth. Yunho stayed by the fridge for another minute, his eyes closed, performing what looked like a very intense meditation on the concept of not being a predator. When he finally pushed away from the counter, the veins under his eyes were gone, replaced by that familiar, slightly dazed look of a man who had just survived a very confusing day at the office. He walked back to you, stopping a respectable three feet away, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as if to keep them from misbehaving. âOkay,â his voice was finally steady. âThe grilled cheese is cold. Iâve ruined the mood. And Iâm fairly certain I cracked your countertop. I should... I should probably fix that.â
âForget the counter,â you said, reaching out and grabbing his hand, pulling him back toward the living room. âYouâre an immortal being with superhuman strength and youâre worried about a hairline fracture in my kitchen counter? Sit. We have work to do.â
You pulled him back to the living room and shoved him onto the couch. He sank into the cushions, looking utterly defeated by your enthusiasm. You grabbed the remote, hopped onto the sofa next to him, and pulled a soft, oversized throw blanket over both of your laps.
âIs this necessary?â he asked, looking down at the fuzzy fleece. âI donât actually get cold, remember?â
âNo, but I do,â you countered, snuggling into his side. âAnd since youâre basically a high-end refrigerator, you need to be under the blanket so I can use you for structural support. Now, hush. Season one, episode one. Meet the Salvatores.â As the opening credits rolled, Yunho sat as stiff as a board, his eyes fixed on the screen with the intensity of a scholar studying a dead language. Every few minutes, heâd let out a small, huffy sound of disapproval.
âThat's not how it works,â he whispered when a crow appeared on screen. âWe donât control birds.â
âShh! Focus!â you nudged him.
Halfway through the episode, you felt him finally begin to relax. The rigid line of his shoulders softened, and slowlyâso slowly you almost didnât noticeâhis arm lifted, sliding behind your shoulders to pull you closer. His skin was still cold, but your own warmth was beginning to seep into him.
âHeâs very dramatic,â Yunho muttered, nodding toward Stefan on the screen. âIs that what you think I look like? Like Iâm constantly mourning my own existence?â
âAbsolutely,â you laughed, looking up at him.
Yunho looked down at you, and for the first time that night, there was no fear in his eyes. No martyr complex, no âmonsterâ talk. Just a boy who had finally found a place to land. He leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head. It was brief, careful, and perfectly safe. âIâm glad I told you,â he whispered, his chin resting on your hair. âEven if youâre going to spend next years making fun of me.â
âOh, I'm counting on it,â you said, closing your eyes and listening to the beautiful, eerie silence where his heartbeat should have been. âNow, be quiet. Damonâs about to show up, and youâre really going to hate his leather jacket.â
Yunho sighed, a long, contented sound that vibrated through your chest. He tightened his grip on you, tucked the blanket around your feet, and settled in. He was a vampire, and a terrible liarâbut as it turned out, he was also a pretty spectacular boyfriend.
Mingi is very good at pretending heâs normal about the way you flirt with clients for tips, about the way you touch other people for a living. The problem starts when he realizes you might not belong to him at all, and suddenly heâs pinned against the wall confessing feelings far too big to keep inside anymore.
Pairing: sub!Mingi x TattooArtistFem!Reader
Tropes: Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pinning, Confession under pressure, Soft masculinity, âHeâs so big but so soft for herâ.
Genre: Smut, Fluff, Romance.
Warnings: explicit sexual content, sub!mingi, sexual tension, sexual activity in a semi-public workspace, praise kink, dry humping, male orgasm, possessive thoughts, touch-starved behaviour, jealousy, vulnerability, emotional intensity, consensual power imbalance dynamics, mild choking, explicit language, alcohol, obsessive affection themes, emotional dependency but make it hot
Word Count: 7.7k
a/n: this fic wouldnât exist without a conversation with @darjeelinglemontea. it was just one thing she said, but it stuck with me and turned into this. thank you for that, i really hope you like where it ended up <3 also sorry for disappearing. iâm deep in a project and barely find time to write, but i needed to get this out anyway before vanishing again for a bit longer haha Â
masterlist
Your studio hums softly around you. Low music. Warm light. The familiar buzz of the tattoo machine steady in your hand like a second heartbeat.
Outside, the street beyond the front windows is already dark, neon signs reflecting faintly against the glass. Your last appointment of the night stretched later than planned, the rest of the building long since quiet.
The smell of antiseptic and ink clings to the air, clean but intimate in a way most places never are. People let you touch them here. Let you get close enough to hear the change in their breathing, to feel tension beneath their skin before they even notice it themselves.
Youâve always liked that part.
âBreathe out,â you murmur.
Your client obeys immediately.
Heâs stretched beneath the lamp, shirt tossed somewhere behind him, skin warm under your hand where you steady him by the waist. The tattoo curves along his ribs in clean black lines, and you lean closer to finish a careful stroke, thumb pressing lightly into his side to keep him still.
He sucks in a sharp breath.
âThere,â you say softly. âRelax.â
âYou say that every five minutes.â
âAnd somehow you still trust me.â
He laughs under his breath, eyes dragging down to your mouth for a second too long. âHard not to.â
You ignore that easily. Youâve heard versions of it a thousand times before. You wipe excess ink from his ribs.
His gaze flicks down to your hands again. âYou always this nice to clients?â
âYouâre paying me.â
âCould charge extra. Iâd still come back.â
The bell above the studio door jingles softly. You donât look up immediately. You know who walked in anyway. The heavy steps. The careless confidence of someone whoâs been here enough times to stop asking permission for anything. The fridge opening.
âBeer tax,â Mingi calls from the back.
Your mouth curves before you can stop it.
âGet your own studio.â
âYouâd miss me.â
You donât answer. Because you would. Terribly.
Instead you lean closer to inspect the tattoo, fingers spreading against your clientâs stomach as you stretch the skin carefully beneath the needle.
From behind you, the couch creaks, and you finally glance back at him.
Big hoodie. Work boots still on. Slouched deep into the couch cushions like he lives there. Watching you over the rim of the bottle with that lazy heavy-lidded stare that always does something unfortunate to your nervous system.
He comes here almost every night after work.
At first it had been accidental. Quick stops before heading home. Then takeout between appointments. Then sitting with you while you cleaned your station at midnight. Then coffee appearing beside your machine before you could ask for it.
Somewhere along the way, your studio started feeling wrong without him in it. Somewhere along the way, you started falling in love with him. Quietly. Stupidly.Â
Because Mingi is like this with everyone. Warm. Affectionate. Easy with touch. The kind of person who leans into you when he laughs and throws an arm around your shoulders without thinking. The kind of person who makes you feel chosen even when you probably arenât.
So you buried it under routine and late-night beers and the hoodies he keeps leaving behind in your studio chair. Under the certainty that none of this would ever become more.
Your client shifts slightly beneath your hand. âYou know,â he says, âif I met you somewhere else, Iâd think you were flirting with me.â
You drag the needle into a clean line. âThat sounds like a you problem.â
âIâm serious.â His smile turns crooked. âSoft voice. Hand on my waist. Eye contact. Itâs confusing.â
âYou came to a tattoo appointment.â
âYeah, but youâre making it hard to stay professional.â
Mingi sets his beer down a little too hard against the table. You glance back automatically. Heâs staring at the floor now, jaw tight for half a second before he notices you looking.
âWhat?â he says.
âNothing.â
Your client looks between both of you once, then keeps talking. Unbothered. As if Mingi isnât watching his every word.Â
âNo, but seriously,â he says, looking at you again. âYouâve got dangerous energy.â
âDangerous.â
âYeah. Like you flirt for fun and ruin lives accidentally.â
You laugh softly through your nose.Â
But Mingi doesnât. He should. He could. He usually does.
Instead his eyes keep lifting every time your hand settles against the clientâs ribs. He goes quiet whenever the client calls you sweet. He keeps trying to insert himself into the conversation and failing to catch your attention the same way the client does.
And underneath all of it, something uncomfortable starts pulling tighter in his chest. Because the client gets your teasing. Your soft voice. Your hands all over him. And Mingi suddenly canât stop wondering if thatâs just who you are with everybody.
The rest of the session passes normally. Mostly. Your client keeps trying.
âYou gonna miss me when Iâm gone?â
You smooth the wrap carefully against his ribs. âIâll think about you sometimes.â
âDamn. Sometimes?â
âDonât get greedy.â
He laughs again, completely charmed by you in the way men always are.Â
And every time you touch him, Mingi notices. Not angry. Not even resentful. Just painfully aware. Like hearing your favorite song playing from somebody elseâs car.
By the time the tattooâs paid for, the studio feels strangely dense. Your client grabs his jacket, already backing toward the door.
âSame time next week?â
âWeâll see if you survive this one first.â
âI survived because you were gentle.â
Something shifts in Mingiâs jaw. The client notices immediately. A grin spreads slowly across his face.
âTell your boyfriend thanks for the emotional support.â
The door closes before either of you can answer. Silence spills into the studio after him. The buzzing needleâs gone now. The music suddenly sounds louder. Slower.
From the corner of your eye, you catch Mingi pushing himself off the couch. He flips the sign on the front door to CLOSED before sliding the lock into place with a quiet click. Then he walks toward you.
You start cleaning your station, peeling off gloves and reaching for disinfectant.
Usually Mingi waits for you to drift back toward him naturally. Tonight he comes to you instead. You feel him before he speaks. Close enough that your body notices immediately.
âSo,â you say lightly, wiping down the tattoo bed, âmy boyfriend, huh?â
Mingi nearly chokes on his beer. You glance over just in time to catch the way his eyes widen above the bottle.
âHe was joking,â he says too fast.
âYou seem stressed for someone whoâs definitely not my boyfriend.â
âIâm not stressed.â
You hum like you totally believe him.
Mingi reaches past you for the paper towels at the exact same moment you turn. His chest brushes your shoulder. Tiny contact. Barely anything. Still, his hand lands automatically at your waist to steady you.
Your stomach flips immediately.Â
Neither of you moves. Then his thumb shifts once against your side before he pulls away like he only just realized where his hand is.
âYou were very attentive with him,â he says casually.
You glance sideways at him.
âItâs my job.â
âHm.â
Not convinced.
He leans against the edge of the bed while you keep cleaning, entirely too close for someone pretending to be normal right now. His knee knocks yours once.
âYou know,â he says, âIâve been thinking about getting another tattoo.â
You snort softly. âYou complain through every appointment.â
The answer slips out so easily you almost miss it. Almost.Â
Your mouth curls before you can stop it. That seems to make him realize he said it out loud, because he looks away immediately, rubbing at the back of his neck while you reach for the petroleum jelly beside him.Â
His hand catches your wrist first. Lightly. You freeze.
âThere,â he murmurs, thumb brushing across the inside of your wrist. âInk.â
Your breath catches a little stupidly.Â
Mingi has always touched you easily. Like affection is something that lives in his hands naturally. This doesnât feel careless. This feels slow. Aware.
His thumb drags once more before he lets go. Neither of you pulls away right away.
âThat guy was flirting with you.â
You tilt your head. âYou think?â
Mingi gives you a flat look.
âHe literally asked for your number.â
âAnd?â
âAnd you flirt back.â
You blink. âI donât.â
âYou absolutely do.â
That lands heavier than it should. Like heâs been holding onto it longer than just tonight. You turn fully toward him, arms folding loosely.
âOh my god,â you say slowly. âYouâre jealous.â
âNo.â
Immediate. Too immediate.
âYou are.â
âIâm really not.â
âBut you donât like it.â
âI donât care.â
âYou looked ready to bite through drywall because he called me dangerous.â
âThatâs because he sounded ridiculous.â
You laugh before you can stop yourself. Mingiâs eyes narrow slightly.
âThere,â he says immediately. âThat.â
âWhat?â
âThat. You do that with everybody.â
âDo what?â
âThatââ He gestures vaguely at you. âThat thing.â
You stare at him for two full seconds. Then burst out laughing. Mingi groans instantly, dragging both hands down his face.
âForget I said anything.â
âNo, no,â you say, stepping closer. âI want details. What thing?âÂ
âI hate you.â
âThatâs not very boyfriend of you.â
His head snaps up so fast it almost makes you grin.
âYouâre enjoying this way too much.â
Maybe you are. Because suddenly everything from tonight rearranges itself perfectly in your head. The hovering. The watching. The way he kept interrupting. The way his eyes tracked your hands every time you touched the client.
And now this.
Song Mingi, who walks through life like nothing rattles him, suddenly canât even look at you properly.Â
You should let him recover. You donât. Instead, you step closer. Slow enough that he notices. Close enough that his attention snaps back to you immediately.
Now thereâs barely space left between you.Â
Your hand lifts automatically toward the silver chain half-hidden beneath the collar of his hoodie, the pendant twisted awkwardly into the fabric. You hook two fingers under it, easing it free, then straighten it against his chest. A small gesture. Almost domestic.
Your knuckles brush warm skin where the chain slips under his shirt.
Mingi freezes. Not dramatically. Just enough for you to feel it.
âYouâre touchy today,â he says softly.
âYou started it.â
âDid I?â
âMhm.â
Your fingers trail once along the chain before falling away. He watches every second of it. Like your hands are speaking a language heâs trying desperately to translate before it disappears.
A reluctant smile threatens at the corner of his mouth again, weaker now. Distracted by the fact youâre still standing too close.Â
âHow many clients leave here thinking youâre into them?â
You blink once. âExcuse me?â
âIâm serious.â His jaw shifts faintly. âYou look at people like that and then act surprised when they start falling in love with you.â
The sentence lands hard enough to knock the air slightly out of your lungs. Because he says it like an accusation. But underneath it, thereâs something rawer. Softer. Something dangerously close to confession.
Your mouth twitches despite yourself. âIt gets me better tips.â
âRight.â He glances away briefly. âCool.â Then, quieter, âyou flirt with me for free.â
Mingiâs eyes widen slightly like he physically felt the words leave his mouth and wants to grab them out of the air.Â
You blink once. Then tilt your head.
ââŠDo I?â
His ears turn red instantly. Actually red. And thatâs new enough to make warmth bloom low in your stomach.
âI just mean,â he says quickly, taking half a step back, âyouâre naturally like that. With everyone.â
âWith everyone?â
âYeah.â
You follow him when he steps back. Not enough to scare him. Just enough to make him realize you noticed.
âAnd you hate it?â
âNo.â Too fast again. âI mean. Not hate. I just donât like watching people flirt with you.â
The words slide warm and heavy into the room. Your heartbeat stumbles.
âOh,â you say softly.
Mingi laughs once, humorless around the edges. âYeah. Oh.â
Another step back from him. Another forward from you. The rhythm becomes almost absurd. Mingi retreating inch by inch while you slowly invade every space he gives up. Like heâs trying to survive this conversation and youâre trying to see how long until he breaks.
âI just think,â he says carefully, âmost people donât pay attention properly.â
âAnd you do.â
He hesitates. Then nods once. Small. Honest.
God.
The air suddenly feels too thick in your lungs.
âI know when youâre tired before you admit it,â he says quietly. âI know you pretend to hate sweet drinks but steal mine every time. I know you stop talking when somethingâs actually wrong.â His voice softens. âI know you hum when you tattoo.â
Your chest tightens painfully.
Mingi keeps talking now like he canât stop once heâs started.
âI know which clients piss you off before they even sit down. I know you clean your station twice when youâre stressed. I know you act meaner when youâre embarrassed.â
Your lips twitch despite yourself.
âAnd I know,â he says, finally looking at you again, âthat you flirt with people when you want them comfortable. But it doesnât feel the same when you do it to me.â
The room goes quiet. Not empty. Heavy. Your heart is beating so hard now it almost feels embarrassing.
âMingiâŠâ
He keeps backing up as he talks. You keep moving forward. Until eventually his back brushes the wall near the hallway leading to the back room. Trapped. His breath catches slightly.
He tries to shift forward again on instinct. He canât. Because youâre still there. Not crowding. Just close enough that the space he needs is gone. Heâs actually stuck. Not metaphorically. Not dramatically. Just physically there, pinned between the wall and you.Â
His breath turns shallow.
And suddenly you realize heâs actually nervous. Not teasing nervous. Not playful nervous. Real nervous. Mingi, who flirts with strangers like breathing and walks through every room like he belongs there, is looking at you like one wrong sentence might crack him open completely.
The realization sends warmth blooming painfully through your chest.
âI think about you too much,â he blurts suddenly.
The words hang there between you. Honest. Unpolished. Mingi winces immediately after saying them like he regrets how revealing they sound. But he keeps going anyway.
âLike⊠an embarrassing amount, actually.â His eyes flick away again. âAt work. On my way home. I see things and think youâd laugh at them. Or hate them. Or make fun of them for being ugly.â
Your lips twitch helplessly.
âAnd then you flirt with random guys in front of me and suddenly Iâm sitting on your couch acting like a fucking psycho because some dude called your hands magic.â
The laugh that escapes you is soft. Warm. Fond enough to make his face flush deeper.
âIâm serious,â he mutters weakly.
âI know.â
âNo, I donât think you do.â
That lands differently. The air shifts with it. Mingi swallows hard, debating whether to say the next thought out loud.Â
âIâŠâ His voice catches briefly. âIâve liked you for a long time.â
You stare at him for a second longer than necessary. Like youâre enjoying this more than you should.
âYou said that out loud,â you murmur.
Mingi groans again, covering his face briefly. âI know.â
The words leave him too easily. You see the exact moment he realizes that. Mingi drops his hands from his face slowly, looking at you now with this exhausted kind of honesty that almost hurts to look at.
âAnd the worst part,â he says more quietly, âis that I donât even think itâs just a crush anymore.â
Something deep in your chest folds in on itself. Because his voice changes in that sentence. Softer. Heavier. Deeper. Like he didnât mean to admit that part out loud.
âI thinkâŠâ He exhales shakily, eyes finally lifting fully to yours. âI think somewhere along the way you became the first person I look for everywhere.â
The room goes completely still. No music. No neon outside. No buzzing lights overhead. Just him, and the way heâs looking at you like heâs just handed you something fragile with both hands and doesnât know what youâre going to do with it.
You should say something. You should probably breathe. Instead, you step closer. Slow enough that he notices immediately.
His eyes widen slightly. A flicker of confusion first. Then something sharper, like heâs just realized the distance is disappearing.
 Your hand catches lightly in the strings of his hoodie, fingers curling there as you guide him back into the wall behind him. Not rough. Just certain.
The soft thud of it stops his breath for half a second. His shoulders hit first. Then stillness.
Mingi blinks up at you, wide-eyed now. Caught off guard in a way that makes him look younger, softer. Like his brain is a beat behind his body catching up to the fact that heâs not moving anymore.
Trapped, but gently so.
The realization flashes across his face in real time:Â
Oh.
Your hand stays at his chest, twisting the soft fabric once around your fingers. And for the first time since he walked into your studio tonight, Mingi has absolutely nothing left to hide behind.
No jokes. No easy grin. Just wide dark eyes and a pulse hammering visibly in his throat beneath your touch.
He stares at you like youâve just pulled the floor out from under him.
ââŠYou have to stop looking at me like that.â
His voice barely survives the sentence. Low. Rough around the edges. Like every nerve in his body is pulled too tight beneath your hands.
You tilt your head slightly, still twisting the drawstring between your fingers.
âLike what?â
Mingi shuts his eyes for one dangerous second. Like he physically canât withstand this much of you at once. When he opens them again, thereâs only helpless honesty bleeding through every crack.
âYou know,â he says quietly.
âExplain it to me.â
A shaky breath leaves him.
âItâs justâŠâ His eyes flick helplessly between yours. âYou keep looking at me like you already know every stupid thing Iâm trying to say before I say it.â
Your pulse stumbles.
âAnd itâs making me insane because I had this whole speech in my head on the drive here and now youâre standing this close and I canât remember any of it anymore.â
A laugh threatens at the corner of your mouth.
âMingiââ
âNo, wait.â He shakes his head quickly, words starting to tumble out faster now. âIâm serious. I was gonna do this properly. I had actual thoughts. Like coherent ones.â
âDid you?â
âYes.â His ears are pink now. âAnd now all I can think about is your mouth.â
That almost breaks you immediately. Mingi realizes what he just admitted and groans softly, the back of his head nearly knocking against the wall behind him.
âSee? This is exactly what I mean.â
âYouâre doing great.â
âIâm literally not.â
You smile despite the violent rhythm of your heartbeat. Because this is what youâve wanted for so long. Not perfection. Not some polished confession. Just him. Big hands flexing uselessly at his sides. Voice falling apart mid-sentence. Looking at you like wanting you has become unbearable to carry alone.
His eyes snap back to yours instantly. And that does it.Â
Because Mingi has always looked enormous next to you. Broad shoulders. Height that swallows space when he walks into a room. But right now? Right now heâs melting under your fingertips. And the realization floods through you like heat.
You step even closer. Until his breath catches against your mouth. Until the wall is the only thing keeping him upright.
âI justâŠâ His voice catches again. âI really like you.â
The sentence lands between you soft and devastating. And suddenly kissing him feels less like a decision and more like instinct. So you do. Fast. Sudden. Like finally giving in to gravity after fighting it for months.Â
Mingi freezes instantly. A sharp inhale catches hard in his chest the second your lips touch his. For half a heartbeat he doesnât move at all. Like his brain genuinely stopped working. Then his hands hit your waist. Hard. Not rough. Desperate.
A wrecked sound tears out of him somewhere between a gasp and a whimper as he melts forward into you all at once, like the kiss physically knocked the strength out of his body.
You kiss him harder immediately. Months of swallowed wanting snapping loose at once.
Mingi tries to follow too fast, too overwhelmed already, and his head knocks lightly against the wall behind him with a soft curse breathed straight into your mouth.
âFuck,â he whispers against your lips.
You laugh softly into the kiss.
âYou talk too much.â
âI was trying toâŠâ
Another kiss cuts him off.
âI know.â
Mingi makes that sound again. That helpless little exhale that seems to punch straight through your ribs.Â
His hands finally settle at your hips, huge and shaky and warm through your clothes. Not controlling. Just holding on. Like heâs afraid this might disappear if he loosens his grip.
You pull back barely enough to look at him. His lips are flushed already, swollen and wet from your mouth. Eyes blown wide and dazed beneath messy dark hair.Â
He looks ruined. By a kiss.Â
The realization sends another pulse of heat straight through you.
âMingi,â you whisper.
He visibly swallows. You brush your thumb against his jaw and he leans into it immediately without thinking. That almost undoes you.Â
âYou donât get it,â he says suddenly, breath uneven.
âThen tell me.â
âI canât when you keep doing that.â
âDoing what?â
âLooking at me like you want to eat me alive.â
You smile slightly. âMaybe I do.â
His entire body reacts. A shiver runs through him so obvious you feel it beneath your palms.
A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.
Mingiâs forehead drops briefly against yours with a quiet groan, like even hearing you laugh right now is too much for him.
âYou make everything worse,â he blurts suddenly.
You blink once. âExcuse me?â
âI mean good worse,â he says quickly. âJesus Christ.â
His forehead bumps yours again, embarrassed.
âIâll be fine all day. Totally normal. And then you smile at me once and suddenly I canât think straight for hours.â
Your expression softens before you can stop it. Mingi notices immediately. You can see the exact second he realizes he said too much. But instead of retreating this time, he exhales shakily and lets his forehead stay pressed to yours.
âItâs not just this,â he says quietly. âItâs never just this with you.â
Your fingers loosen against his hoodie. The teasing drains out of you slowly, replaced by something warmer. Deeper. Aching.
âThen what is it?â you whisper.
Mingiâs eyes close. And for a moment he just breathes against you. Like heâs spent months holding this inside his chest and doesnât know how to survive finally letting it out.Â
Then, barely above a murmur:
âItâs you.â Your heart stumbles violently. âItâs always been you.â
That one nearly steals your breath. You kiss him again before he can recover from saying it. Slower this time. Intentional. And he melts properly. No hesitation left now.Â
Mingi makes this quiet, wrecked sound into your mouth like the kiss physically knocks the air out of him. His hands tighten at your waist for a second before one of them slides higher, tentative at first. Like heâs not fully sure heâs allowed.
Your breath catches when his fingertips slip beneath the hem of your shirt at the small of your back. Warm skin against warm skin.
Mingi shudders immediately at the contact. You feel it happen under your hands.
The kiss breaks for half a second on his end, like his brain short-circuits from touching you there, but then heâs kissing you again instantly. Hungrier now. Still soft, still careful, but with this desperate edge underneath it that makes your pulse stumble hard.
His hand spreads slowly against your lower back beneath your shirt. Huge. Shaky. His fingertips drag upward inch by inch along your spine like heâs trying to memorize the shape of you through touch alone.
The sensation sends heat straight through your chest.
âMingi,â you breathe against his mouth.
That sound almost ruins him. A helpless exhale leaves him as his forehead bumps yours briefly before he kisses you again, deeper this time. Like hearing his name in your voice just dissolved whatever restraint he had left.
He keeps touching you carefully. Thatâs the dangerous part. Not greedy. Not rough. Just unbearably attentive. His fingertips trace lightly along your spine again and your entire body reacts before you can stop it. You feel him notice immediately in the way his breath stutters into the kiss.
âOh my god,â he whispers against your lips, sounding dazed. âYou felt that.â
You hate how much your stomach flips at the shaky little note of wonder in his voice.
âKeep kissing me,â you murmur.
He obeys instantly. Like reflex. Like heâd do anything you asked right now.
Every sound you make wrecks him further. You can feel it happening in real time.
The little breathless noises he keeps losing into your mouth. The way his hand trembles slightly against your back every time you kiss him deeper. Every time you pull back half an inch, Mingi follows immediately like instinct. Like distance physically hurts now that heâs had you this close.
Your hands slide fully into his hair now, tugging lightly at the roots.
A shaky sound breaks out of him immediately. You feel it against your tongue.
âFuck,â he whispers again, ruined already.
One of his hands stays spread beneath your shirt, warm against the center of your back. The other slides up suddenly, almost clumsy with urgency, until his fingers bury into the hair at the back of your head.
Then he kisses you deeper. Not confident this time. Needy. Like he canât get close enough anymore.
Your breath catches softly against his mouth. One of your hands stays tangled in his hair while the other drifts slowly down his arm, fingertips tracing the hard curve of his bicep beneath his hoodie sleeve before sliding higher again. Over his shoulder. Around the back of his neck. Up along his jaw.
Mingi visibly shivers when your thumb brushes beneath his ear. You feel his hand flex hard against your spine beneath your shirt. Like he doesnât know what to do with how badly he wants to touch you.
You kiss the corner of his mouth. His jaw. The warm skin beneath his ear.
Mingiâs head tips back against the wall automatically, exposing more of his throat with a helpless inhale that nearly destroys your composure entirely.
âThere you are,â you murmur softly against his skin.
A wrecked sound leaves him immediately. Not even words anymore.
âYou have any idea,â you breathe between kisses, âhow hard this has been for me?â
Mingi goes still for half a second.
You pull back just enough to look at him. His lips are parted now. Eyes dark and blown wide beneath messy hair. Completely wrecked.
âI mean it.â Your forehead presses against his again. âYou take care of me without even thinking about it. You show up every single time. You make every room feel safer just by walking into it.â
His hands are shaking now. Actually shaking.
âAnd you have been driving me insane for months,â you confess softly. âSo donât stand here acting shocked because I finally kissed you.â
A wrecked laugh breaks out of him, immediately swallowed by another desperate kiss.
Your mouths keep finding each other between breaths, between half-finished sentences, between tiny overwhelmed sounds neither of you can hide anymore.
Everything feels overheated and too close and slightly off balance.
Then suddenly his kiss falters. Not because he pulls away. Because his body gives out first. A rough breath punches out of him against your mouth as his knees buckle unexpectedly beneath him.
âMingiââ
Your hands grab for him immediately, trying to steady him, but heâs already sliding down the wall in one overwhelmed motion, dragging you with him instinctively. One hand catches hard at your waist while the other slips from your hair, fumbling clumsily for balance that clearly no longer exists.
âWait, waitââ
A helpless laugh breaks out of him mid-collapse.
Your knees hit the hardwood on either side of his thighs as he lands heavily against the wall with a stunned exhale. Boots scraping awkwardly against the floorboards. Long limbs everywhere at once. Completely uncoordinated now.
For one messy second, neither of you knows where to put your bodies.
Then stillness.
Mingiâs chest heaves beneath you. Your brows knit immediately. Concern flashes through you first.
âMin?â
He shakes his head once quickly. Not hurt. Just catastrophically overwhelmed.
You can see it everywhere. The violent flush spread down his throat. The dazed look in his eyes. The way his hand is still under your shirt like he forgot it was there entirely.
And something about it feels almost surreal. Song Mingi. All sharp height and broad shoulders and effortless confidence. Reduced to this because you kissed him.
ââŠDid your legs just give out?â
âNo,â he says immediately.
âThey literally folded.â
âIâm fine.â
âYouâre on the floor.â
âSo are you.â
The comeback would land better if he wasnât staring up at you like heâs moments away from short-circuiting completely.Â
And then you feel it. The thick, hard press of him beneath the dark denim where you landed directly on his lap. Heavy and unmistakable, pressing right up between your legs through your clothes. Fuck. He feels as big as he carries himself, maybe bigger.
Your breath catches slightly. Mingi notices instantly. A mortified sound leaves him.
âDonât start,â he says quickly.
You look back up slowly. ââŠStart what?â
âThat face.â
âWhat face?â
âThe one where you realize things.â
Your mouth twitches immediately. His throat bobs hard.
You feel his fingers flex under your shirt instinctively before his nails drag lightly down your back in one slow scrape that makes your entire body jolt.
Fuck.
Mingi notices that too. His eyes darken immediately.
âIâm trying so hard to be normal right now,â he whispers.
The honesty of it nearly knocks the air out of you. Because he sounds wrecked. Not cocky. Not teasing. Just overwhelmed down to the bone. Still holding onto you like letting go would physically kill him.
Your eyes flick briefly to the way his hands are gripping you now. One spread hot against your spine beneath your shirt. The other tight on your waist. Strong enough to leave bruises. Shaking anyway.
Something hot curls low in your stomach at the sight. You can feel the strength coiled in him, the way he could easily lift you, pin you, take control if he wanted to. But he doesn't. He just looks up at you like heâs dying from how much he wants you.Â
When your hips shift experimentally against his, his reaction is immediate. A broken sound tears out of his throat as his head falls back toward the wall.
Your hand catches it before it can hit too hard, fingers tightening at the base of his neck as you cushion the impact instinctively.
Mingi melts instantly beneath your touch. His eyes squeeze shut for one second as your fingers tighten slightly in his hair. His grip spasms hard against your waist.
You bite your lip, suppressing your own sounds at the way he reacts so fast, so visibly, like every nerve in his body is wired directly into your hands.
âOh my god,â you whisper, almost fascinated now. âI broke you.â
"Shut up," he breathes instantly, voice cracking.Â
Your laugh brushes warm against his mouth. Mingiâs eyes open again immediately, locking onto you like heâs afraid to miss a second of this.Â
And suddenly your concern dissolves into something hotter. Because he looks huge beneath you. Broad chest rising hard beneath his hoodie. Big hands gripping your body like he canât stop himself. Thick thighs spread under yours. But none of that changes the fact heâs completely unraveling for you right now.
You tug his hair again, sharper this time. A wrecked sound punches out of him immediately.
âThere he is,â you murmur softly. âMy good boy.â
âPlease donât say things like that.â
âWhy?â
âBecause I already canât think.â
His fingers scratch lightly down your spine again, rougher now, and the sensation shoots heat straight through your stomach. You feel him twitch between your legs, the pressure catching your clit perfectly even through denim, and you have to swallow your own moan down before it escapes.
You grin instead. Then you kiss him again.Â
And whatever control he had left finally snaps. His hand fists suddenly in your hair while he tilts your head enough to deepen the kiss properly. Sloppier. Hungrier. He kisses you like he canât get enough oxygen from anywhere else.
You drag your mouth down his jaw, over his throat, and Mingi immediately tips his head back for you again with a helpless sound, exposing more skin like instinct.
His head knocks toward the wall once more and you catch him again automatically, palm sliding behind his head while your other hand stays around his shoulders.
âThere,â you murmur against his throat. âCareful.â
That almost makes him whine.
Your teeth scrape lightly over his pulse. Mingiâs hips jerk up involuntarily beneath you.
âFuck,â he chokes out, hands tightening hard enough to drag you fully against him. âYouâre gonna ruin me.â
He sounds terrified.
Your forehead brushes his gently, breath mingling between you while his entire body trembles underneath yours.
You kiss him again, slower now, while your hips move in tiny experimental rolls against his. Barely anything. Just enough friction to make his breathing fall apart completely.
Heâs concentrating so hard you can see it in his face. Jaw clenched. Brows pinched slightly. Trying desperately not to cum on the spot from just this. He tries to slow you once, but he fails instantly when you press closer and another helpless, broken moan slips out of him into your mouth.
Then heâs moving too, dragging desperate open-mouthed kisses down your neck like he doesnât know where to put all this wanting anymore.
His hands slide lower.
One stays beneath your shirt, fingers tracing your spine again and again like heâs addicted to the feeling of your skin.
The other grips your ass hard, dragging you tighter against him while his mouth presses sloppy kisses against your throat.
âYouâre so pretty,â he whispers against your skin, voice wrecked beyond repair. "So fucking pretty, baby, look at youâ"
Youâve never seen him like this before. Never seen him stop trying to perform strength. And maybe thatâs why this feels so intimate it almost scares you. Because heâs letting you see every vulnerable part without fighting to hide them anymore.
âMingi,â you murmur softly.
He looks at you immediately.
âYou okay?â
A quick nod. Then, quieter, âdonât stop.â
Your thumb smooths gently across his cheek.
âI wonât.â
And thatâs what finally breaks him open. You see it happen in real time. The exact second the last bit of distance leaves his face. The exact second he realizes this isnât temporary. That youâre not going to pull away from him tomorrow and pretend none of this happened.
His forehead drops against your shoulder with a shaky exhale.
Then he kisses you again. Different this time. Slower. Still hungry, but softer around the edges, like he canât decide whether to devour you or memorize you.
His hands roam more boldly now, your back, your waist, your hips, your ass, gripping like he keeps remembering heâs allowed to touch you like this.
Your knees ache against the hardwood, but you barely notice once he plants his boots against the floor and pulls you flush against him with one helpless pull of his hips.
The breath leaves both of you at once.
Suddenly thereâs nowhere your body ends without running into his. Broad chest. Heavy thighs. Strong arms boxing you in, without feeling threatening for even a second.
Thatâs the thing that gets you. How big he is and how careful he still is with you anyway.
Your hand slides to his throat experimentally, fingers loose against his pulse. Mingi's eyes go dark instantly, pupils blown wide. He swallows against your palm. Breath catching hard enough you feel it against your mouth.Â
"Yeah?" you whisper.
He nods, fast and desperate. "Yes. Please."
The smallest increase in pressure tears a wrecked sound out of him, his head falling back against the wall. The sound goes straight between your legs.
After that, everything loses rhythm. Kisses turning sloppy. Breathing uneven. His hands gripping harder whenever you get too close.Â
His hips are thrusting up, rolling, seeking more friction, and you feel yourself getting wet just from the desperation in his movements. He's so hard it must hurt, straining against the denim, and when you grind down against him, he cries out, hands gripping your ass to try to make you move faster.
He realizes what he's doing halfway through and stills himself with visible effort, eyes squeezed shut like heâs trying to regain control.Â
âWait,â he breathes roughly. âIf you keep doing that, Iâm not gonna last.â
The honesty of it sends heat curling low in your stomach.
And you're barely doing anything, but the fact that he's this close from almost nothing makes you want to feel him fall apart because he wants you that much.
You kiss him again, deep and filthy, and keep your movements light. Just small, teasing rolls of your hips.
"So pretty," he whines, "baby, you're soâfuck. Seriously. You're so beautiful, so hot, I can'tâI canât even look at you properly right now."
âYouâre so cute,â you breathe against his mouth.
Your fingers slide softly through his hair again, gentler this time, scratching lightly at his scalp while his eyes flutter half-shut.Â
âThatâs my pretty boy,â you whisper softly. âTrying so hard to hold it together.â
His face flushes deeper immediately.
âYouâre doing so good for me, Min.â
That one finally ruins him.Â
His hips twitch up again, needy and involuntary, and you feel the damp heat spreading at the front of his jeans where heâs already leaking from almost nothing. The realization barely has time to settle before his whole body jolts beneath you.
A strangled grunt punches out of him.
His grip clamps hard around you so suddenly it knocks your balance backward. You catch yourself instinctively, palm slapping against the wall beside his head before either of you can crack into it.
Mingi goes tense all at once, hips stuttering up into yours before he buries his face instantly into your neck with a sharp gasp, biting down hard enough to muffle the wrecked sound that follows.
And then heâs coming. Fast. Sudden. Hard enough his whole body shudders under you.
For the first time all night, he stops holding himself back. His arms lock tight around you as he pushes himself off the wall just enough to drag you with him, forcing you to tilt back slightly in his grip while he shakes through it. Like he physically needs you closer to survive it.
Your arms loop around his neck automatically to steady both of you, one hand sliding into his hair, fingers spreading against the back of his head to keep him tucked against your throat while he rides it out.
You feel every pulse through the denim between you. The hot spread of wetness. The helpless way his body betrayed him from almost nothing except your mouth, your weight against him, your hand at his throat.
His hips jerk once more before he folds inward completely, trembling against your neck, breathing ragged through clenched teeth while he tries desperately to hide how easily he came.
Then nothing. No movement. No sound except his uneven breathing against your skin.
You blink once, heat rushing straight through you at what just happened. At how little it took. At how desperately his body gave in the second you told him what he wanted to hear.
âMingi.â
A horrified groan muffles straight into your neck.Â
You bite back a laugh instantly. Not mean. Never mean. Just unbearably fond. Because this man. This man who walked in here trying to act normal about being in love with you is now actively attempting to fuse himself into your shoulder to avoid eye contact.
You shift slightly, trying to look at him. He follows immediately, burying himself deeper against your neck.
âMingi,â you repeat, softer now, fingers slipping into the hair at the nape of his neck. âHey.â
A helpless smile spreads across your face as you press a kiss against his temple. He shudders under it instantly.
âDonât look at me.â
That actually makes you laugh. Quiet and warm against his skin.
You coax his face back enough to look at him properly and nearly lose your mind all over again. Pink cheeks. Wet swollen lips. Eyes glassy and unfocused beneath messy hair. Completely wrecked.
And beneath you, you can still feel him, hot and sticky and probably uncomfortable as hell in his jeans, but making no move to fix it because that would mean acknowledging it.
âShit,â he says immediately, mortified. âIâm sorry.â
That catches you off guard enough your expression softens instantly. Because he sounds embarrassed, yeah, but underneath it thereâs sincerity too. Like heâs genuinely worried he ruined something.
âI was trying really hard not to cum,â he blurts, words tumbling out faster now that theyâve started. âI was trying to hold it together and then you kept kissing me and calling me pretty and I justââ
He cuts himself off with another groan, dragging a hand over his burning face.
âMin.â You wait until his eyes finally flick back to yours. âWhy are you apologizing?â
His brows pull together slightly.
ââŠBecause I came in my jeans like a teenager?â
You laugh softly. âAnd?â
âAnd we were literally just making out.â
You grin despite yourself, pulse still throbbing low and hot between your legs. Because honestly? The more you think about it, the more turned on you get.Â
Your hips shift unconsciously against him and Mingi sucks in a sharp breath immediately, eyes squeezing shut.
âShit, sorry,â you murmur, fascinated. âStill sensitive?â
âPlease have mercy on me.â
The shaky way he says it sends another pulse of heat straight through you. You lean in until your noses brush.
âYou know this was hot, right?â
âThat was hot to you? Youâre not making fun of me?â he asks carefully.
Your heart actually aches a little.
âMingi.â You brush your thumb over his cheekbone. âIâm trying very hard not to climb you again right now.â
âOh my god.â
You kiss him again before he can get more embarrassed. Just a small one. Quick. Soft.
Mingi exhales into your mouth immediately, shoulders dropping another inch. Thereâs something dangerously addictive about it. Like the second you kissed him, his body decided hiding anything from you was impossible.
Your gaze drops again before you can stop it. Right between his legs. And right on cue, he shifts under you again and you feel it. Hard again. Twitching faintly beneath the damp denim. Still reacting to every little thing you do.Â
You pull back barely enough to look at him. âYouâre kidding. Youâre hard again?â
Mingi groans immediately. âDonât say it out loud.â
Your laugh spills warm against his skin. He shivers hard at the sound. His hips shift unconsciously like heâs trying to relieve pressure and instantly regrets it when the denim drags against him.
Mingi must see something change in your face, because his breathing catches again immediately.
âCan you stop looking at me like youâre about to climb inside my ribcage?â he whispers.
You grin. âNo.â
Mingi groans. âI hate you.â
âNo you donât.â
ââŠNo. I really donât.â
You laugh again and finally climb off his lap. Your knees ache faintly when you stand, but the sight in front of you almost takes you back out again.
Mingi looks ruined. Hoodie twisted crooked from your hands. Lips bitten red. Dark stain obvious across his jeans now no matter how he tries to angle himself away from it.
You bite your lip softly and hold your hand out toward him.
âCâmon.â
He blinks up at you. ââŠWhere?â
Your smirk sharpens just slightly.
âYouâre a mess,â you say, pointedly glancing at his lap before meeting his eyes again.Â
His face goes red all over again.
âBesidesâŠâ Your voice softens. âI donât think Iâm done with you yet.â
Mingi goes completely still. Then his fingers tighten around yours hard enough to feel it.
âCool,â he says faintly. âAwesome. Great. Yeah,â he says quietly, standing now, towering close enough to steal the air from your lungs again. âYou have no idea what you just started.âÂ
Your stomach flips embarrassingly hard at the look on his face now.
âThat sounds threatening.â
âIt is.â
You open your mouth to answer, but Mingi kisses you first. Slow enough to distract you completely. Which is exactly why you donât notice him crouching until the floor disappears beneath you.
âWait, whaââ
A squeak bursts out of you as Mingi hooks an arm behind your legs and lifts you clean over his shoulder in one smooth motion.
âMingi!â
He laughs against your startled noise as he playfully smacks your thigh before he starts walking toward the bathroom like carrying you around like this is the most natural thing in the world.
âOh, now youâre shy?â he teases.
Heat rushes straight to your face. âPut me down.â
âNo.â
He punctuates it with another slap against your ass that makes you gasp so loudly he nearly folds over laughing himself.
âYou were talking real brave five minutes ago.â
You bury your burning face against the back of his hoodie while his laugh rumbles warm through your legs.
âYou let me recover. Rookie mistake,â he says, opening the bathroom door. âYouâre gonna regret giving me confidence.â
â±ïžÂ sunghoon wakes up in a world where you're alive.
â±ïžÂ park sunghoon x f!reader, ft. 02z
â±ïžÂ fluff, angst, fantasy [alternative universe, time travel themes], college!au, slowburn(?)
â±ïžÂ wc: 19.2k
â±ïžÂ cw: major character death, grief, mourning, emotional breakdown... sunghoon just goes through it i'm sorry T_T
â±ïžÂ enchive's lttr: i worked on this a lot during my finals week and then proceeded to get cooked. enchive is taking summer courses so this came out very slowly i apologize. it took a lot of brain juices but i powered thru, so hopefully there aren't any inconsistencies bcus my brain was so scattered writing this. special shout to @02zc0re, @cherryw0n whose anticipation greatly motivated me. thank u kindly! +++ shoutout to my roomie for beta reading i love u <3 here is a small playlist I listened to while writing~
how to pretend by lucy bedroque
i saw you in a dream by the japanese house
time machine by willow
Park Sunghoon hasnât been himself ever since you died in winter.
Not that thereâs much left of him to be.
Most of him perished when you did, and the other part that remained became a lifeless body trying to pass the time day by day. The color disappeared from his life once you did, and now all thatâs left of him are bleak, monochromatic snapshots of his grief weaving into his everyday routine. Time became indistinguishable without you. Two years of his life were structured around your dates, your classes, and spending time with you. But now, his life became a repetitive cycle of waking up, going to class, and going home, where he rotted with your visage behind his closed eyes as he lied in bed until the next day broke.
Winter left, and Spring came, yet Sunghoon still felt like he was stuck in the cold season.Â
In your shared apartment, your things were still there as if you never left. Your puffer jacket was still hanging on the coat rack, unwashed and chilly to the touch. Your toothbrush was still right next to his in the bathroom, the bristles bone-dry from the lack of use. There was an empty space on the full-sized bed, a perfect fit for where your body was supposed to lay right next to him. If Sunghoon closed his eyes and breathed in hard enough, he could still smell the remnants of your lingering, sweet shampoo clinging to the fibers of your pillowcase.Â
His friends tried hard to help him move out of his cycle of grief. Sunghoon loved them for it, but he couldnât help but remain where it was safe, in the little domain where your presence was missing, but your life was still there. Where your pictures hung on the walls, your bright smile lighting up the darkness of each room. Where your lucky pendant mocked him as it hung off the backpack you left on the stool of the kitchen island. Where you still were alive, even if you werenât physically there.
Jake came in first after you died, letting Sunghoon have his peace for two weeks. Jake was the type to worry so much that it was overwhelming. For the past two weeks, he had blown up Sunghoonâs phone everyday, not letting him have a moment to himself on the device. (Sunghoon was grateful, honestly. Because he had spent the past two weeks looping every video of you until he could memorize the timestamps of every action you took.)
Jake checked on Sunghoon by knocking on his door and bringing him food. âSunghoon, I brought pyeonyuk from your favorite placeâŠâ He gently breached the silence with a careful lilt to his voice, afraid that Sunghoon would snap if Jake said the wrong thing at the wrong time. Sunghoon begrudgingly got out of bed, clutching his phone tightly in his hand, and met Jake in the living room, his hair flying on his head and body dragging across the floorboards.
âIâm not hungryâŠâ Sunghoon muttered in response, the same answer as the day before and the day before that.
âYou should eat something, HoonâŠâ Jake frowned, setting the food on the dining table anyway and opening the takeout bag. Sunghoon didnât respond. He knew Jake was right, but didnât have the energy to say anything back. âShe wouldnât want you like thisââ
âDonât talk about her like you know what she wants,â Sunghoon snapped, his voice coming out sharper than he intended. The words stayed in the air, with regret settling into Sunghoonâs guilt-adled mind. But Sunghoon didnât take them back, he couldnât.
Jake was your friend before Sunghoon even knew you, so he knew that Jake was still mourning. Sunghoon knew it was wrong for him to say that, but he couldnât help himself. Jake didnât know you like he did. He didnât know the soft murmurs of your sleep and the look of affection in your eyes.
Sometimes, he was angry at Jake for being able to smile after you passed. Other times, he was envious that he could move on so easily and continue living as if you were never there. But in the privacy of your apartment, Jakeâs sniffles would merge with Sunghoonâs as they recounted the sides of you only they knew.
Jay came in after to help organize your apartment, more persistent than Jake. âYou canât keep staying like this, Hoon. Youâre gonna get bugs, or somethingâŠâ He murmured, bending over to pick up stray debris on the wooden floors. When your death was still fresh, and your messes were still around, Sunghoon loathed Jayâs help. How dare Jay come in and taint the memories of your existence by cleaning up what you had left behind?
âJay, stopâŠâ Sunghoon murmured as he helplessly watched his friend reach for the zip-up jacket that you had left on the couch, the cotton material still holding onto your perfume.
âItâs just a jacket, Hoon. Itâs gonna smell if you leave it hereââ
âI said stop! Justâ just fuckinâ leave it where it is, Jay!â Sunghoonâs voice cracked as the volume rose. He stood up without realizing, in Jayâs space, and gripping onto your jacket like it was a lifeline. Jay startled, the jacket slipping from his hands and into Sunghoonâs protective grasp.
âWhy does it matter?â Jay had shot back, frustration finally slipping through. âSheâs not coming back to wear it, Sunghoon.â
Sunghoonâs heart steeled, and he could only whisper back to Jay as tears slipped down his cheeks.
âGet out.â
Sunghoon was still embarrassed about the amount of screaming and sobbing he did to Jay, but heâs sure that theyâre fine now. Apologies flew between them, but Sunghoon had already let go of the anger in his chest. After all, it was only swallowed up by the grief he was feeling for you.
When both of his friends noticed it wasnât helping, they would take him out on the town, shoving milkshakes in his hand and laughing louder than they usually would. They talked about everything and nothing all at once, carefully avoiding your name as if he would break upon hearing it in public. After a while, Sunghoon didnât want his friends to feel like their efforts were in vain. So he learned to force a smile, puffing up his cheeks and curling up his lips as Jake made a stupid joke to Jay like he always did. (When Jake and Jay looked triumphant about their victory, turning away to silently celebrate, Sunghoon would let his smile falter.)
The night was like the others. Jake and Jay took him to this diner far out of the way, with an American retro vibe. Red and white stripes lined the walls, and the tiles gleamed in the bright overhead lighting. There were only a few patrons in the restaurant, as it was late. The smell of meat cooking on the grill wafted through the air, permeating the atmosphere with smoke and seasoning. The three men were munching on burgers, updating each other about their courses for the next semester. But mostly, it was just Jake and Jay speaking to Sunghoon. The youngest of the three remained silent for most of the meal, only responding when he felt like he really had to.
But the sight of the cheeseburgers and fries on his platter only made him think of you even more. Even if he knew his friends were trying to distract him from you, he could only be reminded of the countless dates you had at the burger joint next to campus. Reminded of the way you used to get ketchup on the corner of your lips, and how he would wipe it off with his thumb. He used to complain about how you always ate so messily, but he couldnât help the wide smile from growing on his lips. Canât you come back? Heâd never complain againâŠ
âGuys, itâs getting late. I think we should go nowâŠâ Sunghoon spoke up after a while. Truth be told, he was spacing out for most of the time and just wanted to bury himself under the covers. Jake looked at him and smiled, not wanting to push anything.
âSure, man, we can go back now.â He stood up, dusting off the crumbs from his thighs. He looked at Jay, who simply nodded and stood up to let Sunghoon out of the dining booth they were sitting in. Jay drove them back home, not forgetting to tell Sunghoon to text him in the morning. Sunghoon only nodded in response before going back up to your apartment.
When he opened the door, the silence greeted him as always. Not your cheery voice yelling his name or your padding footsteps eagerly running towards him. There was only a suffocating absence waiting for him. The wooden door clicked shut behind him, and with that sound, his composed act dropped.
Sunghoonâs shoulders slumped. He tried. He really tried. But when his breath hitched, his emotions began to unravel uncontrollably, unfurling like a roll of ribbon. His keys slipped from his fingers, clattering against the floor. His vision blurred as quickly as he blinked, tears filling up his eyes, and his throat closing up as a sob threatened to rise from his chest.
âFuckââ His word broke apart as soon as he let it out. He collapsed to the ground, his body not strong enough to carry him and the weight of his emotions anymore. He felt uglyâ so ugly. His figure practically folded into itself as his knees hit the ground, his chest pressed against his thighs and his arms awkwardly crossed. He uncurled his body, crawling like a baby as he thought to the only thing he wanted.
You.
But you werenât here. So his hands desperately sought out the closest thing he could get. Your jacket, the one that he still hadnât moved even though Jay tried to many, many times. He bunched up the fabric in his fingers, the cloth wrinkling under the force of his tight grip. He buried his nose into the fabric, inhaling the sweet smell of your perfumeâ from the bottle that was still at your vanity, macerating as it went unused. A choked sound tears from his throat as he inhaled sharply, like maybe if he breathed your scent in deep enough, he could fill the hollow space you left behind.
âPleaseâŠâ His voice was barely there now, worn thin from crying. âJustâjust come back.â He squeezed his eyes shut, and the memories came flooding in. Your bright laugh that lifted any weight off his shoulders, your warm eyes always seeking to stare into his, and your heavy hand that slipped effortlessly to slot into his. Then, the quiet moments that you both lived, the meaningless ones, the ones he never thought heâd have to remember like this. They all hit his brain at once, bringing on a throbbing headache for him. But even though it ached to think of you, he still clung to these memories desperately, replaying them over and over on loop.
If he stopped and let them fade even a little, then it would be like losing you all over again.
Your voice wasnât there to comfort him like it always used to be, and if he took out his phone to play a clip of your sweet voice messages that used to encourage him, he wasnât sure how he would react. His sobs eventually silenced, faltering into desperate gasps of air. Exhaustion pulled him down as his breathing became uneven. He curled into himself on the floor, still clutching what little of you he has left as his body tumbled to the side. The last thing he felt before he passed out was the faint scent of your perfume and the hollow ache in his chest that never seemed to go away.
Winter had long passed, allowing flowers to bloom over the frigid grass. Yet, Sunghoon remained frozen in the cold weather, trapped in the season you left him in.
Sunghoon didnât remember setting his alarm, but the shrill sound of it woke him up from his deep sleep.
He kept his eyes closed as he pouted, squirming around as he patted around for his phone. But, instead of meeting the cold floor, his hands brushed up against warm bedding. He shot upright, eyes wide and head throbbing. Who the hell moved him from the floor to the bed?
For a moment, Sunghoon sat still, disoriented and trying to piece together the puzzles of last night through his dazed head. He remembered having a breakdown and the sweet aroma of your perfume. His vision was blurry, and he thought that it was from his tears from last night, but even after blinking for a few seconds, his eyesight didnât gain any clarity. His hands shot up to rub his eyes, but his sight was still fuzzy. He remembered passing out on the floor, holding your jacket. But he surely didnât remember this.
He looked down, realizing he was on a twin XL bed. He squinted his eyes as he stared at the bedding. It looked way too familiar. The way that the blanket hung off the edge, and the striped pillow was resting up against the wall, compressed into a flat piece of cotton. It looked all too familiar, too similar to the navy blue set that he used during his freshman year of college.
A chill ran down Sunghoonâs spine as he realized where he was. He was in a freshman dorm.
As he glanced around, his bleary eyes still didnât clear, but the room around him became a little more concrete. The cheap white paint peeling on the ceiling, the shaky frame of his wooden bunk bed, and the pile of unfolded laundry sitting right in the middle of the floor in a blob of mixed fabrics. The mini-fridge was humming next to his closet. It was all there, exactly the way he remembered two years ago. He wouldâve mused at the fact that it looked so identical if he wasnât so freaked out about being in some random freshman dorm.
Fuck, what did I do last night? I probably look like a creep! In the dorm of some random freshman kid when Iâm a junior⊠He nearly sprained his ankle trying to jump off the bed, scrambling to leave as soon as possible. But as soon as he jumped down from the top bunk, the door opened, revealing Jay.
âDude, you good? You jumped off the bed mad hard.â Jay snickered, running a hand through his wet hair. Sunghoon blinked. This had to be a dream, a prank, or a grief-induced hallucination. Maybe he cried himself so hard that he lost his fucking mind. Because there was just no way he was staring at freshman year Jay in his freshman year dorm.
Jay was supposed to have short black hair with a strictness that only college and a two-year unpaid internship could instill into him. He was supposed to be wearing button-ups and polos with tight trousers and a fancy belt. But this Jay had longer, dyed silver hair with his teenage features still ghosting his face. This Jay was wearing a soccer team jersey with baggy shorts and his silver conch piercing still looped through his ear.
âSunghoon, are you okay? You look like youâve seen a ghostâŠâ Jay nervously laughed, throwing the towel around his neck into his hamper. âDid you have a nightmare or something?â
Sunghoonâs throat was dry. He tried to swallow, but instead he broke out into a coughing fit. Jay scrambled to pat his back, grabbing a cold water bottle from the shared mini-fridge. âThâ ThanksâŠâ Sunghoon wheezed as he greedily gulped down the entire bottle. âUhm, Iâmâ Iâm okayâŠâ He whispered, trying to find his voice. Jay frowned, concerned.
âAre you sure? You sound weird as hell, man.â Jay smiled again, his expression dry and one of concern. Sunghoon cleared his throat and nodded again, turning around to look at himself in the mirror. He was faced with the younger version of himself from two years ago, too. Instead of his ripped figure, his muscles were just beginning to bulge with the beginnings of his consistent workouts. His hair was dark as usual, but he could see the overgrown appearance framing his eyes.
âIâ I think âm gonna be sick!â Sunghoon gagged, before running to the communal bathrooms and flinging open the closest stall door. He yakked in the toilet, sick to his stomach. The sour smell of vomit filled the claustrophobic space of the stall, and Sunghoon nearly threw up again as chunks of undigested food sputtered out from between his lips. Jay came in a minute later, standing awkwardly next to the open door.
âAre you good, man? Youâre worrying me⊠Did the dining hall fuck you over, too?â Jay snickered. Sunghoon flushed, leaning heavily against the wall as cold sweat clung to the back of his neck. His whole body felt wrong. Jay lingered outside for a moment before speaking again, voice softer this time. âSeriously, Hoon. Did something happen?â
Sunghoon stared at the tiled floor for a moment before flushing down his puke. Everything had fucking happened. You were dead, and he had buried you. But he couldnât say that to Jay. So instead, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and forced out a weak response.
âBad dream.â
Jake had been talking about you for weeks before Sunghoon met you.
The puppy-like boy had been yipping his ear off about you, but Sunghoon didnât even know what you looked like. All he knew you as Jakeâs hometown friend whoâs known the man since high school. Yet Jake talked about you like Sunghoon was already integrated into your friendship, like you were apart of their routine too.
âYuck, this dining hall food sucks.â Jake scrunched his nose as his fork penetrated the dry chicken, the metal tearing into the strips of meat. Sunghoon snorted as he dug his spoon into the âsoupâ that had animal fats coagulating on the surface of the bowl. âShould we take the bus downtown and get sushi?â Jake licked his lips, eager for the change of meal.
âWe already used a meal swipe, Jake. I donât want to waste it.â Sunghoon frowned, but he himself was about to lose his appetite as he stared into the abyss of the tomato soup that bubbled and popped, spurting tiny droplets of thick tomato onto the table. When Jake didnât respond, Sunghoon assumed that Jake had conceded and began eating his dry chicken, but when he looked up, Jakeâs eyes were somewhere else.
Sunghoon followed his eyes to see that Jake was staring at a girl grabbing a cookie. âOhh, you think sheâs cute?â Sunghoon teased. Jakeâs lips then curled up in disgust, his entire face contorting to express his repulsion to Sunghoonâs words. The younger boy frowned, disappointed. âJake, donât look like that. She may not be your type, but sheâs a cute girl.â
âWhat? Dude, thatâs Y/N. My friend from home.â Jake snickered. âSo you think sheâs cute, huh?â The chestnut-haired boy leaned across the table immediately, grin widening like he had just been handed the greatest entertainment of his week.
âNo, Jake, I didnât say all that.â Sunghoon groaned, knowing that he had just walked himself into a trap.
âNah, donât lie. You think sheâs cute, huh? Sheâs single, I can set you upâŠâ Jake smirked, wriggling his eyebrows. Sunghoon groaned, the tip of his pale ears turning red from the embarrassment he was feeling. He covered his face to hide his expression.
âStop, JakeâŠâ He whined. Jake snickered and pushed Sunghoonâs elbow.
âBe cool, man, sheâs coming.â Jake winked, biting his lip at Sunghoon. The pale boyâs face was so red, he was sure he looked like a stop sign at that point. Behind Sunghoon, he heard the steady sounds of footsteps against linoleum. It was when the footsteps were directly behind him that he decided to turn around, not wanting to look too snappy or weird.
Sunghoon was blown away. He thought you were cute from a couple of feet away, debating whether to grab either the cookie or the brownie as you tapped your foot in a rhythmic motion. But you were even more breathtaking up close. You had a soft, warm smile gracing your lips, making you look approachable. Your cheeks were dewy from the humid air that resulted from the smokiness of the chicken charring behind the dining hall bars. You were wearing sweats and a hoodie, dressing warmly for the cool temperatures that began to settle in the atmosphere during September. He absolutely couldnât hide how smitten he was with you, so much that Jake began lightly kicking his foot under the table.
âHi, Jake.â
God, even your voice was like honey. Smooth, silky, and thickly sweet. âHey, Y/N. Did you finish eating, or did you just get here?â Jake asked you, not bothering to hide the wide, mischievous grin that began to spread across his lips.
âMmm, I ate with my classmate, Chaewon. She left to go back to her dorm already,â You answered, circling the table to stand behind Jake. Your face came into full view of Sunghoon, and he had to remember to swallow so that he could prepare his mouth to speak.
âHâ Hey.â Sunghoonâs voice cracked as he greeted you. Jake pursed his lips, biting them to stifle his laughter. He cleared his throat and looked down, embarrassed.
âHi, Iâm Y/N, Jakeâs friend.â You giggled, melodic and charming. Sunghoon shyly smiled up at you, gathering the courage to look up at you directly. You took the seat next to Jake, maintaining your friendly grin as you stared at Sunghoon. âArenât you in my CS class?â You asked, tilting your head. Sunghoon gulped. He didnât even realize, but you remembered him so easily. He felt a little guilty.
âUhmâ Uhm, yeah, âmâ âm in CS 1010⊠Monday, Wednesday, Friday lectures from 12:15 to 1:30⊠Youâ you too?â Sunghoon stammered out his question. You giggled again, seemingly amused and endeared by his bashful demeanor.
âYup, thatâs me too! Hey, sit next to me in lecture next time! I sit in like, the middle back. And Iâm going to be honest with you, the guy who usually sits next to me⊠heâs a bit obnoxiousâŠâ You leaned in to cheekily whisper to him, as if letting him in on a secret only you both knew about. (And Jake, he guessedâŠ)
The conversation began flowing into a natural river of meaningless talks about dorm life, classes, and unshared stories of Jake that you both had. Honestly, Sunghoon barely remembered what you guys talked about. All that was stuck in his mind was the way you kept glancing at him with your bright, wide eyes that squinted with your cheeks as you smiled and giggled.
At the time, Sunghoon thought it was just a lucky afternoon, stumbling upon a pretty girl and even scoring a friend in a class. He didnât know then that it would become coffee dates and late-night study sessions, shared bus rides, first kisses, and apartment keys. He didnât know that one day, he would be whispering âI love youâ to you every night before you both fell asleep after long days of cramming for Data Structures and Algorithms. He didnât know then that you would become home.
And he definitely didnât know that one day, years later, he would sit on the floor of that very home, begging the universe to let him have you back.
Back then, all he knew was that you smiled at him, and for the first time, he was excited to attend CS 1010.
Sunghoon had finished hyperventilating twenty minutes ago. Or maybe thirty. Time felt fake now, so he honestly couldnât tell.
All he knew was that he had woken up in his freshman dorm, thrown up in the communal bathroom, cried for a little bit more until Jay awkwardly told him he had to leave, and then kneeled down on the (very disgusting) floor of the stall trying not to pass out or cry again. Either grief had sent him into some form of delusion or psychosis, or genuinely sent him two years in the past. Neither option was looking like an optimal answer to his question of why the hell he was in his freshman year self.
After managing to get up, he went back to his dorm to search for anything that could help his predicament. (As if his dingy gaming laptop could send him back into the presentâŠ) He entered his room to grab his morning essentials, splayed out in a cup on his white dorm cart. His vision was still blurry, and it finally clicked to him as to why when he noticed a foreign object on the same cart. He picked up a glasses case and opened them to reveal a pair of glasses. He put them on and stared at himself in the mirror secured on the front of his closet door.Â
They were black, wide, and thick-rimmed, pressing up against the sides of his nose and nudging into the fluffy skin of his cheeks. But Sunghoon never wore glassesâ he had perfect 20/20 vision. Sunghoon freaked outâ who wouldnât freak out after losing their after a nightâs sleep?
He took his cup of essentials to the bathroom, cringing at the loadout. He had a dingy, plastic toothbrush and a cheap tube of toothpaste. He didnât own his usual mixsoon skincare, so he couldnât wash his face with cleanser. He brushed his teeth, rinsed his mouth with purple Listerine, and splashed his face with water.
âGod, this is sick. This is actually so sick,â he muttered to himself, patting his face dry with his sleep t-shirt and putting on the glasses. Now that he could properly see his reflection in the dusty and streaky mirror, he was staring at the younger version of himself that had softer features, longer, dark-brown hair, and a pair of fucking glasses now.
He looked like a loser, and his present-day brain wanted to fight himself for not taking care of himself properly until he began talking to you. He checked the time on the old and unnecessary clock hanging over the door of the communal bathroom, whispering a curse as he realized that it was almost 8:30AM, his class was at 9AM, and the walk was 20 minutes away from the dorm.Â
He ran back to his dorm room to change, throwing open his closet door with a resonating slam against the wooden sideboards. Instead of the expensive and sleek monochrome clothes he meticulously spent two years curating into his fashion style, he was greeted with vibrant colors overtaking any monotone hue that could have hidden in his hangers. He pulled each hanger back, revealing neon green, a bright yellow, and a shirt with Detective Conan on it. He groaned, internally cursing his freshman-year self for buying whatever he could get his cheap hands on. He picked out a green sweater and a clean pair of blue denim jeans. He wanted to accessorize, but when he dug through his other drawers, he couldnât find anything. There wasnât even a watch or necklace or bracelet. He shook his head and exhaled in frustration.
Sunghoon checked the calendar on his desk promptly, throwing on a jacket and grabbing a random apple on his desk. It was November, three months after university had started for him. But when his eyes landed on the color-coded events, he was confused. Because instead of CS 1010 and CALC III, the usual courses he took on Monday, he was looking at CHEM 1010 and BIOL 2100. He remembered taking the chemistry course his freshman year, but he definitely remembered not taking anything biology-related in his college career. Hell, he was a Computer Engineering major. What would a CS student need Biology for?
Ignoring the weird nostalgia blooming in his chest and the odd discrepancies that just continued to pile up, Sunghoon went out to go to his classes. Instead of the green trees and blossoming flowers welcoming him outside, he was met with the warm leaves and moderate temperatures of Autumn. Students passed by in a haze, chattering about their classes and walking way faster than Sunghoon remembered. The cold breeze drifted through the campus, inflating his sweater as it crept under the fabric. Jay had already left to attend a mixer for his pre-law frat, leaving Sunghoon to try to stimulate his own brain so he could ignore his weird time flashback or time-travel or whatever the hell this wasâŠ
He checked his phone, inhaling a big breath of air and holding it in, as if bracing himself for the impact that he was seeing his screen two years in the past. When the screen brightened, Sunghoon was greeted with Patrick Bateman laughing maniacally at him with blood splattered across his face. He instantly shut his phone off out of embarrassment. âHell no.â He grunted.
He inhaled again and opened it to check his text messages. He expected to see your name at the top, but instead, it was Jake followed by Jay. He scrolled through, expecting to see your name at least somewhere. After all, itâd been three months since youâve met. You shouldâve at least talked about the CS midterm by now, right? But instead, he scrolled through to see his parents, his sister, and some random high school friends Sunghoon hadnât thought of in years.
He squeezed his eyes shut. He felt a headache coming on, and his heart was twisting into itself, wringing out all of his worries about his time-travel to soak up the anxieties of you. If he was hereâif this was really freshman year, really November, really two years agoâ then where the hell were you?
Sunghoon stopped walking in the middle of the sidewalk, students brushing past him with annoyed mutters, enunciated scoffs, and eyerolls. His fingers trembled around his phone as he opened your contact again, except⊠there was no contact to open. Your name didnât exist in his phone, and there was nothing to remember you by. His stomach dropped to his feet, and from his feet, crept up the nauseous nagging of⊠what if you didnât exist at all now, these two years ago that he was in?
âNo, no, noâŠâ he muttered under his breath, swiping faster like your name might magically appear if he looked hard enough. But it didnât. All that stared back at him was the image of fucking Christian Bale laughing at him, jeering at him as if making a mockery out of Sunghoon.
Could⊠this not have been his timeline entirely? Instead of going back to the past, did he somehow fall into a world where you never even existed?
Even the beginnings of the thought was enough to make Sunghoon keel over, steadying his body on a nearby tree and focusing his eyes into the nearby bush. Was this world not the version where you sat next to him in CS 1010 and whispered gossip to him during lectures? Because if so, then this wasnât the version where he walked you home after late-night study sessions and fell in love with you under fluorescent library lights. This wasnât the version where he kissed you outside your apartment in the snow for the first time.
The version of him that had met you.
Sunghoonâs breathing started to shorten again. He had one hand pressed flat against it the thick and textured trunk of the tree, as if it could keep the world from tilting. The autumn air began feeling suffocating instead of crisp, and the stray threads inside his stupidly bright green sweater began scratching at the hairs on his arms, penetrating through to itch his skin.
think think think think think
Jake? Jake knew you first, didnât he?
He couldnât give less of a fuck about his stupid CHEM 1010 class, not when the idea of you not being in his life again was wrapping heavy hands around his neck and choking him. His thumb fumbled as he opened Jakeâs contact and scrolled through his messages. Most of it was stupid nonsense, with the most recent text being Jake begging him to skip class for food. Then, buried between them, secluded amongst the sheer amount of back-and-forth texts, was a diamond in the rough.
jake: bro r u coming to the library tmrw nite?
jake: y/nâs gonna be there too
jake: bro please be normal this time đđ
Sunghoon choked out a broken sound, a cacophony of laughter and sobbing. His knees nearly gave out from the release of tension in his muscles. He pressed the heel of his hand against his eyes, digging it into his eyes to steady himself. Sunghoon didnât care that he looked like an idiot in the middle of campus while students walked around him. After all, they were ignoring him like his spectacle was an everyday occurrence. He couldnât care less.
you existed here you were here alive breathing here here in this world not six feet under but above ground walking talking breathing living
Sunghoon stared at the message until the words blurred.
y/nâs gonna be there too
alive alive alive
You were no longer trapped inside of the pictures hung up on the walls. Not reduced to old voice messages and the lingering scent on the piles of clothes you left around the apartment and in your hamper. Not a mere name carved into stone and buried under the solid, winter dirt.
alive.
Sunghoonâs chest caved in on itself. If he had not met you like he did two months ago in the dining hall, then would you both be starting from square one now? Does that mean that he had another chance to start from the beginning? To love you again, wholeheartedly, and make sure that you wouldnât die? That instead of two measly years, he could love you for an entire lifetime? Or were you destined to meet the same fate again?
He didnât hesitate to decide. No matter what lifetime he was in, he would make the same decision. He would choose you again, every time, even knowing how it ended. Grief this devastating could only exist because love had once been so kind, and now that he had a chance to experience your living love again, he wouldnât pass up the opportunity.
Sunghoon: r we still on for the library?
âI didnât think making a grade calculator would be this fucking hard, oh my god.â
You and Sunghoon were both deep into three Red Bulls, eyes bloodshot and accessorized with grey and purple bags hanging under them. Sunghoon exhaled and slammed his laptop shut, before immediately pulling it open again to reveal the same piece of coding that had been mocking the both of you for hours. Meanwhile, you were slumped over your own laptop, fingers tapping away at your keyboard meaninglessly. Honestly, you werenât even trying to fix the code, you were just typing a bunch of bullshit into the program.
âSeriously, why did I choose CS?â Sunghoon sulked, about to begin reflecting on every decision that led him there, before you snapped him out of it with a few delicate taps to his arm.
âHow about we take a study break, hm?â You tilted your head, smiling up at him. Even though you look exhausted, you still managed to muster up a warm grin on your lips that instantly quelled his anxieties about your project. âWhere should we go⊠itâs pretty chilly outsideâŠâ You thought aloud. The way your eyes flicked up and your hand dramatically stroked your chin endeared him, blossoming an aggressive affection in his chest. He squeezed his hands into a fist, trying to resist pinching your cheeks.
âWhat time is it now? 2AM? Is anything even open?â Sunghoon yawned. You thought about it for a second before gasping. Sunghoon could almost visualize the lightbulb flashing above your head.
âLetâs eat ramyeon at the convenience store on the main road!â You suggested. The brown-haired boy hummed in agreement, standing up abruptly to stretch before putting on his coat. You both abandoned your things and put your trust in student honor as you began your 10-minute walk down the street, leaving the warm and humid library in favor of the chilly autumn weather.
âSunghoon, have I ever asked you about your lore?â You suddenly asked. Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows.
âLore? What does that mean?â He responded, confusion puppeting his eyebrows into a furrow. You puffed up your cheeks as you thought about how to explain the term.
âLikeâ your cool anime backstory, or whateverâŠâ You answered, embarrassed at the way you chose to describe it. Sunghoon snickered, shaking his head.
âUhm, I donât think I have a cool anime backstory, or whateverâŠâ He started to think. âWell⊠I have a younger sister and then I used to figure-skate. Nothing really interesting, I donât thinkâŠâ You gasped at his downplaying of his abilities.
âYou used to figure-skate? Thatâs so cool! When did you start?â You smiled, eyes sparkling at looking up at him with wonder. Sunghoonâs face flushed even harder.
âUhm⊠when I was pretty young⊠I was pretty good at it, other people tell me. But I didnât have many friends when I was a kid because I was the only guy who did figure-skating,â he continued. You tilted your head curiously.
âDo you have any pictures, Hoon?â You perked up. He tried to ignore the flutter in his heart with the usage of your sudden nickname, instead opting to fumble for his phone. He hid away the Patrick Batemen lockscreen he forgot to change before flashing you a photo of his younger self.
Child Sunghoon was round and soft, with a cute and awkward smile on his face. He wore a flashy costume, a white button-up with silver glitter lining everywhere that it could trace. In his hands was a trophy and a bouquet of flowers. A coo immediately erupted from your throat as you took it in. âSooo cute, ohmygod!â You gasped. His shining pupils disappeared as he smiled, bashful as he looked away. He turned off the phone, causing you to whine.
âNooo~ Hoon, send me the photo! Iâll make it your contact!â
As much as he didnât want to give in, ultimately, he did. He airdropped the photo to you, which you received with a delighted squeal. Sunghoon peered over your shoulder, trying to subtly look at what you were going to do. Just as you said, you immediately went to change his assigned contact photo to the child version of his picture. But as you opened his chatbox, his heart stuttered. His number was saved under âhoon <3.â
He immediately jerked his head away, blushing profusely as he tried to ignore the steady and rising thumping in his chest. You looked up at him, oblivious to the motions his body was going through.
âSoo, what ramyeon should we eat?â
Sunghoon didnât know shit about biology, so he left his lab as soon as the class ended.
His labmates were very obviously frustrated, not-so-subtly glaring at him as they passive-aggressively shot their DNA samples into the wells of the gel electrophoresis. One of his lab mates, a nice boy named Sunoo, leaned in to whisper into his ear, âAre you okay? Youâre normally never this slow?â And after a reassuring nod, Sunoo pouted and looked away. Sunghoon guessed that meant he was actually skilled in biology, but he knew for sure that this Sunghoon, the one who wanted to pursue cybersecurity, didnât know jackshit about DNA, RNA, and whatever the Central Dogma was.
Sunghoon was hungry, his brain was overloaded with too much new information, and all he could think about was the thought of seeing you. Breathing, alive, and here. So as soon as the TA dismissed everyone, he sprinted out of the lab and across campus to the library. He didnât care if he looked stupid, clutching his backpack strap and punching his shoulders backwards and forwards in order to gain more momentum as he ran for his life. All he cared about was you. you you you
As he neared the library, waiting for the crosswalk to turn green for pedestrians, he whipped out his phone to text Jake.
Sunghoon: Hey Jake. Where are U sitting.
Sunghoon: What floor are U on?
Sunghoon: Where R U located.
jake: ????
jake: were on the fourth floor in a cubby
jake: why r u texting so weird LOL when dod u use punctuations n caps?
Sunghoon: Uhhh trying out a new style of texting.
jake: wtv man just dont act like a weirdo with y/n LOL
jake: dont tell her i said this but she said shes excited to see u
Sunghoonâs heart was pounding, and he was sure it wasnât because of the intense cardio. He looked back and forth on the road, tapping his foot impatiently as the crosswalk was still red. As soon as the street was cleared of cars, he began rapidly walking across the road, ignoring the protests of the crossguard with an embarrassed expression on his face.
He practically bolted across the small lawn in front of the library in order to enter it, panting as he climbed up the large flight of stairs leading up to the main entrance. He pushed the doors open, his feet rapidly clicking against the tiled floor as he raced to find you and Jake. He rounded around the entirety of the fourth floor, ignoring the pointed and obvious stares of the other people trying to study. Soft chatter and giggles filled the wide floor, as well as the sounds of keyboards clicking under pressure and Apple pencils tapping against screens. But one particular sound stood out to him.
The sound of your sweet, sweet laughter.
He nearly tripped as he rounded the corner, only to see the glorious sight that his heart had been searching for forever.
You.
You were sitting cross-legged on one of the seats in the cubby, your laptop balanced on your thighs and a Red Bull cracked open beside you. The same, sugar-free flavor that you always liked when you both studied together and that Sunghoon conditioned himself into loving, too. Jake was next to you, saying something dramatic with his hands, and you were laughing at himâ your head tipped back slightly, eyes squinting, your smile so bright that it was the only thing he could see.
For a moment, the entire world went silent until his ears began ringing. There was nothing else in the world except you.
Just you.
Alive.
Not framed in a photograph, not buried under frozen dirt, and not simply reduced to a voice memo he replayed at three in the morning because he was afraid heâd forget the exact cadence of your laugh.
You were here.
You were breathing, laughing, smiling, moving, existing. Alive.
Sunghoon stopped walking.
His body forgot how to function, rooted to the tiled floor as if one more step would shatter the fragile miracle in front of him. His vision blurred almost instantly, tears gathering so fast it embarrassed him.
Because you were there, right in front of him after the seasons had changed and months had passed since he last saw you.
Wearing some oversized hoodie he recognized from years ago, sleeves covering half your hands. Your hair slightly messy, your lips wrapped around the straw of your drink, your foot absentmindedly bumping against Jakeâs chair.
You were so alive.
Sunghoonâs throat closed as the tears wouldnât stop. He hurriedly brought up his sleeves to wipe his eyes. He had spent months begging the universe for this. Whether he was in the kitchen, pleading to have you back so you could wash your dirty dishes. Or buried in the side of your bed, his face smothered by the scent-heavy fabric of your pillow case. At your grave, where your name engraved into the stone mocked him and the dates of your birth and date blending in together. In every quiet second where grief became too heavy to carry, and Sunghoonâs body would collapse from the sheer weight of it all on his back.
Yet now, here you were, as if no time had passed at all and Sunghoon was back to day one.Â
Jake noticed him first, standing outside the cubicle like a weirdo. To be fair, Jake thought Sunghoon was a weirdo until he recognized the vibrant fashion choice. âDude, finallyââ Jake started, the beginnings of a laugh about to escape his throat, but the words died in his throat when he saw Sunghoonâs face, because Sunghoon looked like he was seeing a ghost.
Your eyes followed Jakeâs, landing on him, and Sunghoonâs breath hitched. He had your eyes on him, and they hadnât changed from the last time he saw you. They were as bright as he remembered, with the stars of the night filling them with a shine so breathtaking that Sunghoon couldnât believe that this was real.
And then you smiled, the same smile that always instantly calmed him down, alleviating him of any negative thoughts. You smiled like you hadnât fucking died, and Sunghoon was almost angry at how naive you looked, oblivious to the suffering that he had gone through for months without seeing that beautiful visage. But as soon as your lips curled, they faltered.
âSunghoon?â you said, tilting your head a little. âAre you okay?â
God, your voice was as melodic as he remembered. So softspoken per usual, with a tune that was like angels were singing. A broken sound left his throat before he could stop itâ a half laugh and a half sob mixing together to produce something ugly and raw. His hand came up to cover his mouth like he could physically shove the emotions and sound back inside of his throat. But he couldnât. because you were looking at him finally after months of going without it.
alive alive alive youre really alive and youre really here and youre smiling so pretty so beautiful my sweet girlfriend my y/n mine mine mine youre mine
Tears spilled over despite every humiliating attempt to stop them. Your expression immediately shifted, your weak grin fading into a concerned look as you stood up too quickly, chair scraping against the floor.
âDudeâ are you crying?â Jake asked. You hissed at him, silently scolding him for his dumb question. Sunghoon couldnât help but laugh because that was such a you thing and you were doing it like you always did before and he canât stop crying youâre you youâre you youâre you
âIâm fine,â he lied instantly, voice cracking so badly it made Jake wince.
You took another step closer. You were so close, so close that he could smell the same sweet perfume that you always wore. The one that he kept on your nightstand to let macerate after you died. The one that was masked by the putrid smell of formaldehyde at your funeral. The one that he spent the last couple of months trying to get a whiff of out of your dirty clothes and unwashed pillowcase.
This was torture. You were standing there looking so beautiful but so painfully not his. Because at this point in time, you didnât know him yet. Not the way his you did. No, this you didnât know the shape of his hands in the dark, or how he took his coffee, or the way he only liked sleeping if the weight of his leg was thrown over his. You didnât know about the apartment that you both lived in until it was just him, alone, with the broken promises of forever and eternal love left to remember you by.
Sunghoonâs fingers twitched at his side. He wanted to reach out to at least brush his fingertips over your arms. He wanted to hold your face. He wanted to hear your heartbeat to make sure that it was beating. He wanted to bury himself in your arms and stay there until the last few months faded until it didnât exist to him anymore, so he could at least pretend like your death had never happened and he finally got his happily ever after. But he was scared. So scared that if he touched you, he was afraid he would never let go, or youâd vanish and disappear, or heâd wake up from this beautiful dream that was your world.
So instead, he just stood there sobbing and shaking his head like an idiot in the middle of the library.
Sunghoon was inconsolable for an hour.
He honestly thought that an hour was too short for his whiplash of relief and anguish to stop, but he was fine.
Nope, he wasnât. You patted his back and he began sobbing again.
âDude, are you okay? Whatâs wrong, man? Iâve never seen you like this beforeâŠâ Jake asked, worry laced in his accent-heavy voice. You looked at Jake, your eyebrows knitted in concern for the poor boy sobbing his heart out in front of you.
âAre you having a hard time because of midterms? Itâs okay, Sunghoon, itâs okay to cry⊠let it out, youâve probably had a stressful week⊠donât worry, youâve worked hardâŠâ You tried to comfort him, but he only sobbed harder because this was something that you would definitely say. Sunghoon sniffled, but let out a few coughs instead. Jake unsuccessfully stifled his snickers as the younger boy began to cough excessively, before crying harder.
âJakeâŠâ you silently hissed, thwacking his shoulder with a heavy hand. His mouth opened as he flinched back. Sunghoon finally calmed down after a while, staring at you with wide eyes. Your hand was still resting lightly against his back, warm through the thin fabric of his sweater, and he thought he might start crying again just from that alone. It was after he processed your body heat that he realized you were touching him. You werenât a memory or a dream anymore, and most importantly, this is real. Not some cruel hallucination his grief-ridden brain had conjured to keep him from completely falling apart.
Jake looked between the two of you like he was watching a live drama unfold in front of him. âOkay,â he said slowly, dragging the word out. âSo, uh, what happened, man?â
Sunghoon opened his mouth.
Nothing. Because what was he supposed to say? Sorry, I watched the love of my life die, spent months rotting in our apartment, cried myself to sleep holding her jacket, and then apparently got thrown backward into freshman year like some sick cosmic joke?
He knew Jake believed in the idea of multiple universes. He knew that from his constant rant about physics and the laws of the galaxy or whatever the hell Jake yapped aboutâ it wasnât like Sunghoon didnât care about Jakeâs interests. He just didnât understand. But Sunghoon wasnât sure that Jake would be so open-minded to find out that he had time-traveled two years into the past from a future that you died in.
Sunghoon simply swallowed hard and just looked away. âI justâŠâ His voice came out hoarse. âI had a really bad dream.â
Jake blinked. âDude, that bad?â He grimaced.
Sunghoon nodded with a small frown. Your expression softened immediately, and Sunghoon immediately noticed the shift in your face. Because you were giving him that unbearably gentle look you always gave him when he was trying too hard to pretend he was okay, the same look that Sunghoon got when he failed his CSO midterm in sophomore year and when he almost flunked Prob Stat. It made his chest ache with a comforting nostalgia.
âSunghoon,â you said softly, pulling your chair out beside yours, âyou should sit down before you pass out or something. You look like you ran here.â You giggled. Sunghoon sniffled, his plump bottom lip jutted out in a pretty pink pout. His cheeks were now streaked with the dried-up stream of his tears and his entire face was flushed and puffy. You sounded so pretty when you said his name. Sunghoon let out a weak, embarrassed laugh and sat where you told him to, because your voice still had the same authority over him that it always would.
Jake shoved a tissue packet toward him across the table, the plastic messily torn open, as if Jake didnât care for tabs that instructed him. âFor our sobbing SunghoonâŠâ he snickered. You and Sunghoon both smacked his arm.
âShut up,â Sunghoon croaked, his voice still ruined from crying. You laughed softly at that, and the sound nearly made him start all over again. He pulled off his glasses and dabbed uselessly at his face while desperately trying to act like a normal person and not a man whose entire soul had just been resurrected by the sight of you alive. When he put back on his glasses, his vision clear from tears and poor eyesight, they landed on your laptop.
The screen was still open beside you, but instead of lines of code and an unfinished project like he expected, he caught sight of anatomy diagrams and a color-coded set of notes. Organs, labeled veins, tiny handwritten mnemonics in the margins. On another tab, a link to register for CNA classes. Sunghoon blinked, confused.
ââŠYouâre not in CS.â
The words slipped out before he could stop them. Jake snorted immediately. Your eyebrows lifted in confusion before you laughed. âNo? Definitely not.â You turned your laptop a little toward him, showing him the mess of biology notes even though you didnât really have to prove it to him.
âIâm a nursing major, unfortunately,â you sighed dramatically. âHeavy emphasis on the unfortunately this week. I have a poster presentation due for chem lab this week, and my group partners suck⊠They keep ghosting me⊠but what can you expect from engineering majors?â You joked lightly. âHey, did you think I was a CS major âcuz I keep hanging out with this stinky loser?â You pouted.
âHey!â Jake protested in the background, but Sunghoon didnât care. His word was tilting even more on its axis, and he felt like the laws of the universe were rewriting themselves.
âNoâ No, sorry⊠I guess I mistook your major for someone elseâsâŠâ Sunghoon nervously laughed. âUhm⊠Isâ is it hardâ Nursing, I mean?â Sunghoon meekly gulped. You smiled and nodded.
âYeah, but, I guess everything is hard, right? I donât think I could ever take discrete or linear or anything of that sort.â You giggled. Sunghoon swallowed dryly and nodded. What would you think if you knew you were his tutor in those classes when you guys dated? Would you laugh him off in disbelief, or would you brush it off and claim yourself as a geniusâŠ?
Jake rolled his eyes at how awkward you both were. He distracted himself with his Calc III homework, trying to ignore the very obvious attraction looming over the both of your heads. He thought to himself as he made a very hard point to not stare at the both of you guys speaking.
âMan, I hope I donât have to third-wheel.â
Your number was in Sunghoonâs phone now, saved under your name.
You had input your own contact name, a simple formality of your name, and in parentheses (jakeâs friend). But you were more than just Jakeâs friend to him, so he changed it as soon as he got back to his dorm, replacing the parentheses with a sweet and simple â<3â instead. He resisted the urge to text you as soon as all three of you left the library.
Sunghoon took a shower as soon as he got back to his dorm. It had been so long since he stepped foot in a communal shower that he almost stepped in barefoot. He almost freaked out when he realized he forgot his shower slippers. He stepped back in, feet now clad in slippers and his shower caddy in hand. The water pressure was harsher than he remembered, the shower spray hitting his scalp like bullets. His caddy only contained a simple shampoo, conditioner, and bar soap, which made him grimace internally. When he did his skincare, he tried to ignore the oily feeling that sat like a film over his skin.
Jay greeted him when he entered his dorm again, his wet hair dripping a pathway into the shared space and his slippers flopping against the wooden floor. âHey man.â Jay briefly looked up, staring at his laptop as he softly strummed his guitar. âYou going to bed soon? I can stop playing.â
âNo, youâre good, JayâŠâ Sunghoon replied, taking off his glasses and setting it back into the case, the magnetized plastic snapping shut. Sunghoon grunted as he climbed onto the top bunk of his bed. Jay smiled and nodded, before going back to playing around with his acoustic guitar.
Sunghoon tucked himself under the covers, letting out a small sigh of relief. His back was aching, and his eyes felt a bit sore. He rubbed at the sides of his cheekbones, trying to relieve the puffiness in his face. Suddenly, his phone pinged, causing the black-haired boy to flinch. He reached for his device, tucked under the pillow, opening it only to see your name in his notification center.
y/n <3: hii sunghoon! did u get back to ur dorm yet? i just got back
y/n <3: r u feeling better now?
Sunghoon: I got back safe.
Sunghoon: Thank U for today.
Sunghoon: Sorry for being weird.
y/n <3: LOL its okay
y/n <3: honestly i was kinda flattered
Sunghoon: Flattered???
y/n <3: yeah
y/n <3: imagine crying that hard after seeing me
y/n <3: my ego is huge now
y/n <3: but seriously are u okay?
Sunghoon stared at the message, unsure how to respond. Too many answers began to crowd his throat, and he was certain he was about to start crying again. But instead, he typed:
Sunghoon: Bad dream.
Sunghoon: Thats all.
y/n <3: aw man iâve been having weird dreams too⊠but i hope u have a good dream tntâŠ
y/n <3: come study w me again tomorrow!!!
Tomorrow. There was going to be a tomorrow with you.
y/n <3: OH
y/n <3: and dont cry again when u see me pls
y/n <3: what if i get bullying allegationsâŠ
Sunghoon covered his face with one hand, laughing weakly into his palm. God, you were just like how you were back in freshman year of college. Always so approachable and kind, so sweet and patient. Sunghoon bit his lip to stifle his tears, not wanting to interrupt Jayâs peaceful strumming.
Was this a chance from the universe to win you back? To have you back in his arms where you were supposed to be? Were the stars realigning for your love to reconcile? To give you a chance at the life that was taken away from you too early?
Because if so, then who was Sunghoon to deny the universeâs gift?
He vowed it there and thenâ that he would make you his once again.
The next few weeks blurred together for Sunghoon. Time did feel fake, after all.
At first, he thought being around you again would continue hurting. Heâd thought that every time heâd seen you after your first encounter, heâd start crying over and over again. He thought every glance at your face would reopen the wound inside his chest until he bled out from the sheer amount of grief that had welled up in his hollow chest since that fateful winter morning.
But instead, Sunghoon got used to you again.
Between your late-night study sessions and meaningless unproductive chatter in the library, you slipped into his life as naturally as you did the first time around. And now, you managed to sew yourself into the knittings of his daily life cycle again. Your âstudy nightsâ turned into convenience store midnight snacks. You invited him to your dorm to âfix the wallpaperâ which ended up with you guys reminiscing about your high school days. Your texts became routine too, and every single notification still made his heart jump. Some nights, youâd call him instead. (But your sleepy voice through the speaker sounded too much like the nights in your shared apartment when youâd mumble nonsense into his chest before falling asleep.)
Sunghoon didnât realize it until late, but he began to notice he was listening and watching you pre-emptively. When you told him about the guy you had beef with for talking back to the teacher back in high school, Sunghoon already knew that. Before you told him you had a bad habit of chewing on the sides of your fingernails when nervous, Sunghoon had already told you to stop. He already knew everything about you. From the way youâd subtly eye the way he took bites of food even after insisting you werenât hungry to the way your nose would twitch before you started cryingâ Sunghoon knew every single minute detail about you.
You never commented on it. Sunghoon hoped you just chalked it up to him being observant rather than looking like a creepy stalker who cried whenever he saw a pretty girl.Â
âHoon? Helloooo? Earth to Hoon?â
Your hand was waving in front of his face, a pout on your lips. âZoning out again?â You huffed. He smiled, cheeks puffing up as he looked at you. You both were in the convenience store again, looking for a late-night snack amidst your endless studying for finals.
âYeah, just thinking what to get,â he replied, following you around as you scoured the aisles. You kept whipping your head back and forth, scanning each item meticulously as you thought about what you were craving. Absentmindedly, you rubbed your tummy over your hoodie, pouting slightly.Â
âI dunno what to get either. Should I get a drink too? âM kinda thirsty.â You hummed, pinching a drink pouch between your fingers as you examined the flavors. Sunghoon watched as you looked around. He suddenly reached out to give you a green grape flavored drink pouch. You looked at him, confused but still smiling.
âThanks, Hoon, but I donât really like green grape.â
What?
Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows, confused. âReally? You donât like green grape?â His tone was wavering, and you were puzzled. He sounded so torn up about the fact that you didnât like green grape.
âAre you a green grape superfan, Hoon?â You laughed, reaching for the lychee pouch instead. Sunghoonâs face remained confused, his eyebrows knitted and lips twisted up into a weird pout. He shook his head, making you laugh.
âYouâre so weird sometimes, HoonâŠâ you said, giggling as you picked up an ice cup. Sunghoon followed you, still perplexed as you continued to pick your late-night meal.
Because you loved green grape and hated lychee.
He remembered when you told him about how you hated lychee. It was too sweet, but green grapes were just right for youâ a perfect balance of sour and sweet in a small fruit. He remembered laughing at you about it, teasing you for being so nitpicky with your fruit, so why were you here eyeing every sweet fruit flavored pouch?
Your fingers skimmed across all of the ramyeon cup noodle packages, your head tilting as you tried to find the perfect one. Sunghoon was still behind you, but his footsteps became slower and more mechanic as his brain was racing. âWhat about this flavor?â Sunghoon picked up your favorite, Carbonara Buldak. You scrunched your noise and picked up the 2X Spicy Buldak instead.
âI like really spicy things, Hoon! The carbonara isnât spicy enough for me!â
His mind was clipped, as if everything he had been thinking of suddenly disappeared. Sunghoon could excuse the change of majorsâ hell, his own major changed when he woke up in the past. But the few little things that he had grown to love were even changing in front of his own eyes.
âAh? Really⊠this flavor is good tooâŠâ he mumbled, nearly incoherent. You laughed, furrowing your eyebrows before going to pay for your food. He followed behind, mindlessly tapping his card to pay for your things, his racing mind drowning out the sounds of your whined protests.
It was after that when Sunghoon began watching you closely.
During movie nights, you happily stole bites of Jakeâs mint chocolate chip without even batting an eye, but you hated mint chocolate chip ice cream because your cousin threw it up on you when you were seven. You sucked at chemistry and nearly cried over memorizing all the molecular orbital structures, but now you could solve a retrosynthetic analysis question with a single glance, as if you were adding one plus one. You told him one late night walking back to the dorms that you became a nursing major because your mother was a nurse, but Sunghoon remembered his âfuture-mother-in-lawâ actually worked in an IT department, which led to your passion for computer systems.
This version of you didnât scrunch your nose at sickly sweet candle scents anymore. This version of you didnât like wearing cute pieces of jewelry that framed your body like an art piece. This version of you didnât like dogs. This version of you hated rom-coms. This version of you wasnât exactly his.
The more time Sunghoon spent in this world, the more wrong everything felt. You were still here, and thatâs all that he believed he cared for. But everything felt wrong enough to keep him up at night, recounting all of the true memories he shared with you. This place looked like his world, his universe, but every day, more tiny differences revealed themselves like cracks in glass to the point where the fragile world that Sunghoon wanted to believe in was about to collapse.
Youâre still Y/N. Sunghoon couldnât deny that. But you didnât feel like the same Y/N that he fell in love with sometimes. Still, he couldnât stop himself from loving you again. Sunghoon could ignore the minor changes in your life if it meant having you all over again, right?
âYouâre staring again.â
Sunghoon blinked, immediately looking away from you across the table. Where was he again� He glanced around, taking in his surroundings that was the study area on the first floor of your dorm building. Sunghoon briefly looked at the multitude of formulas you had written on the whiteboard of the small room before directing his gaze back at you.
âI am not,â he muttered.
âSoo weâre lying nowâŠ?â you laughed, spinning the whiteboard marker between your fingers. âYou always stare at me, Hoon. Do you know that? Itâs like you know something I donât⊠like you know everything, or something, or whatever⊠Youâre so suspicious sometimesâŠ.â Sunghoon shrugged awkwardly and looked back down at his laptop screen.
âItâs not that, promise. Youâre just hard to look away from,â he mumbled before he could stop himself, the reply coming easily to him. It was something that he used to tell you all the time.
Your face flushed immediately, and Sunghoon felt warmth crawl up his own neck too. But unlike before, he didnât panic under your gaze anymore. Sunghoon used to be scared of moving closer to you. Was it too bold to constantly sit next to you? To comfortably lean into your space as if it was his too? He was itching to have you be his again.
But over the past month, you had become comfortable around him too. Comfortable enough to lean against his shoulder during late-night bus rides. Comfortable enough to nab food off of his dining hall plates. Comfortable enough to text him first thing in the morning and last thing before sleeping. Comfortable enough that sometimes, when you laughed too hard, youâd instinctively grab onto his arm.
Youâre too cruel. You were unknowingly becoming his again. But Sunghoon didnât know what to think. All his mind could conjure was the question of how fast you could be his againâ should he confess now? But instead, he continued to stare as you worked through your chemistry practice exam questions.
One evening, the three of you ended up stuck in the library until nearly midnight because Jake refused to finish his Calc assignment anywhere else. Sunghoon had long stopped pretending to study. Instead, he watched you again. He couldnât care less if you thought he was staring again. To be fair, you were half-asleep beside him, cheek squished against your folded arms while pretending to read anatomy notes. Itâs not like you could exactly call him out when you were on the verge of passing out.
Your highlighter slipped from your fingers. Sunghoon picked it up before it rolled off the table. Your eyes fluttered open tiredly. ââŠThanks,â you mumbled softly. Even exhausted, you looked beautiful. A dangerous tenderness spread through his chest so intensely that it almost scared him. He felt like he was falling harder this time, especially knowing how you both would end up anyways.
âSunghoon.â
He blinked out of his thoughts. You were staring at him again, your hooded lids fighting to stay open to look at him properly. âYes?â He replied softly, not wanting his loud voice to puncture you out of your sleep-filled daze.
âYou were zoning out...â You frowned slightly, your voice slurring slightly from how exhausted you were. âYouâve been doing that a lot lately.â
Every time he looked at you for too long, memories overlapped. You laughing in the library became you laughing in your apartment kitchen. You falling asleep beside him at a study table became you sleeping on his chest during thunderstorms. Your warm fingertips caressing his soft cheeks before leaning in to press your lips against hisâ
Sometimes the timelines blended together so badly he forgot which version of you he was seeing. But Sunghoon couldnât say that, so instead he lied, âIâm okay.â
You looked unconvinced. Then, after a moment, your hand slowly slid across the table toward his. It was a decision that you carefully madeâ Sunghoon could tell by the way you suddenly spaced out and looked left to right as if physically weighing the choices between touching and not touching him. It was barely anythingâ a pebble of physical touch that pebbled in comparison to the boulders of love that he used to share with you. It was just your pinky lightly touching his, tentative and careful. You looked shy immediately after doing it, eyes darting away. But Sunghoon felt love blossom in his chest nonetheless.
ââŠYou donât have to tell me if somethingâs wrong,â you murmured. âBut I hope you know you donât have to deal with everything alone.â The warmth of your skin against his nearly killed him.
Fuck, so what if some things changed? You were still you in every universe. So kind and gentle and always reaching for him, noticing almost intuitively when Sunghoon was about to lose himself. He carefully hooked his pinky around yours under the table, sending you a reassuring and small grin. Your breath caught slightly, not expecting him to so confidently touch you back.
Jake looked up from his homework. ââŠAm I interrupting something,â he deadpanned, already knowing the answer despite still asking.
âNo,â both of you answered immediately. Jake narrowed his eyes, but didnât reply. He just let out a quiet sigh before going back to scribbling on his iPad again. You finally closed your eyes to go back to sleep, a subtle and content smile lingering on your lips. Your pinky was still tightly interlocked with his while your other arm relaxed.
Maybe the universe had rewritten details. So what your majors changed or your histories changed? Who cares if this wasnât his original life?
Because all that mattered to Sunghoon was that you still found your way back to him anyway.
âHey Hoon!â
Jay entered the dorm in a ruckus, hissing as his guitar case nearly slammed the doorframe and cursing when he stubbed his foot against the wooden plank of the actual door. Sunghoon rushed to hold the door open for his roommate, wincing as Jay slammed his backpack to the ground.
âYou okay, Jay? I havenât seen you in awhile.â Sunghoon took note of the slightly older boyâs appearance. He looked disheveled, with eyebags accessorizing his face and sunken-in cheeks.
âYeah, Iâm fine. Iâve just been busy looking for internships and studying for finalsâ shitâ and these networking events are kicking my ass. Theyâre like, âoh, you need at least 3 years of experience!â But itâs a fucking entry-level position!â He ranted. Sunghoon smiled softly at the familiar ramblingsâ at least Jay didnât change.
âWhat a tough life you live, Jay.â Sunghoon sighed.
Jay dropped face-first onto his bed with a loud groan, one arm dangling off the side dramatically. âIâm serious, Hoon. If one more recruiter tells me to âcircle back next semester,â Iâm actually gonna lose it.â
Sunghoon huffed out a quiet laugh from his desk, spinning a mechanical pencil between his fingers. He had chemistry notes spread out in front of him, though he hadnât processed a single word in the last couple of hours. His brain had been occupied by you since the moment he woke up. âWhatcha doin, man? Homework?â Jay peered over the railings of his bed to look down at Sunghoonâs desk. The younger boy ran his fingers through his silky hair, tilting his head.
âYeah, just reading the textbook for my Chem discussion. Iâm not going to lie, I donât really understand anything right nowâŠâ Sunghoon laughed. The side of Jayâs lips crooked up into a teasing smirk, like he knew something that the other boy didnât.
âOh? Chem discussion, huh?â
âWhat does that mean?â Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Jay wriggled his eyebrows suggestively, licking at his bottom lip in a weird display that made Sunghoon squirm with discomfort.
âOKAY, donât tell Jake that I told you this but⊠heâs been texting me about you and Y/NâŠâ Jay let out, sounding exasperated as if he just lifted a huge weight off his shoulders. Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. He didnât expect Jay to say this to him, but he was sure that Jake was telling at least some other person about the rapid development of friendship between you and Sunghoon.
âReally? What is he saying?â Sunghoon acted nonchalant, trying to appear relaxed to coax Jay into spilling more. Jay looked around briefly, biting his lip before leaning in closer.
âOkay, basically.. heâs saying that you and Y/N have been hanging out a lot likeâ one-on-one without himâŠâ Jay excitedly rolled. Sunghoon nodded. âBut you know how Jake isâ he tried asking Y/N about you and she thought he was acting weird because he sucks at being subtle⊠so can I ask you about it? Like, are you guys talking orâŠâ The silver-haired boy trailed off awkwardly, waiting for Sunghoon to finish his question.
The raven-haired male tilted his head. âUhm⊠I guess soâŠâ he sheepishly replied. What else was he supposed to say? âNah, Iâm actually trying to get my girlfriend back after she died in another universe???â
âIâm happy for you man, really.â The sincerity in Jayâs voice was almost worrisome.
âOh, uh, thanks, JayâŠâ Sunghoon smiled awkwardly, unsure how to respond to the genuine pride that Jay had carried in his tone. The silver-haired man nodded, seemingly content before rolling back into bed. But seriously, what the hell did he mean by Chem discussion?
âI never expected you to make the first move, honestly. I heard from Jake that you were the one who initiated your first hangout together, right?â Jay spoke, his eyes glued to the ceiling that had white paint falling off the bone. Sunghoon hummed in agreement, but was getting impatient. Couldnât Jay get to the point already? âMan, I remember when you first talked about her to me. They grow up so fast,â he continued to ramble, his speech slurring as sleep began hitting him. Sunghoon furrowed his eyebrows. When did he ever talk to him about you?
âJay, I think I just met the love of my life in Chem discussion!â
Sunghoon froze. He shot up in his seat, nearly tripping as he ran to the side of Jayâs bunk. His fingers curled into the railings protruding from the frame of the bed, his warm skin cooling against the frigid metal material. âWhat? Jay, what? When did I tell you this?â He rapid-fired at the older boy. Jay yawned, rubbing his eyes.
âRemember? When school started? You went to Chem discussion annoyed with the readings and came back like a lovestruck idiot.â
âWhat? When school started back in August, Jay?â Sunghoon sputtered out. Jay nodded with another yawn.
âYeah, man, remember? You woke up so annoyed about all the readings you did, but when you came back you were like, head-over-heels. You said it was love-at-first sight.â Jay snorted quietly at the memory, rubbing sleepily at his eyes. âDude, it was actually kinda insane. You came back to the dorm and wouldnât shut up about her.â
Sunghoon stared at him, pulse beginning to pound against his ribs.
ââŠWhat did I say?â he asked carefully.
Jay grinned immediately, already amused by the memory. âYou were acting crazy, man. Like genuinely gone.â He pushed himself up slightly on his elbows. âJay, I think I just met the prettiest girl ever. Jay, I think Iâm in love. Jay, she smiled at me and I forgot what I was saying!â He exclaimed, trying to imitate Sunghoonâs unique tone.
âYouâre exaggerating,â Sunghoon muttered weakly, but his head was slowly began to pound with the thought of him gushing about you before he met you. As if his consciousness existed before he woke up in the past.
âSwear, Iâm not.â Jay laughed. Sunghoonâs stomach twisted. âYou told me she sat two rows ahead of you during discussion, that she had these little charms hanging off her pencil case, that she kept pushing her hair behind her ear while talking to her discussion groupââ He suddenly paused, staring at Sunghoon suspiciously. âWait, why are you acting like you donât remember this?â
Sunghoonâs throat tightened immediately. He didnât. This wasnât the right beginning or the right way of meeting you. He couldâve excused the minor changes about your preferences, discrepancies in your life, but now there were too many that his head couldnât keep up. And now, your entire story was beginning to collapse in front of his eyes, through his ears, even if he wasnât there to experience it.
âI dunno,â he lied quickly. âI think Iâm just tired. Iâ I have a headacheâŠâ Sunghoon stumbled to his side of the bed.
Jay looked unconvinced for a second before shrugging. âWell, anyway, after that you started acting weird as hell,â he continued.
âWeird how?â
âYou kept dressing up for Chem discussion.â Jay barked out a laugh. âLike suddenly you cared about your appearance. You asked me if your hair looked okay before class.â
Sunghoon nearly recoiled in horror. âI would never ask you that. I always look good.â
Jay furrowed his eyebrows, but barked back accusingly, âYou did. And then after discussion ended, youâd come back looking all devastated because you never talked to her.â
Sunghoonâs chest ached strangely. He felt as if he could picture it so vividly. Him sitting in chemistry discussion secretly staring at you. Getting nervous. Fixing his hair in the reflection of his phone screen. Trying to work up the courage to speak to you. Falling in love slowly and naturally without grief or death or memories of a future that already happened clouding every rational thought in his brain.
Jay continued rambling, oblivious to the way Sunghoonâs expression had begun to fall. âAnd then one day Jake mentioned his hometown friend named Y/N and you literally interrupted him mid-sentence.â Jay laughed harder now, fully awake from recounting the story. ââWaitâ Y/N? Nursing major? Chem discussion on Thursdays?â Dude, your face was priceless.â
Sunghoon felt sick. He didnât know you were a nursing major until that fateful night he had seen you in the library. âOh my god, dude I feel like Iâve been holding this in. Remember the first time you guys talked?â Sunghoonâs heartbeat was thudding loudly in his ears, and heâs sure that they were about to ring. He remained silent, and Jay took it as a sign to keep rambling.
âYou said she asked to borrow an EXPO marker during discussion because hers was out of ink or something.â He snorted. âYou kept replaying the conversation like a loser, saying that her voice was like descending from the angels.
Sunghoonâs grip tightened around the railing of Jayâs bunk. He agreed, but he wouldnât ever verbalize is like that so shamelessly. He honestly thought saying something like that was a little corny, and then the realization began to sink in.
He wouldnât say that. No, not him. Another version of him.
It was then when it dawned about Sunghoon. God, he hadn't even considered the possibility that another version of him existed before he became conscious. But that meant something that Sunghoon didn't even want to even think about consideringâ some empty timeline where he had conveniently slotted himself into a vacant life, or where he went back into the past two years with just a few butterfly effects changing the outcomes. This universe already had a Park Sunghoon who liked you before future Sunghoon ever woke up here. And Sunghoon had stolen it.
Jay kept talking, unaware of the devastation crawling across Sunghoonâs face, like a spider mapping out its web of a trap. âThen.â Jay cackled. âYou literally flopped face-first onto your bed and saidâ hold on, I remember this exactlyââ It seemed like talking about you energized him or woke him up, because he cleared his throat dramatically, trying to imitate Sunghoonâs voice again.
âJay, Iâm actually gonna marry her.ââ
Sunghoonâs breath hitched. He had said that before, two years into the future, when he was drunk off two bottles of Original Soju as he was eating barbeque with a much more mature Jay and a burnt-out Jake. He had never brought up marriage before until that night, a few days after you guys moved into your apartment together.
But apparently, this version of him had said it too before any of that happened, even with only knowing your name and that you were Jakeâs friend.
Was loving you inevitable in every universe?
Jay blinked suddenly, his teasing grin faltering slightly as he finally noticed how pale Sunghoon looked. ââŠHoon?â Sunghoon looked away quickly, swallowing hard. âYou okay?â
No. No, he really wasnât.
Because Sunghoonâs entire world and entire universe was collapsing. His fate was twisting, and the red string that threaded it together was tangling within itself. Was the universe fucking with him now? After giving him so much hope with your presence in his life after losing you? Whatâs the point of him going back in time if not to reclaim his love story?
Because now, it felt like he was interrupting someone elseâs.
âItâs snowing!â
Your voice was cheery, lilted so lightly that it instantly spread a feeling of warmth across Sunghoonâs body despite the cold air penetrating through his heavy puffer. You were both outside the library, about to trek to the convenience store when the sudden weather inclement put a hole through your plans. Delicate snowfall began raining upon the campus, fluttering down beautiful in a flashy array of flakes.
âIt is,â he acknowledged, following after your hyper footsteps that began tracing a circle in the translucent sheet of snow that had already fallen onto the ground. You ran around, whooping and cheering as you basked in the icy sensation of snowflakes landing on your skin. Sunghoon could only watched, endeared by how excited and energized you suddenly were.
Suddenly, you ran up to him, burying your open fingers under his arms and around his waist. He laughed, caught off-guard by your abrupt hug, stumbling back a little. âWhatâs with you, hm?â He softly crooned, wiping your hair out of your face. You smiled up at him, eyes shining despite the overheard dark sky looming over you.
âItâs so pretty, Hoon! I didnât think itâd snow this year!â You cheerfully exclaimed, eyes curling into crescents as your mouth parted with the sheer excitement coursing through your body. He pulled you in closer on instinct, and you let out a small âoomph!â from the impact of your bodies colliding into a tighter embrace.
âYou know what they say, Hoon? If confess during the first snowfall, your love will last forever!â You spoke up. Your speech was murmured, but Sunghoon had heard every word perfectly.
âYeah? Do you believe in that?â He looked at you fondly. You nodded.
âSunghoon, I like you so much, letâs go out!â
His mouth fell agape as your confession rang through the snow air. You looked horrified immediately after, but Sunghoon had pulled you in impossibly closer, tight enough to where you almost couldnât breathe. âHoon,â you whimpered miserably, hiding your face inside your scarf. âThis is so embarrassingâŠâ
âYou like me?â he breathed out incredulously before bursting out into laughter. Snowflakes landed in his dark hair as he laughed, falling off as quickly as they came from how hard his body was shaking.
âYouâre so mean!â you accused.
âIâm not laughing at you,â he insisted between breaths.
âThen why are you laughing?!â
âYouâre just so cute,â Sunghoon confessed, his voice so tender and blossoming with the unsurmountable affection he had for you. âI like you too,â he admitted softly, âever since I saw you in the dining hall.â
You smiled, but when he blinked, suddenly he was in the middle of his apartment. The cold air dissipated, bringing in the warmth of the heater he left on in the living room. His arms were still wrapped around something, no, someone. No.
Nothing.
His hands clenched around empty air, and the snowfall transformed into the city lights outside of the apartment windows. Your scarf that was in between his fingertips disintegrated into the dust that he never cleaned. Your laughter was still ringing in his ears, so elated and bright and it was mingling with something so sharp jarring annoyingâ
His ringtone?
The sound grew louder and louder until it drowned out everything else, until your smiling face started blurring at the edges. You were still standing in front of him beneath the snow, cheeks dusted from the cold with flecks of flakes littering your face.
âHoon?â you laughed softly. âWhy are you looking at me like that?â
His phone kept vibrating.
âHoon?â
The screen lit up across the dark apartment with an unknown number, and under the bold white digits in grey was the name of the university hospital. His breathing turned ragged instantly. His body moved before his brain could catch up, fumbling for the phone with trembling hands. But when he looked back up, you were still there. Snowflakes still landed in your hair. You were still smiling, cheeks puffed up and smile lines indenting your skin.
âI like you too,â he heard himself saying again, the memory replaying against his will. âEver since I saw you in the dining hall.â
âHoon?â
But this time your voice sounded farther away. His thumb shook over the accept button, and when he pressed the green button, everything crashed together all at once, creating a collision in his mind. Your confession beneath the snowfall. Your wet toothbrush beside his in the apartment bathroom. Your warm hand in his while crossing the street. Your cold hand dangling under the white sheet in the morgue. Your voice whispering goodnight. The casket being lowered six feet deep in a hole that seemed too big for you.
Sunghoon doubled over violently, nearly dropping the phone as nausea twisted through him. It felt like someone had reached into his skull and ripped every memory apart before shoving them back in the wrong order. His head was pounding, throbbing violently as each memory churned in his head like butter. Then it curved into a dull ache, static on a television screen.Â
âIs this Park Sunghoon?â
And just like that, the snow was gone, and the only cold he felt was the absence of your warm body.
âSunghoon, youâve been acting weird lately.â
âOh, hm?â
Your face was suddenly in front of his, and you had a concerned pout on your lips. âYouâve been zoning out so much, itâs really worrying me⊠I know itâs just your personality, but youâve been doing it so muchâŠâ You frowned, leaning forward, your shoulders hunching into your sides.
âIâm sorryâ thereâsâ thereâs just a lot going onâŠâ He weakly replied. You let out a soft sigh.
âYou know you can tell me anything, right? Me or Jake⊠I care for you a lot, you know. I hope you really know, HoonâŠâ
Sunghoon forced a tight-lipped smile and nodded. âI know,â he responded, his words sharper than intended. Your eyes were staring right into his, and before, Sunghoon wouldâve felt the warmth. But now, all that he felt was the chills that Jay had instilled into his body. You stilled, before pulling away from the conversation, instead opting to grab your straw. Instinctively, he picked it up before you could, punching the plastic out of the wrapper and puncturing your drink for you.
âOh, thanks Hoon. You really didnât have to do that.â A sweet giggle escaped your lips, and the sound instantly grounded him.
âItâs not a big deal, let me do these things for you,â he easily said in response, the reply leaving his mouth naturally as it used to do.
âSunghoon, do you act like this with everyone?â You suddenly asked. He looked at you, confused. âI meanâ like, do you always act so sweetly towards everyone? Or is it just meâŠâ you almost seemed embarrassed asking him this.Â
âNo, itâs just you?â He retorted, as if it was common sense that he would treat only you with the utmost care. Your face was warming up, and he could tell that you were flustered by his response.
âReally? So like, uhm, thereâs no other girl that youâre, uhm⊠acting like this with, right?â Your voice was timid as you asked another question. Sunghoon scoffed, taken aback by how ridiculous your inquiry was. From the future and now in the past, you were the only girl for him, so why were you being so ridiculous now?
âOf course not,â he nearly snapped. He regretted it as soon as he saw your face falter and your posture shrink. No, what was he thinking? You didnât know that. Of course you would ask. âIâmâ Iâm sorry. I donât know what got into me baâŠâ He trailed off as the nickname nearly slipped from his lips, so naturally that it was like calling you by your name. âUhm, Y/N. Iâm sorry. I think Iâm just having a tough week. I promise you.â
You nodded, so patient as always, as you sipped on your drink. âItâs okay, Hoon. I hope things get better.â You smiled. He nodded, biting tentatively into the pastry. He didnât like this cafe, and he knew that you didnât like it either, but he didnât want to ruin your first experience here. He half expected you to actually like the cafe if the past weeks were anything to go by, but he was pleasantly surprised when you instead scrunched your nose.
âThis matcha is too milkyâŠâ You whispered. He smiled and nodded.
âYeah? This pastry isnât too good either. Wanna try?â He lifted up the dessert to your mouth, letting you take a bite right where he had previously taken one. You bit into it, lips curling into disgust.
âShould we just go and toss our stuff somewhere else? I donât want to waste it, but itâs really not that goodâŠâ You whispered. Sunghoon laughed and nodded, holding out his hand. You hesitated, but took it, letting him lead you outside the cafe. You threw your drink and his pastry into the nearby trash can, just as you did before in Sunghoonâs original universe.
âAre you still thirsty? Should we get something from the convenience store instead?â He asked. You shook your head.
âNo, Iâm okay. Can we just walk a little?â You asked. Sunghoon nodded automatically.
You both began walking side-by-side down the sidewalk, your shoulders occasionally brushing together from how close you were. Autumn had left too soon, now bringing in the frigid weather of winter. The city was quiet, with everyone buried inside of their comforters during the early chilly morning. Some joggers and dog-walkers passed by, but it still only felt like you two were the only ones existing in that peaceful morning atmosphere. For a while, neither of you spoke. Sunghoon shoved a hand into the pocket of his coat while the other was still holding yours. He was trying not to stare at you again, but it was difficult when you were right there beside him, looking so soft beneath clouded skies.
âWhat I said back in the cafe⊠youâve been treating me so differently,â you murmured suddenly. His stomach tightened.
ââŠDifferently how?â He carefully asked back.
You slowed your pace slightly, looking down at the pavement. âI donât know.â You laughed nervously. âYou just⊠take care of me a lot. I remember when I first met you in Chem discussion, you were so shy. It was like you were scared of me. Then, you started crying in the library when you saw me⊠and now⊠itâs like youâre so much more mature than me⊠Does that make sense?â
âIs that bad?â he asked quietly.
âNoâ no, of course not. But, I donât know Hoon. You stare at me⊠kinda weird,â the words carelessly slipped from your lips, and it was obvious with the way you let out a gasp and a flurry of apologies, before stumbling onto what you mean to say. âGod, thatâs not what I meantâ! I meant⊠I donât know. Like you take care of me so naturally, and you seem to already have a good sense of likeââ you laughed nervously, rubbing at your face in embarrassment, âI donât think youâre weird or anything, Hoon. I actually really like how caring you are.â Your voice softened at the end. âItâs justâŠâ You slowed to a stop beneath the awning of a closed convenience store, your joined hands swinging slightly between your bodies.
Sunghoon turned toward you quietly, and you looked conflicted, with your mouth screwed and lips pressing up against each other so hard that the skin was jutting out uncomfortably. âSometimes I think youâre so confident about knowing me that you forget there are still parts of me you donât know yet? Is that too deep?â His chest tightened instantly, and he inhaled before he knew it, trying to regain the breath that you had just knocked out of him.
You kept talking before you lost the courage. âLike⊠you always know what I need before I say it. Like when Iâm cold, when Iâm tired, when Iâm not feeling wellâŠâ You smiled faintly. âAnd it makes me really happy. It does.â
âBut?â He pressed on, trying his best to hide his impatience.
âBut sometimes it also feels like youâve already decided who I am, in a way? Like, you seem to expect something differently than what I give you, Hoon. And sometimesâŠâ you continued hesitantly, âIâll say something that surprises you, and you get this look on your face like I said the wrong thing or somethingâ and itâs kind of⊠okay, Iâll be honest, itâs kinda weirdâŠâ You laughed again, and the noise seemed like it was punched out of you like a soundboard.
âLike, you always try to guess what I like or what I donât like or what I preferâ and at first I thought it was endearing, but itâs almost always wrong. And thatâs fine, I guess. But sometimes you sound so confident that itâsâ I dunno. Thatâs why I asked if there was another girl. Like, I donât know, are you thinking of someone else?â You breathed out.
No, no, no, never. He always thought of you. He could never stop thinking about you. He inhaled and opened his mouth, wanting to defend himself, but you sputtered out something else so rushed like you were forcing it out of your throat, âIâ I really want you to know me, Hoon.â
Sunghoon wanted to throw up. He had spent so much time trying to preserve the memory of the girl he lost that he had started overlooking the girl standing right in front of him. His skin was itching with the lovebugs crawling up it. He felt selfish. And suddenly, the image of him, nerdy and lanky and gushing to Jay with a flush on his pale cheeks struck his mind, hitting him bluntly on his noggin.
His fingers loosened around your hand before tightening again like he was afraid youâd disappear if he let go completely. You looked nervous after your confession, eyes darting away from your intertwined hands immediately. âSorry,â you laughed weakly. âThat sounded way harsher than I meant it to.â
âNo,â Sunghoon answered as soon as you stopped speaking, his voice coming out rough. âNo, youâre right.â Your eyebrows furrowed slightly. He looked away before he could see your expression fully. âYouâre right,â he repeated quieter this time.Â
I really want you to know me. Not her. No. You? This version of you, the one standing beside him now. He looked at you, but was met with the sight of your side profile. The side profile that belonged to the same woman who he met at the dining hall, who moved in with him, who cooked him soup in the shared kitchen when he fell sickâ memories hit him so violently he almost staggered, and he couldnât tell where the lines were anymore.
Your favorite drink, your laugh, your habits. Were they yours? Hers? Was he loving you because you were you, or because he was desperately trying to keep the you that he remembered, alive?
Sunghoon felt sick. He felt saliva rapidly rise under the muscle of his tongue, and he kept swallowing and swallowing to keep it down. He felt like he was going to throw up.
âHoon?â Your voice softened instantly at the sight of his face. Concern replaced your apprehension immediately.Â
âYou donât have to apologize,â he muttered. You blinked. âYou were honest.â He swallowed hard, nearly gasping for air as he opened his mouth to speak. âI think⊠I needed to hear it.â Your expression slowly softened, though puzzlement still lingered behind your eyes. Sunghoon stared down at the pavement.
For the first time since waking up two years in the past, his brain turned to mush, soft enough to let a thought penetrate his mind that he had been avoiding. Was loving you here ever supposed to be about getting his old life back with you? What was he here for? Images of himâ not him, the him that you knew, came crawling back into his neurons.
Things wouldnât have been like this if he had come. You and the right Sunghoon couldâve been where he was. The guilt began creeping down his throat and accumulating in his chest, weighing down his lungs with every shortened breath he took in.
âIâm sorry,â he whispered, though he wasnât sure who he was apologizing to anymore. To you? To the girl he loved in the future? To himself? Or the other version of himself that he was living through?
You shifted slightly beside him, worry crossing your expression. âHoonâŠ? SunghoonâŠ?â You quietly spoke up, hesitant as your palm gently brought itself up to cup his cheek. He instinctively leaned into your warmth, but squirmed as his face rested in his palm. The ink of his guilt began to spread further as if his body was just dipped into water. He tightened his grip on your hand again on instinct, but it felt wrong, like was still trying to anchor himself into an ocean with waves that were too crashing upon each other.
âI didnâtâŠâ his voice broke. âI didnât mean toââ He couldnât even finish the sentence. What was he trying to say? What was he even freaking out for, apologizing for? Because as much as he wracked his brain, he couldnât grasp onto an answer still. For loving you wrong? For loving another version of you? For erasing you because you were right here, all alive and happy and oblivious? Sunghoon exhaled sharply, almost choking on it.
His hand finally loosened. ââŠIâm sorry,â he said again, but softer this time. You gently stroked his face with your thumb.
âHoon, please donât cry on me again.â You tried to lighten the mood. His eyes were shimmering with tears that built up in his ducts, but he simply shook his head, whispering out another apology.
âIâm not okay,â he admitted finally. You flinched, and the honesty honestly surprised him too, but you didnât pull away. You just continued to comfort him, just as you always would. No. Sunghoon closed his eyes for a second. He shouldnât think like this anymore. When he opened them again, he was looking at you. Just you, standing there, as you were.
âI thinkâŠâ His voice cracked slightly, so he paused, forcing air back into his lungs. âI think Iâve been⊠confusing things.â Your expression softened, but you didnât interrupt. âI thought I came back to something I lost,â he continued vaguely, âBut I think Iâve just been standing in front of someone I never took the time to understand.â
His feelings felt like it finally had somewhere to go, not onto you, or even to him, but somewhere where Sunghoon couldnât reach. It felt freeing, unraveling a tight knot of emotions that he didnât have the energy to release before. Your hand lowered, as if drawn to pull off of his face. He let go of your other hand, finally loosening his grip.
âSo then let me help you,â you whispered. His heart dropped. âHoonâŠâ Your voice trembled slightly now, heavy with the weight of the emotions pulsating between the both of you. âI know youâre confused right now, but Iâ"
He already knew what you were going to say, because you had the same hopeful look on your face that fateful winter night when you confessed under the snowfall. And before, selfishly, he wouldâve let you. He wouldâve let you pour out his feelings to him, accept them as easy as reciting ABC, and live without the burdens of the future weighing him down.
But this time, the words felt too important to take from you and from the other him that had been waiting for you.
ââŠDonât,â he whispered. The hurt on your face was immediate, and he had to will himself to not take back his words. âNo, noâ not like that,â he corrected quickly, voice cracking. âI just⊠I donât think Iâm ready to hear it yet.â Snowy breath escaped your lips slowly into the cold air. âYou deserve someone who can listen to you properly,â he said quietly. âSomeone who can know you for who you are now. And I donât thinkâŠâ He inhaled shakily. âI donât think Iâve been doing that.â
âHoonâŠâ You softly spoke up, but he interrupted you as soon as your mouth opened.
âI want to,â he admitted immediately. âI really do.â He wasnât lying. Every part of him still wanted to hear you confess, to keep you close, to selfishly pretend like nothing was wrong. But loving you like this was beginning to feel cruel, so instead, he took a small step back.
âWill youâŠâ He paused. âWill you meet me again another time?â
Your expression crumpled slightly in confusion. âWhen?â You whimpered. Sunghoon pondered for a moment, before he felt like he found the right answer.
âWhen Iâm finally able to see only you.â He smiled. He had walked you back to your dorm, letting the silence loom over the both of you. He left you with an adjustment to your scarf and an endearing pat on your head.
That night, when he slept, he dreamt of your funeral.
The sky had been gray that day, with cumulonimbus clouds blocking any trace of sun. Just as your death had obstructed the access to the light of his life. People were crying around him. Jake had been sobbing openly beside Jay, shoulders shaking violently as he kept wiping at his face with trembling fingers, but Sunghoon remembered standing there completely still.
He hadnât believed it yet.
Even as your framed photograph sat in front the altar. Even as your parents bowed their heads. Even as people whispered about how young you were. Even when he received consolations from everyone, telling him about how much you loved him. He remembered thinking absurdly as he stared at your altar.
How could you look so happy when his entire world had just ended?
The question echoed through the dream as Sunghoon stood frozen before your altar. Then slowly, memory after memory began surfacing around him. The first night you basked in your love after moving into your apartment, cuddling together so tightly that separating you guys wouldâve been like pulling magnets apart. The night where you comforted him after his research symposium when he felt like he was the biggest failure in the world. The mundane moments where you laughed at him after burning rice and the soft moments where you whispered âI love youâ so much that it was like you were reaching a quota.
The memories came so quickly that they stopped hurting individually. Instead, they melted together into something warm and alive. And suddenly, Sunghoon understood something he had been too devastated to realize before, that your death wasnât the biggest thing about you. Your life was.
Not the funeral or grief, but just you as you were. The way you smiled, laughed, cried, and loved. The way you existed so brightly that even now, after death, you still filled every corner of him. Tears finally slipped down his face in the dream, but he wasnât drowning in them anymore.
And standing there in the stuffy funeral home, Sunghoon quietly laughed to himself. âYouâd be so mad that everyoneâs crying this much,â he murmured. And he could hear the echoes of your voice scolding him for being so torn up when he should be moving onto better things because he was so young (just as you were.) The thought made him smile through his tears. Your memory no longer felt like a wound splitting open inside him. It felt like hands pressed gently around his heart.Â
And when Sunghoon finally opened his eyes, he was no longer standing in the funeral home. He was home, in his apartment. Morning light filtered weakly through the curtains, warm gold spilling across hardwood floors and untouched, uncleaned furniture. The silence was familiar now. It wasnât as sharp and reverberating against emptiness like it used to be, but quiet in the way winter mornings were quiet.
For a long moment, he just layed on the couch. The blanket you used to complain about because it âshed fuzz everywhereâ was still draped over his body. One of your hair ties still sat around his wrist from weeks ago. The apartment still carried traces of you in every corner, soft remnants of a life that had once intertwined with his so naturally that even death couldnât fully unravel it. Sunghoon slowly sat up after a while. For the first time since you died, the ache in his chest did not immediately make him want to chase after you. It only made him miss you.
A framed photo caught his eye from across the room. A snippet of a beach date where you both were smothered in sand and shattered seashells. He remembered that day now without feeling like his ribs were caving inward. He remembered it and smiled.
The sunlight continued pouring into the apartment little by little, warming spaces that had long felt frozen over. Sunghoon looked toward the empty side of the couch beside him. Then quietly, he whispered your name into the stillness, but for the first time, it wasnât a plea to the Heavens.Â
Winter took you from him, and Sunghoon spent the cold months treating his grief like something sacred, afraid that healing meant betraying you. But Spring came quietly, melting ice from sidewalks and blooming flowers through the cracks, and he finally learned that acceptance didn't mean loving you less.
Youâve been having strange dreams lately.
They felt so vivid, so clear to your vision that it felt like you could reach out and touch them. In these dreams, Jakeâs cute nerdy friend, Sunghoon, was in them. He was in all of them, actually.
Visions of Sunghoon and you, on a date sipping on cola floats together. Visions of you both curled up in the library cubicle, giggling and sharing secrets instead of being productive. But oddly enough, he wasnât wearing his thick-rimmed glasses and features grew into a more mature version, with a stronger jawline and deeper eyes. In these dreams, you could see the warmth in his eyes, hear the sounds of his soft laughter, and feel the intimacy of his affection.
Sometimes, the dreams were absurdly specific. Like mundane captures of you both arguing in the grocery store over what meat to buy, snapshots of an apartment youâve never stepped foot in, and images that you donât remember taking. Sometimes, the dreams hurt. They echoed with the sound of anguished cries that made your chest ache when you woke up, made you feel empty like something was hollow from inside and like you were missing something that mattered so dearly yet you couldnât remember.Â
All he was to you was a boy in your Chem discussion and Jakeâs close friend, so why did your dreams think differently, as if he was the most important person in your life?
You went to the library one night with Jake, and Sunghoon came later, only to end up crying as soon as he saw you. And for some reason, your heart signaled to your mind that, maybe he was, for some reason, because your chest began to ache with an odd sense of familiarity and endearance. So, it was only natural that you began to form a crush on him. But sometimes, your feelings felt deeper than just a mere crush, as if your feelings had roots that stretched somewhere your thoughts couldnât reach.
You began hanging out with Sunghoon so much that you barely saw Jake anymore. Not that the Australian boy complainedâ after all, he was too busy trying to survive whatever war engineering majors had to go through that he didnât even have time to hang anymore. But the more frequent your hangouts were, the more frequent the dreams were. You dreamt of tiny domestic things, like him stealing bites of your food and folding laundry terribly while you laughed at him. Falling asleep on his shoulder during movie nights. Listening to him hum quietly in the kitchen while making late-night ramen.
Eventually, you stopped trying to suppress what your heart already accepted. You liked him. (Maybe too much for someone you technically barely knew.)
So when the wintry season hit its peak, you saw Sunghoon again after texting him to meet you near the cafe where he initially rejected you. You both still hung out, but after that morning when you failed to confess properly, he seemed different. He looked lighter and full of life. Before, he seemed like a shell that was carrying an invisible burden that you couldnât begin to understand. But now, he acted naively, as if there was nothing in the world that could dare drag him down.
âHoon?â you called softly. He turned toward you immediately, expression warming the second he saw you approach. He smiled widely and adjusted his glasses. It was obvious he took some time to look good, with his hair styled up and his fashion seemingly taken from another closet. (Jayâs, you presumed. You heard his roommate had good fashion taste.)
âHey, Y/N! Why did you want to meet me here?â He asked cheerfully.
You smiled as your fingers tightened around the straps of your bag before you finally blurted, âIâve been having dreams about you.â His expression froze, and his eyebrows knitted together so adorably. You swallowed hard as you continued abruptly, realizing how bad that couldâve sounded. âNot wet dreamsâ shit, I mean, likeâ Theyâre weirdly specific. Like⊠really specific.â You laughed awkwardly. âLike dreams of us. Together. DatingâŠâ You shyly trailed off.
Sunghoon stared at you silently, kindly waiting for you to finish as he listened intently. âAnd sometimes,â your voice softened, âtheyâre sad.â Something flickered painfully across his face. You continued carefully, âIn one of them, you were crying. Really badly.â Your chest tightened at the memory. âAnd I remember thinking that I wanted to comfort you more than anything, like that day you cried to me in the libraryâŠâ
The breeze carried the scent of frost between you both. Sunghoonâs eyes began glossing over as he watched you, looking conflicted and a bit more confused. âI donât really understand why this is happening.â You smiled faintly despite your nerves. âSoâŠâ You laughed softly.
âMaybe this is crazy, but I think I like you, Park Sunghoon. Do you want to go out with me?â You shyly asked. His mouth fell agape as his eyes widened.
âYouâ You like me? Like me, as in Park Sunghoon?â He sputtered out in disbelief, pointing a gloved hand at himself. You giggled and nodded.
âYes, you idiot,â you laughed, cheeks warming from how genuinely stunned he looked. âHow many Park Sunghoons do you think I know?â You teased, tilting your head to the right. His lips parted as stutters spilled from them unintentionally. And then, to your complete shock, his eyes immediately began watering.
âH-Hoon?â you gasped. âOh my god, are you crying again?!â
âAâ Again? When did Iâ snnfffhâ When did I ever cry in front of you?â He choked out, sniffling away the snot that began to run down his philtrum, his voice cracking into two. He ripped his glasses off quickly, furiously wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his sweater. You burst into laughter at how offended he sounded despite the tears visibly collecting on his lashes. Sunghoon groaned softly under his breath, embarrassed, before hiding his face behind one hand.
âThis is so humiliating,â he muttered miserably, âYesâ God, a million times yesâ I want to go out with you. Please go out with me,â his voice curved into a plea. You giggled, slotting your body into his to form a warm lock of an embrace.
genre: angst, hurt w/comfort (i'm not a monster cmon), established relationship, nonidol!au
word count: 10.7k
warnings: no use of y/n, mentions of alcohol, miscommunication (again!), possessive!wooyo, soft dom!wooyo, also whiny wooyo, pronebone!!!!!, praise kink, make up sex, unprotected sex (wrap before you tap!), p in v, mating press (kinda), multiple o's, fingering, oral, felching, breath play, spit play/spit as a means for lube, creampie, cockwarming, slight choking (?), mutual masturbation, body worship, breeding kink (mentioned like once tbh), a little bit of edging, emotional sex (he cries, her kitty did too), overstimulation / lmk if i missed any!
âââââ ââ ââ â âââââ
author's note: based on this request! i lowkey went overboard and got carried away with the makeup sex but who's going to complaing if their steak is too juicy and the lobster too buttery, yk? :p i hope you enjoy this my love @moilele <333
permanent taglist: @norixseaweed @f3mboienjoyer @liightlizard @minguxxs @mourninglizzy + if you want to be added to my taglist, let me know :))
The key turns in the lock at 1:47 AM. Youâve been staring at the clock for so long the numbers have burned into your vision, following you even when you close your eyes. The candlelight dinner you prepared hours ago has congealed on the table, the wax from the candles having melted into sad, misshapen puddles.
When Wooyoung stumbles through the door, the smell hits you firstâsharp, medicinal, unmistakably alcoholâbefore you even see his face. Heâs loosening his tie with one hand, the other gripping the doorframe for balance. He tries to toe off his shoes and only manages to get one halfway off before giving up. He lets the other one fall with a thud, then drops his battered work bag into the hallway, not caring if it blocks the door or if either of you end up tripping over it later.
âHey,â he mumbles, not quite meeting your eyes. âWhat are you doing still awake?â
You donât answer immediately. You just watch him, this man who hasnât texted you in nine hours, who left you sitting here with a heart that sank deeper into your chest with each passing minute. The silence stretches between you, taut as a wire.
âYou didnât answer your phone,â you finally say. Your voice comes out steadier than you expected, a calm that doesnât match the storm inside.
Wooyoung blinks, processing your words through the alcohol fog. âSorry, we were out at the bar. The projectâŠâ He waves his hand vaguely. âIt went really well. Everyone wasââ
âCelebrating,â you finish for him. Your eyes drift to the table behind you, the two plates still set with the meal you spent three hours preparing. The anniversary cake you ordered sits untouched in its box, the words âOne Yearâ now barely visible through the condensation thatâs gathered on the lid.
It hits you then, with a clarity that makes your stomach drop. He doesnât remember.
âLook, I know Iâm sorry that Iâm late again,â Wooyoung says, finally noticing your expression. âThings got crazy at the office. You know babe, the promotion, itâsââ
âDo you know what day it is?â you ask quietly.
He frowns, clearly trying to think through his drunken haze. âUhh Tuesday?â
The silence that follows is deafening. You watch the realization slowly dawn on his face, the way his eyes widen slightly, the way his mouth opens then closes without sound.
âShit,â he whispers. âOh fuckâŠâ
âYou forgot our anniversary.â Itâs not a question.
âI didnâtââWooyoung runs a hand through his hair, his movements still uncoordinated. âThe project deadline was today. Weâve been working toward this for weeks, you know that. And then everyone wanted to go out, and I couldnât justââ
âCouldnât just text me? Couldnât just call to say youâd be late?â Your voice rises slightly, despite your efforts to keep it steady. âI sat here for hours, Wooyoung. I thought something happened to you. I called your friends, hell I even called your office phone.â
âIâm fine,â he says, and thereâs an edge to his voice now, defensive. âIâm right here. Everythingâs fine.â
âEverything is not fine.â You stand up, needing the distance between you. âYouâve been working non-stop for weeks. You come home exhausted, barely speaking to me, and now you canât even remember our anniversary?â
Wooyoung sighs, the sound heavy with exhaustion and frustration. âIâm doing this for us, you know thatââ
âStop,â you cut him off. âStop saying that. Iâm not asking you to quit your job, Wooyoung. Iâm asking you to be present. To remember that I exist when youâre not at work.â
He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment you see the man you fell in love withâthe one who used to notice when you changed your hair, who used to call just to hear your voice. But then his expression hardens again.
âYou donât understand the pressure Iâm under,â he says, his voice tight. âThis isnât just about me. Itâs about our future.â
âOur future?â You let out a humourless laugh. âWhat fucking future? I barely see you anymore. When was the last time we had an actual conversation that wasnât about how tired you are?â
âIâm trying to build something for us.â
âNo, youâre building something for yourself and calling it âusâ to make yourself feel better.â The words spill out before you can stop them, raw and honest in a way that makes your chest ache. âI feel like you only love me when itâs convenient for you. When you have the time and energy.â
Wooyoungâs face darkens. âThatâs not fair.â
âIsnât it?â You step closer, needing him to see, to understand. âWhen was the last time you asked how I was doing? When was the last time you noticed anything about my life that wasnât directly related to yours?â
âIâm under a lot of stress right now, baby.â
âWeâre all under stress, Wooyoung. Thatâs not an excuse to disappear on your girlfriend.â
The room falls silent. Wooyoungâs shoulders are tense, his jaw clenched. You can see the exhaustion etched into every line of his face, the dark circles under his eyes that have been there for weeks. Part of you wants to reach out, to comfort him, but the hurt is too fresh, too deep.
âIâm doing my best,â he says finally, his voice quieter now. âIâm trying to balance everything.â
âYour best isnât good enough.â The words hang in the air between you, sharp and painful. âNot when your best means I spend our anniversary wondering if youâre lying dead in a ditch somewhere because you couldnât be bothered to send a text.â
Wooyoung flinches. âThatâs notââ
âDo you have any idea what itâs like?â Your voice breaks. âTo sit here, watching the clock, imagining all the worst possible scenarios because the man I love canât remember I exist?â
âI do remember you exist,â he says, and thereâs frustration in his voice now. âI think about you all the time. Iâm doing all of this for you.â
âFor me?â You laugh, the sound hollow. âThis isnât for me, Wooyoung. I never asked for any of this. I asked for you. Not this stressed-out stranger who comes home at midnight and falls asleep on the couch.â
Heâs silent for a long moment, and you can see him struggling, the alcohol and exhaustion making it hard for him to find the right words. When he finally speaks, his voice is strained.
âMaybe this is the real me,â he says. âMaybe this is who I am now and you just donât like what you see.â
The words hit you like a physical blow. You take a step back, your breath catching in your throat. You shake your head, denying the words that came out of his mouth.
âThatâs not true,â you whisper.
âIsnât it?â Wooyoungâs voice rises, matching your earlier statement, fuelled by frustration and alcohol. âBecause it seems like nothing I do is ever good enough for you. Iâm either working too much or not making enough money or not paying enough attentionââ
âIâve never said that.â
âYou donât have to say it. I can see it in your face every time I come home late. Every time Iâm too tired to talk.â He runs his hand through his hair again, the gesture agitated. âMaybe you should just find someone who can give you what you want, since apparently I canât.â
The silence that follows is absolute. You stare at him, unable to believe the words that just came out of his mouth. Wooyoung looks just as shocked as you feel, his eyes widening as he realizes what heâs said.
âWait⊠shit no thatâs not what I meantâŠâ he starts, but you cut him off.
âYou want me to leave?â Your voice is barely audible.
âNo, I didnât meanâŠâ Wooyoung takes a step toward you, but you back away. âIâm sorry, Iâm drunk and exhausted and I didnâtââ
âYou meant it,â you say. Thereâs no anger in your voice now, just a deep, bone-weary sadness. âMaybe not all of it, but part of it.â
He doesnât deny it. The silence stretches between you, filled with everything thatâs been left unsaid for weeks.
âI need to be alone,â you say, your voice barely above a whisper. The words hang between you, a barrier neither of you has the strength to cross. âI canât do this right now.â
Wooyoung opens his mouth to respond, but youâre already moving, already turning away from the wreckage of your anniversary night. You donât look back as you walk down the hallway to your bedroomâthe bedroom that was supposed to be shared, not a place of retreat. The door clicks shut behind you with a finality that makes your chest ache.
In the darkness of your room, you press your back against the door and slide down until youâre sitting on the floor. Your shoulders shake with silent sobs you refuse to let him hear. The anniversary card youâd written him earlier sits on your nightstand, the words inside now feeling hollow and foolish.
Time passes. You donât know how long you sit there, but eventually, you stand on trembling legs and change into your sleep clothes. The bed feels too big, too empty. You lie on your side, staring at the empty space where Wooyoung should be, and wait for sleep that doesnât come. An hour passes. Maybe two. Your anger has cooled to a dull ache in your chest, but sleep still eludes you. Finally, you slip out of bed, needing water, needing to move.
The living room is dark except for the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the blinds. And there he isâWooyoung, slumped on the couch, still in his work clothes, one arm thrown over his eyes. Even in the dim light, you can see the tear tracks on his face, the dark stain on the cushion beneath his cheek.
Your heart constricts. Despite everythingâdespite the anger, despite the hurtâyou still love him. You still care.
You move silently to the kitchen, filling a glass with water and grabbing the bottle of aspirin from the cabinet. Your movements are careful, deliberate, as you place them on the coffee table beside him. You donât wake him. You donât say a word.
Instead, you stand there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Even in sleep, his face is troubled, his brow furrowed. You want to smooth the lines away, to tell him everything will be okay. But you canât. Not yet.
So you do the only thing you can. You take care of him, silently, the way youâve always done. Because even when he forgets, even when heâs lost in his own world of stress and ambition, you remember. You remember the man you fell in love with, the one whoâs still in there somewhere, buried under exhaustion and pressure.
You pull the throw blanket from the back of the couch and drape it carefully over him. Your fingers brush against his hair, just once, so lightly he doesnât stir.
Then you turn and walk away, back to the bedroom that feels emptier than it should. You climb into bed alone, the space beside you cold and untouched. You wonder if this is how relationships begin to breakânot through lack of love, but through all the ways people fail to hold onto each other when life becomes too heavy. Sleep comes eventually, but itâs fitful, troubled by dreams of a future that feels increasingly uncertain.
ââââââââââââââââââ
Wooyoung wakes slowly to the dull throb of a splitting headache and a sharp ache running down his neck. The couch digs painfully into his back, one arm numb from the awkward angle heâd fallen asleep in. For a few disoriented seconds, he just stares at the ceiling, blinking against the pale morning light filtering through the apartment. Then last night hits him all at once. The argument. Your tears. The look on your face when he realized what day it was.
With a quiet groan, he pushes himself upright, rubbing a hand over his face. Thatâs when he notices the blanket draped carefully over him. The glass of water sitting on the coffee table beside two aspirin. His chest tightens. You took care of him anyway. Even after everything.
Wooyoung stares at the medicine for a long moment before letting out a weak, humourless laugh under his breath. âFuck,â he mutters hoarsely, guilt crawling up his throat.Â
He swallows the aspirin dry before forcing himself to stand, exhaustion still heavy in his limbs. The apartment is quiet as he makes his way toward the bedroom, each step slower than the last, like heâs afraid of what heâll find on the other side of the door. He eases it open carefully. Youâre asleep, curled toward his side of the bed even though it stayed empty all night. In the soft morning light, he notices the tear tracks dried against your cheeks immediately, and something inside him caves in at the sight. His own eyes still burn from last night, raw and swollen in a way he knows mirrors yours. For a moment, he just stands there in silence, looking at you. At the woman who still tucked a blanket around him after he forgot about your anniversary. After he hurt you. Wooyoung closes his eyes briefly, jaw tightening.
He closes the door to your shared bedroom and makes his way to the kitchen. He quietly reaches for his phone and silences the alarm for work before typing out a lengthy message to his boss with determined fingers. Nothing at work feels more important than this anymore.
Your eyes open to the empty space beside you, the pillow still perfectly fluffed, untouched. Of course heâs already gone. The realization settles in your chest like a stone. You lie there for a moment, the events of last night crashing back with brutal clarity. The forgotten anniversary. The heartbreak that ensued. The fight. The words that canât be unsaid. You press the heels of your hands against your eyes, forcing the tears to remain at bay.
Then you hear itâthe soft clink of dishes from the kitchen.
Your heart stutters. You freeze, listening. There it is againâthe unmistakable sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. The one that should be empty right now. Panic rises in your throat. Heâs still here. Wooyoung is still here, and you have no idea what to say to him after everything that happened. After everything you both said.
You sit up slowly, your body heavy with emotional exhaustion. The floor is cold beneath your feet as you pad toward the bedroom door. Your hand hesitates on the doorknob. What will you see when you open it? Will he be packing his things? Will he be waiting to tell you itâs over?
The door creaks as you pull it open. The hallway seems longer than usual as you make your way toward the kitchen. With each step, your anxiety grows, a tight knot in your chest that makes it hard to breathe.
And then you see him.
Wooyoung stands at the counter, his back to you. Heâs still wearing the same clothes from last night, rumpled and wrinkled. His hair is a mess, sticking up at odd angles. He moves slowly, methodically, as if each action requires immense concentration.
âArenât you going to work?â The words slip out before you can stop them, your voice hoarse from crying.
Wooyoung turns, and the sight of him makes your breath catch. His eyes are bloodshot, his face pale. He looks like he hasnât slept at all, like heâs been carrying the weight of your argument with him through the long night.
âI told them I wasnât coming in today or for the rest of the week,â he says simply.
The words hang in the air between you. You stare at him, trying to process what this means. Wooyoung never calls in. Heâs the type who goes to work with a fever of 102, who works through weekends and holidays without complaint.
âWhat? Why?â you ask, the question barely audible.
Wooyoung sets down the cup heâs been holding. His knuckles turned white as he gripped onto the glass tighter. âI already lost enough time with you yesterday. Iâm not about to just leave you here alone, again.â
The simplicity of his words hits you like a physical blow. You lean against the doorframe, suddenly weak. The kitchen table is setâtwo plates, two mugs, the breakfast you used to make together on weekend mornings. The silence that follows is thick with everything left unsaid. You watch as he turns back to the counter, his shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Thereâs a vulnerability in his posture you havenât seen in monthsâthe confident, ambitious man youâve been watching slip away replaced by someone unsure, someone hurting.
âIâm sorry,â he says finally, still facing away from you. âFor everything I said last night. For making you feel like you donât matter to me.â He turns to face you, and the raw emotion in his eyes makes your chest ache. âYou matter more than anything, and Iâve been acting like you donât.â
You want to go to him, to bridge the distance between you, but your feet feel rooted to the spot. âAnd the rest?â you ask. âWhat you said about me finding someone else?â
Wooyoungâs face crumples. âI didnât mean any of that stupid shit. I was an idiot and said the most hurtful thing I could think of because I was angry at myself, not at you. What I said to you was inexcusable.â He runs a hand through his hair, the gesture agitated. âI was so terrified of failing you that I ended up failing you anyway.â
The truth of his words settles over you. You step into the kitchen, moving toward him slowly, giving him the chance to retreat if he wants to. He doesnât.
âI donât want someone else,â you say quietly. âI want you. Not the version of you thatâs so caught up in work he forgets we exist. That I exist.â
Wooyoungâs eyes filled with tears. âIâve been so focused on building a future for us that I forgot to be present in our now.â He takes a step toward you. âIâm so sorry. I donât expect you to forgive me right away or ever butâGod, I fucked up so bad.â
You look at the breakfast heâs preparedâeggs perfectly set, toast golden, the smell of coffee already doing something to the tension in your shoulders. Heâs always been a better cook than you. Youâd forgotten that, somehow, in the wreckage of last night.
âCome here,â you say softly.
He crosses the kitchen in three quick strides, and then his arms are around you, holding you so tightly itâs almost painful. You can feel him trembling, feel the way his heart hammers against your cheek. Your face tucks just under his chin, and you feel the warm wetness of tears landing soft in your hair.
âI love you,â he whispers, the words muffled against your hair. âI love you so much, and Iâm so sorry I made you doubt that.â
You hold him just as tightly, your own tears spilling over. âI love you too,â you mumble against his chest. âDonât shut me out like that again, You know Iâm always here for you.â
Wooyoung pulls back, his hands coming up to cradle your face. His thumbs brush away your tears with a gentleness that makes your heart ache. âI know,â he says. âIâll do better for you. For us. Today, tomorrow, and however long as it takes.â
He leans forward and presses his forehead against yours. âCan I show you something?â You nod.
âI got you something,â he says. âI remembered that I had a whole elaborate plan to give this to you.â He exhales, something between a laugh and a sob. âThen I got the promotion news and I justâI let that take over everything. Your gift has been sitting in my bag for two weeks while I was out celebrating myself.â He shakes his head. âI made our anniversary about me. Iâm such an idiot.â
âYeah, the biggest idiot of all time.â
He lets out a small chuckle, a hint of guilt and sadness follow the hollow laugh. A flicker of something hopeful crosses his exhausted face. âCan I still give it to you?â
You look up at him. âOf course.â
Wooyoungâs face lights up with a small, tentative smile. He takes your hand and leads you to the living room. You both sink into the couch where he spent the night, your shoulders touching. His work bag sits on the floor beside it. He reaches down and pulls out a small velvet box.
Your breath catches.
âItâs not what you think,â he says quickly, seeing your expression. âNot yet, anyway.â He opens the box to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, with a small charm hanging from itâa tiny compass.
âItâs so you always find your way back to me,â he explains, his voice soft. âEven when Iâm being a complete dumbass.â
You look from the bracelet to his face, seeing the hope and fear mingled in his eyes. This is what you fell in love withânot the ambitious, driven man who works too much, but this man whoâs vulnerable enough to admit when heâs wrong, whoâs brave enough to try to fix what heâs broken.
âItâs beautiful,â you say, holding out your wrist.
As Wooyoung fastens the bracelet with trembling fingers, you realize that healing wonât happen overnight. There will be more conversations, more difficult moments as you both learn to balance his career with your relationship. But as his hand finds yours, the bracelet cool against your skin, you know youâre willing to try.
Because some things are worth fighting for. Some people are worth the struggle. And this manâflawed and imperfect but trying, always tryingâis one of them.
âI should have called,â he says finally, his voice quiet in the morning stillness. âI should have texted. I kept thinking about it, but then someone would pull me into another conversation, and Iâd get distracted, and then...â He trails off, shaking his head. âThatâs no excuse.â
âNo, itâs not,â you agree, but thereâs no anger in your voice now. Just bone-deep weariness.
Wooyoungâs shoulders slump. He looks smaller somehow, diminished by his own guilt. âIâve been so focused on proving myself at work that I forgot to be present here. With you.â His eyes find yours, red-rimmed and sincere. âIâm drowning, and instead of asking for help, Iâve been pulling you under with me.â
Your chest tightens at his words. Youâve been so wrapped up in your own hurt that you havenât fully considered his perspective. âWhy didnât you tell me you were struggling?â you ask softly.
He lets out a shaky breath. âBecause I was supposed to be the strong one. The one who had it all figured out.â His voice cracks. âI didnât want you to see how overwhelmed I was. How scared I am that I wonât be enough.â
The admission hangs in the air between you. You reach for his hand, your fingers hesitantly brushing against his. He turns his palm up, letting you take it.
âIâm sorry too,â you say, your voice barely above a whisper. âFor being so accusatory last night. For making you doubt that your best wasnât enough. And for dismissing the fact that you work so immensely hard to provide for us.â
Wooyoung looks up, surprise evident in his eyes.
âI was angry,â you continue, âbut I was also terrified. Every time you came home late without calling, I imagined the worst. And then Iâd feel so stupid when you finally texted, like I was being dramatic or clingy.â
âYouâre not,â he says firmly. âYou were right to be worried. Iâve been a completely inconsiderate asshole.â
You squeeze his hand. âAnd I said things I didnât mean. About you not loving me.â The words are hard to say, hard to admit. âI know thatâs not true. I just... I missed you. I missed us.â
A tear slips down Wooyoungâs cheek. âIâve missed us too,â he admits. âIâve been so caught up in work that I forgot how to be a person. How to be your person.â
You shift closer to him on the couch, the gap between you narrowing. Your free hand reaches up to brush away his tear, your touch tentative, questioning. He leans into it, his eyes closing briefly.
âIâm going to do better,â he promises. âIâve already talked to my boss about setting better boundaries. About leaving work at a reasonable hour, about not checking emails at home.â He opens his eyes, looking at you with such intensity it makes your breath catch. âYou deserve more than the scraps of time and attention Iâve been giving you.â
âWhat if you canât?â you ask, voicing the fear thatâs been haunting you. âWhat if work pulls you back in?â
Wooyoungâs expression turns determined. âThen Iâll walk away. Find something else. Because nothing is worth losing you over.â He brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. âNothing.â
Your vision blurs with fresh tears. âI donât want you to give up your career for me.â
âIâm not,â he assures you. âIâm choosing our relationship. Choosing you. The career is just a job. I can be replaced at any given moment but you? Youâre my whole life. Youâre irreplaceable.â
The words wash over you, healing some of the hurt thatâs been festering. You move closer still, until your knees are touching, until you can feel the warmth of him beside you.
âI love you,â you say simply. âEven when youâre being an idiot and forgetting our anniversary.â
A watery laugh escapes him. âI love you too. Iâm your idiot, though.â
Your hand finds its way to his face, cupping his cheek. His stubble is rough against your palm, grounding you in this moment. He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to your palm, his eyes never leaving yours.
âCan I kiss you?â he asks, his voice raw with emotion.
You nod, unable to form words around the lump in your throat.
Wooyoung leans forward slowly, giving you time to pull away if you want to. You donât. When his lips meet yours, itâs like coming home after a long journey. Thereâs relief in the touch, and longing, and a deep, abiding affection that transcends the hurt of the past weeks.
âIâm sorry,â he whispers against your lips. âIâm so sorry.â
His kisses move to your cheek, to the corner of your eye where tears still linger. âIâll do better,â he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.
You tilt your head, giving him access to your neck, where he presses soft, apologetic kisses. âI know you will,â you whisper, your fingers tangling in his hair.Â
Wooyoung pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. âI donât deserve you,â he says. âBut Iâm going to spend every day trying to be worthy of you.â
You shake your head. âYou already are. You just got lost for a while.â
He pulls you into his arms, holding you against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat, steady and strong beneath your ear. His hand strokes your hair, gentle and soothing.
âI was so scared,â you admit, the words muffled against his shirt. âThat we were falling apart, and I didnât know how to stop it.â
His arms tighten around you. âWeâre not falling apart,â he promises. âWeâre just... learning how to be together in a new way. With new challenges.â
You look up at him, seeing the determination in his eyes. âTogether,â you repeat. âThatâs the important part.â
Wooyoung nods, pressing another kiss to your forehead. âTogether. Always.â
The breakfast he made sits forgotten on the table, growing cold. But you donât mind. There will be other breakfasts, other mornings. Right now, all that matters is thisâthe two of you, holding onto each other, finding your way back to what matters most.
âI think,â Wooyoung says after a while, his voice soft with sleepiness and emotion, âthat since i took a few days off we could spend more time together. Just us. No work, no distractions.â
You raise an eyebrow. âYou? Taking time off? Who are you and what have you done with my workaholic boyfriend?â
He laughs, the sound warming you from the inside out. âIâve been replaced by someone with better priorities.â His expression turns serious. âI mean it, though. We need this. I need this. To remember that I have a lot of making up to do.â
The idea is tempting. âAnd how would you do that, hm?â
âI could think of one way right now,â he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low, intimate timbre that sends a shiver down your spine.
Before you can respond, Wooyoung stands and scoops you into his arms, his movements surprisingly fluid despite his exhaustion. You gasp, instinctively wrapping your arms around his neck as he carries you toward your bedroomâyour shared bedroom thatâs been missing his presence for far too long.
âWooyoung,â you breathe, your heart racing as he pushes the door open with his foot. âPut me down! I couldâve walked to the bedroom too, idiot.â
âSorry princess. I couldn't help myself,â he says, his eyes dark with desire as he lays you gently on the bed.
He climbs onto the bed beside you, his weight making the mattress dip. For a moment, he just looks at you, his expression a mixture of reverence and hunger that makes your breath catch.
âMissed you,â he whispers, his hand coming up to trace the line of your jaw. âSo much.â
You reach for him, pulling him down into a kiss thatâs deeper than before, more urgent. His lips move against yours with a desperation that speaks volumes about the distance thatâs grown between you. You can taste the salt of dried tears on his skin, feel the slight tremble in his hands as they slide down to your waist.
You fist your hands in the crisp fabric of his shirt. The buttons press sharp and insistent against your chest, and you tug at them, desperate, fumbling until the first one gives. He groans, shifting so he can help, pulling away just enough to make quick work of the rest. The shirt falls open, exposing him to the morning light, the edges of his collarbone flushed and vulnerable.
Your breath hitchesâyouâd forgotten, somehow, how beautiful he is like this. His body is lean but not slight, muscle hugging bone and sinew in all the right places. You drag your hand along the inside of his forearm, tracing the thick black lines of the rose inked from his wrist to the curve before his elbow. You glide over the leaves and thorns, half-expecting the tattoo to prickle beneath your touch. He shudders, eyes hooded, drinking in the sight of you devouring him.
You slide your palm up, across his biceps, his shoulderâmapping every inch, reacquainting yourself with the geography of him. His chest heaves, the faint dusting of hair there rising as you scrape your nails down to his abs. You canât help but smile a little at how his stomach tenses, how he jerks when you reach the sensitive dip above his hips. He grabs your hand, bringing it to his mouth, kissing each knuckle in apology and in thanks. Heâs trembling with wanting, with relief, and you want to swallow it whole.
You pull him closer, reaching up to slide the shirt off his shoulders. It pools at his elbows, then falls away, leaving him naked from the waist up. He presses you into the mattress, his lips everywhere at onceâyour jaw, your neck, the hollow at your collarbone. His hands are greedy, slipping under your shirt, seeking skin, worshipping you as if youâre the only thing in the world that makes sense.
Wooyoungâs fingers curl into the soft cotton of your sleep shirt as though heâs gathering every ounce of courage in his body to peel away not only the fabric but the distance heâs put between you. The morning light filters through gauzy curtains, illuminating the swirl of dust motes in the air and casting a gentle glow over your skin. He pauses, breath catching as he drinks you inâevery freckle on your shoulder, every rise and fall of your chestâbefore tugging the shirt up and over your head in one smooth, practiced motion. The cool air of the room grazes your bare skin, sending a shiver through you as the light catches the gentle pebbling of your nipples and the subtle flex of your stomach muscles.
He chases away the chill, warm palms gliding up your sides, fingertips tracing the lines of your ribs, thumbs circling the soft shadows beneath your breasts as if to reassure himself that you are realâsolid and here.
âW-Wooyoung,â you breathe out, barely more than a tremor in the air, but it hits him like a bullet: his gaze snaps up, blown wide and hungry, jaw tensing so hard you can see the cords in his neck stand out.
âHmm?â
He sounds dazed, already gone for you. He searches your face for a clue, a hint of what you want, even as his hands keep movingâroaming your waist, palming the flare of your hips, stroking reverent up and down your spine. You shudder, skin prickling everywhere he touches. Then, with a slow, deliberate shift, you arch your back and hook your thumbs into the waistband of your underwearâyour last layerâand drag them down, inch by inch, teasing yourself as much as him. You kick them off, letting them flutter to the floor, and stretch out on your stomach, arms reaching above your head, pressing your cheek into the pillow. You tilt your hips up, highlighting the bare swell of your ass, lush and expectant, every inch of you primed for him. The effect is instantaneous. He groans, low and feral in the back of his throat, his cock straining visibly against the thin grey of his sweats.
âWhat are you doing, baby?â he chokes, voice ragged, eyes glued to the sight of you so shamelessly presenting for him.Â
You glance back lazily over your shoulder, lips parted, smile hazy and filthy. âLay on top of me.â Your voice drips with need, teasing, coaxing, as your ass shifts again, the jiggle intentional, sinful.
His adam's apple bobs, eyes glued to the way youâre presenting yourself to him, pussy glistening and waiting. He sits frozen for a second, maybe trying to get his breath back, maybe just marvelling at how good you look, spread out and waiting.
âBet."
Then heâs on you, crawling up the bed with a focused intent that sends another thrill through you. âUp,â he murmurs, tapping your hip. You lift obediently and he slides a pillow beneath you, angling your hips up off the mattress before he kneels behind you, pushes your thighs apart with strong hands, trapping your legs beneath his as he blankets your body. His heat, heavy and suffocating in the best way, seeps into your skin. Your cheek sinks into the sheets; you can smell your own slick in the air, feel the pulse of anticipation between your thighs. He leans in, lips skimming up your spine, worshipping every vertebrae, every goosebump and dimple, before he settles his weight against your back, pinning you down and making you feel tiny beneath him.
You canât help it: you reach back, grab at the waistband of his slacks, desperate to feel more of him. Your fingers brush the rigid outline of his cock and he shudders, hips jerking, the tip already wetting a dark stain into the fabric. He lets you tug down his pants, lifting his hips just enough to help you get them over his ass, down his thighs, clumsy and urgent. As soon as theyâre off, he kicks them away, a brief chill racing up your legs before he covers you again, hotter and needier than before. Youâre both tremblingâmaybe from nerves, maybe from how badly you need each other.Â
âPlease,â he moans, the word nearly a whimper, as you wrap your hand around the bulge beneath his boxers, feeling him throb in your grip. Heâs so hard it almost hurts, and when you pull the waistband down and finally set him free, he gasps, forehead dropping onto your shoulder. His cock springs out, thick and flushed, the head angry red and already leaking.
âJesus,â you hear yourself say, voice thick with awe. âSomeoneâs a little eager.â He laughs, shaky, like heâll fall apart if he doesnât.
âYou have no fucking idea.â
His hand traces your thigh, kneading your flesh, fingers digging in with just enough pressure to bruise. You feel how much he needs you in every trembling touch. He cups your ass, squeezing and spreading, and then lets his hand drift lower, fingers ghosting along your slit. Youâre soakedâembarrassingly soâand he groans when he feels it, slicking his fingers through you, teasing your entrance with featherlight touches. Your hips buck back, desperate for more, but he holds you firmly in place, taking his time, savoring the way you writhe under him.
âAre you gonna make me beg?â you pant, rutting against his hand.
He presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, voice thick and broken. âI want to hear you say you need me.â
âYou already know I do.âÂ
âSay it anyway.â His tongue flicks your earlobe, his words vibrating in your chest.
âI need you, Wooyoung. Please.â
The words tumble out, more desperate than you mean them to, but you donât care. You want himâneed himâso bad itâs physically painful. He lines himself up at your entrance, the heat of his cock a brand against your skin. But he doesnât push inânot yet. He grinds the tip against your folds, smearing his precum through your wetness, teasing you with shallow thrusts that never quite give you what you want. You sob into the pillow, body arching, entirely at his mercy.
âGod, look at you,â he whispers. âYouâre so perfect. Fuck, I donât deserve you.â
âYes you do.â The words are a gasp, but you mean them. Even after everything, you want to give him this.
You want to give him everything.
Heâs shaking, whole body vibrating with the effort of holding back, not just rutting into you like an animal. âIs this okay?â he asks, voice so weighted with emotion it almost makes you cry. âTell me you want this. Tell me you want me.â
âI want you,â you say, âI always want you. I want you right now, more than anything.â
He lets out a choked breath, as if youâve released him from a terrible spell. âFuck, yes.â He buries his face in the curve of your neck, breath hot and ragged. You feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance, stretching you slowly, inch by inch as he slides in.
The stretch is sweet, burning, perfect. You moan, the sound loud and raw, echoing off the walls of your shared bedroom. He fills you up, deeper than you remember, and it feels like coming home after a long, cold exile. You clench around him, savouring the drag, the friction, the pulse of his heartbeat through the thickness of his cock. He starts to move, slow at first, drawing out each withdrawal and thrust so you feel every centimetre, every ridge and vein. His hands on your waist are trembling, sometimes gripping too hard and then letting go, as if heâs afraid to hurt you, afraid to let go of this moment. You arch your back, pushing yourself up into him, greedy for more.
âHarder,â you urge. âFuck me harder."
He whimpers, hips stuttering, and then sets a punishing pace, hips snapping forward to drive into you with every ounce of pent up longing heâs been carrying. The mattress creaks, the headboard smacks the wall. Heâs so big, so deep, so desperate, and you love it.
âDonât⊠fuckâ say that shit,â he whines, his voice cracking. âYâfeel so good, so fucking tight.â
You arch back, meeting his thrusts, loving the way he loses control. His need for you is unfiltered, all-consuming, and you drink it like oxygen. He sets a rhythm, fast and merciless, hips slamming into you so hard it feels like a punishment, but you crave it, need it, want him to fuck you so hard you forget the argument and only memorise the feeling of him inside you. The slapping sound of skin on skin is obscene, even over the creaking of the bed and your shared moans, but you donât care, donât care if the whole apartment building hears you. Wooyoung is not gentle, not now; heâs desperate, driven by weeks of withheld affection, of loneliness and longing. He covers you, bites your shoulder, fucks you like itâs the last time, every thrust a plea for forgiveness and a pledge of eternity.
He leans more of his weight into you, his hand snaking around to your front, fingers seeking your clit. The first touch is electricâyou jerk, stars bursting behind your eyes. He circles your clit with the pad of his finger, fast and hard, no finesse, just pure need to make you cum.
In a cruel twist of fate, his hips slow suddenlyâthe rhythm of his hips bullying yours breaking. You whimper at the loss, your body clenching around him, so desperate for more. But he pulls out completely, leaving you empty, aching.
âLook at me,â he demands, voice rough with need.
You crane your neck back over your shoulder, cheek still pressed into the sheets, and find him watching you with that dark intensity that makes your breath catch. His cock glistens with your combined wetness, the head swollen and flushed as he drags it slowly up and down your entrance, the angle making you feel every torturous inch of the teaseâjust enough pressure to feel but not enough to satisfy.
âPlease,â you gasp, hips tipping higher.
His lips curl into a wicked smile from somewhere above and behind you. âNot yet.â He circles your clit with his slick tip before sliding back down. Your thighs tremble against the pillow he placed under your hips.
âSpit,â he commands, reaching his palm around to your mouth.
You obey without hesitation, gathering saliva that he uses to coat himself again, the wet sound obscene in the quiet room. He returns to his maddening teasing, the new slickness making his cock glide effortlessly against your swollen flesh.
âGood fucking girl,â he groans, the words punched out between ragged breaths. âLook at youâtaking everything I give you.â
Youâre beyond words now, reduced to desperate sounds as he continues his exquisite torture. When you canât stand it anymore, you reach behind your body, guiding him back to where you need him most. He lets you, but only for a moment. With a growl that vibrates through your chest, he pushes your hand away and positions himself again, his eyes locked on to the way your body is so responsive to his. Then he leans down, lips pressing soft and slow into your shoulder, and you feel his breath warm against the curve of your neck
âPrincessâ he whispers, voice cracking open at the edges, his cock still dragging slowly and torturous against your entrance. âYou can forgive me right? ShitâŠYou can forgive your Wooyo right?â
âYes,â you gasp, hips rolling back into him helplessly. âYes, yessâfuck, I f-forgive you⊠Wooyoung, I need you so bad, please!"
Something breaks in his expressionâall restraint shattering. He thrusts forward in one powerful motion, burying himself to the hilt with a sound that borders on a sob, hands clutching your hipsâhis grip bruising but full of desperate love. âGod, you feel so good,â he croaks. âI missed this. I missed you. I missed you so fucking much.â
The force of it knocks the wind out of you, the fullness so shocking you can only moan, the sound muffled by the pillow but loud enough for him to hearâmaybe for the neighbours to hear too. He doesnât care. Neither do you.
The words degenerate into a string of curses and pleas, all dignity and composure long abandoned. Youâre reduced to this: the shudder of your hips, the filthy slickness on your thighs, the way you beg for him with every inch of your body.
Heâs lost to it now, rutting into you with a violence born of weeksâmonthsâof wanting, of regret, of all the shit heâs made you both suffer through in his absence. Every motion is a contradiction, a punishment and an apology, as he fucks you harder than he ever has, hips snapping so fast you barely have time to catch your breath between thrusts. His hands are everywhereâgripping your hips, yanking you back onto him, fisting in your hair, ghosting along your ribs and then down to your clit. His fingers rub you with the same desperate rhythm as his cock, no finesse, just pure, animal drive to make you cum first, to make you remember what you are together.
He doesnât say a word at first, just grunts and breathes your name into your hair like a prayer. But when you look back at him, head turned over your shoulder, you see his face twisted in something rawer than lust. Love. His eyes are wet. He thrusts in, deeper, grinding the head of his cock against the spot inside you that makes your vision white out at the edges.
âGod, I missed you,â he whines, the words hitching on the upstroke. âI missed you, princess, Iâm sorry, Iâm so fucking sorryââ He laces his apology into every movement, every thrust, trying to convince you with the force of his body how much he means it. âNo one else can have you, fuck, never anyone else, not ever, you hear me?â His hips stutter, losing rhythm, and you know heâs close, so close, but he wonât let himself finish until you do.
He snakes his hand around your throat, the gentlest squeeze, just enough to remind you whoâs in control. The pressure is perfect; you arch into it, into him, hips rocking back greedily to milk every inch of his cock. He bends over you, mouth against your ear, breath hot and frantic:
âCum for me, princess. Wanna feel you cum all over me.â
And you do, splintering apart around him, pleasure ripping through you so hard it borders on pain. You scream, you swear, you claw at the sheets, and he fucks you through it, pace relentless, never slowing, never breaking.
Heâs shaking above you, groaning your name, his hand still tangled in your hair as he thrusts a few more desperate times and then comes, deep inside you, with a guttural wail. The heat of his release is almost shocking, the way he fills you leaving no doubt that heâs yours, utterly and absolutely. He stays pressed to you, sweat-slicked and trembling, for long, silent seconds, his cock twitching with aftershocks, his breath turning softer, steadier. You can feel his heart thumping against your back, the wild rhythm slowly synchronizing with yours.
He never lets you go, not even as he softens inside you. He just wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck. You canât move, can barely breathe, but the only thing you want is to stay like this foreverâhis weight, his warmth, his love, every bit of him pressed into you until you forget where you end and he begins. Heâs the apology and the forgiveness, the punishment and the reward, and you take every last bit of him, all over again, until neither of you has anything left to give.
Youâre both gasping, boneless, ruined, but itâs the best kind of ruinedâlike youâve been put back together again, better than you were before. He kisses your neck, soft now, lazy, like he canât help himself, and when he finally pulls out, both of you whimper at the loss.
You shift, rolling onto your side, facing him. His face is dampâsweat, tears, who even knowsâbut his eyes are clear and bright as he looks at you. He traces your jaw with a shaking finger.
âYouâre so fucking perfect,â he breathes, voice hoarse, âand Iâm never letting you go, you got that?â
You laugh, delirious, and pull him close, your lips finding his in a kiss thatâs slow and deep, the kind that says I forgive you, I want you, Iâll never be done with you. He sighs into it, like heâs waited a lifetime for this, like heâs never tasted anything sweeter.
And then his hand is between your legs again, gentle now, and you realize heâs not done with you yet. Not even close.
But you werenât done with him either.
âWait,â you mumble against his lips, pulling back just enough to see his eyes. âLet me watch you.â
Wooyoungâs brow furrows, a question forming in his gaze. You slide your hand down his chest, over the damp skin, until your fingers wrap around his still-sensitive cock. He hisses, body tensing at your touch.
âWanna see you touch yourself,â you clarify, your voice dropping to a husky whisper.
Understanding dawns across his face, followed by a slow, wicked smile that makes your stomach flip. âYeah?â he asks, already shifting position. âYou want to watch me jerk off, baby? Naughty girl.â
You nod, your own hand moving between your legs as you settle back against the pillows. Wooyoung sits up, kneeling between your spread thighs, his eyes never leaving yours as he wraps his hand around his length. Heâs already hardening again, his cock responding eagerly to your gaze. You watch, transfixed, as his fingers begin to move, a slow, deliberate stroke from base to tip that makes his breath catch.
âFuck,â he groans, his head falling back slightly. âPlay with yourself too, princess.â
Youâre touching yourself now, circling your clit with teasing pressure, your other hand squeezing your breast. The sight of him pleasuring himself while watching you is intoxicatingâhis muscles flexing, his lips parted, his eyes dark with desire.
âShow meâŠshit," you urge, your voice barely audible. âShow me what you think about when Iâm not around to suck you dry.â
He moans, his pace quickening. âIâm always thinking about you, â he admits, his voice rough. âAbout your pretty mouth, your perfect tits, the way you feel when Iâm inside you.â His hand moves faster now, his breathing growing ragged. âI think about making you cumâfuck, l-love thinking about watching you fall apart because of me.â
Your fingers move faster, matching his rhythm, the sight of him pleasuring himself pushing you closer to the edge. The room fills with the wet sounds of your mutual pleasure, your soft gasps mingling with his deeper groans.
âIâm câclose,â you pant, your hips rising off the bed. âBaby, Iâm so fucking close.â
âMe too,â he gasps, his hand moving furiously over his cock. âGod, the way youâre touching yourselfâfuck, I canâtâ"
âSo fucking good⊠haahââ you whimper. âCum with me.â
His eyes lock with yours, and you see the same desperation, the same need reflected back at you. Your fingers move faster, your thumb circling your clit with just the right pressure as you watch his hand fly over his length, his body tense with impending release.
âWooyoung,â you cry out as the first wave hits you, your body arching off the bed.
âOh god, yes youâre so hot fuuuck,â he groans, his release spurting hot across your stomach as he watches you come undone.
Youâre both panting, chests heaving as sweat trickles down your bodies and Wooyoungâs cum glistens wet and hot across your stomachâbut even as you come down, the air between you only grows thicker. His eyes linger on your face, hungry and soft all at once, and you know before he says a word that he isnât finished with you yet. He swipes his thumb through his mess, smearing it across your skin, and then lifts his hand to your lips.
âOpen,â he murmurs, voice already roughening around the edges, and you open obediently, tongue laving over his skin, savouring the salt and the faint sweetness of him.
He watches you, transfixed, and then the hunger snaps back into focus. With a sudden, fluid motion, he grabs you by the hips and guides you onto your back, landing you with a gasp and a bounce that sends aftershocks through your spent body. For a second you just lie there, limp and loose-limbed, but Wooyoung is on you before you have time to recoverâhis mouth capturing yours in a kiss thatâs all teeth and tongue and desperate, greedy possession. He devours you, biting your lower lip so hard you nearly yelp, but then heâs soothing the sting with a velvet-soft lick, fingers already roaming, cupping your jaw, winding into your hair, squeezing the back of your neck until youâre gasping into his mouth.
âLast one baby,â he rasps, voice vibrating right against your teeth. âNeed to breed your pretty pussy one last time.â
Heâs already sliding down your body, trailing open-mouthed kisses over every inch of skinâyour throat, your collarbones, the peak of your tits. He bites down gently on your nipple, then flicks it with his tongue, the sensation sharp and electric and so fucking precise. He lavishes both breasts with attention, sucking bruises in places only he will see, then lets his tongue trace a hot, wet path down your torso.
He stops at your belly, swiping a finger through the sticky mess on your skin. âLook at you,â he says, voice thick with pride and awe, and you feel your cheeks flame even as you spread your legs wider for him.
He dips his head, lapping at where his cum has pooled in your navel, and you shiver at the lewdness of it, the way he worships every part of you. When his mouth finally moves lower, youâre already shaking with anticipation, your core clenching tight, desperate for more even though you should be wrung out.
He dives between your thighs, licks a stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit, and you nearly come off the bed from the shock of it. He laughs, low and dark, and buries his face in your cunt, eating you like a man starved. His tongue is everywhere. Circling your clit, plunging inside you, mixing slick and spit and the faint metallic taste of his own release. You fist your hands in his hair, grinding your hips against his mouth, shameless in the way you beg, âMore, more... please, fuck, donât stopââ and he doesnât.
He works you with ruthless precision, two fingers thrusting deep while his tongue flicks rapid-fire at your clit. You feel the pressure build, so much faster than before, your legs trembling, your thighs clamping tight around his head. He holds you open, arms braced under your knees, keeping you spread and helpless as he brings you right to the brink and then eases off, just enough to drive you insane. He does it again, and again, pulling you apart, making you plead for it.
âWooââ you whimper, your voice thin and shaky. âPlease, pleaseââ
He lifts his head, lips glistening, and you see the wild satisfaction in his eyes. âYouâre so fucking pretty when you beg,â he says, and the praise sends another rush of heat through your veins.
âPlease,â you say again, and this time he relents, sucking your clit into his mouth and moaning around it. The vibration hits you like a lightning strike and you come hard, arching your back, crying out his name so loud you know it will echo in your ears for days. He keeps going, licking you through it, not stopping until youâre sobbing with oversensitivity and shoving at his head to make it end.
He crawls up your body, cock already hard again as he rubs it against your thigh, your stomach, the sticky aftermath on your skin. He lines himself up at your entrance, and youâre so wet, so open for him, that he slides in with barely any resistance. The stretch still hurtsâjust a littleâand he winces with you, kissing your cheek, your ear, whispering, âShh, you can take it. Youâre so good for me.â
You rake your nails down his back, desperate to pull him deeper, and he obliges, ramming into you with a force that makes the whole bed frame rattle. This time, he doesnât pace himselfâhe fucks you with abandon, every thrust a fierce apology, a vow, a plea for forgiveness. âPretty cunt was made for me, wasn't it baby?" he growls, the words muffled against your skin, and you believe him, every time.
He shifts your legs, bends you almost in half putting you into a mean mating press, and the new angle has him thrusting right against your g-spot. You claw helplessly at his arms, nails digging crescent moons into his biceps, and he just grins, sweat beading at his hairline, loving every second of your unravelling.
"'M not going to last... I'm g'na cum holy fuck Wooyoung," you moan out, feeling yourself edging closer to your own climax.
You feel him getting closeâhis rhythm falters, his hips jerk, his breath comes in ragged gasps. He slides a hand between your bodies, thumb circling your clit, determined to take you with him.
âOh fuckâCum fâme princess, make me proud.â
And you do, the orgasm ripping through you so violently that black spots dance at the edge of your vision. You scream, you sob, you babble his name like a prayer, and he follows, spilling inside you with a strangled cry. He shoves in deep, holds you there, and then collapses, pinning you to the mattress with the full weight of his body.
You lie like that for a long, breathless moment, your bodies trembling and tangled, sweat sticking you together, his cock still throbbing inside you as he pants in your ear. For a second you think heâs fallen asleep, but then he props himself up on one elbow and looks down at you, eyes shining, lips parted as if he might start crying all over again.
He rolls you onto your side, still joined, and wraps an arm around your waist, spooning you so tight you can barely move. You reach back and stroke his hair, feeling the way his whole body melts into your touchâthe tension draining from his muscles, the way his breath evens out. The world feels impossibly far away, like itâs just the two of you floating in a bed-shaped universe, nothing but heartbeats and skin and the mess youâve made of each other.
The room falls quiet, your breathing gradually slowing in tandem. Wooyoungâs arm tightens around you, his lips pressing a soft kiss to the nape of your neck. âDonât move,â he whispers, his voice hoarse from use. âIâll be right back.â
He pulls out gently, and you whimper at the loss, feeling suddenly empty. But heâs already sliding from the bed, his naked body glistening with sweat as he pads to the bathroom. You hear water running, and then he returns with a warm washcloth in his hand.
âLet's get you cleaned up yeah?â he says, his eyes soft as he kneels beside you.
His touch is reverent as he cleans between your thighs, wiping away the evidence of your passion with gentle, circular motions. The warm cloth feels heavenly against your sensitive skin, and you sigh, your body relaxing into his care.
âBetter?â he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
You nod, too blissed-out to form words. He disappears again, returning with a glass of water that he holds to your lips. You drink greedily, not realizing how parched you were until the cool liquid slides down your throat.
âMore?â he asks, and you shake your head.
Wooyoung sets the glass aside and moves to his dresser, pulling open the bottom drawer. He rummages through it for a moment before pulling out a faded blue t-shirt that you recognize immediately. Itâs one of his oldest, the fabric soft from countless washes, the university logo barely visible anymore.
âArms up,â he murmurs, and you comply, letting him slip the oversized shirt over your head. It falls to mid-thigh, enveloping you in his scentâthat familiar mix of his cologne and something uniquely him that makes your chest ache with tenderness. He adjusts the collar, his fingers lingering at your neck, before pressing a kiss to your forehead.
âPerfect,â he whispers, his eyes warm as they take you in.
You watch as he pulls on a pair of boxers and a simple white t-shirt, his movements languid, unhurried. Thereâs something intimate about watching him dressâthe way his muscles flex beneath his skin, the casual grace of his movements. He catches you looking and says nothing, just gives you a small, tired smile before he climbs back into bed, pulling you against him. His fingers begin to trace lazy patterns on your arm, up and down, the touch so light it makes you shiver.
âI love you,â he murmurs into your hair. âI hope you know that I adore you so much.â
You turn in his arms to face him, finding his eyes in the dim light of the bedroom. Thereâs something raw and vulnerable in his gaze that makes your heart ache.
âI know,â you say, reaching up to brush his hair from his forehead. âI love you too.â
He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. âIâm going to do better. I promise.â
âI believe you, I know you will,â you whisper, and you do.
He pulls you closer, your bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces. His hand finds yours, fingers intertwining. The bracelet he gave you catches the light, the tiny compass charm glinting. He brings your wrist up to his lips and places a kiss on the charm, a silent reminder for you thatâll heâll always be your north. No matter where you are, heâll always be there for you.
âIâve got you,â he coos, his voice dropping to that impossibly soft register he only uses in these moments. âIâm here, I'm not going anywhere.â
You hum in acknowledgment, too far gone for words. He softly chuckles at your sleepiness. His hand resumes its journey down your spine, each vertebra a landmark he maps with infinite patience. Another yawn overtakes you, your eyes watering at the corners. Wooyoung brushes away the tears with his thumb, his touch reverent.
âMy beautiful girl,â he whispers. âMy whole heart.â
A melody begins to form beneath his breathâsomething soft and wordless that you recognize from nights when sleep wouldnât come, when anxiety gripped your throat. His chest vibrates with the sound, a lullaby composed of nothing but his love for you. Your consciousness begins to drift, the edges of your thoughts blurring like watercolours on wet paper. The scent of himâclean sweat and that cologne heâs worn since the day you metâwraps around you like a second blanket.
âI love you,â he whispers, his lips brushing your temple. âHappy anniversary, my love. I promise to make every one from now on better than the last.â
The words follow you down into darkness, a tether to the world youâre leaving behind. The future for the both of you still holds challengesâhis career wonât become less demanding overnight, and youâll both need to work to maintain the balance youâre rebuilding. But as Wooyoungâs arms tighten around you, as you feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, you know youâll face those challenges together.
Because love isnât about never making mistakes. Itâs about having the courage to admit when youâre wrong, and the strength to keep trying, even when itâs hard. And as the morning light spills across the tangled sheets and your intertwined bodies, you know thatâs exactly what you haveânot a perfect love, but a real one.
âIn which Wooyoung randomly finds himself wanting to be around his bitchy manager, and suddenly wanting her to like him? When one of his friends start to have suspicions, he recommends going to the cafe across the street. Rumor has it, the cafe name isnât for show and the owner is actually a witch.
âMDNI! there will be 18+ scenes in this smau!
âTW!: none so far
âFeel free to comment to be added to the taglist!
genre: non idol!au, college!au, fluff, kind of a slow burn with a very happy ending, mutual pining!!!!!!!! he falls first and hard, she too falls hard and fast :)))
word count: 25k, deadass.
âââââ ââ ââ â âââââ
warnings: acquaintances to lovers, economics jumpscare, reader is a tutor and mingi is your not so average frat dude that does an athletic scholarship, eventual smut, praise kink!!!!!, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dry humping, lowk breeding kink mingi freaky, switch!mingi & reader, softdom!mingi, spanking (?), possessive!mingi, cockwarming (a lil!) / lmk if i missed any!
author's note: guys i finally locked in!!! this story has been such a bitch to write but i'm finally happy with it lmfaoaoo. the only reason why it took so long its cause i deadass remembered all my econ concepts from my first year at uni and i got flashbacks sooooo. if its inaccurate don't come for me. also ngl mingi ain't even that much of a fratboy, he is but he's a little nerd!! you'll see - i hope you guys enjoy!!
permanent taglist: @norixseaweed @f3mboienjoyer @liightlizard @minguxxs + if you want to be added to my taglist, let me know :))
You hear him before you see him. The sound is impossible to missâsomeoneâs torn the universe open and stuffed it with a live wire; the room buzzes, vibrates, orbits around a single axis. Song Mingi is that axis, black hair messy from hands that are never his own, smile bright enough to reflect off the bottles lining the kitchen counter. Itâs the kind of house party that exists more as myth than reality until youâre standing in the middle of it, your feet sticky with last weekendâs spilled vodka, your ears ringing from bass and laughter and the high-pitched screeching of people who either want to be him or be with him.
You donât want either. In fact, you donât really want to be here, but your roommate insistedâa rare Friday night without any assignments dueâand now sheâs traded you for a swarm of sweaty college kids in the living room. Youâre left clutching a warm can of seltzer, surveying the landscape like a tourist on safari: here, the drunken pack of freshman girls hunched over a phone for a group selfie; there, the duo of varsity rowers relishing about morning practice, each trying to outdo the otherâs misery; everywhere, the constant, inescapable gravitational pull of him.
Heâs posted at the middle of it all, a bottle of expensive liquor in one hand and a girl in the other. Sheâs whispering in his ear, probably promising him things people only say out loud when their inhibitions have been loosened by alcohol and the hope of being remembered. Itâs a practised scene, and you can tell from the way Mingiâs eyes slide from her face to the crowd and back again that heâs already bored. Heâs hunting, you realise, and the realisation leaves you faintly amused.
Youâve had classes with him before and found his intellect sharper than his reputation suggests, but heâs never bothered to speak to you directly, which is fine. You prefer it that way. You know exactly what happens to girls who mistake the man for the myth.
But tonight, for whatever reason, he looks right at you.
You donât realise it at first; youâre half-listening to the rowers behind you, half-calculating the economic impact of the universityâs new housing policy for the department group chat. Thereâs a lull in the noise, a momentary vacuum, and then his gaze lands like a physical thing. It takes you off guardâthe pure concentration of it, as if heâs seeing you in high-definition while the rest of the house blurs into obscurity. His attention is so heavy, so absolute, that even the girl on his arm notices and goes rigid with annoyance.
Your instinct is to look away. But for some reason, you donât. Maybe itâs the alcohol buzzing in your veins, maybe itâs the novelty of being the focal point in a room devoted to him, but you meet his eyes and hold them. Mingiâs mouth quirks, not into a smirk but something strange and speculative, and when he finally looks away, it feels less like defeat and more like a challenge accepted.
Within the hour, he maneuvers his way to your side of the party, the girl from before abandoned to the mercy of the crowd. He props an elbow on the countertop, leans in so dangerously close, âDidnât think this was your scene.â
You arch an eyebrow, the response easy. âIt really isnât, my roommate dragged me out.â
He grins, all teeth and promise. âI have to thank her for bringing such a pretty girl to my party.â
You roll your eyes, annoyed but not surprised. The rest of the party moves around you in a kind of staccato blur. A game of beer pong erupts into a shouting match in the dining room; someoneâs Bluetooth speaker dies mid-chorus, leading to a plaintive chorus of off-key singing. People bump into you, apologise, and then linger a beat longer than necessary to see if youâre still talking to Mingi. He doesnât seem to notice, but you do. He asks what youâre studying, and you answer. You ask him what he wants to do after graduation, and he shrugs, but the gesture is so carefree yet careful.
âIf this soccer thing doesnât work out, Iâll intern at some start-up company,â he explained. âOr Iâll sell feet pics.â
You cringe at the image. The girl from before stalks past, her glare sharp enough to sever arteries. Mingi watches her go but his gaze falls right back to you.Â
By midnight, the house dissolves into its constituent parts: the freshies, the clean-up crew, the drunk casualties. Mingi drifts away, then back againâat your side, across the kitchen, never quite out of reach. He offers you a drink at one point; you decline, still nursing the same seltzer. It doesnât stop him. He keeps finding his way back, as if every conversation eventually leads to you.
You leave before he does. Thereâs no dramatic goodbye, no exchanged numbers or whispered invitationsâjust a passing nod, the kind that could mean anything or nothing at all. You donât look back. By the time youâre out the door (your roommate long gone with a lacrosse player, leaving you to fend for yourself), the night already feels like itâs starting to blur at the edges. Whatever that was, if it was anything, you let it go.
Inside, though, Mingi doesnât. Heâs still watching the spot where you disappeared, gaze fixed a beat too long, like heâs waiting for you to reappear. The noise of the party swells back in around him, but he doesnât moveâdrink untouched, conversation abandoned mid-thread.
A shoulder bumps into his.
âWhatâs with that look on your face?â
Mingi blinks, like heâs just been pulled back into the room. âWhat look?â
Yunho huffs a quiet laugh. âThat look. You had heart eyes bro don't even play.â
Mingi scoffs, quick, automatic. âI donât know what youâre talking about.â
His friend raises an eyebrow, unconvinced, following his line of sight to the now-empty doorway before glancing back at him. Mingi exhales through his nose, finally tearing his gaze away, dragging a hand over the back of his neck like he can shake it off. He should've definitely asked for your number.
Monday morning arrives with the kind of headache that has nothing to do with alcohol and everything to do with three consecutive all-nighters. Professor Kimâs Advanced Macroeconomic Theory is notoriously brutal, and youâve spent the weekend buried under supply-demand graphs and inflation models. As you slide into your usual seat, youâre already mentally rehearsing your presentation on fiscal policy scheduled for next week.
Which is why, when Mingi strolls through the lecture hall doors at 8:58 AM, you momentarily forget how to function.
He shouldnât be here. This isnât his class, or at least it hasnât been for the past six weeks. Youâve never seen him in this lecture hall before, despite it being nearly midterm. Yet there he is, wearing dark jeans and a simple white button down that somehow looks so irritatingly good on his frame, scanning the room with casual confidence. His eyes find yours immediately, as if itâs magnetised. The smile that follows is different from Friday nightâsâsmaller, more genuine, it was like he wanted to see you. Before you can process whatâs happening, heâs navigating the row of seats, stepping over backpacks and laptops until heâs standing right next to you.
âThis seat taken?â he asks, gesturing to the empty chair beside you.
You blink, thrown by the unexpected proximity. âI didnât know you were in this class.â
âIâm full of surprises.â He drops into the seat, arranging his long legs in the cramped space. âSo, howâd you find the party?â
The question is casual, but thereâs something careful in his tone, as if your answer matters more than heâs letting on. You notice he pulled out a notebook AND a pen, this was definitely exceeding your expectations of him. Then again, what did you expect anyway?Â
âIt was... something,â you reply, deliberately vague. âThough Iâm surprised to see you conscious before noon, much less in an 8 AM econ lecture.â
He laughs, the sound low enough not to draw attention but warm enough to settle somewhere beneath your ribs. âWhat, you think I spend all my mornings hungover?â
âThe evidence suggested a statistical probability.â
âMaybe Iâm an outlier.â He leans closer, close enough that you catch the scent of his cologneâsmelling faintly of citrus and cedarwood. âOr I just needed the right motivation to show up.â
Thankfully Professor Kim walks in and begins the lecture, leaving you no time to tweak out over whatever the fuck he said. You expect Mingi to lose interest, to pull out his phone, or to doze off, like half the class inevitably does when the professor starts droning on about aggregate demand curves. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on knees, eyes focused on the presentation slides. Ten minutes in, when he introduces a particularly convoluted model, Mingi shifts slightly toward you.
âHey,â he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. âIf the Phillips curve is supposed to show the inverse relationship between unemployment and inflation, why is he saying itâs unstable in the long run?â
The question catches you off guardânot because itâs difficult, but because itâs astute. âBecause expectations adjust,â you whisper back. âWorkers anticipate inflation and demand higher wages, which shifts the curve.â
He nods, considering this. âSo itâs only reliable as a short-term predictor?â
âYeah, you got it.â
Throughout the next hour, Mingi continues to ask questionsâthoughtful ones that reveal heâs not just listening but actively processing. Each time he leans in, you feel a strange flutter of... something. Not just attraction, though thatâs undeniably there, but surprise. Mingi, the guy who supposedly once turned the campus fountain into a bubble bath during finals week, is engaging with macroeconomic theory like it genuinely interests him.
âThe Solow model assumes diminishing returns to capital,â he murmurs at one point, frowning slightly. âDoesnât that contradict what weâre seeing with tech companies? They seem to get increasing returns the bigger they get.â
You stare at him for a beat too long. âThatâs... actually a good point. The model was developed before the rise of digital economies. Network effects change the math.â
A smile spreads across his face, pleased and slightly smug, as if heâs won something. âIâm not just a pretty face, you know.â
The comment should be annoying, but delivered in a whisper while the professor drones on about growth rates, it makes you roll your eyes and bite back a smile instead. By the time class ends, youâve had to recalibrate your entire perception of him. Heâs taken actual notes. Heâs asked intelligent questions. Heâs made connections between concepts that some of your study group members still struggle with. Itâs disorienting, like discovering your cat can suddenly understand what youâre saying. As you pack up your laptop, he lingers, watching you with that same intense focus from the party.
âSo,â he says, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. âI think I deserve some credit for showing up today. Maybe we could grab coffee, and you could explain more about that Phillips curve thing?â
The invitation is transparentâhe doesnât need your help understanding the Phillips curveâbut thereâs something almost endearing about his attempt.
âIs that your go-to line?â you ask, unable to keep the amusement from your voice. âPretend to need academic help to get a date?â
âOnly with the smart ones.â His grins unapologetically. âIs it working?â
You laugh, shaking your head as you stand. âNo. Nice try, though.â
Rather than looking discouraged, his eyes light up with what can only be described as delighted challenge. He falls into step beside you as you head for the door.
âYou know what this means, right?â His voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone. âNow I have to come up with something better for Wednesdayâs class.â
âWednesdayâs class?â You stop at the doorway, genuinely surprised. âYouâre coming back?â
Mingi looks at you like youâve said something ridiculous. âOf course. I paid for this course, didnât I? Besides,â he adds, his smile turning slightly wicked, âIâve got a new reason to show up now.â
Before you can protest this presumptuous declaration, heâs backing away, walking backward down the hallway with that infuriating confidence.
âSee you Wednesday,â he calls. âMaybe by then youâll have reconsidered that coffee date.â
You watch him go, torn between irritation and a reluctant spark of interest. The worst part is, you already know youâll be thinking about him for the rest of the day, analysing his questions, his attention, the way he looked at you like you were a particularly fascinating economic theory he was determined to master. Despite your best intentions, youâre already wondering what heâll come up with on Wednesday.
True to his word, Mingi shows up to every single class over the next few weeks. Not just Macroeconomic Theory, but your shared Political Science workshop and even the optional Economics Department lectures that most students skip. Each time, he gravitates toward you like youâre the north to his south, sliding into adjacent seats with casual determination.
At first, youâre suspiciousâwaiting for the punchline, the reveal that this is some elaborate bet or another frat bro prank. The punchline never comes. Instead, he brings you coffee and snacks, asks thoughtful questions about the material, and occasionally makes you laugh with whispered commentary when Professor Kim goes on one of his tangents about his glory days at the Federal Reserve.
You find yourself slipping into a strange routine. Heâll wait for you after class, walking you to your next destination while debating fiscal multipliers or the ethics of quantitative easing. Sometimes his soccer teammates call out to him across the quad, and you watch the transformationâhow he shifts into the boisterous, larger-than-life Mingi they expect, before settling back into the more thoughtful version when he returns to your side.
Itâs Tuesday afternoon when everything shifts. The library is packed with students cramming for midterms, the air thick with desperation and the smell of overpriced coffee. Youâve claimed your usual table by the economics stacks when Mingi drops into the chair across from you, his expression unusually serious.
âI need to ask you something,â he says, no preamble, no charming smile.
You glance up from your notes, pen hovering. âOkay?â
He runs a hand through his hairâa nervous gesture youâve never seen from him before. âI need a tutor.â
You stare at him, waiting for the joke. When it doesnât come, you set down your pen. âYouâre kidding, right? Youâve been getting the material just fine.â
âNo, I havenât.â His voice is lower now, stripped of its usual confidence. âIâve been barely keeping up. The midtermâs in two weeks, and Iâmââ He stops, jaw tightening. âI need to pass this class with at least a B+.â
âYouâve been answering questions in class,â you counter, confused by this sudden admission. âYou made that connection about endogenous growth theory that even Professor Kim said was insightful.â
Mingiâs laugh is hollow. âYeah, after spending six hours the night before trying to understand it. Lookââ He leans forward, elbows on the table. âIâm not as smart as you think I am. Not naturally, anyway. I have to work twice as hard just to keep up.â
You study him, searching for signs of insincerity. âWhy are you telling me this now? And why me?â
âYouâre the smartest person in this class. IâI donât know who else to askâŠâ His eyes meet yours, unusually vulnerable. âI think you might actually help me without making me feel stupid about it.â
Something doesnât add up. Youâve seen him joke around with teaching assistants, charm his way into deadline extensions. âI donât understandââ
Mingi glances around, then lowers his voice. âIâm on an athletic scholarship. Full ride, but I have to maintain a 3.5 GPA, or I lose it.â He runs a hand over his face. âMy advisor warned me last week. This class is dragging everything down. If I donât get at least a B+ on this midterm, Iâm screwed.â
The admission hangs between you, reshaping your understanding of him. You didnât expect him to be so honest, let alone be honest with you. You knew you were more than capable of tutoring him, youâve tutored multiple students and peers in past. A part of you wants to deny himâ to encourage him to try the other capable tutors in this course but something about his vulnerability made you hold back on that decision.Â
âWhy didnât you say something sooner?â you ask, softer now.
âBecause itâs embarrassing?â He gives a self-deprecating smile that doesnât reach his eyes. âThe dumb jock stereotype exists for a reason. Iâve been fighting it since high school.â He hesitates. âAnd maybe I wanted you to think I was smart enough to keep up with you.â
The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. This is a different man than the one who struts across campus with practised nonchalance, who holds court at parties with effortless charm. This Mingi looks tired and worried, seeing him like this made your heart sink a little.
âI canât afford a professional tutor,â he continues when you donât immediately respond. âMost of my scholarship money goes to housing and food. I can pay you a tutor fee if you have one. Please.â
You should say no. You have your own exams to study for, your own GPA to maintain. But thereâs something about seeing him like thisâdefences down, pride set asideâthat makes it difficult.
âIf I do this,â you say slowly, âthere would be conditions.â
Hope flickers across his face. âName them.â
âFirst, you pay me. My normal rate is sixty per session but considering your situation, I can lower the costâthis is work, not charity.â You hold up a finger. âSecond, you actually put in the effort. No skipping sessions, no half-assing the practice problems I give you.â Another finger joins the first. âAnd third, no messing around. This isnât a backdoor way toâI donât knowâwhatever it is you might be thinking.â
âYou think Iâm using this as an excuse to hit on you?â For the first time, genuine amusement crosses his face. âThat would be a pretty elaborate scheme, even for me.â
âIâm serious, Mingi.â
âSo am I.â The smile fades. âI need this scholarship. Please.â
You sigh, already second-guessing yourself. âFine. We start tomorrow. Six pm, here. Bring your textbook, all your notes, and any practice exams you can get your hands on.â
The relief that washes over his face is so raw it makes you uncomfortable. He reaches across the table, squeezing your hand briefly. âThank you. Seriously.â
âDonât thank me yet,â you warn. âIâm not going to go easy on you.â
âI wouldnât expect you to.â He stands, some of his usual confidence returning.
As you watch him walk away, shoulders straight but tension visible in the line of his neck, you canât shake the feeling that youâve just crossed some invisible boundary. This isnât just coffee after class or witty banter during lectures. This is entangling yourself in his future, taking partial responsibility for his success or failure. You turn back to your notes, trying to focus, but your mind keeps drifting to the look in his eyes when he admitted he needed help. The vulnerability there was realâyouâre almost certain of it. Almost. As you pack up your things hours later, doubt creeps in. Youâve seen how charming he can be, how easily he navigates social situations to get what he wants. What if this is just another performance? What if youâre falling for an act designed to manipulate you into doing his academic heavy lifting? The questions follow you all the way home, lingering as you prepare for bed. You set an alarm for tomorrow and added a reminder to prepare some preliminary materials for your first tutoring session. Despite your misgivings, youâre already mapping out a study plan, identifying the concepts he seemed to struggle with most.
Surely, this little arrangement you have going on wonât be a mistake⊠Right?
You arrive at the library fifteen minutes early to set up, spreading out practice problems and your own colour-coded notes across the table. Youâve been overthinking this all dayâwondering if heâll even show up, if this whole vulnerable confession was just an elaborate ploy to get you to do his work for him. The clock hits 6:00 PM. Then 6:05. Your suspicions start to crystallise into something like disappointment.
At 6:07, Mingi rushes through the library doors, slightly out of breath. Heâs carrying a tray with two coffees and a small paper bag that smells suspiciously of baked goods.
You eye the coffee sceptically. âIs this a bribe?â
He laughs, quieter than his usual boisterous sound, mindful of the library setting. âNo, itâs a thank you. Here, try this.â He slides one cup toward you. âOh, and I got those almond croissants you mentioned the other day. Though honestly, I might have also gotten them because Iâm starving.â
The fact that he remembered your drink order is surprising enough. That he recalled an offhand comment you made about pastries during a five-minute conversation between classes is something else entirely.
âYou didnât have to do that,â you murmur, but you accept the cup anyway, the warmth seeping into your palms.
âSâalright, I wanted to.â He pulls out his textbook and a surprisingly organised binder of notes. âSo, where do we start?â
For the next hour, you walk him through the fundamental concepts of various economic principles, expecting his attention to wander, waiting for the inevitable check of his phone or glance at the clock. It never comes. Instead, Mingi leans forward, brow furrowed in concentration, asking questions that reveal heâs been paying closer attention than you gave him credit for.Â
âSo if technological progress is exogenous in this model,â he questions, tapping his pencil against the page, âthen what actually drives long-term growth? Since capital accumulation alone has diminishing returns, right?â
âExactly.â You canât help the surprise in your voice. âThatâs one of the modelâs main limitations. It doesnât explain where technological progress comes from.â
He nods, making a note in the margin of his textbook. âWhich is why we need endogenous growth theory.â
You stare at him. âYouâve been reading ahead.â
A hint of his usual smirk appears. âDonât sound so shocked. I told you Iâm locked in for our sessions.â
âReading ahead is a bit more than just locking in,â you point out.
âMaybe Iâm trying to impress my tutor.â He winks, but thereâs something different about his teasing nowâless performative.
You roll your eyes, fighting back a smile. âFocus, Mingi.â
âI am focused,â he protests, gesturing to his detailed notes. âSee? Iâm being a model student.â
âA model student wouldnât have waited until three weeks before midterms to ask for help,â you counter, but thereâs no bite to your words.
âTrue.â He stretches, his arm brushing against yours as he reaches for another practice problem. The brief contact sends an unexpected jolt through you. âBut then I wouldnât have had the pleasure of your company on a Wednesday evening.â
You ignore the flutter in your stomach. âHaha. Very funny.â
As the session progresses, you find yourself relaxing into a rhythm with him. Heâs attentive, asking thoughtful questions and working through problems with determined concentration. When he gets stuck on a particularly tricky concept about crowding-out effects, he doesnât get frustratedâinstead, he listens carefully to your explanation, his eyes fixed on your face with an intensity that makes your cheeks warm.
âLike this?â he asks after reworking the problem, sliding his paper toward you.
Your fingers brush as you take it, and neither of you pulls away immediately. You study his work, acutely aware of how close heâs sitting, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the drinks between you.
âThatâs...actually perfect,â you admit, surprised by the clarity of his work. âYou got it exactly right.â
His smile is different from any youâve seen beforeânot the practiced charm he flashes at parties or the competitive grin on the soccer field. Itâs smaller, more genuine, edged with relief.
âI have a good teacher,â he says simply.
You clear your throat, suddenly finding the library too warm. âLetâs try another one.â
Two hours fly by faster than you expected. Mingi works through problem after problem, his understanding visibly improving with each explanation. When he successfully graphs a complex IS-LM model without assistance, the pride on his face is so unguarded it catches you off guard.
âSee? Not just another dumb jock,â he says, but the joke doesnât land quite right. You hear the insecurity beneath it.
âI never thought you were dumb,â you say carefully. âUnmotivated, maybe. But not dumb.â
He looks up from his notes, expression surprisingly vulnerable. âMost people donât make that distinction.â
âIâm not most people.â
âNo,â he agrees, studying your face. âYouâre definitely not.â
The moment stretches between you, taut with something unspoken. Youâre the first to break eye contact, shuffling papers with unnecessary focus.
âItâs getting late,â you say, glancing at your watch. âWe should probably wrap up.â
Mingi begins gathering his things, but his movements are unhurried. âSame time Friday?â
You hesitate. You hadnât planned on making this a regular thing, certainly not multiple times a week. But the progress heâs made in just one session is undeniable.
âYou donât have practice on Friday?â
âNot until seven.â He zips up his backpack. âUnless youâre busy.â
âNo, Iâm not busy.â The admission comes too quickly. âFriday works.â
As you pack up, he helps you organize your notes, handling the color-coded pages with careful precision. His fingers accidentally brush against yours again as he hands you a folder, and this time the contact lingers for a beat longer than necessary.
âThanks for not giving up on me,â he says quietly, shouldering his bag. âMost people would have.â
The sincerity in his voice makes something twist in your chest. âYou didnât give me a reason to.â
You walk together to the library exit, the night air cool against your skin after hours in the stuffy study area. Campus is quiet, most students either out for the evening or locked away studying. Mingi pauses under a lamppost, its glow casting shadows across his features.
âI can walk you home,â he offers. âItâs dark.â
âI live in the opposite direction from you,â you point out. âItâs fine, Iâve been walking home alone for two years now.â
He grins. âJust being a gentleman.â
âIs that what theyâre calling it these days?â
âOuch.â He clutches his chest in mock pain. âYou wound me.â
You laugh at his dramatic act. âGoodnight, Mingi.â
âGoodnight, Miss tutor.â He takes a step backward, still facing you. âDream of fiscal multipliers.â
âThatâs your homework, not mine,â you call after him.
His laughter carries on the night air as he walks away, and you stand watching him for a moment longer than necessary. Itâs only when youâre halfway home that you realize youâre still smiling, the warmth in your chest having nothing to do with the coffee you shared.
You tell yourself itâs just satisfaction from a productive tutoring session. Nothing more. Certainly not the way his eyes crinkled when he finally understood a difficult concept, or how his hand felt when it accidentally brushed yours, or the genuine gratitude in his voice when he thanked you. Definitely not that.
As you unlock your apartment door, you find yourself already planning Fridayâs session in your head, thinking of ways to explain concepts he struggled with, wondering if heâll bring coffee again, if heâll sit as close, if heâll look at you with that same focused intensity. Itâs purely academic help, you insist on yourself. Professional concern for a student who needs help. Even if you donât quite believe it.
Your roommate is waiting when you get home, practically vibrating with curiosity. âSo? How was tutoring Mingi? Did he make any moves?â
âIt was just tutoring,â you say, setting down your bag. âHeâs actually pretty smart, thought nothing was going on upstairs to be honest.â
Her lips thin out into a straight line, looking disappointed by your lack of gossip. âThatâs it? No flirting? No rizz? Nothing?â
You think about the moment he challenged your explanation, the genuine satisfaction in his eyes when he understood a complex concept.
âNope, nothing at all,â you deadpanned at your roommate.
As you lie in bed reviewing your day, you remember the intensity in his eyes when he thanked you. The way his smile changed when he was actually engaged with the material. The surprising depth of his questions. You wonder what other assumptions youâve made about Song Mingi might be wrong.
The following Friday, youâre setting up the study materials when Mingi arrives five minutes early this time. You almost burst out in laughter seeing the way he was trying to balance two cups of coffee in his hand.
âOkay once you're done clowning me, you have to try this vanilla latte. It's really good.â He sets them down carefully on your side of the table.
You eye the offerings suspiciously. âAre you sure this isnât supposed to be a bribe?â
âHm? For what?â He looks genuinely confused as he takes his seat.
âI donât know. Extra help? A better grade?â You push the coffee slightly away. âI canât accept this, youâve already bought me so much stuff the past couple of days.â
Mingi laughs, the sound unexpectedly warm in the sterile study room. âItâs just coffee, donât sweat it. Consider it a thank you for the last session. I actually understood what Professor Kim was talking about yesterday.â
You hesitate before reluctantly pulling the coffee back. âFine.â
His smiles. âIf I wanted to bribe you, Iâd need to do better than a coffee, doll. Consider it fuel for our session today.â
The nickname catches you off guard, heat rising unexpectedly to your cheeks. Mingiâs eyes flicker briefly to the colour spreading across your face, but he simply slides the coffee closer without comment. You accept the cup, fingers brushing his momentarily. Itâs still hot, and exactly how you like it. The gesture is small but thoughtful in a way you wouldnât have expected.
âThank you,â you hummed, setting up your materials. âDonât think this earns you any leniency on todayâs session.â
âWouldnât dream of it,â he says, already pulling out his completed homeworkâall of it done correctly, you note with surprise.
Over the next few sessions, a pattern emerges. Mingi has become significantly more punctual as your sessions progress, always bringing you coffee (though sometimes he switches it up with tea when you mention a sore throat), and always has his work prepared. The coffee becomes such a fixture that on the one day he arrives without it, you actually feel slightly disappointed.
âNo liquid bribery today?â you quipped, trying to keep your tone light.
His face falls. âThe line was insane, and I didnât want to be late.â He runs a hand through his hair, slightly panicked. âI can go get some if youââ
âI was joking,â you interject quickly. âDonât worry about it.â
âIâll make it up to you next week,â he shrugs, as if that helps explains everything.
The following week, he brings not only coffee but also a small paper bag containing a blueberry muffin from your favourite bakery across town.
âWhaâ Mingi, this isâŠâ you marvelled, eyeing the bakery logo. âThat place is twenty minutes from campus.â
He shrugs, focusing intently on opening his textbook. âMy morning run took me that way.â
âYour morning run took you four kilometres out of your way?â
He leans forward slightly, his voice dropping. âIâm an athlete. You could say that Iâve got excellent... endurance. A little detour doesnât bother me.â
You roll your eyes, you want to press the issue but are distracted when he pulls out the work you assigned him the previous session. Heâs not only completed all the assigned questions but has tackled the bonus problems you included as an afterthought. His work shows an elegant approach to the material that makes you pause.
âThis solution,â you point to his work on comparative advantage models, âwhere did you learn this method?â
âOh,â he looks almost embarrassed. âI was reading this paper by Stiglitz that mentioned a similar approach, so I adapted it. Is it wrong?â
You blink at him. âYouâre reading Joseph Stiglitz for fun?â
âGod no, not for fun,â he says, looking uncomfortable with your scrutiny. âI was trying to understand why the models in class werenât clicking for me. Sometimes I need to see the bigger picture.â
âYou know,â you say slowly, âyou might actually enjoy Behavioural Economics next semester. It challenges a lot of the classical assumptions.â
His eyes light up. âThatâs the unit with Professor Ryu, right? Iâve been wanting to take that.â
âWait, seriously?â You canât hide your surprise. âThat class is notoriously difficult.â
âSo am I, apparently,â he scoffed, but thereâs no bite to it. âAt least according to my tutor.â
The sessions continue, and with each one, your perception of Mingi shifts. When discussing economic inequality, he brings up points about systemic barriers that show heâs thought deeply about privilegeâincluding his own. During a session on game theory, he demonstrates an intuitive understanding of strategic thinking that surpasses most of your other students that you tutor.
âItâs like poker,â he explains when you comment on his grasp of Nash equilibrium. âEveryone thinks itâs about the cards, but itâs really about understanding peopleâs patterns and incentives.â
âYou play?â you ask, imagining loud frat house games with red cups and shouting.
âMy grandfather taught me,â he mumbled, something softer in his expression. âHe was an economics professor, actually.â
The revelation hangs between you, another piece of the puzzle that is Song Mingi. You want to ask more but sense his reluctance to elaborate. Maybe another day, you hope.
As your midterm approaches, your sessions intensify. You meet three times in the final week, once in the campus coffee shop when the library study rooms are all booked. Mingi still insists on paying for your drinks and snacks.
âOkay hear me out, Iâm applying economic concepts for when I order us coffee,â he announced before you can comment. âYouâre providing a service, Iâm compensating you beyond our agreed terms because the value exceeds the price.â
âThat sounds suspiciously like something I said two sessions ago,â you point out.
âI told you, I pay attention,â he corrected, and something in his tone makes you look up from your notes.
Heâs watching you with an expression you canât quite decipherâsomething more complex than what he shows the rest of the world. It makes your heart beat uncontrollably in your chest in a way that has nothing to do with caffeine. The night before the exam, you receive a text from him. Multiple actually.
The night before the exam, you receive a text from him: If monopolistic competition exhibits zero economic profit in the long run, why do firms bother entering the market?
You smile despite yourself and type back: Non-monetary incentives. Brand loyalty, market positioning, the satisfaction of seeing their competitors throw a bitch fit.
His response comes immediately: So spite is an economic motivator? They just like me fr.
You laugh out loud, drawing a curious look from your roommate.
âIs that Mingi?â she asks, eyebrows raised suggestively. âJust a last-minute economics question,â you answered, trying to sound casual.
âMhmm,â she hums skeptically. âSmiling over econ, rightâŠâ
You ignore her, sending Mingi one final message: Get some sleep. Economics rewards the well-rested. His reply makes your heart do something complicated.
I will, doll. Thank you.Â
On exam day, you spot him across the lecture hall. He catches your eye and gives you a small nodâno flashy smile, no charming wink, just quiet determination. For some reason, this affects you more than any of his rehearsed moves ever did that you observed in the past.
When Professor Kim calls time, you watch him hand in his exam with confidence in his posture that wasnât there six weeks ago. As students file out, he makes his way to your seat.
âHowâd it go?â you asked as you slowly gathered your things.
âI think,â he hums, âthat Professor Kim might actually have to give me an A.â
âDonât get cocky,â you scoff at his delusion, a small feeling of pride swells in your chest.
âNever,â he agrees solemnly, then ruins it with a grin. âI did crush that section on market failures. Turns out my experience with failed relationships was finally useful for something.â
You roll your eyes, slinging your tote bag over your shoulder. âAnd here I thought weâd made progress beyond that frat boy persona of yours.â
âOld habits,â he nudges you with his elbow, falling into step beside you as you exit the classroom. âSeriously, thank you. I couldnât have done this without your help.â
You walk in silence for a moment, acutely aware of how his stride has adjusted to match yours. Itâs these small, unconscious accommodations that you find yourself noticing more and more lately.
âSo,â he clears his throat, breaking the quiet as you cross the quad, âMy frat is hosting our end-of-semester bash this weekend.â His tone is casual, but thereâs an undercurrent of something else. âSaturday night, starting around nine.â
You keep your eyes focused ahead. âIâm sure half the campus is already going and planning their outfits.â
âProbably,â he agrees with a light laugh. âBut I, uh, was wondering if you wanted to come?â
When you donât immediately respond, he adds quickly, âAs a thank you for helping me ace this exam. I mean, Iâm pretty sure I aced it.â
You slow your pace, finally turning to look at him properly. âYouâre inviting me to your party? Me?â The disbelief in your voice is unmistakable.
âIs that so hard to believe?â His expression is somewhere between amused and offended.
âMingi, I donât do parties.â You adjust your bag strap, uncomfortable with how this conversation is veering into territory youâve carefully avoided. âYou of all people should know that.â
He frowns, âDonât you want to celebrate? You helped me pull off a minor academic miracle here.â
âI think youâre exaggerating your previous academic despair,â you hesitated. âBesides, I donât think Iâd fit in with your crowd.â
âMy crowd?â He scoffs. âYouâve never even met my friends.â
âIâve seen enough from a distance, I know enough.â You start walking again, faster now. âThanks for the invitation, but Iâll pass.â
His long strides enable him to keep up with your pace. âCome on, just for an hour. You can leave if you hate it.â
âMingiââÂ
âOne hour, dollâ he repeats. âThatâs all Iâm asking. Iâll personally ensure no one spills anything on you and tries to bother you the whole night.â
Despite yourself, you laugh. âThatâs oddly specific.â
âI know my crowd.â His smile is softer now, more genuine. âPlease? I want you to see that thereâs more to usâto meâthan the stereotypes.â
You study his face, searching for the manipulation, But all you see is sincerity and hope.Â
âFine,â you groaned, not quite believing the words coming out of your mouth. âOne hour. Thatâs it. Iâm leaving the second someone tries to get me to play beer pong.â
His face lights up. âDeal. Iâll text you the details.â
As you part ways, you wonder what exactly youâve just agreed to. Youâve spent nearly three years avoiding exactly this kind of social situation. Loud music, drunk students, the messy intersection of alcohol and attraction. Yet somehow, when Mingi asked, your carefully constructed refusal crumbled.Â
Your roommate squeals when you tell her your weekend plans.
âYouâre going to the end of sem party? With Mingi?â She clutches your arm dramatically. âThis is basically getting an invite from the MET gala!â
âItâs just a thank you for the tutoring,â you explain, trying to sound casual as you sort through your closet. âIâm only staying for an hour.â
âSure,â she drew out the word with obvious disbelief. âThatâs why youâre trying on your fourth outfit.â
You drop the dress youâve been holding up. âI just want to look appropriate.â
âAppropriate for what? Or is it for making mister Song Mingi realise what heâs been missing?â She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.
âFor not looking like Iâm trying too hard,â you correct her, settling on dark jeans and a simple top that manages to be both casual and flattering. âThis isnât a date.â
âWhatever you say.â She flops back on your bed. âBy the way, you should know that Mingi doesnât personally invite just anyone to these things. Especially not someone heâs been staring at across classrooms for months.â
âHe hasnât beenââ you begin, but stop when you remember all those times you felt his gaze on you in the library and the lecture hall.
âOh honey,â your roommate giggles, âfor someone so smart, you are so stupid.â
On the night of the party, you and your closet have declared war. What began as a gentle sifting through hangers two hours ago has devolved into a cyclone of black crop tops, frayed denim, and shoes you forgot you owned. Your roommateâs voice, pitch-perfect for the college musical she never auditioned for, belts a running commentary from the bed: âYou look hot in that, but hotter in the other,â and, later, âIf you donât wear that skirt, I will.â For every option you parade, she offers a one-woman panelâs worth of praise, criticism, and lewd suggestions, but when you finally emerge from the pile in a black singlet and the aforementioned denim mini, she sits up so abruptly the bedsprings squeal.
âYes,â she hollered, pointing both index fingers at you as if firing a pair of pistols, âThatâs the one! Fuck you look good.â
You tug at the hem, self-conscious. The skirt is so short your thighs feel like they might spontaneously combust with the friction of walking, and the top is cut low enough to leave no room . The outfit is, by college standards, conservative. By your standards, the edge of a personal revolution. You pace, boots heavy and loud. You layer on a thrifted blazer, then throw it off, then drape it over one arm for insurance. You sit on the edge of the bed, stand again, cross the room to the mirror, assess your reflection from the most punishing angles. You practice smiling in a way that suggests effortless fun rather than âIâm in hell and wish I were home in the comfort of my bed.â
Your roommate paints your lips red, then wipes it off with a tissue, then reapplies in a shade closer to your natural colour.
âThere,â she beams, âlike you rolled out of bed looking like this.â
You try not to look at the clock, but itâs everywhereâon your phone, on the microwave, in the stomp of boots hitting the tile as you stalk the kitchenette looking for a cup to fill, then abandon. Your hands shake when you pour yourself a glass of water. You spill some on your wrist, wipe it away, then notice your palms are already slicked with sweat.
âStop fidgeting.â Your roommateâs tone is gentle, but thereâs a note of command you recognize from years of friendship.
She takes your hands in hers, holds them steady, and says, âYouâre just going to a party. With a boy. Not even a date.â She squeezes your fingers and grins. âYou should be more excited! There might be hook-ups, or at least drama. At the very least, thereâll be free food.â
You want to laugh, but your stomach is a tight fist. Youâve spent the last three years avoiding exactly this scenarioârowdy house parties, the unwritten social contract of collegiate fun, the humiliation of standing awkwardly in a crowd of people who all seem to know exactly how to move, talk, flirt. Youâre not anti-social, not truly, but your preferred company is to be alone with your trusted circle of friends. The thought of plunging into a frat house, even for an hour, makes you want to crawl out of your skin.
And yet. Thereâs Mingi, the wild card. Heâs never made you feel like a project, or an obligation, or a checkmark on a list of collegiate experiences. When he smiles at you, it isnât the rehearsed, camera-ready grin you see him use on campus tour guides or in group photos. Itâs something softer, quieter, reserved for moments when he thinks no one else is watching. You remember the way he said âpleaseâ when he invited you, the way his eyes didnât leave yours even after you tried to look away. He made it sound like this party wasnât just another party, but an extension of the strange, fragile thing growing between the two of you. Youâre not sure you trust it, but you want, for once, to try.
You stall in the doorway, hand poised on the knob, running through possible disasters. Your roommate senses your hesitation, materializing at your side with a pep talk worthy of a sports movie.
âRemember,â she says softly, âyouâre not obligated to like it. Just survive the hour, and if you hate it, Iâll be waiting with post-party ramen and a debrief.â She presses the blazer into your hands and shoves you gently toward the elevator.
You take the stairs instead, one flight, then another, legs trembling with anticipation. The campus is alive with spring: the air is thick with the cloying perfume of flowering trees, the distant thump of bass from speakers, the migration of students in clusters, each group moving toward its own temporary destiny. You keep your head down, hoping to avoid unnecessary conversation. You find yourself counting steps, then counting heartbeats, and by the time you reach the block of houses that host the Greek life ecosystem, youâve rehearsed twenty variations of how to say hello without sounding desperate. You pass a group of girls in matching pastel tank tops, their laughter ricocheting like pinballs off the sidewalk. You duck your head, wondering if they recognize you from Intro to Business Law, but they breeze past without a second glance. In the darkness, your reflection glances back at you from every window: a stranger, confident and composed, even as anxiety gnaws at your insides.
You approach the frat house, the lights already blazing, music leaking from every crack in the siding. In the front yard, a couple makes out with the desperation of people who know theyâll regret it in the morning. A boy in a toga sprints past, pursued by a girl wielding a pool noodle. The porch is a wall of bodies, some familiar, most not, and for a moment you consider walking straight past, circling the block, and returning to your dorm in defeat.
You almost do. Youâre on the verge of turning around when your phone buzzes, the screen lighting up with a text from Mingi: Where are you? Iâll come out front.
Your thumb hovers over the screen. Before you can reply, the front door swings open and there he isâMingi, framed in the doorway like some ridiculous cologne advertisement. Heâs wearing dark jeans and a simple black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, exposing forearms that make your mouth go inexplicably dry. His hair is styled differently tonight, swept back to reveal his forehead in a way that transforms his entire face.
He scans the yard, eyes skipping past you once before snapping back, recognition dawning. When his gaze lands on you properly, something shifts in his expressionâhis confident smile faltering, eyes widening slightly.
âOh,â he says, just that one syllable hanging in the air between you. He clears his throat. âIâyouââ He stops again, seemingly unable to form a complete sentence.
You feel heat creeping up your neck, suddenly hyperaware of every inch of exposed skin. âIs something wrong?â you ask, tugging self-consciously at your skirt.
The question seems to snap him out of his daze. His trademark smile returns, but thereâs something different about itâsomething genuine that settles in your chest in a way you donât quite name.
âNothingâs wrong,â he finally blurts out. âYou just look... different.â He takes a step closer. âGood different I meanâ Like really good different.â
You duck your head, unable to meet his eyes. âItâs just a skirt and top. Nothing special.â
âCouldâve fooled me,â he murmurs, and the sincerity in his voice makes your blush deepen. His confidence seems to grow in direct proportion to your bashfulness, and he extends his hand to you. âCome on. Let me introduce you to some people who arenât total disasters.â
You place your hand in his, telling yourself itâs just to be polite, but the warmth of his palm against yours sends a current up your arm. He guides you through the crowded doorway, his body naturally creating a buffer between you and the jostling partygoers. Youâre fully aware of his proximity, the cologne heâs wearing, the way his hand occasionally brushes against the small of your back as he leads you deeper into the house.
The living room has been transformed into a makeshift dance floor, furniture pushed against walls to make space. The kitchen beyond is crowded with people mixing drinks and laughing over red cups. Mingi steers you away from both, toward a slightly quieter corner where a group of guys are engaged in animated conversation.
âHey,â he calls out, and seven heads turn in perfect unison. âThis is my econ tutor, the one Iâve been telling you guys about.â
Youâre suddenly faced with an assembly of some of the most attractive men youâve ever seen in one place, each with a distinctive style that somehow works in harmony with the others. They regard you with varying expressions of curiosity and amusement.
âSo youâre the one who got our Mingi to actually open a textbook,â a guy with sharp features and an even sharper smile walks up to the both of you. âIâm Hongjoong. House president.â
âCo-president,â Mingi corrects, rolling his eyes.
âPfft whatever dude,â Hongjoong waves dismissively. âThis is Seonghwaââ he gestures to a tall, elegant-looking man who offers you a polite nod, ââYunhoââ a friendly giant with dark hair raises his cup in greeting, ââYeosangââ a guy with delicate features and knowing eyes gives you a small smile, ââSanââ an energetic man with dimples deep enough to drown in waves enthusiastically, ââWooyoungââ a mischievous-looking guy with red hair winks at you, ââand Jongho.â The last member, compact but powerful-looking, gives you a respectful bow.
âNice to finally meet the person whoâs been occupying all our friendâs time,â Wooyoung whistles.
âAnd thoughts,â San adds, earning him a death glare from Mingi.
You shift uncomfortably under their collective gaze, but their smiles are genuine, lacking the judgment you expected from Mingiâs inner circle.
âDonât believe anything they tell you about me,â Mingi says, leaning close enough that you can feel his breath on your ear. âEspecially Wooyoung. Heâs a pathological liar.â
âNuh uh, thatâs just not true!â Wooyoung protests. âI only lie on Tuesdays and public holidays.â
The group erupts in laughter, and to your surprise, you find yourself laughing along. Thereâs an easy camaraderie among them that feels inclusive rather than exclusive, drawing you in despite your reservations.
âMingi says youâre top of the econ department,â Seonghwa mentioned, his voice calm and measured. âThatâs impressive.â
Before you can respond, Yunho chimes in: âHe wouldnât shut up about how you explained game theory using poker analogies. Said it was ârevolutionaryâ or some shit.â
âI did not say revolutionary,â Mingi denies, but the pink tinging his ears tells a different story.
âYou did,â Jongho confirms flatly. âMultiple times. Over breakfast.â
You glance at Mingi, oddly touched that heâs spoken about your tutoring sessions to his friends. âIt wasnât anything special. Heâs actually really quick to grasp concepts once theyâre explained properly.â
Mingi grins at the group. âSee? I told you guys Iâm not just a pretty face.â He sticks his tongue out at them, more out of habit than real offence.
âNo one said you were just a pretty face,â Hongjoong replies, tone even. âWe said youâre a pretty face that just so happened to be a little bit stupid.â
Mingi scoffs under his breath, but heâs smiling anyway. âThatâs not better.â
âItâs accurate,â Hongjoong snorted.
The banter continues, and you find yourself relaxing into it, surprised by how comfortable you feel among them. Theyâre not what you expectedânot the stereotypical frat boys youâve spent years avoiding. Theyâre smart, funny, and surprisingly thoughtful in their questions to you.
After a while, Mingi leans in again. âHow are you feeling? Do you want a drink? Or maybe some air?â
You nod gratefully. âFresh air would be nice.â
He places his hand lightly on your back again, guiding you toward a set of French doors that lead to a back deck. The night air is cool against your skin, a welcome respite from the heat of bodies packed inside. The deck is strung with fairy lights that cast a soft glow over the wooden boards, and surprisingly, itâs empty except for a few potted plants.
âThe secret balcony,â Mingi explains, seeing your questioning look. âOff-limits to regular party guests. One of the perks of being house leadership.â
âSo Iâm not a regular party guest?â you raise an eyebrow, leaning against the railing.
âOf course not, you are far from it,â he mutters under his breath that makes your breath falter.
You both fall silent for a moment, the bass from inside creating a muted heartbeat beneath your conversation. You canât quite decide whatâs more surprisingâthat youâre here like this, or that itâs with Mingi of all people. You settle on not thinking too hard about either.
âYour friends are nice,â you finally break the silence. âNot what I expected.â
âWhat did you expect?â He leans next to you, close enough that your shoulders almost touch.
âLoud, obnoxious frat bros talking about the typical one night stand and having the collective IQ of a houseplant.â
He laughs, the sound warm and genuine. âOh, they can be loud and obnoxious too. But theyâre also the best people I know.â
He pauses, looking out over the dimly-lit yard. âWe all have our reasons for being here, you know? Hongjoongâs parents expected him to join their firm right after high school, but he wanted to go to college first. Seonghwa supports his younger siblings through school. Jonghoâs on a full academic scholarship.â
You turn to look at him, surprised by this glimpse behind the fraternity façade. âAnd you? Whatâs your reason?â
Heâs quiet for a long moment, and when he speaks, his voice has lost its usual confident edge. âMy grandfather, the one I told you about, He was the first person in our family to go to college. He wanted to see me graduate more than anything.â His fingers tap against the railing, a nervous gesture youâve never seen from him before. âHe passed away during my senior year of high school.â
âOh Iâm sorry,â you say softly.
âItâs okay. I mean, itâs not, but...â He went on. âI promised him Iâd make the most of college. Not just academically, but the whole experience. The brotherhood, the leadership opportunities, all of it.â
âIs that why youâre so determined to keep your GPA up? For your scholarship?â
âPartly,â he admits. âMainly because I donât want to just be the party guy, you know? I want people to realise Iâm capable and somewhat intelligent.âÂ
Without really thinking about it, you close the remaining distance just enough for your hand to brush his. Itâs tentative at first, almost accidental. When he doesnât pull away, your fingers curl lightly around his. Mingi stills. For someone whoâs always in motion, always talking, always performing, the sudden quiet in him is striking. His gaze drops to where your hands are joined, like heâs trying to process it, like thisâyouâis the one thing he never quite learned how to anticipate.
âItâs not a bad thing,â you say softly, your thumb brushing once, unconsciously, over his knuckles. âWanting people to see more than what meets the eye.â
His hand shifts in yours, not pulling awayâsettling. Grounding.
âI know what itâs like,â you add, quieter now. âBeing reduced to something simple. Convenient. Even if itâs⊠impressive on paper.â
That earns a small huff of laughter from him, but malice behind it. Just something tired, something honest.
âYeah,â he murmurs. âGuess weâre both victims of stereotyping huh.â
You smile faintly. âI guess we are.â
And then it hits you. The warmth. The contact. The fact that your hand is still wrapped around his. Your fingers twitch slightly, awareness crashing in all at once, and you pull backâjust a little too quickly to be entirely casual. The absence of him is immediate, the cool night air slipping into the space where his warmth had been. Mingi notices. Of course he does. Something flickers across his face, it was subtle but you saw it there momentarily. A small dip at the corner of his mouth, a hesitation like he almost reaches for you again before stopping himself. Itâs gone just as quickly, replaced by something lighter, easier, like heâs filing the moment away instead of questioning it. He clears his throat, glancing out in the distance.Â
âCareful,â he teases. âKeep doing that and I might start thinking you actually like me.â
You scoff, grateful for the shift. âDonât get ahead of yourself.â
âTragic,â he sighs dramatically. âHere I was, planning our future.â
âIn your dreams.â
âBold of you to assume youâre not already there.â
You roll your eyes, but a laugh escapes you anyway, the tension dissolving into something softer, more familiar. For a moment, you simply stand together in comfortable silence, watching the party unfold below. The fairy lights cast soft shadows across his face, highlighting the angles youâve studied during countless tutoring sessions.
âCan I ask you something?â he says finally, turning to face you.
âYou just did.â
He rolls his eyes. âWhy did you agree to tutor me? I asked some other people in our class and they said you turned them down.â
You consider the question, surprised by his awareness of your other rejections. âHonestly? You seemed desperate. Plus you actually pay me on time.â
âOuch,â he winces, but his smile remains. âAt least youâre honest.â
âWhy did you ask me?â you counter. âThere are plenty of other tutors on campus.â
He looks down at his hands, suddenly serious. âYou were the only one who looked at me and didnât see what everyone else saw.â
âAnd whatâs that?â
âYou know the usual stereotypes,â He shrugs, a gesture that carries more weight than it should. âEveryone thinks they know me because they hear all about my reputation.â
Something in his tone makes you pause, recognizing a sentiment that echoes your own experience. âI get that,â you say quietly. âPeople are like that with me too. They think what we are at face value is what we truly are.â
âIsnât it?â His question is gentle, not challenging.
You shake your head. âNo more than youâre just a frat boy who happens to look good in a button-down.â
He raises an eyebrow as his eyes meet yours, âYou think I look good?â
âDonât fish for compliments,â you scold as you bite back a smile. âYour ego is big enough already.â
âThere you go again, humbling me.â His gaze softens as he steps closer. âI like that about you. You never let me get away with anything.â
You tilt your head, crossing your arms loosely. âYeah? I know thereâs a lot of things you like about me.â
His eyebrows lift, a slow grin spreading across his face. âYeah?â
âYeah,â you continue, feigning nonchalance. âMy intelligence. My work ethic. My incredible patience for difficult studentsââ
ââwoah, woah,â he cuts in, laughing. âWhen did this turn into a self-evaluation?â
âYou asked,â you shoot back. âIâm just being thorough.â
He steps closer, close enough now that the teasing edge softens into something warmer. âYou missed a few.â
âOh?â you raise an eyebrow. âEnlighten me.â
âThe way you pretend not to care,â he responded quietly. âBut still show up anyway.â
Your breath catches slightly, but you recover. âThatâs not a quality. Thatâs just⊠basic decency.â
âMm,â he hums, unconvinced. âAnd the way you look at me when you think Iâm not paying attention.â
You freeze. âI do notââ
âYou do,âÂ
You swallow, your voice coming out just above a whisper. âWhat does that look mean, according to you?â
He studies you for a moment, like heâs debating whether to say it.
âLike youâre trying really hard not to like me.â
Your heart stumbles over itself.
âThatâs a bold assumption,â you manage.
âIs it, doll?âÂ
Thereâs barely any space left between you now. Youâre aware of everything. How close he was to you, the warmth radiating off him, the way his gaze drops briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. Your own breath feels too loud in your chest.
âThis feels like youâre fishing for compliments again,â you say, but your voice lacks its usual bite.
âMaybe,â he admits easily. âOnly from you, though.â
The honesty of it lands heavier than it should. Your fingers twitch at your side, like they remember what it felt like to hold his hand. Like they want to again.
âMingiââ you start, though youâre not entirely sure what youâre going to say.
He leans in slightly. Not rushed. Not cocky. Careful. Like heâs giving you time to stop him. You donât. Your eyes flick down to his lips for just a secondâlong enough for him to noticeâand thatâs all it takes. The air shifts, something unspoken settling between you as you both lean in, slow and almost hesitantâ
âYo! Mingi!â
The moment shatters. You both jerk back slightly as the deck door swings open. Wooyoung steps out, slightly breathless, eyes flicking between the two of you with immediate recognitionâand absolutely zero subtlety.
âOh shit,â he says, smirking. âAm I interrupting something?â
âWhat do you think?,â Mingi says flatly, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
âTragic,â his red haired friend replies, not looking sorry in the slightest. âHongjoongâs looking for you. Something about the DJ setup dying and you being âuseless but still required.ââ
Mingi closes his eyes briefly, exhaling. âOf course he is.â
Wooyoung gaze shifts back to you, smile softening. âHey, youâre staying, right? Itâs just getting good.â
You hesitate. And Mingi notices.
His attention snaps back to you, something apologetic in his expression. âIâgive me ten minutes? Iâll come find you.â
You glance toward the house, the noise, the crowd, the overwhelming swirl of everything youâve been holding at bay all night. Then back at him. At the almost-kiss still lingering in the space between you. By the way your chest feels too full, too tight, like you donât quite know what to do with everything youâre suddenly feeling.
âI thinkâŠâ you start, then pause, shaking your head slightly. âI should probably head out.â
His expression drops, just a fraction. âAlready?â
âI stayed longer than I planned,â you say, offering a small smile. âI have an early morning.â
Itâs a weak excuse. You both know it. But he doesnât call you out on it. Instead, he nods slowly, stepping back just enough to give you spaceâeven if he doesnât seem to want t
âRight. Yeah. Of course.â He rubs the back of his neck. âThanks for coming. I can walk youââ
âNo need, I can see myself out,â you reply softly. âThanks for inviting me, I had a really good time.âÂ
Thereâs a beat. Something unfinished is hanging between you.
âGet home safe,â he adds, quieter now.
âI will.â
You turn before you can overthink it. Before you can look at him again and change your mind and make your way back through the house. The music feels louder now, the lights harsher, the press of bodies more suffocating than before. By the time you step outside into the cool night air, your head is spinning. Not from the party. From him. From the way he looked at you like that. You exhale slowly, starting down the path back to your dorm, your fingers curling slightly at your sides.
Your key turns in the lock with a sharp click that echoes through the empty hallway. The walk back to your dorm passed in a blur. Your mind replaying those moments on the deck over and over, his face so close to yours, the almost-kiss thatâs now branded into your memory as a question mark.
Your roommate looks up from her laptop, eyes widening when she sees you. âYouâre back early! I thoughtââ She pauses, taking in your expression. âWhat happened?â
You drop your bag and collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. âI think I just made a huge mistake.â
âWhat did he do? Babe I swear if he tried anythingââ Sheâs immediately on alert, sitting up straighter.
âNo,â you shake your head, pressing your palms against your eyes. âThe opposite. He was... perfect. His friends were really nice, funny too. The party wasnât terrible. And we almost kissed, and then IâI ran away.â
âYou what?â She scrambles off her bed and sits next to you. âBack up. You almost kissed him and then you left?â
âWe got interrupted, and then I just... panicked.â You sit up, hugging your knees to your chest. âI donât know whatâs happening to me.â
Your roommate studies your face, her expression softening into something you havenât seen beforeâconcern mixed with understanding.Â
âHoly shit,â she mumbled. âYou like him.â
âNo,â you protest automatically, then trail off. âMaybe. Shit. I donât know?â Your voice muffles as you bury your face in your hands. âThis is so stupid. Iâve spent years avoiding guys exactly like him.â
âExcept heâs not exactly like anyone, is he?â She nudges your shoulder gently. âNot if heâs got you this fucked up.â
You groan. âThatâs the problem. Heâs supposed to be this shallow frat boy who only cares about parties and hookups, but then he goes and talks about his grandfather and his friends and looks at me likeâlikeââ
âLike what?â she prompts.
âLike I matter,â you cried out, wiping away the tears from your face. âNot just as a tutor or someone to boost his grade. Like he actually enjoys my company.â
Sheâs quiet for a moment, then says, âIâve never seen you like this over anyone before.â
âThatâs because Iâve never felt like this before,â you admit, the words coming out in a rush. âIâve probably ruined it by running away like some character in a bad rom-com.â
âYou donât understand.â You get up, pacing the small space between your beds. âI had this whole image of him in my headâŠthis whole narrative about who he was and what he wanted. It was so much easier when I could just dismiss him as just some guy. But heâs not, and now I donât know what to do with that.â
âMaybe you could try, oh I donât know, talking to him?â Your roommate suggests, her tone gently teasing you as she hands you a tissue.
âAnd say what? âSorry I ran away when we were about to kiss, Iâm just terrified because I might actually like youâ?â
âThat sounds like a start.â
You collapse back onto your bed with a groan. âI fucked up so bad.â
âMaybe,â she concedes, âbut not irreparably.â She picks up your phone from where you dropped it and holds it out to you. âText him.â
You stare at the phone like it might bite you. âLike now?â
âYes, now. Before you overthink it even more than you already have.â
Your fingers hover over the screen, hesitant. âWhat do I even say?â
âThe truth,â she says simply. âOr at least part of it.â
You take a deep breath and start typing, deleting, typing again. After what feels like an eternity, you hit send on a simple message: Sorry for leaving so abruptly. Ty for tonight.
The response comes faster than you expected, your phone buzzing in your hand almost immediately: All good. Did u get home safe?
Something in your chest loosens just slightly. Heâs still talking to you, at least. You type back: Yea, made it back like 5 mins ago.
Three dots appear, disappear, appear again: Can I call you tomorrow?
Your heart does a strange little flip. âHe wants to call me tomorrow,â you tell your roommate, your voice sounding strange even to your own ears.
She grins. âSee? Not ruined.â
You type back a quick âSureâ before you can second-guess yourself.
His response is just as quick: Good. Sleep well, doll.
Despite everything, you find yourself smiling at the nickname. Your roommate peers over your shoulder, reading the exchange.
âOh, youâve got it bad,â she says jokingly. âFrom the looks of it, so does he.â
âThis is such a mess,â you sigh, but thereâs less despair in it now. âIâm supposed to be the level-headed one. The one who doesnât get caught up in... whatever this is.â
âMaybe thatâs exactly why you need this,â she suggests, returning to her own bed. âWhen was the last time you did something just because it made you feel good, not because it was the smart, practical choice?â
You donât have an answer for that. As you lie in bed, sleep eluding you, you replay the night in your head. The way Mingi looked at you on that deck, the warmth of his hand in yours, the honesty in his voice when he talked about wanting to be seen as more than his reputation. You think about how easily you could have stayed, how different the night might have ended if you had just stayed with him.
âHe said heâd call,â you mutter to yourself during lunch, checking your notifications for the fifth time in an hour.
By mid-afternoon, anxiety has settled into a knot in your stomach. Was leaving the party abruptly really such a dealbreaker? Or worseâwas the almost-kiss just another moment for him, easily forgotten once you walked away?
Your roommate finds you hunched over economics papers in your dorm, highlighter poised but motionless over the same paragraph youâve been staring at for twenty minutes.
âStill nothing?âÂ
You shake your head, trying to appear more focused on your work than you actually are. âItâs fine. Heâs probably busy with frat stuff.â
âHeâs nursing a hangover,â she mused, flopping onto her bed. âThose parties donât exactly end early.â
âYeah, probably.â You force your attention back to your notes, determined not to care.
The sun begins to set, casting long shadows across your desk. Youâve moved on to grading papers for the professor you TA for, a task that usually requires your full concentration. Tonight, however, each essay blurs into the next as your mind wanders back to the deck, to Mingiâs face inches from yours. At 7:38 PM, your phone finally rings. You nearly knock over your coffee reaching for it, heart leaping into your throat when you see his name on the screen. Taking a deep breath, you answer with what you hope is casual nonchalance.
âHello?â
âHey.â His voice comes through warm and slightly hesitant. âIs this a bad time?â
âNo, just grading some papers.â You lean back in your chair, trying to ignore how your pulse has quickened. âHow was your day?â
âLong,â he admits with a soft laugh. âHad to deal with some post-party clean up that was... not ideal.â
âSounds rough,â you say, picturing the chaos that must have followed after you left.
Thereâs a brief pause before he speaks again. âListen, I was wondering if youâd want to grab some ice cream? Thereâs this place near the science building that stays open late.â
You glance at your half-finished work, then at the clock. âNow?â
âYeah, if youâre not too busy. I just...â He hesitates. âI think we should talk. In person.â
Your stomach drops. Those words never precede anything good.
âOh,â you manage. âSure. I could use a break anyway.â
âGreat.â The relief in his voice is palpable. âMeet you there in twenty?â
âMake it thirty,â you say, already mentally cataloguing what youâre wearingâsweatpants and an oversized university hoodie, not exactly what youâd choose for whatever conversation is coming.
After hanging up, you change quickly into jeans and a sweater thatâs slightly more presentable, running a brush through your hair and dabbing on lip balm before you can question why youâre bothering. Your roommate watches with barely concealed amusement.
âJust ice cream, huh?â
âShut up,â you mutter, grabbing your keys. âHe probably just wants to clear the air so tutoring isnât awkward.â
She raises an eyebrow. âSure. Thatâs definitely it.â
The walk to the ice cream shop takes exactly twelve minutesânot that youâre counting. When you arrive, you spot Mingi immediately, leaning against the wall outside. He straightens when he sees you, his expression brightening in a way that makes your heart stutter.
âHey,â he greets you, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. âThanks for coming.â
âFor free ice cream? Iâd be an idiot if I refused.â You aim for lightness, but your voice comes out slightly strained.
Inside, the shop is nearly empty, just a couple of students hunched over laptops in the corner. Mingi insists on paying despite your protests, and soon youâre seated at a small table by the window, a scoop of chocolate chip melting slowly in your cup. For a moment, neither of you speaks. You focus intently on your ice cream, hyperaware of his presence across from you.
âSo uh,â he finally breaks the tension, setting down his spoon. âAbout last night.â
You look up to find him watching you, his expression more serious than youâve ever seen it. âWhat about it?â you ask, playing for time.
He leans forward slightly. âI wanted to make sure I didnât... misread things.â
Heat rises to your cheeks. âYou didnât,â you admit quietly.
Relief flickers across his face. âThen why did you leave?â
The directness of the question catches you off guard. You consider deflecting, making a joke, but something in his eyesâan earnestness youâre not used to seeingâmakes you opt for honesty.
âI got scared,â you say simply.
His brow furrows. âOf me?â
âNo.â You shake your head. âNo this. Whatever is happening between us.â You gesture vaguely, as if that could dissolve it. âIt wasnât part of the plan.â
âThe plan?â he echoes.
âMy plan,â you clarify. âGraduate top of my class, get into a top-tier MBA program, no distractions.â You poke at your melting ice cream.
The words come easier than they should, like youâve said them enough times to believe theyâre ironclad. You scoop a fragile curl of choc chip into your mouth, watching it soften instantly, the chill doing nothing to settle the rest of you.
Mingi doesnât look away. But something shifts in his expressionâsubtle, unreadable.
âYou think this is a distraction,â he says quietly, like heâs testing the shape of the idea. Thereâs no bitterness in it, just a blunt apprehension that makes you want to fold in on yourself.
The words thud between you, heavier than any textbook youâve ever carried. You set your spoon down, forced to confront the truth youâve been working so hard to avoid: it would be much simpler if you could blame him. If the whole thing could be chalked up to a fluke in your otherwise disciplined trajectory: a blip, a party, a night on a deck that would fade with the semester. However, the real distraction is the way your mind keeps circling back to him even when heâs not there, the way your heart does that ridiculous stutter every time you see his name on your screen, the wayâsitting here with him nowâyou feel some distant tectonic plate in your chest begin to shift. You hesitate. Then, because youâve already started, you let it spill anyway.
âItâs not just that,â you admit. âI never planned on⊠this happening at all. And I definitely never thought youâdââ You stop yourself, exhaling a short, humourless breath. âLike, someone like me.â
His brow furrows slightly. âSomeone like you?â
You gesture faintly, as if the words make sense on their own. âYou know. You. Me. I justâ I always assumed you wouldnât go for someone like me. That you wouldnât even look twice.â
The admission sits between you, heavier than you intended. Mingi leans back slightly, hands folding together, but not in his usual relaxed way. More like heâs trying to steady something. Then he lets out a breathâhalf laugh, half disbelief.
âIâve been trying so hard to get you to notice me.â He says, shaking his head once.
You blink. âWhat?â
He looks at you properly now, like the answer shouldâve been obvious all along. âYou think Iâm out of your league,â he says, almost incredulous. âI thought you were out of mine.â
That makes you go still. Before you can respond, he continues, voice softer now.
âYouâreââ He stops, like the word itself isnât enough. âYouâre genuinely one of the most interesting people Iâve met. And youâre not just smart, youâreâŠâ He exhales through his nose, like he hates how obvious it is. âYouâre really fucking beautiful. And your brain? Thatâs honestly the most attractive part of you. I thought people were dramatic when they said intelligence was sexy, man I was so wrong.â
Your breath catches, and you hate that it does.
âI like what we are,â he adds, a little quieter. âThe banter, the way you talk back to me, the way you donât justââ He gestures vaguely, searching for the word. âFold. Itâs fun. Itâs different. Itâs⊠real.â
The honesty lands clumsily, unpolished in a way that feels impossible to fake. You look down at your ice cream before it fully melts.
âThatâs⊠not what I expected you to say,â you admit.
âYeah,â he says, a small, self-aware smile tugging at his mouth. âJoin the club.â
âI know itâs unfair to judge you based on campus gossip, but...â You take a deep breath. âIâm scared of being just another story people whisper about in bathroom stalls.â
Mingi reaches across the table, his fingers hovering near yours without quite touching. âCan I?â he asks quietly.
You nod, and his warm hand covers yours, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.
âListen to me,â he says, voice low and serious. âI wonât pretend I havenât made mistakes. I have. But Iâve never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.â His eyes hold yours, unwavering.
âHow can I know that?â you whisper, voicing the fear thatâs been lodged in your chest since the moment on the deck.
âLet me prove it to you,â he says with such conviction that your throat tightens. âNot with words or promises, but with time. With consistency.â His grip on your hand tightens slightly. âIâm not asking you to trust me completely right away. Iâm asking for a chance to earn that trust.â
You study his face, searching for any sign of the practiced charm youâve seen him deploy across campus. All you find is raw sincerity that makes your heart race.
âWhat exactly are you suggesting?â
âLet me show you who I really am,â a small, vulnerable smile touches his lips. âI promise Iâll put all those stupid rumours to rest. No pressure, no expectations.â
âIf it doesnât work out?â The practical part of your brain needs to know thereâs an exit strategy.
âThen we go back to being tutor and student, friends if you want,â he says, though something flickers in his eyes that suggests it wouldnât be that simple for him. âI think we at least owe ourselves the chance to find out.â
You look down at your joined hands, feeling yourself wavering on the precipice of something that terrifies and thrills you in equal measure.
âOkay,â you find yourself saying, the word slipping out before you can overthink it. âIâll give us a chance.â
The smile that breaks across his face is nothing like his usual confident grin. Itâs wider, brighter, almost boyish in its genuine delight.
âYeah?â he asks, as if he canât quite believe it.
âYeah,â you confirm, a small smile forming on your own lips. âBut I have conditions.â
He laughs softly, squeezing your hand. âOf course you do. Iâd be disappointed if you didnât have any.â
âWe take it slow,â you say firmly. âFor now, this is just between us. Iâm not ready to tell everyone about us just yet.â
âAbsolutely,â he agrees immediately. âWhat else?â
âIf at any point I feel like this is becoming too muchââ
âWe reassess,â he finishes for you. âI understand.â
You nod, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. âOne more thing.â
âName it.â
âNo more surprise coffees during tutoring,â you let out a laugh, you hope that he doesnât take this rule too seriously.Â
He clutches his chest dramatically. âWow. Mind you, those were gifts from the heart.â
âThe heart doesnât need caffeine to function properly,â you counter.
âDebatable,â he grins, then grows serious again. âI promise to uphold all the boundaries that you have. If at any point you want outs, just say the word and we can call it off.â
Thereâs something in his voiceâa quiet determinationâthat makes you believe him, despite all your carefully constructed defences.
âSo,â he wonders, leaning forward slightly, ânow that weâve established the ground rules... Can I walk you home?â
âThat would be nice,â you smile, finishing the last of your now-soupy ice cream.
Outside, the night air is cool against your skin. Your campus is quiet at this hour, most students either at the library or locked in their rooms studying. Mingi walks beside you, close enough that your arms occasionally brush, sending little sparks of awareness through you each time. The conversation falls into a comfortable silence as you walk side by side through the moonlit campus. Your mind races with everything thatâs just happenedâthe confessions, the promises, the beginning of something neither of you had planned. Mingiâs hand occasionally brushes against yours, each contact sending little jolts through your system, but he doesnât try to hold it. True to his word, heâs letting you set the pace.
âSo,â he says as you approach your dormitory, âI was thinking maybe we could get dinner? Whenever youâre free⊠O-of course.â
The earnestness in his voice makes your heart flutter. âIâd love to.â
You stop at the entrance to your building, turning to face him. The lamplight catches in his dark eyes, making them shine with something that looks suspiciously like hope.
âThank you,â you mumbled quietly.
His brow furrows slightly. âFor what?â
âFor being patient and understanding.â You shift your weight, suddenly feeling shy.Â
A smile curves his lips. âIâm full of surprises.â
âIâm beginning to see that.â
Thereâs a moment of hesitation. A breath where you both stand looking at each other, the air between you charged with possibility. You make a decision, stepping forward before you can overthink it. Rising slightly on your toes, you press a quick, soft kiss to his cheek.
âGoodnight, Mingi,â you murmur, pulling back to see his eyes wide with surprise.
âGoodnight,â he coughs out, voice slightly rougher than before.
You turn quickly, swiping your keycard and slipping through the door before you can change your mind. Once inside, you canât resist glancing back through the glass panel. Mingi stands frozen for a moment, hand raised to the spot where your lips touched his skin. Then, when he thinks youâve gone, a transformation takes place. The cool, confident frat president dissolves into something entirely different. He pumps his fist in the air, does a little spin, and breaks into what can only be described as a victory danceâall limbs and unbridled joy, like a kid who just got exactly what he wanted for his birthday. He runs his hands through his hair, grinning so wide it must hurt, before composing himself and walking away with an extra bounce in his step. You press your hand to your mouth, stifling a laugh. Something warm blooms in your chest at the sight of himâcampus heartbreaker, fraternity president, supposed playerâcelebrating a simple kiss on the cheek like itâs the greatest achievement of his life.
Maybe thereâs more to him than you ever allowed yourself to see.
The following weeks unfold in a series of moments that feel stolen from someone elseâs life. Mingi keeps his promise about taking things slow, but he finds other ways to show you heâs serious.
It starts with little things. A sticky note on your economics textbook when you leave it unattended for two minutes in the library: âStudy Well!.â A cup of tea waiting for you before an early morning class, with honey already added the way you mentioned you like it once in passing.
Your tutoring sessions continue, but thereâs a new undercurrent to them now. You maintain professionalismâmostlyâbut sometimes his fingers brush yours when youâre explaining a concept, lingering just a second too long to be accidental. Sometimes you catch him watching you with a softness in his eyes that makes your chest ache in the best way.
âFocus,â you scold during one such session, tapping your pencil against his notebook. âOur midterms are in coming up soon.â
âI am focusing,â he protests, eyes never leaving your face. âJust not on economics.â
You roll your eyes, fighting a smile. âLooking at me isnât going to help boost your GPA.â
âIf it means looking at the prettiest girl in the room, itâs worth it,â he shrugs and the sincerity in his voice makes heat rise to your cheeks.
Walking with him after your brain numbing study sessions become so integral to your guysâ routine. It feels a little strange at first but when Mingiâs hand tentatively finds yours, all the stress melts away at his touch.
âYou know,â he says during one such walk, âkeeping you secret is killing me. The guys think Iâve gone celibate or something.â
You elbow him gently. âYour reputation could use the hit.â
âTrue,â he laughs, squeezing your hand. âFor the record, this is the longest Iâve gone without posting on social media in ages.â
Mingi has been careful about keeping your relationship private. No Instagram stories featuring your coffee dates, no posts of your study sessions that sometimes devolve into conversations about everything and nothing. Just the two of you, learning each other in private moments stolen between classes and responsibilities.
One rainy Tuesday, he shows up at your dorm with takeout from your favorite Thai place and a stack of economics flash cards he made himself.
âI figured we could multitask,â he beams, setting up the food on your desk.Â
Your roommate, whoâs been watching this unfold with barely concealed delight, grabs her jacket. âAnd thatâs my cue to give you two some privacy,â she announces, winking at you on her way out.
Once sheâs gone, Mingi turns to you with a sheepish smile. âToo much?â
You shake your head, oddly touched by the gesture. âNo, itâs perfect. Iâm just not used to anyone doing this for me.â
His expression softens. âWell that's too bad, doll, start getting used to it.â
The study session is productiveâmostly. At first, the two of you really do focus, perched shoulder to shoulder with a blanket across your knees, pencils poised as you quiz each other from the stack of flash cards. For a solid twenty minutes, you run through concepts, definitions, and theoretical graphs, congratulating each other with exaggerated fist bumps for every correct answer. Mingi is sharp, more so than you expected, but he keeps getting tripped up on the same three formulas, and each time he stumbles, you make him recite them from memory until he gets it right. By the fourth round, youâre both dissolving into laughter at his increasingly creative mnemonic devices.
Eventually, the flash cards are abandoned in favor of pad thai and mango sticky rice. You eat cross-legged on the floor, passing the container back and forth, chopsticks clacking as the conversation drifts from academics to childhood memories, to music, to the merits of various ramen brands. Mingi tells you a story about getting locked in a janitorâs closet during a fraternity scavenger hunt, and you laugh so hard you nearly spill sweet chili sauce all over your leggings. He grins, watching you with open affection, and you feel your defenses slipping a little more with each shared story, each easy silence.
You mean to get back to studying, really you do, but by the time your plates are empty, youâre both sprawled out on the rug, heads tipped together, trading lazy jokes and favorite movie quotes. The stack of flash cards lies forgotten somewhere behind you. Mingi stretches his arm behind your head, not quite touching, but close enough that you can feel the warmth of him. Youâre acutely aware that you said you wanted to take things slow, but now, in the soft glow of your desk lamp, with rain pattering gently against the window, slow feels less like a rule and more like a suggestion.
At some point, you roll onto your side to face him. His hair is a mess, sticking up in all directions, and you resist the urge to reach over and smooth it down. He catches the look in your eyes and grins, that same vulnerable curve of mouth you saw outside your dorm, and you realize youâre not even sure what youâre waiting for anymore. The next hour is a blur of tangled limbs, whispered jokes, and the kind of laughter that leaves your ribs aching. You donât kissâat least, not on the lipsâbut you end up with your head tucked against his shoulder, his hand tracing idle, feather-light circles on your back as you drift in and out of half-sleep. The textbooks are forgotten, the only thing that matters is the slow, steady rise and fall of his breath and the way it syncs perfectly with yours.
You donât let him stay the night but you walk him to the door at midnight, both of you lingering in the hallway far longer than necessary.
âTomorrow again?â he asks, voice low.
âTomorrow,â you echo, smiling so hard it almost hurts.
You close the door behind him and press your forehead to the wood, equal parts giddy and terrified at how easy this is starting to feel.
Thatâs how it goes, week after week. Study sessions that turn into late-night conversations, walks that stretch on for hours, endless cups of tea and takeout and inside jokes that no one else would ever find funny. You find yourself looking for him everywhere: in the crowd of the dining hall, in the hush of the library at midnight, in the flicker of lamplight outside your window when you canât sleep. Every time he appears, it feels like a secret only the two of you share. You start to notice the little ways he tries to care for you. The umbrella he brings when the forecast calls for rain, the pack of your favourite pens he leaves in your backpack before a big test, the playlist he makes for your morning runs, even though he canât stand three-quarters of your âmotivationalâ music. You tell yourself not to read into any of it, but you do. Youâre hopelessly, helplessly reading into every tiny thing.
The night before your economics midterm, you meet up in the libraryâs quietest corner, both of you vibrating with nerves. He brings snacks and a fresh stack of flash cards, all hand-written in his messy scrawl, and the two of you settle in for a marathon review. For once, you manage to stay on task, quizzing each other with increasing intensity until youâre both exhausted. When the clock chimes one in the morning, you start to pack up, but Mingi hesitates, his hand hovering over the pile of books.
âYouâre going to ace it,â he says, voice unexpectedly earnest.
You shake your head, smiling. âOnly if you donât distract me during the exam.â
âThatâs going to be impossible,â he laughs, but thereâs something softer in his eyes. âIâll try my best.â
You snort, shouldering your bag. âI sure hope so.â
As you walk him out into the silent quad, he reaches for your handânot tentative anymore, not asking permission, just doing it. You let him. The campus is empty, the sky ink-black and starless, and it feels like the entire world has narrowed to just the two of you, hands entwined, hearts beating a little too fast. He stops at the steps of your dorm, pulling you in for a hug that lasts a few seconds longer than normal. You memorize the feeling: the way his arms wrap around you, how he smells like detergent and the faintest hint of aftershave, the way his cheek fits perfectly against your temple. He reminds you to get some sleep, even as he lingers like he has no real intention of leaving just yet. You echo the sentiment back to him, a quiet reminder about his final. Thereâs a brief pauseâsomething unspoken stretching between youâbefore you part with a soft, almost reluctant goodbye, the kind that feels less like an ending and more like something paused.
The morning of the midterm arrives with an electric tension in the air. You walk into the lecture hall, scanning the rows of nervous students until you spot Mingi. Heâs hunched over his notes, frantically reviewing formulas, his leg bouncing with nervous energy. When he sees you, his face brightens momentarily before anxiety clouds his features again.
âDoll, I canât remember anything,â he whispers as you slide into the seat beside him. âItâs all just... gone.â
You reach over and gently close his textbook. âHey, breathe. You know this material better than you think.â
âEasy for you to say.â His voice cracks slightly. âWhat if I blank? What if everything we worked on just disappears the moment I see the test?â
You take his trembling hand in yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. âLook at me. Youâve put in the work. You understand the concepts. Trust yourself.â
He exhales slowly, eyes locked on yours. âI just... I canât mess this up. Not after everything.â
âYou wonât,â you say with such conviction that he almost seems to believe you. âRemember what you told me about game theory? Itâs not about the cards, itâs aboutââ
ââunderstanding the patterns,â he finishes, a small smile forming. âThe incentives.â
âExactly. And youâve got this. I know you do.â
Professor Kim enters the room, silencing the anxious chatter. As she distributes the exams, Mingi gives your hand one last squeeze before letting go. You mouth âgood luckâ to him before turning to your own test.
The exam is challenging, even for you. Two hours of intense concentration, complex problems, and theoretical applications that make your brain ache. Occasionally, you glance at Mingi. His brow is furrowed in concentration, pencil moving steadily across the paper. No panic, no hesitation. Just focused determination that fuels your own.
When time is called, you feel drained but satisfied. Mingi looks up from his paper, meeting your eyes across the room with an expression of cautious optimism.
âHowâd it go?â you ask as you both file out of the lecture hall.
âI think... I think it went okay,â he says, sounding almost surprised. âThat section on monopolistic competition? I nailed it.â
âSee? I told you.â
He laughs, running a hand through his hair. âYeah, yeah. Donât get cocky just because you were right. Again.â
Three days after the exam, your phone lights up with his name: Grades are posted, lock in.
Your fingers fly across the screen as you log into the portal. There it is: Econ1000 - Final Grade: A+. Not surprising, but satisfying nonetheless. Youâre about to text him back when another message comes through: Can we meet? Iâm outside your building.
Your heart races as you rush down the stairs. Mingi is pacing outside, face unreadable. When he sees you, he stops, and for a terrible moment, you think heâs failed.
âMingi? What happened? Are youââ
His face breaks into the widest grin youâve ever seen. âI got an A, I did it!â
Relief and joy flood through you as he picks you up in a spinning hug that lifts your feet off the ground. âI knew you could do it!â you laugh, arms wrapped around his neck.
âI couldnât have done it without you,â he says, setting you down but keeping his hands on your waist.Â
âHey give yourself some credit, you did all the work,â you counter, unable to stop smiling. âI just provided occasional guidanceââ
ââAnd motivation, patience, and belief when I had none.â His expression grows serious despite his smile. âThank you.â
You feel your cheeks warm under his intense gaze. âYouâre welcome.â
He takes a deep breath, a flicker of nervousness crossing his featuresâsomething youâve rarely seen from him. âSo, I was thinking...â he begins, his hands sliding from your waist but not completely letting go, fingers lightly brushing against yours. âMaybe we could celebrate properly? Tonight?â
âWhat did you have in mind?â you ask, trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.
âDinner,â he says simply. Then adds, with uncharacteristic hesitation, âAt an actual restaurant with fancy ass menus and shit.â His eyes meet yours, surprisingly earnest. âA date. Just you and me.â
The word âdateâ hangs between you, weighted with meaning. These weren't the standard study sessions or casual hangouts anymore. He wanted to take you out to dinner.
âA date,â you repeat, testing how the words feel.
âYes.â He nods, watching your face carefully. âI want to take you somewhere nice. To celebrate, but also because...â He pauses, thumb brushing over your knuckles. âI just want to treat you to a good meal, feels like the right thing to do.â
You laugh, the tension in your chest dissolving into something warm and bright. âIn that case, yes. Iâd love to go to dinner with you tonight.â
The smile that breaks across his face is incandescent. âGreat! Iâll pick you up at seven?â
âSeven works,â you nod, already mentally cataloguing your closet, wondering what constitutes appropriate attire for an official date with Song Mingi.
As if reading your mind, he adds, âWear something nice. I made reservations at Stellina.â
Your eyebrows shoot up. Stellina is easily the most upscale restaurant near campusâthe kind of place parents take their children when they visit, or where professors celebrate tenure. Definitely not somewhere college students typically go for casual dinners.
âStellina?â you echo. âThatâs... wow.â
âWait, do you not like Stells?â he asks, suddenly uncertain.
You shake your head quickly. âNo, itâs perfect. Iâm just surprised.â
âGood surprised?â
âVery good surprised.â
He beams, leaning in to press a quick kiss to your cheek. âIâll see you at seven, then.â
The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of anticipation. You text your roommate the news, which results in her immediately abandoning whatever plans she had to help you prepare. By six oâclock, your room looks like a boutique explodedâclothes strewn across both beds, makeup scattered across the desk, and your roommate critically assessing every option.
âThis one,â she declares finally, holding up a simple black dress you bought for a cousinâs birthday last year but havenât worn since. âClassic, elegant, but still says âIâm not trying too hard.ââ You slip it on, the silky fabric settling against your skin. Itâs more fitted than you remembered, hugging your curves before flaring slightly at the hem. Nothing flashy, but undeniably flattering.
âPerfect,â your roommate nods approvingly. âNow, shoes...â
By 6:55, youâre pacing nervously in front of the mirror. The dress looks good, your hair is cooperating for once, and your roommate has worked minor miracles with minimal makeup. Still, anxiety flutters in your stomach like trapped butterflies.
âWhat if this changes everything?â you ask, chewing your lip. âWhat if itâs weird or awkward orââ
âOr what if itâs amazing?â your roommate cuts in, adjusting a strand of your hair. âStop catastrophizing and let yourself enjoy this. The man is taking you to Stellina, for godâs sake. Heâs clearly serious about you.â
Before you can respond, your phone buzzes with a text: Iâm outside.
Your roommate practically shoves you toward the door. âGo! And I want all the details when you get back!â
You take one last deep breath, grab your small purse, and head downstairs. The moment you step outside, you spot him immediately standing beside his car, looking almost unrecognizable in a tailored navy suit. His hair is styled away from his face, revealing the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the intensity of his gaze as it lands on you. For a moment, neither of you speaks. His eyes widen slightly as they take in your appearance, moving from your face to your dress and back again with an appreciation so obvious it makes your skin warm.
âYou look...â he starts, then shakes his head, a soft laugh escaping him. âI had a whole line prepared, but now I canât remember it. You look incredible.â
âSo do you,â you manage, taking in how the suit fits his broad shoulders perfectly. âI didnât know you owned clothes like this.â
âSpecial occasions only,â he grins, stepping forward to offer you his arm. âReady?â
The drive to Stellina is short but charged with a new kind of tensionâanticipation mixed with awareness. Mingi keeps glancing at you when he thinks youâre not looking, and you catch yourself doing the same. When you arrive, he insists on opening your door, offering his hand to help you out of the car with an old-fashioned gallantry that would seem affected from anyone else.
Inside, the restaurant is everything you expected and more. Soft lighting from crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, the gentle clink of expensive silverware. The hostess greets Mingi by name and leads you to a quiet corner table partially secluded by a decorative screen.
âThis is...â you begin, looking around at the elegant surroundings.
âToo much?â he blurted out in a panic, studying your face carefully as he pulls out your chair.
You shake your head, settling into your seat. âNo, itâs beautiful. Iâm just not used to... all this.â
âNeither am I,â he admits with a small laugh, taking his own seat. âI wanted tonight to be special.â
The waiter appears with menus and a wine list, addressing Mingi with practiced deference. You watch, slightly amused, as he navigates the wine selection with surprising confidence, asking questions about vintages and pairings that you wouldnât have expected him to know.
âSince when are you a wine expert?â you ask after the waiter leaves to fetch your selection.
He grins, slightly sheepish. âIâm not. I spent an hour yesterday watching YouTube videos about how to order wine without looking like an idiot.â
The admission is so endearingly honest that you canât help but laugh. âYouâre crazy.â
âI wanted to impress you,â he shrugs, no trace of his usual bravado. âIs it working?â
âMaybe a little,â you concede, smiling.
The wine arrivesâa crisp white that pairs perfectly with the appetizers Mingi suggests. As you sip and sample delicate bites of food you can barely pronounce, the initial awkwardness melts away. Conversation flows as easily as it always has between you, ranging from classes to childhood stories to dreams for the future.
âSo,â he says as the waiter clears your appetizer plates, ânow that weâve conquered economics, whatâs next on your academic hit list?â
âAdvanced Econometrics,â you grimace slightly. âNot exactly light reading.â
âSounds intense,â he nods. âDo you think youâll need a tutor for that one? If so, I know a guyâŠâ
The teasing question makes you smile. âI think I can manage. What about you? What are you taking next semester?â
He hesitates, something vulnerable flickering across his face. âActually, I registered for that Behavioural Economics class you mentioned. And...â he pauses, âIâm thinking about adding a minor in Business Analytics.â
âReally?â You canât hide your surprise. âThatâs a pretty intensive program.â
âYeah, well,â he shrugs, trying to look casual but not quite succeeding, âsomeone made me realize I might actually be good at this stuff. When Iâm not being a, what did you call it? âStereotypical frat boy with the collective IQ of a houseplant?ââ
You wince, remembering your harsh assessment from months ago. âI was wrong about that.â
âNot entirely,â he laughs. âI can be that guy sometimes. Itâs easier, you know? To be what people expect.â
The honesty in his voice touches something deep in your chest. âYou donât have to be that with me.â
His eyes meet yours across the table, warm and sincere, âI know.â
The main courses arriveâseared scallops for you, steak for himâmomentarily pausing the conversation. As you eat, you notice how Mingi keeps finding excuses to touch you: his fingers brushing yours when reaching for the wine, his knee pressing gently against yours under the table. Each contact sends little sparks along your skin, building a current that hums just below the surface.
âCan I ask you something?â he says after a comfortable lull in conversation.
âOf course.â
âWhen did you start liking me?â The question is direct, curious rather than cocky. âI mean, I know you couldnât stand me at first.â
You consider this, taking a sip of wine. âI think... it was during our third tutoring session. You spent twenty minutes arguing with me about income inequality and its effects on consumer behaviour.â
He looks surprised. âThatâs what did it? An economics debate?â
âYou were passionate,â you explain. âAnd knowledgeable. And you didnât back down just because I disagreed. I was impressed.â
His expression softens. âFor me, it was the party. That first night. When you looked at me and didnât seem impressed at all.â
âReally? That early?â
He nods, a small smile playing at his lips. âYou have no idea how refreshing that was. Everyone else was... I donât know, wanting something from me. You just looked annoyed that I existed.â
âI wasnât annoyed,â you correct him. âI was... intrigued.â
âIntrigued,â he repeats, smile widening. âIâll take it.â
As dinner winds down, the restaurant gradually empties around you. Neither of you seems eager to leave, conversation flowing from topic to topic, punctuated by laughter and moments of surprising vulnerability. When the waiter discreetly brings the check, Mingi insists on paying despite your protests.
âThis was my idea,â he says firmly. âMy invitation, my treat.â
âAt least let me cover the tip,â you argue.
He shakes his head, sliding his card into the leather folder. âNext time. You can plan the whole thing if you want.â
âNext time,â you echo, liking the sound of it more than you expected to.
Outside, the night air is cool and clear, stars visible despite the campus lights. Mingi takes your hand as you walk back to the car, his thumb tracing small circles on your palm.
âThank you for tonight,â you say quietly. âIt was perfect.â
He stops walking, turning to face you under the soft glow of a streetlight. âThank you for saying yes.â
Thereâs a moment where neither of you moves. Then, slowly, as if giving you time to pull away, Mingi leans in, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. The moment his lips meet yours, everything else fades awayâthe restaurant, the streetlight, even the nervous flutter in your chest. His kiss is gentle at first, almost reverent, like heâs been waiting for this moment and doesnât want to rush it. Your eyes flutter closed as you lean into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling his heartbeat racing beneath your fingertips.
âIâve been wanting to do that for so long,â he murmurs against your lips, his forehead resting against yours.
You smile, fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket. âWhat took you so long?â
Instead of answering, he kisses you again, deeper this time. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer until youâre pressed against him, the warmth of his body seeping through the thin fabric of your dress. Something shifts in the air between youâthe careful restraint youâve both been maintaining giving way to something more urgent, more honest.
Your hands slide up to tangle in his hair, messing up his carefully styled look. He makes a soft sound against your mouth that sends heat rushing through you, his fingers digging slightly into your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer. The kiss turns hungrier, months of tension finally finding release as his tongue brushes against yours, tentative at first, then with growing confidence when you respond in kind.
When you finally break apart, youâre both breathing hard. His eyes are darker than youâve ever seen them, pupils wide as he looks at you with undisguised want.
âI shouldâve done this at the party ages ago,â he whispers, voice rough. âThat night on the balcony. Iâve been thinking about it ever since.â
You laugh softly, feeling dizzy and light-headed in the best way. âBetter late than never.â
He grins, pressing another quick kiss to your lips like he canât help himself. âDo you want to go somewhere more... private?â The question is careful, giving you an out if you need it.
The responsible part of your brain reminds you of early classes tomorrow, of the boundaries you set, of taking things slow. But the part of you thatâs been dreaming of this moment for longer than you care to admit is already nodding.
âYour place?â you suggest, surprised by the boldness in your own voice.
His eyes widen slightly, like he hadnât expected you to agree so readily. âYou sure?â
In answer, you pull him down for another kiss, letting your actions speak louder than words. When you pull away, his smile is almost dazed.
âMy place it is,â he says, taking your hand and leading you back to his car with renewed purpose.
The drive to his fraternity house is charged with anticipation, the air between you electric with possibilities. His hand finds yours across the center console, thumb stroking over your knuckles in a way that seems both soothing and maddening at once. At a red light, he canât resist leaning over to kiss you again, quick but deep enough to leave you breathless.
âIf you keep doing that, we might not make it to your place,â you warn, only half-joking.
His laugh is low and warm. âWorth it.â
ââââââââââââââââââ
When you arrive, the house is mercifully quietâmost of his frat brothers either out or already asleep. He leads you through the common areas with your hand firmly in his, up the stairs to his room on the second floor. Once inside, he closes the door softly behind you, and suddenly the reality of where you areâin Mingiâs bedroom, alone, after the most perfect dateâhits you all at once.
His room is larger than you expected, and surprisingly neat. A double bed occupies one corner, made with actual matching sheets and pillows. Bookshelves line one wall, filled not just with textbooks but novels, economics journals, and what looks like a collection of vintage records. A desk sits beneath a large window, offering the promised view of campus, lights twinkling in the distance.
âSo,â you say, turning to face him, âthis is where the golden boy lives.â
He pushes off from the door, crossing to stand before you. âDisappointed that there's no mattress on the floor and itâs not covered in beer pong trophies?â
âA little,â you admit with a teasing smile. âThough I do see at least one trophy.â You nod toward a shelf where a single golden cup sits next to a framed photo of Mingi with an older man, both smiling widely.
âEconomics award from freshman year,â he explains, following your gaze. âThatâs my grandfather, the day I got my acceptance letter.â
You move closer to examine the photo, aware of Mingi following you, the space between you shrinking with each step. When you turn to face him again, heâs so close you can feel the heat radiating from his body, see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. Something shifts in his expressionâthe playful fraternity president giving way to something more raw, more honest. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing lightly across your lower lip.
His fingers tremble against your cheek as he exhales shakily. âIâve never been this terrified of messing something up,â he confesses, voice cracking slightly.
âEvery time I look at you, I see everything Iâve ever wanted but never thought I deserved.â His eyes search yours with an intensity that makes your knees weak. âI keep pinching myself that youâre actually here, with me. Youâre not just another person to meâyouâre my person.â His thumb brushes your lower lip, reverent. âI adore everything about you. The way you laugh, how you challenge me, even how you roll your eyes when Iâm being ridiculous.â He swallows hard. âIâm serious about us. So serious it scares me.â
The word hangs between you, heavy with meaning. You see it in his eyes, the battle between desire and fear. Fear that heâll scare you away, that heâll move too fast, that youâll retreat behind those walls heâs spent weeks carefully dismantling. Your hands, almost of their own volition, drift upward to press against his chest. Under your palm, you feel the erratic thrum of his heart, each frantic beat echoing your own.
âMingi,â you whisper, and the sound of his nameâso soft, so certainâshatters the fragile barrier heâs been holding between you. For a suspended moment, your gazes lock, electric and trembling, and then he moves with a sudden, desperate clarity.
Mingiâs restraint snaps like brittle glass. He surges forward, kissing you with an intensity thatâs as bright and blinding as a detonated starâno preamble, no hesitance, just pure want. His lips crash into yours, hot and hungry, arms banding around your waist so tightly you feel like you might dissolve into him. Thereâs nothing tentative in the way he holds you; heâs all-in, every muscle taut with reverence and longing. The kiss is a reclamation, a promise, and the culmination of every unspoken thing thatâs hung between you for weeks.
You can only cling to his shoulders, overwhelmed by the seismic shift in energy. Your breath is stolen, your senses alight, your mind gone white-noise blank. The room could be on fire and you wouldnât notice. Mingi kisses like heâs afraid youâll disappear if he lets up for even a secondâlike youâre the last oxygen left on earth and heâs learning how to breathe. And yet, underneath the urgency, thereâs a trembling tenderness, as though every pass of his mouth is asking, Is this okay? Am I too much? Do you want me, too?
You answer with your body, arching into him, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, jaw tilting to deepen the kiss. His hands slide up your back, mapping the length of your spine; one finds its way into your hair, cradling your head, the other splayed possessively at your hip. He tastes like citrus and hope and the sharp, metallic shimmer of anticipation. Thereâs nothing careful about itâyour teeth clash, your lips bruise, and when you gasp for air, he only uses the opportunity to trail kisses along your jaw, your neck, the delicate hollow at your throat. This is messy, urgent, but itâs also so fiercely sincere youâre left raw by the force of it. When he draws back, just long enough to search your face, his breathing is ragged, his eyes dark with wonder and disbelief.
âGod, This might be better than the first time we kissed,â he pants, chest heaving as he regains control of his breathing. He brushes your hair away from your face, fingers gentle where his grip had been bruising. âTell me if itâs too much, okay?â
You shake your head, already chasing his mouth again, needing to erase the words and replace them with moreâmore of him, more of this. He laughs against your lips, the sound reverberating through your bones. You feel untethered, weightless, every nerve ending singing. Youâre dimly aware of your back pressing up against the closed door, Mingi pinning you there in a cocoon of warmth and want. Every inch of you is alive, hypersensitive to the slide of his hands, the brush of his breath against your skin.
He kisses you again and again, in greedy, overlapping intervals, his self-control disintegrating the longer you let him. But even as the kiss turns molten, thereâs nothing careless in the way he touches youâno sense of entitlement, just awe and gratitude, as though he still canât believe youâre real, youâre here, youâre choosing him. When he finally slows, his forehead drops to yours, both of you panting, foreheads and noses pressed together, steadying yourselves against the aftershocks.
His lips find the corner of your mouth, then the line of your jaw, then your ear. âSorry,â he whispers, not sounding sorry at all. âI got carried away for a second.â
You laugh, shaky and breathless. âIt's okay, it was kinda cute.â
He smiles, teeth grazing your earlobe. âYouâre dangerous, you know that?â
âI learned from the best.â
He laughs again, quieter this time, and it morphs into something softer, more vulnerable. âThe student becomes the master now, huh?â
You step back, just enough to create a sliver of space between your bodies, and meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with desire, but thereâs hesitation there tooâa question. You answer by taking his hand and leading him toward the bed, your heart hammering against your ribs. When his legs hit the edge of the mattress, you place your palms on his chest and gently push. He sits immediately, looking up at you with such reverence that it steals your breath. For a moment, you simply stand between his parted knees, admiring how beautiful he looks like thisâwaiting, wanting, completely focused on you.
âCan I?â you ask softly, fingers playing with the top button of his shirt.
He nods, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows. âOf course. Whatever you want, doll.â
You take your time undressing him, savouring each new inch of skin revealed. His breathing grows more ragged with each button you slip free, with each brush of your fingertips against his heated skin. Your hands drift lower, finding the buckle of his belt. His eyes never leave yours as you work it loose, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room. Thereâs something intoxicating about the way he watches youâpatient yet desperate, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. When you pop the button of his pants, his hands grip the edge of the mattress, anchoring himself down.
âLift your hips,â you instruct softly, and he complies immediately, allowing you to slide his pants down his thighs. The fabric pools around his ankles, and he kicks them away, leaving him in just his boxers.
You take a moment to admire him like thisâthe strong lines of his thighs, the subtle definition of muscle beneath smooth skin. Mingi has always seemed larger than life, but here, partially undressed and vulnerable before you, heâs beautifully human. When you trace a finger along the waistband of his underwear, he shivers, a small sound escaping his throat. He tries reaching for you, but you catch his wrists.Â
âNot yet,â you murmur, and he immediately stills.
ââM Sorry,â he breathes, letting his hands fall to his sides. âIâll be good.â
Something about the way he says itâlike heâs never had to wait before, like heâs never been the one following someone elseâs leadâmakes the heat pool low in your belly. You lean down and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, rewarding his patience.
âLie back, let me take care of you,â you instruct, and he complies without hesitation, shifting up the bed until his head rests on the pillows.Â
You take your time undressing yourself, hyperaware of his hungry gaze tracking every movement. When you finally stand before him in nothing but your underwear, he lets out the sweetest whimper thatâs graced your ears.
âFuck,â he whispers, voice strained. âYouâre so beautiful. Iââ
He cuts himself off, holding back a moan as you climb onto the bed, straddling his hips. His hands hover uncertainly at your waist, waiting for permission.
âGo ahead, you can touch me,â you grant, and his hands are on you instantly. Feeling the warmth of his hands as they trace the curve of your waist, the dip of your spine.
You lean down to kiss him properly, deep and slow, savouring the taste of him. His lips part eagerly beneath yours, letting you set the pace, following your lead with a pliancy thatâs intoxicating from someone normally so in control. You begin grinding against him for friction and he reciprocates. He groans into your mouth, mumbling curses under his breath. You felt his boner poking your ass while you both humped each other so so desperately. His bedroom is filled with the harmony of your heavy breathing, his whines, and the wet sounds of your lips crashing.
âPlease,â he gasps. âI needâI wantââ
âWhat do you want, Mingi?â you ask, pulling back slightly to watch his face.
âNeed to feel you,â he says immediately, no hesitation. âDonât want toâhaahâcum in my pants like a fucking virgin.â
You giggle at his admission, you slowly reach behind you to squeeze his bulge, feeling it twitch in the palm of your hand. Mingiâs head tips back in bliss, growling at the sensation. The rawness in his voice makes your chest tight. You press soft kisses down his throat, across his collarbones, feeling his pulse race beneath your lips. His hands slide up your back, tangling in your hair, but he doesnât push or pullâjust holds on like youâre his anchor in a storm.
When you finally strip away the last barriers between you, his whole body trembles with anticipation. You wrap your fingers around his shaft, feeling the velvet skin slide beneath your touch as you position his flushed tip at your entrance. His eyes lock with yoursâdark pools of need and surrender. You lower yourself with deliberate patience, savouring the stretch as his thick length fills you, watching his full lips part and his lashes flutter against flushed cheeks.
Mingi whines the second you ease down on him completely, hips trembling beneath you. His hands fist in the sheets, as if heâs physically restraining himself from thrusting up into you.
âFuck, babyââ he gasps, head tipping back against the pillows, exposing the long, vulnerable line of his throat. His jaw is clenched so tight it looks painful as he struggles for control. âFeels so good around my cock, shitââ
You lean down, hushing him gently, both palms cradling his flushed face. You treat him like something precious, something to be cherished as you press your lips to his in a slow, deep kiss. Your tongue curls against his languidly, unhurried, as if you have nowhere else to be but here, joined with him in this perfect moment.
âIt feels good, doesnât it?â you murmur between kisses, your voice soft and sweet and infinitely patient. Your forehead rests against his, noses brushing, sharing the same heated breath. âYouâre doing so good for me.â
He moans at your praise, his entire body shuddering beneath yours. Heâs all muscle and barely contained strength under you, his powerful frame completely at your mercy. You can feel how desperately he wants to move, to take control, but he surrenders to your pace instead, letting you have him exactly how you want him.
You remain still, just sitting there with him buried deep inside you, feeling the way your cunt pulses around his length. The sensation must be overwhelming for him because his eyes squeeze shut, his breathing ragged and uneven.
âIs it too much?â you cooed, reaching to brush damp strands of dark hair from his forehead, your touch gentle and soothing
He shakes his head frantically, his grip on your waist tightening. âN-no,â he whines with a soft, shattered sound. âJustâfuck, just need a s-secondâfeels too fuckinâ goodâcanât thinkââ
Sweat beads at his hairline, eyes squeezed shut in some primal effort to hold himself together, chest heaving under your hands like heâs afraid his ribs will break apart from the force of it. You melt a little at the sight of himâa six foot force of raw sex appealânow reduced to a mass of shaking limbs and shattered breath, undone and writhing beneath you. Thereâs something intoxicating about the way he trusts you to see him like this, about the way he lets himself be taken apart so openly, without armour or artifice. You savour it, every trembling, helpless second, and you want to draw it out forever.
You lean down, brushing your lips to his cheek in a soft, featherlight kiss. He inhales sharply, but doesnât flinch away. Instead, he turns his head, chasing your mouth with a need so naked it nearly undoes you. You let him catch you, let him press his lips to yoursânot in a kiss, exactly, but a silent plea, a lifeline. You answer by kissing him deeper, slower, letting your tongue trace the seam of his lips, coaxing him open, coaxing him back to the surface. His hands slide up your back, frantic but reverent, like heâs trying to memorise the shape of you by touch and touch alone. His heart beats wild under your palm, a frantic semaphore that reads: I want you, I want you, I want you. You press another kiss to the corner of his mouth, then to his jaw, then down the delicate line where his pulse hammers beneath thin skin. He shudders, his whole body rigid and shivery. You thread your fingers through his hair, stroking the side of his faceÂ
âHey,â you murmur, voice as gentle as you know how to make it, âRelax, Iâve got you. Can you do that for me?âÂ
He nods, so obedient and desperate it makes something deep in your chest ache with tenderness. One breath, then another, and you feel the tightness in his body begin to unravelâincremental, but real. You rock your hips slowly, experimentally, watching his face for every flicker of sensation, every micro-expression. His lips part in a helpless moan, but his eyes finally flutter open, dazed and shining. He tries to say your name but it comes out as a whimper, half-beg, half-blessing.
âThatâs it, babyâ you praise, kissing him again, softer this time. âYouâre doing so well.âÂ
The words seem to go straight to his coreâhe clings to them, drinking them down like water in the desert. You keep up a steady stream of encouragement, every whisper and touch meant to anchor him, to let him know you want him just like this: open, needy, trembling with the effort of holding back.
You draw the next movement out deliberately. The slow, aching drag of your hips, the way you squeeze around him with every tiny shift. Mingiâs hands grip your thighs like lifelines, fingers biting into your skin, but he doesnât dare take back controlâthe restraint is exquisite, painful to watch. Heâs at your mercy and loving it, if the way his eyes keep darting to your mouth, your chest, your hands, is any indication.
âGonna let me do what I want, yeah?â you crooned, savoring how your voice makes him flinch with anticipation. âKeep being good for me.âÂ
He nods, lips trembling as he struggles to keep his composure âFuck. Yesâpl-please, âm yours.â
You build your rhythm, slow and steady, each grind calculated to wring the maximum shudder from him. Sometimes you pause, letting him throb helplessly inside you, watching his jaw flex and his throat work as he swallows the urge to move. Sometimes, you bring yourself up just enough that only the tip of him is inside, and let him feel the loss, the emptiness, right before you sink down again in one slow, molten pulse. Every time you do it, Mingiâs head tips back, a sound escaping his throat thatâs closer to a sob than a moan. You let the building friction wind both of you higher, but you donât let yourself get lost in it; you want to see him come apart, to savour every second of his surrender.
You pick up the pace, just enough to make it impossible for him to stay silent. The bed frame squeaks softly beneath you, his hands finally dragging up your ribs, desperate for anything to ground him in this sinful reality. He reaches up and cups one of your tits, rolling and squeezing your nipple until it hardens against his warm touch. Your eyes shut at the sight, your body starts to falter under his grasp. Every inch of him is trembling too, his body strung tight as wire. His thrusts are growing more desperate, cockhead now slamming into your weakest spot, ripping a pornographic moan from you.Â
âPlease, doll,â he rasps, voice gone rough and wild. âPlease, can Iâ?â
You lean in, your lips at his ear, your breath hot and deliberate. âYou want to cum?â you hum, rocking down hard and slow, grinding your hips just the way he likes. âYou want to fill me up?â
He makes a strangled sound that could be your name, or a prayer, or both. âPleasepleaseplease,â he says again, as if the word is being pried out of him, as if heâs never begged for anything in his life.
You decide heâs earned it.
âDo it,â you cooed. âCum for me, Mingi. Wanna feel you cum inside me.â
The effect is immediate. He bucks up into you, helpless, his face contorting with pure, blissful pleasure. His hands drag you down against him, holding you in place as he comes deep inside you, the force of it making his whole body shudder. Your juices drip down his balls and your gummy walls clamp down hard on his sensitive length, throwing into his orgasm and washing his vision white. You feel his warmth spreading in your insides, creamy ropes of cum making you feel fuller than before. You ride him through it, slow and greedy, squeezing him with your cunt until heâs wrung out and gasping, eyes rolling back as he drowns in sensation. His chest trembles under his shaky breaths as he pulls his half-hard cock out of your sticky heat, looking up at you through dampened lashes. You press your lips to his damp temple, stroking his hair until the aftershocks fade. For a moment, the world goes silent save for the hammering of both your hearts, the heat of your bodies, the sweat cooling on your skin.
All of a sudden, the equilibrium tilts.
Mingi comes back to himself by degrees, eyes still glazed but mouth already curling into a grin thatâs all sharp canines and mischief. Youâre still trembling, the aftershocks ricocheting through your bones, but the way heâs holding you nowâpossessiveâis different from before. Thereâs a shift in the air, a gathering of purpose behind the lazy drag of his palm up your spine.
âAlright, youâve had your fun,â he rasps, voice rough with spent desire, âmy turn.â
Suddenly heâs moving, rolling you onto your back in a single, fluid motion. His hands are everywhereâkneading your ass, your thighs, greedy in their hunger. His body covers yours, heat and weight and muscle, and you realise that heâs been biding his time, letting you have your way only so he could give it back to you tenfold.Â
âDid you really think you had all the control, doll?â he drawls, the words fiery and playful at once, goading you with the memory of your earlier dominanceâall while letting you know it was only ever on loan.
His hands bracket your hips, fingers splayed and greedy, and you feel the faintest quiver in his arms as he holds himself over you, like a predator savouring the moment before the pounce. His eyes never leave yours as he takes himself in hand, his cock already hardening again. You feel the blunt head of him brushing against your sensitive folds, teasing at your entrance. He drags it slowly up and down your slit, still slick with his cum and your arousal, circling your clit with deliberate pressure that makes your hips buck involuntarily.
âSo responsive,â he murmurs, eyes darkening as he continues to tease you, tapping his tip against your cunt with feather-light touches. âLook at how eager you are fâme.â
You moan as he continues his torturous teasing, rubbing his hardening length against your swollen lips, gathering your shared wetness along his shaft. Your hips buck involuntarily, chasing the fullness you crave. Mingi just chuckles, keeping his movements shallow, the head of his cock just barely dipping inside before retreating. The emptiness is maddening.
âUse your words,â he commands softly, continuing the torturous tapping against your entrance. âTell me what you need.â
âIâ ohmygod... I needâ,â you try to answer, but the question melts on your tongue.Â
His smile is triumphant as he finally, finally pushes forward, sinking into you with one smooth thrust. He buries himself deeper, hips rolling with a languid, relentless power. Every inch of him fills you, presses you open, makes you ache. He fucks up into you with a slow, devastating grind that leaves your toes curling and your nails digging into his biceps for purchase.
âSo fucking tight,â he groans, nipping at your pulse point, tongue flicking over sweat-salted skin. âSo wet for me. You like being stuffed by my cock don't you?â
âOh fuck.. yes!â You whimper, and he grips your jaw, thumb pressing into your lower lip, enticing you to be louder.
âLet me hear you,â he growls, eyes burning into yours. âFuckâlet the whole dorm hear how good Iâm making you feel.â
He fucks you like he has nowhere to go and nothing else to do but ruin you, each punishing thrust deliberate and deep, perfectly tuned to hit every trembling, oversensitive sweet spot inside you, drawing out increasingly desperate sounds that seem to fuel his hunger. The room is a riot of sensation: the slap of skin on skin, the obscene squeeelch of your own arousal, the sweat that drips from his brow onto your collarbone as he leans in to bite at your shoulder.
He laces his fingers through yours, pinning your hands above your head, and the new angle is exquisiteâheâs so deep you can barely breathe, so intense you canât manage a sound. Heâs watching your face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure and pain, cataloguing the way your body arches and clenches around him.
âLook at you,â he pants, fucking you harder now, the headboard rattling with each thrust. âYou look so pretty like thisâspread out for me, fuck. This is what you wanted, right?â
You feel the weight of him first, that heavy press of Mingiâs body pinning you down against the sheets, his hips grinding slow and deliberate as he sinks deeper. Every inch of his cock stretches you wide, the burn mixing with that sweet ache that makes your toes curl and your breath hitch. Your hands claw at his back, nails digging into the scarred skin, but he doesnât flinch. He just growls low in his throat, pushing harder, stuffing himself in until thereâs no space left between you. All you can feel is him, that thick length buried deep, pulsing against your walls as he drives in again and again. a whimper escapes your lips, broken and needy, your body arching up to meet him even as the overload makes you want to pull away. Mingi notices immediately. his hand shoots up, fingers tangling rough in your hair, yanking your head forward with just enough force to make you gasp.
âLook at me,â He rasps, voice strained like heâs fighting through something sharp and brutal.
His grip tightens, holding you steady so your eyes lock onto his. Yours are wide now, pupils blowing out wide and dark, swallowing the colour until thereâs just that hazy black stare reflecting back at him. He watches it happen, the way they dilate under the dim light, pulling him in like youâre lost in the haze of it all. His sounds get louder, desperate almost, grunts turning into these deep, guttural moans that vibrate through his body into yours.
âFuckâI'm gonna lose my mind,â he groans, the word dragging out low and pained, like the pleasure is edging on torture. his free hand digs into your hip, bruising as he pulls you closer, slamming in one last time. âYour perfect cunt was made for me wasn't it?â
You nod, frantic, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming fullness. He slows, just enough to let you catch your breath, then leans in, capturing your mouth with his in a kiss thatâs as much a challenge as comfort. His tongue is rough, demanding, and he swallows every helpless sound you make.Â
Then, in a cruel twist of fate, he pulls out entirely, leaving you empty and clenching at nothing. Before you can beg, heâs flipping you onto your stomach, hands manhandling your hips up until youâre on your knees for him, face pressed into the pillows. He lines himself up behind you, the heat of his cock nudging at your entrance, and you whimper in anticipation.
âYou're gonna let me fuck you sooo good, right baby?â he promises, voice gone dark and needy, and then he slams back into you in one brutal, beautiful stroke. The sound you make is sweet, involuntary, a sob torn from deep in your chest. He gives you no quarter, hips pistoning relentlessly, the flat of his hand coming down on your ass with a sharp crack that sends you clenching around him.
âSo beautiful,â he purred, running his palm over the stinging flesh.
With every thrust he drives the point home, each one punctuated by a filthy litanyâmineâuntil you can feel the word burning into your skin. He grabs a fistful of your hair, jerks your head back so youâre forced to arch, to present yourself to him, to let him see how utterly, beautifully ruined you are.
âSay it,â he orders, voice raw. âTell me who you belong to.â
You gasp, barely able to form words. âYou! Mingi. Iâm all yoursââ
He rewards you with devastating thrusts, so deep your vision starts turning white.
You can feel yourself unraveling, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. Heâs relentless, fucking you through your first orgasm and into a second, not stopping even when you collapse boneless onto the mattress. He kisses your spine, your shoulder blade, every vertebrae, as he keeps you pinned and takes you, over and over, until your vision blurs and you forget your own name.Â
âM-mingi! Mâ so close, gonna cumââ
âGonna cum inside you again,â he promises, voice shaking with how close he is, hips stuttering. âYou gonna take it for me? Gonna let me breed this perfect pussy?â
âYesyesyesâfuck!â
The words rip something out of you. You nod, desperate, grinding back against him, greedy for his release.
âThatâs my girl, câmon cum with me baby.â
He bites down on your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and fucks you through his own climax, cock pulsing inside you as he fills you up again, so much it slicks out around the edges and paints the inside of your thighs, messy and obscene.
You collapse together, his arms locked around your waist, breath ghosting warm across your neck. He stays inside you, softening only a little, like he canât bear to let you go yet. You lie there, bodies tangled and sticky, sweat cooling on your skin, and you feel the heat of him still throbbing inside you, a silent claim.
Neither of you moves for what feels like hours, your breathing gradually slowing to match each otherâs rhythm. Mingiâs weight on top of you is heavy but comforting, his cock still nestled deep inside you despite having softened slightly. The gentle pulsing of him against your walls sends occasional aftershocks through your system, little reminders of the intensity you just shared.
âStay like this,â you whisper when he finally stirs, your hand reaching back to keep him in place. âJust a little longer.â
He makes a soft sound of agreement, pressing his lips to the nape of your neck. âYou like feeling me inside you, donât you?â His voice is a gentle rumble against your skin.Â
You nod, feeling strangely vulnerable in your admission. Thereâs something deeply intimate about thisâmore so, somehow, than the passionate sex you just had. Mingi seems to understand, adjusting his position slightly so heâs not crushing you but remains connected, his chest pressed to your back, one arm draped possessively across your waist.
âThis okay?â he murmurs, his breath warm against your ear.
âPerfect,â you sigh, melting into the mattress beneath his weight.
The room falls quiet except for your mingled breathing and the distant thrum of music from downstairs. The party continues without you, but at this moment, the world outside this room might as well not exist. Mingi nuzzles against your shoulder, pressing lazy kisses to the marks he left earlier.
âIâve never done this before,â he confesses quietly.
âWhat, sex?â you tease, knowing full well thatâs not what he means.
He laughs softly, the vibration traveling through both your bodies. âNo, smartass.â His arm tightens around you. âThis,â he clarifies, fingers drawing gentle patterns on your skin. âHaving someone stay over.â
You twist your neck to look at him, eyebrows raised in disbelief. âWait, seriously? But youâreâyouâre you. Howââ
He laughs, but thereâs no humor in it. âYeah I knowâŠI donât bring people here. Ever.â
âEver?â You shift slightly to face him better, wincing as you feel him slip out of you. The loss is immediate, leaving you empty in a way that makes you want to chase the connection again. He reaches for tissues from his nightstand, cleaning you both with surprising tenderness before settling back beside you. His eyes meet yours, unusually vulnerable.
âNever,â he confirms, voice soft. âThis room is... I donât know. Itâs mine. My space. I donât share it with just anyone.â
The implication hangs between you, heavy with meaning. Youâre not just anyone. Youâre someone he wants in his private world, someone heâs letting see parts of himself that others donât.
âBut all those stories about you...â you begin, confused.
He shrugs, looking slightly embarrassed. âNot saying Iâve been a saint. But those hookups? They happened elsewhere. Never here. Never in my bed.â His fingers trace your cheekbone with careful precision. âNever like this.â
Something warm blooms in your chest, spreading outward until your whole body feels flushed with it. Youâve been the exception to so many of his rules alreadyâthe girl he studied for, the one he took to Stellina, the one he waited patiently for. And now thisâbeing the only person heâs ever brought to his most personal space.
âI didnât know,â you whisper, because you donât know what else to say.
âHow could you?â His smile is small but genuine. âIâve spent a lot of time making sure everyone sees exactly what they expect to see.â
You reach up, touching his face with gentle fingers. âAnd what am I seeing right now?â
âThe real me,â he says simply. âThe one whoâs terrified of messing this up. The one who thinks about you constantly. The one who...â he hesitates, taking a deep breath before continuing, âthe one who wants you to be his girlfriend. Officially.â
Your heart stutters in your chest. Despite everything thatâs happened between youâthe tutoring, the dates, the incredible sex you just hadâhearing him say it out loud makes it suddenly, overwhelmingly real.
âMingi...â you start, uncertain how to respond.
His face falls slightly, but he quickly masks it. âIâm rushing things, arenât I?â
âNo, itâs not that,â you say quickly, not wanting him to misunderstand. âItâs justâthis is all happening so fast. A few months ago I couldnât stand you, and now...â
âAnd now?â he prompts when you trail off, eyes searching yours.
âNow I canât imagine not having you in my life,â you admit. The truth of it surprises even you. âI just need a little time to process everything. Can I... can I give you an answer tomorrow?â
Relief washes over his features. âItâs not a no?â
You smile, leaning in to kiss him softly. âDefinitely not a no.â
He pulls you closer, wrapping you in his arms like heâs afraid you might disappear. âTomorrow it is. I can wait.â
You fall asleep like that, tangled together in his sheets, his heartbeat steady against your back, his breath warm on your neck. For the first time in years, you donât worry about your schedule or your plans or what comes next. You just let yourself exist in this moment, with him.
Sunlight streams through the gap in the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed. You stir slowly, your body pleasantly sore as consciousness creeps in. For a moment, disorientation clouds your mindâthis isnât your dorm room. All of a sudden, rapid flashbacks enter your mind from the events of last night. Mingi is gone, the sheets cool where he should be. For one terrible moment, panic seizes your chestâdid he regret last night? Did he change his mind about wanting you as his girlfriend?
Then you hear footsteps in the hallway, the door handle turning. You sit up, clutching the sheet to your chest, heart pounding.
Mingi backs into the room, hands full. Heâs balancing a tray of coffee cups, a small box of chocolates tucked under his arm, andâyour breath catchesâa bouquet of lilies and hydrangeas cradled against his chest. He hasnât noticed youâre awake yet, too focused on not dropping anything as he nudges the door closed with his foot.
When he turns and sees you watching him, his face breaks into a smile so bright it rivals the sunlight streaming through the windows.
âMorning,â he says, suddenly looking shy. âI was hoping to be back before you woke up.â
âWhatâs all this?â you ask, unable to keep the smile from your voice.
He approaches the bed, carefully setting down the coffee cups on the nightstand. âWell, I figured your answer might depend on how convincing my case was.â He hands you the flowers, the stargazer liliesâ pink-speckled petals unfurling beside clusters of blue hydrangeas that catch the morning light. âThese reminded me of you.â
You bury your nose in the blooms, inhaling their sweet fragrance. âTheyâre perfect.â
âThereâs more,â he says, offering you the box of chocolates. âYour favourite, right? The ones with the salted caramel centers?â
You blink in surprise. âHow did you know?â
âYou mentioned it once, when we were studying for the midterm. Said they were your stress food.â
The fact that he remembered such a small detail makes your heart swell. He passes you one of the coffee cups, the rich aroma of your preferred brew wafting up as you take it.
âAnd thisâŠâ he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small envelope. âThis is the most important part.â
You set the coffee aside and take the card with trembling fingers. The envelope is simple, your name written on the front in his familiar handwriting. Inside is a handmade card, decorated with what appears to be hand-drawn economic graphs and formulas. You open it, and a laugh bubbles up from your chest as you read the message:
According to my cost-benefit analysis, being with you yields the highest returns on investment. Our relationship has increasing marginal utilityâthe more time I spend with you, the more valuable each moment becomes. Will you be my girlfriend and help me maximize our happiness and love function?
Itâs nerdy and sweet and so perfectly him that tears spring to your eyes. When you look up, heâs watching you nervously, waiting for your response.
âSoooo?â he asks, voice barely above a whisper.
You set the card aside carefully and reach for him, pulling him down until heâs sitting beside you on the bed. âYou're so stupid,â you say, cupping his face in your hands. âOf course I'll be your girlfriendâ
The relief and joy that wash over his features are almost painful to witness. He leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss thatâs somehow both gentle and fierce, like heâs trying to pour every emotion heâs feeling into this one perfect moment.
When you finally break apart, he rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed as if heâs committing this to memory.
âYou know,â you say, threading your fingers through his hair, âfor someone who was failing economics a few weeks ago, that was a pretty impressive application of the principles.â
He laughs, the sound vibrating through both of you. âWhat can I say? I had an excellent tutor.â
âDamn right you did,â you tease, pulling him in for another kiss.
Outside, the campus is waking up. Students are heading to class, professors are preparing lectures, life is continuing as it always has. But in this room, wrapped in each otherâs arms, you and Mingi have created something newâa world that belongs just to the two of you, built on unexpected connections, shattered assumptions, and the courage to see beyond the surface. As his lips find yours again, more insistent this time, you let yourself sink into the certainty that some economic theories are universal: the most valuable things are often the ones you never saw coming, and the greatest returns come from the investments you make not with your head, but with your heart.
synopsis: in which you post about the most insufferable guy in your class on an AITA thread, only to find someone in the comments defending him a little too passionately.
genre: enemies to lovers??
pairing: insufferable!sunghoon x menace!reader
warnings: sexual tension, so many gawddamn arguments, some eye fucking from sunghoonâs behalf, lowkey bratty!reader, dom!hoon, semi-public sex, washroom sex, spitting, choking, oral (m rec.), fingering, biting, mirror sex, so much degrading, begging, spanking, slapping, teasing, unprotected p in v (donât do itâŠ), creampie, light cum playâŠi think thatâs itâŠ
wc: 13k
a/n: i love me some enemies to lovers i feel ashamed đđ anyways after almost 3 months ya gurl is back w anotha banger đđ warning, this isnât edited properly i did like a quick read over or 2 and ran out of patience. ill sit down months later to revise it (no i wont). as always, notes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. enjoy :p
Ëđ·Ë
the literature lecture hall buzzed quietly with the usual sounds of a monday morning classâkeyboard typing, coffee lids snapping shut, chairs dragging lazily across the floor.
rain streaked against the tall windows beside you, grey light spilling across rows of half-awake university students while professor choi clicked through his lecture slides at the front.
this class was your last pick and you were barely listening until the next discussion question appeared on the board.
what does meursault's emotional detachment represent?
professor choi adjusted his thick framed circle glasses.
"thoughts?"
and then, unfortunately, park sunghoon raised his hand.
you already knew this was about to piss you off. your face twisting into one of pure disgust before the man even opened his mouth.
sunghoon sat three rows ahead of you, posture relaxed, one arm slung over the back of his chair like he owned the lecture hall. he didn't even look interested in the discussion, which somehow made it more annoying whenever he spoke and everyone listened anyway.
professor choi nodded toward him."go ahead."
sunghoon spoke evenly, like a corrupt politician who was going to promise world peace. like he was delivering some groundbreaking intellectual revelation instead of absolute nonsense.
"i think the novel critiques performative emotion more than emotional detachment itself."
you narrowed your eyes immediately. all you could hear was blah blah blah meh meh meh.
sunghoon continued, his tongue jutting out to wet his lips so the bullshit he was going to spew would come out smoother.
"society condemns meursault not because he committed murder, but because he doesn't react the way people expect him to emotionally. he refuses to fake grief, guilt, remorseâ"
"because he doesn't have any," you interrupted flatly.
a few heads turned instantly, students giving each other knowing looks. sunghoon glanced over his shoulder at you.
not irritated. oh no no, worse. he was amused.
"that's an oversimplification." he clicked, leaning his head back to the front to give professor choi a lazy look that basically said 'you see what's happening here?'
"no," you said. "you're just romanticizing emotional incompetence because the author used fancy wording."
a quiet snort came from somewhere behind you causing sunghoon to turn fully in his seat now. "you think the entire point of the novel is that he's a bad person?"
"i think the point is that detachment isn't inherently profound just because a man is quiet."
that got a reaction, small and subtle. a couple students trying not to laugh, their binders going up to hide their facial expressions as professor choi gave them a warning look.
sunghoon's eyes narrowed slightly for the first time.
finally.
"you're reducing existentialism to a personality flaw."
"and you're treating basic human empathy like it's optional."
professor choi opened his mouth and closed it again. probably deciding it was safer not to interfere yet.
sunghoon rested his arm against the desk beside him.
"the novel literally argues that societal expectations of emotion are artificial."
"okay, but there's a difference between rejecting social performance and acting like a disconnected freak."
sunghoon gave you a look at the last word, "interesting choice of wording."
"oh please," you scoffed. "you're acting like meursault is some misunderstood visionary when really he's just emotionally constipated."
someone coughed to hide a laugh and sunghoon's jaw ticked slightly.
barely noticeable, but you noticed. because you notice everything about park sunghoon, the good and the bad. unfortunately, more of the good which was all physical. nothing mental of course, the man had an IQ of a turnip.
arguing with park sunghoon had become a skill you'd accidentally perfected over the past two years. he always looked composed, always calm. but there were little tells and small cracks. tiny expressions that appeared when you pushed hard enough.
and right now? he was getting annoyed.
good.
"you're too emotionally reactive to engage with the text objectively," he said, his dark eyes boring into your own as if he was trying to get under your skin.
which, to be fair, he was. you knew that, and he definitely knew that.
you let out a short laugh. "and you think sounding detached makes you intelligent."
his gaze held yours for a second too long. steady and sharp. "maybe i just know how to separate emotion from analysis."
"maybe you just enjoy hearing yourself talk."
sunghoon tilted his head slightly, "you've interrupted me four times."
"because every sentence somehow gets worse."
a few quiet laughs spread through the room again. you saw professor choi pinch the bridge of his nose from the corner of your eye.
sunghoon looked entirely unbothered by the class watching. if anything, he looked more focused now.
like he enjoyed this, he enjoyed the attention he was receiving. the perfect spotlight to argue with a classmate. which made you irrationally angrier. "you're intentionally ignoring nuance."
"and you're intentionally making this deeper than it actually is."
"literature is supposed to be analyzed deeply."
"not every quiet man with a god complex is philosophically revolutionary, sunghoon."
that one landed, hard. his brows lifted slightly and the room went quieter. you could practically feel everyone pretending not to listen now.
sunghoon leaned back slowly in his chair. still staring at you, not daring to break eye contact.
"you know," he said lightly, "for someone who claims i'm insufferable, you spend an impressive amount of time thinking about my opinions."
your stomach flipped in annoyance. strictly annoyance.
"trust me," you replied sweetly, "criticizing you is not a difficult intellectual exercise."
the corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. which only irritated you more because why did he look entertained right now?
"you get weirdly passionate whenever i disagree with you."
"because you say insane things with unnecessary confidence."
"and yet you always argue back."
you opened your mouth immediately. "because someone has to humble you."
sunghoon's eyes flicked briefly down toward your mouth before returning to your eyes so quickly you almost thought you imagined it.
almost.
then he said quietly, "you've been trying for two years."
your heartbeat stumbled once, completely involuntary by the way. and judging by the sudden silence in the lecture hall, several other people noticed the shift too.
professor choi finally sighed loudly enough to cut through the tension.
"well," he muttered dryly, "this has certainly been more engaging than most of your discussion contributions."
a few students laughed softly.
you tore your gaze away from sunghoon first, reaching for your pen like your pulse hadn't just betrayed you for absolutely no reason.
meanwhile, across the room, sunghoon leaned back in his chair again.
looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Ëđ·Ë
by the time professor choi dismissed the class, the atmosphere in the lecture hall felt weirdly charged.
like everyone had just witnessed something they definitely shouldn't have.
chairs scraped against the floor as students packed up their bags, conversations immediately erupting around the room.
you shoved your laptop into your tote aggressively, muttering curses about the boy who shall not be named.
mostly because you could still feel park sunghoon's smug expression somewhere in your peripheral vision.
you hated him and his stupid fucking beautiful face.
the worst part was that he never even looked genuinely angry during your arguments. no matter how heated things got, sunghoon always stayed calmârelaxed posture, steady voice, slightly amused expression like he was watching you self-destruct for entertainment.
it was infuriating.
sunoo appeared beside your desk, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "you know," he said casually, "that was kind of the highlight of my week."
you glared at your so called best friend, "you're sick."
"no seriously," sunoo grinned. "when you called him emotionally constipated i almost started clapping."
you huffed, standing up. "he deserved worse." together, you and sunoo started toward the lecture hall doors with the crowd of students funneling out into the hallway.
exceptâsomeone was standing near the exit.
waiting, wearing a black hoodie. arms crossed loosely.
park sunghoon.
of course he was, because the argument that had erupted during class just wasn't enough for this troll doll. your steps slowed instinctively and sunoo noticed immediately, his smile widened, ear to ear.
fucking traitor.
sunghoon's eyes found yours through the crowd almost instantly. calm as ever and annoyingly unreadable.
then, as you got closer, he pushed himself off the wall.
you already knew he was about to say something irritating, you could feel it.
sunghoon stepped aside just enough to let other students pass before leaning slightly closer toward you.
close enough that you caught the clean scent of his cologne beneath the lingering smell of coffee and rain.
"for someone who hates my opinions," he murmured quietly, "you seem obsessed with hearing them."
you stopped walking and slowly turned your head toward him. you hated how you had to crank your head up to make eye contact with him, the height difference between you two surrendering your loss.
"and for someone who claims to be emotionally detached," you replied sweetly, "you sure spend a lot of time trying to get my attention."
sunghoon's mouth twitched, that stupid almost-smile again. he looked down at you at with this look that you couldn't quite identify.
"see you monday." you hope one of you don't make it to monday, preferably him.
you stared at him for one long second, really stared. at his stupid face. his stupid sharp jawline. his stupid pretty mouth that constantly said the most unbearable things imaginable.
then you walked away before you committed a felony.
sunoo was already laughing beside you. "OH my god," he breathed. "you two are unbelievable."
"he's unbelievable," you snapped immediately, a faint flush covering your face and neck.
sunoo hummed, clearly unconvinced. he was your best friend since elementary school, he knew exactly what this was.
the hallway buzzed with students moving between lectures while rain hammered softly against the windows lining the corridor. you shoved through the doors toward the outside courtyard, irritation simmering hotter with every passing second.
"i genuinely cannot wait until i graduate," you muttered. "the second i get my degree i'm never seeing that freak again."
sunoo snorted, looking at your pink tinted cheeks with a grin. "you still have two years left."
your eye twitched at the realization.
right.
two more years.
two more years of literature classes and discussion boards and seeing park sunghoon sitting three rows ahead of you looking annoyingly composed all the time.
you groaned dramatically. "i can't do this anymore."
sunoo bumped your shoulder lightly. "you've survived two years already."
"barely."
the more you thought about him, the angrier you got.
because sunghoon was the exact type of person that's easy to hate.
too calm. too smug. too aware of how intelligent he was.
and worst of allâtoo attractive for absolutely no reason.
everything about him irritated you.
his stupid perfect smile whenever he thought he'd won an argument. his stupidly long fingers tapping against his desk during lectures. the way his hoodies stretched across his broad shoulders.
the fact that he somehow looked composed even when everyone else looked exhausted during midterms.
it was deeply, deeply annoying.
you physically smacked yourself in the forehead.
sunoo blinked at your sudden outburst. "what was that for?"
"nothing."
sunoo narrowed his eyes. then slowlyâdangerouslyâhe smiled. "oh my god."
you frowned immediately, not liking the way he was smiling down at you. "what."
"i think you might be the issue."
you stopped walking so abruptly someone nearly walked into your shoulder. "excuse me?"
sunoo shrugged innocently. "i'm just saying."
"how the hell am i the issue?"
"you do start a lot of the arguments."
you stared at him in betrayal. "because he says ridiculous things."
"sometimes."
"all the time."
sunoo hummed thoughtfully, not agreeing, which was offensive. why is your best friend not blindly supporting you even when you're probably wrong, which you aren't, but even if you wereâthe fuck?
you scoffed loudly. "sunghoon is literally the one who started this whole thing."
and he had, freshman year. first semester.
he'd corrected one of your points during a class discussion with that calm, mildly condescending tone of his and something inside you had immediately gone:Â absolutely not.
listen you can take criticism, just not from that man specifically.
ever since then, every interaction between you had turned into some kind of competition. you couldn't help it. sunghoon always acted so composed, so polished, so annoyingly perfect that it made you want to knock him down a level, or several.
sunoo shoved his hands into his pockets. "okay but maybe if you stopped interacting with himâ"
"impossible."
"you didn't even let me finish."
"because you're wrong."
sunoo laughed softly, knowing damn well that nothing he was going to say would penetrate through your thick skull. "you could just ignore him."
you looked at him like he'd suggested murder.
ignore park sunghoon? absolutely not.
that sounded suspiciously like losing. sunoo noticed your expression immediately and burst out laughing. "see? that's exactly what i mean."
you crossed your arms. "i am not the problem here."
sunoo just gave you a look. one of those deeply irritating best friend looks that implied he knew you better than you knew yourself.
which, unfortunately, he probably did.
you pulled your phone out of your pocket causing sunoo to raise a brow.
"what are you doing?"
"i'm getting unbiased opinions."
"from who?"
you opened reddit with complete confidence and sunoo immediately groaned.
"oh no."
Ëđ·Ë
your dorm room was suspiciously quiet except for the aggressive tapping of your keyboard.
sunoo sat cross-legged at the end of your bed eating gummy bears straight from the bag while watching you with the exact same expression people have witnessing a public breakup.
concern mixed with entertainment.
you ignored him. because right now you were busy crafting the most objectively accurate reddit post ever written.
the glow from your laptop lit your face as you reread the title for the fifth time.
AITA for telling a guy in my class to shut up because he thinks he's always right?
perfect. concise. truthful.
you cracked your knuckles dramatically before continuing to type. sunoo snorted from the other side, picking out all the red gummies before stuffing them into his mouth.
-
there's this guy in one of my university classes and he is genuinely one of the most irritating people i've ever met.
he's quiet but in a pretentious way? like he thinks being emotionally constipated makes him intelligent. he corrects EVERYONE during discussions and somehow always sounds smug even when he's technically being polite.
the worst part is that he's annoyingly good at everything. presentations? perfect. essays? perfect. participation? professor's favourite somehow.
one time i got a question wrong during class and this man literally smirked at me. SMIRKED. like a disney villain.
today we got into an argument during lecture because he was saying some pseudo intellectual nonsense and i told him to shut up because nobody cares about his superiority complex anymore.
now some people are saying i overreacted but i genuinely think he needed to be humbled.
AITA?
-
you hit post.
then immediately grabbed your phone while bouncing slightly in your seat.
sunoo stared at you with mild distaste. "you look like you just launched a cyber attack."
"i'm right and soon the public will confirm it."
sunoo snorted. "you're insane."
the first comment appeared almost instantly.
you gasped dramatically. "OH MY GOD." sunoo leaned over slightly as you opened it, rolling his eyes as soon as he read the first word.
-
NTA
this guy sounds like if a philosophy podcast became a person.
-
you slapped sunoo's arm excitedly."SEE?"
another comment appeared.
-
girl stand UP. why are you letting a man who's probably named after a victorian disease humble you in public
-
you folded over laughing, sunghoon was a disease alright. a disease that would rot and corrupt your brain before leading you to your own destruction.
sunoo grabbed your laptop before you dropped it off the bed. "okay that one was funny."
more comments flooded in rapidly and sunoo watched as your expression morphed into one of pure joy. like a kid who had just walked into a candy shop with an unlimited budget and no parental supervision.
-
NTA
he sounds insufferable.
-
ESH
you both sound annoying but in a sexual tension way.
-
you frowned, "what does that even mean?"
sunoo looked away suspiciously fast, hiding his smirk.
another one.
-
i know EXACTLY the type of man you're talking about. probably wears silver jewelry and thinks eye contact is a personality trait.
-
your jaw dropped. "THEY GET ME."
sunoo popped another gummy bear into his mouth, eyeing you. "or maybe you're describing every business major ever."
you ignored him because the comments were getting better by the second.
-
does he perchance look like this:
đż
-
"OH MY GOD." he totally does.
-
girl he likes you.
‷
no literally this sounds like academic enemies to lovers fanfiction.
-
"okay why does everyone keep saying that," you muttered, a deep frown now etched on your face. you were beginning to not like where these comments were headed.
sunoo made a noncommittal noise. you narrowed your eyes at him briefly before scrolling again.
-
i'm crying at "emotionally constipated." please cook him again.
-
next class hit him with "you're not beating the pretentious allegations."
-
ask him if he learned emotional intelligence from patrick bateman edits and sigma bro podcasts lol.
-
you physically wheezed, your body folding over in laughter. sunoo shook his head slowly, watching you upvote every single comment that dissed sunghoon.
"you're enjoying this way too much."
"because i'm finally being validated."
you pointed accusingly at him. "unlike SOME people."
sunoo rolled his eyes before muttering, "whatever bitch."
another comment appeared.
-
INFO: is he actually arrogant or are you just threatened because he's smarter than you?
-
your smile vanished instantly. "BOOOOO."
you downvoted it immediately, sunoo burst out laughing. "you are NOT supposed to interact emotionally with the comments."
"they interacted emotionally with ME first."
you kept scrolling, feeling increasingly euphoric as strangers across the internet continued confirming what you'd known all along: park sunghoon was deeply irritating.
the comments only got more ridiculous from there.
-
"he smirked at you after you got a question wrong" oh huny he wants you BAD.
-
this sounds less like hatred and more like unresolved yearning.
-
enemies to lovers ahh post.
-
"unresolved yearning?" you repeated aloud in horror.
oh fuck no.
sunoo was smiling now. not laughing. no no, he was smiling.
which was somehow worse, you turned your head slowly to shoot him a glare, "what."
he shrugged. "nothing."
you narrowed your eyes suspiciously then looked back at your screen.
another comment. this one longer.
-
honestly i think you're leaving out context. from your own description, it sounds like he was trying to engage in discussion normally and you took it personally because you already dislike him.
-
your smile faltered slightly.
who the fuck was this? and why the fuck do they think they know the situation?
the comment continued:
-
correcting people during literary discussions isn't arrogance if he's contributing meaningful analysis. also, calling someone "emotionally constipated" because they interpret a book differently than you is kind of ironic.
-
you scoffed loudly. "OH BROTHER." get a load of this guy, why don't they just go and suck sunghoon's dick at this point.
sunoo leaned closer, reading the comment out loud "wait that one kindaâ"
"no."
you clicked reply immediately, your fingers flying across the keyboard.
-
if you defend people like this i just KNOW nobody likes you in real life.
-
sunoo let out a disbelieving laugh. "you're fighting civilians now?"
"they started it."
your reply posted and within less than thirty secondsâ
the person responded.
-
bold assumption coming from someone who wrote an entire essay about a classmate because he annoyed her.
-
you froze and slowly sat up straighter. you felt your face tense in what you can only identify as pure raw anger.
sunoo noticed instantly when your face went from. mildly annoyed to baboon ass red. "what."
your eyes narrowed at the screen. something about the reply irritated you immediately. the tone. calm. slightly condescending. annoyingly articulate.
...absolutely not. no way.
you started typing again with renewed aggression. you stared at the username with pure hatred.
notniceprince02
your eye twitched, something about it already annoyed you. the reply sat there on your screen like a personal attack.
calm and smug. condescending in a weirdly articulate way that made you want to throw your laptop across the room.
sunoo leaned closer from beside you. "what happened?"
you pointed aggressively at the screen. "this person thinks i'm the problem."
sunoo made a face. "well..."
you slowly turned toward him eyes like slits and your mouth scrunched. "choose your next words carefully."
sunoo immediately looked back down at his gummy bears.
fucking coward.
you cracked your fingers dramatically before typing a response.
-
sorry i didn't realize his defense attorney was in the comments section. should i call you next time he starts acting like a rejected sherlock holmes adaptation?
-
you hit reply with satisfaction, finally letting out the breath of anger you had taken earlier,
sunoo blinked. "you type like you're in a duel."
"because i am."
less than a minute laterâanother response.
-
maybe people correct you often because you're wrong often.
-
you gasped so loudly sunoo nearly dropped the gummy bear bag. "OH this bitch."
you didn't know who this person was but you are not the one to be fucked with like this. your fingers flew over the keyboard with new found passion.
-
and maybe you defend emotionally detached weirdos online because you see yourself in him.
-
reply posted and the response came back almost immediately.
-
emotionally detached = calm
emotional instability = writing reddit essays because a guy disagreed with you in class
-
sunoo physically leaned forward now the gummy bears had been abandoned.
"okay wait," he said slowly. "this is getting good."
you ignored him, mostly because your blood pressure was rising.
-
if being calm means acting like a pretentious AI generated philosophy quote then congratulations i guess.
-
reply and instant response.
-
if being intelligent sounds pretentious to you that might be a personal issue.
-
your jaw dropped. "PERSONAL ISSUE?"
sunoo was trying not to laugh, badly. you glared at him before pushing at his shoulder hard enough to have him almost fall of your bed. unlucky for you, he managed to catch his balance and stay seated next to you with a dumb grin on his face.
"i'm sorry but they kinda cooked you there."
"whose side are you on?"Â fucking twink.
"the entertainment's."
traitor.
you sat up straighter on the bed, narrowing your eyes at the screen like notniceprince02 had personally wronged your entire bloodline.
-
you sound exactly like the guy i'm talking about btw. same superiority complex. same "i think i'm the smartest person in every room" energy.
-
the response appeared almost immediately, which somehow irritated you more. did this person have no life? fighting with strangers on the internet like a loser.
this doesn't apply to you of course.
-
maybe you're just intimidated by people who challenge you intellectually.
-
you stared at the screen in disbelief.
sunoo let out a quiet whistle. "they hit a nerve?"
"i'm going to hit THEM."
you typed furiously, your thumbs cramping up but you don't let weak things like this stop you.
-
intellectually challenge me? please. this man raises his hand in class like he's announcing a new world order then says the most pseudo intellectual nonsense you've ever heard.
-
response.
-
interesting. you seem to remember his class participation very vividly.
-
you froze for like half a second and then scoffed loudly.
because it's TRAUMATIZING. not because you care enough to remember, but because it's shocked itself into the crevices of your brain.
sunoo snorted while you kept going.
-
he literally smirks when people get answers wrong. do you know how deeply punchable that is?
-
response.
-
maybe he smirks because your reactions are dramatic.
-
you narrowed your eyes dangerously. this conversation, more like argument, felt more natural that you'd like to admit.
-
okay now i KNOW you're him.
-
sunoo's brows shot up immediately. hold on...
you pointed at the screen frantically. "LOOK AT HOW HE TYPES."
sunoo leaned closer, the two of you stared silently at the replies for a moment. thenâsunoo slowly looked at you. "that actually does sound like him."
"THANK YOU." validation surged through your body instantly. you pointed aggressively at the laptop. "RIGHT? the annoying calmness? the fake intellectual wording? the superiority complex?"
sunoo tilted his head, a shit eating grin plastered on his porcelain face. "you know him disturbingly well."
"unfortunately."
another reply appeared.
-
i think it's funny how much attention you pay to someone you supposedly dislike.
-
you barked out a laugh, completely humorless.
-
oh my god. you ARE him.
-
response.
-
and if i was?
-
you sat there, staring. sunoo sat there too, also staring.
the room suddenly felt strangely quiet as you squinted at the screen.
"why did that make me mad."
sunoo was smiling again, that knowing smile. you hated that smile.
"because you think it might actually be him."
"it's not him."
"mhm."
"it's just some annoying reddit user." another response appeared before you could keep ranting.
-
for the record, if this guy really is as arrogant as you claim, why do you keep engaging with him?
-
you rolled your eyes instantly.
-
because someone has to humble him.
-
reply.
-
sounds more like obsession.
-
you gasped, like actually gasped. you? obsessed with sunghoon? out of all the people in this world? fuck no.
sunoo folded over laughing. "OH MY GOD."
"OBSESSION?" you typed so aggressively the keyboard started clacking violently.
-
you people see a man and woman arguing and immediately think there's romantic tension. have you considered that i simply think he's irritating and unfortunate-looking?
-
sunoo looked at you, slowly. "unfortunate-looking?"
you avoided eye contact because unfortunately that part wasn't true. at all. which was deeply annoying. you hated how you couldn't get away with dissing his appearance because as much as you hate to admit it, there was nothing to pick at.
another reply.
-
unfortunate-looking yet you described his facial expressions in detail.
-
you froze. sunoo froze. your eyes slowly widened as you stared at sunoo who looked equally as surprised as you.
"..."
sunoo pointed at the screen. "THAT IS ABSOLUTELY HIM."
"SHUT UP."
Ëđ·Ë
by the next morning, your hatred for user notniceprince02 had evolved into something genuinely concerning.
your phone had been vibrating nonstop since eight in the morning.
every. two. seconds.
ping.
ping.
PING.
another reply. another argument. another smug paragraph typed in that calm, annoyingly articulate tone that made your blood pressure spike on sight.
you sat in the student lounge with your laptop open and your phone in your hand simultaneously, responding across two devices like a woman fighting in active warfare.
sunoo sat across from you, fully invested now. having the thread opened on his laptop as he watched you type out responses like it was war.
classes? irrelevant.
education? secondary.
this reddit argument had become the main event.
"you've replied to him thirty-seven times just in this past hour " sunoo said.
"thirty-eight." you hit send aggressively and sunoo blinked in pure shock.
"that was immediate."
"because he's wrong." your phone buzzed again and you looked down instantly.
-
notniceprince02:
"you keep proving my point by reacting emotionally to everything."
-
you scoffed so loudly the two people at the next table glanced over.
"OH my god." your fingers slammed against the keyboard.
-
sorry i forgot being emotionally unavailable is apparently a personality trait now.
-
send.
and would you look at that, a response within seconds.
-
no, but making hating one guy your entire personality definitely is.
-
you stared at the screen with a scowl etched on your face. offended, deeply offended.
sunoo leaned over your shoulder to see you clutching your phone was a grip that would shatter your screen.
then immediately started laughing. "okay no because why does this genuinely sound like sunghoon."
"it's NOT him."
"__."
"it's just some weird sigma male ass kisser who probably listens to podcasts hosted by divorced men."
you ignored him because your phone buzzed againâanother reply.
-
you seem weirdly committed to misunderstanding him.
-
you rolled your eyes so hard it physically hurt. at this point you wondered how many people at the library thought something was mentally wrong with you.
-
and you seem weirdly committed to defending him. is this his burner account or are you just in love with him?
-
send.
sunoo nearly choked. "OH?"
"what?"
"you're spiraling."
"i'm WINNING."
sunoo pointed at your screen, a thread of reddit beef that's exceeded an appropriate limit. "this does not look like winning."
you frowned at the ongoing thread. unfortunately, it had become one of the top comments under your post. people were fully invested now with random users jumping into the argument just to spectate.
some were taking sides while others were making it worse, much worse.
-
y'all are literally flirting.
-
this is the most enemies to lovers thing i've ever read.
-
somebody invite me to the wedding.
-
"irl academic rivals is CRAZY."
-
you physically recoiled at the thought of being shipped with that garden troll of a man. "what is WRONG with people?"
sunoo looked way too entertained. "they kinda have a point."
"they absolutely do not."
another comment:
-
at this point just kiss and get it over with.
  ‷
i would rather chew denim.
-
you typed immediately, brows furrowed and jaw clenched. this was the last thing you had expected as an outcome when you posted on reddit.
sunoo burst out laughing. "chew denim?"
"i'm emotional."
your phone buzzed again.
-
notniceprince02:
"that's dramatic."
-
your eye twitched as you read the message out loud. "HE KEEPS SAYING THAT." people had now physically turned on their seats to look at the two of you with curious and annoyed looks in their eyes.
sunoo pointed accusingly at you while gives others a apologetic smile. "because you ARE dramatic." he whispered to you harshly all while motioning you to shut the fuck up.
"you're both against me."
"no," sunoo corrected. "i just think this is the funniest thing that's happened all semester."
you glared at him before standing abruptly, grabbing your phone. "i'm going to the washroom."
if sunoo wasn't going to appreciate this properly, then some girl in the stall next to you will. sunoo hummed absently. "tell your boyfriend i said hi if he replies again."
"die."
you walked off before he could keep talking.
the hallways buzzed with students moving between lectures, conversations overlapping with the sound of footsteps and lockers shutting nearby.
your phone buzzed again and without looking up, you immediately started typing.
-
no, because at this point you're defending him like you want him carnally.
-
send.
you turned the corner toward the washroomsâand slammed directly into someone.
hard.
your shoulder collided with a solid chest and your phone nearly flew out of your hand.
"shitâ"
steady hands caught your arms before you stumbled backward. familiar hands. long fingers curling briefly around your sleeves.
your stomach dropped instantly, because of course.
of fucking COURSE.
park sunghoon looked down at you with mild surprise, dark hair slightly messy like he'd been running his hands through it all morning. a pair of headphones rested around his neck, black hoodie sleeves pushed to his forearms.
and unfortunatelyâunfairlyâhe looked really good today.
which immediately irritated you, because how dare he have a shit personality and look good while ruining your mood by just breathing in your vicinity.
sunghoon glanced at your death grip on your phone before meeting your eyes again, a small smirk playing on his pink plush lips.
"you should probably watch where you're going." his voice was calm, low and slightly amused.
you narrowed your eyes instantly. "maybe people would move if they weren't standing in the middle of hallways like decorative statues."
one corner of his mouth lifted slightly. there it was, that stupid almost-smile. you hated that stupid almost-smile.
sunghoon's gaze flicked downward briefly. to your phone screen which was still open to reddit. your heart stopped for half a second because the thread was visible. very visible. and at the top of the screen sat a fresh notification fromânotniceprince02 replied to your comment
sunghoon's eyes lingered on the notification then slowly lifted back to yours.
silence. your brain short-circuited instantly, no. absolutely not. there was no way. sunghoon looked at you for one long second before asking casually, "still fighting with strangers online?"
your entire body went still, just for a second. because there was absolutely no wayâno actual way.
sunghoon stood there holding your arm loosely, thumb brushing the fabric of your sleeve while your phone screen glowed between you both like evidence in a criminal investigation.
notniceprince02 replied to your comment.
your brain was buffering. loading. malfunctioning.
sunghoon's expression remained frustratingly neutral but there was something there. something subtle: amusement.
your eyes narrowed immediately. "why are you looking at my phone?"
smooth. good recovery. yup yup.
sunghoon let go of your arm slowly, way too slowly. "hard not to when you almost tackled me with it."
you scoffed, "you were standing in my way."
"you walked directly into me."
"semantics."
sunghoon hummed quietly as his gaze flicked toward your screen again and then back to you.
"so," he said lightly, "what stranger online managed to upset you this badly?"
your grip tightened around your phone instantly. absolutely not. you were NOT about to entertain sunoo's ridiculous theory.
"nobody."
sunghoon raised a brow, "you look homicidal."
"maybe that's just your effect on people." you retorted back almost automatically. you wonder if you've ever responded to sunghoon in a normal way.
that stupid almost-smile appeared again. small and annoyingly attractive. you hated it, like actually hated it.
sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "you know," he murmured, "you get strangely defensive whenever i ask simple questions."
your stomach flipped in irritation, strictly irritation. "and you get strangely nosy for someone who acts emotionally detached all the time."
his eyes held yours for a second longer than necessary, steady and focused. like he was trying to figure something out.
the hallway around you blurred into noise and somehow you were still standing there.
too close to him, way too close.
you noticed stupid things at the worst possible times, like the faint scent of his cologne or the tiny mole near his neck. or the fact that his hair fell into his eyes slightly when he looked down at you like this.
deeply irritating.
sunghoon's gaze flicked briefly toward your mouth before returning upward so quickly you almost thought you imagined it.
almost.
"what?" you snapped immediately. you could feel a small flush cover your cheeks and neck at the thought of sunghoon sneaking glances at your lips. maybe he thought you looked really slapable right now, or really kissable. it hurt your ego to think that either one of those things were deemed acceptable to you.
his brows lifted slightly. "nothing."
liar.
you narrowed your eyes harder. "you're being weird."
"you say that every time you don't know how to respond."
your jaw dropped at his audacity. "i always know how to respond."
"mhm."
that stupid calm tone again. you wanted to bite him. whichâbad wording. very bad wording.
sunghoon watched your expression shift in real time and something in his face changed slightly. like he noticed the exact moment your thoughts betrayed you.
horrifying. absolutely horrifying.
you recovered immediately, sort of. "why are you even talking to me right now?" you asked. "don't you have some freshmen discussion group to intellectually terrorize?"
sunghoon laughed quietly under his breathâactually laughed. and it caught you so off guard that you momentarily forgot to stay angry.
which made you angrier. "you're the one who ran into me."
"unfortunately."
"yet you're still standing here."
you opened your mouth then closed it. sunghoon noticed, of course he noticed. the only thing he doesn't seem to notice is his mouth opening and closing with cow noises spilling out during class.
the corner of his mouth twitched again. "that's new," he said softly.
"what is?"
"you being speechless." your face heated instantly, not because of him.
obviously.
you crossed your arms defensively. "you're unbelievably annoying."
"and yet," sunghoon said calmly, stepping slightly closer, "you keep talking to me."
your heartbeat stumbled. just once. which was unacceptable.
because now he was close enough that you could see every tiny detail in his expressionâthe faint curve of amusement in his eyes, the way his lips kept threatening to smile fully.
he looked way too pleased with himself. you hated that too. a group of students walked past nearby and one of them whispered: "there's no way they're not dating."
you whipped your head around instantly. "WE'RE NOTâ"
sunghoon's hand suddenly landed lightly against the wall beside your head. not trapping you, but enough to make your words catch awkwardly in your throat.
his expression remained perfectly calm which somehow made the gesture worse. "you're loud when you're flustered," he said quietly.
your brain short-circuited. flustered? FLUSTERED?
you stared at him in disbelief. "i am not flustered."
sunghoon hummed, completely unconvinced as he reached into his pocket to slip out his phone. your pulse was going insane now for reasons you refused to examine.
thenâyour phone buzzed loudly between you both.
the notification lit up the screen and your head snapped down, unlocking your phone to see something that only made your heart drop to your gut.
-
notniceprince02:
"you still haven't answered my question."
-
silence.
sunghoon looked down at the notification then slowly back up at you. and this timeâthis time he smiled properly.
small. sharp. dangerous.
your stomach dropped straight to hell. because suddenlyâsuddenly you knew.
oh my god.
it WAS him.
your soul briefly left your body. there was no other explanation for the horrifying full-body shutdown you experienced standing there in the middle of the hallway.
because park sunghoon was smiling at you. actually smiling. not the tiny smug almost-smirk he usually wore during arguments.
a real smile. sharp at the edges. dangerously entertained. and your phone was still glowing between you both with the notification from: notniceprince02
oh my god. OH my god.
you stared at him, sunghoon stared back. this fucker was playing with you this entire time and he had the audacity to look calm, composed and completely evil all at the same time.
your voice came out accusing immediately. "you're insane." sunghoon's smile widened slightly. which honestly should've been illegal because why did he suddenly lookâno.
absolutely not.
"that's a strong reaction," he said mildly.
"you've been fighting with me online for like fourteen hours."
"thirteen, actually."
you blinked up at him, horrified.
sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "you stopped replying around three in the morning."
your jaw physically dropped. "YOU KEPT TRACK?"
"you type aggressively when you're tired."
you looked genuinely offended. "that is such a weird thing to notice."
"you notice weird things about me too."
silence. dangerous silence. because unfortunatelyâunfortunately he was right. and judging by the look on his face? he knew he was right too.
you recovered immediately or at least attempted to. "okay first of all," you started, pointing at him aggressively, "using a burner account to argue with me on reddit is psychotic behavior."
sunghoon crossed his arms loosely still way too relaxed. "you made an entire public post about me."
"i didn't SAY your name."
"you described me like a wanted criminal."
"because you're irritating."
"it was weirdly detailed."
your eye twitched. "you're unbelievable."
sunghoon leaned slightly closer, close enough that your stupid heart started acting weird again. "you wrote three paragraphs about my facial expressions."
heat crawled up your neck instantly. because in hindsightâmentioning the smirking might've been a mistake.
"that was for CONTEXT."
sunghoon hummed not buying it for a second. "right....right"
you hated how calm he sounded. like this entire situation entertained him more than anything else. which made sense, considering the man apparently spent his free time anonymously provoking you online.
actual freak behavior.
"and YOU," you shot back, "were defending yourself in the comments like a loser."
sunghoon's brows lifted. "i was defending myself because you compared me to a podcast for divorced men."
"because you talk like one."
"you literally accused me of wanting attention 'carnally.'" your face heated instantly, sunghoon looked way too pleased saying that out loud. "that was BEFORE i knew it was you."
"does that make it better?"
"a little."
his mouth twitched again. you wanted to throw him into traffic. respectfully.
sunghoon glanced down at your phone screen where the reddit thread was still open. hundreds of notifications flooded the post now. people were still replying, still arguing and still shipping you both for reasons you refused to acknowledge.
sunghoon read one of the comments over your shoulder, then laughed quietly. "someone said we have 'academic rivals to lovers tension.'"
you looked horrified, shooting him a quick glare before downvoting on the comment. "don't read those."
"why not?" he asked lightly. "they seem passionate about us."
"there is no 'us.'" you snapped back.
sunghoon's gaze flicked back to yours, steadyâfocused.
"you sure?"
your stomach dropped. hard. something about the way he said it felt unfairly intentional. like he knew exactly what he was doing now. whichâhe probably did.
you crossed your arms tighter, defensive. "you're enjoying this way too much."
"you started it."
"you kept replying."
"so did you."
"because i don't lose arguments."
sunghoon stepped closer again, just slightly. enough that your back nearly brushed the wall behind you.
"is that what this is?" he asked softly.
you frowned. "what."
"you needing to win." his voice had gotten quieter somehow, lower and suddenly the hallway noise around you felt distant again.
students walked past constantly but it barely registered.
because sunghoon was standing too close and looking at you like he'd figured something out.
you swallowed once, annoyed at yourself for even noticing. "obviously," you replied.
sunghoon watched you for another second. then, "i think you just like arguing with me."
you let out a disbelieving laugh immediately. "that is genuinely the dumbest thing you've ever said."
"is it?"
"yes."
"then why do you always look excited before you disagree with me?"
your mouth opened. closed. opened again. nothing came out. because that wasâthat was not the point. like fuck, you caught me i guess.
sunghoon noticed your silence instantly, of course he did. his expression shifted into something smugger and more dangerous. "there it is again."
"what."
"speechless."
you hated him, like actually hated him. especially because he looked so unfairly good right now standing there with messy dark hair and that stupid smug expression like he'd won something.
you narrowed your eyes. "you know what? maybe people only think you're smart because you say things confidently."
sunghoon leaned one shoulder casually against the wall beside you. completely cornering you now without actually touching you.
"maybe," he said calmly, "you only argue with me because i'm the only person who argues back."
your heartbeat betrayed you again. you stared at him, sunghoon stared back. thenâyour phone buzzed loudly again between you both.
another reddit notification, sunghoon glanced down before taking your phone into his own hands then read aloud: "'just kiss already and save us all the trouble.'"
you lunged for your phone instantly. "give me that."
sunghoon lifted it out of reach easily and your eyes widened. "park sunghoon."
he looked down at you with blatant amusement. "that's the first time you've said my full name without sounding homicidal."
"i AM homicidal."
"mhm."
you reached for your phone again, sunghoon caught your wrist lightly before you could grab it. everything stopped. your breath. your thoughts. your functioning nervous system.
his fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist, warm and firm. and suddenly you became painfully aware of how close he actually was.
sunghoon looked down briefly at where he was holding you and then back at your face. his expression changed slightly, less teasing and moreâdangerous.
your pulse went absolutely insane. then quietlyâway too quietlyâhe said, "you know... you're a lot less mean when you're flustered."
your brain completely stopped functioning. like genuinely. because park sunghoon was still holding your wrist, still standing way too close, still looking at you with that horribly calm expression while your pulse was actively trying to kill you.
and the worst part? he knew. you could tell he knew. his thumb shifted slightly against your wrist and your stomach flipped so violently it made you angry.
sunghoon's eyes flicked briefly to your mouth again. then back up, slowly and deliberately.
"you know," he murmured, "the comments might be onto something."
your brows furrowed instantly. "what comments."
his mouth twitched. "'just kiss already and save us all the trouble.'"
you stared at him in disbelief. "absolutely not."
"why not?"
"because i'd rather die."
sunghoon hummed thoughtfully. "dramatic."
"you make me dramatic." that slipped out before you could stop it, the silence was thick.
sunghoon's expression shifted almost imperceptibly. something darker settling beneath the amusement. your face heated instantly. great. excellent. love that for you.
you tried pulling your wrist back but he didn't let go. not fully, he just loosened his grip slightly. enough to remind you he could let go if he wanted to, but wasn't.
"you know what i think?" he asked quietly.
"i don't care."
"i think you enjoy this."
you scoffed immediately. "arguing with you is psychologically damaging."
"yet you keep doing it."
"because someone needs to humble you."
sunghoon smiled slowly, that smile should've come with a warning label. "you've been saying that for two years, i don't think you're making much progress, __."
your stomach twisted, you hated how softly he said it. like he'd been thinking about it too, absolutely disgusting.
you crossed your arms tighter, or tried to. hard to look intimidating when he still had your wrist trapped loosely in his hand. "you're weirdly obsessed with me for someone who acts emotionally detached all the time."
sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "says the girl who wrote a public essay about me." at this point the both of you were repeating yourselves for the nth time, none of you progressing anywhere.
"because you're irritating."
"and handsome?"
you nearly choked. "WHEN did i say that?"
"you didn't have to."
you looked genuinely appalled, sunghoon laughed quietly under his breath. the sound went straight through you in the most irritating way imaginable.
you hated that too, everything about him irritated you. his stupid voice, his stupid face, his stupidly long fingers still wrapped around your wrist.
"you're insufferable."
"you like that word."
"because it applies to you constantly." you say sweetly, batting your eyelashes in the most dramatic way you could possibly pull off.
sunghoon leaned closer, close enough that your back finally brushed against the wall behind you.
you swallowed hard, annoyed. deeply annoyed.
"you know," he said softly, "for someone who claims to hate me, you stare at me a lot."
your jaw dropped. "you stare at ME."
"because you're loud."
"and you're annoying."
"yet here we are."
your heart was beating so hard you were convinced he could hear it. which was humiliating, especially because he looked entirely unaffected.
calm. steady. composed. which is what his heart monitor would read after you ran him over with your car. you wanted to ruin that composure so badly. sunghoon's gaze dropped to your mouth again, this time slower and less subtle. your breathing hitched involuntarily and that smug bastard noticed immediately.
his eyes darkened slightly. "there it is," he murmured.
"what."
"that look."
"what look?"
sunghoon smiled faintly. "the one you get before you start losing an argument."
you pushed against his shoulder instantly, hard. or at least hard enough to make a point but sunghoon barely moved. which only irritated you more. "i never lose."
"sure."
"i'm serious."
"mhm."
you glared at him, sunghoon stared back. then quietlyâ
way too calmlyâhe said, "maybe we should give people what they want."
your stomach dropped. "what."
his fingers tightened slightly around your wrist before he stepped closer again, completely boxing you in now.
"the comments seem very invested in us."
"there is no 'us.'" you repeated for the nth time.
"you keep saying that."
"because it's true."
sunghoon looked at you for one long second, then his voice dropped lower, dangerously soft. "then how about we start with the kiss?"
your brain short-circuited so violently you physically stopped breathing. "excuse me?"
sunghoon's expression remained infuriatingly calm. but his eyesâhis eyes looked anything but calm now. "you heard me."
heat exploded across your face instantly. "you are OUT of your mind."
"probably."
"i would never kiss you."
sunghoon leaned down slightly, close enough that his voice brushed against your skin. "you keep saying things your body language disagrees with."
your stomach flipped violently. you hated him, because he sounded so certain, so unfairly confident. you opened your mouth to argue again but footsteps echoed nearby and a group of students rounded the corner laughing loudly.
both of you glanced over instinctively, the moment broke slightly. just enough, except sunghoon didn't move away. instead, his gaze flicked briefly down the hall toward the nearby family washroom.
then back to you and your pulse spiked instantly. "sunghoonâ"
before you could finish, he tugged lightly on your wrist.
your breath caught as he pulled you forward down the hall.
"what are you DOING?"
sunghoon glanced back at you once, that same dangerous almost-smile pulling at his mouth.
"proving a point."
your stomach dropped straight to hell. your sneakers squeaked slightly against the floor as sunghoon pulled you down the hallway.
not fast enough to look suspicious, which somehow made it worse. his hand stayed wrapped around your wrist the entire timeâwarm, firm, steadyâlike he already knew you wouldn't actually pull away.
which was irritating, deeply irritating. "park sunghoonâ"
"you say my full name a lot when you're nervous."
"i'm not nervous." he glanced back at you briefly, that smug look again.
"sure."
you swore out his entire bloodline at this moment as your heart was currently beating like you'd just sprinted across campus. sunghoon stopped outside the family washroom and pushed the door open casually before looking back at you expectantly.
your eyes widened immediately. "oh my god."
"what?"
"you're insane."
"you've said that already."
"because you keep proving it."
sunghoon's mouth twitched then he gently tugged your wrist again. you should've walked away, seriously. you should've told him to go to hell and left immediately.
insteadâyou followed him inside. which honestly felt like a personal failure.
the door clicked shut behind you.
the washroom was too bright and too small. and now sunghoon was standing directly in front of you with nowhere to escape to, hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms and dark hair slightly falling into his eyes.
you became painfully aware of every inch of space between you both, which unfortunately (fortunately) wasn't much.
your pulse went insane. sunghoon leaned back lightly against the sink counter, still watching you with that same unreadable expression. except now there was something sharper underneath it, something heated.
you crossed your arms immediately, defensive. "if you murder me in here i'm haunting you."
sunghoon laughed quietly, the sound bounced softly off the tiled walls. "you think i'd need to drag you into a bathroom to kill you?"
"probably not. you'd do it in a psychologically manipulative way."
"interesting that you've thought about it."
"i think about punching you constantly."
sunghoon hummed. "violent."
"you bring it out in me."
his gaze held yours for a second too long. then, "i know."
your stomach flipped, you hated how low his voice sounded in here. hated how every tiny expression felt amplified now that you were alone. you needed to regain control of this conversation immediately.
"so what exactly was your master plan here?" you asked. "corner me in a public washroom and continue being annoying?"
sunghoon tilted his head slightly. "you came willingly."
well, he got you there. "against my better judgment."
"yet still willingly."
you rolled your eyes aggressively. "you're obsessed with having the last word."
"that's rich coming from you."
"i'm right most of the time." sunghoon smiled slowly, there it was again. that stupid smile that made you irrationally aware of how attractive he was.
you hated that too, everything about him was annoying.
the way he stood, the way he talked. the way his hands and forearms looked resting against the sink behind himâokay.
you needed to stop thinking immediately. sunghoon noticed your brief lapse in concentration. his eyes narrowed slightly, amused.
"what happened?" he asked softly. "lost your train of thought?"
"i'm deciding how much jail time i'd get for assault." good cover up!
"probably less if you looked this cute during the mugshot."
your brain completely blue-screened, you stared at him.
sunghoon stared back. completely calm after saying the most insane thing imaginable.
"youâ" nothing, your thoughts evaporated.
sunghoon pushed off the sink slowly, one step closer.
then another. your back instinctively hit the door behind you.
oh my god.
"what?" he asked quietly. you swallowed hard, annoyed at yourself.
"you can't just say things like that."
"why not?"
"because it's weird."
"you're flustered again."
"I AM NOT FLUSTERED."
sunghoon looked down at you for a long second then his gaze flicked to your mouth again. slowly and deliberately. your stomach twisted so hard it physically hurt and you wondered what would happen if you just threw up your guts onto him. how pretty would he look with a bacon egg and cheese splashed onto him?
"you know," he murmured, "for someone who claims to hate me, you let me get very close to you."
"you cornered me." you snap.
"you could move." you opened your mouth then closed it. becauseâwell technically. he wasn't wrong. you absolutely could move, but instead you stayed exactly where you were.
sunghoon noticed immediately, that smug look returned. "there it is."
"stop saying that."
"then stop proving me right."
you glared at him, he stared back. neither of you moved.
the tension in the room felt ridiculous now. thick enough to choke on.
and the worst part? sunghoon still looked calm. slightly amused, even. like he was waiting for you to figure something out.
your phone buzzed loudly in your pocket. both of you glanced downward instinctively. another reddit notification, causing sunghoon laughed softly. "they're probably asking if we kissed yet."
your face heated instantly. "they're delusional."
"mhm."
"stop doing that."
"doing what?"
"looking at me like that."
his brows lifted slightly. "like what?"
you gestured vaguely, frustrated. "like you know something i don't."
sunghoon stepped closer again, barely any space left between you now. his voice dropped lower, quieter.
"maybe i do."
your breath caught, his hand lifted slowly toward your face. you froze up, completely. sunghoon's fingers brushed lightly against your jaw, gentle and careful.
somehow that made it worse. your heartbeat was so loud you were convinced the entire campus could hear it.
sunghoon looked at you for one long second. then quietlyâalmost teasingâhe murmured "still think you'd rather die than kiss me?"
your brain was screaming because park sunghoon's hand was on your jaw right now. his thumb resting lightly against your skin while he looked at you like this âcalm on the surface, but with something much more dangerous underneath.
and the worst part? you still hadn't moved away.
your back pressed against the door behind you as your pulse absolutely lost its mind. sunghoon waited patiently for an answer.
that smug bastard. "well?" he murmured softly. you swallowed hard. "you're very confident for someone who uses reddit burner accounts."
the corner of his mouth lifted immediately. there you were, finally talking again.
"deflecting already?"
"i'm not deflecting."
"mhm."
you hated that sound. hated how he kept looking at you like he could see directly through every thought in your head. because right now those thoughts were actively betraying you.
you were suddenly hyperaware of everything, the warmth of his hand, the faint scent of his cologne, the way his hoodie sleeves stretched around his forearms when he shifted closer.
deeply irritating. you narrowed your eyes, trying desperately to regain control of the situation.
"you know what your problem is?"
sunghoon hummed softly, looking down at you with an unreadable glint in his dark eyes. "you think everyone secretly likes you."
"not everyone."
his thumb brushed your jaw slightly as he spoke and your stomach flipped violently.
"just you."
your breath caught embarrassingly fast. sunghoon noticed instantly and his eyes darkened slightly. suddenly the teasing atmosphere shifted into something heavier, quieter.
you hated how good he was at this. "you're unbelievable," you muttered.
"you've said that too."
"because you keep acting insane."
sunghoon leaned down slightly, close enough now that his voice felt warm against your skin.
"you haven't told me to stop."
your brain short-circuited. becauseâbecause technicallyâyou hadn't. you opened your mouth immediately. "stop."
sunghoon smiled faintly, but didn't move. "that sounded forced."
you glared at him. "you're annoying."
"and yet you're still here." he kept doing that. kept pointing out things you didn't want to acknowledge.
like the fact that you could absolutely shove him away right now if you wanted to.
except you didn't, which felt like a massive personal failure. your phone buzzed again in your pocket making sunghoon laughed quietly under his breath. "persistent audience."
"they need hobbies."
"says the girl who argued with me online for thirteen hours."
"because you were WRONG."
"about what exactly?"
"everything."
sunghoon's brows lifted slightly. "including the part where you're obviously attracted to me?"
your jaw dropped. silence. violent silence. your entire nervous system shut down. "youâ"
nothing came out and sunghoon looked way too pleased with himself. "there it is again."
"if you say 'speechless' one more time i'm calling campus security."
he laughed again, soft and genuine. and it hit you in the chest in the most irritating way imaginable because you'd never heard him laugh like this before.
not during class, not during arguments. this was different, warmer, more relaxed. like he was actually enjoying himself.
you stared at him suspiciously, sunghoon noticed immediately. "what?"
"why are you smiling like that."
"like what?"
"like you're having fun." his gaze held yours for a second, then, "i am."
your stomach twisted again, it felt as if your body was actively betraying you . you looked away first this time, suddenly very interested in the tiled floor beneath you. sunghoon's hand shifted slightly, fingers brushing gently beneath your chin.
guiding your attention back to him and your heart nearly exploded.
"don't do that," you muttered weakly.
"do what?"
"that."
"very descriptive."
you glared at him, or attempted to. hard to look intimidating when your face was hot and your heartbeat sounded like a construction site.
sunghoon studied your expression quietly for a moment.
then smiled slightly, smaller this time and less teasing. "you know what i think?"
"i think you should stop thinking entirely." you spat out weakly.
"i think," he continued calmly ignoring what you just said, "you've spent two years picking fights with me because it's the only time you stop pretending not to care what i think."
your stomach dropped straight to hell you stared at him only to see him look at you with a look you were afraid to identify. and somehow that was worse than the teasing, because he sounded genuine now.
which felt unfair.
you recovered immediately through anger, your favorite defense mechanism.
"oh my god you are SO full of yourself."
"am i wrong?"
"yes."
"then why are you blushing?"
you slapped your hands over your face instantly, and sunghoon actually laughed. fully this time and the sound was so unexpectedly attractive it made you want to walk directly into traffic.
"stop laughing."
"you're cute when you're angry."
"you're making me angrier."
"i know." his voice softened slightly on the last two words, your hands slowly lowered from your face.
sunghoon was still standing impossibly close. still looking at you like he wanted to see what you'd do next.
your heartbeat wouldn't calm down and neither would your thoughts.
and then his gaze dropped to your mouth again, slowlyâintentionally.
your breath caught again and sunghoon noticed. again.
his hand slid lightly from your jaw to the side of your neck.
you completely stopped functioning. "sunghoon," you whispered, first name only this time. this was probably the first time in the two years you knew him that you had said his name with such softness.
something shifted in his expression immediately and his eyes darkened. his thumb pressed lightly against your neck.
"yeah?" he murmured.
oh.
oh this was bad.
his thumb pressed gently against the pulse hammering in your throat. that single point of contact felt like a live wire.
"yeah?" he murmured again, his voice dropping into a register you'd never heard, low and rough and utterly dismantling. you had no witty retort, no clever insult. your brain was static, every neuron firing toward the heat of his hand, the dark focus in his eyes.
he saw the surrender you hadn't even voiced. his other hand came up, fingers threading through your hair to cradle the back of your head, and then he was closing the last inch of space.
his mouth was on yours.
it wasn't tentative. it wasn't a question. it was a firm, smooth claim that stole the breath from your lungs and the strength from your knees. his lips moved against yours with a confident pressure that was instantly dizzying. he tasted like mint and something darker, something uniquely him.
a soft, surprised sound escaped you, swallowed immediately by his kiss. he angled your head, deepening it, his tongue sweeping past your lips to tangle with yours.
it was an argument you couldn't win, a debate settled with a devastating, sensual finality. your hands, which had been balled into fists at your sides, came up to clutch at the fabric of his hoodie.
he broke the kiss just long enough to whisper against your swollen lips, "finally." then he was moving again, his body pressing you firmly back against the cool door. you felt your heart pounding in your chest like you had ran a mile, his one word stealing the strength from your legs.
in one fluid, shockingly strong motion, he captured both your wrists in one of his large hands and pinned them above your head. you gasped, a thrill of helplessness shooting straight to your core. his other hand returned to your throat, not squeezing, just holding, a dominant, possessive weight.
"always so loud," he breathed, his lips trailing down your jaw. "so much to say." you could feel the hard, undeniable ridge of his dick pressing against your stomach through both your clothes. the evidence of his desire was a shockwave that made you whimper. he smirked against your skin. "what's wrong? no clever comeback?"
he leaned in again, but instead of kissing you, he hovered. his gaze locked on yours, dark and intense. then he gathered a bit of saliva on his tongue and let it fall, slow and deliberate, past his own lips and onto yours.
the warm, wet intimacy of it made your eyes flutter closed for a second. "open," he commanded softly. dazed, you did. he sealed his mouth over yours again, sharing the wetness, the kiss turning filthy and deep.
you drank him in, your earlier defiance melting into a desperate, aching need. you could feel your underwear stick to you uncomfortably, shifting slighting only to have sunghoon's large body pin you against the door harder. his bulge pushing into your stomach firmer, you could feel him grind against you.
he pulled back, his breathing slightly ragged, and began to mouth down the column of your throat. his teeth scraped lightly, then bit down, not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to make you cry out and arch against him. he soothed the spot with his tongue before sucking hard, leaving a brand you knew would bloom purple.
he admired his work, then the dizzy, wrecked look on your face. "look at you. all that fire, reduced to this."
his free hand slid down, grabbing the hem of your shirt. "all those essays about my emotional incompetence," he said, tugging the fabric up. you shivered as cool air hit your stomach.
"all that time you spent thinking about me." the shirt went over your head, discarded somewhere on the floor. his eyes raked over your bra. "and for what? to end up here."
"you'reâyou're still insufferable," you managed to pant, even as you pressed your chest toward himâurging him to take it off.
"i know," he said, his fingers deftly finding the clasp of your bra. it came undone. "and you're still obsessed." the bra straps slid down your arms, still trapped in his grasp. he let go of your wrists just long enough to pull the garment away and toss it aside. immediately, his hand returned, clamping back down.
you used your momentary freedom to grab the bottom of his hoodie, pushing it up. he helped, releasing you to yank it and his shirt off in one impatient move.
then he was back on you, skin to searing skin. he was a biter, just as you'd imagined. his mouth latched onto the swell of your breast, teeth grazing your nipple before he sucked it deep.
you cried out, your head thumping back against the door. "if you can do it," you gasped, twisting to reach his shoulder with your mouth. you sank your teeth into the hard muscle there, a retaliatory claim. "then i can too."
"fuck." he groaned, the sound vibrating through your entire body. you think you just gushed and ruined your panties.
a competition of marks began. he left a trail of bruises and blooming red patches down your chest, over your ribs. you reciprocated on his neck, his collarbone, his pectoral, each bite earning a sharper gasp or a low, approving growl from him.
the pain was a bright, sharp pleasure, a physical manifestation of all your tangled, furious energy.
suddenly, he was pushing you down. a firm hand on your shoulder guided you to your knees on the cold tile.
you looked up at him, dazed. he loomed over you, his expression one of dark, predatory amusement. he undid his belt buckle, the click obscenely loud in the small room.
"i wonder," he mused, his voice thick, "how much shit you can talk with your mouth full of me."
he popped the button of his jeans, lowered the zipper. the outline of his cock straining against his boxers made your mouth water. "hands behind your back," he ordered.
you hesitated, glaring up at him. with a frustrated noise, you reached for his waistband. he caught your wrist instantly. "ah-ah." his other hand came up and delivered a firm, almost casual pat against your cheek. it wasn't a hard slap, but it was a stinging, dominant correction that made your eyes widen and your clit throb. "i said, no hands."
swallowing your pride, you leaned forward. you nuzzled against the fabric of his boxers, feeling the hard heat beneath. using your teeth, you caught the elastic waistband and tugged it down, revealing him.
he was thick and fully hard, the tip already glistening. you licked a slow stripe from base to tip, looking up at him through your lashes. his jaw tightened as you took him into your mouth, slowly, relishing the salty, clean taste of him, the way his hips gave a tiny, involuntary jerk.
he let you set the pace for a moment, his hands fisting in your hair. "that's it," he breathed, his composure fraying. "all that attitude... fucking gone." you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, until he hit the back of your throat.
you relaxed, letting him slide further, tears pricking your eyes. the rhythm became faster, harder, driven by the soft, choked sounds he was making above you. his grip in your hair tightened, guiding you.
you could feel his hips shudder and his pace falter as he peered down to see his cock disappear in your mouth. he felt his chest swell just at the sight of you, eyes watering and face red.
"gonna cum," he warned, his voice ragged. you didn't pull away. with a sharp, guttural groan, he spilled hot and bitter over your tongue and across your chest, painting stripes over your skin.
he took a second to admire the mess he had made of you, your skin flushed a pretty pink with his cum coating you like icing on a cake.
he pulled you to your feet, his own legs seemingly unsteady. he pushed your pants and panties down in one rough motion, his fingers immediately finding your slick heat.
he pushed your soaked underwear aside, sliding two fingers through your folds. "so wet," he laughed, a dark, triumphant sound. he brought his glistening fingers to your lips. "and for me. after all that."
he turned you around, bending you over the sink. your reflection was a shockâflushed face, bruised lips, hair a mess, his marks covering your skin. he positioned himself behind you, one hand wrapping around your throat again, pulling you back against his chest. the other hand rubbed tight, demanding circles over your clit.
"look," he whispered harshly in your ear, nodding at the mirror. "look at how silly you look. falling apart on my fingers when just hours ago you were calling me a 'rejected sherlock holmes adaptation' on the internet."
the overstimulation was maddening. pleasure coiled tight in your belly.
"the comments... were idiots," you panted, even as you pushed back against his fingers trying to get him to slip them inside your needy weeping hole.
he chuckled, the sound vibrating against your back. "they saw right through you." he pushed a finger inside you, then another, curling them. you gasped, your knees buckling. "admit it. you wanted this every time you picked a fight."
"i wanted to win," you moaned, the words torn from you. he hooked his fingers in you, rubbing your gummy walls while his thumb continued to rub circles against your needy clit.
"you are winning," he breathed, nipping your earlobe. "look at you. you won my full, undivided attention." he removed his fingers, and you felt the blunt, hot pressure of his cock at your entrance.
he pushed in, slowly, inch by devastating inch, filling you completely. the stretch was divine. he held you there, both of you panting, watching in the mirror. he almost came at the sight of your fucked out face, his hands gripping your waist with pressure that would surely bruise.
he began to move, a slow, filthy grind that had you seeing stars. his hand on your throat kept you upright, the other hand sliding around to rub your clit in time with his thrusts. "beg for it," he murmured, his eyes locked on yours in the reflection. "beg me to let you cum."
you didn't answer, trying to avoid his gaze in the mirror only for a particularly rough thrust and his blunt nails digging into your face to swiftly put you back in your place.
"no," you gritted out, even as your body shook.
he spanked you once, hard, on the ass cheek. the sharp sting made you cry out and clench around him. "beg."
"sunghoonâ"
another spank. his fingers on your clit became relentless. you were so close, teetering on the edge, but he held you there, his thrusts measured and deep.
"you're so stubborn. just like online. all that typing." he punctuated each word with a thrust. "just. give. in."
the pleasure was a tidal wave, held back by his will alone. you were so overstimulated, so desperate, your pride the only thing left. he leaned forward, his mouth at your ear. "come on, sweetheart. let go. tell me you need it."
as much as it killed you to beg, it also killed you to not cum all over his stupidly thick cock. you could feel the coil in your stomach tighten up as you try to push yourself back to meet his strong and unrelenting thrusts.
sunghoon smirks when he notices your desperation, slowing down on purpose. "c'mon, sweetheart. you don't wanna cum f'me?"
the pet name, the raw need in his own voice, broke you. "please," you sobbed, the word barely audible. "please, sunghoon, let me cum."
"good girl," he purred, and his rhythm became punishing and his fingers began to rub punishingly against your swollen clit. "now."
the orgasm ripped through you, blinding and violent. you screamed, your body convulsing around him as he fucked you through it, his own groans joining yours.
you felt his warm cum flood your cunt as you twitched with the aftershocks of your high. he watched you fall apart in the mirror, his expression one of fierce, possessive satisfaction.
as your spasms began to subside, he slowed, still buried deep inside you. he was breathing heavily against your neck.
he planted soft kisses on your shoulder blade and neck, his dick still in youâtwitching. your body trembled slightly, refusing to look into the mirror because then you would see the aftermath of what sunghoon had done to you.
the silence afterward felt strange.
not awkward. not exactly.
just... different.
like something between you had shifted permanently and neither of you quite knew how to deal with it yet.
the fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead while rain tapped faintly against the tiny washroom window. your heart still hadn't calmed down properly, which was deeply irritating considering park sunghoon looked entirely too composed standing in front of you when you had finally found your guts to look.
his dark hair was messy now, lips pink from kissing you. his body was covered in a thin layer of sweat that gave his pale skin a beautiful glow.
whichâyou immediately looked away.
absolutely not.
sunghoon noticed, of course. he noticed everything.
"you're quiet," he said softly.
you scoffed weakly, body twitching when you feel sunghoon grow hard in you. "this is emotionally traumatic for me."
the corner of his mouth lifted, that stupid almost-smile again. except now it looked softer somehow and less smug.
you attempted to move only for his body to keep you caged between the sink and him. you looked down for a moment to see his cum that had escaped from you dripping down your thigh, a shaky breath leaving your bruised lips.
"don't look at me like that."
"like what?"
"like you just won something, you didn't win shit."
sunghoon leaned back lightly against the door of the washroom eyes still fixed on you. "maybe i did."
your stomach flipped and you frowned immediately, just because you two fucked doesn't mean that you would admit defeat to sunghoon and his annoying antics. "you're so annoying."
"you keep saying that."
"because you keep being annoying."
sunghoon laughed quietly under his breath, shaking his head slightly. the sound hit you straight in the chest in the most irritating way imaginable.
silence settled again for a moment, except this time it didn't feel sharp or tense like your usual arguments.
it felt warm, which was arguably more terrifying.
your eyes narrowed suddenly. "sunoo is never letting me live this down."
sunghoon's smile widened immediately. "he already thought you liked me."
"he's delusional."
"mhm."
you pointed at him instantly. "stop doing that."
"doing what?" he snickers as he finally pulls out, a small whimper escaping your parted lips and sunghoon swears he could cum from that little sound alone.
"that fake calm thing."
"it's not fake."
"that somehow makes it worse."
sunghoon pushed himself off of you before turning you around so your back faced the mirror and stepped closer again.
not cornering you this time, just close enough that your pulse started acting stupid all over again. his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth, then your thighs that were trembling before returning to your eyes.
"so what now?" he asked quietly, his hands coming out to grab on to your hips.
you folded your arms tighter, defensive reflex.
"what do you mean."
"are you still gonna argue with me in class?"
you stared at him like that was the dumbest question ever asked.
"obviously."
sunghoon laughed softly. "figured."
"just because i fucked you doesn't mean your opinions suddenly got better."
"ouch."
"you still sound pretentious."
"and you still interrupt me constantly."
"because you're wrong constantly."
sunghoon shook his head, smiling now. his hand reaching down to push the cum that was trailing down your inner thigh back upârubbing your swollen cunt with his remnants.
you squeaked out at the feeling, grabbing a hold of his wrist as he watched you with a lazy smile. you hated how much better he looked when he smiled properly.
your phone buzzed loudly against the counter beside you.
then again and again.
you looked down at the endless reddit notifications flooding your screen and groaned dramatically.
"i genuinely hate everyone on that app." sunghoon glanced at your phone before looking back at you, his fingers leaving your cunt to rest back on your hips again much to your dismay.
amusement flickered across his face immediately. "they were pretty accurate though."
"don't start."
"'enemies to lovers' seemed popular."
"they're unemployed."
sunghoon laughed again and you stared at him suspiciously for a second, then narrowed your eyes. "you know this is all your fault."
"interesting argument."
"you replied first."
"you made the post first."
"because you're irritating."
"and yet here you are."
your face heated instantly, sunghoon noticed. his expression softened slightly after that, teasing fading into something quieter.
more careful, he looked at you for a long second close enough that your heartbeat immediately betrayed you again. then, with that same smug little smile returning to his mouth, he tilted his head slightly and murmured, "so."
you narrowed your eyes immediately. "so what."
sunghoon's gaze held yours, steady, amused and dangerously warm.
"do you still think i'm the asshole?"
â enjoy this fic? check out my other ones right here!
â bf!mingi x gf!reader x bestie!yunho
â four days away at the beach, hiding your feelings from all of your friends while youâre all under the same roof, a week after yunho broke up with you and mingi. easy enough, right?
â lots and lots of pinv, mxm, oral(m&f), edging, public play, bdsm dynamics (feel free to correct me on anything!! i tried to be accurate) praise, degradation, yunho being 3comp yunho. yes that's a warning in itself
â part three of three / wc 36.5k
â â holy shit i can't believe it's over. thank you to everyone who stuck with me through this, this series is my actual fucking baby. it brought so many eyes to my blog and led me to meeting so many wonderful amazing people, thank you so much if you're reading this, if you have read anything about my 3comp babies. no other series has taught me so much. nothing will ever mean as much as this.
â â if you don't recognize my rortor or if haos confused you, pay my good friends a visit here <3 thank u @svgaplvm for letting my people hangout with yours <3
âYou canât seriously think this would ever work.â
You and Mingi havenât moved an inch since he left for the bedroom. Now stood in front of you in cargo pants and the same dirty tee that was crumpled on your bed, it seems his anger hasnât dissipated in the three minutes it took for him to get his things together. A bag thrown over his shoulder, jaw locked, eyes wide and wild like youâd just sentenced him to death, it seems very clear that Jeong Yunho wasnât coming back here.Â
âI was honest with you guys from the start,â his voice keeps its edge, âI told you what I look for in a relationship, what I want. Thereâs none of that here.â
Your teeth grit together, eyebrows slanted, fingers squeezing beneath your arms folded over your chest. âYouâre overreacting,â you manage, heart running a marathon in your chest, ignoring the fact that his words hurt as you mask your feelings with a show of anger.Â
âYou two are together,â he points between you and your boyfriend with a finger. âI shouldnât even be part of the equation. I let this go on too long, let it become too serious.â
âYou think youâre the only one to blame?â Mingi surprises you with his words, the sharpness behind them, the glossiness in his eyes the only signal of sadness. âWe thought we were already in a relationship, itâs all of our fault for not communicating.â
Yunho looks like heâs seen a ghost. âYouâ Are you serious?â
You nod, you thought it was obvious, âYunho, we haven't been apart for more than twelve hours in weeks.â
He turns on his heel, âI canât believe weâre even having this conversation.â
Mingi stands, following Yunho as he crosses your living room, âYouâre just going to leave? You arenât gonna talk this out?â
You watch from the couch, breathing deep into your lungs, ignoring how your eyes watered. Yunho turns around sharply, âWhat is there to talk about? We were fucking, and now weâre not. Thatâs it.â
You gasp from the couch, Mingi shrinks where he stands. Taking a step back, shaking his head, his voice is shaky as he says, âYou donât mean that.â
âI told you,â Yunho slips his feet into his shoes. âIâve been honest from the start. If you took it more seriously, thatâs on you. Iâm sorry.â
Mingiâs arms fall to his sides as Yunho leaves through your front door, the heavy oak slamming shut behind him. Your heart breaks as Mingiâs head hangs low, his shoulders shaking, and itâs the sniff you hear from the couch that gets you on your feet, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend.Â
âHeâs just scared,â you whisper, tears lining your own eyes as Mingi racks a sob into your chest. âHeâs just scared, Min. Heâll come around.â
His voice is wrecked, ragged and layered with grief, âI canât believe he said all of that.â
âMe either,â you shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks as you run your fingers through his hair, your other hand rubbing circles into his back. âItâs Yunho, we know how he is, especially with relationships.â
âI thought we were different,â Mingi picks his head up, pulling away from you to wipe his eyes. âI thought he was getting over his dramatic relationship block because of us.â He sniffs, then speaks through another sob, his voice cracking, âI thought he loved us, too.â
âYou love him?â Your eyes widen, hands landing on his shoulders, and he nods without hesitation. âShit,â you mutter under your breath, eyes screwing shut in an attempt to get your mind to bypass the shock so you can think.Â
âDonât you?â Mingi asks, his voice small, like if you said no he might crack entirely.
His laugh crossed your mind first. Eyes squeezed to crescents, grin spread wide, head tipping back as the most beautiful sound left his lips, you always got lost in him when he laughed. A hearty chuckle or a small giggle, when Yunho was emitting nothing but pure joy⊠Yeah, you loved him.Â
You loved how he walked closest to the street, how he already had your order memorized at the cafe around the corner. You loved how he touched you, soft and delicate, how he complimented you every time he saw you. You loved that he wasnât afraid to say the hard things, like telling you that you snore, or that this time your boss was in the right. You loved that he kept small pieces of you close in the years of knowing you, how he revealed his knowledge of you in the past month, how he wasnât afraid to show his passion.Â
You loved him, and you fucking knew he loved you back.Â
âYeah,â your nod isnât immediate. âI think I do.â
Mingiâs lip quivers, âWeâre just gonna let him leave?â
âWeâre adults,â your voice is shakier than you need it to be, forever the rock holding Mingiâs hurricane. âHeâs an adult. If he wants us, this, heâll come back.â
Mingi shakes his head profusely, taking a step back from you, âIf we love him then we fight for him, Iâm not waiting around while he thinks this is over.â
Your lips curve upward, the most Mingi thing heâs ever said, âWeâll be with him for four days at the beach. Let him sit in the hole heâs dug himself in, let him miss us for a few days.â
Mingi looks at you like youâre speaking another language, âHe probably wonât even look at us while weâre at the beach if we wait until then.â
âIf we love him,â you step closer to him. âThen chances are he loves us, too. Let him take the time he needs to realize it.â
Mingi takes a heavy breath, thinking about who Yunho is, how he handles situations. With poise, consideration, vigilance. He thinks of all outcomes, all strategies, Yunho thinks of everything with his mind, and not always his heart. Mingi nods, because he hopes that just this once, heâll think with his heart, and figure out the rest later.Â
Yunho hasnât called.Â
Not a text, not a word, not a breath.Â
But you were on your way to Haosâ and from Wooyoungâs call this morning, asking what time to pick you up, you found out that heâd talked to Yunho just before he called you, and he was still coming to the beach. A shred of relief washed over you as the words left his mouth, it couldnât be that bad if he was still coming to the beach, four days spent in proximity with you and your boyfriend. And your ten other friends. Right?
âDo you want to stop at the convenience store for anything? Water, coffee, a snack?â Wooyoung asks from the driverâs seat, black hair shagged over his ears, his forehead, curling at the nape of his neck.Â
Sana groans from the seat beside you, âCan we just go straight there? Iâm itching to be on the beach with a drink in my hand.â Dressed in jeans and a strappy tank, heels on her feet, curled dark locks framing her cheekbones, she looked like she was going to the club rather than traveling for a vacation. Being eight in the morning, you looked like you just rolled out of bed.Â
Mainly because you did.Â
âI wasnât just asking you, San,â Wooyoung cuts from the front of the black rental he drove. âWeâve been driving for an hour already.â
âWhich means we should only have ten more minutes in the car if you just drive,â she bites back, rolling her eyes. She gives you a look, shaking her head as if Woo was asking the stupidest question in the world. She whispers to you, âHe should have asked an hour ago.âÂ
You smile at her instead of giving her an answer, redirecting your gaze to the top of Mingiâs head that peeks over the headrest of the passenger seat. After spending some time away from her, you thought youâd at least be a little excited to see her, but alas, she still drives you up a fucking wall. You could have gone longer.Â
You lean your head against the window for the last ten minutes, listening to soft rock music with your eyes glued to the intricate, tall houses along the coast, the small shops, the ice cream parlors, everything about this place screaming beach. Summer. Rich summer. You were still excited to come here, drama aside, spending time with your friends, cozying up in one of Sanâs queen-sized beds in one of his several bedrooms. You loved his house, the feeling it gave you, how badly youâd like to own something like it one day.Â
You didnât mind four days of pretending it was yours, nor did you mind laying on the beach, a drink in your hand. Maybe youâd shove your feelings aside and stay glued to Sana all weekend.Â
Finally pulling up on a rocky driveway, you pull your eyes away from the beach just beside it, taking in the cream-colored fucking mansion before you. Ridiculous architecture, a two-car garage, a double main staircase, several balconies and a fenced rooftop, what always took your breath away was the windows. So much light poured into the house, salt scented air rushing through the space when the countless pairs of double doors opened, this house screamed happiness. It screamed carefree.
You let the feeling fill you, let it take a weight off your chest as you stretch your body upon leaving the backseat. Whatever happened this weekend, youâd accept. However you and Mingi returned home, with or without another boyfriend, youâd be okay. Both of you.Â
You took a look around the driveway as Wooyoung and Mingi went into the trunk to grab all of your luggage. You and Mingi shared one, but Sana⊠She had two for herself, she bragged about it as soon as you opened the car door.Â
Three other cars sat in the driveway. You recognized Yeosangâs, Jonghoâs, Seonghwaâs, you assumed San and Jonginâs cars were in the garage. No sign of Yunhoâs car.Â
Mingi carried your luggage in behind you, you didnât knock as you walked through Sanâs front door, nor did you have time to appreciate the creams, whites and blues stretching across the inside, because the only other person in the living room when you walked inside was Yunho.Â
Your jaw clenched as your eyes slid over the back of him, faced away from you as he scrolled on his phone.
âHoney, Iâm home!â Wooyoung yelled from behind you, and his voice echoed through the archways of the main floor, bouncing off each perfectly staged wall, the balcony above you.Â
Yunho snapped around, meeting your eye, and he immediately stiffened. With one of his infamous linen sets on, barefoot and his hair swept back, you had to stop yourself from muttering damn under your breath. You loved when he looked like summer, but you also loved when he looked like winter, when he needed the comfort of fleece to keep him warm. Maybe you loved Yunho in anything.Â
You looked away fast, turning to face Mingi who was already staring over your head, at his best friend who had undoubtedly become something more. Mingi stared at him with hope, with an unanswered question, with so much fucking love in his eyes you felt the cracking of your heart in your chest.Â
âFinally!â You heard San before you saw him, shirtless and in swim trunks, body tanned and golden and sculpted by God himself. He wore a wide grin, Jongin following behind him, his boyfriend just as gorgeous as he is, taller and handsome and damn, just as sculpted.Â
San pulls Wooyoung into a tight hug, âI missed you, man. Itâs been too long.âÂ
âItâs barely been a month,â Wooyoung chuckles. âBut yeah, too long.âÂ
Sanaâs heels click against the pale hardwood as Jongin pulls her into a hug, the two men exchanging with the couple as you and Mingi attempt to ignore the elephant in the room only visible to the two of you.Â
Wooyoung pulls Yunho into a hug as you and Mingi share exchanges with San and Jongin, just as the others start piling into the living room.Â
âWeâve been waiting for you guys!â Tzuyu squeals as she enters your view, and youâre immediately pulled into all the women of the house, sharing hugs and kisses on the cheek.Â
âI canât believe weâre the last ones here,â youâre smiling, warmth filling your chest as you bathe in everyoneâs excitement.Â
Jihyo smirks, âLate because you were getting frisky?âÂ
You roll your eyes, heat warming your cheeks, âYou need to let go of that. Like, now.âÂ
âFrisky?â Tzuyu pops a brow. âFill me in.âÂ
âI went over her and Mingiâs place and saw a vibââ
âOkay!â You speak over her, hands ready to clamp over her mouth, and she winks at Tzuyu in a silent promise to fill her in later. You prayed it didnât include Yunhoâs name.Â
âWho has which room?â Sana asks loudly, speaking over everyone in the midst of conversation.Â
âWe were waiting for you to decide, princess,â Seonghwa replies, voice smooth, a snarky remark hidden behind a beautiful smile. Your lips curl upward when you see him, stood tall next to his boyfriend, Seonghwaâs open shirt matched Hongjoongâs shorts.Â
âJongin and I have the master,â San says. âThereâs five other bedrooms, one has a pull-out futon.âÂ
âAssuming Iâm on the futon,â Yunho immediately adds, his voice flat. âSince Iâm the only single one here.âÂ
Your eyes flicker between the two, heart thumping against your chest, stomach feeling sick at hearing him say heâs single.Â
âYou would have been fucked if you brought a date,â San's smile is anything but sheepish. âBut Iâm sure no one will mind if you crash their room, maybe one of the girlies are out of commission for sexual activity and it wonât matter.âÂ
Jongin smacks his chest with a disgusted look, but San giggles to himself. You look around the room and all the girls fall quiet, all the guys stay quiet, too used to San and his remarks to feed him a reaction.Â
âHe can room with you and Mingi,â Jihyo nudges your shoulder from beside you,.âDuh. You guys are super close, anyways, just kick him out when you wanna fuck.âÂ
âWe arenât twenty years old, Ji,â you muster. âWe can go a few days without fucking.âÂ
You look up at Mingi and you can tell heâs teetering on the edge of losing his shit. You turn to Yunho and he looks like thatâs the last thing he wants. Seeing his face, the clear dislike of the idea, imagining the thoughts racing through his mind, all of it combined makes you slap a smile on your face, âYeah, thatâs fine. Weâll take him.âÂ
âHope you left the hitachi at home,â Jihyo whispers in your ear, winking. You nudge her back, forcing the smile to stay on your faceâ no one has any idea of what youâve gone through the last few days. What happened. What started it in the first place.Â
âPerfect!â San claps his hands together. âThat was easy. Go unpack your shit and then we can go to the beach.âÂ
Mingi is at your side as soon as everyone takes a step toward the staircase, voice a low growl in your ear, âWhy did you do that?âÂ
You whisper back, âItâll be fine.âÂ
You didnât know if it would be fine.Â
âThree bedrooms on the second floor, two on the top, master is on the main floor. You guys can figure out which rooms yourselves,â San says from the base of the steps as you all make your way up, your shoes hitting the hardwood in chorus, everyone dragging their belongings behind them.Â
Yunho stays close behind you and Mingi as you check each room in search of yours, taking in the detail of the hallways, where the bathrooms were. The paintings on the walls, tables with vases, starfish, framed pictures of small sayings of wordplays with the word beach, you made sure to take in everything, let it fill you with ease, you were on vacation.Â
You wouldnât let Yunho ruin it.Â
On the third floor, Jihyo and Jongho peeled off into a room at the beginning of the hallway, a bathroom and two closets between you as yours lived at the end. A queen-sized bed, a couch along the wall that pulled out to a bed, the room was decently sized. Cozy, with its balcony attached, white covering the walls, the bedspread and couch a pale blue.Â
Mingi threw your suitcase onto the bed as Yunho threw his duffle bag onto the couch. The air was tense, heavy, you could hear conversation downstairs, Jihyo and Jongho unpacking just down the hall. There was no sound coming from your room other than zippers sliding and clothes being shuffled.Â
You stood opposite Mingi on either side of the bed as he sorted through the suitcase, zeroed in on his hands as he separated the clothes you were hanging from the ones going into drawers. With your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, you stood focused, yet thinking of nothing as your ears rang, buzzing beneath the heaviness of silence.Â
What was he thinking right now?Â
Your eyes flickered to him as he pulled clothes out of his duffel bag, folding them along the couch, laying out the clothes he was hanging up, keeping his toiletries separate. Your gaze fell on his shoulders, broad and muscular beneath the linen he wore, the length of his legs stretching to the floor beneath him, bare feet pressed against hardwood, stepping to the side to fold another tee along the cushion.Â
You turn your attention back to Mingi, shaking off the discomfort as you grab the clothes to hang up, heading for the closet next to the couch. You lay the clothes over the armrest, hanging up tops, Mingiâs favorite pair of nice pants, the dress you brought to wear to the bar on Saturday. You think thatâs the only time you were going out all weekend other than to small shops around the town.Â
The last shirt you had to hang, one of Mingiâs, you knew you grabbed it from the stack of clothes on the bed, but it wasnât splayed out on the couch beside you. Brows furrowed, you turned on your heel to check the bed, just for Yunho to be stood at your side, holding the shirt out for you while he had his own stack of clothes folded over his forearm.Â
You swallowed, avoiding his eye, âThanks.âÂ
Grabbing the shirt from his hand, your fingers brushed against each other, the feeling of his skin on yours no matter how small immediately sent a jolt of electricity up your forearm, into your shoulder. You were quick to hang up the last shirt, moving out of his way, back to where Mingi was before the dresser.Â
While he laid folded clothes, pajamas, boxers and panties into separate drawers, you grabbed your bikinis, his swim shorts, cover-ups and the singular bra you brought to help him. The room still silent, suffocating with everything left unsaid, you began laying out your toiletries along the top of the dresser.Â
You could feel his eyes. Lifting your gaze, meeting his stare through the mirror, you shuffled to the side as he sauntered up next to you, throwing his own clothes into the rest of the empty drawers.Â
God, is this what the rest of the week was gonna be like? If so, fuck that, he can sleep on the couch. Downstairs. Far away from you and Mingi so you can enjoy this room and its balcony all to yourself.Â
âHey!â Tzuyu gleamed, knocking on the doorframe at the same time as she spoke. You jumped a foot in the air, hand clasping your chest, a gasp escaping your chest. She giggles, long brown hair in a braid over one shoulder, bikini already on her body. âYeosang and I are going to the liquor store before we head down to the beach, want anything?âÂ
âUh,â you glance up at Mingi, trying to find words. âTequila, beer, some kind of seltzer to sip on. The usual shit.âÂ
She nods, âSame beer as always, right?âÂ
âPlease,â Mingi nods back, giving her a smile that she would never know wasnât real.Â
Your stomach fucking aches. You could push your pain aside, but when it comes to Mingi, seeing him hurt in real time, you could feel it as if he shared it with you. Your jaw locks, you could not go the whole week like this.Â
Tzuyu peeks her head back in, âYou should get ready, weâll be back in ten.âÂ
âGot it,â you smile, and when she bounces out of your room again, it drops. You needed to do something. You rack your brain as you zip the suitcase closed, shoving it beneath the bed, sitting on the edge of the mattress.Â
Yunho was pretending. He was forcing a mindset on himself, ignoring his feelings for you and Mingi, he was putting on a show that he didnât mean. In his head, he was protecting himself, or maybe he was protecting you two from getting hurt, of what could go wrong in the future.Â
You glance up at Mingi who stood leaned up against the dresser, on his phone. You glance over at Yunho who sits on the couch, on his phone. Just because he was acting like he doesnât love you, doesnât mean that he believes it.Â
Your eyes land on Mingi again, holding them there. He looks up from his phone, meeting your stare.Â
Your lips curve upward. Iâm gonna do something crazy.Â
He pops an eyebrow, lips crinkling. Oh no.Â
Your smile grows, eyes flashing something dangerous. You gotta trust me on this one.Â
Mingi nods, face still wary. I always trust you.Â
You push yourself up off the bed to the dresser, opening one of the drawers, pulling out one of your bikinis from the bottom. You should really thank Jihyo for even putting it in your mind that you should wear one of your college bikinisâ so small and skimpy it could barely be considered anything other than string, you funneled confidence into your veins. You wouldnât care about how you looked after a drink or two, anyways.Â
Your eyes meet Mingiâs through the mirror, bikini in your hands. Are you picking up what Iâm putting down?
Mingi shoots you a silent laugh. Youâre fucking nuts.Â
You stick your tongue out. You love it.Â
Mingi licks his lips. I love you, and that bikini.Â
You hold his eyes through the mirror. Remember what I said, trust me.Â
Letting your eyes dance over Yunho once more, you lay the bikini out over the dresser, and then pull your shirt over your head in one quick motion.Â
âShiiit,â Mingi mutters under his breath, long and dragged out from the bed, purposely loud enough for Yunho to hear. His eyes pick up, seeing you through the mirror, eyes catching on you shimmying your shorts down your legs, then your panties.Â
You donât let your gaze linger, pulling the bottoms up your legs, then tying the top around your back. âMin, can you tie me?âÂ
Heâs at your back in an instant, letting his hands dance along your waist before settling at the back of your neck, bikini strings between his fingers. Youâre smiling at each other through the mirror and itâs then that you know he understands whatâs going through your mind, the plan you cooked up just a minute ago.Â
His hands settle on your hips after he finishes tying your top, and both of your eyes slide to Yunho, catching him just as he looks back down at his phone, fingers pressed to his forehead. You smirk at Mingi through the mirror, wondering if maybe you pushed Yunho just a little harder, could you crack the shell of his facade?
Yunhoâs never been a huge fan of the beach. He burns easily, sand gets between his toes, in places he simply canât reach, he hates how his hair looks after being in the breezy, salty air for too long. Heâs been excited to come to Haos despite it, to spend time with you and Mingi away from home, but he didnât give it enough thought to really consider the logistics of it all.Â
To himself, he thought it easy: Around everyone else, you and Mingi would be your usual selves, madly in love for the world to see. At the end of the night, behind closed doors, where no one could hear you or see you, thatâs when heâd have his way with you both. Heâd be lying to himself if he said he wasnât excited for that most of all.Â
Forcing you into submission, into silence in the dead of night, so the whole house couldnât hear the whiney moans that leave Mingiâs mouth when Yunho takes him, or the shrill screams that Yunho pulls from your chest when he pushes you just a little too far. Itâd be funâ that was fun to him, keeping the two of you hidden away, his two nasty little secrets. No one had to know.Â
Because if they did, if anyone knew anything, itâd break your perfect bubble. Heâd be forced to admit that he hated the idea of not being able to touch you in public, not being able to kiss you, or even flirt with you. Either of you. Which opens another question, one Yunho wasnât willing to answer, or give any more of his attention.Â
Luckily, it blew up in his face before he had the chance to worry about it too much, like it has a hundred times before with plenty of different partners. This was the routineâ fuck for awhile, become a little more on accident, realize that this isnât what he wants, leave. Leave, leave, leave. Yunho was good at leaving, at hiding, at not taking what he wants when itâs staring at him in the face.Â
It was too fucking vulnerable. He ached for love, for true routine, to wake up next to someone and go grocery shopping on Sunday mornings. He yearned for someone to know him down to his core, to love him for the silly things, not just how he fucked or how he guided. For how much he needed to take care of his partners, he never realized how much he needed to be taken care of, too.Â
This morning, how you stared at him with a locked jaw, a storm in your eyes, he knew he deserved it. He deserved your anger, your pain, he wishes he could take it from you and keep it for himself. How Mingi looked at him, with pain and love and hope, seeing Mingiâs feelings raw in his eyes terrified Yunho. Knowing Mingi hurt, that he was the cause of his ache but also knowing heâd take him back in a second, it sent a shiver down his spine, leaving a hole too deep, too cold in his gut.Â
He really fucked up this time. He really, seriously, absolutely fucked up. He's fallen asleep cuddled up to your side, heâs woken up beside you for weeks. Heâs gone grocery shopping with you, he keeps a mental list of everything you have in your house. You made space for him in your home, for his body and his clothes, he has a toothbrush beside your sink, products in your shower, socks in the top drawer of Mingiâs dresser. Heâs felt the rush of affection when Mingi finishes his sentence, heâs felt the pain sitting in the crease of your brow without it having anything to do with him.Â
He walked into what he was most afraid of, but what heâs yearned for without even realizing. Everything happened so fucking fast. That night with Mingi was the true beginning, he thinks, the catalyst that made him fall headfirst without casting a net. That night changed all of your boundaries, leaving everything in open field for the taking. Yunho took it with greedy hands, but then he destroyed it all the same.Â
He knows what youâre thinking. In that pretty little head of yours thereâs millions of beautiful, strategic thoughts, plans, ways to get him back in your bed. Even though he fucked up. Even though he was the one that destroyed it all.Â
The curve of your chest in the mirror, a peek of the goldmine between your legs as you bent over, if this was a week ago he would have pinned your chest to the glass and fucked you until you were crying just for teasing him. Mingiâs hands trailing down your skin, his breath on the back of your neck, jealousy infested Yunho like a disease. He could feel the ghost of Mingiâs hands on his body, on his chest, his abdomen, his torso, he forced himself to tear his eyes away so he didnât break.Â
Yunho was the one who fucked it all up, and here you two were, trying to get him to fix it. Naive and optimistic, two traits that you two shared that made Yunho feel like he was your missing piece. He wouldnât break so easily, you two have to know that, you know him.Â
He watches you run across the sand, wet chest bouncing beneath golden sunrays with a can grasped in your palm. Mingi follows you from the water, trunks slick to his thighs, the inseam of his shorts shorter than any other pair he owned. Yunho sits with his jaw locked, his fingers curled around the armrests of the beach chair beneath the umbrella, watching as Mingi picks you up from behind, a grin on his lips as he presses them to your cheek.Â
You two didnât do PDA. You havenât since you were in your early twenties, when your relationship just began. Everyone in the group knows it, but no one notices, no one pays any mind to the clear show you were putting on just for him. Mingiâs arm is hooked around your torso, black hair clinging to his cheeks, his neck, the two of you dripping in saltwater and love. He keeps you there, hanging off his arm as he walks back up to where you set up, your giggles becoming clearer, reminding him of his favorite song the closer you get. Â
He could just get up and go back inside. The beach was Sanâs backyard, after all.Â
âCan you hand me another seltzer, please?â You ask sweetly as soon as Mingi puts your feet back on the ground. Yunho blinks beneath his shades before the question registers in his mind, itâs the first that youâve spoken to him other than thanks in the bedroom.Â
He reaches into the cooler, making sure to hand you your favorite flavor, feeling bile rise up in his throat when Mingi opens it for you and plants a kiss on your lips before you take a sip. Maybe he had it all wrongâ maybe you didnât fucking care that Yunho was no longer apart of your relationship. Maybe, in some sick, twisted way, what happened just a few days ago made your relationship stronger. Seems about right for the two of you.Â
âLetâs play volleyball!â Wooyoung shouts over the hum of soft rock music and waves in his ear. He forces his eyes away from you two to glance at Wooyoung, holding a volleyball to his chest while beads of sweat drip down his bronzed, tanned skin.Â
âHell no,â Sana responds from her towel, laying on her stomach with a bucket filled with God knows what kind of liquor in the sand just above her head. âWeâre relaxing.âÂ
âI meant the guys,â Wooyoung replies, the smile on his cheeks never faltering, ignoring his girlfriendsâ tone completely. He wiggles his eyebrows at Yunho, âYou up for it? A little friendly game?âÂ
âIâm out,â Hongjoong responds from his chair, can of beer in his hand, head laid back along the headrest beneath the shade of the umbrella, âI just ate a gummy.âÂ
âIâm out, too,â Yeosang lifts his head from his towel, Tzuyu at his side, the two of them cuddled up so close under the burning sun he wondered how they werenât suffocating.Â
âIâm going to swim,â Jongin waves a hand, already turning his heel to walk down to the shore.Â
âIâm down,â Yunho says, needing a break from staring, standing from his chair.Â
âIâm down, too,â Mingi adds as if on command, pressing another kiss to your lips before walking towards where Wooyoung stood behind Yunho.Â
San, Jongho and Seonghwa make their way towards them, too, and Yunho quickly regrets his decision when Mingi stops directly at his side. He stiffens, eyes glancing down to where Mingiâs hand lingers inches beside his.Â
âThree versus three then?â San smirks as the six of them make their way towards the net across the beach. âI call Woo and Mingi on my team.âÂ
Jongho breaks into a laugh as he leans on the pole beside the net, fingers sinking into the webbing, âSo itâs me, Hwa and Yunho?â
âI think thatâs fair,â San shrugs. âWe share the towers.â
Yunho rolls his eyes, and Mingiâs smile is wide. Seonghwa dips under the net to the other side of the sandy court, âTheyâre both competitive, too. Think itâs best we share.âÂ
âWe can hear you, yâknow,â Yunho follows, sliding into position flanking Jonghoâs side, a grin crawling over his cheeks that was nothing short of competitive. âNo need to fight over us.âÂ
âFirst team to twenty,â Wooyoung juts out his chin from the other side of the net, âBest out of three?â
Yunho pushes out an accidental sigh, âThree games?âÂ
Mingi, like heâd been waiting for that comment, snaps. âWhy not?â He cocks his head to the side, smile dangerous. âThree games too much of a commitment for you?âÂ
The blood from Yunhoâs face drains, the amusement in his eyes gone. After Yunhoâs face falls, Mingi giggles, and the rest of the guys seem completely unaware of the jab that just left Mingiâs mouth. Yunho glares at him, knowing now that the two of you are serious about getting under his skin, but he chooses to ignore the shred of pride he feels with your efforts.Â
The first game went by quicklyâ Mingi, San and Wooyoung were good. Yunho, Seonghwa and Jongho were good, too, but fell just short of their opponents. The second game went by just as fast, but instead this time it seemed Yunhoâs team had a chip on their shoulder, a little too much pride to let their friends win twice. The third game, everyone was drenched in sweat, covered in sand from diving for the ball, forearms burning from bumping it, everyoneâs patience was running thin. Curses were shouted, insults thrown from one side of the net to the other, they had gotten serious real quick.Â
Mingi and Yunho stood at either side of the net, eyes on the ball above their heads, the two of them jumping at the same time to either spike, or block. The ball fell on Mingiâs side and his eyes dropped for a millisecond to see Yunho, both hands up, palms flat out to block his spike.Â
Yunho, ambition living in the slant of his brows, tongue peeking between his lips, didnât give Mingi an opening to push the ball through. So Mingi hit it to the side, just past Yunhoâs hands before he could even think of sliding his arms over.Â
Yunho cursed, and Mingiâs arms went over his head in a cheer for winning them one more point towards victory. Mingi leaned in close to the net, a smirk on his lips, âPay attention, Yun. You donât want me thinking Iâm distracting you, do you?âÂ
Yunhoâs jaw locks. Mingi was pushing it, he usually wasnât the bratty one, that was your area of expertise.Â
âCareful,â is all he says, venom on his tongue as his chin tips upward, just to stare down at Mingi through lowered brows.Â
Mingiâs smirk grows, almost a full smile, fingers hooking into the net to lean closer. âOr what?âÂ
Yunho licks his bottom lip, shaking his head as he turns around, back to where he stood, waiting for the ball to be served. Maybe he was stupid for considering you two didnât care about him, especially after the bedroom, and now he had Mingi taunting him ten feet away?Â
The ball hits the sand beside his foot before he can process that it was served. Mingi, San and Wooyoung high five, cheering because they were one point away from winning, and Yunhoâs teammates turn to him with a scowl.Â
âWhat are you doing?â Seonghwa stands with his arms out beside him, face warped into annoyance and confusion.Â
Jongho barks from beside him, âLock the fuck in, weâre winning this.âÂ
Yunho nods, shaking off his thoughts, âMy bad.âÂ
Then Mingi calls your name. Yunhoâs head turns, watching as you turn your head from where you stood with a group of girls that werenât a part of your group, staring as you jogged towards them when Mingi ushered you over.Â
That fucking bikini, all string, barely covering anything. His fists clenched when the house hooted and hollered for you, as Jihyo whistled when she saw you. It wasnât for you. It wasnât for Mingi. It was revenge.Â
His neck snaps back to the court before him when he hears Sanâs hand smack the ball, body moving before his brain can think, diving into the sand to bump it up. Jongho is quick to get under it, two hands setting the ball high in the air, but as Seonghwa jumps to smack it over the net, Mingi is already there.Â
Broad, sculpted abdomen, hard chest heâs rested his head on too many times, hipbones peeking from just above his waistband. Yunho watches Mingiâs arms flex as he blocks the ball, how his torso folds to send the ball into the sand, Yunho nearly shoves his face in the sand too when his three best friends jump for joy across the net.Â
Seonghwa and Jongho stand defeated, faces set toward the sun, chests heaving. Yunho gets up slowly, just to see you perched on Mingi, arms and legs hooked around his body, lips pressed to his. Mingiâs hands hold you up by your thighs, fingers making indents where they pressed into your skin, and itâs war for Yunho to peel his eyes away from the sight.Â
âSorry,â Yunho runs a hand through his hair, keeping his eyes on the sand as he walks toward Seonghwa and Jongho.Â
Jongho clasps a hand on his shoulder, heavy but reassuring, âItâs just volleyball. Weâll beat âem tomorrow.âÂ
Seonghwa nods his agreement, and at least one weight is lifted off his chest. He watches his friends duck under the net, and Yunho follows, ready to get berated by his three other friends, good sportsmanship be damned.Â
âThis is my boyfriend,â he hears, and his eyes land on where you stood with Mingi, just beside the court with the two girls you were standing with before. One a grinning dirty blonde, the other a miserable-looking brunette, Yunho tried to listen as his friends spoke beside him, but jealousy pierced his soul that Mingi was the only one standing beside you, getting introduced as yours.Â
His feet moved before he could think about it, coming up to your side, and the blonde caught his eye, looking him up and down as he made his way over. You beamed, not showing a flash of surprise or confusion as Yunho stood beside you, you immediately gushed, âThis is Yunho, heâs single, super tall, clearly.â You giggled, leaning into Yunhoâs side, you were drunk. You whispered not quietly to the blonde, âI think youâd like him.âÂ
Yunhoâs eyebrows furrowed, weight hitting his gut with force, and the blonde before him blushed as her hands gripped the cocktail between fingers, her eyes dragging over him again.Â
The brunette, eyebrows low, stares at Mingi before her, âYou look really familiar.âÂ
Your hand clings to his, wrapping your fingers into your boyfriends, shoulders pushed back, no one would know you were standing your ground unless they knew you. Mingi laughs along, âReally? You kind of do, too.âÂ
âDo you have any relatives that go to Nasara?â She cocks her head to the side, âWeâre in ITZ, a sorority at Nasara University in Delo.âÂ
Mingi shakes his head, then turns it to look at Yunho, âDo you?âÂ
Yunho shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders, she does look familiar. Yunho asks, âHas anyone ever told you that you look like Sitara Song?âÂ
The brunette makes a tch noise, then grabs the blondeâs hand, voice dripping in irritation, âCome on, Ror, Iâm sure Wooyoung is missing you.âÂ
The blonde looks back at him twice as the brunette drags her away, and Yunho feels unsettled. Not only are you making a show with Mingi in front of his face, taunting him, but now youâre pimping him out to strangers?Â
Mingiâs eyebrows are knitted together as they walk away, âThey have an Wooyoung, too?âÂ
Yunho faces the two of you with his arms crossed, âWhat the fuck are you doing?âÂ
Youâre already smiling, mischief in your eyes, âWhat do you mean?â
If the three of you were at homeâŠÂ
âWhat was that?â He asks, a hand stretching in the direction of the two girls walking away.Â
You giggle, back pressing into Mingiâs abdomen, âWas I wrong? You are single, arenât you?âÂ
Yunho laughs a low, disbelieving chuckle. He turns on his heel, past the court, back to where you set up, sitting back in the chair he was sulking in before. He reaches into the cooler, pulling out a can of beer. If this was how the weekend was going to be, he might as well be drunk for it, too.Â
Clean and close to sober, your hair was still wet after your shower as you sat around the bonfire, sweats on your body, under a blanket on the sand. Even in Haos the beach was cold at night, a sharp breeze ruffling everyoneâs hair, egging the fire to blaze higher.Â
Yunho barely looked at either of you during dinner. Lounged out on the back balcony after grilling, he laughed along with everyone, cracking jokes and engaging in banter, but he shut you and Mingi out. After his second beer it was as if he put a wall up, he was choosing to not let the two of you bother him, not that you had much to bother him with after the beach.Â
Fear lived in all your joints that you took everything too far as you sat cuddled up to Mingi, head on his shoulder. With Yunho on your other side, you tried not to let your eyes slide to him, despite his closeness. Even mad, even apart you still drifted together, you try to let the thought relieve you, but youâre too tightly wound to let anything but his hands steady your heart in your chest.Â
You missed the way Yunho doesnât see your fear. Instead, all his tunnel vision allows is the way your arms lay over Mingiâs, the way you melt against your boyfriend, how comfortable Mingi looks with your body touching his. You donât see his frustration, how his mind whirls a mile a minute in yearning to have any part of you two touching him, too.Â
âYou guys must have needed a vacation,â Hongjoong declared from across the fire, the growing blaze making his orange hair burn brighter, white teeth still shining despite the warmth laying over all of you.Â
You smile, and Mingi agrees in a small noise from beside you. San perks up in a chuckle, âI havenât seen you two act like that in years. Thereâs really never any trouble in paradise, huh?âÂ
Mingi snorts, and you close your eyes with a smile on your lips. If only they knew what trouble was terrorizing your paradise right now.Â
Jihyo cracks a laugh, holding up a hand like she just remembered something hilarious, âNo, can you guys remember the beginning? When they couldnât keep their hands off each other?âÂ
Your cheeks burn as the group laughs around the fire, a chorus of amusement and remembrance. Jihyo continues, laughter still erupting from her chest, breaking up her words, âI miss when we still had true house parties, I remember catching you guys in Yeosangâs garage.âÂ
Mingi tips his head back with a groan at the memory, you remembered it like it was yesterday, he had you lifted on Yeosangâs fatherâs workbench, tools covering the space around you. Luckily, Jihyo didnât see your legs spread for him, or his fingers hooked inside you. Your cheeks blaze hotter than the fire before you.Â
âThatâs not the only time, either,â Jihyoâs leaning forward now, cocktail in her hands threatening to spill over the blanket on her lap.Â
San interjects, laughing himself, âI think weâve all caught them once or twice throughout the years.âÂ
Wooyoung frowns, âAt least none of you have caught them in your own bedroom. Thatâs worse, trust me.â
Your hand covers your face, digging your forehead into Mingiâs shoulder as he laughs along, muttering Enough in a low voice. The reason you werenât as open with your relationship anymore was being laughed about in a circle, filling your gut with embarrassment and shame, Mingi felt it.Â
You couldnât see Yunhoâs fists clenched at his sides, digging into the blanket above the sand. He tries to laugh along, he has a few stories he could tell himself, but heâs ruined them all with thoughts of what those memories would look like if he was included in them, too. He feels weird inside. Knowing it would always be you two, as itâs always been, but feeling so fucking frustrated that he isnât included, as if two halves of him were fist fighting just beneath his skin.Â
âMy bad, today just reminded me of back then,â San waves a hand, a warm smile on his lips, showing his dimples. âIâm happy to see it. Iâve missed when you were attached at the hip.âÂ
âI was starting to get worried that you guys were chilling out too much,â Sana interrupts, her head tilted, a cheshire smile on her lips, âI assumed thatâs why you didnât have a ring on your finger yet, that your relationship wasnât the same as it used to be.âÂ
The circle quiets. A beat of silence lays over you, thick and heavy, her comment feels like a jab. Yunho doesnât know why it fills his veins with ice cold rage. He bares his teeth, âWhereâs the ring on your finger, Sana?âÂ
Seonghwa gasps, Tzuyuâs eyes widen, Wooyoung cracks a smile. Everyoneâs eyes dance between Yunho and Sana with fear at her awaiting rebuttal. She tips her cocktail back, takes a sip, then raises it up to Yunho with a sinister smile, âHopefully we both see rings within the year.âÂ
You blink in confusion and awe, sitting up straight, both of your heads turned toward the black hair sat beside you. He meets your gaze and his eyes feel warmer than theyâve been all day, since before the fight, even. The others redirect the conversation into something lighter, but the three of you stay locked in on each other, a bubble within the ash and smoke surrounding you.Â
You purse your lips. What was that for?
Yunho smiles. Couldnât help myself, I guess.Â
Mingi lays a hand over your thigh. Sana will always be Sana, itâs not worth it.Â
Yunho leans into his hands stretched out behind him. Iâm tired of her sticking her nose where it doesnât belong.Â
Your cheeks warm with a small smile. Thank you.Â
After all the cans had been thrown into the fire and San had smothered it with the lid, the whole group decided it was time for bed, your day tomorrow required a full nightâs sleep. Beach, boardwalk, dinner, a repeat of today, but tomorrow you could really drink. You had half a mind to stay sober tomorrow, you think you had enough day-drinking already, your brain muddled and your limbs sluggish, you didnât miss the feeling of a hangover.Â
The queen sized bed felt like a cloud beneath your thighs compared to the sand you were sitting on prior, the bottle of water Mingi handed you when he entered your bedroom healing you. In a hoodie and sweats, the house much too cold for a summer night, you sat up and chugged while Mingi got his toiletries ready for a shower.Â
Yunho didnât enter the bedroom until Mingi had left, drying his hair with his towel, sweats hanging low on his hips, droplets of water still trickling down his abdomen. You kept your water in your lap, lips pursed, trying to think of something to say. Just earlier today you werenât speaking at all, you teased him all day, and then he⊠Sticks up for you to Sana? It doesnât make any sense. None of this makes sense.Â
Yunho pulls a tee shirt over his head, barely glancing at you sitting on the bed, then reaches into the closet to grab a blanket. Folded over his forearm, he tucks a pillow under his other arm, then without as much as a word he makes for the door.Â
âHello?â You sit up a little taller, confusion in the knit of your brows. âWhere are you going?âÂ
He looks back at you over his shoulder, âIâm gonna sleep on the couch downstairs.â
âNo,â you answer, shaking your head, staring at him like the idea is ridiculous, because it is.Â
He raises his brows, âNo?âÂ
âStay,â you urge, heart picking up speed in your chest. âWe need to talk at some point.âÂ
He finally turns around, brows still raised as he shrugs, âTalk about what?âÂ
Your lips part but nothing comes out. Jaw clenching, you sit dumbfounded and annoyed. Talk about the fight? Talk about today? Talk about how thereâs still clearly something romantic between the three of you?Â
âHow you toyed with me all day?â Yunho finishes your thoughts, taking a step towards your bed, âHow the two of you drove me up a fucking wall? How I snapped at Sana to defend you because clearly Iâve lost the ability to control myself?âÂ
You stare at him wide-eyed, speechless, excitement rippling beneath your skin because he took a step toward you.Â
âThey were right, you know,â he tilts his head, taking another step forward, âYou havenât been all over each other like that in years. And I sat there, knowing it was all for me, and couldnât do a damn thing.âÂ
âYes, you could have,â you finally counter, voice barely above a whisper.Â
âWhat would you have me do?â He says through a sharp chuckle, âPut you over my fucking knee in front of everyone? The whole beach? That's what started all of this, right?âÂ
âIâ What do youâ?â
âThis all started because of sex. You worked me up all day to have me at my witsâ end when we finally got back here at the end of the night. That was the plan, right?âÂ
You blink at him, that was the plan. Partially. âI just wanted you back here so we could talkââ
He smiles as he cuts you off, âYou donât want to talk, not really. I know what you want.âÂ
You sigh, frustration curling your fingers around the water bottle, ignoring the heat between your legs. He drops the blanket and the pillow on the floor as he takes another step forward, thighs just touching the mattress you sat on.Â
âI do want to talk,â you frown, heart pounding against your chest, scared those five words will stop him from doing everything he was about to do. Voice lowering, you whispered, âI want you.â
âItâs pointless,â he shakes his head, smile dropped,.âYou canât separate it.â
âBecause itâs already blended together,â your voice is still low, teetering on the edge of shaky. âThe lines were crossed a long time ago, Yun.â
âThat doesnât mean itâs right,â he meets your eye, and thereâs nothing kind behind them. No emotion that makes you feel like thereâs any possibility of salvaging what you had. You refuse to trust it, the mask he puts on, you cling to how heâs looked at you these past weeks, with love and trust in his eyes, the mask he wears now is to protect himself.Â
You give him a bitter chuckle, âWho are you to tell me whatâs right? Do you not feel anything when you look at me?âÂ
âWhen I look at you,â he keeps his face steady, emotionless. âI see Mingiâs girlfriend.â
âYouâre a liar,â you spit, sitting up on your knees, crawling closer to him on the bed. He watches, unmoving, eyes not even flickering a change in feeling. âWhy did you stick up for us to Sana then?â
âBecause youâre my friends, and Iâm tired of hearing her project her own insecurities onto you.â
âWhy were you bothered when I told that Aurora girl you were single, then?â You stand on your knees atop the mattress, almost face to face with him. âYou are single, arenât you? You want to be single.â
âI donât want to be single,â his voice cracks, exasperated, eyebrows shooting to his hairline, âbut that doesnât mean I can just join a relationship thatâs been established for over five years!âÂ
âWhy are you making it sound like a decision thatâs made on a whim? We just spent the last four weeks already in one, Yunho,â you raise your voice to match his, every ounce of emotion punctuating each syllable.Â
âWe spent the past month fucking,â he lowers his voice, words sharp enough to cut. âThatâs it.â
As if every single one of your emotions swim up to your waterline, your voice cracks as tears blur your vision, âYouâre a bullshit fucking liar, Jeong Yunho.â
You keep your eyes on Yunho as Mingi enters the bedroom, catching the towel hanging from his waist out of your peripherals. Yunho breaks eye contact before you do, his eyes sliding to Mingi who stares dumbfounded in the doorway, then quickly closes the door behind him when his eyes land on you.Â
âWhatâs wrong?â His eyes are wide and concerned, one hand on his towel as he quickly makes his way across the room. The streak of sunshine in a hurricane, you can feel the hostility fizzle, his presence comfort enough to cool the fire in your veins.Â
âNothing,â you shake your head, then wipe your eyes with one hand as you sit back down on the mattress, legs folded beneath you. Your sniff betrays you, as if Mingi didnât already know you were crying, âIâm fine.â
Mingi stands beside Yunho, a knit in his brow as he turns to his best friend, âWhat did you say?âÂ
âNothing I havenât said before,â Yunho bends down, picking up the blanket and pillow he was holding before. âIâm sleeping on the couch downstairs.â
âNo youâre not,â Mingi chokes out a laugh in irritated disbelief, all of his features blown out as he faces him. âYouâre not leaving again, you donât get to walk out twice.â
Yunhoâs chuckle mirrors Mingiâs, his voice louder and strained, âI donât know what else you want me to say!â
âSay you donât want us,â you answer from the bed, voice unsteady, terrified of his answer even if youâre certain you know it already. âSay you donât want this, and weâll let it go.âÂ
Yunhoâs eyes dance between the two of you, the cogs turning in his mind visible in his tight features. Mingi takes a step away, walking towards the dresser, pulling out a pair of briefs to sleep in as he mumbles, âDonât say it if you donât mean it.â
You stare at Yunho as his lips open and close, racking his brain for something to say that isnât that. He shakes his head, âEven if I want this, it doesnât mean itâs right. What will everyone say?â
The slap of Mingiâs briefs against his hips sounds through the room, âWho gives a fuck what anyone has to say?â He faces Yunho, âIf weâre happy, thatâs all that matters.âÂ
âItâs not that easy,â Yunho drops the blanket and pillow again, his shoulders pushed back in defense, trying to hold onto whatâs left of his control as his hands wave with each word. âAs much as I want to believe everything will be sunshine and rainbows, itâs you two. Your relationship is concrete, everyoneâs expecting a wedding within the next few years and you want to fuck all of that up?!âÂ
Your stomach drops with the validity of his fear, cheeks warming, ears burning hot. You and Mingi have never decided on marriage, not fully, the two of you semi-estranged from your families, not completely in a place financially to make that kind of commitment. A ring, a big party to show off your relationship was nowhere in the near future. A house came first. Stability came first.Â
Yunho knows that. He knows all of that, but his fear is still validâ because what happens when you are stable? You and Mingi never got that far, the rest was hopes and dreams that would maybe come true one day. You swallow, sniffing again, raising a hand to wipe whatâs left of your lingering tears as understanding turns into a bloom of warmth in your chest.Â
âI understand this isnât normal,â Mingi takes a step toward Yunho, confidence clear in his voice, it seems youâve switched places since the last time you talked. Mingi looks over Yunhoâs shoulder to meet your eye for a second before looking at Yunho again, âBut this wonât fuck anything up, Yunho, our relationship has always been⊠What it is. This.âÂ
âYour relationship,â Yunho reiterates, his voice quiet, body leaning towards Mingi. âWhat if that doesnât stay the same with me in the picture? What if down the line, you decide you want to get married? Do you want kids? Where does that leave me?âÂ
A rush of something you canât describe swallows you whole. It was overwhelming enough having this conversation with Mingi, and you havenât had the conversation again with Yunho in the picture, what that would look like for the three of you. Tears crawl their way back up, a tightness in your throat, heat in your cheeks. You didnât have an answer to his question, fear leaves your stomach hollow, your limbs tingly.
âWeâre not asking you to make a decision now,â Mingiâs hands curl around his waist. âEven if it seems like we are. All we know is that we want to be with you, weâre willing to figure all of the details out together, with you. We want you, Yunho, isnât that enough to at least try?â
Yunhoâs head dips down, his face hidden, sucking in a deep, grounding breath. You need to touch him, feel close to him, you need your skin on his, you need to feel like he still wants you. It feels like losing himâ a sentiment you canât bear to accept, you haul yourself off the bed and press yourself into his back.Â
âThis is a lot,â his voice is smaller than youâve ever heard it, weak, frail, strained with uncertainty. âI donât know what to do, I- I want you too, but this is,â his voice breaks. âTerrifying.â
âI know,â you feel Mingiâs hands swimming along his sides as you keep your cheek pressed to his back, your fists balled into the cotton of his tee. Mingi continues, âYou can do it, the commitment, the titles. Itâs scary and vulnerable, but itâs us, we wonât hurt you.â
Another trembling breath leaves him as his forehead meets Mingiâs, his hands resting on your own, curled into his shirt. Your lip quivers, trying so hard to keep your own tears in to be the stability he needs, the rock you're used to being; seeing him hurting is like an arrow through your chest, it hurts the same way it does with Mingi.
âYou donât need to make a choice,â Mingi whispers. âBut donât shut us out. Donât make us think we donât mean anything to you.â
âIâm sorry,â Yunho whispers, sniffing, his body rigid between the two of you. âI didnât mean to, I didnât mean any of it, I was scared. I am scared.â
You press your lips to his clothed spine, âItâs okay, Yunho.â
He squeezes your hands, palms over knuckle, his touch is grounding. Mingiâs hands glide from his waist over his chest up to the curvature of his shoulders, landing there for a moment as Yunhoâs head perks up. Mingi leans in, lips grazing Yunhoâs as his hands move to his neck, sliding up to cup his cheeks.
âCan I kiss you?â Soft, honest. Yunho barely gives him a nod before Mingi attaches their lips, Yunhoâs hands darting to his waist. You keep your hands on him, body pressed into him, feeling Yunhoâs body relax, shoulders drooping, back arching into Mingiâs touch.Â
Their lips move slowly, unhurried, a practice of searching for something in one another, finding it, reveling in it. The air changes around you, expanding, room opening, tension slipping through the balcony door and into the saltwater air, dissipating into the humidity. Yunhoâs hands find Mingiâs cheeks and they move together, bodies arching into one another, getting lost in emotion and feeling and longing, you could feel all of it, it bled from both of them and into you, watching from behind.Â
Hands on Yunhoâs waist, you guide him backward until your back hits the bed. You crawl onto it, never breaking your eyes from the pair, watching as Yunho uses one hand to support himself while Mingi lays him down onto the mattress.Â
âI missed you.â
Youâve never heard him sound like that before. Emotionalâ soft and whiney, honest, like heâd pulled the words from the deepest part of his consciousness, a box he kept tucked away. It has you moving, crawling over to them, inserting yourself into their bubble. Yunhoâs hand reaches for your cheek as soon as you come into view, your eyes meeting, and for the first time you see him consumed by lust without the harsh blade of control in his eyes. Raw, open, free, thereâs nothing but delicacy swirling in chocolate brown as he pulls you down into him, attaching his lips to yours like heâd been waiting to do it all day.Â
Hungrier than those with Mingi, his lips move quickly, tongue slotting between your lips to search your mouth for something true, as if you havenât given him all of you since the start. âI want you,â you whisper, sharing his breath, a soft smile curving your lips before he swallows down your words with his mouth. You swing one leg over his hips and he sits up on an elbow, his other hand moving to your hip for leverage as he pushes himself up until heâs sitting, shifting you properly on his lap.Â
Mingi moves behind him, hands on his waist under his shirt, lips finding his neck with soft presses of his lips as your fingers reach for the hem of his tee. âNeed this off,â you whisper into his mouth. âWant to feel you.â
Mingiâs the one who pulls the cotton tee over his head, lips finding Yunhoâs shoulder as you kiss his lips again, tongue dancing with his, hands splayed on his pecs, letting the warmth of him seep into you. Yunho reaches beneath your hoodie, fingers cold as they dance along your skin, palms curled around your waist while his thumbs brush against your abdomen, his touch is soft, like heâd break you if he pressed too hard.Â
You break the kiss only to pull the hoodie over your head and Mingi steals Yunhoâs lips, using two fingers to his chin to turn his face. You watch them for a moment before leaning in, lips following the curve of his jaw down to his throat, flattening your tongue down to the base of his neck, sucking into his skin just above his collarbone. He tastes clean, like his bodywash, him, your hands find the waistband of his sweats, tugging them downward.Â
Yunho gasps as you slip them from under him, hips moving easily for you, âIâ Are you sure?â
Youâre nodding on command, âOf course, Iâm sure.â
Heâs talking as you tug his briefs down to his thighs. âI said a lot of things.â
âYou didnât mean them,â Mingi answers as you settle yourself between his thighs, coaxing Yunho backward until his back is pressed to his chest.Â
His cock stands tall against his pelvis, pink-kissed and leaking, it makes your mouth water. Yunhoâs hips twitch as your nails graze his thighs, making you smile, eyeing him through your brows. He looks⊠scared. Like this was unknown territory, his eyes wide, red splotched chest rapidly rising and falling, fingers curled into the sheets beside him.Â
It makes you want to take care of him in the same way heâs always taken care of you.Â
âIs this okay?â You ask softly, making him nod. Your head tilts, needing the words to continue, âDo you want this?â
âYesâ fuck,â his hips twitch again, brows raising like heâs surprising himself. âI want it, I want you. Please.âÂ
Thereâs a pit in your gut as the plea leaves his lips and youâre wrapping your fingers around his length, making a show of the glob of spit dropping from your tongue and onto his length, using your fingers to spread it. He groans, head tipping back into Mingiâs chest as you start working his length with your hand, watching him carefully. So pretty, hair mussed about, chest splotchy and body twitching, you wonder if this is how you look beneath him. You dip your head down, tongue lolling out of your mouth to lick at his tip, salty, raw, Yunhoâ you wrap your lips around him and suck.Â
âFuck,â he draws out the word, low and heavy, a hand reaching down to tangle into your hair. You let him ease you down his length, tongue flat against the underside of him, lips suctioned tight. âMissed that fuckinâ mouth.â
There he is. You smile, barely, lips stretched around the width of him, bobbing your head as your fist works the base of him, pumping, twisting, gripping him just rightâ the moan he releases is nothing but nasty, Mingi swallows it, stealing his lips again, you can hear their mouths as much as you can hear your mouth around his length, everything wet, sloppy. Mingiâs hands reach beneath his arms to his chest, thumbs flicking over his nipples and his hips buck into you, making you gag, a hand clawing into his thigh, eyes squeezing tight.Â
âSorryâ fuck,â he curses again, voice desperate, âfeels so good, donât stop.â
You take him down your throat, gagging yourself purposefully as your nose meets the tuft of black hair at his base, the hand that was curled around him reaching below, cupping his balls softly, tightening your throat around him as you squeeze your palm ever so lightly. The sound that leaves him is obscene, abdomen clenching, his hands finding Mingiâs thighs, nails digging into his skin. You bob your head, breathing through your nose to keep him deeply rooted in your throat, constricting around him just to hear that noise over and over.Â
âOh my god,â his voice is strained, harsh, âIâm gonna cumâ I want to fuck you, please, waitââ
His hand finds your hair but you donât budge, keeping your rhythm on his cock, nose buried in his hair as your saliva drips from your lips and onto his pelvis, sliding down to where your hand lays below.Â
âBaby, babyââ
His moan is strangled, caught in his throat as his limbs lock, legs straightening while his grip tightens in your hair, hips bucking into your mouth once, twice before his release shoots down your throat. You swallow him down, keeping your mouth suctioned to him as you ride out his high until heâs shaking, slipping off of him with your tongue still flat to ensure youâve gotten every last drop.Â
You break off of him with a pop, eyes glassy as you find him winded. Chest heaving, head lazily thrown on Mingiâs chest, your brown-haired boyfriend just smiled proudly from behind him.Â
âMouth just as dangerous as your pussy,â Mingi says, hands still splayed across Yunhoâs abdomen, fingers softly petting his skin.Â
âOnly for you,â your smile is coy, of all things. Crawling up to where they sat, you lean down and press a kiss to Mingiâs lips, then one to Yunhoâs. He still looks winded when you pull away, making you giggle, âYou okay?â
He nods, âI just⊠I havenât come since the last time, with you. Need a second.â
You snort, âA whole week, is that a new record or something?â
Yunho smiles, laughter in the exhale through his nose, âDonât get smart with me, I havenât forgotten about today.â
You lean down to press another kiss to his lips, keeping yourself close as you say, âBeen waiting for the chance to do something about it, like you said?â
His eyes flicker up to yours. In that one sentence itâs as if you reminded him who he was, what heâs capable of. These eyes you know, deep and controlled, harsh in a way that tickles your spine. Your core clenches around nothing, tongue poking out to lick over your lips, anticipation heating your blood.
âTake off your pants, sit at the top of the bed.â
He barely gets the sentence out before youâre shimmying yourself out of your sweatpants, crawling up to your pillows. Youâre vibrating as Yunho turns to Mingi, standing up on his knees, grabbing the younger man with one palm below his jaw to pull him upward. Mingi scrambles to his knees, brows already furrowed, lips still touching in the center as they part.Â
Yunho smashes his lips into Mingiâs, thereâs nothing graceful about the way his other hand digs into the nape of Mingiâs neck, making him arch into the older man with a whimper pouring straight into his mouth as his hands find Yunhoâs biceps for leverage. Itâs messy, rough, Yunho picking him apart with nothing but his lipsâ it makes your knees tie together, adding pressure between your thighs.Â
âYou,â Yunho starts, the word accusatory, giving Mingi another unforgiving press of his lips before he continues. âTeased me all day. Taunting me during volleyball, in front of our friends, do you have anything you want to say to me?â
âIâm sorry,â Mingi squeaks, fingers curling into Yunhoâs biceps, the sound makes a smile spread across your cheeks, eyes flaring.Â
âLouder.â
âIâm sorry.â
âBetter,â Yunho mumbles, reaching down to pull his shirt up and over his head. One hand reaches down to palm Mingi over his briefs, palm flat and fingers splayed over his length, and Mingi folds upon contact. Head dipping low, abdomen clenching, a groan spills from his lips as his hips buck into Yunhoâs touch.Â
âDonât tease,â Mingi whispers, voice a strangled moan.Â
Yunho huffs a laugh, âLike you teased me earlier? You can dish it out but you canât take it?â
Mingi lifts his head up to look at Yunho just as he starts grinding his palm against his length, bare chest leaning into Mingiâs, using his height to his advantage to look down at him. Mingi sputters, âT-Thatâs different, Yun. We were tryingââ
âTrying to what?â Yunho squeezes his length and Mingi whimpers. Yunho smiles, âBait me into fucking you in front of everyone?âÂ
âNoââ
âThen what?â
âWanted to feel like you still wanted us,â Mingi says it all in one strained breath, his voice rising in pitch as Yunhoâs hand slips beneath his briefs, fingers wrapping around his length.Â
âI wanted you,â Yunhoâs voice slips into something quieter, other hand reaching up around Mingiâs neck, thumb brushing over his bottom lip as before brings his face to Mingiâs, lips almost touching. âThe whole time.â
âYou left,â Mingiâs voice is barely above a whisper, shaky, a hiss leaving his lips when Yunho twists his wrist, palm closing over the tip of his cock. Yunho pushes Mingiâs briefs down his thighs, lowering Mingi down until his knees are spread, arms splayed behind him, cock jumping against his pelvis, red, angry and leaking like a fucking faucet.
âDo you want my mouth?â Yunho, between Mingiâs knees, asks before his eyes slide to you at the top of the bed. âOr do you want to be filled?â
Mingiâs brows raise. âI get a choice?â
Yunho shrugs. âMy way of saying sorry.â
Both of their eyes slide to you and your eyes widen under their attention, back straightening against the pillows. They drink in your posture, knees pressed together, hands scrunched in the sheets as if thatâs the only thing keeping you from slipping your hand between your legs.Â
âCome.â
Yunhoâs voice is unyielding, it has you crawling across the mattress on all fours, landing on your knees before them. Mingiâs head tilts, âThought I had a choice?â
Yunho snorts his amusement, âLike youâd choose anything other than my cock filling you up.â He plants a hand against your cheek, leaning down to place a kiss on your forehead, âYou can kiss while I prep him, but donât touch.â
You nod, eager as you settle yourself laid down in front of Mingi, your beautiful boyfriend who already looked so gone. Cheeks pink, chest heavy, his muscled biceps land on either side of your head against the mattress, your calves curling over his thighs with him above you. His cock lands against your lower tummy, heavy, sticky, the order not to touch has your heart picking up speed in your chest, a desire you canât fulfill.Â
âHi, baby,â Mingiâs smiling as he presses one, soft kiss to your lips. Your arms are bent up, hands on either side of your shoulders, palms faced up with your fingers loose and limp, hips fighting the urge to buck up into him.Â
You push out a sigh, âNeed you,â your back arches instead, nipples pebbling beneath the breeze that drifts through the room. âWanna feel full.â
He places another soft kiss on your lips, âSoon.â He deepens the kiss, tongue pushing into your mouth, you can taste him, taste Yunho, it makes you moan into him, fingers twitching because you want them on his face, in his hair, around his cock.Â
Yunho leaves the bed to cross the room, you hear him opening the closet, the zipper of the duffel he brought sliding open, but Mingiâs tongue is licking into your mouth, rendering you thoughtless, you donât care to look over. âWanna touch you,â you whisper, back arching more until your nipples press against his warm skin, whining at the contact.Â
âPatience, baby,â his lips find your jaw, elbows closing in around your head, tongue sliding down to your neck to lick a stripe back up to your jaw. You moan, legs tightening around his thighs, hips bucking against his length that tapped against your stomach with each movement. Torture, being naked beneath him, wanting so badly to touch, to feel.Â
You feel the dip of the bed when Yunho kneels behind him, you hear the cap snapping open on what you can only assume is a bottle of lube. It makes you smirk, knowing he brought it with him, that it was in his bag, waiting to be used. Yunhoâs palms flatten over Mingiâs ass, and his head dips down into your shoulder at the contact, in anticipation of what comes next.Â
You watch over Mingiâs shoulder as Yunho squirts some into his hand, closing it before running two fingers down the space between, thumb circling his hole. Mingiâs whole body jerks, gasping into your neck, cock digging into your stomach.
âOpen up for me,â Yunho says softly, âlet me in.â
Mingiâs knees spread a little wider, lips meeting your shoulder, your neck, back arching lower, the position Yunho likes. Yunho keeps his eyes on you beneath him as he pushes a finger inside, his own brows furrowing together at the feeling of him, the tightness around his digit.
âShit,â Mingi whimpers into your skin and one hand comes up to tangle in his hair, relaxing him into the stretch, all while keeping your eyes on Yunho.Â
âThatâs it,â Yunho nods, voice just above a whisper, âthere you go.â
Yunho bites his lip as he crooks his finger and Mingi fucks back, head lifting from your shoulder to push himself into the older man, moaning like itâs the best thing heâs ever felt. You quickly turn your head to catch a glimpse, his slacked jaw, eyes softly shut, brows knitted together in pleasure, so fucking beautiful. The sight of him when youâre wrapped around his cock versus Yunho pushing into him, the sight of his pleasure was so different, so raw seeing him this way, so open and desperate.Â
âYes,â you find yourself whispering, back arching at his pleasure, almost feeling it as if it were your own.Â
Yunho adds another finger, making Mingi moan, lifting himself up onto his palms, head craning to see Yunho behind him. âMore, gimme your cock, I can take it.â
Yunho nods, ripping open a condom packet from beside him and slipping it on in one quick motion. Tapping his cock between Mingiâs cheeks, he looks over Mingiâs shoulder to you, âGo ahead.â
At the speed of fucking light youâre reaching between you, making Mingi gasp as your fingers wrap around his length, Yunho lining himself up behind him as you line him up at your center. You didnât need the prep, the head of his cock slipping around as soon as you brought it to your slit, sliding through your wetness until it caught against your entrance, making you gasp out a moan.Â
âFuck,â Mingiâs voice sounds strangled, strained, preparing himself to fuck you full while he gets fucked fullâ youâve done it plenty, but each and every time itâs overwhelming for him, for you to be fucked by Yunhoâs thrusts.Â
âBreathe,â Yunho says, and itâs both a warning and an order as he pushes inside, making Mingiâs breath catch in his throat until he forces it down into the base of his lungs. Yunho groans, head tipping back as he slowly pushes inward until he seats himself inside.Â
One of your hands cups his face, pressing your lips against his unmoving ones, âThat feels good?â
âFull,â Mingi grits out as Yunho bottoms out, hands squeezing his ass, face contorted in pleasure.Â
You smile, pressing your lips into the corner of his mouth, âReady?â
He nods, eyes screwed shut, mouth stuck open like heâd unhinged his jaw. You tighten your legs over his thighs, an elbow planted under you, lifting your hips up to press his tip inside, and with Yunhoâs next thrust heâs pushing inside, all the way, all at once. Your eyes blow wide as a shrill sound escapes you, and Yunhoâs head picks up over Mingiâs back.Â
âIf youâre loud, I stop,â Yunho grits out. âWe donât need the whole house hearing us.â
Your other arm is clawing at Mingiâs shoulder, so fucking full and stretched out itâs dizzying, you barely process Yunhoâs words as Mingi catches your lips with his own. The three of you readjust closer together now that youâre positioned, and with every thrust of Yunhoâs hips against Mingi, Mingi fucks into you the same.Â
âSo tight, Min,â Yunho gasps. âMissed this ass, fuck, craved this tight fuckinâ thing.âÂ
Heâs beautiful, hair soft and messy, brows quirked in focus as he watches himself drill into Mingi, how his cock disappears, how Mingi sucks him in with each thrust. Youâre clinging to Mingi, one arm over his shoulder as your hips fuck back into him, his cock curving into you just right, making you moan into his lips as his tongue steals every sound from your throat, pouring another one right back into yours.Â
âFaster,â you whimper, eyes lifting. âPlease, Yun. More.â
âNever satisfied,â Yunho spits out through his clenched teeth, two hands gripping Mingiâs hips as he fucks into him harder, faster, ricocheting into you, body slamming into the mattress with each thrust. Youâre a crying, whimpering mess, clawing into Mingiâs skin as he cries into your mouth, lost in a bubble of pleasure, Mingiâs body locking up with each thrust of Yunhoâs hips.Â
âIâm close,â Mingi whispers, straining. âFuck, too good, so full, youâre so tightââ
âCum,â you whisper, hips rolling into each thrust. âFill me up, baby. Come on.â
Yunhoâs hands slide up to his waist, nails biting into his sides, âHold it.â
Your hips buck into him faster, a pit forming in your stomach as the pleasure builds, catching Mingiâs lips again. Yunho slaps his palm against Mingiâs ass as he feels Mingi buck into you, âHold it.â
âCanât!â Mingi cries, âI canât, I cant, Iâm cummingââ
You moan as his cock twitches inside you, still rolling your hips against him as he fills you up, warmth spreading through your lower half. Yunho hisses from behind, âYou never fuckinâ listen.â
You smile, dazed and lazy as you stare up at him over Mingiâs back, âHappens every time.â
âFuck,â Yunho huffs, âwanted to cum inside you, Min.â
You slow your hips as Mingiâs arms waver, shaking on either side of you. ââm sorry,â Mingi says, breathless. âFelt so fucking good.â
You pull your hips off of him as you let go of his shoulder, falling flat against the bed as he crumbles on top of you, Yunho pulling out behind him. Sated, he hums into your shoulder, left hand digging beneath your back, holding you close.Â
Yunho slips off the condom and pulls you toward him by your ankles, Mingiâs startled enough by the action to roll off of you and onto his back, head turned with eyes half open to watch as Yunho tugs you upward by your hips. Yunho sinks down to sit on his calves, pulling your thighs over his, not wasting a second as he runs his cock through your folds, spreading Mingiâs release. You hiss at the contact, hips bucking into him, digging your elbows beneath you to hold you up. âKiss me,â you beg, âkiss me while you fuck me, please. Need it.â
His brows furrow, lips parting like youâd just taken your cock down his throat, your words hitting like a pang to his gut. He lines himself up, cock prodding at your entrance as he leans forward, grabbing you by your waist to pull you on top of him, using your thighs on his as leverage to sit yourself over his cock.Â
Lowering yourself onto him, you lay your hands over his shoulders to attach your lips to his, nothing about it structured or neat as he pushes inch after inch into your heat. You moan into him, whining as you reach the base of him, feeling the full length of him in your fucking guts.Â
âBig,â you mumble, a whiney whisper. âWanna cum on your cock, Yunho.â
His fingers tighten around your waist, lifting you up on his cock before slamming you back down, making you cry out into his mouth. âQuiet,â he grunts, then places a kiss to the corner of your lips. âI know it feels good, baby.â
Your fingers claw into his shoulders, âSo good, missed your cock, fills me up so fuckinâ perfect, so full.â
He guides you with two hands on your waist, lifting you, lowering you, shifting you into a dirty grind, âTake me so well,â he says before he kisses you again. âPussy so tight, missed her, missed you.â
You catch his lips, words staggered by each slap of your hips against his, âDonât fucking leave again.â
His fingers sear your waist, squeezing so hard youâre sure theyâll leave marks behind, making you moan. You grind yourself into him, rolling your hips until his cock reaches the sweet spot inside you, a high pitched noise escaping your lungs before you can stop it.Â
âShit,â you cry out, panicking at the pleasure, lowering your voice. âShit, shit, shitâ good, right there, so good.â
Yunho meets you where you roll into him and your eyes drop to watch, his sculpted abdomen flexing under the movement, how you swallow his cock with each grind, itâs too much. Mingiâs behind you before you can process it, feeling his heat before his bare skin, his lips at your neck, teeth grazing your steaming skin, fingers toying at your chest, you fall into him as your hips move on their own.Â
âMin,â you moan out. âYunho, fuckâ wanna cum, wanna cum,â youâre repeating the words like a mantra, Yunhoâs cock kissing your walls, the tip of him running over that spot inside you like it has nowhere else to go.Â
âCum,â Mingi says into your skin. âCum around his cock, let him feel it.â
You grind your teeth, a strangled sound escaping you, so close you could fucking taste it.Â
âNeed more, baby?â Yunho asks, breathless, jaw clenched like he was holding himself back. âMy girl, never satisfied, always needs more.â
âInsatiable,â Mingiâs tongue drags along your neck and you nearly fold, the pleasure overwhelming. One of his hands dips down between you, two fingers rubbing at your clit and your eyes blow wide, entire body jerking forward at the touch.Â
âThere she goes,â Yunho smiles and your breath completely catches in your throat, hips stuttering in their grind, he quickly uses two hands on your hips to keep you moving in rhythm. You feel it building impossibly further, your orgasm right below the surface, your skin vibrating, your breath coming out in shallow bursts.Â
Mingi reaches up, one hard pinch to one of your nipples and youâre falling forward, head on Yunhoâs shoulder as your limbs lock, pressure blowing, euphoria consuming every inch of your being. You hear Yunho mumble something haphazardly to Mingi before heâs pushing you backward, holding onto your hipbones as he drills into you, chasing his own high. Itâs more than overwhelming, your orgasm never ending, prolonged with each thrust of his cock inside you.
 âMouth,â Yunho bites, and Mingiâs palm clasps over your lips on command. You donât even realize what sounds are leaving you, that your lungs are even working properly, so consumed by euphoria.Â
Youâre seizing around him, body twitching, core clenching with each thrust of his cock until his hips stutter, emptying himself inside you with consistent, punched strokes so you feel every inch of him, every drop of him as he fills you up.Â
Mingi releases your mouth when Yunho finally pauses, his hand shaky, chest heaving, cock half-hard again against his thigh. The only sound in the room is your breathing, distant waves crashing ashore, the sound of the breeze blowing through the room, making the curtains dance around the balcony doors.Â
âI could watch you two forever,â Mingi mumbles, more to himself than to you.Â
Yunho pulls out slowly, keeping a hand steady cupped over your center, so if you do drip itâs not on Sanâs comforter. Always thinking ahead, even after sex, when one would think his brain would turn at least a little fuzzy.Â
You swallow down nothing but air in your dry throat, reaching for the man beside you and the other across from you, âLay with me.â
âYou need to shower,â Yunho counters, running his other hand through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. âOr pee, at least. Get this out of you so we can sleep.â
You mumble your discontent, groaning, body spent and tired but so fucking elated at what just transpired. Yunho smiles up at you, âWe arenât at home, little lady, you need to go pee.â
âLittle lady?â You and Mingi ask at the same time, mocking him, brows furrowed, smiles amused. You snort, âTry a different nickname.â
âShut up and go to the bathroom,â Yunho huffs, standing up off the bed, pulling you by your ankles to the edge. Mumbling under his breath, heâs looking at the sheets, âAlways something to say.â
âYou love it,â you smirk, standing on shaky, tired legs. You wobble, he slides a grounding arm around your waist, you look up at him with smiling eyes, âIf I wasnât such a brat you wouldnât have anything to punish me for.â
âA well-behaved submissive is a well-trained one,â heâs quick to respond.
You scowl, eyes pointed as you look at him, throwing an arm over his shoulder, âIâm not your submissive.â
âWhat are you, then?â He asks and you steal your arm back from over his shoulder, ignoring the leakage between your thighs, just to look up at him and see him smirking, face fully amused.Â
âNot funny,â you grumble. âMingi will shower with me, you can wait outside.â
âNo,â he half-whines the word, still fully amused, leaning into you before he bends at his knees, scooping you from beneath your legs into his arms bridal-style. âWeâre all showering together, end of story. Say a prayer that Jihyo and Jongho are asleep.â
Youâre giggling at him butt-ass naked in the dark hallway, it seemed Jihyo and Jongho were asleep with how easily you snuck into the bathroom without being caught, Mingi on your heel. Your shower was innocent, soft touches and bubbly soap, exhaustion dancing in the steam, the humor had dissipated and exposed what was left over. The three of you, together again. Whole.
Back in bed, you in the middle, Mingi on your left, Yunho on your right, you didnât even bother with clothes. The only light came from the still open balcony doors, moonlight acting as a beacon, calming in how it coated the room in a soft pale hue.Â
âI really did miss you,â Mingi cuts through what felt like an hour of silence, just waves and breeze. âWe missed you.â
âI missed you, too,â Yunhoâs response is soft, fingers playing in Mingiâs hair above you, you cocooned in the middle of the two.Â
For the first time, those three little words sat on your tongue, begging to be said. Instead, you ask, âYou know what you said? The submissive thing?â
His hand cups your cheek, âI was just kidding, baby.â
âNo,â you shake your head. âItâs not that. I was wondering⊠What itâd be like.â
âTo be my sub?â His brows raise, tipping your head up to look at him. âLike, for real?â
You smile, âYes, for real. Iâve wondered since Wooâs going away party, what youâre like when youâre serious about it.â
âYou donât think Iâm serious with you?â
âYou know you let shit slide,â you narrow your eyes. âA lot slide. I want to experience a day, in public and stuff when youâre being you. In your element.â
Yunhoâs eyes slide up to Mingi, âYou too, baby?â
Mingi smiles, bashful but honest, nodding. âIâd be lying if I said I wasnât curious, too.â
âYouâre both untrainedââ
âYouâve taught us a lot,â you cut him off. Rearranging yourself, head pressed into Mingiâs chest so you can see Yunho easier, you urge, âWe can do it. Let us try tomorrow.â
âTomorrow?â
âYunho.â
âFine,â his smile is soft, eyes so dreamy itâs hard to comprehend that a man like him could ever be mean. If you hadnât experienced it, you wouldnât believe it. You love him mean. You love him nice. You love how he looks at you. You keep the words inside.Â
âWeâll talk about it more in the morning.â
You didnât say another word, other than goodnight. You could still hear the waves crashing onto the shore just outside the house, you could smell Yunhoâs body wash everywhere, the moon shining down on your bedroom, for the first time in days, everything felt⊠Peaceful. Normal.Â
Your heartbeat hasnât been this even since the day Yunho walked out of your apartment.
Feet twitching, a tickle on your leg, your nose scrunches as consciousness pulls your eyelids apart. You suck in a short breath when you feel warmth on your thigh, the heaviness of a hand, Yunhoâs hand, it snaps you awake like someone poured cold water over your head.Â
âWhat are you doing?â
His other hand moves your panties to the side, his head already between your legs, which was enough to answer your sleep-induced question. Your thighs parted for him further, arms limp against the bed, you could hear the soft snores from Mingi still fast asleep beside you.Â
A moan passes softly through your lips as his tongue makes contact with your center, slipping between your folds, lips swirling around your clit. The fingers curling into your thigh tells you to shut up, and you listen by slotting your bottom lip between your teeth, your eyes screwed shut.Â
Fuck, youâve missed his hands on you, youâve missed his mouth, youâve missed the way he tells you what to do without saying a fucking word. Youâve missed everything about him.Â
He pulls away only to pull your panties down your thighs, throwing them somewhere on the floor before both hands push into the plush of your thighs, spreading them wider than before. The mewl that leaves your lips, the way your leg bumps into Mingiâs sleeping body has his eyes cracking open, confusion and sleepiness present in the way he blinks himself awake.Â
âDamn,â Mingi groans, stretching out his limbs as Yunho devours you all over again. âIâve missed this.â
Mingi leans over, pressing his lips sleepily into your neck, tongue poking out to slide up onto your jaw, your mind clouded with a whirlwind of pleasure. Too long since youâve had two bodies on you, focused on you, pleasuring you, days had felt like months.Â
Yunhoâs hand left your thigh to grab onto Mingiâs ankle, pulling him downward, a cue to get off of you without him saying a word. Mingi shuffled himself down the bed until Yunho grabbed his already stiff length over his briefs, Mingi pushed them over his hips and down his thighs, eager to feel Yunhoâs touch like it was the first time.Â
Yunhoâs fingers slip through your folds to gather the wetness onto his hand just to use it in gliding his hand over Mingiâs length, which had both of you squirming in pleasure, light moans blending together. He spits on your center before sitting up on his knees, slipping two fingers inside you, the other hand still pumping Mingiâs length, he used the same rhythm on both of you, where you both stared up at him with parted lips, furrowed brows, glassy eyes, you think that maybe you were dreaming, or maybe youâd gone to heaven in your sleep.Â
âMissed me, huh?â
You and Mingi nod erratically, your hips jerking into his touch, he wore a cocky smirk and half-lidded eyes that told you he missed you just as much. Having the two of you splay out beneath him, victim to his hands, to his hold over you entirely, he had you exactly where he wanted you.Â
His fingers curled into you at the same time as his wrist twisted around Mingiâs length, movements he knew drove you close to the edge, you could feel the pit in your stomach forming just from how deep his fingers hit inside you. He knew you so well, too well, he could pull you to orgasm so fast, even at god knows what time in the morning. From the rising sun outside of your balcony, you knew it was early.
âYou want to be with me for real?â Raised eyebrows, temptation in his voice, a depth to his eyes that only came out when he was in the mood to have you crying beneath him, the ghost of fear nipped at your spine. You nodded.
âYouâ fuck,â Mingi gasped, hips bucking into Yunhoâs hand. âYou know we do.â
âThen youâll learn what itâs like to be with me,â staring down at you beneath his brows, his jawline sharp from where you looked up at him, you gulped at the sight of gravity in his eyes. Fingers hitting the spongy spot inside you repeatedly, it was hard to feel the fear through the pleasure, to understand the weight of his words as he pulled you so damn close to the finish line.Â
 âYes,â you whispered, back arching, eyes closing, your orgasm so close you could taste it.Â
Mingi wasnât far behind, his fingers curling into the bedsheets, his legs trembling, small gasps and mewls falling from his lips one after another, it was ridiculous how easily he had the two of you rendered stupid before him.Â
Lifting yourself onto your elbows, your voice shaky, you cry, âI-Iâm close.â
âMe too, donât stop, Yunho,â Mingi moans from beside you, sounding weary, teetering on the edge.Â
Yunho smiles, a flicker of something in his eye that assured you the fear in your spine was right. His fingers scissor you open like he could make you cum with his eyes closed. He doesnât answer, doesnât give you permission, and you push a heavy breath through your lips like itâd help pause your impending orgasm while you wait for the green light.Â
âIâve been too lenient with you,â he bites the inside of his cheek. âI did some thinking, too, and I think you two forgot who I am, why you asked me to share your bed in the first place.â
Your eyes blow wide, panic surging through you, âYunho, Iâm gonna cumââ
He slips his fingers out of you at the same time as he pulls his hand away from Mingiâs cock, your thighs snap together, a curse slipping from your lips. A too verbal cry leaves Mingiâs throat, his cock spurting ropes of white cum onto his hips, his stomach, his orgasm completely ruined.Â
âWeâll see if you still want me by the end of today,â Yunho is smiling while ignoring Mingiâs heaving chest and teary eyes, proud of himself, happy with what he had just done to the two of you. Your eyes are dancing between Yunho and your boyfriend that has tears slipping past his waterline, his jaw dropped in shock, in anguish of what had just been done to him. You wished you could have seen his raw reaction, the moment his orgasm was denied.
âI didnât forget everything that happened yesterday, did you?â He asks, eyebrows raised, eyes flickering between you and Mingi. âToday will be different.â
Your body was on fucking fireâ fear, arousal, the orgasm that was still on the brink beneath your hipbones, you didnât know which emotion to pay attention to first. You tried to speak, some form of rebuttal, every string of words came out jumbled, completely incoherent. Yunho grinned. Mingi whimpered.Â
âClean yourselves up and come to breakfast,â Yunho climbs off the bed, running a hand through his black locks as he makes for the door. âDonât touch each other, donât touch yourselves. Iâll know if you do.â
You swear the beach is hotter than it was yesterday.Â
All thirteen of you, after having breakfast out on the deck, packed up for another beach day that was thankfully right in Sanâs metaphorical backyard. No one was acting out of the ordinary, it seemed safe that no one heard the three of you getting edged by Yunhoâs hands just a few hours ago, or getting split open by his cock last night, but you wondered if anyone could pick up how fucking frustrated you and your boyfriend were come this morning.Â
You obeyed Yunho, you didnât touch each other after he left this morning, instead you kept your distance in your bedroom while you got ready for breakfast, as Mingi took a cold shower, letting ice fill his veins as he replayed his ruined orgasm in his mind.Â
Yunho was careful around you at breakfast, around your friends, only meeting your eye when he felt yours on him, while you were daydreaming, fantasizing, watching how his veiny hands picked up his utensils, how his pretty pink lips wrapped around the food he ate, how his body bent when he stood up from the kitchen table, the low rumble in his tired voice as he spoke to HongjoongâŠ
âThis one.â
After escaping a calm breakfast, you were upstairs, getting ready for the impending beach day. Yunho had picked out a pair of swim shorts for Mingi, ones with a longer inseam, and had ruffled through all the bikinis you brought with you, choosing one less skimpy, but still as revealing as a bikini would be.Â
He handed you a black triangle bikini with small, white polka dots printed on the nylon, the bottoms were string-tied, the back ruched at the middle. Thrill danced in your blood at the thought of wearing something he chose for you, an invisible display of dominance to the people who would see you in it. He hasnât done this yet. This was new.Â
âWeâre playing today,â he sat back on the bed, you and Mingi standing before him, backs straight, heels touching, as per Yunhoâs request. You were already buzzing with adrenaline, excitement, anticipation. âIf itâs too much, you know what to say, but Iâll be expecting obedience, without question. Understood?âÂ
You and Mingi nod furiouslyâ he clicks his tongue.Â
âYes, sir,â scrambles out of both of your mouths simultaneously. Youâve never spoken about or decided on a title formally, youâve only said the word to Yunho playfully a few times, just for him to respond âbe careful what you wish for.âÂ
You were more than careful, itâs indescribable how the title makes you feel. Yunho has taken care of you both from the start, slipped into a role on his own when he started spending time with you, but today heâd officially take on the role fully, no shortcuts, no excuses.
There were times youâve gone grocery shopping or went out to eat and heâs told you to not speak unless spoken to, to only walk on the right side of him, Mingi on his left. Something like this lit a fire in your belly, playing in front of your friends when you and Mingi knew Yunho didnât want them to know anything about you three, youâd have to be discreet, yet still obey him completely, it made you nervous. Excited to comply, to appease him. Still excited, but nervous about what happens if you don't.Â
This was Yunho, unshielded, unapologetically himself, this was Yunho showing you who he is, what he wants. Your request had turned into a test, one you deeply wanted to pass; because in your mind, passing felt like the last obstacle. That if you passed, heâd have no reason to deny you any longer, no further reason to say no.
Because he didnât answer you last night with a yes, in your mind, it was still a no.
Excitement flared in your eyes when he nodded, pleased, âGood.â
When he laid out the rules for today, they seemed simple.Â
Youâre to sit with good posture on his left, Mingi on his right. Easy.
There shouldnât ever be sand on his towel, if there is, you or Mingi clean it off when you see it. The thought of the two of you doting on him makes your heart skip a beat.Â
Youâre both to make sure he is never without a drink, you get him another when heâs finished the one he has. Heâs testing your ability to pay attention, to focus on him only. He should be at the forefront of your mind all dayâ as if he already doesnât live there.Â
 If you need anything, if you want anything, you ask permission first. Submission, structure.Â
No complaining about the sand, the heat, if you or Mingi are in distress, you tell him properly, without whining. He wants you polite, but neither you nor Mingi were one to complain about anything, anyhow.Â
You both are to stay within armâs reach of him all day. You want to be by his side, anyways, but being expected to⊠you would pass his test with flying colors.Â
You didnât ask what happens if you didnât follow them, maybe you shouldâve. It feels full circle from Wooyoungâs going away party all that time ago, when you were curious about the date he brought, why she acted the way she did. How a part of you craved it, when you didnât even know what it was.Â
The sun scorched the sand, inescapable, a dry heat that was only eased by the salty breeze that snuck past your bodies every now and then, so sporadically you could barely call it relief. You had created a small village on the beach, multicolored towels laid out in a line, beach chairs, umbrellas, coolers with liquor, bags full of snacks, a large speaker that played nostalgic music over the sound of waves crashing on the shore. Looking at the scene made you laugh, you could remember coming to the beach with the same damn people with nothing but a towel and a handle of vodka.Â
A lifetime ago.Â
You sat with your knees bent in a pretzel, back straight, palms in your lap. A drink was buried in the sand next to you, something sour, Tzuyu mixed it, she claimed one was enough to keep you buzzed for a while. That was fine with you, sunglasses on your face, watching the waves fold onto the wet sand at the shoreline, head tilted, humming to a song you knew all too well while it danced with the breeze.Â
Yunho bent down beside you on the empty, clean baby blue towel, the corners still stiff and bent from how it was folded in Sanâs linen closet, the print on it still bright, likely new. Your chin perked up with his presence, sunglasses perched on his nose, black hair already damp with sweat and mussed on his forehead, sun-kissed and angelic. Your mouth watered before he uttered a word.Â
âYou have sunscreen on?â Short, curt, filled with expectation. It wasnât just the simple question forcing a rush of adrenaline to sweep through you, heart rate picking up, fingertips twitching against your skin, it was his tone; strong, composed, yet somehow condescending, as if you couldnât remember to put your own sunscreen on.Â
You nodded, the need to appease him curling low in your gut, the desire to make him pleased. His tongue clicked, words. You sputtered, âYes, I put some on before we left the house.âÂ
âThat was an hour and a half ago,â he sighed, running long, milky fingers through the damp black locks on his head. âIâll get some.â
He used his palms braced on his thighs to stand again and your neck twisted to Mingi on the far towel, raising your brows.
Mingi gave you a small shrug, Here we go.Â
You glanced around the group, taking in everyoneâs whereabouts. San and Jongin laid out on beach chairs beneath the sun, carved abdomens dipped in honey, shiny and slicked by sunscreen and sweat. Hongjoong and Seonghwa were down by the shore, mid-conversation, hats blanketing their hair, ankle-deep in the water. Tzuyu, Jihyo and Sana laid in a line to your left, gossiping, drinking, bodies a contrast to the towels beneath them.Â
Wooyoung had dragged Jongho and Yeosang into the sand off to your right, convincing the two men to bury him. You think Wooyoung started drinking when his eyes opened this morning.Â
You felt Yunhoâs presence at your back like a shadow, a promise of unfinished business. He leaned in tight, next to your ear, âThis drink is the only one youâll have today.âÂ
Your breath hitched in your throat, but you nodded. You didnât ask permission before drinking it. His silence, his lack of movement, snapped you back into place, back straightening. âYes.âÂ
âYes what?âÂ
Fuck. You could genuinely moan at his tone, the way heâs biting his words, silvery in what he expects of you, the power he holds in two small words. Maybe he wants you all fuzzy and moldable, like jelly, testing your ability to control yourself and keep your focus on him.Â
âYes, sir,â itâs a mere mumble under your breath, head tucked down, just low enough for him to hear. You can feel Mingiâs eyes on you, you wonder if he heard, too, or if your cowering body is lost on him.Â
Yunho hums in satisfaction, âSit on your knees, Iâll get your back.âÂ
You donât hesitate to tuck your knees under your body, ass pressed against your calves, the breeze on your now exposed tummy making you feel bare. Exposed in front of your friends. You canât believe how it sends a deep pang of arousal through your entire fucking body. You hear the bottle open, lotion squirting into his hands, rubbing it together in his palms before he touches you.Â
Itâs like lightning hit you, how your entire body jerks at his touch, how his palm pressed to your skin makes your thighs clench on command, excitement thrumming beneath your skin. You can blame it on this morning, how he left you tightly wound and needy, the rules swimming in your mind, but the truth was that any time his skin touches yours itâs electrifying, it reminds you of all the times heâs fucked you brainless, it makes you ache for more.Â
He rubs the lotion onto your back slowly, massaging it in, you couldnât tell if his movements were erotic or if your brain had dropped to the gutter. Over your hips, the sides of your waist, the tops of your shoulders, the backs of your arms, each movement was controlled, slow in a way that let you feel each point of pressure, how he was studying you as he worked the lotion onto your skin. Your neck inevitably bends, head drooping, shoulders slouching, despite the lotion being cold, his hands on you were so warm. Your thighs untensed, knees breaking apart, lungs emptying themselves into the summer air, it felt so fucking good to have his hands on you.Â
One palm smoothes up your spine, fingers curling around the back of your neck, the other hand squeezing your hip over the waistband of your bottoms. âUp,â he bites, the singular word a nasty whisper. âPathetic for you to lose your composure over sunscreen.â
You were grateful for your sunglassesâ no one could see your eyes fluttering at his words. Your back straightens, knees kissing once more, hands folded in your lap. âGood girl,â his voice is still too low for anyone else to hear, if anyone was paying attention. It probably seemed like Yunho was just being friendly, helpful, putting sunscreen on your hard to reach places.Â
It didnât look like that at all to Jongho and Yeosang, sunglasses shading their eyes as they scooped sand onto Wooyoungâs body, hands going motionless with each curve of Yunhoâs fingers on your skin.Â
âAre you seeing this too?â Jongho asked the older man, eyebrows furrowed, his voice laced with confusion.
Yeosang nods, âAnd Mingiâs just watching. Iâd lose my shit if you touched Tzuyu like that.â
âIâd fucking kill you if you looked at Jihyo like that,â Jongho agrees. Their eyes linger, watching how Yunho leans in close to your ear, how your back straightens, body locking all over again.Â
Wooyoungâs head peeks up from the sand, âWhat am I missing?âÂ
âDo you think sheâs cheating on Mingi?â Yeosang asks, sitting back on his heels.Â
âWhat?â Wooyoung sits up straight, the layer of wet sand on top of him cracking and falling in chunks onto his lap. The two other men groaned, knowing they were going to have to put it back on him in a moment's time.Â
Jongho shakes his head, âMingiâs watching, no way sheâd cheat, and no way Yunho would do that to him. Plus, he's never been territorial.â
Wooyoungâs neck stretches forward like he was squinting to see beneath his sunglasses. âMingi doesnât care if you flirt, I think giving her a back massage in front of the entire group is different.â His head tilts to the side. âBut yeah, he really is just watching. Huh.â
âInteresting,â Yeosangâs lips scrunch, but he brings his head of red hair back to Wooyoung. âLay down and let us restart, dumbass.â
After getting a slew of pictures of Wooyoungâs bronzed body buried beneath the sand, a mermaid tail packed over his legs, fake abs drawn onto his abdomen, the still-giggling men came back over to the group, covered in sand head to toe.Â
Wooyoung ran a hand through his hair, shooting back a mouthful from his can, âAnyone wanna go swimming?â
Jongho and Yeosang were behind him, sweaty and beautiful, sand on their exposed bodies like a second layer of skin. You blinked at them, silent, because you didnât wanna swim, part of you was scared that if you stood, someone would notice the patch of wetness on your bikini bottoms, despite them being black. Your fear held no bounds, no logic, but it was enough for you not to move a muscle.Â
Mingi leaned into Yunho, whispering something in his ear.Â
âCan I go?â Too low for your ears to catch, Mingi gave Yunho puppy eyes from below his shades, his voice sweet as candy.Â
Yunho gave him a short nod, forgoing a rule for Mingiâs appropriate execution of another, your boyfriend hopped up, a smile on his face, following behind his friends down to the shore. His dimpled lower back above the green shorts, how they scrunched around his thighs, the muscles in his shoulders too defined as he jogged away, fuck. You felt like an animal. A perverted, sex-crazed freak with the way your bottom lip caught between your teeth at the sight of him, how your toes dug into the towel beneath you.Â
You laid on your back instead, trying to rid your mind of the thoughts, of the expectations over your head. Taking a deep breath to ground yourself, to stop being so fucking horny on the blazing beach with all your friends around you.Â
Yunhoâs empty can pressed against your arm.Â
You turned your head to see his jaw in a steady line, his brows raised. Shit. You stood up, walking over to the cooler in three steps, grabbing him another drink. You opened it for him, he thanked you as you handed it to him, you smiled as you took the empty one.Â
Even doing something this small, this insignificant, had goosebumps raising on your body. Doing it for him. Â
Yunho was facing you when you got back to your towel, laying back again, hands laying at your sides. His voice was quiet, soft in a way that meant he was just checking in, âHow are you feeling?â
âGood,â you answer in a smooth breath.Â
âGive me something better than that,â he frowns, voice lowering in volume, âI donât want to ask you to throw a color all day, if I ask you how youâre feeling, give me words. Tell me what youâre feeling.âÂ
You sit up on your elbows, sunglasses sliding down to the bridge of your nose. The first word that comes to mind, âStimulated.â You smile, head tilting, âHot, a little frustrated. Mostly eager.âÂ
He smiles, âThatâs good, right where I want you.â He leans back on his own elbows, his can buried in the sand beside him, between you. âSometimes I think you were meant for this, yâknow. You take structure well, you perform easily with it.âÂ
âThatâs because I enjoy it,â you respond, words coming easily, the alcohol making your lips loose. âMore than Iâm supposed to, I think. I like it the other way around too, sometimes.â
He quiets, watching Mingi out on the water. âYou both switch. I wonder what Iâll do with you both sometimes.âÂ
Your lip curls in gratitude as you lean your head towards him. âYouâve changed since spending time with us too, you know. Maybe you donât need to do anything, maybe the three of us are fine how we are.âÂ
He turns his head tight, but doesnât say anything. You stare through your shades, holding your ground, hoping he feels what you said, and doesnât cower in fear because what you have is real. He jerks his head to the towel next to him, voice unyielding once again, âOver here.âÂ
You push yourself up without a word, cleaning off your towel before you grab your drink and move to Mingiâs towel, laying back down, all without question or hesitation. Yunho smiles, pride etched into the curve of his lips, âGood.âÂ
The praise sets you ablaze all over again.Â
When Mingi returns, water dripping down his body, dark hair pushed back by his fingers, Yunho already had a towel in hand. Up by the umbrella, you watched with your head tilted back as Yunho ordered him over by just a nod of his head.Â
âWater feels so good,â he beamed, sandy feet walking between your towels, shedding droplets of water from his swim shorts as he walked past. He didnât even notice youâd switched spots, or if he did, he didnât say anything.Â
He reached a hand out to grab the towel from Yunhoâs grip, but the older man shook his head, âI got it.âÂ
Mingi stood dumbfounded for a moment, but turned around to face the three boysâ gaze who walked up from the water, also dripping saltwater, coated in sunshine. You were sure Mingiâs skin was burning as Yunho dried him off, slowly wiping the towel across his wet skin, on his hair. You bit your cheek. For someone who didnât want anyone to know, he wasnât exactly being discreet, but you supposed no one noticed Yunho at the going away party, either.Â
âTheyâre so weird,â Sana mumbled under her breath, on her stomach, elbows holding the weight of her upper body. She dipped her sunglasses down to the bridge of her nose, watching Mingi and Yunho across the sand.Â
Jihyo and Tzuyu turned over on their towels, looking at Sana to see where her eyes were locked, then focusing in on the scene before them.Â
Tzuyu smiled, âYunhoâs so sweet, it must be nice for them to be so close.âÂ
Jihyo squinted. The way Yunhoâs hands dragged up Mingiâs body, his fingers curled over Mingiâs shoulder, how he leaned in to say something in his ear. She had a feeling since that morning, catching Yunho in your apartment, but brushed it off because you wouldnât lie about something like that. Especially not to her. She would never judge you for having a threesome.Â
But Mingiâs head dipped down, eyes on his own crotch, mumbling a few words in response, and Jihyoâs lip curled. Thereâs no fucking way. She turned her head, âI caught Yunho at their apartment, you know.âÂ
Sana and Tzuyuâs heads snapped to Jihyo, eyebrows raised, silently saying continue. Jihyo sighed, âYunho was shirtless, towel on his waist, he had just gotten out of the shower. In their living room. Mingi had on boxers, she looked just-fucked. They said he was only there to shower because he had no water.âÂ
âDoesnât he live right around the corner from Joong and Hwa?â Sana asked. âIf he didnât have any water, why didnât he just go there for a quick shower instead of traveling across the damn country?âÂ
âTheyâre close,â Tzuyu leaned in, forever devil's advocate. âWould you go to Hongjoong and Seonghwaâs for a shower if Ji was home?âÂ
âFirst of all, girls are different,â Sana shook her head. âAlso, yes. They have a waterfall shower, and those jets in the walls for your body, plus Seonghwa uses that really good body wash fromââ
âExactly!â Jihyo cuts in. âLiterally exactly my point. Thereâs something going on there, right? Iâm not crazy?âÂ
âDefinitely not crazy,â Sana shook her head again. âRemember how Yunho snapped at me last night, too? When has he ever done something like that?âÂ
âMaybe he was tired,â Tzuyuâs voice was small, like she didnât believe the words that were coming out of her own mouth. âI donât know girls⊠They've been together forever. Do you really think Yunho would be involved with them⊠intimately?â
Jihyo shakes her head, lips scrunched, disappointed that youâd keep something so important from her. She even insinuated it, and you said no. âWho knows what goes on with them anymore. Itâs not like we get any details.âÂ
Yunho is more than pleased when Mingi cleans off the left side towel for Yunho, then the center one for himself, after Yunho nodded his head in silent direction, instruction in his body language only.Â
You were buzzing. You were both following instruction cleanly, discreetly, you were passing with flying fucking colors, you wondered if your ability to obey made him any more inclined to be your boyfriend. Your boyfriendâs boyfriend. You wish you could be inside his brain so desperately.Â
Yunho stood, brushing the sand off his multicolored, patterned shorts, throwing his sunglasses back on the towel. You sat up involuntarily, knowing if he moved, you moved with him.Â
He didnât look back as he started for the shore. You stood, Mingi following, within armâs reach as you flanked him down the beach, to the water. None of you knew you had eyes on you the entire time. Or that Wooyoung approached San the moment you walked away.Â
You minded your surroundings as you breached the shore, no sign of Hongjoong or Seonghwa, they must be on a walk, or back at the house. Youâve been so laser focused on Yunho and Mingi you almost forgot everyone else was there.Â
âMin said the waterâs nice,â Yunho looked to you, then over to Mingi on his other side, mischief dancing in his eyes. âWanna swim?âÂ
You nodded, even if you didnât have a choice. You wondered where the line stood with things like this, if you didnât want to swim, if the urge to obey wasnât so heavy. Would you be punished? For something measly like swimming?Â
Ice wraps around your ankles, your calves, your body shaking, hissing the deeper you went into the sea. Mingi and Yunho dove in, completely unaffected, fully submerged by the time you got up to your hips. âFuck, itâs cold, fuck,â you had your arms tucked tight to your chest, slowly wading deeper into the water while they swam a few feet out, laying under the sun for hours would have made the warmest water freezing.Â
âHow the hell are you guys so deep?â You yell across the waves that crashed against your abdomen, water reaching your belly button. âItâs fucking cold.âÂ
âDonât be a baby,â Mingi teased, grinning, hair melted around his face, flat against the curves of his cheekbones.Â
âAnd watch your mouth,â Yunho added, also teasing, smiling, on his back as he floated in the water. You scoffed, then faced the water before you, youâd have to rip the bandaid off if you were ever gonna be comfortable in the water.Â
âJust go underwater, baby,â Mingi called again. âYou can do it. I believe in you.âÂ
You scowled, eyes pointed, jaw locked. âItâs too fucking cold.âÂ
Yunhoâs smile widens, listening to your complaints, drinking them all in. You hissed again, dipping your fingers into the sea, up to your forearms, legs pushing against the moving water to get deeper. Up to your waist, below the tie of your bikini top, you finally said fuck it and sank beneath the surface.Â
Holding your nose, you gasped when you came back out to the salty air colder, ice consuming you head to toe. The two men just feet away cheered.Â
âCome here, baby, swim over,â Mingi called out, ushering you over with one hand. Breathless from the cold, you wiped the saltwater out of your eyes, blinking through the sting as you swam closer to them. Clinging onto your boyfriendâs front for life, he tucked one arm under your ass as you moved his hair out of his face. He smiled proudly, eyes bronzy beneath the sun, âItâs nice, right?âÂ
You still shivered in his hold, but smiled playfully, heâs so handsome it hurts. âFuck, fuck you.âÂ
âCurse again,â Yunho taunts from a foot away, swimming closer, affection in his voice. His eyes go over your head, scanning the beach behind you, before they land back on you, just as icy as the water. âSee what happens.âÂ
âIâm sorry,â you whine, âitâs cold.âÂ
âIâm in the water with you, quit whining,â he muses, coming closer. âIâll give you something to whine about. Is that what you want?âÂ
Arousal licks up your spine, you twitch in Mingiâs hold, but you shake your head. Yunhoâs head tilts, âYou sure, baby? Youâve been fidgeting all day, bet youâre feeling empty by now, arenât you?âÂ
Youâve been doing so good. Keeping up with his rules, being obedient, focused, you didnât think your arousal was noticeable at all. You shake your head again even if Mingi could feel your thighs clench, âNo. No, Iâm fine.âÂ
Yunhoâs hands tug on your hips below the water, turning you until your back is pressed against Mingiâs chest, slotting himself between your floating legs. Mingi keeps his hands on your waist as your breath goes shaky, eyes widening, âY-Yunho they can seeââ
âMingi is blocking us, they canât see this far out,â Yunho cuts you off. âThis body is mine. You donât get to question me, you donât get to worry. Thatâs my job.â
Even in the water, being held up by your boyfriend, he still feels so fucking big in front of you. You swallow, looking up at him through lashes coated in saltwater, voice as small as you felt, âO-okay.â
âYou take what I give you, when I choose to give it,â he tilts his head, hands sliding down your thighs, thumbs curling into your plush skin, feeling so soft beneath the water. âUnderstood?âÂ
âYes, sir,â you nod, and he grins. Leaning in, he presses a soft kiss to your lips, hands sliding up your hips, up to your waist, over Mingiâs hands. He breaks away just to press a kiss to Mingiâs lips, too.Â
Your heart is racing in your chest. Intimidation, adrenaline, the press of cold surrounding you, concern about someone seeing you.Â
He leans back, keeping himself close. âTell me what youâre feeling.âÂ
âHorny,â you blurt and he laughs. You shake your head, smile on your face, âOverwhelmed.â
His eyes look up to Mingi behind you, who responds, âAlso horny. Stretched thin.âÂ
âColor?â
âGreen,â you and Mingi respond simultaneously without missing a beat.Â
âDonât be scared,â Yunho shakes his head, grabbing your wrists lightly, sliding them onto his abdomen. âDo you trust me?âÂ
You nod, âYes, sir.âÂ
His eyes jump to Mingi who didnât realize Yunho was talking to him too, in a rush he responds, âYes, sir.âÂ
âThen make me cum.âÂ
Mingi keeps a knee beneath you as his hands race to Yunhoâs waistband, reaching in to feel Yunhoâs cock that wasnât even hard. Mingi looks up at Yunho who smiles, âThe waterâs real cold.âÂ
At the shoreline, Hongjoong and Seonghwa had almost returned from their walk, fingers interlocked, legs moving at the same pace, mirroring each otherâs movements. A mile down the beach, a mile back, the sun was warm, the water cooled them down, they loved everything about the beach. Theyâd get married on the beach, one day, soon.Â
Standing in the shallow water, arms stretched by how Seonghwa kicks about the waves and sand, Hongjoong stops him. âBaby, Hwa.â Seonghwa looks up, his attention grabbed, Hongjoongâs chin dips in the direction of the sea, a little ways out from where they stood, âIs that Yunho out there with them?â
Seonghwa puts a hand atop his eyes, shielding his vision, squinting beneath his glasses. âI think so. Maybe they stopped fighting.âÂ
A theory the two had going from the time youâve spent at Sanâs beach house so far, one they discussed before going to bed last night, a silly question from Hongjoongâs mouth that Seonghwa couldnât believe he caught on to, too. From your reactions when choosing rooms to the bonfire yesterday to breakfast this morning, Hongjoong and Seonghwa have been keeping an eye on you three, reading your body language, your interactions.Â
âOh shit,â Hongjoongâs jaw dropped when Yunho leaned in to kiss you. âOh shit,â he smacked Seonghwaâs arm when Yunho kissed Mingi, too.Â
âWhat? What did you see?â Seonghwa is leaning in, bending forward, fidgeting where he stood, angling his head around to see.Â
âThey kissed, Hwa,â Hongjoong is whispering, his voice coated in sheer disbelief, âthey fucking kissed!âÂ
âWho kissed?â Seonghwa raises himself on his tippy toes as if he wasnât already taller than his boyfriend who could see clearly, âJoong! Who kissed?âÂ
âYunho kissed both of them,â Hongjoongâs hand moved to Seonghwaâs forearm, âHoly shit.âÂ
âHoly shit,â Seonghwa whispers, a small mumble, his eyes widening beneath his sunglasses. âNo- no, what are they doing now?âÂ
Hongjoong breaks out in a wide grin, before a disbelieving laugh punches through his lips. âYouâve gotta be kidding me. In public? In ocean water? People pee in there. Fish pee in there.âÂ
âI feel like weâre intruding,â Seonghwa shakes his head, turning away. âWeâre definitely not supposed to see this. We shouldnât watch. This is an invasion of privacy.âÂ
âTheyâre hooking up on the beach! Theyâre lucky thereâs no one else out here.âÂ
âThis section is private,â Seonghwa turns away fully. âSan owns it, or something like that, I donât know how it works. Plus, we canât see whatâs happening under the water, they could beââ
âYou mean to tell me they arenât jerking him off right now?â Hongjoongâs orange brows bend over the frame of his sunglasses, his smile completely amused.Â
Seonghwa cringes, but turns around again to meet Hongjoongâs grinning cheeks. He looks out in the water, studying, frowning, âI donât know if sheâs doing anything. It might just be Mingi and Yunho.âÂ
âOkay, but still,â Hongjoong smacks his teeth. âTheyâre seconds away from fucking in the ocean. Am I wrong?âÂ
Seonghwaâs lips flatten, âDonât say anything. They didnât seem okay yesterday and today theyâre inseparable, so clearly theyâre figuring something out, and keeping it private.â
Hongjoong pouts, âBoo.âÂ
Seonghwa smiles, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his boyfriendâs lips, âDo the right thing, my love.âÂ
âYouâre right,â Hongjoong sighs, looking out in the water again. "That's so juicy, though. In the middle of the ocean for anyone to see is crazy.âÂ
You feel dizzy on your walk back up. Frustration curls low in your gut, a pestering weed left alone for too long, growing at a rapid pace through your veins, into your limbs, your chest. You needed to get off. Your composure was running scarily thin.Â
âCan I go to the bathroom when we get back up?â You ask Yunho, fingers laced with Mingiâs, both walking behind him, you on his left side, Mingi on his right.Â
âAre you gonna touch yourself?â He looks over his shoulder, brows raised.Â
You shake your head, âNo, sir. Just need to pee.âÂ
He nods, small, but permission-granting.Â
You didnât say anything to anyone as you walked past the group, up to the house, to the outhouse tucked into the side of the property. It was more like a shack, no roof, thin bamboo walls to separate the toilet from the shower, nothing was enclosed except for the main door which was latched shut.Â
You eased a breath as you put the black steel hook through the matching loop, running your hands through your hair, eyes squeezing shut while the throbbing between your thighs becomes too much to bear in the silence of the bathroom.Â
Just for cursing.Â
Just for complaining about the water being cold.Â
Heâs mean. Heâs so fucking mean. You asked for this, he reminded you three times, but the words that left his mouth, so degrading, so teasing, all while being passed between them like a fucking doll. All while neither of them touched you. That was almost worse than having your orgasm ripped from you this morning, watching, listening to them pleasure each other, while being on the sidelines but also right fucking between them, you donât know if you can do it.Â
You donât know if you can take him like this. Mean, arrogant, purposely denying you pleasure because you havenât earned it yet. Youâve been good all day. You deserve it.
You sit on the toilet with furrowed brows, knees kissing, toes touching the wood beneath you. Your clit cries for attention, throbbing, buzzing, thereâs a streak of wetness in your bikini bottoms that was too fucking slick to be washed away by the ocean. Your body feels tight, wound-up, aching for attention.Â
You could probably get away with it if you touched yourself. Heâs not in the bathroom with you, heâs down at the shore with Mingi, with your friends, heâd never know. Your thighs clench at the thought, it wouldnât even take long. You could probably get off in thirty seconds. Your jaw clenches, fingers curling to fists on top of your thighs. Donât do it, your subconscious screamed at you. Heâll know.Â
You swallowed, taking a deep, grounding breath. Your need to obey, to please him, outweighed the ache. At least thatâs what you told yourself while you wiped. You opened the latch after washing your hands to be met with Yunho standing outside the door. You jumped, a gasp leaving your lips, âShit, you scared me.âÂ
âGive me your hand.âÂ
You stared at him dumbfounded before the instinct kicked in. He pulled your fingers to his nose as soon as you lifted your palm, sniffing deeply. Just his fucking touch made your thighs clench.Â
âYou didnât touch yourself,â he says it like heâs surprised.Â
Biting your lip, you shake your head. âNo, sir.âÂ
He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, moving to push past you and you want to scream. Heâs even denying you a kiss to your fucking lips?!
âI canât do it anymore,â you whisper.Â
He leans back, brows furrowed. âCanât do what?â
âI need you to touch me,â your voice cracks on touch. âI need you to kiss me, I need you to fix whatever is happening to me right now. Iâm gonna freak the fuck out.âÂ
His eyes thin, jaw settling and god you want to sit on his face. âYou donât need anything.âÂ
âYunho,â you fall forward, forehead pressing against his still-wet chest, hands landing on his hips, the soft skin just above his swim shorts. âI need you. I canât take it anymore.âÂ
His neck cranes side to side, a heavy sigh pushing through his lips, his hand landing on top of your hair, fingers massaging at your scalp. âIâm teaching you submission,â he says into your hair, his voice steady. âItâs what you asked for. This is what it would be like. You can say red if you want to stop.â
Red feels like giving up, failing the test. Youâre frustrated, but not enough to say the three lettered word that would end it all. Youâre wound tight, clit still throbbing for attention, but the need to impress him aches worse.Â
You stare at him blankly, saying nothing. His lips curve, standing back a step. âYou have your answer then.â
âWait,â you interject, pleading with your hands on his chest. âWhy did Mingi get to cum, then? How is he any more well-behaved than I am?â
âYou didnât follow the rules,â he shrugs, answering plainly. âI donât have to give you a reason, if I donât want you to cum, then you donât cum. Your body is mine to do as I see fit.â
âI canât,â you whine, hands going into your roots, frustrated. You donât even know what was going to follow the two words, whatâs left to say after that.Â
âStop whining,â he bites. âItâs ugly, and youâre not ugly.âÂ
Your bottom lip quivers, leaning into him, hiding your frustrated face. âIâve been good.â
âAnd thatâs ending now, I guess.â âYunho.â
âAre you acting like this because you want to get punished?â Two hands on your cheeks, he pulls you away from his chest, forcing you to look up at him. âPurposely whining to piss me off, even when I gave you clear, concise instructions for the day?â
You shake your head, ears tipping with heat. You can feel the heat everywhere. Shame, arousal, they blend together with the need to appease him, to impress him, youâre fighting against your own instincts.
âThen listen,â he snaps. âThatâs the last time Iâm going to say it.â
Jongin sees you as he leaves the house. He grabbed his keys from the rack in the kitchen after the group decided to go out for an early dinner, a place that served bar-food just down the street. You, standing with your head in Yunhoâs chest, until he grabs you by your cheeks and tilts your head backward, talking to you⊠sternly? He stays pocketed behind the tall pampas grass, watching through leaves, his heart picking up in his chest. Is he catching something he isnât supposed to?
Somehow, he moves far enough to where neither of you see him, and makes his way back down to the beach. He has to tell San, he has to tell Mingiâ should he even get involved? Considering what Wooyoung told him and San earlier, thereâs a chance Mingi is in on it, too.Â
âGot our keys,â he smiled briefly at San. âWe should wait until they get back.âÂ
San lifts a brow, âDid you see them? Any treachery?âÂ
Jongin shakes his head quickly, not exactly sure why his gut tells him to lie. âI saw him inside, she was outside. No treachery to be seen.âÂ
Sanâs lift lips in distaste. âBoring.âÂ
Jongin feels bad lying to his boyfriend of three years, the man who changed everything about himself for Jongin, the yin to his yang. But this felt out of his control, a little too heavy for the friend group to be throwing around so easily, it's more than gossip. You, Mingi, youâve been together for so long⊠longer than heâs known San. From what heâs learned, youâve been together longer than any of the couples here.Â
Except for Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Maybe. Heâd have to ask San for clarification on that one.Â
It wasnât long until you and Yunho were bouncing back down the beach, wide grins on your faces and damn, his conscience feels heavy after lying. You bend down to press a kiss on Mingiâs lips and the way he grins with stars in his eyes tells Jongin enough. Heâd keep his mouth closed for now. But if you and Yunho were any more obvious, if you take another riskâ maybe someone else wouldnât be as nice.Â
Thereâs bamboo everywhere. Sand under your feet, surf boards lining the baby blue, wooden walls, the roof coated in thatch, the tiki barâcafe-restaraunt whatever the fuck was the pinnacle of everything Haos claims to be. An escape, another world, somewhere the wealthy pride themselves in vacationing, it reminded you to breathe. To enjoy everything around you, your friendsâ laughter, how the sun just beginning to sink was now far less brutal, the way Mingi and Yunho both had a claiming hand on either one of your thighs under the long, wooden picnic table.Â
âDonât speak unless spoken to,â with one hand on either of your shoulders, Yunho walked in the center of you and Mingi in the parking lot, one step behind you after you climbed out of Jonginâs Jeep.Â
You were still playing. Stomach still churning, body still wound tight, you wished you could force yourself to believe that you wouldnât explode if someone didnât touch you soon. Still embarrassed over your outburst earlier, not being able to handle what you asked of him, most of you was glad he didnât give inâ even if arousal kept your body temperature heated to a low-grade fever.
Mingi, free as a bird, was giggling to himself at something Wooyoung said across from you, his face sunkissed, his forehead, the tip of his nose, like the sun shone down on Mingi alone. Maybe it did, your irresistible boyfriend with a heart of gold, you wouldnât be surprised if the sun woke up every morning hoping just to see him. The sound was music to your ears, you leaned your head on his shoulder, hands holding onto the small, laminated menu.Â
You flexed your thighs, I missed you guys.Â
The answering squeezes to your skin told you they missed you just as much.Â
âToday went by too fast,â San shook his head of messy black hair to the left of Mingi, it was a rare sight to see him unkempt. San was always dressed to the nines, hair gelled back, face chiseled, the face of masculinity. Seeing him with pink cheeks and an affectionate grin made your heart swarm with affection, you loved it most when the group left business behind and lived in the moment instead. âI need to have you guys here more often.â
âInvite us then,â Wooyoung teased back, still shirtless, sitting on the end of the table across from Yunho. Skin bronzed and glowing, he reminded you of some kind of Greek God, like him and summer had a contract. âWeâll come when you call.â
Jongho leaned forward, his flower-patterned shirt unbuttoned and dragging along the picnic table, his dark hair messily sprawled across his forehead, sunglasses still sitting over his eyes. âSays the one who lives three states away.â
Wooyoung laughs, leaning forward, looking to his right to see Jongho almost at the other end of the table, âIâm here, arenât I?â
âAt the risk of being fired, Iâm sure,â Hongjoong smirks, the only person to his right Seonghwa, who held the end of the table. The pair still had their matching hats on, sunglasses resting above the brim, the only two whose faces were unaffected by the sunâs rays. Maybe you should all invest in hats, the sun was inescapable in Haos.Â
Yunho leans in, eyes dancing between each speaker, âAre you gonna get fired?â
Wooyoung shakes his head with his face scrunched like his company wouldnât dream of firing him. Sanaâs dark eyebrows raised, glossed lips falling in a line like he wasnât telling the whole truth, the sight made a snort fall from your nose. When Wooyoung noticed, he nudged her side, scoffing, âYou know they wonât fire me, they need me. Youâre supposed to be on my side, Sana.â
You lean back with a laugh, hand covering your mouth, so stupid it was funny. You missed him so much, and if the possibility of Wooyoung getting fired was any indication, you think he missed you guys just as much.Â
âWe should take pictures after dinner, at sunset on the beach,â Tzuyu chimes in, sitting in her crochet cover up between Yeosang and Jongin at the end of the table on your side. âNo dressing up, just in our bathing suits with some drinks, candid style.â
Jihyo and Sana agree, nodding, sitting next to each other like two peas in a pod. âWe should get couples shots, too,â Jihyo adds, dark hair waved by saltwater covering her bikini top, âJongho and I havenât taken a proper picture together in so long.â
âWoo and I need pictures for our holiday cards,â Sana agrees, nodding, already leaning into Jihyo. Wooyoung, with his sunglasses pushing his hair off his face, silently groans from beside her. You giggle at his face, stealing Sanaâs attention.Â
Before she could open her mouth, San leaned forward, talking across you and Mingi, âYun, we need to get you a girlfriend so you can be involved, too.â
You stop laughing immediately like San had reached over and stolen the smile from your face. You blink as Yunhoâs hand jumps from your thigh, your body stiffening, trying not to let your eyes widen, to show surprise or discomfort on your face while a sharp pang of something sour hits your chest.Â
âWe could ask a random girl from the bar to pretend,â Wooyoung snickers, eyes locked with Sanâs.
Jongho laughs, a high-pitched, amused sound, âWeâd have to pry him away from those two first.â
Yours and Mingiâs attention jumps to Jongho, who eyes you both, mischief in his eyes. Yeosang, with his elbow on the table, props his chin on his cheek, staring down at Yunho, asks, âWhat happened to that girl from Wooâs going away party?âÂ
Yunho shakes his head of chocolate locks inflated by humidity. Voice clear like he wasnât bothered at all, he answers, âJust didnât work out.â
Your body is on fire. So badly you wanted to tell them all to stop speaking about the past, to not bring up a future that isnât centered around yourself and Mingi. Yunho is yours.Â
âAre you okay?â You pick your head up to Jihyo who was eyeing you carefully, eyes pointed, jaw set. âYou look sunburnt.â
You shake your head, forcing an easy smile on your face, âIâm fine, probably am sunburnt.â
âHow? Yunho put sunscreen on you, like, four times,â San wore a slimy grin, the table erupting with laughter.Â
âIt was once,â you counter, eyes narrowed, tone biting. âAnd I canât reach my back.â
âYouâre quiet, Mingi,â Wooyoung interrupts, and Mingiâs eyes pick up, wide and doe-like.Â
âWhat do you want me to say?â He asks, brows furrowing, head tilting like Wooyoung said something stupid. You smile. Yunho puts his hand back on your thigh.Â
Like a saving grace, the waiter finally approaches your table, breaking your conversation to ask for your order. Yunho orders for you, then for Mingi, exactly what both of you would have chosen if youâd ordered for yourself. You felt eyes on you as Yunho finished, but you didnât dare meet a single personâs stare. You didnât want to know what their eyes would tell you.Â
You didnât have to guess, not when San spoke after the waiter left your table, his voice a blanket over one end of the table to the other. âAm I crazy? Is anyone else seeing this, or is it just me?â
The three of your heads pick up in a line. The table is quiet, the only thing you can hear is the reggae music, soft from the speakers, dissipating into the summer breeze. Low, far but close, it melts into the sound of waves, offsetting how thick the tension had become at the table.Â
Sanâs face bulges out, bewildered, âNo oneâs gonna say anything?â He turns to you three and your heart falls into your ass. âAre you three together?â You swallow the bile in your throat. âAre you fucking?â
âNo,â Yunhoâs answer comes before your lips could part. The word is rigid, a wall, a finality. You look at Mingi whoâs already looking at Yunho, his eyes so big, so round, you can hear your heartbeat over the music, the breeze, the waves. No.Â
Yunho even laughs a little. âCome on, are you serious?â
You glance at Jihyo whoâs already looking at you like she knows everything. Like your skin was transparent, and she could see your heart cracking beneath your ribs all over again.Â
âYouâve been joined at the hip all day,â Wooyoungâs grin is feline, like he wasnât done prying for information. âCanât blame our minds for going there, can you?â
You and Mingi donât smile, donât laugh. You canât pretend. Yunho takes a sip of his drink, âTheyâve been together for years, you know weâre close. Itâs weird that your mind would go there.âÂ
Weird. Itâs weird. Heâs not yours at all. You feel like ice under the summer sun, melting too quickly, soon youâll be a puddle darkening the sand beneath you if you donât remove yourself from the situation. You refuse to let any of them see you upset. You hate that a part of you doesnât want them to know if Yunho doesnât want them to know.
You look at Mingi, Iâm going to the bathroom.Â
He nods once, eyes glossy, you wish you could bring him with you. Pushing yourself up with your palms on the table, you swing a leg over the bench and donât look back, donât listen to a single word as you nearly run to the bathroom. Your skin is on fire, thereâs no air conditioning in the small two-stall bathroom with baby blue walls, itâs suffocating.Â
You stand at the sink, throwing cold water on your face, two hands hooked around the white ceramic to force yourself to calm the fuck down. What was last night for? What did you talk about all of that shit for? What did you fuck for? Now you feel fucking stupid for today, for thinking youâd pass a test he was never proctoring. It all felt redundant. Pointless.Â
The door swings open, you donât move. âAre you okay?â
Jihyo, smiling softly, apologetically. Your lips tighten, you refuse to let tears fall. You refuse to repeat what happened last time. You should have expected this.Â
âAll good,â you force a smile. âI think I got too much sun today.â
âDonât bullshit me,â she leans in the middle of the two sinks, shoulder pressed to the wall between the mirrors, one manicured hand on your forearm. âDid he lie?â
You huff amusement, it lacks any semblance of warmth. âYeah, he lied.â
âFucking asshole,â she crosses her arms. âWhatâs with him and commitment? That day I came over, I knew it, I knew what he was there for.â
All you can do is shake your head, âI donât know, Ji.â
âHow long has it been?â
You hum before answering. âA month? Five weeks maybe?â
âDamn,â she shakes her head. âThe way he looks at you⊠I donât understand him. I donât understand the denial.â
You give her another weak smile. âDonât tell the others. Please.â
âI wonât,â she scrunches her lips to one side. âYou still have Mingi, though. And Mingi has you.â
âThank god for that, right?â Your smile is only half-fake now, moving away from the sink, pressing your back against one of the stalls. âAlthough I think heâll be more upset than I am.â
âHe was holding it together out there,â Jihyo shifts to lean her butt against the sink, head tilting. âWhy didnât you tell me the truth from the start?â
You shrug, lips flat. âIt was instinctive, we hadnât talked about it yet. After you left that day he freaked out, we fought, we only worked that situation out last night.â
âHe said youâd tell people?â
You tilt your head, showing your bottom row of teeth, âNot exactly. More so that weâre more comfortable being in a gray area now, our feelings out on the table, working towards something. We werenât expecting anyone to call us on it.â
âTheyâre such assholes for airing out your business,â she pushes herself off the sink, taking two steps toward you to throw her arms over your shoulders, tucking you into a hug. âIâm sorry, you guys will figure it out.â
You let your eyes close, sucking as much comfort as you can from the hug, âI hope so. Thanks, Ji.â
She pulls away to cup your cheeks, âYou know you can talk to me, right? Let me in, I can be a shoulder to cry on.â
You nod, fingers wrapping around her wrists, âI will.â
The rest of dinner was damn near silent. Yunho was in your head with apologies, none you answered, you didnât want to talk to him or hear him out. Mingi answered once or twice, short responses, it was clear the two of you were hurt and needed time to reset your feelings again. You didnât want to argue, or settle your feelings in the bedroom again, youâd done that already. It clearly didnât work. Pictures on the beach were swift, yours and Mingiâs were all fake smiles and silence, watching the live photos in your camera roll made your skin crawl. You donât think you or Mingi said five words between dinner and bedtime, until it was the three of you in your bedroom again.Â
Yunho actually had the audacity to pull down the comforter. You stopped him with your palm splayed flat on the right side of the mattress, voice monotonous and bored, but your eyes shot daggers. âYou can sleep downstairs.â
His brows raised, âAre you serious?â
You settled deeper beneath the comforter, Mingi still throwing on clothes after his shower. You hold his eye, âItâs weird that youâd try sleeping in our bed.â
His hands fall to his sides, all emotion wiped from his face. âI just said that so they would leave us alone.â
âYou could have been honest,â you answer simply. âYou could have laughed it off. You could have said anything other than it being weird, Yunho.âÂ
His face softens, âIt wasnât my intention toââ
âYou donât seem to have any intentions,â you cut him off. âYou can sleep downstairs, like you were planning to last night.â
Lips bending, a slow nod, without another word he turns around, grabs a pillow and a blanket, and leaves your bedroom. Mingi, watching from the dresser, finally crawls into bed after Yunho closes the door behind him.Â
You open your arms, welcoming him into your chest, fingers immediately scratching into his hair, pressing a kiss to his clean scalp that still smelled like seasalt, âYou okay baby?â
âTired,â he mumbles into your chest, voice deep and heavy. "Don't wanna do it anymore. Too confusing.â
âYou wanna be done?â You pause, fingers stalling in his hair. He looks up at you, his eyes big and round, sad. You frown, one hand sliding down to graze his cheek. âWe can be done.â
âI donât want to,â his voice is so small, just barely above a whisper. âBut I think itâs obvious weâll end up being his secret forever. I donât want to be a secret, I want him to be proud.â
âMe too,â you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. âIâm proud youâre my boyfriend, yâknow.â
He smiles, âAnd Iâm proud youâre my girlfriend.â
âThatâs all we need,â you kiss him again, parting your lips for him, sinking farther down the mattress until he can roll on top of you, elbows bracketing your head. Throwing your arms around his neck, your legs over his thighs, you break the kiss to say, âI love you.â
âI love you, too,â he smiles into the kiss, body pressing into yours, and itâs the easy reminder that youâll always have him, no matter what, that eases weight off your chest.Â
Itâs easy to pretend everything is okay when you lean into the reminder that Mingi will be by your side forever. Itâs stuck with you since seven in the morning, when San abruptly woke up the house cracking a wooden spoon against a pot, screaming activities day over and over. He popped into your room with a wide grin, asked where Yunho was, and left your room as confused as he entered it.
Jet skiing, mini-golf, a barbecue, ending the night at RĂȘve, a reputable bar in town. San insisted that your last day should be filled with the best things Haos has to offer. Of course he left out the part that jet skiing was at the yacht club he was a member of, and that he owned shares at RĂȘve, making him part-owner; never humble until he was supposed to be, you wished he told you to be on your best behavior today.Â
Not that your group would ever be on their best behavior. Wooyoung was already drinking by the time you went downstairs for breakfast, he made mimosas for everyone, you had two. The first you chugged after Yunho went upstairs immediately after you entered the kitchen, the second you chugged when he came back downstairs, shirtless, swim trunks painted onto his thighs. If you were going to be forced into activities with him all day, you should make it easier for yourself.
White buildings with terracotta roofing, there were too many buildings to count, a winding paved asphalt driveway up to the front where men in suits stood under a white awning, one approaching as San put his Bronco in park parallel to the main doors. It had valet.Â
The yacht club was beautiful, massive, every nook and cranny of the main building screamed prestigious. All patrons you encountered were dressed up, some in sports wear for the golf course you could only assume is somewhere on the grounds, in long summer dresses or business-style suits, everyone seemed important. Everyone looked proper. Part of you felt out of place, with your group half-dressed in bathing suits and cover-ups like you were headed to the beach, but it didnât last long when you got outside to where everything was docked.
Your mouth didnât close once from the time you walked inside the heavy red doors all the way out to where he kept his jet skis docked, next to his boat, The Kai. Not a far walk, you realized, you assumed meant he was also a very important person here, too, the size of his boat only aided in the confirmation.Â
He owned four jet skis, which meant four couples could ride at a time, leaving two couples and a Yunho out. Luckily he had a cooler fully stocked on his boat, one he and Jongin brought out to the dock while the first wave of people went out on the water. On the dock were Mingi, Jihyo, Jongho, and Yunhoâ of course, naturally. You sipped on a seltzer, sitting between Mingi and Jihyo, your feet dangling over the side, one arm behind you holding you up.Â
Yunho sat on the other side of Jongho at the end and as much as you were grateful after you and Mingi threw in your white towels last night, it hurt that he wasnât even trying. He didnât even look at you, not once today, you think. At least when you got out on the water you and Mingi were smiling and laughing, he let you drive the jet ski, which he quickly regretted when he realized the watercraft turned you into an adrenaline junkie.Â
Mini-golf was ten minutes from the yacht club, half of your group in Sanâs Bronco, the other half in Jonginâs Jeep. A standalone establishment that had a small course on the outside, an ice cream shop on the inside, and a small kitchen for bar-type food. The alcoholic bar itself was small, connected to the kitchen-half of the indoor space, but it didnât stop your friend group from ordering a round of shots, cocktails, and beers for all. Even better, the tab at the bar plus admission for minigolf was all paid for by San. His treat, he said, and who were you to argue after seeing The Kai?
There were too many of you for one singular game, but the consensus amongst the group was that you wanted to play together. So instead of splitting your group in half to play two separate games, you played in pairs, and once again you and Mingi were thrown into a triplet, this one you didnât agree to so easily. One shot down and a cocktail in your palm, no one could feel the tension between the three of you, the energy should be light at mini-golf. You mentally decide youâll be civil. Maybe youâll even try being friends.Â
Mingi and Yunho both had beers in their hands, neither jumping for joy at the blue club you chose, it wasnât the longest, and the two men you shared with were a hell of a lot taller than you. You stifled a laugh as Mingi uncomfortably hunched over the club as he lined up his feet, awkwardly swinging the club to hit the blue ball.Â
âThis game is fucked,â he stands up straight when the ball bounces off the back wall, missing the hole completely. The first hole is the easiest.Â
You snort a laugh where you stand, watching his face morph into frustration, his brows knitting and lips parting like he couldnât believe he missed. âYouâll get it next time,â you encourage, taking a sip of your cocktail.Â
Hongjoong goes up next, he makes it in with one swing. Tzuyu goes next, she makes it in with one swing. Sana next, she makes it in with one swing.Â
âThis is fucking rigged,â Mingi curses, taking another sip from his beer. Yunho laughs under his breath as your arm comes up to rub his back encouragingly.Â
âDonât worry,â you coo. âYunho and I will win for you.â
âI can play golf,â Mingi argues defensively. âThe club is just short. Yunho wonât be able to do it, either.â
Jongho goes next, he makes it in with one swing. Mingiâs brows raise like heâs seconds away from losing his shit. Jongin next, he makes it in with one swing. Mingiâs fuck is loud enough for the children at hole thirteen to hear.Â
âDonât get us kicked out of minigolf, Min,â Wooyoung is still laughing, a hand clutching his belly. âWe know youâre competitive, itâs just a kidâs game.â
âI know itâs a kidâs game,â Mingi bites, all in one breath, barely looking at the younger man as he says it. Your face is full of amusement when Wooyoung turns to you, brows raised in surprise.Â
âDonât ask me,â you shake your head. âIâm not his keeper. When it comes to games, heâs on his own.â
Itâs your turn again, the blue ball alone on the green. Youâve played enough minigolf in your life for this to be muscle memoryâ childhood games at arcades, random birthday parties from school friends over the years. But itâs been a long, long time since you were a kid, too long since youâve come close to a minigolf course. Your first swing, just a foot away from the hole, you miss. The group laughs and you roll your eyes, waving a hand, âIâm just warming up!â
âOh, Iâm sure!â Sanaâs voice is dripping with sarcasm and your lips tighten. Feeling hotter now, you line up your feet, the club with the ball, and swing.Â
You fucking miss.
âJesus fucking Christ,â you huff. âSomeone hand me my drink, I need to be drunker if Iâm gonna suck.â
Yunhoâs laughing as he hands you your cocktail and you suck down half of it before lining your feet up all over again. You hit the ball this time, but itâs fueled by your rage, it bounces off the brick siding and onto the green of hole four right next door to hole one. You straighten, hand covering your mouth, eyes widening as your ball hits someone elseâs ball that was currently playing hole four.Â
âIâm sorry!â You call as the young kid, definitely not a day over the age of eight, throws the baby blue ball back onto the faded putting green. Itâs as if it was in slow motion, how he threw the ball in a perfect arc for it to land flawlessly in the hole without as much as a singular bounce. You whip around to your friend group, eyes wide, âDoes that count? Can that count? Jongin, count it.â
Your friend group sounds like a clan of hyenas, loud cackles, obnoxious laughter breaking out across twelve people because of how ridiculous that unfolded.Â
âAre all three of you competitive?â Seonghwa asks, genuine, voice light and kind.Â
You shrug as you walk off the green, âIâve never really played sports, I donât know.â Skipping over to Jongin who was keeping score, you brush up close to his sculpted arm, tone candy sweet, âSo? Are we counting it or what?â
He makes a shh motion, one finger raised, smiling behind the purse of his lips. Your hand forms into a fist and you tuck it into your body with success, âYes, hole in two, baby.â
Mingi and Yunho are snickering when you return to them, but itâs Yunho who mocks you, âNot competitive, my ass.â
âHey,â you point a finger at him. âYou canât make fun of me, Iâm pissed at you. I said I was gonna make up for Mingiâs shit swing.â
âYours was even worse!â Mingiâs voice is high-pitched, still defensive. Youâre all giggles when you lean into him, pressing a hand to his cheek to pull him down for a kiss. Beer and home, he tastes like half of you.Â
You feel Yunhoâs eyes, but you donât stop, you donât do anything to make him think itâs for him. Even if thereâs the evil part of you that hopes he wants to rip his skin off his body, that heâs so enraged he sees red, you hope he doesnât act on it. You hope he doesnât act on anything ever again.
At hole two, Yunho surprises you both with how efficiently he makes the ball into the hole with only one swing, yours and Mingiâs jaws falling to the concrete. Yunho exudes everything smug on his return.
Smirk on his lips, rolling his shoulders, he says, âWhat? Like itâs hard?â
Your laugh is verbal disbelief, Mingi immediately quips, âDo not quote Legally Blonde right now.â
Yunhoâs giggle is proud, his grin wide, his shoulders doing a little shake in celebration. So fucking cute you could rip out all your hair, you dig your head into Mingiâs chest to smell him, to rid yourself of feelings towards Yunho. Your forehead meets your boyfriendâs skin with a groan, âI need another drink.â
The third hole goes by quickly, efficiently, Mingi excited he got a hole in one, deservedly so. At hole four, youâre up again after a cocktail and a half, at least youâre at the starting line this time. You stare at the blue ball sitting on the green, eyes squinted, whispering, âDo not embarrass me. Okay?âÂ
âAre you talking to the ball?â San asks, humor laced in his tone. âI donât think itâs gonna answer, girl.â
âIâm giving it a pep talk!â You snap your head to respond and then stare at the ball once more. You line up your feet, then the club with the ball, and swing.Â
Your fuck is louder than Mingiâs was when you miss. You wave apologetically to the family of four that shoots daggers at you from across the course.Â
âI canât watch this,â Yeosang shakes his head as he approaches you. âYou're legitimately killing me.â
Your face heats with embarrassment as he stalks up to you, determination in the crease of his brow. You pull all your hair to one side as he stands behind you, arms wrapping around you, hands dwarfing yours over the handle of the club. âHold like this,â he explains, then kicks one foot between yours, spreading your legs farther, your knees bending. âStand like that.â
Yunho, tensing beside Mingi, snaps his head to the side to get Mingiâs attention. âHello?â
Mingiâs brows furrow when Yunhoâs shoulder bumps him, his feet staggering. âWhat?â
âLook,â Yunho says, like itâs absurd Mingi just asked what. He can see the flex of Yeosangâs arms as he stretches them over your shoulders, the veins swimming along his forearms while his hands clasp over yours. It makes his jaw tick, his heartbeat quickenâ youâre not Yeosangâs to touch.Â
âHeâs showing her how to play,â Mingi says casually, taking another sip of his beer, leaning towards Yunho like he was watching a sitcom instead of his girlfriend getting felt up by another man.Â
Yunhoâs head tilts, dumbfounded and semi-enraged that Mingi doesnât feel a shred of the possession he does, his voice a harsh whisper, âYeosang has had a thing for her since⊠since forever.â
âHave you lost your mind?â Mingiâs brows raise as he turns to his best friend, a disbelieving chuckle falling from his lips. âNo he hasnât. Tzuyu is right there.â
Yeosang kicks your feet apart and Yunhoâs body jerks at the action. His foot inches forward, fingers grasping his beer a little harder like he was ready to pounce. Instead, he grits his teeth, âHave you ever watched Yeosang interact with her? Like ever? Heâs basically told you to your face he thinks sheâs sexy.â
âShe is sexy,â Mingi shrugs, rolling his neck nonchalantly. âIf Iâm not pissed off then you shouldnât be either. Sheâs not yours, sheâs mine.â
Yunhoâs neck snaps, meeting Mingiâs dead-serious stare. Stunned into silence, he shuts his mouth, drinks his beer, and lets it be. Just when Yunho thought they were getting somewhere, that maybe you wouldnât be awkward all day, heâs surprised that Mingiâs the one who put him in his place. Itâs worse when you return smiling, overflowing with excitement, asking Mingi if he saw your hole-in-one three times before throwing your arms around his neck and kissing him. He feels sick, palms sweating, you werenât doing this to get a rise out of him, you were leaning on each other because he was the one who fucked up. Again.Â
The rest of mini-golf goes by in a blur. He doesnât speak much, he doesnât have anything to say, his mind is on a roll, trying to come up with any sort of plan to fix this. He needs to get you two alone, he needs to apologize, he needs to say something to get the two of you to stop looking at him like you donât care about him because that in itself is so fucking terrifying he can feel his goddamn throat close another inch every time he notices.Â
The drive home is quiet, wind in Yunhoâs ears, he canât even hear the soft music playing through the speakers, he didnât care to. Out of the corner of his eye he watches you sink into Mingi in Sanâs backseat with the sun laying over your lap like a blanket, your eyes closed beneath your sunglasses like you didnât have a care in the world. Like nothing was bothering you at all.Â
Heâs never let himself learn just how terrifying it could be to love someone who didnât want him. Two people who didnât fucking want him.Â
âWhoâs ready to BBQ?â Wooyoung shouts from the passenger seat of Jonginâs Jeep, emphasizing the acronym, basically hanging halfway over the door while grinning wide enough to showcase each and every one of his bone-colored teeth. Youâd just pulled into Sanâs driveway, finally back at home to barbecue, to fill your stomachs with a good, hearty meal before you were back on the streets for Haosâ nightlife.Â
Everyone piled out of the cars quickly, heading inside just for the men to immediately split off into the kitchen to start prepping the grill. You watch as they gather around the kitchen island, shouting orders and ideas about cooking of all things until Tzuyu bumps your hip with her own at the base of the staircase, stealing your attention.
Pulling her hair tie from her bun, she lets it fall behind her in loose waves, scratching her fingers through her roots, âI guess the man-grill thing is genetic. Or built-in, like a default setting.âÂ
âThereâs nine of them,â you whisper. âHow many does it take to man a grill?âÂ
âNope, Iâm out!â Hongjoong raises both his palms beside his head in defeat while he retreats from the kitchen. âYouâre all insane, Iâm showering and napping. Call me when dinnerâs ready.â
âEight,â you correct yourself, a grin growing on your cheeks, and Tzuyu laughs from beside you.Â
Jihyo, her bag over her shoulder, enters the living room with Sana at her side, the two approaching you and Tzuyu with grins on their faces. Sana does a little shake of her hips, grin reading excitement, âWhoâs ready to fuck up the club?â
âItâs a bar, I think,â Jihyo laughs, âbut itâll be nice for us all to go out and let loose.â
âWeâve done nothing but let loose all weekend,â Tzuyu furrows her brows.
âNo.â you shake your head once. âWe have not.â
âI brought face masks,â Sanaâs fingertips dance together mischievously. âWe should pre-game getting ready while they grill and shit.â
Out on the deck, Mingi stood over the grill in front of the railing, a pair of tongs in his hand while he flipped pieces of meat and seafood on the black, steel grates. The speaker inside played music through the screen door, everyone mindlessly humming and singing along while they set the table, chatter and laughter flowing through the chilly summer breeze that ruffled his hair.Â
So many years these guys have been his friends, so many years Yunho has been his friend, he canât believe itâs all gone to complete shit. This was his worst fear coming true, the lingering fear when all of this began, that heâd cross a line and lose Yunho. Yeah, theyâd all still be friends, but his friendship with Yunho has always been different. Deeper. He canât believe heâs losing it, right in front of his eyes.
He felt alive again that first night in Haos, back to normalcy, you three felt closer than before, just for it to be ruined all over again the next day. Each and every time he met Yunhoâs eye today, he hated that those three words still sat in the hinge of his jaw, the back of his throat, begging to be spoken. He could tell it was the same for you, where your eyelids sat over your glazed pupils, a certain twinkle to them as you stared up at Yunho even if you tried to hide it. He knows what the words look like forming on your lips, how you tighten your smile to stop them from spilling out, he knows you like the back of his hand.Â
He canât believe you both love him and you canât have him.Â
âAlmost done?â Mingiâs head snapped up to Yunho on his right side, his head peeking over Mingiâs shoulder, the heat of Yunho hotter than the grill. Speak of the devil.
Mingi nods, eyes sliding over his face. Big, brown eyes with clean cut brows giving them structure, cheekbones high and sculpted, lips a pretty, pale pink heart. He wishes there was no one else on the deck, he wants nothing more than to lean forward and press his lips to Yunhoâs, he hates that his feelings still linger.
Yunhoâs head tilts when Mingi lacks a response, amused by Mingiâs eyes locked in on his lips. âWhatâcha thinking about?âÂ
âNothing,â Mingi mumbles, bringing his eyes back to the grill.Â
Yunho sighs, âMingiââ
âDonât,â Mingi keeps his eyes locked on the burning fire beneath the grates. âI donât want to hear it, itâs all bullshit.â
It feels like a blow to Yunhoâs ribs. âNone of what I want to say is bullshit, Mingi. You know me.â
âI thought I knew you,â Mingi mutters, purposely keeping his voice low. âI thought I knew how you felt about us, I thought we were getting somewhere, that even though youâre scared, you wouldnât pretend you didnât feel anything.â
Yunho frowns, his head dropping. âIâm sorry, I didnât mean to hurt you, Min.â
âBut you did,â Mingi meets his eye. âAnd you knew you did in the moment. But you didnât go back on what you said, you didnât change your answer. You let me sit there looking stupid because Iââ
Mingi cuts himself off and Yunhoâs brows furrow for a second, âBecause you what?â
âNothing, it doesnât matter.â
âIt matters,â Yunho urges. âEverything you say matters.â
âNot to you,â Mingi turns sideways, his jaw locked, his brows flat. âDonât apologize, donât say whatever pretty words you think are gonna make it better. It was embarrassing, Yunho, sitting there while everyone laughed at the idea of us being together because you said it was weird.â
Yunhoâs fingers rub at his eyes, exasperated, âIâm sorry, I didnât mean to say it, it was word vomit, I got scaredââ
âYunho,â Mingiâs voice is so clear, so even Yunho stands a little straighter. âI know how you feel already. Youâre twenty-eight years old, youâre old enough to know words have meaning. You know how we feel about you. Weâre done here.â
Yunhoâs throat is so tight he doesnât think he could take a breath even if he tried. Thereâs no oxygen in the air, nothing to feed his lungs, Mingiâs words feel so concrete all he can do is turn around and walk away. Inside, toward the bathroom, heâs walking without vision, without a brain, he locks the door behind him and finally heaves a strained, verbal breath.Â
Weâre done here.
Youâre done with him. Mingiâs done with him. His back presses against the door, facing the ceiling, willing his tears to stay below the surface. Heâs right. Heâs grown enough to know that his fear is childish, that itâs time to settle down, he shouldnât be afraid of what his friends think, what anyone thinks. He shouldnât be afraid of commitment with you, he knows you wonât hurt him in his soul, he knows how you feel about him. He feels the same way toward you, if not deeper, he feels so fucking much toward you that it terrifies him.Â
Heâs running out of time to get over it.
If this was a month ago heâd be seeing this situation as an out, heâd be thinking that this was for the best, but now his heart feels shriveled down to a husk in his chest. Hollow, like the best parts of him were gone, missing the people who made him feel whole, gave him purpose outside of sex. Outside of the role he gave himself.Â
When he goes back out onto the deck, the sunâs at its last moments of visibility over the horizon, the girls had made it back down, too. You sat next to Mingi at the corner, Jihyo and Jongho across from you, Tzuyu and Yeosang beside you. Yunho sits beside Hongjoong whoâs next to Seonghwa, and the couple look at him with sad eyes.Â
Seonghwa leans across Hongjoong, his voice low. âWhatâd you do?â
Yunho sighs, lips flattening. He doesnât question how Seonghwa read the situation. âYou saw what I did. At dinner yesterday.â
Hongjoong makes a face, one that says youâre fucked. âThat was a tough watch.â
âI know,â Yunho answers, tone flat. âI donât know what to do.â
âI donât think weâre able to give you advice, this is out of our area of expertise,â Seonghwa looks apologetic, voice soft as he leans across Hongjoong to lay his palm flat over Yunhoâs hand, encouraging. âYouâll figure it out if you love them as much as they love you.â
Yunho stares at him for a second and for the first time in thirty minutes he canât actively hear his own heartbeat. He gives Seonghwa a soft, grateful smile, pulling his hands back in his lap, thinking.Â
Youâll figure it out if you love them as much as they love you.Â
He lets his eyes graze over the meal, a feast is what it was, far too much food for thirteen people to consume and feel good after digesting, but no one seemed to care. Music flowed from inside, loud yet calming, a backtrack to conversation, banter, laughter, not anything Yunho could hear over the sound of his pounding heart.Â
San made a toast to the last night in Haos, a small speech of how happy he was to maintain the friendships that were vital to him. Appreciation for all of you, gratitude for years of friendship, relationships he wouldnât trade for the world, he even choked up talking about how close he holds everyone to his heart. Not often does he get emotional, but the way the table stood, clapped, clinked their glasses and took turns squeezing him tight, maybe heâll be more inclined.Â
Maybe the three of you werenât the only ones who are having an emotional weekend.Â
By the time dinner was over, all thirteen of you stuffed full, the impending night out seemed more like a chore than anything. Yunhoâs stretched out on the couch half-asleep until he hears Wooyoung complain to San that the girls were getting ready in his room, perking his ears enough for him to wake the hell up and trudge up two flights of steps to his room, your room, to see Mingi passed out in the bed.Â
A white tee, briefs on his legs, he lays on his side, both hands pressed together beneath one cheek, lips parted as he snores softly. Yunho smiles to himself, staring from the doorway, leaned up against the wooden frame, he looks so peaceful. So pretty, Yunho wanted so badly to crawl onto the bed and press a kiss to his lips, he knows better. Instead he creeps across the hardwood, gathering his things for a shower and leaves.Â
The hot water gives him clarity. Maybe itâd be easier to confess tonight with a little liquid confidence, itâd give him an easier flow, he could say everything he needs to say without the stupid fucking wall thatâs embedded in him biting his tongue. He loves you, he loves you both so much he feels incomplete, the world feels tilted off its axis without you two by his side. One week without you was hell, one day watching you with each other was like living in purgatory, the in-between, where he can look but canât touch, he thinks that might be worse.Â
Mingiâs still asleep while he starts getting ready, he only wakes up when Yunhoâs buttoning up his shirt. He sits up slowly, wiping at his eyes, âWhat time is it?â
âAfter nine, I think,â Yunho responds, staring at Mingi through the mirror. His hair looks untouched, eyes half-lidded, he licks his lips three times just to get moisture in his mouth again. Yunho canât fight his smile.Â
âFuck,â Mingiâs top lip lifts. âYouâre dressing up?â
Yunho grins, âIâm only in a button-up and pants.â
âYeah, but theyâre your good pants,â Mingi argues, âthe ones that make your ass look good.â His eyes widen after he says it, like his own words woke him up the rest of the way, but he doesnât correct himself.Â
Yunho looks over his shoulder like heâll be able to see his own ass. âYou think my ass looks good in these?â
Mingi stretches, a verbal noise of tightness leaving his chest as his arms go over his head, his shirt lifting at the hem, Yunhoâs eyes snap to the exposed bit of skin like a moth to a flame. Mingi lays flat on the bed, arms straight out beside him, legs spread. âYou know it does, donât play coy.â
Yunho laughs a little as he buttons the last one, leaving the top three undone, one silver cross pendant sitting on his chest. He turns slowly, hands planted on the dresser behind him, taking a breath to build confidence since there was zero liquor swimming in his blood, âI regret what I said at dinner yesterday.â
Mingi sits up on his elbows, sleep still evident in his glossy eyes, his tone remains flat, knowing. âDo you?â
Yunho nods, lips scrunching to one side. âI donât like how we are right now.â
Mingi sits up all the way, âI donât like it either.â
Yunhoâs voice is breathy, a little shaky as he asks, âCan I fix it?â
âLast time we were fixing things it took one day for it to get fucked up again,â Mingi lifts himself off the bed, running a hand through his hair. He stops right before Yunho, facing him, âYouâre the only one who needs to figure your shit out, Yunho.â
Yunho watches as Mingi heads for the door, calling behind him. âWhat if I figured it out already?â
Mingi holds his stare from the door. âThen what are you waiting for?â
Stuck in time, Yunho stares, his tongue caught between his teeth, his heart in his throat. Mingi laughs a little, disappointment clear as he shakes his head. Before heading to the bathroom, he mutters, âThought so.â
Yunho curses under his breath when he hears the bathroom door close, the shower turning on. He doesnât wait around for Mingiâs return, he goes back downstairs, most of the guys already showered, dressed, ready to go. He opens a beer with the same tightness in his jaw, frustrated that Mingi just gave him an opportunity to speak and he couldnât do it. He couldnât say a word.Â
Thereâs music playing from the TV in the living room, something pop from a decade ago, he doesnât have it in him to listen, or to the conversation happening around the kitchen island. San, Jongin, Wooyoung, Jongho, itâs all muted mumbling in his ringing ears, he feels pathetic.Â
Itâs worse when Mingi comes downstairs and doesnât even look at him. He joins the conversation seamlessly, the laughter grows, theyâre talking louder than the music, it makes Yunho feel not only on the outside of his relationship, but on the outside of everything. Isolated because he canât speak up, he canât say how he feels, heâs trapped within his own mind, trapped beneath his feelings. He cracks another beer.Â
He doesnât think it can get any worse until you walk down the stairs. On the couch now, he gets a front-row view of the black dress painted onto your body, tied around your neck, stiletto heels with straps that twist up your calves like vines. Mingi meets you at the base, picking you up off the bottom stair with one arm hooked around your body, lips pressed to yours, when he sets you down carefully he says something in your ear that makes your head fall back with laughter.Â
Emotion feels like bile rising in his throat. Heâs jealous, but itâs different now; what was once frustrating was now driving, the words sit heavy on his tongue. You two look like youâre matching, dark clothes, hair styled, jewelry silver and offsetting one another, he looks down at his outfit and itâs almost like fate that heâs matching, too.
He looks back up to meet your eye across the room, what was supposed to be a glance lingers.
Yunho gives you the smallest of smiles, You look beautiful.Â
Your chin tilts upwards ever so slightly, I know, Mingi just told me.
Ouch. He leans into the backrest, I canât tell you, too?
The corner of your lips tug upward. Thanks.Â
He watches as Mingiâs hand slithers around your waist. I need to talk to you.Â
You sink into Mingiâs hold, your back pressed against his chest, What if I donât want to hear it?
Yunhoâs jaw clenches. You do.Â
Sana shrieks from the staircase as soon as she sees Mingiâs lips pressed to the skin below your ear, âDo not fuck in that dress, I just bought it!â
You pull your attention away from him and he feels like grieving. You donât give it to him again until youâve had tequila poured into your mouth from the bottle, all thirteen of you in the kitchen fully dressed, pouring liquor like itâs water and calling it a pre-game. Outside, splitting two Escalades, rides San ordered for your group to take to RĂȘve across town, Yunho opted to sit in the back with you and Mingi, you scowled as soon as it left his lips. He smiles, because at least you care enough to frown.
San was immediately greeted upon approaching the upscale bar, stepping out of the Escalade to be met with two men wearing suits like it was regular, casual. Inside it was red everything, from leather booths to velvet barstools to the curtain that hung closed upon the stage; walls full of vintage framed photography, the architecture a brown so deep it appeared burgundy, dimly lit shaded lamps on tables, some traded for candles, the bar was drenched in an amber hue. It was definitely moody, a brand created off of atmosphere, it felt cozy as much as it felt expensive.
It was calmly crowded, plenty of people filling up the tables in the center of the room, a crowd before the stage that had waiters with trays between them. You spotted martini glasses, short glasses of whiskey poured neat, women in daring dresses and doused in jewels, men in suits who blew clouds of swirling smoke in the air from their cigars. All thirteen of you looked appropriate, expensiveâ but not old money expensive like some of the patrons you observed. You wondered about the history of Haos, about San, how deep his pockets really ran.Â
You couldnât wonder for long, though, with how the group was directed past the stage to a steel door at the back of the building that seemed⊠insignificant. Like itâd bring you outside or to a storage room, not to a long, dark hallway that hummed louder and louder with each step he took.Â
Bass thumped beneath your shoes, the group quietly following the man in black like this was normal, no one questioned anything only because San followed with confidence, chest puffed out, shoulders back. Surprise wasnât the word for what was behind the twin steel door at the end of the hallway, it opened to flashes of blue and purple, music so loud it made you jump where you stood.Â
Women on platforms half-dressed, swaying their hips to the beat of the song, bottle girls with buckets of ice and handles of liquor atop their heads parting through the crowd like it was the Red Sea, patrons in clothing that matched yours exactly. The room was filled with people in your age group dancing to the music at the center of the backdoor club, the walls filled with enclosed sections you assumed were VIP, all by velvet roped attached to silver poles.
âSo? Are you guys surprised?â San asks from the head of the group, his smirk turned to a wide, excited grin, which everyone replied with a monotonous, confused yes. San laughed, leaning into Jongin, âWe wanted to surprise you, you guys looked so confused at the front, like we were gonna smoke cigars and watch Cabaret.â
âI wouldnât have minded,â Jongho shrugs, and most of the group nod their agreement, including you. You didnât care where you ended up tonight as long as there was liquor for you to guzzle.
âThis is better, no?â San raises his brows as he begins walking you toward the back wall, what you assume was your VIP section. âMusic we know, people our age, itâs been a long time since weâve all gone clubbing together.â
Tzuyu, in a red dress painted on her body, adds, âBecause all the clubs at home suck.â
âNot the ones here,â San quips like he was waiting for that reply, entering the section backlit by blue lights cool enough to be white. âThey love me here.â
âYou own it,â Mingi snorts, âthey have to love you.â
âI partially own it,â San raises a finger as he steps into the open booth, the table at the center already full of ice and champagne. âThereâs a difference.â
Jongin starts pouring champagne into flutes, âShould we make another toast?â
âWe donât need to get all teary-eyed again,â Sana smiles, softly instead of the nasty smirk she usually wore with her rebuttals. This was appreciation. âWe have our makeup done, Sannie made us emotional enough back at the house.â
âItâs not every day that you get to tell your friends how much you love them,â San holds the flute between his fingers, brows wiggling.Â
Yeosang laughs, âIt could be, you just choose not to.â
You can feel the music in your blood, the dance floor calling to you, excitement in the bounce of your knee. You only spend fifteen minutes in your section, finishing a singular cocktail before Tzuyuâs pulling you out to the dance floor, after getting ready together in Sanaâs room it was like all four of you had taken a breath of fresh air.
The dance floor was already swarming with sweaty bodies loosened up by liquor. Yours not quite there yet, youâre in a fit of giggles as the girls twirl you into the crowd, you stay on the outside of Jihyo and Sana who fall into rhythm, backs pressed to one another as they sway their hips, laughing as they twist around. You and Tzuyu are watching, smiling, giggling until the two pull you into their circle, forcing your hips into the same rhythm as theirs.Â
âIâm out of practice!â You yell over the music, and both Sana and Jihyo shake their heads, like they wouldnât accept the excuse.Â
Jihyo slaps a hand on your shoulder, âYou fuck, you know how to use your hips!â
Head tipping back with another laugh, you let her pull you into her, your hips so close they might as well be touching. You follow her rhythm, using a fuck-worthy roll of your hips as you do, bottom lip caught between your teeth while you focus.Â
âYouâre thinking too much,â Sanaâs behind you, hands on your hips. âYou need another drink, damn.â
Your lips tighten in a line as you look up at Jihyo again, embarrassed. She laughs in response, âShe means youâll feel looser with a little liquor in you.â
Sana stops the bottle girl holding a tray of shots, her screech for help loud as she tries to balance four between her fingers, the three of you snatch them from her hands like candy. Shooting it back in one swallow, you push a breath through your lips like itâd rid the sting from your throat, your face scrunching up at the taste. Vodkaâ bitter, painful.Â
But it helps, itâs not long until your arms lay over Jihyoâs shoulders, your back pressed to Sanaâs as she moves to the same rhythm as you, Tzuyu swaying her body in front of Sana. You can feel the music in your blood now, your body thumping with the bass, bones turning fluid with each shake of your hips. Youâre unable to feel the warmth spreading through your skin, your senses already overwhelmed by the atmosphere, youâre too busy watching Jihyoâs half-clothed body grinding herself against you.
Eventually Tzuyu heads to the bar for more drinks, handing you another shot before a glass full of something and tequila, you donât realize how quickly youâre sipping it while Tzuyu is bent over in front of you, her ass pressed to your crotch. You can hear your obnoxious laughter over the music when Sana lands a few smacks to her ass, Jihyo pulling out her phone to record it, the four of you erupting in a fit of drunken giggles and snorts, bodies light, brains somewhere else entirely, not once did you remember thereâs an entire club of people around you. Â
Itâs been so long. House parties, clubs, bars, your friend group used to be outside on a weekly basis, you missed it. You missed them, dancing with them, completely carefree, like youâre twenty-three again. It was nostalgic in a visceral way, like maybe you were twenty-three again, sharing platonic kisses with your friends on the dance floor, waiting for your boyfriend to come scoop you up and fuck you in the bathroom because neither of you could wait.
You donât realize youâre drunk until Mingi joins you on the dance floor. When you see his face, structured and beautiful, strands of hair hanging over his glossy eyes, a smile on his plump lips, you feel the rush of warmth from your chest to your toes. His pants cling to his legs like theyâre tailored to him, strong thighs filling out the fabric, his unbuttoned shirt is showing enough skin for you to lick down his chest. You want to, the urge sitting at the forefront of your mind, you lick your lips as he approaches.Â
âI was wondering where you went,â Mingiâs loud over the music, you could get drunk off the rasp to his voice alone. You throw your hands over his shoulders, swaying your hips to a rhythm he meets you at immediately, his hands on your waist.Â
âIâve been here,â you tilt your head, dazed. âWe were dancing, the girls are so funny.â
Mingi snorts, âYouâre drunk.â
âNooo,â you shake your head, the word exaggerated, playful. âJust tipsy. Did I tell you how handsome you look?â Mingi looks amused, brows raising, you donât wait for his answer. âYou look sofuckingsexy.â His belly laugh makes your smile grow. âIâm serious, Min. I want you, like now.â
He leans in to attach your lips, a quick peck, he fights your strength to keep him close. âNow? Like were twenty-three again? Donât wanna wait until we get home so I can fuck you in our bed?â
A small noise slips through your lips at the thought. âToo far away, we just got here.â
âWe got here over an hour ago,â his hands curl around your waist, gripping you harder. âYouâve been out here the whole time, baby.â
It feels like youâve been dancing for ten minutes. âWhatever,â you whine, pressing your front against his. âKiss me already.â
He obliges, smiling before he presses his lips to yours, hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling your body flush to his. You gasp into his lips, he tastes like whiskey, bitter but sweet, addicting. Your fingers find his hair as his tongue parts your lips, tasting you, groaning into you, your hands fall from his neck to feel him.Â
âBaby,â he says with caution, you swallow the warning, tilting your head to kiss him harder. He squeezes your hips as your hands fall from his hair to his chest, palms splayed over his pecs down to his abdomen, tongue dancing with his.Â
âI just wanna kiss,â you mumble into his mouth, hands fisting the fabric of his shirt as you take his bottom lip between your teeth, biting softly. He groans, chasing your lips again, his hips pressing into you, heâs so easy it makes your core clench.Â
He parts your legs with one of his own, pressing into you, making you gasp a sound too lewd for where you are. Entirely bare beneath your dress, the pressure combined with the texture of his pants makes a breathy moan fall past your lips, one he drinks up with his own. Your fingers curl into his shirt tighter, hips bucking into him, one of his hands sliding up to the side of your neck.
âCan feel her on me,â his voice is deeper, almost a growl as he says the words into your mouth. âKnew you werenât wearing panties.â
One of your heeled feet leaves the floor to grind against him at a better angle, head falling forward until your forehead lands against his, âShit, feels good.â
He reaches behind you, fingers finding the hem of your dress, holding it taut over your ass. You moan again as your core drags over his thigh, forehead falling to his shoulder, the rest of the club melting away. He curses under his breath, âBaby, hold on, you gottaââ
You whimper into his shirt, eyes screwing shut, tequila and Mingi was a cocktail for impulsivity. Him, the smell of him in your nose, his body pressed to yours, he made you so fucking cockdrunk without even giving you an inch, without even touching you. The pleasureâs overwhelming, you needed more, pressure building steadily, you didnât care where you were, who saw.Â
Yunho canât believe what heâs seeing. Curiosity getting the better of him, he should have known not to follow Mingi out to the dance floor to find you. But he was growing antsy at the table, listening to the bullshit conversation everyone was having when all he wanted to do was kiss Mingi across the table. Sitting back against the couch with his knees spread, beer in his hand, lips wet and pink and plump, Yunho was stirring in impatience. Heâs hungry, he wants to touch him, to kiss him, wants him on his knees between his legs, he wants to tell him how much he loves him with his lips wrapped around his cock. He stared with his chin in his palm, elbow pressed to his knee, his foot tapping against the floor, the liquor made him restless.
At least he waited a few seconds before following Mingi, just to find the two of you at the center of the dance floor, surrounded by bodies and eyes while you grinded your hips against his fucking thigh like you were the only people out here. Mingiâs holding your dress over your ass, your hands in his shirt, leg hooked around his body, he stared until he understood the rhythm you were moving at, watching how you twitched like you were about to fucking cum.
He was seeing red. In his mind you were both still his, and you were letting all of these random fucking people see you like this? Seeing whatâs his? He was moving before he could think about it, pressing himself up against your back, hands on your waist to shield you from everyone who could be watching. His voice comes out rough, harsh, âDonât you fucking dare.â
Your hips still like your blood was still victim to his command. Head tilting backward, you stare at him through wet lashes, lips parting, his name leaves your mouth in a soft gasp. Eyes hazy, glossed over, fuck, all his rage dissipates into the humidity of the club, just from one look at you. Disheveled, you didnât have a frown on your face, your brows werenât tied together, so fucking beautiful flushed with arousal he can feel it in his chest.Â
He looks at Mingi whoâs equally as fucked out, cheeks red, eyes glossed over, he stares at Yunho like he wants to devour him, just like Yunho was staring at him in their section. His cock twitches in his pants, his heart twists, itâs been one fucking day and he misses you like he hasnât had you in months.
He canât take it anymore. He canât do this anymore.Â
He isnât thinking when he leans forward, sandwiching you between himself and Mingi as his fingers grab his cheeks, thereâs no patience in the way Yunho kisses him, no softness, itâs all hunger and relief and driven by every single thought heâs had today. He says each one with each lick into Mingiâs mouth, he hopes he can feel it, the guilt, the fear, the ease he feels just by tasting the whiskey on his tongue.
âOh my god,â he hears you whisper, it goes one ear and out the other as Mingi groans into his mouth, it goes straight to his cock. He feels you slip from between them as Mingiâs hands find his hair, his hands slide to Mingiâs neck, their chests pressed together like they couldnât be close enough.
âI love you,â Yunho breaks the kiss only to say the three words into his mouth and he moans. Between kisses, he holds him close, âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry, I fucking love you.â
âTheyâre watching,â youâre tugging on his arm, panic ebbed in your tone. âYun, theyâre watching you. They can see you.âÂ
He pulls away from Mingi to turn to you, your eyes wide with fear, lips parted, eyes bouncing back and forth between Yunho and what he can only assume is all of your friends. He doesnât care. Thereâs no shame, thereâs no denial, thereâs nothing inside him that could stop him from grabbing you by the waist, throwing the other in your hair, and pressing his lips to yours. He breaks it only to murmur, âLet them see.â
Youâre stiff for just a second before melting into him, his kisses softer than those with Mingi, more controlled, like kissing Mingi took the edge off his impulse. âI love you,â he whispers into your mouth. âI donât give a fuck if they see me kissing you, youâre mine.â
You hook your leg over his thigh, palms on his cheeks, relief flooding you. You tilt your head to the side, smirking, âYou couldnât have said that yesterday?âÂ
âIâm sorry.â
âStop speaking,â your fingers tighten in his hair. âYour mouth gets you in trouble. Take us home.â
Your friend group watches Yunho guide you both through the club with wide eyes and parted lips, you donât spare them a glance as you and Mingi trail behind Yunho like dogs to their owner. The Escalades are still parked out front, a few words from Yunho to the driver and heâs opening the door to the backseat for you and Mingi, ushering you inside.Â
You stole Yunhoâs mouth the entire drive, Mingi settling for his neck, the skin on his chest, more with every button he ripped apart. You didnât speak, you didnât need to, youâd said everything on the dance floor, specifics could come later. The only thing left was consummation, which was the only thing on your mind as you nearly sprinted through the front door, almost tripping on your feet on the climb upstairs.Â
âCareful,â Yunho said from behind you when youâd taken two steps at a time, but he couldnât hold in his laughter, amused at your impatience. You ignored him, forgoing an answer to instead steal his lips once more when you reached the top of the steps.Â
His hands found your hips, tongue pushing through your lips, you felt Mingiâs palms a steady wait on top of Yunhoâs as he backed you into your room, then closed the door behind you. You broke away to untie your dress behind your neck, just for Mingi to trade places with you, stealing Yunhoâs mouth.Â
âBed,â you said into the air, and watched as they tripped over each other, stepping in each otherâs line of direction as they backed closer, closer, and closer to the bed. Mingi fell backwards, Yunhoâs hands flying for his belt.
You kissed your boyfriend, who hummed when your lips met his. âTequila.â
âTastes good, right?â You smile into the kiss, dress riding up your thighs, body bent over completely to keep your mouth on his.Â
You can hear Mingiâs pants hit the floor, grabbing your attention. Yunho has his shirt off, Mingiâs briefs discarded. Yunhoâs eyes, always cool and collected, are wide, crazed; sparkling with the moonlight that makes a puddle of white at the balcony door, casting the room in a hue of midnight.
Reality settles, and itâs heavy. Drunk you may be, but not drunk enough to not be wondering whatâs going through his mind. âHey,â you offer. His eyes meet yours, charcoal, swirling with moonlight, not quite steady. Your lips curve, âI love you.â
His bare shoulders settle, ease washing over him. He leans over Mingiâs legs, two hands cupping your cheeks as he kisses you deeply, speaking into your mouth, âI love you, too.â
âHoly shit,â you mumble into his mouth, making him giggle right back. He giggled.Â
He loves you. He fucking loves you.Â
Mingi reaches for your legs, pulling one over his chest, youâre absent-minded as Yunho keeps his tongue tangled with yours. He pushes your dress up over your hips, holding it up over your waist, and pulls you down to meet his awaiting tongue.
You gasp out a moan as Mingi groans, bare hips bucking against Yunho who was still leaning over him. Yunho leans back, eyes darkening as he takes in the sight, your hips already rolling against Mingiâs tongue.
âFuck,â Yunho sighs, grabbing his length through his pants, his grip tight like he was pacing his own pleasure. Like seeing you with Mingi mightâve very well brought him closer than he should have been.
Mingiâs arms hook around your thighs, tongue poking out to let your hips rock against it, allowing you to set your own pace, to use him however you want. You waste no time setting a brutal pace, whimpering as his flexed tongue rolls over your clit, as your hips rock back onto his nose. Fingers curling into your skin, searing where they held you, no doubt leaving oval shapes behind, the sting only makes you grind against him harder.
Yunhoâs fingers find his button, his zipper, his eyes zeroed in on the sight before him like he couldnât rip his eyes away if he tried. Indents of strain dimple the space above his brows, just a slight furrow, his hand finds his length again over his briefs, running his flat palm over his hard cock, a moan tumbling off his tongue.Â
Your eyes flare. âGâna cum just like that? Watching?â
Yunhoâs lips part. âCould, if I wanted to.â
You find the hem of your dress at your waist, pulling the thin fabric over your head in one quick motion. Still rocking your hips, abdomen flexed, breasts falling at your chest, Yunho groans.Â
âFuck,â he curses under his breath. You hiss when Mingiâs nose catches on your entrance. Yunhoâs eyes sink down to where Mingiâs tongue swallows your folds, how it blankets over your core, swiping through, spit sliding down the sides of his mouth. His hand picks up speed over his briefs, hips bucking into his own hand, chest rising and falling heavily, âI might.â
You lean forward, holding Yunhoâs eye, moaning as Mingiâs tongue curls inside you. You take Mingiâs length in one hand, the other pressed on his chest, and Mingiâs hips jerk into your hand immediately, a sharp grunt vibrating your thighs.Â
Mingiâs knees spread, hips bucking off the bed, feet finding the edge of the bed, legs lifting just to spread wider. You keep your eyes on Yunho, voice a husky whisper, âJoin.â
As if you were a siren, his body pulls him forward, his hand leaving his cotton-covered cock just to wrap around Mingiâs, his hand fitting perfectly right above yours. Mingiâs palms wrapped around your thighs keep your hips moving as you and Yunho pump his length, one-handed, your eyes never once leaving each other.
âFuck him,â you nearly whisper, your voice still husky, coated in arousal. âPush his legs up to his chest and fuck him. I have his mouth.â
Yunho gasps, and it would have been silent if you werenât so close. His face twinges, a jerk of a reaction, like he wasnât used to someone giving him orders. But his hands find Mingiâs knees, the underside of them, pushing them upward. He leans toward you, taking your lips in his, and as his tongue pushes into your mouth you know itâs claiming. Steadying. Reminding you who he is, who he is to you.Â
Yunhoâs hand disappears between Mingiâs legs, earning a shattered moan spat into your core, you smile through the sound that rips from your chest. Rocking your hips again, sitting up straight once more, Mingiâs fingers singe your thighs, each fingertip like iron soaked in fire.
Mingiâs heels find the bed, cock twitching against his abdomen, leaking all over the stretch of skin beneath his belly button. The skin of your thighs gathers between his fingers, but you rock yourself through it, the pain mixed with the pleasure better than any cocktail youâve had tonight.
Your head tips back as Yunho preps him, listening to Mingi curse into your folds, whining and whimpering but giving your clit the most attention of all. âSâgood, Mingi,â you moan out, reaching behind you to run your fingers through his hair, sounding utterly dazed. âMm, I love you.â
You barely hear him say it back, his voice lagged, muffled by a mouth full of you, head no doubt fuzzy from Yunho knuckle deep in his ass. You bring your eyes back to the older man whoâs focused, taking his time opening him up, prepping him for his cock that neither of you can ever really be prepped for.
âMakinâ a mess, Min,â Yunho comments, finally noticing the painting the younger man made on his own skin. Droplets of pre, ropes that dripped down his sides, Mingi moaned in response. Yunho pushes his legs up, you catch them, palms splayed over his knees, holding him spread.
 Beautiful, watching Mingi suck in every single inch. Beautiful, watching Yunho fight every fucking instinct to cum as soon as he bottomed out. It ignited the fire in your gut like you were the one Yunho was splitting open; a harsh moan pushing past your lips, clit throbbing against Mingiâs unmoving tongue. At least he stuck it out, you thought as your hips bucked against him, grinding harshly against the muscle he wanted you to use for your own pleasure.
When Yunho started moving, when Mingi started moaning like nothing has ever felt this good in his life, you could feel it like a phantom limb; brows furrowing, moans growing in pitch, watching your boyfriend fuck your other boyfriend brought you right to the edge.
âShit⊠shit,â you moaned, your fingers finding your nipples, pinching, twisting. Hips bucking rapidly, watching Yunhoâs abdomen flex as his hips rolled into Mingiâs ass, you neared so close you could taste it. âGonna cum, Yun, gonna c-cumââ
âWait,â he ground out, his voice ragged and harsh like he was nearing the brink himself. It made your eyes dart to him, he always lasted, heâs never cum this quickly. Ever. His grin is lazy, his head tipped backward, sweat kissing his moonlight-kissed skin, he utters, âBeen waitingâ for this, t-to tell you how I feel.â His chin dips, eyes squeezing shut, âFuck.â
You understood then, that his release was so much more.
âLet me cum,â you urged. âLet me, want to watch you.â
Yunhoâs eyes met yours, and agreement shone in the subtle spark of white dancing in charcoal. He leaned forward, wrapping his fingers around your neck, tugging you toward him to crash your lips onto his, shoving his tongue into your mouth, tasting the orgasm that washed over you as soon as you met.
Mingiâs grip rocked you through it, a sob leaving your throat, lips unmoving against Yunhoâs. Whispering into your mouth, he uttered, âI love you.â
You couldnât answer. You couldnât do anything but roll off Mingiâs face, the younger man gasping for a breath, reaching his arms upward for Yunho. Yunhoâs hips didnât falter as he leaned down, as he pushed Mingi up the bed, crawling onto it himself. Head in the pillows, utterly dazed, lovesick and spent, you watched Yunho take Mingi for everything heâs worth.
Mingi sobbed, hands in Yunhoâs hair, muttering I love you over and over again like he couldnât believe he could say it. Yunhoâs hips snapped against his, responding every fucking time Mingi said it, not missing a single time it passed through his lips.Â
And it occurred to you then, that they were yours. Both of them, finally, for real this time, they were completely yours. So beautiful together, their bodies molding perfectly, lips touching, speaking, not kissing; Mingiâs hands in Yunhoâs hair, Yunho cradling Mingiâs cheeks.
You didnât feel the tears on your cheeks until Mingi spilled onto his stomach, blurry eyes darting to where it dribbled down his side. They didnât notice until after Yunho emptied himself inside Mingi, when the smack of hips became a sound of slick movement, and their heads turned to yours.
Mingiâs face, fucked-out turned to concerned. Brows bent, lips pouting, he scrounged to sit up on his elbows, âWhatâs wrong?â
You shook your head, wiping under your eyes. âI just love you, both of you. Thatâs all.â
Yunho crawled over to you, a warm smile on his lips as he split your knees, placing a cupped palm on your cheek before he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. Wiping your tears, he murmured, âIâm sorry for all the shit I put you through this weekend.â
You sniffed, âIâm just⊠still a little drunk, you donât need to console me. I know youâre sorry.â
After cleaning himself up quickly, Mingi curled up to your other side, pressing his lips into your bicep. The two of them watched you like hawks, taking in every micro-expression on your face.
âIâm fine,â you reiterated with a small laugh. âI swear, Iâm just emotional. It was an emotional weekend.â
Yunhoâs face drooped with guilt. âIâm sorry it took me so long to get my shit together. I didnât mean anything I said to youââ
Your palms found his cheeks, guiding him down, cutting him off by pressing your lips against his. âI know,â you whispered, eyes opening to look into his. âI know how you feel, I knew the whole time. Iâm proud of you.â
His lips quivered. Your smile grows, âNow why are you getting emotional?â
âBecause Iâve been searching for this for so fucking long,â he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. âSearching for you, both of you,â his eyes find Mingi, âin everyone.â
âSearch is over,â Mingi rolls on his back, eyes playful, lips pinned up on one side. He looks at Yunho with barely a turn of his head, âShould we throw a party?â
Yunho snorts, pressing another kiss to your lips before throwing your leg over his body, collapsing on your other side. After a moment, he adds, âIâve never felt more like myself than when Iâm with you.â
Both yours and Mingiâs heads turn to him, listening. Yunhoâs head angles toward you, but he doesnât look as he continues, âI think itâs why Iâve never settled down. Nothing ever felt right, not until that first night with you both. I mean, after that, I never really left.â
âYou tried,â you add with a grin.
Yunho looks at you just to roll his eyes. âItâs scary knowing the best thing that could ever happen to you is happening to you. I fucked it up before I even had the chance to fuck it up.â
âNo you didnât,â Mingi counters with a shake of his head. âYouâre here, weâre here. Everything happened the way it was supposed to.â
Yunhoâs quiet for a moment. âThank you for letting me figure it out. For not abandoning me when I gave you every reason to.â
Before tears have the chance to fill your waterline again, you wrap yourself around him, literally climbing on top of him to attach yourself to him. Whispering into his neck, you say, âThatâs what you do when you love someone.â
âAnd we love you very, very much,â Mingi adds, already cuddled up to Yunhoâs side.
Yunho presses his lips to yours, a short, sweet kiss. Then turns to Mingi, pressing another short, sweet kiss to his lips. âAnd I love you both very, very much, too.â
â ËïœĄđŠč SMUT 18+ MDNI, theyâre mean like mean as hell, size kink like âtinyâ as a name take it however u want, like a few lines of daddy kink, mxm action but just kissing rly, threesome, wet nâ fuckinâ messy, no more spoilers thatâs all u get
â ËïœĄđŠč wc 7.7k
â ËïœĄđŠč a/n this was a commission!! thank u to the lovely yestodayys cult member who let me run with her idea and well. create this! i had SO MUCH FUN and i'm glad u love it and now u all get to read it too <3
The bar has been refurbished since the last time you came here.
The overall layout is still generally the same; during your search for your friends, youâve looked in the ladiesâ room - still to the left of the bar, cramped, only two stalls, line way too long, though it isnât the hospital powder pink it once was - and in the smoking area, thus far. The latter looks pretty much the same, although you admit they canât really change that much; beneath your denim jacket, youâre still only wearing a minidress and boots and itâs fucking cold.Â
Escaping back inside seems the best idea. Realistically, if theyâre not there or in the restroom or here, in the main room with the bar, you may as well just get over it. Thereâs no signal in this place for you to text them either - there never has been - and you donât want to leave this early. You can still have a good night. You undoubtedly know some of the people here anyway - hell, maybe youâll find a man.Â
Itâs the overall vibe thatâs changed more than anything else; you think they must be going for some sort of seventies concept now, while before it was largely unthemed. It seems to bring more customers like this - the place is packed full on a tacky illuminated dancefloor, no one dressed the part, though beneath the flashing lights and disco ball you can't really tell. Itâs flashy, somewhat exciting; itâs why you decided to wear your vintage denim jacket, even if no one else was going to play along.
The drink youâve been nursing is still over half full, so you bypass the bar and go straight to the dancefloor. The music doesnât match the vibe either, but youâre not bothered, swaying in your spot to the random dance song they have playing and taking a generous gulp of the liquid to ease yourself in.
Okay, it definitely feels like a better time now. Perhaps the rebrand has had some effect. You move your hips, jacket falling down your bare shoulders before catching on the strap of your bag.Â
Lost in your own world, you almost miss it as you turn around to look amongst the crowd; but no, clear as day, tall and attractive enough to make your heart stop - two men, one in baggy clothes and an obnoxious fur coat and one in tighter, flared jeans, long sleeve tight across a toned, broad chest, sipping on their drinks, staring at you like a pint of water in the middle of a desert.Â
You see them after they see you. Youâre not sure how long theyâve been looking at you, these two men, but god theyâre fixated and it makes you stop too. They canât look away, both of their gazes trailing down your body as you move and sway with your drink in your hand, and your breath catches in your throat - not that youâre complaining, though. Theyâre handsome, though you assume they came together and will be leaving together too, judging by the way theyâre glued to each otherâs sides.Â
The taller one seems to have more of a grip on the situation than the other man, but theyâre both intimidating, domineering. He whispers something in the other manâs ear, long fingers brushing at his neck. Their eyes still don't leave you though, and the shorterâs plump lips break into a grin, leering, too satisfied for someone who hasnât even spoken to you - let alone touched you. He mustâve said something he likes.Â
You canât help yourself. You smile back, and he flicks a few dark blue strands out of his forehead, taking a sip of the liquid heâs got in his glass before he slams it down on the table decisively. He says something else to the other man, something you canât even try to lip read because he turns his back to you. He gives him a cheeky smile, almost like heâs doing something wrong, and begins to push through the crowd on the dancefloor. You stand dead still.
You wonder about the situation between them. Clearly, theyâre more than friends, and it seems like the taller is the one in control, but - whatâs this? The shorter man is approaching you, his too-large brown fur coat seeming ridiculous in the heat of the bar, but you see as he gets closer that heâs got nothing but a waistcoat and baggy trousers underneath. He shoots a few amused looks back at the other man, who looks less than pleased at his misbehaving, but it doesnât sway him - once heâs at you, he pulls you into him so your back is pressed against his front and whispers in your ear just loud enough for you to hear him.
âWanna dance?â
Do you? Fuck yeah, you do - and with his partner too, if heâs up for grabs. For now though, you suppose one will have to do, because as you smile flirtatiously in response and the DJ changes the music to something else - something sultry, heavy, with a solid beat - the man starts to grind his hips so sensually you forget everything else. Heâs good at this, angling you with a firm palm on the plush of your tummy, fingers wrapping in the fabric of your minidress so that your hips grind back against him.Â
The fur of his coat is expensive, you can tell just by feeling it when your hands go back to grip on his arms, and his teeth bite into his bottom lip when you grab at him.He lets you balance yourself with your hold, his own hand moving up to your chest, both of you moving in a sinuous movement that has you realising how good heâd be in bed if he dances like this.Â
Just before you forget, ring-clad knuckles come to the bottom of your chin and angle your head towards where you were previously looking. Heâs still there, the other man, and this time he looks positively engrossed, arms folding over his chest - his eyes donât leave the two of you, a smirk playing at his lips like he canât quite believe it. Itâs as if youâre performing for him, the two of you, nowhere near in control of the situation; you wonder what it is, this situation, and if itâll end in you getting fucked by both of them.
The man next to you chuckles before fully humping into the curve of your ass, unashamed; the line of his cock presses against you, half hard, fat and steadily growing like youâre doing a lot more than just grinding on each other in a packed bar. You gasp, muffled by the music but he seems to have heard it despite the noise - he nudges his nose into your neck, impatient.
âWe came together, me and him,â he says, tone casual though he has to shout a little to be heard. The words say everything despite being so few, but you donât falter, hoping that youâre moving against him in a way thatâs still inconspicuous enough to be passed off as a dance. âThat okay?â
You shrug as casually as you can, skin starting to feel a little heated. This is the jackpot, you think. âI donât mind taking two.â
âI bet you fuckinâ donât.â He huffs out a laugh. âDonât mind putting on a show either, do you? Iâm Mingi, by the way.â
âMm, hi Mingi,â you giggle, and Mingi shakes his head, disbelieving, a smile pulling at his lips. You canât believe it either, quite frankly, how well the nightâs turned out, and your head lolls back against his broad shoulder as you move, fur coat soft under your head, a grounding presence. The other man is still looking, and you find yourself drawn to his eyes, holding eye contact with him as you manage your next question, âwhatâs your boyfriendâs name?â
A hum, and then plump lips press a gentle kiss to your jaw. A shiver wracks through you, straight down your spine, and he does it again a few times just to watch the effect it has on you. âYunho,â he breathes, âhis name is Yunho. Shake this ass on me, let him see it.â
âHe likes to watch, huh?â You say, as if you have any problem with it whatsoever. The song changes, a dance track with an even dirtier beat now and you do as he says - youâre shaking your hips to the rhythm before you can feel embarrassed about it, everyone around you too occupied with their own dancing or flirting.Â
âThatâs a good fuckinâ girl,â he hums, hand moving from your front to your hips, fingers ghosting over the curve of your asscheeks where your hips get plusher and move into your thighs. Hands dig into flesh, and he groans, rutting against you once, twice, enough to have you squirming, starting to worry someone might notice. âFuck, look at that. Shit, should we just take you back now? I wanna tear this ass apart.â
You canât help it - you laugh again, hand coming to Mingiâs jaw to pull him forwards, his cheek pressed against yours. Yunho rolls his neck, tongue poking over his bottom lip before heâs placing his drink down and you think heâs made the decision for all three of you.Â
 âAnd him?â You murmur.
Mingiâs nose brushes against your cheek. âHeâll tear you apart too. Might even be nastier than me.â
âI find that hard to believe.â His hips hit you just right, slow, to the beat, and you breathe heavily when he spins you around to face him like heâs going to kiss you. Heâs pretty up close, sharp nose and dark blue hair and plump lips that form a predatory smile. âFuck, Mingi, take me home.â
âEager girl.â His head drops down, kissing you chastely square on the lips once, then twice. His lips are buttery soft and you chase them when he pulls away. He doesnât care that youâre in public, so neither do you - you press yourself against him harder, arms wrapping around his shoulders. âWe need to talk to Yunho.â
âNo need.â Another voice, and another set of big, big hands that wrap around your waist and pull you back into him. Youâre trapped between them now, because despite being unfamiliar with them you know whoâs just gripped you and gotten involved. âSheâs right, we should take her home. Youâre an aching little thing, hm?â
Fingers dip up under the hem of your minidress where it hangs around your thighs, nails scratching against your skin, teasing. Youâre not sure who it is this time, but the touch is so close to your panties that you whimper, the sound so broken that Yunhoâs head dips into the other crook of your neck with a deep sigh, mirroring where Mingi continues to bite at you the other side. âP-please, I canât take this anymore, I want you both, can we-â
âFine,â Yunho breathes, exasperated, and a firm, guiding grip comes to rest on the back of your neck. âLetâs get you home, tiny.â
âOn your knees.â A firm hand pushes on your shoulder, forcing you down before you can decide to obey; you drop to your knees in your pretty dress, your legs bare, their carpet scratching against your skin. Like this, theyâre looming over you in a different way than before, and all you can see is long, long legs in baggy jeans and firm torsos heaving - theyâre waiting, perceiving you, seeing if youâll do anything else. Yunhoâs the first to speak again, grin wide when he turns to his partner, âthatâs it. Sheâs pretty like this, isnât she? Quiet, so needy sheâll do anything, waiting for us to just say.â
âSheâs beautiful,â Mingi says, fingers pulling your hair backwards to force you to look up at them properly. âSlutty, too.â
You whimper, squirming in his grip, though not enough to be told off for it. You wonder if theyâre hard already, fat lengths trapped in the confines of their pants, but you donât have long to think about it - Yunhoâs long fingers start working at his belt, and before long the leather is pulled out from the prongs and his button is being pushed open.Â
It exposes his black boxers, and you realise youâre not even looking at him anymore. Fixated on his crotch, you wait, mouth open and spit pooling at your bottom lip like a drooling dog. They both sound amused, but they donât make you wait, Yunho pushing down his boxers and revealing his tan shaft.Â
Thick, long and veiny, it springs against his stomach. It curves upwards, tip a darker shade and swollen, but not leaking just yet. The moan leaves your throat before you can help it. If Yunhoâs is like this, you canât imagine the other man - but fingers tighten in your hair and redirect you back before you can even turn to try and get a lot.Â
âMm, no,â Yunho murmurs, and you look back up at him. He looks pleased by how enthralled you are, a smile pulling at his lips, and his hand comes down to slap his shaft against your cheek once, twice. You shiver. âYou can show her yours too, Mingi, really get the slut going. She wants two at once, after all, donât you?â
âI do, I want both.â You nod dumbly, pathetically; Mingiâs resulting groan is delighted, low in his throat. His tongue licks at his teeth as he works at his own belt, and his baggy jeans drop with a rustling noise at his ankles, unashamed. Yunho has tucked his boxers underneath his balls but Mingiâs less reserved, shunning his boxers as quick as he can as Yunho starts slowly stroking half of his shaft inches away from your face.
Fuck.
Mingiâs big too, a little shorter but thicker again and his tip is leaking like a fucking faucet. If heâd left his boxers on a little longer youâd have seen the drops beading upon the fabric but heâs too impatient for that, already stroking his cock quicker than Yunho, moving hip to hip with the other man.Â
âYou want both?â He smacks his cock against your other cheek, laughing delightedly when you moan, nodding eagerly. âOpen your mouth then, thereâs a good whore.â
You blink, in a daze. âI- I canât fit both-â
âObviously,â Yunho scoffs. âUse your hand for the other. Are you stupid?â
Oh. Something must show on your face, a wordless reaction to his words because Yunhoâs grin turns predatory then, and when he grips your hair now itâs harsher, firmer than his boyfriend had done. You scramble to say something to quell this harshness, stammering, âN-not stupid, Iâve just neverâŠâ
Yunho bursts out laughing. Your gut clenches and your pussy burns in your panties, so slick and needy that you try to rut down the floor, to no avail. âNever had two cocks at once? We all know thatâs a fucking lie, baby. I think you need to stop talking.â
Heâs forcing you down on his cock before you can retort.
You still try to splutter something out despite your lips being wrapped taut, barely fitting just half his length into your mouth though he tries to fuck past the resistance of your throat anyway. Your words die in your throat, replaced by a strangled whine; Mingi grabs your hand himself, impatient and wraps your fingers around his cock - putting you to use.
Heâs wet from his precum already, soaked and sticky and veiny and it makes a slick noise when you start to move your fingers. Itâs hard to concentrate on both but thankfully you donât have to do much thinking; Yunho fucks himself into your mouth for you, skin salty with his own precum. Unable to do anything more than just be a ragdoll for them, you allow yourself to slump a little, mouth wrapped tight around one and hand around the other, hips just barely squirming where youâre sat. A noise leaves your throat when Yunho fucks into the resistance a few times, a deep groan leaving his own mouth.
âTight fucking throat, hm? How tight is that cunt gonna be?â
Mingi groans, and his fingertips press at your cheeks, feeling the thickness of Yunhoâs cock through your skin. He manages to move you over to him, and his shaft burns when it stretches your lips apart, thicker, wetter - you start to drool with tears biting at your eyes and he chuckles breathlessly at the sight of you.
âYou like it mean, huh?â He doesnât expect a response, voice gravelly as he starts to fuck your mouth. Heâs sloppier than Yunho, a little more careless, and the strangled noise you make is embarrassing when he forces his cock all the way down. It hurts your throat but he presses your nose into the tuft of his pubes like he doesnât really care, grinding his hips against your jaw, fingers pressing at your throat where he now bulges it instead.
When you manage to look up through a glassy gaze, you see them both together. Mingi captures Yunhoâs lips with his own, one hand leaving you to cup the other manâs jaw, their tongues intertwining messily between spit-slick lips. They both groan, deep and from their chests like theyâve been waiting for this all night - your whine is louder though, nails scratching at their thighs because youâve wanted to see it since you saw them together on the dancefloor. It forces saliva to bubble down your occupied lips, dripping over your chin and down to your throat, over Mingiâs rings.
If theyâre amused by your reaction, they donât separate for long enough to show it. Yunho tugs you to him again without even glancing your way, long fingers in your hair, and this time youâre able to get a momentum. Your mouth sinks down on him before he has time to force you there, your other hand coming to grasp Mingiâs slippery length, the saliva giving more than enough lubricant when you start to pump.Â
Like this - not being yanked around - youâre able to focus, and you canât help the noises that spill from your chest; your pussy is wet, drooling and dumb already, and they continue to make out above your head like itâs nothing that should affect you. Your gut burns, wrenching with need and want and something embarrassing because all youâve done is suck their cocks and youâre this desperate, but it doesnât stop you trying to get their attention.
Tongue digging into the underside of Yunhoâs tip, you pool spit into your mouth and it bubbles over your lips messily, letting you sink back down on him with a wetter, tighter suction. Heâs still too big to take too much comfortably but you force your mouth down, jaw be damned, hand occupied with another cock that you think youâre doing a decent rhythm with, and on the upwards stroke you press your tongue into his piss slit and suck hard.
It works. You hear the sharp inhale of breath, and he pulls away sharply from Mingi, lips parting in a louder noise just as the blue haired man moves to messily press open-mouthed kisses against his neck. He doesnât stop him, one hand going to his head to hold him there.
âDirty girl, knew you had it in you,â he murmurs, before his jaw goes slack in a groan, head rolling back where Mingi kisses him. Your hand has paused on the other man but if heâs annoyed, he doesnât show it, shaft bobbing uselessly as he bites at the curvature of Yunhoâs neck with his eyes on you, where youâre kneeling below them. âBet sheâs all gooey down there from sucking cock, too. Little hole clenching around nothing, slicking up her thighs, clit all swollen and hard.â
Mingi grunts, a primal noise. âCanât wait to look. Taste it, too. I know itâs fuckinâ pretty, all soaked and tight and- ah, fuck this, I gotta-â
Two hands underneath your armpits, and youâre thrown chest first onto the comfortable bed by a very strong grip. You have enough space left in your brain for the moment to present yourself, pushing up onto your knees and letting your front lay flat to curve your spine - Mingi groans in appreciation, wasting no time before heâs pulling your dress up to your waist and your panties down to your knees.Â
The cold air hits your cunt and you moan, trying to turn your head to the side to have a look at what heâs about to do to you before someone - youâre unsure who - pins it right back down, flat, suffocating.Â
âLet me have a look,â Mingi coos, and two thumbs come to pull your sticky folds apart. Youâre soaked, you can feel it - itâs smeared up to your asshole from how youâve pooled in your panties, and though you hope he hasnât noticed it, hasnât gotten any ideas, a deeper part of you hopes he ignores your pussy and eats that hole instead. âSheâs so fuckinâ messy. Fat little cunt too. When did you start leaking like a virgin, baby? When you were on your knees in front of our cocks, us stood above you like we fuckinâ own you?â
You canât reply - again, you donât think he wants you to. Is he even talking to you, or is he talking to her?
It was Yunho that pushed you down, you realise, because itâs the same second pair of hands that slide the straps of your dress down over your shoulders. Nudging the fabric down so that it all bunches at your waist, he scratches his fingernails over your spine on the way down, leaving you bare but feeling quite like something animalistic.Â
âMm, actuallyâŠâ A nose nudges at your core and then a tongue, fat and steady, is sliding through your folds and humming when he tastes your arousal, smacking his lips messily like heâs eating a good meal. âYouâve been wet even longer, havenât you? Since we danced in the bar. Oh, thatâs something. How pent up are you, sweetheart?â
You whine. Thereâs no way he could know that, not really, and you know heâs just teasing you but heâs right - you were.
He continues, wet tongue moving to lick circles over your clit as he slurs. âCanât blame you, âm desperate for this too.â
âStop talking and eat.â Yunho sounds amused. âPoor thing looks like sheâs gonna die if she doesnât get something.â
At least it makes Mingi move, his lips smacking wet over your pussy before his tongue slides through the plush of your folds. The bridge of his nose is sharp when it bumps into your perineum, his tongue tracing your hole before it pushes inside and he savours your arousal from the inside with a deep, gravelly moan, something that ricochets through you and makes you finally beg.
âYuyu,â You sound broken, too needy to think, and you feel it too - your head spins and you know you havenât done well verbalising it but Yunho somehow knows what you need, sliding two long fingers past your lips for you to suck on. It doesnât help, Mingiâs plush lips kissing down to your clit and making a home there, tongue darting underneath the hood to rub over you so intimately that you would never be able to stop the way you buck. Your hips fuck back onto his face but his strong forearm hooks around your tummy to keep you steady, your eyebrows furrowing in a subdued keen.
Yunho smiles, fucking his fingers into your mouth, watching the way you suck earnestly like itâs a cock - can you even tell the difference right now? Itâs like you can see the wonder on his face before he speaks, cock half hard against his thigh, âDo you need something inside, honey?â
Your resulting noise is loud, deep from your chest - youâd forgotten that was an option with the way his boyfriendâs lips are working over you, but before you can beg properly the man grunts, lips leaving you for a moment.
âIâm gettinâ her ready for you, babe. She can wait.â
âMm.â Yunho raises an eyebrow, confused, although his fingers leave your lips and brush over the base of his tummy almost instantly. âYou donât wanna go first? You were desperate a second ago-â
âAre you kidding me?â Mingi grins, all teeth that nip into your thigh as an afterthought, making you squeak. He ignores you, continuing like you canât hear him, âa pussy like this is even better when itâs been nutted in already. I love me some sloppy seconds.â
Before you can raise any kind of objection to being talked about like that, right over you while heâs between your legs, Mingiâs tongue dives back between your folds. He licks up your arousal and drools onto your heat, pushing further up, where his hands spread your cheeks and expose the smaller hole, the one that makes your face flush and gut wrench in embarrassment.Â
âBet youâd let us fuck this too,â he grumbles, and you nod, squirming in your place, as much as you can with the way his boyfriendâs pushing you down. âHow fucking filthy. You just met us and youâd already let us fuck your asshole open. God, youâre amazing, might be fuckinâ made for us.â
Something bubbles in your gut, something so needy that you canât help the garbled wail you let out. Itâs incoherent at first, but Yunho lets your head move just enough to verbalise what you need to, âWant you both, anything, please, please, give me cock-â
âGive me cock,â Yunho giggles, shaking his head in disbelief. âWhat a bimbo. Fine, Iâll give you cock, honey. Mingi, lemme move her.â
Mingi obeys instantly, pulling away from your slick cunt and thighs, letting you be manhandled again by the taller man onto your side. You know this one, deep in your lust-muddled brain, and you let one leg slide forward to display your core as he slides behind you, chest to your back. Heâs fully naked now - youâre not sure when this happened - and the palm he smooths your hair down with grounds you a little, other hand moving secure on your tummy.
âYâwant it?â He murmurs, and you see Mingi moving next to you, naked, muscled, distracting - your mouth waters. His eyes move down your body, over your flushed cheeks, teary eyes and down to your nipples, the curve of your tummy and the swell of your thighs; his hand moves to his cock, and you see his gaze move down Yunho, too, before he finally grips the base and starts to move up the vast length. Yunhoâs fingers tighten in your hair a little, bringing your attention back to him. âDonât get distracted, tiny. Talk to me. Do you want it?â
He moves his cock to the mess between your legs, pushing through arousal to get to your folds and at the resistance of your hole. The weight of it makes you gasp wetly, but he doesnât let you squirm away when you try, only pulling you back into it.Â
âS-So big, Yunho, I want it, please.â
âThere you go, good little slut,â He coos, satisfied, and pushes just the first inch in. Your hole clenches tight from the stretch, almost pushing him back out and he groans, using his grip on your thigh to pull you back onto it. âLet me in, baby.â
âC-Canât help it, ah-â
Something shifts in him then, and the next thrust of his cock is stronger, meaner, something that makes your walls give way to more of him, accompanied by a sharp bite to your neck. It hurts a little but it feels so good; your eyes roll back in your head with a keen, and Mingi huffs out a breath.
âOh, little bitch is so fuckinâ tight,â he moans, one palm coming to push your leg upwards, against your side, trying to open you up further. It doesnât help - heâs just far too big, your pussy tightening in protest despite how bad you fucking want it. âDo I have to split your hole open to get inside? Funny, âcause itâs fucking drooling around me like it canât get enough.â
One of his hands comes to rest on your breast, idle but firm, and his thumb swipes over your nipple just to make you gasp. You try to fuck yourself downwards but he really is too big, cockhead already hitting your cervix and it knocks the wind out of you. Mingiâs hand tightens on an upwards stroke of his shaft and he smiles, amused, eyes flicking between you and his boyfriend.
âLet him in, sweetheart. Heâll make it hurt.â
You try your best; squirming and whining in Yunhoâs hold you manage to slack your gummy walls enough for him to push more of his cock inside but it makes you squeal, too much all of a sudden, and his fingers move from your chest to your clit. His nails dig into it and you gasp, writhing away before his grip pulls your back to his chest again.Â
âWhat the fuck is this for if I canât fuck it? Useless little cunt otherwise, hm? Maybe I should just pull out, leave you-â
âNo, nonono, please, Yunho,â You babble, moving around enough that it forces more of his length in. This time he seems to push past something that allows him to sink in balls deep, and itâs so far inside, pressing at your cervix and you think you might cum already.
Yunho huffs, placated now that youâve let him in, yanking you backwards by your ass, letting the plumpness of it rock him into a bounce. It works, and he starts to fuck you steady, slow at first, letting you get used to it - his knuckles graze at your nipple before he pinches meanly, a breathless, chuckle of pleasure leaving him at your jolt.
âFu-uck, âs so- need more, more, please-â
âMore?â He asks, like he didnât know, and you nod dumbly. Youâre shocked by Mingi responding, not Yunho; walking on his knees towards you, his fingers come to your clit and roll it between his fingertips. Itâs too much all of a sudden, and Yunho starts to speed up, his long, ridged shaft cutting into your gummy walls. Mingiâs ministrations make your pussy easier, more slack, and Yunhoâs able to fuck quicker, cock not prohibited by how tight youâre squeezing around him. âThatâs it. There you go, Min, cocksleeveâs gushing like a little whore now.â
âMm, can feel it,â The man in question murmurs, eyes fixated on you like youâre the best thing heâs ever seen. Your eyebrows knit in pleasure, lips parting in a squeal when his thumb rubs over your bud firmly, and this time you feel it, the slick, sticky gush of your pussy with every thrust. It leaks over Mingiâs fingers and further down, to your thighs, Yunhoâs balls and his own lithe legs.Â
You feel dumb with it all, and youâre not even halfway through taking one.Â
âFeels nice like that, doesnât it?â Yunho sounds unaffected, and you whimper, nodding, âI can tell. Dirty cunt gushing like that, Iâd swear you came already.â
Mingi leans down on the bed, distracting you momentarily before thereâs something wet pressing at your clit. Itâs his tongue, you realise, and you canât control the hand that goes to that dark blue hair - he moans at the feeling of your fingers tightening, tugging, and you force his mouth closer, wet lips mouthing over your pussy until he hits Yunhoâs cock.Â
Mingiâs tongue moves over you again, licking over the intrusion of his boyfriend inside of you. It doesnât stop his movement, his cock still pistoning in and out while youâre forced to take, take, take, and when the shorter manâs lips purse and suck on your bud you writhe away, pleasure all-consuming.
Your orgasm hits you hard, beginning in the base of your tummy and making your thighs shake. One hand holds Mingi steady, and the other moves to Yunhoâs side, anchoring you through it, but your pussy clenches dumbly in a rhythm that makes the man inside grunt and bite your neck sharply. Your own noises are abused, loud and too incriminating, but neither men make a move to quiet you.
âRide it out, câmon,â Yunho says, voice hoarse, and you find it in your static body to fuck yourself on both men while your legs lock and your toes curl. âGood girl. There you go, thatâs it.â
It helps, quelling the strong climax into something steadier, nicer, and Mingiâs tongue flicks over your clit just enough for you to come down from it.Â
The kiss the older man gives you is controlled, a little awkward from the angle but it tells you everything you need to know. Youâre safe, youâre looked after and itâs exactly what you need after an orgasm that strong - his nose bumps your cheek when he kisses you deeper, giving you a few pecks as he pulls away; it makes you want more, but heâs already moving.
You realise too late that Yunho still hasnât finished, and he pushes you onto your front, leg still slightly raised from the way he had you. His hips hit your ass as he bottoms out again, and you gasp - itâs so deep, so much that you want him to cum soon, hope heâll cum soon and fill you up, and you remember you have another one to take after this. The realisation makes your pussy clench as he fucks inside and he lets out a stuttered breath against your shoulder, bumpy nose nudging at your jaw.
âYouâre okay,â He soothes you, and you nod, whimper soft. âIâm gonna cum soon, baby. Gonna make you take it, âkay? Then Mingiâs gonna fuck it back into you.â
âY-yeah,â you nod, and when Yunho starts to thrust again, punishing, Mingi seals your lips with his and swallows your noises. He kisses messy, teeth nipping at your bottom lip and he lets you suck on his tongue when you need something in your mouth again, not minding at all that your hands scramble at his broad shoulders for purchase.
You feel Yunho pull backwards, hands on the small of your back to hold you down, and itâs the sight of you and his boyfriend kissing that does him in. He gasps, letting out a shaky breath as he presses his hips tight to the plush of your ass, cockhead fucked so deep that it makes you try to squirm away again; Mingi keeps you still, giving you dirty, open-mouthed kisses and licking over your teeth.
Between your legs, you feel thoroughly used - when Yunho pulls out, cock softening a little, your pussy gushes fresh cum and as if itâs his queue, Mingiâs already moving over.
Yunho slaps your ass as he moves away from you, âAtta girl. Sheâs ready for you, Min.â
Fingers prod at your swollen hole, messy, creamy rivulets slicking down to Mingiâs rings as he spreads it open and inspects. If you had anything left in you, youâd feel embarrassed at the way heâs looking at you so intimately but well, heâs already done it once and youâre still horny. You shift back on the bed and chase his touch when he moves away, although you donât have long to be disappointed because the feeling of a blunt cockhead against you makes you push your hips up, front going slack again.
âLook at that. Dumb slut knows how to present for a cock,â Mingi chuckles, although thereâs no real bite to his words - his breath is shaky as he shuffles towards you, and seconds later thereâs inches of fat cock spearing you open because he canât wait himself at this point.
âO-oh,â You stutter, head raising and knocking back. You see Yunho, in front of you now, face so close to yours but itâs comforting rather than threatening. âFuck, itâs-â
âSsh, just feel it,â Yunho murmurs, stroking your cheek with one, big hand, and your eyes roll back into your head when he starts to thrust. His movements are deep and slow at first, letting you feel all of it, every vein and ridge and you swear you feel him leaking inside, too, when he pushes deep and pulls you flush against him like he isnât fucking your pussy open in front of his boyfriend.
Mingi whines, sharp, âTiny little pussy, so small, fuck-â his fingers hook around your shoulders, pulling you back onto him, âhow are you still so fucking tight?â Your own hands scramble in the sheets until your fingers hook into them for leverage, and you writhe, moaning so viscerally that Yunho pets your hair to calm you down. Mingiâs thicker than him so despite taking the older man first, the stretch of your hole to accommodate him has your eyes watering, his hips stuttering into the creamy mess of a hole that his boyfriend left. âCan I- fuck, I canât, I canât, canât play anymore-â
âMingi,â Yunho warns, but itâs softened by the grin curling his lips, fond.
âCanât, fuck, baby, I love your pussy,â Mingi babbles, and his hands move to your asscheeks, spreading them further, watching where his cock disappears into you. Itâs slick when he starts to move, a creamy ring around the base of his cock, wet plaps echoing around the bedroom when his balls begin to hit your clit steadily. âLove- love it, love it everytime- I love you.â
Something dawns on you. Youâre not playing anymore, not really, not the elaborate scene Yunho came up with late at night before you headed out to the bar you three met at - and your back bows towards the bed, curling away from your boyfriends,Â
âMmgh- I love you too,â You whimper, scrambling on the sheets for your third, your other boy. Fingers intertwine with yours immediately and he kisses your hairline, your nose, your lips; you cry out, head lolling against his. âYunho- Yuyu, Yuyu, love you-â
âI love both of you, although youâre both fucking pathetic,â Yunho laughs, smoothing your hair. âCanât even roleplay properly. Both of you cry like virgins as soon as I let him get inside of you.â
Mingiâs head drops to your shoulder, his weight pinning you down when he collapses atop of you. Youâre separated from Yunho but you donât mind at all when he starts to drill you properly - this is his favourite position, after all, it didnât matter if it was you or Yunho underneath him.Â
His hips donât stop moving, pistoning into your cunt where youâre flat on the bed, his lips parting in a deep groan, âPussyâs too good to think. Sorry, Yunho, p-promise it was hot.â
Heâs not sorry at all, you all know that. Yunho scoffs. âI know it was. You two acting like sluts on that fuckinâ dancefloor, just like you were all those years ago. Hard, leaking, wet in your pants looking at me. I could see how horny you were.â
âMmhm,â Mingi nods, delirious. Youâre not able to respond, chest clenching in pathetic wails every time he pushes deep, fucking the noises out of you, and his hand moves to your back, soothing over your spine until he slaps your ass hard just for the sake of it. âG-Good little toy, thatâs right, donât have to speak, just take it. Good girl.â
Heâs babbling again, nonsensical, praises and degradation into one - heâs always the same, and it always makes you gush easy for him. Yunho slides your hair out of your face, exposing flushed cheeks and spit slick lips, your eyes crossed with pleasure. The sight of you makes them both groan, and the older man plants a gentle slap on your cheek, gripping your jaw when you gasp.
âFucked dumb,â He muses. âHow pretty. Why donât you cry a little for him, hm? You know he loves that.â
âItâs so much,â you manage, and he nods, cooing at you. Itâs that which finally breaks you, and your chest bubbles with a sob, ripped harshly from you. ââS so much, I canât- canât take it, daddy, please!â
They laugh at you again, you hear them, though Mingiâs is a lot more in awe than the other manâs.Â
âWhoâs your daddy, baby?â Yunhoâs asking you, and itâs something he asks you often but it feels like youâre trying to move across clouds to respond to him. Everythingâs so soft, comforting but your pussy continues to get rammed, overwhelmed, and you squeal, legs knocking together when you feel his thrusts start to get harsher but staggered.Â
âB-both of you.â You slur. âBoth- daddy, fill me up too-â
It ignites something in Mingi - he pulls out, gripping himself at the creamy base and flipping you over by your waist again. Youâre on your back now, able to see them both, your boys; Yunho has that cheeky glint in his eyes that you love, looming over you with a half-hard cock and tousled, boyish hair - if you didnât know him, you would trust him.Â
Mingi distracts you, crowding into your space with furrowed eyebrows, thick thighs knocking your legs apart again before he sinks back inside. Yunho laughs at his impatience, hand smoothing over the younger manâs back as he starts to fuck you again and you know heâs really gonna cum now, moving so fast and hard that you both get knocked up the mattress a little.
You keen, âFucking- oh, oh, thatâs-â
âLanguage,â Yunhoâs hand moves and pinches your thigh, and you wince, legs locking around Mingi. He pins you back down and then moves his focus to your clit, rolling it between his fingers; itâs so wet that it feels too good too quickly. âGonna cum, arenât you, baby?â
Your eyes roll back into your head when his fingers move over you instead, firmer, rubbing circles that make you heave, trying to catch your breath. Unable to answer him again, he hums, displeased.
Thatâs right, you almost forgot. He lets you get away with some things earlier but you donât act like that around him, not really, only when youâre pretending like you donât know them. Now, you know them, and there are rules - that also means you beg to cum, and you thank whatever higher powers there be because you remember before you fall off the edge.
âPlease,â You struggle, nails scratching at both of them again, their arms this time, âplease, please let me cum. Daddy, daddy, please-â
Mingi growls, fixated, âIâm gonna fuckinâ cum, you better cum with me, tiny.â
âThere you go, honey. Your daddy said you can,â Yunho says, almost too sweet for you to believe but no, they did say that, and youâre squealing from it before they can take it back.Â
You gush again, fluttering and writhing where you lay and halfway through it, Mingi nudges the dark haired manâs head to press his cheek against yours at an angle and kisses you both.Â
Barely knowing what to do in your haze, they hold you still, tongues both messily sliding over yours, over each other - the man inside of you whimpers, thrusting harshly one last time, gasping against your mouths before he fills you with a fresh wave of cum. His cock throbs with it, pumping into you and when he canât take it anymore he collapses, head on your chest, full weight a little overwhelming.Â
Yunho kisses you a few times, fingertips moving to rub soft circles into your shoulders, your upper arms, before moving across your boyfriendâs scalp, massaging him too. He moans gratefully, exhausted, and you feel the same - your limbs are stiff and you groan when Mingi finally rolls off, slumping next to you in the wet sheets.
âIâll just be cleaning you up, honey.â Yunhoâs voice is gentler, and you hum, a smile creeping on your face - there he is, always in control. Mingi mumbles something that you donât quite catch, arm hooking around your tummy, but your boyfriend hears him, chuckling, âThat was referring to you, too.â
You want to laugh. âDonât tell me he was trying to move.â
Yunho shifts closer, wet towel suddenly soft against your skin, and when you finally open your eyes heâs there, still naked, cock soft against his thigh and you wonder if he came again, sometime during it all. âLike I said, both of you fuck like virgins. Dead afterwards. Perished, even.â
You canât argue. Youâre not planning on moving any time soon; although the sheets are ruined, youâre exhausted after all that. The boysâ roleplay ideas are always crazy but well, thereâs some that get a bit out of hand, like recreating the night you all met.
For the second time, Mingi grumbles nonsensically next to you. Yunho kisses the mole on the younger manâs cheek before kissing your hairline again.Â
âSpeaking of perished,â He murmurs, eyes shifting down to you playfully, putting on a dramatic voice, âI still think the next scene should be me, as Spider-Man, saving you and Min from possible perish-â
âEnough,â You grumble, kicking him softly with your foot. âGo to sleep.â
His laugh is so loud it makes Mingi kick him too, half-asleep, but then he really does settle, towel discarded on the floor. As if he was waiting for his presence to drop off properly, the younger man squirms closer on the mattress and reaches over you to tug Yunho in, pulling you into a pile, legs intertwined and a little sticky. Itâs soothing though, naked and cuddling with your men, and Mingi starts to snore almost instantly.
The man plastered to your back sighs, though you know heâs not really bothered. âSleep? With that?â
You huff, âThen just talk to me, duh.â
âDuh. You can actually just watch me play video games, if you want. Remember, my new monitor came yesterday, itâs curved and sexy and itâll show you everything in-â
You fall asleep before heâs anywhere near finished.
âȘŒ quarterback!mingi x fem!reader | PART ONE ~28k
âȘŒ you canât fucking stand jung wooyoung, mingi really really wants kim minjeong. when wooyoung and winter end up together, you and mingi have no choice but to figure out how to win winterâs favor, to stab wooyoung in the back. mingi needs a favor, and you want revenge... do you dare?
âȘŒ fake dating au, college au, slow burn, lowk enemies to lovers, this is my very huge and massive installment for @sungbeam âs live alive collab âË⥠thank you beamie duckie for putting this together! so happy to be in a collab beside so many other talented writers, be sure to check out the masterlist for other banger college fics :)
âȘŒ eventual smut minors dni 18+ | LOTS of cursing, insults, toxic til it's not. i don't want to spoil too much but they're in college so they drink and do college kid shit. i hope u enjoy this is my pride and joy in a fic i would eat this mingi as my last meal
âFuck you.â
Jung Wooyoung has never promised you anything. In your four months of doing whatever the fuck this was, heâs never once lead you believe youâd be anything more than his bed warmer. At least not verbally, and honestly, you had to hand it to him, heâd repeat the same monologue over and over like it was his personal gospel: Weâre too young to be in a serious relationship, donât you think? We should be enjoying our youth, our freedom, doing whatever we wantâŠÂ
If you ever hear the words serious relationship, youth, or freedom ever again, you might actually fucking vomit. In the beginning, it was easy to believe him; you rarely spoke to him outside of the bedroom, yours, his, that one supply closet on campus, the bathroom of that stupid fucking dive bar he loves so much. When he began sleeping over, kissing you awake, leaving with promises of later just to do it all over again, you started feeling blasphemous. Questioning gospel, his words of wisdom, you started to think there was more than just sweat and saliva to your relationshipâ maybe he enjoyed spending time with you. Maybe he even likes you.Â
âIâm sorry you feel that way,â leaning against the wall of his foyer, arms crossed over his chest, one ankle over the other, you didnât even make it inside his apartment. The bare, beige walls seemed to laugh at you even if there were no pictures on them, no paintings, no decor.Â
Too good to be true, of course, since you caught him hand-in-hand with her, Kim Minjeong, Winter, that pretty little thing youâre positive you shared a class with at some point in your three years at ATZU. Your immediate reaction was defense, denial, naturally, because why on Earth would he need anyone but you? Heâs told you plenty of times youâre not like anyone heâs met before, that your personality was unique, that youâre the best heâs ever had.Â
âYouâre sorry?!â Your arms were flying around the space, you voice loud, harsh, angry. You didnât care if his roommate was home, maybe youâd apologize to San if you saw him on campus somewhere. Maybe. Right now, your anger was behind the wheel, driving you to insanity, âWhoâs next, Summer? Spring? Fall? You gonna fuck all four seasons, you asshole?âÂ
He shakes his head, black hair falling around his face, the poster board for nonchalance. You wonder how many times heâs had this conversation, how many girls heâs done this to. Maybe you were the problem for thinking you were different, that heâd alter his Ten Commandments for you. He uncurls his arms, straightens out his legs, and motions for the door, voice frustratingly monotonous, âI think you should go.â
âYeah, I should,â you bite, already turning towards the dark brown, wooden door, âI hope I never fucking see you again.â
âShould be easy,â he says through a much too casual breath, reaching around you to grab the worn, brassy knob, forcing you to step sideways so he can open it. You take a step through the threshold and he leans his lanky body into the frame, âMake sure you return the Chrome Hearts hoodie I left at your place, though, doll. Paid good money for it.â
Face morphing into sheer disbelief, the audacity, only your head turns to look at him, eye legitimately twitching, âYouâll be lucky if I donât fucking burn it.â
A corner of his lips tug upward in a smile, âNow that would be a waste, wouldnât it?â
âJust like the last four months?â Your brows raise, a faux smile creeping onto your lips, âDonât text me ever again. Hope she fucks you like I do.â
He doesnât answerâ just stares as you stand there, waiting for an argument, for a rebuttal. Your jaw clenches when you realize you arenât getting one. Turning on your heel, you stomp down his hallway, down the three fucking flights of steps youâve climbed every other day for the past four months.Â
Fuck him. Fuck him.Â
Humiliation sinks in as you leave his building, anger crumbling into something small, something sad, pathetic. You should have seen this coming, you arenât stupid, youâre definitely not naĂŻve. You could blame his pretty smile, his cheekbones so sharp they could be considered blades, his beautiful bronzy skin youâd miss tasting, the way he filled you up so perfectly you wondered how you fucked anyone else. You could blame his touch, the grace he used with your body, how he cared for you after he split you open.Â
The only person to blame here is you. And you know it, deep in your gut, in the ache in your back from carrying the entire relationship you made up in your head, you know itâs your fucking fault youâre hurt. Your friends would tell you soon, too, that they knew this was coming, that they told you heâd do this, they advised you to not get involved with him.Â
Sighing, looking up at the sky, you squint at the overcast, the blue sky that was now a deep, sad grey. Great, even the fucking sun didnât want you.Â
Song Mingi didnât care about much outside of football. He didnât have time to.Â
Almost every day, his schedule was the same: wake up at six, eat his breakfast that was the same every single morning: egg white omelet, two slices of whole-wheat toast, a cup of fresh fruit, sometimes heâll have cranberry juice diluted by water, usually just plain water.Â
Heâs at the gym by seven, following his training program, by nine heâs in the meeting room in the same building as the gym, he meets his team, his coach, going over the practice schedule, reviewing any changes made for the day or the week. By ten, heâs showered and on his way to class, where he fights to keep his brain turned on until two.Â
By three, heâs getting taped, at three-thirty heâs out on the field, practicing. By six, heâs back in the gym, then heâs eating dinner until seven, when he showers, fighting to stay awake for the academics squad that arrives specifically for the football team, helping them with homework, plain old studying, any projects they might be involved in.Â
Heâs lucky if heâs finished by eight thirty, where he can finally go back home, to the house the entire fucking team lives in. In the beginning of the season, itâs usually quiet by nine, everyone so exhausted by the day they donât have the energy to be rowdyâ but that never lasts long, once everyone is comfortable in their routines, Mingiâs convinced they have endless pits of energy. Music, laughter, conversation, video games, itâs so fucking loud Mingi has to put on noise-cancelling headphones when he reaches his bedroom.Â
He doesnât have the energy for anything outside of his schedule. His days are grid-locked, no room to pencil anything in, no time for partying, for socializing, for anything that would damage his D1-starting-quarterback reputation. He thinks heâs the only person in this whole fucking university that has a reputation, everywhere he goes, people watch. Everyone he speaks to, people listen. When he raises his hand in class, the whole fucking room turns their heads. It doesnât help that he gets escorted to class. Itâs unfortunate that his treatment comes with the gig.Â
Itâs nauseating, the pressure of football was enough, thereâs so much added bullshit that comes with it. On his good days, when his adrenaline is pumping, when he feels restless, when heâs really fucking tired of being Mr. Perfect, he makes time. He goes to the party the LAX house is throwing, he takes shots with his teammates, he even dances a little if Wooziâs mixingâ if itâs Vernon DJing, heâs probably standing on the side, bobbing his head to whatever funky shit is playing while the nth girl of the night is in his ear.
The girls, the girls, thatâs a whole other issue he tackles daily. Nightly. Literally. The cheerleading team, the dance team, the girls on campus he makes eyes at that quite literally fold. Well, he folds them, on the nights he doesnât feel like releasing his pent up energy at a party, or when he needs to release his frustrations after an especially bad practice. Thereâs always girls, thereâs an endless supply on a college campus, even more in his DMs, heâd assume half of his forty-three-thousand Instagram followers are women, at least thatâs what it seems when he clicks his requests folder.Â
Mingi hasnât really ever been denied in his life, not with women, not with his college applications, he was getting scouted by university after university in high school. Which is why he canât wrap his mind around what happened to him last week, a typical crazy night at the LAX house, who throws weekly in their off-season, celebrating absolutely nothing but partying like it was everyoneâs birthday.
Mingi was in his favorite outfit, short, dark hair slicked back, jewelry on his neck, his wrists, his fingers, he felt good. He felt lucky, even, when he eyed up the dark-haired beauty across the kitchen, standing alone, staring at her phone like she was waiting to be approached by him. He put on his pretty boy smile and crossed the room, running a hand through his hair, and approached her with every ounce of swagger he could conjure.Â
Winter. Such a pretty name for such a beautiful girl, Mingi was nearly drooling, her voice sweet like honey, her outfit screamed danger, he needed her. She didnât smile when she looked at him, didnât ask for his name, he didnât think twice, Mingi just assumed she didnât need to ask, everyone on campus knew his name.Â
âDo you know when Wooyoung will get here?â
He thinks his heart might have flatlined.Â
Mingi isnât like his bitchless teammates, who jump at every opportunity to fuck just because they can. Mingi fucks, but itâs with purpose, every woman he approaches, every woman he hits on, itâs because they fit the criteria.Â
He coughed a little, brows furrowed, head tilted in confusion. He knew that name, he knew Wooyoung, heâs roommates with San whoâs friends with Jongho, one of his teammates, on the starting offensive line.Â
âWooyoung?â He found himself asking, choking on a laugh. âLike, the guy who got some girl pregnant last semester?â
She rolled her eyes, âThat was a rumour, he didnât get anyone pregnant.â
Then her phone lit up, and so did her entire fucking face. That smile, Mingi nearly groaned, sheâs perfect, sheâd look so good on his arm, flaunting her to the entire campus, to his teammates, his coach. He watched as she walked away, taking all of his hopes and dreams with her. His future, the mother of his unborn children, gone in a flash, off to find that leather-jacket-wearing fucking asshole that didnât even have a career. Is she kidding? Mingi was on the brink of getting drafted to the fucking NFL, and she wanted Wooyoung? What did he fucking have that Mingi didnât?
He stood there for at least another two minutes, stunned into silence, fingers slowly gripping his solo cup harder until he could hear the crackling of hard plastic bending in his palm. Then and there, Mingi decided she wasnât worth it. How could she be worth his time, when she wants him? It showed a lot about her.
Mingi spent the night burying himself into whatever girl he could find that looked closest to her. For the week that followed, his mind was clouded by a dark vignette, the picture of her at the center. Winter. He didnât even fucking like snow, thatâs why he went to school somewhere warm.Â
Slowly, day after day, the rejection began to eat away at him, making him look inward, a practice he doesnât have much experience in. What does Wooyoung have that he doesnât? He came to the conclusion that thereâs nothing. In every which way possible, Mingiâs better than Wooyoung, so why the fuck did she want him so bad when Mingi was standing right in front of her, in his favorite black party shirt, rings on his fingers, Aquaphor freshly applied on his lips?
She wouldnât leave his mind. He replayed the rejection so many times, involuntarily and voluntarily, Mingi found himself attracted to the bored stare she gave him. Eyebrows straight, lips wet from liquor, shoulders slouched, not even a hint of a smile. Sheâs beautiful. She doesnât care about him. Sheâs perfect for him.Â
He has to do something, has to commit some kind of crime, or somehow get Wooyoung kicked out of the school. He sat his teammates down in the dining room days later, the whiteboard they kept for discussing gameplay filled with scribbles and lines in red at the head of the table, in the center was a circled photo of her. His teammates called him crazy, down bad, but Mingi considers himself the next Albert fuckinâ Einstein.Â
All he has to do is prove to Winter that heâs better than Wooyoung. Easy.Â
â...Iâm sorry you feel that way?â Your eyes, so wide they took over the entire upper half of your face as you all but screeched, âdoll?!â
Yeosang and Jongho eyed each other from across the table, then redirected their gaze back onto you. The three of you at the most popular coffee shop on campus, Lucent, you didnât even care to have this conversation somewhere private, all the ears who might listen should take it as a warning. You considered it a service to the ATZU campus.Â
Yeosang, green hair messily waved over his cheekbones, sighed, âI canât say I didnât warn you.â
âI know,â you bit back, eyes pointed, already prepared for that response. âBut can you wait before saying I told you so and comfort me first?â
âThank you,â you grumbled, âitâs just stupid. Sheâs not even prettier than me.â
Yeosang and Jongho shared another look, but itâs Jongho who spoke up this time, âI bet sheâs not, probably just easy.â
âExactly!â You screeched again, eyes wide, jumping out of your seat a little. After receiving looks from around the semi-crowded shop, you shrank in your seat again, cheeks heating up. In a quieter, but still sharp voice, you continued, âBecause thatâs what Wooyoung likes. Heâs a no-good piece of shit who just wants to get his dick wet, it doesnât matter who wets it.â
âI wish someone would have told you that before you jumped in bed with him,â quips Yeosang, a small grin playing on his lips. When you cursed him out with nothing but your eyes, his smile disappeared.Â
âWhy are we blaming me?â Your fingers curled onto the table as your eyes danced between your two best friends, probably looking insane, but you didnât care. âIâm the victim here. He played me.â
Jongho runs a hand through his hair, still half-damp from his training this morning, or maybe he actually showered after the gym this time. He sits back in the booth, eyeing you with a bored look, âWooyoung plays everything. All he does is play, thatâs who he is.â
âWell, forgive a girl for wanting to be different.â
Yeosang snorts, and the way your eyes pierce his soul makes his laugh die on his tongue. âWhat are you laughing at?â You scoff, âYou canât even look your girl in the eye publicly.â
Yeosang gasps, âDo not bring up my situation because youâre pissed about your own.â
âWell?â Your head shakes, arms flailing about in front of you to say What the fuck is the difference?
âOkay!â Jongho intervenes, his arm literally laying over the black table between you to cut the two of you off. âIâm sorry youâre upset, and Iâm sorry he hurt you. But he seriously isnât worth a shred of emotion, you arenât losing anything by cutting him off.â
You bury your face in your palms, elbows holding you up. Muffled from the edges of your hands over your mouth, you mutter, âHeâs so hot, and heâs so good at sex.â
Jongho chuckles, his head shaking, you could see it even with your hands over your eyes. âIs that why all the girls on campus flock to him? Because heâs a good fuck?â
You split four fingers down the middle to peek an eye out, âYes. And he has this, like, magnetizing aura about him, I donât know. Heâs good at talking, at making you feel special, like wanting him was your idea all along.âÂ
âHm,â Yeosangâs head tilts, plopping back into the booth, arms crossed. âSo heâs just⊠a manipulator?âÂ
You whine, faking an annoying, high-pitched crying noise. âYes, heâs really good at it.â
âDamn,â Jongho mutters under his breath, âheâs giving the whole campus problems. How long until he runs through everybody, you think?âÂ
âNot long,â you grumble, âwho else is he giving problems?â
âMingi,â Jonghoâs lips scrunch to one side, and a shiver runs down your spine. Mingi. âHe wanted to bag this one girl and she dubbed him for Wooyoung. Heâs torn up about it.â
âHe should be torn up,â you snatch Yeosangâs coffee cup from in front of him and take a long sip. He makes a face like heâs disgusted youâre drinking from his cup, so you make the same one back, mocking him.Â
Yeosang turns to Jongho, âMingi never gets dubbed. What is Wooyoung, like a sex god?â
âHeâs the bad boy trope in every shitty coming-of-age movie youâve ever seen,â you sip again until you hear the rattle of the last bits of liquid between ice cubes. Yeosang makes the same face when you slide the coffee cup back to him.Â
âMingi is genuinely losing his fucking mind,â Jongho laughs a little, shaking his head like he didnât even believe the words coming out of his mouth. âI donât think the man has ever been told no in his life.âÂ
âI wouldnât tell him no, thatâs for sure,â you say with the smallest laugh, and Jongho gives you a long stare, like heâs putting puzzle pieces together. You look on either side of you, then down at your shirt, then back up to him, âDo I have something on my face?â
Jongho shakes his head, eyes widening like he was about to shout eureka, âThis could work.â
âWhat could work?â You ask, and within four seconds of him not responding, you ask again, âHo, what could work?âÂ
âStop calling me Ho,â Jonghoâs lip lifts in distaste, âMingiâs trying to figure out a way to get revenge on Wooyoung, or prove that heâs better than Wooyoung, I guess, so he can steal the girl from him.â
âJust tell him to wait a month and sheâll be free again,â you shrug, âhe doesnât need an elaborate plan.â
Yeosangâs brows raise, bottom lip flipped over, shoulders slightly shrugging as if to say Yeah, true.Â
Jongho holds a finger up between you, âWhat if I set you up with Mingi?â
Your jaw drops, a disgusting sound leaving your lips that youâd die if anyone else heard. âMe? And Mingi? Are you stupid?â
âNo, no, no,â he shakes his finger back and forth, âhear me out. Wouldnât Wooyoung be pissed off if you bounced back with the star QB mere days after he cut you off?â
You, still sitting in anxious disbelief, plant your palms against the black table, shaking your head rapidly. âEven if he isââ
âHear me out,â Jongho says a little stronger, and your lips smack back together. âWooyoung will be so enraged that he cuts the girl off and gets back with you, maybe heâll even be so mad he realizes his feelings for you were stronger than he thoughtââ
Yeosang cuts him off, âHold on a secondââ
ââMingi gets the girl, and then you can break Wooyoungâs heart to get back at him.â
You sit back in the booth, arms crossing, face scrunching together in thought because it actually doesnât sound like that bad of an idea. Jongho is grinning like heâd just solved one of the seven wonders of the world, and Yeosang is looking back and forth between you like heâs never heard anything so fucking stupid.Â
âThereâs no way in hell youâre actually considering this,â Yeosangâs voice is shaky, drenched in disbelief, âhave you ever watched To All The Boys Iâve Loved Before?âÂ
âThis is different,â youâre quick to answer, âIâm not Lara Jean, there are no letters, thereâs just an Wooyoung who needs to learn what it feels like to be on the opposite end of the knife.â
âAnd Mingi wonât shut up until he sinks his claws into that girl, I think itâs a pretty even exchange,â Jongho adds, both of you two peas in an optimistic pod while Yeosang just stares, dumbfounded.Â
He blinks once, twice, before his lips part to speak, sucking in a breath. They close, and his face twists in confusion, âLet me get this straight, youâre suggesting fake dating Song Mingi, like, football player Song Mingi. And you think heâll agree?âÂ
You turn to Jongho who just shrugs. âWhy not?â
âI donât know how to say this without insulting you, girl,â Yeosangâs bottom lip is tugged down to expose his bottom row of teeth, a nervous but apologetic look. âBut his taste is⊠refined. Of snotty girls and like, barbie dolls. Plus, youâre opposites.âÂ
âFuck you Yeosang, Iâm hot!â You immediately bark out, then turn to Jongho, âIâm hot, arenât I?âÂ
âYeah Yeo, sheâs hot,â Jongho nodded, saying Yeosangâs name like it was an insult, then immediately cringing because those words feel gross on his tongue, âMingi will be into it, trust me. And if heâs not, Iâll just remind him of the bigger picture, itâs not like he has to kiss her or anything.âÂ
You make a face that is nowhere near pleased, lips thinning, brows flattening. âYou guys have known me too long, youâre too comfortable insulting me to my face.âÂ
Yeosang barely gives you a glance, âShe doesnât party anymore, she doesnât socialize with anyone outside her study group and us. Theyâre opposites, even if sheâsââ he cringes, ââhot.â
âHer study group goes out!â Jongho argues, also not sparing you a glance, âJia and Riyo are always at the LAX house, she can just tag along with them or with Mingi or whatever. I donât know, once I get him to agree, itâs out of our hands.âÂ
Your jaw drops again. âOut of your hands? Hello? Iâm right here, first of all, second, this is your idea, Ho.âÂ
The flex in Jonghoâs jaw is his way of saying stop it with the fucking nickname. Deadpanning, he responds, âItâs just an idea, you and Mingi can figure out the details.âÂ
âStop acting like he said yes already,â Yeosang argues, amusement in his voice now, âyouâll get her hopes up of fucking a football guy.âÂ
You canât react to the response, because fucking Song Mingi would be a dreamâ not that the football part has anything to do with it. Your face reflects the thought.Â
âHeâll say yes,â Jongho nods, âtrust me.âÂ
âFuck no. Are you stupid?âÂ
Maybe Jongho should have waited until they got to the gym, or at least until after Mingi had consumed four bites of his breakfast. Maybe waking him up a minute before his alarm went off at a mere six in the morning wasnât the best idea, but his anxiety wouldnât leave him alone.Â
âCome on,â Jongho whines, legitimately whines, because if Mingi didnât say yes heâd have to hear about it for weeks to come, and he canât bear to hear another complaint from the older manâs mouth. âShe said yes already, itâs the perfect plan. Girls are jealous like that, they want what they canât have.âÂ
Dark hair, a little oily and piecey on his head, shooting out in every which way, he was shirtless under the navy blue comforter, sheets crumpled at the foot of his bed. Jongho canât remember the last time Mingi used the washing machine in the basement of the football house.Â
Mingi sits up a little, yawning, before looking up to Jongho with an uninterested look, âIs she hot?â
Jongho canât help the face he makes. Head craning back and forth, almost touching each shoulder as a high pitched, unconvincing, âYeah,â slides from his lips.Â
Mingi smacks his lips, laying back in his bed and turning away, pulling the comforter over his shoulders as he utters, âWaking me up before my alarm for some bullshit, Jongho.â
Jongho tries defending himself, âIâve known her since she was fourteen, sheâs like a sister. If youâre talking about, like, conventionally attractive then I guess, yesââ
âI donât even know what conventionally means,â Mingi huffs, âget out of my room.âÂ
âMingi, Wooyoung just broke her heart, she wants revenge, and you want the girl. It's an even exchange, no strings. You have nothing to lose.âÂ
Mingiâs grumble slowly grows in volume as he turns back over, eyes still closed. âWhat about my pride? Making some elaborate scheme just to get a girl who I shouldnât even care about.âÂ
Jonghoâs lips thinâ not the pity party, again. He canât listen to it another time or else he might explode. Theyâve already hidden the whiteboard.Â
He bends at the knees, arms folding over the empty space at the edge of Mingiâs mattress, âListen, bro, itâll stay between me, you and herââ and Yeosang, ââitâs the perfect plan. You donât even have to learn her last name, just stand next to her for a little while until your dream girlâs interest is piqued. Easy peasy.âÂ
One of Mingiâs eyes opened, âItâll work?âÂ
Jongho nods.Â
âAnd sheâs hot?âÂ
Jonghoâs lips thin again, but he nods.Â
âFine,â Mingi huffs, âtell her to come over or something so I can get a good look before I agree to this.âÂ
If it was any other circumstance, your fingertips would be buzzing at your sides, heart pounding in your chest with having a man so beautiful in front of you. Plump lips, dark hair still a little damp laying over his sculpted cheekbones, strong shoulders on display in his sleeveless tank. He sat sunken into the couch, one leg folded over the other with his ankle kissing his knee, arms crossed over his chest. Gorgeous. His skin looks so soft you want to touch itâ maybe lick it.Â
But he did not look pleased. On top of ruining the fantasy, youâre disappointed that men like him still exist.Â
Standing before him across the living room, a hip popped with your arms crossed, the only thing Jongho said to you before walking inside the football house was that Mingi wanted to meet you. Not that youâd be put on display for him to judge your appearance before he agreed to being your fake fucking boyfriend.Â
âThis is misogynistic in ways my mind canât even comprehend right now,â you huffed the words to Jongho, your best friend of nearly a decade, not even looking at Mingi. As far as youâre concerned, heâs not in the room anymore. He no longer fucking exists.Â
There was an apology in his deep brown eyes, his features softened, lips tightened. But he didnât answer. Mingiâs thick eyebrows were furrowed, top lip curled, but his eyes didnât read distaste even if his body language portrayed it. With the rage simmering within you right now, he should thank whatever god he prayed to that you werenât at the boiling point yet.Â
âI donât know what that means,â Mingi shakes his head a little, voice lazy, âthis will do, though. I guess.âÂ
âYou guess?â Your entire face jerks forward, âYou fucking guess? Iâm a human, you know. Standing right in front of you.âÂ
âNo shit,â Mingi sighs, head leaning back into the couch cushion, chin tipped up, face reading utter boredom. âYouâll get me the girl, though? Youâre sure sheâll want me if I pretend Iâm⊠dating you?âÂ
He said the words like you casted a fucking curse on him.Â
Your eye twitched as you glance at Jongho. Meeting his apprehensive stare you uncurled your arms from your chest, legs moving for the front door, âFuck no, Iâm not doing this. Absolutely not, plan is cancelled.âÂ
âWait!â Jongho stands, eyes wide, palms pressing into your shoulders to stop you from walking straight out the front door. âHeâs tired, we had a hard practice today. Heâs not usually this bad, I swear, I swear.âÂ
âWhat do you mean?â Mingi sits up a little, turning halfway to see the two of you, âWhat do you mean âthis badâ? Iâm being normal.âÂ
âSee?â Your arm flies in his direction, âheâs being normal. You never told me heâs a fucking asshole, Ho.âÂ
âAn asshole!?â Mingi stands up straight, arms at his side, jaw dropped. âI have to tell every single person in my life Iâm dating you, and Iâm an asshole for wanting to make sure itâs fitting?âÂ
âWhat are you so worried about?â You raise your voice, âyouâre twenty-one years old, itâs college, itâs not like you have a reputation to uphold, no one cares. You play football, big fuckinâ deal.âÂ
Mingi gasps, insulted, âBig deal? Big deal? Itâs my entire future, thank you very much.âÂ
âYou wonât have a future if you treat women like theyâre your little playthings,â you snap, voice bitter, âis the NFL gonna draft a misogynist?â You smack your lips, eyes meeting the floor, regretting the words as soon as you said them. The NFL would in fact draft a misogynist. Plenty of them, actually.Â
âWhy do you even care? We just have to show face a few times,â Mingi responds, voice bored yet again, âyou donât have to like me, I donât have to like you. I just want her.âÂ
Rage bubbles up inside you again as Wooyoung crosses your mind. It would feel really, really good to hurt him after he hurt you. And Mingiâs right, you guess, you donât have to get to know him, or speak to him ever again after this. You could look past the flaws you were sure ran deep if it was just temporary. Situational.Â
You look up, brows flat, mumbling the reiteration, âA few times.â
Jongho is nodding, smile growing as his eyes bounce between you, whispering, âYes, friendly, this is good, this is good.â
You face Mingi from across the couch, holding up a flat hand, curling a finger into your palm with each rule, âWe donât speak to each other outside of pre-scheduled meetings, we only act like a couple when thereâs people watching, and do not fucking touch me.âÂ
âDonât touch you?â Mingi pops a brow, âpeople wonât believe weâre a couple. How am I gonna prove to her Iâm boyfriend-worthy if I canât show off my boyfriend skills?âÂ
âFuck,â you mutter under your breath, looking away, âyouâre right. Wooyoung wonât be jealous if you donât make him jealous.âÂ
âExactly,â Mingiâs brows raise, pleased, dimples out to play as his lips thin in a tight smile. âI donât want to touch you as much as you donât want to touch me, trust.âÂ
Your head snaps up to shoot him another pointed stare, grumbling under your breath, âAsshole.âÂ
Mingiâs smile morphs into a nasty little smirk, âYour asshole now, baby.â You give him an unimpressed, blank stare and his smirk falters as what he said sinks in. Sheepishly, he mumbles, âSounded better in my head.âÂ
âLike you actually think before you speak,â you snap, rolling your eyes, bringing your attention back to Jongho who looks like if he breathes wrong his entire plan will go in the shitter. âIâll figure out where Woo will be next, you can tell Mingi and plan out when weâre meeting and where, whatever. Keeping this very much so in your hands, Ho.âÂ
âGood,â you nod, then glance back at Mingi, âdonât embarrass me by saying stupid shit around people, âkay?âÂ
Mingi cocks his head to the side wearing the biggest smile, âDonât embarrass me by wearing that outfit in public again, âkay?âÂ
FIRST OUTING: SOFT LAUNCH, THE LAX HOUSE. 11:20 PM.
âHow the hell did you get Song Mingi to be your boyfriend?â Riyo is on your hip, bright red hair in a single braid down her back, denim booty-shorts hugging her hips, a cropped, tight bandeau top covering her chest. You suppose for where you went to school that was the uniform, something you quickly realized weeks into your freshman year, clothes were optional here.Â
You scoff, walking in-step with her, grass from the lawn of the LAX house sneaking around the edges of your flip-flop covered feet. âWhatâs that supposed to mean, huh?â
She giggles, a step ahead of you as she walks up the front stairs, âItâs weird, you have no correlation to the football team. Where did you even meet him?âÂ
âOn campus,â your voice is high-pitched, certainly not convincing. You clear your throat, âI mean, I applied to be a part of the football teamâs academics unit, I just got in, like, a month ago.â
Riyo pauses at the door, a hand on her hip, eyebrows furrowed, âThe fuck? And you just didnât tell me that you,â she counts on her fingers, âapplied, got accepted, and started?â
âItâs not a big deal,â you shrug, nervously laughing to cover up the so fucking obvious lie, âIâm just helping them study, Mingi and I.. clicked.â
God, the words feel sour. So unconvincing you could vomitâ and heâs inside, waiting for you, you could really fucking empty your guts on the LAX houseâs porch. Itâs already cluttered with lacrosse sticks, solo cups, backpacks, containers of white balls you can only assume are used in the game, your vomit would probably go unnoticed. Or washed away by beer, maybe your tears by the end of the night.Â
You donât know why you agreed to this, it was a moment of weakness. Of rage. Wanting revenge. Because behind the stained, scratched white door, was the entire lacrosse team, the entire football team, God knows who the fuck else if Riyoâs here. You could hear the music bleeding through the walls, something with heavy bass, something rap, something you might know if you opened the door.Â
Jongho texted you yesterday that Mingi asked for you to make your first appearance here, he said it was the perfect spot, that Wooyoung and Winter might even be here. As much as you were regretting your decision, you hoped he was here. You want to see the look on his face when he spots you at Mingiâs side, when word spreads that youâre dating him, you want to watch his face morph into confusion, into regret, hopefully something lustful that you could use to your advantage.Â
âThatâs gotta go in, like, the top five most insane things to ever happen on this campus,â Riyo wears a supportive smile, yet her head still shakes in disbelief, âIâm happy for you, though. Actually, I think you kinda suit each other.â
You fight the cringe, that was an insult. You smile instead, already hating the words about to come out of your mouth, âLetâs go inside, I wanna see him.â
Youâve been here before, you frequented the LAX house plenty freshman year, a lot less sophomore year after your fling with Kim Mingyu, you havenât been here once yet this year. It hasnât changed, medium-sized house, open floor plan, giant kitchen, silver appliances. The furniture was dull, broken in, old, thrifted. Itâs nostalgic, being here, these people, you barely see the lacrosse team on campus, you know a few of them from your times here as a freshman, mornings escaping after a night with Mingyu, you donât know anyone well enough to be considered a friend.Â
Riyo is immediately squealing upon walking inside, hugging girls you only know the first names of, you smile in greeting from behind her. Jia, another girl from your study group that youâre close with, approaches with the same squeal Riyo had unleashed on the room, her dark hair styled in waves behind her back, deep, golden-olive skin glowing beneath the barely-there lights in the room.Â
Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head when she sees you, âHello? Shut the fuck up?â
âHey baby,â your tongue sneaks out between your teeth and she squeals again, throwing her arms over your shoulders in a tight hug. Swaying you side to side, sheâs a giggling mess, sandal-covered feet tapping against the floor.Â
âI havenât seen you here since last year!â She yells, grin spread wide, showing her dazzling white teeth you couldnât believe shone so bright in a room this dark.Â
You shrug, smiling, âI have good reason.â
âSheâs seeing her boyfriend,â Riyo teases, nudging you with her shoulder, smiling like a fucking crazy person. Leaning in close to Jia, her voice is still loud, even if she was trying to be secretive, âSong Mingi.â
Jia looks like nothing in the world makes sense, and sheâs been transported to another dimension. âI saw you two nights ago, babe, and there was not one mention of a boyfriend, most certainly not a word about Song Mingi.â
âWeâre not being, like, super public about it,â you shake your head, cheeks burning, âitâs chill guys, seriously, donât make a huge deal about it, heâs not a celebrity.â
âClosest weâll ever get to one, plus, last I heard you were still fucking Wooyoung,â the look on Jiaâs face hasnât left, and God you wish you thought out a better plan with Mingi before you left the football house the other day, youâre scrambling for a story.Â
âEw, why are you talking about him?â
Speak of the fucking devilâ a shiver racks down your now rigid spine, you fix your eyes that involuntarily widened. Jia and Riyo watch with dropped jaws as Mingi slides an arm over your shoulder, an easygoing smile on his face, looking at you so fucking fondly it makes your heart skip a beat. Fuck him for being so damn beautiful.
Dark shirt clinging to his torso, showing off every fucking muscle that was etched into his skin beneath it, his hair was styled, purposely messy how it hung over the sides of his head where it was shorter, faded into his skin. Baggy jeans on his legs, low enough to show the Calvins under them, he wore a skinny, silver chain around his neck, one to match on his wrist, with pretty, bulky rings on his fingers.Â
This is so fucking unfortunateâ heâs beautiful and he sucks, you hate him, his personality, the misogyny he so easily wields as a weapon, it makes you sick. He doesnât deserve a perfect face and an even more perfect body. Fuck him.Â
âWe were talking about you,â you force a smile on your lips, turning back to Jia and Riyo as your stiff body leans into Mingiâs huge one, so stiff and broad and muscled you tried to not pay too much attention to it. âOf course you missed it.â
âStart again,â his smile is cheesy, so fucking cheesy you want to slap it off his face. âI wanna hear all the cute things my baby said about me.â
Spit lodges in your throat that constricts around nothing, you choke. Coughing, you pull away from his grip, turning around, smacking your chest with a fist, eyes tearingâ he did not just call you baby unironically.Â
He leans in close, feigning concern, âAre you okay?â
Your other hand flies up, back still facing him, âFineâ fuck.â
Gathering yourself, you turn back around, plastering a smile onto your face. Bidding a wave to the two girls, through gritted teeth, you ask him in a false, sweet voice, âDonât you have people to introduce me to?âÂ
He quirks a brow, but nods, slinging his arm over your shoulder again as he guides you away from your group of friends. Voice low, keeping himself tight to your ear, he asks, âWhat the fuck was that?â
âDo not ever call me baby again,â you keep your smile, but your voice is venomous, âthat was fucking disgusting.â
âYou think I enjoyed it?â He whispers back, voice pitched sharply, âItâs kinda part of boyfriendism, no? Pet names and shit?âÂ
Youâre wading through the crowd, Mingi shooting smiles and dapping up tens of people you donât know, mainly men, all beefy and drunk and eyes dilated like they just railed lines in the kitchen. You shift your shoulders under his heavy ass arm, âJesus, Mingi, Iâm not a fucking ledge for you to put your whole weight on, big ass.â
He grins as he looks down at you, wiggling his brows, âYou think my ass is big?âÂ
You roll your eyes, âI donât think Iâm gonna survive you.â
âYou wonât believe how many times Iâve heard that line,â his grin is proud, heâs not even looking at you as he says it, eyes focused on the people in front of him, in the hallway where a large table is set up, holding a messy game of beer pong. Water beneath the table, a shallow film on top of the painted surface, swirls of brown covering your schoolâs logo shittily lined in black, gross.
You donât have time to scoffâ you know these guys, Jeno, Chris, Kai, Haechan, Soobin, Changbin. All on the football team, all huge, youâre already vibrating, body stiffening under Mingiâs arm thatâs so casually thrown over your shoulders, heavy and thick. Suffocating.
You wish you could be meeting them under different circumstances. Youâre tainted now, if they even cared about boy-code, which they might not usually, but you wondered if Mingi pulled rank with them, or if girlfriends were off limits compared to casual lays. Your answer is quickly delivered to you on a silver platter as Jeno eyes you from across the table, hip to hip with Chris who does the same, eyes sliding down your body and back up like they were sizing you up, waiting to pounce.Â
Your posture changes, subtle, but your arms uncurl from in front of you, back arching slightly, eyes drooping into that pretty, low stare that did Wooyoung in when you first met him. A small smile on your lips, you tilt your head away from Mingi while he introduces youâ as his girlfriend. Right. You lock back in, blinking into focus, smiling and nodding to each man that introduces himself like you didnât already know all of their names and their positions.Â
âI didnât know you had a girlfriend,â Changbin has one palm planted on the painted table, clearly he didnât care about the murky water, one of his hands palms a can of beer close to his chest, âyou were crying over whatâs-her-face two minutes ago.â
Mingi makes a face, head nodding towards you with his eyebrows raised like he was silently telling Changbin to shut the fuck up, like you werenât supposed to hear that, as if you didnât know already. Heâs playing it up, smart.
âNice to meet you,â Chris grins from the other side of the table, his voice warm, smile pretty, it makes you feel fuzzy inside. You canât wait to fake-break-up with Mingi. âYour boyfriend didnât get you a drink yet?âÂ
âWas waiting for one of you to do it for me,â Mingi juts his chin out in Kaiâs direction and he nods, eyes wide as he receives the order, and he scrambles. Like, literally scrambles. Nonchalantly you nudge your elbow into Mingiâs ribs, silently telling him to stop being an asshole.Â
Hiding his hiss in a forced laugh, he steals his arm back from around your shoulders, hiding his formerly exposed ribs, âYou should have one hand-delivered to you, baâ sweetheart.â
God, you can feel the bile churning in your gut. You fix your face before it morphs into full disgust.Â
âHow did you two meet?â Haechan asks, his voice whineyâ you were not expecting that from his bulky build, broad and toned, so hot. His cherry-red hair is a mess of curls atop his head, skin bronzy under the far light dimming the hallway, allowing them to see the game, you presume.Â
âThe library.â
âOn campus.â
You and Mingi respond at the same time, then look at each other, eyes panic-stricken at the fumble. You couldnât repeat your lie from earlier, they would know you aren't a part of their study team, all you could think was on campus, a generic answer.Â
You stutter, âTheâ The library.â
âThe one thatâs on campus,â Mingi nods, assured.Â
âWhy the fuck were you at the library?â Soobin asks, leaned up against the wall of the hallway, dark brows furrowed, two hands around his can of beer. Valid question, your heart picks up speed in your chest, you werenât expecting them to pry.Â
âStudying,â Mingi responds nonchalantly, his voice high, shoulders shrugging.Â
âExtra tutoring,â you add, âon top of what you guys have, yeah. One of the girls on your academics team told me Mingi needed extra help and volunteered me because our schedules lined up.â
âExactly,â Mingi nods, lips pursed in an attempt to be more convincing, âlove at first sight type shit.â
You tuck your lips between your teeth to hide your smile, smothering the snort that fights to climb to the surface, redirecting your gaze to the floor beneath you. You canât wait to make fun of him for that line later.
âRight,â Changbinâs brows are tied together, dark hair sprawled across his forehead, almost hiding his skepticism. He redirects his attention to Jeno, the silver-haired hunk of a man beside him, Chris splitting the three. Tilting his chin up, he asks, âKeep playing?âÂ
Mingiâs lips tighten, turning to you again, âShould we go find where Kai is?â
âSure,â you sigh, flipping your hair off your now slightly sticky shoulders, âI could use a drink.â One of his hands slides to your lower back, guiding you away, and you realize then that he doesnât have a drinkâ moving in-step towards the kitchen, you ask, âYouâre not drinking?â
âNo, not tonight,â his voice is monotonous, he doesnât look down, keeps his eyes ahead. âNeed a clear mind if Iâm gonna lie to a hundred people.âÂ
âItâs hot in here,â you complain, face crunching to cringe, itâs humid for November, even for where you live.
âI can tell, youâre sweating all over me, bro,â he responds, voice dripping in boredom, pressing his hand to your back a little harder instead of removing it from your body altogether. âGross.â
âThen take your hand off me, bro,â you huff, turning the corner, the kitchen coming into view. Surprising high ceilings, white cabinets, silver appliances, marble countertops, probably the nicest room in the whole house, you wondered if there was still a hole in the back door from that one night Hoshi got a little too drunk. You sneer, âYou probably smell like a wet dog after practice.â
You spot a few members of the lacrosse team in the corner, standing in front of the back door, a black mesh screen severing the house from the backyard, letting cool air from outside in. Joshua, Wonwoo, Seungkwan, a joint lit in Seungkwanâs mouth, the youngest of the three, a sophomore. Guess they really chilled out during their off-season, no worries about a drug test in their future. Good for them. Â
âI smell like a beautiful woman after practice,â Mingi scoffs, guiding you in front of him with his palm, hands gliding up to sit on your shoulders, pushing you through people that parted at the sight of him. You keep a tight-lipped smile on your face, giving a small nod each time you make eye contact with someone new. He leans down into your ear, âYouâd probably like it, youâre the gross one. Pheremone-lover.âÂ
âKeep your androstenone away from me,â you answer with disgust in your voice, without changing your face an inch, âyou probably donât even know what that is.â
âGuilty as charged, smart girl,â he catches Kaiâs head of blonde hair over the crowd, the two men probably the tallest in the entire kitchen. âHuening!â Mingi yells, stealing Kaiâs attention, he wears a wide, excited grin, holding two cans of beer over his head like heâd discovered the One Piece.Â
âI got beer!â He yells across the kitchen, immediately wading through people to get to you and Mingi. A freshman, you think, also on the offensive line, Jonghoâs told you about himâ a smart kid with great instincts for football, uses his build to his advantage. Innocent, ignorant like a child, a little stupid, heâs cute. Chubby cheeks, a kind smile, your already heated skin rises in temperature as he approaches, opening your can for you.Â
You introduce yourself properly, thanking him for the beer, âHowâs your first year on the team?â
Mingiâs head snaps down to look at you, brows tied together in surprise.Â
Kai grins, blushing immediately, running a hand through his blonde hair, âGreat, thanks for asking, the guys are really cool, Coach is terrifying lowkey, but heâs cool, too.â
You giggle, head tilting, âIâve heard that, heâs famous though, right? Coach Suh?âÂ
âYeah, heâs like, renowned in the football world,â Kai babbles on, the two of you erupting into easy conversation, all while Mingiâs head bobs back and forth, watching, listening, his confusion growing with each new word that falls from your lips.Â
He canât help but interject, âSince when do you know so much about the team?â
Your giggle slows to a stop, smile faltering, âWhat do you mean? Iâve always known, this is a D1 school, silly.âÂ
Silly is synonymous with stupid fuck, he can feel it in how your pointed eyes stare into him.
âShe couldnât be your girlfriend if she didnât know football, Song,â Kai adds, so innocent, so easygoing, oh my God you love him.Â
Mingi nods like he was the one who reminded himself you were his girlfriend, not Kai, forcing a laugh out, more punched and nervous than anything. âRight, yeah, yeah.â
Your blood runs cold as you catch a head of recognizable black hair around Kaiâs ridiculously huge bicep, bronzy skin, a cloud of smoke surrounding him like it was his brand, his aura. Your eyes widen, head swerving around Kaiâs arm to get a better look, taking in his leather jacket, the rings on his fingers, the cigarette dangling between his teeth as he smiles, Corona in one of his hands.Â
âNice meeting you, Kai,â you donât even look at the boy, grabbing onto Mingiâs arm, dragging him sideways, away from Kaiâs earshot. âHeâs here, heâs here, heâs here.â
âWho? Who?âÂ
âWho do you think, dumbass?â You spit, chin pointing in Wooyoungâs direction, âThe only man whoâs more of an asshole than you.â
âOh my God, sheâs with him,â a hand comes up to cover Mingiâs mouth, his brown eyes wide, excitement gleaming in chocolate, drawing them hazel. Beside Wooyoung is Winter, long, dark hair pinned up halfway, a short, black skirt on her hips, halter top tugging her upper half just right. He lowers his voice, âFuck, sheâs so hot.â
âPause,â you turn to him as the realization sinks inâ he wants Winter? Winter is the girl youâre helping him get? Kim Minjeong? âYou want Winter?!â
âYes,â he groans out, head tilting back, a whine to his voice like he was four years old and you just took away his favorite toy. âSheâs perfect, dude. Like, perfection in a human, I love her, I think.â
âWhat the fuck?â Completely baffled, you shake your head in disbelief at how perfect this is lined up. You donât know how you didnât put it together sooner, you didnât once think about who Mingi wants, who the girl might be. You didnât really care. âThis is good, this works in our favor, this is perfect, actually,â youâre rambling as you turn around, watching Wooyoung and Winter across the room, how Wooyoung introduces her to the lacrosse trio at the backdoor, how he pulls his cigarette from his lips to press them to her cheek in a short kiss.Â
âEw, heâs touching her, thatâs my wife,â Mingi props his forearm on your shoulder, you immediately shake yourself out of his grip, eyes never leaving them, laser-focused. He whines, âComfort me, Iâm heartbroken. Heâs touching her, bro.â
âTheyâre together, what do you expect?â You whisper-yell, twisting around to get him out of your personal space. âHow can we get their attention? We need them to see us together, being coupled up and shit.â
âIâm boys with Shua and Wonwoo, we can go over there,â Mingi suggests, finally looking at you, and the excited gleam in his eye was now dulled down to desperation, a sadness only caused by yearning. If he wasnât such an asshole, you might feel bad for him.Â
You nod, âGood idea, letâs do it. Letâs go, come on, football boy.â
With his hands on your shoulders again, you guzzle the beer in your hands as you cross the kitchen, eyes screwing shut as the spicy carbonation burns your throat. Beer is so fucking gross, at least itâs cold, it gets the job doneâ you burp before you approach them, a closed fist covering your mouth in an attempt to hide the noise.Â
âEw!â Mingi gasps from behind you, âDid you just burp? Youâre disgusting, what the fuck is wrong with you?â
âShut up,â you spit, âI couldnât help it, and theyâll hear you, go back to boyfriendism and make it believable.â
âYou want me to put on a show?â You can hear the amusement in his voice, the wiggle of his stupid thick brows.Â
âI do, actually,â you answer with a defeated sigh, âdo your worst.â
Approaching the lacrosse trio, Wooyoung and Winter, Mingi throws his arms fully around your front, tucking your back into his chest, his chin sitting on the top of your head. In an obnoxious yell, he makes his presence known, âHey guys, how we doinâ tonight?â
Ew. One of your hands wraps around his forearm glued to your chest, a wide grin on your cheeks, your head leaned up against one of his biceps that boxes you into his hold, âHey guys.â
âSong!â Joshua yells, smile widening, lighting up his whole face, âI was hoping youâd show tonight.â
Wooyoungâs smile drops when he sees you, you meet his eyes immediately, your fake grin turning real. Yes, be mad, be so angry you flip the fuck out.
âOf course Iâd show,â thereâs so much confidence in Mingiâs voice itâs nauseating, âhad to introduce my girl to all my people, do you guys know her?âÂ
With a coy smile, you introduce yourself as Mingiâs girlfriend, head leaning into his chest impossibly further, forcing a stupid, lovestruck look on your face, you prayed it was believable.Â
Joshua nods, as does Wonwoo, both recognizing you from all the times youâve been here, probably also your fling with Mingyu. The two lacrosse boys greet you kindly, where Seungkwan introduces himself, newer to the team, to those who party in their house.Â
âI didnât know you had a girlfriend,â Wonwooâs brows furrowed, âthe campus isnât burned down, Iâm confused.â
You and Mingi both laugh, but Mingi says, âI donât think word has spread yet, donât worry, expect the heat soon.â
âItâs hot enough,â you add, rolling your eyes, âyour fangirls will be just fine, there wonât be a fire.â
âYou have no idea,â Joshua snorts, âI remember one girl having to deactivate her Instagram account because word got out you were sleeping with her, remember that, Min?â
âLetâs not talk about the past in front of my girlfriend,â Mingiâs voice slips into something strict, âitâs disrespectful, Shua.â
You stiffen in his arms, thatâs oddly kind, it makes your situation more believable. You briefly wonder how Mingi is with his girlfriends, if thereâs any form of chivalry in his cold, chauvinist heart.Â
Joshua snorts, shaking his head, ââm sorry, youâre right, my bad.â His pretty brown eyes fall to meet yours and you melt into Mingi all over again, âBlame the weed, sweetheart, my social awareness has depleted to zero.â
âItâs okay,â you smile softly, liking the word as it falls from Joshuaâs plump, wet lips, eyes wandering back over to Wooyoung whoâs still staring, lips slightly parted, the cherry on his cigarette so long itâd fall soon. You avert your eyes to it, cocky amusement in your tone, âPlanning to start the fire yourself?âÂ
His eyes find his cigarette and he jumps into action, twisting around to flick it in the ashtray behind him, sitting full on the corner of the kitchen island. Your eyes find Winter whoâs eyes are staring up at Mingi, looking at him the same way Wooyoung was looking at you.Â
Your smile turns deviousâ itâs fucking working. You knew it would, but itâs still surprising, how stupid could these two be? Maybe they deserve each other. You remind yourself that Mingiâs stupid, tooâ maybe they could explore polyamory together.Â
âPreseason start yet?â Mingi asks, either unaware of Winterâs eyes or heâs playing his cards right, the three lacrosse boys erupt into conversation, complaining about their coach, their training, the program they go through in the fall season to ensure theyâre in shape come Spring.Â
Wooyoung leans into Winter, a hand around her waist, pulling her into him to whisper something in her ear. Itâs like sheâs forced back into reality, how her hand lays over his chest, giggling at whatever he said. Gross. You could probably bet money on what nasty shit he just whispered in her ear, dirty talk so smooth it used to make you go weak in the knees, clinging to him like a moth to a flame, how she arched into him you assumed he probably asked to pull her into the bathroom. A move youâd fallen victim to plenty of times yourself.
Jealousy stems in your gut, anger pushing blood through your veins, you look up to Mingi, batting your lashes. You could do it, too. His eyes meet yours and blink into focus, into realization, you watch as his brows ever so slightly knit together, so slight it could go unnoticed, youâre sure you wouldnât have if you werenât so close.
A smirk creeps onto his cheeks, voice velvety and smooth, âI know what you want.â Thank God. âExcuse us,â Mingi winks at the lacrosse boys who start snickering upon the words leaving his mouth, âwhat the princess wants, she gets.â
You catch Wooyoungâs eye, his head whipping around Winterâs, a flicker of surprise. Winter turns too, eyes on Mingiâs biceps around your head, sinking down his build, you hope sheâs thinking about fucking him. You hope Wooyoungâs thinking about all the things youâre about to fake-do to Mingi.
You wave as Mingi turns you around, voice light, âNice to meet you, Seungkwan.â
A few steps away, his biceps flex around your head to get your attention, âNice move, smart girl.â
You giggle to yourself in victory, bringing your beer up to your lips, âI do have to pee, though, we have to actually go to the bathroom.â
âThereâs one at the end of the hallway,â he pulls his arms from around your head to sink down to your hips, his fingers curling through the loops of your denim shorts, guiding you where to go like youâve never been here before.
Does he think youâre a LAX house newb? You run a hand through your hair, âAnd thereâs two upstairs, one connected to Mingyu and Cheolâs room, another between Dino and Hoshiâs rooms.â
âLook at you, flexing how many bathrooms youâve gotten laid in.â
âOnly the one connected to Mingyuâs room, heâs huge, you canât blame me.â
âDisrespectful,â he snickers, smacking his teeth, winking at his teammates he passes by in the hallway, you give them all a feigned, bashful smile. âTelling your boyfriend who youâve slept with.â
âYou donât want to know who Iâve slept with,â you stop in front of the bathroom door, twisting the knob carefully, and thankfully, it opens. You rush inside and Mingi follows, closing the door behind him, locking it. You stare at him with furrowed brows, âWhat the hell are you doing?â
âWeâre supposed to be fucking, remember?â His brows raise, hands landing on his hips, his face falling into the usual disgust. You didnât have to pretend in here.Â
You groan, head tipping back, âI have to pee.â
âThen pee!â A hand flies out from his side, five fingers pointing to the toilet, âIâm not stopping you, thereâs a toilet right there.â
âWhat are you gonna do, watch?â
âAre you offering?â
âFuck you, youâre disgusting,â you spit, a revolted chill making you shiver, he laughs like itâs funny. The weight in your bladder is clear, you whine, shoving your beer into his chest, âI canât pee if youâre in here, Iâm pee-shy.â
âDo you want me to sing? Do a little dance for you?âÂ
You canât help the small laugh that escapes you, âActually, yeah.â
His amused smile drops, âDeadass?â
âYou offered,â you shrug, âturn around, do a lilâ dance for me, football boy.â
His face morphs into regret, but he turns around, facing the shower, he takes a sip of your beer before he clears his throat, spreading his legs for comfort, his other hand finding his front pocket.Â
â...Seventeen-thirty-eight⊠Ay⊠Iâm like hey, whatsup, helloâŠâ
You burst out laughing, hand covering your mouth, the weight in your bladder growing excruciatingly heavy, âFuck, Iâm gonna piss my pants.â
Flipping the lid, you shove your shorts down, squatting over the gross toilet, Mingi keeps fucking singing. Youâre laughing as you pee, snorting, holding onto the bathroom counter for dear life until tears cloud your vision, heâs purposely singing badly, sounding insane, he has no shame. You suppose neither do you, peeing in the same room as Song Mingi, for a second you forget who he is.Â
Starting quarterback for your universityâs football team, heâs a known figure, important. The face of sports for your school, everyone knows his name, everyone wants himâ and heâs with you, singing fucking Trap Queen in the LAX house bathroom so you can successfully empty your bladder.Â
Wiping, flushing, he turns around as you finish buttoning your shorts again, his voice filled with amusement. âHow was that? Should I switch careers, or what?â
âStick to football,â you mutter, then snort again as you side-step to the sink, turning the water on to wash your hands. âAlso, love at first sight? We need to work on your lying skills, and your vocabulary.â
âI thought it was cute!â He defends himself, setting your beer down beside you on the countertop, âPeople ask too many questions, I wasnât expecting to make up a full-fledged story every time I opened my mouth tonight.â
âYou forget who you are,â you eye him through the mirror, âI wasnât prepared, either. But enough people know now, word will spread on its own. When can we stop? Like, break up?â
âDamn, one night with me and you already want to break up?â He clutches his heart in hurt, then grins, the tip of his back leaning up against the wall, hips blocking the pole that holds the hand-towels. âSoon, though. Did you see how she was looking at me?â
You turn around, shaking your hands out on either side of you to air-dry since heâs unknowingly hiding the damn towels, clutching the countertop to haul your ass onto it, beside the sink. âOf course I saw, I also saw how you didnât even spare her a glance.â
He smirks, wiggling his brows, âAbsence makes the heart grow fonder, or whatever the fuck.â
Your face morphs into confusion, âI donât think you can use that saying here.â
âWhatever,â he scoffs, âyou know what I mean. Jongho told me girls want what they canât have, so Iâm trying to make myself look very unavailable. It seemed to be working, right?â
âYeah, she seemed into it,â you shrug, âyou think Wooyoung looked pissed?â
âI donât think he puffed that disgusting cigarette once,â Mingi gives you an impressed look, âhis jaw was too busy mopping the floor.â
You giggle at that, legs swaying back and forth where they hung off the counter. Tilting your head, you wonder out loud, âI think three-ish weeks max should be enough, what do you think? If theyâre showing interest now, it shouldnât take much longer.â
He groans, âI have to endure you for three more weeks?â
âDonât act like you arenât having fun,â you bite back, âIâm the one who has to endure you.â
âYou werenât complaining when I was holding onto you, smushing your cheeks with my arms, girls would fight to be in your position. Your back was probably getting my shirt wet, you know, sweaty ass.â
Your jaw drops, offended, âItâs fucking hot!â Throwing yourself off the counter, feet hitting the floor with a smack, your hand flies for the doorknob, âIâve had enough of you, actually. Weâve done plenty of damage for one night, the rest should fall in place.â
âI got it,â he turns off the bathroom light, closing the door behind him, his hand immediately going for your lower back.Â
âThereâs no one in the hallway,â you reach back to shove his hand off you, âdonât touch me, pervert.â
âI just fucked you, and now I canât put my hand on your sweaty ass back?â
âYou didnât even make me cum, so no.â
He laughs, a genuine belly laugh, straight from his gut, âDonât talk shit when you have no fucking idea the things I can do.â
Under other circumstances, in another life, if he wasnât Song Mingi, youâd love to find out. You donât answer, cheeks flaming, ears tipping with heat, youâre forgetting yourself, a few days without consistent sex and now your stomach is dropping from words said by him? Out of all people?
You walk a little faster, aiming for your escape. At the end of the hallway, you turn your head halfway, âIâm leaving.â
He pauses in the archway, brows furrowed, voice clearly disappointed, âSo soon?â
Swallowing, you nod, âI have class early tomorrow, Iâll let Jongho know what the next outing is, kay?â
SECOND OUTING: LUCENT, TWO DAYS LATER. 12:24 PM
xxx-xxx-xxxx: come to lucent
xxx-xxx-xxxx: theyâre here
you: the fuck
you: who is this
xxx-xxx-xxxx: arent u the smart one bro
xxx-xxx-xxxx: its mingi
you: lose my number
xxx-xxx-xxxx: bruh
xxx-xxx-xxxx: wooyoung and winter are here can u come
you: oh
you: i get out of class in 15
xxx-xxx-xxxx: i cant be here long
xxx-xxx-xxxx: theyll start to ask questions
you: mad ominous. who is they
you: ill leave early tho
The air is thick, humidity wrapping around your body like a blanket, so hot you tug your sweatshirt off your body upon leaving the lecture hall, leaving you in a thin-strapped tank, shorts on your legs, backpack slung over one shoulder. Headphones in your ears, the trek to Lucent is quick even if by the time you make it to the glass double-doors youâre sweating like a whore in church.Â
Itâs air-conditioned, at least, battling the floor to ceiling windows that begged to let the heat inside, bright, white light invading the room, a perpetrator. It helped you find Mingi easy enough, not that you had to search, eight men squished into one booth had you snorting at the entrance.Â
Approaching the table, you put on your best girlfriend-smile before you even spotted Mingi. At the edge of the booth, dressed casually, much like how he looked the day you met him, he wore sweatpants and a cut-off tee, dark hair messy and sprawled across his face like he didnât bother styling it. Heaving a breath from rushing over, you tucked your hair behind your ear, âHey, sorry Iâm late.â
He looked you up and down before meeting your eye, a smile spreading across his cheeks, âHey, princess.â
Your nostrils flared, lips tightening in a fight to not morph into disgust, you guess that was the nickname that stuck. Searching the rest of the table, you find seven men smiling back at you, Jaemin, Taehyun, Sunghoon, Heeseung, Seungmin, Beomgyu and⊠Jongho. Your eyes widen, smile dropping, hands falling to your sides, words rushing from your lips, âI didnât know you were here.â
The others turn to Jongho, who looks scared, eyes wide and lips pursed like he didnât know what the fuck to do. He forces a smile, a nervous chuckle, âI didnât know Iâd be coming here.â His eyes cross the room, leading you to the back corner of the establishment, where Wooyoung sat on one of the comfy chairs, legs stretched out to rest on the small table in front of him, Winter perched on his lap.Â
You swallow, ice prickling at your scalp. You never went anywhere public with him, even at fucking Eonian, his favorite stupid dive bar, the only time you interacted was either in the bathroom, or if he was drunk enough to address you in front of other people. Your jaw clenches for a split second, fists forming at your sides before you remember where you are, whoâs watching.Â
âDo you want anything to drink?â Itâs Mingi who pulls you back up to earth, half your body already in the depths of hell from what you were mentally planning to do to Jung Wooyoung.Â
Plastering that same, stupid fake-smile back on your lips, you realize youâre still standing, and the booth is clearly full. The boys are nearly on top of each other, large bodies pressed together by their shoulders and thighs, you refuse his question, instead asking, âShould I pull up a chair?â
Mingiâs lips warp into a small smirk as he leans back in the booth, two hands sliding down his thighs before he slaps them twice, âHereâs your chair.â
Your smile tightens, lips flat, eyes scrunched to hide the twitch. âOf course,â thereâs nothing but sarcasm in your tone, enough for Mingi to notice, more than enough for Jongho to notice, but hopefully not the others.Â
Pulling your backpack from your shoulder, you set it on the floor beside the booth, resting your headphones and hoodie on top. Carefully, slowly, hesitantly, you slide a leg between Mingiâs body and the table splitting the seats, trying not to cringe as you sit on the edge of his thigh. In the back of his throat he makes a strained, tight noise, one low enough for only you to hear, it makes your head snap to look at him, eyes pointed and lips thinned.Â
Heâs just smiling, fully amused by your reaction. You wish you could speak telepathically, call him a fucking asshole for pretending youâre heavy when he lifts six days a fucking week.Â
His arms wrap around you, settling on your thighs, youâre too aware of the silence at the table as he shifts you farther back, in a more comfortable positionâ if a comfortable position actually exists on Song Mingiâs lap.Â
âAre you guys between classes?â You turn to the table, smile back on your cheeks, hands in your lap, âI never see you here.â
âWhy are we here?â Taehyun leaned forward, dark brows that matched his hair furrowed, plump lips scrunched in question. Heâs a DB, if your memory serves, on the smaller side but fucking strong.
Heeseung, from across the table, replies simply, âMingi wanted to come.â
The tableâs eyes lead to the six-foot moron behind you. You can feel him shrug, voice casual like he didnât care that this is clearly weird, âWas feeling coffee.â
âWeâve never been here before,â Jaemin comments, or argues, you think. He sips his water bottle, no coffee on the table before him, lean build with a wide upper body, heâs fucking gorgeous. He catches your eye, flashing you a smile held in his eyes, you have to look down at the table to stop yourself from asking for his number.Â
âWe come here all the time,â Jongho adds, your head picks up to see something playful in his eyes, lips upcurved slightly, âprobably wanted to see your girlfriendâs hangout spot, right, Min?â
Itâs then that you realize Jongho arranged this, Jongho knew Wooyoung was here, but why wasnât Jongho the one to text you? Your eye twitches remembering Mingi now has your number.
Heâs having too much fun chuckling from behind you, knees bouncing, making your whole body shift. His voice is coated in rock-hard candy, âOf course I wanted to see the coffee shop my girlfriend loves so much.âÂ
Your lips tighten again, embarrassed. Youâre embarrassed. Heâs embarrassing you right now, and itâs on purpose.Â
âYouâre so sweet,â you turn your head halfway, shoulders lifted into your cheeks, forcing a cheeriness to your voice that makes Jongho snort from across the table, âIâm so lucky.â
It renders Mingiâs face flat, unimpressed, he reaches forward and grabs the half-filled plastic cup filled with what looks like watered down shit, bringing it up to take a sip. Your brow pops, âAre you drinking espresso water?â
The table erupts in laughter and your head turns, brows fully furrowing at the commotion, âWhat?â
âHave you ever heard of an americano, duââ Mingi stops himself mid-insult, lips snapping shut.Â
Your top lip curls, but instead of reacting your head turns to the table again, seven fucking football players staring at you like youâre an alien, âWhat the fuck is an americano?â
They all laugh again, slapping each otherâs chests like it was the funniest thing theyâve ever heard and unfortunately it makes you laugh with them, a nervous-confused combination of a breathy giggle, their laughter too contagious for you to not join.Â
Mingi holds the cup up to your mouth, making you flinch as the straw approaches your lips. He smacks his teeth, âItâs espresso diluted by water, try it, itâs good.â
Your eyes flicker up to his, and heâs not laughing, not smiling. His brows are lifted with the offer, lips slightly pouted, he looks genuine. Reluctantly you lean forward, lips wrapping around the straw, taking a sipâ and it tastes exactly how it looks.Â
Face scrunching up in disgust, you shake your head twice, âThis is why god created cream and sugar.â
That makes him laugh, a smile curving his lips, he takes another sip right after you. An indirect kiss, the immature part of your brain realizes, you wonder how many women on your campus would kill to have exactly that with Song Mingi. How many women would die to sit exactly where you sat; to feel the sheer strength of his thighs beneath them, arms brushing his chest with each movement, his biceps stretched out on either side of them.Â
The thought is fleeting as you hear the table laugh again, this time it startles you, jumping slightly on Mingiâs lap out of surprise. His other arm wraps around you a little tighter, your movement startling him, you quickly mumble, âMy bad.â
âYouâre funny,â Seungmin notes from across the booth, as you look at him you realize heâs talking to you. Heâs cute, mousy face, maybe more like a hamster, or a puppyâ his eyes are soft and his smile is kind, it takes the edge off his attention on you. His eyes slide to Mingi behind you, âHow did you guys meet again?â
âWe met here,â Mingi responds casually and your lips tighten again, the lie spins once more. He keeps going, completely theatric, âShe bought me coffee because she tripped me outside the cafe.â
You gasp, brows furrowing, head twisting behind you to scold him, âThat did not happen!â
His eyes are playful, smile menacing, âOh, yes it did, we cannot have this argument again, princess.â
Your tongue pokes your cheek, following now. Fine, letâs play. Straightening your back, you respond, âItâs not my fault you tripped over your feet, I just happened to be there. You blamed it on me and threatened to call campus security if I didnât buy you a coffee.â
Mingi shrugs, âIt got me a free coffee and a girlfriend, didnât it? Well-played, if you ask me.â
 Your smile grows, shaking your head in disbelief, at the story he created, how smooth heâs playing it. Fuck him. âYouâre such an asshole,â you mutter with a small laugh, âI guess it did.â
Turning to the table, they all seem so locked in you almost forget you told five or six of his other teammates a completely different story. You suppose D1 football players wonât be gossiping about where you and Mingi met.Â
Catching Jonghoâs eye in your scan, he looks surprised, almost. Maybe disbelief, how he was blinking at the two of you, his jaw dropped, lips slightly curved. You thin your eyes at him, âYou know this story Ho, donât look so surprised.â
His face quickly morphs to irritation as the table sings a chorus of laughter once more, all six of them adding the nickname to their arsenals upon it gracing their ears. You smile, proud of the work youâve done, Jongho can do nothing but scowl.Â
âIf any of you call me Ho Iâm putting dog shit in the vents of your bedrooms,â he looks around the table, voice threatening, eyes cold.Â
The laughter dies down but humor dances in the air, Beomgyu is the only one still verbally giggling with his whole chest, âI donât even care, that is so fucking funny, Iâm calling you that forever.â
Jongho redirects his scowl to you, exasperated, âLook at what you did.â
âAnd Iâd do it again,â youâre giggling too, cocky, feeling big-dicked that Jonghoâs teammates find you so funny.Â
The feeling of being watched strikes alarm bells in your head, you turn your head to scan the room, landing on where Wooyoung sits, his lap now empty. He eyes you from across the room and you canât read his expression, mostly boredom, but the more you look, the more the clench in jaw is visible. Elbow on the armrest, forearm bent upward, fist clenching and unclenching, heâs analyzing.Â
You sink further into Mingi which he accepts easily, hand lazily thrown over your thigh, you looked like a real, proper couple getting coffee between classes. The smell of cedar beckons your attention, warm and woodsy, a little spicy, it makes it easier to forget whoâs beneath you, whoâs body youâre so easily and openly and publicly attached to.
Two taps to your thigh grabs your attention, you pull your gaze back to the table, to the dark-headed fuck behind you, âHm?â
âPark asked you a question, princess,â Mingi tips his chin in Sunghoonâs direction, his voice light but direct, it has your head turning to follow his motion in an instant.Â
âIs this your first time dating a D1 athlete?â He asks the question with innocence, expression curious, âIt has to be different than dating someone who isnât an athlete.â
You resist the urge to say first time dating, because youâve certainly slept with a few. Instead you nod politely, humming your answer, âDefinitely my first time dating someone as high-profile as Mingi.â
Sunghoon snorts, body leaning back in the booth, his build leaner than the others, strong all the same. Pretty face, structured, timeless features, you briefly wonder what heâs doing on the football team and not on a stage somewhere.Â
âNot gonna lie, we never thought Song would date,â Heeseung leans forward again, eyeing you from the other side of the booth, a smile playing on his lips, but thereâs more truth to his words than humor.Â
âNot again,â Taehyun quips, âwe always assumed he was too focused on his diet and his training program to actually put effort into another human.â
Mingi stiffens beneath youâ a slight movement, one you can feel too easily while perched on his lap. Thereâs still laughter in the air, the comments read light-hearted, but you wonder if it feels that way to Mingi.Â
Jaemin cackles, âWhat the hell do you guys mean? Heâs never alone.â
âDid you have him tested before you fucked him?â Seungmin wears a smirk, brows raised in your direction, âBecause if you havenât, I think you both probably should at this point.â
Mingiâs chest leans into your back, his chin popping over your shoulder, âAlright, enough.â
You can feel every single muscle pressed to your back, the plush of his broad pecs against your shoulderblades, his fucking washboard of an abdomen against your spine, you canât even register the tension consuming the table, how everyone quiets down on Mingiâs command, holy shit. You need to get laid.Â
Your eyes find Wooyoung, too aware of his presence, his eyes that are still fucking on you. Dark clothes, boots crossed over one another, he held up his caseless phone like he wanted you to check yours. Blinking into focus, you reach between you and Mingi to your back pocket, pulling out your phone, clicking it on to look at your home screen.
wooyo: can we talk
wooyo: outsideÂ
You pick your head up to look at Jongho, heart picking up speed in your chest, drowning out the sounds of the men around you in another conversation. He meets your eye, furrowing his brows for a split second and fuck you wish you could speak out loud.
âIâm gonna run to the bathroom,â you say quietly to Mingi, barely turning your head to see his face.Â
His hand lifts from your thigh, âI have to leave soon.â
âThatâs fine,â your voice is low, âwait until I get back so I can say goodbye.â
Donât catch me outside talking to Wooyoung with half of your team in tow.
The restrooms are beside the exit, your escape is easy. On the far side of the building, you ignore how foul your heart feels in your chest, the pounding bass feeling like nerves instead of excitement.Â
Itâs still putrid, hot, humid, disgusting outside, it only adds to the feeling of wrongness. It feels like an eternity before you hear the scrape of his boots against concrete, the smell of cigarette smoke circling where you stood.Â
âHey,â his voice is low, casual, rough around the edges like that was his umpteenth cigarette of the day. His black tee is fitted, jeans baggy, one of his pantlegs tucked into a boot. He looked like danger personified but his skin still gleamed summer, bronzy and sparkling, pink dusting his cheeks.Â
âWhy did you want to talk?â Your voice is sharp, no room for it to be taken any other way than rude.Â
Wooyoung chuckles a little, lips scrunching to blow smoke up into the air, above your bodies. He leaves room between you, enough for you to feel comfortable, but youâre sure there was a purpose. With him, thereâs always a purpose.Â
He flicks the butt, ashing on the concrete below, eyes trained on his own movements before they slowly trail up your body to meet your gaze, making a show of checking you out, it makes you sick. Kind of.
âYouâre really dating him?â Itâs between a statement and a question, two of his fingers bringing the cigarette back up to his lips.Â
Your brows furrow, arms crossing tighter over your chest, âYes?â
âWe broke up a week ago, baby,â he chuckles, smoke escaping his mouth with each burst of breath, âthatâs a little quick, donât you think?â
âYouâre one to talk,â your jaw clenches, standing straighter, âwhereâs your arm candy? Or did you cheat on her already?â
âSheâs in there,â his voice is too light, so unbothered it genuinely pisses you off how fast your heart is beating. You wished you had a fraction of his nonchalance. âAnd I didnât cheat on you, doll, we were never together in the first place.â
âRight,â you blow disbelief through your nose, rolling your eyes, body turning away from him, facing the parking lot that looked deserted even if it was packed with college kids inside. Turning your head only, you ask, âWhy are you out here, Wooyoung? What do you want?â
âI still havenât gotten my hoodie back,â his eyes are low, catching a honey bronze color in the sunlight, you hate how they steal your attention.Â
You crack a nasty grin, âI burned that ugly fucking hoodie.â
Inside the cafe, Mingi has caught on easily. He watched Wooyoung stand about forty-five seconds after you left for the bathroom, he doesnât need to look to understand whatâs going on, where you are. For such a shitty plan, he canât believe itâs working so well, itâs as if Wooyoung and Winter were falling into Mingiâs palms without him having to lift a finger.
He doesnât mind having you around, it doesnât feel like work. Youâre funny, quick-witted and smart, so smart he wonders what your major is. He wonders a lot about you, your relationship with Jongho, what you do in your free time, what the hell you were doing sleeping with Wooyoung, of all people. In the small amount of time heâs spent with you, he already knows you deserve better than a fucking asshole like him, you deserve someone who will meet you on your level.Â
Mingi wonders if thereâs anyone on the team he can set you up with after the two of you break up. Looking around the table, there doesnât seem to be any winners, maybe Seungmin could keep up with your banter, but Mingi thinks you might destroy him. Jaeminâs funny, but heâs stupid, he can't keep up with your smarts, he thinks Jaemin will irritate you before he entertains you. Maybe Chris, heâs smart, heâs a lot like Mingi, but heâs not one to date.Â
You donât need another fuckboy asshole taking advantage of you.Â
It doesnât matter, anyhow, maybe after your talk with Wooyoung the scheme will be cut short and everything will go back to normal. He wonât have to see you ever again, heâll have Winter at his side and he can forget this ever happened, forget about you fully. Training, academics, practice, games. Playoffs are coming upâ he hopes heâll have Winter by then, cheering for him in the stands, wearing his jersey.Â
âHi.â
Eyes flickering upward to a voice he recognizes, he sits a little straighter when he sees the dark-haired beauty standing at the head of the table, holding two coffee cups, wearing the prettiest, shy smile.Â
Winter. He could see his future like it was his past.Â
âHey,â Mingi keeps his voice steady, only letting his lips curve ever so slightly. âYou need something?â
She shakes her head, pink kissing her round cheeks, she looks down at her shoes, toes knocking together. âJust wanted to wish you luck with playoffs. I know your conference game is next weekend, you must be stressed.â
Mingi swallows down his giddiness, she knows who he is? Sheâs standing here, at the table, in front of a quarter of his team, talking to him? Wishing him luck?
âThanks,â Mingi nods, smile growing, âno stress, weâve got it in the bag. Youâll be there?â
She nods, âDefinitely, wouldnât miss it.â Finally looking at the rest of the table, her eyes land on each one of his teammates, and heâs loving the way each man looks like they want to devour her. Little do they know, sheâs his. Her voice coy and soft, she says, âGood luck to you guys, too.â
She made it clear she was only here for Mingi.Â
Heâd kiss her right now if he could.Â
She winks at Mingi as she walks away, long lashes fluttering as she makes her way back toward where she was sitting with Wooyoung before, setting the plastic coffee cups down on the table. Straight posture, dainty fingers, hair shiny and long, cascading down her back, fuck, sheâs perfect.Â
âYour luck is crazy, Mingi,â Jaemin comments when sheâs out of ear-shot, âWinter approaching when your girl goes to the bathroom? Youâre one of Godâs favorites.â
âHuh?â Mingi pops a brow before you pop into his mind again. âOh, yeah,â he chuckles, shaking his head, âI really lucked out.â
âWhat are you gonna do?â Taehyun asks, âShe wants you.â
Mingi scrunches his lips to one side, catching Jonghoâs eye from across the table. Playing with the coffee cup on the table, spinning it in a circle between his fingers, heâs reminded who you are to Jongho. He canât be openly disrespectful.Â
Mingi answers plainly, âNothing, I have a girlfriend.â
They all snort, table erupting in laughter like that was the most stupid thing that could have left his mouth. And Mingi guesses it is, Jongho knows who he is, that this is all a plan, a ploy, for the sole purpose of Mingi dating Winter. It doesnât matter how it all unfolds.Â
You startle him by barreling back to the table, barely sparing Mingi a glance as you grab your hoodie, your backpack, your headphones. Your eyes find Jongho across the table, flaring something panicked before looking back at Mingi, âI have to go.â
You donât sound happy. Your jaw is clenched, your chest is flushed, your eyes seem glossy, Mingi finds himself concerned, internally questioning what the fuck happened outside.
âYou okay?â He asks, body turning sideways, knees poking out from below the table.Â
Wooyoung walks by behind you, not even looking as he leisurely strolls past, the smell of cigarette smoke following him like he was purposely leaving a trail behind.
âIâm fine,â you mumble, chest rising and falling in quick succession, âbut I gotta go.â
Mingi, apparently out of his fucking mind, stands abruptly, stepping toward you with furrowed brows, âIâll come.â
âNo,â you answer harshly, then lick your lips, mouth tightening like you wished you could reel the word back in. âIâm sorry, Iâ Iâll text you, âkay?â
Your eyes find the table behind Mingi, everyone staring up at you, some with furrowed brows, some acting like they didnât hear anything at all. You reach up to put your hands on Mingiâs shoulders, standing on your tippy toes to plant a small kiss on his cheek, then whisper, âBye.â
Mingiâs dumbfounded as you haul ass out of Lucent. Backpack bouncing behind you, you rip the door open and leave the place like an intruder had just told everyone to put their hands up. His fingers find his cheek, though, confused as he is, he turns back to the table, all of his boys already staring up at him.Â
âYouâre fucked,â Seungmin says plainly, âshe definitely saw Winter at the table, sheâs pissed.â
Mingi sits back in the booth, eyes sliding to where Winter sits, meeting Wooyoungâs already-there stare. Heâs smirking, eyes trained on Mingi while Winter is speaking to him, a hand on his shoulder, it makes Mingiâs top lip lift in distaste, heâs such a fucking asshole it makes him sick.
xxx-xxx-xxxx: next sunday
xxx-xxx-xxxx: four highest ranked teams get a first round bye for playoffs
you: so youre planning to be top 4 i assume
xxx-xxx-xxxx: im planning to be top 1 fym
you: hmmmm
xxx-xxx-xxxx: idk how much time ill have between now and then tho
xxx-xxx-xxxx: we might not be able to flex our fake relationship as hard
you: absence makes the heart grow fonder
you: winter will be at the game tho
you: think shell kiss you if you win???
xxx-xxx-xxxx: stop dont make me delusional bro
xxx-xxx-xxxx: and dont steal my line
you: acting like you made it up is crazy
you: saying been around for decades and here you go
you: claiming it as your own
Youâre smiling at your phone, not realizing youâre giggling while Jongho and Yeosang stare at you with pointed eyes from across the living room, the two sitting comfortably on Yeosangâs couch, laptops on their laps. You came over to catch up on schoolwork after Jongho left practice, not wanting to do it at your own apartment, plus, you had to catch them up on the newest development in the Wooyoung saga.Â
Since you ended things, you havenât really had time to process what happened. Quickly shoved into the fake dating scheme, you were focused on something shiny and new, you forgot to pay attention to the small part inside you that ached. Four months is a solid chunk of time, especially when most of it was over the summer where most of the campus wasnât in attendance, the only thing on your agenda was your part-time job and Wooyoung.Â
Despite having something shiny and new to focus on, the loss of him still hurts. Sleeping alone, not having anyone to touch, to kiss, to tell your work drama and have them fuck it better, despite being an avoidant asshole, Wooyoung filled a gap for you the entire four months you were âtogetherâ.
He spoke to you the other day like you meant nothing to him. Which you knew, but to have further confirmation in such a setting, standing outside your favorite coffee shop where the other woman sat just inside, it hurt. By the end of the conversation all your pent-up, repressed feelings rose to the surface, you needed to get the fuck out of there before you sobbed all over Mingiâs americano.Â
Mingi. Fuck him, his pretty hair and strong body, fuck him for looking at you like he cared about your feelings. Itâs all bullshit and itâs not what you need right now, you should be focused on doubling your pain and passing it straight back to Wooyoung. School should really be top priority, your weekly study group, your shifts on the weekend, your top priority should be your degree and making sure youâre stable. You didnât think this plan would come with so much added shit.Â
âWho are you texting?â Yeosang asks, green and black hair straight, tucked behind his ears, showing his piercings. He wore a dark sweater, ripped at the collar bone, jeans painted onto his legs, his pink bunny socks tucked beneath his body completely ruining the bad boy vibe.Â
Yeosangâs never been a bad boy, he doesnât have it in him. A soft lover boy, one that cares, one that sees what others donât see, thatâs who Yeosang is.Â
Mindlessly, eyes still glued to your screen, you mumble, âMingi.â
Jongho and Yeosang share a look. Jongho, face flat, looks over his laptop screen to you, âI still canât get over seeing you two together.â
You look up, popping a brow, âWhy?â
âYou look too comfortable,â a very physical shiver runs through Jongho, ruffling his fitted white tee, gray sweats a contrast to the black couch, âitâs weird.â
âAre they friendly?â Yeosang asks Jongho, the two once again acting like youâre not in the room. You roll your eyes.Â
âVery,â Jongho nods, then turns to look at you, âwhatâd I miss at that party?â
âWhat do you mean?â Your face morphs into confusion, small shakes of your head enforcing your bewilderment, âItâs weird because we arenât ripping each otherâs faces off? Canât really do that in front of people who think weâre dating.â
Jonghoâs face stays flat, eyes knowing, âHow about the fake ass story of where you met? That was bullshit, you were bickering like youâve known him as long as youâve known us.â
You giggle again upon remembering, âWait, that was funny because half his team thinks we met at the library, itâs like an ongoing bitââ
Jongho cuts you off, looking at Yeosang, âDo you see what I mean?â
Yeosang narrows his eyes, âAre you into him?â
âDo you think Iâm a moron?â
âYes,â they answer simultaneously.Â
You scoff, âI donât know why I hang out with you just to get verbally degraded.â
Looking down at your phone, you notice three more messages from the number you still refuse to save.Â
xxx-xxx-xxxx: shut up who even are u
xxx-xxx-xxxx: are u coming to the game? if shes there wooyoung will be too
xxx-xxx-xxxx: ill give u my jersey to wear lmfao
âDo football players do this?â You ask, brows furrowing, showing Jongho and Yeosang your phone screen. Holding it over the coffee table splitting where you sat on the floor and the couch they occupied, you sat up on your knees as they bent over their laptop screens, squinting to read.Â
âGive their jerseys out?â Jongho asks, still mid-read.Â
You snatch your phone away when he starts to scroll, âYes, fucker, is that normal?â
âGirl,â Yeosang makes a disappointed face, sitting back on the couch, âthatâs standard.â
Your repulsion is physical, âDo you think he washes it?â
âIt gets washed for him,â Jongho responds, âIâm surprised the staff doesnât do all his laundry for him. If it werenât for them, it wouldnât get washed.â
âDo the staff really do that much?â
âHe doesnât really have to think,â Jongho continues, âheâs the star, the prized possession, vital to the football team, to the schoolâs popularity and income. Theyâd do anything he asked.â
âShit,â you mumble under your breath, processing each word out of his mouth, âthereâs really a whole world out there I donât know shit about.â
The two men laugh, Jongo harder than Yeosang, the younger manâs giggles high-pitched and shameless, âHave you not paid attention my entire football career?â
âNo,â your answer is short, plain, âwhy would I?â
âBecause there was a time we both played football and you were glued to us,â Yeosang answers, âthere are some things you should probably know already.â
âNeither of you have had a girlfriend during the season!â Your voice is high-pitched, defensive, you bring your attention back to your phone. âYouâre riding me for what right now, all of this will be over in like, two weeks, anyway.â
you: whatever football boy
you: ya im coming
xxx-xxx-xxxx: cool
xxx-xxx-xxxx: are u actually gonna wear my jersey
you: do i have to
xxx-xxx-xxxx: kinda
you: man
you: whatever
xxx-xxx-xxxx: wow
xxx-xxx-xxxx: i can feel ur excitement through the phone
âAre you bringing him to my gig?â You look up from your phone to see Yeosang already looking at you, âItâs at Eonian, so Wooyoung will definitely be there.â
You groan, throwing your phone to the side, stretching your body out as you lay down on the rug, whining. âYour shows are our time, Yeo.â
Bass player for his band, Yeosang playing shows on and off campus was a frequent event. Always somewhere lowkey, somewhere fun, you always went with Jongho, Jia or Riyo. Bringing a man, especially Mingi, would debase the entire meaning of Yeosangâs shows. You go to support him, not to keep tabs on Wooyoung all night or feel uncomfortable with Mingi attached to your hip.
âAll that shit just happened with Wooyoung, though,â Jongho says matter-of-factly, âitâs smart to show up with Mingi on your arm. Where Wooyoung goes, Winter follows.â
You pick only your head up, squinting at him over the table, âYeosangâs shows are off limits. I need to be able to scream my excitement freely, Mingiâs presence will hinder my enjoyment.â
âWhatever,â Yeosang sings, âitâs just one show, but okay.â
You whine, head banging against the floor beneath the rug as you lay it back down, âHeâs busy, anyways. He just told me he wonât have time to hang before the conference game.â
âYet here I am,â Jongho argues, âand at that show, I will be.â
You mumble a curse, âWhatever.â
Picking up your phone again, a notification from Instagram sticks out on your home screen, a message request.Â
blondenbeautiful: Heard youâre dating Song Mingi?
blondenbeautiful: Biggest joke iâve ever heard LMFAO
blondenbeautiful: Lying for attention is pathetic, I hope he sues you for defamationÂ
You sit up abruptly, eyes wide as you stare at the screen, âWhat the fuck?!â Â
Seeing the fear in your eyes, hearing the shock in your voice, Jongho and Yeosang hop up from their spots, throwing their laptops to the side, racing around the coffee table to look at your phone screen.Â
âEw,â Yeosang huffs, âno way this is happening already.â
âWhat do you mean already?â You look at your green haired friend, shocked and confused.
âTurn off your DM requests,â Jongho adds, âfuck that, dude, fuck no.â
âIâm not turning them off,â you scoff, âthatâs pussy shit. Her username is blonde nâ beautiful, Ho.â
You click on her profile, scroll through her feed, watch her story, she lives across the fucking country. You think this is what Yeosang meant when he said Mingi had refined taste; barbie dolls, rich bitch attitude, this was his typical.Â
âWho cares about pussy shit?â Jonghoâs brows are tied together, his eyes pleading, âThatâs not the point. He has a fanbase of Warrior Barbies, have you even looked at his Instagram?â
Scrolling out of your requests and opening up the search bar, your eyes widen upon seeing his profile. You followed him already, probably from your freshman year, but he definitely didnât have near fifty thousand followers back then, or so many posts professionally photographed.Â
For some reason itâs this that opens your eyes, a chill racking down your spine. You knew how detrimental he was to the university, his level of popularity, but you didnât think it was outside of your campus, too. He was popular, known, and it spread wider than you ever thought was possible for a guy who sings Trap Queen in sports house bathrooms.
Voice shaky, you whisper, âI feel like Iâm in a who the fuck did I marry subreddit.â
Yeosang canât help the laugh that escapes him, head dipping down with an amused breath, he snaps back to deadpanning in a secondâs time. âYou should turn off your requests before it gets worse.â
âIâm not even dating him for realsies,â you argue, âthe insults are empty. None of them are true, so they donât count.â
Jongho sits beside you, flopping down on the rug from where he was crouched, âI just donât want them to get to you. The whole Wooyoung thing upset you enough, you donât need social media harassment to put the cherry on top.â
âIâll be fine,â you lock your phone, tossing it to the floor beside you, âthat shit wonât bother me. Iâm strong.â
âYeah, alright,â sarcasm swims in Yeosangâs voice, âis it a crime to listen to us every once in a while?â
You sneer, âYes.â
you: btw yeosang is playing a show friday at 10
you: at eonian on 4th ave
you: woo and winter will be there
xxx-xxx-xxxx: just told u i dont have time
you: why are you acting like i want you thereÂ
xxx-xxx-xxxx: ill be there
THIRD OUTING: EONIAN, FRIDAY. 9:42 PM
âDid you hire a personal stylist or something?â
You scoff, standing in your doorway, looking down at your own outfit. You supposed it was different for you, more stylish than youâd normally shoot for when going anywhere, let alone the dinky dive bar youâve gone to a thousand times. The doormen have seen you in sweatpants, chain-smoking cigarettes because you had too much to drink, the bartenders have seen you in stained overalls, making out with a random person in the corner because you had too much to drink, you donât know why you chose today, of all days, to put in an effort when everyone there has seen you at your worst.Â
Looking at Mingi, he seemed to have the same idea. Although he always looked put together in a way, even if he was in sweats and a cutoff tank, it never looked necessarily bad. All black, leather jacket, boots, his hair styled away from his face, messily but purposeful, he looked good. Really good. It pissed you off.Â
âDid your staff pick out that outfit for you?â You sneer, âIâm not used to seeing you without sweatpants on.â
âInsulting the man who came all the way here to pick you up,â he nods, bottom lip folded over in the most attitude-stricken look heâs ever given you, âsmart.â
âShut up,â you grumble, heels clicking against the floor as you step through the threshold of your apartment. âLetâs just go.â
Mingiâs car is ridiculous. Ever since seeing his stupid Instagram page, there seems to be a constant reminder everywhere of who he is, what he has. It still smelled new inside, black leather interior, red detail, gear shift looking untouched, pristine. Not a spec of dust on the dash or in the backseat that held only one black duffel bag unzipped, your instincts told you it could hold a lot more.Â
âHave you been to Eonian?â You ask, turning your head to face him after he pulled out of your complexâs parking lot.Â
Pressure forces you back into your seat as he picks up speed, knees shifting below the steering wheel, palm wrapped around the gearstick, his face goes unchanged. He leans his head toward you but doesnât turn it, âMaybe once, why?â
âJust wondering,â your voice is pitched, shaky, eyes widened while you swallow down your heart that shot up so high you could taste it. Your fingers curl into your jeans, thanking god seatbelts exist in your head, you turn your head to the window so you could close your eyes in peace without being caught as a wimp.Â
You hear him laugh after a second, a small, snarky giggle. The car slows and you can feel it in your chest, body sinking into leather, free to move as you please, your fingers uncurl from your pantlegs, shoulders slouching in relief.Â
âMy bad, should have warned you.â
âI want to survive,â you donât let him hear the shakiness in your voice, keeping it laced with clear irritation, âif I died beside you Iâd have to resurrect myself just to walk ten feet away and die there instead.â
âYouâre really sweet, yâknow that?â Sarcasm evident, he continues, âI canât understand why Wooyoung would cheat on such a nice, kind girl.â
Your neck twists to eye him, gaze harsh enough to cut. What the fuck? âWe werenât even together, he didnât cheat.âÂ
âOh!â His laughter is punched, eyes condescending, lips half surprised and half amused, âExcuse me, he didnât cheat, right. He didnât want to date you at all.â
âYouâre such a fucking asshole,â you mumble, head turning to face the window again. It rained earlier, thereâs still droplets of water sprinkled on the glass, the gloomy evening looking like the pit in your gut, soggy, heavy, dark. âThatâs why Winter rejected you.â
âWell she wants me now,â he adds and you can hear the stupid smirk in his voice.
You snap your head toward him again, âWhere did that even come from?âÂ
âDid I strike a nerve?âÂ
Your jaw clenches, facing the window again, mumbling, âThis isnât even worth it anymore.â
He turns the music up, letting it fill the cabin of the car, you can barely feel the road beneath you, his car drives so smoothly. You can hear him switch gears, the roar of the engine picking up, the feel of force in your chest as his speed increases, your hair moving when he slows again, itâs torture.
Itâs worse when you step out to go inside the bar, the ground bendy beneath you, feet unsteady on pavement. Your stomach feels icky, your chest heavy and weird, and to top it off, the cigarette-smoking-stupid-fucking-asshole is standing right outside the front door, talking to the bouncer, doused in leather and silver. You suck in a deep breath, straightening your back, part of you forgetting Mingiâs there as you start for the door. Maybe you just wish he wasnât with you at all.Â
Mingi calls your name, you donât stop. A little firmer, a little louder, âHey.â Jaw clenched, you stop in your tracks, the fur on your jacket whipping as you turn around. Lazily he strolls toward you, holding out a hand, to which you donât grab.Â
âHold my hand,â he wiggles his palm a little, voice edged with annoyance, âcome on.â
âI donât want to.â
âIs it what I said in the car?â He lowers his palm, head tilting, âIâm sorry if I went too far, I wonât do it again. Now please hold my hand so we can go inside together, theyâll be watching.â
Shooting daggers at him, your hand peeks out from your sleeve, reluctantly reaching forward; he spreads out his fingers with a satisfied grin, tangling them with yours, palms pressed together. Thereâs a certain intimacy to holding someoneâs hand, not something you do often, not something youâve done in a very long time; yet thereâs no warmth that spreads through you at the contact, no electricity that stems in the tip of your spine. Strictly business.Â
Taking a step forward, he comments, âYour hand is clammy.â
âWonder why,â you roll your eyes, âyou have calluses, itâs gross, like sandpaper. Or cat tongue.â
Mingi smacks his lips together, walking in-step with you now, his head dipping down to hide how your words made him laugh. âYouâre seriously deranged.â
It makes a smile claw at your lips, turning your head away so he canât see the grin that fights its way to the surface. He squeezes your hand once like he can see through your wall of hair, snickering from beside you, by the time you get to the front door youâre both fighting to crack a smile like a pair of stubborn idiots.Â
Tall and buff, a head of light brown, curly hair hidden beneath a snapback, the bouncer eyes you over your ID, then looks at Mingi, deadpanning, âMake sure she doesnât get near a pack of Marlboro Reds tonight.â
Wooyoung is behind him now, smiling as smoke pours from the corner of his mouth, losing its opacity as it melts into the humid air around him. Heâs quiet, but he watches as your face falls, then makes it clear heâs inspecting every article of clothing on your body.
âIâm not even a smoker, Minho.â
âMinho?â Mingi questions, head bobbing in surprise and confusion. He looks at you with a dumbfounded face, âMarlboro Reds?â
âCan we just go inside?â You tug on Mingiâs hand, he takes your ID back from Minho before following you inside Eonian, his brows still furrowed.
âI thought you said you donât really come here,â Mingi sounds lost as you pull him inside the door, the smell of humid air and alcohol meeting your nose upon entrance.
You do a quick scan of the bar, mindlessly answering, âIâve been here a few times with Wooyoung.â
âYouâre on a first-name basis with the bouncer,â he hisses his argument, standing close to you now, leaning down just enough to whisper-yell it into your ear.Â
Spotting Jongho in the far corner, just beside the stage at a table, your grin is finally real and takes over your entire face. âYeah, well, he fucked my friend,â you pull him in Jonghoâs direction, âI found Ho, come on.â
It takes longer than you thought it would to get across the crowded bar, you stopped three different times for Mingi to dap up strangers youâve maybe seen before, all people who tucked Mingi into a quick hug with grins so bright it was as if they were meeting God. Antagonizing, remembering how many people love him, not that you showed your distaste as Mingi introduced you to every single person as his girlfriend, in which they all drank up your figure and complimented Mingi on how well he did scoring you.Â
It almost made up for what happened in the car. Almost.Â
Dick two inches bigger, you had more swag in your step as you dragged him to Jonghoâs table, where he stood around the high-top wooden surface with two others beside him. Lee Minho, Lee Felix, tight-end, kicker. Felix, bright, blonde and bushy-tailed, stood a little shorter than Minho, who was everything dark and brooding, at least on the outside. Light seemed to return to his eyes when you approached the table, a small smile on your face, already in-character.Â
Jongho looked less wary as you approached this time, a pink hue to his cheeks, shoulders slightly slouched, a tall beer on the table before him. It looks appealing, even for a beer, at this point you think youâd take a swig of whiskey just to ease the lingering weight in your chest.Â
He notices your eyes lingering on his beer, he tugs it toward him, eyes pointed, âNo.â
It makes a small laugh pass through your lips before you greet the table. Felixâs warm brown eyes seem brighter after Mingi introduces you, his freckled cheeks pink at the apples, âIâve been waiting to meet you.â
âMe?â Youâre still smiling, one brow popped, âWhy?â
âThe girl who tamed Song Mingi,â Minho is quick to answer as if that was now a title of sorts.Â
Your head tilts, confusion spreading, Mingiâs hand slides to the small of your back, his pinky lining the hem of your jeans. The girl who tamed Song Mingi, your initial reaction is to laugh through the confusion, it comes out staggered, airy, uneasy.Â
Felix is beaming, grin spread wide like excitement was oozing from his pores, âThe whole team has been talking about you, they say youâre funny, and hot, which is clearly true.â
Now heat is spreading through you, smile shifting to something of a smirk, heâs pretty. Like a girl, in a way, blonde hair straight past his shoulders, you can tell thereâs a lean, disciplined body beneath the oversized clothes on his body. Backwards hat, lips plump and rosy like heâd been kissing someone for hours, you wonder how hot he thinks you are.Â
âIs your jacket from Anthro? Iâve been looking at it online, waiting for it to go on sale,â his eyes are on the faux fur on your shoulders, the jacket you thrifted ages ago for ten bucks, you have no idea what brand is on the tag.Â
Gaydar going off, you ask, âNo idea, wanna check?â
His eyes flare brighter, you donât wait for his answer as you break away from Mingiâs heavy hand, walking around the table. You feel soft fingers moving your hair out of the way as your eyes lead to Jongho, âWhen does Yeo go on?â
âI think in twenty minutes or so,â he shrugs, bringing his beer up to his lips.Â
You shiver when you feel the warmth of Felixâs fingertips at the base of your neck, âTheyâre late?â
Head down to allow Felix access to your tag, your eyes slide to look at the stage, lights on and empty. You got here right before ten, he should be going on any minute now.Â
âTechnical difficulties,â Minho comments in a sing-song tone, reminding you heâs also at the table. Taller than you, beefier than Felix, his elbows sit on the table, biceps straining the sleeves of his fitted tee. Dark hair, eyes feline, lips small and pouty, shit, heâs hot, too.Â
You hum, storing the info for later, âI hope they play soon.â
âThis is Anthro,â Felix gasps, âso cute, I want one.â
âI thrifted it a long time ago, if you ever want to borrow it, ask Mingi for my number,â you offer as you turn around, hands grabbing the hem of it to pull it forward, fixing where it sank backward.
Felixâs head turns to Mingi across the table, feigning a pout, âI like this one, can I keep her?â
In-character, Mingi shakes his head, a smooth, proud chuckle tumbling from his lips. âSorry to break it to you, Lix, but that oneâs mine.â
Mine.Â
Hand holding didnât get a reaction out of you, but a singular word makes your stomach curl. You barely remember the last time you were considered someoneâs partner, significant other, girlfriend, you donât know if you ever have been; youâve been a fuck-buddy, a situationship, a friends with benefits, everything under the fucking sun besides owned. At least five, maybe six years itâs been since someone used the word mine to describe what you are to them, and back then it was purely adolescent, puppy-love at fifteen that made you feel lovesick instead of violently nauseous.Â
âI need a drink,â you blurt, âfrom the bar.â
Mingiâs brows furrow, âWhere else would you get one, princess?â
That fucking nickname. Your nose crinkles with disgust, you donât even care about forcing a smile on your face or putting on a show, your irritation returns tenfold. Giving him a long, blank stare, you turn and beeline for the bar.Â
Deep, shiny oak littered with splotches of wetness, signed receipts soaked, smudged and clinging to the surface, loose, skinny black straws thrown about the bar like some drunk idiot threw a handful in the air, it was a typical Friday night here. Elbows on the bar, you push yourself up by the ledge attached to the base, you keep your chest pressed above your folded arms so the sexy bartender would help you first.Â
âWhatâs wrong?âÂ
You smack your lips again, but you donât turn around. Just his voice is getting on your last nerve.
âTell me whatâs wrong, youâre acting bitchier than usual.â
You can feel the words in your spine. You snap your neck to the side, âIs that why itâs so understandable for me to get cheated on? Because Iâm bitchy?â
âYouâre still mad about that?â Mingi asks, sounding genuine. You hear him sigh before he forces himself between you and the guy standing beside you at the bar, someone shorter than him, smaller. âDo you want me to apologize again?â
âI donât want anything from you,â you say quietly, voice laced with venom, keeping your eyes on the tall bartender juggling bottles like theyâre toys, his movements fluid. You attempt to telepathize with him, maybe heâll hear your calls of his name in his mind.
âI thought we moved past that already,â he sighs, âyouâre not even gonna look at me? Iâm tryingââ
âWhy do you give a fuck?â You finally look at him and his brows are upturned, lips pouty, but that arrogance thatâs embedded in him is so fucking clear you regret looking. âYou donât like me, I donât like you. Iâm here for Yeosang, youâre here to impress Winter, wherever the fuck she is. You should go find her.â
âHey, baby,â you turn to find the bartender finally answering your calls, âhe bothering you?â
âYes,â you smile back, giddiness forming in the pit of your stomach. Slit through his eyebrow, buzz-cut bleached a sandy blonde color, he wears a mesh tank that sits loose on his skin, flowing with each movement. âBut heâs paying, so I canât escape him just yet. Wanna do a shot with me on his tab?â
You lean in closer, eyes low, smile playful. He chuckles, eyes sliding to Mingi and then back to you, âA shot with my favorite girl? Of course. Is he doing one too?â
You shrug, âAsk him, not me.â
You both look at Mingi whose brows are in his hairline, lips parted and slightly curled in a small sneer. It takes him a second to process Hyunjinâs staring at him with a question, he shakes his head slightly before reaching into his pocket, muttering, âNah, Iâm good.â
Hyunjin pours you your favorite drink before placing two plastic shot-cups on the bar, messily pouring liquor that spills onto the grated surface below, âCheers, to Yeosangie.â
âTo Yeosangie,â your grin spreads wide, clinking plastic before smacking them on the bar and shooting them back. âThanks, Jinnie.â
âAnything for my favorite girl,â his voice is warm, almost as warm as his pretty brown eyes when he looks at you, it makes your insides feel fuzzy. He turns to Mingi who passes him his credit card with that same confused-annoyed look, but he stays quiet. Good.Â
When Hyunjin walks away, he speaks, and you groan upon the first word leaving his lips. âYouâre such a liar, you lied to me.â
âWhatever,â you huff, bringing the straw up to your lips. Fruity, bitter, strong, necessary. âYou donât need to know the truth all the time.â
Mingiâs shaking his head, an annoyed chuckle falling past his lips, âIs there anyone else here youâve slept with that your boyfriend should know about?â
You shrug as he gets his card back, signing the receipt. You eye it to make sure he left Hyunjin a nice tip, which he does without a word from you. âIâll let you know if any more show up, if youâre really that curious.â
âIâm sorry for what I said in the car,â he tries again, voice sounding strained, âIâm exhausted, the coaches are working me to the fucking bone with playoffs so close, and Iâm here for you.â
Mine.
âYou are not here for me,â you bite back, âyou meant what you said in the car, donât go back on it now because it pissed me off. Youâre here for Winter and thatâs it, Mingi. Like I said earlier, go find her.â
âNo.â
âNo?â
âNo!â
âFine!â You huff, âThen leave! I didnât want you here to begin with.â
âYou invited me!â He argues back, eyes blowing wide, âI came because you invited me. I picked you up after a three-hour practice. I skipped the second half of studying with exams soon to be here.â
Mine. Your chest constricts.
âYou shouldnât skip studying,â you mutter, âyou canât afford to, moron.â
âYet I did,â his arms raising on either side of him, defeated. You look at him, really look at him, and you donât know how you didnât notice the bags beneath his eyes earlier, he hasnât had that energetic, snarky-spark since he picked you up.Â
The lights dim around the stage, music playing through the speakers silencing, the TouchTunes turned off. Mingi sighs, âCan we just watch the show? Wooyoung saw us, which means Winter's here somewhere. Theyâll see us at some point.â
âSorry for being a bitch,â you mumble, voice small, cheeks burning.Â
A smile tugs at his lips, âIâm sorry for being a bitch, too.â He throws an arm around your shoulders, âCome on, itâs time to pretend you like me again.â
Thereâs a smile on your face when you groan, body falling beneath his arm, he walks you up towards the table again, through the crowd that parts for him as if heâs a celebrity, standing beside Jongho like he knows itâs where youâd be most comfortable.Â
He pushes you in front of him as people start closing in, hands sliding down, hooking into your belt loops as Yeosangâs band walks out onstage. Excitement blooming, a grin breaks out across your face, head tipping back with a hand curled around your mouth to release a sharp, pitched whistle.Â
Mingi echoes the noise, leaning forward to cheer for Yeosang, the back of your head touching his chest. Your head follows his body as he stands straight again, leaning on him with a smile etched into your skin, holding the plastic cup between your hands as the band takes their positions.Â
Yeosangâs eyes scan the crowd, you follow where his gaze gets stuck, in the back corner, sitting at one of the high-top tables. Sheâs here, your eyes widen ever so slightly at the sight, warmth filling your chest, a semblance of pride. Good.Â
âWhoâs that?â Mingi leans down to ask in your ear.Â
âYeosangâs kind-of girlfriend,â you tear your eyes away from her to tilt your head up, looking at him. âTheir relationship is weird.â
âHm,â Mingiâs head tilts, âdoesnât look like Yeoâs type.â
âSheâs exactly his type,â you giggle, âyou should know that.â
A smile forms as he looks down at you, âI guess youâre right, donât know why I assumed everything changed after he quit playing football.â
âRunning-back-gone-stoner still likes his cheerleaders,â you sing, bringing your attention back to the stage, taking a sip from your drink. âHe seems happier now that he doesnât play anymore.â
âThis is the most confident Iâve ever seen him and he hasnât played a single chord yet,â Mingi adds, nodding his agreement.Â
âHeâs good,â thereâs pride in your voice, âyouâll like their music.â
As if they could hear you, Jay strums his guitar, a striking chord that pulls the attention of the entire room. You squeal, turning your head to see Jongho whoâs looking at the stage with the same amount of fondness and pride in his eyes that you wore, the same feeling you have every time you see Yeosang on stage.Â
Their opening song is one original out of three, the rest covers. You know every word, singing along with Jay, their lead singer and guitarist, head bopping to the beat.Â
Mingi doesnât know where to look. Yeosang, who was once his good friend, onstage, or you, smiling, giggling and dancing between his arms. Itâs only the third time youâve been out in public together, but with all the texting, the updates you send each other throughout the day, the constant banter, thereâs a feeling in Mingiâs chest he canât really explain.Â
Heâs not into you. But thereâs an urge in his consciousness somewhere, to keep you close, to protect you, it makes him fucking cringe every time the thoughts cross his mind. Youâre not friends, you wonât stay in contact after your alignment fulfills its purpose, itâs something he reminds himself after he thinks about you for just a little too long.
Heâs tired. His bones ache, his eyes feel heavy, thereâs a slouch in his shoulders he doesnât have the strength to straighten. Your energy bleeds into him, heâs found himself going along with you the entire time youâve been associated, as if heâs a horse youâre leading to water. So he keeps his mindless grin, a hand steady on your hip since you jumped his fingers out of your belt loops, he holds your drink with the other, keeping his palm blanketed over the open top.Â
Heâs never seen you so happy.Â
Heâs seen you angry, irritated, maybe heâs made you laugh once or twice now, but itâs nothing compared to the joy on your face now, how your body moves out of excitement. Itâs not the liquor, itâs Yeosang onstage, who plays so well and looks so fucking cool Mingi finds himself a little jealous, a feeling he pretends isnât there as soon as he recognizes it. The way you care for him, for Jongho, it adds to the list of things he keeps learning about you, like layers of a fucking onion.Â
You come to Eonian. Often. You know the bouncer, the bartender, Mingi canât figure out why you lied. He wonders what else youâve lied aboutâ what more he can learn about you just by sharing space. He wonders about Wooyoung, what he said to you outside of Lucent, what made you so nervous and eager to leave. He wonders why you wanted to fake-date in the first place, if Wooyoung has done worse than cheat, if thatâs why you want revenge so deeply.Â
The way your eyes wander across the room, finding Wooyoung and Winter, his arms thrown over her shoulders, keeping her close. How they sway together, Winterâs fingers holding onto his forearms, a small smile on her face, cheeks pink. It makes your movements smaller, the bubble of excitement surrounding your being dwindles to a flicker, you turn around and ask Mingi for your drink.Â
âNo,â Mingi shakes his head.
Your face contorts, âWhat do you mean, âNoâ?â
âYou donât need to drink because youâre upset,â he keeps his voice low, âliquor isnât going to help.â
âIâm not upset,â you sound defensive, which only confirms what Mingiâs thinking is true. âIâm at a bar watching my best friend kill it onstage, why would I be upset?â
Your brows are furrowed, lips pouty, the gloss you wore faded by now, leaving a pinkish stain behind. Thereâs heat in your cheeks, a pretty flush, he hates the realization that determination in your features is kind of cute.
âCome here,â Mingi offers, placing your drink on the table behind him before twisting you back around by your hips, throwing his own arms over your shoulders, tucking you into him.Â
You squirm, making a whiney noise, shifting your shoulders and looking down to untuck your hair where it got trapped against Mingiâs body. âYouâre fucking huge,â you mumble, soft fingers coming up to hook around his forearms, Mingi canât tell if itâs a compliment, but itâs definitely not an insult.Â
âYou have no idea,â he smirks to himself.Â
You groan, âStop saying shit like that to me.â
âWhy?â Smiling, his tone comes out playful, âCurious?â
Your head tilts back to look up at him, eyes pointed, lips bent in a frown. âNo.â
âLiar,â Mingi smacks his teeth, âall youâve done tonight is lie.â
âLike I said,â you bring your attention back to the stage, âyou donât always need to know the truth.â
âSo you admit youâre curious.â
âNo!â
Mingi chuckles, squeezing you with his arms clamped around your front. You stay there for the rest of the show, in Mingiâs hold, head pressed to his chest, your eyes donât wander again. They stay locked on Yeosang onstage, singing along to each song. At one point you and Mingi started swaying together when he recognized one of the covers they performed, singing along with you.Â
âYou two are so fucking cute,â Felix comments when Yeosangâs band runs off the stage after bowing to the crowd. Mingi finally let you go at that point, where you attached to your iced-down drink like a moth to a flame.Â
âYeah?â Mingi smiles at Felix before jumping into action when you bring the straw to your lips. âDonât drink that, I didnât have eyes on it. Iâll get you another.â
You pout, but you let him pull the straw away from your lips, âBoo.â
âWhatâd you think of the show?â Jongho asks, a little drunk now, Mingi thinks, as he smacks a hand on his shoulder.Â
Mingiâs grinning again, nodding his head, âTheyâre good, Yeosang is really talented.â
You squeal again, stealing his attention, âIsnât he? Heâs so fucking talented, he makes me so jealous. I wish I could play an instrument.â
Cute. He doesnât think before reaching up to ruffle your hair, âYouâre talented at lots of stuff, princess.â He doesnât know why he said it, he doesnât even know what you do in your free time. He blames it on it feeling right. Heâs tired.Â
You quickly fix your hair, mumbling, âMotherfucker.â
It makes Mingiâs grin spread wider. Weird, how your insults are starting to feel like compliments.Â
âAre you coming to the conference game?â Minho asks, and your brows perk up at the attention, that smooth smile appearing on your cheeks, the one you use when you look at any one of his teammates. Anyone you find attractive, actually, heâs noticed.Â
You nod, âIâll be there, supporting Jongho.â
âNot your boyfriend?â Minho asks, popping a brow.
âOh shit, yeah, Mingi too,â you nod, âduh.â
He has to fight his laugh, lips tying together. You meet his eye, the look of him biting back his laugh, and crack a stupid smile at the sight. âYou ready to go?â You ask, brows lifted.
Mingiâs neck cranes in confusion, âYou donât wanna wait for Yeo?â
âHe has people to see,â you say casually, but Mingi knows who. âPlus, youâre tired, and you need to study before bed.â
Hesitantly, seeing the honesty in your eyes, no disappointment evident, Mingi nods. âYouâre right.â
âThe girl who tamed Song Mingi,â Minho sing-songs, and Mingiâs neck snaps to glare. He hates that nickname, the way they use it in the house, in practice, how it rolls off his teammates tongues with a sneer. Minhoâs smile is devilish, daring; heâs one of Mingiâs only teammates that doesnât suck-up to him completely. Itâs not the right time or place to berate him for it.
You say your goodbyes politely and grab Mingi by his hand, pulling him towards the crowd, in the direction of the exit. Mingi ignores everyone who tries to steal him for a chat, giving small smiles, nods, waves of acknowledgement, but he lets you drag him all the way to the exit, where you give the bouncer, Minho, a small wave goodbye.Â
A little colder now, enough to rack a chill down Mingiâs spine, you stop in your tracks when you open the exit door. Winter is pressed against the wall of the building, Wooyoungâs hand over her head, forehead touching hers. He plants his lips against hers once before realizing he has company.Â
âLeaving so soon?â Heâs smirking as he tucks his arm back into himself, standing straight, turning to face the two of you. âYeosang played a good show.â
Winterâs eyes locked on Mingi, widened, pupils dilated like she didnât want to be caught where Mingi had indeed caught her. She swallows, licking her lips, fixing the baggy denim on her legs as she stands straighter, moving slightly behind Wooyoung as if itâd put her out of Mingiâs eyesight.Â
âHe always does,â your voice is cold, venomous. No warmth at all.Â
Wooyoungâs eyes find Mingi, taking a second to look him up and down. âNice outfit, different for you.â
Mingi pops a brow, âBecause Iâm not in a jersey?â
âSure,â Wooyoung nods, then moves his eyes to you. âSame goes for you, doll. Find my hoodie yet?âÂ
Your fingers flex at your side, fist clenching, âI told you I burned it.âÂ
Wooyoung chuckles, arm lifting for Winter to tuck herself into his side, it makes Mingi grimace. Gross. Heâs slimey, the energy he gives off, Mingi canât understand what the fuck girls see in him in the first place.Â
âDid you see Hyunjin inside?â Wooyoung asks, âHe asked me about you, said your little plaything was bothering you.â Wooyoung looks at Mingi again, âI take it thatâs you? But youâre her boyfriend, right?âÂ
Mingiâs brows furrow, but you speak up before he can open his mouth. âDonât speak to Hyunjin about me or Mingi. The only plaything you have to worry about is the one under your arm.â
Winter straightens, brows furrowing, âIâm the plaything? Me?â
âWhat do you think heâs gonna do with you when heâs bored?â You laugh a little, eyes so piercing it renders Mingi silent, all he can do is stare. âToss you to the side, just like he did with me. Thereâs another one, you know, itâs never just you.âÂ
Wooyoung tucks her closer, his features devoid of all amusement, back going rigid. âLying, huh? Just âcus youâre butthurt? Always leads to lies, you havenât changed one bit.âÂ
âYouâll never change,â you whisper, but the chilly air is quiet enough that it hits its mark. âWhen she calls, youâll run back to her, it doesnât matter whoâs occupying your boredom at the time.â Your eyes find Winter, âYouâll see. I feel bad for you.âÂ
Mingi, confused, watches Winterâs face fall, the slow realization that thereâs not a lick of jealousy in your voice, just sheer honesty. His head bobs back and forth between the two of you, but he grabs your wrist when steam starts pouring from your ears. âTime to go, baby. Come on.âÂ
You pull your wrist away from him, tucking it into your chest, keeping your eyes steady on Wooyoung who doesnât falter for a moment. A staring contest of sorts, it makes Mingi feel nervous, uncomfortable at the least.
âTime to go,â Mingi reiterates, voice heavier, hands on your waist now. âItâs not worth it. Iâll take you home, câmon.âÂ
It takes you a second to turn your head away from Wooyoung as Mingi starts pulling you away, but once youâre out of eyesight, in front of Mingiâs build that engulfs you whole, the shakes begin. Your fingertips, your shoulders, your teeth chatter in your fucking skull.Â
âIn the car,â heâs whispering, encouraging, ushering you into his passenger seat. âThere you go,â he closes it behind you, making sure youâre tucked inside.Â
When heâs behind the wheel, engine roaring to life, he takes a second to gather his bearings. He turns to you slowly, only his head, and youâre staring into nothing, body still shaking. It makes him swallow, nerves etching into his vision.Â
âAre you okay?â He asks, because itâs the only thing he can think of. He doesnât know how to comfort you. You hum an agreement, a slight nod of your head, it does nothing to ease the discomfort in his chest. His lips tighten, teeth grazing his bottom lip, âWhat just happened?â
You shake your head, still staring into space. Voice small, battered and broken, you whisper, âI donât know.â
Mingi feels something swirling in his gut, something foul. Like before a big game, when he isnât positive heâs going to win. Voice low, he asks, âWhat actually happened between you?â
âHe didnât just cheat on me with Winter,â you finally look down at your lap, âthereâs another girl. I donât know who she is, what she looks like, I just know she exists. Sheâs like, the girl version of him, she made him like that.â
Mingiâs brows furrow, but you keep talking after a deep, shaky breath. âHe called me a liar, I am a liar.â You shake your head, staring at your lap. âI lied to everyone when I was with him. I lied to him, I lied to myself, not to mention Jongho and Yeosang.â
âWhy?âÂ
âBecause itâs easier that way,â you finally look at Mingi, eyes glassy, pupils dilated, âif I told the truth, I couldnât be held accountable for my own actions.â When you notice his confusion, you laugh, a short, disbelieving chuckle. âI knew about her the whole fucking time, the nature of their relationship, I even tried competing with her at one point.â
When Mingi asks why again, you sigh. âI think because I knew Iâd never win. Him and I would never be real no matter how hard I tried, and that was safety to me, in a way.â
âI donât understand,â Mingi sinks into his seat, carefully peeling back another layer.Â
You shake your head again, silent for a moment. âHave you ever wanted something so bad that it terrifies you?â
âAll the time.â
âThis is gonna sound self-deprecating, donât make fun of me or else Iâll fucking kill you,â you start, and Mingiâs lips curve at the corners, but he nods. âThatâs how I feel about relationships, or being loved, I guess. I want it, but do I deserve it?â
Mingiâs brows furrow again, âDo you deserve it?â You blink at him, and he shakes his head in confusion, âWho cares? You want it, donât you?â
Mingi swears your eyes get rounder, your lips plumper. Heâs never seen you look so⊠delicate. Small, vulnerable, like your walls have crumbled away and left whatâs at your core bare for him to see.Â
âI do,â you whisper, staring at him, into him, he feels just as bare as you. He feels the moonlight pouring into the cabin, he hears the light hum of his idling car, and he realizes he hasnât been in this position in a long, long time.Â
His relationship with women has been strict since⊠her. Transactional, never more, never less. Give and take. He doesnât make friends, he doesnât form bonds, he does nothing more than fuckâ whenâs the last time he had a real fucking conversation with a woman? Whenâs the last time his chest has felt so twisted from emotion?
He stares back, eyes dropping to your lips for a millisecond. Glossy, from the spit you swiped over them with your tongue moments prior, plump and opaque with color. This is the longest youâve gone without arguing since the moment you met. This is the first time heâs looking at you so clearly, seeing you as more than a means to an end. He swears he can feel his heartbeat in his throat.
âTake what you want,â Mingi whispers back, âwho gives a fuck about being worthy of it?â
Thereâs a ghost of a smile on your lips, âThatâs easy for you to say, you get whatever you want.â
âNot everything,â he shifts in his seat, sinking down, stretching out his legs as much as he can. âNot even a lot, actually.â
When your brows furrow, he makes a face like he doesnât want to keep going, but he does anyway. âI donât have control over anything in my life. What I eat, how I train, how much I sleep, what I do in my free time, thatâs all coordinated by someone else. Dating you is the most freedom Iâve had in years.â
âThey donât do whatever you say?â
âI do whatever they say,â he corrects you, lips flattening. âI donât have to think if I donât want to, and I fucking hate it. Iâm a twenty-one year old man that doesnât do anything for myself, itâs suffocating. Like Iâm a puppet.â
Your lips are tucked between your teeth, swept to the side, head tilted. âI thought it was the other way around. Are they mad youâre⊠dating me?â
Mingi laughs a little, âMore than mad. Consequences-mad.âÂ
You gasp, leaning forward, palm planted on the center console. âThen why are you still doing it?â
âBecause I want to,â heâs looking at you now, âfor once, Iâm doing something I want, and Iâm having fun.â
âYouâre having fun with me?â Your smile makes Mingi feel like heâs just handed you a thousand dollars. âFor realsies?â
Chuckling, nodding, Mingi nods, âFor realsies, princess.â
You sit back in the passenger seat, body deflating dramatically, head sinking to the side, silly smile still on your lips. Looking up at him through your brows, you say, âIâm having fun with you, too.â
Mingi doesnât understand why the sentence fills his stomach with⊠butterflies, like youâd just said the words heâs been waiting the whole night to hear. He pushes the feeling down, shifting himself upward, finally plugging his phone into the carâs speaker system. âYou ready?â
âYes,â you nod, sitting up, pulling the seatbelt over your torso. âDrive nicely though, please, or else I might throw up.â
FOURTH OUTING: CONFERENCE GAME, SUNDAY. 7:02 PM.
Bass pumps through the stadium, so deep and booming you can feel it in your heels that touch the concrete beneath you, it vibrates through the navy blue, plastic chair you sat on. Only in a mini-skirt, your thighs sat bare against the cool, hard chair, a relief in contrast to the humid air that rudely asks you to put your hair up.Â
In the tenth row, just above the fifty-yard line, your view was immaculate. Just above where the players stood on the field, you could see the field, the players clearer than you ever have, Jongho always gifted you and Yeosang nosebleeds. A routine, up in the stands, guzzling beers because what else was there to do if you couldnât see? Youâd trust the commentator with a tall-boy of Miller and pretend you were enjoying it until you got drunk enough to not care, and to you, that was the true college football experience.Â
But here, almost eye-level with Mingi who lines up directly under center to take the snap, this was different. Dark hair covered by his kelly-green helmet, the only reason you knew it was him was because of his last name and the number eighty-eight on his back.Â
It mirrored the one on your back, the kelly-green jersey that offset his white one, it hung more than oversized in your body, off one shoulder, tucked into your skirt. You havenât seen Mingi in a week, and when Yeosang delivered it to you this morning the pang of disappointment in your chest was so uncomfortable you pretended you didnât feel it.
âMingi gave it to Jongho who gave it to me to give to you.âÂ
Yeosang threw the jersey onto your couch, oversized and⊠green. So green you looked down at the jersey then back up to Yeosangâs head of hair, a smirk crawled onto your cheeks. Yeosang squinted, âDonât.â
âOh, you can make fun of me, but I canât make fun of you?â A hand on your hip, one knee bent, you exuded nothing but attitude. You took a step forward to pick the jersey off your couch, held it up in the air in front of you by the shoulders, âCan dish it out but canât take it, huh?â
The mini-skirt in your closet you havenât been able to face since sometime last year popped into your brain, a tall pair of boots you already started mentally picturing with the outfit. It looked good enough in the mirror, his jersey hung off your shoulder, you did a little twirl in the mirror to see how it swayed with your movement.Â
A smile was stamped onto your cheeks when you glanced at your back in the mirror, reading a very clear Song written above the number 88. After noticing the grin, you forced your lips flat, arms straightening at your sides. You turned back around, lips tucked in as you ran your palms over the jersey, blowing a sharp breath through curved lips, then left your bedroom once more.Â
You kind of missed him, which was a strange pit-in-your-stomach feeling you didnât let yourself think too much about. You havenât seen him in a week, not since your explosion on Wooyoung at Eonian, heâs been too busy with this game approaching, strategizing, practicing, training. Not seeing him after sharing something vulnerable with him, something you havenât even shared with the green-headed-motherfucker in the room just to get something vulnerable in return, you felt strangely closer to him. Like maybe you two could actually be friends.Â
Silly thought. Silly you.
He stands crouched on the field, your chest still heaves from cheering when his name was announced throughout the stadium, excitement vibrating through you as much as when bass bled through your skin. The stadium looks bigger from down here, more open, yet there was less air to fill your lungs, to ease the discomfort in your chest.Â
There were messages in your DMs, more messages now than when you entered the parking lot to tailgate. You read the first ones upon your first step through the wired, silver gates, not telling Yeosang who was already slurring his words because it didnât matter. The messages have never grown too personal, nowhere close to a threat, until today.Â
Donât go to the game today.Â
His minions, the army assembled of Mingi-lovers who haunted your requests folder, you wonder what theyâd think if they knew you werenât really together. If they knew Mingi only looked at you affectionately in public. You wondered what theyâd think if they looked at your text thread, if they saw the slew of insults you threw at each other on a daily basis, between the updates with time stamps because Mingi said itâs proof heâs busy.Â
Now, there were more.
Thought we told you not to go
We saw you tailgating.
Should we expose you for cheating on him?
In his jersey too, you must be fucking stupid
Drinking beer, so trashy
Donât you think you eat enough?
A tall-boy in the cupholder across from you, a cup of cheese fries split between you and Yeosang, a fucking hotdog in your hand. This was normal, this is what you always did, what you always fucking ate when you came to these games. You looked behind you, the crowd was busy talking to each other, laughing, drinking, eating, there were no eyes on you. You couldnât figure out who was looking at you. Who was waiting.Â
Unsettling isnât the word for how uncomfortable being seen was, when you didnât want to be.
The game begins and you attempt to force yourself into focusing. Yeosang, drunk and belligerent beside you, luckily didnât notice your discomfort, you donât think heâd notice if you dropped a fucking brick on his head right now. You pull out your phone when focusing proves impossible, rereading your last text thread with Mingi again, the only thing keeping you from grabbing Yeosang by the scruff and dragging him out of the stadium.Â
xxx-xxx-xxxx: come down to the field when games over
xxx-xxx-xxxx: go down the stairs inside, tell security ur name. they should let u through
you: okay
you: play good or else ill cheer for jongho
xxx-xxx-xxxx: come on now
xxx-xxx-xxxx: whos name is on ur back
you: some guy
you: streets are calling me mrs. song
xxx-xxx-xxxx: wait that has a nice ring to it
xxx-xxx-xxxx: if u see winter let her know what her future looks like
you: i hate you
you: break a leg
xxx-xxx-xxxx: i dont think u say that for football
you: no like i hope you break your leg
xxx-xxx-xxxx: oh bro fuck u
xxx-xxx-xxxx: dont say that before a game
xxx-xxx-xxxx: asshole
you: go stretch or something stop texting me
You havenât seen Winter, you havenât seen Wooyoung. You didnât see them in the parking lot, either, where you tailgated with not only Jia and Riyo, but Mingyu, Seokmin, Hoshi, Dino and Seungkwan. Nine of you taking up two parking spots, drinking beside Mingyuâs ninety-six Ford pickup, playing pong with the table he brought in the truck bed, sitting in folding chairs, watching from the roof panel.Â
Riyo claims theyâre the only people she could convince to tailgate. You think theyâre the first and only people she tried convincing, especially since sheâs hooking up with Seokmin on the DL, but youâd believe thereâs some truth to it just because Mingyuâs the easiest person to convince of anything on the planet. You can remember convincing him chocolate milk comes from brown cows and strawberry milk comes from pink cowsâ he was elated to find out photoshop-generated pink cows exist in real life.Â
Tall, buff, bronzy and handsome, he was the first one to refer to you as Mrs. Song with a slippery smirk and a wiggle of his brows. For the entire two hours you tailgated, you donât think you heard your name once; like parrots, once one of them says something, the rest follow.Â
It was nice to be friendly with him, even if you eyed him up with a smirk of your own two or twenty times, advances only understood by him, and each time you remembered whose name and number was painted on your back and forced your face to fall.Â
You lock your phone, picking your head up, âI missed it, what happened? Disgusting good, or disgusting bad?â
âGood,â Yeosang nods, watching the game with a different, analytical eye, âMingiâs so fucking good.â
âDo you ever miss playing?â You ask, tucking your phone into your pocket, picking up your beer to take a sip. Cringing, you wish youâd drank more at the tailgate.
âOf course,â he says like thatâs the stupidest question youâve ever asked, âbut I donât regret quitting. Everything is better now.â
You can hear the liquor in his voice, it makes you crack a smile. Taking advantage of the situation, you lean in a little closer, âDo you miss her cheering you on?â
With his feet propped up on the empty chair in front of him, body lazily strewn in his own chair like it was deadweight, it might be, the way he only turns his head to look at you. âYou donât think she cheers for me anywhere else?â
Your top lip curls, leaning backward, putting space between you. âI donât know if I should take that in a sexual way or not.â
Yeosang snorts loudly, head dipping back like he didnât have the strength to hold it up anymore, âYou saw her at my show last week. She was cheering me on like she didnât give a fuck who saw, it was awesome.â
âGood,â you nod, turning back to the field, eyes closing in on the pretty cheerleader dressed in little to nothing, green and white pompoms in her hands. Whispering, watching her, you nod again, âGood.â
Checking your phone again, you see more DMs, but you donât open them. Ignorance is bliss, you tell yourself as you sit rigid up until halftime, where the cheers and boos from the crowd went right over your head the entire time. Twenty minutes to pee, buy another beer and more cheese fries because you shouldâve eaten before you fucking came and you didnât.
On edge, speed-walking through the crowds in the concourse, your eyes worked a mile-a-minute to scan every face you saw, to analyze if anyone was looking at you a certain way. Itâs terrifying, knowing someone is watching, not knowing who, or from where. You stared above you, through the cracks in the stall doors while you peed, you kept an eye on your surroundings while you bought another beer, more cheese fries.Â
Maybe you should turn off your requests, you think as you sit back down in your seat, Yeosang leaned sideways with his head in his fist, eyes half-open.
âAre you alive?â You ask with a laugh as you sit down, handing him another tall-boy can, âHere, got you another beer.â
He resurrects like the second coming of Jesus, eyes wide and brows lifted like youâd woken him from hibernation. Back straightening, he grabs the can from your hand, sucking in a breath, âYouâre my best friend.â
You laugh as you sit back in your seat, tucking your skirt beneath your thighs, the game had already begun again while you were up in the concourse. Peeking up at the scoreboard, seeing nine-zero clear as day, your head snaps to Yeosang, âWhen the fuck did that happen?â
âMostly in the first quarter,â his voice is heavy with carbonation, he closes a fist over his mouth in an attempt to silently burp into it, a failed attempt.Â
You snicker at the sound, giggling through your words, âWho?â
âHaechan, Jaemin.â
âJaeminâs a kicker?â
âHim and Felix.â
âAh,â you nod, taking a sip of your own beer. Turning to him again, you ask, âHaechanâs the whiney one with the red hair?â
âWide receiver,â Yeosang nods, âand a good one. Mingiâs passes are perfect, though, canât give Hyuck all the credit.â
âHyuck?â
âHaechan.â
âOh,â you mumble, searching the field again. Mingi looks so much bigger with all the padding on, bulkier, you can see his chest heaving despite the layers, his run turning to a slowed drag of his legs as he walks towards the edge of the field.Â
Arms flexing as he pulls his helmet off his head, he shakes his hair back, running a gloved hand through the sweaty strands, away from his face. Itâs like slow motion, his shoulders pushed back, lips parted, jaw clean and angular, teeth poking out from beneath his top lip.Â
âShit,â you mumble under your breath, he looks hot. Fuck him.Â
That clean smirk lifting his lips on one side as he shakes hands with another one of his teammates, you donât care to figure out which one, you canât take your eyes off him. He tilts his chin up, keeping that same cocky smirk as he says something too far for your ears to catch, his eyebrows twitching upward. Shit.Â
Your stomach rumbles something unwelcome, a feeling of interest, sweat prickling at the back of your neck that isnât from the humidity in the air. You know heâs hot, you knew he was hot before you started fake-dating him, you quickly remind yourself who he is. A narcissistic asshole, a misogynist, a lonely twenty-one year old that doesnât have the freedom to make decisions for himself. One that likes spending his free time with you, one that laughs at your jokes, one that throws his arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side like thereâs no other place heâd want you.Â
Mine.Â
You shake your head, turning to Yeosang again, âYou know how I said I got those DMs the other day?â
Yeosang blinks in half-focus, âKinda, why?â
âNevermind,â you shake your head, sighing. âIâll tell you later.â
âCan I have a fry?â He asks, giving you puppy eyes, you hand him the cup of cheese fries without looking at him.Â
By the grace of God, as if you fucking summoned her with damning thoughts, walking into the row before yours, sitting in the seat directly in front of Yeosang, is Winter.
Where the fuck is Wooyoung?
Yeosang stiffens, a cheese fry halfway in his mouth, he pulls his feet back down to the concrete, mumbling apologies through his already-full mouth. Winter is everything polite, she gives him a warm smile, tucking her skirt beneath her as she sits into the seat. Slowly she drags her hair to one side as she relaxes in the plastic, body not hitting the backrest, giving you a full, front-seat view of Song and 88 on her back.Â
Your lips part, eyes widening as you read it, you blink once, twice, six fucking times and the name and number doesnât change. Itâs a jersey bought from the school store, not official like the one on your back, but sheâs fucking here, in front of you, with your boyfriendâs name and number on her fucking back.Â
âExcuse me,â you lean forward, heart beating out of your chest, brain spewing words onto your tongue and not one of them is nice.Â
She turns like sheâs surprised, brows lifted, âHm?â
âYour jersey?â You tilt your chin, what the fuck else would you be asking about?
âOh,â she grins, cheeks pink, a hand coming up to cover her mouth like sheâs fucking bashful. âIâm just a huge fan.â
âRight,â you say slowly, eyes thinned to shoot daggers, nodding like this shit does not add up.Â
Yeosang rests a heavy hand on your back, you turn your head to look at him still shooting missiles from your eyes and his face is twisted up to say what the fuck are you doing?!
Your face snaps back into reality, quickly straightening in your seat, pupils shaking beneath your lids and lips pursed hard enough to bruise, an embarrassing heat turns your body to lava. You see nothing, you hear nothing, you feel nothing but the mortifying pulse of your own heartbeat, what are you doing? What the fuck was that? This is the whole point.Â
Youâre going insane, thatâs the only answer, the only reason for what you just did. The DMs, sitting in seats he got you because theyâre the best view, having eyes on you somewhere in the crowd, remembering how he looked at you from the driverâs seat of his car, telling you to go get what you want just because you fucking want it. It's all going to your head.Â
You need to break up. Now.Â
You donât see the rest of the game. You donât hear the music, the sirens of triumph, the roars of the crowd, you donât even process that they won until youâre standing up, clapping, staring out at the field with your face utterly blank. This is fear. This is real, genuine, raw fucking fear.Â
âLetâs go,â Yeosang is tugging on your arm and your gaze is elsewhere, confused, your mind somewhere along with it.Â
You tug your arm back, âGo where?â
âDown to the field?â Yeosang furrows his brows, âAre you okay?â
âOh,â you give him a weak smile, âyeah, âm fine.â
Youâre gliding up the stairs into the concourse, fuzzy finding the staircase to lead you back down, youâre shaking your head, trying to snap yourself out of it before you reach the bottom platform. Thereâs a man shuffling around like he was waiting for bodies to approach, earpiece connecting to a small black box clipped onto his slacks, a black polo to match, his face reading focus, professionalism. You mumble yours and Yeosangâs names and he lets you through with a stretch of his arm, you heave another breath when the LED lights come into view at the end of the tunnel.Â
The field is vast, itâs warmer down here, the air is wet. Bodies seem to cover every inch of sideline, cameras, lights, people with clipboards and hats on their head with your universityâs logo, youâre too aware of your fingers at your sides.Â
You spot him and heâs smiling, laughing as he talks to an interviewer, already standing before a camera, it makes your heart drop to your asshole. You shuffle closer to Yeosang whoâs already on the hunt for Jongho, youâre sure he doesnât want to be caught down here by his old coach or any of the staff, if theyâd even recognize his bright green hair.Â
âYouâre down here?â Jongho finds you before you find him, brows furrowed, hair sweaty and chest heaving, he wears confused brows and a winded smile.Â
Chest puffed from padding, sweat dribbling down his forearms that arenât covered by nylon, you actually feel a semblance of relief when you see him. âMingi invited me, I wasnât coming without Yeo.âÂ
âOh,â his smile spreads, âhow was it?â
Yeosang claps his hand, throwing another on his shoulder, âYouâre a fucking boulder, wish I was down here with you.âÂ
Jongho looks confused, âAre you drunk?â
Your eyes travel, landing on Mingi, who catches you just as you look over. You see him brighten, smile widening, a sparkle in his eyes that makes your stomach do flips. Fuck.Â
You watch him mouth the words excuse me, nodding his head before escaping the press, running over to you with that stupid fucking smile you might have seen in your dream last night.Â
âYou came!â He yells when he gets close enough to pull you into his chest, acting as if his sweat didnât soak through his padding. Huge, massive, he swallows you, it makes your knees weak.Â
You verbally cringe, muttering a noise of disgust before pulling away, âI was right, you smell like wet dog.âÂ
âBeautiful woman,â he corrects, face reading amusement, âlike you in my jersey, green looks good on you, princess.âÂ
Your eyes meet the turf beneath your boots, âYou donât have to say that, no one can hear you, Mingi.âÂ
âDamn, no insulting rebuttal?â The more he looks at you the more his smile falters. âWhatâs wrong? Are you okay?â
You look up at him through your brows, surprise written on your face as you take in the concern on his. He can tell? You shake your head, plastering a fake smile on your cheeks, âIâm great, Iâm fine, Iâm good. Did you hear me cheering?âÂ
âFor me?â Heâs cheesing, excited like a little kid.Â
You laugh a little, tucking your hair behind your ear, âDuh, you told me I had to since Iâm wearing your jersey.â
âLet me see,â he pulls his arm from where it laid over your shoulder back to his side, âdo a little twirl for me, smart girl.âÂ
The heat on your cheeks is molten, you roll your eyes as you make a ponytail in your fist, twirling to give him full access of him on your back.Â
He cheers, woo-ing loud and shameless, his smile takes over his entire face. âWow, look at you, like a real-life WAG.âÂ
âWhatâs a WAG?âÂ
He shakes his head, âMeans youâre mine.âÂ
Mine.Â
You panic, words spilling from your lips, âGuess who else is in your jersey.âÂ
His smile falls, body going still with knowing disbelief, âNo.âÂ
You force a tight-lipped smile, nodding, âYup.âÂ
âOh my god!â Yeosang cuts you off, loud and obnoxious. Now he chooses to get rowdy? âI almost forgot, you guys should take pictures.âÂ
In boyfriend mode again, Mingiâs gloved palm finds the small of your back, coming to your side when you twist around to look at Yeosang, face screaming no. Yeosang giggles, a nasty little smirk on his lips that tells you heâs playing the game, too, maybe better than you are at this point.Â
He pulls his phone from his back pocket, âCome on, pose.âÂ
You look at Mingi, uneasy. He shrugs, unbothered. Hand tighter around your waist, he leans into you, smiling. You try to force light into your eyes, doing your best to grin like a proud girlfriend, not that these pictures would ever see the light of day.Â
âCute,â Yeosang crouches, âmove over, the lighting is weird.âÂ
You huff, but move in the direction Yeosangâs pointed palm is ushering you in, Mingi following, the both of you quiet. Too aware of where you are, eyes, cameras, lightsâ itâs overstimulating just having his fucking hand on you, his body pressed to yours.Â
Yeosang eyes you over the top of his phone screen, flashing something mischievous, âNow kiss.âÂ
âWhat?â Thereâs barely a moment between his order and your reaction. Mingi stiffens beside you, you think youâve gone cold, you think you might drop dead on the turf.Â
âKiss!â Yeosang nearly whines, âCome on, what are you, children? One kiss for a picture, youâll thank me for it later.â
Your jaw drops. Blinking at him, stuttering a rebuttal, head shaking and a hand moving to wave in front of you out of denial, Mingi speaks before you do.
âOkay.âÂ
âHuh?!â You look at him like heâs insane.Â
He shoots daggers, eyes bouncing back and forth between you and Yeosang as if to say donât blow our cover. Little does he know, Yeosang was present when the plan was fucking formed.Â
âNo,â the shake of your head is final, âabsolutely not.âÂ
âOne kiss,â Mingi argues, âit would be a cute picture.âÂ
You whisper, âWhy are you encouraging this?âÂ
He shrugs, his smile effortlessly stupid, âItâs just one kiss.âÂ
Your eyes lower to his lips for a split second. Round, plump, pink, wet with spit from his tongue that glides over them seamlessly, thereâs an anxious pit in your stomach, your fight or flight kicks in.Â
He uses the angle in which you turned, one hand sliding to your waist, the other on your jaw, tilting your head upward. Warm, his touch delicate, you feel your heart in your throat as he leans in, kissing you with a softness no one has ever kissed you with.Â
Youâve been someoneâs situationship, friends with benefits, fuckbuddyâ all things that require a disconnection to function, a wall you were far too good at putting up, keeping stable. Youâve been kissed with haste, with fervor, just to add a touch of romanticism because the rest that followed lacked respect in its purest form.Â
This was different. It wasnât a peck, your lips parted for him, your body melted into him, his hand on your jaw was guiding, grounding, his gloved thumb swiped along your skin like he fucking meant it. He tasted clean, like he just drank a gallon of water, still fresh on his plump lips that tucked yours in like they belonged there. It's not right, itâs not right but itâs working and youâre fucking terrified.Â
He pulls away just as softly as he leaned in, a dopey smile stretching his lips wide. Keeping himself close, he hums, âSee? Just a kiss.âÂ
You donât realize your fingers wrapped around his forearm, or that your spine bent towards him. Breath shaky, grip iron, your eyes flicker upward and even the way heâs looking at you is different.Â
You swallow down your discombobulation just enough to utter, âWe need to break up. Now.âÂ
Summary: Three years of living with your best friend Wooyoung, and itâs all been chill⊠until a run-in with your old coworker, whoâs dating your ex, forces you to lie. You tell her youâre in a relationship with Wooyoung, and now you both have to fake a relationship at a couplesâ dinner. Wooyoungâs plan? Make your ex jealous. What starts as a harmless game soon sparks something you didnât see coming.
Warnings: Jealous undertones, Wooyoung with reader (fem pronouns), dom Wooyoung, heâs a tease, fingering, oral (fem receiving), choking and hair pulling, ass slaps and pussy slaps (lmao sorry) dirtytalk, unprotected sex, lmk if I missed anything!
A/N: I was requested a Wooyoung fanfic (preferably friends to lovers) and your wish is my command. Also, I haven't read this through, so I excuse if there are any mistakes!
This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Wooyoung in any way.
You didnât know Wooyoung before you moved in with him.
It wasnât some childhood-friends-to-roommates situation. It was a Facebook listing, a desperate rent situation, and a quick video call where he grinned and said, âIâm clean, I cook, and I only walk around shirtless on laundry days, deal?â
Your boyfriend had just cheated on you and you were too broke to be picky.
You moved in two weeks later.
That was three years ago.
When you first moved in, things were simple. Polite nods in the hallway, careful division of chores, messages like âCan I use your oat milk?â and âTrash dayâs Thursday.â You were strangers learning how to coexist. He was respectful, charming, funny in a careful kind of way.
But that changed. Slowly. Naturally.
There was the night he knocked on your door with two bowls of ramen after hearing you cry through the wall. The time he fell asleep on your shoulder during a movie, and you let him stay there. The mornings where he started making two cups of coffee without asking, and the way he never forgot which mug was your favorite.
Little things, at first. But they stacked up.
Now he knows your coffee order and your worst exâs name. He doesnât knock anymore when your door is open. And you donât bother pretending to be annoyed when he drapes himself across the couch youâre already sitting on, like thereâs not an entire empty seat next to you. You know his favorite hoodie and the playlist he only listens to when heâs feeling off.
You donât even remember when it happened. When âroommateâ became âfriend,â and âfriendâ slowly became âbest friendâ.
Heâs the first person you turn to when something happens, good or bad. Youâve become so used to him and his playful, flirtatious nature, that itâs just... normal now.
This morning, you wake up to the sound of a pan sizzling.
Itâs not unusual. Wooyoung does most of the cooking in the apartment, partly because heâs better at it, mostly because he refuses to eat anything bland. Youâve learned not to interfere when heâs in his element, your only job is to show up and eat.
Still, itâs early, and heâs making a bit too much noise for someone who claims to love you âplatonically.â
You shuffle out of your room, hair a mess, socks mismatched. The kitchen smells like garlic and eggs, and you see him standing at the stove, completely in his zone. Hoodie sleeves pushed up, spatula in hand, flipping something with a finesse that makes it obvious he knows he looks good doing it.
âYouâre showing off,â you mutter, leaning against the doorframe.
He doesnât look away from the pan. âYouâre welcome.â
You make a beeline for your favorite mug, the one he always pretends to hate but still washes carefully every time you leave it in the sink.
âI figured youâd sleep in,â he says. âYou stayed up late.â
âYea, because someone wasnât leaving my room.â you send him a glare.
âI like hanging out with you! and donât tell me you didnât enjoy the story about the geek and the popular girl from my old highschool. That story is cute as hell.â he points the spatula with you like itâs a weapon.
You smirk behind the mug. âOkay, that one was kinda good.â
He grins, plating scrambled eggs and what looks like roasted vegetables. He slides the plate toward your usual spot at the counter like heâs done it a hundred times, because he has.
âHow was your date?â you ask, poking your fork into a roasted tomato.
Wooyoung groans. âDisaster.â
âThat bad?â
âShe asked if I was in love with her halfway through the appetizer.â
âBold of her,â you say, chewing.
âAnd when I said no, she looked at me like I kicked her in the face. Then she told me I âgive off commitment issues.ââ
You grin. âYou do give off commitment issues.â
He glares playfully. âOkay, rude. Iâm extremely loyal.â
âTo me.â
âExactly. My loyalty quota is full. Sorry to the rest of the world.â he shoots you a wink, nothing dramatic, just one of those natural, easy gestures he does without thinking. You donât blush. Not anymore.
You're used to it. In the beginning, back when you were still adjusting to living with someone who looks like that, who flirts with the air he breathes, who walks around shirtless and steals fries from your plate and calls you âbabeâ just to watch your reaction, it was different.
But now? Immunity.
Mostly.
Itâs easy with him, always has been. Closeness that doesnât need explanation. No boundaries, because you donât need them. Not when youâve seen each other through every version of a day.
He sits beside you at the counter instead of across, thigh brushing yours like itâs second nature.
Because it is.
***
âYou know,â you say, pushing the cart down the cereal aisle, âyou could just admit you have the taste buds of a hyperactive child.â
Wooyoung gasps, dramatically offended as he holds up a neon box of chocolate puffs. âThis is not childish. This is elite. You wouldnât understand the depth of this flavor profile.â
Grocery shopping with Wooyoung is basically a weekly ritual at this point. Not because you canât go alone, but because he insists on it. Claims youâd forget half the list and come back with snacks and nothing else. Which, to be fair, is kind of true.
Youâre halfway through the cereal aisle, walking behind the cart as Wooyoung wanders a few feet ahead, eyes locked on the shelf like heâs making a life-or-death decision between sugary clusters or chocolate swirls.
Heâs in his element, mumbling ingredients under his breath, holding one box up to the light like heâs reading ancient scrolls. You smile to yourself, letting him do his thing as you slow down, scanning your phone for the rest of your shared grocery list.
And then, just your luck, you hear it.
âOh my god, Y/N?â
You look up too slowly.
Hana.
You turn, putting on the most polite expression you can muster as she approaches, all bright eyes and perfect hair and the same aggressive enthusiasm she used to bring to Monday morning staff meetings.
âHana,â you say, trying to sound surprised instead of resigned. âWow. Hi.â
âI thought that was you! Oh my god, itâs been what, like, forever? You look so⊠Anyways, itâs so good to see you!â She eyes you, then glances down into your cart before you can respond. âFrozen dumplings, instant rice, oh my god I love those snacks, theyâre so bad but soooo addictive, right? Wait-, this kimchi brand is the worst. You should try the one from Jihyunâs Market across town. Itâs organic.â
You blink. âI... like this one.â
âSure, sure. I mean, I just think itâs better to be picky with fermented stuff, you know? Especially when youâre eating it alone.â
You donât answer right away. She doesnât wait.
âGosh, how are you? I remember how you were always the chill one at work. So responsible. So put together. Like, you were always the single one! We called you "The Independent Icon" behind your back. Not in a mean way!â
You hadnât planned on staying single forever. But a few years ago, your boyfriend cheated on you while he was on vacation, called you from the airport like it was no big deal. After that, you decided you were done. No dating for a while, no more risks. It was easier to be alone than to be blindsided again. Eventually, people stopped asking. Then they started assuming.
Your stomach twists. You glance down the aisle. Wooyoung is still several feet away, crouched in front of a lower shelf now, examining cereal boxes like heâs an art critic. Totally out of earshot.
âOh, I didnât know people talked about that,â you say, trying to keep your tone neutral.
Hana waves a hand. âOnly in admiration, really. I mean, youâve never brought a guy to any of our dinners. I think Minji even thought you were secretly dating a girl for a while, totally cool if you are! No judgment! But I told her, no way. Y/N is just focused. Did I tell you I got married, by the way? I donât think you ever met my husband. We got married last year, tiny ceremony, super last minute. Here-, heâs gonna kill me for showing this, but look how ridiculous he looks in this suit.â
She pulls out her phone, swipes once, then holds it up to you.
You freeze.
You know that face.
The sharp jawline. The dimple on his left cheek. The same stupid smile he had when he came back from that trip and told you, casually, like it was weather, that heâd slept with someone else. âIt didnât mean anything,â he said, âwe were just having a rough patch, right?â
Your stomach drops.
âThatâs him,â Hana says proudly. âTotal goofball, but heâs the best. Honestly, I didnât think Iâd find someone like him. But donât worry, youâll find someone too some day!â
Hana is still talking but her words blur.
You could say nothing. You could just smile, nod, and escape with your overpriced kimchi and frozen dumplings. But you nod slowly, eyes darting to the end of the aisle again. Suddenly, you hear yourself say, voice too quick and too loud:
âActually, Iâm dating someone.â
Hanaâs brows lift. âWait, really?â
âYeah.â You point down the aisle.
She turns.
Wooyoung, still crouched, is now reading the back of a cereal box, completely oblivious to your social spiral.
âOh?â Hanaâs eyes are practically sparkling now, thrilled by this newfound information. âLook at you! I know you had it in you!â she says, nudging your arm. âYou have to bring him to dinner. Weâre doing a little couples night this Friday. Just a few of us from work, old and new. Minjiâs coming, and Jihyun, and my husbandâs inviting one of his coworkers and their girlfriend. You two should come!â
You hesitate, already internally spiraling. âOh, I donât know-â
âCome on! Itâll be fun. I need someone there who doesnât talk about babies every ten seconds. Please.â
Sheâs already taking your nod as confirmation before youâve fully given it. âPerfect! Iâll text you the details, I still have your number. You better show up.â
Just as sheâs about to walk away, Wooyoung returns, holding two cereal boxes and strolling up casually.
Hanaâs face lights up again. âSee you soon!â she says brightly to him, giving you both a final little wave before disappearing around the corner.
Wooyoung blinks after her, then looks at you, eyebrows raised. â...Why do I feel like I just missed something deeply important?â
You stare at him, trying to decide where to begin.
He holds up the cereal boxes, undeterred. âOkay. Fruity Loops or Cinnamon Sugar Swirls. One has slightly fewer chemicals. I wonât say which.â
You inhale slowly, exhale even slower. âSo, remember when you left me alone for two minutes?â
âTragically, yes.â
âWell⊠in those two minutes, I may have⊠sort of⊠told someone weâre dating.â
Thereâs a beat of silence.
Wooyoung blinks. âYou what?â
You gesture weakly down the aisle. âThat was Hana. Old coworker. Sheâs always been weirdly obsessed with the fact that Iâm single. She was doing her usual thing, and I panicked, and I pointed at you, and now she thinks weâre together, and- surprise! Weâre going to a couples dinner on Friday.â
Wooyoung looks at you. Then at the cereal. Then back at you.
And then he grins.
Like really grins.
âOh my God,â he says, eyes wide with delight. âThis is amazing.â
âWooyoung.â
âWeâre fake dating? Weâre doing the thing? Like the romcoms?â
You press a hand to your face. âIt gets worse.â
His grin somehow grows. âIâm listening.â
âSheâs married to my ex.â
Wooyoung blinks. âThe ex?â
You nod. âShe showed me a wedding photo. Itâs him. The one who cheated on me while he was on vacation. The reason I swore off dating for like, three years.â
Wooyoungâs jaw drops, then slowly morphs into something almost unhinged with glee.
âOh my God,â he breathes. âThis is so much better than I thought.â
âWhy are you happy?â
âBecause,â he says, absolutely glowing, âI get to sit across from the guy who cheated on my best friend and pretend to be the hot, attentive boyfriend whoâs so in love with her heâd die for her. Iâm going to be so annoying. Iâm going to feed you food.â
âWooyoung.â
âIâm going to wipe sauce off your mouth. Iâm going to put my arm around your chair. Iâm going to call you baby in front of him.â
You groan. âThis is going to kill me.â
âThis is going to heal you,â he says. âYou know what, this counts for both of the cereals. Sweet childhood nostalgia and the one that turns milk radioactive pink.â He throws the cereals into the cart with dramatic flair. âThis is the best grocery trip of my life.â
***
Friday morning
Heâs already in the kitchen when you shuffle in, still half-asleep, arms wrapped around yourself. The smell of eggs and butter greets you first.
âGood morning, my beautiful fake girlfriend!â he beams.
You groan. âPlease donât start.â
âToo late,â he sings, doing a dramatic spin with the spatula. âDo you want toast with your lies or just plain guilt?â
You drop your head onto the counter with a sigh. âIâm not built for this level of energy before caffeine.â
He slides a mug your way, your mug, with your preferred coffee, made just right. âI knew youâd be a flight risk this morning.â
You mutter a thank-you and take a long sip. It helps. But not enough.
âI think Iâm panicking,â you say into the mug.
He sets your breakfast in front of you and leans on the counter across from where you sit. âHey. Weâve got this. All we have to do is show up, eat some overpriced cheese cubes, pretend weâre madly in love, make your ex suffer for being the biggest asshole known to man, and leave. Easy.â
âMadly in love,â you echo flatly.
âYes, madly.â His smile grows. âMadly, stupidly in love. To the point where your ex is going to regret every single life choice he made after cheating on you. And enough to make Hana go, âoh wow, theyâre so cute, maybe I am a terrible friend for shaming her for being single for the entire time Iâve known her.ââ
You blink. âYou really hate him, donât you?â
âIâve never even met him and I already hope he has the biggest receding hairline Iâve ever seen.â
You canât help but laugh.
âAnd besides,â he adds, stealing a bite of your toast, âwe got chemistry.â
You make a face.
âWe do, though. Weâre best friends. Weâre comfortable. We finish each otherâs-â
âDonât.â
â-sentences.â
You hurl a piece of toast crust at him. He dodges it with a smirk.
But heâs right. You are comfortable. You already know what shirt heâs going to wear tonight and that heâs going to pretend he didnât plan it. You know heâs going to be charming and make everyone laugh and completely forget heâs pretending.
And thatâs the part that begins to make your stomach twist.
The day goes faster than you anticipated, and before you know it, youâre both getting ready for the dinner.
Youâre halfway through checking your bag for the fourth time when he walks out of his room, and everything in you stills.
Heâs adjusting the sleeves of his black button-down, casually rolling them up past his elbows. He tucks his phone into his back pocket, grabs a bottle of wine off the counter. Heâs talking, saying something about the wine in his hands, but you donât hear a word.
Because damn. He looks good.
His black hair is styled a little messier than usual, in that perfectly undone way that probably took way too much effort. Heâs tucked his shirt into dark slacks that fit just right, and heâs wearing that silver chain he only brings out for âimportantâ nights.
Like fake dates, apparently.
And the worst part? He doesnât even look like heâs trying. He looks like this is just how he always looks. Like he doesnât know that heâs the kind of guy women cross sidewalks for just to sneak a better glance.
And you should be used to that. You live with him. You see him fresh out of bed, half-asleep, shirtless and in the same ratty sweats every Sunday. But this is different.
You recover fast, mutter something closer to sounds than actual words and spin on your heel toward the bathroom.
You need a second. Maybe two.
You close the door behind you and lean against it, willing your heart to calm down. It's just Wooyoung. Your best friend. Your roommate. Your fake boyfriend for the night. Nothing to get flustered over.
You run a hand down your dress, fix your lipstick, try not to think about how the curve of his smile made your stomach flutter.
Then, without a sound, the door cracks open.
He leans casually against the doorframe, watching you through the reflection. âHey.â
Your eyes meet in the mirror, and for a second, you forget what youâre doing, because his gaze isnât neutral.
It drops. Lingers.
Slides down the line of your black dress, the way it hugs your hips, the bare skin of your shoulders. Itâs not crude, not obvious, but you can feel it. Like a slow drag of heat over your body.
You blink. âYouâre not allowed to just come in here.â
âI knocked.â
You glare.
He lifts his hands, innocent. âYou just didnât hear it. Selective hearing, maybe.â
You roll your eyes, but he doesnât move. Just stay there, eyes trailing from your hair to your lips to the way youâre fidgeting with your rings.
âWhatâs up?â you ask, voice soft.
He tilts his head slightly, smile tugging at one side of his mouth. âJust thinking.â
âDangerous.â
âFunny,â he deadpans. Then after a beat, âI was wondering how much of a boyfriend Iâm allowed to be tonight.â
Your stomach tightens.
He says it lightly, but thereâs something in his voice, something teasing, but slower. More deliberate.
You meet his gaze in the mirror again. âWhat do you mean?â
âWell,â he says, stepping a little further into the room, âcan I hold your hand? Whisper something in your ear if it gets boring? Pull you in when heâs watching?â
You swallow. Heâs close now, not too close, but close enough that the air feels warmer.
âOr maybe,â he continues, eyes flicking to your lips just for a second, âkiss your cheek. You know. If it feels natural. Just enough to make him wonder.â Thereâs something electric in his voice now, light, amused, but edged with something darker. He smiles, wider this time, and it doesnât reach his eyes. âActually⊠can I make your ex jealous as fuck? Is that allowed?â
âWhat do you want to do?â you ask, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.
âI mean⊠if you give me even a little room to playâŠâ He leans in, just slightly, not touching. âI swear Iâll ruin his whole fucking night.â
Youâre still staring when he backs away, grin wide, eyes too pleased.
âNo pressure," he says, putting both of his hands up, he smiles again, but this time itâs softer. âIâll do whatever makes you feel comfortable.â
Your mouth is dry.
âDo whatever you want,â you manage. âJust⊠donât be weird.â
He grins. âI make no promisesâ
Youâre smiling, even as you turn away to grab your perfume, trying not to let him see how warm your cheeks are.
And as he walks out, he says it over his shoulder.
âYou didnât say no to the kiss.â
***
The knock sounds louder than you expect. You suddenly feel overdressed, underprepared, and painfully aware of the fact that your hand is linked with Wooyoungâs.
You didnât mean to hold hands.
It just sort of⊠happened. One second you were adjusting your sleeve, the next his fingers found yours, no hesitation, like theyâd done it a thousand times. And now itâs too late to pull away without it being weird.
âY/N! Oh my god, finally! Come in!â Hana screams as she opens the door. Youâre barely stepping inside when she notices the man next to you, her eyes widening. âAnd this isâŠ?â
âWooyoung,â he says smoothly, offering the wine bottle with both charm and ease. âNice to meet you.â
Hana takes it with a delighted hum, already ushering you both inside. You barely get a foot in before her voice lifts again. âBabe, come meet my old co-worker!â
And there he is.
Standing a few steps inside the hallway, one hand curled loosely around a drink. He turns at the sound and freezes. Just for a second, quick enough to pass for nothing, but not to you. You see it. His eyes widen slightly, and something flickers across his face. Confusion. Surprise. Like he wasnât told. Like he wasnât ready.
But you smile, smooth and pleasant. Step forward, extend your hand like youâve never seen him before in your life.
âHi,â you say. âNice to meet you.â
You smile like itâs nothing. Like you donât know him. Like heâs just another name youâll forget by morning. Thereâs the barest pause before he sets the glass down and shakes your hand. âYeah,â he says, guarded, eyes flicking to Wooyoung. âYou too.â
Before you can say anything, Wooyoung steps forward smoothly, hand outstretched, âHi,â he says, voice warm and a little too cheerful. âIâm Wooyoung. Her boyfriend.â
Thereâs a pause. One breath too long. Your ex shifts, not quite hiding the way his eyes flick to your still-joined hands.
ââŠRight,â he says finally, taking Wooyoungâs hand. âNice to meet you.â
Hana, being the overly-excited host that she is, smiles at the situation. âEveryoneâs in the kitchen. Come on, weâre just doing drinks and snacks before dinner.â
You glance toward the kitchen, grateful for the distraction, but not before you feel Wooyoungâs hand press gently against your lower back, guiding you forward.
As if to say: Iâve got you.
But alsoâŠ
Watch me work.
The house is warm and golden-lit, filled with soft music and the quiet sounds of people mingling. Laughter drifts from the back, layered over the clink of glasses and the sizzle of something on the stove.
The kitchen is full, couples leaning against counters, clustered near the island, perched on stools. Everyone looks up when you enter, and Hana claps her hands once. âEveryone, this is Y/N and her boyfriend, Wooyoung.â
You swear the word echoes for a second. Boyfriend.
Wooyoung just nods with a relaxed smile, greeting the group like heâs done this a hundred times. Heâs introduced to a few of the guys first, and within a minute heâs already laughing at something, fully immersed in conversation.
You hang back, trying not to fidget, trying to ignore how good he looks tonight, sleeves rolled, watch glinting, hair pushed back perfectly like he didnât even try. And then, as if on cue, Hana pipes up from across the room, tossing the words over her shoulder like theyâre harmless.
âI still canât believe Y/Nâs in a relationship now,â she says brightly, like itâs a funny little update. âI didnât believe it at first, Y/N in a relationship? We all thought she was allergic to commitment!â
Thereâs a few laughs, light, not cruel. The kind of laugh that happens when people think theyâre in on something. The moment the words leave Hanaâs mouth, your ex looks up. His expression flickers with a hint of surprise.
You open your mouth, unsure what to say. But before you can speak, Wooyoung cuts in. He doesnât raise his voice, doesnât even look particularly bothered. He just glances over at Hana with an easy, almost lazy kind of smile.
âIf loving her is a commitment, then itâs the easiest type of commitment Iâve ever made.â
You blink.
Your ex doesnât say anything. His lips press into a tight line, but his eyes narrow further, jaw clenching slightly as he watches Wooyoung.
But Wooyoungâs gaze never shifts away from you, his hand finding yours again, linking your fingers effortlessly. His smile is small, but thereâs a touch of pride behind it. Heâs enjoying this.
The women smile. A couple guys glance over like damn. And Hana? She laughs, charmed. âWow, okay. Youâre already winning points.â
You try to smile like your heart didnât just skip an entire beat.
Hana insists on giving you and Wooyoung a quick tour before dinner. âItâs not huge,â she says, with a laugh thatâs anything but modest. âWe just really wanted something simple but tasteful. Natural light was a must. You know how it is.â
Wooyoung nods beside you like he deeply, deeply understands the weight of natural light, and you catch the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth.
âAnd this-â Hana gestures grandly as she opens a set of double doors. âThis is my favorite room. The light in here at golden hour? Unreal. We had the cushions custom made to match the ceiling beams. And the books are mostly for decoration, but it kind of gives the right mood, donât you think?â
You nod along politely, half-listening, while Wooyoung leans down slightly, his voice warm and low against your ear.
âDo you think if I mention natural light three more times, we unlock a secret level of the tour?â
Your breath hitches with a soft laugh, and before you can stop yourself, you tilt your head slightly toward him, shoulder brushing his chest. His smile lingers like heâs proud of himself, but thereâs something else behind it too, something quieter. The way your face lights up when you laugh, how you donât pull away. It flickers in his chest and sits there, unexpected.
His hand lingers a little longer at the small of your back as you follow Hana to the next room.
The dinner table is lively, plates are passed around, and glasses are filled as casual conversation flows. Across the table, your ex is quiet. He hasnât said much all night, just observed. His smile is polite, his presence steady, but you can feel his gaze on you every now and then, especially when Wooyoung leans in to refill your glass or casually touches your wrist while talking.
The group is in a comfortable rhythm, and just as you're about to take a bite of your food, one of the guests leans back in their chair with a curious smile.
âSo how did you two meet each other?â
You freeze, your mind racing. And across from you, you swear you see your ex stiffen slightly, eyes narrowing just the tiniest bit.
Wooyoung notices immediately.
He smiles at you, that teasing, mischievous look in his eyes as he leans forward, taking the cue. He opens his mouth, and suddenly, his voice fills the room. Smooth, charming, and effortlessly natural.
"Oh, this oneâs my favorite story," he says, his voice warm and playful, his eyes lighting up as if he's about to tell the most incredible tale.
He pauses for dramatic effect, glancing at you, making sure youâre paying attention. You give him a quick nod, still unsure of where heâs going with this.
âIt was one of those nights youâre not even supposed to go out, you know? I almost canceled.â He lets out a soft laugh, glancing at you. âBut then she walked in.â
Everyone leans in slightly, curious.
âShe wasnât supposed to be there either, actually. Our friend had to convince her. She was tired, had a long week,â He looks at you briefly, as if asking permission with his eyes, but his smile says he already knows youâll let him go on.
âShe came in late, a little out of breath, tucking her hair behind her ear, apologizing even though no one noticed. And I swear-â He leans back, that crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. â-the second I saw her, I forgot what I was saying mid-sentence. Just totally lost it. My friend thought I was choking on my drink.â
Soft laughter bubbles around the table. Your cheeks warm.
âShe sat right across from me, and I swear I didnât hear a single thing anyone else said the whole night. I spent the night trying to make her laugh.â
Itâs smooth, too smooth, but his tone is light, playful, like heâs just telling a fond memory, not spinning an elaborate lie. He continues, eyes sparkling.
âI asked for her number before we left, and she said no.â
A small gasp comes from someone at the table, and Wooyoung grins like heâs telling a bedtime story.
âShe said I seemed like the kind of guy who flirts with everyone.â More laughter. Wooyoung presses a hand to his chest in mock offense. âWhich-, okay, fair. But I wasn't flirting with her⊠or maybe I was, but I just wanted to keep talking to her. So I said, âIf she doesnât want to give it to me, fine, Iâll earn it.â And I kept showing up whenever our friend invited people out. I'd always make sure to sit next to her. Always brought something small. Coffee, gum, dumb stuff, just to have an excuse to talk.â
He looks at you then. Really looks at you.
âAnd eventually⊠she let me walk her home.â
Someone lets out a little aww.
âI didnât try anything,â he adds. âI just wanted to stretch out the moment as long as I could. I think we stood outside her door for half an hour just talking. I memorized the color of her front light. The chipped tile on her step. Her laugh.â
The table is completely silent.
âAnd the next time?â His smile curves wider. âShe kissed me first. Which I will never let her forget.â
The table is enchanted.
For a moment after Wooyoung finishes, thereâs a soft, stunned silence, like everyoneâs holding their breath without realizing it. Then:
âOh my God,â someone breathes.
The woman across from you nudges her partner. âYou never chased me like that.â
âYou didnât run,â he deadpans.
âSo youâre telling me you saw her once and just knew?â another friend adds, reaching for more wine.
âI told our mutual friend to introduce us, and he said âdonât bother.ââ He stretches his arm along the back of your chair, fingers lightly brushing the bare skin of your shoulder. âSo obviously I did the exact opposite.â
The table erupts with laughter. Real, full, warm.
âGod, that sounds so like you,â Hana laughs, sending you a playful glance.
Laughter bubbles around the table, easy and entertained.
But not from everyone.
Across the table, your exâs grip on his fork tightens, just for a moment. Not dramatic, not enough to draw attention from anyone else, but you see it. The twitch in his jaw. The way he shifts back in his chair like he needs space to breathe.
Wooyoung leans in slightly, hand still resting lightly behind your neck now, fingers brushing just enough to make it look natural. Intimate.
âAnd when she finally said yes,â he adds, voice lower now, more deliberate, âI knew I wasnât gonna let her go.â
Your chest tightens.
The air feels heavier.
Meanwhile, youâre frozen in place, staring at your wine glass, heart racing as if you lived every second of that made-up story. You catch someone across the table watching you with a knowing smile, clearly convinced you're the luckiest girl alive.
And for a second, just one, you almost believe it too.
The rest of the dinner unfolds like a well-rehearsed play. Light laughter, wine refills, soft clinks of cutlery against porcelain. Conversation drifts easily between the couples, like theyâve all known each other forever, even if some only met tonight. And somehow, you and Wooyoung fall into it without trying.
After the dinner, the buzz of conversation in the living room fades as you step quietly down the hallway toward the bathroom. You need a second to breathe, just a minute alone after everything thatâs happened tonight.
You close the bathroom door behind you and lean against it for a moment, letting out a breath you didnât realize you were holding. Wooyoungâs charming story about how you met still lingers in your mind, and the way everyone seemed so enchanted by him... it felt like something out of a movie. It had been easy to get swept up in it all, even though it was completely fabricated.
After a few moments, you open the bathroom door and nearly jump out of your skin.
Wooyoung is standing right there in the hallway, hands in his pockets like heâs just been casually waiting. His gaze flicks up to meet yours immediately, and a slow, knowing smile pulls at his lips.
He doesnât say anything right away, just leans his shoulder against the doorframe, arms now crossed, like heâs settling in.
You swallow hard. âYou scared me.â
âDid I?â His voice is low, soft. Like a secret passed between friends. âSorry. You just disappeared.â
âI needed a second. Too many couples,â you say, attempting a light laugh that comes out a bit thin. âToo much⊠love.â
âSo?â he murmurs beside you. âHow am I doing?â
You glance at him, eyebrows raised.
âThe fake boyfriend thing,â he adds with a sly grin. âConvincing enough for you?â
You shrug, but your smile gives you away. âIâve seen worse performances.â
âCold,â he mutters, holding a hand over his chest like youâve wounded him. âHere I am, carrying the entire romance on my back.â
You laugh quietly, then shake your head, your voice dropping again. âHonestly, I think everyone at the table wants to date you now.â
âJealous?â he says, all teeth and sparkle, but his voice is soft, teasing rather than cocky.
You roll your eyes, even as your stomach flips. âPlease.â
Then he tilts his head, studying you. His tone shifts, still playful, but quieter. âYou know, youâre still a little pink.â
You blink. âWhat?â
âYour cheeks,â he says, nodding toward them. âBlushing. Again.â
You cross your arms instinctively, heart picking up pace. âIâm not.â
âYou are,â he whispers. He leans a little closer. âItâs kinda cute.â
Your breath catches.
âYouâre insufferable,â you whisper, smiling despite yourself.
âAnd youâre adorable when youâre flustered.â
The moment hangs, just a little too long. Youâre standing in the dim hallway, lights soft, voices muffled behind walls, and heâs looking at you like this is his favorite part of the night.
You clear your throat, trying to reset something in the air. âWe should go back.â
âYeah,â he says, straightening slowly. âBefore someone thinks weâre sneaking off to make out.â
Wooyoung straightens just a little, the moment sliding away like water off skin. He gives you one last glance, a wink for good measure, then turns and walks toward the others. That leaves you standing in the hallway, heart racing, wondering why his lazy confidence always makes it hard to tell when heâs joking and when he isnât.
You follow behind, still feeling the blush he called out.
You offer to help Hana out in the kitchen. Wooyoung is busy winning everybodyâs hearts with his charm, so you arenât concerned about him.
You rinse off a plate, hands moving on autopilot as you stack it neatly on the drying rack. Hana leans against the counter beside you, sipping the last of her wine, her smile still painted on from dinner. âSeriously though,â she says, nudging your hip with hers, âI wasnât expecting you to show up with someone like that.â
You huff a laugh. âLike what?â
âLike⊠funny. Hot. Charismatic. The way he talks about you?â She raises a brow. âUnreal.â
You smile, tight-lipped. âYeah. Heâs something.â
âI meanâŠâ She grins. âYou glow around him. Itâs wild. Like, he looks at you like heâs already picking out your wedding venue.â
You laugh, quiet, awkward. âHeâs just⊠sweet.â
Hana raises her brows. âHeâs obsessed. In a good way.â She tilts her head toward the hallway. âIâm gonna go grab the wine opener. Donât let me forget it again. Be back in a sec.â
The back door clicks shut behind her, and silence settles again. Itâs nice for a moment, just you, the clink of cutlery, the steam from the sink. You keep washing dishes, grateful for the moment alone.
But it doesnât last.
You hear movement behind you. Slow. Hesitant.
You turn your head and freeze.
Itâs him.
Your ex.
He stands just past the threshold, hands in his pockets, gaze locked on you. He steps in without saying anything at first. Just lingers a little too close to the kitchen island, his eyes scanning your face like heâs trying to figure out what heâs seeing.
âI didnât think youâd come,â he says.
You dry your hands on a towel, steadying yourself. âClearly.â
He takes a step in. Not too close, but enough to unsettle you.
His eyes flick around the room, then land back on you. âYou look good.â
You sigh quietly, turning back to the sink. âDonât do that.â
âIâm just saying.â
Another beat.
You hear him shift again, leaning slightly against the island behind you. You can feel his eyes on your back.
âThat guy,â he says finally. âThe one who came with you. Wooyoung.â
You donât look at him. âWhat about him?â
He hesitates. Then, carefully: âAre you two⊠serious?â
You pause, then shrug. âThatâs none of your business.â
He lets out a low breath. âSo thatâs a yes.â
You turn slowly, facing him now. âWhy are you here, really?â
âIn my own house?â
âNo,â you say. âWhy are you in this kitchen, right now?â
He stares at you. Silent.
âI fucked up,â he blurts, âOkay? I know I did. Iâve been thinking about it since-â
âDonât,â you snap, but still keeping your voice down so the rest of the party won't hear. âYou donât get to come here, pretend weâre still something, and then act surprised that I moved on. Youâre married.â
His mouth opens, then closes. He looks at you like youâve just hit him.
âYou moved on?â he repeats, like the words are bitter on his tongue. âWith him?â
You step back. âYou donât know him.â
He scoffs. âI might not, but I can still see how insufferable he is.â
You stare at him, lips parted in disbelief. âJealousy doesnât look good on you.â
He takes another step forward, eyes sharper now. âI just donât get it. After everything-â
âNo,â you say firmly, holding your hand up. âYou donât get anything. You lost the right to have an opinion the second you slept with someone else.â
Thereâs a beat of silence. Your heart pounds in your ears.
And thenâŠ
âEverything okay in here?â Wooyoungâs voice is cold. Threatening almost.
You donât need to look. You feel it, the air shifting, the way the atmosphere bends around his presence. But you still turn your head. And it steadies you instantly.
Heâs leaning in the doorway. One hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks, the other hanging loose at his side. His posture is relaxed. His expression? Somewhere between nonchalance and interest.
But his eyes?
Theyâre fixed on your ex.
And they could kill.
Your ex straightens, caught off guard. âUh-, yeah. We were just-â
Wooyoung steps fully into the room like heâs walking through water, unconcerned by the tension thatâs thick enough to drown in. He nods once, a polite gesture with razor edges, then glances at you.
His voice lowers. Smooth, velvety. Unmistakably his.
âYou okay, baby?â
The pet name slips out effortlessly. Like it belongs there. Like you belong to him. Then he closes the space between you and him, his hand brushing the small of your back with casual ownership.
Your breath stutters. âIâm fine.â
His gaze lingers on your ex, sharp enough to make the air hum.
âThen Iâll ask one more time,â he murmurs, voice dipped in steel, eyes locked on your ex. âIs there a problem?â
Your ex lets out a quiet scoff, trying to play it cool. âNo problem at all.â
Wooyoung breathes in once, slow.
âThen Iâll make this simple,â he says, softly now. Dangerous soft. âIf youâve got something to say, say it.â He tilts his head, the barest shift of muscle. His smile is slight, almost gentle, but it doesnât reach his eyes. âIf notâŠâ His jaw tightens just once. âWalk away before you make me repeat myself.â
Your ex doesnât speak again. Doesnât look at you. Just leaves.
And Wooyoung watches every step. Tracks him with the kind of gaze that doesnât flinch. It says everything he hasnât:
Try it again. I dare you.
When itâs just the two of you again, Wooyoungâs fingers trace your spine once, barely there. A silent check-in.
Then, slowly, his focus shifts. Back to you.
His voice drops. Low. Controlled.
âYou okay?â
You nod once, but itâs tight. Too tight. And he sees it.
His brows pinch just slightly. âDid he say something?â
âNo,â you whisper, and itâs true, mostly. âHe was just⊠being him.â
Wooyoung exhales slowly through his nose, jaw clenching. Like heâs trying not to say something that would ruin the whole night. But then he looks at you, really looks at you, and something in him softens. Just a little.
His hand slides from your back to your waist, anchoring you close. He studies your face for a moment, like heâs not fully convinced, but then he exhales and gives a small nod back.
âI didnât want to step in too early,â he says, voice soft now. âYou looked like you had it under control. You did.â
Thereâs something warm in your chest at that, that he trusted you to hold your own.
You meet his eyes.
Heâs not angry.
Heâs present.
âI know you donât need anyone to defend you,â he says, quieter now. âBut Iâm here. If you ever want me to.â
That part lingers. A gentle offering.
You smile faintly. âThanks.â
He leans just a little closer, his voice dipping like he doesnât want to be overheard, even by the walls, and something wicked flickers at the corner of his mouth. âGuess Iâll have to make it clearer youâre taken.â
Your heart skips a beat.
His hand gives your waist the faintest squeeze, not possessive, just sure. Then he straightens up, tone lighter, a glint in his eye as he teases, âYou ready to go back out there, or should we hide out in here a little longer?â
You smile. âLetâs go.â
Wooyoung laces his fingers with yours as you step out of the kitchen. He doesnât say much. Just keeps his hand on you, sometimes at your back, sometimes curled around your fingers, like he doesnât trust the room not to try and touch you.
The energy around him simmers low. Controlled. Patient.
But itâs there.
You feel it in the way his gaze lingers a little too long when you make eye contact The way his thumb brushes your skin when you pass your ex. Like a fuse waiting for flame.
The evening moves on. Laughter. Drinks. Music humming low in the background. But that energy never leaves him.
Then, after another drink, his palm slides against your waist as he leans in, murmuring just low enough for only you to hear. âCome outside with me for a sec?â
You glance up, surprised by the quiet invitation, but nod. âYeah. Okay."
He takes your hand and leads you through the back door, into the cool hush of the backyard. String lights sway gently above. A few scattered chairs dot the patio, mostly empty.
He pulls you just far enough into the yard that youâre framed under the golden light, a sight impossible to miss. Then he stops just enough to pull you in close, his hands resting firmly on your waist. His breath brushes your neck as he leans in, voice low and a little teasing.
âDo you trust me?â
You meet his gaze, smiling without hesitation, but a little confused. âOf course.â
But before you can say anything more, he leans in, no warning, no hesitation, and his mouth finds your neck.
Slow. Deliberate. Unapologetically possessive.
His grip on your waist tightens, firm and grounding, like he's anchoring himself to you, or maybe keeping you exactly where he wants you.
Your fingers twitch, aching to clutch at his shirt, his shoulders, anything. But he doesnât stop. His mouth keeps moving, tongue flicking, lips parting as he sucks softly at the spot just above your collarbone, lazy, indulgent, filthy in how intimate it feels.
You gasp, hips tilting forward instinctively, heat already pooling low and heavy in your belly. He doesnât miss it, he hums against your throat like he felt it happen.
Wooyoung pulls back just enough to murmur, voice thick and close to your ear, âYou werenât expecting that, huh?â
His tone is teasing, pleased, like he knows exactly what heâs doing to you. Then he leans back in, grazing your neck again, his nose brushing over the same spot he just kissed.
âFake boyfriend of the year, right?â he adds, a low smirk in his voice.
It pulls a laugh from you, too real, too soft, and he chuckles under his breath like he lives for the sound.
And then he looks up.
Over your shoulder.
Still smiling.
You donât turn. You donât even realize why his gaze has sharpened. But Wooyoung knows. Heâs known from the moment he stepped outside.
âOh, hey,â he says, just loud enough, like the thought only now occurred to him. âDidnât see you there.â
You blink, startled, then turn.
And there he is.
Your ex is sitting in the far corner of the backyard, posture stiff, one hand loosely holding a glass of something amber that heâs no longer drinking. Heâs been watching, long enough, clearly. His eyes flick from your face to where Wooyoungâs hand rests against your hip like it was made to be there. His mouth is drawn in a line so tight it might split.
Heâd been watching.
Wooyoung's arm wraps a little tighter around your waist. Not possessive. Not aggressive. Just⊠secure. Like he has every right to hold you like this. Like he dares anyone to question it.
âDidnât mean to interrupt,â Wooyoung says, cool and lazy.
Your ex stares, jaw tight.
Wooyoung doesnât wait. His posture is casual, but thereâs a glint in his eye that betrays him, too amused, too at-ease.
âNice night, isnât it?â he adds, like itâs nothing. âStars out. Music inside. My girl tastes like sangria. Hard to complain.â
You stiffen slightly, but Wooyoung doesnât flinch. Heâs still smiling faintly, watching you with that unbothered, pretty-boy charm that somehow makes everything worse.
Your ex lifts his drink and mutters, âSome of us came out here to be alone.â
Wooyoung cocks his head. âOh, totally fair. Shouldâve said something.â
Thereâs a beat of silence, sharp enough to cut through. But he doesnât move. He stays planted right there beside you, hand still snug on your waist like it belongs there.
Then he blinks, as if struck by a thought.
âOh-, wait,â he says, voice still sweet. âYou want us back inside?â He huffs a quiet laugh, almost apologetic. âDamn. Thatâs on me.â
Your ex sets his glass down with a soft clink on the stone railing. âYou always this annoying?â
Wooyoung grins. âOnly when Iâm in a good mood.â
âY/N! Wooyoung!â
Hana bursts out, loud and glowing, wine glass in one hand, joy practically spilling out of her. Her eyes land on you both and she lights up like the fourth of July.
âOh my God, there you are!â she grins. âI was about to come get you, everyone keeps asking where the hot couple went!â
You see your ex stiffen. Wooyoungâs smile stretches.
âHot couple,â he echoes, biting back a laugh.
Hana gasps dramatically. âDonât act shy now! You two are disgusting. I love it.â
âI'm not mad about it. Sheâs got great taste,â Wooyoung teases with a little shrug, for a second glancing over at your ex. âEventually.â
Your exâs jaw tightens. He looks like he might speak.
But Wooyoung leans in one last time, whispering low into your ear, voice soft enough to make your skin spark:
"Success, baby"
He smirks before sliding his hand into yours, pulling you gently toward the house where Hana is waiting, oblivious to the tension left behind.
The night has mellowed. The lights are dim, the wine is flowing, and laughter has started to echo easier around the table. Someoneâs passed around dessert, tiramisu in glass jars, and Wooyoungâs excused himself to the bathroom with that lazy, effortless vibe only he can pull off without trying. Youâd felt his hand brush your shoulder as he left, and it still lingers there somehow, phantom-warm.
Hanaâs had just enough wine to get bold. She sits across from you, grinning over the rim of her glass.
âOkay,â she says, loudly enough to cut across the overlapping chatter. âNew question for the couples.â
The table quiets, interest piqued.
Her eyes land on you like a spotlight. âWhatâs your favorite physical thing about your partner?â
A few groans. Someone throws a napkin in her direction.
âDonât roll your eyes,â she warns, laughing. âAnd no safe answers either. I donât want to hear about how they âhave a nice smileâ or âbeautiful eyesâ, everyone says that. I want the thing. The detail. The part of them that does it for you when youâre not even trying to look. The one that makes your brain short-circuit a little.â
You laugh, swallowing a little too quickly. The wine burns, and suddenly the air feels too warm.
âIâll go last,â Hana says, clearly loving this. âY/N, go.â
You freeze. âMe?â
âYes, you.â Her smile is practically villainous. âHeâs not even here. You can be honest.â
Everyone chuckles. The pressure thickens.
You hesitate, lips parting, unsure. Your eyes flick toward the hallway where Wooyoung disappeared. As if he might walk in just in time to save you.
But he doesnât.
You clear your throat and say, maybe a little too honestly, âHis hands.â
âOoh,â someone says. âThatâs a good one.â
You glance down at the table, fingers curling around your wine glass. âTheyâre just⊠nice,â you say, not looking up. âHe moves them a lot when he talks. And theyâre always doing something. Tapping, pulling at a sleeve, playing with his rings or-, whatever. Just always⊠moving.â
Your voice quiets as the room listens. You feel exposed, like you said something too intimate.
You donât realize the room has fallen silent. Until it hits you that no oneâs said anything back.
And then...
âI should leave more often if this is what I get to come back to.â
And Wooyoung is standing just behind you, leaning lazily against the doorway, arms crossed, one brow raised in interest.
Your breath halts.
Thereâs laughter again around the table, but your throat goes dry. Hanaâs grinning at the perfect timing. âThere he is,â she says, wiggling her brows. âRight on cue. Weâre playing favorites.â
Wooyoung raises a brow. âFavorites?â
âFavorite physical thing about each other,â she explains, eyes sparkling. âAnd no cop-outs like smile or eyes. Weâre talking the thing. The detail that ruins you. Your turnâ
He chuckles under his breath, clearly amused. He doesnât hesitate.
âHer neck.â
A beat of silence. His voice is smooth but deliberate, like the words were waiting in his mouth.
You feel your body go still.
Then he moves, slowly, stepping closer behind your chair, his hand brushing your shoulder as he comes to a stop. Youâre suddenly very aware of how exposed your skin is where your top dips to your collarbone, of how warm the air feels even though he hasnât touched you.
âSheâs got this curve,â he says, quieter now, like heâs letting everyone else fade out. âRight here," His fingers trace the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, so lightly it barely counts as a touch. âRight where her hair rests.â
Then his tone shifts, warmer, quieter. Real.
âIn the mornings,â he says, like heâs letting the rest of the room fall away, âwhen sheâs still half-asleep and pulls her hair up without thinking. Stretching, yawning, no makeup, nothing, this partâs just exposed. The light hits it, and I swear to God-â He cuts himself off with a low exhale, shaking his head with a crooked smile. âIt makes it really hard to be on time for anything.â
The silence that follows is a different kind of hush. Not teasing. Not performative.
Itâs weighted. Personal.
Like maybe, just maybe, he wasnât making any of that up. You donât even realize youâre holding your breath until he pulls back, barely.
âPlus,â he adds, a lazy grin playing on his lips, âitâs really unfair that you smell the way you do.â
âOkay, damn,â someone says from across the table, but you canât even register who.
Wooyoung finally moves, slipping back into the seat beside you. But he doesnât lean back, doesnât settle into comfort like before. He sits just a little closer than he needs to. His thigh brushes yours. Warm. Steady. You donât move.
The game rolls on, Hana gesturing to the couple across from you with a flourish, their answer met with giggles and teasing. But the background fades, soft, foggy, because you feel it. The weight of Wooyoungâs stare.
When you finally turn your head, you find him already watching you.
And everything in his face is different.
Gone is the cocky smile, the playful glint in his eye. Heâs quiet now. Studying you, like heâs not sure where the line is anymore. Like maybe he doesnât want to know.
And then, another gaze.
You catch it from the corner of your eye: your ex, sitting stiff at the far end of the table, his expression unreadable. Heâs watching Wooyoung like a hawk, jaw tight, mouth set in a firm line.
Wooyoung senses it. You can feel the shift in him, the small breath he takes. The flicker of heat in his chest, like he might respond, say something, smirk just to provoke.
But he doesnât.
Because itâs not about him anymore.
After a few more rounds of the game, you step into the hallway and let your back hit the wall with a quiet sigh. The noise from the living room still hums faintly behind you, laughter, the clink of glasses, someone shuffling a deck of cards. Itâs warm in there, but your skin feels too tight. You just need a minute.
You close your eyes.
Footsteps approach, soft, familiar.
Wooyoung slips into the hallway like heâs done it a hundred times, like he always knows when you need the space. He falls in beside you, close but not crowding, his shoulder hovering just shy of yours as he leans against the wall.
âYou always vanish when it gets too loud,â he says, his voice low.
You keep your eyes forward, a faint smile tugging at your lips. âI donât vanish. I relocate.â
He hums. âRight. Into hallways. Or kitchen corners. Or that one time it was behind the couch.â
âThat was one time.â
âIt was still dramatic,â he teases, nudging your arm lightly. Your breath catches, just a little. Itâs playful. Itâs Wooyoung. But something about the way he talks makes your stomach flip.
âYou look really pretty tonight.â
The words land like a spark, and your breath catches before you can help it. You blink up at him, startled.
âI-, what?â
He grins, slow and lopsided. âJust saying. I donât think I told you earlier.â
You feel your face flush, warmth blooming across your cheeks, down your neck. You look away instantly, trying to mask it with a half-laugh.
âIâm honest,â he counters, still looking at you. You can feel it, the weight of his gaze, the way it lingers. âI mean, you always look good, but tonightâŠâ His voice dips, softer now. âItâs kind of unfair.â
You glance away, suddenly hyperaware of how close heâs standing. âYou canât just say things like that.â
âWhy not?â he asks, leaning just slightly toward you. âIs it that hard to believe? Do I need to be faking a relationship for you to believe it?â
You donât answer. Youâre not sure you can. Your heartâs already too loud in your ears.
He nudges your arm gently. âYou know, for someone who lives with me, youâre really bad at accepting compliments.â
You try to play it off. âMaybe you just give too many.â
âMm,â he muses. âOr maybe youâre just really easy to compliment.â
You let out a breathy sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, tucking your chin down in embarrassment. âCan you not?â
You finally glance at him, and heâs already watching you with that infuriatingly unreadable look, somewhere between playful and serious. Like heâs holding back.
He doesnât say anything else for a second. He just looks at you.
And somehow, that says more than the rest.
You try not to smile. You fail.
Wooyoung pushes himself off the wall with a lazy stretch, then turns his body to face you, effectively placing his back toward the living room.
âCome back in when youâre ready,â he says softly, his voice carrying that usual teasing warmth. âYou donât have to rush. But Iâll be on my seat, being distractingly attractive⊠in case that helps.â
You almost laugh, but then your eyes drift past him.
Your stomach dips.
Your ex is standing just inside the living room, half-shadowed but unmistakably watching. His expression is unreadable, his eyes sharp and fixed directly on you.
âWait,â you breathe, reaching out without thinking.
You grab Wooyoungâs shirt and pull him a little closer. He stumbles forward a step, surprised but not resisting. His brows furrow slightly in confusion as he looks down at you.
âDo you trust me?â you ask now, your voice quieter now. Thereâs a tremor in it, not fear, but urgency. Purpose.
Wooyoungâs expression shifts, softening. âYes,â he says, instantly. âOf course.â
Thatâs all you need.
Your hands move quickly, one sliding up to the back of his neck, the other gripping the front of his shirt. You rise onto your toes and kiss him. Firm and deliberate. Lips meeting his in a way that leaves no room for questions. His mouth parts slightly in surprise, but he doesnât pull away. If anything, he leans in.
When you break the kiss just slightly, you donât step back. You stay close, close enough that your lips graze his as you whisper, âHeâs watchi-,â
You donât get to finish. Wooyoungâs lips are on yours again before you even register, like they need to be. Like he doesnât care about why you kissed him, or for who, but because he canât stop now that youâve let it happen.
This time itâs deeper. Hungrier.
You canât help but deepen the kiss when he slides his tongue slightly into your mouth, and one of his hands slips down to your lower back, guiding you closer. The other lifts to your jaw, gentle but sure. l
You feel your back press lightly into the wall behind you as he moves with you, not rough, but insistent. The kind of kiss that drowns everything else out, conversation, footsteps, your exâs presence across the room.
His lips part yours, his breath hot and heavy against your cheek between kisses. His grip tightens at your waist, grounding you. You respond instinctively, hands curling into his shirt, lips moving with his, matching every shift and tilt of his head.
Itâs a performance. Thatâs how it started.
But it doesnât feel like one anymore.
It feels like heat, like want, like a spark that caught fire the second you gave it permission. And heâs kissing you like heâs not planning to stop anytime soon.
And for just a second, you let yourself melt into it. Into him.
But then⊠it passes.
The air changes again.
You blink and glance over to the living room. Your ex is gone. Vanished back into the room. Wooyoung slows, then stops. His hands remain on you, his breath still a little uneven.
You pull back first, just enough to look at him.
His eyes are already on you. Thereâs something different there now, an emotion you havenât seen from him before. Not just playfulness, not just comfort. Something heavier. Hungrier.
You force a small, awkward smile and drop your hands from his neck, stepping back just slightly. âOkay,â you say, clearing your throat. âI think that worked.â
Wooyoung doesnât say anything for a second. He just studies you like heâs seeing you clearly for the first time. Then he nods, slow and unreadable, and finally, he smiles. But itâs not quite the same. Something about it is quieter. Almost reverent.
At the end of the night, shoes shuffle at the door. Coats rustle. The air is heavy with the kind of tired that follows too much wine and too much pretending.
âGet home safe, okay?â Hana says warmly, stepping toward you both as youâre about to leave. Her smile is soft, a little teasing. âYou two are seriously adorable. Like⊠sickening. I love it.â
You laugh, a bit breathlessly, already halfway into your coat. But before you can say anything, Wooyoungâs arm snakes naturally around your waist, casual, confident. You feel his fingers press into your side, warm through the fabric.
âThanks, Hana,â he says, flashing her a grin. âShe keeps me in line.â
You roll your eyes and glance up at him, but the smile tugging at your lips is real, too real. âBarely,â you murmur, playing along.
His eyes flick to yours for a second. Just long enough to make your stomach twist.
Hana grins and gives you both a quick hug before stepping back into the house. âBye, lovebirds.â
The door closes behind you.
The air outside bites cold against your skin.
And just like that, his arm drops from your waist. The performance ends.
Neither of you says a word as you walk to the curb. You donât know if itâs the silence or the absence of his touch that makes the air feel heavier now, but itâs different.
The cab pulls up with a soft screech. He opens the door for you like always, waits for you to slide in, then follows without a word. The car is warm, too warm, and too quiet.
You're both staring straight ahead.
The streetlights flicker past, painting gold across his face. In the confined space, the silence between you buzzes, thick with something unspoken, something ignited hours ago that neither of you has dared to acknowledge.
The apartment door clicks shut behind you with a softness that feels far too loud in the quiet.
Coats are hung. Shoes are kicked off. The scent of his usual candle lingers in the air, citrus and something darker underneath. Normally comforting. Now it just makes your heart beat faster.
Wooyoung heads to the kitchen without a word. His shoulders are relaxed, but thereâs something taut underneath it all. You hesitate in the hallway, watching him open the cabinet, sleeves pushed to his elbows, veins still prominent down his forearms from earlier, and you hate how you notice.
You drift into the kitchen slowly, lingering by the edge of the counter.
âSo,â you offer, light and a little too bright, âthat was fun, right? Peak acting performance. Someone give us Oscars.â
No answer. He fills the glass with water from the tap, moves with that same quiet ease, but doesnât glance at you once.
You try again, a bit more playful. âThink we fooled them? I mean, your story about how we met really sold it. Ten out of ten commitment.â
He finally looks at you, just looks. And itâs a look that completely steals the breath from your chest. Calm, dark, unreadable. His eyes are locked on yours like he's waiting for you to crack first. And suddenly you're hyperaware of everything. How hot your cheeks feel, how your voice might've sounded too eager, how the silence seems to wrap around your body like a second skin.
You clear yours softly. âAnyway. Um. Iâm gonna-, I think Iâm just gonna head to bed.â
Still nothing from him.
You nod quickly. âNight.â
You turn, heart hammering now, and youâve only made it a step or two down the hall when his voice floats to you, quiet, even.
âIf you ever need a fake boyfriend againâŠâ
You stop. Your fingers twitch at your side.
ââŠyou know where to find me.â
You turn back toward him slowly. Heâs still in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter, glass in hand, eyes unreadable, but fixed on you like heâs daring you to say something. To ask him what he means. To call him out.
You donât.
You meet his gaze, and itâs only for a second, but something heavy passes between you, something weighty and unspoken that neither of you wants to name.
Then you nod.
Not a joking nod. Not one meant to brush things off. Just⊠quiet acknowledgement. You walk off with your heartbeat pounding in your ears, like your body knows something your mind hasnât caught up with. You donât look back, but you feel his eyes on you the whole way down the hall.
The door clicks softly shut behind you.
And for a long time, you just stand there in the silence of your room, pulse racing, breath held, trying to figure out what exactly that was.
You donât even remember walking to your vanity. Youâve just been standing here, fingers curled loosely along the edge, eyes locked on your reflection like it might give you answers. But all it gives you is the echo of him. His words. His gaze. His lips on yours. The way your body reacted like it knew something you didnât.
Thereâs a knock.
A soft one.
You straighten up fast, like youâre guilty of something. âCome in.â
The door creaks open behind you.
You meet his gaze through the mirror as he strolls in, easy and casual, like itâs the most natural thing in the world for him to be here, in your space, late at night.
He doesnât say anything right away. Just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you.
You manage a breath. âNot tired?â
His shoulders lift in the faintest shrug. âNot really.â
Then silence again.
But itâs not awkward, itâs thick. Charged.
âI was thinking about something,â he finally says, his voice smooth, a little playful.
You glance at him in the mirror, trying not to let your pulse jump. âYeah? About what?â
Wooyoung pushes off the frame, making his way toward you at an unhurried pace. âYouâre better at this whole fake relationship thing than you give yourself credit for.â
You attempt a shrug. âJust playing along.â
A soft laugh leaves him. âMm. Sure.â
He walks further into the room. Not quickly. Not even directly toward you. He slows as he passes by your bed, eyes roaming lazily over the space like heâs trying to memorize it. But you know thatâs not what this is.
Heâs letting the silence stretch.
Heâs letting you squirm.
You glance at him through the mirror, just as he finally makes his way behind you.
You donât move.
You canât.
He stops right behind you, not touching, but close. You keep your eyes locked on the mirror, but itâs no use. Heâs everywhere now. In your space. In your breath.
âAnd the things you said tonight,â he says, voice soft but pointed. âThose were part of the act too?â
You try to keep your tone even. âWhat things?â
He tilts his head. âThe part where you said you like my hands. That you stare at them when Iâm not looking.â
You freeze just slightly.
"I-, uhm... I dont-..." You glance down instinctively, suddenly very aware of your own hands fidgeting.
âFunny,â he says softly, âYou think I havenât noticed? When Iâm cooking. When Iâm fixing something around the apartment. You always get quiet.â
His hand lifts, fingertips brushing your hair gently off your shoulder. You shiver as he lowers his voice again.
âI meant what I said, by the way,â he says. âI do love your neck.â
You donât answer, but he doesnât need you to.
âIn the mornings,â he murmurs. âWhen youâre in the kitchen, still half asleep, standing by the window. Your head tilts just a little. That soft little spot here,â he gestures near your collarbone, but still doesnât touch. âbarely covered.â
Youâre not breathing properly now.
âAnd I try,â he continues, âI really try to keep it together, but you standing there like thatâŠ? That does something to me.â
You let out a slow, shaky breath, shoulders dropping ever so slightly.
His fingers trail lightly along the back of your neck, not quite touching skin yet, but enough to make you lean into it. He steps in fully now, his hands finding your waist, and you instinctively lean back into him.
And then, finally, his mouth brushes your neck. Gentle. Slow. A teasing press that turns into something deeper. You feel the smile against your skin as he kisses again, and again, lower this time, until your knees threaten to give.
You gasp, just a little, and he smiles against your throat.
âYou know,â he starts, voice casual, âif this wasnât fakeâŠâ
Your breath hitches.
ââŠI wouldâve done a lot of things differently tonight.â
You swallow hard. âLike what?â
He trails one finger along your side, feather-light, just enough to make you squirm.
âIf this wasnât fakeâŠâ he begins, like itâs casual, like heâs not setting you on fire, âI wouldnât have let you leave my side once tonight. I wouldâve had my hand on you the whole dinner, your thigh, your back, the curve of your hip, just to remind you who you belong to.â
Your stomach tightens.
He brushes his fingers lightly along your sides, not quite ticklish, just maddeningly slow.
âIâd bring you home,â he continues, lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear, âtake your hand, lead you to your room like Iâve been waiting to all night. And I wouldnât rush it. No pretending, no performance. Just you. Me. And the dress Iâve been dying to take off you.â
He trails his knuckles lightly down your side, slow and reverent.
âIâd unzip it real slowâŠâ
You hear the faintest shift of fabric.
âLet it slip off your shoulders while I kissed right hereâŠâ he presses a single, feather-light kiss to the side of your neck, âand hereâŠâ another just below your ear, âuntil you were shivering.â
Your eyes flutter closed, and he watches your reflection like heâs memorizing the moment.
âDo you want me to stop?â he whispers just below your ear.
Youâre at a loss for words but youâre hungry for more. You shake your head as you swallow, but realise how dry your mouth is. His hands slide up your sides, warm, sure, with a smile on his face.
âIf it hadn't been fake, Iâd press you against this vanity,â he goes on, lips brushing the shell of your ear. âMake you watch as I touched every inch of your skin.â
You canât look away from the mirror, from the image of his hands exploring you, slow and confident, like heâs known this body forever.
âIâd hold your hips right here.â His hands grip you firmly, positioning your body with ease. âAnd Iâd make sure the only thing you remembered from tonight was how I made you feel.â
"Yeah?" you manage to say, too invested in everything he's saying.
âIf this wasnât fakeâŠâ he murmurs, his hands still on you, tracing the curve of your body as if he owns it. âIâd make you see stars. Iâd fuck you right here, make you forget you were ever pretending.â
You let out a light gasp, feeling your heart in your throat.
He presses against you, his hand finding its way to your neck, just enough to make you tilt your head back, exposing more of that sensitive skin. He breathes softly against it.
âYouâd be mine. Iâd make sure you knew it, every fucking inch of you.â
Youâre a breath away from crumbling, your chest rising and falling in rapid succession as you realize how much you want him, how easily youâre giving into the fantasy.
His lips are still close to your ear, breath warm, voice impossibly soft.
âBut then againâŠâ he murmurs, the barest smile in his tone, âthis is all fake⊠isnât it?â
You stiffen.
He lets out a low chuckle, his nose skimming the line of your jaw as he continues, casually cruel in the way only he can be. âNone of this would actually happen. I mean, why would it?â
"Why not?" you barely let out a whisper.
His fingers drag slowly down your sides, feather-light, torturously teasing. Heâs pretending to think, pretending to be thoughtful, but he knows exactly what heâs doing. âYou and me, coming home after a night like that, all dressed up, all tense and wired⊠and me justâŠâ His hand glides over your hips. âPeeling you out of this dress and fucking you over your vanity?â
He hums, tilting his head. âSeems a little far-fetched, donât you think?â
You inhale sharply, your body practically trembling from restraint.
He leans in again, lips just at your neck now. âYou havenât said much,â he whispers, his hand brushing lower, just enough to make you flinch. âShould I stop?â His fingers press gently into your thighs now, possessive even in their softness. âBecause weâre faking it, right?â He lets out a slow, amused breath. âAnd Iâd hate to make things confusing.â
You swallow hard, your mouth dry, your skin flushed everywhere.
âUnless you want me to keep going,â he murmurs, eyes locking with yours in the reflection, darker now, heavy with intent. âBut youâd have to say it, sweetheart.â
His fingers trail between your legs, light as a threat.
You grip the edge of the vanity with white knuckles, heart pounding in your throat. âWooyoungâŠâ
His hand slides up, over your stomach, between your breasts, up to your throat, never squeezing, just there. Possessive. Protective. His lips trail along your shoulder, just above the strap of your dress, while the other hand finally finds the zipper.
âIâd take you like this,â he says lowly, kissing the back of your neck. âMake you look at yourself while I ruin you, slow⊠deep⊠mine.â
Your knees nearly give out.
He presses forward just a little more, breath ragged now against your skin. âBut maybe we should stop.â
You whimper, actually whimper, and shake your head.
âNo, please,â you whisper, your voice breaking apart like the last wall crumbling. "Don't stop."
His hands freeze for just a moment, then he smirks, low and satisfied.
âThere she is.â
His smirk deepens, wicked, triumphant. He doesnât say a word.
Then, with deliberate force, he turns you.
Your back meets the cool edge of the vanity. Before you can fully catch your breath, his veiny hand is already on your throat, firm but careful, guiding your head back just enough to look up at him.
You gasp from the way it makes your knees go weak, the way it makes your heart stutter in your chest.
His gaze drops to your lips. Then slowly, almost torturously, he leans in, breath brushing your mouth, letting you feel the heat of it before he claims you.
The kiss is devastating. Nothing sweet. Nothing soft.
His mouth crashes into yours like heâs starved for it, tongue, teeth, everything. He takes and takes, groaning low in his throat the moment you moan against him. That tiny, helpless sound makes his fingers tighten slightly on your neck, his other hand sliding possessively down your side to your hip.
âGod, you sound so pretty when you do that,â he breathes between kisses, voice wrecked.
You melt under him, into him, letting him press you back against the vanity like he wants to fuse you to it. He breaks the kiss with a growl, breath hot against your lips, then suddenly, he spins you again.
You canât speak. You canât think. All you can do is feel his hands on your hips, feel the way his body aligns with yours so perfectly itâs almost cruel.
âStill pretending?â he asks, lips brushing the shell of your ear. âOr can I finally touch you like Iâve wanted to all fucking night?â
You nod before he even finishes the sentence. "Yes-, yes please," you whimper, hips tilting back into his, head tipping to give him more of your neck.
He chuckles under his breath.
âThought so.â
You donât have a chance to respond before his hands are on you again, more urgent this time. His fingers find the zipper of your dress, and he pulls it down, letting you feel every inch of his focus on you.
The dress slides off your body, pooling at your feet, and heâs quick to step back just enough to take you in. His eyes rake over you like heâs starving. You stand there, vulnerable, under his gaze, and you canât help the way your body reacts to him. The heat between your legs intensifies, the ache in your chest growing stronger.
âFuck,â he breathes, eyes raking over you from behind. âYouâre a goddamn dream.â
You gasp as he presses you into the vanity, your body trapped between the cool wood and the heat of him. His hands slide down to your thighs, pulling them apart slowly, giving him access, making sure you feel every moment of it. His voice drops to a velvet growl. âIâm gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby. Right here.â His lips press behind your ear again, âTell me you want it,â he demands.
And you canât hold back anymore. The tension in your body snaps, and you nod, your breath quickening. âI want it.â
He smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes. âGood girl.â
His hand presses firmly between your thighs, rubbing you through the soaked fabric with just enough pressure to make your legs weaken beneath you.
He chuckles against your skin when he feels you tremble. âAlready this wet for me, baby?â
You nod helplessly, and his free hand slides up your back, tangling in your hair, pulling your head to the side to expose more of your neck.
His teeth graze your pulse point, and you moan again, louder this time. "Look in the mirror as I touch you."
Your breath stutters, lashes fluttering as your gaze locks on the reflection. âFuck, WooyoungâŠâ you whisper, already unsteady, your thighs trembling under his stare alone.
Then, with no warning, he hooks a finger in the waistband of your panties and drags them down your thighs, letting them fall. Cool air brushes against your wetness, and your whole body jolts in response.
âJesus-â you exhale, shivering.
His fingers slide through your slick folds, slow and deliberate, just enough pressure to make you twitch. You moan, sharp and helpless, eyes fluttering closed for a second until he tuts softly beside your ear.
âEyes open, sweetheart. I said look.â
You obey, forcing your eyes to the mirror again, and the sight of you, glowing, needy, lips parted, legs trembling, draws a sound from deep in your throat.
âThatâs it,â he murmurs, kissing just below your ear. âLet me take care of you.â
Then, he pushes in, just one finger at first, thick and deliberate. He doesnât rush. He presses in knuckle by knuckle, watching your face in the mirror as your lips part and your back arches. The way your body welcomes him makes his cock twitch under the fabrics.
âThere we go,â he whispers, dark and pleased. âSo fucking tight.â
He gives you a moment to adjust, curling that single finger just right, then pulls back, almost all the way, before pushing in again, deeper this time. You whimper, soft and broken.
âSuch a good girl for me,â he murmurs, dragging his lips along your jaw. âYou let me in so easily.â
When he slides in a second finger, your knees nearly give out, but he catches you, pressing his chest to your back and flattening his palm over your belly.
You cry out, raw and desperate, body jerking in his arms.
âRight there,â you gasp. âFuck, right there-, donât stop, please donât stop-â
His lips trace your jaw, voice molten.
âGood girl,â he whispers, moving his fingers just the way you need. âLet me hear you.â
And you do.
Loud, unfiltered, desperate for more.
Your hands grip the edge of the vanity. He watches in the mirror as your face twists in pleasure, breath shuddering every time he pumps into you. He doesnât relent. His fingers are steady, coaxing, relentless, fucking you precisely, like heâs memorizing every reaction.
âTell me how it feels,â he demands softly.
âSo good,â you breathe. âItâs-, god, Wooyoung-â
âThatâs right,â he cuts in, curling his fingers deeper. âSay my name like that.â
He shifts just slightly, just enough to hit the spot that sends stars bursting behind your eyes, and keeps that rhythm. Over and over.
âCome on,â he whispers against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. âI can feel it. Youâre right there, arenât you?â
You nod, desperately, eyes fluttering shut.
But he doesnât let you. His free hand curls around your throat, not squeezing, just holding, guiding you back to the mirror.
âNo. Look,â he growls, his voice low and possessive. âI want you to see how good I make you feel. How pretty you look falling apart just for me.â
You force your eyes open, lips parted, eye makeup already smudged, breath shaking, and what you see unravels you: his body pressed to yours, his hand moving between your legs like he owns you, his gaze fixed entirely on your reflection.
The sight of it, the feeling of him everywhere, inside and around you, tips you over the edge.
You cry out, helpless and raw, as your body clenches hard around his fingers. He doesnât slow. He works you through it, murmuring praise against your ear.
âThatâs it,â he groans. âThatâs my good girl. So fucking beautiful when you come for me.â
Your hips jerk, grinding into his palm as your orgasm pulses through you, long and overwhelming. When the waves finally ease, your body limp and trembling, he slowly withdraws his fingers, slick and shining.
You shiver, eyes fluttering shut as he presses his hips against you, the thick hardness of him pressing against your thighs.
He suddenly guides you forward, one hand on your back, he presses you down firmly, bending you over.
âStay just like that,â he commands, stepping back slightly to admire the view, your ass pushed out, your eyes wide in the mirror, lips already parted. âFuck. Look at you.â
Then you feel it, his hands on your thighs, spreading them, dragging his fingers slowly along your skin. His shirt hangs open, wrinkled and useless now, clinging to one shoulder, exposing his toned chest, flushed and rising with every harsh breath. His palm presses to the center of your back, bending you over the vanity with a firm, unyielding push.
âStay like that,â he murmurs, voice low and dark. âI want you spread out. Pretty. Obedient.â
You obey without thinking, chest against the cool surface. Then, with excruciating slowness, he undoes his belt. The sound alone makes your breath hitch. He keeps his eyes locked on yours in the mirror as he pushes his pants down just enough and frees himself, fingers wrapping around his cock like heâs been aching for this.
And when you see him⊠you go still.
Heâs thick, long, flushed and heavy in his hand, already glistening at the tip.
Your gasp escapes before you can stop it.
âOh?â he smirks, stroking himself lazily, intentionally, letting your eyes drink in every inch. âSurprised?â
You hear the sound of him spitting in his hand, stroking himself once, twice, and then that thick, hard length is sliding between your folds, teasing your entrance.
His hand slides into your hair, not rough, but controlling, guiding your eyes back to the mirror.
âEyes on the mirror,â he commands, hand fisting your hair just enough to lift your gaze. âYouâre gonna watch what it looks like when your best friend finally fucks you.â
Then, with one slow, devastating thrust, he sinks into you.
Deep.
Possessive.
Claiming.
He groans behind you, head falling forward, one hand gripping your hip tight enough to bruise.
âGod-, fuck, youâre big,â you gasp, hands scrambling to grip the edge of the vanity.
He pulls out halfway, then slams back in, hard enough to make the vanity rattle.
You gasp, fingers scrambling for the edge, and he laughs behind you, breathless.
âMore,â you cry, pushing back into him, shaking. âDonât stop-, fuck, please donât stop.â
âYou want more?â he hisses, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling your head up so youâre forced to look at yourself in the mirror. âLook at this mess. Look what Iâm doing to you.â
He slams into you harder. Filthy. Relentless. His palm lands on your ass, then rubs over the sting like he owns every inch of your body.
Then he snaps, hips continually slamming into you with a rhythm that steals the breath from your lungs. Over and over again. The sound of skin against skin echoes, obscene and raw, as he pounds into you like heâs lost all restraint. He leans over you suddenly, chest pressing to your back. His breath fans hot across your skin as his lips find your shoulder.
He kisses it once. Then again, slower.
âYou gonna come like this?â he demands, voice thick and breathless. âBent over, ass red, stuffed full of me?â
âYes-,â
But he doesnât let you come.
Not yet.
Just when your body tenses, right on the edge, he pulls out halfway and stills.
You let out a sob, raw and desperate, collapsing onto your elbows against the vanity.
âNoâŠâ you whimper, voice trembling. âWhyâd you stop?â
âBecause I said so,â he growls behind you, breathing hard. âAnd if youâre mine now⊠you come when I let you.â
A sharp slap lands on your ass, the heat blooming instantly, making you cry out and he grins at the way your thighs twitch, how your body tries to grind back into him without thinking.
âOh, you like that,â he mutters, dragging his palm over the curve of your ass, then gripping both cheeks hard, spreading you open as he groans. âLook at this view. Fucking perfect. So pretty and messy for me.â
His hand grabs your wrist, dragging you upright, spinning you to face him. His mouth crashes into yours in a messy, heated kiss, all teeth and tongue and breathless need. You barely have time to cling to him before heâs walking you backward toward the bed.
âYou think I was gonna finish you over a vanity?â he growls against your lips. âNot a fucking chance.â
You fall back onto the mattress with a gasp, legs spread slightly, chest heaving, body already trembling from the way heâs used you, and he just stands there for a second, looking down at you like heâs never seen anything more perfect.
Then his eyes narrow.
âSpread your legs wider.â
You do, instantly.
His shirt is half off, a desperate tug of fabric, and as he pulls his pants fully down, heâs not wasting any time to let you get a full look at him. His cock stands heavy, dripping with need, leaking as he strokes himself with a low growl.
You open your mouth, but the words die as he moves closer, kneeling on the edge of the bed. His hand wraps around your ankle and drags you toward him, his grip firm, claiming. He leans over you, one hand planted beside your head, the other dragging slowly along your inner thigh.
âTell me,â he demands, brushing his nose along your jaw. âDid it turn you on? Knowing he saw you with me? Knowing he saw how badly I wanted to rip that dress off you?â
âYes,â you whisper, breath hitching.
Then heâs kissing you again, slower this time but just as possessive. His hand wraps behind your neck, holding you in place as he takes what he wants, savoring your reactions, feeding off every moan that escapes you.
âLook at this,â he mutters, gaze locked between your legs. âSo swollen. So wet. All for me.â
His hand drags slowly down your stomach, the heat of his palm branding every inch of skin it touches. Itâs not hurried, no, itâs maddeningly slow, his fingers grazing along the dip below your navel, making your muscles jump with anticipation.
Then his fingers reach your folds, gliding through your slickness, deliberately lazy. You twitch under his touch, hips tilting up instinctively.
And then-
He slaps your pussy. Open palm. Quick.
The sound cracks through the room, sharp and obscene. The sting hits you a second later, blooming heat across your center, and your whole body jolts, legs trembling.
âFuck-!â you cry out, back arching off the bed. âWooyoung-,â
He smirks down at you, all dark satisfaction. âOh yeah,â he says, eyes heavy with lust. âYou liked that.â
Before you can catch your breath, he does it again. A second slap, just as sharp. The impact makes your thighs jerk apart, a cry tearing from your throat.
He moans, actually moans at the sight of you coming undone. âGod, youâre so fucking hot when you take it like that.â
Your body is pulsing, burning, begging.
âLook at you,â he murmurs, breath hot as he leans closer, dragging two fingers through your folds again. âDripping. You get this wet from just my hand?â
He rubs your clit in tight, quick circles, pressure unforgiving but just right, sending sparks up your spine. The contrast of pain and pleasure makes your head spin.
Your hands grip the sheets hard enough to cramp. âFuck, Wooyoung-, donât stop-â
He chuckles low and hungry. âDidnât plan on it.â
With one smooth motion, he shifts, settling between your thighs. His cock, thick, flushed, already leaking, presses against your entrance, the tip catching on your slick folds. He rubs himself through your arousal, slow and teasing, just enough to make your hips chase him.
You try to lift your hips, to take him in, but he pins you back down, eyes wild.
âNo. I get to fuck you when I say so,â he growls, mouth crashing down onto yours, kissing you hard, deep, messy, like heâs starving. Like your mouth is the only thing thatâs ever tasted good.
When he finally thrusts in, itâs a single, brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt and knocking the air right out of your lungs.
âFuck,-â you gasp, eyes rolling back.
He doesnât give you a second to adjust before pulling back and slamming into you again, the force of it leaving you breathless.
He doesnât stop. He grabs your wrists, pins them above your head, body caging you in like a predator. His mouth finds yours, kissing you like heâs drowning, messy and hot and desperate. Teeth, tongue, breathless moans between every clashing movement.
âDonât you dare look away,â he growls against your lips. âLook at me while I fuck you.â
So you do.
His pupils are blown, his hair a mess, sweat on his brow, mouth parted. But itâs his eyes, the way heâs looking at you like youâre all heâs ever wanted, and that makes your heart slam against your ribs.
Youâre gasping, crying out, and he swallows every sound, his kiss never softening, only growing more frenzied as his hips pound into you.
âYou feel that?â he pants into your mouth. âThatâs mine. This pussyâs mine.â
He lets go of your wrists just long enough to grab your thigh, throw your leg over his shoulder, driving deeper, angle harsher. His grip is punishing, like he needs to hold you down to keep from losing his mind.
âShit-,â you sob, clinging to him now. âYouâre so deep-, I canât-,â
âYou can,â he growls. âOh, fuck, baby-, thatâs it,â he smirks, sweat dripping down from his neck. âYou feel so good-, so fucking tight, so wet, I could stay buried in this pussy forever.â
He drops his head to your neck, biting and sucking bruises into your skin, marking you as his hands move constantly, palming your breast, gripping your hip, dragging across your thigh, he canât stop touching you.
âThatâs it,â he pants. âLet me make you feel so fucking good.â
You clench around him and he nearly loses it, thrusts getting sloppier, harder, messier. He grabs your jaw, forces your eyes to his.
âPlease-, Wooyoung, Iâm close-â
âYeah? Let me hear you. Come for me. Come on my cock, baby, let me feel you.â
And it hits you, fast and deep, your whole body tensing as pleasure crashes through you like a wave you couldnât stop even if you tried.
Wooyoung watches it take you, and it wrecks him.
âGod, baby,â he growls, suddenly losing all rhythm, all control. âYou feel so-, fuck, Iâm not gonna last-,â
You reach up, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you just like he did to you. âDonât stop. Give it to me.â
That does it.
With a strangled moan of your name, he buries himself in you with a final, desperate thrust. His whole body tenses as he gives in, letting himself fall apart.
You canât help but look at his face as that wave of pleasure overtakes him. His mouth is parted, lips trembling with the sounds he canât hold back, brows drawn together in a tight knot like heâs fighting to stay grounded. The muscles in his jaw twitch, veins standing out along his neck and arms, his whole body straining as he spills everything into you.
When he finally exhales, itâs a ragged, shaky breath, and his body slowly relaxes, chest rising and falling heavily as he tries to come back down. He doesnât pull away. Doesnât say a word. He just lowers his weight over you gently, careful not to crush you, his face pressing into the crook of your neck.
You can still feel the warmth of him inside you, the lingering tension of release pulsing between your bodies.
Then he lifts his head, just barely, and looks down at you, really looks. His gaze roams over your flushed cheeks, kiss-bitten lips, the way youâre still dazed and boneless beneath him.
And then he grins. Slow, smug, wicked.
âGod,â he says, voice low and pleased.
You blink up at him, heart stuttering. âWhat?â
He doesnât answer right away, just lets his eyes drag over you like heâs memorizing everything. The mess heâs made of you. The way you still havenât caught your breath.
âYouâre gorgeous,â he says simply, but it lands heavy in your chest. âLike⊠stupid beautiful.â
Heat rushes to your face. You instinctively turn your head, trying to hide the way your lips curl, the way you canât even look at him right now.
But that just makes him laugh, low and breathless.
âOh no,â he murmurs, fingers catching your chin, turning your face back to his. âdonât get all shy on me now. Not after the things I just did to you.â
âWooyoung-â you try to protest, flustered, but itâs useless.
He shifts suddenly, his hand pinning your wrist to the bed as he leans in, eyes blazing. âNope,â he growls playfully.
When his mouth crashes into yours, itâs not sweet or teasing, itâs intense. Deep and all-consuming, like heâs starving for you. His tongue claims yours, every movement deliberate, dominant.
When he finally pulls back, barely an inch, his lips are swollen and his voice is wrecked.
âIâm never gonna get enough of you,â he murmurs against your lips. âNever.â
***
You wake up slowly, the soft light of the morning creeping into the room, bathing everything in a warm glow. His arm is still draped over you, his breath steady and calm. You shift gently, trying not to wake him, but you canât help but linger for a moment, watching his peaceful expression. He looks so content, so relaxed, last night still feels like a dream.
Carefully, you lift his arm from your waist and slip out of bed. As you stand, you glance back at him. His face is soft, his black hair a little messy, and the sight of him, even in his sleep, makes your heart flutter. You try to suppress the smile that tugs at your lips, but you canât help it.
Quietly, you make your way to the kitchen. The cool air of the morning greets you as you open the cabinet and pull out his cereal box.
Youâre perched on the kitchen counter, bare legs dangling, quietly munching on a bowl of Wooyoungâs ridiculous neon-colored cereal. The box sits beside you, obnoxiously bright. Youâd teased him for years about how awful it looked, and secretly craved it every time.
You hear the soft shuffle of feet before you see him.
Wooyoung emerges from the hallway, shirtless, his hair a messy halo of waves, eyes still heavy with sleep. He looks like a dream and somehow worse for your heart in the morning light. A familiar ache stirs in your chest. This is your best friend. Your roommate. The same guy who left his laundry in the hallway and screamed at horror games.
The same guy who had his hands all over you last night and made you come like no one else.
âMorning, roomie,â he mutters, voice low and rough, smirking when his eyes catch yours. They linger. âIs that my cereal?â
You nod, trying not to choke on it now that your mouthâs gone dry. âIt was calling to me.â
He walks right up to you, stepping between your legs like heâs done it a thousand times. Only now, thereâs nothing innocent about the way he crowds your space.
You glance down, gripping the bowl a little tighter. Your voice comes out quieter than you meant. âYou, uh⊠want some?â
He doesnât answer.
Just takes the spoon from your hand, still warm from your touch, and scoops up a bite like itâs nothing. His other hand settles on your thigh, casual but firm. You forget how to breathe.
He hums like itâs gourmet. âGod, I love this shit.â
You try to roll your eyes, but itâs weak. Heâs too close. Too warm. Too real.
And then, without warning, he leans in close, mouth brushing your ear.
âGood morning, beautiful,â
Before you can say anything else, before your heart can fully flip in your chest, he kisses you.
Itâs soft at first, like heâs testing the waters, but then it deepens, and the world around you fades. Thereâs no rush, no frantic need, just the slow, steady push and pull of lips, the quiet hum of connection between you two, something thatâs always been there but is only now being acknowledged.
His lips linger just long enough to make your stomach twist in the best way before he pulls back, barely.
You stare at him, still a little dazed. He smirks.
âWhat?â he says, all fake innocence. âYou gonna yell at me for stealing your cereal or for kissing you?â
You eye him, lips twitching. âStill weighing my options.â
He shrugs, hands still warm where theyâre resting on your thighs. âTake your time. Iâve got all morning.â
âYouâre literally the most impatient person I know,â you mutter.
âMm,â he hums, brushing his thumb just under the hem of your shorts, right where it makes your breath catch. âNot when it comes to you. I like watching you squirm too much.â
You exhale a laugh, trying not to give him the satisfaction. He just grins wider, enjoying seeing you like this.
Itâs completely unfair, the way he looks so relaxed. Like this, you and him and whatever happened last night, isnât a big deal. Like waking up tangled together, touching each other like that, was just the natural next step.
And maybe⊠maybe it was.
âYou know,â he adds after a beat, glancing at your bowl again, âI thought about that last night.â
âWhat, the cereal?â you ask, trying to level your voice.
He nods, all faux-innocent. âHad this whole internal debate. Go finish the box or save you some.â
You squint at him. âYou didnât even eat any.â
âExactly.â He grins. âFell asleep. Dreamt about it. Woke up, and there you were. Stealing the first bowl like some greedy little gremlin.â
You scoff. âWow. Rude.â
âAnd hungry,â he adds, stealing your spoon without looking. He takes another bite, still watching you, chewing like heâs thinking about sin. âMight be craving something a little messier, though.â
You scoff, but your thighs tense around his hips, pulling him in closer. He feels it. Of course he does.
You think thatâs the end of it, but then he tilts his head a little, voice dropping. âAlso, you were real cute sneaking around out here like I couldnât hear you. Hair all messy. Wearing nothing but your-â
âStop,â you cut in, already feeling the heat crawl up your neck.
He just laughs, clearly enjoying this way too much. âIâm just saying. Round two almost happened right then and there.â
You shoot him a look. âI was literally getting cereal.â
He leans in, lips brushing your cheek again before he murmurs, âYeah, and you still looked hot.â
You go quiet, too aware of his mouth near yours and the fact that heâs still standing between your knees like he belongs there.
You open your mouth, no idea what youâre even going to say, but heâs already leaning in.
And then he kisses you again, easy, unhurried, like itâs just what he does now. Like kissing you is second nature.
And god, maybe it is.
TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx
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genre: slice of life, a little bit of angst w/comfort, established relationship, nonidol!au, other ateez members cameo!
word count: 8.4k
âââââ ââ ââ â âââââ
warnings: no use of y/n, valorant mentioned/described (sry it felt appropriate to warn you guys about that), graphic sexual scenes (mdni!!), explicit language, make up sex, oral (f!rec), multiple o's, switching from protected to unprotected sex (RAW! next question), fingering, creampie, lots of praising, body worship (yunho is so so down bad), cute aftercare!! / lmk if i missed any
author's note: do we fw the new layout?? i finally figured out how to do the gradient thingy, ty to the glorious @tonycries for linking a W tutorial. when i saw yunho play val last year i was like wtf my worlds are colliding?! so i definitely portrayed yunho as guys i know personally that play v*lorant and iykyk. hopefully i did eboy yunho some justice but i hope you guys enjoy this fic!
You kick off your heels at the door, groaning as your stockinged feet finally meet the cool hardwood floor of your apartment. The day has dragged on endlessly. Client complaints, your bossâs impossible demands, the printer jamming right before a deadlineâbut through it all, a single thought has sustained you: that tonight you and Yunho would finally be at home together for once. Your work schedules and day offs rarely line up so you will take any advantage to spend time with your boyfriend. Granted that he doesnât rot behind his pc.Â
Everyone has an outlet to destress, for some itâs crocheting and others itâs baking. For Yunho, it was playing video games. You like to tell yourself that you donât mind but sometimes it does get to you. Itâs alright though, youâre just a girl at the end of the day and heâs just a boy that loves to play his silly video games.
Your tote bag slips from your shoulder, landing with a soft âthudâ beside the shoe rack. The apartment smells faintly of the jasmine air freshener you and Yunho bought last weekend at the farmers market. In your shared bedroom, you shed your work clothes like a snake shedding its skin, each discarded item feeling like a weight lifted. The soft cotton of your bathrobe embraces you as you wrap it around yourself. Your reflection in the mirror gradually transforms from a professional façade to a vulnerable reality. The dark circles under your eyes tell the story of three consecutive late nights working with egotistical clients that think they know better than you.Â
When you emerge feeling more human, you make your way to the kitchen. The kettle hums as it heats water for your teaâchamomile with a touch of honey, the way you always make it on hard days.Â
âYunnie?â you call out, voice lifting with expectation.
âIn here!â comes the distant reply from the direction of his office turned gaming room.
Cup in hand, you venture toward the rapid clicking and occasional muttered curses. The door to Yunhoâs gaming room stands half-open. You nudge it wider with your hip; the steam from your tea momentarily fogs your vision.
Heâs hunched at his pc, headset clamped over his ears, fingers dancing across the keyboard with practiced precision, his other hand gripped on the mouse as it glides on his mousepad. The blue light from his dual monitors casts an otherworldly glow across his features. His dark hair falls across his forehead as he leans forward, intense concentration etched into every line of his face.
âHi,â you say softly, hovering in the doorway.
He holds up one finger, eyes never leaving the screen. âOne secâshit! Mingi bro, the Jett's flanking you,â His voice rises as his character on screen guns an enemy down that frankly means nothing to you.Â
You hear Mingi through Yunhoâs headset cursing the game and the entire enemy team's bloodline because he died. You sip your tea and wait, watching the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches. You canât help the smile tugging at your lips. His passion for everything and anything is one of the things you love about him, even when itâs directed at pixels on a screen. After what feels like several minutes (but is probably only thirty seconds), his character dies leaving his team in a 2v1.
âDamn it,â he mutters, then swivels slightly in his chair. âHey, youâre home.â His smile is warm but distracted, his eyes already back on the screen. âHow was work?â
âPretty bad,â you admit, stepping further into the room. âAre you freeââ
âSorry baby, let's chat after this game,â he says to you before speaking into his microphone. âLetâs play A retake this time, Iâll lurk B.â
Your words evaporate into the air between you. The game resumes, and with it, his complete attention shifts away from you. You perch on the small loveseat he keeps in the room, tucking your bare legs beneath you and cradling your mug between both hands. The warmth seeps into your palms, a poor substitute for the embrace youâd anticipated all day.Â
Fifteen minutes stretch into thirty as you watch him play, occasionally commenting on an impressive kill or asking a question that yields a one-word answer. The ache in your chest grows with each passing moment. You really donât want to be that girlfriendâthe one who demands attention, who canât let her boyfriend enjoy his hobbyâbut the weight of your awful day presses down, making you crave connection more than usual.Â
âYou think we can order some food?,â you finally say during a break between matches.
âYeah, we can,â Yunho says, eyes still on the screen as he opens the buy menu. âJust let me finish this ranked game.â
âHow much longer will that take?â you ask, voice deliberately light.
He shrugs, the gesture sending a small ripple through your already fragile composure. âNot sure. A few games, maybe? An hour or two? You can watch if you want.â
The suggestion puts a sinking feeling into your stomach. The idea of watching him play a game you donât understand for hours will somehow fulfil his promise feels like a tiny needle under your skin. Not painful enough to cry out, but impossible to ignore.Â
âNo thanks, itâs fine. Iâll just go,â you say quietly in defeat.
You stand up from the loveseat, tea now lukewarm in your mug, and pause in the doorway. Part of you wants to remind him of his promise, to express your disappointment. Another part, the part conditioned by years of accommodating others, hesitates. He looks so content, so absorbed in his element.Â
Who are you to disrupt that?
As you turn to leave, his voice calls after you, unguarded as he speaks to his friends rather than to you: âNo, Iâm good to play all night.âÂ
You can faintly hear one of his friends ask about you and if you were okay that heâd be out for so long, âSâalright, she can wait a bit we gotta grind toââ
You freeze in the doorway, your shoulders tensing. Heaven forbid you just wanted to unwind and spend some quality time with your boyfriend that you barely get to hang out with. The mug trembles slightly in your hand. The words fucking sting more than they should. Surely he means well, right?Â
You retreat to the kitchen, chucking your mug in the sink and a loud âCLANKâ as it echoes through the empty kitchen. In the refrigerator light, you stare at containers of leftover food that suddenly hold no appeal. Behind you, the muffled sounds of Yunhoâs gaming fill the apartment like an uninvited guest that has overstayed its welcome. You close the refrigerator door and lean against it, eyes closed, breathing deeply. You werenât in the mood to make anything extravagant for dinner, so you opted out for a simple sandwich.Â
You assemble a sandwich with mechanical precisionâbread, mayo, turkey, cheese, lettuceâthe ingredients coming together without thought or enjoyment. The knife scrapes across the ceramic plate as you cut it diagonally, the sound harsh in the quiet kitchen. Your stomach growls, reminding you that lunch was a granola bar eaten between meetings, but the sandwich holds little appeal. You carry your plate to the living room. The television remains dark as you eat in silence, the sandwich tasteless despite your hunger. Your apartment, usually a haven, feels suddenly too small, too empty despite his presence just rooms away.Â
You just couldnât understand why he couldnât just forfeit his game to come hang out with his girlfriend. Youâve talked about this issue with your other friends before, all of them agreeing that your boyfriend being too obsessive with his status in the games he plays puts not only a strain on you but a heavier strain on your relationship.Â
Three years youâve been together. Three years of building a life: finding this apartment with morning light streaming through the bedroom window; adopting temperamental houseplants that thrive under his care; learning each otherâs rhythms and needs. You understand his passion for gaming; itâs his way of unwinding, of connecting with friends scattered across the country. Most days, you welcome it as part of who he is. But tonight you need him. Not just his physical presence in the next room, but his attention, his comfort, the way he listens when you talk about your day, nodding at all you have to rant about and offering commentary that makes even the worst work situations seem manageable.
The plate sits empty in your lap. You check your phone: 9:45 PM. Yunhoâs voice occasionally carries through the apartmentâexclamations, strategic directives, laughter. The sounds deepen your solitude.
You carry your plate to the sink, rinsing it methodically, and place it in the dishwasher. The routine of tidying the kitchen provides hollow comfort, each task a distraction from the ache beneath your ribs. When thereâs nothing left to clean, you move to the bathroom. The showerâs hot water beats against your skin, washing away the dayâs physical remnants if not its emotional toll. You wrap yourself in a towel, droplets dancing down your legs onto the bathmat. Your reflection stares at you from the steam-covered mirrorâa blurry outline, edges softened and indistinct. You wipe a clear patch in the condensation with your palm, revealing eyes red-rimmed from more than just shampoo.
âStop it,â you sniffle. âItâs just one night.â
It never really is just one night though, is it? Â
Before you reach your bedroom, you take one last look into Yunhoâs room. You debate on whether or not you should interrupt again but youâre exhausted from waiting for the chance for your boyfriend to pay attention to you for once. Something within you just snaps, youâve had enough. You deserve so much better. You walk back into his room, you watch as the furrow between his brows deepen as he leans closer to the monitor, fingers moving in complex patterns. The headset has left a slight indentation in his hair; in any other circumstance, you might have found it endearing.
âHey, can we talk?â you hate the note of hope creeping into your voice.
âYeah, sure,â he says without looking away. âJust after thisâ.â
âNo, I want to talk now.â
Yunho swivels in his chair, half of his headset pulled away. âHuh?â
âYou promised.â The words feel childish as they leave your mouth. âAfter that last game we would hang out, remember?â
âI know, but I swear Iâm almostââ
You scoff, âAlmost done? You said that about three games ago.â
âOh so weâre keeping tabs on me now? Real mature of you.â he snaps back.Â
Your jaw drops, never in your entire relationship has he ever talked to you like this. You were fucking livid.
âGod, how hard is it to just ask my boyfriend to spend some time with me? Likeâfuck sakeâwe barely spend time together as it is.â you ranted, your fists at your sides as your fingernails dig into the palm of your hands. Thereâs no universe that you are standing here arguing with your boyfriend over a fucking video game.
His eyes flick between you and the screen where his character stands idle. âI am spending time with you. Youâre right here.â
âThatâs notââ You gesture at the space between you. âThis isnât hanging out. Iâm so sick and tired of always waiting until you finish your stupid fucking game for us to be together.â
You cringe at the loud âoohâsâ and âoh noâsâ from his headset.Â
âFuck off guys, hold on,â he says into his mic before turning to face you. âCan we please just talk later? Iâm busy and I promised the guys thatââ
âYouâre always âtoo busyâ for me but never too busy for the guys? Maybe you should just go be with them instead.â You laugh bitterly, Yunho takes his headset off and throws it somewhere on his desk.Â
âAre you serious? Do you even hear yourself right now?â he huffed out in annoyance.
âDo you?â
Your voice cracked on the last word, and you felt the hot sting of tears threatening to spill over. The pressure behind your eyes built as your throat tightened painfully. You blinked rapidly, trying desperately to maintain what little composure you had left.
âI donât have the energy to argue with you,â you said, your voice suddenly small and wavering. âI just had such a shit day at work andââ The words caught in your throat as your eyes welled up despite your best efforts. You turned away, unable to bear looking at him while falling apart.
âWhatever, fucking forget it,â you choked out, wrapping your arms around yourself.
Yunhoâs expression shifted instantly, the annoyance melting away as he registered your tears. He stood up from his chair, abandoning his game without a second thought.
âHey, wait,â he called after you as you moved toward the door. âBaby, hold on.â
But you were already halfway down the hallway, trying to escape before the dam broke completely. You heard the scrape of his chair against the floor, followed by his footsteps behind you.
âPlease just leave me alone,â you managed, your voice thick with emotion. âGo back to your game. Your friends are waiting.â
You made it to the bedroom and closed the door, not quite slamming it but shutting it firmly enough to make your point. The tears came freely now, hot trails down your cheeks as you sank onto the edge of the bed. Your shoulders shook with silent sobs as you pressed the heels of your hands against your eyes. You reached for the tissue box on the nightstand, pulling out several and pressing them against your face to catch the tears. The cotton sheets felt cool against your legs as you curled them under you, trying to make yourself smaller. Part of you wished Yunho would knock on the door, that heâd come. He never did.
You slip into your comfy sleep clothesâsoft shorts and one of his old t-shirts that hangs loose on your frame. The bed, when you crawl into it, feels vast and cold. You pull the comforter up to your chin, cocooning yourself on your side. Your phoneâs glow illuminates the darkness as you scroll mindlessly through various social media apps. A notification from your friend asking about your evening with Yunho appears. You sigh as you close the app without responding.
The wall clock ticks steadily, each moment that passes you slowly feel a piece of your heart breaking. Your eyelids grow heavy, but sleep remains elusive, held at bay by the empty feeling in your chest. A tear slips from the corner of your eye, trailing across the bridge of your nose to dampen the pillowcase. Then another. You donât bother wiping them away, letting them fall in silent testament to your disappointment. Tired of fighting to stay awake and waiting for your boyfriend, you succumb to slumber as you drift off into sleep.Â
ââ ââ ââ â ââ
Yunho stared at the closed bedroom door, his hand frozen mid-air, unable to bring himself to knock. He walked back to his room as the game continued in his headset, abandoned on his deskâdistant shouting and gunfire that suddenly seemed utterly meaningless.
âYo, Yunho? You there, man?â Mingiâs voice came faintly from the headset.
âWhat the hell, man?â Sanâs voice crackled through not long after.
He returned to his desk in a daze and slipped the headset back on. âYeah, I...fuck, I gotta go.â
âNo shit you gotta go, are you fucking dumb dude?â Hongjoongâs voice was light, teasing but everyone knew he was serious.
âMan, that did not sound good,â Wooyoung chimed in.Â
Yunho winced, he knew that his friend was right. âYeah, I said Iâll catch you guys later.â
âNo, waitââ Seonghwaâs tone shifted to something more serious. âDid you seriously just blow her off for a fucking Valorant match? After she said she had a shit day?â
The guilt that had been forming in Yunhoâs chest crystallized, sharp and heavy. âI didnât knowââ
âYou didnât ask her, Yun,â Jongho cut in. âYou kept cutting her offâwe heard the whole thing, bro. You fucked up so bad.â
âYeah, man,â Yeosang added, his usual playful tone gone. âIf the love of my life ever talked to me like that when I was upset, Iâd be out the door without question.â
âI didnât mean toââ Yunho started, but the excuses died in his throat. What could he say? That heâd been so caught up in a game that heâd ignored his girlfriendâs obvious distress? That heâd snapped at her for wanting his attention?
âLook,â Mingi said, his voice gentler now, âWe love you, but you were being a dick. Get off the game and go fix your fuck up.â
Yunho pulled off the headset and tossed it back onto the desk, he reached over to his pc tower and turned everything off with a click. The familiar burn of anger flared in his chestâat himself, at his friends for calling him out, at the whole situation. He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside him. Getting angry at himself wouldnât solve anything. It never did.
Heâd fucked up. Plain and simple. The walk to the bedroom felt longer than usual, each step weighted with the knowledge of his mistake.Â
He knocked gently. âBaby?â he called, his voice carefully controlled. âCan I come in?â
When you didnât answer, he pressed his forehead against the cool wood of the door. âPlease? I want to talk.â
Donât be defensive. Donât make excuses. Just apologize, he coached himself, tamping down the reflexive urge to justify his behavior. He gently knocks a second time. Still silent. No response.Â
Leaving him with no other choice, he opened the bedroom door. He stands at the threshold, silhouetted in the dim light. He steps closer to your side of the bed, noticing the dried tear tracks on your cheek, the darker patch on your pillow where they pooled. His heart clenches. He hates it when you cry but knowing that he made you cry, heâs so disappointed with himself.Â
âMy love,â Yunho whispers, settling on the edge of the bed. His hand hovers for a moment before resting lightly on your shoulder. âPlease wake up.â
You stir, disoriented, blinking up at him through the dark.
âHm? What time is it?â you murmur, voice thick with sleep.
âItâs late,â he replies, his thumb tracing small circles along your shoulder. âIâm so sorry, baby.â
Fragments of exhaustion cloud your mind as you push yourself up against the headboard. The ache of earlier disappointment seeps back inâwhy you went to bed alone. You rub your eyes, heavy with fatigue.
âDid you win your games?â you ask, though you donât truly care.
âThatâs not important,â he says softly, voice tight. He turns to face you fully. âI need to talk to you.â
âThe game was so important to you earlier,â you scoff, voice weary.
Yunho looks away, shame darkening his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it.
âCanât we wait until tomorrow to talk, Yunho?â you ask, voice dropping with exhaustion. He winces at you using his government name, not yunnie, yuyu or baby. Just Yunho.
âNo,â he says firmly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. âIt canât wait. Because tonight I let you downâbut not just tonight. Iâve let you down before, and Iâm sorry for every time I put a stupid game ahead of you.â
You sit up, drawing your knees to your chest. The oversized T-shirt slips off one shoulder, skin bare in the dim light. He respects your distance, keeping his hands to himself.
âYou promised,â you sniffle, the words light but heavy with meaning.
His shoulders slump. âI know. I got caught up in the gameâagain and again. It was selfish, and I broke my promise more times than I can count. Iâm so sorry for making you feel alone, for missing the moments you needed me most.â He reaches for your hand, relief flooding his expression when you offer yours. âYou needed me tonight. You needed me every time before. And I wasnât there.â
You squeeze his hand, like it was a silent acknowledgement of his apology. âI had a horrible dayâmy presentation was a disaster and my new boss tore me apart. I came home wanting comfort, wanting you. I just wanted to feel like I had someone on my sideâ
âI am on your side,â he insists, squeezing your hand gently. âAlways. I let my own needs overshadow yours, and thatâs not excusable. You deserve betterâmy love, attention, and respect. Not just tonight, but every day.â
You lift your gaze and find only earnest remorse in his eyes. âI didnât want to nag you about gaming. I know it means a lot to you.â
He shakes his head, lifting your chin with one tender finger. âNot as much as you, baby. Never as much as you. Donât ever think youâre nagging when you ask me to keep a promise I madeâ that I meant to keep. I saw how much it hurt you tonight when I didn't follow through. I canât imagine the other nights I ignored you.â His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing away a fresh tear. âIâm sorry I made you cry. Iâm sorry for anytime I didnât make you my number one priority. I promise to love you better and to be a better man.â
His voice, so soft and sincere, breaks something open inside you. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering closed.
âI missed you so much, Yuyu,â you admit, voice trembling.
âIâm here now,â he whispers, brushing his forehead to yours. âLet me make it up to youâto this night and to the rest of our lives. You mean more to me than anything in the world.â
Your fingertips graze the warm plane of his forearm, and you feel a sparkâprickling electricity crackling across your skin from the dry midnight air. He watches you, pupils widening until his irises fade to shadow. He closes the last inches between you in one slow, deliberate step. His mouth finds yours, the kiss feather-soft at first, petals brushing, then deepening with a raw, urgent hunger. His palm slides from your cheek down to the nape of your neck, fingers tangling in the fine strands there, tugging you closer. You pause, your pulse hammering, but the ache between your thighs drowns any hesitation. When his tongue teases the seam of your lips, you part them willingly, drinking in the coppery taste of him.
âI fucked up,â he murmurs against your mouth, voice rough with regret and need. One hand drifts beneath the hem of your t-shirt, fingertips grazing the tender hollow of your waist. âI shouldâve been taking care of my girl.â
His thumb presses at the curve of your hip. Heat trails behind his touch, each fingertip a burning brand as he traces upward along your ribs. When he skims the underside of your breast, your breath bursts out in a sharp gasp, and your back arches instinctively, nipples tightening under his ministrations.
Yunho pulls back just enough to see your face, his eyes searching yours. âLet me show you how sorry I am,â he says, voice dropping to that low register that makes you shiver.Â
At your nod, he claims your lips again, fiercer this time. His hands dive under your shirt, peeling it up over your head in one swift motion. Cool air ghosts across your bare skin before his palms reclaim that warmth, cupping your tits, thumbs tracing slow circles around your peaked nipples until every nerve fires. You shiver, spine arching, chest pressing forward to meet him.
âSo beautiful,â he whispers, mouth sliding from your lips to graze your jaw, then down the gentle slope of your throat, teeth grazing lightly above your collarbone. âAlways so perfect and good to me.â
You reach for him, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He helps you out and peels the fabric off of his body. You couldnât help but stare, your boyfriend was hand sculpted by the gods. It was hard keeping your hands to yourself. Yunho guides you backward onto the mattress, his body covering yours in a familiar weight that grounds you. His lips close over your nipple, tongue swirling in languid circles around the sensitive bud. Pleasure pulses from your tits straight to the core of you. Your fingers thread into his hair, tugging as his tongue dips lower. He takes his time, lavishing attention on each breast until youâre squirming beneath him, hips lifting in silent cries. Only then does his hand slide lower, fingers playing at the waistband of your sleep shorts.
âThese need to go,â he murmurs against your heated skin, and you lift your hips to help him slide both shorts and underwear down your legs.
You hiss when you feel the cold air hit your hot and soaked cunt. Naked beneath him now, you feel vulnerable, but the way he looks at youâlike youâre precious, something that needs to be worshippedâchases away any insecurity. His hand traces up your inner thigh, touch feather-light as it approaches where you need him most.
âCâmon baby, talk to Yuyu,â he breathes, lips grazing your ear. âTell me how to make it right.â
You tremble, voice barely a whisper. âPlease touch me.â
His index finger slides along your wet folds, collecting a bead of your slick, then returns to tease your entrance with a gentle, circular stroke. You gasp, arching your hips. Finally, he eases that finger inside, the tip bending and pressing against your sensitive walls. A second finger follows, stretching you in the most delicious way. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing slow, firm circles that send stars bursting behind your eyes.
âLike this, baby?â he murmurs, voice husky.
You nod wildly, breath hitching. He withdraws his fingers then, only to replace them with an even hungrier mouth. The flick of his tongue against your swollen clit draws a guttural moan from you. You grind your hips, desperate for friction, hands gripping his shoulders as he savours you, tongue and lips working overtime. Waves of pleasure ripple through you, each tongue-stroke priming you closer to the edge.Â
âYunnieâ!,â you mewl, hips rising to meet each deliberate thrust of his hand.
He captures your moan with his mouth, kissing you deeply as his fingers work their magic. Your hands claw at his back, nails digging into his skin. When he breaks the kiss to trail his mouth down your body, you whimper at the momentary loss of his fingers. But then his hands grip your thighs, spreading you oh so wide as his mouth reclaims its rightful spot on your sweet cunt. The stroke of his tongue against your core has you arching off the bed, a strangled cry escaping your lips. He holds your hips firmly, keeping you in place as he devours you, tongue alternating between circling your clit and dipping into your entrance.
âOh god,â you gasp, one hand fisting in the sheets while the other tangles in his hair. âDonât stop, ah fuckâ please donât stop.â
You suddenly feel fuller as he works his index and middle finger back up into your cunt in sync with his mouth. Heat coils tighter in your stomach, thighs clamping around his head as his fingers dig into your hips, holding you down while he enjoys you sloppy and relentless.Â
âCâmon baby, let me hear you,â he hums against you.
When he curls his fingers just right, pressing against that sensitive spot, you shatter, release washing over you in waves as you cry out his name.
âY-yes, feels so goodâmâ cumming fuckâ!âÂ
He works you through it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks subside until you tug at his hair, too sensitive for more.Â
âFuck baby, you taste so sweet.â licking his lips, looking down at you with dark, hungry eyes.Â
You reach for the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging insistently. âMm, off.â
He obeyed instantly, urgency and reverence in the movement as he shucked off his sweatpants and boxer briefs in a single, practiced motion. His cock was already flushed and thick, standing out from his body, his bulbous tip already leaking with pre-cum. Desire bloomed in your stomach again, a fresh ache that eclipsed the aftershocks of your first orgasm, making you greedy for more. You watched, breath coming quick and shallow, as he reached for the nightstand drawer, retrieving a foil packet with the same fluid grace that defined his every movement. He tore it open with his teeth, rolled the condom down his length with a practiced hand, then knelt on the bed and braced himself above you, muscles flexing in his arms and thighs as he hovered like a promise, his cock bobbing at the apex of his arousal.
Yunhoâs eyes flicked over your naked body, lingering on the slick heat between your legs, the rise and fall of your chest, the flush of your nipples. He drank you in, gaze almost pained with adoration and want, and hovered there, waiting for your cue. The pause thrummed between youâa moment of pure potential. You reached for him, wrapping your hand around the thick length of him and giving a gentle, possessive squeeze. He hissed through his teeth and bowed his head, his breath hot on your cheek as he nuzzled at your temple. You wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him closer until the tip of him presses against your entrance.Â
His groan was deep and guttural, almost animalistic, it vibrated through both your bodies as he continued to press forward. You stretched exquisitely to accommodate his girth, slow and almost suspensefulâhe held himself in check, nudging in a little, then out, then in again, gentling the way for you inch by inch. Even though your body craved him, trembled for him, Yunho refused to rush, setting a deliberate pace that was all about savouring rather than conquering. The hangover of hurt from before was still present, but now the ache shifted, softened by the way he worshipped you with every shuddered breath and whispered apology.
When he finally bottomed out, hips flush to yours and cock buried to the hilt, you both froze, raw at the point of connection. Around you, the room seemed to contract and expand, the air gone syrupy-thick. The only thing that felt real, that felt true, was the intense pulse between your bodiesâand the way Yunhoâs arms shook as he braced himself above you, like he might break apart if he let go.
He pressed his forehead to yours, sweat beading at his brow, and his voice was a tremulous hush: âIâm sorry.â The words ghosted across your lips, so close youâd swear you swallowed them. âI never want to make you feel unimportant.â
âSâokay, I know,â you whispered and when you clenched around him for emphasis, the sound he made was rapture and despair rolled into one.
Yunho obliged, withdrawing almost entirely before driving back in, a steady, deep rhythm that immediately threatened to undo you. He didnât tease or play gamesâeach thrust was purposeful, devotion made tactile, and yet he didnât try to own you with vengeance. He moved so you felt full of him, the press of his pelvis grinding against your clit with each pass.Â
âFuckâ mâ sorry for being a terrible boyfriend,â he chokes out suddenly, hips stuttering, losing rhythm. âshouldnât have let you walk outâand be upset, I promiseâ shitâ baby I'm sorry.â
âSâo-okay fuckâ,âÂ
You were slick and swollen, your nerve endings set alight; every time he rocked forward, your legs tightened around his waist, pulling him in, greedy for the friction and the fullness.
He peppered the moment with breathless confessions, his voice breaking on every thrust: "So fucking goodâgod, you're so tight, baby."Â
His hands roamed your body with desperate hunger, palms trailing down your sweat-slicked sides, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, kneading your plush thighs, cupping the weight of your tits. Anywhere he could anchor himself in the reality of your body yielding to his. Each time your bodies collided, the impact sent the headboard slamming against the wallâthud, thud, thudâ a primal rhythm punctuating your high-pitched whimpers and his whiny groans.
"Please," you whimpered, arching your back as he hit that perfect sweet spot deep inside you. "Right thereâohshit, don't stopâoh my god, Yunho!"
"Atta girl,â he purred against your ear, voice ragged with need. "You love it when I fuck you so deep, huh?"
"S-so much," you whined, legs quivering around his waist. "I need you deeperâharderâ!"
Within minutes, you were spiralling, overwhelmed by the slick friction where your bodies joined, the heady scent of sex filling your nostrils, the way Yunho's dark eyes, pupils blown wide with lust, never left yours. He held your gaze as he drove into you, the raw intimacy making tears spring to your eyes. This wasn't angry ruttingâthis was his desperate plea for forgiveness, his cock speaking apologies his mouth couldn't form. He mouthed filthy promises against your feverish skinâyour name, broken endearments, breathless apologiesâhis tongue tracing paths down your chest, lapping at the salt of your throat, claiming your parted lips.
âMâ closeâagainângh fuck," your pretty whines start slurring together as his cock perfectly hits your sweet spot.
When he sensed you teetering on the edge, Yunho's rhythm faltered, and he pulled you flush against him, his hot breath dampening your neck.Â
"Give it to me," he begged, voice cracking. "I wantâah, fuckâplease."
The filthy words were gasoline, igniting every nerve ending. His calloused thumb found your swollen clit, circling with devastating precision in perfect tandem with his thrusts, and the pressure coiled so fast it stole your breath. Your nails carved crescents into his back, drawing angry red welts down the rippling muscles of his shoulders, but Yunho only worked you harder, more insistent, his hips snapping against yours.
"That's it cum fâme, baby.â
The orgasm crashed through you like a tidal wave, tearing a scream from your throat and arching your spine as your inner walls clenched and fluttered around his throbbing length.Â
He held you through it, his body rigid and trembling as your climax milked him, and with a broken cry of your name, he followed, hips stuttering in erratic thrusts. A loud groan escaped his lips as he pulled out to finish inside of the flimsy condom. The room filled with the sound of your mingled panting, a symphony of satisfaction that slowly gave way to soft, intimate laughter. Yunhoâs forehead pressed against yours, his eyes still dark with the afterglow of pleasure as he brushed his lips against your cheek.Â
âAre you okay?â he murmured, his breath warm and sweet against your skin.
You nod, feeling the silken sheets beneath you stick to your perspiration-slicked back. âMore than okay.â
As his lips found yours again, the kiss rekindling the embers of your passion, you felt your body responding once more. His hands began to wander, skimming down your body, reigniting the fire heâd just extinguished. Your fingers tangled in his hair as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a dance that promised more to come.
When his hardness pressed against your thigh, evidence of his renewed arousal, a thought crystallized in your mindâa wish youâd kept secret even from yourself.
âYuyu, I wanna try going raw,â you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
âPlease,â you added, your voice barely hanging onto the end of a moan. âI want to feel you so bad.â
Yunho pulled back slightly, his eyes widening as he searched your face. âAre you sure?â he asked, voice rough with desire but tinged with concern. âWeâve neverââ
âIâm sure, I trust you,â you assured him, hands framing his face.Â
His pupils dilated, darkening his gaze as he processed your request. âYou have no idea how long Iâve wanted to feel you like that,â he confessed, voice dropping to a husky whisper. âTo feel you clench around meâfuck.â
The raw honesty in his admission sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. You shifted beneath him, legs parting in invitation.Â
âWhat are you waiting for then?,â you challenged, nipping at his bottom lip.
Yunhoâs hands trembled slightly as he reached between your bodies. You watched, breath caught in your throat, as his fingers found the base of the condom.Â
âLet me just...â he murmured, pinching the latex and sliding it off with one fluid motion.
He gave himself a few slow strokes, coating his length with his previous release. Something primal stirred in your stomach at the knowledge that nothing would separate you now, that youâd feel every vein, every pulse, every drop of him.
âCâmere,â you whispered, reaching for him.
A growl rumbled in his chest as he positioned himself between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock teasing your entrance.Â
âYouâre still so wet for me,â he murmured appreciatively, dragging his cock head up and down, gathering your slickness to ease his way.
You sigh as he pushes forward, the sensation somehow more intense than before. Whether it was the psychological thrill of what was to come or simply your heightened sensitivity, you couldnât tellâbut every nerve ending seemed to spark as he filled you inch by inch.
âGod, you feel incredible,â he groaned, burying himself to the hilt. He stilled for a moment, forehead pressed against yours, breathing ragged. âS-shit youâre even tighter than before.â
You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper. âM-move baby,â you pleaded, fingers digging into his shoulders.Â
He began a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust measured and deep. His eyes never left yours, maintaining a connection that transcended the physical. This wasnât just sex anymoreâthis was something more profound, a new level of intimacy neither of you had experienced before.Â
âI can feel every part of you,â you whine, arching to meet his thrusts.Â
Every drag of his cock is unrelenting, grinding deep, pressing into the softest parts of you like heâs trying to carve his shape into your body.
âI can feel you clenching around me,â he rasps, voice strained with the effort of maintaining control. âSo hot, Fuckâ! Mâ not going to last.â
His pace increased gradually, hips snapping more forcefully against yours. Plap, plap, plap! The sound of skin against skin filled the room, punctuated by your breathless moans and his deeper groans. One of his hands slid between your bodies, finding your swollen clit and circling it with figure 8âs.
âYunâsâtoo muchâ,â
âGonna fuck you so full, youâll feel me leaking out of you for days,â he groaned, his breath hot against your ear.
His words sent a jolt of pure lust through you, pushing you closer to the edge. Your nails raked down his forearms as the pressure built inside you, coiling tighter with each perfect thrust. When he shifted the angle slightly, hitting that spot deep inside, your vision blurring as you cried out his name.
âYou were made for this cock werenât you, baby?â he quips, movements growing more erratic as his own release approaches. âLet go for me, Iâve got you.â
The combination of his words, his touch, and the knowledge of what was to come pushed you over the precipice. Your orgasm hit you hard, more intense than the first, tearing a scream from your throat as your inner walls clamped down on him in rhythmic pulses.
Yunhoâs rhythm faltered as your body gripped him tighter. âFuck,â his voice breaking. âIâm going toââ
âYes,â you lock your ankles behind his back to keep him deep inside. âFill me up, Yunnie. I need it.â
With a primal groan that reverberated through your joined bodies, he buried himself as deep as possible and let go. The hot pulse of his release inside you was unlike anything youâd ever feltâintimate in a way that transcended physical pleasure. Each throb of his cock sent aftershocks through your sensitive core, drawing out your own climax until you were both trembling and breathless.
After a moment, Yunho carefully withdrew from you, both of you wincing at the sensation. He casts his gaze down as he watches his cum slowly leak out of you, he silently swears thatâs the hottest thing heâs ever seen. He rolled to your side, propping himself up on one elbow to gaze down at you with an expression so tender it made your chest ache. The hurt from earlier had dissolved, replaced by a bone-deep satisfaction that made your limbs feel heavy and your mind blissfully quiet.
"I donât expect you to forgive me right now, but I really do apologise for being a dick" he whispered, tracing patterns on your stomach with his fingertips. "Not just about tonight. About every time I've made you feel second to anything."
You reached up to touch his cheek, thumb brushing across his lower lip. "I know baby, itâs okay."
He caught your thumb between his teeth, giving it a gentle bite before releasing it. "I don't think I'm done properly apologizing just yet."
Before you could question his meaning, he was moving down your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbones, the valley between your breasts, the soft plane of your stomach. Each touch of his lips felt like a separate apology, a promise written in the language of skin against skin.
"Huh? What are youâ" Your question cut off with a gasp as he settled between your thighs, strong hands gently spreading your legs wider.
"One last time, please?" he murmured, his breath teasing your sensitive flesh.Â
You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him with wide eyes. "You don't have toâ"
"I want toâno, I need to," he interrupted, holding your gaze as he lowered his mouth to your inner thigh, placing a reverent kiss there.Â
The first swipe of his tongue made you jerk, oversensitive from your previous orgasms. He shushed you gently, hands stroking your thighs in soothing circles. "Relax for me, baby. Let me take care of you."
His tongue was gentle this time, exploratory rather than demanding. He lapped softly at your entrance, tasting the evidence of his own release mixed with your arousal. The intimacy of it made you shudder, a fresh wave of desire washing through you despite your exhaustion.
"You taste like us," he murmured against your flesh, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. "So fucking good."
His thumbs spread you open, exposing your most sensitive parts to his hungry gaze. Yunho took his time, alternating between broad, flat licks that covered your entire sex and precise, pointed flicks of his tongue against your clit. He seemed determined to memorize every fold, every texture, learning the geography of your pleasure with devoted attention.
One thick finger slid inside youâthen two making your thighs squeeze around him harder. You were dripping down his chin, he didnât care. He just kept eating like your pussy was the only thing on Earth that could satisfy him. You squirm and turn to get away from the overstimulating pleasure but your boyfriend wasnât having it.
Yunho pulled back long enough for you to see his drenched, swollen lips, âBaby, you gotta stay still fâme.â
You physically canât. All you want to do is run away. Itâs almost like your body isnât listening to you. He slows the pace slightly, you look down to see how your cunt takes in his fingersâyou moan at the sight. Yunho smirks and resumes his original pace as your cream covers his fingers. Your dripping cunt meets his mouth in a dirty French kiss. The dual sensation was overwhelming, building a pressure that felt impossible after you'd already come twice.
Your hands found his hair, gripping the soft strands as your hips began to move of their own accord, grinding against his face. He groaned in approval, doubling his efforts, his tongue moving faster, his fingers pressing harder against that spot inside you that made your vision blur. The orgasm built slowly this time, a gradual tightening rather than a sudden rush. Your thighs began to tremble, inner walls fluttering around his fingers as your climax approached. Yunho sensed it, his free hand reaching up to find yours, fingers interlacing as he anchored you through the rising pleasure.
"Yunâ shit!," you cry out, his name came as a warning. "I can'tâfeels too good,"
"You can do it," he encouraged, lips closing around your clit and sucking gently. "Cum on my tongue, baby."
The orgasm washed over you in gentle waves rather than a violent crash, spreading warmth through your limbs like honey. You shuddered against his mouth, back arching off the bed as he worked you through it, his touch gentling as your sensitivity peaked. Only when you weakly pushed at his shoulder did he relent, placing one final kiss to your inner thigh before crawling up your body. His chin and lips glistened with evidence of his devotion, and when he kissed you, you tasted yourself on his tongue.
Yunho pulls away from the kiss, his eyes full of tenderness as he brushes your hair back from your forehead. Your body feels boneless, pleasantly exhausted in a way that makes even lifting your head seem like an impossible task.
"Don't move, baby," he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. "Iâll be right back."
He slipped from the bed, and you heard the sound of water running in the bathroom. The loss of his warmth made you shiver, your body suddenly aware of the cooling sweat and the evidence of your shared pleasure drying on your thighs. You felt deliciously used but above all, you felt so thoroughly loved.Â
Yunho returned moments later with a warm washcloth in one hand and a small towel in the other. The mattress dipped as he sat beside you, his expression so gentle it made your chest ache.
"Spread your legs for me," he said softly, and when you hesitated, a blush creeping up your cheeks, he added, "I made this mess. Let me clean it up."
You complied, letting your knees fall open. The warm cloth felt heavenly against your sensitive skin as he carefully wiped away the remnants of your lovemaking.
"Does that feel okay?" he asked, eyes flicking up to yours, searching for any sign of discomfort.
"Perfect," you murmured, touched by his attentiveness.
He paid special attention to the insides of your thighs, the cloth soothing against skin that would likely bear marks tomorrowâevidence of his passion. When he was satisfied with his work, he folded the cloth and set it aside, then used the towel to gently pat you dry.
"Roll over for me?" he requested, and you turned onto your stomach, sighing as he ran the cloth down your back, cleaning away the sweat that had gathered there. His free hand followed the path of the cloth, massaging lightly at the tension points in your shoulders.
"You're so beautiful," he said, voice thick with emotion. "Every inch of you."
When he's satisfied you're clean, he disappears again, returning with a fresh washcloth and a glass of water. He sets the water on your nightstand before cleaning himself with quick, efficient movements.
"Drink," he encourages, helping you sit up against the headboard.Â
You take obedient sips, watching as he moves around the bedroom, picking up discarded clothing and tossing it into the hamper. He pulls on fresh boxers before retrieving your favourite sleep shirt from the drawerâthe soft blue one with the worn collar that feels like a cloud against your skin.
"Arms up baby," he instructs, and you comply, letting him dress you. The fabric settles around you, smelling of laundry detergent and home.
He disappears one more time, returning with a small bottle of lotion. "Scoot forward," he says, and when you do, he settles behind you, legs bracketing yours.
His hands, warm and covered with lotion, begin massaging your shoulders, working out knots you didn't even know were there. You moan softly as his thumbs press into a particularly tight spot.
"Your muscles are so tense," he murmurs, working methodically down your back.Â
You let your head fall forward, surrendering to his touch. "Just been a long day."
"Made longer by my thoughtlessness," he adds, voice tight with regret. His hands never stop their gentle work, kneading and soothing your tired body.Â
When he's finished with your back, he guides you to lie down, pulling the covers up to your chin. The sheets are cool and fresh against your skin, and you sink into them with a contented sigh.
Yunho turns off the lamp before sliding in beside you. In the darkness, his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against his chest. His lips press against the nape of your neck, warm breath tickling your skin.
"I love you so much," he whispers, the words vibrating through your connected bodies. "How did I get so lucky with you?"
You giggle as you nestle back against him, fitting your body to his like puzzle pieces clicking into place. "I love you too."
His hand finds yours beneath the covers, fingers interlacing. "Tomorrow, I'm all yours. The whole day. We can do whatever you want. No games, no distractions."
You smile into the darkness, already feeling sleep pulling at the edges of your consciousness. "Sounds perfect, I look forward to it."
Just before you drift off, you feel him press another kiss to your hair, his voice a quiet promise in the darkness: "Sleep well, baby. I'll be right here when you wake up."
For the first time all day, you feel completely at peace, wrapped in his arms and his promise. A promise you know, this time, he'll keep.
When morning came, sunlight streaming through the blinds you'd forgotten to close, you found him already awake, watching you with warm eyes and a gentle smile. True to his word, he spent the entire day focused solely on youâmaking breakfast together, holding your hand as you walked through the park and listening attentively as you finally told him about your disastrous presentation.
And that night, when you curled up on the couch to watch the show he'd promised, his pc remained untouched, his phone on silent. His arm around you felt like safety, like home. A promise kept and a lesson learned.
- Two best friends go on a budget trip to Japan, only to accidentally book a love hotel for their entire stay. What starts as laughter and harmless fun slowly turns into lingering touches, stolen glances, and undeniable tensionâuntil one night changes everything, and theyâre forced to confront feelings theyâve been hiding for far too long.
tags: explicit sexual content, consensual sex, multiple rounds, oral sex (f receiving, m receiving), filming with consent, mirror sex, semi-public setting, overstimulation, light possessiveness, dirty talk, praise kink, body worship, breast fixation, shower/jacuzzi sex
wc: 11,900
rie's note: this was from last year>< so expect errors ahead! enjoy the ride! like,reblogs, and FEEDBACKS đđ»đ„čđđ»are highly appreciated :3 added more scenes hence the lil different writing style heh
You were halfway through your iced americano when Park Sunghoon slid into the seat across from you with the kind of urgency only someone who forgot to buy concert tickets would have.
âI did it,â he said, slightly breathless. âI found the cheapest possible hotel in Tokyo for five nights. Iâm talking dirt-cheap.â
You raised an eyebrow. âAnd by âcheapestâ you mean weâll be sharing a closet with a raccoon family orâ?â
âNo, no. This place looks fine. Clean. Themed. Cute. I think the rooms are based on trains or something.â
You blinked at him. âTrains?â
âYeah,â he shrugged, like that explained everything. âItâs called âFantasy Express.â Kind of a vibe, right?â
ââŠDoesnât that sound like a porn parody of the Shinkansen?â
Sunghoon gave you a blank look. âYou said budget. I delivered. Be grateful.â
You snorted and took a sip of your drink. âRight. This better not end with me cuddling you for warmth in a windowless shoebox.â
He grinned. âIs that a threat or a promise, bestie?â
You flipped him off, laughing. But deep down, you were buzzing with excitement â not just because of the trip, but because it had been years since you and Sunghoon got away together.
After college, everything changed. Jobs, time zones, relationships that fizzled out before they even began. But Sunghoon was constant. He was the one person who could make you laugh even when you were crying into your broken laptop at 2 a.m. He was the voice note at midnight, the âI made too much ramen, come over,â the comfort in chaos.
So when the two of you finally managed to book this long-overdue trip to Japan, it felt like pressing pause on real life. No deadlines. No drama. Just the two of you, trains, street food, and maybe â if the stars aligned â a little karaoke.
Youâd been talking about it since your second year in college. A pinky promise made over shared takoyaki from a food stall on your campus lawn.
âOne day, weâll go. Just you and me. Tokyo, Kyoto, Osaka. A no-plan plan.â
You remembered that promise because Sunghoon never broke his.
Which is why you didnât question it when he said heâd handle the hotel. And flights. And a few âmust-seeâ locations, because even though you called it a âno-plan plan,â you both knew you were the chaotic one.
The night before your flight, Sunghoon came over to help you pack. In reality, he just sat on your bed, eating your snacks and judging your underwear choices.
âWhy do you need seven pairs for five days?â he asked, mouth full of chips.
âIn case I fall into a river. Or sweat. Or get possessed and pee myself. I donât know, leave me alone.â
He laughed and reached over to zip your suitcase, fingers brushing yours for a second too long.
Neither of you mentioned it.
The flight was smooth. You watched a rom-com, he watched anime. You fell asleep on his shoulder. He didnât move.
When you landed in Tokyo, everything felt surreal â the bright signs, the clean air, the sense that something new was about to happen.
The train ride to the hotel was quiet. You scrolled through Instagram while Sunghoon triple-checked the hotel address on Google Maps.
âWeâre almost there,â he said, pointing to a small tucked-away building near the corner of a quiet street.
It looked decent. Small. Cozy. A glowing pink sign above the entrance read:
âWelcome to FANTASY EXPRESS â All Aboard the Love Line!â
You stared at it. Then at him.
âHoon.â
âYeah?â
ââŠDid you just book us into a love hotel?â
Sunghoon blinked. Looked back up at the sign. Back at you. ââŠNo?â he tried, voice cracking halfway through. You deadpanned. âThis is literally vibrating with sex energy.â
âI thought it was themed!â
âIt is. The theme is fucking.â
He dropped his suitcase. âI swear on everything holy, I didnât know. I just thought it was quirky. It said âtrain carriage roomsâ and had cute colors!â
You stared at him, unblinking. âYou booked us into a love hotel. For five nights.â
A silence.
And then, slowly, the two of you burst into uncontrollable laughter â loud, ugly, bent-over laughter as passersby gave you weird looks.
Sunghoon wiped a tear from his eye. âGuess weâre really going on a ride.â
You shoved his shoulder, still laughing. âIdiot.â
The door slid open with a hiss, revealing the room Sunghoon had confidently reserved for five full nights.
You took one look inside and immediately stopped.
ââŠYouâre joking.â
âNope,â Sunghoon said in a flat voice, already sounding like he regretted every choice heâd ever made.
There were train handles hanging from the ceiling.
The walls had digital screens showing looped footage of Japanese countryside rolling past at high speed.
A faux train announcement played in the background every few minutes: âNext stop⊠pleasure.â
You turned slowly toward him. âSunghoon.â
âOkay, waitâjust hear me out.â
You stepped in and did a slow, horrified turn.
There was a chrome pole right in the middle of the room.
The bed looked like it was upholstered with actual train seats, complete with seat belts and tray tables. And worst of all, the mirrored ceiling had a blinking LED banner that read:
đš âALL ABOARD â NONSTOP EXPRESSâ đš
You gaped. âSo its really is a love hotel.â
âNo itâs not! âŠOkay maybe. Technically. Butâlook, I didnât know! I thought it was just themed!â
âYou thought this was a railway-themed budget capsule, and not a sex train hotel?!â
âI didnât read that far down the listing, okay?! It was cheap and looked⊠clean! Plus the review said âlots of amenities!ââ
âSunghoon. Thereâs a vending machine for underwear's and condoms next to the door.â
He paused. Looked. ââŠOkay, Iâll give you that one. You sighed, dragging your suitcase in anyway. âWe are going to get diseases just by existing here.â
Sunghoon followed behind sheepishly, dragging his bag. âYou know, in a different light, this place is kind of hilarious.â
You turned to him and blinked. âWeâre literally sleeping in a porn set.â âA very affordable porn set.â
You flopped dramatically onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling mirror.
He was right. It was funny. And the more you looked at the blinking lights, the mood lighting, and the suggestively placed towel basket beside the bed, the harder it was to stop laughing.
You both ended up bent over, wheezing from laughter as the fake train announcement repeated:
âPassengers, please hold on⊠for your own safety.â
Ten Minutes Later
ââŠWait,â you muttered from the bathroom doorway. âIs that a jacuzzi?â
Sunghoon looked up from his phone. âA what?â
You pointed. âThereâs a jacuzzi in here. And⊠no way. Is that a sauna?â He came over and peeked in. Sure enough, tucked behind the ridiculously clean glass partition was a legit two-person jacuzzi tub with sleek jets, LED lighting, and a discreet shelf of complimentary scented oils. And beside it? A cramped but actual mini sauna, already set to a cozy 45°C.
âOh my god,â you whispered. âThey really want people to⊠marinate before theyââ
âOkay! Iâm not letting this place win,â Sunghoon cut in. âWe are taking full advantage. This shit is expensive in normal hotels.â
You looked at him in disbelief. âYou want to use the sex jacuzzi?â
He shrugged. âItâs just a tub. The jets donât know whatâs going on. You want to spend the night pouting, or do you want a hot bath with free tea tree oil?â
You groaned. âI hate that youâre making sense.â
Twenty Minutes Later
You were in the tub first â submerged in warm water, hair tied up, sighing as the jets eased the travel ache out of your spine.
âI feel gross about how good this is,â you mumbled.
Sunghoon was sitting just outside the sauna, half-wrapped in a towel, drinking water. âDonât get used to it. This is our peak. Weâre about to suffer in a train-themed sex chamber for five nights.â
âYou say that like itâs not your fault.â
He raised his hands in surrender. âFair.â You watched as steam curled off his shoulders, his skin flushed slightly pink from the sauna. He looked good. A little too good.
You quickly looked away and sank deeper into the water. Nope. Not thinking that.
You were best friends. The kind who shared hoodies and bitched about exes and had matching pajamas from a failed couples Halloween sale. You werenât supposed to be noticing how broad his chest was, or how low his towel sat on his hips.
He caught you looking. You snapped your head the other way.
A pause. âYou okay?â he asked, voice lower.
âYup,â you replied, too fast. âJust tired.â
You heard him chuckle under his breath. âYouâre a terrible liar.â
You splashed water at him. âGo back to your sauna.â
But the heat in your chest had nothing to do with steam.
You both climbed into the ridiculous velvet-upholstered bed and laid side by side, limbs awkwardly angled to avoid touching too much.
The train screen looped soft countryside visuals.
The LED sign above the mirror blinked softly:
âDonât miss your stopâŠâ
You stared at the ceiling. âWhy does this feel like the foreplay part of a drama?â
Sunghoonâs voice was low. âBecause everything here is designed for people to fuck.â
You both went quiet. Too quiet.
Then he added, a little too casually. âIf you get cold tonight, just say something.â
You turned your head slightly. His profile glowed in the soft red light. âI wonât.â
âI know.â But neither of you moved. Not yet.
You woke up to the smell of grilled fish and miso soup.
Blinking groggily, you turned your head to find Sunghoon already sitting up in bed, hair messy, skin flushed from sleep, and a gleam of childlike wonder in his eyes.
âRoom service,â he said simply, holding up a laminated card with neat checkboxes. âAnd itâs actually good. Like. Too good for this place.â
You sat up, blinking blearily at the silver-domed trays on the fold-out tray table. âWaitâthis place has room service?â
âApparently. I checked last night before sleeping. They serve breakfast to the room for âmaximum comfort and pleasure.ââ He did finger quotes around that last part. âVery suggestive. But also⊠delicious.â
He peeled the lid off one tray, and the smell immediately hit you: steaming rice, grilled salmon, soft tamagoyaki, pickled vegetables, and even a little matcha jelly cube for dessert.
Your stomach growled audibly.
âOh my god,â you mumbled, crawling across the bed like a zombie. âIâm never leaving.â
He passed you chopsticks. âSee? You talk a big game, but deep down, youâre just here for the perks.â
You dug in. âMmfâif you booked this place on purpose for this breakfast alone, I forgive you.â
âIâll take that as my official pardon,â he said, chewing on a piece of miso-glazed eggplant.
For a moment, the room was quiet â just soft clinks of chopsticks, muffled chewing, and the fake train sounds looping in the background.
And then, as always, came the banter.
âSo,â you said, mid-bite, âyou gonna keep walking around in that towel all morning orâŠ?â
Sunghoon glanced down at himself â still shirtless, his towel hanging loose around his hips as if he were starring in a shampoo commercial. He smirked. âJealous?â
You scoffed. âOf what? Your man boobs?â
âFirst of all,â he said, popping a grape into his mouth, âthese are pecs. Try not to cry when you see me in real lighting.â
âIâve seen you in fluorescent kitchen lights eating ramen at 2 a.m. Iâve survived worse.â
âIâve also seen you drunk with a sheet mask on and mismatched socks, so donât act superior.â
âThose socks were a fashion statement.â
He snorted. âA cry for help.â
After breakfast and a little too much matcha jelly, the two of you finally started getting dressed.
Or trying to, anyway.
You were standing at the small mirror near the door, brushing your teeth and fussing with your hair when you heard Sunghoon behind you, grunting in frustration.
âWhatâs your problem?â you asked, spitting out toothpaste.
âWhere the hell is the other sock I packed?â
You glanced over and nearly choked â he was half-dressed, hair still wet from the shower, towel hanging on the rack, shirt hanging off one shoulder like a K-drama lead in distress.
You raised a brow. âCheck your suitcase. Or maybe the laundry bag?â
He groaned dramatically and flopped onto the bed. âWhy does this always happen to me?â
âBecause your packing skills are trash.â
âYou packed seven pairs of underwear for five nights!â
âPrepared. Not chaotic.â
âPsychotic.â
You tossed a sock at his face. âShut up and wear this.â
He caught it, looked at the pattern â pastel pink with tiny peaches on them â and grinned.
âWait⊠these are your socks.â
âTheyâre clean. Be grateful.â
He gave you a playful look. âIf my feet feel too soft and feminine later, itâs your fault.â
You rolled your eyes. âYou could use a little softness.â There was a beat of quiet as you both finished dressing.
And then, almost too casually, Sunghoon asked, âYou good with the plan today? Shibuya, food, maybe teamLab Planets?â
You smiled. âHell yeah. Letâs go get blinded by LED art and overpay for strawberry mochi.â
You grabbed your tote bag, he slung his camera over his shoulder, and together you stepped out into the Tokyo sunlight â blinking against the sudden warmth, the city buzzing with life all around you.
The love hotelâs sliding door closed behind you with a soft mechanical hiss.
âGod, being outside feels illegal after that room,â you muttered, stretching.
Sunghoon yawned beside you. âWe need to get out as much as possible. If we spend too long in thereâŠâ
ââŠweâll end up using that pole, and not ironically.â
You said it jokingly, but the second it left your lips, you realized you were both thinking it.
You looked at him. He looked at you.
You both looked away.
Sunghoon cleared his throat and started walking. âRight. Food. Vibes. Letâs pretend weâre not staying in horny train hell.â
You followed, heart doing weird things.
By 10:30 a.m., you were already on your second iced drink and your fifth photo taken by Sunghoon.
"This oneâs blurry,â you said, looking over his shoulder as he flipped through the camera roll.
âYou moved,â he replied, flicking to the next one.
âI was mid-chew.â
âExactly. Candid.â
âYou got my molar in HD.â
He laughed, slinging the camera back over his shoulder. âYouâre welcome. Thatâs raw content.â
You stuck your tongue out at him and tugged him toward the next street corner, where a little taiyaki cart was steaming golden fish-shaped cakes onto paper trays.
He bought one with custard and one with sweet potato, handing you the first without asking â he always remembered your favorite.
The day passed in a colorful, unfiltered blur.
From Asakusaâs temple streets to Ueno Parkâs shaded paths, you strolled through the buzzing city under soft summer clouds, sharing bites of grilled yakitori, stopping at claw machines, and laughing until your stomach hurt every time Sunghoon got scammed by a vending machine.
âBro,â he groaned as his Pocari Sweat got stuck halfway. âI just wanted electrolytes.â
âThatâs what you get for bullying me about my socks.â
âThey are ridiculous.â
âAnd now theyâre your lucky socks, so shut up and suffer.â
He grinned, defeated, as you shook the machine for him until the drink finally dropped.
He brought the good camera â the one he only took out during special trips or when he really wanted to remember something.
At first, it was just the usual:
Colorful alleyways, Vintage signs, Cats in front of bookstores and Neon billboards starting to glow as dusk rolled in
But then the lens kept shifting toward you.
Heâd tilt the viewfinder just slightly to the left whenever you were sipping your drink, or smiling up at a paper lantern, or holding up a peace sign in front of a giant tanuki statue.
He didnât make a big deal out of it.
He never did.
Just snapped quietly, a small smile on his face, pretending to be adjusting settings every time you caught him in the act.
âStop taking pictures of me looking ugly,â you said as you leaned against a vending machine at golden hour.
âYou never look ugly,â he replied without thinking.
You blinked. He clicked his shutter.
You smacked his arm. âFlattery gets you nowhere, Park.â
âI was talking about the vending machine, actually.â
âOh, screw youââ
By late afternoon, the two of you were barefoot, wading through glowing water and walking across mirrored floors.
The floating flowers, the endless lights, the reflection of stars above and below you â it all felt surreal.
Sunghoon was quiet most of the time, too busy adjusting focus, waiting for the exact second a projection shifted, or the water stilled, or your silhouette lined up against the light.
âStay right there,â he murmured, crouching low.
You stood still, bathed in blue and purple.
A single glowing lily floated past your ankles.
Click.
When he finally looked up from the lens, his expression was soft, like heâd forgotten where you were â like the whole room was quiet just for a second.
You waved your arms. âEarth to perv?â
âSorry,â he mumbled, standing up and brushing dust off his knees. âJust⊠this lightingâs good.â
âMm-hmm. Youâre not slick.â
Dinner was ramen from a tiny shop hidden in an alley where no one spoke English and the broth was so rich it felt illegal.
You walked off the food through quiet backstreets, with neon signs humming above your heads and laundry flapping on upper balconies.
Sunghoon carried your bag without saying anything.
You bought him an ice cream without asking.
It was so easy. The kind of night you wanted to fold up and keep in your pocket forever.
At one point, you stopped to take a photo of your own â just a snapshot of him in the warm city light, licking ice cream and grinning.
âGot you,â you said, triumphant.
He raised a brow. âYou finally captured my beauty?â
âNo. I finally got proof you like vanilla.â
âYou said you wouldnât judge.â
âToo late.â
The fake train ambiance greeted you again as you entered the room â soft station chimes, muffled track sounds looping on the hidden speakers. You kicked off your shoes with a groan and threw your bag down like it betrayed you.
Sunghoon collapsed face-first on the bed. âWeâve walked 23,000 steps. I checked.â
âYouâre dramatic.â
âMy knees are 47 years old now.â
You laughed as you peeled off your socks. âOkay, Grandpa. Want me to book us an onsen for tomorrow?â
He didnât answer.
Instead, he lifted his head slowly, eyes narrowing at the frosted-glass door in the corner.
ââŠwait. We still havenât used the sauna together.â
You followed his gaze.
The in-room sauna and jacuzzi setup was tucked into the corner like an afterthought â sleek, surprisingly clean, and wildly over-the-top for the price. You hadnât dared touch it yet.
You raised a brow. âYou serious?â
He was already standing.
âIâm not walking like a gremlin tomorrow. Sauna it is.â
The small wooden sauna heated up quickly â enough for the two of you to sit side by side, towels wrapped around your waists, foreheads already glistening.
It smelled like cedar and something citrusy.
âI feel like weâre in a rich personâs armpit,â you muttered.
Sunghoon cracked up, head tilted back, eyes closed. âI feel like weâre about to get a motivational TED Talk from a man named Daisuke about financial freedom.â
You snorted. âWe are literally boiling ourselves in a love hotel sauna. What freedom?â
There was a pause.
Thenâ
âThis is nice though,â he admitted. âLike⊠surprisingly.â
You hummed, wiping sweat from your brow. âWe deserve it. That yakitori hunt was a whole workout.â
A beat passed.
âAlso, you were sweating this much at the gacha machine, so I feel like this is just your brand.â
âDonât come for my capsule toys. They bring me joy.â
âYour suitcase is full of tiny plastic sushi. Let that sink in.â
After the sauna, you both flopped into the jacuzzi â towels still on, bubbles swirling lazily, the overhead lighting dimmed to a soft purple glow.
You leaned back against the edge and sighed so dramatically that Sunghoon mimicked it seconds later.
âHaaaaa~â
âHaaaaa.â
ââŠWhy do you sound like a dying anime girl?â
âWhy do you sound like a wounded elk?â
You flicked a handful of bubbles at him, and he retaliated by splashing water into your face.
By the time you both settled down, your cheeks hurt from laughing.
He nudged your foot underwater. âHey. For real.â
You looked over.
âThis whole day was perfect. Thanks for not letting me book some sad capsule hotel instead.â
You smiled softly. âThanks for accidentally giving us the weirdest five days of our lives.â
A pause.
You both sank a little deeper into the water, the bubbles rising quietly between you.
Nothing else needed to be said.
Not yet.
After the sauna and jacuzzi, everything felt heavier â your limbs loose, your muscles relaxed, your brain pleasantly fuzzy in the best way.
Sunghoon handed you your toothbrush like always. Same side of the sink. Same rhythm. You brushed shoulder to shoulder, bumping elbows whenever one of you leaned over to spit.
You wore your oversized shirt â the one with faded cartoon prints and sleeves too long for your arms.
He wore a black tank top and gray sweats, his hair still damp and curling a bit at the nape.
It looked domestic.
Dangerously so.
You didnât comment on it.
The sheets were still warm when you both flopped down again â you on your side of the bed, Sunghoon sprawled diagonally, legs halfway off the edge like a kid after a sugar crash.
"What do we watch?â you mumbled, tugging the blanket over your legs.
âI found a channel earlier that only plays weird food documentaries,â he said. âOne of them was about a guy in Osaka who makes noodles with his feet.â
You blinked.
âThat sounds unappetizing.â
âAnd yet I couldnât look away.â
He flipped on the TV, and soon enough, soft narration in Japanese filled the room. Onscreen, a slow montage showed close-ups of dough, broth, and a man lovingly caressing noodles like they were his own children.
A second later, he tilted the screen toward you and snapped a photo of your mid-laugh face.
âDelete it,â you said.
âNope.â
âSunghoonââ
âThatâs a top-tier smile. Archive-worthy.â
You reached for the camera.
He held it just out of reach, laughing as you tried to climb over him, only to lose your balance and flop onto his side of the bed.
He oofed softly as your elbow landed against his stomach.
And thenâŠ
You didnât move.
Neither did he.
You were both breathing, barely, quiet again except for the soft murmur of the food show and the faint rumble of train sounds from the wall speaker â still looping, still somehow comforting.
Your head rested near his shoulder. His arm lay beside you, palm up.
You didnât think about how easy it would be to lace your fingers through it.
Because that wasnât the point.
Not tonight.
Eventually, you mumbled, âIâll fall asleep right here.â
âGood.â
âThen youâll complain that I drool.â
âI always do. Doesnât stop you.â
ââŠTrue.â
A beat passed.
Then Sunghoon shifted slightly, pulled the blanket over you too, and said, soft as a sigh:
âNight, dummy.â
You smiled into the pillow.
âNight, Hoon.â
You both woke up later than planned.
To no oneâs surprise, the blackout curtains plus the post-sauna coma plus the gentle train track sounds had knocked you both out cold.
When you opened your eyes, Sunghoon was already awake beside you, scrolling on his phone with bedhead and one eye squinting at the light.
âGood morning, Sleeping Beauty,â he greeted without looking.
You groaned and threw the blanket over your face. âWhy are you always so chipper in the morning?â
âI already ordered breakfast. Itâll be here in ten.â
That made you peek out
âPretty good options. Surprisingly tasty too.â
You narrowed your eyes. âDid you ate already?â
âI may have had a mini croissant. For science.â
The tray rolled in like a hotel drama â miso soup, boiled eggs, tamagoyaki, rice, fruit, juice, and coffee, all neatly arranged in little porcelain dishes.
âThis is way too fancy for a place with a pole in the corner,â you whispered.
Sunghoon burst out laughing. âWe should eat on the pole.â
âTry it. Break your back.â
You sat cross-legged on the bed, carefully pouring soy sauce into the tiny saucer while Sunghoon buttered his toast like an old man at a countryside inn.
It was⊠cozy. Stupidly cozy.
He took a photo of the spread â and then one of you holding a strawberry between your lips.
âYouâre so annoying,â you said.
âSmile,â he replied.
And you did.
You both dressed quickly â jeans and sneakers, matching windbreakers by accident (he insisted you copied him), camera packed again.
The plan today was Shimokitazawa, the artsy thrift-store-filled neighborhood that smelled like espresso, vinyl records, and dreams of quitting your job.
Sunghoonâs camera was out the entire time â and even though he pretended he was just testing settings, you saw how he always pointed it at you when you werenât looking.
You caught him once.
He didnât deny it.
âI like how you look when youâre not trying.â
You blinked.
He looked away, adjusting the lens. âLightingâs better.â
ââŠRight.â
It was small.
You reached for a cold canned drink at the exact same moment.
Your fingers brushed his. Barely. Briefly.
But it lingered â just a half-second too long.
You felt it. So did he.
Neither of you said a thing.
You were sitting on a bench outside a vintage bookstore, sipping soda while he reviewed the photos on his camera.
âWhat are you deleting?â
âBlurry ones.â
âLet me see.â
âNope.â
âWhy?â
âBecause some are mine.â
ââŠSome?â
He paused.
Then smiled a little â not in a teasing way this time.
âSome are just for me.â
You didnât ask what that meant.
You just let it sit there between you.
Warm. Quiet. Weightless.
But not really.
You returned to the hotel a little earlier than Day 1, shoes dusty, legs tired, hands full of little finds â enamel pins, a thrifted shirt, a random keychain he insisted matched your vibe.
In the jacuzzi again. This time quieter. You both leaned back and let the water do the talking.
Later, you brushed your teeth side by side again, yawning into your sleeves, shoulders bumping gently.
You climbed into bed first. This time, when he laid beside you, you noticed how close your hands were on the blanket.
Not touching.
Just⊠close enough. You didnât pull away.
Neither did he. It started small.
Just a joke, really. After another long day out â this time at the Shibuya Sky deck and walking through Harajuku â youâd peeled off your jacket and complained about how sweaty you were.
âYouâre melting,â Sunghoon commented, flopping dramatically onto the bed while you stood near the mirror, tying your hair up.
âYouâd melt too if you had boobs trapping heat.â
He snorted. âDo you want me to confirm that orââ You threw a pillow at him.
âOkay, but real talk,â Sunghoon said as the door hissed shut behind him. âThis sauna is saving my life. Iâm starting a petition to install one back home.â
You chuckled, stepping inside after him in your towel, feeling the warm steam immediately cling to your skin.
Tonight felt hotter somehow â and not just because of the temperature.
Maybe it was how Sunghoon looked right now. Hair swept back slightly damp, skin already glowing, the soft edge of his collarbone visible. His towel was secure but low, and he sat with one arm resting over the wooden bench behind you, casual, almost⊠cocky.
âSo,â he started, turning slightly toward you. âYou gonna keep avoiding the fact that you made a noise when you sat down yesterday?â
âI did not.â
"You groaned like you were starring in a drama.â
You blinked at him. âAre you being flirty right now?â
He smirked. âWould it work?â
You gave him a look.
He laughed, leaning his head back against the wall. âRelax. I flirt with everyone.â
ââŠNo, you donât.â
He looked at you again, slower this time.
You felt it â that shift.
The quiet drawl in his tone when he said, âRight. I donât.â
Ten minutes in, the steam got thicker.
You leaned forward to reach for your water bottle, not realizing your towel had come a little⊠loose.
You tugged it quickly and pressed it tighter to your chest, but the damage was done.
Sunghoonâs eyes had flicked down.
And thenâback up.
He cleared his throat and smirked. ââŠNice catch.â
You threw him a glare, cheeks hot, but not from the heat.
âDonât be gross.â
âIâm not being gross,â he said, tilting his head lazily. âIâm just observant. Itâs part of my charm.â
âYour charm is a menace.â
âYeah?â he said, voice dropping just enough to make your skin prickle. âStill keeping me around, though.â
Later, while drying off, you were both laughing over a dumb quiz show playing on the love hotel TV, towels replaced with your usual comfy clothes. But the air still hadnât gone back to normal.
You sat on the bed, brushing your hair.
He sat behind you, watching something on his phone, absently letting his fingers toy with the end of your shirt hem.
You didnât realize he was doing it until he stilled.
Thenâ
âYou always wear this one,â he said softly. âItâs got a little hole in the back.â
You turned to look at him.
âYouâre really paying attention, huh?â
His gaze didnât waver.
âI always do.â
There was no laugh this time. No grin. Just the warm glow from the room lamp and the way his eyes dropped for a second â from your face, to your lips, to your collarbone â before he looked back up.
You swallowed.
He looked way too close all of a sudden.
And yet, not close enough.
You stood up.
Quickly. Casually.
âIâm brushing my teeth.â
âOkay,â he said behind you, quiet⊠amused. âRun away, then.âThe night settled in earlier than usual â maybe because you both agreed your legs needed a break, maybe because the city lights felt better admired from the bed with snacks and cold drinks.
You kicked your feet up, pulling the blanket over your lap while Sunghoon scrolled through the hotel TVâs library.
"Weâre not watching something sad,â you warned.
âWhy not?â
âBecause every time we do, you start doing that emotional whisper voice after.â
He raised a brow, amused. ââIf I die, tell my cat I loved herâ isnât emotional. Itâs factual.â
You snorted and popped a grape into your mouth.
He settled on a coming-of-age romance film â something soft, slow, with golden lighting and friends-to-lovers tension that hit a little too close.
You didnât comment.
Thirty minutes in, the movie faded into the background. You were half-focused, shoulder-to-shoulder with Sunghoon beneath the same blanket, a bowl of chips between you.
He reached over to grab one, and his fingers brushed yours again.
This time, you didnât move away.
Neither did he.
You felt him glance at you â not a quick flick, but a lingering stare.
ââŠWhat?â you asked, not looking at him.
"Nothing.â
âYouâre staring.â
âIâm admiring.â
Your heart thudded once.
ââŠWhat?â
He smiled slowly, eyes dropping to your mouth. âI said nothing.â
Somewhere between the third snack break and the movie credits, Sunghoon nudged your leg.
âTruth or dare?â
You looked at him sideways. âWhat are we, twelve?â
âPick.â
You narrowed your eyes. âTruth.â
He leaned back against the headboard, one arm behind his head.
âHave you ever thought about kissing me?â
Your breath caught
He didnât laugh this time. He didnât smirk.
He just watched you â calm, unreadable.
You stared at him, pulse ticking louder.
ââŠIs that a real question?â
His voice dropped lower. âYou chose âtruth.ââ
The silence stretched. You felt it thick in your throat, in the space between your knees touching beneath the blanket.
Then, softlyâ
âOnce or twice,â you admitted.
His lips curved, slow and smug.
You shoved his shoulder, embarrassed. âOkay, your turn.â
âDare,â he said immediately.
You blinked. âWhy?â
âBecause I donât want to lie.â
You stared at him.
ââŠFine. I dare you toââ
âKiss me.â
Your breath stalled.
âWhat?â
âI dare you to kiss me.â
He said it casually, but you saw the way his hand gripped the blanket â the slight twitch in his jaw, the sharp inhale he tried to hide.
You licked your lips slowly.
âSunghoonââ
"Itâs just a game, right?â he said, voice velvet-soft.
You looked at him.
At his eyes. His mouth. His flushed cheeks and the way he was so close but not making a move.
Like he was giving you control.
And that scared you more than anything.
Because suddenly, the game didnât feel like a game anymore.
You leaned in.
Just a little.
Just enough that he felt your breath.
But before your lips touched, you pulled back and whispered, âNext round.â
He exhaled sharply, a chuckle slipping out â part relief, part frustration.
âYouâre evil.â
You smiled.
âJust playing the game.â
âIâm sleepy,â you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.
The tension from the game still clung to your skin, warm and heavy. Your heart was doing too muchâpounding like you just ran up a hill instead of almost-kissing your best friend.
You tugged the blanket up and turned on your side, facing away from him.
Or so you thought.
Because as you lay back on the pillows, eyes half-lidded and breath evening out, your gaze landed somewhere else.
Above you.
The mirror on the ceiling.
You blinked.
It was such a stupid, love-hotel thing to have, and you hadnât even paid attention to it since the first day. But now?
Now you saw everything.
You.
Sunghoon.
Lying side by side, under the same blanket, bodies close enough to share heat.
His head tilted toward you slightly, lips parted like he was going to say somethingâbut didnât.
Your breath caught.
The image in the mirror wasnât what friends looked like.
It wasnât casual. It was intimate.
Too much.
Not enough.
You shifted, just barely.
And in the reflection, you watched Sunghoon do the same.
His hand moved above the blanket.
Closer.
Not touching youâbut hovering near your waist.
You felt his knuckles brush the hem of your shirt, barely there.
Goosebumps rose instantly.
Your eyes flicked up againâto the mirror.
He was watching it too.
Watching you.
ââŠSunghoon,â you said, barely audible.
He didnât move his hand. Didnât blink.
âI know,â he said softly, like he already knew what was in your chest. âYouâre sleepy.â
But he still didnât pull away.
Instead, he let his fingers rest lightly against your sideâjust enough pressure to make you feel it.
His voice dropped, rougher now.
âBut if you werenâtâŠâ
Your stomach twisted.
âIf I wasnât?â you asked.
He met your eyes in the mirror.
âIâd kiss you,â he murmured. âAnd this time, you wouldnât stop me.â
You couldnât speak. Couldnât breathe.
The air between you was thick. You felt the heat from his body, the blanket suddenly too warm. His words echoed, burning a hole into your chest.
Still, you didnât move.
Not away.
Not toward him.
Just⊠there. Caught.
Heart racing.
Eyes locked in the reflection.
And thenâ
He pulled his hand away slowly.
A soft breath left your lips.
âGoodnight, Y/N,â he whispered.
You closed your eyes.
But you didnât sleep for a long, long time.
Not with his voice still in your ear.
Not with his hand still ghosting your skin.
And not with that mirror burning above you, showing you something you couldnât unsee.
âCâmon,â Sunghoon said, tugging your wrist gently as you both stepped out of the taxi and into the Tokyo night. âWeâre not leaving Japan without at least one club night. Live a little.â
You gave him a look. âYouâre the one who googled âclubs that donât have a cover feeâ and filtered by âlow noise.ââ
âExactly,â he grinned. âIâm a responsible party animal.â
You snorted, but let him guide you in.
The club was tucked away under a neon sign and a set of stairs, with a cozy, crowded feelâdark corners, glowing drinks, and music that thudded deep in your chest.
He ordered you both something sweet and sparkling. The kind of drink that made your lips sticky and your smile looser.
It was supposed to be harmless.
Just a night out.
You wore a black dressâSunghoonâs pick, actually, from earlier that day.
âIâm not letting you pack a bunch of oversized hoodies for a night out,â he said back in the hotel. âShow some skin. Itâs Japan. Everyoneâs hot.â
So you did.
And now?
Now you were paying for it.
Two drinks in, you danced near the edge of the floor, swaying with the beat, laughing with Sunghoon beside you. His hand hovered low on your backânot touching, but close enough to be there if you stumbled.
Until he stepped away for a second to use the bathroom.
And they showed up.
Two guysâtall, confident, clearly a little tipsy.
âHey, you alone?â one of them asked, smiling too much, eyes dipping low.
You smiled politely, shaking your head. âIâm with someone.â
âOh?â The second guy grinned. âBoyfriend?â
Before you could answer, you felt itâa hand on your waist. Warm. Familiar.
Sunghoon.
âNo,â he said smoothly, his voice sharp behind you. âSheâs with me.â
You blinked, surprised by the edge in his tone.
Sunghoon wasnât the jealous type. Or at least, heâd never acted like it before. Not when guys checked you out. Not when they flirted harmlessly.
But tonight?
He wasnât joking.
One look at his face and you knew.
The guys backed off, muttering something in Japanese you didnât catch. But you didnât care. Not when Sunghoonâs fingers stayed on your hip even after they were gone.
You turned to him.
ââŠYou okay?â
He stared at you for a second.
Then he laughedâshort, breathless.
âYou have any idea how you look tonight?â
You blinked. âSunghoonââ
âNo,â he said, pulling you gently toward a quieter corner of the club. âI let you out in that dress and thought, yeah, sure, Iâll be normal about it. But then I see guys eyeing you like they have a shot and suddenly Iâmââ
He cut himself off.
You stared.
âSuddenly youâre what?â
He looked at you. Really looked.
And for the first time tonight, there was no filter.
âIâm not normal about you,â he said simply. âHavenât been for a long time.â
Your heart stuttered.
The music faded into nothing.
ââŠSunghoon.â
âI know,â he said, eyes flicking to your lips. âWeâre best friends. This whole tripâs been fun. Flirty. Safe. But tonight?â
He leaned in.
âTonight, I want to make it clear.â
Your back hit the wall, gently.
Not rough.
Not rushed.
Just enough to make your breath hitch.
âYouâre with me,â he whispered, lips barely brushing your jaw.
And you didnât move.
Not away.
Not at all.
The cab ride back to the hotel was dead silent.
Not because there was nothing to say.
Because everything had already been said â in the way Sunghoon looked at you when those guys tried flirting at the club, in the way his hand gripped your waist like it belonged there.
And in the way he whispered, low and rough:
âYouâre with me.â
The words looped in your head the whole ride. And when you stepped into your room â the one with the ridiculous train-themed decor, mood lighting, and giant mirror above the bed â it was over.
The second the door clicked shutâ
He kissed you.
Not like a friend.
Not like someone testing the waters.
Like he knew what you tasted like.
Like he needed it.
His hands were everywhere â cupping your face, sliding down your waist, pressing into your lower back until your bodies were flush. You were barely able to keep up with his mouth â all tongue, teeth, urgency.
You gasped when his lips left yours to nip your jaw.
âSunghoonââ
âI told you,â he growled, voice wrecked. âIâm not waiting anymore.â
He walked you backward toward the bed, kissing you between every step.
You fell onto the mattress, breathless, heart racing. The mirror above showed your reflection â the two of you tangled in shadows and heat, your thighs parting instinctively as Sunghoon leaned over you.
âYou donât know,â he whispered, nose brushing yours, âhow many nights Iâve watched you sleep in this bed.â
His hand slid under your dress, fingertips grazing your thighs.
âThinking about this.â
You gasped when he squeezed your leg, his eyes never leaving yours.
âYouâre soaked through,â he murmured.
âIâve beenâthinking about it too,â you admitted, cheeks warm.
That was all he needed.
Sunghoon yanked off his shirt, revealing the hard lines of his chest, the trail of muscle down his abs â you stared shamelessly.
He noticed.
âLike what you see?â
You nodded.
âUse your words, baby.â
âI like it,â you whispered, eyes blown wide. âI want all of you.â
He groaned. âFuck, youâre gonna kill me.â
Then he was kissing down your neck, tugging your dress off slowly, his mouth dragging over every new inch of skin.
âNo bra?â he murmured against your chest.
âYou told me to wear something easy to take off,â you whispered.
His eyes burned.
âI was joking,â he growled, âbut fuck, thatâs the hottest thing youâve ever said.â
His tongue circled your nipple before sucking hard, making your hips buck.
âSunghoonââ
âBe patient,â he said, sliding your panties off. âIâm going to make you cum on my tongue first.â
Then he was kneeling at the edge of the bed, pulling your legs over his shoulders, and diving in.
You cried out.
He licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, groaning like heâd just tasted heaven.
Then again. Slower.
His fingers gripped your thighs, keeping you open as he licked you deep â tongue teasing your folds, swirling around your clit, then flattening with just enough pressure to make your legs shake.
You tangled your fingers in his hair. âSunghoon, pleaseâpleaseââ
He paused, pulled back just enough to speak.
âSay it again.â
You moaned. âPlease, Sunghoonâmake me cumâpleaseââ
âGood girl.â
He dove back in, and you were gone.
Your orgasm ripped through you, thighs clenching around his head as you came with a broken moan of his name.
He didnât stop â he kept licking, slow and lazy now, lapping up everything you gave him until you were panting, trembling.
He crawled back up your body and kissed you â letting you taste yourself on his lips.
Then you felt him.
Hard. Heavy. Pressing against your thigh.
You reached down, wrapping your hand around him, and his head dropped to your shoulder with a groan.
âFuck,â he muttered. âIf you touch me like that, Iâm gonna lose it.â
You smirked, kissing his jaw. âThen lose it.â
He laughed â low and rough â then pulled back to line himself up.
You were still soaked. Still twitching from your first orgasm.
He met your eyes, voice hoarse.
âTell me you want this.â
âI want this,â you whispered. âI want you.â
He slid in with one deep thrust.
His hips rolled into you, slow and deep.
One thrust â thick, stretching, deliberate.
You gasped, hands gripping his shoulders as he filled you to the hilt.
âFuck, Sunghoonââ
âI know,â he murmured, mouth brushing your ear. âYouâre perfect like this.â
He stilled inside you, chest heaving. You could feel how hard he was â how much restraint he was using just to not lose control.
Then he pulled back.
And pushed in again.
Deeper.
Your breath hitched.
Above you, the mirror reflected everything â the way your body arched into him, how your mouth parted when he bottomed out, the tension in his jaw as he watched you take him like you were made for it.
You whimpered.
âLook up,â he said softly.
You did.
And your entire body shivered.
The sight was unreal.
His body between your legs.
The way your back curved.
The way your nails pressed into his skin.
Sunghoon leaned in close, lips dragging across your jaw.
âNow imagine if you could see this again.â
You blinked, dazed. âWhat?â
He reached for his phone.
Tossed a look toward the dresser, a sly smirk playing on his lips.
âI brought the tripod.â
Your stomach flipped.
âYouâre jokingââ
âNope.â He was already sliding the legs out, adjusting the angle toward the bed. âConsent. One hundred percent. Just for us. Just for tonight. I want to remember everything.â
Your thighs instinctively squeezed around his waist.
He placed the phone on the stand, hit record, and returned to you.
Settled between your legs again.
Caged you in with his arms.
Kissed you like it would never be enough.
âThis okay?â he whispered against your lips.
You nodded, eyes wide, chest rising.
âSay it, baby.â
You swallowed. âYes. I want it. I want you.â
He groaned â guttural, raw.
Then he started moving.
Long, slow strokes at first.
His hips grinding into yours, dragging over every sensitive spot with maddening precision.
His hand slid under your lower back, lifting your hips slightly â angling you better, deeper â until you were gasping his name.
âGodâHoonââ
âYou hear that?â he rasped, breathless. âThat sound you make when I hit hereââ
Thrust.
You cried out.
ââthatâs going to ruin me.â
His thumb brushed your clit in tight circles while he fucked you, rhythm getting messier â your thighs slick, sheets twisted, the air thick with skin and heat and moans.
âLook at you,â he whispered. âLook at how fucking pretty you are when Iâm inside you.â
You forced yourself to glance up at the mirror againâ
And it was filthy.
Your eyes glassy.
Your body bouncing gently with every stroke.
Sunghoon â hair messy, jaw clenched, sweat slicking his chest â completely lost in you.
His thrusts got faster.
Your fingers clawed at his back.
You were getting close again. Too close.
âSunghoonâHoonâIâmââ
âLet go,â he growled. âI want to see it. Want to see you cum all over me.â
His hand gripped your thigh tighter, holding you in place as he slammed into you, dragging your orgasm out until you were moaning shamelessly, your body shaking under him.
You came hard.
Eyes rolling.
Toes curling.
He groaned loudly, head dropping to your shoulder.
Then he pulled out suddenly â tugged his cock in his fist once, twiceâ
âWhere?â he panted.
âStomach,â you gasped. âPleaseââ
And he spilled with a sharp grunt, hot ropes across your skin, your belly, his hips still twitching from the force.
The room was silent except for your panting.
You both stared at the mirror.
Then each other.
Sunghoon let out a soft, broken laugh.
â...Weâre fucked.â
The room was still warm.
The soft buzz of fake train sounds from the speaker had long since faded into the background, replaced by only your uneven breathing and the low whirr of the air conditioner above the bed.
Your body was still tingling.
Muscles relaxed, core aching in the best way, thighs sticky with the aftermath of everything you just shared.
Sunghoon was lying beside you â one arm tucked under his head, the other draped lazily across your bare stomach. His fingers traced little, absent-minded shapes there, gliding through the mess heâd left on your skin like he couldnât bear not to touch you.
He looked wrecked. Hair messy. Eyes soft. Lips red from kissing too hard.
But the way he was looking at you now?
Completely different.
Like the teasing and jokes were stripped away.
Like he was finally seeing you.
And maybe for the first timeâyou were really letting him.
âYou okay?â he murmured.
His voice was soft, a little hoarse.
You turned your head slowly, looking at him. âYeah. More than okay.â
A smile tugged at his lips. âGood.â
Then, quieter, âBecause that... wasnât just for fun.â
Your heart stuttered.
âI meanââ he rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, looking up at the ceiling. âI know weâve been friends forever. I know this trip was supposed to be, like, low-budget ramen and chaotic sightseeing and those vending machines youâre obsessed with, and I definitely didnât mean toâbook a fucking love hotelâbutââ
You cut him off with a quiet laugh, rolling over to face him. âHoon.â
He looked at you, eyes wide.
Your fingers reached up, brushing his hair from his forehead.
âI know it wasnât just for fun.â
You paused.
â...Did you really mean everything you said tonight? At the club? Back here?â
His gaze didnât flinch.
âEvery word.â
Your breath caught.
âYouâve... thought about this?â you asked, almost shy. âUs?â
He nodded slowly, like he was afraid heâd scare you off. âFor longer than I should have.â
You swallowed, heart thudding.
âWhy didnât you say anything?â
He smiled, soft and bittersweet. âBecause I didnât think I had a chance. Youâre...you. You flirt with ramen vending machines.â
You laughed, burying your face in the pillow. âI do not.â
âYou do,â he teased. âYou called that one in Shibuya a good boy.â
You giggled.
Then his fingers stilled on your stomach.
âBut the second I saw that guy at the club looking at you like you werenât the most precious thing in the room... I snapped. I couldnât keep pretending.â
You looked up at him. âAnd now?â
He leaned in, brushing his nose against yours.
âNow I want to be the only one who gets to touch you.â
Your breath caught.
âI want to take you on real dates. Hold your hand in public. Make you breakfast. Wake up beside you without wondering if I crossed a line the night before.â
Your chest ached â in the best way.
You wrapped your arm around his neck, pulling him closer.
âThen letâs do that.â
His brows lifted slightly.
âYeah?â You nodded. âYou idiot. Iâve wanted this too.â
He smiled â slow and real, the kind that reached his eyes.
And then? He kissed you again.
Gentle this time. Lingering. No rush.
Just the start of something real.
When you finally broke apart, curled in the sheets, your limbs tangledâ
Sunghoon rested his cheek on your chest, humming softly.
âWeâre kind of gross,â he mumbled sleepily.
You blinked. âWhat?â
He pointed up lazily.
You looked. And laughed. The mirror.
Still foggy. Still showing your bodies â flushed and messy and completely tangled up in each other.
âLetâs clean up,â you whispered.
Sunghoon groaned dramatically. âCanât move. Dead. Died from your pussy.â
You smacked his arm with a pillow. âRomantic.â
He grinned.
Then he sat upâstill shirtless, still glowingâand stretched.
As you slipped off the bed to grab your robe, something caught your eye.
That little panel near the bathroom. The one that looked just a little too clean. Too new.
You padded over, curiosity tugging.
Pushed it openâ And found the train.
âSunghoonâŠâ
Your voice was breathless, laced with awe and disbelief as you stared into the hidden room tucked behind the bathroom mirror.
He came up behind you, still shirtless, eyes scanning the strange, atmospheric glow pouring out of the secret space.
ââŠWhat the hell?â he murmured, stepping in beside you. The small room looked exactly like the interior of a luxury train car.
Gold-trimmed velvet seats lined both sides.
The projected windows showed nighttime scenery rushing past, as if the whole place were actually moving.
And above it all? Mirrors. Full-length. Perfect angles.
âDid you book this on purpose?â you whispered.
Sunghoon laughed quietly, slipping his arm around your waist. âYouâre giving me too much credit.â
You turned to look at him, still flushed, still warm and full from earlier.
He stared back at youâhis gaze darker now, hungrier.
âYou know,â he said, voice low, âwe canât just find a secret room like this and not do something stupid.â
You shivered.
âDefine stupid.â His lips ghosted your neck.
âTake off your robe,â he murmured.
You blinked. âHere?â
âHere,â he said, nodding toward one of the seats. âThere.â
Then he tilted your chin toward the mirror above.
âSo you can watch.â Your stomach flipped.
He pulled you inside gently, guiding you toward the plush velvet seat like it was a throne.
âSit,â he said, voice deeper now. âRight here. Legs open.â
You did. Robe sliding down your arms, bare underneath.
The second you sat, the coolness of the velvet against your thighs made you gasp.
Sunghoon dropped to his knees between your legs, spreading them wider, mouth just hovering over your center.
He looked up at you onceâdark eyes, flushed cheeks, messy hair. Yours.
âI didnât get enough of you earlier,â he murmured. âWanna taste you right. Wanna take my time.â
You whimpered.
Then his tongue was on you. Sunghoon devoured you.
Tongue slow and firm, licking up every drop, nose pressed into your folds, mouth working you open until your head fell back and your hips jerked against his mouth.
You glanced up, dazedâand moaned when you caught the mirror reflection.
Everything. Your legs trembling. Your hands gripping the seat. His messy hair buried between your thighs.
He glanced up mid-lick, locking eyes with you through the mirror.
âKeep looking,â he said, mouth shiny. âI want you to see what you do to me.â
He sucked your clit into his mouth thenâhard. You gasped, the sound echoing in the quiet room.
âOh my godâSunghoonâ!â
âYou gonna cum again, baby?â he whispered, licking slow circles again. âRight here, in this fucked-up train fantasy room?â
You moanedâloud, desperate.
âSay it.â
âYesâpleaseâyes, Iâm gonnaâfuckââ
He flicked his tongue in a perfect rhythm, and when his fingers slid inside youâtwo, slow, deepâyou shattered.
You came on his tongue, thighs shaking around his head, crying out as he licked you through it, swallowing everything you gave him.
When you finally stopped shaking, he kissed the inside of your thighs, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and looked up.
Still on his knees. Still hard.
But now? Smiling. Smug. Possessive.
âStill alive?â he teased. You gave a breathless laugh. âBarely.â
âGood,â he said, standing. âBecause Iâm not done with you.â He pulled you up to your feet and spun you to face the mirror.
Your reflection was glowingâlips parted, chest heaving, legs weak.
Sunghoon pressed up behind you, cock dragging along your ass as he leaned in to whisper:
âBend over the seat.â
You obeyedâbare hands gripping the backrest, legs shaking as he kicked your feet further apart.
He stroked himself behind you, tip brushing your folds.
âLook how ready you are,â he murmured. âAlready dripping again.â
He slid in with one thrust. You both moaned. You watched in the mirror as he grabbed your hips and began to moveâslow at first, letting you feel every thick inch inside.
Then harder. Faster. Filthy.
The sound of skin slapping, your breathy moans, his rough gruntsâit was insane. His hand slid around to grip your throat gently, tipping your face toward the mirror again.
âWatch, baby. Watch me fuck you.â You did.
And it was the most erotic thing youâd ever seen.Youâbent over, mouth open in shock. Himâbehind you, wrecked, hips snapping, muscles straining.
And you couldnât last. You were already so full. So overstimulated. So his. âIâmâgonnaâagainââ
âDo it,â he panted. âCum for me. Make a mess. Iâm right behind you.â You came againâharder this time, louder, a cry ripped from your throat as your body clenched around him.
And with a final groanââFuck, yesââhe came too, spilling deep inside you, his hips twitching, hands gripping your waist tight as he gave you everything. You collapsed onto the velvet seat, breathless, shaking.
Sunghoon leaned over you, arms wrapped around your waist from behind.
You both stared into the mirror. Sweaty. Marked. Ruined.
ââŠBest love hotel ever,â you mumbled.
Sunghoon laughed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.
âWelcome to the last stops, baby.â
The water steamed around you, warm and humming, tiny waves lapping at your sides as you sank back into the love hotelâs private jacuzzi.
The bathroom light was dim, glowing low and amber, reflecting off the tiled walls like candlelight.
You barely had time to close your eyes before a pair of arms slipped around your waist from behind.
âRound three,â Sunghoon murmured into your shoulder.
âAlready?â you whispered, dazed. âYouâre serious?â
âYouâre mine now,â he said simply. âIâm never gonna be done.â
You moaned as he pulled you back into his chest, your legs floating around his hips, his hands sliding across your stomach beneath the water.
Then higher.
Until he had your breasts cupped in both palms.
âFuck,â he groaned. âIâm obsessed.â
You bit your lip, gasping as he started to play with them â thumbs brushing your nipples, squeezing gently like heâd been waiting to get his hands on them all night.
âI always noticed,â he confessed, pressing kisses to the back of your neck. âEvery time you stretched in front of me, every time your shirt clung to them when it rainedâ"
âSunghoonââ
ââand now theyâre mine,â he said, voice rough with need. âSo Iâm gonna touch them whenever I want.â
His mouth trailed down your neck, then he reached around, shifting you to straddle his lap in the water.
âYouâre so fucking pretty,â he muttered, lowering his mouth to your chest.
Then he kissed your breastsâslow, wet kisses, tongue flicking across your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth.
You let out a soft moan, your hands burying in his wet hair. He groaned into your skin, pulling your body even closer until your tits were pressed to his face. His voice was muffled. âI could live right here.â You giggled breathlessly. âYouâre ridiculous.â
âIâm obsessed,â he corrected, licking again. âLet me worship you.â You felt his cock harden again beneath you, hot and heavy in the water.
âSunghoonâŠâ
âIâll be gentle,â he whispered, mouth brushing your chest. âOne more. Just one more.â
He reached under the water, lining himself up, and slowly eased you down onto him â warm water swirling around your waists as you sank onto his cock, inch by thick inch.
You both groaned. It felt so full like this. So warm. Slippery. Intimate. His forehead pressed to yours, hands gripping your waist.
âMove for me, baby,â he whispered. âNice and slow.â
You rolled your hips, riding him gently in the water, the movement easy and fluid with the water supporting your weight. And he couldnât stop watching your chest.
âFuck,â he moaned. âBounce for me, just like that. Look at themâ"
Your tits bounced with every movement, droplets clinging to your nipples, glistening under the soft light. His hands returned to them again and again â massaging, squeezing, sucking one into his mouth as you moved on him.
You whined. âYouâre too into thisââ
âI warned you,â he growled. âTheyâre mine now.â
Then he grabbed your hips, took over the pace, thrusting up into you as the water splashed gently around you. Slow, deep strokes. His cock dragging against your sensitive walls, your body already so used to him but still twitching at the stretch. You clung to him, lips brushing his. âYou feel so good.â
âI want you to cum on my cock like this,â he breathed. âWanna feel you clench around me again.â
His hand slid between your bodies, thumb brushing over your clit under the water â slow, tight circles until you were gasping again.
âCum for me, baby,â he whispered against your lips. âWhile Iâm buried inside you. I want to feel it.â
You did. With a broken gasp, body trembling in the bubbling heat, your walls tightened around him, clenching so hard he swore under his breathâ
âFuckâyesâfuck, youâre perfectââ
And then he came too, moaning into your mouth as he spilled inside you again, his arms tightening around you as if he couldnât let you go. You stayed there, clinging to him, your body spent and warm, water lapping gently against your skin.
He kissed your forehead. Then your nose. Then your boob. Again.
âSeriously?â âWhat?â he said innocently. âTheyâre the love of my life now.â
The water steamed around you, warm bubbles churning against your skin as Sunghoon's hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you flush against his hard body. His lips trailed hot kisses down your neck, teeth grazing just enough to send shivers racing through you despite the heat. "Mine" he growled low, voice rough with need, his cock already throbbing against your thigh, slick with the jacuzzi's warmth and his own arousal.
You arched into him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he lifted you slightly, the water sloshing around your waists. His mouth captured yours in a fierce kiss, tongue plunging deep, claiming every inch while one hand slid between your legs. Fingers parted your folds, stroking your clit with firm circles that made you gasp into his mouth. He didn't tease for longâSunghoon never did when possession burned this hot. Two fingers pushed inside you, curling to hit that spot that had your walls clenching around him.
"Fuck, you're still so wet for me," he murmured against your lips, pumping his fingers faster, thumb grinding your clit. The water made everything slicker, hotter, your body responding with desperate bucks against his hand. But he wasn't done worshipping yet. Withdrawing his fingers, he brought them to your mouth, pressing them past your lips. "Taste yourself. Taste how much you want this." You sucked eagerly, tongue swirling around his digits, eyes locked on his darkened gaze.
Satisfaction flashed in his eyes as he pulled his hand away, replacing it with the thick head of his cock nudging at your entrance. But instead of thrusting in right there, he stood fully, water cascading off his toned chest and abs, muscles flexing as he hauled you up with him. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, the jacuzzi's edge pressing into your back for leverage. "Not like this," he said, voice husky. "I want to fuck you standing, feel every inch of you gripping me while I hold you open."
He shifted, one arm banding around your back to support you, the other guiding his cock. The tip breached you slowly at first, stretching your pussy with that delicious burn as he sank in inch by inch. You moaned, head falling back, the steam-filled air thick with the scent of sex and chlorine. Water lapped at your joined bodies, but it was nothing compared to the heat building where he filled you completely, balls pressing against your ass.
Sunghoon groaned, hips snapping forward in a sharp thrust that buried him to the hilt. "God, yesâtight like this, just for me." He started a rhythm, powerful and unrelenting, each drive lifting you slightly against him, your breasts bouncing with the force. His free hand roamed, pinching your nipple hard enough to make you cry out, then soothing it with his mouth, sucking the peak between his teeth. You clung to him, nails raking down his back, urging him deeper.
The standing position let him angle just right, his cock dragging along your inner walls, hitting your g-spot with every plunge. Water splashed around you as he fucked harder, possessive grunts escaping him. "No one else gets this. No one else fucks you like I do." His pace quickened, hips pistoning, the slap of wet skin echoing in the steamy enclosure. Your pussy fluttered around him, building toward that edge, clit grinding against his pelvis with each thrust.
He sensed it, shifting his hold to free a hand, fingers finding your clit again. He rubbed in tight, fast circles, matching his brutal rhythm. "Cum for me. Milk my cock while I fill you up." The command pushed you over, orgasm crashing through you like a wave, walls spasming as you screamed his name. Sunghoon followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, hot cum flooding your pussy in thick spurts. He held you there, both panting, his forehead pressed to yours as the aftershocks rippled through.
But even spent, his grip didn't loosen. "We're not done" he whispered, already hardening inside you again. "I want more".
Sunghoon's cock twitched inside your still-pulsing pussy, the mix of his cum and your juices leaking down your thighs into the bubbling water. He didn't pull out yet, instead rocking his hips in slow, deliberate grinds that kept the friction alive, his mouth crashing back onto yours. The kiss was messy, tongues tangling with renewed hunger, his teeth nipping at your lower lip as he swallowed your whimpers. "You feel that?" he rasped between breaths, one hand cupping your ass to tilt you higher on his shaft. "I'm gonna fuck you until you're ruined for anyone else."
He thrust up again, harder this time, the water churning wildly as he bounced you on his length. Your oversensitive walls clenched around him, every slide sending sparks of pleasure-pain through your core. You gasped into his mouth, breaking the kiss to beg, but he silenced you with another deep plunge, his free hand tangling in your wet hair to yank your head back. His lips attacked your throat, sucking marks into the skinâdark bruises that would linger as proof of his claim.
The rhythm built fast, his hips snapping with possessive force, cock stretching you wide with each entry. Your clit rubbed against his base, the pressure coiling tight despite the fresh ache from your first climax. "That's it, take it all," he growled, fingers digging into your flesh hard enough to bruise. You shattered again sooner than expected, body trembling as another orgasm ripped through you, but he didn't stop. Sunghoon kept pounding, chasing his own release while your pussy fluttered helplessly around him, overstimulated nerves firing wildly.
"Fuck, yesâsqueeze me like that," he grunted, finally spilling inside you with a guttural moan, hot ropes of cum painting your walls anew. He held you impaled, panting against your shoulder, but his cock stayed buried deep, semi-hard and insistent. Slowly, he lowered you both back into the jacuzzi, the warm jets massaging your joined bodies as he pulled you onto his lap facing him.
His hands roamed your back, tracing the scratches you'd left earlier, before cupping your face for a slower makeout. Lips brushed softly at first, then deeper, his tongue exploring lazily while his hips shifted beneath you. You felt him thickening again, the third round stirring as he broke the kiss to murmur, "On your knees. Show me how much you need my cock."
You slid down eagerly, the water lapping at your chest as you positioned yourself between his spread thighs. His erection stood proud, veined and glistening with your combined fluids. Wrapping your hand around the base, you leaned in, tongue flicking out to lap at the slit, tasting the salty mix of cum and arousal. Sunghoon's fingers threaded through your hair, guiding you gently at first. "Suck it. Take me deep."
Your lips parted, sliding over the head, hollowing your cheeks as you bobbed down, taking more with each pass. The jacuzzi's bubbles tickled your skin, adding to the sensory overload as you worked him with your mouthâtongue swirling along the underside, hand stroking what you couldn't fit. He groaned, hips bucking slightly, fucking your face with controlled thrusts. "God, your mouth... so fucking good. Look at me while you do it."
Eyes locked on his, darkened with lust, you hummed around his length, the vibration drawing a hiss from him. Saliva dripped down your chin, mixing with the water, as you deepthroated him, throat relaxing to accommodate his girth. His grip tightened, possessive, holding you there for a moment before letting you pull back for air. "Enough." he said hoarsely, hauling you up for another searing kiss, tasting himself on your tongue.
He spun you around then, pressing your back to his chest, legs draped over his as he positioned you. One arm locked around your waist, the other parting your thighs wide. "Spread for me," he commanded, fingers dipping into your soaked pussy, scooping out some of his cum before rubbing it over your clit. You moaned too cock drunk to speak, arching into his touch, but he was already lining up his cock, slamming home in one fluid motion.
This angle let him go deeper, the head of his dick battering your cervix with every upward thrust. Water splashed over the jacuzzi's edge as he fucked you relentlessly, his mouth on your neck, biting and licking. "You're mine to use"he whispered hotly, fingers returning to your clit, pinching and rolling it until you were sobbing with overstimulation. Your body betrayed you, hips grinding back despite the intensity, chasing the building pressure. "Yours only-fuckâ yours." You managed to replied back.
He didn't let up, pace brutal, cock dragging against your g-spot with precision. The coil snapped violentlyâyour pussy gushed around him, squirting in forceful arcs that mixed with the jacuzzi water, soaking his thighs. "Fuck, yesâsquirt for me, baby," he praised, thrusting through it, prolonging the waves until you were a trembling mess.
Sunghoon came with a roar, flooding you once more, his body shuddering against yours. He held you close through the aftershocks, kisses turning tender, lips brushing your temple, your jaw. "All mine,"he murmured, finally softening and slipping out, cum trickling from your abused pussy.
Exhausted, he lifted you effortlessly, wrapping you in a towel before carrying you to the nearby lounge chair. The steam still hung in the air as he settled beside you, pulling you into his chest. His arms encircled you possessively, one hand stroking your hair as your eyelids grew heavy. "Sleep now" he whispered, voice soft and kissing the top of your head. You drifted off to the rhythm of his heartbeat, safe and claimed in his embrace.
The scent of miso soup and freshly baked melonpan woke you before sunlight did.
You blinked against the soft morning glow spilling in through the patterned blinds.
The mirror above the bed was foggy now from the jacuzzi steam the night before â a quiet, ghostly reminder of everything youâd done in this ridiculous love hotel.
The sheets were wrapped around you like a cocoon, and when you turned over, the space beside you was empty. But only for a second. Because then Sunghoon walked in, shirtless, hair a mess, tray in hand. Room service.
âGood morning, superstar,â he grinned. You sat up slowly, rubbing your eyes. âYou ordered food?â
âI ordered everything.â
He plopped the tray down on the bed â steaming rice bowls, tamagoyaki, cut fruit in flower shapes, and melonpan fresh enough that you could smell the butter. Two iced coffees sat sweating in the corner. You blinked. âYou remembered melonpan?â
âYou moaned about it in your sleep,â he teased, climbing back into bed. You slapped his chest lightly. âYouâre lying.â
âMaybe,â he grinned. âMaybe I just like hearing you moan.â
You groaned, flopping face-first into a pillow. âStop talking.â
He chuckled. âThatâs rich, coming from someone who begged me in a fake train room last night.â
You threw the other pillow at him.
He caught it mid-air. âIâm keeping this one. Smells like your shampoo.â
You peeked out from under the sheets, still flushed.
âAre you⊠always like this in the morning?â
âOnly when I wake up with my favorite person naked beside me.â
He leaned over to kiss your cheek.
Then your shoulder. Then your chest.
You shoved him back with a laugh. âEat your breakfast.â âIâm trying, but my mealâs hiding under all those blanketsâow, okay, Iâm doneâ!â
He handed you a cup of coffee like it was the holy grail. You drank. Grateful. Warm in more ways than one. After a moment of silence, your voice dropped.
âSo⊠this isnât just a one-time thing, right?â
Sunghoon didnât hesitate.
âBabe. I came like a dozen times and cried into your neck. Youâre not getting rid of me.â You snorted into your cup. He reached across the tray, brushing your fingers with his.
âI mean it. I want you. All the time. After we go home. Even when youâre being annoying.â
You narrowed your eyes. âWhen am I annoying?â
âSpecially when your annoying,â he smiled. He reached for his phone and, without asking, snapped a picture of you wrapped in blankets, coffee cup in hand, cheeks flushed from laughter.
You groaned. âNoâdelete thatâ!â
âNope,â he grinned, adding it to an album. âThis is my favorite version of you. Hair messy, barely alive, and mine.â
You went still. Then softly, âYours?â
He looked up. âOf course.â Then quieter.
â...Always hoped youâd be.â You leaned in and kissed him slow. Sleepy. Full of a new kind of sweetness.
âOkay,â you whispered. âSo what now?â
Sunghoon leaned back against the headboard, arm around you.
âWeâll finish the trip,â he said. âTake more pictures. Eat ridiculous food.â
Then, with a cheeky grin:
âSee if the other rooms here have different themes. Maybe one with clouds? A plane? Hospital bedâ?â
âAbsolutely not.â
âOkay, but hear me outââ
You shoved a piece of fruit into his mouth.
He chewed, smug.
Then he laced his fingers through yours.
âI want to do this every year,â he said seriously. âTravel. Get lost. End up somewhere weird.â
âąSummary: After a devastating accident, you wake up with no memory of the last few years of your lifeâincluding your husband, Jeong Yunho. While he remembers every little detail about you, to you heâs just a stranger. But as he patiently stays by your side, helping you rediscover your life piece by piece, your heart begins to fall for him all over again⊠even if your memories never return.
âąGenre: Angst, Romance, Slow burn, Fluff
âąWarnings: None
âąWord count: 10.7k
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the sound. A slow, steady beeping filled the quiet room, rhythmic and mechanical, echoing in the back of my head like a distant metronome. My body felt heavy, as if I were sinking into the mattress beneath me. Even lifting my fingers felt like too much effort. The sharp scent of antiseptic hung in the air, making my stomach twist with unease.
My eyelids fluttered open slowly, and the bright white lights above me stung my eyes. Everything felt blurry, as though I were underwater trying to see through rippling glass. Then, a voice cut through the hazeâsoft, hopeful, and strangely terrified. I turned my head toward it, wincing as a dull ache spread across my skull. Shapes gradually came into focus: machines, pale walls, and a chair pulled close beside the bed. And a man.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, leaning forward like heâd been sitting there for hours. His dark hair was slightly messy, and his eyesâwide and shiningâlocked onto me with an intensity that made my chest tighten. Relief washed over his face the moment he saw my eyes open. âYouâre awake,â he breathed. The raw emotion in his voice was overwhelming, like he had been holding his breath for days.
I blinked at him slowly, trying to place the strange stir of familiarity in my chest. He looked⊠familiar, but not in a way I could put into words. My heart seemed to know him even if my mind didnât. He stood quickly, the chair scraping against the floor. âWaitâdonât move,â he said gently. âThe doctor said you might be disoriented.â His voice was steady, warm, but there was a trembling underneath it I could sense.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. âWhat⊠happened?â I asked.
âYou were in an accident,â he said quietly. âA car accident. But youâre okay now. The doctors said youâre going to recover.â The word âaccidentâ echoed in my head. Pieces of nothing filled my mindâblank spaces where memories should have been. I noticed the bandage wrapped around my arm and the IV in my hand, and my unease grew.
The man kept his gaze on me, careful and intense, like he was afraid I might vanish if he looked away. âYou scared us,â he said softly. Us. My stomach twisted. I studied him more closely now: his soft features, his kind eyes, the faint lines of worry etched into his face. Something deep inside me should have clicked. Instead, I drew a blank. ââŠDo I know you?â The words slipped out before I could stop them.
For a moment, he froze. The room felt suddenly silent, the machines beeping a little louder in the stillness. His expression shifted slowly to confusion, disbelief, and then something painfully close to heartbreak. âYouâŠâ he began, his voice trembling. My chest tightened as dread seeped into me. âIâm sorry,â I said quickly. âI justâmy head feels weird, and I canâtââ
The door burst open, and my mother rushed in, followed by a doctor. â(Y/N)!â she gasped, hurrying to my side. Relief softened her features as she gently took my hand. âOh, thank goodness youâre awake. How are you feeling?â âConfused,â I admitted, my voice small. The doctor stepped closer, shining a small light into my eyes. âThatâs normal,â he said. âYou experienced a head injury. Some disorientation is expected.â
I looked back at the tall man. He hadnât moved, his hands clenched tightly at his sides, knuckles pale. He stared at me like he was trying to memorize my face all over again. I looked between him and my mother. ââŠWho is he?â My mother hesitated. Just for a second, but it felt like an eternity. Then she glanced at him with sympathy before looking back at me. â(Y/N),â she said gently, brushing a strand of hair from my face, âthatâs your husband.â
The word hit me like a shockwave. Husband. My heart skipped, and my eyes widened as I looked at him. The man I was supposed to know, the one who loved me, smiled softly. But it wasnât a happy smile. It was fragile, like it could shatter at any moment. âHi,â he said quietly. Then, almost as if to anchor himself in the moment, he added, âIâm Jeong Yunho.â
And somehow⊠the way he said my name earlier echoed in my chest, tugging at something I couldnât name. Like it had once meant everything. But nowânow, I didnât remember him at all.
The next morning, I woke to the faint smell of coffee and toast drifting through the room. Sunlight spilled across the hospital bed, warm and golden, but the familiar comfort it should have brought was absent. My body still ached, every movement reminding me of the accident, but it was the man in the corner of the room who made my chest tighten. Yunho. My husband. Someone I was supposed to know⊠but didnât.
He smiled at me as I stirred. âGood morning,â he said softly. There was an awkward hesitation in his tone, like he wasnât sure if he was allowed to speak, or maybe if Iâd remember who he was. I wanted to ask him why he looked so familiar, but my tongue felt thick, my mind foggy.
âI⊠good morning,â I answered cautiously.
He stepped closer, carefully placing a small tray on the bedside table. There was coffee. And toast cut into neat triangles. The little detailsâthe way he had arranged the plate, the way he poured the coffee just the way I liked itâmade something inside me twist. Something that felt like warmth, like recognition without memory.
âI know this might feel strange,â Yunho said quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed. âI⊠Iâm going to take it slow. I wonât rush you to remember anything. I just⊠I want to be here.â
His voice had a softness to it that made my chest ache. There was an intensity too, an unspoken emotion that lingered beneath his words. Even though I didnât remember him, I felt the pull. My body wanted to trust him, to lean into him, even as my mind screamed that he was a stranger.
We spent hours talking that afternoon, though it barely felt like time had passed at all. Yunho had a way of making the room feel warmer, like the sun had found a permanent spot beside us. He told me things about myselfâsmall, intimate details I didnât remember but that somehow made me feel known.
âThereâs this cute little scrunch thing that you do with your nose when someone irritates you,â he said softly, his lips quirking into a fond smile. I froze for a second, realizing he was rightâI had done that since I was little, a quirk I hadnât thought anyone ever noticed.
âAnd that one time when you cried from reading a romance novel,â he added, voice soft and loving, a little teasing under his tone. I couldnât help but smile, the memory absent but the feeling of it blooming faintly in my chest.
He talked about the little things he loved about me, the ones no one else would notice. How I would hum softly while cooking, how I always ran my fingers along the edge of a book before opening it, how I had a thing for tiny, delicate flowers. Each word he spoke was like a thread, weaving me back into the picture of who I was beforeâand slowly into the man sitting beside me.
And the way he smiled as he talked, eyes shining with love and reverence, made my heart melt in a way I hadnât expected. Even though I couldnât remember him, he remembered everything about meâthe quirks, the habits, the little things that made me, me. And somehow, that made me start to feel something new. Something like⊠falling for him all over again.
I wanted to reach out, to grab his hand, to anchor myself to the warmth and certainty in his gaze. And when I finally did, hesitantly, he held it gently, as if heâd been waiting for that moment his entire life. âYouâre amazing,â he whispered, voice thick with emotion. I didnât remember why, but my chest tightened, and my heart responded, answering him even before my mind could catch up. For a moment neither of us spoke. His hand was warm around mine, larger, steady, careful like he was afraid I might pull away at any second. But I didnât. Instead, I found myself holding on just a little tighter.
Something about him felt right.
Not familiar exactlyâbecause my mind still held nothing when I searched for memories of himâbut safe. Comforting. Like a place my heart recognized even if my thoughts didnât. Yunho seemed to notice the way my fingers curled around his because his breath caught slightly. His eyes flickered down to our hands, then back to my face, almost as if he was afraid this small moment might disappear if he acknowledged it too much.
âYou used to do that,â he said softly. I tilted my head slightly. âDo what?â
âHold my hand like that,â he replied with a small smile. âWhenever you were nervous⊠or when you were thinking too hard about something.â My cheeks warmed faintly. I hadnât even realized I was doing it. âI guess some things donât change,â I murmured.
His smile grew a little, but there was still a quiet sadness behind it. Like he was happy for the moment, but grieving everything I couldnât remember. âIâm glad,â he said quietly. Silence settled between us again, but it wasnât uncomfortable. Outside the window, the late afternoon sun painted the hospital room in soft golden light. I watched the way it caught in his hair, the way his shoulders relaxed slightly now that we were talking. âYou must be really patient,â I said after a moment.
He blinked. âWhy?â
âBecause if my wife didnât remember meâŠâ I hesitated, trying to find the right words. âI think Iâd be a lot more frustrated than you are.â A quiet laugh escaped him. It was warm and soft, the kind of laugh that made my chest flutter for no reason I could explain. âOh, trust me,â he said, rubbing the back of his neck. âIâm definitely frustrated.â
My eyes widened slightly.
âBut not at you,â he added quickly. âNever at you.â The seriousness in his voice made my heart skip. âIâm justâŠâ He exhaled slowly, searching for the right words. âI miss you.â
The words settled heavily in the quiet room.
I miss you.
For a moment, I didnât know how to respond. The way he said it wasnât dramatic or desperate. It was soft, honestâlike he had been holding those words inside for days and they had finally slipped out. My chest tightened as I watched him, trying to understand the depth of the emotion behind his eyes. I studied his face more carefully now. The faint dark circles under his eyes. The way his shoulders slumped slightly, like exhaustion had finally caught up to him. It looked like he hadnât been sleeping much. Had he really been here the whole time? Sitting beside me, waiting for me to wake up?
âIâm still here,â I said quietly.
The moment the words left my mouth, something flickered across his expressionâhope, relief, and something painful all tangled together. He looked at me like the simple statement meant more than I could understand. âI know,â Yunho murmured gently, but the way he said it made it clear he didnât mean the same thing I did. I was here physically, sitting in front of him, holding his hand. But the version of me he lovedâthe one who shared memories with him, inside jokes, quiet nights, and whispered promisesâthat version of me was gone. At least for now.
His thumb brushed lightly over the back of my hand, a slow, absentminded motion that felt strangely natural. Like it was something he had done a thousand times before. The small touch sent a quiet warmth through me, and for a moment I forgot that I didnât remember him at all. âCan I tell you something?â he asked softly after a moment.
I nodded.
âYou used to hate hospitals,â he said with a small smile. âThe smell, the lights⊠everything. You said they felt too cold.â I wrinkled my nose instinctively. âThey do smell weird,â I admitted.
His smile widened just a little, and something warm spread through my chest seeing it. It felt good making him smile, even if I didnât know why. âYou also used to make me promise something,â he continued. âWhat was that?â His eyes softened as he looked at me, and for a second it felt like the entire room went quiet.
âThat if anything ever happened to you⊠Iâd stay.â
My stomach twisted at his words. I could hear the meaning behind them, the weight of that promise.
âAnd did you?â I asked quietly.
Yunho squeezed my hand gently, his grip warm and steady.
âIâm still here, arenât I?â
Something about the way he said it made my throat tighten. Even without my memories, I could tell one thing with absolute certaintyâhe meant it.
âI guess so,â I said quietly, my fingers absentmindedly fiddling with the ring on his finger. For a moment, Yunho just watched my hand, the small movement making something soft flicker across his face. Then he seemed to make up his mind about something.
âCan I show you something?â he asked, his voice suddenly a little nervous as he fidgeted in his pocket.
I looked up at him and nodded. âOf course.â
He took a slow breath before pulling something out of his pocket. Resting in his palm was a beautiful ring with a small diamond. It wasnât flashy or extravagantâjust simple and elegant in a way that immediately caught my attention.
He held it out quietly in the center of his palm, letting me see it.
âCan I hold it?â I asked cautiously, half preparing myself for him to say no.
âDefinitely,â he said without hesitation.
I carefully took the ring from his hand and turned it between my fingers, studying the way the diamond caught the soft light spilling through the window. It was delicate, almost understated, but there was something incredibly beautiful about it. âThis is beautiful,â I murmured.
Yunho smiled softly, watching me examine it.
âThereâs actually a story behind that ring,â he said.
I glanced up from it, curiosity flickering in my chest. âReally?â
He nodded.
âBefore I started my career, this is all I could really afford,â he explained. âSo of course I was nervous when I proposed to you because it was a small diamond.â His voice held a quiet vulnerability as he spoke, like the memory still made his heart race even now. âBut to my surprise,â he continued with a gentle laugh, âyou loved it so much that you guarded it with your life.â
I looked down at the ring again, a small smile forming on my lips as I imagined it. âThatâs when I knew you were the one,â he finished softly. Something warm spread through my chest at his words. Even though I couldnât remember that moment, I could almost picture it through the way he described it.
I turned the ring slowly between my fingers before looking back at him.
âCan I try it?â I asked.
For a second, Yunho froze. His heart visibly swelled in his chest, the question clearly catching him off guard.
Then he gently took the ring from my fingers.
âOf course,â he murmured.
Carefully, almost reverently, he slid the ring onto my finger.
It fit perfectly.
I lifted my hand slightly, watching the diamond shimmer as the golden rays of the sun streamed through the window. The light caught the stone, making it sparkle softly.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
I stared at the ring resting on my finger, my heart beating a little faster for reasons I couldnât explain. The ring felt warm around my finger, the metal resting against my skin like it had always belonged there. I turned my hand slightly, watching the small diamond catch the sunlight, but my attention kept drifting somewhere else.
My palms were suddenly sweaty.
I wasnât sure why.
A strange nervousness settled in my chest, the kind that made my heartbeat pick up just a little faster. It didnât make sense. All I was doing was sitting here, looking at a ring.
Yet every time my eyes drifted toward Yunho, butterflies stirred in my stomach.
I glanced up at him again without meaning to.
He was watching me carefully, his expression soft and patient, like he was trying to read every tiny reaction on my face. The moment our eyes met, my heart skipped in my chest and I quickly looked back down at my hand.
Why was I so nervous around him?
It wasnât fear. I knew that much. If anything, it was the complete opposite.
Being near him made me feel warm, safe⊠and strangely aware of everything. The quiet room. The sunlight on the floor. The gentle way he stood beside the bed like he didnât want to crowd me but also didnât want to be too far away.
And every time I even remotely looked at him, the butterflies in my stomach only grew stronger.
A few days later, the doctor finally said the words I had been waiting for.
âYouâre well enough to leave.â
The hospital room that had once felt suffocating suddenly seemed lighter. Part of me felt relieved to finally get out of the sterile space, but another part of me felt nervous. Leaving meant returning to a life I didnât remember.
Yunho stood beside the bed while I gathered the few things I had brought with me. He stayed close, like he always did, but not so close that it felt overwhelming. I had started noticing that about himâthe way he gave me space while still making sure I knew he was there.
âReady?â he asked softly.
I looked up at him, my fingers instinctively brushing the ring resting on my finger. The small diamond caught the light, sending a tiny shimmer across the room.
I nodded slowly. âYeah⊠I think so.â
The ride was quiet.
Not awkward, just thoughtful. I spent most of the time staring out the window as the city passed by in a blur of buildings and streetlights. Every now and then I found myself glancing over at Yunho in the driverâs seat. His hands rested comfortably on the steering wheel, his focus steady on the road ahead.
He looked used to this.
Like he had driven this route countless times before.
Eventually the car slowed and pulled into a parking spot in front of a tall apartment building. Yunho turned off the engine but didnât move right away.
âWeâre here,â he said gently.
My stomach fluttered.
âThis isâŠ?â
âOur place,â he finished quietly.
For a moment, I just stared at the building. The word *our* echoed softly in my mind.
Our home.
I followed him inside, my steps slow as we walked down the hallway and stopped in front of a door. Yunho pulled a key from his pocket, but before unlocking it, he paused.
âYou donât have to rush anything,â he said quietly. âIf you feel uncomfortable, we can leave anytime.â
His words made my chest tighten.
âOkay,â I whispered.
The door opened with a soft click.
The first thing I noticed when I stepped inside was the warmth. The apartment didnât feel cold or unfamiliar the way I had expected. Instead, it felt lived inâcomfortable in a way that immediately made my shoulders relax.
Then my eyes drifted to the wall.
Photos.
My breath caught.
Dozens of pictures filled the space, scattered across the wall in mismatched frames. I slowly stepped closer, my heart beating faster as I looked at them.
Every photo was of Yunho and me.
Some were silly, the two of us making ridiculous faces at the camera. Others were softer momentsâsitting close together at a restaurant, wrapped up in blankets on the couch, standing under city lights somewhere at night.
In every single picture, we looked happy.
Really happy.
I moved closer, studying one picture where Yunho had his arm around my shoulders while I leaned into him, laughing at something outside the frame.
In another, I was wearing one of his oversized hoodies, my hair messy while he kissed the side of my head.
I didnât remember any of it.
But the way we looked at each otherâŠ
That was real.
âYou put those up,â Yunho said quietly behind me.
I turned slightly, surprised. âI did?â
He nodded, a small smile forming on his face.
âYou said it made the apartment feel more like home.â
My fingers hovered near one of the frames but stopped just short of touching it. I stared at the girl in the photoâthe version of me who looked so comfortable standing beside him.
Something in my chest twisted gently. I looked at the photos again before turning back to him.
âYou must really love her,â I said quietly.
For a moment, Yunho didnât answer. Then he stepped a little closer.
âI do,â he said softly.
His eyes met mine, warm and steady.
âAnd I still do.â I smiled softly.
The room grew quiet as I continued staring at the photos on the wall. Each one showed a moment of a life I couldnât remember, yet somehow it still felt like it belonged to me. My eyes moved slowly from frame to frame, taking in every detail.
âIs it okay if I look around?â I asked softly.
Yunho nodded immediately. âOf course.â
I moved carefully through the apartment, taking small steps as if I were exploring somewhere sacred. The space felt warm and lived in, like it had been filled with laughter and quiet moments for a long time. Eventually, I stopped in front of a partially open door.
Curiosity pulled me forward.
I gently pushed it open and stepped inside.
The room was simple but cozy. A large bed sat in the center, soft blankets folded neatly across it. A television was mounted on the wall, and more photos of Yunho and me were scattered around the room in small frames.
My chest tightened slightly.
This room felt⊠more personal.
I noticed the dresser against the wall and walked over to it. Several perfume bottles sat neatly on top, their glass catching the soft light from the window. Next to them were small pieces of jewelry and hair ties.
Then my eyes drifted to the closets.
One side held womenâs clothesâdresses, sweaters, and shirts hanging neatly. The other held menâs clothing.
My stomach fluttered as the realization settled in.
âIs thisâŠ?â I started quietly.
âOur room,â Yunho finished from behind me.
His voice was gentle, almost careful.
I turned back toward the dresser, studying the perfume bottles again. Each one looked familiar in a strange way, like something I should recognize but couldnât quite reach in my mind.
âThis one is your favorite,â Yunho said softly.
He stepped forward and picked up one of the bottles before holding it out to me.
I took it carefully from his hand and brought it closer, spraying a small amount onto my wrist before smelling it.
The scent was soft and floral, warm in a way that immediately made me relax.
âIt smells pretty,â I said quietly.
For a moment, Yunho didnât respond.
When I looked up, he was watching me again with that same soft expressionâlike every small reaction I had meant more to him than he could say.
âYou used to wear it almost every day,â he said gently. âEspecially when we went out together.â I looked down at the bottle again, rubbing my wrist lightly where the scent lingered. Even though I couldnât remember those moments⊠the smell felt strangely comforting.
And standing there in the room we once shared, surrounded by pieces of the life we had built together, I felt something inside me shift.
âAre you okay?â Yunho asked softly, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts.
I blinked and looked up at him, realizing I had been staring at the dresser for longer than I meant to. I quickly nodded. âIâm fine.â Right as the words left my mouth, my stomach growled loudly, completely betraying me.
Yunhoâs lips curved into a small smile.
âSomeoneâs hungry,â he said, his voice carrying a light teasing tone. Heat rushed to my face and I let out an embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. âOkay⊠maybe a little.â He chuckled softly, the sound warm and relaxed. âWe can go out to eat,â he offered. âOr I can cook for you.â
I fidgeted with my hands for a moment, thinking about it. The idea of sitting in a crowded restaurant suddenly felt overwhelming. But cooking⊠that felt different.
âI think we should cook together,â I suggested slowly. âI think that would be fun.â
Yunho hummed thoughtfully, considering it. His eyes softened slightly as he watched me, like he was quietly happy that I was starting to feel comfortable here again.
âAlright,â he said with a small nod. âWhat do you want to make?â
âTteokbokki,â I said almost immediately, my mouth watering just thinking about it.
A hint of amusement crossed his face.
âThen letâs drive to the store and grab the ingredients.â
I shook my head lightly. âWhy drive when we can walk?â I said, glancing toward the window. âI need the fresh air.â
For a moment Yunho just looked at me.
His chest felt strangely full watching me move around the apartment so naturally, suggesting things like we had done it a hundred times before. Even without your memories, pieces of the old you were still there.
âYeah,â he said softly, grabbing his jacket. âA walk sounds nice.â
And as the two of us headed toward the door together, Yunho couldnât stop the small smile that tugged at his lips. For the first time since the accident, it almost felt normal again.
We walked down to the lobby of the apartment building together and stepped out through the glass doors. The evening air was cool and fresh, a gentle breeze brushing past my face. After spending so many days inside the hospital, the simple feeling of being outside felt almost refreshing.
As we started down the sidewalk, Yunho glanced over at me before slowly offering his hand.
I hesitated for a second.
It wasnât that I didnât want to take it. If anything, the thought made my heart beat a little faster. But holding hands felt⊠intimate, and part of me wondered if I had the right to do that when I still couldnât remember our life together.
Still, something inside me pushed past the hesitation. I slipped my hand into his and intertwined our fingers. Yunho immediately stiffened slightly beside me.
When I looked over, his ears had turned bright red.
âSorry,â he said quickly, almost awkwardly.
I blinked at him. âSorry for what?â
âForââ he glanced down at our hands before rubbing the back of his neck with his free one. âI just didnât expect you toâŠâ
âDonât be,â I said gently.
Butterflies fluttered wildly in my stomach as a rush of unfamiliar yet strangely comforting feelings washed over me. The warmth of his hand around mine felt naturalâlike something I had done countless times before.
The feeling was confusing but comforting all at once.
It almost felt like a first date.
Even though deep down, I knew it wasnât.
We continued walking down the street, the city slowly coming alive around us with the glow of evening lights. As we passed a small flower stand on the corner, Yunho suddenly stopped.
âWait here for a second,â he said.
Before I could ask why, he stepped over to the stand and quietly spoke with the vendor. A moment later, he paid and walked back toward me holding a single flower.
He handed it to me.
My eyes widened slightly when I saw what it was.
It was my favorite flower.
A soft smile spread across my face as I took it from him.
âYou remembered,â I said quietly.
âOf course I did,â Yunho replied with a small smile.
We continued walking after that, and the small flower felt warm in my hand as I held it carefully. A few minutes later, something caught my eye across the sidewalk.
A photo booth.
Without thinking, I grabbed Yunhoâs arm and gently pulled him toward it.
âWait,â I said excitedly. âI think we should take photos together.â
He looked surprised but followed anyway. âPhotos?â
âTo remember this day,â I explained with a small smile.
Inside the booth, we sat close together on the small bench. The camera light blinked, signaling the countdown.
For the first picture, we both smiled awkwardly. The second one, Yunho made a goofy face that made me laugh. The third picture, we leaned closer together, our shoulders brushing as we tried to fit into the frame.
Then the final flash went off.
Without really thinking, I leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to Yunhoâs cheek.
The camera flashed.
When I pulled back, Yunho looked completely shocked.
His eyes were wide, and his face had turned red all over again. My own hand quickly flew up to cover my mouth. âIâm sorry,â I blurted. âI think I got carried away.â
For a moment he just stared at me.
Then his expression softened.
âNo,â he said gently. âDonât be sorry.â
He hesitated for a second before leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss against my cheek.
âIt just caught me off guard,â he added with a shy smile.
He helped me out of the photo booth, gently holding the curtain aside so I wouldnât trip on the small step. The strip of photos slid out of the machine a moment later, still warm from printing. I carefully tucked them into my pocket, feeling a strange sense of happiness knowing we had captured that moment together.
We continued walking until we reached the small grocery store down the street.
Inside, the warm lights and quiet chatter of other shoppers made the place feel cozy. Yunho grabbed a small basket and started walking through the aisles while I followed beside him.
He moved with an easy familiarity, stopping here and there to grab ingredients for the tteokbokki. Rice cakes. Fish cakes. Gochujang. Each time he picked something up, he would pause to read the label carefully before placing it into the basket.
I found myself watching him more than the shelves.
There was a little crease between his eyebrows as he focused, and he did this cute squinting thing whenever he was trying to read something closely.
It was subtle, but once I noticed it, I couldnât stop looking.
I tilted my head slightly, studying him.
Is this how he feels when I scrunch my nose while irritated?
The thought made a small smile tug at my lips.
He suddenly glanced up and caught me staring.
âWhat?â he asked, a little amused.
I quickly looked away, pretending to study a nearby shelf. âNothing.â But the smile on my face didnât disappear.
Yunho watched me for a second longer before chuckling softly and returning to reading the package in his hand, completely unaware that the little things he did like that tiny squint were slowly making my heart feel warmer every minute we spent together.
Before we left the store, the soft patter of rain began tapping against the windows. I glanced outside and saw the sky had darkened, droplets quickly turning into a steady drizzle.
âOh,â I murmured.
Yunho followed my gaze and chuckled softly. âLooks like weâre not walking back dry.â
Before we headed out, he grabbed a simple tan umbrella from a small rack near the register and paid for it. As soon as we stepped outside, he quickly opened it above us, the soft whoosh of the fabric spreading overhead. The rain fell steadily around us, tapping gently against the umbrella.
We walked close together down the sidewalk, Yunho holding the grocery bag in one hand while the other held the umbrella above us. The space underneath was small, so our shoulders brushed occasionally as we walked.
Each time it happened, my heart fluttered a little.
The cool air smelled fresh after the rain, and the quiet sound of our footsteps mixed with the soft rhythm of water hitting the pavement. For a moment, everything felt peaceful. By the time we reached the apartment building, the rain had picked up slightly. We hurried inside, shaking off the water as we stepped into the warm lobby. Once we got upstairs and into the apartment, we both slipped off our jackets and hung them by the door.
I ran my fingers through my slightly damp hair while Yunho carried the grocery bag into the kitchen.
He set it down on the counter and began pulling out the ingredients one by one, lining them up neatly.
The rice cakes. The sauce. The fish cakes.
Watching him move around the kitchen so comfortably made something warm settle in my chest again. It felt natural like this was something we had done together many times before.
I leaned lightly against the counter, watching him as he worked.
âChef Yunho,â I teased softly. âWhatâs my job?â He glanced up at me with a small smile, clearly amused.
âYour job?â he repeated thoughtfully. Then he grabbed a cutting board and gently slid it toward me across the counter. âYou can start by cutting these,â he said, handing me a package of fish cakes. He paused for a moment before adding with a playful grin, âLetâs see if you still remember how.â
I picked up the knife slowly, turning it in my hand as I looked down at the cutting board. For a moment, doubt crept into my mind. What if I didnât remember how to do something as simple as this?
Yunho must have noticed the hesitation because his voice softened. âHey⊠thereâs no pressure. We can figure it out together.â I nodded and carefully unwrapped the fish cakes. My fingers moved slowly at first, lining them up neatly on the board. Then I began cutting them into strips.
After the first few slices, something shifted.
My hands started moving more naturally, the knife gliding through the soft texture like my body already knew what to do. Yunho leaned lightly against the counter across from me, watching quietly.
A small smile spread across his face.
âYou used to do it exactly like that,â he said softly.
I paused and looked up at him. âReally?â He nodded. âYou always cut them into long pieces because you said they tasted better that way.â
I glanced back down at the cutting board, surprised. âI donât remember deciding that.â
âYou might not remember,â he said gently, âbut some things stay.â His words settled warmly in my chest.
Soon the kitchen filled with the soft sounds of cooking. Yunho moved beside me, heating the pan while I finished preparing the ingredients. When he mixed the sauce, the smell of garlic and spicy gochujang slowly filled the apartment.
My stomach growled again.
âThat smells amazing,â I said with a small laugh.
Yunho chuckled quietly. âYou say that every time.â
I leaned against the counter beside him, watching as he added the rice cakes and fish cakes into the bubbling red sauce. The mixture began to simmer, thick and glossy, filling the whole kitchen with warmth.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the gentle bubbling from the pan.
Then Yunho reached up to a cabinet and grabbed two bowls. As he set them down on the counter, his elbow accidentally brushed a small jar sitting near the edge.
The jar tipped.
Before either of us could react, it fell to the floor with a loud crack.
I flinched slightly as glass scattered across the tile.
âIâm so sorry,â Yunho said quickly, crouching down. âI didnât see it there.â
But as I stared at the broken pieces on the floor, something strange happened.
A sudden flash crossed my mind.
A kitchen.
The same counter.
Yunho laughing while flour covered his hands.
And meâstanding right here beside him.
The memory disappeared as quickly as it came. My breath caught, and I grabbed the edge of the counter to steady myself.
â(Y/N)?â Yunhoâs voice was instantly worried as he stood up. âWhatâs wrong?â
My heart was racing.
âI⊠I think I just remembered something.â
Yunho helped me over to the couch, guiding me carefully as I sat down. My head still felt a little light from the sudden rush of memories, but the warmth of his hand around mine kept me grounded.
He knelt slightly in front of me, his eyes searching my face with quiet concern.
âDo you know what you remembered?â he asked softly.
I nodded slowly, trying to piece the moment together. âWe were laughing in the kitchen,â I said. âYou had flour all over your hands⊠and then everything got fuzzy.â
For a moment Yunho just stared at me.
Then recognition lit up his face. âThe cookie competition,â he said.
I blinked in confusion. âA cookie competition?â
He nodded, a small laugh escaping him as the memory clearly replayed in his mind. âYou entered us in one at a local festival. I had no idea what I was doing, but you were determined we were going to win.â
I smiled faintly, trying to imagine it.
âWe were making the dough,â he continued, his voice warm with nostalgia. âI kept throwing flour on the counter so it wouldnât stick. At one point I accidentally touched my face with flour-covered hands.â
He gestured toward his cheek, laughing a little at the memory.
I couldnât help but laugh softly too. âI see we have a history of cooking together,â I said.
Yunhoâs smile softened. âWeâve always done it,â he replied gently. âYou used to say a family that cooks together stays together.â
Without really thinking, I began fidgeting with his hand where it rested near mine.
âThatâs what my mom always told me,â I said quietly.
For a moment Yunho went completely still.
His heart fluttered at my words, and something hopeful flickered in his eyesâlike a small light finally turning on after days of darkness.
Before either of us could say anything else, a sudden smell drifted through the room.
Both of our heads turned toward the kitchen.
âThe food!â Yunho suddenly shouted.
He jumped to his feet and rushed toward the kitchen so quickly that he nearly slipped on the tile floor.
âWhoaâ!â
âAre you okay?â I called out, half concerned and half laughing.
âIâm fine!â he replied quickly, steadying himself against the counter. âI do that all the time.â
I giggled quietly as I watched him casually walk the rest of the way into the kitchen like nothing had happened.
And somehow, seeing him like thatâclumsy, warm, and completely himselfâmade my chest feel lighter than it had in days.
Dinner turned out better than I expected. The tteokbokki was warm, spicy, and comforting, and honestly it was some of the most delicious tteokbokki I had ever tasted. I sat across from Yunho at the table, laughing as he shared story after story about usâlittle moments from our life together that I couldnât remember but somehow still felt familiar.
âThere was one time,â he said, barely holding back his laughter, âwhen you tried to surprise me with breakfast in bed.â
âThat sounds sweet,â I replied, raising an eyebrow.
âIt would have been,â he continued, âif you hadnât tripped on the blanket and dropped pancakes all over me.â
I gasped. âI did not.â
âYou absolutely did,â he laughed. âSyrup everywhere.â
I couldnât help but laugh with him, even if I couldnât picture it myself. The way he told the stories made them feel real, like pieces of a life slowly being returned to me.
After dinner we cleaned up together, rinsing plates and stacking dishes into the rack. Yunho turned on some music while we worked, and the soft sound filled the apartment as we wiped the counters and put away the ingredients.
It felt⊠normal.
Comfortable.
Like we had done this together a thousand times before.
I was drying my hands when a slower song began playing through the speakers. Yunho suddenly paused, listening to the familiar melody.
He looked at me for a moment before stepping closer and offering me his hand.
âThis was our wedding song,â he said softly.
My heart skipped.
I looked down at his hand for a moment before placing mine in it. He gently pulled me closer, one hand resting carefully at my waist as we began to sway slowly in the middle of the kitchen.
I smiled softly, letting myself relax into the moment.
The room felt warm, the lights soft above us as the music wrapped around the quiet space. My eyes slowly lifted to meet his, and the moment our gazes locked, my heart began racing again.
There was something about the way Yunho looked at me.
So full of love.
Like he had been waiting his whole life just to stand here with me.
âI vaguely remember now,â I whispered.
Yunhoâs movement stilled slightly.
Another memory flickered through my mindâsoft and warm.
White lights. Soft music. Me in a flowing dress.
Yunho standing in front of me in a suit, his eyes looking exactly the way they did right now.
We were dancing. Just like this.
Then the memory slipped away again.
But this time, instead of frustration, I felt something warm settle in my chest.
I smiled quietly to myself. âI had another one,â I said softly. Yunho looked down at me immediately, his eyes searching mine with hope. âWhat did you see?â
I squeezed his hand gently.
âWe were both dressed up,â I said slowly. âWedding attire.â My voice softened as the image replayed faintly in my mind.
âWe were slowly dancing to this song.â
Yunho froze for a moment after I said it.
His hands were still resting gently at my waist, but I felt the slight tremor in them. He looked at me like he was afraid to move, like if he did the moment might disappear.
âYou remember that?â he asked quietly.
âJust a little,â I admitted. âItâs blurry⊠like looking through fog. But I remember how it felt.â
I paused before meeting his eyes again.
âI remember being happy.â
Something in Yunhoâs expression softened immediately. Relief, warmth, and disbelief flickered across his face all at once.
âYou were,â he said gently. âYou were smiling the whole time.â
The song continued playing softly in the background as we kept swaying in the middle of the kitchen. This time Yunho pulled me a little closer, slowly and carefully, like he was checking to make sure it was okay.
I didnât pull away. If anything, I stepped closer myself.
My head rested lightly against his chest, and I could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear. For a moment, everything felt peaceful.
âYou cried during the vows,â Yunho said suddenly, his voice quiet above me.
I tilted my head up to look at him. âI did?â
He laughed softly. âYou tried really hard not to. But the second I started reading mine, you lost it.â I groaned quietly. âThatâs embarrassing.â
âNo,â he said immediately. âIt was my favorite part.â
I blinked in surprise. âWhy?â
âBecause it meant you really loved me,â he said simply.
My chest tightened slightly at his words.
For a moment we just looked at each other, standing close together in the soft light of the kitchen. The music was still playing, but it had faded into the background.
Then something unexpected happened.
Another tiny flash of memory.
Not a full scene this timeâjust a feeling.
Standing across from him.
Holding his hands. Promising something.
My breath caught.
âYunhoâŠâ I whispered.
His eyes widened instantly. âAnother one?â
I nodded slowly, trying to hold onto the fading moment. âI think⊠we were saying our vows.â His expression softened again, hope filling his gaze. âYou told me something,â I continued, concentrating. âYou said⊠youâd fall in love with me in every lifetime.â
Yunhoâs breath caught.
For a moment he couldnât speak.
Then he smiled softly, the kind of smile that carried years of love inside it.
âYeah,â he said quietly. âI did.â
For a moment neither of us spoke.
We were still standing in the middle of the kitchen, the music playing softly around us as we swayed slowly together. Yunhoâs arms remained around me, gentle but secure.
My heart was still racing from the memory.
It wasnât clear, and it didnât last long, but it was real.
Morning light slowly filtered through the curtains, casting soft golden streaks across the room. I lay still for a few quiet moments, listening to the faint sounds of the city waking up outside.
Then I noticed something else.
The steady sound of breathing beside me.
My eyes opened fully and I turned my head slightly. Yunho was asleep on top of the covers, sitting up against the headboard. His head was tilted to the side, one arm loosely folded across his chest while the other rested near the edge of the bed, like he had been trying to stay awake but eventually lost the fight.
My heart squeezed a little at the sight. He must have stayed there all night.
Carefully, I pushed myself up against the pillows, trying not to wake him. His hair was slightly messy, falling across his forehead, and the soft morning light made him look peaceful.
I studied him quietly. There were faint shadows under his eyes, like he hadnât been sleeping well lately. Even now, though, his expression looked calm. I wondered how many nights he had spent worrying about me. Without really thinking, I reached over and gently brushed a strand of hair away from his face. The moment my fingers touched him, his eyes fluttered open.
For a split second he looked confused. Then he saw me.
âYouâre awake,â he said, his voice rough with sleep. âI think Iâve been awake for a while,â I admitted softly. He straightened slightly and ran a hand through his hair, clearly a little embarrassed. âSorry,â he said quickly. âI didnât mean to fall asleep like that. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.â
âYou slept sitting up all night?â I asked. He shrugged like it wasnât a big deal. âIâve done worse.â I couldnât help smiling faintly.
âYou know thereâs plenty of room on the bed, right?â Yunho froze for a moment. A faint blush crept up his neck as he rubbed the back of it awkwardly. âI didnât want to make you uncomfortable,â he said quietly.
Something warm spread through my chest.
Even now, even after everything, he was still being careful with me.
I glanced down at the blanket in my lap before looking back up at him. âYou wouldnât have,â I said gently.
The room grew silent and my stomach growled loudly.
Yunho blinked before laughing softly. âWell,â he said, pushing himself off the bed, âI guess that means breakfast.â I laughed too as I slid out from under the covers. âPlease tell me weâre not having tteokbokki again.â He looked over his shoulder with a playful grin.
âNo promises.â
And for the first time since waking up in the hospital, the morning didnât feel heavy or confusing⊠It felt hopeful.
We walked into the kitchen together, the soft morning light spilling in through the windows. The apartment felt calm and quiet, the kind of peaceful start that made the whole place feel warm. âI think Iâm in the mood for pancakes, bacon, and fruit,â I said as I leaned lightly against the counter.
Yunho smiled immediately. âThatâs always been your favorite breakfast,â he said.
Something about the way he said it made my chest feel warm again. Even if I couldnât remember it myself, he knew these little things about me so easily. He started pulling ingredients out of the cabinets and refrigerator, setting everything neatly on the counter. Flour, eggs, milk, a bowl, and a pan. âAlright,â he said, glancing over at me. âTeamwork again.â
âWhatâs my job?â I asked.
He grabbed a cutting board and set a small bowl of fruit in front of me. âYouâre on fruit duty,â he said. âIâll handle the pancakes and bacon.â I nodded confidently and started washing and cutting the fruit. It only took a moment before everything was sliced neatly into the bowl. âDone,â I announced proudly.
Yunho looked over at the bowl and then back at me with raised eyebrows. âYouâre fast.â I laughed softly. âI had a very difficult task.â He shook his head with a quiet chuckle before turning back to the counter. I watched as he cracked eggs into the bowl and added the rest of the ingredients for the pancakes. His movements were smooth and practiced as he whisked everything together.
Without thinking, I leaned my elbows on the counter and watched him.
He had that same little squint again while he focused on measuring things, his eyebrows pulling together slightly in concentration.
It made me smile.
âYouâre staring again,â he said suddenly, not even looking up.
My eyes widened. âI am not.â He glanced at me with a knowing smile.
âYou do that when youâre thinking.â
âOh really?â I said, folding my arms. âYeah,â he replied casually while pouring batter into the pan. âYouâve done it since the day we met.â
The soft sizzling sound filled the kitchen as the pancakes began cooking. I watched him flip one carefully before asking quietly, âWhat was it like?â He paused slightly. âWhen we met?â I nodded.
Yunho smiled faintly, like the memory was one of his favorites. âYou spilled coffee on me,â he said.
My jaw dropped. âI did not.â He laughed.
âYou absolutely did.â I groaned, covering my face with my hands. âPlease tell me I at least apologized.â
âOh you did,â he said, flipping another pancake. âAbout twenty times.â I peeked at him through my fingers.
âAnd somehow you still married me?â He glanced over at me with that soft, warm smile again. âBest accident that ever happened to me.â I laughed, a little embarrassed as I leaned against the counter. âSo⊠did I work at a diner or something?â Yunho nodded while carefully flipping another pancake in the pan. âYeah,â he said. âYou did.â
The smell of pancakes and bacon slowly filled the kitchen, making my stomach rumble again. I watched him for a moment before another question popped into my head. âAnd what were you doing there?â I asked. âWere you with your friends or something?â He nodded again. âYeah. A few of us stopped in after practice.â I tilted my head, curiosity growing. âSo wait⊠now that weâre on the subject,â I said, crossing my arms slightly, âwhatâs your job like?â Yunho glanced up at me briefly before looking back at the pancakes.
âWell,â he said casually, âIâm part of a boy group.â I blinked.
âA boy group?â
âYeah,â he continued. âOur name is Ateez.â My eyes widened instantly. âWaitâ I know Ateez!â I said quickly. âI used to be a huge fan.â Yunho tried to stay calm, but I noticed the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he flipped another pancake. âI even remember crushing hard on one of them,â I continued, thinking out loud.
He raised an eyebrow.
âOh really?â
âYeah,â I said, nodding confidently. âIt was Yunho.â Then I froze. My brain slowly caught up with my words.
ââŠWait a damn minute.â Yunho burst out laughing.
I pointed at him dramatically, my mouth falling open as the realization hit me. âYOU!â He could barely hold the spatula from laughing. âYou had a crush on me?â he teased.
I covered my face with my hands in pure embarrassment. âOh my god.â He leaned against the counter, still laughing. âSo technically,â he added playfully, âyou married your celebrity crush.â I groaned loudly.
âPlease tell me I didnât fangirl when we met.â Yunho smirked. âOh, you definitely did.â
âSo wait,â I said, still trying to wrap my head around everything. âHow did we start dating? I mean⊠I can imagine your schedule was busy all the time with fans, signings, and concerts.â
Yunho shrugged lightly, flipping another pancake onto the plate. âThe diner kind of became my favorite restaurant after I met you.â I blinked at him. âWait,â I said slowly, starting to smile. âSo you came to the diner just to see me?â He nodded like it was the most normal thing in the world.âEvery chance I got.â Heat rushed to my face immediately and I turned away slightly, embarrassed by the thought.
âYouâre kidding,â I mumbled, trying to hide my blush.
âNope,â he said casually, placing another pancake on the stack. âAt first I told the members it was because the food was good.â I raised an eyebrow.
âAnd was it?â He looked at me with a teasing smile. âIt was. But that wasnât the real reason.â My cheeks burned even more. âSo what happened next?â I asked quietly. âWell,â Yunho said, leaning against the counter. âEventually you started recognizing me.â I groaned softly. âOh no.â
âBut you were surprisingly normal about it,â he continued. âYou didnât treat me like a celebrity. You just treated me like⊠a guy who ordered pancakes too often.â I laughed a little at that. âSo we kept talking,â he said. âEvery time I came in.â
âWhich was apparently a lot,â I added.
He smiled.
âA lot.â
The bacon sizzled softly in the pan as he continued. âThen one day I asked if you wanted to come to a concert.â My eyes widened slightly. âI did?â
âYou did,â he said with a small nod. âYou were nervous the whole time.â
âI can imagine,â I muttered. âBut after that,â he continued, âyou started coming to more shows.â I leaned against the counter again, listening closely. âYou supported me through everything,â he said softly. âComebacks, tours, late nights at the studio.â
Something warm settled in my chest hearing that.
âAnd eventually,â he added, âwhen we got married and moved in together, we agreed you didnât have to work at the diner anymore.â I blinked in surprise. âReally?â He nodded. âYou worked hard for years,â he said gently. âI wanted you to be able to do what made you happy.â I looked down at the counter, trying to imagine the life he was describing. âYou really loved me, didnât you?â I said quietly.
Yunho didnât hesitate.
âStill do.â The kitchen slowly fell quiet.
The smell of pancakes and bacon still lingered in the air, but the lighthearted mood from earlier had faded. I leaned against the counter, my fingers tracing the edge of the bowl of fruit as a question sat heavily in my chest. âI do have one more question,â I said softly.
Yunho looked up from the stove.
âWhat is it?â I hesitated for a moment before asking the thing that had been bothering me since I woke up in the hospital. âWhat happened before the accident?â The moment the words left my mouth, I saw his expression change. His shoulders stiffened slightly, and the small smile on his face disappeared. For the first time that morning, he looked nervous.
The silence stretched for a moment.
âWellâŠâ he began quietly.
He turned the stove off before resting his hands on the counter, staring down at it as if the answer was written there.
âWe had gotten into an argument.â I felt my chest tighten slightly. âAbout what?â
âMy schedule,â he said. âAbout how much I was gone.â His voice was calm, but there was a heaviness in it now. âYou said you were tired of always being alone. That you wanted a normal life⊠one where your husband was actually home.â I swallowed.
âAnd you were right,â he added quietly. âBut in the moment I wasnât listening.â His fingers tightened slightly against the counter. âI was being selfish. I kept saying the group needed me and that you knew what you were signing up for when you married me.â The kitchen suddenly felt much smaller. âWe both said things we didnât mean,â he continued.
His voice started to shake.
âI remember you getting really upset⊠and you said you hated me.â My heart dropped.
Yunho let out a shaky breath as he ran a hand over his face.
âYou grabbed your keys and left.â His voice cracked slightly. âAnd thenâŠâ
Tears slipped down his cheeks before he could stop them.
âI just wish I had stopped you,â he said quietly. âI wish I wouldâve told you not to go.â
His shoulders slumped as the guilt he had clearly been carrying poured out.
âI shouldâve protected you more.â
The words hung heavy in the air between us.
âYunhoâŠâ I whispered, my chest tightening as I saw the tears still streaming down his face. A wave of guilt washed over me. Even though I couldnât fully remember that moment, the thought of saying something like that to him made my stomach twist painfully. I stepped closer and gently reached up, wiping the tears from his cheeks with my thumb. âDonât blame yourself for what happened,â I said softly.
My own eyes began to fill with tears as the emotion of everything finally caught up with me. âIâm sorry for saying that to you,â I continued quietly. âI know my words wonât take back what I said.â My voice trembled slightly as I looked up at him. âBut I want to show you.â Yunhoâs eyes searched mine, still glassy with tears. âIâm falling in love with you more and more every day,â I said.
The kitchen felt completely silent now except for our breathing.
âI want to spend every moment with you,â I continued. âI know I canât remember the past and how we were⊠but I want to look forward to the future.â His expression softened slowly as he listened. âThe memories we make from now on,â I added gently.
My hand slipped into his, squeezing it softly.
âYou give me so many reasons to live for,â I whispered. âAnd Iâm so lucky to have you.â For a moment Yunho just stared at me.
Then he pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly against his chest like he never wanted to let go.
âI love you,â I said softly, looking up at him. The words felt natural leaving my lips, like they had been sitting in my heart for a long time just waiting to be spoken again.
Yunhoâs breath caught slightly.
I reached up and gently caressed the side of his face, my fingers brushing along his cheek. His skin was warm beneath my touch, and the way he looked at me made my heart race all over again.
Slowly, he leaned down.
Our faces were close nowâso close that I could feel his breath against my lips. My eyes flickered down to his mouth for a moment before meeting his gaze again.
The moment stretched, quiet and fragile.
Thenâ
A sharp sizzle filled the kitchen.
The smell of burning bacon suddenly hit the air.
Yunhoâs eyes widened.
âThe bacon!â he shouted.
He spun around quickly and rushed back to the stove, grabbing the pan just in time. A thin trail of smoke curled up toward the ceiling as he hurriedly turned off the burner.
I couldnât help it.
I burst out laughing.
Yunho glanced over his shoulder at me, looking slightly flustered as he waved the smoke away. âWell,â he said, trying to salvage the moment, âromantic timing isnât exactly our strength.â I leaned against the counter, still laughing. âApparently not.â He looked down at the pan and sighed dramatically. âOn the bright side,â he added, âthe pancakes survived.â I walked over beside him and peeked into the pan.
The bacon, however, was a different story.
I raised an eyebrow.
âDefine âsurvived.ââ
Yunho scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.
ââŠcrispy?â
We laughed over the burnt bacon, teasing each other about our âromantic timing fail,â but honestly, it didnât matter. The pancakes were fluffy, the fruit was fresh, and the simple act of eating together made the breakfast feel perfect. To me, it didnât matter that a little bacon had sacrificed itselfâit was the moment that counted.
After clearing the dishes and tidying up the kitchen, we got ourselves ready for the day. I chose something comfortable, and Yunho went with casual as well, though he still looked effortlessly put together. There was a quiet excitement between us, a shared understanding that today didnât need to be anything extraordinary.
Once we stepped outside, the afternoon air greeted us softly. It was crisp, fresh, and just a little cool, with the sun casting gentle warmth on our faces. We walked side by side, fingers brushing occasionally, and I found myself smiling more than I had in days.
Yunho kept stealing glances at me, his expression soft and content, as if he couldnât quite believe this was real. I felt it tooâthe comfort, the familiarity, even if my memory hadnât caught up yet. Every step felt like a new memory waiting to be made, and somehow, walking beside him in the quiet afternoon, it felt like home.
The evening sky was soft and golden as Yunho and I returned to the apartment, our fingers intertwined like they had always belonged together. The city hummed quietly outside, but inside, it felt like our own little world. Every step, every touch, every glance reminded me of the connection that had never truly gone away, even when my memory had.
Once inside, we settled on the couch, still holding hands. The apartment smelled faintly of the pancakes and bacon we had burned this morning, a reminder of the imperfect, yet perfect, day we had shared. Yunhoâs arm came around me naturally, and I rested my head against his shoulder, letting the warmth of him seep into me.
âIâm glad I get to fall in love with you all over again,â I whispered, feeling the words settle in my chest like sunlight.
Yunho smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. âAnd Iâm glad I get to hold your hand through it every step of the way,â he replied, his voice gentle, full of everything I needed to hear.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. There was no rush, no need to fill the quiet with words. Instead, we let the evening stretch around us, a soft cocoon of warmth, love, and new memories waiting to be made.
I tilted my head up slightly to meet his gaze. âI know I canât remember everything,â I said softly, âbut being with you⊠it feels right. Like itâs always been this way.â
Yunho leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. âIt always has been,â he murmured. âAnd it always will be.â
I smiled, feeling a flutter in my chest that was both familiar and new. The past didnât matter anymoreânot the argument, not the accident, not even the lost memories. What mattered was here, now, in this moment.
We stayed like that for a long while, holding each other, letting the world fade around us. Every laugh, every touch, every heartbeat reminded me that some love doesnât need to be remembered to be real. It just needs to be felt.
And as the evening turned into night, with the city lights twinkling like tiny stars outside our window, I knew one thing for certain: no matter what tomorrow brought, we would face it together. Choosing each other, every single day, was enough.
Because love like ours wasnât just about memories. It was about moments. And this right here, right now was ours.
You're in love with your coworker Hongjoong. Sort of. Not really. But, you like him, and your friends, San, Jongho, and Yunho, they hate him. They really hate him. He lives in a constant repetitive pursuit of stringing you along just to drop you all over again. When a company gala is announced, you're certain he'll ask you... Until you catch him with another girl. Again. Summer in the city, your friends form a plan, a fake boyfriend plan to make Hongjoong jealous, leaving you and Yunho to trudge around Manhattan under the sun to make it believable. Unspoken boundaries set in place six years ago get tested. Are you making it out of this with your best friend?
ââŽïžËïœĄâ yunho x fem!reader - {30.8k words} don't read the warnings if you don't want spoilers! fake dating, idiots friends to lovers, enormous sweet tooth rotting plot, explicit sexual content, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, cussing, dirty talk, some of these guys are kind of mean at work, yunho's a sweetie, san and jongho are funny, smut warnings; p in v, oral if you squint, biting, spit if you squint, dom!jyh, cum inside, nip play, accidental exhibitionism, unprotected (do not do!)
ââŽïžËïœĄâ happy valentines day mon! âż it's me, your secret valentine fic giver! i had so much fun writing this piece, and i had so much fun secretly learning about you (totally not creepy). you inspire originality, and i hope i conveyed a tiny bit of what you inspire others to invoke within themselves. you're so cool! (you'll get this after you read hehe). i'm so grateful to have become moots, friends, and to experience your art, your writing. you're truly an artist, and you bring so much joy here to the tumble community, i hope you never forget how loved and wanted you are here! hugs & kisses cool kid âż @03jyh23
thank you @everyonewooeverywhere for putting this event together âż
âż this is also a love letter to my favorite series created by my best friend @minkieater âż the city holds a very special place in my heart for a plethora of reasons i'll take up too much text space trying to explain. some of her characters pop up here, please go check out their story! i highly recommend it and all of it's mini spin off shotties. ily, t.
yun: JUST CAME ON.. I think the lady next to me on the subway can hear it âcause I turned it up all the way and she gave me this crazy look.. This music though.. Maybe itâll help you feel better about your meeting.. Good luckâŠâŠâŠ See you at Danteâs later
*yun sent a song*
[ I Melt with You - Modern English ]
Finishing your hair in the foot long mirror above your bathroom sink, you tapped on the song with your pinky and tucked one more pin into the bun on your head. Whimsey filled the quiet where the only sound to be heard was the lullaby of the city outside of the cracked bathroom window. Open barely three inches, as far as it allowed, fresh summer air blew in with the pop of a siren, a car horn, people chattering below on the streets, above on their balcony.
Wiping your fingers under your eyes, settling on light makeup for the work day, your hips rocked to the beat, a poppy type song dipped in something angsty, teenage rebellion. Youâve heard this before, in some movie, you think, the two of you probably watched at some point which is how it came to circle through his music library.
A song for every mood, a song for every occasion, a song no matter the cause- Yunho had one for everything. You could see him now, headphones covering his ears, wrapping over his head, the wire tangling with his leather bag that hung over his shoulder and sat on his lap, a bag too frail and too old, but one he wonât rid of because itâs from the seventies.
Listen, Shug, you donât get itâŠ
He worked downtown at a record store part time when he wasnât on the clock and running errands for his big named producer boss, Jag, the coolest, the raddest, most amazing Jag. After sorting records and analyzing set lists for local bands big and small, Yunho answered Jagâs calls, his messages, his damn pages, and disappeared for a few hours, returning with insane lore drops on the latest albums close to release, and who he caught kissing who in the lounge of Republic Records.
Capping the mascara tube, twisting it shut, you blinked at yourself in the mirror just as old as Yunhoâs bag and groaned. Pursing your lips, longing to paint on a fun color, one the company you worked for wouldnât allow, you took a deep breath and blew a raspberry.
Yunho could wear whatever he wanted. Yunho could dress like himself, he could wear the patterned sweaters you thrifted together, the crappy sneakers heâs certain John Lennon owned, ripped denim, silky slacks, he could wear it all and accessorize the crap out of himself. Earrings, layered necklaces, leather or braided bracelets, unique glasses changing each day, a hat or two somewhere in the rotation.
Trudging into your bedroom, not even two feet from the bathroom door, you reached into your shoebox of a closet and pulled out a grey pantsuit, one that hugged you in all the right places but killed the part of you that longed to wrap yourself in color.
Bopping your head to the song that repeated from the edge of the bathroom sink, you hummed along to the lyrics you half knew while you dressed yourself, ignoring the belts hanging around the bed post, or the funky sunglasses you bought several pairs of from a street festival last summer with Yunho and San.Â
Grey corduroy slacks, a white button down, and a grey vest concealing your chest. Fastening each button, securing the details in place, not that there were many, you twisted side to side in the full-length mirror you found on the street leaning against a mailbox, one San hung up for you, and loosed a breath.
âYouâve seen the difference and itâs getting better all the time,â you sang to yourself, quietly, not wanting your neighbor to bang on his wall again, and picked up your phone.Â
Tapping out a message, letting your knees bounce to the music, a smile pricked onto your bare lips.
you: I know this song??? How am I singing this right now???
yun: It was in Valley Girl
Giving yourself a look in the mirror, you rolled your eyes and typed back.
you: That movie sucked, Yunho
He answered quick.
yun: âCause you donât have taste, Shug
you: I know the song!!!!!!
yun: Doesnât count, you hate Valley Girl, grow a pair and watch it again, this time weâll drink, then youâll love it..
Pocketing your phone, the clock up in the corner taunting you as it ticked down to the minute you had to part with your sanctuary, you slipped into black heels two inches tall and slung your work appropriate purse over your shoulder, one that matched the olive of another suit you couldâve worn, the only color theyâve allowed you to toy with.
âThereâs nothing you and I wonât do,â you sang, pulling a lip gloss from the pocket on the side, slicking it on while you bounced a bit more. Capping it, feeling your phone vibrate, you exchanged the lip gloss for your cell.
yun: Did it help.. The song..
Your smile grew.
you: Yes⊠it did, thank you
yun: :) :) :) :) :) :) the futureâs open wide
A giggle escaped you, reading the lyrics he sent just as they came out of your phone. Swiping out of open apps, you silenced your phone and popped it back into your pocket. Sucking in a deep breath, the slightest bit of nerves making themselves known in your stomach, you hummed to yourself, the song heâd sent, the one you just shut off.Â
Every morning song heâs sent you, youâve had to turn it off before leaving the apartment, to not disturb your neighbors, to not be a nuisance on the street though every corner came with at least three. You tucked him into your pocket, with your cell phone, with the song, and you became someone else entirely, someone he didnât know, someone he didnât get to see. A girl who wouldnât listen to the songs he sent, and certainly not a girl who would enjoy them.
You became one heâd look at. One that heâd shoot subtle smirks at when the boss tripped over a word or two. A girl that laughed at every joke he told, even if it fell flat with whoever else stood around you. Hongjoong, he worked in the office beside yours, an assistant to a manager who worked beside a manager you assisted. Too often, since starting, the two of you had been assigned the same task at the same time. A coffee run, a folder to file, an exchange of documents for the othersâ boss to look over.
From day one, Hongjoong in black, his slicked back hair, his perfectly pristine suits ironed and hung daily⊠You liked him. With his shoulders rolled backward, his posture uptight, he oozed charisma, a confidence that would certainly skyrocket him forward in no time. Graduating from NYU, pursuing post-grad degrees, some you didnât understand, he walked and talked with a gust incomparable to most. A boss. A leader. The type of guy to lower his brows, soften his eyes, give you a reassuring smile and shake of the shoulder, and suddenly youâd feel as though you could take on the world as well.Â
Career wise, you knew itâd be best to keep him on your side, howeverâŠ
With the mess of time and endless hours you spent together, you didnât account that falling for the guy would ever become a possibility.
Yet here you were, wearing pantsuits you had to take a loan out to afford, and pinning your hair back in ways youâve only seen older women in movies pull off. Another corporate daisy in the garden that was the office he frolicked about, dancing his fingers over the edges, the petals of each one, appeasing them all with that god damned wicked smile that came out with a wink.Â
Accidentally. Sometimes. You think. You hoped.
He drank champagne at corporate parties. A pocket watch hung from his slacks, and heâd sling his jacket over his shoulder to reveal what heâd been wearing was a tailored three piece he copped from Rodeo on vacation with his sister and her car company owning husband. With a pinky in the air he laughed in singular syllables as the department heads cracked their jokes you didnât understand, most likely a guy thing, and he made sure to compliment every woman that breezed past him.
The kind of girls that had legs miles long, hair blown out and bouncing at their shoulders or below, low cut dresses front and back, diamonds dripping in the plunges front and back. Theyâd give a tight lipped smile, one youâve practiced in the mirror before feeling utterly ridiculous, and heâd end up coercing one into the back of a car with a driver provided by the company. A car you arrived in together. A car youâve never been the girl to go home in after the party was over.
Youâd catch a cab, tipsy and groveling, and meet up with Yunho and San at Dante NYC, your favorite bar on MacDougal, the street of all things food and drinks. The owner knew the three of you, youâve frequented Danteâs since your days at Columbia, escaping back down to the Village once the classes in Harlem were through.
Small, as places in the city were, Danteâs had a vibe none other could replicate. Tiny plates of just enough food to each order on your own and pass around to share, bartenders on shift before they scurried off to audition for a Broadway show that worked and lived for tips, offering heavy pours if you offered up your cash, an old Italian energy, a type of culture that Manhattan yearned to hold onto. Itâs where you were off to tonight, Yunho and San in attendance, along with Jongho, another co-worker of yours, if you could convince him.Â
One of the last times he ended up at Danteâs with you three he drank his body weight in whiskey and sang a Celine Dion duet with the bartender, stripping down to his undershirt beneath his button down. San has the videos to prove it, and he isnât afraid to use them if Jongho is acting snippy in the groupchat.Â
Youâd be there in mere hours, drinking and singing along to the music Yunho would be in charge of, ordering plate after plate of whatever the chef felt like cooking up, hanging off of Sanâs broad shoulders and groaning about your boss with Jongho. You just had to make it through this mandatory meeting your entire branch was required to attend.
Slipping into a cab headed uptown, city sights whizzing by the window in the blink of an eye, youâre dropped off in front of a skyscraper, one unlabeled, but drilling into the fluffy summer clouds. Swiping your card, bidding your driver a good day, you stepped onto the concrete and smoothed out your shirt. Just as you were headed to grab the golden door handle that stretched across half the glass, a beefy bicep hooked into your elbow and yanked you backward.
âLadies should never open the door for themselves,â his melodic voice tickled your skin.
Shooting him a tight smile, a slight roll of your eyes, you met his milk chocolate gaze and said, âJongho, you are much too kind.â
Pulling the door open for you, he leaned down to mutter, âJust showing you how a gentleman should act towards a lady.â Guiding you inside, he ushered you through the lobby, throwing an inconspicuous wave toward the receptionist youâre pretty sure heâs slept with. âHolding doors, never letting them navigate uncharted territory on their own.â
âPretty sure Iâve worked here for two and a half years,â you giggled, nodding toward a group of employees chatting by the elevators.Â
Heels clicking on the tiled floor, the sound echoing up into the tall ceilings carved with marble and painted like the sistine chapel, you took in everyone's appearance, them having done pretty much the same as you, taking themselves a bit more seriously this morning.
âThis meeting is uncharted territory,â you mumbled, meeting eyes with a few colleagues plagued with tunnel vision. Jongho sighed, glancing about the room.
âI havenât seen anyone this paranoid since- Ah! Mr. Song,â he cut himself off as the two of you turned a corner, running into a man in a tuxedo fit for a royal wedding. Bending in half some, a bow of sorts, you panicked and copied him, having no idea how to act in front of the man who traveled across the country to speak with your company.
Mr. Song gave you both a light smile, acknowledging the way Jongho held onto you, the way he escorted you through the building. Giving him a short look, one with a bit of pride, he said, âGood morning. Iâll see you soon.â
Jongho beamed. âPrompt as usual, Mr. Song.â
The older man flickered his gaze toward you, his eyes glazing over your body, ending on your hair. His smile had somewhat faded, and he didnât give you as much as a sigh before he turned to continue his pursuit over the tile.
Scoffing to yourself, so Jongho could hear you, you shot him a glare as he slipped his arm out of yours. âDid you know he was going to be down here?â He nibbled the insides of his cheeks. âYou asshole, you used me.â Situating your purse over your shoulder, you shoved him like a child and bounded ahead of him, straight for the stairs.
âHey,â he spat, hurrying after you. Long strides brought you far, but he was quicker, catching onto the strap of your purse with the curl of a finger. âHey, Shug,â he teased, pulling you to a complete stop.
Whirling around, you narrowed your eyes. âYou canât call me that.â
He smiled. âWhatâs it even mean? Iâve listened to him call you that for a year.â
Shrugging, you jiggled your head around. âShug, like sugar, I dunno, you know him, itâs vintage,â you drug out in a deep voice to mimic Yunhoâs.
Jongho eyed you curiously, how you fidgeted with your bag, how you glanced around like you were sharing a secret. âOkay,â he said softly with the smallest nod, gesturing toward the stairwell, âAfter you, y/n.â
âAnd after these are filed, we have to get those into his mailbox, and then Seonghwa has to sign these for you, Iâll get Wooyoung to sign these for me, and then weâre set,â Hongjoong flashed a dazzling smile your way, buckling your knees. He oozed charisma. He smelled of something musky and dark, something you yearned to taste on his smooth skin adorned with silver jewelry hanging off of him.
Taking the folder from his nimble fingers he wore rings on, you smirked. âAnd then we have to sit through that meeting.â
Hongjoong rolled his eyes and leaned forward on the counter, dipping his shoulder toward you to nudge you. âDid you get a look at Mr. Song? I don't know whether or not to expect anything good from this.â
Inching closer to him, you narrowed your eyes. âYou think weâre all fired? Forever?â
Matching your energy, a wickedness flashed in his eyes. âWeâre gonna have to work the corners, heâll rip everything away from us.â
âIn that suit, with that attitude, he will,â you said, and he laughed.
He tapped you with a fist, sliding over more papers across the counter before reaching for two coffee cups. âWeâre gonna be fine,â he mumbled, shaking his head as his smile softened, âI have an in.â Wiggling his brows, he flashed you a wink.
Gulping, keeping the heat that longed to rise to your cheeks at bay, you tilted your head. âOf course you do, Joong, I expected nothing less.â
He laughed again, filling up the cups in front of him. âItâs gonna be good, I was just messing with you.â Raising his gaze, intense and disarming, he winked again. âHope youâve got a dress that drips off of you like those pants, y/n.â
Jaw popping open, blinking entirely flustered, you took the coffee cup he held out for you as he passed by, and didnât say much else aside from, âI-I do,â and you watched him strut away wearing that goddamn smirk. I do?
You thought to yourself, tearing through your closet in your brain. Dresses you owned, sure, but nothing compared to what you wore todayâ bland, grey, itchy fabric. A dress? You were going to need a dress? After today's meeting?
âShit,â you whispered, collecting yourself, bounding for your bossâs office.
For hours you worked beside Seonghwa, Mr. Park, a tall man with broad yet slender shoulders and clean cut black hair pushed backward off of his forehead. In a sleek black suit, his jacket hanging on the back of his door, he wore the top two buttons of his shirt undone, giving you a peek of the chain that hung beneath the collar. Utterly stunning, but too old for you, you adored watching him subdue clients that sat in the chairs in front of his desk, both women and men falling under his spell, dazed by his beauty.
He treated you fairly, like anyone else in the office. Though you were his assistant, and you answered to his commands, you were his equal in a sense, and you felt nothing but comfortable in his presence.Â
Wooyoung on the other hand, Hongjoong's boss, heâs one to watch out for. Handsy after a glass of whiskey, married for what seems like a billion years, his wandering eyes have caught you in quiet hallways on the way back from the restroom more than once.
âTell me, y/n,â Seonghwa sang from his chair, sitting back against the leather, tapping his hundred dollar pen on his desk, âWhat keeps you at this company?â
You puttered about his office, straightening books, organizing filing cabinets. Glancing at him over your shoulder, his gaze locked in on yours, curious, you hummed and brushed your hands against your pants. Itchy fabric.
âPay is good,â you said, and he let out a loose laugh. Stepping toward his desk, you leaned over the back of one of the two chairs facing him. Eyes drawing over the nameplate in front of him, you smiled. âThe people are fun.â
Seonghwa lowered his brows. âAre they?â
âWhy do you ask?â Twisting your fingers together, you copied his face.
He sucked in a breath and let out a guttural sigh, surprising you. Standing to his feet, you stood up straight as well. âIâve been thinking some thoughts.â
âAs one does,â you joked, watching him pace along the back part of his office, staring out the floor length windows.
Turning to you, he sat down on the edge of a cabinet and flicked the pen between his fingers. âYou donât think some of them are too egotistical?â Pressing your hands to the front of your hips, your lips parted with a thought you werenât sure you should say. Seonghwa noticed, dropping his chin. âYou can tell me. Your secret is safe with me, they always are.â
Wooyoung popped into your head. The nights spent at company parties watching Hongjoong act like Mr. Big Dick popped in right next to him. Passing by Mr. Song on the first floor, the way he looked at you, looked down at you, popped next to him.
Seonghwaâs lips curled into a smile. âI can see it,â he sang, pointing at you with his pen, âYouâre thinking it.â
âI am,â you whispered, scrunching your face up. âAm I going to get fired?â
He chuckled and walked around his desk, pushing off of the cabinet with his foot. âIâd never fire you, youâre much too good at what you do, and you donât act like these⊠assholes.â
Your gasp made him snicker. âMr. Park,â you teased.
âPlease,â he shot you a look, âWhat do I say about that.â
You crossed your arms over your chest and lowered your chin. âMr. Park, what do I say about that?â
Rolling his eyes, he walked by you to the other side of his office. In a silly voice, he mocked, âItâs not professional.â
âItâs not,â you said, tone stern, âNow sit down and think about what youâve done.â
Seonghwa whirled himself around with a smile and listened to you. Plopping back into his chair after his circle around his space, he pulled himself under his desk and placed his elbows on it.
âAfter today's meeting,â he said quietly like the walls could talk, âWe need to talk.â
Nerves struck through you. âDo you know what itâs about?â
Perking a brow, he shook his head.
âHongjoong said he knows,â you said, and Seonghwa rolled his eyes more dramatically than before.
Splaying backward in his chair, he exclaimed, âOf course he doesâ see, this is what I mean!â Jolting forward with a wave of his hand, he groaned. âWhat did he tell you?â
Glancing at your feet, your cheeks flushed. Setting aside how your heart stuttered at the thought of his words, you mumbled, âThat Iâll need a dress, or something.â
Seonghwa paused. Resting his hands over the wood of his desk, he cocked his head aside. âYou still have a crush on him?â
âSeonghwa!â Heat blasted through your cheeks, the hot and cold too much to handle.
Your boss smiled. âJust checking. Is that why you wonât agree with me, that theyâre assholes?â
Admitting it made it true, and you didnât want it to be true.Â
Under his gaze, Hongjoongâs, youâve never felt more valuable, like the work you did here mattered, like the punishing of yourself daily while you readied yourself in the morning was worth something. One day youâd be the girl climbing into the back of the car with him. One day heâd place his hand on the small of your back instead, heâd waltz you around hotel lobbyâs, through ballrooms, heâd introduce you to men with big names you canât pronounceâŠ
âY/n,â Seonghwa cooed.
You blinked. âSorry, I justâŠâ
He drug his tongue over his teeth, taking a deep breath. âWhat have I told you before?â
Your fingers curled under the vest you wore. Dropping your eyes to his desk, you muttered, âThat good guys donât work here.â
Seonghwa followed your eyes and dropped his to the desk. Tapping his pen a few times, he clicked his tongue and said, âWhy donât you break until we have to go sit in that room full of testosterone?â
Perking up a bit, you breathed, âReally?â
He huffed a laugh, gesturing to your purse hanging up on the wall. âPlease. Go get a drink before we have to subject ourselves to nonsense.â
Taking yourself across his office, you slung your bag over your shoulder and rifled around in it for your cell phone. Giving him a crazy look, you said, âNo drinking on the clock, itâs-â
âUnprofessional,â he said at the same time as you, bobbing his head. âIâll see you in an hour.â
you: And then he said, do i own a dress that drips off of me like the pants iâm wearing
sannie: bro wants you, what the hell
yun: Gross.. objectifying you per usual, iâm not surprised in the slightest
you: not objectifying, thats wooyoung, hongjoong has never put his hands on me
sannie: but you want him toooooooooooooo
you: I do, god, heâs so smiley today tooâŠâŠâŠ.
yun: Are we still going to Danteâs or what..
you: Yes and Jongho is coming, he just doesnât know it yet
sannie: FUCK YES
sannie: tonight we get him to sing whitney houston
you: ANNNND IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
sannie: EEEE-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII WILL ALLLLWAYS
you: LOOOOVE YOUUUUUU-WHOOOOOOOO
yun: Classic
âTyping a mile a minute,â his voice struck your skin like he doused you like ice cold water, âWhatâs so funny?â A flick of a lighter. A sharp inhale and long exhale. Cigarette smoke washed over you where you sat on the concrete bench of the corner park across the street from the company.
Dropping your phone face down in your lap, you folded your arms over yourself and shot him a look. âNone-ya.â
Hongjoong grinned, sitting on the edge of the bench beside you. âOh really,â he teased with a wiggle of his brow. âTexting your little boyfriend?â
Now ice cold water did wash over you. Sitting up a little straighter, you shook your head in a convincing way that hid the fact that you were desperate for him to know that you were very much single. âNot my boyfriend,â you moaned, âMy friends.â Putting emphasis on the S, you reached for his cigarette.
Giving it up, he eyed your lips as they wrapped around the tip. âInsane.â
Blowing out the smoke, handing it back over to him, you crunched your brows in question.
He rolled the cigarette between his fingers and gave you half of a shrug. âThat youâre single, thatâs all.â
You wanted to squirm with how his eyes fell over you. You wanted to wriggle around, get a little friction between your legs by the seam of your pants, and then straddle him and get a public indecency charge. It sucked he could read it all over your body.
With a smirk, he took a drag of his smoke and met your eyes. âYou got a dress or what?â
âI do,â you said.
You donât, but you will.
âGood,â he crooned, sucking down another hit of his cigarette. âYou ever been to a company gala before?â
Company gala. A Gala. Excitement bubbled within you. Asking you if you had a dress, asking you if youâve ever attended a company galaâŠ
âWe started around the same time, Joong, do you think I ever have?â Teasing him, you snatched the cigarette from him and finished it, jabbing it into the concrete of the bench before flicking it into a nearby garbage can. âYouâve been to plenty, Mr. Mayor, okay?â
He laughed. Apparently you were funny today.
Crossing his legs, bouncing his foot, he shook his head as his smile grew. âI just know how to work them, sweetheart,â he crooned, and your insides did a cartwheel, âYou could too if youâd just give it up.â
Your phone vibrated on your lap. Picking it up, you opened the message and smiled at it. âGive it up?â you asked, half paying attention. Typing back to Yunho, you giggled to yourself and pressed send.
Hongjoong, quicker than you, reached for your phone and pulled it from your hands before you had the chance to lock it.
âOh my god,â you gasped, scooting toward him, scrambling for it, âGive that back.â Fighting you off with his elbow in your gut, he skimmed the message and laughed. This time instead of him laughing with you, you could feel it in your gut, he laughed at you.
âWhat the hell is a Shoog,â he curled his lip up, reading the text aloud. âShoog, I donât know about you but that song is stuck in my head, we can get Jongho to sing that one later instead, thatâd be really funny.â
âItâs Shug,â you huffed, pushing at him, trying to reach for the cell he gripped, âIt means sugar.â
Leaning into you, almost onto your chest entirely, his smile rested in a way youâve never seen. Devious, but a little enticing. âSounds like a boyfriend to me.â
âHeâs not,â you almost shouted, catching your phone as he tossed it into your lap. Hongjoong used his body weight to rock onto his feet, brushing off his thighs from the concrete. âYou have a problem if he is?â
Pursing his lips, cinching his brow, he scoffed. âThe fuck you take me for, sweetheart? I donât care whoâs in your pants and whoâs not.â Pointing at your phone, he jerked his head. âLoverboy has a nicer suit than me?â
Exclaiming aloud, shock evident on your face, you pressed your fingers between your brows. âWhat is going on?â Dropping your hands, you shot him a glare, one he returned with a sultry smirk. âJoong, what are you getting at here?â
He straightened his suit jacket, cocking his chin. âNothing,â he said simply, nodding toward the building across the street. âIâll see you inside. Meetings in ten.â
Without a response from you he left, strutting across the street and over the steps into the lobby. Sighing roughly, letting the sound regulate your nervous system from whatever that was, you picked up your phone.
yun: Shug I donât know about you but that song is STUCK in my head.. We can get Jongho to sing that one later instead.. Thatâd be really funny..
A smile graced your lips.
you: I'd love that, I have been singing it all day⊠About to go into the meeting⊠wish me luck
yun: The store is dead.. You should skip it and come hang out with me..
yun: Kidding, good luck corporate candy, donât let them eat you..
Men flooded the room. Whenever the company filed into the conference like this, bodies upon bodies, the realization that with more than one company across the country that there were more men just like this to crowd roomsâŠ
The women were far and few between, in tight black dresses and high heels, with their hair on their heads like crowns. Make up done to the nines, their jewelry glittering underneath the harsh overhead lighting, they clung to their supervisors, the men they assisted, some of them arm in arm, waltzing through the conference room doors with their sharp jaws and pointed noses turned up.
You waddled beside Seonghwa, like a little duck, following the man that stood six foot tall around the room, smiling politely as he shook hands and introduced you to men who spared you a glance for no more than three seconds. After each round Seonghwa leaned down to murmur in your ear, âAssholes.â
He says your name properly, he doesnât introduce you as his assistant, he introduces you as his colleague, his second, his right hand, a partner in crime of sorts, though most of the men didnât find that one too funny. But, it made you laugh. And, to Seonghwa, thatâs what he cared about.
He prefaced this meeting letting you know that he knows how it feels to be a little fish in a corporate ocean, let alone be a woman in a predominantly male field, to which he told you he doesnât know, but he takes the time to understand. He had your back, he always has and he always will, which is why he favored your opinion on where to sit.
There were open seats beside higher ups visiting for the day, the ones that werenât onstage. Some were beside the charismatic mouths that most tried to steal the attention of, beside Wooyoung and Hongjoong who laughed louder than all the mouths you could try to count.Â
Jongho sat toward the back, his chin tipped down, focused on his phone. On his own, his keeper elsewhere, he pressed his phone to his ear and babbled a mile a minute, letting his eyes scan the crowd. Meeting yours, he lit up, and his hand shot in the air. Giving him a meek wave, keeping your cool in front of your office's CEO that Seonghwa discussed matters with, you waited for him to finish, and then just as Mister Boss turned his back, you pointed at Jongho.
âSeats,â you offered.
Seonghwa gave you his soft smile, lifting his eyes to Jongho flinging his arm about. A gentle laugh pushed through his lips. âSure.â
He wouldâve sprawled across the chairs next to him if you didnât hightail it over there. Weaving through men in suits, some side eyeing you but shaking Seonghwaâs hand, your smile grew as you got closer to Jongho.
âNo, I gotta go,â he said into his phone, standing up to throw an arm around your back like the two of you didnât bump into one another that morning, âI gotta go! San, sheâs here, let me go.â
Gasping, you tore his phone out of his hand and pressed it to your ear. âSaaannie,â you sang, heart warming at the giggle that answered you, âWhy are you not wooorking?â
Seonghwa shook Jongho's hand and slipped behind you into the seats, leaving one open in the middle for you. He greeted the man on the other side of him and fell into conversation.
Sanâs warm voice melted through the phone, âIâm on my way to go see Yuuunho.â
âLucky, we just got into our meeting,â you huffed, plopping down next to Jongho who slung an arm around the back of your chair. âItâs full of men. Old men.â Seonghwa whipped his head of black hair around to give you a look. âSorry,â you smiled, and laughed as his lip curled.
âSeonghwaâs there?â San sighed, âHeâs so hot- Love your jacket! âŠNo, you! âŠNo, you!â
Crossing your legs, you sat backward against the seat cushion and Jonghoâs arm. Sharing a glance with him, you muttered, âHeâs making friends again.â
Jongho rolled his eyes, flicking his bangs from his forehead. âWhen is he not?â
You moved the phone between your ears, Jongho leaning in to have a listen. âItâs a store on Broadway⊠Broadway and 12th⊠By Ribalta⊠The Italian place! Youâve never been? âŠYou have to go!â
âSan,â Jongho said.
The men took their place onstage, squabbling with one another about who gets to sit where and who will speak first. Mr. Song, Mingi, the man who looked down on you this morning, with his chin held high he waltzed about the stage, like a celebrity, waving to those who were worthy.
âItâs really good, I swear⊠Ugh, I know, itâs like sometimes they try too hard to be authentic, trust me, babe, this one is worth itâŠâ
âSan,â you said.
Seonghwa and the man beside him focused forward as the room began to fall quiet.
â...Itâs right next to it⊠The store⊠Yeah, but theyâre limited to what they carry, so they might not have it in season right nowââ
You and Jongho both sneered, âSan!âÂ
âWhat!âÂ
âWe have to go,â you breathed, wanting to laugh, but the pressure of the men above you literally and physically ate you alive. Putting the phone back in Jonghoâs possession, you sucked in a breath and settled in your seat.Â
Jongho whispered into his phone, âYes, yes, Iâll see you later⊠Danteâs? No, she didnât tell me, but Iâll be there⊠Okay, okay⊠I will not sleepover⊠I donât care what happened last time, Iâm notâ Goodbye!â
Mingi tapped on the mic connected to the podium, stepping up with a grin and thunderous applause. Your hands stayed folded on your lap. As did Jonghoâs. As did Seonghwaâs.
You glanced at Jongho with a perked brow. âLast time?â
He sighed, shaking his head. âLet it go.â
âYou owe me for this morning,â you narrowed your eyes, and he copied you. âNo, no, tell me, Mr. Misogyny.â
âNot Mr. Misogyny, fine,â he groaned, shifting in his seat to face you a bit more. The applause died down as he leaned into you, whispering, âThe last time we went to Danteâs and I got shit faced, San was supposed to take me home.â
Furrowing your brow, not listening to Mingiâs opening greeting, you whispered, âDid he not take you home?â
Jonghoâs eyes widened. âOh, he took me home. And he stayed.â
Gasping internally, your smile spreading over your cheeks, you gripped his knee, digging your nails into his slacks. âGay.â
He shot you a glare. âBi.â
Rolling your eyes, you whispered, âSan is gay, you are a typical bisexual New Yorker, youâre not special, weâre all bi here.â
He took a hand to his chest, clutching nonexistent pearls. âOuch?â
Glancing to his hand that screamed gay, you popped your brows. âMr. Misogyny.â
He threw his other hand toward you, whacking your arm. âShut up!â
âShut up, you shut-â
âChildren,â Seonghwa scolded with a smile, breathing through a laugh at how you and Jongho froze to look at him, arms tangled, faces scrunched up.
Pulling yourselves into your own seats like toddlers, you set your focus forward and pursed your lips. Mr. Song went on and on about the success of his company, how proud he is of how his success has spread nationwide, that heâs grateful to have such strong men like himself working beneath him, for him. You could hear how Seonghwaâs eyes rolled. You couldnât wait to tell Yunho all of this.
Scanning the room, the lot of bald men and those with receding hairlines eating up every word though it all came out extremely backhanded, your eyes land on Hongjoong, snickering with Wooyoung, the two acting as though Mingi spoke directly to them.
Hongjoong sat at the end of the row, on the section opposite of yours. His legs were crossed, his slacks rising above his ankle to flash his designer socks. He wore no suit jacket, just his button down, a statement to the men around him, that he didnât need to act or present himself like they did, that he was better than them. He sat here with ease, a relaxed posture, both him and Wooyoung simply waiting for the words to be said, and once they were, he sat forward with a gust of excitement, celebrating with the rest of them. But, then he turned over his shoulder, and his eyes landed on you like heâd kept tabs on where you were sitting.
Mingi announced, âThatâs why weâll be throwing a Harmony Foundation Gala, for all of our branches, right here in Manhattan. Youâre all invited. Open bars, the finest catering, exquisite music, hours upon hours of not working,â he added coyly, and the room lost their minds, âAnd you will all receive a plus one.â
Seonghwa muttered to the man beside him, not surprised in the slightest that something of the sort would occur. Neither of them seemed to be excited, unlike the rest of the men who started a riot, shouting across the room to one another, elbowing each other in the guts with grins on their faces.
Jongho sighed heavily. âWell, this should be fun.â
âIt should,â you mumbled, staring back at Hongjoong who shot you a wink. âThis is why I need a dress.â
âHuh?â he asked, resting an elbow on your shoulder, following your eyeline to Hongjoong who turned away once heâd been caught. Jongho groaned, âOh no.â
âHe told me I need a dress,â you almost whispered. âI think heâs gonna ask me to the gala.â
Jongho sucked in a breath, one he didnât seem to release. Glancing between you and the back of Hongjong's head, he stuttered, âUh, really? How do you know? We just found out.â
âHe knew about it,â you shook your head, âHe fucking knew about it.â
Seonghwa tapped you with the back of his hand. âYou were right.â
âI was,â you whispered. âHe was.â Your belly bubbled with excitement, your heart beating three times faster than normal. You needed a dress, a good one, a gorgeous one. You had to schedule a hair appointment, a nail appointment, a facial, or something, whatever else it is that these other girls did before these kinds of parties, a wax, a bikini wax, Brazilian wax! And your eyebrows, you needed those done too, and maybe your face, just in case, you havenât checked out those details in a whileâ
âNew shoes,â you uttered out loud, and Jongho laughed.
Snapping your neck to look at him, he nearly leapt backward. âChrist,â he gasped, his hand reaching up for those non-gay pearls once again, âWhat just happened?â
You stood up abruptly, grasping the bottom of your vest. âI have so much to do.â
Seonghwa hooked a finger in the back of your vest by the collar of your shirt and pulled you back down. âHeâs not done, you can buy your dress later.â
âAnd then he turned around,â you shouted over the music, hands splaying across the wooden table littered with empty drinks. San leaned forward, his broad chest bumping the table, rattling the glasses. Jongho sat beside him sucking on a straw making an awful sound. Yunho sat back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest, his face upturned. âAnd he looked at me.â
San threw himself backward with a gasp, his biceps rippling under the short sleeves of the tight black t-shirt. âNo he did not,â he squawked, slapping a hand to Jonghoâs shoulder, making the straw pop out of his mouth and his eyebrows skyrocket.
âHe did,â he teased, rolling his eyes, setting the cup down on the table with a clang. Putting his elbows on the wood, he put his chin in his hands and eyed Yunho. âWhat do you make of all this?â
Kicking his foot around, the one crossed over his knee, he shrugged. âI think heâs a dick.â He held a finger up toward you just as a whine almost slipped out of you. Giving you a look from behind grey thin rimmed glasses, he said, âYou deserve better, I donât know why youâre chasing him.â
San, rubbing the back of his neck, slinging an arm around Jonghoâs chair, muttered, âMr. Big DickâŠâ
Yunho groaned, âOh, great.â Jongho scoffed, nudging San as Yunho sat forward for his empty cup and knocked back the little bit at the bottom, and a few ice chips. Pushing them around with his tongue, he shook his head and leaned into you. âYou can do better, Shug.â
Jongho kicked your leg under the table.
âUgh,â groaning aloud, you shot a hand toward San, âYou get it, donât you?â
He picked the cherry out of his glass and popped it between his teeth. âI do, trust me, heâs packinâ, butâŠâ His voice trailed off, his gaze dragging over to Yunho.
Looking at him, then looking back at San, you swatted two hands at Yunho and groaned again. âBut, what!â
âNothing,â he shouted, twisting his lips into a smile. âWe need another round, Jonghoâs not drunk enough.â Yunho threw a hand in the air to call over the waitress who has served you more than once.Â
Jongho tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. âWhy me? Why me.â
San slung himself around the boy in a hoodie much too heavy for the summer heat. âBecause, pretty boy, we like to hear you sing.â
âI canât sing.â About half the bar stopped to glare at him, even the waitress who took Yunhoâs order.
Grabbing his cheeks, San squished them and brought his lips dangerously close. âSo humble, so cute.â
âEnough,â Jongho shrugged him off, poking a finger into his bicep to push him away with a hysterical glare.Â
Sanâs eyes dropped to the hoodie. âThatâs coming off in an hour.â
Sliding your hand across the table, you raised a pinky for him to hook with his. âIâll take that bet.â
Exchanging wicked grins, San shook your hand around. âLoser has to let the winner take him home.â Jongho sighed, then smiled up at the waitress who clicked her pen.
âBet,â you whispered with a scrunch of your nose.
âThanks so much,â Yunho smized, the girl waltzing away with a pep in her step. Facing the table, he pushed his hair back off of his forehead and released a breath. âYou guys are nuts.â Pouting, you propped an elbow on his bare shoulder exposed by the cut off tee he wore. He set his jaw in place, narrowed his eyes, and took his time looking at you, before he flickered his eyes over to San, then Jongho. âI give it a half hour.â
San, cracking a laugh, grabbed onto Jongho once again and shook him around, the two getting into a minor fistfight as San tried to take the hoodie off of him now.
Giggling, letting your bodyweight tip more onto Yunho, you caught his eye and gave him a small smile. Nodding toward where the waitress plugged in your order, you mumbled, âShe was cute.â
He didnât have to look at who you were talking about to know. Locked in on you, he smirked. âSheâs taken.â
âHow do you know that? You asked her already, didnât you?â
He let out a laugh, shaking his head. Breaking his gaze from yours, he nodded toward the corner of the bar where a scrawny boy with blonde hair to his shoulders sat, one too pretty to even be a boy, so maybe he wasnât. Dressed in a large white t-shirt and jeans way too big for his hips, he stared out the window with wide brown eyes as he guzzled his drink. Oblivious, almost, until the waitress popped in front of him and his cheeks broke out with the widest smile and most perfect teeth.
âCute,â you whispered, and Yunho looked at you. You watched as the boy took the girl's hands and pulled her closer, his eyes full of galaxies as he listened to her speak. He asked her a question and she blushed, glancing over her shoulder with a laugh as if to see if anyone else had heard him. âReally cute. They look young.â
Yunho considered it, tilting his head. âNot much younger than us.â
You met his eyes. âYou arenât even looking at them.â
âI donât have to,â he said quietly. Not even the way Jongho laughed at San could break his gaze. âDo you really like Hongjoong?â He wore a singular necklace today, it hung over the old band shirt he wore, shaped like a star, or some sort of sun. Reaching for it, you pulled your lips to the side and messed with the points hanging on the chain.
âI think I do,â you said.
âYou think you do?â
Looking at him, you said, âI do.â
He flashed you a lazy smile. âYou sure?â Tossing his necklace at his chest, ignoring how it bounced off, you shoved away from him with a huff. He twisted in his chair, following you, leaning into you instead. âNo, no, Iâm just asking. Are you sure?â One of his elbows rested on the back of his chair, the other on the edge of the table. He caged you in, his size incredible.
Folding your arms around yourself, now wearing a cropped tank and ripped jeans, you blinked up at him and shrugged. âI think so.â
âWell,â he breathed through a laugh, âAs long as you think so.â
âStop,â you whined, nudging him.
âNo, I get it,â he nodded, tipping his chin up, âMr. Big Dick, Iâd like him too, heâs a hot shot.â
âYouâre dumb,â you mumbled, facing the table, turning a shoulder toward him. He took that as an invitation to lean in and prop his elbow on it. âGet offâa me-â
âShug,â he said just above a whisper, stopping you from pushing him away. He had your arm in his grip, gentle, but strong. âI just donât want you to get hurt, youâve told us so much about him, Jongho doesnât like him, he doesnât seem like a good guy, thatâs all.â
âWhat do you know?â Shrugging again, he let you go, but then grabbed your ankle with his feet and trapped it. Glaring at him, he smiled back.
âI know you,â he said, âAnd I know that youâd rather share a cigarette with a stranger and then buy a beer for a bum on the street, clink your glasses together and talk about the ways of the world, rather than become a CEOâs wife.â Averting your gaze to his chest, his necklace, you listened to him. âYou think heâd wanna come here and see how long it takes for Jongho to strip?â
âHey,â Jongho whined, giving you both a mere glance before San took his attention back.
âYou think heâd wanna sit here and try every drink on the menu? Will he tip our waitress too much âcause he knows what it's like to struggle? Will he think it's funny that you have to jump once on the floorboard by the lightswitch in your kitchen otherwise the light wonât turn on?â
Blinking up at him, you muttered, âWhy the lesson?â
He shrugged, glancing around the bar before he said, âI just donât want you to forget who you are. Iâve known you for six years, Shug. This crush is growing, I donât want you to lose yourself in the process. If you wanna sleep with him, sleep with him,â you both laughed, âJust donât get attached âcause he doesnât seem like the guy to hold onto a girl.â
You twisted around to face him again, pulling your leg free from his hold, though now your knees were nestled between his. Closing them in, capturing you, he flashed you a smile.
Perking a brow, you glanced behind him, though you could barely see over his shoulders. âAnd you should sleep with the waitress.â
Yunho turned around briefly, the sight of the waitress and the blonde boy making eyes at each other making him hum his disapproval. âThink that little guy does just fine,â he said, turning back toward you.Â
Comfortably letting life occur around you, you and Yunho shared a smile, one that faded as your eyes danced over the other's face. Six years youâve shared, one of the first friends you made after your move to Manhattan, the cool guy in the record store you stumbled into looking for new wall decor.Â
San was a bonus, his roommate, a packaged deal those two. You guys clicked in an instant, sharing interests, music taste, a love for the city and all that it offered. By your third visit into the store he was inviting you out for drinks that weekend. Surprised when you asked San to join, he stuttered a few times, but agreed, mumbling something about you all getting to know one another better. Six years and a Jongho later, here you were.
Pulling your eyes off of him, you notice that the next round of drinks had been dropped off and that San and Jongho were halfway done theirs, staring at you two. Sucking in a breath, you swiveled around in your chair, and Yunho did the same, ignoring how the boys ping ponged their stare between either of you.
âWhat?â you snapped, reaching for your drink. Yunho pinched his brow and sipped his beer. San seemed to say something to him telepathically, but everyone refused to acknowledge it.
âAnyways,â Yunho cleared his throat, cocking his chin at Jongho and his hoodie, âOff, Choi.â
With one arm wrapped around your shoulders, Yunho kicked his feet in front of him with each step, laughing while he sang aloud and you kicked your feet with him. Smiles wide, drunken laughter bouncing off of the hot concrete into the night sky, San swaggered a few steps in front of you with Jongho under his arm.Â
Tossing a hand in the air, swaying into your side, throwing you off balance, Yunho sang, âIâll stop the world-â
âAnd melt with you!â Jongho slurred, trying to escape Sanâs hold, but if he did heâd stumble over his own feet and almost fall on his face like he did five minutes ago.Â
âYouâve seen the difference and itâs getting better all the time,â Sanâs voice was muffled, Jongho grabbed him as soon as his mouth opened and tried to kiss him.
Yunho, throwing his head back with a laugh that echoed down Bleeker Street, he squeezed you into him and sang, âThereâs nothing you and I wonât do!â Hitting you with a grin, he groaned. âItâs so good, itâs so good.â
Bumping his hip with yours as the four of you came to a stop at the corner of 6th Avenue, your tipsy smile made him laugh. âThisâll be your song for the entire next week.â
Dipping down, his nose almost touched yours. âUntil-â
âSomething makes me feel better than this,â you said at the same time as him, widening your eyes.
Leaning into his hold, letting him balance you, you released a ragged sigh. âI needed this,â you yawned, snaking an arm around his waist for stability. Your several drinks had caught up to you, you needed your sweatpants and your bed. âI needed you.â
He smiled, meeting your gaze, his eyes heavy from the liquor, deeper than ever. âYou did?â
Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, your fingers brushing against his bare side, you smiled something lazy and giggled. Then, you giggled again as Jongho almost tripped up the curb across the street. âI did,â you said with a sure nod, following close behind the boys heading up Bleeker.
Yunho snapped his head up and pressed his lips together, trying to hide his smile.
Nudging him, you asked, âWhat?â
He shook his head, popping out his bottom lip. âNothing.â
Your laugh projected down the street, âWhat!?â
âNothing!âÂ
Digging a finger up into his armpit he clamped down with a cackle, you dug your finger into his sides, in the cut outs of his shirt, bellowing with cries of success as he wriggled around and bent in half. âTell me! Tell me!â San and Jongho were several steps ahead now, San raking his fingers through Jonghoâs hair where his head sat on his shoulder.
Yunho lifted a knee, his whines and rampant giggles a white flag, and he tried to push you off of him. Clamping yourself to his front, your chests pressed together, both hands in the cut outs of his shirt, you had him. His weakness.
âCâmon,â you teased, grabbing him, messing with him, tickling him, all too funny really. âTell me, tell me, tell meââ
He snapped straight up and grabbed onto your shoulders, pulling you into him as his face wiped clean. âChrist,â he muttered, spinning to the side. His arms slid around your back, holding you tight. Fear shooting through you, you grabbed onto his biceps and whipped your head around, searching for the source of his worry. Behind you, a door to a restaurant had swung open, one that wouldâve hit you if Yunho didnât have several inches on you and hadnât seen the people coming.
âExcuse us,â a familiar voice slurred. Jung Wooyoung.
Which meant there was the possibility thatâ
âHey, sweetheart.â Hongjoong.
Shit. Shit.
Heart lodging in your throat, you shoved Yunho away and brushed your hands over your front. In a cropped tee and ripped jeans you couldnât believe you were running into him right now, while you looked like this, after several drinks. Crooked hair on your head, a necklace that had spun around the wrong way, the makeup you had put on after work that was now smeared, your lipstick worn in the middle. Yunho stumbled back a step, you didnât have much power to move him, but your shove threw him off. Clamping his hands to his stomach, he tangled his brows and glared at you.
âOh,â Hongjoong crooned, looking at Yunho before he smirked at you, âSorry, I mean, Shug.â He wore what he had on in the office today, black slacks and his white button down that now had more buttons undone. Wherever his suit jacket had gone, you didnât want to know. The bare skin of his chest made your mouth water.
A woman stepped out of the restaurant in tall heels and a short dress, complaining about the service, or the hostess, or the bathrooms, you couldnât make much out over the heat of Hongjoong's stare. She tucked herself into Wooyoung's arm that he held out for her, a cigarette now hanging from his lips, one she reached around in his front pocket for a lighter to light it for him. She was handsy, grabbing something else with a smile before she fished the lighter out. Looking up at them, Wooyoung perked a brow, staring at you, catching you watching them.
âWhatâd you call her?â Yunho asked Hongjoong, cocking his head aside.
That wicked fucking smile. âShug,â fell from his lips as smooth as the liquor youâre certain they serve inside this five star joint, âThat a problem?â
Yunho narrowed his eyes. âWhatâs your problem?â
By the time you ripped your eyes off of Wooyoung and his girl you had tuned back into what you stood in the middle of.Â
âMy problem?â Hongjoong laughed, âI donât have a problem, Stilts.â
Yunho scoffed, making the face he made before his anger overcame him. It never usually happened this fast. This was weird.
Yunho took a step toward him, toward you. âWalk away, Shrimp.â
Holding up a hand, pressing it to his chest, you screwed your brows up and gave them both a look. âStilts, Shrimp⊠Grow up, what fucking year is it?â
Hongjoong, surprised, snickered, âWhat a mouth, Shug!â
âShut up,â Yunho lunged, but you held him back.Â
âCâmon,â Hongjoong sized, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. âYou like that old-timey shit donât you? Play along, Doll, we could have some fun, go to the hop and shake a leg before we have a shagââ
Yunho moved you aside in a blink, lunging for Hongjoong, pushing at his chest with both hands, sending him backward a few steps. âWalk away.â
âWatch yourself,â Wooyoung said, voice steady. He had his phone in his hand already dialed to 911. All he had to do was push the button.
Shoving yourself through the middle of the boys, you swatted at his wrist. âOkay, too far.â
He winked at you, puffing on his cigarette. âHe taking you home?â he asked, nodding at Yunho.
Giving his girl a look, she didnât seem to care. Muttering, âOh my god,â you turned around and grabbed onto Yunhoâs arm, tugging him away from Hongjoong. âLet it go, letâs just leave.â Glancing over your shoulder, you rolled your eyes at Hongjoong who still challenged Yunho. âLeave.â
His eyes glazed over to you, up and down your body, his tongue dragging over the flash of his white teeth. âNot your boyfriend,â he nodded, his eyes fluttering closed for all of two seconds, âRight. See you on Monday, y/n.â The three skipped across the street in the opposite direction. Hongjoong didnât give you another look, but Wooyoung did, his smirk evident.
Shivering in the summer heat, his eyes making your skin crawl, you wrapped your arms around yourself and started down the sidewalk, following Jongho and San who were long gone.
âHey,â Yunho breathed, hurrying after you, your pace quick. He reached for your shoulder, but you shrugged him off. âHey,â he said, louder, âYou mad at me?â
Bounding over a cross street, flicking your head in both directions, you didnât bother to look at him. âNo,â you spat, then shook your head, âI donât know.â
âYou donât know?â
You sped up, your feet powered by your stomach that turned in cartwheels, and not the good kind. âI donât know, Yunho.â
He grabbed onto your shoulder again, and this time you reached a hand up to pull him off, spinning on your heels to face him. Distraught, his face screwed up, he shook his head and tossed his hands out at his sides. âWhatâd I do?â
You let out one laugh. âAre you kidding me?â Barely moving, all he did was shake his head about. âOh my god,â you groaned, twisting around to continue your race home.
âNo,â he huffed, grabbing onto you to spin you back around, âWhatâd I do?â
For the last time, you swatted him away. âYou really had to put your hands on him?â Yunho rolled his eyes and threw his head back. âI get you donât like him, but we just talked about this, I do.â
âEven after what he said,â Yunho grumbled, eyeing the buildings on the street behind you, âSure, you still like him.â
âHe was kidding,â you said matter-of-factly, holding up a hand.
âSure he was,â he said, raising both of his brows, âHis boss was too, right? Kidding just like he was at the holiday party this past Christmas when he grabbed your ass?â
âHe was drunk, he wasââ
Yunho threw his hands up, his voice echoing down the street, âYouâre making shit excuses for them, Shug!â
âItâs not excuses, itâsââ
âItâs what,â he slouched, tucking his hands behind his back, knitting his brows together over his eyes, âTell me what it is. These guys taking advantage of you, for what? You tell Mr. Park they do all this? Speak to you like this? Put their hands on you? What would he say? What would he do?â Heâd have them all fired. Or, heâd try.
He even asked you earlier today, if you thought they were all assholes, if you had an issue with them, as if he knew everything already and had been waiting for you to admit it. Even if he tried to help you, the higher ups wouldnât do a thing. Shrinking into yourself, pulling fistfuls of denim into your hands, you stared at the concrete under your boots.Â
Gorgeous he was. Hongjoong. Even when filthy words came out of his mouth, you wanted nothing more than for him to follow through. Everything he had given you all day, the closest youâve come to him giving you the attention youâve always wanted from him, he seemed to confirm it all in the filthy words he just said to you. Go to the hop and shake a leg before you have a shag. Cringe worthy, entirely. You wanted to laugh and groan and never hear them again, but what if they were true?
The company gala announced at the meeting was a month away. All of his cohort nagging of get a dress, do you have a dress, and his hints of asking you if youâve ever been to a gala, or if you had a boyfriend. Even the way he looked at you after the announcementâŠ
He was going to ask you. There was no way in hell that he was not asking you. But with how Yunho just acted like he had to protect you from him, it couldâve screwed everything up.
Lifting your chin, meeting his gaze, you gulped and shook your head. âLet it go,â you mumbled, and his posture admitted defeat. Though it hurt your heart, you said, âI like him, and I want to go to this gala with him. I know, I see it, I hear it, but I just⊠Maybe I need actual rejection to get over him, I donât know, but I⊠I like him. Let me do this.â
Yunho clenched his jaw. Averting his eyes, he shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. âOkay.â
âThank you,â you whispered. Starting down the street, Yunho kept in time with your steps. After a minute or two of quiet, you looked up at him and asked, âYou staying over?â
He didnât smile, but he looked as if he wanted to. âCourse.â
Rejection came sooner than expected. Standing at the coffee counter with two cups in your hands, at a bright nine thirty seven in the morning, you watched Hongjoong push a blonde against the wall down a hallway. Curling a finger beneath her chin, tipping her up to look down at her, his lips curled, and they spoke slowly, and she ate it up. Her slow blinks, her pouty lips parting, the lusty nods of her head.
He kissed her. Their hands slipped lower, exploring parts of them theyâve already seemed to touch, like their kiss. One practiced, one rehearsed, for a long time. An extended period of time. The way her hands roamed his back, over the curve of his ass, his hips, his thighs, up the front of his belly and down to hisâ Nah.
Placing both cups down, you straightened the crisp blouse you had pulled on this morning, one that you thought emphasized your curves like the dress on that blonde, and darted back into Seonghwaâs office, pressing your back to the door after slamming it shut. It hurt. It shouldnât hurt, youâve watched him do this with several other girls before, yet your heart had been pierced with something sharp.
Seonghwa sat at his desk, twirling his pen between his fingers. With one leg crossed, he sat backward on the leather, eyeing you curiously. âYou do not look happy,â he said. Throat tightening, you shook your head. He uncrossed his legs and sat forward. âYou feel okay? I can get through today alone if you need to go home.â You shook your head again, and he laughed to himself. âWhat happened out there that got you glued to our door?âÂ
âNothing,â you squeaked.Â
Unconvinced, he smiled. âOne of these days youâre going to tell me the truth,â he said, âOr, Iâm hiring you a body guard.â
âNo,â you sighed, pushing off the door, stepping closer to his desk. âThat hasnât happened sinceââ Cutting yourself off, his brows skyrocketed.
âContinue,â he gasped, âSince?â
Raising a finger, you calculated your words, and sighed once more. âIâll tell you later.â
Seonghwa studied you, his soft eyes sharp, analyzing you from tone to body language. âIâll go get our coffee,â he said, knowing you didnât want to go back out there, âThen we can discuss. Get comfy.â
âWait,â you almost shouted as he grasped the armrests of his chair to stand up, âIâll go. Iâm sorry.â
Settling back down, he tilted his head. âApology not needed,â he said gently, âAre you sure?â
âYes,â you breathed, shaking your head. âJust⊠needed a breather.â
Seonghwa asked, âFrom?â
Four knocks sounded on the door. Sharing a look with your boss, he gave a tentative, âCome in,â and when the door swung open, your heart sank to your knees.
Holding onto two coffee cups, the cups you left behind, Hongjoong, with a grin across his face, stepped inside and held them up. âYou left these behind,â he said, breezing past you to pop them on Seonghwaâs desk.
âThanks,â Seonghwa said through his teeth.
Hongjoong held a hand toward him. âDonât mention it, please,â he chortled, adjusting the collar of his shirt. There was lipstick on it. Facing you, he cocked his chin up. âYou look like youâve seen a ghost. You good?â
Thinning your lips, unable to look at him for longer than a second, you hummed, âMhm.â
âThink she might be coming down with something,â he pouted, glancing at Seonghwa, âShe was out partying with her boys all weekend.â
Scoffing aloud, jaw falling open, you shot him a glare, one he returned with a curve of his lips. Seonghwa sighed, reaching for his cup of coffee, not entertaining him.
On his way to the door, Hongjoong leaned into you. âMight want to find a date to that gala soon, Shug,â he sneered. âThereâs not many left.â
âThereâs not many left.â
San threw himself forward into the table, glasses rattling. âNo.â
Copying him, eyes widening, you shouted, âYes!â
âAsshole,â Jongho stated, hands palms up on the table.
Yunho, pressed to the back of his chair beside you, drug his fingers over his face, rubbing his eyes before he uttered a quiet, âYeah.â
Knocking back the rest of your drink, slamming it to the wood, you threw a hand over the glasses graveyard before you and your friends and shook your head violently. âHeâs⊠a jerk! Thatâs it. He sucks!â San, Jongho, and Yunho, they shared a glance before they turned toward you slowly. Squeezing your eyes shut, tightening your hand into a fist, you sighed heavily. âI mean it.â
Jongho asked, âDo you?â
âNo,â you breathed, slumping over. Opening your eyes, you drug your hands over your cheeks. âI like him. Damn!â You pounded your fist on the table, glasses rattling again. Yunho rolled his eyes. âBut, he sucks.â
âWeâve been trying toââ
âYunho,â you snapped, pointing your eyes toward him, âI know.â
He screwed up his face and held open his arms in a shrug, his oversized t-shirt dripping off of him like water. âIâm just saying. Itâs been all this time, and heâs done this to you so many times.â
Sucking in a breath, one big and dramatic, you leaned back in your chair and smoothed your hands over your thighs to grip your knees. âHe has,â you mumbled, recounting the numerous times Hongjoong has flaunted a woman in front of you. âI just⊠I thought this time⊠He meant it.â
San downed the rest of his drink and popped his brows. âThe bar is low.â
Jongho curled his lip. âThe bar is in hell.â
Yunho stared at the table. âSatan is using the bar to hang his laundry.â
Groaning aloud, tipping your chin back, you eased the ache between your lungs with another deep breath.Â
He meant it. He had to have meant it. You were different from any of the other women he entertained, you were you. Insanely more fun, and interesting, and far from plastic, far from a giggle at every joke kind of girl just because he has money. He had to have meant it, all these insinuations toward the gala, toward taking you, and making sure you were prepared, and had a dress, and a date. You had him. UntilâŠ
Snapping your head forward, you twisted in your chair, toward Yunho, who shot you the world's weirdest look. Jongho furrowed his brows and swatted at Sanâs hand that tried to swipe his half full beer, San who also stared at the two of you, curious. Yunho stared at you, into your eyes, focused, analyzing. An attempt to read your mind, you think.
And then it clicked.
He erupted, hands flying, voice raising. âOh no,â he shouted, flinging himself around in his chair to face you, âNo, no, no! No! I did not do this! This did not happen âcause of what I did, Shug, donât you dare.â
San and Jongho both shouted, âWhat did you do?â
Gritting your teeth, you whined, then said, âHe touched him.â
San gasped. Jongho, slightly alarmed, slightly disgusted, muttered a quiet, âWhaaaââ
Yunho glared at him. âNot like that.â
âThen how?â San asked, successfully grabbing Jonghoâs beer, guzzling it down.
Placing your hands flat on the table, you sat up straight and parted your lips, though Yunho begged you not to. âFriday night, when we all left, you two made it back to your apartment first, you left us behind, and we just so happened to run into Hongjoong.â
âAnd Wooyoung, and his wife,â Yunho added, his tone flat and unamused.
âNot important,â you brushed off.
Yunhoâs eyes shot open wide. âYes important, he wouldâve abducted you if I wasnât there.â
âHongjoong or Wooyoung?â Jongho asked.
Yunho said, âWooyoung.â
San elbowed Jongho. âShe wants Hongjoong to abduct her.â
âI do not want him to abduct me,â you spat. âYunho pushed him.â
The boys gasped, both turning to Yunho at once. San smiled, Jongho tilted his head, disappointed.
Yunho held up both hands, feigning innocence. Fluttering his eyes shut, his long lashes splaying over his cheekbones, he said calmly, âHe said some fucked up shit, okay? He got in my face, I was drunk, I couldnât not do it. Mr. Big Dick, I donât care who you are, youâre in my face, youâre talking shit to my girl, Iâm gonna do something.â
Jonghoâs jaw popped open. San pulled his lips together before hiding behind his beer, sipping it as his eyes drew over to you.
Cocking your head to the side, you narrowed your eyes. Yunho dropped his hands and looked at you, the face of normal, of patience. Glancing at the table, at the empty glasses in front of him, counting one, two, three, four⊠Okay.
âYouâre drunk,â you said, facing the table and San and Jonghoâs disappointment. âHe was making jokes, Hongjoong, and he just so happened to get in our way, and between us, andââ
âAnd I wasnât having it,â Yunho swung a hand about, âHe acted like he had some major claim over you or something, I wasnât gonna take that.â
Squinting at him, you asked, âAnd, what? You have ownership over me?â
He snipped, âWhat?â Facing you, he crossed his arms over his chest. âThatâs not what I mean.â
âSounds like it,â you huffed, giving a look to San. âYou heard my whole thing about him that night, how it was possible he wanted to go to the gala with me, and I told you, I like him, and when we run into him, you ruin it.â
âHe ruined it himself,â Yunho argued, his hands flying, âIf he didnât get jealous and try to piss on you to claim his territory, I wouldâve never snapped. Youâre not an object to be won, thatâs how they look at women, thatâs not you.â
Opening your mouth to fight back, Jongho sat forward and slung a hand between you. âHang on,â he said quickly, taking his time to look at each of you.Â
Silence fell, though the bar moved around you, tables getting their orders, the blonde boy and the waitress whispering on barstools, faint music pumping in the background. Jongho exchanged something with San, a look that spoke to only them, and in seconds San broke out into a toothy grin.
Jongho said to you, âHongjoong said something fucked up to you.â The three of them waited, anticipation on their tongues.Â
Shrugging, you muttered, âI mean, yeah, I guess it was fucked up.â
San continued before Yunho could air his grievances, âAnd when Yunho stood up for you, it pissed Hongjoong off?â
Giving your best friend the tiniest of glances, you shrugged again. âYeah?â
San and Jongho both snickered and faced one another, slapping their hands together. âItâll work,â they muttered to one another, âItâs going to work. Itâs perfect, isnât it? How did we not see this before? Heâs so stupid, he wonât see it coming, heâll be so pissed, heâllââ
Yunho waved a hand in front of them. âHello!?â The boys whirled around, taking in your shared confusion.
âWhatâs going on?â you asked as the waitress appeared at the end of your table, ready for the four of you to order another round.
San smized, mischief in his eyes, his gaze flickering from Yunho, to you. âYouâre gonna win this. Weâre gonna play his game.â
Four knocks sounded at your door. Timid knocks. Knocks heâs never made before. Usually theyâre loud, and obnoxious, and a little excited, like the introduction to a Led Zeppelin song. This time they were any John Denver song ever to exist. Stomping through your apartment in wedged strappy sandals, you grumbled to yourself and yanked the door open, unable to believe he wasnât going to pretend to be happy about this predicament when heâs the one who got himself here in the first place.
âWe wonât have to do this,â is the first thing to leave his mouth before you get a word in. Dressed in denim torn to shreds showcasing his knobby knees and the length of his legs, the cropped black t-shirt he had pulled over his head hung just at the belt, if he had worn one. Tiny chains wrapped around the base of his neck, various golds and silvers wound together in mismatched plaits. His hair hung over his eyes, a bit shaggy today, wavy and natural.Â
âI donât, but you do,â you said with disdain.
Following you into your apartment, pushing the door shut, Yunho heaved a dramatic sigh. âBut, if youâre not comfortableâŠâ
Uncapping a lipstick, you wandered into the bathroom to glide it over your lips, a shade of pink to go with the stripes on your mini skirt. âWhy wouldnât I be comfortable?â
He appeared in the doorway, just as tall as it, leaning against the frame. Stretching one arm over his head, he made a sound while he thought, and opted to say, âI dunno, cause itâs me?â
Smacking your lips together, dropping the lipstick into the makeup bag on the shelf over the toilet, you shot him a look through the mirror. âItâs you because of what you did.â He rolled his eyes. Turning to face him, you pressed a finger to his chest, his hard, broad, sturdy chest. âThis could easily be San, or even Jongho, thatâd be the easiest, but this is how youâre going to make that night up to me.â
He dropped his chin, a smirk pulling at his lips. âMy penance is being your fake boyfriend, even though Hongjoong thinking I am your boyfriend is what got you into this mess.â
âUs,â you corrected, standing to your tip toes in your sandals, missing his nose with yours by an inch. Pushing by him, he followed you, two steps into the kitchen.
âI was defending you, Shug, you canât be mad at me for this,â his volume raised, and you held up a finger. âSorry,â he huffed, slapping his hands on his thighs, dropping his tone, âYeosang still giving you problems?â
Putting together a purse, a little leather one, you wiggled your brows, fishing your keys off the counter. âNot as of late, but I got something on him now, so if he ever does have some more shit to say, Iâll just tell him all about how I heard him going at it with his bossâs wife.â
Yunho gasped, a smile finally painting onto his face and yours. âYouâre kidding me.â
Slinging the purse over your bare shoulder, your strapless top clinging tight to your middle, you pursed your lips and shook your head with pride. âNot at all,â you said, moving for the door. Yunho clung to your tail. âHeâs a freak, who woulda thought?â
Stepping out into the hall, giving you space to lock up, Yunho glanced at the neighbors door and started putting puzzle pieces together. âLike⊠how?â
âWell,â you started, slipping your keys away, âThis was last weekend, and yanno, it kinda made me realize these walls are paper thin, so I donât think I can be too mad at him getting mad at us?â You started down the hallway, Yunho in tow. âAnyway,â you laughed, throwing your hands up, glancing up at him walking beside you, âI heard them come home and fumble with the keys in the door, they were giggling and shit, and he was hushing her. I was paralyzed at the kitchen table doomscrolling through clips of Maneskinâs last tourââ
Yunho squeezed his eyes shut and tipped his chin back. âWill we ever get them again?â
âOne can dream,â you muttered with a groan. âI heard them over La Fine, okay? Vic was killing it, her tits were out, it was great, and I heard them.â Yunho held the door to the stairwell open for you. âHe was telling her what a bad girl she was,â you amped up the act, walking backward down the stairs, to put on a show for him, âYou shouldnât be here, we shouldnât be doing this.â
Yunho grinned, a laugh caught between his teeth.
âWhat will he think? What will they say?â You held up a hand to signal the character switch. âShe says, âFuck what they say!â
âNo!â Yunho shouted, reaching out to grab you as you tripped over your feet and laughed. âTurn around.â
âYes,â you confirmed, listening to him, facing forward, grabbing onto the railing. âI donât even think they made it out of the kitchen. Iâve seen his apartment, that wall is shared with the one in my bedroom, they fucked in the kitchen.â
âDamn,â Yunho sighed, pushing open the door to your building, ushering you out onto the summer street of New York City. âQuiet boy has game, who woulda thought.â
Catching him off guard, you spun around and grabbed onto his biceps. Pushing him back against the brick wall of your building, you flipped your brows over all sappy and sweet, and whined, âTake me, Yeo, take me!â Shaking your hair around, you giggled. âDo what he canât, love me like he canât!â
Yunhoâs shoulders rose, eating his ears as you shook him. Wide eyed, he smiled at your words, at the exasperated way you shouted them, mimicking Yeosang's bossâs wife, but then you gazed up at him, lips pursed, eyes soft, cheeks pouty, and he swore he stopped breathing.
Squeezing his arms in your hands tighter, you fluttered your lashes as you blinked, putting on an act, making fun of the way the woman many years older than Yeosang spoke to him. Fingers pressing into the meat of his biceps, realizing you surprised him, and that he wasnât prepared to hear you do this in front of him, no matter the context⊠You gulped and wiped your face clean of emotion.Â
The summer air grew thicker, your cheeks flushed, your stomach sunk a littleâ And you werenât sure why. Itâs not the first time jokes like this had been made, your friends always moaned a bit, they were boys for fucks sake, the occasional flirt sneaked out, this wasnât new. As you gazed up into his sappy brown eyes that werenât ready to experience this, how it seemed like a part of him was listening, paying attention, you audibly expressed your apologies with a groan and pulled away from him, hands dropping to your side.
âYeah, it wasâŠâ you sighed, dragging a hand through your hair, âIt was wild, anyways, should we go? I dunno what time they close, and San said that if we donât make it there before six then the woman willââ
Yunho pushed off the building and hooked his arm in yours, a smile growing on his pink lips as he pulled you down the street. âLetâs go,â he said, entirely normal, keeping things normal, as normal as normal can be. Looking down at you, he said, âGonna need you to recreate that for San and Jongho though, that was hysterical.â
Wedging your bottom lip between your teeth, you nodded. âCanât believe I never told you guys.â
âThat Yeosang gets chicks? And that he fucks?â He huffed a laugh, âCanât believe you never told us either. I thoughtââ
Jumping in your sandals at the street corner cutting him off, you unhooked your arms and gasped. âWait, if weâre gonna practice this, shouldnât we hold hands instead?â
Yunho tugged at the hem of his cropped tee. âWaffle or pancake?â
Oh, how you yearned to lose your shit, fall to the concrete, and laugh at him. Instead, you deadpanned, and said, âYou did not just ask me that.â
Holding up your hand for him to take, he scrunched up his face and gave you a look. âShut up. Câmere, Shug.âÂ
Reaching around your back, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, yanking you into his side, the warmth of his hold engulfing you entirely. Wiggling his fingers to ask for your hand, guiding you with subtle nods of his head and small smiles, he laced his fingers with yours, the hand hanging from your shoulder, then gestured to your other hand wedged between your bodies.
âSixteen Candles, câmon,â he mumbled, meeting your eyes with a humor in his.
Furrowing your brows, you scoffed. âYeah, sure Jan.â
He rolled his eyes. The people waiting at the corner moved on, leaving the two of you alone until a few stragglers flew by with papers in their hands or headphones on their ears. Everyone dressed for summer, tanks, shorts, dresses, crop tops, their variations of outfits mixed and matched yet impressively cohesiveâ Your neighborhood the neighborhood of color, of originality, thrifted clothes and bright colored hair. Artists, musicians, bohemian spirits.Â
âI am not Sixteen Candles-ing you,â you giggled, and he clicked his tongue.
âYou have to,â he joked with a solemn shake of his head. âIâm sure as hell not doing it to you, Iâd rather you do it to me. Itâll be cute, do it.â
âBut, thereâs no one even around toââ
Yunho used his free hand to grab onto yours, pulling it behind his back as far as he could, allowing you to do the rest. Sliding it into his back pocket.
By the grace of the gods, the heavens, the angels, whoever you believed in, his denim hung off of him loose enough that you werenât necessarily holding on to anything specific. Until you started walking. His proud smile guided you across the street and across a few more blocks like this, and your palm brushed over him repeatedly.
It felt weird, to feel like this wasnât right, or that this was crossing a line, even though youâve smacked him on his ass plenty of times before, mainly after a few drinks. This was intimate. A scene in an old movie you watched together, a scene in a newer movie you watched together⊠Where the girl needs the boy to do these things, and the boy agrees to make his old girl jealousâŠ
Looking up at him, his brain at work putting pieces of the city together, admiring the streets that didnât mirror the financial district in the slightest, you supposed this was fine. This was the purpose. Technically, itâs his duty, to help you make Hongjoong jealous, or, more jealous than he already appeared to be. And plus, it was Yunho.
Like you said, this was his way of making that night up to you. Though, at the end of the day, youâd rather be doing this with him than anyone else. Too intimate or not⊠It felt right.
âWhat do you mean you donât have a dress yet?â The woman in jorts and a frilly blouse with big chunky boots on her feet stared at you in disbelief. Standing in front of a mirror in silver high heels, you stared back in shock. Yunho sat behind you on a stool with his hands on his knees, and confusion on his face. Her deep brown hair was tied up in a tight bun, with bangs hanging on her forehead. âHow are you buying shoes without owning a dress?â
Shrugging, you parted your lips to answer her, but no sound came out.Â
âInsane,â she spat, her lips curling, âEvery girl knows, you buy the dress first, then you buy the shoes. How do you expect the dress to fit right, or lay right, or fall right at your feet if youâre buying the shoes first? You get a dress, then shoes, how do you know you can even wear the heels? Do you even like these ones? Youâve tried on several pairs, no wonder itâs taking you forever, you donât have a damn dress.â
Biting your tongue, you sucked down a breath to steady your heart rate and your skin that burned. âThis is the one store I can afford, my friends and I are thrift lovers, Iâve never done this before, so Iââ
âGreat,â she berated, âSo I get to deal with the inexperience, wonderful, where did you say you worked?â
âHarmony Foundationââ
Her lined eyes widened. âAnd this is all you can afford?â
Pressing your hands to your belly, you shook your head fervently, feeling your throat tighten like how it would just before tears slipped down your cheeks. âI-I guess I donât know, I mean, Iâve never done this, I donât like to dress like thisââ
âGreat!â She shouted, and the few other customers in the store turned to seek out the noise. âYou donât even like it, why am I wasting my time, you might as wellââ
âWeâre done here.â Yunho leapt to his feet, snatching your wrist in his hand, pulling you behind him. The woman screwed her face up as she tipped her chin back to glare at him. âDonât start. This was a waste of our time. My girlfriend works hard, she deserves this night. Fuck you for making her feel less than. Our best friend sent us here, heâs obsessed with you guys actually. I canât wait to tell him how disgusting this whole visit has been.â Glancing at her name tag, he scoffed, âHave a nice day, Mina.â
Keeping his grip on you tight, he moved you away from the mirror, away from the lady who started out sweet as pie, and sat you down on another stool across the store. Crouching in front of you, he propped one foot up on his knee and started working his fingers at the buckle, the rough tips of his fingers brushing over your smooth skin.
He clenched his jaw tight, eyes pointed at your foot and shoe he slipped off of you. Moving with persistence, you could see the figurative smoke bellowing out of his ears, the gears that grinded behind his eyes. Switching feet, he slipped the shoe off gently, his actions rough, but the way he touched youâ Soft. He put you back into your sandals, his whole hand wrapping around your ankles to move you around, his touch entirely distracting you from the menace Mina had been. Strapped into your shoes, he blinked up at you and sighed heavily.
âMy girlfriend,â you teased under your breath, and he sighed again.
He held your hand this time, really tight. Fingers intertwined, the grip he had on you almost made you want to peel his hand off âcause it was so tight.Â
âYunho, itâs fine,â you breathed, trailing behind him as he bounded down the street, dodging bodies that crowded now that it was past six oâclock. âIâll find something later, we donât have to go anywhere else, Iâm over this today.â
The shake of his head told you plenty. âMe too.â
Dropping your hand, setting you free, he crossed his arms over his chest and stopped behind a group of people waiting for the cars to finish whizzing by to trudge across the street. His jaw tightened, and he wouldnât look at you.
âIâm fine,â you assured him, putting a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged you off. âYunho?â The cars stopped. The bodies moved. You scurried along beside him, keeping up with the long strides of his legs. âYunho,â you groaned playfully, elbowing him a couple times. It wasnât until you were at the next block that he opened his mouth.
âThatâs how it feels when Hongjoong speaks to you the way he does,â he said, turning toward you. âAnd Iâve only experienced it in person maybe twice? But, even when I have to hear about it, or whenever you talk about him, thatâs how it feels.â
Glancing away from him, to the traffic, the unique people around you, you go numb for a moment hearing his name. Tilting your head, you asked, âBeing degraded in the middle of a store by a woman who hasnât gotten laid in years?â
He shot you a look. âWhat do you think Hongjoong does?â
âBut, he gets laid all the time.â
Yunho drug his hands through his hair, arching his back in a stretch with an obnoxious whine. âOh my god, Shug, nevermind, youâll never get it.â
Pedestrian traffic moved, pushing you both along the current. Store doors swung open with chimes, music played underneath the awnings of eateries and restaurants with outdoor seating, delicious smells wafted through the cultured air.
âHang on,â you groaned, reaching for the sleeve of his shirt, âI want to get it. I donât see what you see, Iâm sorry, okay?â
He, again, shrugged you off of him. âItâs really going to take you getting together with him, getting cheated on, heartbroken, and disposed of, to realize it.â
You grabbed onto him again, your hands pulling at his shoulders. He paid attention for you, his eyes on alert, scanning the crowds, the streets, itâs what he always did. Never once did you have to worry while you were out with him, he became your brain, your thoughts, your safety. Even now, while in the middle of some sort of argument, he pulled you out of the way of deranged tourists who think they have the right of way.
âIâm trying, okay?â Begging him to slow down, to look at you, to take a break, to understand you, you said, âI want to see what you see.â
His glare hardened. The crowd dissolved some. Turning into you, he smoothed his hands over your shoulders and pushed you up against the corner wall of a vacant store front. Leaning into you, his forehead millimeters from yours, he softened his eyes, his words not matching the tone he spoke in.
âIf you wanted to see what I see, youâd try a little harder,â he nearly whispered. Flickering his eyes between both of yours, letting them flicker over your face, he smirked. âIf you really cared that bad, to understand, to listen to me, to us, then we wouldnât be doing this little experiment, would we?â His gaze glazed over your lips. His smirk deepened. You were holding your breath.
âFake dating,â he mumbled with a Broadway worthy roll of his eyes. Chills ran down your spine as one of his hands slid up your neck, his palm cupping your chin, his fingertips brushing your hair. âTo get his attention, to make him jealous, to play his game. Since when do you care about fitting in with people, Shug? Becoming one of them?â
You barely shook your head, whispering, âI donât.â
Yunho narrowed his eyes. âThen, why are we doing this?â
âBecauseâŠâ
âBecause,â he repeated, mimicking the slight whine in your tone. âUse your words, youâre a big girl.â His thumb danced over your cheekbone, his words made your knees buckle. âI love to listen to you talk, it might be my favorite thing in the world. Tell me, why are we going to do this? Act like a couple, like weâre boyfriend and girlfriend, like weâre in love, like we share the deepest, most intimate parts of ourselves with one another at three in the morning entangled in a mess of sweaty sheets.â
You werenât holding your breath, you couldnât breathe. The depth of his eyes made it impossible to look away, impossible to pretend like his words dripping with sweet melted sugar weren't affecting you. He was close, so close, his body heat hotter than the sun that procrastinated setting.
âYou look pretty today,â he whispered. âYou always do. When I got to your apartment, and I watched you put this lipstick on, I just,â he shook his head, âCouldnât not think about⊠it.â
Gulping, your voice shook as you whispered, âAbout what?â
He broke out into another smirk, his perfect teeth peeking through his heart shaped lips. âNo,â he mumbled, a quiet laugh coming out of him, one that rumbled in his chest so deeply you could feel the bass, âI donât wanna sound like him.â
âSay it,â you whispered, fast, and he bit his lip.
âYeah?â Questioning you with a raise of a brow, he stood up straighter, chin cocking back.
You gazed up at him through your lashes, and you swore this newfound persona of his faltered. âPlease.â
His other hand slid up the other side of your neck. He tipped your chin back, both of his thumbs on your cheeks, his fingers in your hair. Shared air filtered between you, he was that close. Eyes on your lips, on the shade of lipstick he watched you layer on, he whispered. âItâs filthy.â
âWhat did you think about, Yunho?â Your eyes fluttered shut for a split second, and he sucked in a breath.
Taking one thumb to your bottom lip, he tugged at it gently before pressing the pad to both of your lips, smirking as your lips seemed to instinctively kiss it. âThought about how pretty theyâd look wrapped around the tip of myâŠâ
Your jaw fell open, your lips parting with a stifled sigh. Pressing your thighs together, his eyes widened some. It took him three seconds to move, out of your space, many steps from the wall.
Letting a laugh loose, he swiped the thumb covered in your lipstick over his lips and winked at you. âBet San or Jongho wouldnât do that, huh?â
Catching your breath, utterly blindsided, you situated your clothes that felt like he had ripped them off of you and thrown them back on even though he hadnât touched them, and you pushed off of the wall. Trying to laugh, feeling as though youâd been doused with a bucket of ice water, you took a deep breath and shook your head. âNo, they wouldnât,â you forced your laughter, âGood one. Thatâs believable, howâd I do?â
Yunho rubbed a hand over his bare middle, his shirt lifting to show off his toned stomach. Bobbing his head, his eyes unreadable, he shrugged. âDonât think youâre winning an Oscar any time soon. Your impression of Yeosangâs sugar mommy was way better.â
Smacking your lips, you laughed for real and rolled your eyes. âNot fair,â you muttered.
âYouâre gonna have to try a little harder if you want us to be taken seriously,â he teased with a sarcastic huff, holding out his elbow for you to hook yours in.Â
Swallowing, hard, your heart finally beating steadily, you rubbed your lips together, your lipstick that he looked at, again, and said, âGuess weâll have to practice some more.â
The clock ticked on the wall, the halls silent enough the only sound to be heard were the hands counting down to five oâclock. Standing at a counter, waiting for the receptionist on your floor to return with several files Seonghwa needed to finish a sale with one of his loyal clients of many years, you had your elbow propped up on the edge and your chin sitting on your fist.Â
It was the morning after your failed shopping date with Yunho, last night ending with stacked jokes on the way to Sanâs apartment, where you met Jongho there and spent the night shoveling take out into your mouths and playing guess that artist with Yunho until you all grew tired enough and fell asleep on the sofaâs mumbling about what new tattoos you all should get.
Snoozing on Yunhoâs shoulder, youâd be lying if you said what heâd done to you didnât stick with you. Pushing you up against a wall like you had done to him, except instead of mimicking a neighbor's hookup, he spoke real words to you. Words that sounded true. Words that felt true. Words you think⊠you wanted to be true. Youâve never heard him speak that way, his voice low and gravely, the things he said, dirty and hot.
Thinking back to the flings heâs had here and there, your mind wandered to the possibilities of what he said to them, how he treated them, an entire side of him you never once thought to ever explore. He turned you on, your body reacted to him, you wanted him to keep going, to say more, to maybe even do more than just touch his thumb to your lips like he wished it really was the tip of hisâŠ
âHey, Shug.â A chill ran down your spine, your skin erupting in a blazing fire. Jolting upright, slapping your hand to the counter top, you whirled around and met Hongjoongâs smile, a stack of papers in his hand. He occupied the space beside you, stepping into your field of energy, placing the stack right next to your hand.
âPlease donât call me that,â you said with the release of a breath.
Hongjoong leaned against the desk and crossed one foot over the other. Glancing around the stranded lobby, he smiled before he pointed his eyes at you. âFind a date to the gala yet?â
Okay, straight to the point, damn. Time to lock in. Your stomach sank.
âYes,â you squeaked, voice high pitched and nervous.
He perked a brow, his eyes drawing your body and the outfit you had thrown together this morning after running home from Sanâs with a half hour to spare. You were almost late this morning, and your oversized button down and wrinkled slacks let everyone know.
The corners of his lips perked up. âWild night?â
âNo,â you pushed through your lips.
Hongjoong met your eyes and laughed, shaking his head. âYeah, right. Look at you. That your boyfriend's shirt?â Scoffing, you looked down at yourself, and he laughed again. It was in fact Yunhoâs shirt, one he didnât use anymore, a white button down that would fit his chest snugly. It hung off of you, but this wasnât the first time you had worn it.
âThis is mine,â you stated with a point of your finger to your belly.
Hongjoong furrowed his brows, but his smile remained. âYou sure you didnât pick it up off his floor this morning?â
âNo, Joong, itâs mine.â
âCoulda sworn he spent the night putting you through the mattress, at least from what I saw,â he snickered, averting his eyes to behind the desk. âSmooth talker, huh?â
Your blood ran cold. âWhat?â
Hongjoong laughed. âYou let him talk dirty to you? I know you like a filthy mouth.â
Eyes bugging, you laughed with him, nervously, and knitted your hands together. âI-I-I donât know what youâre⊠what youâre talking about, what are youâŠâ
âI saw you,â he said, plainly, giving you a look. âOn the corner of 7th, he had you pinned to the wall, his hands on you, talking all quiet.â He popped his brows and swung his hand about as he spoke. âIâve never seen you look the way you did, all doe eyed, like he held your consciousness in his hands, so submissiveââ
âShut up,â you snapped.
He raised a brow, his lazy smile wicked. âTell me again how the shirt isnât his, how you werenât letting him defile you last night, go ahead.â
âI didnât, itâs notââ
He kept going. âThought youâd let him take you right there on the street corner, I mean, damn, how long have you been in love with this guy, I wouldâve thought you had something for me if I didnât catch you two like that, does he know what a flirt you can be?â Leaning toward you, he popped his lips as he mumbled, âA brat?â
âOh my god,â you muttered, pressing your front to the desk, knitting your fingers in your hair, staring at the linoleum. âHurry up, hurry up, hurry up.â Willing the receptionist back in whispers, Hongjoong heard, and fucking laughed.
âHe probably gets off on it, right? Knowing youâve got a little game going with me, he probably loves to hear all about it so he can fuck it out of you. Claim you.â
âHongjoong, shut up. Leave me alone.â
He took a step closer to you, dipping his chin down. âNo, I want you to be able to run home to have the fuck of your life after you tell him about this. Let him know that when I saw you over here all alone in his shirt, I envisioned what itâd be like to rip it off of you and spread you open on Ms. Kimâs desk, and how I wouldnât care if she came back and caught us.â
Pressing your hands to your face, shaking your head, you sucked air in through your lips, and for the first time, you wished Yunho were here to stop him.
âMatter of fact, Wooyoung likes to watch,â he smirked, âHeâd love a show. Would probably get a raise,â his fingers touched your shoulder, gently, but with purpose, piercing through the fabric of your shirt, âJust gotta make sure he can see your tits, so he canââ
âHongjoong,â Seonghwaâs voice echoed off the ceiling, booming through the empty space. Clenching your jaw, tears welling up in your eyes, you clawed at your scalp. He tore his hand off of you, moving faster than youâve ever witnessed. âWhat am I hearing?â
A sigh came out of him as he took a step away from you, his hands folding on the desk. âPlease, she likes it.â
Seonghwa scoffed. âI guarantee you, she does not. Y/n?â
Peeling your hands away from your face, you pushed your hair back and turned to look at him. With a face full of sorrow, he waved a hand toward him, coercing you closer. âGo into my office and wait for me there. Weâll file a report together, but Iâd like to personally hand his ass to him face to face.â
Only able to give him a nod, you wrapped your arms around yourself and hurried down the hall, straight into Seonghwaâs office, though you longed to linger and listen to what your boss had to say.
you: It worked..... He's pissed off or something..
yun: What happened.
you: I get what you guys mean now.. How he talks..
yun: Call me. Now.
you: Iâll tell you laterâŠ.. Do you have to see Jag????? You havenât mentioned him
yun: He hasnât needed me.. Iâm yours tonight.
Outside of a store with gowns on mannequins in the windows, you and Yunho stood elbow to elbow against the glass, appreciating the bustle of the people on this side of a neighborhood you longed to spend more time in. Similar to your own, this one had more structure to its freedom, like the people here knew exactly what they wanted and what they brought to table. It filled you with a sort of peace, clarity, like your dreams were right in front of you, and you could snatch them without remorse.
âDonât say I told you so,â you muttered, and Yunho hummed.
âNever,â he said flatly, eyes scanning the heads that passed by. âIâm sorry that happened. Heâs a dick.â
Looking up at him, you pinched your brows. âThatâs all?â
He glanced back in shock. âWell, I canât exactly go and kick his ass can I? If I do, youâll lock me up and force me to marry you and have several kids, live a suburban life, I dunno.â
Laughing, throwing your head back, you gasped, âWhat!?â
Yunho held up his hands, his wide eyed expression growing tenfold. âAre those not your conditions for me putting my hands on him? I pushed him, so we have to date, what do you think youâll make me do if I beat him up?â
âSign a prenup,â you giggled, shoving him with your elbow. His obnoxious nod and the unintelligible sound he made answered for him. âIâm sorry,â you sighed, leaning your head against his arm. âMaybe we shouldnât do the dating thing, maybe you just come with me to the gala as my bodyguard.â
âIt makes me sad that you even have to think that way,â he mumbled.
Glancing up at him, your cheek squished on his bare arm, he looked down and smiled. âSeonghwa will be there, you donât even have to come if you donât want to, I donât wanna subject you to hanging around these kinds of guys for hours on end.â
Squinting, he said, âIâd rather be with you to save you from having to hang around those guys for hours on end. Iâm coming to the gala whether you like it or not, Shug.â
âShug,â a womanâs voice parroted, one a little rough, a little grungey. âYou really do call her that.â Yunho broke out into a grin, tossing his head back bashfully, trying hard as hell to negate all accusations as you pushed off the window to greet his friend.Â
Stunning didnât cut it. Ki, her name as sharp as she was, but not as simple. Covered in tattoos, doused in silver jewelry and piercings, her hair styled like sheâd had it professionally done, you couldnât help but let your jaw drop. Another girl stood with her, as close to her as you stood to Yunho, looking nothing like Ki. A little more indie, maybe bohemian, whereas Ki bled straight rock ân roll.Â
Her smile smacked you in the face, perfect and dazzling. Holding out her hand amidst Yunhoâs rebuttals, she introduced herself. âYouâre exactly like he described,â she shook her head, giving you a onceover, âIâm Ki, this is Riley,â she said giving a nod to her friend who smiled and gave you a wave of her fingers. âHope itâs okay you deal with both of us, you seem to fit right in between our vibe, I figured we could both give you a hand.â Her eyes flickered up at Yunho. âHeâs not gonna know what heâs doing. You need girlfriends.â
Giggling, you looked up at him and he shrugged shamefully.
âYouâre lucky he called,â Ki breathed, taking your wrist in her hand and Rileyâs in the other. Giving Yunho a glare, she muttered, âYouâre lucky Jag has let you have so much time off.â
âTime off?â you asked, bouncing back and forth between them. âYou said he hasnât needed you,â you said to Yunho, whose eyes widened.
Ki pursed her lips, her saccharine smile enough to woo you, youâre not sure how Yunho hasnât been wooâed yet. He said something back to her, with his eyes, an implication he didnât want to speak further, a white flag of sorts. You arenât sure how much time they spent together at Republic, though her name has come up plenty of timesâ Comparing the two of you.
âLetâs go, Shug,â Ki joked, tugging you and Riley along, into the store, leaving Yunho to trudge behind. âIâll take the left side, Ri you take the right, Miss Sugar can take the middle.â
Yunho let the door swing shut behind him. âWhat about me? Do I get a say?â
Riley gave him a small smile. âIf the boyfriend shopping thing is universal, I suggest you sit this one out.âÂ
Ki seemed to know what she was talking about with the way she laughed and nudged her shoulder, her bright smile and confident laugh bouncing around the racks of dresses. âHeâs not her boyfriend, but still, sit this one out,â she said to both of them before the group broke into four.
With a sheepish shrug, Riley pulled her lips together and turned on her heels. Ki tossed her hair off of the shoulder of her lace tank and bolted for a black dress on a mannequin in the window. Yunho, he smiled at you when you turned to him, and waved you away to follow the girls.
âSheâs cool,â you whispered, flickering your eyes over to Ki.
Yunho narrowed his eyes and smiled wider, whispering, âI knew youâd say that.â Smiling back at him, for too long, feeling your insides fill with warmth, a sort of comfort knowing heâd do something like this for you, he glanced at both of the girls on either side of the store and shooed you away.
You took to Riley first, who was already looking your way with her hands on a dress. Painting a smile onto your lips, you approached her in her oversized vintage Screen Actors Guild tee and clasped your hands together. Before you had the chance to open your mouth, she cut you off.
âThis oneâs gorgeous,â she mumbled, holding the emerald dress up in front of you, pressing it to your chest like sheâs known you for ages. âI think this really goes with your skintone, but Iâm not loving the straps, I think you shouldâ Wait, how are you doing your hair?â Her eyes narrowed, studying you, drawing all over the bare skin you exposed today. âYouâre fun, arenât you? How many tattooâs do you have?âÂ
âI got a few when Iâd been drinking honestly, my friends know this guy who does them underground, yanno, so I have to have at leastââ
âSo cool,â she said without letting you finish, âI love tattooâs, but I have to keep them hidden.â
âHow come?â you asked, watching as she hung up the emerald dress and pulled out a few others, giving you glances over her shoulder.
âBroadway,â she said with utter nonchalance. âBut, my boyfriend and I, we both have a matching one on ourâ Oh my god,â she sighed, turning toward you, grabbing your wrists, âIâm so sorry, by the way, for implying that Yunhoâs your boyfriend.â
Giggling, you shook your head. âDonât worry about it, I know how it looks, itâs reallyââ
âIâm sorry, though,â she said with a pout, âI have chronic foot in mouth disease, itâs severe, just ask Ki, or donât, I donât need this getting worse. Iâm not good at this. I have a lot of guy friends.â
Shifting your hands around, grabbing onto hers that held onto you, you comforted her with a smile and shook your head. âSo do I, I understand.â
âHey, Glucose!â Ki shouted from across the store, waving her hand in the air, her bracelets jingling.Â
Yunho picked his head up from where he rifled through suit jackets, almost shrieking within a laugh, âGlucose!â
Riley let go of you and gave you a gentle push on your back. By the time you made it to Ki she had already sent Yunho back into his silenced role, giving you the tiniest of smiles as you were subdued to more dresses being held up in front of you. Shooting him a wink, one he made a face of disgust at, you giggled, and Ki paused.
âHeâs something, huh?â she asked, tearing her eyes from yours when you looked at her. The black dress she held had lace on the bodice, like her tank, and it was tight fitted, all the way to the bottom. âYou might not be able to move in this, but I like black for you, what do you think?â
âI love black, sure.â
Pulling at the fabric, her eyes on the dress she held up, she muttered, âI meant Yunho.â Ki met your eyes with a glimmer in hers. âI got the story, y/n. He actually wouldnât shut up. Whenever I see him at work, I get updates about you, instead of himself. When he asked me to come here he sounded so⊠worried. I thought, how can this girl have this boy whoâs like chronically relaxed in this much of a fucking tizzy?â
âOh,â you breathed, half following. She hung up the tight dress and pulled out another, one dark blue and Cinderella-esque. You both crunched your noses before she could even bring it in front of you. âHow about that one?â Pointing to a black dress with long sleeves, she listened and held it up.
Tilting her head to the side, her striking eyes drinking in your form, she continued quietly, âHope itâs okay I brought Riley, I didnât want to be third wheel. Plus, I havenât spent time with her in a bit. I like this oneâ Yunho!â He scurried over to her side, accepting the dress she tossed him. âTrying this one on,â she said and waved him off, âShoo.â
Flashing you a smile, his face telling you he was just happy to be here, he returned to where he came from.
âYou spend a lot of time at work, right?â Following her, like a shadow, you eyed her tattooed fingers as they grazed over satins and velvets before snatching one. âYunho says youâre like⊠Really important.â
Her lips perked up. Holding up a velvet grey a-line, it didnât make it two inches in front of you before she swapped it for a strapless black satin floor length thing. âI guess I am. Heâs sweet,â she took a breath, âBut, yeah, I spend a lot of time at work, I travel a shit ton, and Ri lives here in the city. I do too, butâŠâ
âBut?â you questioned, and she shrugged it off.
âA story for another time,â she smiled.Â
âUh, Riley told me she has a boyfriend, are you, uh, seeing anyone?â
She gave you a look over her shoulder. âWhy, interested?â
Bushing, you pushed a breath through your lips and stepped in a tiny circle. âYouâre gorgeous, but no,â you laughed, âIâm into someone else.â She glanced at Yunho, and you rolled your eyes. âNo, heâs⊠just a friend.â
âDoes he know that?â she asked, flicking through the dresses.Â
âYes,â you said definitively, brows going awry.
Ki nodded, slowly, pulling out a black gown she didnât bother to hold up in front of you. âYunho!â Like clockwork, he appeared, with several more dresses in tow.
âWho gave you these?â Ki asked.
Yunho blinked. âRiley.â
Taking in the dresses of various colors and lengths, Ki mumbled, âDamn thespian.â
âWe need options!â Riley shouted across the store.
âShe heard you,â you laughed, and Ki smirked.
âQuiet isnât my specialty.â She tossed the dress over Yunhoâs arms, and as he disappeared she asked, âWho are we into, Miss Sugar? If itâs not that hunk of alt sweetness the girlies eat up at the label.â
The girlies. Turning to find where he disappeared to, you found him at Rileyâs side, the girl shorter than you, craning her neck back to look up at him. Her smile, soft, but her giggle, loud. Ki followed your line of sight and scoffed.
âHeâs too tall for her, trust me,â she muttered, lower this time, âPlus, sheâs like, locked in with her man. Trust me.â
âIs she?â you asked within a whisper.
Ki gave you a look, raising a brow. âQuiet isnât her specialty. Theyâre crazy theatre kids, theyâre⊠gross. One time I saw themââ
âAnd what about you?â
She rolled her eyes, enormously long. The breath she let out was just as long. âDonât worry about me. You donât wanna hear what itâs like being caught between two guys, one perfect for you, who knows everything about you, your secrets, your shadows, but then the other is capable of satiating a hunger you didnât know you had.â
âWhat happened? After⊠the⊠satiating. I assume he wasnât good for you?â
Ki held up a dress and pursed her lips. Shifting from the dress to your face, she released a breath and shrugged. âI was still hungry.â This dress she held onto herself. âListen, he didnât put me up to this, but I know about this other guy youâre into. Take it from me, as someone whoâs been involved with a colleague. You have this fucking amazing guy right here,â she said, gesturing behind her toward Yunho who trailed behind Riley like a puppy. You almost spoke, but she cut you off. âI know, youâre friends. But, let him be an example. Of the types of guys you should be looking for.â
âDamn,â you uttered, lowering your chin with a snicker.
Ki furrowed her brows. âWhat?â
Giving her a look, you shook your head. âHe didnât update you about what happened today, I guess. You donât have to give me the speech, Iâm not Hongjoongâs biggest fan anymore. I know itâs been his obsession to rid me of him, Iâm sorry he pulled you into this, but Iâm good. Thanks for coming to help me, but I donât need a pep talk.â
She tried to stop you, but you pushed past her, towards the fitting rooms. Holding a hand in the air to signal Yunho, she pointed at the back of you and shrugged. âI dunno what I did, thatâs all you.â
Ignoring the worker who asked you if you needed any help, you stepped into a fitting room empty handed and let the door swing shut, pressing your back against the wall. Tears brimming your eyes, you took a shaky breath and released it all at once.
Everything cycled through your head, memories flashing all at once, from Hongjoongâs almost invitation to the gala, to the night Yunho pushed him, to yesterday when Yunho had you on the corner questioning everything you thought you knew about your relationship.
Why were you questioning everything you thought you knew about your relationship? You never have before, this wasnât normal. He was Yunho, your best friend Yunho.
Comfort is all that it is. Familiarity.Â
Youâve just perhaps reached a point in your friendship where you care too deeply, because you know so much, because youâve spent all this time with him, and now that itâs at a point where the lines seem to be starting to blur because youâre going to have to pretend to date him, itâs confusing.
Thatâs what it is. You couldnât think that again if you tried. You wouldnât even be able to say those words out loud. Did it make sense? You shouldnât be spiraling about this, you should be spiraling about the fact that Hongjoong made some serious threats to you today, if you could even call them threats. You didnât want to call it what it was, but Seonghwa sure did, and he had no shame in doing so.
Work tomorrow should be a blast, if heâs even there. The gala is right around the corner, would he even be allowed to attend after this? Groaning through a cry, you tipped your chin back and shook your head. Of course heâd still be allowed to attend, these men got away with everything. Heâd be able to do what he said heâd do and he wouldnâtâ
âShug?â Three gentle taps to the fitting room door.
âI need a minute,â you steadied your voice as best as you could.
âI have your dresses,â he said softly. âWanna try them on while you take your minute?â
Reaching for the door handle, you pulled it open and met his eyes, taking the pile from him. âThanks,â you sniffled.
He frowned. âYou okay?â
âDo I look okay?â
âNo,â he whispered. âWhat happened?â
Hardening your glare, you mumbled, âGo talk to Riley.â
He blinked, confused. âWhat?â
âOr Ki, maybe thatâs better,â you huffed, âShe seems to know so much already, go tell her some more.â
You threw the door shut, but he caught it. âHang on, what are you talking about?â
âLeave me alone,â you said, hanging the dresses up. Pushing on the door to push him out, it was silly of you to forget he was much, much stronger than you. Bumping the handle as he fumbled his way in, there was an audible click as the door slammed shut and his back pressed to it. The already small room grew smaller. Two bodies and a stack of at least thirteen dresses in one tiny New York space, one of those bodies over six feet tall. You couldnât turn around without bumping into him. âI have to try these on, get out of here,â you muttered.
His jaw tensed. Staring at you for all of three seconds, he took a deep breath and spun around, facing the door, away from you.Â
âYunhoââ
âSomeoneâs gotta zipper you.â
Sighing, losing this fight, you said, âDonât turn around.â
âYou already know I wouldnât do that.â
Even this felt weird, and it shouldnât. Youâve changed in front of him before, youâve been half naked and drunk in front of each other, youâve seen him in his boxers, heâs seen you in a bathing suit, this shouldnât be so vulnerable, so⊠intimate.Â
Ki implied, several times, that Yunho, quite possibly, maybe, cared about you too much. Maybe in a sense that you havenât been able to pick up on until now. Pulling your shirt over your head, you tossed it over his shoulder, smiling at the inaudible laugh he heaved. Even though yesterday on the street, where he said some things you never imagined would ever leave his lips, when he pulled away, he acted as though it was for the gala. That you guys were practicing. Come to find out Hongjoong had seen you. Hongjoong had seen you.
Slipping out of your shorts, kicking off your shoes, you tossed the denim over his other shoulder. âYunho?â
âYeah?â
You took a blue dress off a hanger and stepped into it. âYesterday,â you started, shimmying the tight fabric over your hips, slinging the spaghetti straps over your shoulders, âDid you see Hongjoong?â
His head tilted to the side, reluctantly asking, âWhen?â
âZip me?â
He turned, and his eyes softened at the sight of you in the mirror. The bodice hugged your chest, blue satin cascading down your form to the floor so that you could so wear those silver heels with this. The fabric was bound over your middle, in three ripples slipping over your right hip and around the back like a waterfall.Â
âWow,â he breathed before snapping out of it, tearing his eyes off of your curves and onto the zipper at the middle of your back. Sliding it up, careful to not let his fingers graze your skin, he stepped back against the door and waited for your consensus.
Gliding your hands over the satin, over the chest, you pouted your lips and shook your head. âI like this,â you said, taking your hands to your hips. Yunhoâs eyes followed. âBut, I donât like this,â you said, grabbing fistfuls of your tits. Yunhoâs eyes followed.
âI do,â he whispered without thinking. Meeting his glare in the mirror, shock evident on both of your faces, you let out a laugh, and he let out a groan. âOh my god?â Rolling his eyes at himself, he vigorously shook his head and reached for the zipper, freeing you before he spun around and banged his head against the door. He snatched your clothes off of his shoulders and hung them over the door, huffing to himself.
âItâs okay,â you said, sliding the dress off, opting for a black one Ki had set aside. âPractice, right?â
Yunho hung his head, shaking it like he had. âThat wasnât cool, Iâm sorry.â
âDonât be,â you whispered, stepping into the lace.Â
âYou look pretty today,â he whispered. âYou always do. When I got to your apartment, and I watched you put this lipstick on, I just,â he shook his head, âCouldnât not think about⊠it.â
Sliding it up your body, this one strapless, you held it tight to your chest and felt along your back that the zipper laid right over the curve of your ass. Glancing behind you in the mirror at his broad shoulders, wider than you, you took a second to admire how much larger than you he actually was. Gentle giant.Â
Ki met your eyes with a glimmer in hers. âI got the story, y/n. He actually wouldnât shut up. Whenever I see him at work, I get updates about you, instead of himself. When he asked me to come here he sounded so⊠worried. I thought, how can this girl have this boy whoâs like chronically relaxed in this much of a fucking tizzy?â
Except when it came to you.
âI do not want him to abduct me,â you spat. âYunho pushed him.â
The boys gasped, both turning to Yunho at once. San smiled, Jongho tilted his head, disappointed.
Yunho held up both hands, feigning innocence. Fluttering his eyes shut, his long lashes splaying over his cheekbones, he said calmly, âHe said some fucked up shit, okay? He got in my face, I was drunk, I couldnât not do it. Mr. Big Dick, I donât care who you are, youâre in my face, youâre talking shit to my girl, Iâm gonna do something.â
âYunho,â you whispered, and he turned, his cheeks growing pink. âZip me?â
Eyeing you in the mirror, how the lace clung to you, contouring your curves where the satin accentuated your form. Laying on top of you like it was a part of you, it hung from your thighs to the floor, the fabric free for you to move about, to dance, to walk comfortably. The chest, corset like, heartshaped and detailed with lace, it held you perfectly, every part of you. He couldnât help himself. He stared.
You watched him have to manually tell himself to stop, to focus on what you asked him to do, but when he saw where the zipper laid, he lost it again. Eyes blinking a million times, he took a step closer to you, careful to not stand on the puddle the lace left around your feet. He blushed with color, his cheeks to his ears, as pink as can be, his hands acting just the same.
A little nervous, if you had to describe it. His fingers brushed over your skin, the small of your back, and you shuddered, goosebumps erupting over your skin. âSorry,â he whispered, pulling back abruptly, not looking up at you in the glass.
âSâokay,â you whispered with a gentle nod. âYour fingers are cold.â
He shook his head once, squinting at the dress. âI-I think I have to⊠pull it up from the inside. I can get Kiââ
âNo,â you sighed, stopping him from stepping away from you. âYou do it,â you said, your gazes eating one another up. You forced through your lips, âPractice, right?â
His miniscule shift in expression made your heart swell. The slight tweak of his brows, the plumping of his lips, the flutter of his lashes, all too tiny to be made out to be something, but you knew him.
Standing closer to you, your back nearly pressed to his front, he took in a breath and held it, taking the zipper between his fingers. Using his other hand to pinch the bottom, he slowly pulled up, his middle knuckle gliding up your spine, the act so gentle, so improbably erotic that you cursed yourself for how your breath hitched in your throat and the bottom of your belly clenched. It didnât help that he stood close enough that the warm air that slipped through his parted lips grazed over your skin, your bare shoulders, your bare back. Radiating heat, his own breath uneven, once the zipper reached its peak, he paused.Â
Neither of you moved. He gazed down at the dress, and you blazed a fire in his eyes through the mirror he refused to look at you through.
âCoulda sworn he spent the night putting you through the mattress, at least from what I saw,â Hongjoong snickered, averting his eyes to behind the desk.
You wondered if he could feel it. The tension disgustingly thick you could cut it with a knife. His large, strong hands, what would they feel like if he slid them down your hips in this lace? His lips, parted and dousing your skin in goosebumps with the hot air he exuded, what would it feel like if he dropped a bit lower and pressed them to your skin, the valley of your neck, the expanse of your exposed chest? Heat swelled in your belly, dropping lower, your thighs aching to squeeze together, but you wouldnât. Not now. Now you were aware.
âYunho,â you whispered desperately.
âI did see him,â he uttered quietly, finally meeting your gaze in the mirror. You wanted to melt to the floor at the sight of how lust had overcome him and he actively fought back. âI did what I did so you wouldnât see him. Iâm not proud of it. Especially now with what he did to you.â
âNot proud of it, what do youâŠâ
He sighed, standing up straight, keeping his eyes on yours. âI didnât want to do what I did,â he shrugged. âYou were already getting upset with me, I knew that if you saw him it would push you over the edge, so I had to distract you, and nothing I would normally do would work. So, I made something up.â
Dropping your hands to your side, you gaped and spun around. âMade something up?â
Huffing, he screwed his brows up. âYou thought what I said was real?â
Taken aback, you scoffed and rolled your eyes. âUh, of course not, why the hell would you say something like that to me?â
Narrowing his eyes, he bobbed his head and poked his tongue in his cheek. âRight,â he muttered after a few seconds. âRight.âÂ
Spinning around, almost bumping you with his elbow, he turned the doorknob and yanked. It didnât budge. Trying again, he yanked. He yanked, again. The walls shook.
âHow do I unlock this,â he mumbled, messing with the knob every way he could think of.Â
Sighing, you wedged yourself around him and tried to pull his hands off the gold, but he swatted at you. âLet me help,â you grumbled, âI donât want you in here anymore.â
âI donât want to be in here anymore,â he countered, tugging at your hands.
âGood, I want you to leave.â
âI want to leave.â
You threw the mindless bickers at one another for what felt like forever, until it got to the point of tears. Yours.
âYouâve been no help, I canât believe San and Jongho came up with this, this is so stupid!â
âStupid?â Yunho pressed a hand to his chest. âYou said it yourself, Iâm the one you want to do this with! Ki!â He banged a fist on the door. âThis wasnât supposed to turn into this, Shug, we were just supposed to go to the stupid gala.â
âDonât call me that,â you huffed, reaching behind you for the zipper of your dress to free yourself. âYouâre done calling me that.â
Groaning, he swatted at your hands. âLet me do it, youâll rip it.â
âNo,â you shouted, swinging your body away from him, tugging at the lace, âI got it. Iâll do it alone, like Iâll do the gala alone!â
âYouâre not doing the gala alone,â he said, in a fistfight with your fingers. Let⊠go!â
âHands off of me, Yunho.â
âYouâre going to tear it, you like this one, this is it, donât tear it!â
Fighting back, clawing at the fabric, you finally kicked a foot back against his knees and sent him stumbling backward, but the space was too tiny so he fell into you, and before he could catch himself, you were twisted sideways, and the lace tore down your back in one long, loud rip. Hands trapped behind you where your back pressed to the wall, you gasped and froze. Yunho hung over you, both of his hands pressed to the wall above you, his body hovering on top of you.
âFuck,â you whispered.
âWhy the fuck would you kick me?â
Glaring up at him, your noses almost touching, you sneered, âWhy the fuck would you keep trying when I told you to leave?â
âI canât leave, the doorâs locked!â
âFuck this,â you said, reaching up for handfuls of his shirt. Pushing off of the wall, taking him with you, your dress slipped down as you pressed him to the opposite wall. âYou are going to climb out of here, either under or over that door, I donât care, just getââ The door swung open.
âWhoa!â Ki shouted, eyes wide, pulling the door shut in a hurry.Â
âNo!â You and Yunho both shouted, and her face went crazy.
âI donât wanna watch!â
Yunho glanced down at what this looked like, the way you gripped him and how your dress fell off your body. You had him pushed up a wall for fucks sake. Not to mention, if you had tried anything else with lace heâd find himself in a very awkward predicament. At least he could hide what it was for now.
âIâm done,â he said, reaching for your hands, making you release him. With one more look, he shook his head, and he left, not before murmuring to Ki, âStay out here, that door locks from the inside, help her out.â
As soon as the door shut you sunk to the floor and let the tears spill.
Sipping your drink, the bubbles dancing over your tongue, you laid your head back on the cushion of the sofa you sat in front of. Jongho laid over a lounge chair, a beer can in his hand hanging off the edge, his legs over one armrest, his head over the other. Faint music played in the background, something off of his phone. You didnât dare ask who made the playlist.
âIt ripped,â you said with a flick of your hand, âIt ripped right down the back, and I paid for it, because I ripped it, even though the woman says sheâs not sure if sheâll be able to fix it.â
Jongho turned his head to give you a pout. âDamn, Iâm sorry.â
âItâs whatever, I guess,â you took a swig of your drink, âIâm not meant to be at this stupid thing anyway. I need to just call Yunho, tell him itâs off, and then let Seonghwa know I wonât be going.â
âNooo,â he sang, shifting to lay on his side, tucking his knees into his massive chest. You frowned and he copied you. âI donât want to go without you.â
âYouâll have San,â you muttered with a shrug, âYou wonât miss me.â
âYes, I will,â he whispered. Sharing a look with him, one that said a trillion things about leaving a friend behind at a work event where theyâd need you because you get it, he said, âSan wonât get my jokes.â
A smile graced your lips. âHeâll learn.â
âYou canât just break it off with Yunho and come without him?â
âThereâs nothing to break off,â you said, voice growing stern, âWe are friends, that is it. I donât want to go to the gala, not anymore, not when I know Hongjoong will be there⊠And Wooyoung. Iâm done with men.â
He sighed. âI get it.â
Screwing your face up, you shifted to your knees. âI mean, you shouldâve seen his face, acting like Iâm the one who messed this up, when heâs the one who said that shit to me. Heâs the one who made me believe him, I totally thought that what he said was real. It felt real.â
Jongho marinated in silence, the gentle nods of his head encouraging you to go on.
âWhat do you take it as? âCause I took that all as real,â you huffed, not giving him time to answer you. âYou donât say stuff like that, not to a friend. Especially not a guy friend to a girl friend, because thatâs⊠thatâs justâŠâ
Crinkling his can in his hand, he shifted his lips to the side in thought. Eyes pointing from his beer, to you, he offered, âHe made you feel something.â
âYes,â you hissed without a second thought, âAnd thatâs messed up.â
âIs it?â
Shooting him daggers, you shouted, âYes!â
Jongho didnât move. He didnât even react. He simply asked, âWhy?â
âI donât⊠I donât know,â you whispered, sitting back against the couch, planting a hand to your forehead. You downed the rest of your drink, your third of the night, and sat the empty can on his coffee table.
âDid he make you feel like Hongjoong makes you feel?â Jongho asked.
Rubbing your fingers over your bare eyes, your bare face, you shook your head. âNo,â you answered honestly.Â
âHowâd he make you feel?â
Giving him a look, he laughed.
âTell me,â he teased, âI wonât judge.â
Taking a long, deep breath, you folded your arms over your front, your cozy hoodie, and released the air with a heavy sigh, one gravely and rough, a groan of sorts. Looking away from him, whether out of embarrassment or bashfulness, you lifted your shoulders and teetered your head side to side. âI wanted him to keep going,â you said, shifting your eyes over to him to see if he reacted. He didnât. âI wanted⊠to know what else he would say. I wanted him to finish his sentence, and tell me what he really wanted.â
âThatâs not bad at all,â he said quietly, finishing his beer.
The music changed into a softer song, one from the nineties. You recognized it, Yunhoâs played it before, a one hit wonder gone rogue, never heard from again. You thought about him and how his brain worked, how passionate he felt about music, the joy it brought him, how it changed his mood in a snap, the way heâs devoted so much of his life to the art. No limits, thatâs what heâd say music made him feel, immortal, everlasting, whole.
The songs he would send you in the morning when he knew you had a long day ahead of you, or when he knew the day would be a hard day, they always worked. As if he could feel what you were feeling, the tunes he prescribed cured you, in every which way. He cared. Deeply. San and Jongho didnât get the songs. You did. And you havenât gotten one in over a week.
Shifting onto all fours you crawled over to Jongho and wiggled his phone out of his pocket. Swiping open to his music, ignoring the dirty message from San on his home screen, you typed a title into the search bar, and you tapped on it. Turning the volume up, the song crashed through the speakers, bright and excited and invigorating, like Yunho himself burst through the door and lit up the room. The first verse led you into a story, a love song in disguise, one unlike any other, hidden behind a facade of futuristic melodies. And then the chorus hit, and your heart swelled.
âIâll stop the world and melt with you⊠Youâve seen the difference, and itâs getting better all the time⊠Thereâs nothing you and I wonât doâŠâ
Haunted by memories, becoming a cage for them to flutter about in, you curled around your knees you tucked into your chest and buried your face in your arms.
All of the nights heâs walked you home from Danteâs, all of the nights heâs stayed, falling asleep either on your couch or in your bed on top of the covers still in your clothes from the bar. The days heâd swing by the office to drop off a new album find he thought youâd like, or bring you a coffee, or offer to take you to lunch, or to grab you something on his way to the label. This entire week, how heâs blown off work, or called out, or told Jag heâs not coming in, so that he can take you around the city and shop for a god damn company gala he agreed to fake date you at just to make your work crush jealous.
The way he looked at you the very first time you stepped into the record store, in a distressed denim jacket over top a short black dress that hugged your thighs, one that matched the boots on your feetâ Boots youâve since retired because they cannot handle the lengths you have to walk through the city. His eyes, they lit up. Half slumped over the counter with his chin in his hands watching the tourists flit about the rows of records just to not buy anything, when he saw you, he knew his luck had changed.
It was when he used to load his lobes with earrings, one of the first things you noticed, how he didnât care how insane he may look to others. After picking up The Runaways Queens of Noise cassette, you slid it across the counter, shoved your hands in your pockets, and told him, âYouâre cool.âÂ
His slender knobby fingers grabbed the tape. Unable to take his eyes off of you, the style of your makeup, the grown out bright pink color at the tips of your hair, how confident you were in how you smiled at him. He stuttered, a lot, scanning the tape, typing something into the register, mumbling his thanks, and how he thought you looked pretty cool too⊠You laughed at him, you can remember laughing at him. With him. The sweetest, kindest, cutest New Yorker youâve run into since your move.
Just before you stepped out onto the street, he called after you, âWeâve got new stuff coming in this weekend,â he gulped as you spun to smile at him, âWeâre the only store that gets the good stuff, the real stuff, so⊠If youâre interested.â Any chance to see that face again.
âIâll be here,â youâd smiled.
Heâd given you a nod, some sort of relief washing over him. âCool.â
âCool.â
Leaping off of Jonghoâs floor, tossing his phone onto his chest where he laid, you ran your hands through your hair and hurried for your shoes at the door. He sprung off the couch as you bustled about.
âWhat are you doing?â
Shaking your head, really fast, you slipped into your sandals and waved him away. âI have to go,â you sniffled. âIâll call you later. Thanks for drinks.â Leaning into him to press a kiss to his cheek, you left him dumbfounded in his doorway.
âIâll walk you, itâs late,â he shouted down his hallway.
Turning over your shoulder, you tried to smile. âIâll see you tomorrow!â
Springing down three flights of stairs, you wiped your sleeves over your cheeks to dry them, and stepped out onto the street. Past nine oâclock, the New York nightlife bled onto the gravel, the stretches of concrete, balancing on curbs, weaving through cars, a favorite pastime of yours. And Yunhoâs. Raw dogging the walk, no music, no phone checking, no one to talk to, you held your focus forward, your pace just as pointed, focused, brisk.
Cancel it all. The thought circled like a vulture in the hot summer sun. The gala, the fake dating, the crush on Hongjoongâ Cancel it all. Get rid of it. None of this would happen, everything would go back to normal, and you wouldnât be overthinking your feelings for Yunho. You already havenât talked to him in three days, the dressing room incident having happened over seventy two hours ago. His hands touching you like you were the most delicate thing to exist. The way your bodies both reached for one another. How he told you everything he said wasnât real.
âNot real my ass,â you muttered to yourself, stopping at a corner.
You crossed before the light turned, the tourists around you wide eyed and curious that a Do Not Cross didnât stop you. They followed you, and you knew what they felt within them, the first time you darted across a street with the possibility of traffic incoming, little to nothing compared to that feeling. Doing everything for the first time in the city, the freedom, the anonymity, no limits, as if you were immortal, everlasting, whole. New York was your music.
âThe futureâs open wideâŠâ
Yunho was your music.
Summer air whipped through your hair, breezed over your skin, a type of fresh laced with a grunge you could taste, grit, determination, the opportunity to restart day after day, to become someone new, to step into who you were meant to be. Even alone on the street, strangers passed by, most you didnât mind, they lived the life you envied, the life you came here to pursue, you had no fear. Somewhere he was here.
Yunho, a summer night on 32nd street, barreling up and down the sidewalks mouthing off, daring one another to go up to the karaoke bars, to flirt with the bartenders for free drinks, to climb the scaffolding and scream from the top of your lungs, just to fall into one another in fits of laughter before plopping down on a curb on the corner of 33rd and 5th Avenue to admire the Empire State Building. Dozing off on his shoulder as the liquor and rumble of the streets sung you to sleep. Having wandered too far from home, faced with an hour's walk back to your apartment⊠He tucked you under his arm, kept you awake by making you guess the songs he would sing, and he got you both on the subway and home before you realized you had to be up for work in three hours.Â
Faced with dirty looks from others as you pushed through a crowded street corner, you eyed the lights, the crosswalk, and the moment the lights changed and the cars stopped, you ran. Even after you hit the curb, you kept running, skipping sideways through groups of girls in tiny party dresses, rounding men with trash cans by the curbs, dodging doors that swung open onto the street. You ran until his building came into view.
Sucking down air like it was your job, you stepped into the vestibule and pressed 323. Pressing a hand over your heart that pounded, you waited. He didnât answer.
âCâmon,â you gasped, pressing it again. It buzzed. You waited. He didnât answer.
âFuck,â you cursed, pulling your phone out. Swiping to his number, you tapped it, pressing your phone to your ear. âCâmon, câmon, câmon⊠Pick up.â
âYour call has been forwarded to an automatedââ
âFuck!â
Leaning into the keypad, you pressed 323 eight times, quickly, before giving up with a groan. Kicking the wall, you staggered backward and sunk against the wall, staring at his apartment number like youâd be able to open it with your eyes. You tried his phone again, but he didnât answer.
He should be home by now, he never stayed at the label this late. Unless he was making up for all the time he lost dealing with you, he never worked past eight, and usually got back by eight thirty. He could be with San, if you werenât all out together, those two sometimes went out on their own, but it was Sunday.
About to tap his number again, or maybe Jongho, the inside door to the building pushed open, a woman in a knee length dress with curled hair holding it open for you. âOh, here you go,â she said sweetly, her deep purple colored lips twisting into a smile. âIâve seen you before.â
âThank you,â you breathed, taking the door from her hands. Making sure it closed, you glared up the stairs and shook your head. âSix,â you spat. Go.
By floor three you were already winded. By floor five you propelled yourself up with your hands, slapping the concrete of the next step like it was your bitch. By floor six, you had to stop at the top and catch your breath. Several years in the city and the stairs were still your kryptonite.Â
He better fucking be here.
Trudging down the hallway of concrete floor and old brown walls, you stopped in front of 323 and held up a fist, freezing before you could pound on it.
What were you going to say? Would you apologize? Would he apologize? Neither of you had anything to apologize for, this was⊠dumb. Did you think you would show up at his door and tell him⊠that you donât know what youâre feeling? That youâre confused, that you think you might like him, that your feelings may be deeper than you thought, that you screwed up six years ago and friendzoned him and he was too sweet to act further? To take it further? Even though the way he pressed his thumb to your lips, the way he had his hands in your hair, your thoughts on the backburner, and his heart in your hands, your knees tremblingâ
âShug?â
Your heart sunk to your knees, your stomach leapt up into your throat.
Whirling around, fist still in the air, you released a sigh. âYunho.â
Wearing sweats, an unlikely outfit for him to be out and about in, accessoryless with a baseball cap on his head, he carried a garment bag folded in half and another bag slung over his shoulder, his leather bag. âWhat are you doing here?â he asked, stepping in front of you to unlock his door.
Scrambling back to give him some space, you gaped, a fish out of water. âI-I was⊠I tried calling you, but IâŠâ
âI left my phone here,â he muttered, pushing the door open. Looking at you over his shoulder, his face unreadable, he asked, âYou coming in?â
Stepping over the threshold, following him onto the hardwood of his kitchen, you folded your hands over your belly and bit down on your tongue before blabbing, âIâm here to apologize.â
Setting the bags down on the kitchen table he and San share, he creased his forehead and moved to hang up his hat on the handle of a kitchen cabinet. Popping the fridge open, he eyed the shelves. âApologize for what?â
âForâŠâ You took a breath and spun in a little circle, almost catching your ankles together. âForââ
Facing him, he waited patiently, holding out a water bottle for you to take. Reaching for it tentatively, he shoved it into your palm. âYou smell like alcohol.â
âI was at Jonghoâs,â you muttered, all emotion leaving your face. He grabbed the back of his hoodie and pulled it over his head, his t-shirt lifting underneath, flashing you his middle. His toned, golden skinned middle. Averting your gaze, you faced away from him and sipped from the water.Â
Dressed down, entirely bare aside from the cotton that hung off of him, your apparent new attraction grew tenfold. His shirt was huge, his sweats were huge, but they were tight. They were tight in theâ
âAre you okay?â he asked.
Snapping your eyes to his, you widened yours and nodded. âYes,â you breathed, then screwed your eyes shut, âI mean, no, no, Iâm not.â
âHow did you get here?â He moved around his kitchen, searching for snacks in the cabinet. He was going to try to feed you. Hurrying to his side, you closed the doors he opened, and he gave you a crazed look.Â
âI ran,â you said.
He froze. Hands in the air hovering in front of a handle, he laughed aloud once, then turned to press his backside to the counters. âYou ran,â he parroted, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps rippled under the loose sleeves. The veins on his forearms, they ran through his elbow to his fingertips. His fingers, they⊠âShug.â
âYeah,â you sighed breathlessly, fluttering your lashes as you looked up at him.
His brown eyes narrowed. âWhat is up?â Whether your movements were liquor fueled or entirely not your own, you reached for his arms, smoothing your hands over his skin. Face faltering, his eyes shot open as you stepped in front of him, your knees parting around his where they stuck out. âYouâre drunk,â he said.
âIâm really not.â
âYes, you are.â
âThen catch up,â you whispered, pressing your fingertips into his skin.
âWhat are you here for?â
You glanced at the fridge. âHave a drink first.â
Groaning, getting nowhere with you, he gently moved you out of the way and scoured his fridge for a beer while you rifled through the cabinet over the sink and pulled down a bottle of vodka.
âOh no,â he snickered, âI donât think so. Put it back.â
Giving him a small smile, you acquired two shot glasses from their resting place. Placing the bottle and the glasses on the counter with a rattle of the glass, you poured out two and knocked one back. âYou tell the truth when youâre drinking,â you cringed, nudging his shot closer to him.
The confusion that lived in his eyes since he came up the stairs somewhat subsided, but was still present. Downing half of his beer at once, typical male, he reached for the shotglass with his other hand and shook his head before taking it. Smacking it to the counter top with a groan and a gasp, he said, âIâm gonna hate you tomorrow morning.â
âMaybe,â you said, small and quiet.
âWhat is going on?â He finished his beer and crunched the can in one hand, throwing it into the kitchen sink with a clang. Pouring two more shots, you held up the glass for him to clink his with yours, and you took them at the same time. âFuck,â he sneered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.Â
Coughing once, you managed, âWeâre not going to the gala.â
Eyes shooting open, he cocked his head aside and he poured two more shots. âYouâre not serious, weâre good, so what, we argued, weâve done that before, weâllââ
âNot like that,â you said, and he frowned.
âWhat do you mean?â
Clinking your glasses, you both took your third shot and exclaimed aloud. Swallowing thickly, you pointed at him, leaning over the counter he stood on the opposite of. âWeâve never argued⊠like that.â
Yunho shrugged, pointing his eyes at the glasses. âWhatever.â
Slamming a hand to the counter, you laughed. âThatâs all you have to say? Whatever? Youâre agreeing with me.â
âAm not,â he spat, giving you a crazed look. âYou were bugging out over what happened with that fuckass asshole, and you decided to take it all out on me!â
Scoffing, laughing, maybe both at once, you sprung up and held out your hands. âWould you like me to tell you I wasnât even thinking about him at all?â
Yunho sneered, âBullshit, youâre always thinking about him. Him and that god awful attitude, cocky son of a bitchââ
âI was thinking about you,â you shouted, pouring two more shots.
Yunho pushed off the counter and gripped his chin, pulling at his lips. Parading around the kitchen with one hand on his hip. âHeâs horrible, heâs horrible, and the shit that he says, and the way he says it, like itâs okay. He talks to all women like that, not just you, but itâs worse because it is you, and Iââ
âYunho,â you raised your voice, moving around the counter to grab onto his arms again, shaking him. âDid you hear me?â
Shaking his head, still lost in his thoughts, he tensed his jaw. âI didnât, Iâm so angry, he pisses me the fuck off.â
âDonât let him,â you said softly, dragging your hands over his biceps, his forearms, his hands. âHeâs not worth it.â
His ragged sigh washed over you. âHeâs not, but fuck, he really gets under your skin, how did you put up with him for so long, I justâŠâ
âI donât know,â you mumbled, answering him between his rambles, âBut, Iâm done. Iâm over it.â Your fingers tangled with his briefly, his distracted mind subconsciously grabbing onto them, letting you do whatever it is you wanted to do to him in this moment.
âHe needs to be fired, he needs to be reported and firedâŠâ
âSeonghwaâs taking care of it, I donât think heâll get fired.â Sliding your hands from his arms to his middle, you step closer to him and drug them under his shirt, your fingertips finally grazing his middle, his core, his toned belly. He didnât even realize, he just let you.
âEven if he doesnât, there needs to be something done with the CEOâs or something, shit, I donât even know what theyâre even called, I donât know how this shit works, I just know itâs fucked up, and youâve been subjected to it for so longâŠâ
Placing your palms over his belly, your breath hitching in your chest as you gazed up at him while you felt him, how his chest rose and fell with every heavy breath, how his abs clenched with every bite of a word, your blood ran red hot. His lips, moving a mile a minute, you donât remember when you stopped listening, you wanted to listen, but all you could think about was how they felt, what theyâd feel like on yours, wrapped around yourâŠ
âShug.â His voice was quiet.
Looking up at him, how close the two of you had gotten, how he had backed up against the kitchen cabinets, how you were pressing yourself to him. Your hands got greedy, you were gripping him with a vengeance, feeling him up from his belly to his chest, your fingers were peeking out of the neck of his shirt. âYunho,â you whispered, shameless.
Blinking heavily in the dim light of his kitchen, he dropped his chin, your noses millimeters apart. âDid you say⊠Youâre over it?â
Both hands slid over his chest and up to his shoulders, pressing your thumbs into the muscles. Nibbling at your bottom lip, you took a breath in time with him and nodded, slowly, whispering, âI did.â
A curse pushed through his lips, one you couldnât make out in the slur of the liquor. âWhat are you thinking about right now?â
You dropped your hands lower, your fingertips grazing his nipples on purpose before you gripped his belly. Proud of how he hissed and flinched, you smiled. âYou,â you said, blinking up at him. âWhat you said to me, and how you said it⊠How it made me feel.â
Breathless, he sighed, âHow did it make you feel?â
âLike,â you gulped, using all liquid courage to make these words work, âLike, I wanted⊠Wanted you toâŠâ
âFuck,â he whispered, then seemed to remember what he had done, what he said, what he made you feel, what he so obviously realized that he made you feel. Taking his hands to your chin, thumbs pressing into your cheeks, he tipped your head back and lowered his. Eyes burning into yours, his voice rumbled so low you could feel him in your core. âWords. Big girl, remember?âÂ
âTake me,â you whispered, and he held back a smirk. âTake me, show me, do it to me, touch me, fuck me.â His lips parted with a sigh, his brows pinching in the center. âDo what he canât, what heâll never get the chance to do, love me.â
His eyes fluttered shut, his vodka laced breath grew uneven. âHang on.. W-WaitâŠâ
âYunho,â you whined, and his eyes shot open. âI donât care about what youâre gonna tell me, about how this sâgonna ruin something, itâs not gonna happen. I hate knowing thereâs girls looking at you.â
âGirls looking at me,â he said an inside thought out loud.
âKi told me,â you grumbled, sliding your hands around his back, leaning on his chest, âThe girlies at the label love you.â
He squinted. âWhat girlies?â
âI dunno,â you said, loud, making him jump, âMaybe itâs Ki and Riley, I dunno, Yunho, do you hear me? Iâm over this Hongjoong thing, I just told you to fuck me, and youâre standing here talking to meââ
His strong hands tipped you further back, his frame caging you in against his chest. Tilting his head, he curled his lip with a curse before pressing his lips to yours in a kiss burning hot, a mess of teeth, a mess of tongues, nothing perfect, just a total hot, wet mess. Gasping for air whenever your lips parted, you took your hands out of his shirt and threw them around his neck, lifting your knees to climb onto him. Grunting through clenched teeth as he hooked his arms around your thighs and pulled you higher, he groaned as your fingers knitted through his hair, giving him the gentlest tug.
âYou can pull harder than that,â he muttered, and you smiled within the kiss.Â
âJeong Yunho,â you teased, head tilting as his lips trailed down the side of your neck. He took two steps forward and sat you down on the counter beside the vodka. Tugging again, harder, he groaned, a sound trapped within his chest. âThis sâgon be fun,â you breathed.
Tongue lobbing out to lick stripes under your jaw, he nipped the skin of your neck and hummed, the noise vibrating through you. âWhaâs that,â he slurred, his hands gripping the curve of your waist, shamelessly sliding over your ass to squeeze.
âFiguring out what you like⊠What we like⊠Together.â
Connecting his lips with yours, he hummed here, smushing your noses together as he mumbled, âLet me do it.â
âHm,â you hummed back, dipping your tongue out to swipe over his lips. Nipping at it with his teeth, his heavy eyes drank in your lips, already swollen and pink.Â
âLet me do it,â he whispered, knees buckling as he tried to kiss you. Holding him by his hair, Yunho entirely leaned over you, his eyes drunk on you, his body drunk on the liquor, he licked his lips and shook his head. âYou wonât have to do a thing,â his lower register struck through you, you needed your sweats off, now. âYou wonât have to move, you wonât have to think.â Your lips parted and your eyes softened, and he smirked. âLet me do it.â
âShit,â you hushed, grabbing onto his shirt, yanking it over his head. âPlease.â He did the same with your hoodie, pulling it off of you, pleased to find nothing beneath it. He didnât miss a second. Kissing down your neck, his tongue teasing you in all the right places, he slid his hands down your thighs and pressed them open. Afraid that you soaked through the cotton, your suspicions became true when he grinned up at you. Pulling your legs closed, he forced them back open.
âDonât,â he whispered, kissing up the valley between your tits, wrapping his lip around your nipple, sucking at it harshly. The first moan fell from your lips, and he nearly crumbled. Fingers digging into your thighs, he muttered, âSo fucking perfect.â
Tugging at his hair, the strands a complete tangle now that youâve mussed them up, your head dropped back with another cry as he kissed the other, using his fingers to tease the perky bud he left a slick mess. âYunhoââ
âGod, so perfect,â he groaned, grabbing handfuls of your tits as he stood up to press an open mouthed kiss to your lips, tongues in a tangle, whines intertwining. âWanna play with you forever.â
âPlease, pleaseââ
âPlease, what?â Against your lips, he snickered, quietly, proud of what heâs done to you already.Â
âTouch me,â you whispered, sucking in a gasp as he slid his hands higher on your thighs, up to the curve of your hips, into the dips.Â
His smile against your lips made your breath shake. âCan I?â
âYunho,â you whined, trying to grind onto him, but he stood an inch too far.Â
Glancing between you, he huffed a laugh. âDid I really work you up like this?â
Pulling at his hair, tugging him closer, your noses touched as you muttered, âI wanted you to dick me down on 7th Avenue, asshole.â
âDamn,â he pulled his brows together, âReally?â Rolling your eyes, he snickered. âThereâs my girl.â You clenched around nothing, your jaw dropping open with a gasp. He dipped his thumbs over your clothed, wet, center. âOh, thatâs what you like, huh?â Writhing as his thumbs pressed into you, your moan made him pout. âOh, babe,â he cooed, dragging them up and down, slowly, on purpose. âFeel good?â
Your fingers loosened in his hair. Limbs growing gooey, you smiled something ditzy and let your eyes close. âSo good,â you whispered.
His lips ghosted your cheek, his nose pressing there instead. Rocking with you, he said, âIâm barely touching you. My girlâs needy, huh? Kept you waiting so long.â
âWhy did you?â Breath irregular, you peeked at him and whined as he grazed over your sweet spot. âWhy didnât you just tell me?â
Touching the tip of his nose to yours, he gave you a gentle kiss, one that lingered, and whispered, âI was scared.â
âDonât be,â you shook your head, feeling his thumbs still. The look in his eyes, one youâve never seen before, one heâs kept hidden for too long, and you his mirror.Â
He took a hand to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. âI still am.â
âLet me prove this to you,â you whispered, âThat this is real.â Squishing his cheeks in your hands, you kissed him and he laughed. âLet me do what you said you want me to do, let meââ
âNo,â he said quickly, standing up straight, still taller than you even with you sitting on the countertop. âYou have nothing to prove, nothing you owe, no task to fulfill. I had guy brain, and you donât deserve guy brain.â Drinking in every word, you bobbed your head. âYou really want me?â
Whispering, you smiled, âSince I met you.â
âSince you⊠Fuck, Shug,â he tried to push away from you, but you pulled him back in, engulfing his lips in a kiss, grabbing onto his shoulders, climbing on top of him. Clinging to his front, the feel of him holding you, carrying you, so secure, you wanted him to fall to the floor and let you defile him as you pleased, but he didnât stay in the kitchen. Lips locked, he bumped into the skinny walls of the apartment as he stumbled into his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.Â
The idea that San could come home at any minute didnât come to either of you, you left your shirts on the kitchen floor.
Splaying you onto his mattress, climbing over you, he gripped the waist of your sweats and pulled them off, doing the same with his own, wasting little to no time. Mouths working overtime, stifled moans swapped with the spit, he cradled the back of your knees and pushed your thighs against your chest. Parting from you, lips smacking, you caught your breath as he sat back and gazed down at you spread open for him. Shaking his head, taking in how your chest heaved, how your hair was thrown so sexily, so messy, how you glistened for him, all for him.Â
He did this to you, made you a panting, sweaty, whiney mess. You were in his bed, naked in his bed, he kissed you, he touched you, he was about to⊠Fuck. Looking between you, at how he sucked down hungry air, how he gazed at your body in disbelief, how your legs were spread, how his heavy, leaking cock would not be able to fit inside of youâŠ
âYunho,â you whispered, or gasped, it sounded the same.
He gulped and gave you a shake of his head. âTrust me?â
âYouâre so big,â you said without a second thought, and he held in his smile. âWhat the fuck, you⊠Youâve just been hiding this?â
âWouldâve let you see it if you asked me nicely,â he teased before his eyes narrowed slightly and he focused on your expression. âTrust me?â
Letting your head fall back on the mattress, you whispered, âAlways.â
Bending in half, keeping his knees under your legs, he settled on top of you, soothing your racing heart with a soft kiss to your chest before he trailed up your neck to kiss your lips. His fingers smoothed down your belly and slipped between your legs, the first real feel of him touching you, teasing your clit, twisting his fingers in long, gentle circles to work you up, though it felt like he did this for his own enjoyment.Â
Smiling as he felt your lips part and your arms wrap around his back, he pressed gentle kisses to your cheeks, groaning with you as you moaned for him with little to no regard for the neighbors. Vulnerable, sensitive, intimate, he thinks he could live right here forever and devote the rest of his life to bringing you pleasure. He grew harder, if that were possible, he thinks heâll finish untouched, until you finally beg.
âWanna feel you, wanâ you inside,â you pushed out through gusts of breath, âPlease, Yunho, need you, need you.â
âSound so pretty,â he mumbled through kisses to your skin, âGotta help me, baby, okay?â
Your whine echoed through his room as you cried, âOkay.â Brows twisting, body burning, you arched off his bed as he slid two long, slender, curved fingers inside of you.Â
âDamn, Shug,â he said through his teeth, scissoring his fingers as he slid them out of you before he pushed them back in. âTight little thing, you gonna take all of me?â
âYes,â you cried, melting into his touch, the slip of his fingers.
âDonât be an overachiever,â he cooed, nudging your nose with his, the tips of your lips brushing together.
Jaw clenching, you stilled your breath, choked back a moan as he pressed his fingers up, finding that spot with ease, and managed to say, âI could go fuck Hongjoong instead.â
Yunho saw red. You broke out into a grin, biting down on your bottom lip. Pulling his fingers out of you, he grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them over your head. Connecting his hips with yours, his cock slipping through your arousal, over your clit, he laughed as you whined, and he held you tighter, your legs, your body, folded in half.
âYouâd think Iâd see this coming,â he groveled, pressing his nose to your cheek. Angling his hips so his tip caught your entrance, he bared his teeth and spat, âMy girlâs a brat.â The pressure between your hips grew as he pushed himself into you, inch by inch, slowly, lips parting as you sucked him in, both of you. âYou want him?â His voice shook, his stomach tensed, his grip on your wrists grew even tighter.
Through a breath, you cried, âYunho,â back arching into his chest, arms and legs writhing in ecstasy, the shock subsiding leaving you completely and utterly cockdrunk.Â
âMoaninâ my name, but telling me yâwant him,â he snapped, testing the waters with a slow drag of his hips. Using one hand to hold both your wrists, he took the other between your legs, playing with you. âWho knew my girl was so messy, huh? You feel this?â The tip of his middle finger swirled over your clit, your body trembling. âSo wet,â he whispered, grazing his lips over the shell of your ear, âLet me right in, baby, you donât want him. Youâre just a needy little cockslut whoâll say anything to get what she wants, huh?â
Pleasure shot through your middle. âHâmy god,â you moaned as he moved again, each gentle thrust of his hips rendering you thoughtless. âYour mouth.â
âMy mouth?â He thrust again, harder this time. You nodded and parted your lips to speak, but he slid his finger in, the one he touched you with, spreading your own sweetness over your tongue. âTalk about yours.â Lips wrapping around the digit, you sucked as he pushed it towards the back of your throat, seeing stars as he pushed into you, harder, getting faster as he felt you relax further.
âSaying his name,â he snapped, pulling his finger out with a pop to your dismay. You whined and he shook his head. âBad girls donât get what they want, do you hear yourself?â Both of his hands held onto your wrists again. Shifting over you, pressing down on your hands, propping himself up on his knees, lifting your hips in the debauched act, he smirked. âYouâre mine.â
Insatiable, starved, entirely feral, he pistoled into you, your foreheads pressed together, your lips bumping with every other moan, every other smack of his hips against yours.Â
âYouâre mine,â he growled again, catching your bottom lip between his teeth, his breath rough and ragged. Enthralled with how you writhed, how you cried out his name, how no other word seemed to come to mind, he smiled wickedly, and you clenched around him. âSqueezinâ me already, you like to hear that? That youâre mine?â
âYes,â you whispered, your lungs filling with air that didnât seem to release, âSay it, say it.â
He let go of your hands and groaned, sliding them beneath your body, holding onto you. Burying his face in your neck, he latched his teeth to your skin as he rutted into you and moaned, âMine. No one else can fucking touch you,â he pushed himself up to his elbows to kiss you messily, âI do have a claim on you, fuck anyone else who tries. You belong to me.â
Hands clasping around his back, your nails dug into his skin, scrambled pink lines drawing over the expanse of his golden skin. Your body, gleaming with a sheen that matched his, clung to him. So full, so complete, you didnât want him to let go. Youâd spend eternity getting rocked senseless by Jeong Yunho.
The press of his lips to your skin, the clench of your belly as he pushed himself inside you to the hilt, his hands clinging to you like you were the last strain of sanity in the worldâ
âI love you,â you whispered, feeling your throat tighten. Tears welled in your eyes as he picked up his head in shock, his eyes wide, his hips slowing.Â
Mid-breath with parted lips, he brought his hands to your cheeks and held you.
âGod, donât stop,â you whined, half laughing as your tears spilled, âKeep going.â
Yunho, heart thundering in his chest, breath racking through his lungs, he shook his head and drug his thumbs under your eyes to wipe them clean. It took him eight seconds, but he whispered, âI love you too.â
Gazing up at him, trembling in ecstasy and through tears, you grabbed his cheeks and pulled him down to kiss him, hard and soft, all at once. Within it he groaned and grabbed onto you, wrapping himself around you, hitting that pace from before, hard and soft, all at once.Â
Minutes passed, several sweaty, disgusting, erotic minutes of skin on skin, becoming a part of one another. His bed had shifted, it banged into the wall, the frames of old records already shaking from the noise alone. You were too wrapped up in one another to notice, to care, to give a shit. From mewls, to moans, to giggles, to filthy words, neither of you wanted this to end, but with an ending came a promise of again.
High pitched and entirely deranged, you cried out for him, your vision searing white hot, your body doused in him, clenching around his cock, shaking in his hold, giving him the most vulnerable part of you, allowing him to drive you here, to hold you through it, to talk you through it. His swift mumbles of, âGood girl, oh fuck⊠Feels so good, I know, did so good⊠Iâm right here, right hereâ Fuck, where do you want it?â
âInside,â you whispered, voice broken, only able to hold onto him, your nose pressed to his cheek. âInside.â
The creak beneath you was obscene as he sped up, focused on his own high, spiraling you into overstim. Head going dizzy as he took you, and used you for what he wanted, what he needed, you moaned with him as he spilled into you, his teeth pressing into your shoulder as he came.
Everything went still, aside from the rise and fall of your chests. Everything went quiet, aside from the gentle noises slipping through your lips.
Lifting his head, his lids heavy, his lips swollen, he gazed down at your fucked out eyes and flushed cheeks and sighed. âYouâre so pretty,â he whispered, pushing hair from your face, planting a kiss to your cheek. Blinking up at him, you could only manage a small smile. âWas this your plan? When I found you at my door?âÂ
Shaking your head, you moved at a snail's pace, taking your hands to his cheeks, your body exhausted and trembling. âNo,â you whispered, smoothing your thumbs under his lashes, âJust wanted the truth.â
Yunho pursed his lips, his brows curious under his messy hair. âThe truth?â
âYeah,â you smiled, âYou do love me.â
âI have since I met you,â he confessed, dragging the backs of his fingers along the edge of your jaw.
âI think I have, too,â you whispered. âI was justâŠâ
Yunho shut his eyes for a second. âScared.â
âYeah, scared.â
He started to smile. âAre you still?â
âNot with you,â you whispered, âNever with you. Why do you think I had the balls to say it?â
Laughing, he shifted over you and your bodies parted. Admiring how your lips popped open at the feel, he smiled and pressed a kiss to your bottom lip. âI love you,â he said quietly, like someone would hear him, someone like you.
Cheeks going pink, you smiled. âI love you too.â
âCome shower with me,â he whispered against your dewy skin.
âYou might have to carry me, youâre a wild animal.â
His smile pierced through your heart and stirred your belly, swimming in the leftover pleasure heâd brought you to mere minutes ago. âAnything for you, Shug.â
Crawling off of you, he helped you up and wrapped an arm around your back. Pulling open his door a crack, he peered out into the shared space and listened.
Swatting at his chest, you giggled, âYou really think he came home?â
Shrugging, he shot you a sarcastic look, âWouldnât be able to hear him if he did, youâre really loud.â
âYunho,â you gasped, bumping him with your hip.
âLookâs like your strength is back,â he teased, âGuess you can walk to the bathroom alone.â His grin grew as he slid his arm off of you, laughing as you grabbed onto him and clung to his side.
âDonât be a jerk.â
Smoothing a hand over your hair, he hushed you and shook his head, âIâm sorry, Iâm kidding, Iâd never. Câmon.â
Taking you out toward the kitchen, the bathroom on Sanâs side of the apartment, you tiptoed over the hardwood, and you both paused.
Your hoodie and his shirt, they were folded neatly and placed on the counter beside the bottle of vodka that had been capped, the shot glasses arranged nicely next to it.Â
âUh, we didnât do that, did we?â he asked, sharing a just as confused look with you.
Thinning your lips, you felt your cheeks flush of all color as you looked up at him. âNope.â
âAh, shit,â he grumbled, âWhereâs my phone?â
Glancing around, letting yourself slip away from him, you searched for yours as well. Finding it on the other counter, again placed nicely, surprised he didnât also plug it into a charger for you, you swiped it open and drafted a text to Seonghwa, one you sent with an apology for the late hour.
Yunho groaned from behind you, swiping his hand over his forehead, pushing his hair back. âWell,â he trailed off, stepping to your side, showing you his screen and his text from San.
UR BROTHER: jongho and i are going to danteâs, glad you idiots worked this shit out ITâS ABOUT DAMN TIME⊠meet us here when youâre done, i want details, jongho doesnât, please help me torture him⊠sounds like your doing a good job though!!!Â
Your shoulders rose to eat your ears.
Yunho bent his knees and leaned into you, popping a kiss to your cheek. âLoud.â
âStop!â Whining, you shoved him, and he staggered back with a laugh.Â
âItâs hot,â he shrugged, reaching for you to pull you into the bathroom, âI like it that way. We gonna go get a drink?â
Leaning against the doorframe, watching him turn the hot water on, you admired his bare body and smirked. âIf weâre sure that Sanâll go home with Jongho.â
Whipping himself around, he took one stride toward you and looped his arms around your neck, pulling you into him. âHe always goes home with Jongho, and youâre coming back here with me.â
Biting down on your bottom lip, you smized. âYou serious?â
He curled his lip and dropped his chin down to kiss you rough, whispering, âDeadly. Now get in here and let me see if I can make you cum in five minutes.â
âYunho,â you laughed, having blushed more in your time with him this evening than ever in your life. He whisked you beneath the hot water and pushed you up against the wall, kissing you.Â
Pulling his lips away, he pressed his forehead to yours and took a deep breath. âI donât wanna go to the gala.â A smile pulled at the corners of your lips, growing until you almost doubled over in laughter. âWhaaat,â he whined, laughing with you, the sound contagious.Â
Gripping his cheeks you shook him a bit. âDonât worry about that, weâre not going. I just told Seonghwa.â
âOh,â he sighed, relieved, âOkay, good, thatâs okay?â
âMore than okay,â you rolled your eyes, âI didnât wanna go either.â
Pulling his lips to the side, he said, âI got your dress fixed.â Taking your wide eyes for an answer, he added, âI went back to the store to get it, San knows someone really good at this kind of stuff.â
âWho is she?â
âHe. A drag queen in Greenwich.â
Huffing through a laugh, you shook your head. âYou know sometimes they prefer it if you call them she.â
Yunho furrowed his brows. âHis name was Brian.â
Tilting your head, you squinted. âHuh⊠Why are they all named Brian?â
âDonât knowâŠâ His voice trailed off, leaving you both in thought until he dropped down to his knees and spread your thighs apart with his chin. Laughing at how you shrieked, he wiggled his way between them and kissed the inside of your hips.
Your fingers tangled with his hair. Laying your head on the wall, you laughed breathlessly, âFive minutes.â
He smirked and poked out his tongue. âStarting now.â
you do not have permission to copy or translate my works without my consent.
âItâs Not the First Time I Call You Babyâ â s.m.g
ââ friends to lovers, non idol!mingi x fem!reader
âTell me again. Tell me you want another manâs hands on you after what we did.â
Three months ago, you and your best friend called it a mistake and buried it under silence. Tonight, one stranger gets too close and Mingi finally says the part youâve both been choking on. Now the only question is whether you can survive the version of Mingi thatâs done waiting.
Genre: smut with plot, angst-ish(?)
Trigger Warnings: (spoilers ahead) alcohol use, arguments, anger, manipulation, guilt-tripping, explicit language, jealousy and possessiveness, physical violence, sexual explicit content (mdni) , rough/nasty sex, hard/mean dom! mingi, degradation, humiliation, name-calling (slut), breath play, hand on throat (not fully choking), biting, marking, hair pulling, semi-public sex/risk of being caught (car, taxi, elevator), unsafe sex, manhandling, big dick mingi, p in v, oral sex (m! receiving), throat fucking, a lot of cum (everywhere), cream pie, cum eating, multiple orgasms, dacryphilia, face slapping, spanking, breasts play, breeding kink-ish, masturbation, squirting
WC: 19.6k
Monâs Note: for my darling @minkieater!! thank you for trusting me with this request and for pushing me to write mingi in a way i donât usually do. i must say it was a challenge but nonetheless i enjoyed it a lot! hopefully it turned out the way you imagined, sweetheart đ«¶đ» have fun with it!!
ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââ ââââThe bass rattled through your molars, a rhythmic thud that drowned out the pulse in your own neck. The air in the middle of the floor was a soup of expensive cologne, salt-slicked skin, and the heavy scent of smoke. Behind you, the guy youâd been grinding against for the last three songs shifted his weight, his palms damp where they gripped the curve of your waist. He was a good dancer but the friction was starting to feel less like a release and more like a chore. You peeled his hands away with a practiced, apologetic tilt of your head, the neon blue light catching the sweat on your collarbone. He said something, but the words were swallowed by a remix of a track you didnât recognise. You just pointed toward the booths, offering a non-committal wave before weaving through the thicket of bodies.
Mingi was exactly where youâd left him, though the rest of the group had long since scattered into the chaos. He was leaning against the high mahogany table. The new blonde of his hair was tucked haphazardly behind his ears, the strands glowing every time the strobe swept past. He wasnât looking at the crowd. He wasnât looking at his phone.
He was looking at you.
His chocolate eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide enough to swallow the iris, tracking your progress across the floor with a heavy, unblinking focus. He didnât look like he was having fun. He looked like he was vibrating at a frequency that might shatter the glass in his hand.
âYou look like youâre at a funeral,â you hiked your voice to reach him, sliding into the narrow gap between his body and the table. The heat radiating off him was different from the dance floorâdryer, more concentrated. Mingi didnât move back to give you space. He stayed still, his height forcing you to crane your neck, his shadow swallowing you whole.
âDo I?â His voice was a low rumble that you felt in your chest more than you heard in your ears. He didnât smile. He just watched the way your chest rose and fell with your heavy breathing.
âYeah. Serious. Grumpy.â You reached out, your fingers brushing against the cold, condensation-slicked glass of the beer bottle he was white-knuckling. âYouâre bringing the vibe down, Min. You need to get laid or get drunk. Preferably both.â You didnât wait for an invitation. You wrapped your hand over hisâyour skin stinging at the contact of his frozen knucklesâand tilted the beer bottle toward your mouth. You took a long, stinging swallow, the bitter amber liquid cutting through the coat of sugar on your tongue from the cocktails earlier. When you pulled away, a stray drop of foam lingered on your lower lip. You didnât miss the way Mingiâs gaze dropped to it, his jaw muscle jumping as he ground his teeth together.
âThatâs mine,â he muttered.
âEverything of yours is mine,â you countered, leaning your hip into his thigh to steady yourself as a group of drunks stumbled past. âSince when do we care about germs? Weâve shared everything.â
Mingi let out a sharp, jagged breath through his nose. He took the bottle back, but he didnât drink. He just held it, his thumb stroking the neck of the glass in a rhythmic motion. âThe guy,â Mingi said, his voice dropping an octave, rasping against the music. âHe had his hands all over you.â
âThatâs usually how dancing works,â you teased, reaching up to flick a stray blonde hair away from his forehead. Your fingers lingered for a second too long against his skinâhe was burning up, a stark contrast to the ice-cold beer. âHe was fine. Boring, but fine.â
Mingi leaned down, his face inches from yours. The smell of him suddenly outweighed the scent of the club. His eyes searched yours, intense and frantic. âYouâre sweat-soaked,â he noted, his free hand came up, not to touch you, but to hover just an inch from your waist, the heat of his palm seeping through your clothes. âYou should sit down. Get some air.â
âI donât want air,â you said, feeling a strange, tight coil of tension pull in your gut. You reached out, grabbing the material of his shirt to pull him a fraction closer. âI want you to stop acting like a bodyguard and start acting like my best friend. Drink. Dance. Find a girl. Iâll even vet her for you.â
Mingiâs hand finally closed the distance, his fingers splaying wide over the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. The movement was sudden, knocking the breath right out of your lungs. âI donât want a girl,â he rasped, his breath hot against your ear as he lowered his head.
You leaned back just enough to catch the dark, honeyed shift of his eyes, the sticky heat of the club rushing into the inch of space between your chests. You let out a huff of a laugh, your hand still at his shoulder for balance while the floor tilted slightly under your shoes. âYou better change your mind then,â you teased, your voice bright and irreverent over the thumping music. You didnât lower your volume; the crudeness felt natural between you, a byproduct of years of shared secrets and unfiltered bullshit. âYour dick needs a good sucking, Min. Youâre wound so tight I can practically hear your gears grinding from here. Go find a victim.â You flashed him a grinâthe one that usually got him to stop broodingâand reached for the beer again, taking another long, unhurried swallow. The cold liquid slid down your throat, a sharp contrast to the humid air pressing against your skin.
Mingi didnât laugh. He didnât even crack a self-deprecating smirk. Instead, his fingers, still splayed across the small of your back, twitched. The fabric of your dress bunched under his palm as his grip tightened, drawing you a fraction closer until your thighs brushed his. He was tracking the way your throat moved as you swallowed, his jaw locked in a hard, protruding line. âIs that what you think?â
âI know it is,â you patted his chest, the muscle beneath his shirt felt like carved stone. âIâve seen you when youâre stressed. Youâre a menace. Go. Iâll be fine. I might even go find that guy againâhe had a nice rhythm.â
Mingiâs jaw tightened so hard you heard the faint click of his teeth over the sub-bass. For a heartbeat, he didnât move. He just stared at you, then, without a word, he tilted his head back. You watched the column of his throat work as he downed the rest of the beer in several heavy, aggressive gulps. The glass rattled against his teeth. When he pulled the bottle away, a single trail of amber liquid escaped the corner of his mouth, glistening in the strobe light before he wiped it away with the back of a shaking hand.
âOkay,â he said. The word was clipped, stripped of any warmth. It wasnât the voice of the best friend; it was the voice of a man who had reached a very specific, very dangerous limit. He set the empty bottle on the table with a sharp clack and turned away. He didnât look back. Not once. He didnât check to see if you were following, didnât offer a âsee you later,â didnât even spare you a final glance. He simply melted into the shifting sea of limbs on the dance floor, his blonde head bobbing through the neon haze like a signal fire being swallowed by the dark.
You blinked, the sudden absence of his heat leaving a strange, chilly vacuum against your front. âWell,â you muttered to yourself, the word lost to a sudden surge in the musicâs volume. âAsk and you shall receive, I guess.â You shifted your weight, the floor sticky beneath your boots. Youâd gotten what you wantedâMingi was finally out there, hopefully looking for someone to help him sweat out that foul moodâbut the air felt thinner without him hovering over you. You shook the feeling off, rolling your shoulders to loosen the tension that had settled there.
Time to find Mr. Rhythm.
You scanned the crowd, squinting against the blinding flashes of violet and white. The club was a kaleidoscope of blurred faces and grinding hips. You spotted the VIP section, where a group was spraying champagne, the fine mist catching the light like diamonds. You looked toward the bar, then back toward the floor where youâd been earlier. There. About twenty feet away, near the speakers, you caught the back of a familiar headâthe guy from before. He was already back at it, his hands on the hips of a girl in a red dress, moving with that same fluid, easy confidence.
You felt a sharp, unexpected prick of annoyance in your chest. That was fast.
You turned your head, searching for Mingi instead. You found him almost instantly. He wasnât hard to miss. He was standing near the edge of the floor, and he wasnât alone. A girl with long, dark hair had already gravitated toward him, her hand resting brazenly on his bicep as she shouted something into his ear. Mingi was leaning down, his ear inches from her lips, his expression unreadable. From this distance, he looked like a different person.
You stood there for a moment, glued to the edge of the mahogany table, your fingers tracing the ring of condensation Mingi had left behind.
You couldnât take your eyes off him. His hair was catching every flicker of the neon lights. The girl with the dark hair was closer now, her fingers hooked into the belt loop of his jeans, pulling herself into the narrow orbit of his space. Mingi didnât push her away. He didnât lean in, either. He just stood there, tall and terrifyingly still, his head tilted back as he looked down at her with an expression that was cold, and entirely unrecognisable. It felt like watching a stranger wear your best friendâs skin. The knot in your stomach tightened, a dull ache that had nothing to do with the alcohol you had.
âYou look like youâre waiting for a crash.â The voice was slick, cutting through the electronic roar of the track. You turned your head, blinking against a sudden burst of violet light. A man was standing beside you, leaning one elbow on the table. He was older than the guy youâd been dancing with, wearing a crisp black button-down and a heavy silver signet ring on his pinky. He held two glassesâcrystal tumblers filled with an amber liquid and a single, oversized cube of ice.
âIâm just watching the show,â you said, your voice raspy from the smoke and the shouting.
âThat tall, blonde guy?â The stranger followed your gaze, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didnât wait for an answer before sliding one of the tumblers across the wood toward you. âHe looks like heâs trying to set the room on fire. You look like youâre wondering if you should call the fire department.â
You looked at the drink. âI donât take drinks from people I donât know,â you said, though your hand moved toward the glass of its own accord. Your throat felt like it had been rubbed with sandpaper.
âIâm Seongmin,â he said, his voice a smooth baritone that didnât need to strain against the music. He took a sip of his own drink, his eyes never leaving yours. âNow you know me. Drink it. Itâs better than that bottom-shelf lager the blonde guy was chugging.â
You reached out, your fingers brushing his as you took the glass. The condensation was biting, a shock of cold against your palm. You took a sipâit was a peaty, expensive Scotch that burned all the way down, lighting a small fire in your belly.
âBetter?â he asked, stepping a fraction closer. He smelled of peppermint gum and expensive leather.
âStronger,â you countered.
Seongmin leaned in, âStrong is what you look like you need,â he reached out, his movements fluid and deliberate, and tucked a damp lock of hair behind your ear. His fingertips were warmâdry and steadyâlingering against the sensitive skin of your temple. âRelax.â
âI am relaxed,â you lied.
âYour shoulders are up to your ears.â He let his hand slide down, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw before his palm settled heavily on the nape of your neck. It was a grounding weight, firm enough to make you still. âThere. Better.â
Across the room, the violet strobe cut through the dark, illuminating Mingi. He wasnât paying attention to the girl grinding on him anymore. He was looking straight at you. Even from twenty feet away, the intensity of his stare felt like a physical shove.
Seongmin noticed. He didnât turn around to look, but his eyes narrowed as they tracked yours. A slow, predatory smile pulled at his mouth. âHeâs very protective, isnât he? Your... friend.â
âHeâs just moody,â you snapped, turning your back on the dance floor to face Seongmin fully. The movement brought you deep into his space, the scent of leather and peppermint thickening. âHe needs to mind his own business.â
âI agree.â Seongminâs hand shifted from your neck to your waist, pulling you an inch closer. âYouâre much too vibrant to be watched over like a child.â He took the glass from your hand, setting it behind him without breaking eye contact. Then, he took your wrist. He didnât ask. He simply guided your hand up until your palm was flat against his chest, right over the slow, rhythmic thud of his heart. The silk of his black shirt was cool, but the body beneath it was searing. âDance with me.â It wasnât a question, your legs were already moving as he backed away, leading you by the wrist toward a darker corner of the floor, away from the main crush but directly into Mingiâs line of sight.
The music shiftedâthe aggressive EDM fading into a R&B track with a bass line that felt like velvet. Seongmin didnât waste time with distance. He stepped into you, his thighs slotting between yours, his hands sliding down to rest low on your hips. He moved with a slow, grinding confidence that made the previous guy look like an amateur. He surged forward, forcing you to take a half-step back until your spine hit the padded velvet of a pillar. He followed, pinning you there with the weight of his body. His hands didnât stay still; they wandered, one sliding up to bunch the fabric at your waist, the other reaching up to cup your face, his thumb pressing firmly into your lower lip.
âYou have a very loud mouth,â he said, his voice a dark, amused rumble. âI wonder if it tastes as sharp as it sounds.â
You felt the heat of him everywhere. You reached up, your fingers tangling in the collar of his black shirt, intending to pull him closer. He tilted his head, his lips grazing the corner of yoursâa dry, searing contact that sent a jolt of static electricity straight to your toes. You felt the heavy silver of his ring press into the soft skin behind your ear, a cold touch as he began to claim the space youâd so carelessly offered. His tongue flicked out, a ghost of a touch against the seam of your lips, tasting the salt and the lingering amber of the drink heâd given you.
Seongminâs thumb didnât just rest on your lip; it hooked into the corner of your mouth, dragging the sensitive skin downward to expose the damp gleam of your teeth. The bass of the R&B track vibrated through the velvet-padded pillar behind you, rattling your ribcage and syncing with the heavy, insistent thud of his heart against your palm.
He shifted his weight, his thigh high and hard between yours, pressing upward with a slow, agonizing deliberation. The friction of his suit trousers against your thinner fabric was a dry heat that made your breath hitch, hitching again when he swallowed, his Adamâs apple bobbing against your knuckles.
âNot so loud now,â he murmured. He leaned in, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. He didn't close the distance to your lips. Instead, he tilted his head, his nose grazing yours, trailing down to the sensitive dip of your cupidâs bow. He inhaled sharply, a ragged sound that vibrated in his chest.
âYour friend is burning a hole in the back of your head,â Seongmin whispered, his breath ghosting over your damp lips, tasting of the same amber liquor. âDo you care? Or are you too busy feeling me?â
His hand at your waist tightened, fingers digging into the soft flesh above your hip bone, pulling you flush against the rigid line of his belt. He began to moveâa slow, rhythmic grind that was less about the music and more about the friction. Each roll of his hips was a calculated invasion, forcing you to arch your back against the pillar, your fingers twitching where they were trapped between your chests.
You tried to pull him closer by the collar, the silk bunching in your fist, but he resisted, holding his head just an inch back. He wanted you reaching. He wanted you strained. His tongue flicked out again, tracing the very edge of your upper lip, a teasing, wet velvet that left you shivering.
âAnswer me,â he commanded, the âsâ lingering into a hiss. He punctuated the demand with a sudden, sharper surge of his hips.
The air in the corner was thick, stripped of oxygen and replaced by the scent of him and the heat of the crowd a few feet away. You could hear the muffled clink of glasses and the roar of the party, but here, pinned under his shadow, the only thing that mattered was the way his thumb was now sliding inside your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, claiming the silence youâd finally fallen into.
He watched your eyes blow wide, his own dark and heavy-lidded, tracking the way your throat worked as you swallowed around him.
Then, a shadow fell over both of you.
âGet your fucking hands off her,â Mingi looked feral, his blonde hair damp and sticking to his temples, his chest heaving as if heâd just run a marathon. âSheâs done.â
Seongmin didnât let go. He didnât even flinch. He just tilted his head, his thumb still depressing your bottom lip, exposing the pink dampness of the inside. âShe looks like sheâs just starting, actually. Maybe you should take the hint, kid. Youâre the only one here whoâs uncomfortable.â
Mingi stepped forward, his hand lashing out to grip Seongminâs wrist. He didnât just pull it away; he twisted, a low growl vibrating in his throat that was purely animal. âI said,â Mingi rasped, his face inches from Seongminâs, his knuckles white where he held the older manâs wrist, âsheâs doneâ. He didnât look at youâhe couldnât. If he looked at you, heâd see the flush on your neck and the way your mouth was still parted from Seongminâs touch, and he knew heâd lose the last thread of his sanity.
âIâm not finished,â you managed to get out, your voice sounding thin and breathy even to your own ears. The adrenaline was pulsing in your blood, caught between the slick, practiced heat of Seongmin and the raw, bleeding energy radiating off Mingi.
Mingiâs other hand found your waist, his fingers digging into your hip with a bruising force that made you gasp. He yanked you toward him, stumbling you out from between Seongmin and the pillar, tucking you firmly under the line of his shoulder. He was shakingâhard enough that you could feel the tremors through his clothes.
âMingi, stop,â you hissed, grabbing his forearm. âYouâre making a scene.â
âWeâre leaving,â Mingi stated. âNow.â
Seongmin stepped forward again, ignoring Mingiâs posturing. He reached out, his fingers skimming down the line of your arm, just inches away from where Mingi was holding you. âIf you want to finish,â he said, his eyes locking onto yours, ignoring the blonde man entirely, âIâll be at the bar. Donât let the noise hold you back.â He winked and turned on his heel, disappearing into the neon haze with a grace that made the rest of the club look clumsy.
The silence between you and Mingi was a living thing, more deafening than the music screaming from the rafters. He didnât let go of you. He started walking, his pace aggressive, dragging you through the thicket of bodies. He didnât care if he bumped into people; his shoulders were set in a hard, uncompromising line.
Mingiâs hand didnât just stay on your wrist; he hiked it up, forcing your arm between your chests as he crowded you back against the mahogany bar. The wood bit into the small of your back. Around you, the club blurred into a frantic smear of neon, but Mingi was the only thing in high-definitionâthe sweat beading on his upper lip, the raw, dilated heat of his pupils.
âWhat the hell is wrong with you?â he snapped, his voice jagged and loud enough to pierce the music. âFolding for some suit who looks like heâs scouting for a second wife? Are you actually that dense?â
You didnât shrink away. You stepped into the suffocating radius of his space, poking a finger hard into his chest, right over his thundering heart. âI was just having fun until you decided to play the caveman!â
Mingi let out a harsh, mocking bark of a laugh that had no humour in it. He leaned down, his face so close you could see the frantic, rhythmic pulse in his temple. âOh, Iâm the caveman? Youâre the one standing here wagging your tail for any guy with a silver ring and a line of bullshit.â He sneered, his eyes raking over you with a disdain that stung worse than any insult. âYouâve got a lot of nerve, you know that? You told me to go get laid, telling me Iâm âwound too tightââbut look at you.â He reached out, his hand moving too fast to track, his fingers hooking into the hair at the nape of your neck and tugging, just enough to force your chin up. His touch was electric and furious. âLook at you,â he repeated, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous vibration that bypassed your ears and settled deep in your gut. âYouâre practically begging for it. Youâre flushed, youâre panting, and youâve got his damn thumb-prints all over your face. Is that what you wanted? To see how long it would take for me to lose it?â
âI donât have to explain myself to you,â you hissed, your breath hitching as his thumb swiped across your lower lipâhard, as if he were trying to scrub Seongminâs touch right off your skin. âYou donât get to act like this.â
âI get to act however the fuck I want when Iâm watching you throw yourself at a predator,â he growled. He stepped even closer, his thigh forcing its way between yours, pinning you firmly against the table. The friction of his denim against your skin was a shock. âYou think he wanted to talk? You think he wanted to hear your âwitty banterâ? He wanted to see how easy it would be to get you into a car. And you were making it real damn easy for him.â
âHe was a better dancer than youâve been all night,â you taunted, the words slipping out before you could filter them, fuelled by the sting of his grip.
Mingiâs expression shiftedâthe anger didnât fade, but it sharpened into something dark and concentrated. He didnât yell this time. He leaned in until his lips were brushing the shell of your ear, his chest heaving against yours. âA better dancer? Is that what this is? You want to be handled? You want someone to stop being âniceâ and just take what they want?â
His hand slid from your neck down to your waist, his fingers digging into the soft skin there, pulling you so flush against him. He wasnât acting like a bodyguard anymore. He was acting like a man who had finally stopped pretending he didnât want to break you.
âTell me,â he rasped, his teeth grazing your earlobe. âDo you want me to be like him? Do you want me to stop being your âbest friendâ and start being the guy who puts his hands wherever he wants? Because I can be that guy, Y/N.â The neon light overhead flickered, casting a sickly violet strobing across Mingiâs face, turning his features into a series of jagged, angry shadows. He looked like he was vibrating, the sheer force of his irritation radiating off his skin in waves of dry heat.
âYou donât get to talk to me like that! You donât own me!â you snarled, the words tasting like the peat and fire of cocktails and Scotch. Your pulse was a frantic hammer against your ribs. âYouâve been acting like this all nightâlike you have some kind of divine right to be pissed off just because Iâm breathing the same air as other men.â
âI have every right!â Mingi barked, the sound cutting through the synth-heavy beat of the music. He didnât flinch as a group of clubbers squeezed past, his world narrowed down to the few inches of charged air between your faces. His blonde hair was a ruined mess, damp strands clinging to his forehead, and his eyes were wildâblown wide and dark, searching yours for a shred of the loyalty he thought he possessed.
âBased on what?â you challenged, stepping into him until your chest heaved against the solid, unyielding plane of his. âBased on a decade of friendship? Friends donât act like this! Friends donât suffocate each other! They donât play the jealous watchdog every time someone looks my way!â
Mingiâs laugh was a jagged, ugly sound that started deep in his throat and ended in a sneer. He let go of you, but any hope of space vanished as he slammed both palms onto the mahogany table behind you. The wood groaned under the impact. He leaned in, his large frame creating a cage of heat and muscle, effectively pinning you against the bar.
âFriends?â the word dripped with a bitter, metallic irony that made your stomach flip. âIs that what weâre sticking with? Is that what we were three months ago?â He lowered his head, his nose brushing against yours, his breath hot and smelling of the beer heâd used to try and drown his temper. His eyes dropped to your mouth, tracking the frantic movement of your breathing with a terrifying, singular focus. âWas I just a âfriendâ when you spent three hours screaming my name in my apartment because you couldnât get enough of me? When you had your nails buried in my back, begging me not to stop?â
The air left your lungs in a silent rush. The memory hit youâthe smell of rain on his skin that night, the way the floorboards had groaned under the weight of the two of you, the desperate, fumbling heat of a âmistakeâ youâd both agreed to bury under a mountain of âit was just the drinksâ and âweâre fine.â
âOh, youâre going to bring that up now?â you breathed, your hands coming up to his chest to push him back, but your fingers only curled into the damp fabric of his shirt. âWe agreed, Mingi! We sat on your living room floor and promised it was a mistake! We shook on it! You donât get to keep that in your back pocket like a fucking weapon just because youâre having a bad night! So shut the fuck up!â
âI wonât,â he growled, his hand moving from the table to catch your jaw, his thumb pressing firmly into the hinge of your bone. It wasnât a gentle touch. âYou donât get to go back to âfriendsâ because itâs convenient! You think I can just watch that suit touch you and not want to rip his hands off?â His grip on your jaw tightened just a fraction, his eyes dark with a desperate, starving hunger.
âWe said that didnât count! We agreed. It was a one-time thing. It was a slip-up!â
âYou call the way you clutched at my back a âslip-upâ? The way you begged me not to stop? Thatâs a hell of a lot of effort for a âslip-up,â baby.â
âDonât call me that!â You hissed, your vision blurring with a mix of heat and pure, unadulterated rage. âYouâre just pissed because you canât control me. Youâre acting like Iâm some prize you won three months ago and now youâre mad someone else is looking at the trophy.â
Mingiâs hand slammed against the table next to your hip, the wood groaning under the impact. The sound was a gunshot in the dark. âI donât want a fucking trophy! Itâs not the first time I call you âbabyâ, and you damn well know it wasnât just a âslip-upâ for me.â Mingi roared, his composure finally snapping. âItâs been three months of me watching you pretend it never happened! Three months of me watching you smile at other guys while I can still feel the way your skin felt under my hands.â He was shaking now, his hands white-knuckled against the mahogany. The subtext was gone; the ugly, beautiful truth was laid bare between you, more neon and loud than anything in the club.
âYou want me to go get laid?â he barked, his voice a jagged, ugly thing. âFine. Give me a name, Y/N. Who should I go fuck tonight to make you feel better about being a coward? Should I find some random bitch at the bar who doesnât mind being seen in public with me? Someone who isnât busy playing âbest friendâ while sheâs still got the ghost of my hand on her thigh?â
He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his eyes bloodshot and burning with a terrifying, charcoal-dark intensity.
âBecause thatâs what this is, right? A game?â He let out a harsh, mocking bark of a laugh. âYou have the fucking audacity to tell me to go find another girl. Like I can just turn it off. Like I havenât spent every goddamn night remembering exactly how you taste.â
âMingi, stopââ
âStop what? Telling the truth?â He slammed his hand against the table next to your hip, the wood groaning. âYouâre pathetic. Youâre so scared of what we are that youâd rather see me balls-deep in some stranger than admit you belong to me. Is that it? Does it make you feel âsafeâ to think of me with someone else?â
He grabbed the edge of the bar, pinning you in, his breath hot and smelling of bitter resentment.
âMaybe Iâll do it. Maybe Iâll go back down there, find the loudest girl in the club, and fuck the memory of you right out of my head. Iâll tell her to scream your name so I donât forget who Iâm trying to replace. Would you like that? Should I give you a play-by-play tomorrow morning while weâre having our âfriendlyâ coffee? Should I tell you if sheâs tighter than you were?â
The words were a physical assault, a cruel, calculated attempt to draw blood. He was weaponising the intimacy youâd shared, dragging it through the dirt just to see you flinch.
âYouâre a fucking liar,â he hissed, his voice dropping to a low, venomous crawl. âYouâre a liar and a coward, and youâre so desperate to keep this âfriendshipâ alive that youâre willing to watch me bleed out right in front of you.â
The slap wasnât a choice; it was an explosion.
Your palm connected with his cheek with a violent, stinging crack that seemed to suck the air out of the room. The force of it snapped his head to the side, his blonde hair falling over his eyes as he went deathly still.
Silence stretched between you, a taut, vibrating wire.
Slowly, Mingi turned his face back to you. The imprint of your fingers was blooming a dark, angry red against his pale skin. He didnât look hurt. He looked unhinged. A dark, terrifying smirk pulled at one corner of his mouthâthe look of a man who had finally stopped trying to be the âgood friend.â
âI was wondering when youâd stop pretending to be âfineâ.â
The air in the club was suddenly too thick to breathe, a humid soup of Mingiâs possessiveness and the ghost of a memory youâd both tried to bury under layers of âbest friendsâ bullshit.
âNow, tell me again. Tell me to go find someone else. Look me in the eye and tell me you want another manâs hands on you after what we did.â
You shoved at his chestâhardâand this time he let you, his hands sliding off the mahogany with a jagged scrape. You didnât say a word. You turned and bolted for the exit, the heavy bass chasing you like a heartbeat until the steel doors hissed shut behind you.
The parking lot was lit by the buzzing, sickly orange glow of lamps. The air was bitingly cold, snapping at the sweat on your skin, but it wasnât enough to cool the furnace in your blood. You were halfway to the taxi zone when the heavy thud of the club doors swinging open again echoed off the asphalt.
âDonât you fucking walk away from me!â Mingiâs voice cracked the silence of the night.
You spun around, your heels clicking sharply against the oil-stained ground. âOr what, Mingi? What the fuck are you going to do? Pin me against another table? Remind me again how I sounded three months ago?â Your voice rose, trembling with a mix of fury and the terrifying realisation that the walls youâd built were crumbling. âYou donât get to use that! That wasâthat was a mistake! We said it was a mistake!â
Mingi didnât stop. He ate up the distance between you with rushed strides. He reached you in seconds, his hand lashing out to catch your upper arm, spinning you around so hard you stumbled into the side of a parked SUV. The metal was freezing against your shoulder blades.
âA mistake?â He threw the word back at you like a slur. He slammed his hand against the car next to your head, the thump of palm on metal loud enough to make you flinch. âIs that what you call it when I havenât been able to stop thinking about you? Is it a âmistakeâ that I canât look at another woman without wishing she had your eyes?â
âStop,â you breathed, but your hands werenât pushing him away anymore.
âNo,â he rasped, his face dropping until his nose was buried in the crook of your neck, his breath a searing brand against your skin. âYou want me to act like I donât give a shit who touches you? I canât do it. Iâm fucking done pretending.â He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes were no longer chocolate; they were charcoal, burning with a hunger that made Seongminâs interest look like a polite suggestion. âTell me it was a mistake again,â he challenged, âTell me you didnât feel the way my hands were on you. Tell me you want that suit back here instead of me.â His grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. He didnât wait for your answer. He leaned in, his mouth hovering a fraction of an inch from yours, the tension so thick it felt like it would shatter the glass in the windows around you. âSay it,â he whispered against your lips. âLie to me.â
âYou have no right to be this angry! You agreed to the silence! You looked me in the eye over coffee the next morning and said, âLetâs just be us againâ Itâs you who lied!â
âI didnât lie! I tried! I tried to be âusâ again. I tried to watch movies with you and not think about the way we kissed. I tried to listen to you talk about work and not remember the way you moaned when I was inside you!â He let out a harsh, guttural breath, his eyes wild and shimmering with a frustrated heat. âBut then you walk into a club looking like that. You spend the whole night grinding against some strangers, looking back at me like youâre daring me to say something. And then you have the fucking nerve to tell me I need to get laid? Like I havenât been starving for three months because Iâm stuck in âbest friendâ purgatory?â
âI didnât ask you to wait!â your voice trembled with a mix of fury and a terrifying, rising ache in your chest. âIf you wanted me, you should have said something! You should have stopped me from leaving that morning! But you just fucking sat there and let me walk out!â
âBecause I was terrified! I was terrified that if I reached for you, Iâd lose the only person who actually knows me. I thought I could handle being your friend. I thought I could watch you date and smile and be happy. But tonight? Seeing his hands on you?â He leaned down, his forehead thumping against yours with a dull, desperate thud. His breath was hot, smelling of malt and obsession. âIt felt like someone was ripping my ribs out of my chest,â he whispered, the anger turning into something far more dangerousâhonesty. âIâm done, baby. Iâm done pretending. Iâm a fucking wreck. Are you happy now? Is this the âfunâ you wanted me to have?â
You felt the heat of him radiating through your clothes, the violent rhythm of his heart drumming against your own ribs. Your hands, which had been balled into fists against his chest, slowly unfurled, your fingers clutching at the damp fabric of his shirt.
The silence of the parking lot was heavy, broken only by the distant, rhythmic hum of the club and the ragged hitch of Mingiâs breath against your mouth. The cold air nipped at your damp skin, but where your bodies pressed together, the heat was suffocating.
âIâm not happy,â you whispered, your voice cracking as the last of your defensive anger dissolved into a jagged, aching vulnerability. âI'm exhausted, Mingi. Iâve been waiting for you to say something. Anything.â
Mingiâs hands, which had been bruising your hips, suddenly shifted. One slid up the curve of your spine, his palm flat and searing, while the other tangled deep into the hair at the base of your skull, tilting your head back until you were forced to meet the raw, unmasked hunger in his eyes. He didnât look like your best friend anymore.
âYou want me to say it?â he rasped, his lips brushing yours with every word, a torture of near-contact. âI want you. Iâve wanted you since the second I woke up that morning and saw you curled by my side. I wanted to pull you closer and never let the sun come up.â He leaned in, his nose sliding against yours, his grip tightening until you were fused to the cold metal of the SUV. âI donât want to be your âfriendâ tonight, I donât want to be the guy who vets your dates or buys you a beer while you dance with someone else. I want to be the reason you canât walk tomorrow. I want to be the only name you can remember.â
He paused, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, his touch heavy and possessive. âTell me to stop. Right now. Tell me you want the âbest friendâ back, and Iâll walk away. Iâll go find that girl. Iâll do exactly what you told me to do.â
You looked at himâat the damp platinum hair, the red mark of your palm still burning on his cheek, the intensity of his stareâand felt the last of your resolve shatter. You couldnât tell him to stop.
Instead, you arched your back, pulling his hips flush against yours, your fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders. âDonât go.â
Mingi didnât give you a chance to change your mind. He crashed his mouth against yours, the contact violent and desperate, a collision of three months of starved silence. It wasnât a gentle kiss; it was a reclamation. His tongue demanding entry as he groaned deep in his throatâa sound of pure relief.
His hands were everywhereâclutching your waist, hiking up the hem of your dress, his skin a brand against yours. He backed you harder into the car, the suspension creaking under the weight of his aggression. He kissed you like he was trying to breathe you in, like he was trying to erase the ghost of every other hand that had touched you. It was messy, teeth clashing, the salt of your sweat mixing as he tilted your head back at a sharp angle to get deeper, hungrier. You didnât fight him. You were kissing him back with the same pent-up rage. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in those blonde, sweat-damp strands, pulling him closer until there wasnât a molecule of air left between your bodies.
âMinââ you whimpered into his mouth, the name broken and small.
His large hand slid down from your face, his fingers pug your dress higher, knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of your tight. He broke the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, his breath scalding your skin. He bitânot a nip, but a sharp, possessive mark, making you arch your back and cry out into the empty parking lot. His hands were everywhere now, frantic and heavy, mapping the curves heâd spent days trying to forget.
âMine,â he muttered against your skin, his voice a dark, fractured thing. âYouâre mine.â
The metal of the SUV groaned as Mingi surged forward, his body crushing you into the side of the car. He didnât just hold your leg; he hiked it higher, his forearm hooking under the crook of your knee to pull you flush against the hard, frantic line of his hips. The friction of his denim against your bare inner thigh was a jolt of pure electricity, a rough, grounding contrast to the slick, desperate heat of his mouth. Mingiâs grip on your thighs tightened until his knuckles went white, his fingers sinking into your skin with a bruising, territorial force that made you let out a sharp, jagged gasp. He didnât care about the bruises he was leaving; he wanted you to feel every ounce of hunger heâd been choking back.
âSay it,â he growled, his voice vibrating against the sensitive cord of your neck. He didnât wait for you to speak, his teeth grazing the skin heâd just bitten, soothing and then stinging again. âTell me youâre mine before I lose my fucking mind.â His free hand, the one not holding your leg, didnât stay still. It slid upward, the tips of his fingers dragging over the silk of your dress, bunching the fabric until he found the damp, heated skin of your waist. He didnât stop there. He pushed the material higher, his palm sliding over your ribs with a possessive, heavy pressure that made your breath hitch in a series of broken stammers. He moved his hand from your waist, his fingers fumbling with the button of his own jeans with a frantic, clumsy desperation. He broke away from your neck, his face flushed, his eyes dark and blown out with a hunger that was terrifyingly beautiful.
âSay it,â he growled again, his voice dropping into a guttural, terrifying register as he ground his hips into yours. You felt the hard, insistent length of his cock through his clothes. The friction was a white-hot spark against your core, the heavy, rigid length of him pressing through the thin silk of your dress with an uncompromising demand. âI want to hear you admit what a fucking liar youâve been. Tell me youâre mine before I fuck the memory of that other prick out of your head right here on the street.â
Your head thrashed back against the cold glass of the car window, a low, desperate whine vibrating in your throat. âMin⊠Please⊠Itâs you. I promise itâs you.â
âThatâs not what I asked,â he hissed, his mouth crashing onto the sensitive junction of your neck and shoulder. He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, his pupils so dilated they swallowed the gold of his irises. âI donât want âitâs you.â I want you to say the words. Tell me youâre my slut. Tell me youâve been sitting across from me for months dreaming about me pinning you down like this.â
He didnât wait for your answer. He let go of one of your legs, his hand diving between your bodies to finish what heâd started with his jeans. You heard the harsh, metallic zip of his flyâa sound that felt like a death knell for your dignity. He didnât think about a condom; he didnât even slow down. He grabbed his own length, his other hand bluntly and impatiently pulling the lace of your panties to the side.
Mingi guided himself to the soaking, frantic heat of your entrance. The feel of himâthick, hot, and uncompromisingly hardâpressing against your opening made your vision spark. He wasnât entering you yet, but he was right there, the blunt head of him sliding through the slickness youâd made for him, teasing the very edge of the abyss.
âLook at you,â he taunted, his breath hitching as he felt how ready you were. âLeaking like a fucking sink for me while you were telling yourself we were âjust friendsâ ten minutes ago. Youâre so desperate for me you donât even care who sees.â He hiked your leg higher, his forearm pressing into the glass behind your head to steady himself. He leaned in until his nose was brushing yours. âIâm going to stretch you out so wide you wonât be able to walk back into that club,â he promised, his hips twitching in a slow, shallow thrust that tested your limits. âIâm going to fill you with so much of me that youâll smell like me for a week. Now, tell me who you belong to before I take it.â
âMin, someone... someone mightââ
âLet them fucking look,â he rasped, his voice a jagged edge. He didnât care about the yellow wash of the street lamps or the muffled, rhythmic thump of the club doors.
âMin⊠stop,â you gasped, your fingers trembling as you shoved against the hard wall of his chest, trying to find a single inch of air. âNot here. Take me⊠take me home. Please.â
He didnât let go. If anything, he pressed closer. âTake you home?â he leaned in until his lips were grazing yours, his teeth bared in a jagged sneer. âWhat, you worried that suit might walk out and see you getting exactly what youâve been begging for? You want to be a lady now?â
"No, I justâ Not here,â you gasped, âMingi, please... not on the street. Take me home. Justâget me home.â You were breathless, your voice a ragged thread of sound that broke against his lips. You didnât pull away; instead, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the salt, the expensive cologne, and the raw, terrifying heat of him. You bit down on the corded tendon of his shoulder, a sharp, desperate nip that was less about pain and more a wordless, frantic plea.
Mingi let out a sound that was half-groan, half-growl, his forehead thumping against the car window with a dull thud as he fought the urge to just sink into you right there. He stayed pinned against you for a heartbeat, his chest heaving in sync with yours.
The silence of the alleyway seemed to roar in his ears.
Slowly, the haze in his eyes cleared just enough for him to see the way you were shaking in his armsânot just from the cold, but from the sheer, overwhelming weight of him. With a sharp, frustrated exhale, he snapped. He pulled back abruptly, his hands leaving your skin so suddenly you nearly stumbled. âHome,â he nodded slowly, the word sounding like a vow.
He didnât drop you gently. He slid you down the side of the car, his hands never leaving your waist, his thumbs digging into your hip bones to keep you steady as your heels hit the pavement. His eyes were dark, almost black in the orange glow of the streetlamp, tracking the way your chest rose and fell. He reached out, his fingers trembling as he jerked your dress back down, smoothing the fabric over your thighs with a possessive, territorial rough-handedness.
âDonât move,â he stepped back just far enough to fumble with his zipper, his movements jagged and impatient. He didnât look toward the club; he looked toward the street, his arm shooting up the second he spotted the yellow glow of a taxi rounding the corner two blocks away.
He didnât wait for it to reach you. He started walking toward the edge of the curb, his hand locked around your wrist, pulling you behind him with a singular, focused gravity. He was a different personâharder, faster, his shoulders set in a line that warned the world to stay the hell away. The taxi screeched to a halt, the driver barely having time to put it in park before Mingi yanked the back door open. He practically folded you into the seat, his body following yours so closely that you were pinned against the far door before heâd even slammed the car shut.
âWhere to?â the driver asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.
Mingi gave his address, his voice dropping an octave, his hand already finding your thigh under the cover of the shadows. He didnât care about the driver. He didnât care about the neon lights of the city blurring past the window. He leaned over you, his hand sliding up your leg to bunch the fabric of your dress back toward your hips, his eyes fixed on yours with a terrifying, beautiful promise.
The interior of the taxi was a cramped, vinyl-scented capsule, the orange glow of the street lamps strobing across Mingiâs face in rhythmic, violent flashes. The driver hummed some mindless radio tune, oblivious to the fact that the air in the backseat was thick enough to choke on.
Mingi didnât waste a second. He shifted, pinning you against the far door, his thigh slotting between yours to keep them spread. He looked out the window, his jaw set in a hard, protruding line of feigned indifference for the driverâs benefit, but his hand was doing something entirely different. His fingers hooked into the hem of your dress, the fabric sliding up your skin with a dry, rasping sound. He didnât stop until his knuckles bumped against the damp lace of your underwear. You let out a soft, broken hitch of a breath, your head falling back against the window as the cool glass met your burning skin.
âMingi,â you breathed, a warning and a plea rolled into one.
âShh,â he rasped, finally turning his head to look at you. âYou wanted to go home. Weâre going. But Iâm not stopping.â
He slid his hand beneath the lace, his palm cupping you with a sudden, bruising heat. You buckled against him, your fingers digging into the denim of his thighs. The taxi hit a pothole, jouncing the cabin, and Mingi used the momentum to drive his palm harder against you. He didnât just slide his fingers in; he paused at the threshold, the tips of his fingers merely fluttering against the soaked silk of your underwear. He began to stroke youâjust a feather-light touch at first, a torturous promiseâbefore his fingers dipped lower, finding the slick, aching heat youâd been hiding all night. Your head hit the headrest, a choked-back moan dying in your throat. You could feel the vibration of the carâs engine beneath you, but it was nothing compared to the violent thrumming of Mingiâs heart against your shoulder.
âLook at this,â he whispered, his voice thick with a terrifying sort of triumph. He shifted his hand, bringing his damp fingers up between your faces so you could see the shimmer of yourself on his skin in the passing glow of a streetlamp. âAll that talk about being âfriendsâ and âslip-ups,â and youâre leaking for me in the back of a fucking taxi.â He leaned in, his nose brushing yours, his scentâsharp, masculine, and intoxicatingâfilling your head. He slid one finger in, just past the first knuckle, hooking it upward. You let out a strangled, high-pitched whimper, your hips jerking upward in a desperate search for friction. âYou wanted me to put these hands on a stranger? To make her feel like this?â He pulled his finger back out until he was barely there. He did it again. And again. A rhythmic, shallow teasing that was ten times worse than the frantic grinding in the parking lot. He was reclaiming you, inch by agonising inch.
âYou like that?â he rasped, his thumb catching your clit and pinning it with a heavy, steady pressure that made your vision go white at the edges. âI bet that suit didnât even get close enough to know how sensitive you are right here. He didnât know that if I press just like this, you start shaking, did he?â He began to move in a slow, torturous rhythmânot fast enough to bring you to the edge, but deep enough to keep the ache in your lower belly twisting into a tight knot. Every time you tried to buck against him to speed him up, heâd still his hand, or pull back entirely until you were whimpering for him to continue.
âPlease,â you sobbed into his neck, your fingers digging so hard into his shoulders you were sure youâd leave marks.
âPlease what, baby? Please stop?â He nipped at the skin of your throat, his fingers stretching you open as he added a second digit, sliding it in alongside the first with a deliberate, slow friction. âOr please donât stop because youâve been thinking about this as much as I have? Tell me the truth. While you were dancing with him, were you wondering if heâd touch you like this? Were you wondering if he knew how to make you fall apart?â He increased the pace just a fraction, his knuckles rubbing against your inner thigh, the heavy silver of his rings a cold, hard contrast to the blistering heat of your body.
You were melting, your breath coming in shallow, frantic hitches as the pressure built, centring right where his thumb was grinding.
âYou arenât finishing in the back of a Prius. Youâre going to wait until weâre home. Youâre going to wait until I can hear you moaning my name,â he looked out the window as the taxi pulled up to the curb of his apartment building. He didnât move his hand until the car came to a full stop. Then, with one final, deep thrust that drew a sob from your throat, he withdrew, the sudden loss of heat and pressure making you feel dizzy. He wiped his fingers on the seat beside himâor perhaps your dress, you couldnât tellâpayed the driver, and leaned over to open the door, his eyes burning with a promise that made the taxi ride feel like a mere appetiser.
âOut,â he ordered, his eyes dark with a promise that made your knees feel like water. âIâm done teasing.â
The lobby was a blur of marble and hushed silence, a stark contrast to the war zone in the back of the taxi. Mingi didnât let go of your wrist, his stride long and jagged as he hauled you toward the elevators. His knuckles were still damp, the scent of you clinging to his skin, and he didnât even try to hide the way his gaze devoured the curve of your throat.
The chime of the elevator felt like a starter pistol. The doors slid shut with a heavy, mechanical sigh, sealing the two of you into a mirrored box of brushed steel. Mingi slammed his palm against the button for the 12th floor and then immediately pivoted, his arm lashing out to pin you against the handrail. The elevator jolted upward, the sudden gravity pulling your stomach into your throat, but Mingiâs weight was the only thing keeping you upright.
âTwelve floors,â he rasped, his voice a low, vibrating growl that echoed off the metal walls. âYou have exactly twelve floors before I have you behind a locked door.â
His hand slid up from your waist, his palm flat and heavy against your ribs. His fingers splayed wide as he reached the underside of your breast. He squeezedânot a gentle caress, but a firm, possessive claim that made you gasp, your head thumping back against the mirrored wall. He leaned down, his teeth nipping at the sensitive junction where your neck met your shoulder, his tongue licking the sting away a second later.
His other hand dived low, his fingers hooking into the hem of your dress and yanking it up to your hips. He didnât care about the security camera in the corner. He shoved his knee between your thighs, forcing them apart, his hand sliding over the silk of your underwear to find the heat heâd left behind in the taxi. He began to rub, a slow, heavy friction that made your knees buckle. âLook at yourself,â he commanded, nodding toward the mirrors.
You looked and saw the wreckage of your hair, the flush climbing up your chest, and Mingiâtowering over you, his blonde hair a mess, his large hand disappearing between your legs.
âFloor six,â he whispered against your ear, his breath scalding. His thumb find your nipple through the dress and pinched, a sharp bolt of pleasure-pain that made you cry out. He caught the sound in his own mouth, kissing you with a bruising, desperate hunger that tasted of beer and obsession. His hands were a frantic map, sliding from the swell of your breasts down to the soft meat of your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin.
âFloor nine,â he groaned into the hollow of your throat, his hand sliding back down to grip your thigh, hitching it up around his waist so he could grind his dressed hardness against your core. The friction was a slow-motion torture that had you sobbing his name into the quiet hum of the elevator.
The chime for the 12th floor was the loudest sound youâd ever heard. The doors slid open. Mingi didnât let you down. He kept your leg hooked around his hip, his arm a steel band around your waist as he practically carried you down the hall, his keys already out and jingling with a frantic, metallic rhythm.
He fumbled with the keys, his breath coming in short, jagged hitches that rattled in his chest. The lock clicked and he kicked the door open, dragging you inside into the pitch-black entryway. He didnât turn on the lights and slammed the door shut behind you, the boom echoing through the empty apartment, and in the same motion, he shoved you back against it. The wood was solid and unforgiving against your spine, a cold shock that lasted only a second before Mingiâs heat incinerated it. He dropped his weight into you, his forearms slamming against the door on either side of your head, pinning you in the narrow dark. The only light came from the city skyline bleeding through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, casting his silhouette in a jagged, silver outline. He didnât give you a chance to breathe. He reached down, his hands catching the hem of your dress and yanking it up past your hips, the fabric bunching around your waist in a frantic, messy pile. His palms were scorching, his skin a brand against your thighs as he hiked your legs up, his strong arms hooking under your knees to lift you off the floor.
You let out a broken gasp, your hands flying to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the material of his shirt for balance. You wrapped your legs around his waist, your heels locking behind his back, pulling him flush against the aching, empty core. He buried his face in the crook of your neck. He didnât kiss you; he claimed you.
âIâve spent three months staring at this door, remembering the way you looked when you walked through it the last time. Iâm not letting you go until Iâve had every fucking inch of you.â
He shifted his grip, one hand staying under your thigh while the other moved to his jeans, the metallic rasp of his zipper sounding like a gunshot in the quiet apartment. He was shakingâyou could feel the tremors in his muscles, the raw, unhinged desperation of a man who had reached his absolute limit. When he adjusted his grip on your thighs and surged forward, the air didnât just leave your lungsâit was stolen.
His cock was massive. A blunt, heavy intrusion that felt like he was rearranging the very architecture of your body. The initial stretch was a sharp, searing sting, a fire that made your eyes snap wide and your breath hitch into a tight, jagged sob. It was too much; it was the physical manifestation of ninety days of starved silence suddenly demanding entry all at once.
âMingiâwait,â you wheezed, your fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, your knuckles white as you tried to find your bearings.
âNo,â he growled, the word a dark, guttural vibration against the sensitive cord of your throat. He didnât pull back. He stayed buried deep to the absolute hilt, his forehead thumping against the door next to your ear as he fought the urge to just cum right then. His muscles were coiling like overwound springs, his skin radiator-hot against yours. âDonât you dare tell me to wait,â his teeth grazed your earlobe with a threatening pressure. âYouâve made me wait for three fucking months. So now, youâre going to take every bit of this.â
He didnât ease you into it. He began to moveâa shallow, punishing rhythm that forced your head back against the wood. Every strike was a blunt-force, pleasure and pain, the sting began to dull into a heavy, throbbing ache, a fullness that radiated from your core to your toes.
You let out a long, shaky moan, your hips tilting instinctively to take more of him. Your hands, frantic and clumsy with adrenaline, fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, your fingernails grazing the damp, hard heat of his chest. You needed him closer. You needed the barrier of the fabric gone. As the shirt fell open, you pressed your palms against his bare skin, feeling the violent gallop of his heart.
âTake it off,â you whimpered into the hollow of his neck, your teeth catching on his skin. âMin, please.â
He let out a sound that was purely animal. He didnât take the shirt off; he simply ripped it back, the buttons popping and skittering across the hardwood floor like hail. He caught your face in his hand, his thumb digging into your cheek as he kissed youâa messy, desperate collision of tongues and teeth that tasted of salt and obsession.
He hammered into you, his thrusts deep and punishing, pinning you against the door with a force that made the hinges groan. Every impact sent a shockwave through your frame, your head knocking back against the wood in time with his movements. The pain was gone, incinerated by a white-hot friction that made your vision blur into streaks.
Mingi pulled back just an inch, his eyes raking over the silk fabric of your dress. He didnât reach for a zipper at the side. He didnât look for a seam. He hooked his large fingers into the delicate neckline and pulled. The sound of the silk shredding was a sharp, violent protest in the quiet hallway. He hauled the fabric down, the material bunching around your waist and then falling to the floor in a ruined, expensive heap. He didnât stop until you were completely exposed to the cool air of the apartment, your skin pale and shivering under the harsh focus of his gaze. He grabbed your waist again, his thumbs digging into your hip bones as he slammed you back against the door. Without the silk as a barrier, the contact was electric.
âYouâre so tight,â he rasped, the words broken and guttural, hissed into the sensitive shell of your ear. âFucking killing me... how much you want this.â His hand moved to your breast, his palm heavy and possessive, thumb catching your sensitive nipple and rolling it with a bruising pressure that made you cry out. Mingi couldnât care less about the noise. He didnât care about the neighbours or the world outside. He was focused entirely on the way you were breaking around him, the way your legs were locked around his waist, your heels drumming against the small of his back.
His pace became frantic, a blurring, heavy friction that pushed you toward a ledge you werenât ready for. He was growling now, his breath coming in ragged, wet hitches, his mouth against your cheek as he felt the first tremors of your climax begin to ripple through you.
âLook at me.â You opened your eyes, your vision swimming with tears and pleasure. Even in the dark, his eyes were burning, fixed on yours with a terrifying, singular focus. âTell me,â he gasped, his pace quickening, his chest heaving against yours until you could feel the frantic gallop of his heart. âTell me whoâs inside you. Say the name.â
âMingi,â you sobbed, the name a shattered, breathless thing as you gripped his hair, pulling his face closer. You couldnât even think; the sheer, thick volume of him was filling every corner of your consciousness, stretching you until you felt like you might split apart from the pleasure of it. âItâs you.â
He didnât stop. His pace was a heavy, wet rhythm that echoed through the apartment. Each thrust was a blunt-force, pinning you so hard against the door that the wood vibrated against your shoulder blades. âSay it again,â he growled, his teeth bared, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose onto your cheek. âTell me whose you are.â
âYours,â you moaned, your hips buckling, chasing the friction as the pressure behind your navel tightened. âMingi, Iâm yours. PleaseâIâm close. Iâm so close.â
His breath hitched, a jagged, guttural sound as his own control finally disintegrated. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his muscles corded like steel cables under your palms. He was trembling violently, his thrusts reaching a shallow speed that told you he was right on the precipice. âWhere?â he rasped, the word barely a whisper, thick with a desperate urgency. He gripped your hips so hard his fingers left white imprints on your skin. âWhere do you want it? Tell me where, baby, before I lose it.â
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in as if you could pull him into your very soul. âInside,â you choked out, your voice dropping to a raw, pleading whimper. âInside me, give it all to me. Fill me up.â
The permission was the final blow. Mingi let out a low, primal roar that vibrated through your entire chest cavity. He surged forward one last time, burying himself to the absolute hilt, and stalled there. His entire body locked up, his head snapping back as he came, the sheer force of it pulsing through him in heavy, rhythmic waves. You felt the blistering heat of him flooding youâa thick, relentless spill that made your own walls contract in a violent, cascading climax. You cried out, your voice dying in your throat as your vision sparked with silver, your body sagging against him as the world tilted and dissolved.
For a long minute, the only sound in the entryway was the ragged, sobbing hitch of your combined breathing. Mingi stayed buried inside you, his forehead resting against the door, his chest heaving as if heâd just survived a wreck. He didnât move, holding you up as the mess of him began to trickle down your skin.
Slowly, he pulled his head back, his eyes searching yours in the dim silver light. He kissed you, his lips lingering as he let your legs slide down his body until your feet touched the floor.
Your legs were liquid, useless stalks of flax that buckled the moment your heels touched the hardwood. You would have crumpled right there in the entryway, amidst the ruins of your dress, his shirt and the lingering scent of sex. But Mingi didnât let you fall. He caught you, his large hands clamping under your armpits with a strength that felt more like a crane than a caress.
He didnât lead you. He hauled you up, his arm hooking under your knees and his other hand bracing your back. You were a dead weight against his bare, sweat-slicked chest, your head lolling against his shoulder as the hallway blurred past.
He reached the threshold of the bedroom and tossed you. You hit the mattress with a heavy whump, the air huffing out of your lungs as you bounced once, twice, before settling into the tangled, dark sheets. The bed smelled faintly of him but it was quickly being overwhelmed by the scent of the two of you, salt and sex.
Mingi didnât join you immediately. He stood at the foot of the bed, a dark silhouette against the moonlight, his chest heaving as he stared down at you. He looked like a man who had just won a war and didnât know what to do with the prisoner.
He kicked off his boots, the heavy thuds echoing like stones hitting a grave, and then his hands went to his jeans.
âYou think that was it?â he stripped the rest of his clothes off with a violent, impatient efficiency, throwing them toward the corner without looking. âYou think Iâm just going to let you sleep after what you did tonight?â
He reached out, his hand wrapping around your ankle with a grip that felt like an iron shackle. He unbuckled the delicate straps of your heels and tossed them aside like they were trash. Then, he crawled onto the bed, the mattress dipping dangerously under his weight. He didnât come at you from the side; he moved over you like a shadow, his knees pinning your thighs down, his hands catching your wrists and pinning them above your head.
He was still hardâviciously soâthe evidence of his release in the hallway still glistening on his skin. He looked down at you, his blonde hair falling over his eyes, his expression stripped of every ounce of the âbest friendâ mask.
âIâm going to make you stay awake until you canât even remember that prickâs name,â he hissed, his face dropping until his nose was an inch from yours. âI'm going to mark every inch of skin he even thought about looking at.â
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your lace pantiesâthe ones that were a soaked from your slick and his cum, a ripped mess from how he pushed them aside in the hallway with too much force. Mingi didnât slide them down your legs. He buried his knuckles into your hip bones and ripped them. The sound of the lace tearing was a sharp, final punctuation. He shredded the fabric, pulling the scraps away and throwing them into the dark behind him.
He dived down, his mouth catching your breast with a hunger that was borderline painful, his tongue swirling around the peak while his other hand slid down, his fingers spreading your folds open with a rough focus. You were still sensitive, still pulsing, and the sudden, heavy contact made you cry out, your hips jerking upward in a frantic, uncoordinated search for release.
âMin, pleaseââ
âI told you,â he growled, his voice vibrating against your skin. âDonât fucking âMinâ me. You wanted this version of me? You wanted the guy who needs to âget laidâ? Youâve got him. At the club you had a lot of advice for me, didnât you? You told me I was âwound too tight.â You told me exactly what I needed to fix my mood.â
He let out a low, dark chuckle that didnât reach his eyes.
âWhat were the words, baby? âYour dick needs a good suckingâ?â He threw the phrase back at you like a slur, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw before hooking into your mouth, forcing your lips open. âYou were so worried about my stress levels. So eager to find me a âvictimâ to take care of it,â he hissed. âWell, the victimâs right here, and Iâm still wound pretty fucking tight. So, since youâre such an expert on what I need, why donât you show me? No more talk. Do exactly what you said I needed.â
He didnât wait for you to move on your own. He grabbed your waist and hauled you off the bed, his movements jerky and impatient. âOn your knees, use that fucking mouth for something other than lying to me,â he commanded, âI want to hear you choke on every word you said tonight.â
Mingi didnât sit back to enjoy the view. He stood over you, his legs braced wide. His hand didnât just rest on your head; it clamped into your hair, his knuckles scraping against your scalp as he forced your face forward. âDo it,â he hissed, the word a serrated edge in the quiet room. âShow me exactly how youâd take care of a stranger. Show me what you were going to offer that suit.â
When you finally took his cock into your mouth, the sheer, thick volume of him was shocking. Your jaw ached instantly, the muscles straining to accommodate the heavy, pulsing heat of him. You started slow, your tongue swirling around the tip, tasting the salt and the lingering, raw scent of the night, but Mingi wasnât interested in a slow burn. He groanedâa low, guttural vibration that you felt in your teethâand his grip in your hair tightened until your eyes watered. You leaned in further, your nose brushing against the coarse hair at the base of him, the scent of his skinâmusk, sweat, and adrenalineâfilling your lungs until you were lightheaded. You were drooling, the slick moisture running down your chin and dripping, but you didnât pull away.
âSuck it,â he commanded, his voice dropping into a dark, demeaning rasp. âLike youâve been starving for it.â
He didnât wait for you to find a rhythm. He began to move his hips, a slow, rhythmic surge that forced you to swallow him deeper. Every time you tried to pull back for air, his hand at the back of your head became a vice, slamming you back forward. He was fucking your throat, his thrusts reaching a shallow speed that triggered your gag reflex, making your chest heave against his thighs. You were choking, a muffled, wet sound dying in your throat, but Mingi didnât ease up. He liked the sound. He liked the way your eyes were wide and shimmering with tears, fixed on his as he looked down at you with a cold, predatory triumph.
âThatâs it,â he growled, his breath coming in ragged, animalistic hitches. âChoke on it, baby. Let me feel how much you hate that you love this. Tell me again how Iâm just your âbest friendâ while youâre down there on your knees like a fucking dog.â
He increased the pace, his hands moving from your hair to your shoulders, pinning you down so you couldnât move an inch. He was relentless, his cock sliding past the point of comfort, hitting the back of your throat with a blunt, rhythmic force.
âYouâre so pathetic,â he taunted, his thumb reaching down to rub a drop of moisture from your lip before smearing it on your cheek. âActing all high and mighty at the bar, and now youâre desperate. Youâre shaking.â He wasnât close to being done. He was using you to vent every ounce of the ninety days of silence, every second of the jealousy that had been eating him alive. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at him as he continued to drive into your mouth. âIs this âfunâ enough for you?â he groaned, his voice breaking with the effort of his control. âIs this what you wanted to see? The version of me that doesnât give a fuck about your feelings?â
Mingi hauled you back up by the roots of your hair, your head snapping back as he forced you to sit on your heels. You were a wreckâmakeup smudged into dark halos around your eyes, your lips swollen and slick, a string of saliva trailing down to the curve of your collarbone. You looked exactly how heâd imagined you, and the sight of it seemed to strip the last of the humanity from his expression.
Mingiâs hand was a heavy at the base of your skull, his fingers deep in your hair as he set a rhythm that was purely for his own satisfaction. Every time he drove deep, the world blurred into a haze of white noise and the suffocating scent of him, your throat working desperately around the thick, relentless intrusion of his length. You were drowning in him, your senses overloaded by the friction and the raw, guttural sounds he was making above you.
Unable to stay still, your hand drifted downward, your fingers seeking the slick, aching heat between your thighs. The moment you touched yourself, the sensation was a violent electric shock; you were so sensitive, so over-sensitised by the rough treatment and the crushing fullness in your throat, that the slightest pressure felt like an explosion. You were a drenched, pulsing mess, your fingers sliding through the excessive wetness youâd made for him as you began to work yourself in sync with his thrusts.
The sight of itâthe way you were frantically helping yourself while he used your mouthâsent Mingi straight to the edge. He watched your eyes roll back, your hips twitching in a desperate, uncoordinated rhythm, and he felt the frantic, wet heat of your throat tightening around him in response.
âFuck, youâre so close,â he choked out, his voice a fractured wreck. He could feel the pressure building behind his eyes, a searing, white-hot tension that told him he was seconds away from losing control completely. âThree months of acting like you were too good for this. Three months of playing the âbest friendâ while you were probably dreaming about being exactly where you are right now.â
He didnât want to finish in your mouth; he wanted to see the mess heâd made. Mingi didnât let go of your hair as he pulled out, the sudden rush of air into your lungs making you let out a broken, wheezing sob. He watched your hand move frantically between your legs. You were too far gone to stop; the friction of his throat-fucking had left you on a razorâs edge, and the sight of himâhard, twitching, and lethalâwas the final shove you needed.
âLook at me,â he commanded, his voice a jagged, guttural snap. âDonât you dare close your eyes. Watch what youâre doing to yourself for me.â
You obeyed, your eyes wide and glazed with a terrifying level of pleasure as you worked your fingers against your swollen core. You were drenched, the sound of the wet friction loud in the quiet room. Mingiâs hand moved to his own length, his grip blunt and punishing as he matched your frantic pace. He was snarling now, his teeth bared, his eyes fixed on the way your hips were jerking, the way your inner thighs were trembling.
âThat's it,â he rasped, his own rhythm turning into a blur of motion. âCome for me, you slut. Show me how much you want it.â
The world fractured. You hit your peak with a high, shattered scream that echoed off the walls, your body arching off the floor as your muscles convulsed in a violent, rhythmic release. Right as you shattered, Mingi let out a low, animalistic roar, his own body locking up as he finally let go. The first splash of his cum hit your cheek, a searing, thick contrast to the cool air of the room. You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut for a second before you forced them open, watching him as he came. It was a heavy, relentless release, painting your skinâthe bridge of your nose, the corner of your mouth, your other cheek. Mingi didnât stop until he was spent, his breath coming in sobbing, jagged bursts. You were still twitching from your own orgasm, your breath coming in sobbing hitches, when the final, hot spray landed against your forehead.
He looked down at the wreckage of your face with a mix of hunger and a terrifying, dazed possessiveness. âYouâre nothing but a little cum slut, arenât you?â He whispered, his voice a broken thread of sound. âNow you look right. Now you look like you belong to me.â
Slowly, your fingers traced the heavy, warm smear on your cheek, dragging the heat toward the corner of your mouth. When your tongue flicked out, catching the stray, salt-sharp drop from your lip, the sound that left Mingiâs throat wasnât human. It was a low groanâa guttural vibration that started deep in his chest and broke against his teeth.
âFuck,â he rasped, leaning closer, his shadow swallowing you as he watched you swallow him.
You tasted the raw, metallic tang of him. You didnât just take it; you looked him dead in the eye, your tongue tracing the seam of your lips to make sure you didnât miss a single drop. You were a messâcovered in his cum, your face flushed and ruinedâand you were offering it back to him as a final, absolute surrender.
âYou like it, donât you?â his thumb slid into your mouth, dragging across your tongue. He let out another fractured, breathless groan. âYouâre sitting here, looking like a fucking angel with my mess on your face, and youâre asking for more.â He grabbed your jaw, his fingers digging into your skin with a territorial, bruising intensity that made your breath hitch. He wasnât just satisfied; he was re-ignited. The sight of your total lack of shameâthe way you were devouring the evidence of his claimâwas the final match in the powder keg of his restraint.
You reached up, your fingers trembling as you gripped his wrist, pulling his hand just far enough from your lips so you could speak. You were trembling, your chest heaving with a desperate, frantic need that hadnât been satisfied yet. âSay it again,â you whimpered, the words sliding out in a high, desperate whine. âPlease... Call me that again.â
Mingi froze, his muscles locking up under your touch. âSay what?â
âWhat you called me,â you sobbed, the desperation finally breaking through. You looked up at him, your eyes blown out and shimmering with tears, the salt of his release still stinging your cheeks. âCall me that again. Call me your slut. I want to hear it while youâre looking at me. I want to know thatâs all I am to you tonight.â
A dark, visceral shudder ran through Mingiâs entire frame. He let out a sound that was half-choke, half-growl, his hand sliding to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling deep in your hair to force your head back. He leaned down until his lips were a hairâs breadth from yours, his breath searing. âYou want to hear it?â he hissed, his voice dropping into that terrifying, guttural frequency that made your insides turn to liquid. âYou want me to remind you how pathetic you are? How youâre sitting here on the floor, covered in my cum?â
âYes,â you breathed, your hips reflexively hitching toward him. âPlease, tell me.â
âYouâre a slut,â he didnât say it with kindness; he said it with the raw, territorial hunger of a man who had finally claimed his prize. âYouâre my little slut. My lying, beautiful, desperate slut whoâs finally exactly where she belongs.â
He watched the way the words made you shatter, the way your eyes rolled back and a high, broken moan tore from your throat. âYouâre pathetic,â he rasped, his hand coming down to catch your jaw again. âA mess. Look at you, begging for it.â
âI am,â a small, broken sound. You leaned your face into his palm, your skin stinging where the stubble on his thumb caught. âI want... I want you to make me feel it. Slap me, Min. Do it.â
Mingiâs hand stilled against your jaw, his fingers curling into your hair as he stared at you with an expression that was both horrified and hungry. âWhat did you say?â
âI want... I want you to make me feel it,â you whispered, your voice a broken, jagged thread of sound. âI want you to make me understand. Slap me. Do it. Show me exactly what you think of me.â
A dark, visceral shudder ran through his frame. He didnât hesitate. The sound of his palm connecting with your cheek was a sharp, heavy crack that echoed through the empty apartment. Your head snapped to the side, the force of it making your vision spark white for a split second. The sting was immediateâa white-hot, throbbing heat that radiated from your cheek down to your throat, making you moan.
Mingi didnât let you pull away. He grabbed your jaw, his fingers digging into the bone to force your face back toward his. He was shaking, his chest heaving as if heâd just run a mile, his nostrils flared. âIs that what you want?â he hissed, his voice a jagged edge of pure, unadulterated menace. âYou want me to treat you like a toy? You want me to leave marks so everyone knows what youâve been doing behind closed doors?â
âYes,â you sobbed, the word breaking against his lips. âYes, please.â
He hit you againâshorter, sharper this time, the sound punctuated by the desperate, high-pitched whine that tore from your throat. He grabbed the back of your head, forcing you to look up at him. âYou want me to treat you like youâre nothing? Like youâre just a place for me to put my dick in?â
He hadnât even fully come down from the first two rounds before the sight of you, messy and pleading on your knees, had his dick surging back to life. âAll fours. Now. I want your ass up and your head down.â His hand moved from your head to your shoulder, pulling you up only to shove you toward the mattress.
You scrambled to obey, your limbs heavy and uncoordinated, your knees dragging against the sheets. You pushed yourself up, your back arching as you lowered your chest to the pillows, leaving your hips elevated and exposed. The cool air hit your damp skin, making you shiver. Behind you, Mingi grabbed your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh with a bruising intensity that marked his territory. He positioned himself at your entrance.
âDonât you dare move,â he commanded, his voice a low, vibrating threat against your spine. He surged forward, a deep, uncompromising thrust that felt like it reached all the way to your ribs. You let out a loud, echoing moan, your forehead thumping into the pillow as the sheer, thick volume of him filled you to the absolute limit, your walls contracting in a desperate welcome.He wasnât being careful. He immediately started hammering into you, the sound of skin hitting skin a rhythmic, wet slapping that filled the room. He reached forward, his hand finding your hair again and pulling, forcing your head up so you had to see your own reflection in the mirrored closet doors across the room.
âLook at yourself,â he hissed, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. âLook at what a mess you are for me. Tell me youâre my slut. Say it while Iâm fucking the life out of you.â
âIâm yours,â you sobbed, your voice breaking as he hit that one spot deep inside, over and over, with a relentless, territorial precision. âIâm your slut, Mingi... please, donât ever stop.â
He let out a low, primal roar, his thrusts becoming shallow and frantic as he reached the precipice. Mingiâs palm slammed into the soft meat of your ass with a stinging, heavy crack that echoed louder than your own frantic breathing. The impact made your spine whip into a sharp arch, your chest pressing so hard into the pillows that the air was forced out of your lungs in a jagged, high-pitched sob.
He reached forward, his hand sliding under your jaw and clamping around your throat. He didnât cut off your air, but the weight of his palm was a heavy, suffocating collar that forced your head back at a punishing angle.
He leaned over your back, his bare chest a wall of heat against your spine. He didnât kiss you; he sank his teeth into the sensitive skin of your shoulder, a sharp, jagged bite that drew a muffled, pained cry from your throat. He held it there, his teeth grinding into your skin until you felt the sting turn into a white-hot, throbbing ache that radiated down to your toes.
He let go of your neck only to grab both of your wrists, pinning them into the small of your back with one massive hand while his other hand found your ass again, spanking it with a territorial, bruising intensity. âIs it too much for you? Is the âbest friendâ being too mean? Tell me to stop, slut.â
âNo,â you sobbed, the word a broken, pathetic whine that was lost to the rhythmic, wet slapping of his hips against yours. You were a messâyour skin slick with sweat and the evidence of his earlier release, your vision sparking with every deep, uncompromising strike. âMingi... please... donât stop. Iâm yours. Only yours.â
âGood,â he growled, the vibration of the word traveling through your body. He increased the pace, his thrusts reaching brutal speed that made the bed frame rattle against the wall. He was hammering into you, his knuckles rubbing against your inner thigh, his thumb finding that one specific spot he remembered and grinding into it with a relentless, heavy pressure.
You were breaking. The walls youâd built over the last three months werenât just crumbling; they were on fire. You were a moaning, begging, sobbing wreck under him, your hips stuttering in a frantic, uncoordinated dance as you tried to keep up with his aggression. Every time you tried to pull away from the intensity, heâd yank your hair or tighten, forcing you to take every inch of him.
âLook at yourself,â he shoved his fingers into your mouth, tasting the salt of your tears as he forced you to choke on them. âNinety days I sat across from you and acted like I didnât want to do exactly this. Ninety days of you pretending you didnât need this. And now look at you. Youâre pathetic. Youâre shaking for me.â
He suddenly released your wrists, but before you could even bring your hands forward to brace yourself, he grabbed your waist and hauled your hips upward, his fingers hooking into the front of your hip bones and pulling you back so hard you thought you might snap. He dived deep, his cock hitting the back of you with a blunt-force that made your vision go black for a split second.
âMine,â he roared, the word a primal, guttural sound that tore from his throat. He was closeâyou could feel the tremors in his muscles, the way his breath was coming in ragged, wet hitches that rattled in his chest.
âIâm coming,â he hissed, his voice a fractured thread of sound. âAnd Iâm going to fill you so full you wonât be able to think about another man for the rest of your fucking life.â
He surged forward one last time, his entire body locking up as he came. He let out a low groan, his forehead thumping against your back as he flooded you with a thick, relentless heat.
Mingi didnât move, he stayed buried inside you, his heavy weight pinning you into the sheets, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. The silence that followed his release was suffocating, broken only by the ragged, wet sound of Mingiâs lungs fighting for air against your spine. He was a dead weight, his chest heaving, his skin slick and sticking to yours as the heat of him pooled inside you. But for you, the world hadnât stopped. The friction, the bites, and the deep, territorial hammering had wound you into a tight, screaming knot of nerves that was now vibrating with fire.
You tried to shift, to grind your hips back against him in a desperate search for the friction heâd just stolen away, but he was too heavy. You were pinned, your face buried in the damp pillow, the salt of your tears stinging the raw skin of your cheeks.
âMingi,â you whimpered, the name coming out as a broken, high-pitched sob. âMingi, please... I canâtâI need to cum.â
He let out a low, vibrating grunt against your shoulder blade, his fingers still curled loosely into the hair at the base of your skull. The lack of response made the ache in your lower belly sharpen into a physical pain. You began to thrash weakly, your knees scraping against the sheets as you tried to find the ledge heâd just pushed you off.
âPlease!â you cried out, your voice cracking, raw and whiny. âIt hurts, Min. Iâve been so fucking good... I did everything. I let you... I let you do everything.â
The memory of the hallway, the cold door, the floor, and the taste of him flooded back, making your pulse hammer in your throat. You were a messâcovered in him, marked by him, and utterly unraveled.
âI need it,â you sobbed into the pillow, your hips bucking in a pathetic, uncoordinated jerk. âPlease, donât leave me like this. I was so good for you. Call me whatever you want, justâplease, Mingi, make me cum.â
You felt him shift then. It wasnât a gentle movement. He let out a dark, weary chuckle that sounded more like a growl, his head lifting from your back. He didnât pull out; instead, he gripped your waist again, his fingers sinking into the bruises heâd already made.
âYouâre still talking?â he rasped, his voice a jagged, exhausted thread. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath searing. âYouâre still demanding things?â
âI have to,â you wailed, your hands clawing at the headboard, your knuckles white. âIâm going to die if you donât... please, Min... I was your slut, wasnât I? Take care of your slut.â
The word seemed to spark the last of the embers in him. He didnât rise back up to his feet, but he shifted his weight, reaching one large hand down between your bodies. When he found the slick, swollen clitâdrenched in the evidence of his own releaseâyou let out a scream that was muffled by the bedding.
âYou were good,â he muttered, his thumb finding that sensitive peak and pinning it with a brutal, heavy pressure. He began to move, a slow, torturous circle that made your vision go white. âSo fucking good.â
He increased the pressure, his other hand coming around to catch your throat again, holding you still as you began to shatter.
The moment his thumb ground into that hyper-sensitive peak, the tension that had been coiling in your gut for didnât just snapâit exploded. Your back arched so violently your spine felt like it might crack, a sharp, broken scream tearing from your throat as the first wave hit. It wasnât a quiet release; it was a violent one. You felt the sudden, hot deluge as you squirted, the fluid drenching his hand and splashing against the sheets and his own thighs in a frantic, uncontrollable flood.
âFuck!â you wailed, your head thrashing against the pillow, your vision blurring into white static.
Mingi let out a dark, guttural soundâhalf-laugh, half-growlâas he felt the heat of you soaking the bed beneath him. He didnât pull back. He didnât give you a second to breathe or let your heart rate settle. Instead, the sight of you finally breaking, drowning in your own pleasure and his mess, seemed to snap the last of his restraint.
âLook at this,â he watched the fluid soak into the dark fabric of the sheets. âLook at what a fucking mess I made of you. Youâre soaking my bed, baby. Youâre practically drowning in it.â
He didnât wait for the tremors in your thighs to stop. He gripped your hips again, and surged forward. He was still semi-soft from his release, but the sheer, friction-heavy contact of your contractions squeezing him, combined with the sight of your total undoing, had him hardening inside you again with a terrifying, rapid gravity.
âWeâre not done,â he hissed, his teeth grazing the back of your neck. âYou wanted to be my slut? You wanted to stay on your knees? Then stay there. Iâm going to make sure youâre still twitching when the sun comes up.â
He grabbed your waist, his strength uncompromising as he forced you to shift. He hauled you around until you were flat on your back, your hair fanned out against the cushions. The transition was jarring, the cool air hitting your drenched skin and making your nipples peak instantly.
Mingi loomed over you, his knees bracketing your hips, his chest heaving. From this angle, he looked even more massive, his shadow swallowing you whole. He reached down, grabbing your ankles and shoving your knees back toward your chest, pinning you wide open in a position that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
The sight of youâflushed, trembling, and still glistening from your own climaxâsent a fresh wave of heat through him. He looked down at your face, seeing the red mark on your cheek and the dazed, broken look in your eyes, and his jaw tightened.
âI want to see your face when I do this,â his hand slid down to guide his rigid, pulsing length back to your entrance. He was already heavy and leaking again. âI want to see your eyes roll back when you realise youâre never going to be empty again.â
He leaned forward, his weight crushing you into the bed, and began to sink back in. It was a slow deep stretch, his eyes locked onto yours as he watched the exact moment the air left your lungs.
He began to move again, but the rhythm was different nowâslower, heavier, and even more punishing. Every thrust was a wet, sliding impact, the sound of skin hitting skin loud and rhythmic in the quiet room. Because of how wet you were, he was sliding deep, hitting your cervix with a blunt force that made you sob, your hands clutching the sheets as you tried to keep your balance.
Mingi watched your face with a predatory stillness, his eyes tracking every flicker of sensation that crossed your features. He didnât move fast. He didnât give you the frantic pace. Instead, he began a slow, deep grind, his hips rotating in a way that forced you to feel every single ridge, every throb of his pulse against your internal walls.
âDoes that hurt?â he whispered, his voice a low, vibrating hum that seemed to resonate inside your very bones. âOr does it just ache? Tell me how it feels to have me taking up every inch of you while youâre still coming down.â
He pulled back so slowly it was a torture of its own, the slick friction of his withdrawal making your breath hitch in a series of broken, stuttering hitches. Just as you thought he was going to leave you empty, he surged back in, a heavy, deliberate thrust that bottomed out with a wet, visceral thud.
âI canât... Min, I canât,â the words dissolved into a series of broken moans. You were a sobbing, twitching, mess under him, your body no longer your own, entirely at his mercy.
Mingi reached down, his hand clamping around your throatânot enough to choke, but enough to hold you still, his thumb pressing firmly into the hinge of your jaw to force your mouth open.
âYouâre clenching around me so tight,â he groaned, his forehead thumping against yours. âItâs like your body is trying to trap me inside. Is that what you want? To keep me here until the sun comes up?â
He moved againâa torturous, dragging slide that hit your G-spot with a precision that made your toes curl and your fingers dig into his forearms. Your hips reflexively tried to chase the rhythm he was denying you. Every time you tried to buck upward to meet him, he used his hands to pin you back further, keeping you wide, and exposed.
âDonât rush me,â he hissed, his teeth grazing your jaw. âYouâre going to feel every single second of this.â
He leaned down, his tongue catching a stray tear on your cheek before his mouth hovered over yours.
The slowness was stripping your nerves bare. Every time he dragged himself out, you felt a hollow, frantic grief, and every time he pushed back in with that heavy, unhurried deliberation, your vision swam with a desperate need. You were reaching for a peak that he was moving further away with every torturous rotation of his hips.
âPlease... please,â your fingers were clawing at his biceps, trying to pull him down, trying to force a friction that would finally break you. âNot like this. Donât... donât be slow. I canât take it.â
âYou want me to stop being gentle?â he gripped your hair, tilting your head back until your throat was exposed and your eyes were locked on his. âYou want me to treat you like the slut you are? To drive you into the bed until you canât remember your own name?â
âYes!â the word was a shattered, frantic plea.
âDamn right.â
He didnât ease into it. He surged forward with a sudden, violent velocity that knocked the air out of your lungs in a sharp ungh. He began to drive into you with a rhythmic, bruising ferocity, his hips hitting yours with a sound like a physical assault. He leaned down, his chest crushing yours, his mouth on yours in a kiss that tasted of salt, desperation, and total victory. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them beside your head, his fingers interlacing with yours in a grip that felt like a permanent brand. Every thrust was deeper than the last, his hips slamming against yours with a wet, heavy sound that filled the room. He was watching youâwatching the way your lips parted, the way your eyes rolled back, the way you were completely, utterly coming apart under him. He liked the mess. He liked that he was the one who had reduced you to a whimpering, begging slut.
âYouâre so fucking perfect like this,â he muttered against your lips, his breathing coming in jagged, animalistic bursts. âBroken. Messy. Mine.â
He shifted his grip, one hand leaving your wrist to slide down, his thumb finding your hyper-sensitive clit again, grinding into it even as he hammered into you. The dual assault was too much. You felt the scream building in your throat, your entire body coiling into a tight wire.
âIâmâIâm going toâFuuuckââ
âGo then,â he roared, his own pace reaching a blurring, frantic speed. âI want to feel every bit of it.â
As you shattered, your walls clamping around him in a violent rhythm, Mingi let out a low moan. He drove into you one last time, his entire body locking as he flooded you again, his forehead thumping against yours.
Mingi collapsed on top of you, his full weight crushing you into the bed, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he sobbed for air. He was shakingâtruly shakingâthe adrenaline finally leaving his system and leaving him hollowed out and spent.
The room fell into a heavy, ringing silence, broken only by the wet, rhythmic hitch of your combined breathing. Mingi didnât pull away; he stayed buried deep, his forehead pressed against yours, his skin slick and fused to yours by a layer of salt and heat.
The bedroom felt different nowâthicker, charged with the heaviness of the storm that had finally spent itself. The âbest friendâ facade hadnât just been cracked; it had been ground into the floorboards along with the buttons of his shirt.
Slowly, Mingi let out a long, shuddering breath that fanned across your neck. He pulled back just an inch, his eyes hooded and dark, searching your face in the dim silver light. He looked at the smear of himself on your face, the bruises blooming on your neck, and the way your lips were swollen and parted as you struggled for air.
He didnât look sorry. He looked settled.
âDonât even think about it,â he whispered, his voice still a fractured rasp. His hand moved from the pillow to your hair, his fingers gentlyâfinally gentlyâtucking a damp strand behind your ear. âDonât think about the morning. Donât think about how youâre going to try to take this back tomorrow over coffee. Itâs done.â
You let out a small, tired whimper, your fingers curling weakly into the muscles of his forearms. Your body felt like it had been hollowed out, replaced by a warm, heavy liquid. âI canât take it back, Min. I donât think I can even walk.â
A ghost of a smirk pulled at one corner of his mouthâthe first glimpse of the Mingi you knew. âGood. Youâre staying right here.â
As Mingi finally began to withdraw, the sensation was a slow, heavy drag that felt like he was peeling himself away from your very soul. The air in the room hit your raw skin, but the cold didnât last long. Without the solid plug of him holding it back, the sheer, excessive volume of what heâd left inside you began to yield to gravity.
You felt a thick, warm rushâa heavy, creamy spill that leaked from your core and pooled in the dip of your thighs. It was a visceral, sliding heat, a pearly mess of his release mixed with your own frantic fluid, painting a stark, white map against the dark sheets.
Mingi stayed close, his knees still bracketed around you as he watched the evidence of his reclamation coat your skin. He reached down, his large hand following the path of the spill, his fingers dragging through the cream and smearing it across your hip in a slow circle. He wanted to see it; he wanted to see exactly how much of himself he had forced you to carry.
âI told you,â he rasped, his voice dropping into a dark, satisfied hum as he watched the slow drip hit the mattress. âI told you I was going to fill you up. I told you Iâd make sure you felt me for the next days.â He didnât reach for a tissue. He didnât try to clean you. Instead, he leaned down and licked a stray drop from your inner thigh, his tongue rough and hot, before looking back up at you with a predatory glint still simmering in his eyes. âThat's exactly where it belongs,â he whispered. âRight inside you. Marking you so that every time you take a step tomorrow, you feel me sliding out of you and remember exactly what happened.â
The adrenaline was finally receding, leaving behind a heavy, aching lethargy. Mingi pulled you flush against his side, his skin still damp and radiator-hot against yours.
He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you. The harsh, territorial side of him had softened, though his eyes still held a dazed, singular focus. He reached out, his thumb tracing the swollen line of your lower lip before he leaned down for a kiss. It wasnât like the others. There was no bruising pressure, no desperationâjust a slow, deep, and devastatingly passionate press of his mouth against yours. It tasted of salt and total surrender.
When he pulled back, his forehead lingered against yours, his voice a low, gravelly vibration. âI love you,â he whispered.
The words hit you harder than any of the impacts against the door. You froze, your heart skipping a beat before hammering against your ribs. Your eyes were wide, searching the sharp, damp angles of his face for a smirk, a sneer, or the dark, demeaning glint heâd worn all night. You were looking for the punchlineâthe part where he told you that you were just a convenient place to dump three months of frustration. But his gaze was steady.
âWhat?â you breathed, your voice a fractured wreck. âWhat are you talking about? Min⊠I thoughtâŠâ You swallowed hard, a sudden, stinging heat rising behind your eyes. âI thought I was just⊠a good fuck. I thought this was you finally getting me out of your system so you could stop hating me.â
Mingi flinched, his expression crumbling into genuine, hurt surprise. He let out a dry, huffed laugh, his hand sliding from your jaw to tangle deeply in your hair. âA good fuck?â he repeated, his voice thick with disbelief. âYou think Iâd turn into a fucking animal like that for just anyone? You think Iâve been sitting across from you for three months, dying a little bit, because I wanted a fuck?â He shook his head, his eyes burning with a raw honesty that made your throat tight. âIâve loved you since we were eighteen, you idiot,â he rasped, his thumb brushing a fresh tear from your cheek. âEvery thing I did, every time I stayed over to watch movies, every time I walked you home... it was because I couldnât stand being away from you. Tonight wasnât just about sex. It was because I was terrified I was actually losing you.â
The air left your lungs in a long, shaky sob. All the walls youâd kept up, the âfriendshipâ youâd tried to protect while your own heart was breaking, finally shattered for good. You surged upward, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in the crook of his shoulder.
âI love you too,â you choked out, your voice muffled by his skin. âIâve loved you forever, Min. I just thought... I thought you only saw me as one of the guys. I thought tonight was just... yet another mistake youâd regret in the morning.â
Mingi let out a long, shuddering breath, his arms tightening around you until you were practically a part of him. He rolled onto his back, pulling you on top of him so your heart was beating directly against his. âNever a mistake,â he promised, his voice dipping into that protective, low hum. âAnd youâre never going back to being âjust a friend.â Youâre mine now. Iâm not letting you go again.â
He began to stroke your back, his large hand moving in slow, rhythmic circles that chased away the lingering tremors in your muscles. He leaned up, pressing a lingering, tender kiss to your forehead, then to the tip of your nose, before hovering over your lips. âI love you, you beautiful, stubborn girl. But donât think for a second that means Iâm going to be any less greedy with you.â
Mingi let out a long, heavy sighâthe kind that sounded like a man who had finally laid down a hundred-pound weight heâd been carrying for years. He looked around the room, his eyes landing on the wreckage of your dress near the door and the literal state of his floor, and he let out a dry, breathy chuckle.
âWell,â he rasped, his voice still a bit wrecked. âIâm definitely going to need to hire a professional cleaning crew. And youâre definitely getting a bill for my dignity.â
You let out a weak, tired laugh, burying your face back into the crook of his neck. âYour dignity? Youâre the one who turned into a feral animal because I wore a dress with a slit, Song Mingi.â
âA slit that went to your armpit,â he corrected, his hand sliding down to give your hip a playful, much gentler squeeze. âAnd don't act like you didnât know exactly what you were doing. Youâve been a brat for years, Y/N. I was just finally fulfilling my civic duty to shut you up.â
âMy legs are actually jelly,â you whispered, resting your forehead against his. âI hope youâre prepared to carry me everywhere for the next business week.â
âA business week? Please. With the way you were begging? Youâre lucky if I let you walk by next Christmas,â he teased, his eyes sparkling with that familiar, mischievous glint youâd loved since you were teenagers. âAnd for the record, you were always a terrible âjust a friend.â Youâre much better as a âterrifyingly loud girlfriend.ââ
âI wasnât that loud,â you defended, though your face flushed a deep crimson.
âThe neighbours three floors down would disagree, but sure,â he kissed your forehead with a gentleness that felt like a secret, followed by a soft, lingering kiss to your nose. âWe need to shower. But if you think Iâm washing your hair without making fun of your taste in menâspecifically that suit-wearing prickâyouâve got another thing coming.â
You rolled your eyes, âI love you, you idiot.â
The corner of his mouth twitched into a real, soft smileâthe one he only ever saved for you. âI love you too, baby. Now letâs get in the shower before I decide Iâm not actually as tired as I thought I was.â