Warning: cringe writing I guess, human!heesung x vampire!reader. Not proofread.
Summary: Heesung is drawn by you, his assistant. But when he discovers your darkest secret, what would his reaction be.
Wc: 4k
Enjoy!
A/N: the epilogue is possible, just tell me if you want more, Iâll write it Anw, but your engagement motivates me to do so.
I see at my right, old seniors who act too tough and too knowing for their own sake.
I see to my left, idiotic bored interns who donât understand why theyâre here.
These people stink of rotten bloody flesh.
You sighed internally as you sat in the meeting room, an emergency meeting they said. But instead the seniors are spending their time criticizing people under them, while the CEO sits there and listens.
You looked at Heesung at your right who as much as he tried masking his annoyance, his furrowed eyebrows was telling.
âI seeâ Lee Heesung says, with a somewhat cold tone. âThe new products are not as efficient, but I hoped to get the reason why that happensâ
âLee deyeonim, i am telling you my team is full of crackheads. Weâre still trying to figure out where we went wrongâ Manager Seo said, too full of himself and shamelessly.
âI hope to get clear answers thenâ Heesung said, straightening up to leave. âThe meeting is not over yet, but I guess my assistant will help you discuss to reach a conclusion without meâ
So you nodded, as his assistant you complied and resumed the meeting.
Lee Heesung has a reputation of being serious, ambitious driven and firm. But everyone knows he has a soft side, itâs hard to get it out of him, but itâs known that it exists.
However, you have a reputation of your own in the company. You are much scarier and much more intimidating than Heesung.
As you sat at the head of the table, where Heesung used to be, with a straight posture and a sure attitude.
âManager Seoâ you said in your usual cold tone, and sweet smile that wasnât there for comfort but for warning.
Your lips painted by bright red lipstick, which very known about you. And you started talking.
âI would appreciate it if you tell me exactly why the campaign in 24 May failed. Why did you not report it?â
Manager Seo was in big trouble.
After the meeting you went towards Heesungâs office.
âCome inâ he said after the first knock.
âI would like to tell you that you might need to assign a new head for the marketing team. Preferably a younger one.â You laid a report showcasing the possible reasons why the new products didnât work.
You sat in the couch, slouching abut. You were exhausted from keeping a straight posture the whole day while wearing heals.
âManager Seo messed upâ he said. But he just skimed over it for now and put it aside. Maybe to look at it later on.
âOf course he didâ you said leaning in the couch âif you want suggestions I think Eunchae is a good option, although she has a distinct definition of dress codeâ
He laughed. A small huff that he wouldnât let out normally around others, but around you, he surprised himself how comfortable he felt around you. âI remember you telling me that youngsters are not to be put in serious positions right awayâ
âI said thatâ you confirmed âbut youngsters are much more creative and much more in touch with the target audience. Theyâre to be trusted sometimes in these thingsâ you explained while Heesung leaned on his chair to give you a knowing look.
âYou started to warm upâ He said. âDidnât expect that much from youâ
âWhateverâ you rolled your eyes. It was time you leave then, so you got up brushing the imaginary dust from your skirt.
âI have work to do. And Iâll stay late until sunsetâ you said.
âI knowâ he said dismissingly âno need to explain to me every timeâ
You left his office and headed towards your own desk, next to the entrance of the floor. He kept looking at you through the glass door. A knowing smile adorned his lips, but it disappeared as soon as it came.
Before you reached your destination , you met Sakura. A coworker. She was in a hurry and she clutched her hand so hard. Probably heading towards the bathroom.
Blood. You saw blood.
You froze in your place. âWhat happened?â You said a bit in a daze when she stopped in her tracks in front of you.
âOhâ she said âJust the cutter. I wasnât paying attentionâ
She explained but your eyes remained on her crimson hand.
Before you stare too much, you retreated your gaze âjust go clean it upâ you said a bit cold in your tone.
âYeah. Rightâ she said before hurrying to clean it up.
You stood there for a moment.
Damn, I am hungry.
You gulped. It was time for you to drink, so you decided to get yourself some blood after work.
You straightened your posture again and continued towards your desk. Unaware that He was watching you the whole time.
It was now evening, and you were still in office. Finishing the work you were assigned today.
But you werenât just waiting for that workload to end.
You were hungry. And if you were lucky there would be some bird or cat that could serve as your meal.
Last time you drank blood was a week ago, and you almost got caught. Your neighbors are as insomniac as an owl. So you ruled that itâs better not to bring any dead animal corpse around your apartment.
You got up carefully and headed outside, you noticed that the floor was totally empty and only you remained there.
You left the building, and scanned the area with your enhanced senses. You tried to catch anything at that point.
And you did.
A crow. It looked back at you with curiosity or even fear.
It sat on the railing that surrounded the company building. You were ready with your fangs and all.
But a voice disturbed the silence of the night. Causing the crow to fly away.
You turned around and found Heesung. Where did he come from you have no idea.
âAre you okay?â He asked, tone worried. You were sure you looked miserable, it happens when youâre craving blood. Your body are would look paler, and you body weaker. Not drinking blood caused you to lose weight quickly too.
And now Heesung is right there in front of you, your hunger made it so that you can feel the blood pumping in his veins from where you stand. Which is not too far from him.
But not only that, you could also smell a different blood. Around him.
âIâm fineâ you felt your pupils dilating, you vision turning red even. You tried to avert your eyes from his.
He is going to discover your secret at this rate. You thought.
But the next thing he said made your immortal heart stop beating for a second.
âYouâre in need of thisâ he said, you heard him extend something that smelled so, so good.
Blood. Blood. Blood.
You stared at it. It was a plastic bag filled with fresh blood.
All the right questions left your mind at that moment.
How does he know?
When did he know that?
Why does he have that?
But instead asking yourself these, you took the bag. You sinked your fangs in the plastic and started drinking it hurriedly.
You dropped to your knee, and took the position of a predator who was preying on a weaker species.
He, instead of running away, or instead of fearing what he saw. Instead of fearing youâŠ
He too kneeled, he engulfed you in a soothing embrace. His mortal smell covered your senses while you sucked on the last drops of blood.
Your lips that were once covered with red lipsticks, now they were covered in blood.
You breathed in, your hands clutched his shirt.
âItâs fineâ he said âI got youâ his hand moved on your back, slowly as you regained your senses.
Your consciousness came back at you, replacing your instincts. You finally got to realize the gravity of the situation you were at.
Heesung, your human boss, knew about who you really were. and instead of running away he helped you.
You pushed him back, standing up away from him. He did the same, keeping a safe distance between you. Even if it wasnât a wide gap.
âWhat was that?â you asked sharply. Your lips painted hissed, almost, an attempt to look scarier. Were you angry? Or threatened?
âIs this how you thank meâ he said amused even, refusing to fear you. And you didnât get it.
âExplain yourself. Lee Heesungâ you bit your lips in nervousness.
What if this was a trap? Did he conspire with someone to expose you. Last time you checked the vampire hunters no longer existed.
He didnât answer right away, but he came closer to you.
You backed away. Not sure why. You were sure you were stronger than him, for Godâs sake.
But you knew better than to trust humans. And their cunning traps.
âItâs better if we go somewhere safer to talkâ he said âand itâs better if nobody sees us drenched in blood tooâ
You were not sure how he convinced you to accompany him in his car. But you sat at the passenger seat.
Clothes still dirty. You wiped your bloodied mouth with a paper towel. while he kept his eyes on the road.
His house was a beautiful penthouse. One you dreamt about getting after you retire. Even though , as a vampire you couldnât save enough for it.
You followed him inside, and he immediately invited you in.
âYou should take a bathâ he said âI have something for you to change intoâ
He lead towards the bathroom in his personal bedroom. And once he clicked the door shut. You exhaled.
You took the bath indeed, finally you can relax. Drinking blood is an experience of itself. Your fangs havenât retreated back yet. And you saw your eyes in the mirror- yes, vampires have reflections, not all the myths are true- glow still in crimson red.
There was a knock on the door when you turned off the showers, and you wrapped yourself in a towel.
âYou can come in nowâ you said.
Heesung did as told, to see you there only wrapped in a towel in his bathroom.
You looked smaller and less sharp and ⊠so pretty. The makeup that was used to reduce your paleness disappeared and the wiped red lipstick finally showed the pink color of your rosy lips.
Heesung ignored these thoughts, for now.
âThese are my shirt and sweats. Itâs more comfortable.â He said cheeks tainted in pink.
âHold on. Iâm not staying over. Iâm here to just âŠ.â
âI know but I canât let you go like that. Your fangs are yet to go back to their normal sizeâ Heesung simply pointed out.
And he was right. It usually takes time to recover from drinking blood, especially if not taken daily.
You wouldnât want your nosy neighbors to see you by mistake with fangs in your mouth.
So you complied. Heesung left you to dress into his clothes. Which were impossibly bigger and larger.
You looked back at yourself in the mirror. Already regretting it.
When you left the bathroom, you found him in bedroom shirtless. He discarded his bloodied shirt and was looking for a new one.
He looked back at you, scanning you from head to toe. You looked much smaller in his clothes, and he had to stop himself from cooing at you. But knowing you youâd drain him from blood if you find out his thoughts. Which he doesnât mind too much.
And you did the same. You didnât expect youâd see your boss half naked. But you took this opportunity anyway.
He wasnât so bulky but still broad shouldered and with defined torso.
âIâll take a shower too. If you donât mind. It wonât be longâ he said and hurried towards the bathroom.
So you waited. You explored his bedroom a bit. It was boring. It only concisted of necessary furniture. You expected nothing less from him, anyway.
But you spotted a bright red bag. So you peaked inside.
Women clothes. A formal suit.
You concluded it was for you to change to tomorrow, since yours now is bloodied.
He could have just used the laundry. But No, he had to go out of his way to buy you more expensive clothes.
The door opened again, so you saw him. Wet messy hair that still dripped from the shower and he wore some cozy clothes.
You stared at him long. âSo are you going to explainâ you tried acting tough, like in the broad meetings. But in these circumstances, you were not doing a great job. With your folded arms, and in his clothes.
âRightâ he said âwhat do you want to know first?â He sat on the bed and patted the space next to him. You reluctantly went over and sat a bit far from him.
âHow did you know I was, well, a monster?â
âYouâre not a monsterâ he frowned. As if he hated to call you that, and refused to even let you call yourself a monster.
âWell yeah.â You rolled your eyes urging him to talk.
âIt was at first curiosity.â He said. âWhen you refused to join company dinners. Then, one day, while working, I saw you by mistake through security camera ⊠hunt a cat before.â
âAnd you were not scared the whole time?â You wondered. During your whole life, humans always tried to either kill you or stay away once they found out what you really are. Heesung didnât, you didnât notice any change in his behavior. Not the fast heartbeats, nor the pace of blood slowing in the veins then pumping harder out of fear.
âI observed more, a bit more. I thought I must be dreaming. Before I concluded what I was seeing was indeed abnormal, but realâ he said.
âAre now you helped me? Why?â
âAfter a month of observing you, i was trying to keep myself calm. To see if you were dangerous or not. And after all. I deduced, that you were indeed safe. There are many instances when you were exposed to human blood. But still didnât lose control. You only preyed on animals. And at specific periods of time. And thatâs at the peak of your hungerâ he said. He was right, that you avoided human blood, that you stopped yourself from drinking it, and only consumed enough when your hanger became unbearable.
âBut Iâm not doing this for a principal.â You said cutting the heavy silence â I am doing this because I canât afford being caughtâ
âWhy? Arenât you strong enough. I was sure that if you wanted you couldâ he said again, curious. As if he wanted to understand you. Not just judge you.
âIâm a vampire. A lower class one. I survive by enough animal blood, and by hiding. This is what Iâve done throughout my whole life. Iâm not a strong one. Yes, I could be stronger than the average man. But I donât have extraordinary strength. I would also get punished for exposing my species.â You explained with half an exhale.
âBut⊠you could haveâ He asked eyes curious, boring into your dark orbs.
His doe eyes reminded of something human. Care, concern. Or something similar.
You forgot that you were a monster who sucks animals blood, and that he was a CEO with a rumored cold personality.
And both of you sat there discussing the morality of drinking humans blood.
You gave him finally an answer, one that isnât coated by a rough exterior made for survival or persistence to live. âI was once human, tooâ you said almost like youâre grieving.
âI was turned two thousand years ago. And I understand how horrific it is.â
He stayed silent. Not uttering a single word.
It was then midnight. Then he finally talked.
âYou can rest hereâ he said getting out of the bedroom.
âWhat about you?â
âIâll be in the living room. Just sleep well. Donât worry about a thingâ
You wanted to say thanks, but those manners you donât have it in you, thousands of years of survival. You didnât bother to learn courtesy.
âAre you not afraid⊠that Iâll bite you and drink your blood? I could have have just lied to have your guards downâ
He leaned on the doorway smirking. âThen just so you know. You have my full permission to do so. Next time youâre hungry, please bite meâ
He said that and closed the door.
But before you disappear from his sight, he noticed your tinted cheeks, and your expression of being taken aback. You didnât look like a predator.
He leaned on the wooden door, clutching his left chest.
He canât stop thinking about it, how adorable you looked even when you try to act the opposite.
It has been months since he first met you, to work for him. And he couldnât lie to himself that he was drawn to you the whole time.
And now that he discovered that you were a creature that suffered long to survive, who still couldnât bring herself to cause negative impact on other peopleâs life.
He swore it that day, that heâll be the one to protect you. A mere human he was, but for you âŠ. he will offer anything for you.
It wasnât rational how he felt about you. He was aware that a much more normal reaction would fear and doubt.
But there he was, restraining himself from storming back in and kissing your pale cheeks, pale neck and rosy lips.
Next morning, you were sprawled in Heesungâs bed.
You werenât able to sleep, well you werenât in need of it. You, were Hugh in energy after feeding yourself last night. But still, It helped you with easing your nerves.
And right now, you would like to forget about a certain cold CEO to whom you uncovered your darkest secrets.
And not only that but he also, is not refuted by you. And instead he helped you, held you and kept you in his house.
You got up, and looked for the clothes he mentioned he got you earlier that night.
The formal black suit, like the ones you seen on Pinterest only better. You changed quickly into that after taking a shower.
You didnât have your red lipstick with you, or your set of makeup.
Damn it.
It was what helped you blend with humans. But now you have to go around, looking sick.
But it was almost time for work, and it was the least of your worries.
Shit.
He said heâll drive you, if you both were late then it would surely send the wrong message in the workplace.
So you went out, and headed downstairs. You noticed him immediately on the couch. His laptop wide open on his reports. But he was in deep slumber.
Donât tell me he slept here. Oh, right. I was in his bedroom.
So you decided to wake him up.
âHeesungâ you shakes him a bit. But he didnât budge, you sighed and tried more. âHeesung. Wake upâ
He moved a bit but, he was still in dreamland.
Then you heard him, quietly mumble.
It was your name.
You froze. What?
Before you even interpret it in anyway, you decided to use the hard way. You dropped you voice this time and called his name. âLee Heesung. If you donât wake up nowâŠâ
You didnât get to finish your sentence. He grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you to him.
You fell right on top of him, head buried in his chest.
In fake anger you lifted your head and saw him stare down at you. His expression stoned, but you could see the amusement in his eyes.
âYou talk too muchâ he said âI already sent an email that we would be late. So donât worry your little headâ
âThat would send the wrong-â
âDonât worry about itâ
He said, but you still wanted to protest. However, there was something that shut you up.
Warmth.
Something you havenât felt since your human years, when you were full of life. But now, you were a cold monster.
He, on the their hand radiated heat, as if he had a fever.
The contrast was⊠scary.
Still, you leaned on his chest, a little bit longer. Your hands clutched his shirt, and underneath them his heart beat.
As you both were cuddling he asked you.
âYou donât get burned by the sun. Do you?â You rose to look at him. He was looking at your soul. His eyes filled with something you couldnât name.
âWhen I donât drinkâ you answered.
âDo you like⊠need blood often?â He asked again.
âNoâ you said ânot daily, it depends on my energy. If I used up too much, I need a refillâ
âOhâ
âI have a question for you tooâ you said raising you head meeting his gaze âwhere did you get that plastic bag yesterday?â
âI ordered itâ
âWhat?â
âWellâ he gulped âthere is a friend of mine who have stocks of animals blood. Itâs nothing suspicious, i told him itâs for a Halloween party in the companyâ
âYou want to hold a Halloween party?â
âThe best excuse I could come up withâ he stilled for a second âmaybe, I should do soâ
You giggled at the thought. Heesung who worked so well on maintaining his reputation suddenly in a Halloween party. It was silly you laughed out loud.
And he spent a second too long looking at that smile.
You were now aware of his gaze so you got up. âGet up. I want to go to workâ
He did raise himself after too. âRight. Iâm starting to fear they set the building on fire at this pointâ
He went to shower, but before he told you. âThereâs a stock for you in the fridge. If you want to⊠suit yourselfâ
âStock?â You asked âwell thatâs too much. Why would you do that?â
âWell in case youâre tired hunting animals in my companyâs yardâ
âIt was only one timeâ you rolled your eyes.
âAnyway, youâre welcome if you need ⊠a refillâ
He went to shower, so you did go to the kitchen. There was a smaller fridge. And when you open it, there was indeed at least 30 blood bags.
Enough for 8 months.
You sat back in the couch waiting for Lee Heesungâs arrival.
It seemed unreal, Heesung who was no more than your employer now had done so much. Invited you in your home and provided you with your only source of energy, and most importantly⊠trusted you.
Your heart clenched. You donât remember the last time youâve received such treatment. Either because of your sour personality or your natural instincts.
His footsteps brought you back. âLetâs go?â
You nodded.
Months later, you worked alongside Heesung. Nothing has changed.
To your coworkers, you both have always worked well together. It was always professional between you both, although it was obvious Heesung has a favorite.
So, yeah, Nothinh at all changed.
Other than you sharing glances and unsaid words.
Other than the dark secret you hid from everyone other than him.
Other than the matching heartbeat.
Other than the casual physical contact, when you hand him his coffee or a stack of papers.
Other than the visits to his house when he notices that you were hungry again, when it shows on your posture and your dry lips.
Heesung became someone you relied on. And so did he.
He relied on you to nag at the incompetent people at work.
He relied on you to make his mood when heâs drowning in paperwork, even if by your sarcastic comments.
He relied on you, relied on your presence, he relied on your scent.
A scent that spoke danger, but which also drawn him more to you.
It was attraction. Need. Desire.
A vampire, if he tried to explain to anyone even to himself he would sound crazy.
He liked you. He knew it. But it was even before all of this started.
When he hired you, you looked driven. You made it sure in the meeting. Maybe it was your boldness, the direct eye contact and the red lipstick you always wore.
But behind all of the confidence, he discovered that there was a need of safety. Like someone who fought so hard to survive for centuries.
Through your own work, persistence and motivation.
Assistant work was not easy, but you did it to perfection. To survive.
Now that he discovered what you really are, why you tried so hard. He couldnât let go.
He wouldnât deny that he was scared too at first. But he decided to go about it calmly.
He knew that you were indeed kind. No matter how much you try to show the opposite, again as if to survive and to protect yourself from a possible harm.
But, he could see how you respect the seniors even when they talk more than work.
How you valued the abilities of younger employee who have a potential to grow.
And he couldnât turn a blind eye to that, even if you drink blood to live. Even if you were a little bit different.
And as he offered help, and slowly you started accepting it. He couldnât feel happier, even though he would always desire more.
If you sat next to him, he would want to bring you closer. Have you sit on his lap so he can kiss your neck.
If you hands touched, he would want to hold it. And kiss your knuckles over and over again.
When youâre hungry, he would like to offer you his neck too. But he never did.
He didnât want to scare you. Because even as a vampire , you were still something fragile he wants to hold preciously in arms.
âI hate my face without make upâ you said one day, when you stayed over in his penthouse â I look⊠I donât look normalâ
Heesung felt his heart ache. What you mean ? Not normal?
â you always look goodâ he tried convincing you, without exposing himself that he liked seeing you bare face. That he thought about kissing every part of it multiple times.
âRemember when all of the head managers kept asking you for tips against agingâ
âTheyâre lucky I donât feed on humans. They they called me old in the rudest way possibleâ
âBut you look so goodâ
âItâs just because of lipstickâ you said âit diverts attention from my faceâ
You explained, but as you did Heesung gaze went to your lips.
He couldnât hold it anymore.
He leaned in and kissed you. You were surprised, but you saw it coming and you let it happen. You couldnât stop yourself from the realization that youâre warming up to Heesung. A human.
But he was there all the time. For you. And you did not realized how much you needed someone like him.
You let your lips do the talk. A first, slow rhythm. But it suddenly escalated and both of you were too hungry for more.
Your fangs grazed Heesung lips, and you tasted his blood. You broke the kiss immediately.
âHey itâs okayâ he said.
You were breathing hard from the taste of human blood.
The line you always stopped yourself from crossing.
âIâm sorryâ you broke out.
Heesung immediately acted when he saw tears in your eyes. â Hey. Look at me Iâm fineâ you refused to look at him. The reality made itself known, what you are. A monster.
âPlease donât apologizeâ he said. But you were calming down.
He then held your waist, and carried you to have you on his lap.
He sang. It was not the first time you heard him, but every time you were amazed by the emotions in his voice.
You didnât expect it from him, to be so full of emotions like that. But you were different than the rest of his team.
Soon enough you breathed normally.
âHeesungâ you started. And he hummed confirming that he listened to you.
âI was not joking, when I said you can bite meâ he said âbut, I understand it must be overwhelming for you. If you ever wanted to. You could just go ahead and drink my bloodâ
âI donât know if Iâll ever control myselfâ you said â what if I hurt you?â
âYou wonât.â
So you did that night.
You sank your fangs in his neck, after so much encouragement.
And Heesung only moaned. It wasnât meant to be sensual.
But he held you as you drank his blood. And after a while you stopped.
Heesung felt dizzy, not sure if from the blood loss of the intensity of the act.
His cheeks flushed a little too, and his chest raised and fell.
âI love youâ He murmured â I am in love with you.â
He said finally before he crashed his lips onto yours.
Summary: a young artist, an art professor. What if fate is much stronger than we think. What if soulmates do really exist.
Wc: 6k
Warning: just jungwon being a bit obsessive lol, and inaccurate description of face blindness.ïżŒalso this was a bit tough to write, thatâs why I may have went over it quickly. Not proofread. Just kissing and marking too
A/N: an epilogue is also on the wayâŠ
Enjoy!
Jungwon stared at his painting for so long, the one that he hang on his room's wall.
Head, hair, shoulder and that little mole on the collar bone.
The same silhouette that haunted him for long, that he just witnessed take form in the physical world, that he couldn't stop himself from thinking about.
But, nothing made sense.
At the university event he didn't get to talk to you as some student already pulled you away from him by their questions.
And then you disappeared.
Who were you?
He regretted not even knowing that, but he was frozen in his place. He couldn't move after the realization hit him like a truck. That his dream came true, he always wished that. Yet, when it did, he was no longer able to move or to think even when the opportunity arose.
A deep sigh left his lips, and soon he was joined by his friend. Jay, who spotted him wailing miserably in his bedroom as if he was going through a divorce. He of course came in without knocking again.
"You've been like that since yesterday" Jay noticed that jungwon didn't even change his clothes. "Did you even sleep?"
He didn't.
Jungwon got up, leaning on his elbow to look at jay.
His face blurred, so why was yours not?
His face blindness never allowed him to recognize faces of loved ones, only by voice was he able to know whom he was talking to.
He slumped in the bed once more, looking sideways at the painting again.
"I saw her" jungwon said, even though he wasn't sure himself.
"Your dreams, again?" Jay moved around in the room tidying up the mess a bit. Some pens and papers scattered along with laundry. "I mean if it concerns you that much I can try contacting a therapist"
"No". Jungwon said "she was very much real. In front of me. And her face... I saw her face"
Jay froze, not believing his ears " Wait. Hold on. One at a time"
Jungwon told him everything.
"So, the girl in your dreams is a real person? You saw her? And you saw her face? And she was at the event yesterday?"
Jay asked. Jungwon just nodded not paying attention to Jay's surprise.
"How did you know it was her? Well who is she?" Jay sat next to Jungwon in his bed.
"It was a feeling" jungwon said "we remained like staring at each other for a long time. I couldn't stop looking at her, you know like when you feel that you lived that moment before, but can't remember when or how?" He paused for a moment "I don't know who she is"
Jungwon got up quickly and faced Jay, "call Jake. I need him to find her"
Jay stood there not knowing why jungwon was acting this way. It was rare for him to. If it was anybody else, he would have already called an asylum probably. But the look on jungwon's face made him believe him.
Jay just massaged his forehead "Asking Jake for these things doesn't end well. But I'll do it"
Jake indeed came. Now it was four of them including Niki who was playing on his phone on jungwon's bed. Jake immediately sat himself in front of the desktop, laptop ready.
"So, who am I looking for this time?"
"We only know their appearance" Jay said "but we can't be too sure, Jungwon claims ... he saw someone's face, we can't be too sure though "
Niki and Jake who were not present to their previous conversation both had their jaw dropped.
"Hold on" Niki immediately abandoned his game and went to join his older friends. Well they are his cousins' friends. "When did that happen?"
"Yesterday" jungwon answered "When you left me in your university event"
"I was busy okay" Niki defended himself.
"It doesn't matter now." Jay stopped the two from arguing.
Jake started working, he hacked into the university portal and looked for the event inviting list.
Then he got the identity photo of each one of them.
"I have to filter them now" Jake said doing his thing. Clicks of keyboard filled the room.
"It was a woman" Jungwon started describing you. And after a while they landed on the photo of one specific professor.
"Wait" Niki exclaimed "that's my prof"
The three of them looked at Niki in surprise.
"Welp, if Shes who we're looking for...." Jake said listing her information.
But Jake didn't stop there, he tried diving into social media and academic history. To have as much info about her. Not in a creepy way.... Or is it?
"I'm not sure what you are trying to achieved Jungwon" Jay asked.
"I'm gonna have to talk to her" the young artist said. But that question made him halt for a second, he stared at the photo at his computer, the photo was a little bit blurry to him, but he could recognize you.
"I don't think you should" Jay said "you're gonna start obsessing over her and it's already showing"
"Then what do you want me to do." Jungwon almost raised his voice. "This could be her. My dream. I have to see her again, I can't stop thinking about her"
Silence. Everybody knows how Jungwon became after the dreams, he was possessed by a ghost. And now that ghost is real.
"I don't know if I should say this but" Niki started catching their attention "but she has a little condition where...she spaces out in the most random times. It's like she suddenly freezes and stands like that"
"Are you saying she has something similar to jungwon's dreams" Jake asked. If it was true, does that mean something?
"I don't know. I never asked her about her condition too much, only that I noticed it's getting worse" the youngest said.
Jungwon then made up his mind "Jake" he said "find anything about her. And Niki you have to help me meet her"
Niki nodded and so did Jake. But Jay only expressed his disagreement more. But what can he say? He knows jungwon is driven to get what he wants. And now that he knows that woman is real, he'll get to her eventually.
You couldn't focus. Not really.
You went back home, slept out of exhaustion. But once you woke up you were back at square one.
Confused. Dumbfounded.
But, it was 6:54 am and you had a lecture at the early morning. so you ignored all your worries and got up.
You lived not so far from the college you work at, a small apartment that was enough to sustain you. A roof to sleep under.
That's it, what more could you even ask for.
You walked to the workplace after having your breakfast that consisted of coffee and frozen waffles. You got in and wore the mask of a professor teaching a bunch of teenagers about the history of the arts and the sort.
It was also your first year working, you landed this post right after getting your PhD. Which a lot would claim to be quite lucky.
Were you lucky?
You went in and went over the lecture smoothly.
No visions interrupted you like last time. The 2 hours passed quickly, so you had a little bit of free time before your next lecture.
And whenever that happened, you had already some where to be at.
Your workshop. Well, it wasn't yours to say the least. But you have full access to it.
It's supposed to be a university workshop, but after building a new one in the arts department that one got discarded and closed.
Upon discovering its existence, you asked for the university heads to have access to it for personal use, which was accepted surprisingly.
Now you have your own personal space in campus. It wasn't too personal too, because most students knew that they could find you there most of the time.
It was right that you would be interrupted during your work. But you don't mind that you could be of help to your curious students.
Right now your safe haven is no longer helping you, because the pieces that you've worked on conceiving now all remind you of him.
You didn't draw the boy, but you've always drawn something related to it.
The paintings that you've created all surrounding the small space of the shop consist of: holding hands, two people hugging, hearts, and so on.
All have been drawn to let out your frustration over who caused your visions. Not knowing who he was and why he kept appearing to you.
But now, you sat there looking at them as if you started to doubt them. Until now.
But before you reach a conclusion on what you feel over it. A knock on your door brought you back to reality.
"Can I come in?" A voice asked.
"Yes. Please do" you replied. And Niki appeared on the door.
"Niki" you said "what brought you here?" You asked , curious about his appearance.
"Uhm. I" he stuttered, which was not usual for him. You narrowed your gaze. "Well, If you're free right now. There's someone's who has been waiting to meet you"
When he said that he opened the door wider. Then you eyes grew big. It was him in the bone and flesh.
Niki didn't utter anymore words. He just closed the door as he left, and now you were left alone with the not so mysterious boy from your visions. And who also happened to be the Yang Jungwon.
He stood there in the middle of your workshop, while you sat in front of a blank canvas that was waiting to be stained by paint or pencil marks. He looked at every painting you hang there, and it suddenly feels too exposing.
He looked around, and you took this opportunity to observe him more. He wore an oversized dress shirt, you could see that he wore a black tank top underneath it along with suited pants.
So casual, and yet elegant in a way.
You couldn't shake away the feeling that it was him from your visions. But.... You couldn't comprehend it yourself. It's had always been overwhelming, and now even more than before.
You on the other hand, wore the leather brown apron that you kept in the workshop.
Although you haven't painted a thing, nor did you have the mood to do so. You still wore it.
Finally he paid attention to you.
You locked eyes again, and felt the electric tension pass between you both.
It almost stings. Like an electric contact. So you decided to break the silence. An awkward silence it was.
"What brought you here?" You said, a bit professional. A barrier that you tried hiding behind. But it was obvious what you did.
"I want to propose a deal" he said burying his hand in his pockets. "We met yesterday" he added as if to remind you. How can you forget him?
"Yes. We did" you answered cautiously "but what deal are you talking about. I don't even know you"
"Really?" He raised his eyebrow "You're one of the professors who were responsible for organizing the event"
"Well. You don't know me" you said.
"I hope you don't get the wrong idea" he said "But I do know you. Maybe i don't know much. But I do know you"
He said, you wanted to answer that but it made your voice stuck in your Throat. You couldn't reply with anything.
"My paintings all are known, but the most popular ones are the Lia collection." He said "When I drew objects or landscapes nobody cared enough for that. It was tough to finally have a real muse. But when I drew the most fearful thing in my life. Something ... or someone who kept appearing in my own life, suddenly everyone wants to know. Who is the mysterious woman?"
You didn't reply, so he kept explaining. But he stepped closer "It was a dream. A dream that never stopped appearing. Of someone I'm longing for without knowing them. And before I knew it, she haunted my spirit."
He now stands in front of where you sat. "You reminded me of her that day. Or maybe you were hee" he said, and took a strand of your hair in his hands "I didn't see her face. But I saw yours. And I know to never doubt feelings. So, if my heart speaks the truth. I knew it was you"
He then looked at you long. It was not an illusion. He was able to see your face right as you were in front of him. He wasn't hallucinating. He just did. And he couldn't stop looking at you.
You throat dried. "What do you want then?"
"Be my model" he said simply, going back to the main topic "for once. Just let me, Paint you"
"You can pick any other woman" you dismissed "I'm an art professor, and not a model."
"There's a reason why I'm asking you specifically. It's because of my condition. I am not able to distinguish between facial features. Until I saw you. I need you. And only you" he said honestly. There's no doubt he was speaking the truth, but you couldn't bring yourself to not flush at his words.
"Also, you would be given a good compensation for the trouble." He said.
You stared at him.
You couldn't believe it at all, his frankness and openness.
It was as if you wanted to believe him yet a nagging voice stopped you. You couldn't trust just that, because to you or to anybody it would sound absurd. Yet, you understand it because you are going through a similar thing.
You were ready to refuse. But he interrupted you.
"Please. Tell me about your condition too" he said. Catching you by surprise. "I've heard about it. It sounds similar. Please tell me I'm not the only one who thinks that is not a mere coincidence"
But before you stopped yourself, you answered "I have visions. Well, it is quite similar to your dream. But I don't think that's enough to assume it's you who have been showing up in my visions."
He nodded. "I get that much. But you felt it too. Didn't you?" He said.
"And what if it was?" You snapped at him. "It doesn't matter. Jungwon. I don't want this, it's very complicated and doesn't make sense. Maybe we're both going insane"
He stopped pestering you. He could sense how that affected you. It was truly overwhelming, for both of you. So he stopped. At least for now.
But he didn't give up yet. He got a business card, and handed it to you. "My offer still stands. I have your number already. This is mine if you've ever needed to reach out."
And he left. Leaving behind him. A ton of questions along with a ton of doubts.
It has been a week, but you still couldn't make up your mind.
You hid the business card, but you still keep thinking.
About him.
You tried focusing and work too, but it didn't help.
You were now in the living room grading 3d-art projects of your students. A bowl of snacks on your side, and the tv sound as background noise.
"Is this âââ" a voice that you got accostumed to asked.
"Yeah" you said with sigh. You already know what is it is.
"The deadline for paying your debt is getting closer. Are you aware of that"
"I'm aware"
"Well. Because we took into consideration your situation. We understand. But because of some complications, we need you to pay what you owe us soon. As in next month."
"Hold on" you interfered. "I was going to pay it at the deadline i agreed on with the agency"
"Unfortunately." He said "in the contract, there is a clause that if demanded sooner , the deadline could change." He paused "Refusing to pay will result in drastic consequences in court"
They hang up.
A clause? Court? These pricks.
You haven't read that, but you knew better than to protest too much.
It was right that the agency was known for scamming. Yet, you resorted to it because it was less strict when it came to interest.
That's why you studied art instead of economy.
You dropped your head on the sofa behind you.
This wasn't great. You thought about anyway to solve this quickly. However nothing came to mind.
You raised your head and in time you saw it on Tv.
The Lia collection. Made by Yang Jungwon.
Right now, no matter how much you dreaded it. And how much your heart raced at the thought of the painter. it was your only solution now.
You looked for the business card again, (momentarily forgetting where you put in in your messy small apartment) and when you found you sat again on the floor. Forgetting complete the graded assignments of your students and you tapped the number on that card.
It rang for a while.
"Hello" it was not Yang Jungwon. It was a deeper icy voice. You almost got scared from just hearing it.
"Hello" you started but paused not knowing what to think about.
"Hello. This Park Sunghoon. Yang Jungwon's manager. Who's talking."
You gave your name first "Jungwon asked me to contact him"
Jungwon was just at home. His friends next to him. Niki and Heesung playing video games, Jay was nagging Jake about not appreciating his cooking. And Sunoo was the only one acting normal.
Sunoo was a fashion designer, a good one. And he helped Jungwon dressing up for so many occasion to "not look chopped".
Right now, as he sat on his bed, daydreaming again. A habit he always had, while looking at his painting. You.
Sunoo was going through some clothes in Jungwon's wardrobe.
Untill Sunghoon, came in a phone in his hand. "Jungwon, someone is asking for you" Sunghoon then, pronounced your name.
It seems like time froze.
Jungwon immediately got up. He ran towards Sunghoon, got the phone from his extended hand and left the room. Slamming the door behind him.
Everyone shared the same confused look.
"Who asked for him?" Heesung dropped the question that all of them were thinking about.
"It was a woman"
"Woman??!!!" Heesung and Sunoo said in the same time.
Outside, jungwon said into the speaker "hello?"
"Mr. Yang" you said. "I know that I said that I won't accept your offer.... But"
"Hold on." He cut you "is something wrong?"
Did he notice? You were literally biting your own nails, in nervousness and shame.
The scam you fell right into, plus your own stress and your inexplicable visions.
"I'm okay. Just something came up... I really need to solve it. So I was wondering if we could talk more about that ... modeling proposal"
You explained, calming yourself down a bit.
"Alright. When can I see you?" His voice was softer now. Allowing to clam down. To collect your thoughts properly.
"Tomorrow evening?"
"Okay. I'll come pick you up tomorrow" he said after a pause "Thank you. For accepting the offer."
You hang up. You have been pacing around the room the whole time, so you fell on the bed the moment you ended the call and closed your eyes.
Tomorrow is going to be a long day.
Dress? Or suit?
You wondered as you looked at your options. Dress would be too much, and suit is too formal.
You ended up choosing the black dress anyway. It was simple and conform for a restaurant.
Yes, Jungwon's texted you after the call, saying that he would invite you to dinner to talk about it.
It was a sleeveless one. Black long and good enough.
You didn't bother with owning too much dresses. You didn't get to go to enough of occasions anyway.
It was almost 8pm. And after you finished doing your makeup to look decent for the dinner. Your bell rang.
You opened the door. Then you locked eyes with the prettiest eyes you've ever seen.
"Hello" Jungwon said. He was wearing a black tailored suit. And he looked good. His cologne was strong that you could smell if from where you stand.
He looked at you too, breath caught in his throat. The dress... the make up... it wasn't anything crazy but it enhanced your beauty...
But he kept his hand behind his back. He looked nervous, which was new because he always acted confident. He visibly gulped.
Then... he showed you what he was hiding.
A bouquet of flowers. Red Roses.
"I am really grateful that you agreed on this. So I didn't want to come empty handed.. this is for you. As a thanks for accepting ..." he said but didn't get to finish his words.
You stared at the roses for so long. And then slowly you took them in your hands. "Thank you, Mr. Yang. They are so beautiful" you said so while grinning. Your eyes became crescent like, and they shone like a star.
No, he thought, your smile is beautiful.
But he didn't say that. He doesn't want to scare you away so quickly. With how much he thinks of you, and how pretty you look in his eyes. So he chose to tell you later.
"Would you like to come in?" You asked "I'll put them in. Then I'll join you"
He nodded. You took the flowers to the kitchen where an empty vase sat, and he was right there in the living room.
Your house consisted of necessities and furnitures. But some framed childhood photos, some handmade decorations and some drawing too, gave life to it.
Jungwon tried to grasp it, maybe it will give him an idea about you. About what you like.
But your footsteps brought him back from his trance.
The drive to the restaurant was quiet, even his music choice was an old jazz song. Which you didn't mind too much. But you feared that it sat the wrong mood for this dinner.
This was a contract. You thought. The roses, made you forget momentarily that you are doing this for money. but it's not like it made you uncomfortable, Jungwon didn't do anything to make you feel that way.
It was just your thoughts filling the gaps of the silence hanging between you and Jungwon.
And upon reaching, you realized that he was bringing you to a famous 5-star restaurant. You could see from the window that is was quite busy.
And once you made it inside, a servant came to greet Jungwon and lead him -and you too- towards a table in a secluded area.
"Mr. Park will come greet you soon" he said.
Jungwon's did most of the talking, while you were squirming and looking around.
"Take a seat" Jungwon said to you, pulling the chair for you. So you did under his watching gaze. Then he rounded the table to site in front of you.
The waiter served the wine, and left you both. Jungwon's immediately took his own glass to sip the wine.
"Why don't you drink?" He asked.
"I... don't" you explained.
His eyes widened "oh. Why didn't you tell me then. Do you need something else?"
You shook your head. " No... I'm fine"
"Is it health related? Why you don't drink?" He asked.
"I got low tolerance. Like really low" you explained too, to which he nodded. As if making mental notes.
The silence haunted the air again, making you fidget a bit... by the time jungwon's finished drinking his cup of wine. You asked him out of curiosity
" So.. you're a friend of Niki?"
"He's my cousin"
"Oh" you simply said. "He's talented and one of my students.. but I think you already know that"
Jungwon's hummed looking at you, how apparently you were too nervous. But he couldn't help but find it adorable. "I keep on hearing a lot about you. From Niki himself. That you earned your position from a young age"
"I guess, I got lucky"Â you explained.
"How young are you?" He asked, curious again.
"26 years" you answered, and he smiled.
"Why?"
"No it's just, I'm 24" to which you gasped. He laughed at your reaction.
He laughed. His face lights up whenever he smiles, and it took you off guard too.
"Why did you gasp like that?" He asked not noticing you were staring at him.
"Nothing... it's just.... I don't know why I expected you to be older"
"Oh" he teased you. With a glint in his eyes.
Suddenly there was no more nerves eating you. Although your cheeks are reddened and your heartbeat picks up form time to time.
The waiter came back and took your order. Jungwon took care of it. And right as the waiter left, someone came to your table. Someone so familiar, but you couldn't put your finger in who it might be.
"Jay Hyung" Jungwon waved at the new comer.
It finally clicked. You saw him on the news with Jungwon before. His friend probably. Jay crossed his arms looking at Jungwon then at you, then back at Jungwon.
" I was wondering why you asked you reserve a table for you." He turned at you "I'm Park Jeongsong. Jungwon's friend you can call me Jay"
"Nice to meet you Jay" you smiled, the guy moments ago. Looked scary, you're sure because of his sharp features and sharp jawline. But turns out he's very talkative and kind.
He spent quite a bit exchanging conversations with Jungwon. Then left, saying he has matters in the kitchen to take care of.
An owner and a chef he was.
"You're staring too much" jungwon said when Jay left. "I mean at Jay"
"I know right" you said unaware of the feeling of jealousy that started to form in jungwon's chest. "He's very impressive. He looks like a gentleman"
"He isn't. He's annoying" Jungwon never dreamed that he would say such things about his favorite Hyung, but apparently he hates when you complimented other men.
Dinner came.
You ate in silence again, but you felt the weight of Jungwon's gaze on every move you make.
"You like it?" He asked.
"Do I like it?" You echoed "please, this is the best thing I've eaten. I wish I could have it everyday"
He smiled, he's glad you enjoyed it. So far, everything went well. Both of you probably forgot the reason why you are here. And just enjoyed each other's company.
Then, came the moment he has been waiting for.
"I have a project to complete in less than a month" he started "I already told you that it would be better if you become my model for this project."
"I understand"
"I tried to start working on without you being there" he explained "but I couldn't. I already told you this too about my face blindness, your face was my first time recognizing face features properly. That's why it's a bit...overwhelming."
You nodded, in addition to the weirdness of the visions and the dreams. "I guess... we were meant to meet then" you said too " Have you seen anymore dreams with me in it?"
"No. How about you?"
"Me neither" it was indeed abnormal, but a part of your wants to believe it was destiny. Or fate. Soulmates?
Whatever explains it.
"But something keeps on bugging me. If you don't mind me asking"
He said.
"You didn't accept it at first. And when you called me.. you sounded distressed... is there something wrong... that made you change your mind?"
"I think... that I fell for a scam?" You said "I'm not sure. But I'm currently under a great debt. And they asked me to pay my part earlier than planned"
"What?"
"I just didn't know what to do?"
Jungwon narrowed his eyes. "Tell me about it..."
So you told him all of it, how the agency offered giving you a loan as long as you pay it back slowly over the years, and how they asked for the sum back suddenly.
"That's actually dangerous" he told you "I'll look into it. They must have been tricking many people into this"
"You'll do that?"
"Of course" he said "I know someone who might help with this. He can hack into their database and find out what's their deal"
Relief washed over you, and that's thanks to Jungwon.
"Thank you. If what you're saying is right, they must have threatened other people too"
"You're welcome"
On the way out he dealt with the bill, even when Jay insisted that it's on the house, but jungwon apparently paid nonetheless.
And he lead you back to his car, you almost tripped on your own feet when he caught your hand.
"Careful" he said as he interlocked his fingers with yours, leading you slowly towards the passenger seat.
Opening the door for you, adjusting your seatbelt.
All the actions that left you red in the face, and he apparently noticed it.
"Thank you for the night, Jungwon" you said when both of you reached your doorstep.
"You keep saying that" he scratchd the back of his neck in embarrassement "We'll meet tomorrow. At your workshop?"
"Why!"
"Well, i usually work in my apartment... I'll pick you up after your last class"
"Oh... alright" you nodded. Then you parted ways, once you came inside your apartment you were met with the smell of roses with spread in your apartment.
Even after splitting up, you are reminded once again with him... like always.
Next morning you woke up, quite in a good mood. you have to give few lecture, a meeting with administrations about the upcoming midterms. And after getting done with all of these tasks, you went to spend some time in your workshop.
You were in quite a good mood, which was unusual. So you sat after you wore your apron.
And started painting.
At first nothing came to mind, but slowly a familiar shape started appearing on the canvas.
A vase and roses.
And automatically your thoughts went back to him.
You shook your head, and focused more on drawing the details of the petals and the right ratio between light and shadow.
But before you finish it, a knock on your door disturbed your flow state.
It was Niki. His head popped through the doorframe.
"Come in" you invited him putting your brush down.
"Jungwon just called me. He said he's on the way to pick you up" he informed you.
"Why didn't he text me then?"
"He didn't want to disturb you in case you were busy" he shrugged "he told me to just check on you. I'm sorry if I disturbed you"
"Its okay" you said after washing your hand in an old sink that was right in the corner of the workshop "I was waiting for the time to pass too"
He nodded looking at what you drawn.
"Do you like it? I still didn't finish it yet" you said having brought a chair for him to sit on.
"It is beautiful. You should really paint more" he said.
"Hmm. Thank you" you said. "Help me finish it then, while we wait for Jungwon"
Soon enough Jungwon came in after you added the final touches. He saw you sitting there with Niki, both, completely immersed in your task.
"What are you drawing?" He came closer untill he reached you. Then he threw a curious glance at the painting that occupied you.
His gaze warmed up, when you looked at him and smiled. He returned it too.
Niki had to roll his eyes.
On the way to his house, he turned on the music. Again another jazz song.
"So you like jazz?" You said breaking the silence, only not because it was uncomfortable. But you were curious now. You have always been curious about him, even when you refused to think about him too much.
"I like it, yeah" he turned to look at you briefly "you don't?"
"No. It's good." You shook your head, to which he nodded.
You haven't said a thing again, only listen to your own heartbeat. Nervous, again but at this point it was a normal reaction whenever you're around Jungwon.
His smell engulfed you, and you can't escape it at this point.
"I have good news for you" you looked at him, he was focused on the road ahead of him. "That agency you talked about yesterday, it got reported.. although it will take time to investigate it"
Your eyes widened.
That fast? He actually went ahead and looked into it?
"Oh my..." you said, but Jungwon looked back at you "You don't have to worry about paying the debt, there will be some legal measures against the agency. I contacted them,... I'll deal with it."
You couldn't believe your ears "that's too much Jungwon, I don't know how to repay you"
He kept silent for some time, he gulped. Licked his slightly dry lips before saying "Don't repay me... just give me all your attention"
Attention? You didn't get it. What he meant by attention, but you dropped it for now.
His house was a two story house, and it was so pretty. You forgot that the man you're seeing now is a famous painter.
And he invited you in, the living room was a bit messy "my friends must have dropped by and didn't clean after themselves."
You laughed, he was truly annoyed that his face was adorable.
He just looked at you again mesmerized by your laugh.
Then he lead you towards a room, where all painting supplies sat.
Some paintings were hanged on the wall, and some were on the floor.
In a painting there was a cat, in an another a landscape. And he was quite talented of course. But in most of them, there was no human face, whenever he drew people their faces were blurred. As if he's describing what he sees.
"You can sit here" he sat pointing at a chair right in front of him.
He was preparing his brushes and palette.
You looked around a bit more. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Just sit there, and smile" he stopped fidgeting with the brushes and looked at you again. "Can I make a request? And I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable"
"What is it?"
"In my dreams, you always wore a dress... it showed your shoulders" he gulped "I was wondering if we could recreate that?"
You tensed up. You didn't reply for a while, that Jungwon thought he messed up "It's okay... no need to do that"
" No... it's fine" you said. You slowly reached for your own black vest to remove it with trembling hands.
Your undershirt was a white one with straps. And you were shaking a bit under the intense gaze of jungwon.
On the other hand he narrowed his eyes at a specific dot on you right collar bone.
It was indeed you. That mole, he have seen it multiple times on his dreams. He let out a shaky breath.
But, he stepped up to you. You whose cheeks were inflamed and who avoided his gaze.
He stopped right in front of you then you looked up at him. He leaned over you, looking at you up close.
From your eyes.
Nose.
Lips.
Neck.
Then shoulders.
His fingers now moved and grazed your cheeks as if experimenting... and slowly it went down your throat and neck ... until his hands were on your shoulder.
He removed one strap slowly, and you let him. Then the second. You were burning from.... Embarassement?
No it wasn't that.
You didn't dwell too much on it. This was what you agreed on.
He rose to his height and smiled , more like a smirk. "That. now, it looks better"
Then he went back to his seat. Leaving you with a beating heart. One that refused to calm down under the wayching gaze of Jungwon. Something intimate that refused to calmly address for now.
More days go by, and your sessions with Jungwon became a sort of a routine. But you never got used to it.
You still squirm, and he would tell you to ease up a little and smile. As if he wasn't standing there analyzing you from head to toe...
You started wearing strapless shirts - and strapless bras- underneath you dress shirts specifically for these sessions.
The removing straps incident still affected you, you would think about late at night before you go to sleep. And squeal then from embarrassment.
He would always pick you up, never leaving you with the option to go alone somewhere. He even accompanied you to grocery shopping now.
One day you suggested that you go by yourself if he was busy, he looked so offended "just say you hate me now"
You sighed, laughing, thinking about it, as you sat again in front of him in his house.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing" you said as you removed your vest, which still made you feel embarrassed... but you were less shaky about it. "How long will it take you to finish the painting"
He froze a bit, and you were able to notice it. He resumed his work "why? Are you starting to get bored?"
"Well... you said you had a deadline"
"It's still so far" you hummed.
A bit later he worked in silence, catching you facial details in the painting. And he was currently working on your lips.
It affected his focus, because he caught himself staring at you. Distract by some thoughts.
How does it feel to kiss you?
How soft are your lips?
How do you like to be kissed?
On the other hand you noticed he was frowning. And you couldn't help but think it was adorable. Not aware that he was looking for a string of focus back.
A knock on the door stopped him. "Come in"
Your jaw dropped one second before you recollected yourself. The guy, who just came in right now, is probably the most handsome man you've ever seen.
"Sunghoon" Jungwon's voice dropped. "What do you want"
Sunghoon noticed the change in tone but didn't address it. "The art magazine is asking for an interview tomorrow. I thought I must ask you first."
"I'll be there, I have nothing planned tomorrow" he sighed "just go, you interrupted us.â
Sunghoon then scan the room and his eyes landed on you. It made you tense up, your shoulders were bare and you are intimidated by him.
"Alright. I apologize" he said and left quickly.
Your gaze unconsciously followed his steps. He was indeed real not a mere product of your imagination.
But before you dwell more about him, you heard Jungwon's footsteps stop right in front of you.
You turned to look ahead, and he was indeed in front of you. Leaning a bit. So you looked up at him.
"Who was that" you gulped, in intent to look less nervous than you actually are.
"My manager" Jungwon answered, but his voice changed to somewhat darker.
"Oh" you answered but you couldn't meet his intense gaze anymore.
But before you look down his hand went to your jaw, making you look at him again.
"Why were you staring at him?" He asked in his low voice, devoid of his usual kindness.
You were not sure why he's acting this way. "I - I just thought he looked so handsome."
Handsome?
Jungwon jaw clenched. His jealousy getting the best of him at this point. He couldn't bear you looking at anyone else.
"Aren't I handsome enough" he asked "Didn't I just ask you to give me your attention. All of it. It's not so much to ask for"
You gulped more, realization hitting you at once. He was jealous.
"I think you're good looking" you said in an attempt to have him calm down. But it was too late.
He just kissed you. Both his hands on your cheeks and his lips engulfed yours in a kiss.
He angled his face to kiss you deeper, and when it wasn't enough he bit your bottom lips.
As you ran out of breath he leaned back. Eyes unfocused, or rather focused only on you. And your lips, the same lips he was trying to draw as they are.
Now he can feel them, and touch them.
He pulled you up now, but you still had to look up at him because of height difference.
He leaned on you neck now, drawing a trail of kisses with his lips. Slowly he reached you collar bone.
He bit it. And started marking it, sucking slightly and sometimes teasing.
You were in a daze, being kissed by the same person whom you dreamt about, whom you dream about holding.
And then you realized maybe it was fate that brought you two together. Maybe just maybe, soulmates do exist.
pairings: jay x reader | warnings: tbh idk, stranger 2 lovers, angst, bullying, fighting (between jay & reader). thats is basically. let me know if theres anything else.
wc!: 16.6 k
summary: in this world, scents aren't just smells. they're colors. everyone can see scents floating around like ribbons of colors. some scents are warm gold, some deep blue, some soft pink. people even describe personalities through scent colors. mates are said to have perfectly complementary colors. its one of the foundations of society. but there's only one problem. you can't see them. you were born scent blind. while everyone else raved about their mates and their colors, you spent your life pretending you could too. then one day you meet jay. and his scent has no color at all.
note: inspired by my jungwon colorblind fic cause i loved it so much. i lowkey don't like this (can you tell the end was rushed), and i kinda dont know how to write about soulmates... i need to work harder on my writing...i hope u enjoy tho. Not proofread btw
The first lie I told today happened at 8:14 in the morning.
âThat guyâs scent is gorgeous.â
I didnât even look up from my notebook. âMm,â I agreed, tapping my pen against the margin. âIt really is.â
Lie.
The girl beside me sighed dreamily. âI know right? That shade of amber is unreal.â
I nodded again. Another lie.
University had taught me many useful skills. How to write a ten-page essay in one night. How to survive on coffee and spite. How to look interested during a three-hour lecture about economics policy. But the most important skill Iâd learned was how to lie without blinking.
I sat in the center row of the lecture hall, surrounded by nearly two hundred students. Voices bounced off the wall. Chairs scrapped against the floor. Bags zipped open and closed. And all around me, people talked about colors. It was always colors.
The girl beside me leaned closer. âDo you think amber and lavender go together?â
I almost laughed. Imagine asking a blind person if blue and green matched.
âSure,â I said.
She groaned dramatically. âYou only said that because youâre nice.â
âOr because I have excellent taste.â
She snorted, âYour taste is terrible.â
I pressed a hand to my chest. âThat was hurtful Maya.â
âYou deserve it.â
I smiled. It looked genuine. That was another thing Iâd gotten good at. Looking genuine.Â
Maya continued talking while I pretended to listen. She was describing some couple sheâd seen near the student center. Apparently their scents complimented each other beautifully. Apparently his amber wrapped around her lavender, that it looked romantic, like destiny.Â
The professor entered the room, and conversations slowly died down. I stared at my notebook. Blank. The page. My expression. My thoughts. Blank. Because while Maya was talking about amber and lavender and everyone else was seeing rivers of color drifting through the rommâŠI saw absolutely nothing.
No amber. No lavender. No gold. No silver. No crimson. No blue. Nothing. Never had.
I was born scent blind. Which sounds impossibleâ in the same way being born without hearing music might sound impossible, or being born unable to recognize faces. People werenât supposed to be scent blind, at least according to societyâ according to every doctor my parents had ever taken me toâ according to every article Iâd secretly searched at three A.M. while convincing myself I wasnât broken.
The professor began speaking. I wasnât listening, instead watching the students around meâ a girl twirling her pencil, a boy sleeping with his head on his desk, someone scrolling through social media. Normalâ they all looked normal. Yet somehow there was an entire layer of reality they could all see that I couldnât. Sometimes I wondered what it felt like.
Did scents colors really float through the air?
Did they glow?
Were they beautiful?
Or had everyone collectively convinced themselves they were more important than they actually were?
I didnât know. I couldnât knowâ and that was the worst part.
Not the lying, the pretending, or the knowing.
The professor clicked to the next slide, and a graph appeared. I copied down the notes automatically. My hand moved while my thoughts wandered somewhere darker. Back to when I was six years oldâ back to the first time I realized I was wrong.
âLook!â
It was sunny outside, our backyard littered with little flowers everywhere, tall glasses of lemonade standing on the small table near the porch. My mother was crouched beside me, while my father stood a few feet back, âDo you see the butterflies around her scent?â
I remember blinking, looking around, seeing absolutely nothing. There was confusion, panicâ the way Iâd glanced at my mother and realized she expected an answer.
So I gave her one.
âPretty.â
My first lie. I was six years old, and I had been telling them ever since.
The lecture dragged on, and by the time class ended, I felt like Iâd aged several years. Several students started packing up, the room erupting into conversation finally being relieved of class.Â
Maya stood up beside me, âWant to get lunch?â
âSure.â
As we headed toward the exit, a group of students passed us. One of them laughed, âOh my God, did you see that Alpha from Chemistry?â
âThe one with the blue scent?â
âNo, the dark green one.â
âOh heâs cute!â
âNo, heâs terrifying.â
I rolled my eyes and Maya caught it immediately, âWhat?â
âNothing.â
âYou rolled your eyes.â
âI did not.â
âYou absolutely did.â
âOkay, maybe a little.â
She crossed her arms, âWhy?â
I stepped out into the sunlight outside, the warm air brushed against my face. The campus was crowded, students moving like currents in every direction.Â
âYou ever notice,â I started, âthat people spend more time talking about scent colors than actual personalities?â
Maya turned her head confused. âGirl, thatâs because they tell you about personality.â
âDo they?â
âYes..?â
âHow?â
âWellâŠâ she hesitated.
I smiled. Got her.
âExactly.â
She shoved my shoulder, âOh, shut up.â
I laughed, a real laugh this timeâ and for a moment things felt easy. Then Maya pointed toward a passing studentâ âWhat color is his scent?â
My stomach dropped instantly, like missing a step on a staircase. I followed her gaze to a guy I had never seen before. No notes, no reference, nothing. This was bad. I forced a thoughtful expression, âUh..â
Think. Think. Think!
Maya waited. The world seemed to narrow. Every second stretching longer and longer. What if she figured it out? What if everyone figured it out? What ifâ
âPurple,â I blurted.
The guy walked closer. Maya stared and then burst out laughing, âOh my God!â
My face burned, âW-what?â
âHis scent is literally bright orange!â
I covered my face with my hands, my face burning with embarrassment. I wanted the ground to just open up and eat me whole, no funeral required. Just toss me into a hole and leave me there.
Maya wiped tears from her eyes, âSoâŠpurple?â
âIt looked purple from this angleâŠâ
âWhat angle?â
âTheâŠsun angle?â
âThe sun angle?â She deadpanned.
âYes. Very scientific.â
She laughed harder. And somehow, miraculously, she believed that was all it was. A mistake. A joke. Nothing suspicious. Meanwhile, my heart was still trying to escape through my ribs. We continued walking, Maya still giggling every few secondsâI laughed too. Because if I didnât, I mightâve criedâ because one day my luck would run out, one day someone would ask the wrong questionâ one day someone would realize I couldnât see what everyone else saw.Â
And then what? Would they pity me? Treat me differently? Look at me the way people looked at damaged things? I didnât know, but the thought followed me all afternoon. Like a shadow. Like a secret. Like a crack running right through the center of my lifeâ invisible to everyone except me.
And as I sat alone that night in my dorm room, staring out the window at the city lights, I found myself wondering the same thing I always wondered.Â
What was I missing? What did the world look like through everyone elseâs eyes? What was so beautiful about these colors that people built entire lives around them?
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. Below me, students crossed the campus, laughing, talking, living, belongingâŠAnd for a moment I felt separated from all of them by something invisible. A wall nobody else could see, a distance nobody else could measure. Iâve spent my whole life pretending I can see something that isnât there. And some days, I think the pretending hurts more than the blindness itself.
An hour later, I was standing in line at the campus cafe. The smell of coffee beans filled the air. Students crowded every table; someone was loudly complaining about a chemistry exam, someone else was crying over a laptop. Ah..University. The magical place where everyoneâs sleep schedule went to die.
I found Maya waving both arms from a corner table. As if I might miss her, which honestly, was impossible. She dressed like she was competing with traffic conesâyesterday, her outfit was neon green, today, her outfit was a bright obnoxious yellow. I was terrified to discover what tomorrow was gonna beâ possibly something reflective, like a mirror stapled to her chest. I snickered.
âMorning,â I said.
âYouâre late.â
âI arrived three seconds agoâŠâ
âExactly.â
I sat down, and she pushed a coffee towards me. I stared, âYou actually bought it?â
âI keep my promises.â
I narrowed my eyes, âWho are you and what have you done with my best friend?â
She gasped dramatically, âIâm wounded!â
âGood.â
âI spent money on you!â
âYou spent five dollars.â
âIâll have you know that five dollars is practically an investment.â
I laughed despite myself. The tension from yesterday loosened slightly, because unfortunately, yesterday still existed. It was a close callâ too close. The panic I felt was a reminder that I was constantly one wrong answer away from disaster. Maya must have noticed my quiet expression because all of suddenâ âYouâve been weird.â
I choked on my coffee, stuttering, âW-What?â
âWeird. Youâve been acting weird.â
âThatâs not helpful.â
âY/Nâ Iâm saying you seem distracted lately.â
I looked away. Outside the cafe windows, students crossed the lawn, it was normal. And there was meâ heart racing, thoughts wildâ because this was how it happened. Questions. Observations. Tiny thingsâ tiny things that became bigger things, tiny things that became dangerous.
I forced a shrug, face scrunching up, âIâm fine.â
Maya stared. I stared back.Â
It was a battle of wills, and like always, she had the persistence of an annoying, meddling, mosquito. Eventually she sighed, âYouâre impossible.â
The rest of the morning passed quietly, until sociology, my least favorite class. It wasnât my least favorite because of the professor or the coursework, but because sociology loved discussing scent dynamics. The students loved it, they were practically obsessed with it.
Professor Kim walked to the front of the room smiling. A smile that immediately made me suspicious. Teachers only smiled like that when they were about to ruin your day.
âGood morning, everyone.â
Everyone collectively groaned.
âToday, weâll be discussing the influence of scent perception on interpersonal relationships.â
Of course we were. Why wouldnât we be? The universe truly hated me, that was the only logical explanation. I slumped lower in my chair and so the lecture began. We talked about past studies, statistics, historical examples, all of it centered around scent colorsâ what they meant, how they influenced attraction, compatibility, social bonds, the list went on. I copied notes hastily, trying not to think too hard. I tried to not wonder if everyone in this room would look at me differently if they knew.
Then the professor clapped his hands, signaling a change in pace. My soul left my body immediately, I knew what that meantâ group activity.
âPair activity time, everyone get with a partner.â
Ah, there it was. The phrase every student feared, the academic equivalent of a jump scare you could say.
âDiscuss with your partner how scent perception has affected your relationships.â
At this point, I considered faking my own death. It felt reasonable.
Beside me, a girl Iâd probably spoken to maybe twice smiled.
âHi.â
I smiled awkwardly, âHi..â
âIâm Yuki.â
âY/N.â
âNice to meet you!â
You tooâOh god, please donât ask me anything difficult. Please. Please. Please. Plea-
âSoâŠâ
Dammit.
âSo?â
âHave scent colors ever changed the way you saw someone?â
My stomach twisted. It was such a simple question, it was normal and innocent, the kind everyone else could answer without thinking.
I smiled. I smiled because smiling bought time. Because smiling hid panic. Because smiling was easier than telling the truth.
âI guess.â
Yuki nodded. âSame.â
Relief flooded meâ Thank god. Please continue talking. Please save me from this conversation.
Thankfully, and magically, she did. For ten straight minutes. I had never been more grateful for another human beingâs inability to stop talking.Â
By the end of class, Iâd contributed approximately three sentences. A personal record if I do say so myself.
Afterward, I escaped. I didnât walk, I ran. Across campus, away from classrooms, conversations, questions. The sky overhead was a striking blue, the kind of blue people described in poems, the kind people fell in love under. Today should have felt beautiful. Instead, I felt tired. A deep sort of tiredness. The kind that settled beneath your bones.
I found myself climbing the stairs of an older campus building. One floor. Two floors. Threeâ then higher, until I reached a door Iâd never noticed before. It was weathered and gray, hidden so only those who were really looking for it would see it. Curiosity got the better of me. Which was usually a terrible sign.
I pushed the door open and froze. It was the rooftop, empty and silent. Wind brushed against my hair, the city stretching beyond the campus. Clouds drifted lazily overheadâ no students, no conversations, just quiet. For the first time all day, I exhaled. It came from somewhere deep inside me, somewhere hidden, a place no one knew about.
I walked to the edge and rested my arms against the railing, staring out at the horizon. It felt strangeâ how much easier breathing became when no one expected anything from me. No pretending, lying, guessing. No wondering if I was about to be exposed.
Just me.
For a moment, I imagined telling someone everything. The truth, the secret I had carried my entire life. The words felt impossible even in my imaginationâ Because what if they looked disappointed? What if they looked sorry for me? What if they looked relieved they werenât me?
My chest tightened. I hated that possibility most of allâ pity. I could survive judgement. I could survive rejection.Â
But pity? â Pity would destroy me.
The wind picked up, it was cool against my face. And standing there, alone, above the campus, I realized something I hadnât before. I couldnât remember the last time I had been completely honest with anyone. Not my parents. Not Maya. Not myself. The thoughts lingered heavy and uncomfortable.
And somewhere down below, faintly carried by the afternoon wind, I heard laughter from the courtyard. People were living their lives, belonging, seeing colors. I closed my eyes. And for the first time in a long while, loneliness felt less like a feeling and more like a place.
I started visiting the rooftop every day after that. Not because I had some deep, poetic connection to it, or because I was having a life-changing spiritual awakeningâ mostly because nobody else went there. And after spending years pretending to be normal, being alone felt suspiciously close to freedom.
It became part of my routine.
Wake up. Go to class. Lie repeatedly. Eat lunch. Lie some more. Visit rooftop. Try not to have an existential crisis. Sleep. Then repeatâ a healthy lifestyle, really.
Three days later, I was sitting crossed-legged on the rooftop with a sandwich balanced on my knee when my phone buzzed.
mayaaa: where are u?
I stared at the message, then at the sky. Ignoring people wasnât rude if you were enjoying yourself. I was fairly certain that was a law somewhereâ The phone buzzed again.
mayaaa: Y/N.Â
Another buzz.
mayaaa: I KNOW UR ALIVE
I sighed finally opening the chat,
You: unfortunately. whats up?
Three dots appeared immediately.
mayaaa: Found her.Â
Get down here.
You: why???
mayaaa: emergency.
I frowned. Mayaâs emergencies ranged from âI forgot my chargerâ to âI accidentally dyed my hair pink.â There was no way to know.
Ten minutes later, I found her outside the library. She was vibrating with excitement. Literally shaking. I didnât know how that was physically possible, but she somehow achieved it.
âHey, what happened?â
She grabbed my shoulders. âOkay.â
Whenever someoneâ mostly Mayaâ started a sentence with âokay,â nothing good followed.
âOkayâŠwhat?â
âYou know that Alpha everyone keeps talking about?â
âNo.â
âYes, you do.â
âNo, no I donât.â
âOh my Godâ the weird one.â
I paused. Because that basically narrowed down to absolutely nothing. University campuses were filled with weird peopleâ I had once seen a guy arguing passionately with a vending machine for fuckâs sakeâ and losing!
I sighed, âWhich weird one?â
âThe colorless one.â
Something in me blanked. Just for a split second. The gossip from the library, the whispers, the rumors, the guy everyone seemed to knowâ a guy I had never actually seen.
âOh.â
Maya nodded dramatically. âYes, exactly. That weird one.â
âWhat about him?â
âHe almost got into a fight.â
Now that surprised me. For some reason, my mind automatically imagined someone quiet. Maybe because people who got talked about constantly usually learned how to disappear.
âWith who?â
âSome Alpha from the engineering department.â
I raised an eyebrow, âAnd?â
âAnd apparently Jay just stood there.â
âJay?â
âThe colorless guy.â
So he had a name. That felt importantâ less like a rumor, more like a person.
âOkay,â I said. âAnd?â
Maya looked disappointed by my lack of enthusiasm, âThatâs it.â
Later that afternoon, I found myself thinking about him. Which was strange because I didnât even know him. I didnât know what he looked like, what he sounded likeâ didnât know anything. Yet for some reason my brain kept circling back to him.
The colorless Alphaâ the one everyone avoided, the one people whispered about, the one people looked at differentlyâ I hated how familiar that felt.
Next week was worseâ not because anything happened, but because nothing happened. Mayaâs words sat inside me like a stone, it was heavy and constant. I thought about it when I woke up, when I slept. It was a nagging thought during every conversation.
I was sitting in genetics one afternoon when the professor casually mentionedâ
âCertain scent abnormalities can significantly impact social development.â
The classroom continued as normal, pens scratched against paper, students taking notes, some of them yawning. My heart was hammering against my chest.
Abnormalitiesâ such a simple word, yet it landed like a punch.
Thatâs what I was, wasnât I?
An abnormalityâ a mistake, an exception, a flaw in the systemâ I stared at my notebook, the words blurring together into puddles of ink.
I thought back to when I was eightâ standing in a doctorâs office, my parents sitting beside me. I thought he smiled too much; adults always smiled too much when something was wrong.
I remembered the questions, the tests, the confusion. The way my mother squeezed my hand. She thought I wouldnât notice the worried look that painted her face. I remember the doctor saying:Â
âWe may just need more time.â
More time.
That meant more tests. More waiting. More hoping. Eventually the appointments stopped, and nobody talked about it again. My parents pretended silence could solve it, pretending that something wasnât broken magically fixed the issue.
A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
Soft and humorless.
The student beside me glanced over. I looked down.
Great. Now I was laughing at traumatic childhood memories during class.
Very normal behavior, as if I wasnât weird enough.
That evening, rain fell across the city. It wasnât a storm, just a steady drizzle. Most students hurried indoorsâ I headed for the rooftop
I was committed to becoming a rooftop cryptid. The stairs echoed beneath my feet. One floor. Two floors. Three. Then the final door. I pushed it openâ and froze.
Someone was already there. For a second, I thought I was dreaming. The rooftop was always emptyâalways. But a figure stood near the railing. He was tall, hands tucked into a dark jacket, looking out over the city. The rain dampened his black hair, the wind tugging at it lazily, he didnât moveâ didnât seem to notice me, or maybe he did, maybe he simply didnât care.Â
I should leave.
That was the normal thing to do, find another place, and avoid awkward interactionâ then continue my lifeâ- instead, I found myself standing there, watching. It was strange, not dangerous like how people usually feel with strangers; it just felt lonely. The realization hit me before I could stop it.
Whoever he was, he looked lonelyâ it wasnât obvious, not like the dramatic movie version, just the quiet kind. It was a type of loneliness that settled into your bones and posture, the kind that lived behind your eyesâ then he turned, slowly.
And suddenly I understood why everyone remembered him. He had gray eyes, sharp features, the sort of face people noticed immediately. Not because he was handsomeâ although he certainly wasâ but because he looked out of reach. Like he existed half a step outside the rest of the world.
For a moment we simply stared at each other. The rain whispered around us, while the city glowed below. Neither of us spoke, then something flickered across his faceâ recognition.
I didnât think he knew me, I think he just caught me staring. Oh GodâŠ
I wanted to throw myself off the building, not fatally, just enough to avoid the embarrassment. His eyebrows lifted slightly, and to my absolute horror, I realized I had been standing in the doorway for nearly thirty seconds like a deer in headlights.Â
I looked away, âI was leaving,â I blurted.
Why did I say that? I wasnât leaving, I literally just came here. The stranger looked at me, his expression remaining completely blankâ which made everything worse.
âOkay,â he said, voice low and calm, a little rough around the edges. For reasons I couldnât explainâthereâs a lot of things I canât explain nowadaysâmy stomach did something strange. I didnât get butterflies, it was more like my insides collectively tripped over themselves. I hated that. Attractive people have no right making basic conversations difficult.
I cleared my throat.
âActuallyâŠâ
Stop talking.
âI wasnât actually going to leaveâŠâ
Please stop talking!
âI only said that because I got startled.â
Dear God. Please just shut up.
A beat of silence passed, then unexpectedlyâÂ
The corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. And that might have been worse than if he had laughed, because suddenly he looked less out of reach. Less untouchable, more humanâ more real.
âOkay,â he said again.
Standing there awkwardly in the rain, I had this ridiculous idea that my life had just slightly shifted off course. I didnât know his name yet, didnât know anything about him. But something told me this wouldnât be the last time I saw him.
For another moment, neither of us moved. Rain tapped softly against the concrete, and despite there being an entire empty rooftop available, I had managed to trap myself in the most awkward possible situation.
I need to leaveâ Instead, I walked to the opposite side of the rooftop and sat down.
Okay, weâve committed, no turning back now.
I pulled my backpack onto my lap and pretended to search for something. Anything would suffice; a notebook, a pencil, a new identityâŠ
The strangerâ the guyâ had already turned back towards the city.
Thank God.
My social dignity had already suffered enough casualties for one day. For several minutes, silence settled between us. It was uncomfortableâŠjust silent.
I stole a glance at him, then immediately looked away when I realized he was looking at me too. I was caught again. Fucking fantastic. Maybe I should just start carrying a sign around my neck: Hi, Iâm Y/N. I have no social skills.
The thought nearly made me laughâ
âYou come here a lot.â
I blinked.
His voice startled me enough that I almost dropped my phone. I recovered with what I had hoped was dignity.
âUhâŠYeah.â
He nodded once, as if that confirmed something.
I frowned, âWait.â
His gaze shifted towards me.
âHow do you know that?â
A pause. âIâve seen you.â
âOh.â
My brian immediately short circuited, that answer raised several new questions.
âYouâve seen me?â
âMm.â
âHere?â
Another nod.
My embarrassment reached levels I previously thought impossible.
âHow often?â
His expression remained annoyingly calm. âA few times.â
A few times? I buried my face in my hands.
âOf course.
The entire time I had been thinking this rooftop belonged to exclusively me, apparently there had been a witnessâ a witness to all my dramatic staring into the distance, my habit of talking to myself, and to the time I had dropped an entire sandwich, to which I had spent five full minutes mourning.
How wonderful.
I was actually going to have to transfer universities.
âThere are normal ways to find this information out,â I informed him.
His eyebrows lifted, âLike what?â
âLike minding your own business.â
To my surprise, a quiet laugh escaped him. Not loud and dramatic, just brief, but it transformed his entire face. He didnât look as intimidating anymore, he looked tiredâ human. And something about that tiny laugh made my chest feel strangely warm. Which was irritating, because I didnât even know him.
The rain continued falling. A steady rhythm against the rooftop. Eventually, I had pulled my legs closer to my chest.
âYou donât seem bothered by it.â The words slipped out without thinking.
He glanced over. âThe rain?â
âYeah.â
Most people hated getting caught in it, he didnât even seem to notice. His jacket was damp, strands of wet hair falling into his eyes, still, he shrugged.
âItâs quiet.â
I looked out at the city. At the blurred lights beyond the campus, at the roads shining beneath the rain.
Quiet.
I understood that, more than I wanted to admit.
âYeah,â I said softly.
âIt is.â
The simple agreement between us felt heavier than it should have been. It was like we had both admitted something without actually saying it.
Another silence settled over us, this time lasting a bit longer. I found myself wondering who he was, what his story was. Whether the rumors were true, if he knew people talked about him. The answer was probably yesâ people werenât really subtle about it. They treated gossip like a sport, and eventually curiosity wonâ as it usually did.
âSo.â
His gaze slid towards me. âSo.â
I pointed at him. âCan I ask you something?â
âDepends.â
âOn?â
âThe question.â
That was fair.
âDo people always talk about you?â
I didnât stop myself fast enough. I wasn't trying to be rude, I wasnât. I was justâŠcurious.
His expression didnât change, but something I couldnât decipher flickered in his eyes, and it was gone almost instantly.
âProbably.â
The answer surprised me. He said it so casually, like he had accepted that fact a long time ago, as if he had gotten used to it. My stomach tightened. I knew that feeling. Not exactly, but it was close enough. I knew what it felt like to be observed, to be different, to be discussed like you werenât even there, like you were invisible.
âYou know they do, donât you?â
The question slipped out quietly, and this time he didnât answer right away. The silence was deafeningâ then quietlyâ
âYeah.â
Hearing itâ that soft affirmation, something about it hurt. He sounded so tired. So tired of carrying a weight without expecting to put down.
I looked away first.
I remembered every conversation I had ever overheard about myself. Every doctor appointment, every concerned look, every whispered discussion my parents thought I couldnât hear.
A gust of wind swept across the roof, shivering, I pulled my arms closer. The rain eventually began to lighten, the sky growing darker as the night approached. I checked the time. Shit.
âWhatâs wrong?â
I looked up, standing up so fast I nearly tripped over my own backpack.
âI uh, I have a paper dueââ
Although it certainly felt like it, his expression suggested this was not the end of the world.
âWell, it was actually due yesterdayâŠâ
That got his attention, and so I pointed at him, âSee, thatâs how you find out information. Not just silently watching.â
âYou forgot your paper Iâm assuming, since itâs late.â
âI was busy.â
âDoing what?â
I opened my mouth, then closed itâ because honestly? I had no clue. Existing mostly.
He seemed to realize this because the sound of his laugh filled the air. And I found myself smiling as well. I reached down to grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder.Â
I looked toward the door getting ready to leave when I hesitated. Leaving all of a sudden felt strange, felt like I was walking away from a conversation that hadnât actually finished.
I pushed the feeling aside. We were strangers, we had probably exchanged maybe twenty sentences so far, that's practically nothing. Still thoughâŠ
âSee you around I guess.â
His gaze met mine, then he nodded once.
âYeah.â
Something about the way he said it made my chest feel oddly light. I turned toward the stairwell, one hand on the doorâ- then paused.Â
I forgotâ
âWe never introduced ourselves.â
The man blinked as if the thought hadnât occurred to him either, and for a moment the faintest hint of amusement appeared in his eyes.
âJay.â
The name settled somewhere inside me.
Jay.
It fits.
âIâm Y/N.â
As soon as I said my name, it felt like we had just crossed an invisible line. We werenât exactly friends yet, not even close, but we were no longer strangers.Â
And as I headed down the stairs, heart weirdly lighter than it had been all week, one thought kept repeating itself.
The colorless Alpha. The one everyone avoided like the plague, the one who everyone whispered about.
His name was Jay.
And for the first time in a while, I found myself looking forward to tomorrow.
The problem with looking forward to tomorrow is that eventually tomorrow arrives. And then you have to deal with it. I discovered that at approximately 7:03 A.M. when my alarm went off and I immediately regretted ever opening my eyes.
I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow. I told myself five more minutes. Five more minutes couldnât hurt. And yet five minutes later, I woke up forty seven minutes later.
âDammit!â
By some miracle, I made it to class on time, I was even wearing matching shoes. The bar was low today, but technically I was succeeding.Â
I slid into my seat just as the professor began taking attendance. Maya appeared beside me moments later, coffee in one hand, bagel in the other. She narrowed her eyes.
âWhat?â
She pointed at me. âWhat happened?â
My stomach dropped, âWhat do you mean?â
âYouâre smiling. You never smile, especially this early in the morning.â
I blinked, âI smile.â
âNot voluntarily.â
âWhat a horrible thing to say,â I gasped, my hand over my heart, clutched in fake heartbreak.
âIâm serious.â Maya leaned closer, âYou have the face.â
The face? What face? There was a face? I hadnât been informed.
âWhat face?â
âThe face people make when something happens.â
I stared and sighed, because well, she was right. Maya had known me for years, and lying to strangers was easy, but lying to Maya felt like trying to hide a fire under a blanket.
âItâs nothing.â
âOh my God.â
âItâs notââ
âOh my god.â
âMayaââ
âYou met someone!â
I nearly choked, the noise that came out of me wasnât even human. I sounded like a dying bird, several students looked over.Â
Maya pointed aggressively.
âYou did.â
âI didnât.â
âYou absolutely did!â
âOkay fine, I spoke to a person.â
Her eyes widened. âA personâŠâ
âYes Maya, a person.â
âA real person.â
âMost people are.â
âY/N.â
I buried my face in my hands. This was a mistake. By lunchtime, Maya had secretly somehow convinced herself I had secretly fallen in love. Which was absurd and completely unreasonable. I had spoken to Jay onceâ for like, less than an hour. That wasnât enough time to develop feelings and it was barely enough time to learn his favorite colors. Well, actually, in Jayâs case, maybe he wasnât the best example. The image of him smiling immediately popped into my headâ I nearly walked into a lamp post.
After my last class ended, I found myself wandering toward the worn down building again. This time purely by accident, and entirely unrelated to a certain personâ if anyone askedâ except myselfâŠrepeatedtly.Â
Soon enough, the rooftop door appeared, weathered and familiar. I stopped and strangely felt stupid. What was I expecting? That Jay would just magically be there when I opened the door? That he just existed solely for dramatic timing? Life, or rather just my life, didnât work like that. But still⊠my hand found the handle and the door creaked open.
The rooftop stretched before me, empty of course. An unfamiliar disappointment settled in my chest, the feeling small and unreasonable. I tried to ignore it for about three seconds, then sighed and went to sit near the railing. The wind brushed through my hair as I stood idly. Thoughts raced through my head, I was overthinking again. And through the haze of my thoughts, I kept drifting back to yesterday.Â
To Jay. To the way he understood the quiet.
Most people hated silence and rushed to fill it, but JayâŠhe had sat in it comfortably, as if he wasnât afraid of being alone with his thoughts. I wondered what those thoughts looked like, what went on inside the quiet head of his.
I never really wondered about people, or cared what they thought because keeping my secret took too much energy, and there wasnât usually enough left over for curiosity. But somehowâ Jay made me curious.
A sound interrupted my thoughts, it was the rooftop door opening. I looked up, and there he was, Jay, the guy who had been occupying my thoughts for the past few days. He was standing in the doorway, looking just as surprised to see me.
It was quiet until I spoke. âYouâre here.â
â...Yeah.â
Jay didnât seem bothered by my lack of conversation skills, if anything, he looked amused.
âI come here sometimes.â
âI noticed.â
My face heated up, âRightâŠâ
Because apparently he had been seeing me here for weeks. Iâll never recover from that.
He began walking toward the railing, stopping a bit closer than yesterday, it was a comfortable distanceâ the kind people left when they werenât trying to escape. The thought made something warm flicker inside my chest.Â
For a while, we simply watched the campus below, then he spoke.
âDo you always eat lunch alone?â
The sudden question caught me off guard, but a truthful answer rose immediately.
It was easier this time. Nobody really gets me, and pretending was starting to get tiring.
Instead of lying, I shrugged. âUsually.â
His gaze lingered on me. Just long enough to make me think he thought I was lying. Then he looked away. A moment passed, and my chest felt lighter because nobody had asked that before. Not really at least, not in a way that sounded like they cared about the answer.
A burst of laughter drifted up from the courtyard below, drawing my attention. A group of students crossed by, their voices carrying through the open air as they laughed and talked over one another.Â
There was something infectious about their energy. One of them suddenly pointed at something in the distance, and in the process distracted the person beside them, making it so that they nearly walked straight into someone else. Another student, trying to see what all the excitement was about, caught their foot on the uneven pavement and stumbled forward with a startled yelp.
The reaction was immediate. Their friends burst into laughter, some doubling over while the unfortunate regained their balance and threw them an offended look that only made everyone laugh harder. A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it.
âThat wouldâve been me.â
Jay looked up from beside me and followed my gaze toward the courtyard, watching the scene unfold.
âThe one tripping?â he asked, a hint of amusement creeping into his voice.
I shook my head. âNo. The one causing the accident. I have a talent for being a public hazard without meaning to.â
To my surprise, that earned an actual laugh from him. It was quiet, more breath than sound, but it was unmistakably a laugh. The corner of his mouth lifted, and for a moment the reserved expression he wore so often gave way to something warmer.
A strange sense of satisfaction settled over me.
It was ridiculous, really. It wasn't as though I had achieved anything important. Jay had laughed. People laughed every day. It was one of the most ordinary things in the world. And yet it felt oddly significant.
Maybe because it happened so rarely. Or maybe because he seemed different when he laughed. Less guarded, less like someone who kept the rest of the world at armâs length.Â
The change was subtle, but it softened the sharp edges of his usual composure and revealed a version of him I didn't get to see very oftenâ probably because this was only our second time meeting. Whatever the reason, I found myself holding on to the moment long after it had passed, watching as the smile faded from his face and wondering why something so small felt unexpectedly precious.
Before I realized, the thought slipped out, âYou donât smile much, do you?â
Silence.
Immediately, I knew I had crossed over a dangerous line. The question was too personal. Too soon. I opened my mouth to apologize, then stopped. Jay didnât look upset. He looked thoughtful, like nobody asked him that before.
âMaybe not.â
His voice was quiet, almost lost beneath the sounds of the wind.Â
The answer broke something in me. The familiar tone was nothing I havenât heard before. I felt like he had understood something about me without realizing it, even if neither of us knew exactly what it was.
The sun was beginning its slow descent toward the horizon, painting the campus in shades of gold and amber. Long shadows stretched across the walkways below, and the windows of distant buildings caught the fading light, reflecting it back in flashes of orange. Beyond the university grounds, the city seemed to glow beneath the evening sky. It was the kind of view that demanded attention without trying. The kind that made conversations trail off naturally, as if words suddenly felt unnecessary.
So ours did.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
We simply stood side by side, watching the day wind down around us as students drifted between buildings and the sky gradually deepened into warmer shades of orange and pink. The silence wasn't awkward, and it wasn't the strained kind that begged to be filled. It settled comfortably between us, easy and unforced.
I found myself relaxing into it.
Into the quiet. Into his company. And that was what unsettled me. Because it shouldn't have felt significant. Sitting beside someone in silence wasn't exactly a life-changing experience. Yet somehow, this was.
For years, silence had always carried a certain weight for me. Left alone with it, I usually became aware of every empty space, every thought I was trying to ignore. But standing there with Jay, watching the sunset bleed across the skyline, I didn't feel lonely.
Not even a little.
The realization hit harder than I expected. And if I was being honest with myself, it scared me. I didn't fully understand just how dangerous Jay had become until three days later. Not dangerous in any normal senseâHe wasn't secretly plotting my demise or hiding bodies in a basement somewhereâ-No, this was a different kind of danger entirely.
The sort that sneaks up on you. The sort you don't notice until it's already worked its way into your life. Because somehow, without either of us acknowledging it, we'd fallen into a routine. Every afternoon, sometime around four o'clock, one of us would end up on the rooftop. Then, inevitably, the other would appear. There had never been a conversation about it. No plans were made. We hadn't exchanged phone numbers or established a meeting time. Neither of us had suggested making it a regular thing.
And yet it kept happening. Day after day. Like a law of nature neither of us had agreed to but somehow obeyed anyway.
At first, I told myself it was a coincidence. By the fourth day, that explanation was becoming increasingly difficult to believe.Â
The walk to the rooftop felt familiar now. Familiar enough that my feet knew where they were going without much thought. Familiar enough that I stopped pretending I came here by accident. The realization was deeply annoying.
By the time I pushed open the door, the sun was already low in the sky.
And Jay was there. Of course he was. For some reason, that no longer surprised me.
He glanced up from where he was leaning against the railing.
"You're late."
I stopped, baffled, then narrowed my eyes.
"Did you just accuse me of being late?"
A faint flicker of amusement crossed his face.
"Maybe."
I pointed at him, "That's incredibly rude."
"You usually get here first."
I opened my mouth, closed it, and opened it again.
The worst part was that he was right. The absolute worst part was that he had noticed.
"I don't appreciate being perceived."
His shoulders moved slightlyâ a laugh. Not quite a laugh, but close enough. For a while, we stood in comfortable silence.
Then Jay spoke.
"Can I ask you something?"
The question caught me off guard.
"Depends." I said, repeating his words from before.
"On?"
"The question."
For the first time, I saw him hesitateâ only briefly, but it was there.
"You always look like you're waiting for something."
I blinked.
"What?"
His gaze remained on the campus below.
"Every time I see you,"
My stomach tightened unexpectedly.
"You stand here and look at everyone like you're searching for something."
I looked away, because the terrifying thing wasâ he wasn't entirely wrong.
"I think you're imagining things."
"Maybe."
But neither of us believed that.
The wind swept across the rooftop. Below us, students moved between buildings, laughing, talking, living lives that seemed uncomplicated from a distance.
"Do you ever feel..." I stopped.
The words felt dangerous.
Jay waited. I swallowed.
" â Like everyone else got instructions for life and somehow you missed the email?"
For a moment, there was only silence. Thenâ
"Yeah."
I looked over.
His expression hadn't changed. But something in my chest shifted anyway. Because that was the first time anyone had ever answered that question without asking what I meant.
A few weeks have passed, and Jay and I have only gotten closer. Somewhere along the way, we started seeing each other outside of our rooftop meetings. At first it was just simple study sessions; a spare chair that became Jayâs chair, his notes mixing with mine. There was the occasional, âCan you explain this passage?â which turned into entire afternoons spent over textbooks together. Then came the coffee. Jay started showing up with my orderâ memorized and everythingâ before I could ask. It became a habit that somehow formed after I complained once about long cafe lines in the morning.
â â Youâre spoiling me.â
Jay placed the cup in front of me.
âYou say that every time.â
âBecause itâs true.â
âAnd yet you still drink it.â
âBecause,â I took a sip, âit's free.â
Jay rolled his eyes.
â The next day, he brought me coffee again. And the day after, then the day after that. Soon it became expected, a routine. One of those small things neither of us ever acknowledged but would notice immediately if it disappeared.
The walks home happened by accident. At first, one of us would leave class, and the other would happen to be heading in the same direction. Then suddenly we were taking the same route every evening. We talked about everything and nothing. Sometimes we talked about our future careers, sometimes arguing over movies, and sometimes we walked entire blocks in comfortable silence.
â One night, Jay stopped mid-conversation.
âWhatâs wrong?â
He glanced at me, âYou know your apartment is the opposite direction from mine.â
â...Oh.â
Neither of us had mentioned that heâd been walking me home for weeksâ or the fact that he had to walk the extra distance.
Our tiny moments accumulated one after another. Jay started saving seats beside him without thinking. I started stealing his food that he brought every once in a while when weâd have lunch on the rooftop. There were inside jokes nobody else but us understood. The late night texts and phone calls about assignments that somehow turned into conversations lasting until two in the morning.
And to my utter surprise, I started searching for him anytime I walked into a room, even though I had most of my classes without him. When we were together, his eyes would always find me first in the crowd. My occasional bad day would feel less smaller whenever he was around. And in turn, his smiles became easier around me. I donât think either of us noticed when stuff like this happenedâ I mean, our friendship wasnât dramatic; it wasnât fireworks, or lightning strikesâ it was smaller than that, softer.
It was a hundred ordinary moments that were stacked on top of each other. And one day during my sociology lecture, I realized that Jay was woven into every part of my life. And judging by the way he already knew my coffee order, my favorite songs, my worst habits, and exactly what mood I was in without even askingâ
I thought I had become part of his too. Those tiny moments became my everything.
The rooftop was colder than usual. Not freezing, just enough that the wind occasionally slipped beneath your sleeves and made you pull your jacket tighter around yourself.Â
The campus was oddly quiet for a Friday night. Most dorm windows glowed softly in the darkness, while only a few students lingered on the street, their voices distant enough to blend into the night.
Beside you, Jay sat with his legs stretched out in front of him. It was just the two of you and the city lights. The conversation drifted naturally the way it always did, one topic leading into another, one memory unlocking ten more.
You learned that Jay used to collect rocks when he was eight, but they werenât cool rocks, as he described them, just random rocks. Apparently, the uglier they were, the more determined he became to keep them.
You laughed so hard you nearly fell off the ledge.
âThey were important.â
âThey were rocks.â
âThey had personalities. I even named a few of them.â
âThey were rocks, Jay.â
âYouâre being very judgemental right now.â
You wiped the tears from your eyes, âIâm judging you correctlyâ who would name a bunch of rocks?â
He shook his head, but he was smiling.
The sight made a warm feeling settle into your stomach, slightly warming you from the cold air. Jay smiled more these daysâ especially around you. The conversation between you and Jay continued. Childhood stories, embarrassing memories, dreams for the future. You talked about the places you wanted to visit, the life you hoped to build.
âWhen Iâm older, and far away from this place, I want to live in the countryside. Maybe have a few animals, like a horse or something.â
You talked about the things that scared you. The things that kept you awake at night. At some point, the laughter faded. The mood softened and the night got later. The sky above stretched endlessly, the stars twinkling under the weight of dark. It was beautiful.
Jay leaned back against his hands, his gaze fixed on the stars.
âWhat were you afraid of when you were little?â
You thought about it. There was so much to be afraid of back then. Monsters under the bed. Spiders, snakes, nightmaresâ hell even the boogy monster.
âThe ocean.â
His eyebrows lifted, âThe ocean?â
âItâs terrifying.â
âItâs water?â
âYeah but itâs endless water.â
âFair enough.â
You pointed at him, âYour turn.â
Jay was quiet for a moment, then saidâ
âBeing forgotten.â
Your heart squeezed. The answer came so quickly and so honestly. It seemed like he had never told anyone before. You turned towards him, the teasing smile that once sat on your face disappearing. Jay didnât look at you, his eyes remaining fixed on the night sky.
âWhen I was younger, I used to thinkâŠâ He hesitated then laughed softly, âActually never mind.â
âNo,â you nudged his shoulder, âYou started it. Gotta finish it.â
His mouth twitched. âI used to think if nobody remembered me after I died, then my life wouldnât matter.â
You stared. The vulnerability in his voice catches you completely off guard. He wasnât usually like this, not in the short time you have known him, he wasnât like this with other peopleâ maybe not even with himself.
âYou were a weird kid.â
The corner of his mouth lifted into a soft smile. âThere she is.â
âI was getting emotional.â you argued.
âPretty sure you were getting existential. Don't think too much into it.â
Silence settled over you. It was comfortable. You rested your chin on your knees, looking out towards the city. Beside you, Jay was unusually thoughtful. You could practically see the gears turning in his head.
âWhat are you thinking about?â
He hummed, âCan I ask you something strange?â
You immediately smiled, âAlways.â
He paused again, this time longer, as if he was debating whether to say it.
âWhat color is my scent?â
You blinked.
â...What?â
Jay finally looked at you, a faint smile appearing. âI told you it was strange.â
You laughed. âNo, I heard you. I just donât understand what that means.â
He shrugged. âYouâre a sociology major. Arenât you guys always talking about scent colors?â
âI mean yeahâŠbutâŠâ
âBut what? Yours is purple. Your purple is what dusk looks like when the sky is tired, but still wants to be beautifulâ when the blue doesnât fully want to let go and the red lingers like a secret it canât stop telling. It looks like a velvet in low light, like something youâd only notice if you slowed down long enough to really see it.â
âWhen Iâm with you, it feels like comfort, like a warm blanket. Sometimes it becomes darker, but I donât really mind. I like your purple.â
You couldnât speak. Nothing wouldâve prepared you for what came out of his mouth.
âSoâŠwhat color is my scent?â
You were still panicking. For years you lied about this specific thing. Now you have to lie to the one person youâve never lied toâ but you couldnât. You canât do that to him.
So you whisper,
âI canât see scent colors.â
For a long moment, Jay says nothing. You didnât expect to be pitied, to be ridiculedâ- it was Jay, he would never do that to you. Insteadâ
That was the problem with it. Nothing ever announced itself as important. It just quietly rearranged your life while you were busy thinking about other things. You noticed immediately first in sociology, mostly because sociology was the kind of class where people thought they were being subtle when they absolutely werenât.
You slid into your usual seat beside Jay in the one class you shared. It was literature, and you both only realized you shared the class after the first week of your casual hangouts. You dropped your bag under the desk with a soft thud and immediately fished out your notebook. The paper still smelled faintly like the coffee you had spilled on it two days ago. Jay was already there, of course. Leaning back in his chair like he had been waiting there since yesterday, pen rolling between his fingers in a lazy loop.
Except today, something was off in a way you couldnât immediately name. You glanced sideways, and noticed the seat beside Jay wasnât just empty but avoided. How come youâve never noticed until now?
A girl two rows up, had started walking towards it, paused mid-step like she had hit an invisible wall, then quietly veered away and sat somewhere else without explanation. No eye contact, no acknowledgement, just a smooth reroute, like the space beside him had been marked âdo not touch.â
You frowned, â....Did someone spill something there or something?â you muttered under your breath, half joking.
Jay didnât look up from his textbook, âI donât think so. Weâre early, people wanna get seats by themselves before everyone else starts piling in. It makes sense they wouldnât sit next to us if thereâs other empty seats.â
It was weird though. No one sat there, like ever. The seat stayed empty like it had been erased from consideration entirely. You tried to ignore it, you really did. But awareness has a way of sticking once it attaches itself to something.
By the time the lecture ended, you had mostly convinced yourself you were imagining thingsâ for the most part. You gathered your things, shoving your notebook into your bag and followed the usual flow of students spilling into the hallway. The building was loud in that end-of-class wayâ chairs scraping, backpacks zipping, overlapping conversations bouncing off walls too smooth to absorb anything.
Jay walked beside you without speaking, hands in his pockets, and gaze forward. Everything was normal. Almost. Except people didnât collide with him in the way they collided with everyone else. It wasnât obvious enough to call it out, just subtle adjustmentsâ someone stepping slightly to the left instead of the right, someone suddenly interested in their phone, someone changing their walking speed by half a beat.
You realized you havenât really been paying attention as of recently. With all of your time and focus being put into hanging out with Jay, you havenât paid attention to anything else, let alone the other people around you. You caught the small adjustments of the people around you once. Then again. Then again.
Each time, it felt like noticing a glitch in something that was supposed to be seamless. Jay didnât react, not outwardly at least. But his shoulders were a fraction more rigid than usualâ like he noticed too, but had decided long ago that reacting wouldnât change anything.
The cafe made it worse. It always smelled like roasted beans and sugar and exhaustion. The line snaked toward the counter in slow, irritated movements. You stood beside Jay, half leaning into him without thinking, scrolling through your phone while he stared at the menu like it had personally offended him. Behind you, voices lowered. Not fully silent, just dippedâ like someone had turned a knob down without warning.
âThatâs him, right?â
âYeah, the colorless Alpha.â
Your fingers paused mid-scroll. That phrase again.
Jay didnât turnâ of course he didnât. People said things. People always said things. That had always been true. But something about hearing it repeated so casually, like it was just another descriptorâ like âtallâ or âquietâ or âannoyingâ â made your stomach tighten.
The girl speaking leaned slightly, trying to peek past them.
âI heard being near him feels weirdâŠLike physically weird.â
âLike something's missing?â
âYeah, like that!â
You turned your head just enough to see them clearly, âAre you guys ordering or just narrating his existence at this point?â you coughed out flatly.
The two girls froze, one of them laughing too quickly and awkwardly, âOhâ sorry, we didnât meanââ
Jay stepped forward in line.
âOne iced coffee please,â he said.
No emotion. No acknowledgement. It was like he was cutting the conversation off at the root before it could grow teethâ before it could escalate. The barista blinked, then nodded and turned away quickly, clearly eager to move on from the sudden awkwardness.
You stared at him, âYouâre justâŠnot going to say anything?â
Jay didnât look at you, âItâs a coffee line.â
âNo, itâs not just a coffee line,â you said, lowering your voice as you moved forward. âItâs people acting like youâreâ I donât knowââ
You struggled for a word that didnât sound dramatic.
He supplied it for you without hesitation. âContagious?â
That made you stop. ââŠYeah.â
Jay finally looked at you, looking tired rather than offended. He sighed, âIâve heard worse.â
That sentence landed heavier than you expected. Because it wasnât bitterness. It was familiarity. Like he had catalogued every version of this response and stored them somewhere behind his eyes.
Outside, the air felt colder than it should have. You walked backwards in front of Jay for a few steps, forcing him to meet your gaze.
âOkay,â you started, âThis is not normal.â
Blinking, he says, âItâs normal enough.â
âNo itâs not.â
âYes, it is.â
You sighed, âSince when is people avoiding sitting next to you normal?â, you continued, âYeah, Iâve noticed Jay, so donât make any excuses for this.â
Jay adjusted his grip on his coffee. âSince always.â
That shut you up for half a second, hating that it did. There was nothing to counter that, there was only discomfort. Only that growing realization that you had somehow missed something everyone else already knew how to navigate.
âThatâs just messed up,â you said finally.
He shrugged slightly, âItâs just how it is.â
âYeah, well,â you muttered, âIt shouldnât be.â
He didnât respond to that, and somehow that silence felt louder than anything he couldâve said.
It didnât get better. It just got quieter in a worse way. Like the world had decided on a new setting and forgotten to tell them. Group projects filled faster. Not because people disliked Jay outright. But because when his name appeared, there was always a brief hesitation before someone said, âmaybe we should pick someone else.â
Seats next to him disappeared first in every lecture. You started noticing you were getting the same treatment by association. At first, it was small. A girl who used to wave at you stopped doing it. A group that used to save you a seat suddenly didnât have space anymore. Conversations you walked into would pause for half a second too long, then continue. But differently. Like you had changed the atmosphere just by being there. You didnât mention itâ not at first, because naming it made it real. And making it real meant admitting you couldnât ignore it anymore.
Lunch was when it became undeniable. You carried your tray across the cafeteria, scanning for Maya, when you spotted an open seat at a table you used to sit at regularly. You walked toward it without thinking, set your tray down, and thenâ The girl across from you stood up. Too fast. Too clean.
âOhâsorry,â she said quickly, not meeting your eyes, âI thought this table was free.â
You blinked, âNo, itâsââ
But the girl was already gone. Just like that. As if the space itself had been reassigned. You stood there for a moment, tray in hand, staring at the empty chair like it had just betrayed you on principle. Behind you, you heard it againâwhispers. Not loud. Never loud. That was the point.
âThatâs her, right?â
âThe one with him.â
âI heard sheâs weird too.â
You slowly turned your head. A group immediately looked away. One of them suddenly became very interested in their sandwich. Another checked their phone like it was breaking news. You exhaled slowly through your nose.
 ââŠRight,â you muttered to no one, âcool. Awesome. Love that for me.â
Then you turned and walked away before your brain could decide to do something stupid like confront them again.
Jay was on the rooftop when you found himâOf course he was.
The door creaked slightly as you pushed it open harder than necessary. Wind hits you immediately, sharp and cold, carrying the distant sound of campus life below them. He was leaning against the railing, sleeves pushed up, staring out like the skyline was something he understood better than people. You didnât waste time walking over.
âYou knew.â
Jay didnât turn, ââŠKnew what?â
You stopped beside him, âThe way people are acting.â
A pause. âYes.â
That single word made something in your chest tighten.
âThatâs it?â you asked.
Jay finally turned his head, âWhat do you want me to do?â
âI donât know,â you snapped, then immediately lowered your voice, ânot nothing?â
âTheyâve always been like this.â
âNot to me.â
That made him pause, just barely. But you saw it.
Jay looked away again. âThat changes.â
The way he said it wasnât dramatic. It was resigned. It was like he had already accepted the direction everything was heading.
Shaking your head, you replied, âNo. It doesnât have to.â
âIt does,â he said quietly.
The wind picked up around you, tugging at the edges of your hoodie. The whole situation was crazy. Ever since you came to this university, everyone around you treated you like a normal person, just another classmateâ not some outcast they canât stand to be around. And this sudden behavior from everyone was getting to you.Â
How was he so calm?
âIâm used to it,â he added.
âYeah,â you shot back, âIâm not.â
That made him go still. Not angryâ JustâŠquiet. Like he was recalculating something and didnât like the result.
The breaking point didnât announce itself. It just happened.
Literature lecture. Same room. Same noise. Same fluorescent lights humming above them like they were tired of existing too. You and Jay were walking to your usual spots when a voice came from behind.
âHey.â
Jay didnât stop walking, and neither did you
âWhat color is his scent today?â
A ripple of laughter, small and contained. But it was enough.
You stopped walking. The sound of it scratching paper and loud conversations vanished into silence you hadnât agreed to.
Another voice, amused, âStill missing, I guess.â There was more laughter, it wasn't big enough to call attention to, but it also wasnât small enough to ignore. You turned toward the group, feet screeching against the floor, the sound cutting through the room like a warning, every head turning toward the noise. Jay stopped walking. You didnât look at him yet, instead looking at the room firstâ at all of themâat the people who could turn a person into a concept and still call it humor.
âDo you ever get tired?â you asked.
No one answered. You laughed once, sharp and humorless, âOf course you donât.â The silence tightened. âYou donât even see him,â you said, voice shaking now but steady enough to hurt, âyou just see something you can talk about when youâre bored.â
A chair shifted somewhere, someone coughing awkwardly. âWeâre just joking,â someone said weakly. âNo,â you replied immediately. âYouâre not joking. Youâre just safe enough to think it doesnât matter.âÂ
The room went still. Even the air felt paused. You tightened your grip around your bag, knuckles turning white in quiet rage. Although you were enraged, you couldnât let them get to you. âI hope none of you ever find out what it feels like,â you added, quieter, âto be talked about like that while youâre standing right there.â And you walked out.
Jay caught up with you outside, the hallway was quiet, less echo, less eyes. âYou shouldnât have done that,â he said immediately. You turned towards him in disbelief. âOh my God, are you serious right now?â Jay ran his hand through his hair. âListen,â he sighed, âTheyâll start on you too.â
âI donât care.â
âI do.â
That stopped you again. Taking a deep breath, you replied, âThey already think nothing of meâ I was just another person in the crowdâ and youââ
Jay didnât respond, at least not quickly enough, but that was all you needed. âYouââ you continued, voice rising slightly, âDo I just let them say shit about you and do nothing?â
âThatâs not what I meantââ
âThen what did you mean?â
A long pause. âY/NâŠ.I just didnât want this to happen to you.â
Something in your expression softened for a moment, then immediately hardened, âJay,â you said quietly, âthis isnât something you get to protect me from.â
âIâm trying to fix it,â he said.
âThereâs nothing to fix⊠you just ignore everything.âÂ
âThere is.â
âNo,â you stepped closer, âthere isnât. Thereâs just people being terrible and us deciding whether we stop living because of it.â
Silence.
Then Jay exhaled slowly. âIt means I donât think I can keep doing this if it keeps hurting you.â
You froze. ââŠDoing what?â
His eyes met yours. And for the first time since you met himâ He looked like he was already halfway gone.
âThis,â he said quietly. âUs.â
The word hit harder than anything else. It didnât sound like rejection. It sounded like protectionâ and that was worse. Your voice came out smaller than you wanted. âYou donât get to decide that alone.â
Jay didnât answer. He just took a step back, not leaving yetâ not fully. Just far enough that it felt like the beginning of it.
After that day, things didnât fall apart in any way I could point to.
There was no dramatic ending. No final words that echoed long enough to justify what came after. Nothing sharp enough to explain the quiet that followed. It just⊠ended without announcing itself. Like realizing halfway through a conversation that the other person had stopped listening, but kept nodding anyway. Like a light slowly dimming while youâre still pretending the room looks the same.
The rooftop changed too.
Not in any way I could point at and say this is where it broke. Not dramatically. Not cleanly. Nothing about it ever gave me that kind of closure. The door still stuck a little when I pushed it open too fast. The metal railing was still cold enough to bite into my palms if I leaned too long. The wind still came in sharp bursts that pulled at my sleeves like it was impatient with me for standing still.
Everything was the same. That was the problem, because it wasnât. It stopped being a routine. It stopped being the place where time softened at the edges, where I could sit for a while and pretend the rest of the world didnât exist beyond the stairs behind me. It became something else. Something I didnât name at first, because naming it wouldâve meant admitting I was hoping. Something I kept returning to out of habit more than anything else. At least, thatâs what I told myself.
Iâd climb the stairs anyway. Same rhythm. Same pace. Same moment of hesitation before I pushed the door open like I was bracing for impact. And then Iâd sit there. Back against the railing, knees drawn up sometimes, sometimes stretched out just to pretend I was relaxed. My phone would be in my hand, screen open, thumb hovering over messages I never sent. Sometimes Iâd type hey. Sometimes Iâd type nothing at all and just stare at the blinking cursor like it might change my life if I waited long enough.
It never did. Iâd delete it. Lock my phone. Unlock it again five minutes later like I hadnât already decided the outcome. And Iâd watch the door. Not because I thought anything would happen. Just because my eyes kept going there anyway. Like they didnât get the memo that I was supposed to stop expecting things.
The door never opened for himâ Not the next day, not the day after that, not the day after that either. I told myself it made sense. People got busy. People had lives. People didnât revolve around rooftops and accidental routines that meant more to one person than the other. So I kept going. Same time. Same stairs. Same door. Same empty rooftop waiting for something that wasnât coming. Every single afternoon, I showed up anyway. And every single afternoon, I left with the same feeling sitting behind my ribsâquiet, stubborn, and starting to feel permanent.
Two weeks passed like that. Not cleanly. Not in a way I could track properly. Just⊠blurred. Like the world had turned down the brightness and forgotten to turn it back up again. Mornings felt heavier. Afternoons passed too quickly. Even conversations didnât land the same way anymore, like I was hearing them from slightly too far away. I stopped noticing small things the way I used to. I stopped laughing at things I probably wouldâve found funny before. I stopped looking around rooms for someone without meaning to. At some point, I realized I was still functioning. Going to class. Taking notes. Eating when I remembered. Sleeping when I couldnât avoid it anymore. But it felt like running on something low and fragile, like I was trying to conserve energy without knowing what I was saving it for.
On the third day of the fourth week, Maya noticed. Maya always noticed things before I was ready to admit they existed. I was sitting in the cafeteria, pretending my food was interesting enough to stare at instead of eat, when she slid into the seat across from me. No greeting, no teasing, just a lookâthat lookâThe one that meant I had already been figured out and just hadnât been informed yet.
ââŠOkay,â she said slowly, drawing the word out like she was testing it for damage, âwhat is going on with you?â
I didnât look up. âNothing.â It came out too fast, too practiced.
Mayaâs eyes narrowed immediately. âNo,â she said, leaning forward slightly, âthat wasnât a nothing. That was a very specific nothing. The kind where something is happening and youâre actively pretending it isnât.â
I stabbed a piece of lettuce harder than necessary. âI said nothing.â
She blinked once. Then pointed at me like she had just confirmed something. âYouâre doing the thing.â
I frowned slightly. âWhat thing?â
âThe thing where you act fine but youâre actually one minor inconvenience away from mentally combusting.â
âIâm not combusting.â
Maya leaned back in her chair, arms crossing. âOkay. Then explain why youâve been walking around like a background character in your own life for the past few weeks.â
That made my fork stop mid-air. I didnât answer immediately. Maya didnât rush me, she just waited. That was the worst part about her. She always waited like she already knew I would break eventually. Finally, I let out a breath. ââŠIâm fine,â I started automatically.
Maya raised a hand immediately. âDonât.â
I stopped. Just like that. Because she wasnât joking anymore. Her voice softened, just slightly. âJust talk to me,â she said. And something in my chest gave in a little. Not dramatically. Just enough.
âHeâs not there,â I said quietly.
Maya frowned. âWhoâs not there?â
I hesitated. That hesitation said more than I wanted it to. ââŠJay.â
The name changed the air between us instantly. Mayaâs expression shiftedârecognition first, then something more careful. ââŠOh,â she said. That was it. Just that. But it felt like she understood more than she said. I gave a short laugh, but it came out wrong, thin and off.
âYeah,â I said. âOh.â
Maya studied me for a second longer. âDid something happen?â
My fingers tightened slightly around my fork. I looked down at my tray like it could answer for me. âIt wasnât even a fight,â I said finally. âNot really."
Maya stayed quiet. I kept going anyway. âIt was just⊠he decided something without me.â
Her head tilted slightly. âAbout you?â
I nodded once.
âAnd you didnât like it.â
The words shouldâve been simpleâ they werenât.
âI didnât get a say,â I said. âHe just⊠stepped back. Like that was the correct answer. Like I wouldnât notice.â
Maya went quiet for a moment. Then carefully, like she was choosing each word: âThat sounds like him trying to protect you.â
Something sharp moved through my chest at that. A laugh slipped out before I could stop it. âYeah,â I said. âI know.â
âAnd that still made you mad.â
âIt made me feel erased.â My voice came out quieter than I expected. Like saying it too loudly would make it real in a way I couldnât undo. âLike I wasnât part of my own life anymore,â I added. âLike I was something he could just⊠remove himself from without asking.â
Maya didnât interrupt, didnât correct me, didnât try to fix it. Just listened. That somehow made it worse because it meant she understood why it hurt. After a while, she asked, softer: âAnd now?â
That shouldâve been an easy question, and again it wasn't, because ânowâ was the worse part. Now was the rooftop every day. Now was checking the stairs before I even realized I was doing it. Now was pretending I wasnât disappointed every time the door opened and stayed empty.
âI donât know,â I admitted.
Maya watched me for a long moment, then sighed, leaning back. âYou two are exhausting.â
I let out a weak smile.
âThanks.â
âI mean it lovingly,â she added quickly. Then her tone shifted again. âBut alsoâyou need to talk to him.â
That made my stomach tighten. âI canât.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause he already decidedââ
Maya cut in immediately, âHe decided something while being emotionally dramatic and catastrophically noble,â she said flatly. âWhich, unfortunately, is a very consistent male trait.â Despite everything, I huffed something that almost counted as a laugh.
âMayaâŠâ
âIâm serious.â
âI know.â
She leaned forward again, expression soft but firm now. âThat doesnât make it permanent.â
I looked away. Because that was the problem, it already felt permanent. Like a door that had quietly closed somewhere behind me and I hadnât noticed until it was too late to stop it.
ââŠIt feels permanent,â I admitted.
Maya stood up, grabbing her tray.
âThatâs your issue,â she said simply.
I looked up at her.
She paused for a second, then addedâ âStop letting it be permanent in your head before it even gets a chance to exist anywhere else.â
And then she walked away, leaving me sitting there with food I wasnât eating, with a silence I couldnât shut off, and with a rooftop I still couldnât stop going back to.
The world didnât pause for him. It never did. The hallways were still filled with the same rush of footsteps in the morning, the same low hum of voices bleeding into each other between classes, the same fluorescent lights that made everything feel slightly too sharp to be real.
He still went to class. Still arrived early enough that he had the same seat without thinking about it. Still sat down with the same quiet precisionâbag placed beside the chair, notebook opened to the right page, pen already uncapped before the lecture even began. Still answered questions when called on. Still looked like nothing had changed.
If anything, to people who didnât look too closely, he looked exactly the same. Calm. Composed. Detached in the way he always had been. But something had shifted anyway. Not in him, exactly. In the space around him.
People noticed it in the smallest ways first, the kind of things that didnât feel important until they stacked up.
There was no familiar figure sliding into the seat beside him anymore. No soft movement in his peripheral vision when someone leaned over to whisper something under their breath. No second coffee was placed next to his on the desk with the quiet assumption that it would be taken. No quiet side comments during lectures that werenât really about the lecture at all.
Just⊠space.
Too much of it.
At first, people filled it with assumption. Then with curiosity. Then with silence of their own. Because Jay didnât explain anythingâhe never had. And now there was nothing around him that suggested an explanation was coming.
On the 15th day, someone finally asked.
It happened after class when the room had mostly emptied out, leaving behind the usual aftermathâchairs slightly out of place, notebooks shut too quickly, the faint scrape of bags being pulled over shoulders.
Jay stayed seated, not because he was waiting, but because he simply hadnât stood yet. He was closing his notebook when he noticed someone lingering near his desk. A guy from his section. Standing just close enough to seem casual, but not quite relaxed enough to actually be casual.
âHey,â the guy said.
Jay didnât look up immediately.
He finished marking a line in his notes first. Neat. Controlled. Like always.
Thenâ
ââŠYeah?â
The response came flat, neutral, unreadable.
The guy shifted his weight. âUh,â he started, scratching the back of his neck like he was already regretting speaking, âI justâpeople were wonderingâŠâ
Jayâs pen stopped. Not dramatically, just enough that the air changed slightly.
ââŠPeople,â Jay repeated, not a question. Just a confirmation that heâd heard it.
The guy nodded quickly, encouraged by the fact that he hadnât been dismissed yet.
âYeah. People from class. They thought you and your friend were like⊠always together.â
A pause. Jayâs hand tightened slightly around the pen. Not visible unless you were looking for it.Â
Most people werenât.
ââŠMy friend,â he said again.
The guy nodded again, a little more uncertain now.
âYeah. The girl. Y/N.â
At that, something shiftedânot in Jayâs expression, but in the stillness of him.
Like a door had been touched but not opened. He closed his notebook slowly. Then set his pen down with deliberate care.
âSheâs not my responsibility,â he said.
Calm. Even. Final.
The guy blinked, clearly not expecting that answer.
âOhâno, I didnât meanâ I just meant likeâ you know, you two were always together. People assumedââ
Jay finally looked up. Properly this time, not sharply or aggressively, just directly.
And somehow that was worse. His expression was completely neutral, but there was something in it that made the guy feel like he had stepped into a conversation he wasnât meant to interrupt.
âPeople assume a lot of things,â Jay said.
It was a simple sentence. No emotion added or an invitation to continue. The silence that followed wasnât dramatic. It was just⊠complete.
The guy opened his mouth like he might try again, then stopped. He nodded awkwardly instead. âRight. Yeah. Sorry. I'm justâcurious, I guess.â
Jay had already looked back down, back to his notes, back to whatever existed before the conversation.
âMm,â he replied. Not dismissive. Just finished.
The guy hesitated another second, then left. Chair legs scraped lightly against the floor. Footsteps faded. And thenâ nothing.
Jay sat there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the page without actually reading it. His pen remained untouched. The classroom was empty now. Too empty in a different way than it used to be. Before, silence had been something he didnât think about. Now it had edges. He closed his notebook again. More slowly this time, and finally stood.
As he left the room, nothing about him looked different. Same pace. Same posture. Same expression. But the space around him followed him out more noticeably now.
Because even if he didnât say itâeven if he didnât explain itâpeople could tell.
One afternoon, Maya found me. I didnât even hear her come up.
The rooftop door creaked, closed, and I only noticed she was there because of the way the air shiftedâlike someone had stepped into a space that had gotten used to being empty. I was sitting on the ground this time. Back against the wall. Knees pulled in. Chin resting there like it weighed too much to hold up properly.
I wasnât looking at anything in particular. Just⊠existing in a direction.
Maya didnât say anything at first, she just stood there. For a few seconds, I felt her watching me. Not in a judgmental way. In that way she had when she already knew she wasnât going to like what she found.
Then she walked over. Sat down beside me without a word. Close enough that I felt her presence, far enough that I didnât feel trapped by it.
Silence stretched between us. The wind brushed my hair across my face. I didnât move it away right away. Neither of us rushed the quiet. That was the thing about Maya. She never forced words out of me like they were supposed to be easy. She just waited until they gave up on staying inside.
My fingers flexed against my sleeves. Once. Twice. Like I was checking if I still had control over anything.
And thenâ
ââŠHeâs not coming back.â
My voice surprised even me. It didnât crack, it didnât shake, it just came out flatâ certain in a way I didnât feel. Maya didnât answer immediately.
I felt her turn toward me. I didnât look back.
âDid he say that?â she asked finally.
I shook my head. âNo.â
A pause.
Then, quieter, like she was stepping carefully around something fragileâ âThen what makes you sure?â
I let out a breath I didnât realize Iâd been holding. It didnât feel like relief, it felt like losing something again. âBecause if he wanted toâŠâ I swallowed, âhe wouldâve.â
The moment I said it, I hated how final it sounded. It was like I was trying to turn uncertainty into something solid just so I wouldnât have to keep waiting.
Maya shifted slightly beside me. Her voice softened. âThatâs not how Jay thinks.â
That made me laugh once, short and empty. How would you know? It didnât sound like me.
âThen how does he think?â I asked. My voice came out sharper than I meant it to.
Maya didnât react to that, she just took a breath like she was deciding how honest she wanted to be with me.
And then she saidâ âI believe that he thinks if he removes himself from something that hurts you,â she said carefully, âthen heâs doing the right thing.â
My chest tightened without permission.
She continued anyway. âEven if it destroys him too.â
The rooftop didnât feel windy anymore. It felt stillâ too still. Like even the air was waiting for me to respond. But I didnât. Because I couldnât decide which part of that hurt more. The idea that he thought I needed protecting⊠Or the idea that he thought leaving me was protection.
My throat felt tight.
âI hate that,â I said quietly. It came out smaller than I wanted. Less anger, more⊠something I didnât want to name.
Maya exhaled. âYeah,â she said. âMe too.â
Another silence, different this time. Heavier. Not empty. Just full of things neither of us wanted to touch directly. Then Maya bumped her shoulder lightly against mine. A small gesture. Grounding.
âYou going to stay like this?â she asked.
I looked at her then. Really looked. ââŠLike what?â
She gestured vaguely at me. âLike someone waiting for a door that isnât locked anymore.â
That sentence hit somewhere too precise and too personal. My eyes dropped almost immediately. She was right in a way I didnât want her to be.
âI donât know how to fix it,â I admitted.
And saying it out loud made it feel worse. Like admitting Iâd been stuck without moving at all.
Maya stood up slowly. I looked up at her, confused. She dusted her hands off like she was shaking something off herself more than anything else.
âThen go tell him that,â she said simply.
No drama. No softness trying to hide the truth. Just straight through me. âInstead of sitting here like he already left you.â
Then she turned and walked back toward the door, leaving it open behind her, not forcing me to follow, just⊠not letting me stay exactly where I was.
The next day, I went to class like normal. Or what passed for normal nowI sat in my seat, opened my notebook, clicked my pen twice before writing anything. Acted like my thoughts werenât somewhere else entirely, acted like I wasnât counting the minutes between sentences. The lecture started, words filled the room, and I wrote them down without really seeing them. My hand moved because it knew how, not because I was paying attention.
Halfway through, I noticed something. A seat beside meâ empty. Not avoided this timeâ or taken.
Just⊠empty.
Like it had been left there on purpose. Like someone had been sitting there for so long it forgot what it was supposed to be without them. My pen stopped. My fingers tightened slightly around it just enough to feel it.
The room kept moving around me.
People talked. Pages turned. The professor kept speaking like nothing had shifted at all. But I couldnât stop looking at that space. And for the first time in daysâ I didnât force myself to look away. I just stared at it. Until something inside me shifted. I closed my notebook, the sound feeling louder than it shouldâve. And I stood up. My chair scraped against the floor. A few people glanced over. I didnât stop.
The rooftop door felt heavier than I remembered, though I couldnât tell if that was something physical or just the way my own hesitation had started to seep into everything I touched lately, as if even ordinary things were beginning to resist me in small, quiet ways that no one else would notice but I could feel in the slow drag of my hand against the metal handle.
I stood there for a long moment, longer than I meant to, staring at it like it might offer some kind of instruction for what I was supposed to do next, like it might suddenly decide to speak and tell me whether walking through it would fix anything or ruin everything, but it just stayed still, indifferent in that painfully familiar way, as if it had already seen too many versions of me come and go to care which one I was now.
Eventually, I climbed anyway, one floor at a time, then another, then another, and each step up the stairwell echoed in a way that felt too loud, too intentional, like the building itself had become aware of me in a way it never used to be, as though it had decided to record every hesitation in my movement and replay it back to me through the hollow sound of my footsteps against the walls.
By the time I reached the final landing, my hand had tightened around the strap of my bag so much that my fingers ached faintly, though I only noticed it when I stopped moving, because I had been holding myself so rigidly that my body had started to blur into the act of simply getting here instead of actually feeling anything at all.
I stopped in front of the door again, and this time I didnât even pretend I was going to move immediately, because my breathing had turned uneven in a way that made me painfully aware of every inhale and exhale, like my body had forgotten how to perform something as simple and automatic as existing in a steady rhythm without turning it into something complicated.
Then, after a long moment that felt like it stretched far beyond what was reasonable, I finally pushed the door open.
The wind hit me instantly, cold and sharp and uninvited, slipping through my clothes and into my skin in a way that made me flinch slightly even though I should have been used to it by now, and yet somehow it still managed to feel familiar enough to tighten something deep inside my chest before I could even fully understand why.
And then I saw him.
Jay.
He was standing near the railing like he had never left that exact spot, like time had simply continued without bothering to inform me of it, like I had been the only one paused somewhere in between days while he had remained exactly where I last saw him, still and quiet and impossibly unchanged in a way that made my mind stutter before it could catch up.
For a second, I genuinely couldnât process it, because there was something almost cruel about how normal he looked standing there, as if nothing had ever fractured between us, as if I hadnât spent days learning what absence feels like when it starts to sound like a personâs name in your head at random moments when everything else is quiet.
And then he turned.
And he saw me.
But he didnât look surprised.
There wasnât even the smallest flicker of it, not in his eyes, not in his expression, nothing that suggested shock or confusion or even relief, just this steady, unreadable stillness that made it feel like he had already accounted for this moment somewhere in his mind long before I arrived, like he had been waiting for something inevitable instead of unexpected.
Neither of us moved closer.
Neither of us spoke immediately.
The space between us suddenly felt like it had become its own kind of object, something tangible and heavy and impossible to ignore, something that felt too small to avoid looking at but too large to cross without feeling like it would change everything irrevocably the moment either of us decided to step into it.
Finally, his voice broke through it, quiet and controlled in that same way I remembered but now understood a little differently, like it was being carefully held together on purpose.
âYouâre here.â
It wasnât a question, and that somehow made it heavier.
My throat tightened slightly before I could answer, and when I finally did, my voice came out softer than I expected, like I had to drag it up from somewhere deeper than speech.
âYeah,â I said, and even that one word felt strange in the open air between us, like I hadnât used it in a long time in a place where it mattered. âI am.â
A pause followed, long enough that the wind had time to pass through the rooftop again and curl around us like it was trying to remind us that the world kept moving even when we didnât.
Then Jay exhaled slowly, almost carefully, like he had been holding something in place for far too long and wasnât entirely sure how to let it go.
âI didnât think you would come back up here,â he admitted, and there was something in his tone that wasnât quite regret but wasnât quite neutral either, something suspended in between.
A short laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it, except it didnât sound like amusement at all, more like something cracked trying to pass itself off as intact.
âI wasnât sure I would either,â I said, and even as I said it, I realized how true it was in a way that made my chest feel strangely tight.
That was when I started walking.
Slowly at first, like my body was testing whether the distance between us would hold or collapse, and then a little faster once I realized it wasnât going to disappear on its own, until I was standing just a few steps away from him and could see the way his gaze followed me carefully, as if he was still trying to figure out whether I was real or just another version of the silence he had been standing in.
âI donât understand you,â I said, and my voice came out steadier than I felt, though there was something fragile underneath it that I couldnât fully hide. âYou just left.â
His jaw tightened slightly at that, just enough for me to notice, just enough to make me realize that this wasnât something easy for him either.
âI didnât leave you,â he said, and there was an immediate tension in my chest at the distinction he was trying to make.
But I shook my head once, because I didnât want careful definitions or softened versions of what had happened.
âYou did,â I said more firmly now, the words landing heavier between us than I expected. âYou just made it look like it wasnât supposed to hurt.â
That made him look away for a moment, not in avoidance exactly, but like he needed to steady something inside himself before he could keep going, and when he finally spoke again, his voice had dropped slightly, losing some of its usual control.
âI thought I was making it easier for you,â he said, and the way he said it made it sound like he had rehearsed it in his head too many times without ever finding a version of it that didnât hurt.
My stomach sank slightly.
âEasier for what?â I asked, though I already felt like I knew I wasnât going to like the answer.
He finally looked at me again, really looked at me this time, like he wasnât just speaking to me but trying to make sure I understood exactly what he meant.
âFor people to stop looking at you like youâre something they get to define,â he said quietly, each word measured but heavy, like he was afraid of breaking something by saying it wrong. âFor them to stop attaching you to me like it makes you less⊠acceptable.â
The wind moved between us again, softer now but no less present, and for a moment I couldnât respond because there was something deeply frustrating about how much I understood the fear behind his logic even while hating what it had done to us.
âNo,â I said eventually, quieter than before but sharper in a way that came from somewhere deeper. âThey didnât stop. And you leaving didnât fix anything.â
Silence followed again, but this time it wasnât empty, it was full in a way that made it hard to breathe through, like every word we hadnât said in the past days had finally caught up and was standing between us now, waiting to be acknowledged.
I stepped closer again without thinking about it, and this time there was no hesitation left in my movement, only something steady and unresolved.
âYou donât get to make choices like that for me,â I said, and I could feel my voice shaking slightly now even though I tried to hold it steady. âYou donât get to decide what I can survive without even asking me if I wanted you to stay.â
Something in his expression shifted at that, subtle but real, like those words had finally landed somewhere they couldnât be ignored anymore.
ââŠI know,â he said after a moment, and this time it didnât sound like defense, just truth. âI just didnât want to be another thing that made it harder for you.â
That made something tight twist in my chest, because the intention didnât change the outcome, and I think he knew that too.
âIâve been surviving harder things than you disappearing,â I said, softer now but no less certain, and I saw the way his expression changed at that, like he was hearing me for the first time instead of the version of me he had been trying to protect from everything.
He exhaled slowly.
ââŠI missed you,â he said, like it was the simplest thing in the world and also the only thing he could say that wouldnât fall apart under its own weight.
And something in me broke in the quietest possible way.
âYeah,â I said, my voice almost unsteady now, âI missed you too.â
The distance between us didnât feel like distance anymore after that.
It just felt like something we had finally stopped pretending wasnât affecting both of us at the same time.
And when I stepped closer again, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him through the cold air, I realized I wasnât afraid of it anymore.
Not him.
Not this.
Not us.
âDonât leave again,â I said quietly, like it wasnât a demand anymore but something I needed him to understand had already changed everything.
He nodded immediately, like there was no hesitation left in him either.
âI wonât,â he said. âNot because I should stay. Because I want to.â
That sentence lingered longer than anything else.
And then, finally, when neither of us spoke again, when the wind softened just slightly like it was giving us space on purpose, he reached for my hand.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like he was still afraid the world might interrupt him if he moved too fast.
But I didnât pull away. And that was what changed everything.
Because when he stepped closer after that, closing the final space between us without hesitation now, it didnât feel like uncertainty anymore.
It felt like a choice.
His forehead almost brushed mine before he paused, just for a second, just long enough for me to know he was still waiting without asking, and when I didnât move away, he finally kissed me.
It wasnât rushed. It wasnât dramatic.
It was quiet in the way something real is quiet, like it didnât need to prove anything to exist, like it had already been built long before either of us were brave enough to admit it.
And when he pulled back, just barely, still close enough that I could feel his breath against my skin, I realized something simple and terrifying and soft all at onceâ this wasnât something I had to lose anymore.
Summary: a young artist, an art professor. What if fate is much stronger than we think. What if soulmates do really exist.
Wc: 6k
Warning: just jungwon being a bit obsessive lol, and inaccurate description of face blindness.ïżŒalso this was a bit tough to write, thatâs why I may have went over it quickly. Not proofread. Just kissing and marking too
A/N: an epilogue is also on the wayâŠ
Enjoy!
Jungwon stared at his painting for so long, the one that he hang on his room's wall.
Head, hair, shoulder and that little mole on the collar bone.
The same silhouette that haunted him for long, that he just witnessed take form in the physical world, that he couldn't stop himself from thinking about.
But, nothing made sense.
At the university event he didn't get to talk to you as some student already pulled you away from him by their questions.
And then you disappeared.
Who were you?
He regretted not even knowing that, but he was frozen in his place. He couldn't move after the realization hit him like a truck. That his dream came true, he always wished that. Yet, when it did, he was no longer able to move or to think even when the opportunity arose.
A deep sigh left his lips, and soon he was joined by his friend. Jay, who spotted him wailing miserably in his bedroom as if he was going through a divorce. He of course came in without knocking again.
"You've been like that since yesterday" Jay noticed that jungwon didn't even change his clothes. "Did you even sleep?"
He didn't.
Jungwon got up, leaning on his elbow to look at jay.
His face blurred, so why was yours not?
His face blindness never allowed him to recognize faces of loved ones, only by voice was he able to know whom he was talking to.
He slumped in the bed once more, looking sideways at the painting again.
"I saw her" jungwon said, even though he wasn't sure himself.
"Your dreams, again?" Jay moved around in the room tidying up the mess a bit. Some pens and papers scattered along with laundry. "I mean if it concerns you that much I can try contacting a therapist"
"No". Jungwon said "she was very much real. In front of me. And her face... I saw her face"
Jay froze, not believing his ears " Wait. Hold on. One at a time"
Jungwon told him everything.
"So, the girl in your dreams is a real person? You saw her? And you saw her face? And she was at the event yesterday?"
Jay asked. Jungwon just nodded not paying attention to Jay's surprise.
"How did you know it was her? Well who is she?" Jay sat next to Jungwon in his bed.
"It was a feeling" jungwon said "we remained like staring at each other for a long time. I couldn't stop looking at her, you know like when you feel that you lived that moment before, but can't remember when or how?" He paused for a moment "I don't know who she is"
Jungwon got up quickly and faced Jay, "call Jake. I need him to find her"
Jay stood there not knowing why jungwon was acting this way. It was rare for him to. If it was anybody else, he would have already called an asylum probably. But the look on jungwon's face made him believe him.
Jay just massaged his forehead "Asking Jake for these things doesn't end well. But I'll do it"
Jake indeed came. Now it was four of them including Niki who was playing on his phone on jungwon's bed. Jake immediately sat himself in front of the desktop, laptop ready.
"So, who am I looking for this time?"
"We only know their appearance" Jay said "but we can't be too sure, Jungwon claims ... he saw someone's face, we can't be too sure though "
Niki and Jake who were not present to their previous conversation both had their jaw dropped.
"Hold on" Niki immediately abandoned his game and went to join his older friends. Well they are his cousins' friends. "When did that happen?"
"Yesterday" jungwon answered "When you left me in your university event"
"I was busy okay" Niki defended himself.
"It doesn't matter now." Jay stopped the two from arguing.
Jake started working, he hacked into the university portal and looked for the event inviting list.
Then he got the identity photo of each one of them.
"I have to filter them now" Jake said doing his thing. Clicks of keyboard filled the room.
"It was a woman" Jungwon started describing you. And after a while they landed on the photo of one specific professor.
"Wait" Niki exclaimed "that's my prof"
The three of them looked at Niki in surprise.
"Welp, if Shes who we're looking for...." Jake said listing her information.
But Jake didn't stop there, he tried diving into social media and academic history. To have as much info about her. Not in a creepy way.... Or is it?
"I'm not sure what you are trying to achieved Jungwon" Jay asked.
"I'm gonna have to talk to her" the young artist said. But that question made him halt for a second, he stared at the photo at his computer, the photo was a little bit blurry to him, but he could recognize you.
"I don't think you should" Jay said "you're gonna start obsessing over her and it's already showing"
"Then what do you want me to do." Jungwon almost raised his voice. "This could be her. My dream. I have to see her again, I can't stop thinking about her"
Silence. Everybody knows how Jungwon became after the dreams, he was possessed by a ghost. And now that ghost is real.
"I don't know if I should say this but" Niki started catching their attention "but she has a little condition where...she spaces out in the most random times. It's like she suddenly freezes and stands like that"
"Are you saying she has something similar to jungwon's dreams" Jake asked. If it was true, does that mean something?
"I don't know. I never asked her about her condition too much, only that I noticed it's getting worse" the youngest said.
Jungwon then made up his mind "Jake" he said "find anything about her. And Niki you have to help me meet her"
Niki nodded and so did Jake. But Jay only expressed his disagreement more. But what can he say? He knows jungwon is driven to get what he wants. And now that he knows that woman is real, he'll get to her eventually.
You couldn't focus. Not really.
You went back home, slept out of exhaustion. But once you woke up you were back at square one.
Confused. Dumbfounded.
But, it was 6:54 am and you had a lecture at the early morning. so you ignored all your worries and got up.
You lived not so far from the college you work at, a small apartment that was enough to sustain you. A roof to sleep under.
That's it, what more could you even ask for.
You walked to the workplace after having your breakfast that consisted of coffee and frozen waffles. You got in and wore the mask of a professor teaching a bunch of teenagers about the history of the arts and the sort.
It was also your first year working, you landed this post right after getting your PhD. Which a lot would claim to be quite lucky.
Were you lucky?
You went in and went over the lecture smoothly.
No visions interrupted you like last time. The 2 hours passed quickly, so you had a little bit of free time before your next lecture.
And whenever that happened, you had already some where to be at.
Your workshop. Well, it wasn't yours to say the least. But you have full access to it.
It's supposed to be a university workshop, but after building a new one in the arts department that one got discarded and closed.
Upon discovering its existence, you asked for the university heads to have access to it for personal use, which was accepted surprisingly.
Now you have your own personal space in campus. It wasn't too personal too, because most students knew that they could find you there most of the time.
It was right that you would be interrupted during your work. But you don't mind that you could be of help to your curious students.
Right now your safe haven is no longer helping you, because the pieces that you've worked on conceiving now all remind you of him.
You didn't draw the boy, but you've always drawn something related to it.
The paintings that you've created all surrounding the small space of the shop consist of: holding hands, two people hugging, hearts, and so on.
All have been drawn to let out your frustration over who caused your visions. Not knowing who he was and why he kept appearing to you.
But now, you sat there looking at them as if you started to doubt them. Until now.
But before you reach a conclusion on what you feel over it. A knock on your door brought you back to reality.
"Can I come in?" A voice asked.
"Yes. Please do" you replied. And Niki appeared on the door.
"Niki" you said "what brought you here?" You asked , curious about his appearance.
"Uhm. I" he stuttered, which was not usual for him. You narrowed your gaze. "Well, If you're free right now. There's someone's who has been waiting to meet you"
When he said that he opened the door wider. Then you eyes grew big. It was him in the bone and flesh.
Niki didn't utter anymore words. He just closed the door as he left, and now you were left alone with the not so mysterious boy from your visions. And who also happened to be the Yang Jungwon.
He stood there in the middle of your workshop, while you sat in front of a blank canvas that was waiting to be stained by paint or pencil marks. He looked at every painting you hang there, and it suddenly feels too exposing.
He looked around, and you took this opportunity to observe him more. He wore an oversized dress shirt, you could see that he wore a black tank top underneath it along with suited pants.
So casual, and yet elegant in a way.
You couldn't shake away the feeling that it was him from your visions. But.... You couldn't comprehend it yourself. It's had always been overwhelming, and now even more than before.
You on the other hand, wore the leather brown apron that you kept in the workshop.
Although you haven't painted a thing, nor did you have the mood to do so. You still wore it.
Finally he paid attention to you.
You locked eyes again, and felt the electric tension pass between you both.
It almost stings. Like an electric contact. So you decided to break the silence. An awkward silence it was.
"What brought you here?" You said, a bit professional. A barrier that you tried hiding behind. But it was obvious what you did.
"I want to propose a deal" he said burying his hand in his pockets. "We met yesterday" he added as if to remind you. How can you forget him?
"Yes. We did" you answered cautiously "but what deal are you talking about. I don't even know you"
"Really?" He raised his eyebrow "You're one of the professors who were responsible for organizing the event"
"Well. You don't know me" you said.
"I hope you don't get the wrong idea" he said "But I do know you. Maybe i don't know much. But I do know you"
He said, you wanted to answer that but it made your voice stuck in your Throat. You couldn't reply with anything.
"My paintings all are known, but the most popular ones are the Lia collection." He said "When I drew objects or landscapes nobody cared enough for that. It was tough to finally have a real muse. But when I drew the most fearful thing in my life. Something ... or someone who kept appearing in my own life, suddenly everyone wants to know. Who is the mysterious woman?"
You didn't reply, so he kept explaining. But he stepped closer "It was a dream. A dream that never stopped appearing. Of someone I'm longing for without knowing them. And before I knew it, she haunted my spirit."
He now stands in front of where you sat. "You reminded me of her that day. Or maybe you were hee" he said, and took a strand of your hair in his hands "I didn't see her face. But I saw yours. And I know to never doubt feelings. So, if my heart speaks the truth. I knew it was you"
He then looked at you long. It was not an illusion. He was able to see your face right as you were in front of him. He wasn't hallucinating. He just did. And he couldn't stop looking at you.
You throat dried. "What do you want then?"
"Be my model" he said simply, going back to the main topic "for once. Just let me, Paint you"
"You can pick any other woman" you dismissed "I'm an art professor, and not a model."
"There's a reason why I'm asking you specifically. It's because of my condition. I am not able to distinguish between facial features. Until I saw you. I need you. And only you" he said honestly. There's no doubt he was speaking the truth, but you couldn't bring yourself to not flush at his words.
"Also, you would be given a good compensation for the trouble." He said.
You stared at him.
You couldn't believe it at all, his frankness and openness.
It was as if you wanted to believe him yet a nagging voice stopped you. You couldn't trust just that, because to you or to anybody it would sound absurd. Yet, you understand it because you are going through a similar thing.
You were ready to refuse. But he interrupted you.
"Please. Tell me about your condition too" he said. Catching you by surprise. "I've heard about it. It sounds similar. Please tell me I'm not the only one who thinks that is not a mere coincidence"
But before you stopped yourself, you answered "I have visions. Well, it is quite similar to your dream. But I don't think that's enough to assume it's you who have been showing up in my visions."
He nodded. "I get that much. But you felt it too. Didn't you?" He said.
"And what if it was?" You snapped at him. "It doesn't matter. Jungwon. I don't want this, it's very complicated and doesn't make sense. Maybe we're both going insane"
He stopped pestering you. He could sense how that affected you. It was truly overwhelming, for both of you. So he stopped. At least for now.
But he didn't give up yet. He got a business card, and handed it to you. "My offer still stands. I have your number already. This is mine if you've ever needed to reach out."
And he left. Leaving behind him. A ton of questions along with a ton of doubts.
It has been a week, but you still couldn't make up your mind.
You hid the business card, but you still keep thinking.
About him.
You tried focusing and work too, but it didn't help.
You were now in the living room grading 3d-art projects of your students. A bowl of snacks on your side, and the tv sound as background noise.
"Is this âââ" a voice that you got accostumed to asked.
"Yeah" you said with sigh. You already know what is it is.
"The deadline for paying your debt is getting closer. Are you aware of that"
"I'm aware"
"Well. Because we took into consideration your situation. We understand. But because of some complications, we need you to pay what you owe us soon. As in next month."
"Hold on" you interfered. "I was going to pay it at the deadline i agreed on with the agency"
"Unfortunately." He said "in the contract, there is a clause that if demanded sooner , the deadline could change." He paused "Refusing to pay will result in drastic consequences in court"
They hang up.
A clause? Court? These pricks.
You haven't read that, but you knew better than to protest too much.
It was right that the agency was known for scamming. Yet, you resorted to it because it was less strict when it came to interest.
That's why you studied art instead of economy.
You dropped your head on the sofa behind you.
This wasn't great. You thought about anyway to solve this quickly. However nothing came to mind.
You raised your head and in time you saw it on Tv.
The Lia collection. Made by Yang Jungwon.
Right now, no matter how much you dreaded it. And how much your heart raced at the thought of the painter. it was your only solution now.
You looked for the business card again, (momentarily forgetting where you put in in your messy small apartment) and when you found you sat again on the floor. Forgetting complete the graded assignments of your students and you tapped the number on that card.
It rang for a while.
"Hello" it was not Yang Jungwon. It was a deeper icy voice. You almost got scared from just hearing it.
"Hello" you started but paused not knowing what to think about.
"Hello. This Park Sunghoon. Yang Jungwon's manager. Who's talking."
You gave your name first "Jungwon asked me to contact him"
Jungwon was just at home. His friends next to him. Niki and Heesung playing video games, Jay was nagging Jake about not appreciating his cooking. And Sunoo was the only one acting normal.
Sunoo was a fashion designer, a good one. And he helped Jungwon dressing up for so many occasion to "not look chopped".
Right now, as he sat on his bed, daydreaming again. A habit he always had, while looking at his painting. You.
Sunoo was going through some clothes in Jungwon's wardrobe.
Untill Sunghoon, came in a phone in his hand. "Jungwon, someone is asking for you" Sunghoon then, pronounced your name.
It seems like time froze.
Jungwon immediately got up. He ran towards Sunghoon, got the phone from his extended hand and left the room. Slamming the door behind him.
Everyone shared the same confused look.
"Who asked for him?" Heesung dropped the question that all of them were thinking about.
"It was a woman"
"Woman??!!!" Heesung and Sunoo said in the same time.
Outside, jungwon said into the speaker "hello?"
"Mr. Yang" you said. "I know that I said that I won't accept your offer.... But"
"Hold on." He cut you "is something wrong?"
Did he notice? You were literally biting your own nails, in nervousness and shame.
The scam you fell right into, plus your own stress and your inexplicable visions.
"I'm okay. Just something came up... I really need to solve it. So I was wondering if we could talk more about that ... modeling proposal"
You explained, calming yourself down a bit.
"Alright. When can I see you?" His voice was softer now. Allowing to clam down. To collect your thoughts properly.
"Tomorrow evening?"
"Okay. I'll come pick you up tomorrow" he said after a pause "Thank you. For accepting the offer."
You hang up. You have been pacing around the room the whole time, so you fell on the bed the moment you ended the call and closed your eyes.
Tomorrow is going to be a long day.
Dress? Or suit?
You wondered as you looked at your options. Dress would be too much, and suit is too formal.
You ended up choosing the black dress anyway. It was simple and conform for a restaurant.
Yes, Jungwon's texted you after the call, saying that he would invite you to dinner to talk about it.
It was a sleeveless one. Black long and good enough.
You didn't bother with owning too much dresses. You didn't get to go to enough of occasions anyway.
It was almost 8pm. And after you finished doing your makeup to look decent for the dinner. Your bell rang.
You opened the door. Then you locked eyes with the prettiest eyes you've ever seen.
"Hello" Jungwon said. He was wearing a black tailored suit. And he looked good. His cologne was strong that you could smell if from where you stand.
He looked at you too, breath caught in his throat. The dress... the make up... it wasn't anything crazy but it enhanced your beauty...
But he kept his hand behind his back. He looked nervous, which was new because he always acted confident. He visibly gulped.
Then... he showed you what he was hiding.
A bouquet of flowers. Red Roses.
"I am really grateful that you agreed on this. So I didn't want to come empty handed.. this is for you. As a thanks for accepting ..." he said but didn't get to finish his words.
You stared at the roses for so long. And then slowly you took them in your hands. "Thank you, Mr. Yang. They are so beautiful" you said so while grinning. Your eyes became crescent like, and they shone like a star.
No, he thought, your smile is beautiful.
But he didn't say that. He doesn't want to scare you away so quickly. With how much he thinks of you, and how pretty you look in his eyes. So he chose to tell you later.
"Would you like to come in?" You asked "I'll put them in. Then I'll join you"
He nodded. You took the flowers to the kitchen where an empty vase sat, and he was right there in the living room.
Your house consisted of necessities and furnitures. But some framed childhood photos, some handmade decorations and some drawing too, gave life to it.
Jungwon tried to grasp it, maybe it will give him an idea about you. About what you like.
But your footsteps brought him back from his trance.
The drive to the restaurant was quiet, even his music choice was an old jazz song. Which you didn't mind too much. But you feared that it sat the wrong mood for this dinner.
This was a contract. You thought. The roses, made you forget momentarily that you are doing this for money. but it's not like it made you uncomfortable, Jungwon didn't do anything to make you feel that way.
It was just your thoughts filling the gaps of the silence hanging between you and Jungwon.
And upon reaching, you realized that he was bringing you to a famous 5-star restaurant. You could see from the window that is was quite busy.
And once you made it inside, a servant came to greet Jungwon and lead him -and you too- towards a table in a secluded area.
"Mr. Park will come greet you soon" he said.
Jungwon's did most of the talking, while you were squirming and looking around.
"Take a seat" Jungwon said to you, pulling the chair for you. So you did under his watching gaze. Then he rounded the table to site in front of you.
The waiter served the wine, and left you both. Jungwon's immediately took his own glass to sip the wine.
"Why don't you drink?" He asked.
"I... don't" you explained.
His eyes widened "oh. Why didn't you tell me then. Do you need something else?"
You shook your head. " No... I'm fine"
"Is it health related? Why you don't drink?" He asked.
"I got low tolerance. Like really low" you explained too, to which he nodded. As if making mental notes.
The silence haunted the air again, making you fidget a bit... by the time jungwon's finished drinking his cup of wine. You asked him out of curiosity
" So.. you're a friend of Niki?"
"He's my cousin"
"Oh" you simply said. "He's talented and one of my students.. but I think you already know that"
Jungwon's hummed looking at you, how apparently you were too nervous. But he couldn't help but find it adorable. "I keep on hearing a lot about you. From Niki himself. That you earned your position from a young age"
"I guess, I got lucky"Â you explained.
"How young are you?" He asked, curious again.
"26 years" you answered, and he smiled.
"Why?"
"No it's just, I'm 24" to which you gasped. He laughed at your reaction.
He laughed. His face lights up whenever he smiles, and it took you off guard too.
"Why did you gasp like that?" He asked not noticing you were staring at him.
"Nothing... it's just.... I don't know why I expected you to be older"
"Oh" he teased you. With a glint in his eyes.
Suddenly there was no more nerves eating you. Although your cheeks are reddened and your heartbeat picks up form time to time.
The waiter came back and took your order. Jungwon took care of it. And right as the waiter left, someone came to your table. Someone so familiar, but you couldn't put your finger in who it might be.
"Jay Hyung" Jungwon waved at the new comer.
It finally clicked. You saw him on the news with Jungwon before. His friend probably. Jay crossed his arms looking at Jungwon then at you, then back at Jungwon.
" I was wondering why you asked you reserve a table for you." He turned at you "I'm Park Jeongsong. Jungwon's friend you can call me Jay"
"Nice to meet you Jay" you smiled, the guy moments ago. Looked scary, you're sure because of his sharp features and sharp jawline. But turns out he's very talkative and kind.
He spent quite a bit exchanging conversations with Jungwon. Then left, saying he has matters in the kitchen to take care of.
An owner and a chef he was.
"You're staring too much" jungwon said when Jay left. "I mean at Jay"
"I know right" you said unaware of the feeling of jealousy that started to form in jungwon's chest. "He's very impressive. He looks like a gentleman"
"He isn't. He's annoying" Jungwon never dreamed that he would say such things about his favorite Hyung, but apparently he hates when you complimented other men.
Dinner came.
You ate in silence again, but you felt the weight of Jungwon's gaze on every move you make.
"You like it?" He asked.
"Do I like it?" You echoed "please, this is the best thing I've eaten. I wish I could have it everyday"
He smiled, he's glad you enjoyed it. So far, everything went well. Both of you probably forgot the reason why you are here. And just enjoyed each other's company.
Then, came the moment he has been waiting for.
"I have a project to complete in less than a month" he started "I already told you that it would be better if you become my model for this project."
"I understand"
"I tried to start working on without you being there" he explained "but I couldn't. I already told you this too about my face blindness, your face was my first time recognizing face features properly. That's why it's a bit...overwhelming."
You nodded, in addition to the weirdness of the visions and the dreams. "I guess... we were meant to meet then" you said too " Have you seen anymore dreams with me in it?"
"No. How about you?"
"Me neither" it was indeed abnormal, but a part of your wants to believe it was destiny. Or fate. Soulmates?
Whatever explains it.
"But something keeps on bugging me. If you don't mind me asking"
He said.
"You didn't accept it at first. And when you called me.. you sounded distressed... is there something wrong... that made you change your mind?"
"I think... that I fell for a scam?" You said "I'm not sure. But I'm currently under a great debt. And they asked me to pay my part earlier than planned"
"What?"
"I just didn't know what to do?"
Jungwon narrowed his eyes. "Tell me about it..."
So you told him all of it, how the agency offered giving you a loan as long as you pay it back slowly over the years, and how they asked for the sum back suddenly.
"That's actually dangerous" he told you "I'll look into it. They must have been tricking many people into this"
"You'll do that?"
"Of course" he said "I know someone who might help with this. He can hack into their database and find out what's their deal"
Relief washed over you, and that's thanks to Jungwon.
"Thank you. If what you're saying is right, they must have threatened other people too"
"You're welcome"
On the way out he dealt with the bill, even when Jay insisted that it's on the house, but jungwon apparently paid nonetheless.
And he lead you back to his car, you almost tripped on your own feet when he caught your hand.
"Careful" he said as he interlocked his fingers with yours, leading you slowly towards the passenger seat.
Opening the door for you, adjusting your seatbelt.
All the actions that left you red in the face, and he apparently noticed it.
"Thank you for the night, Jungwon" you said when both of you reached your doorstep.
"You keep saying that" he scratchd the back of his neck in embarrassement "We'll meet tomorrow. At your workshop?"
"Why!"
"Well, i usually work in my apartment... I'll pick you up after your last class"
"Oh... alright" you nodded. Then you parted ways, once you came inside your apartment you were met with the smell of roses with spread in your apartment.
Even after splitting up, you are reminded once again with him... like always.
Next morning you woke up, quite in a good mood. you have to give few lecture, a meeting with administrations about the upcoming midterms. And after getting done with all of these tasks, you went to spend some time in your workshop.
You were in quite a good mood, which was unusual. So you sat after you wore your apron.
And started painting.
At first nothing came to mind, but slowly a familiar shape started appearing on the canvas.
A vase and roses.
And automatically your thoughts went back to him.
You shook your head, and focused more on drawing the details of the petals and the right ratio between light and shadow.
But before you finish it, a knock on your door disturbed your flow state.
It was Niki. His head popped through the doorframe.
"Come in" you invited him putting your brush down.
"Jungwon just called me. He said he's on the way to pick you up" he informed you.
"Why didn't he text me then?"
"He didn't want to disturb you in case you were busy" he shrugged "he told me to just check on you. I'm sorry if I disturbed you"
"Its okay" you said after washing your hand in an old sink that was right in the corner of the workshop "I was waiting for the time to pass too"
He nodded looking at what you drawn.
"Do you like it? I still didn't finish it yet" you said having brought a chair for him to sit on.
"It is beautiful. You should really paint more" he said.
"Hmm. Thank you" you said. "Help me finish it then, while we wait for Jungwon"
Soon enough Jungwon came in after you added the final touches. He saw you sitting there with Niki, both, completely immersed in your task.
"What are you drawing?" He came closer untill he reached you. Then he threw a curious glance at the painting that occupied you.
His gaze warmed up, when you looked at him and smiled. He returned it too.
Niki had to roll his eyes.
On the way to his house, he turned on the music. Again another jazz song.
"So you like jazz?" You said breaking the silence, only not because it was uncomfortable. But you were curious now. You have always been curious about him, even when you refused to think about him too much.
"I like it, yeah" he turned to look at you briefly "you don't?"
"No. It's good." You shook your head, to which he nodded.
You haven't said a thing again, only listen to your own heartbeat. Nervous, again but at this point it was a normal reaction whenever you're around Jungwon.
His smell engulfed you, and you can't escape it at this point.
"I have good news for you" you looked at him, he was focused on the road ahead of him. "That agency you talked about yesterday, it got reported.. although it will take time to investigate it"
Your eyes widened.
That fast? He actually went ahead and looked into it?
"Oh my..." you said, but Jungwon looked back at you "You don't have to worry about paying the debt, there will be some legal measures against the agency. I contacted them,... I'll deal with it."
You couldn't believe your ears "that's too much Jungwon, I don't know how to repay you"
He kept silent for some time, he gulped. Licked his slightly dry lips before saying "Don't repay me... just give me all your attention"
Attention? You didn't get it. What he meant by attention, but you dropped it for now.
His house was a two story house, and it was so pretty. You forgot that the man you're seeing now is a famous painter.
And he invited you in, the living room was a bit messy "my friends must have dropped by and didn't clean after themselves."
You laughed, he was truly annoyed that his face was adorable.
He just looked at you again mesmerized by your laugh.
Then he lead you towards a room, where all painting supplies sat.
Some paintings were hanged on the wall, and some were on the floor.
In a painting there was a cat, in an another a landscape. And he was quite talented of course. But in most of them, there was no human face, whenever he drew people their faces were blurred. As if he's describing what he sees.
"You can sit here" he sat pointing at a chair right in front of him.
He was preparing his brushes and palette.
You looked around a bit more. "What am I supposed to do?"
"Just sit there, and smile" he stopped fidgeting with the brushes and looked at you again. "Can I make a request? And I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable"
"What is it?"
"In my dreams, you always wore a dress... it showed your shoulders" he gulped "I was wondering if we could recreate that?"
You tensed up. You didn't reply for a while, that Jungwon thought he messed up "It's okay... no need to do that"
" No... it's fine" you said. You slowly reached for your own black vest to remove it with trembling hands.
Your undershirt was a white one with straps. And you were shaking a bit under the intense gaze of jungwon.
On the other hand he narrowed his eyes at a specific dot on you right collar bone.
It was indeed you. That mole, he have seen it multiple times on his dreams. He let out a shaky breath.
But, he stepped up to you. You whose cheeks were inflamed and who avoided his gaze.
He stopped right in front of you then you looked up at him. He leaned over you, looking at you up close.
From your eyes.
Nose.
Lips.
Neck.
Then shoulders.
His fingers now moved and grazed your cheeks as if experimenting... and slowly it went down your throat and neck ... until his hands were on your shoulder.
He removed one strap slowly, and you let him. Then the second. You were burning from.... Embarassement?
No it wasn't that.
You didn't dwell too much on it. This was what you agreed on.
He rose to his height and smiled , more like a smirk. "That. now, it looks better"
Then he went back to his seat. Leaving you with a beating heart. One that refused to calm down under the wayching gaze of Jungwon. Something intimate that refused to calmly address for now.
More days go by, and your sessions with Jungwon became a sort of a routine. But you never got used to it.
You still squirm, and he would tell you to ease up a little and smile. As if he wasn't standing there analyzing you from head to toe...
You started wearing strapless shirts - and strapless bras- underneath you dress shirts specifically for these sessions.
The removing straps incident still affected you, you would think about late at night before you go to sleep. And squeal then from embarrassment.
He would always pick you up, never leaving you with the option to go alone somewhere. He even accompanied you to grocery shopping now.
One day you suggested that you go by yourself if he was busy, he looked so offended "just say you hate me now"
You sighed, laughing, thinking about it, as you sat again in front of him in his house.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing" you said as you removed your vest, which still made you feel embarrassed... but you were less shaky about it. "How long will it take you to finish the painting"
He froze a bit, and you were able to notice it. He resumed his work "why? Are you starting to get bored?"
"Well... you said you had a deadline"
"It's still so far" you hummed.
A bit later he worked in silence, catching you facial details in the painting. And he was currently working on your lips.
It affected his focus, because he caught himself staring at you. Distract by some thoughts.
How does it feel to kiss you?
How soft are your lips?
How do you like to be kissed?
On the other hand you noticed he was frowning. And you couldn't help but think it was adorable. Not aware that he was looking for a string of focus back.
A knock on the door stopped him. "Come in"
Your jaw dropped one second before you recollected yourself. The guy, who just came in right now, is probably the most handsome man you've ever seen.
"Sunghoon" Jungwon's voice dropped. "What do you want"
Sunghoon noticed the change in tone but didn't address it. "The art magazine is asking for an interview tomorrow. I thought I must ask you first."
"I'll be there, I have nothing planned tomorrow" he sighed "just go, you interrupted us.â
Sunghoon then scan the room and his eyes landed on you. It made you tense up, your shoulders were bare and you are intimidated by him.
"Alright. I apologize" he said and left quickly.
Your gaze unconsciously followed his steps. He was indeed real not a mere product of your imagination.
But before you dwell more about him, you heard Jungwon's footsteps stop right in front of you.
You turned to look ahead, and he was indeed in front of you. Leaning a bit. So you looked up at him.
"Who was that" you gulped, in intent to look less nervous than you actually are.
"My manager" Jungwon answered, but his voice changed to somewhat darker.
"Oh" you answered but you couldn't meet his intense gaze anymore.
But before you look down his hand went to your jaw, making you look at him again.
"Why were you staring at him?" He asked in his low voice, devoid of his usual kindness.
You were not sure why he's acting this way. "I - I just thought he looked so handsome."
Handsome?
Jungwon jaw clenched. His jealousy getting the best of him at this point. He couldn't bear you looking at anyone else.
"Aren't I handsome enough" he asked "Didn't I just ask you to give me your attention. All of it. It's not so much to ask for"
You gulped more, realization hitting you at once. He was jealous.
"I think you're good looking" you said in an attempt to have him calm down. But it was too late.
He just kissed you. Both his hands on your cheeks and his lips engulfed yours in a kiss.
He angled his face to kiss you deeper, and when it wasn't enough he bit your bottom lips.
As you ran out of breath he leaned back. Eyes unfocused, or rather focused only on you. And your lips, the same lips he was trying to draw as they are.
Now he can feel them, and touch them.
He pulled you up now, but you still had to look up at him because of height difference.
He leaned on you neck now, drawing a trail of kisses with his lips. Slowly he reached you collar bone.
He bit it. And started marking it, sucking slightly and sometimes teasing.
You were in a daze, being kissed by the same person whom you dreamt about, whom you dream about holding.
And then you realized maybe it was fate that brought you two together. Maybe just maybe, soulmates do exist.
(ë°ìą ì±) In which - You have to stitch up your high school enemy after eight years⊠and somehow his âmoving furnitureâ accident looks exactly like a stab wound.
~2.0K
Warnings / Tags: enemies, slow burn, fluff, stab wound, medical procedures, sutures/stitching, needles, hospital setting, mentions of bullying
now playing â§âËâȘ : Do I Wanna Know by Dove Cameron
The fluorescent lights of the hospital cafeteria buzzed overhead, casting that sickly pale glow that made everyone look like a corpse. Not that I cared anymore; after two years of residency, I'd gotten used to eating my midnight meals under these lights, surrounded by the smell of antiseptic and stale coffee.
Tonight's culinary delight was a cup of instant ramen, the cheap kind that came in a styrofoam cup. I'd added an extra slice of cheese on top because I was feeling fancy. Doctor Kim sat across from me, slurping his own noodles with the enthusiasm of a man who'd been on his feet for twelve hours straight.
"You know," he said between bites, "I've been doing this for twenty years, and I still haven't figured out why hospital ramen tastes better at 2 AM."
"Survival instinct," I mumbled, twirling my chopsticks. "Your brain knows you need the calories, so it tricks your taste buds."
Doctor Kim laughed, a low, tired sound. "Smart as always, Choi. You sure you don't want to specialize in internal medicine? We could use someone with your head for diagnostics."
"Cardiology," I corrected him for the hundredth time. "I'm going to fix hearts."
"Fix hearts," he repeated, shaking his head. "You and your big dreams. I remember when you were just a med student crying over anatomy exams."
"That was you, Doctor Kim. Not me."
He was about to retort when the cafeteria doors burst open with enough force to make both of us jump. Yuna came storming in, her clipboard clutched to her chest like a shield, her eyes wide with that particular brand of panic that only a college intern could muster.
"Doctor Kim! Doctor Choi!" she gasped, skidding to a stop at our table. "Emergency! Room 7D!"
Doctor Kim groaned, setting down his chopsticks. "I can never have a good night meal!â
"No worries, sir. I can do it," I said, already standing up. The ramen could wait. "You can eat further."
Kim looked at me, surprised. "You sure? It's your break too."
"Positive." I grabbed my stethoscope from around my neck. "Yuna, walk with me. Give me the details."
Kim shrugged and returned to his noodles as I strode out of the cafeteria, Yuna trotting beside me like an eager puppy. She was a good kid; talkative, but good. Her enthusiasm for hospital work reminded me of myself six years ago, before the exhaustion had settled into my bones. She's here for her college internship. She's a very talkative, bubbly girl.
Yuna took a breath. "Mr. Park came in about 5 minutes ago. He says he was moving furniture and a piece of metal scraped him, but I personally think he was stabbed."
âStabbed?!â I asked, shocked. âYeah! It's a very clean cut, nothing like an accidental mistake while moving furniture.â she said, still walking beside me.
"Okayy..." I prompted, "So, Mr. Park; is he registered in our system?"
"Yes! Mr. Park Jong-seong. He's registered in our system! He's actually a VIP patient. He makes huge donations to the hospital every year. He's also the CEO of one of Seoul's biggest companies! one of my boyfriend works there. He always bring the coolest gadgets home!" Yuna said.
I nodded, half-listening. The hallways of the hospital at night were quieter than during the day, but never silent. Machines beeped, IV drips hissed, and somewhere a patient was talking in their sleep. The smell of bleach and medicine clung to everything.
"He's tall," Yuna continued, her voice taking on a dreamy quality. "Like, really tall. And handsome. Like, handsome handsome. I almost forgot to take his vitals."
"Focus, Yuna."
"Right, sorry. Deep wound on his left side, just below the ribs. Bleeding was controlled when he came in, but it's still oozing. He's alert, oriented, a little irritable. Refused pain meds."
Refused pain meds. That was either very brave or very stupid. I'd find out soon enough.
We reached the door to room 7D. I paused, taking a breath. Standard procedure. Nothing new. Just another wound to stitch up, another patient to patch together and send on their way.
"I'll take it from here," I told Yuna. "Go back to the front desk. And Yuna; try not to announce 'stabbing' to the entire waiting room next time."
She flushed. "Sorry, Doctor Choi."
I pushed open the door.
The room was standard; curtains pulled around the bed, a single chair, a tray of instruments. The overhead light was on, casting sharp shadows. And there, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to me, was a man.
He was already half-undressed, his white dress shirt hanging open, revealing the broad expanse of his back. A bloodstained cloth was pressed against his side. Even from behind, I could see the tension in his shoulders, the rigid line of his spine.
I went over to the sink to wash my hands and put on a fresh pair of gloves. "Goodnight, Mr. Park," I said, keeping my voice professional. "I heard you were stabâ" Fuck, Yuna. "âuh, you were moving furniture and a piece of metal scraped you?"
I turned around, drying my hands, and walked toward the bed.
He turned his head.
And the world stopped.
what the fuck.
I know it's 2 a.m., and I haven't seen my bed in about thirteen hours, but this can't be.
I'm hallucinating. im seeing Jay?
Jay Park. Jong-seong fucking Park.
Eight years. Eight years since I'd last seen him.
"Choi?!" His voice cracked on the last syllable.
"Doctor Choi; Yes." I forced my voice to stay level, ignoring the sudden hammering in my chest. "Can you please show me where the wound is?"
The coldness in my tone was deliberate. A wall. A shield. He caught it immediately. I saw the flicker cross his face before he schooled his expression into neutrality. Without a word, he shrugged off his shirt completely.
Full upper body. Naked.
My breath caught in my throat.
When. Fuck. When did he get ripped?
I'd seen my share of fit bodies in the ER; athletes, soldiers, the occasional gym enthusiast who pushed too hard. But Jay's body was something else, fuck. The wound was really a deep one. Angry gash just below his ribs on the left side, stood out like a dark accusation against all that stupid muscle. There was no way that was caused by some piece of metal.
I've seen these kinds of wounds before. Street fights. People who owed the wrong people money. People who were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. But this one was different. Usually, there are more. More cuts. More bruises. More signs of a struggle.
This was just one clean wound, and that was it. Nothing else. As if he... won the fight?
I forced myself to focus on the body; wound! Fuck. The wound. Get it together, Choi. You're a doctor and thats JAY FUCKING PARK?! You know your highschool bully?
I pulled up a rolling stool and sat down beside him. Up close, I could see the sweat on his brow. He was in pain, even if he refused to show it.
"This is a very deep wound, Mr. Park." I pressed gently around the edges, watching the way the skin pulled. "Are you sure it's fromâ"
"You don't need to ask questions, Doctor Choi." His voice was clipped, sharp. "Just stitch me up."
Fine. Two can play that game.
I reached for the suture kit, laying out the instruments with practiced efficiency. Lidocaine, needle, thread, sterile gauze. My hands moved automatically, muscle memory taking over.
"I'm going to numb the area first," I said, not meeting his eyes. "It will sting."
"Just do it."
I injected the lidocaine around the wound. He sucked in a sharp breath but didn't flinch. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the tendons in his neck standing out. The silence between us was thick, oppressive. The only sounds were the soft clicks of my instruments, the hum of the ventilation, and his steady breathing.
I began to stitch. The first pass of the needle through his skin was smooth, precise. I'd always been good at sutures; steady hands, a careful eye.
"You really became a doctor after all these years," he said suddenly, his voice rough.
I didn't look up. "Surprised?"
A pause. "I didn't think you'd make it this far," he said dryly. This bitch.
My jaw tightened, but I kept my hands steady. Another stitch. The needle pierced his skin, curved through, and emerged on the other side. "And yet, here I am. Stitching up your sorry ass."
A faint scoff. "You've still got that mouth on you."
"Some things don't change Park."
Another stitch. Another breath. The tension in the room was a living thing, coiling around us both. I was closeâso close I could see the individual pores on his skin, the sheen of sweat on his chest, the way his muscles twitched under my fingers.
"You were always going to be a doctor," he said, almost to himself. "I remember. You used to carry those anatomy flashcards everywhere. Even during lunch."
My hands paused for a fraction of a second. "You remember that?"
A faint scoff. "Of course I do, nerd."
The old nickname hit me like a slap. I felt my face change; the tightness in my jaw, the flash of old hurt that I couldn't quite hide. He saw it. I knew he did, because his expression shifted, something cracking behind those dark eyes.
"I'mâI'm sorry, I didn'tâ" he started, his voice stumbling over itself.
"You're done." The words came out cold, flat, cutting him off mid-sentence.
"What?!" Jayâs voice jumped with shock, almost defensive. "What do you mean?"
I didn't look up. I tied off the last stitch with a sharp, precise knot and reached for the scissors to cut the thread. "Your stitches. They're done, Mr. Park."
I stood up, turning away from him before he could see the tremor in my hands. I walked to the sink, stripping off my gloves with a snap. With my other hand, I reached up and pulled the claw clip from my hair, letting it fall loose around my shoulders as I turned on the faucet.
Behind me, I heard him stand. The rustle of fabric. Footsteps.
He stopped just behind me, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the blood and antiseptic and something clean underneath. His breath ghosted over the back of my neck.
His lips brushed my ear as he whispered, voice low and rough, "I used to bully you because I actually didn't know how to cope with my teenage feelings. I think you were the prettiest girl in the whole school Choi."
My hand froze on the faucet.
"Have a good night."
And then he was gone. The door clicked shut behind him.
I stood there, staring at the running water, my hair falling loose around my shoulders. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears.
I turned off the water and leaned on the sink, my head bowed. The reflection in the mirror showed me a stranger; a woman with flushed cheeks and wide eyes, looking like she'd just been hit by a truck.
Eight years. Eight years of burying those memories, of telling myself that high school didn't matter, that I had moved on.
And he had to go and say that.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. Then I reached for my phone and texted Yuna: Mr. Park is discharged. Make sure he gets his follow-up appointment scheduled Docter Kim please.
I ran my fingers through my hair, letting it fall around my shoulders. Then I walked out of room 7D, back into the fluorescent-lit hallway.
As i walk into the cafeteria, I see Doctor Kim still eating his noodles. He looked up at me, raised an eyebrow.
"You okay? You look like you saw a ghost."
"Something like that." I said, and sat back down to my cold ramen.
Warning: cringe writing I guess, human!heesung x vampire!reader. Not proofread.
Summary: Heesung is drawn by you, his assistant. But when he discovers your darkest secret, what would his reaction be.
Wc: 4k
Enjoy!
A/N: the epilogue is possible, just tell me if you want more, Iâll write it Anw, but your engagement motivates me to do so.
I see at my right, old seniors who act too tough and too knowing for their own sake.
I see to my left, idiotic bored interns who donât understand why theyâre here.
These people stink of rotten bloody flesh.
You sighed internally as you sat in the meeting room, an emergency meeting they said. But instead the seniors are spending their time criticizing people under them, while the CEO sits there and listens.
You looked at Heesung at your right who as much as he tried masking his annoyance, his furrowed eyebrows was telling.
âI seeâ Lee Heesung says, with a somewhat cold tone. âThe new products are not as efficient, but I hoped to get the reason why that happensâ
âLee deyeonim, i am telling you my team is full of crackheads. Weâre still trying to figure out where we went wrongâ Manager Seo said, too full of himself and shamelessly.
âI hope to get clear answers thenâ Heesung said, straightening up to leave. âThe meeting is not over yet, but I guess my assistant will help you discuss to reach a conclusion without meâ
So you nodded, as his assistant you complied and resumed the meeting.
Lee Heesung has a reputation of being serious, ambitious driven and firm. But everyone knows he has a soft side, itâs hard to get it out of him, but itâs known that it exists.
However, you have a reputation of your own in the company. You are much scarier and much more intimidating than Heesung.
As you sat at the head of the table, where Heesung used to be, with a straight posture and a sure attitude.
âManager Seoâ you said in your usual cold tone, and sweet smile that wasnât there for comfort but for warning.
Your lips painted by bright red lipstick, which very known about you. And you started talking.
âI would appreciate it if you tell me exactly why the campaign in 24 May failed. Why did you not report it?â
Manager Seo was in big trouble.
After the meeting you went towards Heesungâs office.
âCome inâ he said after the first knock.
âI would like to tell you that you might need to assign a new head for the marketing team. Preferably a younger one.â You laid a report showcasing the possible reasons why the new products didnât work.
You sat in the couch, slouching abut. You were exhausted from keeping a straight posture the whole day while wearing heals.
âManager Seo messed upâ he said. But he just skimed over it for now and put it aside. Maybe to look at it later on.
âOf course he didâ you said leaning in the couch âif you want suggestions I think Eunchae is a good option, although she has a distinct definition of dress codeâ
He laughed. A small huff that he wouldnât let out normally around others, but around you, he surprised himself how comfortable he felt around you. âI remember you telling me that youngsters are not to be put in serious positions right awayâ
âI said thatâ you confirmed âbut youngsters are much more creative and much more in touch with the target audience. Theyâre to be trusted sometimes in these thingsâ you explained while Heesung leaned on his chair to give you a knowing look.
âYou started to warm upâ He said. âDidnât expect that much from youâ
âWhateverâ you rolled your eyes. It was time you leave then, so you got up brushing the imaginary dust from your skirt.
âI have work to do. And Iâll stay late until sunsetâ you said.
âI knowâ he said dismissingly âno need to explain to me every timeâ
You left his office and headed towards your own desk, next to the entrance of the floor. He kept looking at you through the glass door. A knowing smile adorned his lips, but it disappeared as soon as it came.
Before you reached your destination , you met Sakura. A coworker. She was in a hurry and she clutched her hand so hard. Probably heading towards the bathroom.
Blood. You saw blood.
You froze in your place. âWhat happened?â You said a bit in a daze when she stopped in her tracks in front of you.
âOhâ she said âJust the cutter. I wasnât paying attentionâ
She explained but your eyes remained on her crimson hand.
Before you stare too much, you retreated your gaze âjust go clean it upâ you said a bit cold in your tone.
âYeah. Rightâ she said before hurrying to clean it up.
You stood there for a moment.
Damn, I am hungry.
You gulped. It was time for you to drink, so you decided to get yourself some blood after work.
You straightened your posture again and continued towards your desk. Unaware that He was watching you the whole time.
It was now evening, and you were still in office. Finishing the work you were assigned today.
But you werenât just waiting for that workload to end.
You were hungry. And if you were lucky there would be some bird or cat that could serve as your meal.
Last time you drank blood was a week ago, and you almost got caught. Your neighbors are as insomniac as an owl. So you ruled that itâs better not to bring any dead animal corpse around your apartment.
You got up carefully and headed outside, you noticed that the floor was totally empty and only you remained there.
You left the building, and scanned the area with your enhanced senses. You tried to catch anything at that point.
And you did.
A crow. It looked back at you with curiosity or even fear.
It sat on the railing that surrounded the company building. You were ready with your fangs and all.
But a voice disturbed the silence of the night. Causing the crow to fly away.
You turned around and found Heesung. Where did he come from you have no idea.
âAre you okay?â He asked, tone worried. You were sure you looked miserable, it happens when youâre craving blood. Your body are would look paler, and you body weaker. Not drinking blood caused you to lose weight quickly too.
And now Heesung is right there in front of you, your hunger made it so that you can feel the blood pumping in his veins from where you stand. Which is not too far from him.
But not only that, you could also smell a different blood. Around him.
âIâm fineâ you felt your pupils dilating, you vision turning red even. You tried to avert your eyes from his.
He is going to discover your secret at this rate. You thought.
But the next thing he said made your immortal heart stop beating for a second.
âYouâre in need of thisâ he said, you heard him extend something that smelled so, so good.
Blood. Blood. Blood.
You stared at it. It was a plastic bag filled with fresh blood.
All the right questions left your mind at that moment.
How does he know?
When did he know that?
Why does he have that?
But instead asking yourself these, you took the bag. You sinked your fangs in the plastic and started drinking it hurriedly.
You dropped to your knee, and took the position of a predator who was preying on a weaker species.
He, instead of running away, or instead of fearing what he saw. Instead of fearing youâŠ
He too kneeled, he engulfed you in a soothing embrace. His mortal smell covered your senses while you sucked on the last drops of blood.
Your lips that were once covered with red lipsticks, now they were covered in blood.
You breathed in, your hands clutched his shirt.
âItâs fineâ he said âI got youâ his hand moved on your back, slowly as you regained your senses.
Your consciousness came back at you, replacing your instincts. You finally got to realize the gravity of the situation you were at.
Heesung, your human boss, knew about who you really were. and instead of running away he helped you.
You pushed him back, standing up away from him. He did the same, keeping a safe distance between you. Even if it wasnât a wide gap.
âWhat was that?â you asked sharply. Your lips painted hissed, almost, an attempt to look scarier. Were you angry? Or threatened?
âIs this how you thank meâ he said amused even, refusing to fear you. And you didnât get it.
âExplain yourself. Lee Heesungâ you bit your lips in nervousness.
What if this was a trap? Did he conspire with someone to expose you. Last time you checked the vampire hunters no longer existed.
He didnât answer right away, but he came closer to you.
You backed away. Not sure why. You were sure you were stronger than him, for Godâs sake.
But you knew better than to trust humans. And their cunning traps.
âItâs better if we go somewhere safer to talkâ he said âand itâs better if nobody sees us drenched in blood tooâ
You were not sure how he convinced you to accompany him in his car. But you sat at the passenger seat.
Clothes still dirty. You wiped your bloodied mouth with a paper towel. while he kept his eyes on the road.
His house was a beautiful penthouse. One you dreamt about getting after you retire. Even though , as a vampire you couldnât save enough for it.
You followed him inside, and he immediately invited you in.
âYou should take a bathâ he said âI have something for you to change intoâ
He lead towards the bathroom in his personal bedroom. And once he clicked the door shut. You exhaled.
You took the bath indeed, finally you can relax. Drinking blood is an experience of itself. Your fangs havenât retreated back yet. And you saw your eyes in the mirror- yes, vampires have reflections, not all the myths are true- glow still in crimson red.
There was a knock on the door when you turned off the showers, and you wrapped yourself in a towel.
âYou can come in nowâ you said.
Heesung did as told, to see you there only wrapped in a towel in his bathroom.
You looked smaller and less sharp and ⊠so pretty. The makeup that was used to reduce your paleness disappeared and the wiped red lipstick finally showed the pink color of your rosy lips.
Heesung ignored these thoughts, for now.
âThese are my shirt and sweats. Itâs more comfortable.â He said cheeks tainted in pink.
âHold on. Iâm not staying over. Iâm here to just âŠ.â
âI know but I canât let you go like that. Your fangs are yet to go back to their normal sizeâ Heesung simply pointed out.
And he was right. It usually takes time to recover from drinking blood, especially if not taken daily.
You wouldnât want your nosy neighbors to see you by mistake with fangs in your mouth.
So you complied. Heesung left you to dress into his clothes. Which were impossibly bigger and larger.
You looked back at yourself in the mirror. Already regretting it.
When you left the bathroom, you found him in bedroom shirtless. He discarded his bloodied shirt and was looking for a new one.
He looked back at you, scanning you from head to toe. You looked much smaller in his clothes, and he had to stop himself from cooing at you. But knowing you youâd drain him from blood if you find out his thoughts. Which he doesnât mind too much.
And you did the same. You didnât expect youâd see your boss half naked. But you took this opportunity anyway.
He wasnât so bulky but still broad shouldered and with defined torso.
âIâll take a shower too. If you donât mind. It wonât be longâ he said and hurried towards the bathroom.
So you waited. You explored his bedroom a bit. It was boring. It only concisted of necessary furniture. You expected nothing less from him, anyway.
But you spotted a bright red bag. So you peaked inside.
Women clothes. A formal suit.
You concluded it was for you to change to tomorrow, since yours now is bloodied.
He could have just used the laundry. But No, he had to go out of his way to buy you more expensive clothes.
The door opened again, so you saw him. Wet messy hair that still dripped from the shower and he wore some cozy clothes.
You stared at him long. âSo are you going to explainâ you tried acting tough, like in the broad meetings. But in these circumstances, you were not doing a great job. With your folded arms, and in his clothes.
âRightâ he said âwhat do you want to know first?â He sat on the bed and patted the space next to him. You reluctantly went over and sat a bit far from him.
âHow did you know I was, well, a monster?â
âYouâre not a monsterâ he frowned. As if he hated to call you that, and refused to even let you call yourself a monster.
âWell yeah.â You rolled your eyes urging him to talk.
âIt was at first curiosity.â He said. âWhen you refused to join company dinners. Then, one day, while working, I saw you by mistake through security camera ⊠hunt a cat before.â
âAnd you were not scared the whole time?â You wondered. During your whole life, humans always tried to either kill you or stay away once they found out what you really are. Heesung didnât, you didnât notice any change in his behavior. Not the fast heartbeats, nor the pace of blood slowing in the veins then pumping harder out of fear.
âI observed more, a bit more. I thought I must be dreaming. Before I concluded what I was seeing was indeed abnormal, but realâ he said.
âAre now you helped me? Why?â
âAfter a month of observing you, i was trying to keep myself calm. To see if you were dangerous or not. And after all. I deduced, that you were indeed safe. There are many instances when you were exposed to human blood. But still didnât lose control. You only preyed on animals. And at specific periods of time. And thatâs at the peak of your hungerâ he said. He was right, that you avoided human blood, that you stopped yourself from drinking it, and only consumed enough when your hanger became unbearable.
âBut Iâm not doing this for a principal.â You said cutting the heavy silence â I am doing this because I canât afford being caughtâ
âWhy? Arenât you strong enough. I was sure that if you wanted you couldâ he said again, curious. As if he wanted to understand you. Not just judge you.
âIâm a vampire. A lower class one. I survive by enough animal blood, and by hiding. This is what Iâve done throughout my whole life. Iâm not a strong one. Yes, I could be stronger than the average man. But I donât have extraordinary strength. I would also get punished for exposing my species.â You explained with half an exhale.
âBut⊠you could haveâ He asked eyes curious, boring into your dark orbs.
His doe eyes reminded of something human. Care, concern. Or something similar.
You forgot that you were a monster who sucks animals blood, and that he was a CEO with a rumored cold personality.
And both of you sat there discussing the morality of drinking humans blood.
You gave him finally an answer, one that isnât coated by a rough exterior made for survival or persistence to live. âI was once human, tooâ you said almost like youâre grieving.
âI was turned two thousand years ago. And I understand how horrific it is.â
He stayed silent. Not uttering a single word.
It was then midnight. Then he finally talked.
âYou can rest hereâ he said getting out of the bedroom.
âWhat about you?â
âIâll be in the living room. Just sleep well. Donât worry about a thingâ
You wanted to say thanks, but those manners you donât have it in you, thousands of years of survival. You didnât bother to learn courtesy.
âAre you not afraid⊠that Iâll bite you and drink your blood? I could have have just lied to have your guards downâ
He leaned on the doorway smirking. âThen just so you know. You have my full permission to do so. Next time youâre hungry, please bite meâ
He said that and closed the door.
But before you disappear from his sight, he noticed your tinted cheeks, and your expression of being taken aback. You didnât look like a predator.
He leaned on the wooden door, clutching his left chest.
He canât stop thinking about it, how adorable you looked even when you try to act the opposite.
It has been months since he first met you, to work for him. And he couldnât lie to himself that he was drawn to you the whole time.
And now that he discovered that you were a creature that suffered long to survive, who still couldnât bring herself to cause negative impact on other peopleâs life.
He swore it that day, that heâll be the one to protect you. A mere human he was, but for you âŠ. he will offer anything for you.
It wasnât rational how he felt about you. He was aware that a much more normal reaction would fear and doubt.
But there he was, restraining himself from storming back in and kissing your pale cheeks, pale neck and rosy lips.
Next morning, you were sprawled in Heesungâs bed.
You werenât able to sleep, well you werenât in need of it. You, were Hugh in energy after feeding yourself last night. But still, It helped you with easing your nerves.
And right now, you would like to forget about a certain cold CEO to whom you uncovered your darkest secrets.
And not only that but he also, is not refuted by you. And instead he helped you, held you and kept you in his house.
You got up, and looked for the clothes he mentioned he got you earlier that night.
The formal black suit, like the ones you seen on Pinterest only better. You changed quickly into that after taking a shower.
You didnât have your red lipstick with you, or your set of makeup.
Damn it.
It was what helped you blend with humans. But now you have to go around, looking sick.
But it was almost time for work, and it was the least of your worries.
Shit.
He said heâll drive you, if you both were late then it would surely send the wrong message in the workplace.
So you went out, and headed downstairs. You noticed him immediately on the couch. His laptop wide open on his reports. But he was in deep slumber.
Donât tell me he slept here. Oh, right. I was in his bedroom.
So you decided to wake him up.
âHeesungâ you shakes him a bit. But he didnât budge, you sighed and tried more. âHeesung. Wake upâ
He moved a bit but, he was still in dreamland.
Then you heard him, quietly mumble.
It was your name.
You froze. What?
Before you even interpret it in anyway, you decided to use the hard way. You dropped you voice this time and called his name. âLee Heesung. If you donât wake up nowâŠâ
You didnât get to finish your sentence. He grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you to him.
You fell right on top of him, head buried in his chest.
In fake anger you lifted your head and saw him stare down at you. His expression stoned, but you could see the amusement in his eyes.
âYou talk too muchâ he said âI already sent an email that we would be late. So donât worry your little headâ
âThat would send the wrong-â
âDonât worry about itâ
He said, but you still wanted to protest. However, there was something that shut you up.
Warmth.
Something you havenât felt since your human years, when you were full of life. But now, you were a cold monster.
He, on the their hand radiated heat, as if he had a fever.
The contrast was⊠scary.
Still, you leaned on his chest, a little bit longer. Your hands clutched his shirt, and underneath them his heart beat.
As you both were cuddling he asked you.
âYou donât get burned by the sun. Do you?â You rose to look at him. He was looking at your soul. His eyes filled with something you couldnât name.
âWhen I donât drinkâ you answered.
âDo you like⊠need blood often?â He asked again.
âNoâ you said ânot daily, it depends on my energy. If I used up too much, I need a refillâ
âOhâ
âI have a question for you tooâ you said raising you head meeting his gaze âwhere did you get that plastic bag yesterday?â
âI ordered itâ
âWhat?â
âWellâ he gulped âthere is a friend of mine who have stocks of animals blood. Itâs nothing suspicious, i told him itâs for a Halloween party in the companyâ
âYou want to hold a Halloween party?â
âThe best excuse I could come up withâ he stilled for a second âmaybe, I should do soâ
You giggled at the thought. Heesung who worked so well on maintaining his reputation suddenly in a Halloween party. It was silly you laughed out loud.
And he spent a second too long looking at that smile.
You were now aware of his gaze so you got up. âGet up. I want to go to workâ
He did raise himself after too. âRight. Iâm starting to fear they set the building on fire at this pointâ
He went to shower, but before he told you. âThereâs a stock for you in the fridge. If you want to⊠suit yourselfâ
âStock?â You asked âwell thatâs too much. Why would you do that?â
âWell in case youâre tired hunting animals in my companyâs yardâ
âIt was only one timeâ you rolled your eyes.
âAnyway, youâre welcome if you need ⊠a refillâ
He went to shower, so you did go to the kitchen. There was a smaller fridge. And when you open it, there was indeed at least 30 blood bags.
Enough for 8 months.
You sat back in the couch waiting for Lee Heesungâs arrival.
It seemed unreal, Heesung who was no more than your employer now had done so much. Invited you in your home and provided you with your only source of energy, and most importantly⊠trusted you.
Your heart clenched. You donât remember the last time youâve received such treatment. Either because of your sour personality or your natural instincts.
His footsteps brought you back. âLetâs go?â
You nodded.
Months later, you worked alongside Heesung. Nothing has changed.
To your coworkers, you both have always worked well together. It was always professional between you both, although it was obvious Heesung has a favorite.
So, yeah, Nothinh at all changed.
Other than you sharing glances and unsaid words.
Other than the dark secret you hid from everyone other than him.
Other than the matching heartbeat.
Other than the casual physical contact, when you hand him his coffee or a stack of papers.
Other than the visits to his house when he notices that you were hungry again, when it shows on your posture and your dry lips.
Heesung became someone you relied on. And so did he.
He relied on you to nag at the incompetent people at work.
He relied on you to make his mood when heâs drowning in paperwork, even if by your sarcastic comments.
He relied on you, relied on your presence, he relied on your scent.
A scent that spoke danger, but which also drawn him more to you.
It was attraction. Need. Desire.
A vampire, if he tried to explain to anyone even to himself he would sound crazy.
He liked you. He knew it. But it was even before all of this started.
When he hired you, you looked driven. You made it sure in the meeting. Maybe it was your boldness, the direct eye contact and the red lipstick you always wore.
But behind all of the confidence, he discovered that there was a need of safety. Like someone who fought so hard to survive for centuries.
Through your own work, persistence and motivation.
Assistant work was not easy, but you did it to perfection. To survive.
Now that he discovered what you really are, why you tried so hard. He couldnât let go.
He wouldnât deny that he was scared too at first. But he decided to go about it calmly.
He knew that you were indeed kind. No matter how much you try to show the opposite, again as if to survive and to protect yourself from a possible harm.
But, he could see how you respect the seniors even when they talk more than work.
How you valued the abilities of younger employee who have a potential to grow.
And he couldnât turn a blind eye to that, even if you drink blood to live. Even if you were a little bit different.
And as he offered help, and slowly you started accepting it. He couldnât feel happier, even though he would always desire more.
If you sat next to him, he would want to bring you closer. Have you sit on his lap so he can kiss your neck.
If you hands touched, he would want to hold it. And kiss your knuckles over and over again.
When youâre hungry, he would like to offer you his neck too. But he never did.
He didnât want to scare you. Because even as a vampire , you were still something fragile he wants to hold preciously in arms.
âI hate my face without make upâ you said one day, when you stayed over in his penthouse â I look⊠I donât look normalâ
Heesung felt his heart ache. What you mean ? Not normal?
â you always look goodâ he tried convincing you, without exposing himself that he liked seeing you bare face. That he thought about kissing every part of it multiple times.
âRemember when all of the head managers kept asking you for tips against agingâ
âTheyâre lucky I donât feed on humans. They they called me old in the rudest way possibleâ
âBut you look so goodâ
âItâs just because of lipstickâ you said âit diverts attention from my faceâ
You explained, but as you did Heesung gaze went to your lips.
He couldnât hold it anymore.
He leaned in and kissed you. You were surprised, but you saw it coming and you let it happen. You couldnât stop yourself from the realization that youâre warming up to Heesung. A human.
But he was there all the time. For you. And you did not realized how much you needed someone like him.
You let your lips do the talk. A first, slow rhythm. But it suddenly escalated and both of you were too hungry for more.
Your fangs grazed Heesung lips, and you tasted his blood. You broke the kiss immediately.
âHey itâs okayâ he said.
You were breathing hard from the taste of human blood.
The line you always stopped yourself from crossing.
âIâm sorryâ you broke out.
Heesung immediately acted when he saw tears in your eyes. â Hey. Look at me Iâm fineâ you refused to look at him. The reality made itself known, what you are. A monster.
âPlease donât apologizeâ he said. But you were calming down.
He then held your waist, and carried you to have you on his lap.
He sang. It was not the first time you heard him, but every time you were amazed by the emotions in his voice.
You didnât expect it from him, to be so full of emotions like that. But you were different than the rest of his team.
Soon enough you breathed normally.
âHeesungâ you started. And he hummed confirming that he listened to you.
âI was not joking, when I said you can bite meâ he said âbut, I understand it must be overwhelming for you. If you ever wanted to. You could just go ahead and drink my bloodâ
âI donât know if Iâll ever control myselfâ you said â what if I hurt you?â
âYou wonât.â
So you did that night.
You sank your fangs in his neck, after so much encouragement.
And Heesung only moaned. It wasnât meant to be sensual.
But he held you as you drank his blood. And after a while you stopped.
Heesung felt dizzy, not sure if from the blood loss of the intensity of the act.
His cheeks flushed a little too, and his chest raised and fell.
âI love youâ He murmured â I am in love with you.â
He said finally before he crashed his lips onto yours.
genre: childhood friends to lovers, smut, university-ish au
word count: 23.0k
warnings: smut (mndi), swearing, alcohol consumption, post graduation existentialism, the horrors of the modern job market, jealousy, insecurity, itty bitty age gap (reader is one year older), heâs obsessed heâs possessive heâs jealous but in a very jungwon way
note: I in fact did not keep it under 20k #oops. But I had lots of you in my comments and inbox telling me that you prefer longer fics anyway, so I hope you enjoy all 23k words of jungwon who years and pines over his childhood bestie <3
â.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ë
One year your junior and a constant fixture in your life since before you lost your baby teeth, Yang Jungwon has always existed in a category of his own. You donât see him as a brother, but you donât see him as a man. Heâs just⊠Jungwon. Steady, reliable, consistent Jungwon whoâs always there when you need him.
Itâs why you feel comfortable admitting to him the latest addition to your list of post-graduation anxieties:Â dating. Namely, the fact that no matter what you try, you just canât seem to make it work. To make a connection stick. But Jungwon, despite all of his typical predictability, doesnât take your complaints quite the way you expect him to.
or, you tell Jungwon that you think boys just donât like you and he doesnât think heâs ever heard anything quite so ridiculous.
â.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ë
If you look at it from a distance and squint, there really isnât anything wrong with Park Sunghoon.Â
In fact, if anything, he might be a little bit out of your league. With full lips, an easy smile, and long, dark hair that dusts over the angular planes of his cheekbones, heâs a sight for sore eyes. Especially since they are rather sore. Your eyes, that is.
Youâve spent the last week fine tuning your resume for all thirty-six job applications you fired off with crossed fingers and a silent prayer. Your daily screen time is reaching dangerous levels, and you doubt the blue light blocking glasses you picked up from the dollar store are doing much to mitigate the effects of it.
Life post-graduation has been like this, more or less. Six months ago, officially earning your university diploma felt like victory, like the end of a hard earned battle.
But now, you arenât so sure. Not when the last one hundred eighty days have been nearly identical copies of monotonous despair, one rejected job application after another.Â
A cover letter here, a mission statement there, a detailed history of your personal opinion on the role of social media in modern society â that one had been for a marketing gig that you werenât even interested in, not if the advertised salary were as low as the posting claimed. But at this point, you were starting to get desperate.
And still, itâs all been to no avail. Rejection after rejection. Ghosting after ghosting. Ridiculous, you think. These are hiring departments after all, not some frat boy you hooked up with last Friday after one too many shots of tequila. All your effort surely warrants at the very least a response.
But forty-seven of the eighty-nine jobs youâve applied to in the last month seem to disagree.
And itâs not like you hate the part time gig you picked up at the flower shop a few blocks away from your apartment, but you didnât work your ass off for four years, earning your degree in a specialized field, just to spend the rest of your life explaining the differences between roses and dahlias to men that piss off their girlfriends.Â
Itâs disheartening, to say the least. Demoralizing. A rinse and repeat cycle that becomes more exhausting with each passing day, each unreturned email.Â
Most days, you feel a little bit like a shell of yourself. Hollowed from the inside out, just waiting for a scrap of decent news.Â
Itâs why you only said no three times when Sophia suggested that maybe you break up the monotony with a little good, old-fashioned romance.Â
And not just romance. Dating, blind dating, because she swore the mystery of it all would make it more fun.
The first three times she suggested it, you waved her off easily with some half-witted excuse and a roll of your eyes.Â
But the fourth time, your friend caught you in a weak spot.Â
âCome on,â sheâd insisted over an overpriced latte. She didnât mind shelling out for a soy milk substitute, even. She was one of the lucky ones that managed to line up a job immediately after graduation, one she got from the third-year internship she had.Â
So Sophia had her big girl job and her big girl salary. You, on the other hand, were wincing at the bitter taste of drip coffee straight from the machine.Â
âI donât knowâŠâ Youâd trailed off, unsure. That morning, youâd received a rejection notice from a company you were genuinely excited about. The position matched your qualifications and professional interests to a T. You werenât one to make premature bets, but when you clicked submit on the official application three weeks prior, part of you had felt like it was fate. A sure thing.Â
The email this morning proved you wrong.Â
Dear Candidate, it had started. Because of course, even after all the time you spent tailoring your resume to their standards, you werenât even worth the effort of typing your name.Â
Thank you for your interest in joining our team. We regret to inform you that we have decided to move forward with other candidates at this time. If, in the future, other positions become available, please do not hesitate to apply again.Â
Rejection wasnât anything new at this point, but this one stung. It felt personal.Â
You were tired of constantly hearing no, of always having every path blocked the second you worked up the courage to venture down it. You were desperate for something to take your mind off of it all.Â
You wanted to do something fun. And more than that, you needed a reminder that you werenât a failure. That at least in some capacity, your time and your presence and your efforts were worth something.
If the only available context for that was a date, even a blind one, so be it.Â
âItâll be fun,â Sophia insisted. âI promise. Besides, the guy I have in mind is really cool. Heâs been at my company for a couple of years now, and heâs really friendly, even to the new hires. Comes off a little cold at first maybe, but I think heâs just a little shy. Youâd like him.â
You still werenât sold. You took another long sip of black coffee and winced at the taste of burnt beans.Â
âWhat was his name again?â you asked.Â
Sophia grinned, knowing sheâd finally won. âSunghoon,â she told you, smile entirely too smug for your liking. âPark Sunghoon.â
Now, a week later, you canât help but curse yourself for caving. After all, blind dates are a far cry from romance, and the only thing that your time with Sunghoon is doing, lovely as he may be, is giving you a different source for your headaches.Â
Across from you, Sunghoon takes a slow sip of red wine. His eyes stay where they should. You can at least appreciate that Sophia didnât set you up with a total sleaze. If anything, you think he looks a bit unsure when he meets your gaze.
After another moment of stilted silence, he asks, âWhat do you like to do for fun?â You watch as Sunghoon swirls his half full glass before setting it back down on the table. Aerating it, probably. He strikes you as the kind of person that isnât entirely bullshitting when they say they know their wines.Â
Itâs a perfectly normal question, run-of-the-mill for a first date. And yet, your mind canât seem to do anything but come up completely blank.Â
What do you like to do for fun? Even privately, you're beginning to wonder. Itâs as if the job search has taken any joy you used to find in your free time and turned it into existential dread.
You like to go for walks, but itâs been extra rainy these days and you hate how the late autumn air makes your skin feel sticky after just a few minutes. Not to mention the end of season mosquitoes. You swear theyâre bigger than any other time of year.
You like to read, but the last time you opened a book for pleasure was half a year ago. Youâre pretty sure that same exact novel is still sitting half-finished beneath your bedside table.
You have been catching up on the latest season of a ridiculously staged reality TV show lately, but you can hardly own up to that. If an hourâs worth of catty drama and hair pulling every Sunday night is the first hobby you think of, Sunghoon will no doubt think youâre the most vapid person heâs ever met.Â
So instead you say, âOh, you know.â You try a laugh, hoping it will make you seem easy going instead of cagey. âThings.â
Sunghoon just arches a brow. He doesnât know. Thatâs why he asked.Â
And itâs not like itâs a crime to be awkward on first dates, but youâre starting to feel like youâd be given a life sentence without parole if it was.Â
Desperate to get his gaze off of you, you return the question. âWhat about you?â
Maybe the universe will spare you and Sunghoon will be equally bad at condensing his life into bite-sized pieces easily digestible on first dates. Maybe his good luck starts and ends with his face and heâll be equally tight-lipped about his own interests.
But then, after a pause to gather his thoughts, he starts talking. Your hope for equal footing starts to circle the drain with more urgency.
âIâve been really into exercising lately,â he tells you. âI grew up figure skating, so itâs been nice to get back to doing something more physical. Itâs been great, too, trying out some new protein-focused recipes and getting out for runs when the weather allows it. I really miss the ice, but it just isnât feasible with work and everything else these days. Itâs been fun to try out some new hobbies that are somewhat similar.â
âOh,â you flounder for a moment. Itâs truly pathetic, you think. Maybe talking about yourself is difficult, but how are you so unable to even respond to his answers? âThatâs nice.â
Sunghoon, to both his credit and Sophiaâs, really does seem to be a nice guy. Heâs trying. Doing his best to keep the conversation going.Â
âDo you like to exercise?â he asks.
You wonder distantly if following a YouTube video at home on yoga for stress relief once in a while counts.Â
Deciding it doesnât, at least not to a former figure skater, you shrug. âNot really.â
âOh,â he nods. After a moment of awkward silence, he asks, âWhat do you think about the wine?â
Itâs a simple question, an easy question, but itâs hard to get momentum once youâve lost it. To you, this date already feels a bit like a sinking ship and even a question as simple as this feels like a test youâll inevitably fail.Â
âItâs nice,â you say. âGoes well with the food.â And unfortunately does very little to soothe your frayed nerves.
âI agree,â Sunghoon nods. âApparently itâs made from grapes grown in a specific region of southern France. They get more sunlight than the average vineyard, and the soil is fertilized in some special way that makes the flavor more intense.â
He smiles at you, and itâs objectively gorgeous. The kind of look that you feel like you should be fawning over, that you should go home dreaming about.Â
Park Sunghoon is the kind of guy that feels made for fantasies. Thinking about it now, youâre not really sure how he could even be single, or how Sophia managed to convince him to see you tonight.Â
But no matter how long you wait for the butterflies to come, they just⊠donât.Â
Itâs not because you donât like him, but the idea of getting to know him, of letting him get to know you, is suddenly exhausting.Â
Youâre afraid that whatever parts of yourself you reveal will come up short, will inevitably be found lacking. Your hobbies arenât interesting enough for a guy like him. Youâre not particularly well-traveled or well-read, and you did well in your degree but not enough for it to be part of a dinner conversation.Â
You just⊠you donât feel interesting. Not in the kind of way that guys like him are attracted to. So when you go home after another half hour of stilted conversation and too-long lulls of silence, youâre not daydreaming about his smile or his dimples or the second date he definitely wonât ask you on.Â
Instead, you wait until youâre out of eyesight to let the smile youâve been keeping plastered to your lips fall from your face.Â
Looking out at the sky, the sun thatâs beginning to set on the horizon doesnât feel like an omen or a fresh start. It just feels like a sunset. The end of another day full of nothing special. Unremarkable. Ordinary.
Youâre not giddy or excited or particularly moved at all. Youâre not angry either, though. Not disappointed. If anything, you feel a strange sense of hollowness, one with a glare thatâs especially apparent under the street lights that are just beginning to glow.Â
You miss the days when things felt exciting, when you would meet the eye of someone cute across a lecture hall and go home daydreaming about it. Spinning around your room, kicking your feet like a schoolgirl with a crush.
Itâs not Sophiaâs fault. Itâs not even Park Sunghoonâs. But when you finally get back home to your apartment and flick on the lights of your empty bedroom, all you do is sigh.Â
âŠ..
You thought that when you walked across your university stage six long months ago and were officially given your diploma, youâd be done drowning your post-midterm stress with cheap beer.Â
But you forgot to account for one small detail â Jungwon.
You suppose your friendship with him might look a little strange from the outside, but heâs been a constant in your life since before you even knew how to tie your own shoes.Â
Like most childhood friendships, it wasnât forged of your own volition. Your mother decided the summer before you started kindergarten that her new favorite hobby was going to be gardening. Which was fine and all, except for the fact that she knew literally nothing about gardening and had killed just about every houseplant she ever owned.Â
To her credit, she tried. She asked the kind elderly lady working the till at the garden supply store for advice and bought the overpriced gloves and trowel she suggested. She scoured blogs and Wikipedia articles and online forums for all the best and latest in flower cultivation.Â
But your mother simply did not have a green thumb, and after months of watching from her window in silent pity, Mrs. Yang decided to do something about it.
She took one look at your motherâs wilted tiger lilies and sighed. Gently, because even in her exasperation she managed to be kind, a trait she passed onto her son.
You werenât so interested in whatever she told your mom about fertilizer and shearing, though. Nor were you really interested in the garden at all.Â
But you did find the boy currently hiding behind Mrs. Yangâs practical work pants far more fascinating than anything youâd seen in months.Â
Before school started, finding another kid your age was like striking gold. An only child, you were doted on by your parents but only rarely had the opportunity to play with other kids. This one, even if he was determined to hide out of sight, felt like a gift, a friend you were determined to make yours.Â
Back then, he was a shy kid.Â
It had taken a fair amount of coaxing from his mother, but he finally found the courage to meet your eye. To come out from his hiding spot and introduce himself.
Jungwon, he said his name was, and you gave him yours in return.Â
You asked about his birthday and could hardly contain the smug smile that spread across your lips when you realized he was younger than you. A whole ten months. Practically a baby. Nowhere near ready to start kindergarten, like you were. Heâd have to wait a whole nother year.Â
Other than the bragging rights it afforded you, you didnât mind so much.Â
That summer, Mrs. Yang helped your mother turn her misshapen, weed-addled, overgrown mess of a flower bed into something truly beautiful.Â
And nearly every time she came over, she brought Jungwon in tow. The two of you werenât trusted to wander far yet, but he made your afternoons far more interesting, even under the watchful gaze of your mothers.
He was excited about the same things you were â searching for bugs in the flower bed, digging in the dirt with the plastic shovel set youâd been given for your last birthday, and building homes for the fairies you convinced him really existed using fallen leaves and twigs.Â
Your friendship might have begun as one of convenience, but the long, sunny afternoons you spent together ensured that none of it was forced.
Your mothers were thrilled too. Both of you were overly curious only children, and it was nice to have your attention occupied elsewhere, to share private smiles at how sweet your little friendship was becoming.Â
They sighed when you came back from an afternoon of playing with dirt smudged across your clothes and cheeks and cooed when you fell asleep after washing up, sprawled out across your living room floor with pillows youâd pulled off the couch.Â
Even though youâd been anticipating it for months, the beginning of kindergarten was something you started to dread. And the further you got in your academic journey, the one-year gap between you started to feel less like victory and more like a curse.
You still remember the failed math quiz you brought home from second grade one afternoon, a big, red F written across the top even though you were usually excellent with times tables.Â
It had taken a fair amount of coaxing, but your mother finally got the truth from you. How you were thinking that if you managed to do poorly enough to fail the second grade, you could just do it again next year. With Jungwon.Â
Of course she explained to you how terrible of an idea it was, and you didnât try it again, but for the next few months, every aced exam still felt a little bit like defeat.
Until the seventh-grade, that is, when you decided to fully embrace your role as his elder.Â
Jungwon was just starting middle school, after all. He was brand new to the world of lockers and passing periods and so much axe body spray it seemed to permanently hover outside the boyâs locker room like a rain cloud.Â
You made him pinky promise you not to buy any, and all he did was scrunch his nose in distaste, insisting that he never would, that he didnât like strong smells anyway.
Jungwon might have been new to it all, but you, however, had already been this whole middle school thing for a year. You were one year older and wiser and could help him navigate all of the pitfalls with your hard earned expertise.
You thought it was the best idea ever, an example of your commendable generosity and kindness, until one Wednesday afternoon proved you entirely wrong.
You were hovering just behind him as he worked through his locker combination, weight shifted to one hip as you balanced your science textbook against the other.Â
Still a couple inches taller than him thanks to the growth spurt that had hit you early, you didnât have to crane your neck too hard to see over his shoulder. To provide any assistance he might need.
Finally, after getting the combination right, his locker clicked open.
Jungwon sighed. Glancing back at you, he mumbled, âWhy are you here? Donât you have science right now?â
âYeah,â you nodded, gesturing to the textbook in your hands. âBut thatâs okay. I donât mind waiting for you.â
âI have math next,â he pointed out, as if you didnât already know. As if you didnât have his schedule memorized before he did. âWhich is in the opposite direction. Just go. You donât want to be late again.â
Itâs true. You donât. Your mom said sheâd shave an hour off of your allotted Saturday cartoon-watching time if it happened again.Â
But it was okay. It was a sacrifice you were willing to make. You told him as much.
âThatâs okay,â You shook your head. âIâll be fine. Besides, Mr. Lee usually isnât too strict about tardies, soââ
âJust go,â he interrupted, back still turned to you. This time, his voice was sharper than usual. It cut through the air like an accusation, leaving you more than a little shocked. âYou donât have to follow me around everywhere.â
You frowned at that. But still, you thought that maybe he was just worried about you, about whatever punishment your mother had promised. So, to ease his worries, you insisted, âI donât mind. Iâm a year older, so I shouldââ
âTen months,â he corrected, voice like ice. And he still wouldnât look at you. âYouâre ten months older.â
Your frown deepened. âThats the same thing.â
âNo itâs not,â Jungwon shook his head, voice rising. His anger, his annoyance, were apparent now. âStop treating me like a baby.â
âI donâtââ You tried to protest.Â
But he wasnât having it. âYou do.â He insisted. âYou treat me like Iâm a little kid and itâs driving me insane. The other boys on the taekwondo team think so, too. Theyâre starting to say thingsââ
âWhat kinds of things? Who?â It didnât matter if he was angry or annoyed at you. As far as you were concerned, if anyone was giving Jungwon a hard time, it was your business too. You didnât know the boys on the taekwondo team very well, but you were suddenly feeling very violent, a bad idea given that the boys in question were trained in martial arts and youâd spent no time on a training mat in all twelve years of your life.
âIt doesnât matter,â Jungwon shook his head. He still wouldn't turn around and look at you. âJust leave me alone.â
Youâd had fights before. Little tiffs that started nearly the same day youâd met. But they were always small, just bouts of bickering that may have left you pouting but never with any truly hurt feelings.
This was different. This⊠this stung.Â
Just like the tears that started to gather against your lash line without your permission, pressing dangerously against the inner corner of your eyes.
Still, you couldnât help but ask, a little pathetically, âYou donât want me to walk with you?â
âI donât need you to follow me around everywhere,â he repeated, crueler than he had to be, âfussing over me like youâre my mom or something.â
âFine,â was all you said. Suddenly, you were grateful that he wouldnât look at you. If he saw how affected you were, that you were on the verge of crying, it would be more humiliating than you could handle. âJust walk by yourself then.â
Turning, you only paused once you were a few steps away. âAnd here,â youâd reached into your pockets, pulling out the coupons youâd cut out of the newspaper earlier this week, the surprise you were planning to show him after school. âYou can just have these. Give them to your taekwondo friends, since you care what they think so much.âÂ
Jungwon waited until you were around the corner to turn around, to see what youâd thrown at his feet. Bending, he picked them up, guilt swirling deep in his gut as he tucked the coupons for half price ice cream from the nearby shop, the one that you knew always had his favorite flavor, into his pocket.
You didnât talk to Jungwon for a week.Â
You were late to class that day, partly because of Jungwon and partly because you had to spend the next ten minutes calming down in the bathroom stall while you wiped evidence of your tears away.
True to her word, your mom didnât let you watch cartoons Saturday morning. And you spent all your extra time thinking about where exactly you went so wrong.
The silent treatment didnât last long. You and Jungwon were like that â youâd spent so much time together that youâd learned how to get over things quickly.Â
Grudges never held for long, and time didn't need to pass too far for both of you to forget what you were mad about in the first place.Â
But this time, even after the dust had settled, things between you didnât go entirely back to normal. For starters, you didnât wait for him by his locker anymore, didnât offer to walk him to math or science or P.E. or any of his other classes.Â
Even though the two of you shared a school, the only time you really saw him anymore was on the bus ride home. And that was only on the days he didnât have taekwondo practice.Â
But with Jungwon, things had a way of coming back around. It wasnât long before he was seeking you out intentionally again, before your friendship felt less like walking on eggshells and more like something comfortable.
But you had learned two valuable lessons that day by his locker.
One, Jungwon was sensitive. More so than you ever realized. In ways you didnât always fully understand.
And two, the gap between your ages may have been small, but he really, truly resented any attention you brought to it. In his own words, he hated it when you made him feel like a kid.Â
So you learned. You adjusted. And by the time high school came around, you were practically a pro at ignoring the ten months that separated you.Â
There were still times that you wanted to guide him, to help him, but you did your best to hold yourself back. You tried to empathize, too. To see things from his point of view. It made sense, you supposed. Jungwon didnât want a second mother. He just wanted a friend.Â
One that wouldnât dote on him too much or smother him or embarrass him in front of his teammates. Thatâs not to say he didnât use your age to his advantage on occasion, though.Â
When you got your driverâs license a whole year before him, he wasnât shy about asking for rides. And when junior year chemistry proved to be harder than he thought, he accepted your journal full of meticulously taken notes with little more than a sigh of relief.Â
You didnât mind so much. Besides, it wasnât like you were the only generous one in your relationship. Friendship with Jungwon never felt like a burden, never felt like a debt to settle.Â
For all of your age-afforded privileges, he more than made up for them just by being there. Because Jungwon grew up in the way few boys doâhe learned to observe, to listen before he spoke. To treat words like something precious and use them only when he really meant them.Â
Jungwon was your confidant, your most trusted source of advice. You went to him with things that you felt like you couldnât tell anyone else, and he received it all with open arms and a thoughtful furrow of his brow.Â
Jungwon wasnât the type to pass judgment. He just listened, contemplated, and then gave the best, most logical answer he could think of.Â
He talked you down from your spiral of self-hate after you convinced yourself a failed physics test was the end of your life junior year and helped you analyze the pros and cons of your top university choices when your high school graduation date started approaching with alarming speed.Â
Affection came easy between the two of you, because it didnât feel complicated. It felt natural, just like the day he introduced himself amongst the ruins of your motherâs failed garden.Â
So when you told him, senior year, that you agreed with his advice, that you had decided to attend university in your hometown, a mere thirty-minute drive from the high school you were graduating from, all he did was smile.Â
He hugged you after you accepted your diploma from your principal and handed you a bouquet of flowers. He complained about having to stick around in high school for another year, and you assured him that senior year was different from the others. It was better.Â
Your year apart was difficult, but it also gave you space for things you hadnât considered before. Things like other friends. You met Sophia at freshman orientation, and the two of you became inseparable.Â
You still saw Jungwon, of course. Weekends, holidays, and even the occasional weeknight dinner meant he was still very much a part of your life. And when you couldnât meet in person, you talked. Texted. Called.Â
Which is exactly how you broke the news of your first ever boyfriend.Â
There had been crushes in high school, but they were fleeting. Insignificant. This was different. Jay was different, and just as you always had, you spared Jungwon none of the gory details.Â
You told him all about the flowers he bought you, all about how romantic it was when he asked you on a proper date. How sweet it was when he picked you up and opened the passenger door of his car for you and how special you felt when he picked up the dinner check without so much as a sideways glance at you.
But Jungwon, steady, reliable Jungwon, seemed to become uncharacteristically terse whenever Jay came up. His texts got shorter, his responses further and fewer between.Â
The calls that used to drag on for hours started ending suddenly whenever you brought up your boyfriend. Jungwon always had an excuse readyâhe had homework to do or a project to finish or an errand to run for his mom.Â
But youâd have to be stupid not to notice the common denominator in it all. Jay.Â
For a while, the choice was easy. Jay was here, with you. He wanted your attention and your time. He liked hearing about your day and telling you about his and spending as much time with you as your schedules allowed.Â
Jungwon, on the other hand, was becoming more difficult to reach the longer your relationship went on.Â
Slowly, but steadily, Jay started to become the person you went to for advice. The contact name you searched for whenever you had something to say. The boy you spent your weekends with, making new memories, laughing about nothing.Â
You trusted him. You were new to it, the feelings, the rush of it all, but after a few months, you were pretty sure you loved him.Â
Jay was your first relationship, your first real boyfriend, and eventually, the person you trusted enough to lose your virginity to.Â
Which made it all the more devastating when he told you, sometime in the middle of spring semester, that he didnât want to see you anymore. That he enjoyed your time together, but he didnât feel the same spark you did. The same level of connection.Â
You cried until you were numb, and you were numb until one by one, your feelings started to come back in overwhelming waves. And every time they did, the only person you really wanted to see was your best friend.Â
The boy you barely even spoke to anymore.Â
You werenât sure if he would even answer, the night you drove all the way to his house in the pouring rain. You stood there on his porch, pathetic, soaked from just the short walk from your car, when he opened the door and found you like that.Â
âJungwon,â you breathed.Â
He hadnât said anything, just pulled you inside. Checked the warmth of his shower until it was the perfect temperature and left a towel and a clean pair of clothes on the bathroom counter for you. Waited outside, on the edge of his bed until you emerged twenty minutes later.Â
Clean, dry, but with eyes so red he knew you must have been crying.Â
He didnât ask you what happened. He just scooted back until he was sitting against his pillows, patted the space next to him in invitation. Pulled you tight to his chest as you sobbed, long heartbreaking sounds that tore from somewhere deep in you.
You eventually told him everythingâyour breakup, your heartbreak, the sudden loneliness it had left in its wake.Â
Jungwon just held you through it, wiping your tears and soothing your cries as you laid against his chest.Â
And you talked. For hours, about nothing, about everything. All the little things you hadnât been able to tell him for months, all the parts of your life that youâd wished you could share with him.
As it turns out, youâd missed important updates from his life, too. For starters, heâd chosen a university. The same one you were currently attending. You were so excited that youâd be together again, but part of you hated it, the way youâd missed out on such important news.
That night, things shifted again. It didnât matter what your relationship status was or what distance separated youâthe two of you promised not to ever go so long without talking again.Â
The following September, Jungwon officially started university at the same school as you, and it was the most excited youâd been in months. You loved showing him around all of your favorite places, pointing out the secret study spots youâd found in the library, introducing him to all of your friends and the coffee shop you loved just off campus.Â
It felt natural, felt right to have him in your life again. Even when things got busy, when you were so bogged down with assignments and projects and internships, you did your best to make time for one another.Â
You didnât date again, and if he did, you never heard about it. When friends asked, you always gave the same excuse. You were too busy. You were focusing on yourself. School was more important to you than a relationship right now.Â
But if you were honest with yourself, your relationship with Jay had left you with a unique set of scars. You were scared of falling in love again only to be met with rejection, of course, but you were also terrified of losing Jungwon. Of the way letting someone new into your life could mean pushing him away, despite what youâd promised each other that night in his bed.Â
Itâs why you havenât mentioned Sunghoon to him yet. Itâs not a secret, exactly, but itâs also not something youâre dying to share.Â
Now that youâve graduated, you can hardly believe youâre standing outside Jungwonâs apartment with a six pack of cheap beer dangling from your fingertips. But something about all of your recent failures has you desperate for a bit of release, and youâre sure he could use some relaxation after midterms, too.Â
If anything, youâre hoping it will come as a nice surprise.Â
You knock on the door to his apartment, beer dangling loosely from your other hand. But when the door pulls open, itâs not Jungwon who greets you on the other side.Â
âHi,â Jake grins, leaning against the doorframe. âLong time no see.â Jungwonâs roommate of two years now, he glances down at the beer. âAnd you brought presents.â
âNot for you, Sim,â you shake your head. âIs Jungwon home?â
âDepends.â Jake grins. âAre you just gonna leave if heâs not?â
You sigh, do your best not to roll your eyes. Youâve been subject to Jakeâs antics long enough to know not to take any of it to heart. A golden retriever in every sense of the word, flirting comes as natural to him as breathing.Â
Youâd be more worried if he suddenly started talking to you like a normal person.Â
âCan you tell me when heâll be back?â You really should have checked to make sure Jungwon was home before driving all the way, but youâd only decided to come last minute. Besides, you remember what midterms were like. You wanted it to be a surprise.Â
âWhatâs the rush?â Jake asks. When you donât bother to dignify that with a response, he pivots, âWhat are you up to these days?â
âJust working,â you shrug.
âYeah?â he asks. âHowâs post grad life treating you? Is the grass really greener after graduation?â Like Jungwon, heâs still a semester and a half away from it.
You laugh, but it sounds forced even to your own ears. âSomething like that.â
âYouâre still working at that flower shop over in your area, right? I was over there the other day, and I almost stopped by to say hi, but I couldnât remember for sure. Is itââ
âI thought you said you were on your way out,â a voice interrupts from behind him. Jungwonâs. Youâd know it anywhere. âWho are you talking to?â
That little shit. He lied to you. Or at least heavily implied it.Â
Jake at least has the decency to look sheepish when he glances at you. Opening the door wider, he reveals your best friend. Dressed in a pair of grey sweats and an oversized long sleeve white t-shirt, his hair is still slightly damp. Recently showered, if you had to guess.Â
âSurprise,â you grin weakly, holding up the pack of beer.Â
â___,â he breathes your name, surprise flickering across his features. His gaze falls to your feet for a moment before dragging back up to your face. âWhat are you doing here?â
âIs it a bad time?â The beer falls back down to your side. You really should have checked with him first before driving all the way here. âSorry, I just wanted to surprise you.â
âNo,â he shakes his head. âNot a bad time at all. Come in.â Side-eyeing Jake, he looks almost surprised to see him, as if he forgot he was even there. Then, he confirms, âYouâre leaving, right?â
âYep,â Jake nods, a trace of amusement flashing through his eyes. âI wonât be back until late.â He glances between the two of you. âLike, really late, probably. Enjoy⊠whatever this is.â Turning to you, he adds, âAnd it was good to see you again. Donât be a stranger, yeah?â
âSure, Jake,â you agree. âHave a good night.â
âYou too,â he smiles. âHave fun.â Pausing for a moment, he considers, âNot too much fun, thoughââ
âGoodbye, Jake,â Jungwon interrupts, something unreadable crossing his features.Â
Jake takes the cue well enough. Stepping past the two of you, he leaves the apartment. The door closes behind him with a silent click.Â
And then itâs just you and Jungwon.Â
âYou brought beer,â he reaches to take the drinks from you, passing them from your hand to his. âAnd yourself. Whatâs the occasion?â
âMidterms,â you explain. âI thought you could use a night off after all that studying. Besides, itâs been too long. The last time I saw you was when we got coffee, and that was alreadyââ
âTwo weeks ago,â he finishes for you. âYeah.â
âDo you want to drink?â you ask, suddenly afraid youâve placed your bets all wrong. Maybe midterms werenât exhausting in the way that makes him want to drown his sorrows in cheap beer. Maybe they were just exhausting in the way that makes him want to crawl into bed. âI can come back a diffââ
Jungwon shakes his head. âItâs exactly what I need.â He smiles at you. Itâs tired, but itâs genuine. âIâm glad youâre here.â
And thatâs all it takes, all the reassurance you need to slip off your shoes and find a spot next to him on the living room sofa thatâs seen better days.Â
Itâs quiet at first, the two of you taking long sips as you ask the standard questions.Â
You ask how he thinks he did on midterms, and he says heâd rather talk about anything else.Â
He asks about your job search, and a shadow crosses your features as you also request a change in topic.Â
One bottle turns to two, and before long, your limbs are feeling heavier, your lips looser.Â
Jungwon looks at you, already flushed from the alcohol. He parts his reddened lips like he wants to say something. Closes them again.Â
Then, finally, âI heard something,â he says.Â
âMm?â you hum. Thereâs a pleasant haze in your mind. One that makes it difficult to give much of a response at all.Â
A beat of silence passes. Another. You glance over at him, a question in your eyes, only to find his gaze already trained on your face.Â
Eventually, he gets it out. âYouâre going on dates again.â
The tension in your shoulders is immediate. Youâre not sure if he heard it from Sophia or somewhere else along the grapevine, but you suppose it doesnât matter much either way. You shrug, feigning nonchalance. You have nothing to hide, you tell yourself. You didnât do anything wrong. âI went on one.â
Jungwon takes a long sip of beer, the foam settling heavy when he sets it back down on the table. âHow was it?â he asks. His voice is infuriatingly neutral. You canât get a read on him.Â
âI donât know,â you shake your head. âFine.â
Jungwonâs palm splays against his knee, flexes. âAre you seeing him again?â
You feel a humorless laugh rising in your throat, one you barely manage to contain. âProbably not.â
You can feel his eyes boring into the side of your face when he asks, âWhy?â
You sigh. This time, itâs you that takes a long sip of your drink. âI donât know,â you shrug. Pulling your knees in towards your chest, you suddenly feel smaller than before. âIt just wasnâtâŠâ your words die as you try to find a way to explain the feeling youâd left the date with. Coming up blank, you decide instead on, âI donât think he wants to see me again, anyway.â
You swear you feel a fraction of tension ease from the air. Still, Jungwonâs curiosity doesnât seem to be sated. âWhy not?â More to make you laugh than to actually guess at Sunghoonâs intentions, he asks, âDid you spill something on him?â
Wincing, you remember every one-word answer you gave. âI donât think I spilled enough.â
Jungwon frowns, the turn of phrase not landing. âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
âI donât know,â you repeat. âSometimes, I justâŠâ You lean your head back, letting it loll against the back of the couch. âI just feel like boys donât really like me, you know?â
If you were looking, youâd see the way Jungwon goes completely still. A moment of silence passes before he breaks it, voice lower, less airy than before. âWhat did you just say?â
Head against the couch, you let out a small sound, breathless, a little pathetic. âDonât make me repeat it,â you beg.
But Jungwon isnât quite ready to let it go. You see his silhouette in your periphery, turning to face you fully. Leaning in, his attention is on you and nowhere else. His voice has an edge to it that you arenât quite sure what to do with when he asks, âWhat do you mean, âboys donât like you?ââ
All you can do is sigh again. âIâm just⊠Iâm not really charming or cute or good at small talk and things like that. I always say something weird or put my foot in my mouth, and itâs like I can see them losing interest in real time.â
Jungwon blows a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. Glances at you. âIâm sure it wasnât that bad.â
âJungwon,â you deadpan, âhe asked me what my hobbies are, and I told him, verbatim, things.â
âOh.â He pauses for a minute. Then points out, âWell, to be fair, thatâs a horrible question.â
You frown. âItâs a standard first date question.â
âYeah,â Jungwon agrees, âwhich is exactly why itâs horrible. No one wants to go on a first date and be asked all of the standard first date questions.âÂ
You know that heâs only trying to comfort you, but something about him twisting the narrative so far in your favor just makes you want to sigh. Youâre grateful for his defense, but it also feels a bit misplaced.
âHow would you even know?â You try not to sound too mean, but the question comes out flat. âI bet you go on dates with those dimples and thatâŠâ you trail off, waving your hands noncommittally in his general direction.Â
Jungwonâs brows furrow. âYou just gestured to all of me.â
âExactly,â you nod. âYou have that whole boy-next-door, easy going charm thing about you.â Itâs true, and right now, you canât help but think that itâs awfully unfair. âI bet you could ask whatever stupid standard first date questions you want and girls would still be falling at your feet.â
At face value, itâs a compliment. But thereâs something about your tone, the trace remnants of sarcasm, of bitterness, that make him think otherwise.
âIâm not quite sure how to take that,â Jungwon finally tells you.
You sigh. You didnât come here to project your insecurities on him. There might be layers of truth to it, but this isnât his fault. Youâre not being fair, and you know it.Â
âAll I mean is that boys like you donât have to try very hard. I feel like it all just comes so naturally to you. I wish I was like that, too. Thatâs all Iâm saying.â
And Jungwon could protest, could launch into some speech about how youâll find your person eventually, about how thereâs someone out there for everyone.
But he knows you, is well-acquainted with that contemplative, overly self-critical look on your face. Can read all of your frustration and insecurity in the way you bite at your bottom lip.Â
Youâre not looking for a lecture or false hope and certainly not empty words.
You came here with a case of beer and the intention to surprise him, to congratulate him for work well done.Â
He was the one that brought up the date, anyway. He knows that youâre not looking for advice. Youâre looking for a friend.
So Jungwon waits for a moment before he says anything at all.Â
Then, he picks up your abandoned beer off the coffee table in front of you and holds it up to you. âCâmon,â he encourages gently, âjoin me.â He takes a sip of his own for good measure. âIt isnât going to drink itself.â
âI donât know,â you sigh. âI already feel kind ofââ
âI think I bombed econ,â he offers. You canât tell if itâs true or not, but thatâs not the point. He needs you out of your head. âDonât make me drown my sorrows alone.â
You canât help but think that for all the fuss he used to put up about you being older, he certainly doesnât mind appealing to it when itâs to his advantage.Â
But even lukewarm beer looks tempting when itâs him thatâs offering it to you. And youâve never been good at saying no, at least not to Jungwon.Â
He knows it, too. Jungwon isnât surprised when you accept the bottle from his hands with nothing more than a halfhearted grumble under your breath.Â
Thereâs no trace of shock in his eyes when you bring it straight to your lips despite your earlier protests.Â
He just grins before leaning back against his side of the couch, smile still stretching across his lips as he brings his own bottle up to join you.
âŠ..
Thursday afternoons are your favorite time in the flower shop. Run by a kind woman in her late sixties, she takes advantage of the day to attend her weekly Zumba class at the senior center, which means you have the shop all to yourself, save for the occasional customer.Â
Usually, youâd savor the stillness. Use it to catch up on inventory or fulfill the handful or edible arrangement requests for tomorrow.
But today, the silence is making you jittery. Mostly because your mind wonât give you a moment of peace no matter how much you beg it too.
Despite the prediction you gave Jungwon three days ago in his apartment, Sunghoon did reach out to you again.
The message still sits at the top of your text threads like a curse.
I enjoyed our time together, he said. Succinct, straightforward, and all things considered, surprising. Are you free this weekend? Iâd love to see you again.
And itâs flattering, so much so that you nearly find yourself agreeing without taking so much as a moment to think about it.
Sophia will be thrilled, youâre sure. And you wonât have to burden Jungwon again with tipsy confessions of your own insecurities.Â
But alone in the flower shop, another thought starts to creep in, just as your fingers hover above the keyboard. A feeling.
The same one you left from your last date with. That strange, hollow emptiness that had you spiraling for days, convinced there must be something deeply, fundamentally off about you.Â
Again, you start to wonder why you canât just do it. Canât enjoy a date and a free meal and the pleasant company of a handsome stranger. Why all of your answers always come out stilted, cagey, so terribly awkward.Â
Why youâre always waiting for the other shoe to drop, convinced that any scraps of attention that come your way must be part of some elaborate prank that the universe is playing on you.Â
Why even a barely-there, trace amount of vulnerability feels like nails on a chalkboard. Why you havenât been able to form a real, meaningful connection with anyone since Jay. A relationship that ended nearly four years ago. Itâs enough to make you feel a little pathetic.
Logically, you know that this is how it goes. You canât form connections or welcome new things into your life without a leap of faith.
But the potential fallout is terrifying. The thought of trying, really trying, and still being found lacking is enough to sober even the most romantic of your fantasies.Â
Something about the status quo, no matter how boring or tiresome or monotonous, feels safe. Like a cage youâve settled into and made comfortable.Â
Your fingers hesitate, then fall away completely. Locking the screen of your phone, you tuck it back into your pocket with a sigh.
Busying yourself with the arrangement orders, you do your best to push Sunghoon and his unanswered invitation from your mind.Â
For a while at least, youâre successful. The afternoon passes slowly.
A woman in her thirties comes, looking for a bouquet for her sister who just had a baby.Â
A man in his fifties wants to send flowers to his daughterâs office to wish her a happy birthday.
A couple comes in, hands intertwined, asking if your shop would be able to accommodate enough flowers for their wedding to be held at the end of the month.Â
You greet them, you smile, you answer their questions with patience.Â
And all the while, you leave Sunghoonâs question hanging.
As your shift draws to an end, late afternoon sunlight spilling through the windows, your phone buzzes in your pocket once more.Â
Half expecting to see a string of curses from Sunghoon, angry you ignored him, convinced youâve wronged him, you're surprised when itâs Jungwonâs name that lights up your screen instead.Â
His short string of messages reads,
It was nice to see you again
Missed my favorite girl
Movie night this weekend at mine? Popcorn on me
Tugging your bottom lip between your teeth, you can hardly stifle the smile that threatens to overtake your entire face.Â
Unlike Sunghoonâs, Jungwonâs message doesnât fill you with dread, doesnât leave you with a sudden flurry of doubts and questions clouding your mind.
And, unlike his, itâs easy to say yes to.
You wait only a fraction of a second before sending your reply.
Iâll be there
âŠ..
The left side cushion of Jungwonâs living room couch is starting to feel familiar at this point. Itâs been less than a week since you were last here, and it already feels routine sinking down into it.Â
When Jake steps out from his room minutes after you settle in, he doesnât comment on his roommateâs company. Just arches a brow.Â
âYou two drinking again?â he asks.Â
Apparently, he gave Jungwon shit for forgetting to clean up one of the bottles after last time. Ironic, considering itâs Jakeâs dinner dishes that are gathering dust in the sink.Â
âNo,â Jungwon shakes his head. Remote in hand, he flicks through streaming service options until he lands on the one heâs looking for. âJust watching a movie.â
Jake pauses, eyes flickering towards the screen. âWhich one?â
You turn over your shoulder, telling him the title. Itâs some rom com thatâs been terrorizing your twitter feed for weeks now. And then you offer, âYou can join us if you want.â
Youâre not sure if thereâs enough space on the couch for the three of you, but you are the one crashing into their space. Youâll make it work if you have to.Â
âThatâs alright.â Jake shakes his head. âIâm heading out.â
âAlright,â Jungwon waves him off without so much as a second glance.Â
âSee you later,â you offer, still turned around.Â
Jake grins, looking at you before he makes his way to the door. âEnjoy your movie. And nice to see you again so soon, ___. I was worried youâd make me wait again.â
Next to you, Jungwonâs jaw clenches. He mutters something under his breath about making popcorn before standing up from his seat on the couch.Â
Jake leaves before he can rile Jungwon up any further, and the smell of popcorn begins to fill the room just as the opening credits begin to roll. An overzealous pop song plays in the background, one you recognize from the playlist your boss makes you put on shuffle, insisting the corny, upbeat lyrics will convince people to buy more flowers.Â
Jungwon comes back to the couch, sets the popcorn bowl on the table in front of you. He adjusts, moving closer. His knee brushes against yours. Both of you pretend not to notice. Intimacy and closeness is nothing new between the two of you. Hell, you grew up practically attached at the hip, sleeping in the same bed until you were in middle school.Â
But there was always practicality to it, a purpose. You held hands at the amusement park because you didnât want to lose each other in the crowd. You let him put his head in your lap when you had a picnic in the park because the only other pillow available was the ant-filled grass.Â
This feels different. Intentional. Especially since thereâs still plenty of space to his left.Â
You lean forward, reaching for the popcorn. The fabric of your pants rustles against his. Settling back into your seat, Jungwon takes his turn to reach forward. But instead of grabbing a fistful, he takes the whole bowl, bringing it to his lap.Â
âHere,â he nudges you. âItâs closer this way.â
You nod. Right. Closer.Â
In front of you, the movie begins to unfold. Saturated color grading, wardrobe choices that already look slightly dated despite the recent release date, and a female lead that first impressions paint as adorably quirky, it has all the makings of a brainless plot. The perfect way to waste a Friday night.Â
And Jungwon, who usually insists on holding his tongue until after the credits have rolled, leans a little closer to you just past the twenty-minute mark. Unnecessary, given how close the two of you are already sitting. His arm, bare from the short-sleeve shirt he wears, brushes against yours.Â
And his lips nearly touch the shell of your ear when he whispers, âThis is ridiculous.â
You frown. âWhat is?â
âThe premise,â he hums. âI mean, why would they pretend to date each other? It doesnât make sense. There are plenty of other things he could do to get back at his ex.â
You roll your eyes. Leave it to him to analyze the storyline like it was designed for anything other than mindless entertainment. âItâs the oldest cliche in the book,â you explain. âItâs for the plot.â
âItâs obvious,â he shakes his head. âTheyâre going to fall in love with each other.â
âOf course they are,â you agree. âBut not every movie has to have a million twists and turns. Sometimes itâs just nice to know how things will end and enjoy seeing how they get there.â
âYou like that?â he asks, voice low. âWhen things fall into place exactly the way you expect them to?â
âSometimes,â you breathe. âItâs nice to not always have to guess.â
âWould you ever do that?â
Your eyebrows raise. âFake date someone?â
Jungwon nods.Â
âNo,â you scoff. âI can barely handle a real date, remember?â
Youâre not sure what it is, but something in your answer must satisfy his curiosity, at least for now. Next to you, Jungwon is quiet once again. In front of you, the characters on screen continue to tiptoe around each other, dancing around the obvious.Â
The onscreen tension builds and builds and builds, all the way until it breaks. With a heated confession in the rain and the one aspect of a rom com you forgot to account for before choosing your movie for the evening.Â
Youâre a grown woman. You have the degree and the age on your driverâs license to prove it. But the flush on your cheeks is undeniable as the two characters on screen begin to kiss.Â
And kiss they do. Jesus christ, you think, just how much of the budget was allotted to close up shots of their mouths?Â
As the scene begins to heat, so does the temperature of your skin. Youâre half afraid Jungwon will feel it, scalding him through the layers of fabric between your legs that still touch. Part of you wants to screw your eyes shut, to reach for the remote and click fast forward just to end the agony, but youâre pretty sure that would be even more humiliating.Â
Instead, you keep your eyes glued to the screen. Watch unmoving, trying to appear unaffected, as the male lead tangles his fingers through her hair, tugging slightly as she stifles a moan against his lips. Itâs so raw, so intimate, that youâre tempted to pull out your phone and confirm the PG-13 rating you swear it had.Â
Itâs involuntary, the way you squirm against the couch cushions. The movement is no help. All it does is make you brush further against the one person youâre suddenly desperately trying to ignore.Â
The man on screen brushes his fingers under the hemline of her shirt, drags the fitted material upwards.Â
Without even really meaning to, you dare a glance at Jungwon.Â
And find him already looking at you. Staring at you, lips parted, eyes locked on the flush spreading over your cheekbones.
Quickly, your eyes drop to your lap, but the image stays burned behind your eyelids. You donât dare to look at him again, not even once the scene has ended, when the plot becomes ridiculous again instead of heated.Â
Even once the ending credits start to roll, you keep your eyes trained on the screen, as if the list of assistant directors is something you find fascinating. But Jungwon has other plans.Â
He shifts against you, knee nudging yours. You hear his exhale, heavier than before.Â
A moment passes. Another.Â
Then, he finally tells you, âI canât stop thinking about it.â
Immediately your mind starts to swim. Thinking about what? The unbelievability of the premise? The questionable casting choices? Or, worst of all, the kiss?
Out loud, you do your best to school your question into something neutral. âThinking about what?â
âWhat you said,â he tells you. It soothes exactly none of your frayed nerves.
What have you said? You suddenly canât remember. You search for a list of recent statements youâve made and come up completely blank.Â
It feels like a conversation thatâs going nowhere when you ask, âWhat did I say?â
Jungwon doesnât spare a moment. âThat you think boys donât like you.â
Oh. Oh. Nearly a week ago now, your tipsy, self-berating rambling must have stuck with him. Well, thatâs fine, you suppose. Thatâs something you can explain away now. Sober, even if your mind is still spinning a bit.Â
âI didnât mean it like that,â you try to explain. âI was drunk and my words werenât coming out right. I just meant that it was frustrating going on a date and leaving feeling like something was wrong with me, you know?â
Only after heâs quiet for a full thirty seconds do you dare a glance at him. Jungwonâs brow is furrowed, his lips pulled tight in contemplation. He parts his lips like he wants to say something, closes them again as if heâs thought better of it. Â
When he finally finds a statement to commit to, he says, âMaybe youâre going on dates with the wrong people.â
âOh, definitely,â you agree. âBut thatâs the hard part, isnât it?â In retrospect, itâs a big part of why you were so hesitant to accept Sophiaâs offer in the first place, why she had to ask you, to insist, four times. âI feel like I have to go on so many terrible dates that make me feel like shit just to maybe eventually find someone I want to spend more time with. Itâs not like I think thereâs actually anything wrong with me, but I do feel like I have a harder time than other people. You know, making friends, going on dates, finding people I actually want to be around of my own volition.â
After already feeling so rejected from your job search, your headspace has been even more fragile. Dating doesnât feel like stress relief for you. It feels like a reminder of all the things you wish were different about yourself.Â
Jungwonâs gentle when he shakes his head. âThereâs nothing wrong with keeping your circle small.â
âNo,â you agree, âbut sometimes it feels like it isnât really my choice. Like, even if I wanted to have more friends or go on more dates, it wouldn't pan out the way I want it to. Sometimes itâs just easier to keep to myself, but that doesnât mean there arenât times I wish I could be more outgoing.â
After another momentary lapse, another beat of silence, he asks, âWhat about me?â
A flicker of surprise crosses your features. âWhat about you?â
âYou have an easy time talking to me,â Jungwon points out. âAnd I feel the same about you. Weâve been hanging out since we were kids, and Iâve never felt uncomfortable with you.â
âReally?â Your brow arches. âEven when I forced you to go down that waterslide in third grade?â
Even his mom had been surprised. Heâd been terrified of that thing, apparently kicking and screaming against anyone else that tried to drag him down it. But when you, in all of your fourth-grade glory, insisted that he joined you, he just tucked his hand in yours, let you lead him all the way up the ladder even as his legs shook beneath him.
Jungwon smiles at the memory, a soft thing. But his eyes are still serious, his gaze still weighted. âYou know what I mean.â
âYeah,â you sigh, âbut thatâs different.â
âHow so?â
âBecauseâŠâ you trail off, searching for an explanation. âBecause youâre Jungwon.â
âYeah.â The heat in his eyes doesnât settle. âAnd?â
âAnd Iâve never had to think about it,â you shrug. âWe became friends before I was even fully self-aware. Youâve always just been Jungwon.â
Heâs quiet for a moment, considering. And then, âCan I ask you something?â
âI feel like youâre going to anyway.â Itâs meant to be lighthearted, to distract from that strange bit of tension that still simmers.Â
Jungwonâs eyes donât lose their edge. âWhy did you start going on dates again?â
âWhat do you mean?â His question surprises you. âI just graduated from university. Iâm young and unattached and all that. Isnât this the time that everyoneâs going on dates?â
âI suppose,â he concedes, âBut I feel like thatâs why youâre so frustrated.â
You frown, and he clarifies, âYouâre going on dates because you feel like you should. Not because you want to.âÂ
He pauses for a moment, gauging your reaction. Deciding your silence is permission enough, he presses on, âYouâre not even sure what you want out of them or what an ideal relationship looks like for you right now. Youâre just going and hoping something will stick, like throwing darts with a blindfold. Then you get upset with yourself when it doesnât live up to your fantasy, even though you havenât decided what your fantasy even is yet. I mean, why did you even meet Sunghoon? Because you really wanted to, or because you wanted to get Sophia off of your back about it?â
You feel exposed all of a sudden. Seen right down to your bones in a way you were prepared for. âIâŠâ Thereâs a maturity to his question that you werenât expecting, an edge you canât quite decipher. You turn the question back to him instead of answering. âSince when did you get so observant?â
âIâve always noticed you.â
âJungwonâŠâ
âSo I can help you figure this out, too,â he insists. âReally,â he adds when you still look unsure. âWho knows you better than me?â
You canât quite meet his gaze, and itâs all the confirmation he needs.Â
âExactly,â Jungwon nods. âSo Iâll ask you again, why did you agree to go on a date with Sunghoon?â
It would be easy to deflect, to blame Sophiaâs insistence. Or to double down on your earlier statement, that this is the time in your life to try new things, to meet new people. That it felt natural to say yes.Â
But when you really think about it, the cold, honest truth is just thatâ
âI think I was just tired of hearing no all the time.â
Jungwonâs brow furrows. âWhoâs telling you no?â
You sigh, try to let out an airy laugh that comes out choked, a little pathetic. âOnly every hiring manager in the country, apparently. You know, Iâve been sending out job applications like crazy since graduation, but it's been six months now and the only thing I have to show for it is a stack of rejection letters cluttering my inbox.â
A flicker of understanding passes through his gaze. âSo youâre compensating, then.â
You glare. âDonât make fun of me.â
âIâm not,â he shakes his head. With the same tone youâve heard him use to soothe a skittish kitten, he adds, âThat must have been so frustrating. Putting in all that effort and not getting the result you wanted.â He knee brushes yours as he leans in closer, something unbearably earnest in his gaze. âYouâve been working too hard.â
âI havenât been working hard enough,â you argue. âIf I had, then something would have panned out at this point. I just need toââ
âThere you go again,â he interrupts, shaking his head gently. âAssuming that itâs all your fault. Maybe the hiring manager was just an idiot, or you caught them on a bad day.â
âYeah.â Your words drip with self-effacing sarcasm. âIâd believe that if it were one or two. But I donât think over a hundred of them just happened to wake up on the wrong side of the bed the day they reviewed my application.â
It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Settles into the air a bit uncomfortably.Â
Jungwon takes a moment to respond. When he does, he just sighs your name.Â
âI know,â you scramble for something a little lighter, âlike, the economy is shit and all, and one day Iâll look back at this and laugh or whatever. But it just sucks right now, you know? Iâm so sick of it. I really just wanted to hear someone sayââ
âYes,â Jungwon finishes for you.Â
âYeah,â you nod. âExactly.âÂ
âOkay,â he nods, resolve tightening as if heâs made his mind up about something. âThen ask me.â
âWhat?â
Jungwon doubles down. âYou can ask me,â he insists again, that same damn earnestness in his eyes, âanything you want me to do.â Meeting your gaze, he adds, âIâll say yes. I promise.â
Against your will, you feel warmth starting to rise on your cheeks again. Thereâs something weighted in his promise, something desperate that simmers just behind it. Something that you have absolutely no idea what to do with.Â
Suddenly desperate for a reprieve, you do your best to break the tension. âThat seems like a terrible idea.â You curse the strange breathlessness in your voice. Why are you like this? Itâs just Jungwon. âWhat if I ask you to jump off a bridge?â
Jungwon just grins. âIâll take my chances. Besides, I know Iâm safe. Youâd miss me too much.â
âYou know,â you start, âfor someone who thinks fake dating is ridiculous, this feels even more absurd.â
Jungwon doesnât budge. âJust try it,â he encourages. âAsk me something.â
âFine.â You glance towards the bowl still sitting in his lap. âHand me the popcorn.â
Picking it up, he ignores your outstretched hands in favor of learning forward, all the way until he settles it in your lap. His fingers remain against the edges of the bowl until heâs sure the balance is steady. Only then does he lean back into his own space.Â
âEasy.â He grins. Then his brow furrows, considering. âAre you hungry?â he asks. âI could make you some real food, ifââ
âNo,â you shake your head. Picking up a single piece of popcorn, you add, âJust wanted to do this.âÂ
Throwing it square at his face, it bounces off of his nose harmlessly before falling to the carpet below. Jungwonâs nose scrunches in a knee-jerk reaction, eyes screwing shut before he opens them again.Â
âMaybe I was wrong,â his eyes are heavy-lidded, voice lower than you expect. âYou are going to use it for evil.âÂ
âOf course.â You reach for another kernel. âSo maybe you should reconsiderââ
Jungwon doesnât say anything, doesnât give you a moment to prepare for the way he wraps his fingers around your raised wrist, locking it into place before you can toss another piece of popcorn in his direction.Â
His grip is warm against your skin. Tight, something youâre not sure youâd be able to break out of even if you tried.Â
Still, you attempt to fling the popcorn at him. With the restricted motion of your wrist, it doesnât make it far. It flies through the air for only a split second before falling uselessly down to your own lap, just in front of the bowl it came from.Â
âNice try,â Jungwon breathes, your wrist still encased in his grip.Â
Your eyes narrow. âI do my best.â
âIâm sure you do,â he allows, âbut youâre trapped now.â
Thereâs something strange in his gaze. Something heavy, weighted that you canât quite place. Something that feels entirely too real.Â
You test it, the strength of his grip on you. True to his word, your wrist hardly makes it an inch, his fingers a vice around them.Â
âYouâre ridiculous,â you breathe, voice airier than you mean for it to be.
âMaybe,â he agrees. A breath passes between you. Another. His eyes are still locked on yours, searching, like heâs desperate to find something. Another moment passes, and he releases his grip. Your wrist falls slowly back to your lap. âBut I meant it.â
âI know you did.â You canât quite make eye contact, but his sincerity is evident even as you place your gaze elsewhere. âThank you.â
âSeriously,â he insists. âMy schedule is a lot lighter now that midterms are done. If you ever want to do something or go somewhere or you just wanna crash for a night on my couch, youâre more than welcome to.â
âDid you get Jakeâs approval for that?â You arch an eyebrow.Â
Jungwonâs voice is tighter than before, just slightly. âJake will be fine." And then, still strained but a bit softer, âIf thereâs anything I can do for you, just let me know. Donât make me wait two weeks to see you.â
Here, in the quiet of his living room, movie forgotten on the TV, itâs easy to agree to.Â
âOkay,â you whisper, regular speech suddenly feeling too loud, too abrasive. And then again, because you really do mean it, âThank you, Jungwon.â
âOf course,â he insists, voice equally low.Â
For a moment, the two of you sit like that, legs brushing, you avoiding the eye contact he tries to maintain.Â
Then, Jungwon sighs, faces the TV again as he reaches for the remote. âShould we watch something else?â he asks.Â
You nod. âSomething scary this time.âÂ
Jungwon arches a brow. âYou hate horror movies.â
Shrugging, you insist. âIâm in the mood for one now.âÂ
He still doesnât look like he quite believes you, but he doesnât argue any further as he scrolls down, searching for the genre.Â
At his side, youâre quiet. Itâs true. You do hate horror. But youâd take zombies and ghosts and jumpscares any day over the off chance of having to sit through another kissing scene tonight.Â
This time, Jungwon picks the movie. Learning back against the cushions, he reaches for a handful of popcorn.Â
The movie hasnât started yet. Thereâs nothing on the screen to be scared of, but your heart thumps traitorously against your ribcage anyway.
âŠ..
Two days later, youâre back at your favorite coffee shop. This time, though, itâs not Jungwon who sits across from you.
âSo,â Sophia starts, and you already recognize that tone. Uh-oh, you think. âSunghoon asked about you.â
âWhy?â you ask, memories of your rather terrible date coming back unbidden. âTo see if Iâve checked myself into an insane asylum yet?â
âNo,â she glares. âJust to see how youâre doing.â She takes a sip of her drink, eyeing you over the rim. âWhy didnât you go on another date? He told me he texted you.â
That explains it then, you think. Him reaching out to you probably didnât come from genuine interest. Maybe spending time with you felt like nothing more than a favor to his coworker. Maybe he was secretly relieved when youâd ignored his message. Maybe he only brought it up to Sophia to be polite.Â
Your eyes narrow. âWhy are you so involved, anyway? You know, this is exactly why they say you shouldnât shit where you eat.â
âIâm not dating him,â she points out. âAnd you two donât work together.â Itâs true. Youâd applied for an open position a couple months back, actually. And, of course, had been promptly rejected. âThat doesnât apply.â
âClose enough,â you mutter.Â
âWhy are you so against it?â she asks. âDid he suck or something?â Considering it, sheâs quick to apologize. âSorry. He always seemed so nice at work. A little shy, like I told you, but when he mentioned he was single, you were the first person I thought of. Did he say something weird to you or try to make you split the billââ
âNo,â you shake your head. âNothing like that. He was perfectly nice. And polite.â
Her confusion returns. âSo what gives? I didnât expect the two of you to get married, but I thought youâd at least last a little longer than one date. Besides,â she leans in, voice lower but still not nearly quiet enough for what sheâs about to ask you, âarenât you practically shriveled up at this point? Did you take a vow of celibacy without telling me? Whenâs the last time you even had seââ
Eyes widening in panic, you interrupt her with an entirely too loud, too bright, âHi, Jungwon!â
Frowning, Sophia turns back to look over her shoulder. Because there he is, the man in question. A surprising coincidence, perhaps, if you werenât the one that introduced both of your friends to this cafe.Â
âHey,â he grins, glancing between the both of you with his takeout cup in hand. âI thought that was you I saw over here.â Turning to your friend, he nods, âHi, Sophia.â
âJungwon,â she returns. Her gaze follows his, all the way from his eyes to yours. Settling back into her seat, she gestures towards the empty chair at your table. âGrab a seat,â she offers. âJoin us.â
âOh, thatâs alright,â you glance at him apologetically. âIâm sure Jungwon has otherââ
But he slides down into the chair without a hint of protest, your words dying on your lips.Â
âSorry for interrupting,â he says. âWhat were you two talking about?â
You force a smile that looks anything but easy. âNothing,â you insist, just as Sophia explains,Â
â____âs desperate need to get laid.â
âOh my god,â you groan, flashing daggers at Sophia with your eyes as you pointedly avoid looking to where Jungwon sits on your right. âI did not say that.â
âSo what?â she asks, either oblivious to your suffering or relishing in it. âYouâre planning to be a nun forever?â
âIâm busy,â you deflect. âI have other priorities right now.â
âBusy people have sex,â she argues. âAll that stress isnât good for you. Like I said, youâll shrivel up andââ
âCan we talk about literally anything else?â She has to know how embarrassed you are from the increasingly red shade of your face, how horrified you are that Jungwon can hear everything sheâs saying. There arenât many secrets left between the two of you, but the gory details of your nonexistent sex life isnât something youâre exactly dying for him to be privy to.Â
Sophia leans back, some of the urgency of her insistence fading. Still, sheâs not quite done. âIâm just confused,â she explains. âI mean, Sunghoon was kind and a gentleman and more than willing, if the way he keeps hounding me about you is anything to go by. I just donât get it.â
Slowly, you brave a glance at Jungwon, whoâs kept quiet this whole time. Maybe, at least, he shares some of your embarrassment, avoiding your gaze just as pointedly as you avoided his.Â
But when you turn towards him hesitantly, Jungwon is already looking at you. Thereâs nothing shy or avoidant as his eyes rake over you. And thereâs no sign of embarrassment, no telltale flush, no fidgety shifting.Â
Jungwonâs just looking at you. With a cool, steady stare. Like heâs assessing you, clicking puzzle pieces into place.Â
When he finally breaks eye contact, itâs to look at Sophia. âLeave her alone,â he defends. His tone is light, teasing. But thereâs an edge there. Something that doesnât leave space for an argument. âSheâll find someone when sheâs ready. Park Sunghoon isnât the end all be all of men.â
âNo,â Sophia agrees, âbut surely heâs better than your left hand and the vibââ
âOh my god,â youâre begging this time. âStop.â
âWhat about you?â Jungwon asks, and both of you turn to him in surprise. When your eyes land on him, heâs looking at Sophia, not at you. âHowâs your love life looking these days?â
âLove lifeâŠâ She trails off, shrugging. âNothing to report. But I havenât joined your girl here,â she nods towards you, âat the convent yet. In that regard,â she grins. âIâm perfectly healthy.â
âGood for you,â Jungwon nods. âAnd the job is still going well?â
âYeah,â she nods. âItâs not confirmed yet, but thereâs a rumor that I might be in talks for a promotion next quarter. IâmâŠâ
Her words trail off as you zone out, some of the adrenaline fading, the tension draining from your shoulders.Â
Not for the first time, you feel extremely grateful for Jungwon. Itâs subtle, but itâs enough. And to you, itâs obvious. The way he maneuvered the conversation away from you. Youâre sure that your discomfort wasnât difficult to pick up on, but the way he handled it makes you appreciate him that much more.Â
Morbidly, you wonder what he thinks of your glaring lack of a sex life. Ever since Jay, youâve kept the details of your relationships, or rather, lack thereof, close to the chest where heâs concerned. And even when you were with Jay, intimacy was never a topic you breached with Jungwon.Â
The thought has a flush starting anew on your cheekbones. You do your best to dismiss it.Â
Next to you, Jungwon keeps his eyes on Sophia, nodding at the appropriate times, commenting in a way that proves heâs listening.Â
But beneath the table, the warmth on his palm finds your knee. Without breaking conversation or giving even the slightest outward hint that his mind is anywhere besides your friendâs story about her bossâ most recent rampage, he squeezes.Â
Once, gently. Just to let you know that heâs there.Â
You fidget, and he does it again. This time, he canât quite help the grin that spreads across his lips.Â
âŠ..
Despite everything, you canât shake the feeling of Jungwonâs hand on your knee beneath the table. Days pass, and in quiet moments, if you give your brain enough leeway, it always wanders back there.Â
To his easy, subtle defense of you. To the way it seemed so natural for him to soothe you silently with his touch.Â
To the way he looked at you, considering, evaluative, while Sophia laid out the gory details of your fruitless sex life on the table.Â
And maybe she was right to question you so thoroughly. Maybe it really has been too long, because thatâs the only feasible explanation for the thoughts youâre having now.Â
Itâs only natural, you suppose. Jungwon has been a constant in your life, a steady presence, for nearly as long as your memory extends. Heâs been there through it all, your worst moments, your best memories. Heâs seen all of it, knows you like the back of his hand, and heâs stuck around for it all.Â
For someone with an intense fear of rejection, it means more than you can say. You canât think of anyone in this world that you trust more than him.Â
And intimacy⊠Intimacy is just an extension of that, you suppose. Being close with someone in that way is the ultimate act of trust.Â
Maybe thatâs why things felt so stilted, so disjointed with Sunghoon. You had nothing against him, but you also didnât know him at all. Trust is something that takes time, effort. How could you let your guard down with someone you had just met?
Itâs just nerves, youâre sure. Youâve been out of practice since Jay, and with each passing day, that relationship just feels further and further away. A distant memory that you canât recall well enough to guide you now.Â
Maybe if there was someone you really trusted, someone that you could just practice with, thenâ
No. You shake your head, dropping the thought as quick as it comes. Itâs insane. Itâs the exact opposite of everything your relationship with Jungwon has been for the last eighteen years of your life.Â
Still, when a message from him lights up your phone screen a handful of hours later, it takes you a full minute and a string of deep breaths to convince yourself to open it.Â
And when you reread the text, an invitation to drive out to a lesser known lookout where the two of you used to go to watch the sunset in high school, you agree easily. If your heart is beating a little too fast in your chest, well, you suppose no one ever has to know about it.Â
Years ago, you were the one that discovered the outlook. After a particularly awful day, due mostly to your terrible junior year biology teacher, youâd put your newly acquired driverâs license to good use. You had no destination in mind. You were still new to driving and liked the way that it felt, liked the way it seemed like you could outrun any problem if you just drove far enough.Â
A series of wrong turns led you straight to a forested area not too far from the highway. Jutting high out over a nearby valley, the scene you found sprawled out in front of you was gorgeous.
It was early spring, then. Flowers were just beginning to bloom, glowing in the late afternoon sun. You shifted the car into park, shutting off the engine. And then you sat, for hours, just looking out at all of it.Â
As the sun faded on the horizon, so did the most pressing of your worries. Looking around you, biology class had begun to feel a lifetime ago.Â
You realized that day that you found somewhere special, somewhere that you wouldnât be willing to show to just anyone. Even then, there was only one person you thought youâd ever share the view with, that youâd ever let into your private little sanctuary.Â
So, one month later, when Jungwon came to your house after school with a crease between his eyebrows that usual methods couldnât seem to soothe, you offered him the passenger seat of your car and the view youâd been keeping all to yourself.Â
That day, it became his too. And a tradition of sorts began to form. Whenever either of you was stressed or upset or just needed to get away from it all, you had a shared place to escape to. Somewhere that felt out of reach from everyone else. Somewhere for just the two of you.Â
You havenât been back there with Jungwon for the better part of a year. Part of you is a bit worried as you see his car pull up from your apartment windowâthis time, heâll be the one drivingâthat something happened.Â
After all, the two of you usually saved the outlook for difficult times.Â
But as you slide into Jungwonâs passenger seat, the only thing he greets you with is an easy smile.Â
âGood day?â he asks, handing you his phone so you can pick the playlist for the drive.Â
âFine,â you nod, settling for an R&B album you know you both like. âWhat about you?â you ask, still wanting to dissuade your earlier concerns. âIs everything okay?â
âYeah,â he nods, craning his neck as he checks for cross-traffic before pulling onto the main street. âI just wanted to see you. Thought it might be nice to go somewhere quiet. And itâs a beautiful day.â He looks towards the cloudless sky. âI thought the sunset would be nice.â
The drive goes quickly as you pass familiar streets, reminiscing as memories coming back at every turn.Â
âOh my god,â you say as one comes back suddenly. âRemember that time we drove out here because James rejected me at junior prom?â
Jungwon frowns. âJames was an idiot.â
It rings true in hindsight. âYeah, but I was devastated. I cried so hard I got snot on my dress.â Itâs easy to laugh at now, even if the sting was unbearable in the moment. âNo wonder he said no.â
âHe said no because he was a dumbass,â Jungwon argues. âBesides, it canât be worse than the time we came here because I didnât make the taekwondo competition team.â
Something about the memory, even now, makes your heart clench a little. âThat was just sad,â you tell him softly. âYou were so disappointed.â
âI got over it,â he shrugs. âThe dartboard you made of my coachâs face helped.â
âOh my god,â your eyes widen. âI forgot about that.â
Jungwon smiles like itâs a fond memory. âYou were so violent.â
You shake your head. âOnly for you. I donât think Iâd ever wanted to hit someone more.â
Trading memories like secrets, the two of you eventually reach the right exit. Pulling off the highway, the air around you immediately feels more still. Calmer.Â
And when Jungwon pulls right up to the overlook, shifting his car into park and shutting off the ignition, things feel just like you left them.Â
The sun is getting close to the horizon now. The valley that stretches out beneath you as far as the eye can see glows in the last rays of daylight.Â
Your gaze stretches out too, welcoming that sense of familiarity. âIt looks the same,â you whisper.Â
âYeah,â Jungwon agrees. âIt does.â
Returning here now makes times feel sharper, more obvious.Â
âWeâve been coming here for what, six years now?â You shake your head. âI canât believe itâs been that long. I canât believe I graduated. Like, Iâm just done with university now. I still remember when it felt so far away.â
âYeah.â Jungwon nods, eyes on the horizon. âMe too.âÂ
For a moment, the space between you is silent, the air filled with nothing but the sound of your quiet breaths.Â
You werenât the one who asked him here, but if there was ever a place to admit the worries in your mind, you suppose it would be now.Â
Quietly, you say, âCan I ask you something?â
Jungwon turns to you, attuned to the serious tone of your voice. âOf course.â
âIf it makes you uncomfortable, you can tell me,â you promise. âI know we donât really talk about this kind of stuff usually, andââ
â___,â he interrupts, âAsk me.â
You take a breath. You can feel his gaze on you, but you canât quite look him in the eye when you ask, âDo you think Sophia was right?â
âAbout what?â His shoulders stiffen. âSunghoon?â
âNo,â you shake your head, and the tension loosens, but only slightly. âAbout me.â
âWhat about you?â he breathes.
âThat IâŠâ you trail off, searching for the right words. âThat itâs been too long since I was with someone.âÂ
Even now, you canât bring yourself to say it. To call a spade a spade. Jungwon reads between the lines easily enough.Â
He shakes his head. âItâs your choice to make. Yours and no one elseâs, for whatever reasons you want. Donât let Sophia make you feel bad just because her choice is different from yours.â
âI know,â you sigh. âBut sometimes I think sheâs right. That the longer I wait, the more difficult Iâm making things for myself, like Iâm just making the hurdle in my mind bigger and bigger. I mean, the last time I was with someone, you know, like that, was with Jay, and that was alreadyââ
Jungwonâs inhale is sharp. âIt was?âÂ
âSee?â you frown, mistaking his surprise for confirmation of your fears. âItâs been so long. Too long. Even you think so.â
âI donâtââ he tries, shaking his head. Now Jungwonâs the one scrambling for words. âI donât think itâs been too long. I was just surprised,â he says. âThatâs all.â
âYeah, surprised because of how long itâs been.â You laugh humorlessly. âNow even you think Iâm a nun.â
âI donât think that,â he shakes his head. âLike I said, itâs your choice.âÂ
âIs it though?â you ask. âThe more time passes, the more I start to think that the cards just arenât stacked in my favor.â
Jungwon frowns. âWhat do you mean?â
Your palms splay against your lap. The last rays of sun stretch over the valley, and your words are spilling out before you can stop them. âMaybe Sunghoon only acted interested because of Sophia. Maybe every time anyone has expressed interest, it hasnât been genuine.â You sigh. âItâs like, logically I know thatâs just the insecurity talking, but the more time passes, the harder those thoughts are to shake.â
For a moment, Jungwon is quiet. When he speaks again, his voice is low, serious. Pleading for your understanding. â___,â he says, âyouâre beautiful. Truly. Any man would be lucky for even the smallest piece of your time or attention. I know that itâs hard sometimes, and that those voices and doubts can feel so loud, but I really wish you could see yourself the way other people do. The way I do.â
âJungwonâŠâ
âIf you decide to have a relationship with someone, one of any nature, then it should be because you want to, not because you feel like you have to or because youâre trying to prove something.â
âWhat if I never get over it?â you ask, voice small, hardly a whisper. âWhat if I never get past this fear?â
âYou will,â Jungwon promises. âIt might not happen as fast as you want it to or in the way you expect it to, but you will.â
Itâs so him, you think. So Jungwon to have more faith in you than even you ever could. Heâs been here since the beginning, and heâs not going anywhere. Heâs seen you face obstacles and challenges before, and heâs always done everything in his power to help you overcome them.Â
Maybe this is no different. Maybe the only thing you ever needed was some help from Jungwon.Â
MaybeâŠ
No. Even with your logic twisting things to your favor, you know that this is different. This is different from asking for a favor or some moral support. If you ask Jungwon to do this for you, youâre crossing a line. One that youâre not sure youâd be able to come back from.Â
The friendship you have isnât just something youâre unwilling to risk. It has quite literally become something you donât know how to live without. Youâve never had to try, never even had to imagine a life without Jungwon at your side.Â
The only time that came close was during your first year of university, during your relationship with Jay, and that had been nearly enough to wreck you. The potential fallout from this could be worse, so much worse. You wonât risk it.Â
But then, unbidden, your mind supplies a memory. One from his couch, little more than a week ago.Â
âYou can ask me,â heâd told you, earnest in his delivery, âanything you want me to do.â He said it himself. He promised you. âIâll say yes.â
So, before you can lose your grip on the last remnants of courage you have, you ask, âWould you everâŠâ
Itâs as far as you get before your bravery fails you, words trailing off into nothingness.Â
You wish you could take them back when Jungwon asks, a little breathless. âWould I ever what?â
You shake your head. âItâs nothing. Itâs stupid. Just forget I said anything.â
But he wonât let you get away so easily. âAsk me.â
And you swear, itâs like he knows. His gaze bores into yours, searching, pleading, desperate, like he can see you all the way down to your bones. Like even the most secret of your thoughts have been laid bare before him.Â
â___,â he whispers your name. âAsk me,â he repeats.Â
âI justâŠâ Your eyes screw shut. You canât bring yourself to look at him. âWhat if weâŠâ
âWhat if we what?â
You open your eyes, but only to look down towards your lap. âI trust you,â you whisper. In the silence of his car, it feels like youâre shouting. âMore than anyone. Maybe Iâll be able to get over that hurdle in my mind if I just let youââ
âLet me what?â he asks. âTouch you?â
The breath you draw is ragged, shallow, as he hits the bullseye with little effort. Your fingers find a loose thread on the sleeve of your sweater. You know better, but you pull anyway. âYeah,â you exhale. âIf youâŠâ You canât look him in the eye, even now. Itâs hardly a whisper, but you canât bring yourself to say it any louder. âIf I let you touch me.â
Jungwonâs inhale is sharp, his shudder involuntary. He leans across the center console, closer to you. Closer, closer, closer, until he stops, lips parting, face inches from yours.
He takes a deep breath in, holding it as his eyes search your face even as you keep yours turned down. Your heart hammers in your chest so violently you think it must be trying to escape. You still canât look at him.Â
Jungwonâs breath escapes him in a shallow huff, dusting across your cheekbone. He lingers there for a second, like he canât stand the thought of distance.Â
Then, without a warning, he sits back in his seat, knuckles white against the fabric of his jeans.
âI canât,â he tells you.
You look up, eyes widening in surprise. âWhat?â
âI canât,â he repeats. This time, heâs the one avoiding eye contact. You search his features for anything, any kind of explanation, but all you find is the tense set of his jaw, the heat that still simmers in his gaze. The restraint holding him back.Â
And suddenly, shame flashes through you. White hot humiliation that stings all the way down to your bones. It was one thing to imagine rejection from faceless men. But feeling it now, from him, from Jungwon, is so much worse than anything your mind ever conjured.Â
Trying not to let accusation sit too heavy in your tone, you whisper, âYou promised.â Itâs so pathetic, but thereâs nothing left of your pride at that point. âYou told me youâd say yes to anything.â
Jungwon flinches. âAnd Iâm trying,â he tells you, an edge to his voice that sings with desperation. âBelieve me, I am. Iâm doing my best to make this about you, butâŠâ
âBut what?â You scoff. âYou changed your mind? The thought of me like that is so repulsive you have toââ
âNo.â He wonât let you finish. âBut youâre sitting here, looking at me like youâd do anything for it, like you need it, and I canât just say yes and give it to you because I do too.â
Your anger subsides, replaced with confusion. âWhat do youââ
âI need it too.â Only then does he meet your eye. Wide in the dying glow of lingering daylight, heâs begging for a bit of your understanding. âIâm trying to be selfless, but if I touch you, that wonât be just for you.â
Your brow creases. You still donât get it. âI donâtââ
Jungwon releases a shaky exhale. âIâve been thinking about getting my hands on you since I was old enough to know what it meant. Since I was old enough to want things like that at all.â
Itâs all too much, too sudden. âJungwon, whatââ
âI know that you still think of me as the kid you grew up next to, and Iâve been doing my best not to shatter the illusion because you like me like that. But you come home from a date telling me it didnât work out, telling me that boys donât like you, and all I can think is good.â His hand curls into a fist, knuckles white. âI could do it so much better anyway.â
âI didnâtâŠâ You shake your head. It doesnât make sense. âYou neverââ
But Jungwon isnât done yet. âYouâre sitting here asking me to touch you, but Iâ fuck, ___. I canât. Not when youâre only asking because you think it doesnât mean anything to me. That it wonât change anything for me. You tell me that you trust me, and itâs the sweetest thing about you. I canât take advantage of that.â His breath is practically heaving now, like heâs just finished running. âI canât use your trust and break it like this.â
The sun dips past the horizon. The only lingering remnants of daylight cast his face into a gentle glow. Even as shadows begin to trace his features, heâs still Jungwon. Your Jungwon. But no matter how many times you spin his words through your mind, you canât form them into something you understand. Something you have any idea what to do with.Â
âIâŠâ Itâs so confusing. Itâs entirely too much. All you can think is, âWhy did you never say anything?â
Jungwon laughs, but thereâs no humor in it. âWould it have changed anything? I know you. You run when you get scared. You like me like this, your harmless little friend. You said it yourself, you think you know everything about boys like me. And you needed a friend. So thatâs what Iâll be. Your friend. But I canât say yes, not to this.â
âWhat ifââ
âDonât,â he cuts you off. âI know you think I can handle anything, but donât tell me things you donât mean.â
âJungwon,â you try softly.Â
His fingers wrap around his steering wheel, knuckles turning white. âJust let me drive you home,â he pleads.
âButââ
âPlease,â he whispers, and you donât think youâve ever seen him look so broken. âI know it was too much, that itâs not fair to you, but I canât⊠I donât think I can look at you right now and see all that confusion. So just,â he begs again, âplease. Let me take you home.â
You want to press the issue, want to keep going until you have even a small fragment of understanding to call yours, but Jungwon is no stranger to making sacrifices for you. It seems heâs been making even more than you ever realized.Â
Tonight, right now, you can do the same for him.Â
âOkay,â you whisper.Â
The drive home passes in silence. Heavy, thick, uncomfortable like a blanket on a sweltering summer night. Neither of you bother to turn on the music this time. The only company to the quiet are the thoughts spinning through your mind, the moon that begins to shine as dusk turns to night.Â
Still, as he eases into the driveway just in front of your apartment, you canât help but whisper, âGood night, Jungwonâ as you step out of the passenger seat.Â
Whatever has passed between you, whatever terrible precipice the two of you have just fallen from, he doesnât seem to be able to either.Â
âGood night, ____.â
By the time you make it inside, heâs gone. You know it will be, even before you check for his car from your bedroom window.
âŠ..
âUm,â you begin, entirely unsure how to start the conversation. Across from you, Sophia sits on her favorite kitchen stool, scrolling through her Instagram feed while you wait for the pasta water to boil. âSomething happened.â
âMm?â She hums halfheartedly, eyes still trained on her phone screen.Â
Your words come out too fast, like youâre in a rush to have them over with as quickly as you can. âI was with Jungwon a few nights ago, andââ
âOh my god,â she interrupts as she finally looks up, phone forgotten as she sets in on the counter. âYou two finally hooked up?â
âWhat?â Your face pales at just how close she is to the truth. âWhy would you even ask that? Weâve never even come close.â Well, of course, except for the incident youâre currently trying to explain. That youâve been tiptoeing around for the better part of a minute.Â
âAre you kidding?â Sophia deadpans. âThat boy looks at you like he wants to eat you.â
You splutter. âHe does not.â
Sophia rolls her eyes. âHe wouldnât look at me for a week after I set you up with Sunghoon. And I thought he was gonna kill me that day he saw us at the cafe. All I did was mention the possibility of you having sex with someone that wasnât him, and itâs like he was writing my name on some imaginary death note.â
âYou donât even watch anime,â you point out.Â
âI know the reference,â she argues.Â
Then, something more pressing draws your attention. âYou did it on purpose,â you accuse, realization dawning. âYou kept pushing the subject that day to see how heâd react.â
âNo,â she denies, shaking her head. âI really do think you should put yourself out there more. Whether itâs Sunghoon or him or someone entirely different. Although,â she considers, âit is always kind of fun to see him get like that. Jungwonâs one of those people you donât really expect it from, you know? Heâs always so calm and collected. But I donât know if Iâll try it again,â she looks at you, faking a shudder. âHeâs scary when it comes to you.â
Any other day, in any other situation, youâd protest. Youâd insist that Jungwon is entirely unaffected by you and your romantic choices. That Sophia must have been imagining things that day.Â
But Jungwon has already basically confirmed every last one of her claims, whispered them to you himself from the secrecy of his driverâs seat.
Itâs the reason you invited her over today. To talk. To get a different perspective. To help you work through what happened.Â
Now, though, you just have a question.Â
âWhyâŠâ You still canât wrap your mind around it. âWhy did no one ever say anything?â
Sophia senses the shift, the way you go from defense to acceptance. From arguing to spiraling.Â
âOh, ___,â she pouts. âMy poor, sweet, oblivious ____.â
âIâm not oblivious,â you argue.Â
âNot usually,â she agrees. âBut itâs like you have this blind spot when it comes to him. Heâll be in the middle of undressing you with his eyes and youâll start telling some story about the matching diapers your moms bought when you were babies.â
âThey were pajamas,â you correct.
âWhatever,â Sophia waves it off. âThe point still stands. That boy wants you. Like, biblically.â
Itâs consistent. Itâs as much as Jungwon himself told you himself. But something about it makes you feel so terribly defeated, so completely unaware of everything you thought you knew about your friendship. About him. About yourself.Â
A bit helplessly, you ask, âWhat am I supposed to do?â
Sophia takes one look at you, at the dejection clouding your features, and sighs. âCan I be honest with you?â
You nod.Â
âI think youâre asking the wrong question. Itâs not about what youâre supposed to do. Itâs not about what Jungwon wants or what I think about your weird, sexually charged friendship.â Then, she asks the million dollar question, âWhat do you want to do?â
But thatâs exactly the problem, you think, because, âI donât know,â you admit. âI mean, Iâve never thought about it. Heâs always just been Jungwon to me.â Pausing for a moment, you suppose you have little pride left to lose. You might as well be honest. âBut the other night, when I was with him. I started thinking about⊠things.â
âThings,â Sophia repeats. She leans in closer, resting her chin against her palm as she asks, âWhat kinds of things? Feel free to be graphic, by the way.â
âSophia.â
She pouts sympathetically. âYou might not know right away. Youâve spent your entire life thinking of him as some untouchable, sexless entity. Which is kind of crazy, by the way. Like, have you seen the guy?â
You sigh. âSophiaââ
âIâm just saying, it might not happen overnight.â She looks at you, and you feel a sudden surge of gratitude for your friend. She may be wildly different from you in more ways than one, but she means it when she says, âItâs okay. Jungwon will understand, too. If you need some more time to decide if you want to jump his bones or not. Heâs probably already been waiting since, like, junior prom. Whatâs a little longer?â
A little longer, you think. Part of you already spins with doubt, waiting for someone else to supply exact answers. How long is a little longer? When should you make your decision? How long is it supposed to take for you to know if your best friend of eighteen years is meant to stay as just that, or if the relationship between you has been building, slowly, surely, undeniably, into something else this whole time?
But you suppose thatâs what Sophia means when she says itâs okay. What Jungwon meant when he told you it was alright to do things at your own pace, on your own time. You donât need someone else to decide for you.Â
The difficulty isnât a flawâitâs a sign that this decision is one that matters to you, one thatâs worth taking your time with.Â
So you do.Â
You think about it while you fine tune your resume for yet another job application. You think about it while you snip thorns off of roses at the flower shop, humming along absentmindedly to the playlist in the background.Â
You think about it in the shower and while you dinner. When your mom calls you and tells you about the new bulbs she just bought for her garden, the one that time and experience have allowed her to grow into something beautiful and thriving.Â
You think about it when you reach into the bottom drawer of your dresser one evening, pulling out the gift Jungwon gave you when you graduated high school nearly five long years ago.Â
A photobook, full of all your favorite memories together. Something to remember him by, heâd told you, so you wouldnât miss him too much when you went off to university one whole year ahead of him.Â
In every picture, youâre smiling, grinning so wide you think your face must be in danger of splitting in two. And youâre so lucky, you think, to have someone to share all of these memories with. To have someone whoâs been in your life for so long, whoâs always been exactly what you needed.Â
And then, staring at a picture of the two of you in high school, his arm around your shoulders as the two of you laugh into the camera, you think itâs obvious.Â
You donât have to make a choice between the Jungwon you know and the one youâre afraid to discover. Jungwon has been, and always will be, Jungwon. The way he smiles at you, because of you, isnât an illusion, and the love he offers you isnât conditional.Â
Heâs been your friend for as long as you can remember, and he will be for the rest of your life. Your feelings and hopes and desires may have shifted, but he isnât going anywhere.Â
Heâs not scared of the truth, you realize. He never was. But he knew that you would be.Â
So he fed it to you slowly until it was too prominent to deny anymore. And even then, he gave you space. Time. Let you come to your own conclusions.Â
And somehow, that makes all the difference.Â
You think of the game you used to play as kids, the one where you put on your best dress and let him pick wildflowers for you from his back yard. The one where you used the welcome mat from his porch as a makeshift aisle. The one where every time you walked down it, he was the one waiting for you at the end.Â
You smile, nearly identical to the picture still splayed open across your lap, and you think that maybe there was never really a choice at all.Â
âŠ..
Your knuckles barely rap against the door three times before you hear shuffling on the other side. Footsteps drawing closer until the latch opens, until the door draws back and you see him standing there. Jungwon.Â
If heâs surprised to see you, he doesnât show it. Dressed in gray sweatpants and a plain, fitted black t-shirt, you donât think he was expecting company.Â
âHi,â you breathe. âCan we talk?â
Jungwon still says nothing, but he opens the door a bit wider, gives you space to walk in. Standing in the entry, you take your shoes off, setting them neatly with the others before drawing back up to full height. Prolonging the inevitable as if it makes any part of what youâre about to do easier.Â
You finally drag your eyes back to Jungwon. Heâs already looking at you, expression unreadable. His hands are loose at his sides, but his posture is just slightly unnatural. Just a little too stiff. You know him. Heâs nervous.Â
Finally, you break the silence building between you. âIâve been thinking,â you tell him.Â
âAbout what?â he asks.
âYou,â you admit. âUs.â A string somewhere pulls taught. A thread loosens.Â
Jungwon sighs, his exhale shaky. His hand curls to a loose fist before he tucks it into his pocket. âAnd?â
âIââ Your decision is still solid, not something youâll back away from. But the words are harder to work out than you expected. âYouâre the best friend Iâve ever had in my life.â
Jungwon nods. âI know.â
âSo,â you try, âit feels weird to suddenly have these thoughts aboutâŠâ
He wonât let you leave things unsaid, not this time. âAbout what?â
âYou know,â you try to deflect.
âYeah,â he agrees, âbut Iâm gonna make you say it.â
You fidget a bit, eyes dropping, but you didnât come all the way here because you werenât sure. You know exactly what you want to tell him.Â
So you explain, âI just⊠you asked me, after my date with Sunghoon, what I was looking for.â It feels like a long time ago now, like a distant memory. âAnd I always felt like I didnât know, but when I think about it, I always think aboutâŠâ
âWhat?â Jungwon breathes.
âYou.â Your eyes meet his. This time, neither of you looks away. âI think about you. I donât have to try and come up with the best answer to my favorite hobbies because you already know. You know me better than anyone and you make me feel good about myself and all the things I usually donât like. I donât feel awkward or uncomfortable around you, and I donât feel like I have to explain myself to you.â
Jungwonâs breath is coming heavier now. He takes half a step towards you, almost subconsciously, as if distance is something heâs finding more difficult to tolerate. But he knows you arenât done, so he lets you continue.Â
âAnd then,â you add, âI was thinking about the difference between our friendship as itâs always been and the kind of relationship I think I want. And the only thing thatâs really different is, you know, the sex.â Your words are spilling now, faster than even you can keep up with. âBut even then, when I was trying to think of someone who I trusted enough to be with like that, the only person I thought of wasââÂ
âMe,â Jungwon finishes, gaze unreadable.Â
âYeah,â you breathe. âYou. I donât want to go on blind dates with Sophiaâs coworkers or find random guys to hook up with. I just want you. Itâs always been you. I want all of it to be you.â
Jungwonâs eyes shutter, brows going slack as he takes a deep inhale.Â
But you want to give him the same courtesy heâs been extending towards you this entire time. The decision, you want him to know, will always be his to make. âI know it might seem weird or sudden or out of the blue,â you tell him, âbut I just needed you to know.â Thinking of his earlier promise you clarify, âYou donât have to say yes. I donât even know if Iâm really asking you anythingââ
âYou think about me?â he interrupts. âWhen you think about what you want in a relationship?â
The bluntness of it all still makes you want to squirm. But you hold steady. âYeah,â you tell him.
âAnd when you think about having sex,â Heâs so direct. It makes you want to hide your face behind your hands. âThatâs me too?â
You canât quite manage words this time, but your nod is confirmation enough.Â
Jungwon exhales, even harsher than before. âAre you just curious?â he asks. âItâs fine if you are, but I canâtâ we canât do this if youâre just trying to scratch an itch. If youâre just doing it to move on, to get over a fear.â
âIâŠâ youâre trying to read between the lines, to make sure that you understand what heâs saying. It seems obvious, but thereâs a strange haze in your mind that has you doubting everything, including your own judgement. âIf we doâŠâ
Jungwon doesnât seem to have the same reservations for spelling it out. âIf we have sex.â
âOh,â you breathe. And then, âNo.â You shake your head.Â
âNo?â He echoes.Â
âIâŠâ You trail off, trying to find the right words to explain. âIâm notâThereâs no fear when it comes to you. Iâm not trying to get over anything. And thereâs no one else that I even want to be with like that, soâŠâ You trail off, searching for the words. âYou told me it was my choice, and I guess I just want you to know that itâs yours, too. You donât have to agree to anything, because youâre afraid of disappointing me or hurting my feelings orââ
â___,â he whispers your name, the sound nearly broken on his lips. You look up at him, eyes wide. âCome here,â he begs.Â
It only takes two tiny steps for you to stand just before him, for your chests to nearly brush. For a moment, Jungwon does nothing. Then, his arms come up, one circling around your shoulders, the other against the small of your back as he pulls you flush to him.Â
The side of your face rests against his chest, his heartbeat erratic under your cheek. You hear him sigh and feel the way his breath flutters through your hair.Â
He leans back, just slightly, and you follow the movement, chin tilting upwards as your eyes meet his. The hand wrapped around your shoulders slowly unravels itself. He brings his hand up to your temple, brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.Â
His other hand stays steady against the small of your back.Â
Jungwonâs fingertips linger against the shell of your ear for a moment. You suppress a shudder as he begins to drag them down, tracing the line of your jaw until they come to settle just beneath your chin.Â
âIs this okay?â he whispers.
You nod, the movement making his fingers press more firmly into your skin.Â
Then, slowly, he begins to lean towards you. His nose brushes against yours, once, twice, a third time.Â
âIâve thought about this,â he admits. âMore times than I can count.â
Heâs told you as much before, but now, with his hands on you and his lips just inches away, it feels different. It feels real.Â
âI imagined you looking at me,â he hums, pressing a kiss to your jaw, âwith those big, wide eyes.â Another kiss, this time to the curve of your cheekbone. âClinging to me,â a kiss to your eyelid as it flutters shut. âSighing.â The tip of your nose. âAnd Iâd try to hold back, butââ
âYou donât have to,â you shake your head. It comes out quieter than you mean for it too. Itâs ridiculous, maybe, but even now, you feel shy.Â
âYou mean that?â he asks, lips hovering so close you can feel their warmth.Â
You nod, nose brushing against his.Â
Jungwon sighs, takes a deep breath. And then he presses forward, just enough, until his lips finally brush against yours.Â
His grip tightens against you, fingers bunching the fabric of your shirt that rests against the small of your back.Â
Heâs gentle, so impossibly sweet as his lips find yours. Upper lip slotting between both of yours, he tugs slightly against your bottom lip. Releases it with a soft, wet sound. Smiles against you as you giggle into him.Â
When his lips find yours again, itâs with renowned fervency. The pressure is more insistent this time, more demanding as he uses the hand beneath your jaw to angle you his liking.Â
Jungwon takes the lead, pausing, soothing his touch against your skin while you adjust to his pace.Â
Your hands find his hair, tangling in the strands near his neck. You tug, an involuntary response when you feel his teeth against your bottom lip, and he groans, shuddering against you.Â
Without breaking connection, he moves, walking backwards, leading blindly, until he sits down on the same couch youâve been sharing moments on for weeks now. This time, he tugs you down with him, pulling you flush against his lap.Â
You feel it then, the evidence of just how affected he is. As if the drunk flush on his cheeks and swollen, red tint of his lips werenât enough.Â
Jungwon wraps both hands around your waist now, pulling you tighter to him as your fingers cup his jaw, tracing, gripping.Â
You feel it then, his tongue against the seam of your lips, and you part them without a second thought.Â
Jungwon waits until youâre breathless above him to decide that heâs had enough of this position. Using the leverage of his hands around you, he maneuvers your body until you're flat against the cushions, head propped against the pillow that sits by the armrest.Â
Hovering over you now, he uses his hands to brace himself on either side of your head. Eyes trained on your features, on the evidence of his ministrations. His gaze gets darker, heavier, as he takes in the sight of you beneath him. Skin flushed, lips swollen and parted in anticipation, in permission.Â
Jungwonâs had his fantasies. Has kept them close to his chest and in the back of his mind for longer than heâd be willing to admit. But the sight of you now. Under him, reaching for him, begging for him, is enough to shatter every wet dream heâs had since he was a teenager.Â
Jungwon doesnât maintain distance for long. Leaning down, he invades all of your senses. All you can see, even with your eyes screwed shut, is him. All you can feel is his lips, warm and insistent against your, the press of his hands on you, hovering just above the sliver of skin where your shirt had ridden up over your waistband. Every sound, every scent, every tasteâitâs all him. Something warm and familiar and entirely new all at once.Â
His hand plays with the fabric of your hem for a moment, testing the waters. When all you do is kiss him backâharderâhe decides to press his luck. Fingertips dancing against the bare skin of your lower stomach, he starts to drag your shirt upwards.Â
The air of his apartment is cool, even if his touch is anything but. It makes every inch of exposed skin that much more sensitive, goosebumps rising as his fingertips trace patterns against you.Â
His lips press against yours, a new angle, as a sound loosens itself from your chest. He swallows it, tongue pressing against you like he wants to savor it, like heâd do anything to hear it again.Â
He has your shirt nearly to your ribcage now, fingers tracing against the bottom seam of your bra, nerves singing with something new as you arch up against him. You need more.Â
Friction, pressure, touch, it doesnât matter. Youâll take whatever he gives you.Â
Then, suddenly, you remember. Pulling back slightly, his lips chase yours.Â
âWait,â you pant, the syllable muffled as he presses another kiss against you.Â
Once your request registers, he stops, mouth still brushing against yours. Leaning back slightly, he frowns. His chest still heaves when he asks, âYou okay?â
âYeah,â you nod, breathless. âBut what about Jake?â
âWhat?â Jungwon asks above you. You donât seem to be the only one struggling with coherent thought.
âJake,â you repeat. âWhat if he comes in?â
He wouldnât see anything, not really. Even the expanse of your bare torso is covered by Jungwonâs body on yours. But still, something in you hesitates. This, all of it, is for you and him. No one else.Â
Jungwon shakes his head. âHeâs not home.â
âWhat if he comes back?â
âHe wonât,â Jungwon insists. âHeâs visiting his family for the weekend. He wonât be back until Monday.â
Still breathing hard, itâs as if your interruption knocked sense back into him. Palm still splayed against your ribs, he rubs gentle strokes with the pad of his thumb.Â
Looking down at you, his eyes crinkle slightly at the way you look so sweet under him, so shy despite what youâd been doing only moments earlier.Â
âHey,â he leans down, nudging his nose against yours, âYou doing okay?â
You nod, but you still donât match his gaze.Â
âYeah?â he confirms, âThen look at me.â
It takes a moment, but you do. Your cheeks only redden further, flush more apparent than heâs ever seen it before when you finally meet his eye.Â
Something in his chest swells. You might be a year older, but fuck if it doesnât make him feel like such a man knowing that heâs the reason you look like this, that heâs the one who did this to you.Â
âYouâre so pretty,â he whispers, grinning when you look away again. He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. A chaste peck against the seam of your lips. âMy beautiful, perfect girl.â
âJungwon,â you whine.Â
âWhat?â he asks. âItâs true.â
âI thought you wanted to kiss me.â
âI can take a break to compliment you?â
You flush again, hands coming up to cover your face.Â
âAh, ah,â Jungwon tsks, fingers wrapping around your wrists. âI asked you to look at me.â He pulls, gentle but insistent, until your hands fall away. Until he can once again look you in the eye.Â
âHow long are you just gonna stare at me?â you ask.
âAs long as youâll let me,â he grins.Â
âJungwon,â you whine again.Â
âWhy?â he asks, practically cooing at you now. âIs my baby shy?â
You shudder at the pet name, and it awakens something devious in him.Â
âOh,â he breathes. âI see. Youâre getting impatient. Need me to touch you. Is that it?â
All you do is whine, but itâs a good enough answer for him.Â
âCâmon,â he urges, leaning back. âUp.âÂ
You frown at the sudden distance, a furrow creasing your brow.Â
âThe first time we have sex is not going to be on my living room couch,â he explains. Taking your hand in his, he guides you instead towards his bedroom.Â
And itâs not like youâve never been here before, but something about the low light, the weight of what youâre about to do, makes it feel like uncharted territory.Â
You step into the room, even further than Jungwon, eyes trained on the queen size bed pressed up under the window on the far side of the room.Â
Your back to him, you hear Jungwon pull the door shut. It latches into place with a quiet click. And then, behind you, he asks, âWhat are you thinking about?â
âYou,â you admit, turning to face him as you sit on the edge of his bed. âUs. I never thoughtâŠâ you trail off, palm smoothing against the top of his sheets. âI never thought weâd be here.â
âI did,â Jungwon tells you.Â
âReally?â Your eyes widen when you look at him.Â
âMaybe thought is the wrong word,â he amends. âBut I hoped.â Heâs quiet for a moment, emotions playing out across his features. âNow that youâre here, IâŠâ he hesitates, trying to find the words. âI donât want to do anything wrong,â he admits. âI donât want to scare you.â
âYou wonât.â You shake your head. âI told you. I trust you. That includes this, too.â
Jungwon looks at you, gaze open. âYou mean that?â
âOf course,â you nod.Â
Some of the tension drains from his broad shoulders, but he stays where he is, silhouette shrouded in the dim light of his bedroom.
This time, itâs you who takes charge.Â
âJungwon,â you whisper, an echo of your earlier embrace in his entry way. âCome here.âÂ
Thatâs all the encouragement he needs. His footsteps are even, steady, as he makes his way towards you. All the way until he stands just before you, looking down at where you sit on his sheets.Â
His hand comes to your cheek, thumb tracing patterns against your skin as you lean into his touch.Â
âUp,â he instructs. âBack against the pillows.â His hand falls from your face, trails down until his fingers interlace with yours. He follows in your wake as you move according to his instructions, all the way until youâre in a ghost of the position from his couch.Â
His body hovers over yours, breath warm as it fans against your cheekbone.Â
Again, his fingers find the hem of your shirt. This time, heâs less shy about pressing it upwards, all the way until it sits against the band of your bra.Â
Plain, black, built more for comfort than arousal. But you know Jungwon. Heâll take you as you are.Â
âJungwon,â you breathe, just as his fingertip slips beneath the band. It takes him a moment to tear his eyes away, to look up and meet your gaze. âKiss me.â
He doesnât need to be told twice.Â
Lips meeting yours, the slow build from before is gone. He knows what heâs searching for now, has already learned what rhythm makes you breathless fastest, palms splaying against his chest like youâd do anything to be closer.Â
His hand comes to your hip, then slides to the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You shudder as he guides it open, pliant to his touch. Jungwon uses the newly created space to slot his leg in between yours.Â
The shift has him brushing against you where tension is beginning to gather, exactly where youâre beginning to ache.Â
It feels good, but thereâs something frustrating about it. The way sensation builds and falls in the same maddening ebb and flow, like the sea of an uncharacteristically quiet day.Â
You already know itâs not enough. Against his lips, you whine. A pathetic little sound that stays half trapped in your throat. But Jungwon understands.Â
Sees the way your hips are starting to roll against him, the way your brow creases in concentration as you try to find a better angle.Â
Leg still between yours, he lets his fingertips ghost over the planes of your bare stomach, dragging downwards until heâs exactly where you want him.Â
You whine against his lips and he shudders. âIs this what you need?âÂ
You can hardly respond, can hardly think as his fingers dip below your waistband. Far more precise, it doesnât take long to have you seeing stars.Â
Heâs still kissing you, and you do your best to return it, but the sensations he levels you with are more than a little maddening. Lips parted against his, your mouth is practically slack as he works against you.Â
âFeelsâgood,â you sigh, eyes screwing shut.Â
âI can tell,â he whispers, some kind of awe in his voice. âLook at you.â
Youâre so close. Jungwon can tell, too. Heâs frantic now, movements tighter, faster as he watches the way your face twists in pleasure.Â
Your hand closes around his wrist, stopping him. âJungwon,â you pant, the sound of his name hardly coherent. âWait.â
Immediately, his hand stills. He doesnât pull away though, just leaves it there, against you.Â
The sensation sends a fresh, aching throb pulsing from somewhere deep within you. Jungwon feels it too, against his fingertips, and groans.Â
Remembering himself, he asks, âWhatâs wrong?â
âNothing,â you shake your head. âI just⊠Iâm ready.â
Jungwon thinks he knows what you mean. Heâs imagined those same words from you before. A million times, in a million different contexts. But the sight of you beneath him, eyes wide, lips parted, so terribly sweet, is so much better than he ever dreamed.Â
âI want you,â you whisper, tugging at his wrist. âPlease.â
Jungwon wonât make you wait. Fingers still hidden beneath your waistband, he slides them towards the top now, pulling, all the way until youâre bare beneath him.Â
He presses a kiss against your hip, just shy of where he was moments before.
He helps you slide your shirt over your head and shudders when your bra follows in its wake. He marvels at the feeling of your hands, smaller than his, tugging at his shirt, his jeans, until the two of you are in an equal state of undress.Â
Again, because itâs true and because he canât help himself, he whispers, âYouâre beautiful.â
Youâre still shy, even more so with the weight of his gaze on you, but you manage, âSo are you.â Itâs his turn to flush.
Hands pressing against your shoulders, he guides you to lay down again. Hair fanning out against his pillows, he thinks you look a bit like an angel here, tangled in his sheets.Â
Heâd tell you, if he werenât so distracted by the sudden feeling of your leg coming to wrap around his waist.Â
Skin against skin, it feels even closer than before. Warmer, Softer.Â
âJungwon,â your brows pull downward, eyes fluttering shut as you chase the sensations that have begun to drown you. âPlease.â
He moves slowly, not from hesitation. Jungwon doesnât think heâs ever been so sure of anything in his life. But he knows what this means to you, to him. He wants to take his time, wants to let every part of you adjust to him until you feel like an extension of one another, until your bodies canât quite tell where one ends and the other begins.Â
He swallows your gasp as he presses into you. Brows furrowed, lips parted, he drops his head into the crook of your neck, scattering soothing kisses down the length of your throat.Â
âFeels so good,â he encourages as you whimper, adjusting. âPerfect, like you were made for me.âÂ
The sentiment rings true, now and later, when he feels you relax around him, when he starts to move.Â
Slowly, reverently, at a pace that lets him press as deep as possible.Â
He brings his hand from your hip to the space just beneath your navel, palm splaying over your lower stomach, just above where he presses inside of you. Pushing down slightly, the added pressure makes you whine, tightening around him.Â
Jungwon groans, a long, deep sound that vibrates between your bodies.Â
âJungwon,â you whisper, when the ache starts to sing, when the pressure starts to build. When you close your eyes and see stars behind them.Â
âI know,â he pants, like he feels it too. âItâs okay,â he assures. âI have you.â
Itâs a reminder of what brought you here in the first place. And the sound of his voice is all you need.Â
Keening high in your throat, every muscle, every nerve, every fiber in your body goes taut. Tightens, pulls, before it releases. Jungwon leans down, lips parted against your collarbone as he groans, falling over the same edge only moments after you.Â
The shower he runs for you is warm, the touch he washes your hair with soothing as he rinses soap from your scalp.Â
The sheets are soft as you crawl between them, Jungwonâs chest firm as he pulls you tight against him.Â
âSleep,â he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss against your temple.Â
Body exhausted, mind sated, it doesnât take long for you to do as he says. In his arms, the rest that finds you is deep and dreamless.Â
âŠ..
âName?â Across from you, the secretary that sits at the front desk looks bored out of her mind. As if sheâs seen one too many potential new hires and doesnât think theyâre worth remembering at this point.Â
You give her your name, and she types a brief note into her computer. Doesnât bother memorizing it, but you wonât let that get to you, not today.Â
âYou can sit over there.â She gestures towards the row of chairs against the far wall of the reception area. With a smile so tight you think her jaw must hurt, she adds, âIâll call you when theyâre ready.â
Itâs not much. Itâs barely even polite, but you canât find it in yourself to care. Not when this is the first real company youâve stepped foot in in months. When this is the first time youâve gotten a string of congratulations in the subject line of your email inbox instead of rejections. Â
Still, it isnât a sure thing. A test run, the hiring manager had called it. A week of in-person work at the company to see if youâll be a good fit, if theyâre willing to formally offer you a position.Â
An extension of the already lengthy interview process youâve been subjected to for the last six weeks. But itâs far more than youâve gotten from anywhere else.Â
Itâs enough to have hope soaring in your chest, even at the prospect of a week of what is essentially unpaid labor.
Sliding down into the chair, you tug at the sleeve of your blazer, smooth the collar over one final time.Â
In your mind, you rehearse the answers you gave during your interviews. Youâre not sure if youâll be asked again, but you figure itâs better to be safe than sorry.Â
Youâre interested in the position, because the companyâs mission statement excites you. You think it aligns well with your experience and your hopes for a future career.Â
Are you good with deadlines? Better than nearly everyone you know. Do you work well under pressure? Absolutely. Where do you see yourself in five years? Advancing in your career as a young professional in the same field you earned your degree in. The same field a position at this company would put you in.Â
As the minutes pass, you remind yourself to breathe, to relax. The butterflies taking flight in your stomach wonât help you now, so you do your best to banish them.Â
And, minutes later, just as the secretary calls your name, you feel your phone buzz.Â
Glancing down, you grin at the message that comes through.Â
You got this, Jungwon says, the small heart next to his contact name shining like a reminder. Knock em dead
And then, beneath it,Â
Canât wait to see you tonight beautifulÂ
So, you stand up a little straighter. Shoulders square, chin high. Youâre okay, even as your nerves threaten to send your heart beating out of your chest.Â
No matter what the results of this so-called trial run are, or every single attempt youâll surely make after it, youâll be fine. And if you fail, youâll try again.Â
Whether this ends in an official offer letter or a bold-faced rejection, no matter what, you have Jungwonârooting for you, thinking of you, waiting for you to come back and tell him all about it.Â
Jungwon, your best friend, your favorite person, and probably, if the feelings youâre starting to get whenever heâs near are anything to go by, the love of your life.Â
You meet the secretaryâs gaze, smiling even as all she does is arch a brow. And then you tell her, âIâm ready.â
âȘsynopsis: you develop a crush on jay the moment your eyes land on him and you immediately decide this is a problem because he's too pretty. unfortunately, chaewon tells you that he has been in a long-term relationship for years. which means your crush is doomed before it even starts. still, having a tiny harmless crush on someone unavailable has never killed anybody...right? are you doomed? yes, no, maybe?
âȘ pairing: park jongseong x fem!reader | âȘ genre: university au, strangers to friends to lovers, slowburn, slight angst | âȘ type: SMAU | âȘ status: ongoing | âȘwarning: slow-burn, jay is quiet and reserved, a bit of toxic friendship dynamic.
warnings: itty bitty age gap (reader is one year older), swearing, insecurity, jealousy, explicit content (smut), more TBA
note: Only crazy insane people start a new story seconds after finishing their 60k fic but here we are! This idea came to me when I was wrapping up all that glitters and I couldnât get it out of my head. Iâll be posting this here on stllmnstr, but please be aware that it does contain smut. It will be in my usual style, so nothing too crazy, but skip this one if you prefer not to read explicit content. No official release date yet, but Iâll update you when I know! Iâd say within the next week or so :)
Please note that I donât have a tag list. You can check my pinned post for recently published fics or my masterlist!
â.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ë
One year your junior and a constant fixture in your life since before you lost your baby teeth, Yang Jungwon has always existed in a category of his own. You donât see him as a brother, but you donât see him as a man. Heâs just⊠Jungwon. Steady, reliable, consistent Jungwon whoâs always there when you need him.
Itâs why you feel comfortable admitting to him the latest addition to your list of post-graduation anxieties: dating. Namely, the fact that no matter what you try, you just canât seem to make it work. To make a connection stick. But Jungwon, despite all of his typical predictability, doesnât take your complaints quite the way you expect him to.
or, you tell Jungwon that you think boys just donât like you and he doesnât think heâs ever heard anything quite so ridiculous.
àšà§ Summary : You don't let people take care of you. You don't let people in. You've been fine on your own for years, and you'll be fine now, thank you. he shows up anyway. With congee he made before dawn, medication already sorted, a blanket from his backseat, and four years' worth of quiet, undemanding devotion you never asked for and never knew you needed. just tell me when you're not okay, he says. I want to take care of you. If you'll let me. You're starting to think you might let him.
àšà§ Pairing : anesthesiologist! Jake x traumasurgeon! reader
àšà§ Wordcount : 7.1K
àšà§ Song : Clues - Ashley Alisha
àšà§ Warning : STILL A SLOW BURN!! Jake highkey down bad, FLUFF!!, comedic (if you squint), co worker to a more closer co worker (idk) definetely a progress!, Jake sim talk you through it believer!
Part I Part II
The sterile scent of antiseptic and the rhythmic beeping of monitors usually act as a grounding force for you. You donât have time for distractions, and you certainly donât have time for men. Most of whom you find to be either arrogant or staggeringly incompetent.
Then there is Jake. Jake is the anomaly. An anesthesiologist with a level of competence that matches your own, but with a personality that is the polar opposite of your icy exterior. He is like a golden retriever in scrubs. Warm, relentlessly optimistic, and perpetually flirting with you. For years, you avoided him like a plague, dodging his playful winks and brushing off his attempts to bring you coffee. But over the last few months, the wall youâve built around yourself has started to develop cracks. His kindness isn't a performance; it is genuine. And God, he is good at his job.
The first sign was the headache.
It arrived on a Wednesday morning like an unwelcome houseguest. Dull and persistent, settling behind your eyes. You drank an extra cup of coffee, which was an objectively terrible idea, and went to work.
By Thursday, it had brought reinforcements. A low grade fever that you measured at home and immediately decided not to think about. A heaviness in your limbs that you attributed to back to back twelve hour shifts. A rawness at the back of your throat that you suppressed with sheer force of will and an unreasonable amount of zinc lozenges.
Friday was worse. The fever had climbed, and you knew this without measuring it. The cold that had begun in your throat had migrated, establishing territory in your chest, and every breath felt like running for laps. You moved through your morning rounds with the focused deliberateness of someone navigating difficult terrain.Â
It was Jake who noticed first, in the way that Jake noticed everything. He fell into step beside you at 9 AM without announcement, materializing at your left shoulder the way he always did, as if the space beside you was simply where he belonged. He was holding two cups of coffee, then he handed you one without a word.
You took it. Also, without a word. Because it was exactly how you took it, and fighting about it would require energy you didn't currently have.
"You're slower than usual," he said, matching your pace.
"I'm doing rounds, not running a sprint."
"But you're always faster than this."
His gaze remained fixed ahead, following the flow of staff moving through the hallway, but you knew better. Jake observed people the way other physicians monitored vital signs. Continuously, almost unconsciously, collecting information without appearing to. You had watched him do it with patients for years. You had simply never enjoyed being on the receiving end of it.Â
"How long have you been sick?"
"I'm not-"
"How long."
You cut a glance at him sideways. His profile was unhurried, pleasant even, but his jaw had that faint set that you had learned over four years meant he had already decided something and was waiting for you to catch up.
"Wednesday," you said, because lying to someone who could read a patient's vitals from across a room seemed like a waste of everyone's time.
Something moved through his expression. Quick and controlled, gone before you could fully name it.Â
"Three days."
"It's mild."
"Your color says otherwise."
"My color is fine."
He looked at you then, directly, with those dark eyes that had the deeply inconvenient quality of making you feel thoroughly examined. You held his gaze with the practiced neutrality you had spent years developing specifically for moments like this.Â
"Eat something before your first case," he said finally.
"I had coffee."
"That is not-" He stopped, almost a smile, a tad exasperation, some precise midpoint between them. "That is not food."
"Noted."
"Will you actually-"
"Jake." His name landed between you and him. You watched the small, involuntary thing it did to his expression, and filed it away, doing absolutely nothing about it for reasons you were not currently examining.
 "I'll eat something. Go prep your first case."
He looked at you for one more moment. Then he nodded, once, and peeled away down the corridor, and you watched him go for approximately two seconds before you looked back at the chart in your hands.
You did not eat something.
The collapse occurred at 2:47 PM, which you knew because you had been watching the clock above the OR doors. A habit, timing the close, the small professional satisfaction of a case finished cleanly and on schedule. You had just finished a thoracic case. A good one. Clean margins, minimal blood loss, the particular quiet triumph of work done exactly right. You were standing at the instrument table doing post op inventory when the floor made its decision.Â
The world simply tilted, unhelpfully and without warning, and your knees hit the floor before your brain had fully processed the sequence of events. You caught the edge of the table. You did not go all the way down.
"Hey-"
The voice arrived before the hands did, and then the hands were on your shoulders. Firm, unhesitating, already steadying before you'd fully registered their presence. Jake crouched in front of you, putting himself at your level with a deliberateness that felt almost aggressive in its calm, and looked at your face with an expression that bypassed every defense you had because you were currently too compromised to staff them.
"I'm fine," you said. Your voice had a quality you didn't recognize.Â
"You're on the floor."
"I'm kneeling. There's a-"
"There's not that much of a difference." He pressed the back of his wrist to your forehead and made a sound that you did not like at all. "You're burning up."
"I'm aware of my own temperature."
"Are you." Not a question. The same tone he used when a monitor reading didn't match the patient's presentation and he was already three steps ahead of the discrepancy. He looked at you for a long moment. The complete, unhurried attention, all of it on you, which was a profoundly unsettling amount of Jake Sim to be at the receiving end of when you were kneeling on an OR floor. "Can you stand?"
"Yes." A beat. "In a moment."
He didn't push. He stayed exactly where he was, hands still on your shoulders, and waited with the particular patience of someone who had decided that waiting was what the situation required. Around you, the OR had mobilized in an organized and efficient way, much like medical professionals do in response to unexpected events. But Jake was still watching your face, and you were too exhausted to perform distance.
"Okay," you said. "Help me up."
His arm went around your back. Solid and immediate. He got you to your feet and kept you there, and you were aware of the warmth of him. Something in your chest complicated that you were in no condition to investigate.
.
.
.
.
The nurse finished wrapping a blood pressure cuff around your arm and glanced between the two of you with poorly concealed curiosity. You pretended not to notice. Jake pretended not to notice. The nurse definitely noticed. Your blood pressure appeared on the monitor. Jake frowned. The nurse frowned. You frowned because everyone else was frowning.
"Well," the nurse said diplomatically, "that explains some things."
"It explains being dehydrated."
"It explains you need to go home.â
You looked at Jake. Jake looked suspiciously pleased that someone else had said it first. Traitor. The physician who eventually examined you confirmed what everyone already knew. Viral infection. High fever. Dehydration. Exhaustion. You listened from the examination table while the paper covering crinkled beneath you every time you shifted. The room felt too warm. Or perhaps you felt too warm. At this point, the distinction seemed largely theoretical.Â
The physician sighed.
"You fainted."
"I didn't faint."
"You collapsed."
"Technically-"
"Don't." The physician pointed at you. Then pointed toward the door. "Go home."
You looked toward Jake. A mistake. Because he was trying very hard not to smile. The expression transformed his entire face.Â
"Don't," you said.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
"I really wasn't."Â
He absolutely was.
The physician looked between the two of you with the expression of a man who had many other patients and infinite reserves of patience. He clicked his pen.Â
"Someone should drive you home," he said, and looked at Jake in a way that suggested the casting decision had already been made and this was merely a formality. Jake straightened from the wall.
"I'll take her," he said. Easy. Certain. The tone of someone who had decided this forty minutes ago and had simply been waiting for the room to catch up.
You looked at the physician.
The physician looked at you with a compassionate expression, as if to say, 'You're not going to win, but I'm giving you a moment to come to the same conclusion.' You looked at Jake. Jake looked back. Completely unbothered by your looking, in the way he was always unbothered.
"Fine," you said.
.
.
.
.
.
The car was warm.
This was the first thing you registered when you lowered yourself into the passenger seat. You put your head back against the headrest, closed your eyes, and felt the warmth settle over you like a second blanket. The driver's door opened and closed. Jake's weight shifted the car slightly as he settled in. He didn't start driving immediately.
"I'm fine," you said.Â
âTechnically, if youâre doing just fine, you werenât here, maâam.âÂ
He held your gaze for one more moment, then faced forward and pulled out of the parking space. You closed your eyes again. The city moved past beyond your eyelidsâ you could feel it in the particular rhythm of the car, the stops and starts of traffic, the slight lean of turns. Normally, you would have been watching. Instead, you were doing nothing. You were, specifically, doing nothing and feeling terrible about neither of those things.Â
A shiver moved through you. Deep and involuntary. Your jaw was doing the thing; the specific, exhausting effort of keeping your teeth from chattering, which was a thing you hadn't had to manage since you were a child with the flu and your mother had pressed a warm cloth to your face and told you to sleep. The memory arrived without warning, with the particular vividness that high fever produced, and you pressed it back down.
"Hey."
"Mm."
"Look at me for a second."
"I'm fine."
"You're shaking. Wait, I have a blanket in my back seat."
You turned to look. There was, inexplicably and without apology, a neatly folded blanket on his back seat. Jake's hand was already there. He reached back with the easy reach of someone with longer arms and retrieved the blanket and held it out to you without comment. You were not going to think about the fact that it smelled faintly of his apartment, which you had never been to and yet somehow recognized anyway. The light changed. He drove.
The shivering didn't stop, but it became more manageable. You pulled the blanket tighter and watched the city through the window with the slightly removed quality of someone watching something through glass, the world arriving at a half step delay, sounds muffled and visuals slightly too bright.
"When did you last eat?" Jake asking.
You thought about it, "Yesterday," you said. "Probably."
From the corner of your vision, his expression shifted.
"Before the case," you added.
"That was twenty hours ago."
"Approximately."
"I'll make you something," he said finally.
You turned to look at him. His profile was clean and unhurried in the gray afternoon light, eyes on the road, jaw with that faint set that meant he had decided and was not entertaining a counterproposal.
"You don't have toâ"
"I know I don't have to."
"Jakeâ"
"You have a fever of almost forty degrees, and you haven't eaten in twenty hours. You also live alone." He said it evenly, the way he said things in the OR when they were facts rather than opinions. "I'm making you something."
You looked at him for a long moment.
Another shiver moved through you. Smaller than the last one. Your head found the cool glass of the passenger window. Youâre so dizzy that it made you drowsy. You let your eyes fall closed.Â
"Okay," you said.
You didn't say anything else for the remainder of the drive. You sat in the warm car under the blanket with your head against the window, drifting in the particular half conscious state that high fever produced.Â
At some point, the car stopped. Jake said your name softly. The way he said things to patients coming out of anesthesiaâgentle, orienting, giving the person something real to surface toward. You opened your eyes. Your building.
"We're here," he said.
You looked at it through the window. The lobby doors. The distance between here and your bed assembled itself in front of you with a weight that was disproportionate to the actual geography involved.
You reached for the door handle. The cold hit you the moment it opened. You swung your legs out and made the executive decision to stand up, which your body received as a formal objection. The world tilted, just a slow, unhelpful rotation of everything around a central point that was not quite where your feet were, and you stood there on the pavement with one hand on the car door and waited for it to pass the way you waited for difficult things.Â
"Hey." Jake was there. He had come around the car without you registering the movement, and he was standing close. "Talk to me."Â
I'mâ"
"If you say fine."
You closed your mouth.
"Dizzy," you said instead.
He nodded, once, like this was useful information he was incorporating. Then his arm came around your back, and the warmth of him hit you with the same immediate totality as the car had, and you didn't have anything left to spend on not leaning into it. You leaned.Â
"Okay," he said, quiet and even. "One step."
You took one step.
"Good." He moved with you, perfectly matched, taking on exactly as much of your weight as you needed to give without taking more. "One more.â
The lobby doors were automatic. They opened before you reached them, a small mercy, and the warmth of the building's interior arrived like something you'd been promised and had stopped expecting. You crossed the threshold and the cold fell away, and you stood in the lobby with Jake's arm around your back. The dizziness pulsing gently behind your eyes and you thought, very specifically, about how far away the elevator was.
Fifteen feet, approximately. It might as well have been a different country.
"Elevator's closer than it looks," Jake said, which meant your face was doing something legible; the fever had taken your ability to regulate that, too.
"I know where the elevator is."
"I know you do." Gently. "Walk with me."
You walked with him.
The elevator arrived quickly, which was a kindness you noted and were grateful for, and you stepped into it and turned around and caught your reflection in the mirrored panel at the back. The blanket still around your shoulders, the hair still in a messy bun, the flush across your cheekbones, and Jake standing just behind you, solid and warm. Watching your reflection with an expression you didn't have a category for.
You looked away from it. The elevator moved. This was a mistake; the motion, even the slow and minor motion of three floors, did something to the dizziness that made it briefly and significantly worse. You put your hand on the metal rail along the wall and focused on a fixed point and breathed with the careful deliberateness of someone managing a situation.
Jake's hand found your shoulder, "Almost," he said.
The doors opened. Your floor.Â
"Keys," Jake said, when you reached your door.
You looked at him.
"Your keys," he said again, patient. "Where are they?"
You looked down at yourself. The blanket. The sweatshirt.Â
"Jacket pocket," you said.
He produced your jacket from under his arm, he had been carrying it, you realized, since the hospital, without mentioning it, and found your keys and had the door open with an efficiency that required no commentary. He stood back.
"Inside," he said.
You went inside.
The apartment received you with its familiar silence. Your things, your space, the specific quality of air that belonged to a place you'd been living in long enough that it had taken on your particular quiet. You made it as far as the sofa before your legs registered their formal resignation, and you sat down with considerably less grace than you would have preferred.
The blanket went with you.
Jake came in behind you and closed the door, and you heard him set your jacket down, set his bag down, move toward the kitchen with the unhurried purposefulness of someone who had a plan and was beginning to execute it. You sat on the sofa with the blanket around your shoulders, your eyes half closed, and listened to him.
Cabinets. Water. The quiet percussion of someone making themselves useful in a space that had only ever known one person at a time.
"Jake," you said.
He appeared in the kitchen doorway.
You looked at him from across the living room. "Thank you," you said. Jake was a bit startled hearing you thank him. Honestly, a rare occasion. But, he appreciates it nonetheless.Â
He looked at you for a moment. Then his eyes moved to the sofa, to the specific way you were sitting on it, and something in his expression made a quiet decision.
"Not the sofa," he said.
You looked up.
"You'll wake up worse." He crossed the room and stopped in front of you, and held out his hand. "Bed."
"I'm fine here."
"You've been saying that for three days." His hand stayed where it was. Patient. Not demanding anything, just offering. "Bed. You'll actually sleep."
You looked at his hand. You looked at the hallway that led to your bedroom, which was not very long and yet currently felt like a proposal you needed to think carefully about.
"I can walk," you said.
"I know you can."
You took his hand anyway. He got you upright with a steadiness that made the transition seamless. You stood still and let it pass. Jake stood with you, your hand in his.
"Okay," you said.
"Okay," he said.
The hallway was short. It felt longer than it was, the way distances did when your body had stopped cooperating and every step required a separate and conscious decision. But Jake walked it with you. His hand still in yours, his shoulder available without being imposed.Â
Your bedroom was exactly as you'd left. Three blankets in a configuration that evidenced the night's difficult geography, pillow dented, curtains not quite fully open. The specific disorder of a room that had been slept in badly for several days running.
You would normally have cared about that. Except now you barely think about that. You simply didn't have the capacity.
Jake pulled the blankets back with his free hand, straightening them into something that more closely resembled a made bed, and then turned to you with the expression of someone completing a logical sequence.
The mattress received you with an immediate and profound relief that was almost embarrassing. You sat there for a moment with your hands in your lap and the blanket still around your shoulders and your eyes doing the thing where they closed without being instructed to.
"Lie down," Jake said.
You lie down. He pulled the blankets up around you and tucked them in at the side with a matter of factness that had no performance in itâjust care. You watched him from the pillow.Â
He pulled the desk chair to the side of the bed the way he had earlier, sat in it, forearms on his knees, and looked at you with that open and unhurried expression.Â
"Jake."
"Sleep." He reached over and set a glass of water on the nightstand, close enough that you could reach it without sitting up. Then, the medication, two tablets, was placed with the same quiet precision he used to place instruments. "Take those first. Then sleep."
You took them. Drank the water. Lay back.
The pillow was cool against your face. The blankets were warm. The dizziness, horizontal, became something you were lying inside rather than fighting, which was better. Which was significantly better.
Outside, the afternoon had gone the color of old pewter, gray and still, pressing quiet against the curtains. Inside, Jake sat in the chair at the side of your bed, and the sound of him being there was something you hadn't known your apartment was missing.Â
"Jake," you said. Almost asleep. The word arrived soft and unguarded, the way words did when you'd stopped having the energy to manage them.
"Yeah."
You didn't say anything else for a moment. You were looking at the ceiling, or the approximate location of the ceiling, your eyes barely open, the fever pressing its warm weight behind everything.
"Don't go," you said.
The silence that followed was very small.Â
"I won't," he said.
You closed your eyes. You slept.
.
.
.
.
You were asleep within minutes.
Jake stayed in the chair. He told himself it was clinical. He had parameters, a fever check, a medication schedule, and water. He was a medical professional, and he had a list. He stayed because he couldn't make himself leave, and he was honest enough to know the list had nothing to do with it.
He got up after a while, ran a towel under cool water, came back, and placed it across your forehead with the careful slowness of someone who didn't want to wake you. You didn't wake. Your brow smoothed at the coolness of it. A small, involuntary easing, yet that unconscious relief, hit him somewhere he hadn't adequately defended.Â
The pressed, careful line your mouth held during waking hours had softened entirely. The part of you that was always managing something, always two steps ahead of the room, it was gone. What remained was just you, unguarded, in a way he seldom got to see. He was in trouble. He had known this academically for years. It was different, knowing it here.
The third time he placed the cool cloth against your forehead, you made a sound. Barely anything, the smallest possible acknowledgment, and turned slightly into the pillow.Â
He couldn't help it. If you had been awake, you would have fixed him with that unimpressed look you reserved for anyone being remotely sentimental. The look that had reduced seasoned surgical residents to apologizing for things they hadn't actually done. He almost smiled just imagining it.
"You're only this easy when you're asleep."
The words dissolved into the quiet apartment almost as soon as he spoke them.
He reached out before he could think better of it. Not to wake you, only to brush an errant strand of hair away from your face before it fell across your eyes. His fingers hovered for the briefest moment after the gesture, suspended in the space between restraint and impulse. Then he withdrew his hand. Some lines, no matter how badly his heart wanted otherwise, still deserved to remain uncrossed.
The apartment settled into a comfortable silence. Every sound seemed softened by the fever that still lingered in the room. The refrigerator hummed steadily in the kitchen. Rain continued to patter against the windows in uneven bursts, occasionally accompanied by the distant rush of traffic several floors below.
Jake checked the time. Your next dose of medication wasn't due for another hour. He leaned back into the chair and scrubbed a tired hand across his face. Only then did he realize how exhausted he was himself.
He had left the hospital without changing out of his navy scrubs. There was a faint crease across one knee from where he had crouched beside you on the operating room floor. His ID badge still hung around his neck, twisted backward from hours of moving between operating theatres.
There wasn't much left to deny. The realization should have been embarrassing. Instead, it simply felt true. He had fallen for you so gradually that he couldn't identify where the coworker dynamic had ended and something else had begun. Perhaps it had been during his second year at the hospital. Or the night you'd stayed six hours past your shift because a resident had quietly admitted they weren't ready to close alone. Or maybe it had happened even earlier.Â
The first time he'd watched you walk into a trauma activation with complete confidence, while everyone else was still trying to understand what was happening. You intimidated almost everyone. You fascinated him. Jake smiled to himself. It had taken him nearly a year to notice those things. Once he had, there had been no going back.
He watched your face for a long moment.
"You know," he said softly, almost to himself, "you're impossible."
No response. Just the quiet rhythm of your breathing.
"Three days." A quiet exhale. "Three days of pretending nothing was wrong." He leaned back in the chair, arms folding loosely across his chest. "And I don't even think you were trying to convince everyone else."
The words settled into the quiet apartment.
He wasn't expecting an answer. He wasn't even sure why he was speaking aloud. Maybe because he'd spent years swallowing every thought he had whenever you were around. Maybe because this was the first time he'd seen you stop carrying the entire weight of the world on your shoulders.
"You scare me sometimes."
His voice dropped even lower.
"So competent that everyone forgets you're still human."
A quiet laugh escaped him. You shifted slightly beneath the blanket. Jake froze. Your breathing steadied again.
"I don't think you realize what you do to people."
His fingers absently traced the rim of the now empty glass sitting on the coffee table.
"The residents, the nurses, the attendings, they all trust you."
He smiled faintly.
"So do I. Probably, I trust you more than anyone."
Another silence, he rubbed a hand over his face before looking back at you again.
"You know what the worst part is?"
His smile turned almost sheepish.
"I don't even remember when this happened. When I started looking for you every morning, when bringing you coffee stopped feeling like a nice thing to do and started feeling necessary."
He laughed quietly at himself.
"You never even ask for it, you just take the cup as if you've accepted that's simply something I do."
A fond shake of his head.
"You've never once thanked me properly, either."
A beat.
"I'd still bring it tomorrow."
He looked at your sleeping face.Â
"And the day after. And probably every day until one of us retires, if I'm being honest with myself."
The smile faded into something quieter. He swallowed.
"I wish you'd let someone take care of you."
The confession escaped before he could stop it.
"I justâ" He stopped. Started again. "You spend every day making sure other people get home alive." His voice had gone low enough that it barely disturbed the air. "I don't think anyone ever stops to ask if you do."Â
His chest tightened.
"I'd like to."
The words came out barely above a whisper.
"If you'd let me."
He wasn't expecting an answer. Yeth, he got one anyway. Not words, just the smallest movement, your hand shifting against the blanket, fingers loosely uncurling. Like some part of you, even asleep, had heard him. Jake looked at your open hand for a long moment. Then he reached over, quiet and careful, and set his hand over yours.
He stayed like that for a while, in the gray quiet of your apartment, with the damp towel on your forehead and your hand beneath his and four years of unsaid things finally taking up the space they'd always deserved. It was enough.
For now, it was more than enough.
.
.
.
.
You surfaced slowly.
The first thing you registered was the light. Gray and thin, the particular quality of early morning that hadn't yet decided to commit to being day. The second thing was the pounding behind your eyes, which had not improved. The third thing was that your mouth tasted like something that had given up, and your throat, when you swallowed experimentally, felt like raw material.
Fever. Still present, lower maybe, but present. Dizziness that announced itself the moment you became aware of it, a slow ambient rotation that worsened when you turned your head. Blankets. Pillow. The damp towel that had gone warm and ineffective at some point in the night, sitting lopsided on your forehead.Â
You turned your head toward the chair. Slowly, because turning your head quickly was not something your current situation supported.
Empty.
You lay there and looked at the empty chair and felt something that you were too tired and too honest to misidentify. Then you heard it. From the kitchen, the soft knock of a pan. Water is running briefly. The particular acoustic of someone moving carefully, trying not to wake someone.Â
Getting vertical was a project.
You sat up in stages. First, push onto your elbows, waiting for the dizziness to register its complaint and then subside to a manageable level, then the rest of the way up. The room did its rotation. You sat on the edge of the bed with your feet on the cold floor, and your hands braced on the mattress and breathed through it until the world settled back into approximate stillness.
Your phone on the nightstand said 5:07 AM. You stood up.
The hallway was dark, lit only by the light spilling from the kitchen at the end of it. Warm and yellow, completely incongruous in your apartment at five in the morning. You put your hand on the wall and moved toward it, and the smell reached you before you got there.Â
You stopped in the kitchen doorway.
Jake stood at your stove with his back to you, still in yesterday's clothes. He stirred whatever was in the pot with absent concentration, pausing occasionally to taste it before reaching for another spice from the rack you'd forgotten you owned.Â
You couldnât describe how you feel right now. But seeing Jakeâs back brings you some kind of calmness. Jake belonged so completely to bright operating theatres and humming anesthesia machines that seeing him standing barefoot in your kitchen, making breakfast before dawn, felt almost unreal.Â
"Jake," you said.
Your voice came out wrong. Hoarse and thin, scraped down to almost nothing, barely enough to carry the two syllables.
He turned around immediately. His eyes moved across you in that quick, clinical sweep.
"You should be in bed," he said.
"What time did youâ" You stopped. Swallowed, which was a mistake, your throat registering its formal objection. "Did you sleep?"
"Couch." He had already turned down the heat on the stove and was crossing toward you. "For a while."
"Jakeâ"Â
His hands came to your shoulders, steadying, and you let them because the wall was doing less than it should have been, and Jake was warmer and considerably more reliable.Â
"You're dizzy." Not a question. He walked you to the kitchen table and pulled out the chair. You sat. The sitting was, again, a profound relief that you were tired of being grateful for. Jake went back to the stove.
You watched him from the chair, your chin in your hand, the dizziness pulsing gently at the edges of everything. The kitchen was warm. The light was warm. The smell of whatever was in the pot wound its way around the room and your stomach, which had been absent as a concept for approximately two days, made a quiet and tentative reappearance.
"You cooked," you said. Your voice was terrible. You were going to stop using it.
"Congee," he said, without turning around. "Easy on the throat."
You stared at the back of his head.
"You made congee at five in the morning."
"I woke up at four thirty." He stirred. "Couldn't sleep."
"On my couch."
"Your couch is fine."
"It's notâ" You stopped. Your throat declined to continue. You pressed two fingers against it and swallowed carefully. "It's not a long couch."
He glanced over his shoulder at that, and the look on his face did the thing to your chest that it always did, except that you were too tired to manage your reaction to it, so you just let it happen.
"I've slept in worse places," he said.
You thought about residency. About call room chairs and supply closet floors, and the particular desperation of thirty six hour shifts. You conceded the point with a slight incline of your head, which was all you had.
He brought the congee in a bowl with a spoon and set it in front of you, and then produced from somewhere two tablets and a fresh glass of water.
"Medication first," he said.
You looked at the tablets. Looked at him.
"I know," you said, which came out as approximately one quarter of a word.
The congee was good. Genuinely. You were a bit surprised Jake could cook something like this. Coming from someone who rely his food on delivery every single day or the cafeteria.Â
Something softened inside you. You looked back at the bowl. The rice had simmered long enough to become almost creamy. The chicken had been shredded by hand. Even the ginger had been sliced thin enough that it melted into the broth instead of overwhelming it. None of those things happened by accident.
You found yourself wondering what time he'd actually woken up. Whether he'd gone out to buy ingredients before dawn. The thought settled quietly somewhere beneath your ribs. You took another spoonful before speaking.
"It's goodâŠ"
The compliment came out softer than you intended. Jake looked up. For a heartbeat, genuine surprise crossed his face. Then he smiled. As though those two words meant considerably more to him than they should have.
You immediately looked back at your breakfast. It seemed safer than looking at him. Besides, you had the distinct and deeply inconvenient feeling that if you met his eyes again, he would notice entirely too much.
Jake leaned back against the counter and watched you eat.
He wasn't subtle about it. He had never been particularly subtle about anything where you were concerned, and apparently, five in the morning with your voice gone and your fever still running was not the occasion he was going to start. He just watched, arms loosely folded, with the expression of someone who had nowhere else to be and no complaints about it.
You kept your eyes on the bowl.
The congee was the right temperatureânot scalding, not lukewarm, the precise comfortable warmth that your body had been requesting for two days without receiving. You ate another spoonful and then another, and the silence settled around the kitchen in a way that was not uncomfortable, which was itself something you were going to have to think about later when you had the resources for it.
From your peripheral vision, Jake shifted. Unfolded his arms. Tilted his head slightly in the way he did when something had caught his attention, and he was deciding whether to say it. You preemptively looked up. He lookedâcaught, almost. The expression of someone whose thought had been intercepted before he'd finished having it. Then he let it go, whatever it was, and replaced it with something easier.
"You eat slower when you're sick," he said.
"I eat slower when my entire body is staging a revolt."
Apparently still fierce even on the fever pit. Jake smiled, he couldnât contain the ticklish feeling on his chest when he saw your slightly puffy cheek with a fever blush. So cute.Â
You looked back at the bowl with the dignity of someone choosing their battles, which at five in the morning with no voice and a fever was a very short list.
The congee was almost gone. The medication had started its work; you could feel it at the edges, a slight recession of the worst of the heat, the pounding behind your eyes becoming marginally more negotiable. The kitchen was warm. The light above the stove was warm. Jake was warm, standing there in your kitchen at an hour that had no reasonable justification, having woken up at four thirty on your couch to make sure you had something to eat when you surfaced.
You set down the spoon. Looked at the empty bowl for a moment. Then looked at him. He was already looking at you, which was not a surprise because he was always already looking at you, but the expression on his face was different from the smile
âCan I ask you something?" he said.
"Mm..."
He was quiet for a moment. Jake didn't hesitate, not really; he simply made sure of things before he said them. He looked at you sitting at your kitchen table in your oversized sweatshirt with your empty bowl and your terrible voice. Whatever he saw there seemed to confirm something.
"Next time you're sick," he said, "will you tell me?"
The question landed quietly.Â
"I mean it." His voice was even, unhurried, the way it was when he said things he'd thought about carefully. "You don't have to manage everything by yourself. You don't have to show up to work for three days running a fever and pretendâ" He stopped. Reconsidered. Came back softer. "I just want to know. That's all."
You didn't say anything. Your voice wouldn't have allowed it regardless, but the truth was the silence had less to do with your throat and more to do with the fact that you were processing the specific and unfamiliar weight of being asked about. Of someone wanting to know. Jake held your gaze.
"I want to take care of you," he said simply. "If you'll let me."
You looked at your empty bowl. Four years of small, consistent, and entirely undemanding things. Something in your chest came quietly undone.
"Okay," you said. Barely a sound. More breath than word.
Jake looked at you.
"Okay?" he said carefully.
"Next time." You held his gaze. "I'll tell you."
The smile that crossed his face was slow and quiet, unlike the bright, easy one he wore in corridors and operating rooms. You looked back at your glass so it couldn't do any more.
"Go back to sleep," he said, gently. "I'll clean up."
"You don'tâ"
"I know." Already moving, taking the bowl, entirely unbothered. "I will anyway."
You sat there for another moment, in the warm kitchen at five in the morning, and listened to Jake move around your space with the easy familiarity of someone who had decided, a long time ago, that this was where he wanted to be.
Then you got up.
Slowly. One hand on the table, the world conducting its usual brief rotation, and then steady enough. You shuffled toward the hallway, the blanket still around your shoulders, your feet finding the familiar path back to your bedroom in the dark.
"Sleep," Jake said, behind you. Not looking up from the sink.
You lifted one hand in acknowledgment. Too tired for words. Too tired for anything except the ten feet between here and your pillow. You were almost at the hallway when you heard him set something down. Footsteps. Quiet and unhurried, crossing the kitchen.
You turned your head slightly, not quite enough to look back, and then his hand was gentle on your shoulder and Jake pressed his lips to the top of your head. Soft. Unhurried. Like it was something he had been meaning to do for a very long time and had simply decided that five in the morning in your kitchen was as good a moment as any. It lasted only a second. He stepped back.
You stood completely still in the hallway with the blanket around your shoulders. You stared at the middle distance, and felt the warmth of it the way you felt the congee. You didn't turn around. You didn't trust your face.
"Go to sleep," he said quietly, his hand brushing your messy hair. He just smiled as if nothing had happened. The particular warmth in his voice knew exactly what it had just done and was giving you room to do whatever you were going to do with it.
You went to your bedroom. You lay down. You pulled the blankets up. And you stared at the ceiling in the early morning dark with your hand pressed lightly to the top of your head, right where his lips had been, and felt something bloom open in your chest so quietly and so completely that you wondered, with the honest clarity that only came when all your defenses were down.Â
How long had it been there?
.
.
.
.
He pressed two fingers to his own wrist. Checked his pulse. Faster than it should be. He laughed again, just barely, into the quiet of your apartment at five in the morning.
Outside, the city was beginning to wake. The first gray light of actual morning was pressing at the edges of the curtains. Somewhere down the hall, you were sleeping.
He thought about your face when you'd said next time. I'll tell you. The way you'd held his gaze while you said it. The way you'd looked back at the glass immediately afterward, like you'd given him something and needed a moment before you could look at the place it had been.
He thought about standing in your kitchen doorway watching you eat congee and thinking, with the helpless simplicity of someone who had stopped pretending otherwise, that you were the most remarkable person he had ever met. He thought about the top of your head and the blanket around your shoulders and the way you had gone completely still.
Jake stared at the ceiling, smiled at it like an idiot. Like a man who had been carrying something carefully for four years and had just set it down and discovered that his arms, without the weight of it, didn't quite know what to do with themselves yet.Â
genre: academic rivals to lovers, rich jay au, university au, angst, slow burn
part three word count: 22k
warnings: angst, depictions of terminal illness, scenes that occur in hospitals, use of the american (usa) health system (aka receiving medical care is expensive), swearing, slowwwww burn, kissing
playlist: this is me trying / cardigan / mirrorball- taylor swift / yellow - coldplay / BIRDS OF A FEATHER - billie eilish / safety net - ariana grande / garden (say it like dat) - sza
note: AW I am so sad/happy/excited to be finishing this fic and putting it out into the universe. This is one of the longest stories I've released to date, and I have so much love for it. It was my first time writing for Jay, and I had the best time getting to characterize him and bring this story to life using him as inspo. His personality is so endearing to me and he's so ridiculously handsome in a very classic way. Sigh. As always, I hope you enjoy!! This fic has been a long time in the making, and I hope this ending was worth the wait. If you have thoughts/comments/screams, I'd love to hear them! Happy reading âĄ
part one | part two
â.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ë
Park Jongseong is everything you hate. Spoiled, entitled, and the heir to a top conglomerate in the business world youâve been fighting tooth and nail to break into. You canât even begin to count how many sleepless nights, skipped meals, and personal desires youâve sacrificed just for a seat at the table he was born sitting at.
But when a piece of news in your third year of university pulls your world out from under your feet, everything starts to change. Including your feelings towards the one person you thought youâd always loathe.
â.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ëâ.Ë⥠àŁȘ Ë
The beach house is quiet when you wake. The first rays of sunlight beam through your bedside window. The waves look softer in morning light, somehow even more peaceful than the prior evening.Â
And JayâŠ
Somewhere between dreams and reality, you found your resolve. Youâre not sure what this new sense of closeness is, where exactly it comes from. Youâre sure itâs just because the two of you are truly alone for the first time.Â
Besides, itâs not like it necessarily means anything. Youâre sure Jay is just one of those people who lets his affection be known through touch, through closeness. He did tell you he wants to be friends, after all. Youâre sure thatâs what all of this must be.Â
But the longer you look at it, the more your stomach begins to sink. Because friendship doesnât account for a lot of things. Namely, the way he held you last night. The way he looked at you.Â
Shaking your head, you force yourself out of bed. Itâs no use mulling over it now. Youâre not operating under any illusions.Â
It doesnât matter how sharp his jawline is or how nice it feels to rest your head in that space between his shoulder and neck.Â
Youâre sick. Your future is, in generous terms, uncertain. It wouldnât be fair, to either you or him, to let things shift too much. To let them progress towards what they teetered on dangerously last night.Â
Padding gently down the stairs, you realize you were the first one to wake. Good. That will give you some time to set your resolve, to plan for how youâll go about maintaining space for the rest of your time together.Â
You only have one more day here, after all. Youâll sleep at the beach house again tonight and then drive back to the hospital early tomorrow afternoon. You can survive another day, another evening.Â
And then, upon your return, reality will do what it always done, and maintaining a comfortable distance will feel natural again. Â
Yawning through a stretch as you enter the kitchen, you suppose you can start evening the playing field by returning favors. Youâll make breakfast today. An undergraduate degree built mostly on ready meals hasnât exactly made you the best chef, but your family owns a restaurant. You can manage eggs, at least.Â
Rifling through the cupboards for a frying pan, a small, nondescript notebook tucked away in the corner of the kitchen counter catches your eye. Drawing closer, you realize itâs his. Jayâs. The planner he always carries around with him everywhere.Â
You bite at the small smile that appears on your lips without your permission. Itâs easy to imagine him drafting your itinerary with the same intense focus he uses to write out his study schedules.Â
You shake your head gently and then turn, about to move on, when a small slip of paper poking out from underneath the planner catches your eye.Â
Itâs folded and mostly obscured by the notebook on top of it, but you swear you can make out a few letters.
And, stranger still, you swear they align perfectly with the last few letters in your name.
You shouldnât look. You really shouldnât. If nothing else, itâs an invasion of privacy. You wouldnât want him poking around through your planner, after all.Â
He already did it one by accident, you think as you remember the way his gaze narrowed in focus when you mistakenly handed him your bucket list instead of a napkin at the charity gala. And the consequences of that have been nothing if not far reaching.Â
Still, curiosity eats at you. Itâs your name, after all. Or at least you think it is.Â
Glancing quietly over your shoulder just to make sure he hasnât somehow silently materialized since your internal struggle began, you confirm that youâre alone in the kitchen. And then you reach for that small, folded piece of paper.
Unfolding it slowly, you scan it from top to bottom. You were right, you realize. It is your name at the top. Glazing over it, this time with a more discerning gaze, your eyes widen with every uncovered line.
Itâs a list. Penned in his neat, even handwriting, it details all of the medicines youâre currently taking, as well as every pharmacy within a twenty-mile radius of the beach house and their current stock of it.Â
Beneath it, heâs written out every nearby hospital, along with their capacity to handle illnesses of your nature and their directorsâ personal contact information.Â
Below is yet another list. This one is of symptoms that Hana and Doctor Kim must have told him to keep an eye on. Confusion, dizziness, shortness of breath, fatigue, headaches.Â
Both of them also left him with their personal phone numbers.Â
Silently, breath shallow, you fold the paper back and tuck it back beneath the planner where you found it, heart thumping traitorously in your chest.Â
Again, youâre forced to confront it head-on â he cares. Enough to plan this trip, enough to face your resistance and your excuses a thousand times over, enough to research pharmacies and hospitals and medication side effects.Â
Itâs not altruistic. Itâs not for his own benefit. He cares about you. In writing, out loud, and in the way heâs always gentle when he reaches for you.Â
You think, then, for the first time, of just how much his life has changed since your diagnosis, too. After all, you used to just be someone that sat behind him in lecture halls. Someone that made an irritating point to argue with everything he said.Â
Now, heâs at the hospital more frequently than his own classes. Heâs paying for your medical care. Heâs asking doctors and nurses how to best take care of you, and heâs here, at a beach house on the coast, because you dreamed of seeing it one day.Â
You never wanted to add anyone, much less Jay, to the ever-growing list of people you owe an unpayable debt to.Â
But every memory, every piece of evidence at just how inextricably intertwined youâve become, feels like a rock sinking in your gut.Â
When, or perhaps if the universe takes pity on you, if this all ends in flames, youâre suddenly terrified of just how deeply heâll be affected.Â
His care is genuine, of that much youâre sure. You donât want him to suffer any more than he has to when the time comes to say goodbye.
Youâre so wrapped up in your sudden spiraling that you donât notice when the scent of cooking turns pungent, when the eggs start to turn from golden-brown to coal black.Â
But Jay does. Startling you from your thoughts, he raises an eyebrow at you from the edge of the kitchen.
âGood morning,â he says, calmly. Thereâs a hint of sleepiness that still clings to his words.Â
âGood morning,â you return once you shake your startle, hardly able to meet his eye. Youâre flushed for a thousand reasons, all of which you refuse to name.Â
His eyebrow arches higher. Nodding at the pan on the stove, he adds, âI think somethingâs burning.â
âShit.â Rushing to turn off the burner, you pull the pan off the heat, setting it aside. âSorry,â you mumble, sheeping. âI was trying to make breakfast.â
Jayâs lips twitch. âItâs the thought that counts,â he tells you. âHere, let meââ
You shake your head. âNo, no, itâs okay. Just let meâ I can handle eggs.âÂ
For a moment, you think heâs going to tease you about it. But then he sees the defensive glint in your gaze. The way this suddenly feels like itâs about more than just eggs. Youâve had far more of your own self-sufficiency stripped from you than youâre comfortable with.Â
It wouldnât be an act of kindness to assume you canât handle this taskâit would be belittling. A reminder of just how much your life has changed in recent weeks.Â
So Jay is just quiet for a moment longer. Then, he nods. Moving to join you, he doesnât interfere with the eggs. Instead, he says, âIâll start the coffee.âÂ
Thankfully, your second attempt is much more successful.Â
With your eggs cooked to perfection this time and Jayâs freshly brewed coffee, the two of you find your seats at the dining table again. After a few bites, Jay asks for your opinion on his itinerary for the day.Â
He hasnât planned much, just a dinner at a nearby restaurant this evening, which leaves your morning and afternoon free. He has suggestions of course â heading back down to the beach, going for another ride in the convertible, sitting in the garden and just enjoying the view.Â
Your indecision must play out across your features, because a beat later, he suggests starting the day close to home. Youâre glad for it.Â
Youâre starting to feel like a broken record, but the garden really is beautiful. Two adjacent lounge chairs serve as your resting place for this pocket of time.Â
Minutes slip into hours easily, the occasional lulls in conversation filled by the sound of waves and nearby sea birds.Â
He mentions something about Professor Jungâs class, and a crease forms between your eyebrows. Jay notices, because of course he does, and so you tell him about the letter from Doctor Kim, your motherâs insistence that you take an official academic leave of absence for the rest of the semester.Â
Jay schools his features into something carefully neutral. âHow do you feel about that?âÂ
You sigh. âI mean, of course itâs not what I want. Weâre almost to midterms already, and the thought of sacrificing all that work really sucks.â You exhale, something calm in your voice now that youâve had time to think about it. âBut itâs not the end of the world. Iâve kept up my scholarship this long, and I know Iâll be able to do it again. I suppose itâs better to focus on recovery now and then return to things when I can give it my all again. Even if it feels a little bit like failure right now.â
Jay stares at you for a moment, almost as if he expects a second head to pop out from between your shoulders. âThat might be the most reasonable thing Iâve ever heard you say.â
âI will reach over and smack that grin off your face,â you threaten.Â
âI know.â He just relaxes further into his seat, grin still spread wide across his lips.Â
You roll your eyes. The conversation continues, veers towards lighter topics. It takes you all the way to early afternoon, when Jay suggests heading back to the beach.Â
âCâmon,â he urges, âWe can actually put our feet in the ocean this time.â
You donât need any more convincing than that.Â
Itâs still slightly humiliating, the way you have to walk slowly, the way your legs donât always seem to want to cooperate with your mind. Jay takes it all in stride. He slows even before you do, patient as he walks by your side.Â
Still a few yards from the water, you lose your balance on the edge of a sand bank, teetering dangerously as you try to right yourself. Jay doesnât let you fall. Reaching out, he steadies you with one hand on your waist and the other around your wrist.Â
Even after youâve centered yourself again, he doesnât let go.Â
âYou alright?â His brow creases deep in concern.Â
âIâm fine,â you nod, not quite able to look him in the eye. Not when his open palm still rests against your hip.Â
Slowly, Jay releases you. But the hand around your wrist doesn't leave your skin entirely. Instead, he slides it down, all the way until his long fingers are interlaced with yours. HIs touch is warm, steadying. Has your pulse thrumming in your ears.Â
âHere,â he says. âTo help you balance.â
âRight.â You nod. âFor balance.â
After a few more steps, the two of you are at the waterâs edge. Jay helps you slide off your shoes before removing his own. Then, he takes your hand again. This time, he doesnât bother with excuses.Â
Instead, he turns to you, eyes glittering like the sunlit sea, and asks, âAre you ready?â
Are you? Youâre not sure. The ocean is one of many things in your life that you never bothered to dream too hard about, mostly because it always felt out of reach. Something frivolous not worth dedicating too much attention to.Â
Youâre not sure how to tell him that, so instead, you nod.Â
Jay smiles, gently guiding you forward until the first waves can just reach you, barely brushing your toes as water trickles up the beach.Â
A gasp escapes your lips. Itâs colder than you expect, almost shockingly so.Â
âYou okay?â Jay asks.
You nod. âJust cold.â
âYeah,â he agrees. âItâs warmer in the summer. Weâll have to come back.â There are a lot of assumptions wrapped up in his response, ones you donât dare to correct now.Â
Instead, you follow him a few more steps forward, all the way until water pools around your feet, now ankle-deep.
Itâs still cold, but youâre getting used to it now. The sand feels different here, thicker maybe, more solid. You spread your toes and giggle as it pushes between them.Â
Jay zeroes in on the noise, carefully tracking your expression as you venture deeper. Now itâs him that trails you, happy to be led by his hand still intertwined with yours.Â
The first time you splash him is entirely by accident. You swear you see a fish swimming near your toes and it startles you so bad you nearly fall over. Thankfully, you manage to stay upright, but your flailing sends a smattering of droplets right towards the front of Jayâs shirt.Â
âIâm sorry,â you apologize, but itâs wrapped in laughter. âIt was an accident. I thought I saw aââ
The words die on your lips as Jay returns the favor by splashing water back towards you, this time entirely on purpose.Â
âNo worries,â he grins. Nodding towards the wet hem of your shirt, he adds, âWeâre even now, anyway.â
Your jaw drops at his audacity. âYou little shit.â Itâs the only warning he gets before your next splash comes, this one wreaking far more havoc than the first as sea water soaks through nearly the entirety of his rolled left pant leg.Â
You try to run before he can have his revenge, but he catches up to you easily, fingers circling around your wrist before he slides it back towards your hand, interlacing your fingers once again. Then he bends at the waist, other hand dipping dangerously towards the water as he sends droplets flying towards your jeans.Â
Itâs funny â even though the water swirling around your ankles, being flung at your skin, is entirely novel, something youâve been dreaming of experiencing for years, when you look back on your memory of this moment later, youâll realize that nearly all of your focus was not on the beach or the your soaked clothes or the even ocean itself.Â
No, it was locked on the steady, warm feeling of Jayâs hand in yours.Â
âŠ..
The sun tracks a steady path across the sky, and before you know it, itâs time to get ready for your dinner with Jay.
Despite your questioning, he hasnât divulged many details. Youâre not sure exactly where youâre going, nor what kind of attire is expected. Eyeing your small overnight bag, youâre suddenly worried that everything youâve brought will be too casual.Â
Then again, maybe heâs bringing you to something a little more quaint. He said it himself â most of the businesses around here are seasonal. You doubt that the truly fine dining establishments are even open this time of year.Â
Before you can make up your mind on if you should just go across the hall and ask him again, a knock sounds on your bedroom door.Â
Opening it, Jay stands on the other side, a large box in hand.Â
You look at it, frowning. âWhatâs that?â
âFor you,â Jay outstretches his arms, passing the box to you. âFor tonight.â
âJayâŠâ you trail off. Gifts from him are nothing new at this point, but something in your pride still withers with every lavish present he lays at your feet.Â
âDonât even,â he shakes his head, silencing your protest before you can put words to it. âBesides,â he adds, nodding towards the box. âThis was already yours.â
Your brow furrows in confusion. âAlready mââ Realization dawns across your features. You remove the lid from the box, confirming your suspicions.Â
Inside is the gown, the one you selected from Sunghoonâs shop.
âI thought we were going to dinner,â you breathe.Â
Itâs Jayâs turn to be puzzled. âWe are,â he confirms.Â
âThereâs a restaurant around here where this is standard attire?â You arch an eyebrow. âAre you sure?â Quieter, you add, âI donât feel like getting stared at all night.â
Jayâs expression softens at your confession. âYou wonât be. I promise. A dress that pretty deserves to be worn, donât you think? Besides,â he adds, a gleam entering his gaze, âIâll be the only one staring at you.â
âJay,â you whine.Â
âOkay, okay,â he puts his hands up in mock surrender. âIâll only stare when youâre not looking.â
âIâll still be able to tell,â you frown.Â
âYou havenât so far,â he points out.Â
He grins when your cheeks warm.Â
And to that, you have nothing to say. Instead you ask, âWhat time are we leaving?â
âWhenever youâre ready,â Jay says. âThereâs no rush. Take your time.â
The door closes, and youâre once again alone with your thoughts. You glance down at the box in your hands before setting it on the foot of the bed.Â
You sigh. You really werenât prepared for anything so formal. Glancing at your small makeup bag, you decide youâll have to make do.Â
Thirty minutes later, itâs apparent that you werenât born with the talent of a makeup artist, but itâll do. You give yourself another once-over in the mirror, assessing your handiwork. The work youâve done on your makeup and hair might be simple, but it highlights the features you like most. Makes your reflection something that shimmers a little more than usual. Despite it all, you feel pretty.Â
Which leaves only one step left before you meet Jay downstairs: the dress still sitting on your bed. Padding over towards it quietly, you take a deep breath before reaching into the box and retrieving it with gentle fingers.Â
It unfurls as you pull it out, skirt falling down towards the floor in an elegant wave. Here in the evening glow of your borrowed bedroom, itâs even more spectacular than you remember.Â
Quietly, you step into the skirt, pulling the top of the dress up over your body and securing the straps into place.Â
Reaching behind you, you fumble blindly for the zipper. It takes a moment for you to find it, fingers closing around the cool metal. You tug, but the zipper hardly makes it an inch before your own dexterity fails you.Â
Frowning, you try again. This attempt is no better. No matter how many times you try, you canât get the zipper past the base of your spine.Â
Thatâs right, you remember, hardly stopping yourself from cursing out loud, the store attendant helped you that day at Sunghoonâs store.Â
A flicker of doubt sweeps through your mind. Is it even possible to close the zipper on your own?Â
It has to be. Because if you canât get it zipped on your own, the only other viable option isâ
No.Â
Thatâs not happening.Â
Grimacing, you pull again, this time with far more force, fueled by your sudden desperation. But itâs to no avail. The angle simply wonât work.Â
Head lolling forward, you groan aloud to the empty room.Â
And then, gathering whatever fragmented remnants of dignity you have left, you call out quietly, âJay?â
You wait for a heartbeat. Another. No response comes.Â
Walking towards your door, you crack it open slightly.
Louder this time, you call again, âJay?â
âYeah?â You hear him respond, from downstairs you think. âAre you okay?â Thereâs an undertone of urgency in his voice that you would have more time to ponder if you werenât panicking yourself.Â
âIâm fine,â you assure. âBut can youâŠâ You trail off for a moment, losing your confidence. âCan you come here?â
He doesnât say anything, but you hear the sound of his feet padding against the stairs. It takes him less than thirty seconds to reach the top, eyes locking on yours where you still brace yourself behind the door like itâs a shield.Â
His brow furrows. âWhatâs wrong?â
You can barely hold his eye. âNothing, I justâŠâ Biting the inside of your lip, you manage to get out, âI need help with the zipper.â
âOh.â Itâs quiet for a moment. You watch as realization sets in, his eyes widening before he remembers to regain control of his expression. âOh,â he repeats, softer this time.Â
Then, he swallows. Once, roughly. You watch the way his throat works, jaw tightening, eyes sharpening before they soften again. He sets his resolve, pace steady as he walks towards you.Â
You take a step back when he reaches you, silently pulling the door open wider, allowing him into your space.Â
âSorry,â you mumble, eyes on his feet. âI forgot that I needed help. I didnât think Iââ
âDonât apologize,â Jay interrupts, voice rawer than it was before. âItâs okay,â he assures. âI donât mind. JustâŠâ He flails for a moment, words stuck in his throat. Then he whispers, âTurn around for me.â
You do. Quietly, steadily, all the way until youâre facing the bed. Jayâs presence behind you is an impossible thing to miss, especially when you hear the deep, shuddering inhale he takes.Â
And then you feel it, the warmth of his hands as he wraps his fingers around the zipper. Your breath is shallow in your chest, heart pounding in your throat.Â
You can feel his knuckles skimming the notches of your spine. A slow, deliberate pace as he drags them upwards.Â
Itâs agonizingly slow. It's over entirely too soon.
You feel his fingers reach the top, hesitating for only a moment before he retracts them. You release the exhale you hadnât quite realized you were holding.Â
Turning back halfway, you meet his eye.
âThanks,â you manage, more breath than sound.Â
âOf course,â he returns, and you donât think youâre imagining the strain. He recovers quickly, though. Extending his arm, he offers, âShall we?â
Only then do your eyes rake over him. Jay, it seems, has not made you dress up on your own this evening.Â
Dressed in a suit so impossibly well-tailored youâre sure it must have been made with only him in mind, Jay is a vision. Dark hair falls into his eyes, loose across his forehead, flattering the angular set of his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw.Â
Under any other circumstances, the sight would serve as a reminder of the distance between the two of you, all the ways in which Jay will always exist just outside your reach.Â
But his outstretched arm is an offering, an invitation. Heâs not pulling away, not stepping back. Heâs meeting you halfway, like heâs already decided that wherever you are is a place worth being.Â
So you wrap your fingers around his forearm and let him lead the way down the stairs. You let him carry your purse and open your car door and smile at you from the driverâs seat.Â
For a moment, itâs all too easy to pretend. That this, whatever is blossoming between the two of you, was never because of a deal.Â
That youâre not dying and heâs not doing everything in his power to stop it.Â
For a moment, just in the most secret parts of your mind, youâre just you and heâs just him. Two people that realized, somewhere between butting heads in lecture halls and always vying for first place, that you had more in common than you realized. That your differences were actually quite complimentary when you stacked them side by side.Â
You pretend that itâs all natural to you, that you belong in the passenger seat of convertibles, wearing an average personâs monthly salary on your body and being treated like a princess.Â
In your fantasy, no one feels sorry for you. No one pities you. If anything, theyâre all jealous. That youâre the one on the receiving end of the ever-formidable Park Jongseongâs equally fierce affections.Â
Sunoo has what he needs to follow his dreams all on his own, and your family was never wrecked by circumstances out of their control.Â
You have room in your mind for yourself, for your own desires and hopes and goals. You have time for things outside of studying. Thereâs space in your life for friends and flings and maybe, you think, glancing over at Jay where he keeps his eyes trained on the road, maybe even enough room for love.Â
It might just be a fantasy, but you decide that you donât want to ruminate tonight. Youâre tired of wallowing in your own misery and always worrying about what comes next.Â
Is it so wrong? you wonder, to pretend, just for tonight, that this is nothing more than dinner with a boy?
Jayâs pulling into the parking lot before you can fully make up your mind. Taking a tentative glance at the dark building, you frown slightly.Â
âAre you sure itâs open?â you ask. âIt looks dark.â
âItâs open,â Jay nods. Glancing at you, he amends, âWell, it is for us.â
You balk. âWhat do you mean, for us?â
He shrugs. âI pulled a few strings. Câmon,â he smiles at you, âyouâll like it. I promise.â
The truth you already suspected becomes more apparent as he leads you inside. The restaurant has an understated kind of beauty. The rich colors and shimmering decor of quiet luxury. It reminds you faintly of spaces like the luxury department store, Sunghoonâs shop. Made to suit the tastes of the elite.Â
Like the beach house, the far wall is almost entirely windows. With an hour until sunset, the view is breathtaking. The stretch of beach it faces must not be private, because you see figures in the distance. Couples walking along the shoreline, families splashing at the edge of the water.Â
The cool weather keeps the beach from being crowded, but the sight makes you think that itâs probably never truly empty, even when winter sinks its ice-cold claws into the world.Â
The restaurant, however, is strikingly empty.Â
A waiter, dressed head-to-toe in a sleek black uniform greets you upon your arrival. He leads you past an array of empty tables, bare even from silverware, until he comes to stop at a small, round table pressed close to the window.Â
Nodding gently, he smiles as Jay pulls out your chair for you. Once youâre both seated, he lays two menus down with a smile and instructs you to let him know if you have any questions.Â
Jay thanks him, and you take a small sip from your water glass, throat suddenly feeling rather dry.Â
âJay,â you start, once the waiter is out of earshot, âwhy is no one else here?â
Jay shrugs, not bothering to glance up from the menu. âMust be a slow evening.â
âJay.â
He sighs, setting it down. âFine. You caught me. Everyone insisted this was the best dining anywhere on the coast, but when I called, they said theyâd already shut down for the season. So IâŠâ he trails off, trying to find the best words, âmade a few requests.â
âYouâre ridiculous,â you tell him, no real edge to your words. âI would have been happy cooking at home again, or even at that fast food restaurant we saw down the street.â
Jayâs brow furrows, something in his expression falling slightly. âYou donât like it?â
You shake your head immediately. That wasnât the conclusion you intended him to land on. âOf course I like it,â you tell him truthfully. Something relaxes in his shoulders. âItâs incredible. How could I not? I just meant that⊠I don't want you to feel like you have to do all these things for me just because Iâmââ
âI donât.â He shakes his head, cutting you off. âI donât feel like I have to. I like doing things for you. I want you to feel important and special and valued. Not becauseâŠ.â he trails off for a moment. âNot because of circumstances.â Meeting your eye, his gaze is imploring. âJust because you are.â
To that, you suddenly have nothing to say.Â
âJayâŠâ Youâre not sure if youâre warning him or something else entirely.Â
He shakes his head, as if he can sense your internal struggle. âLetâs decide on food.â
There, you let him take the lead. Mostly because you havenât heard of half of the menu items before. Jay is patient as he explains them to you. When your mind is made up, he waves the waiter over with a raised hand.
The sun falls a little further towards the horizon, the end of another day. Beneath you, families begin to pack up for the evening. Couples return to their cards, hand-in-hand as they make their way back up the beach.Â
Distantly, you wonder what you and Jay look like from the outside. You must seem like a couple, especially now. Dressed to the nines and sat opposite from each other at the nicest restaurant in town. It wouldnât be a stretch to assume; it would only be natural.Â
You canât quite decide how that makes you feel. Suddenly, youâre rather glad there are no other patrons tonight. The only witness is your waiter.Â
Dinner is a rather quiet affair. Conversation lulls before it starts again, both of you skirting around delicate topics. Itâs there, thoughâsomething that simmers just beneath the surface. A truth that the two of you are too afraid to touch.Â
The food is delicious, and dessert even more so.Â
When the bill has been settled, Jay guides you back to his car with a hand on the small of your back. His touch is gentle, present without demand.Â
Once you arrive back at the beach house, he opens your door for you, falls into place beside you as the two of you make a path towards the entrance.Â
Halfway to the front door, your footsteps falter. Jay turns to you with a question in his gaze.Â
The sun has already settled beneath the skyline. Itâs dusk now. Everything is covered in the hazy dark glow of evening.Â
âItâs our last night,â you tell him, words barely a whisper. âCan we go down to the beach?â
He passes a questioning look over the dress you still wear, but he doesnât argue. Instead, he nods.Â
This time, itâs you that initiates contact. Quietly, traces of your hesitation plain as day in the way you bite at your bottom lip, you reach your hand towards his.Â
For a moment, you just wrap your hand around his three longest fingers, holding them loosely as your thumb strokes over his pointer finger.Â
Your eyes follow the motion. His are locked on you. Above you, the moon begins to glow.Â
Jay sighs but makes no effort to move. He remains motionless, pliant under your gentle touch. After another moment, you slide your hand further into his, lacing your fingers together.Â
Glancing up, you find him already looking at you, lips parted, eyes lidded, a distinct sense of longing in his gaze, raw and steady.Â
âLetâs go,â you whisper.Â
Jay makes no attempt to move. He only nods.Â
This time, itâs him that trails behind you, led by the firm grip you have on his hand and you follow the path back down to the water. Your pace is slow, but now it doesnât feel like itâs due to the limits of your abilities.Â
It just feels like a moment that the two of you want to savor a little longer.Â
When you do finally reach the shoreline, you release your grip reluctantly. Only because it allows you to lift the skirt of your dress up past your ankles, watching quietly as the water swirls around your feet.Â
Next to you, Jay does the same. He rolls his pant legs, slightly unevenly, and youâd tease him about it under any other circumstances.Â
Now, though, thereâs no laughter in your throat. Only a deep sense of calm as you look up at the sky, eyes tracing the stars that have started to shine against the inky black expanse.Â
The moon casts a silver reflection on the water, rippling slightly with every ebb and flow of the current.Â
After another long beat of stillness, Jay turns to you, eyes tracing your profile. He asks, âShould we sit?â
You look at him, considering. âWe donât have the blanket.â The evening chill is the least of your concerns. You hardly feel it at all. But the thought of letting your dress fill with sand is enough to give you pause.Â
Jay nods, then begins to shrug off his suit jacket. Even in the low light, you can see the way his dress shirt follows the motion of his body, the way it sits against his skin. âWe can use this,â he suggests.Â
Itâs impractical and might render the jacket ruined, but if he doesn't mind, you suppose you wonât either. Nodding, you follow him a bit further up the beach, until youâre out of the reach of the gentle waves.Â
He spreads it against the sand, settling down on one side. Then he looks up at you, patting the space next to him.Â
You hesitate, suddenly unsure. Itâs far smaller than the blanket from yesterday. Thereâs no room for distance, no way for you to maintain space.Â
If Jay notices, he doesnât seem to mind. Instead, he reaches his hand towards you. You take it, because of course you do. Even with sudden doubt flashing through your mind, his outstretched fingers will always be something you accept.Â
Gently, he guides you down next to him, helps arrange your dress so that the fabric doesnât spill over onto the sand.Â
You were right to be wary. No matter how close to the edge of his jacket you sit, your knee brushes against his. You can feel the warmth of his skin through the thin layer of his shirt.Â
For a moment, the two of you watch the waves.Â
Then he asks, voice low, âYour beach trip, the convertible, were they as good as you hoped for?â
At his side, you nod, a small smile tugging on your lips. âEven better.â Turning your head, your chin nearly brushes his shoulder. You look up at him, lips parting at the sudden proximity as his gaze falls down towards you. Your voice carries a bit more weight now, the lightness from earlier swallowed by your sincerity. âThank you, Jay.â His eyes are heavy, laden with something indecipherable. âFor everything.â
For a moment, he says nothing, quiet as his eyes search yours. The longer he looks, the warmer your cheeks begin to feel. But you canât bring yourself to look away, can hardly dare to blink.Â
Slowly, he brings a hand to your temple, brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen across your forehead.Â
He doesnât remove his touch. Instead, he traces a steady path, fingers light as he ghosts them across the shell of your ear, all the way until they come to curve just beneath your jaw.Â
âJay,â you whisper, voice nearly swallowed by the breeze.Â
His eyes follow the motion, falling to your parted lips before he finds your gaze again.Â
He leans closer, just a fraction of an inch, like the motion is involuntary. Like he canât quite help himself.Â
âThis was on your bucket list, too,â he murmurs, breath washing over your heated cheekbones.Â
âYouâre not a stranger,â you point out, voice more breath than sound.Â
âMm,â he hums. âDo you want me to go find one for you?â But heâs even closer now, his nose brushing against yours.Â
You call his bluff. âYouâd do that?â
âNo,â he admits, thumb stroking along your jawline, angling you slightly. âProbably not.â
âProbably?â you echo.
âDefinitely,â he decides, lips brushing against your own.Â
Youâre touching now, lips brushing, moving against each other with every shallow breath. His fingers splay against your overly warm skin. Stroking, soothing, coaxing like he can't quite stop himself.Â
But he doesnât move further. Even here, even now, he wonât take what you havenât asked him for.Â
âJay,â you breathe, and he nearly groans at the sound of his name, a low breathy thing.Â
âMm,â he hums again, fingers flexing, nose brushing.Â
âKiss me,â you tell him.Â
He releases an exhale, long, deep, desperate, and then heâs finally pressing forward. His hand beneath your jaw serves as an anchor as he finally increases the pressure, lips parted against yours like he wants to breathe you in.Â
Your eyes flutter shut, sighing as he takes your bottom lip between his. His lips part against yours, and you do your best to follow the motion, moving with him.Â
The pace he sets is gentle, tentative, searching. As if he has all the time in the world and plans to spend it with his mouth on yours.Â
Thereâs nothing demanding in his touch, even as his breath begins to quicken, as his sighs start to sound more strangled, lower in his chest.Â
Itâs not rushed. Itâs not frantic. Itâs gentle and sweet and so impossibly slow.Â
His hands, however, canât seem to decide where to land. Once theyâve had their fill of your jaw, they fall to your neck, the pulse point that jumps in your throat. The skin of your shoulders, the length of your spine. Eventually, they settle at the small of your back, pulling gently as he encourages you further into his space.Â
You release a breathy exhale, head full of stars and sighs and him.
Above you, the moon glows. The ocean laps against the shore. Jay moves his affections from your swollen lips to the angle of your jaw, trailing downwards below your ear until he finds a place that makes you shudder.Â
But when his hand comes to your arm, he feels the goosebumps that have started to rise.Â
Lips still on yours, you feel him frown. âYouâre cold.â
You shake your head, mind spinning as you try to catch your breath. âIâm fine.â
Itâs no use. Jay presses one more kiss against your lips before moving to your cheekbone. He lays a gentle kiss there too. One last kiss finds the tip of your nose before he leans back.
âCome on,â he urges, âLetâs go.â
âButââ you start to protest, words dying on your lips. Youâre afraid to move, afraid that leaving your place on the right side of his suit jacket will shatter the illusion, will send you plummeting back to a reality youâre not ready to face.Â
âI know,â Jay whispers, like he understands, like he feels it, too. âItâs okay.â
He helps you stand, and then he brushes off the sand from his jacket before settling it over your shoulder. The kiss he presses against your lips after securing it into place surprises you. He smiles at your wide eyes, something unbearably fond in his gaze as he catches your hand in his own.Â
The walk back to the house is quiet, save for the sound of your breath. Once youâre both inside, Jay turns back to you, cradling your head as you look up at him in surprise before kissing you again. Once, twice, three times before he finally pulls his lips away, resting his forehead against yours.
âSorry,â he says. âI like doing that.â
âDonât apologize,â you shake your head. âIâŠâ Even with his admission laid bare, itâs hard to find the courage, the honesty to do the same. For him, you manage, âI do, too.â
Jay smiles at that, leaning back as his eyes trace over you. They catch for a moment on the unmistakable flush, on your slightly swollen lips.Â
He swallows, shakes his head.Â
He tells you, âItâs late. We should probably get some sleep.â
You nod at the suggestion. It is late, after all, and youâll have to drive back tomorrow.Â
Tomorrow. The thought of a new day has sudden dread curling deep in your gut.Â
Jay takes your hand in his again as he leads you up the stairs. At the top, he hesitates for a moment before dropping it. Eyes on yours, he tells you quietly, âGood night.â
You return the sentiment. Your words are done, but both of you hover a moment longer. Night, this night, feels like a bubble that the sunrise will inevitably burst. Neither of you are quite ready to let it go.Â
Jay nods gently towards your bedroom door behind you. âGo,â he urges, even if you can see his unwillingness written across his features. âIâll be here in the morning.â
You know he will be, but thatâs not what youâre worried about, not what has you hesitating.Â
Still, you nod, hoping your thoughts donât play out as openly across your features as you fear they might. Then, you turn, walking towards your bedroom. Hand hovering on the handle, you turn back only once.Â
âGood night, Jay,â you tell him again.Â
He nods, expression full of something you can only call longing. âSleep well.â
The water from your shower falls relentlessly against your skin, sharpens the events of the day into something sobering.Â
You kissed Jay. You kissed him. Your thoughts swirl just as surely as the water that circles the drain, but no matter how long you search them, you canât find anything that stings like regret.Â
Even as you step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body before drying your hair. Even as you pull a pair of worn pajamas over your body, you canât bring yourself to wish it hadnât happened.Â
You donât regret it, you realize, pulling back the covers as you sink into your bed. It may complicate things, it will surely make them more difficult, but even if given the chance to relive the evening, you wouldnât change anything.Â
In fact, the only thing youâd do isâ
No. Even in the privacy of your own mind, the thought swims like a bad idea.Â
StillâŠÂ
Your eyes fall on the door across from you. You debate internally for a moment, logical parts of yourself warring with the ones fueled by self-serving desire.Â
âOh, fuck it,â you whisper out loud to your empty bedroom. And then you stand up from your bed.Â
The distance from your bedroom to his feels even shorter now. Fueled by a sudden stroke of bravery, you knock three times against his door before you can talk yourself out of it.Â
Youâre being ridiculous. You already said goodnight. Heâs probably asleep, anywayâ
In front of you, Jayâs door opens, just enough to reveal him. Hair messy like heâs been tossing and turning, Jayâs eyes are wide when he looks down at you.Â
âAre you okay?â is the first thing he asks. Youâre reminded of the list you found, of hospitals and pharmacies and emergency contact information. Of just how prepared he was to take care of you. âIs something wrong? We can goââ
âJay,â you interrupt, shaking your head. âIâm fine.â But there, your words die. You hadnât planned this far ahead. Haven't decided what to say now that heâs in front of you. âI justâŠâ you try. Deciding that beating around the bush will get you nowhere, you ask, âCan I sleep with you?â
Jayâs eyes widen even further at that, lips parting as your request sinks in.Â
Immediately, your cheeks flame as you realize the connotation. âI donâtââ Your words die on your lips, embarrassment making you struggle through speech as you try to remedy the institution. âI didnât meanâIâm not ready for⊠that.â You wince internally, then outwardly. âI just,â you sigh, fingers finding the hem of your sleep shirt. âIt would be nice, I think. To be close.â
For a moment, Jay says nothing. And then he opens his door further, stepping aside to let you in.Â
His room is similar to yours in both layout and appearance. He hasnât drawn his curtains shut, though. You can see the moon shining outside, casting a silver glow across the space.Â
You arenât particularly concerned with the window, though. Your attention falls to his bed. Thereâs enough space for you to both fit comfortably, but there are no illusions to be had here. No pretence of maintaining distance.Â
Jay walks to the bed, pulling back the blanket as he looks back at you. âHere,â he nods. Considering for a moment, he adds, âUnless you prefer the other side.â
You shake your head. âThis side is good.â
Slowly, you crawl into the space between the blanket and the sheets. Jay walks around to the other side of the bed, pulling back the blanket there as he does the same.Â
Itâs dark. Laying down against his pillows, you turn to face him. You can make out his features â the angles of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips â but only just.Â
For a moment, the two of you just lie like that. Motionless, looking at one another.Â
Then, Jay reaches for you. Hand settling around your hip, he pulls you closer, all the way until youâre nestled against his chest.Â
He looks down at you, the faint trace of a smile on his lips. âHi,â he whispers.
âHi,â you return.Â
Then, slowly, heâs leaning down. All the way until his lips meet yours.Â
Like the beach, itâs slow, searching. Careful, like youâre something precious.Â
Night settles around you quietly, steadily. The moon climbs higher into the sky while the two of you trade giggles and whispers. And between it all, kisses.Â
Eventually, the pull of sleep becomes too strong to ignore. Your eyelids flutter shut, breath evening out while your head rests against his chest.Â
Youâre still not sure what tomorrow will bring, what the morning light will do to whatever fragile thing has just taken flight. But tonight, wrapped in Jayâs arms with evidence of his affection on your swollen lips and flushed cheeks and somewhere deep within your heart, happiness feels like it might not be so terribly out of reach as you once thought.Â
âŠ..Â
You wake to sunlight. Beneath your cheek, Jayâs heartbeat is steady, even.Â
He feels you stir, arm adjusting as you come to.Â
âGood morning,â he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss against the crown of your head.Â
âMm,â you hum, still trying to shake the lingering sleepiness from your mind. The events of the previous night come back to you. The restaurant, the beach. Kissing Jay, falling asleep next to him, in his arms.Â
You wait for the wave of regret to crash over you like a tidal wave. But it never comes. Instead, you squint at the sunlight streaming in through the window.Â
âWhat time is it?â you ask.Â
âAlmost noon,â Jay tells you. That surprises you. You canât remember the last time you slept past eight. It also affirms your dread. âWeâll have to leave soon.â
You nod, pulling yourself up to a sitting position.Â
The coming week is not one youâre rushing to get back to. Your next round of treatment starts tomorrow, which means Sunoo and your mother will be on their way back as well. Youâre excited to see them, of course, butâŠ
Glancing down at where Jay is still splayed across the sheets, you sigh. Youâre not ready to leave this behind you.Â
Again, you decide gratitude is in order. âThank you, Jay,â you tell him again. âFor everything. I canât believe I actually got to come here.â Looking around, it still feels too good to be true. âI never thought Iâd actually get to see the beach, to do all those things on my bucket list.â
Jay smiles up at you, a soft warm thing. âAll thatâs left now is the northern lights.â
You sigh, shaking your head. âThatâs not going to happen. Itâs okay, though. I crossed it off the same night I wrote it. Itâs not an actual part of the list.â
âMm,â Jay hums, but something in his expression tells you heâs not going to let it go so easily.Â
âBesides,â you argue, changing the subject. âI also havenât technically kissed a stranger.â
At that, Jayâs lips pull into a flat line. âIâm a stranger enough,â he grumbles.Â
âAre you sure?â you ask, something sly in your gaze. Itâs fun to tease him like this, you think. Thereâs something horribly endearing about watching him get sulky. âI donât think it would be very safe or responsible of me to agree to spend the night in a new city with a strangerââ
Jayâs movement is so sudden it nearly has your heart jumping out of your throat. In one sweeping motion, he rises from his position against the pillows, hands on your shoulders until youâre the one beneath him.
Flat on your back, head on the pillows, he hovers above you.Â
âHi,â he breathes, gaze falling from your eyes to your lips. âMy name is Jay. Nice to meet you.â
âJay, what are youââ
âShh,â he shushes above you. âIâm a stranger.âÂ
Thereâs a gleam in his eyes, a giggle on your lips from the absurdity of it all that dies as he lowers himself. Slowly, but with intention.
All the way until his lips find yours. Like the night before, itâs slow at first. Gentle, searching, like heâs afraid you'll evaporate beneath him.
Under him, you sigh. He swallows the sound. For a moment, his lips are slack against yours. Just there, breathing.Â
Then, he renews his efforts. Jay is more insistent this time as his lips find yours with a renowned fervence.Â
You do your best to keep up, breath becoming more shallow with every passing second. You're having a hard time catching it until Jay decides he finds the space just beneath your ear fascinating and redirects his attention there.
Your heart beats traitorously in your chest. Sighing, singing, yearning even though you promised yourself yesterday that you would maintain distance.Â
You sigh, out loud this time, hands splaying against his chest as his mouth works against your throat, fingers coming to your jaw as he angles you to his liking.Â
Moments bleed to minutes until enough sense comes back to you to remember that a world does exist outside the two of you. That the time is only getting later.Â
âJay,â you sigh, just as reluctant to let go as he is. When the sound of his name seems to do nothing but encourage him further, you try again. âJay.â
This time, he pulls back from you, only slightly. Just enough to meet your reluctant gaze.
Lips swollen, hair messy where your fingers ran through it, you have half a mind to just pull him back down to you.Â
âItâs almost noon,â you remind him. By now, the hour has probably arrived.
âYeah,â he agrees, breath ragged where he looks down at you. âYeah,â he repeats, closing his eyes. âYouâre right.â
But Jay seems to feel the same reluctance plaguing you. His movement is just as slow as yours as he begins to pack up his belongings, just as hesitant as you feel when he tells you the car is ready.Â
When you slide down into the passenger seat next to him this time, he waits for a moment before starting the engine.Â
Glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, he hesitates for a moment. If you didnât know any better, youâd think he was nervous. After everything, it seems almost laughable.Â
 But his voice shakes a little when he finally says, âI have something for you.â
Another gift? You almost want to refuse, just based on the principle of it all.
âItâs nothing big,â he adds. âJustâŠâ His words trail off as he reaches into his pocket, retrieving a small heart-shaped stone. âHere,â he holds it out to you. âFor your collection,â he explains.Â
A confused furrow builds between your brows. Taking it, you ask, âMy collection?â
Jay nods. âDidnât you say you used to collect rocks when you were younger?â Pausing, a flicker of doubt crosses his features. âI swear you mentioned it on the drive over.â
You did. But it was such a minute detail, such an offhanded comment that you hardly remember it. You certainly never expected him to.Â
And you might not have added any rocks to your collection since you were seven years old, might not even know where any of your tiny treasures ended up, but thatâs not the point.Â
The point is that he cared enough to listen. To remember. To think of you while he walked down the beach and stumbled across a rock shaped like a heart. To pick it up and slide it into his pocket thinking that you might like it, that it might feed that same youthful delight that made you start your collection in the first place.Â
If the last two days are nothing but an illusion, Jay has just made it a million times harder to let go of.Â
You run your finger around the worn edges of the rock. It really does look like a heart. Then, you set it down on your lap, your smile holding steady as he pulls out of the driveway.Â
Even later, once youâre back on the road, this still feels a little bit like a world that belongs to only the two of you. That neither of you are quite ready to say goodbye to.Â
The illusion holds steady on backroads and down highways, all the way until youâre nearly back to the hospital when the buzzing of your phone breaks through the quiet.Â
Pulling it out, you glance at the called ID.Â
âWho is it?â Jay asks.Â
âSunoo,â you tell him before answering. âHello?â you say into the receiver.Â
â____.â Sunoo says your name on the other end. âWhere are you?â
In your sudden scramble to answer, you donât realize how strange of a question it is for him to be asking in the first place.Â
Immediately, you suppose the most believable response isâ
âJust at the hospital,â you tell him, trying to disguise the telltale lilt to your voice that always comes out when you lie.Â
Jay turns to you, a question in his gaze. You shrug in response.Â
âReally?â Even through the phone, your brotherâs voice has a strange edge to it.
âYes, really,â you tell him, trying not to let the speaker pick up on too much of your nervous laughter. âWhere else would I be?âÂ
âI donât know,â Sunoo says, âBut Iâm at the hospital right now.â The ice cold shock of dread that pools in your stomach is immediate. âI managed to get an extra day off, so I came early. I wanted to surprise you,â he adds, every new word making you feel like youâve suddenly been submerged in ice.
âBut when I got here,â he continues, âHana said you werenât here. She said you left for a couple of days.â
Your pulse spikes. You have no idea how youâre going to justify this, what excuse you could possibly come up withâ
Sunoo deals his last card. âWith your boyfriend.â
âŠ..
The scene in front of you would be comical if Sunooâs scrutinizing glare wasnât also pointed in your direction.Â
Thankfully, itâs now focused, and rather intensely at that, on Jay, who sits at your side. He shifts uncomfortably and the tiny motion has his arm brushing against yours. Just barely, but itâs enough.
Sunoo tracks the movement with a frown.
âSo, youâre not dating?â He asks again, eyes narrowed like he still doesnât believe you.Â
âNo,â you shake your head.
Unbidden, you remember the feel of his arms around you this morning when you woke to sunlight. The press of his lips againstâ
No. This is hardly the time and certainly not the place.Â
âThen why did Hana say you are?â Sunoo asks.
Hana. Of course. That stupid assumption neither of you ever bothered to correct, all the way back before any of this really started. Before you made your deal, before you understood the consequences of it.
You shrug, doing your best to feign nonchalance. âShe must have misunderstood. Jay is myâŠâ you trail off, suddenly unsure how to finish the sentence. After another beat of silence, you settle on, âfriend. Weâre in the same major, and we have some classes together.â
I owe him more than I can even begin to describe. The words remain unsaid, but they hang distractingly in the air between you and the boy at your side.Â
âYou never mentioned him.â Sunoo frowns.Â
âItâs new,â Jay says, finally breaking his silence. âWe ended up sitting next to each other in class this semester.â
At that, Sunooâs brow only arches higher. âNew,â he echoes, âbut you went on an overnight trip together somewhere hours away?â
âI mean, these arenât exactly normal circumstances,â you point out. âYes, I suppose most people would wait longer, butâŠâ Your words trail off, the obvious implication lingering in the air.
âRight.â Sunoo nods, lips suddenly tight. He tilts his head for a moment, considering. Then, a moment later, he turns to the man at your side. âJay, was it?â
Jay nods, eyes widening slightly from the direct address. âYeah.â
âI suppose itâs a little late for introductions, but Iâm Sunoo.â
âI know.â Jay nods. âSheâs told me about you.â
âMm,â Sunoo hums. You donât think youâre imagining the way he sits up a bit straighter. Itâd be funny if it werenât so embarrassingâthe sight of your brother, sweet, gentle Sunoo, trying to look intimidating. Turning back to you, he says, âWell, I was about to see if you wanted to get lunch. Somewhere other than the hospital cafeteria this time.â He pauses, glancing at the clock. âAlthough I suppose itâs closer to dinner time now.â You think you must be hearing things when he looks at Jay again and asks, âWould you like to join us?â
If heâs as surprised as you are, Jay hides it well. You only catch a flicker of it, some unnamed emotion that crosses his features, before he nods. Once, slowly.
Then, once the idea has a moment to settle, he tells Sunoo, âIâd like that.â
Dinner is a quiet affair at first.Â
Sunooâs probing questions get one word answers at best, and you and Jay make a mission of avoiding as much eye contact as possible.Â
âOkay,â Sunoo finally says after another ten minutes of uncomfortable silence. âI believe you. Youâre not dating. Actually Iâm starting to wonder if the two of you even like each other.â
An assumption thatâs probably safer, even if the sudden memory of Jayâs bed this morning begs to differ.Â
You sigh. âSorry, Sunoo,â you apologize. âItâs justâŠâ you glance at Jay then back to your brother. âItâs awkward.âÂ
âRight,â Sunoo nods. âWhich is why weâre at dinner. To get to know each other. To make it less awkward.â
But between the three of you, Sunoo seems to be the only one blessed with the gift of easy conversation and small talk.Â
To his credit, Jay tries. He answers Sunooâs questions about his classes and his hobbies and his interests outside of school.
But when the food comes, he winces slightly when he bites into the steak he ordered. A minuscule movement that's gone as quick as it comes, but Sunoo notices.
âWhatâs wrong?â He asks. âItâs not good?â
âNo,â Jay shakes his head. âItâs fine.â
âFine?â Sunoo raises a brow.Â
âGood,â Jay clarifies. âIt tastes good.â
âYou winced.â
âI didnât,â Jay lies. âI justâŠâ
âWinced,â Sunoo supplies again.Â
Jay hesitates for a moment. Then he admits, âIt is good. Really. Itâs just a little dry.â
To both of your surprise, Sunoo nods enthusiastically. âRight?â He agrees. âI thought so, too. Iâve been researching common restaurant steak preparation methods lately. I feel like this was probably pan seared, but the heat was too high. Thatâs whyââ
âItâs so dry,â Jay finishes for him, leaning forward slightly. âYeah, you have to be careful when youâre searing. Itâs always better to go low and slow, but the dinner rush doesnât always leave enough time for the perfect sear.â
Watching their conversation unfold, youâd roll your eyes if you didnât feel such a strong flash of unadulterated relief surge through you.
It would seem that the two of them have found common ground. From there, the awkward silence is anything but.
And it seems Jay was afflicted with false modesty when he told you his mom only taught him a little bit in the kitchen. Sunoo spends the rest of the evening picking Jayâs brain about different recipes and cooking techniques, all of which he seems to be intimately familiar with.Â
Youâd be surprised if you didnât know him better, if you werenât already aware of how obsessive he is about things that interest him.Â
So instead, you breathe a sigh of relief. Suddenly, all the effort you put into keeping them from each other feels a little silly. Of course you still have no intention of letting your brother know about the deal you made, but watching the two of them talk together, you wonder if your fear of letting your family get to know more about your life was misplaced.
Jay, despite the rather unorthodox start of your friendship, seems to fit in just fine. Â
Even if cooking is the only common denominator theyâve established so far, thereâs something heartwarming about it.Â
Something that makes you smile as you watch them go back and forth, debating spices and wine pairing and the merits of various cooking oils.Â
Not for the first time, you wish things were different. That the circumstances that brought the three of you together today werenât shrouded in secrecy. In that terrible, looming weight of your illness.Â
You wonder what it would be like, under normal circumstances, to introduce the two of them.Â
Maybe, you think, in this fantasy world, Sunooâs assumption would have been correct. Maybe there wouldn't have been anything holding you back from saying yes to good things that come your way and returning affection like itâs second nature.Â
Maybe, just maybe, Jay would be fighting for a different kind of approval from your brother.Â
Not as your friend, not as your classmate.Â
Maybe heâd be fidgeting in his seat for a different reason entirely. Trying to earn the respect and good faith of your family as your boyfriend instead of one half of a bargain you made in secret.
At first, the thought makes you smile.
Then, it makes your heart clench, sends a deep, resonant ache scattering through your bones. Then, it makes you feel a little bit like crying.
âŠ..
Your second round of treatment begins the same morning dew freezes on the leaves just outside the window of your hospital room.Â
Itâs winter now. The unmistakable chill in the air is evidence enough.
Sunoo and your mother visit again, both of your hands enclosed in theirs while Doctor Kim settles the IV into place. You know what to expect now. You understand the fatigue that will follow, the wide array of symptoms that youâll be likely to experience for the next week.
It doesnât make it easier, not exactly, but there is a small sense of comfort in facing the known. In familiary, even if it isnât pleasant.
And this time, Jay didnât make himself scarce upon the arrival of your family. Instead, he greeted Sunoo with a nod and looked into your motherâs eyes while he shook her hand and introduced himself.Â
When he turns to say hello to Hana, your mother mouths at you behind her hand with wide eyes and an approving smile, âHeâs handsome.â
You wave her off with a glare. Sunoo just laughs, feigning some lie about a joke he suddenly remembered when Jay asks him whatâs funny.Â
It feels good to have them all here with you, even if itâs only for now. Your mother and Sunoo will have to return home for a few days, but until then, youâll cherish your time together.Â
Life passes similar to the way it did with your first treatment cycle. You sleep. You eat. You talk with your family, with Jay. You try reading and abandon it when your head starts to throb. Try knitting and set the needles to the side when your beginnerâs mistakes make you feel more frustrated than entertained.Â
Then, one afternoon, youâre disturbed from a light, restless sleep with a knock at your door.
You know itâs not your family, who left this morning with teary eyes and promises to return this coming weekend. You know itâs not Jay, whoâs currently sitting in his least favorite lecture, if the string of angry emojis he sent you fifteen minutes ago are anything to go by.
Hana told you she would check on you this evening around dinner, which a glance at the clock confirms is still hours away.Â
A frown creases your brow. Besides them, you havenât had any other visitors.Â
Despite your confusion, you manage a weak, âCome in.â
Then, the door to your room opens slowly, and through it, enters a man.
Tall, polished, and clean with an undeniable aura of refinement, youâre sure youâve never seen him before. Although, the longer you look, the more he starts to bear a certain resemblance toâŠ
The breath that passes your lips in a shaky exhale is involuntary.
If the boy you know were older, sharper, crueler, then the man making his way towards you would be nearly identical to Jay.
âMiss ___,â he breaks the silence as he comes to stand at the foot of your bed. His voice is cold, even. âIâve been hoping to make your acquaintance.â
Your position, lying flat against your pillows, suddenly feels like humiliation. A stark contrast of the differences between you and him. As if his gaze is an assessment youâre failing horribly. Gritting your teeth through the exertion, you push yourself up into a sitting position.
âForgive me,â you manage, voice more strained than you hoped. âHave we met before?â
The man just shakes his head. A smile crosses his lips, but thereâs no warmth in it. No reassurance. Instead, it makes the temperature of the room suddenly feel ten degrees cooler.Â
You suppress a shiver.
âNo, I donât believe we have. Forgive my lack of manners. I wonât waste your time, Miss ____. I can see that youâre ratherâŠâ He trails off, eyes flickering between the IV bag attached to your arm and vitals monitor at your side, âoccupied,â he finishes.
Then, meeting your eye again, he confirms your worst suspicions. âIâm Park Jongseongâs father.â
Immediately, your head swims. Why is he here? What does he want with you?
True to his word, at least, he doesnât leave you in the dark for long.Â
âTell me,â he says, voice slippery as it weaves around your ears. âWhat exactly is the nature of your relationship with my son?â
Your lips press together. You havenât learned much about Jayâs father, but nearly everything you know paints him in a rather unfavorable light. This current interaction included.
The contrast between him and his son is stark, you think. They both have a certain air to them, a brand of untouchableness that comes with money and practiced grace. But where Jay has learned to bend the unbreakable until it soothes like something soft, his father has only become more rigid.
In your hospital bed, you feel all of two feet tall. It pains something deep within you to admit it, but youâre suddenly terrified.Â
Steeling your resolve, you do your best to keep your fear from becoming too apparent.Â
âI donât see how thatâs any of your business,â you tell him, with far more self-assurance than you feel.Â
A shadow crosses his features. âI suppose itâs not,â he drawls, âbut I think youâll agree Iâm well within my right to question my own familyâs financials.â
Slowly, he walks closer to you, all the way until he stands just in front of your bedside table. From his suit pocket, he pulls a small stack of papers. One by one, he lays them on the surface, tongue clicking in disapproval.
The sound of paper brushing the table top is no louder than a pin drop. In the silence of your hospital room, itâs deafening.Â
âWhat are those?â you ask.
âBills.â He returns his stare to you, eyes even colder than before. âSettled by the trust fund my son shouldnât even have access to yet. Tell me, have your professors ever covered the potential consequences of forgery in your courses?â
You donât understand what this is. You donât understand how he even found you, how he knows that you and Jay are classmates. Why heâs asking all these questions.Â
âI didnât forge anything,â you defend.
âNo,â he agrees. âYou didnât. I suppose thatâs a conversation to be had with my son. Forgery, however, was done on your behalf. Iâd like to know why.â
You press your lips together tighter.Â
Jayâs father sighs, like he expected your refusal. âThen again, I donât really need to know, I suppose. I could just as easily sue for misuse of funds. Iâd be more than happy to pass the invoices along to you and your mother. Or your brother, if you prefer. Sunoo, was it?â
At the sound of your brotherâs name, your blood runs cold.Â
You canât help yourself then. âHow do youââ
âIâm well-versed in due diligence, Miss ___. I know everything I need to know about you and your family. Theyâve worked themselves into quite a bit of debt, havenât they? Medical, mostly. Tell me, how are profits at the restaurant these days?â
At that, you look down, eyes suddenly stinging. Itâs one of your least favorite things, the way your frustration so easily builds to tears. You wonât let them fall now, though. Even if every word is like a knife on skin. And you certainly wonât let him see.Â
âSo, you see, Miss ____,â he starts again, voice deceptively soft. âI know everything I need to know about you. Except, of course, the nature of your relationship with my son.â
âWeâre classmates,â you work out through gritted teeth.Â
He shakes his head. âClassmates donât cover hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of medical debt with their personal trust funds. They donât forge their fatherâs signature to gain access to it prematurely. Do you have something on him? Did he do something to youââ
It nearly makes you shake with rage, the casual insinuation that Jay would in some way hurt you, that he would use money to shut you up. The cold, clinical detachment with which his father discusses the conclusion he finds most logical. The obvious way with which he so easily misjudges his own sonâs character.
âNo,â you shake your head. You canât let anyone, even him, follow that train of thought for even a second longer. âNothing like that.â
He sighs again. âVery well. If you wonât be forthcoming, then Iâll cut to the chase. How much money did he offer you?â
You shake your head, âHe didnââ
âWhatever it is, Iâll triple it.â His words slice through the air like a knife, send a shock of cold careening down the length of your spine. âI can change your life, Miss ___. The restaurant debt, the medical bills, they can all disappear. Just like,â he snaps his fingers, âthat.â
At that, your lips part, exhale shaky like your gasping for breath. Your heart is suddenly in your throat.Â
âAnd in return,â he continues, âyouâll agree to never contact my son again. You wonât speak to him. You wonât see him in person. You wonât communicate with him in any way, shape, or form. Youâll also need to sign a nondisclosure agreement, in regards to this conversation, my offer, and any previous relationship you held with my son.â
Immediately, your blood runs cold. Itâs as if youâve been submerged in water, hearing everything in distorted, distant waves.Â
Money. Enough money. So much fucking money that everything youâve been desperately clinging onto by your fingertips is suddenly within reach.Â
Your mother could finally rest. Sunoo could quit all of his part-time jobs and commit to becoming the restaurant owner of his dreams. Every tragedy thatâs ever befallen you and your family could fade to a tiny, inconsequential blip. An unvisited memory instead of a knife over your head.Â
And JayâŠ
Itâs hard to summarize your feelings, hard to put a name to things that have just begun to bloom, difficult to label wings that have never truly taken flight.Â
But what was your relationship with him if not a deal? A mutual agreement that benefits both sides.Â
Heâll understand, you tell yourself. He studies the same principles that youâve dedicated your undergraduate career to. He knows that when youâre presented with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, youâd be a fool not to take it.Â
Heâll forgive you. He will.Â
Still, something in you hesitates. The decision, even if obvious, is not one youâre ready to commit to just yet.Â
Quietly, you tell him, âI need time.â
Itâs stupid, you think. Even dirty money, misplaced hush money, whatever the hell you want to call this, has the power to change your life. To change Sunooâs. Your familyâs.Â
For them, you can do it. You can ignore the discomfort gnawing at your gut, the guilt thatâs begun to swirl with fervence.Â
He sighs, the deepest breath yet, and then nods one. âYou have twenty-four hours, Miss, ___. Iâll be back at the same time tomorrow. I hope youâll consider your options carefully. Your resume is impressive, truly. You can have a bright future ahead of you, if you act accordingly. I trust youâll make the correct decision.â
The correct decision. Itâs so obvious. It has to be.Â
Still, as soon as the door clicks shut behind him, the most prominent of your emotions is doubt.Â
Itâs like youâre spitting on it, part of you pleads. All those years of effort, everything you sacrificed. Are you really willing to bury it all ten feet under just to take the easy way out?
But another part of you can already see the future, painted with previously unreachable possibilities. Why should you have to struggle? Why shouldnât you take the easy way out?
Is it a moral failing or simply, as Jayâs father called it, the correct decision?
The headache that begins to build at the base of your skull doesnât ebb in slowly. The onset is sudden, but it spreads with a vengeance, all the way through to your temple.Â
Wincing, you reach for the water on your bedside table, pointedly ignoring the stack of bills still laying there like an accusation.Â
Maybe, you think, through the haze thatâs beginning to cloud your mind, maybe Jay will be grateful not to have you as his responsibility anymore.Â
The argument sounds weak even to your own ears. Itâs been a long time since you felt like a burden to Jay. Mostly because he spends every second of his time with you insisting on the opposite.Â
Still, heâs not immune to rose colored glasses of his own. Maybe this is for the best. A clean break.Â
He can stop worrying about you and use his trust fund to add another car to his collection instead. Heâll move on quickly, youâre sure. People like him always do. With a plethora of distractions at his fingertips, it wonât take him long to find a new source of entertainment.Â
But even that train of thought will have to wait for later.Â
Wincing again, your eyes shutter closed as another throbbing wave of pain circulates your skull. This one feels different from before. Sharper. Glancing at the call button next to the IV stand, you consider it for a moment.Â
Hana did tell you to call her if you felt any unusual discomfort after all.Â
Biting at your bottom lip, you canât quite commit to it. Sheâs probably busy, you reason. Besides, this will pass. Your headaches always do.Â
But as another wave of intense, narrowed pain vibrates between your ears, a tiny whimper escapes your lips.Â
This time, your vision starts to swim with it, black spots crowding in at the edges. You feel dizzy all of a sudden, disoriented. Forcing air in between your teeth, even that action feels labored.
Reaching towards the call button again, you decide that this is worth Hanaâs attention. But before your fingers can close around in, the dark spots in your vision become wider, as if theyâre searching for light to swallow.
You feel your head loll forward. Once, twice, until the darkness feels less like a threat and more like an invitation.Â
With your fingers halfway between you and the call button, a stack of bills on your bedside table, and an unmade decision waging war in your mind, the world around you goes dark.Â
âŠ..
There is no sensation in unconsciousness.Â
You donât feel Hanaâs fingers on your pulse nearly an hour later, donât hear Doctor Kimâs urgent instructions as a team of nurses check your vitals.Â
You donât feel the warmth of Sunooâs hand against yours as he keeps vigil at your bedside, praying to whoever might be listening that youâll wake up.Â
You donât feel the damp impact of your motherâs tears as she leans over you, donât hear the quiet, choked sobs she releases in the somber silence of your hospital room.Â
And you certainly donât hear Jay enter quietly, hands tucked behind his back like a child attempting a surprise. You donât see the ways his eyebrows furrow when he takes you in, donât see the way panic claws at his throat, plays across his features when he sees how pale, how fragile you look.Â
You donât hear the way he exhales roughly when Hana finds him there, motionless. When she explains that youâve been asleep, unconscious, for the better part of a day now.Â
Donât hear his panicked questions or her carefully controlled but undoubtedly sorrowful answers.Â
You donât see the way the two pieces of paper heâd been holding behind his back slip from his fingers, donât hear the muted impact as they brush against the linoleum floor.Â
Donât see the way he picks them up again silently, tucking them into his pocket with all the composure he has left.Â
Donât feel his hands against your forehead, smoothing hair out of your face as his expression breaks, angry, hot tears rolling down his cheeks in the silence.Â
You donât see the way Sunoo finds him like that, pausing for a moment before he lays a palm against his shoulder, a silent consolation.Â
âJay,â he finally says, breaking the silence after a long moment. âI know this isnât the time, butâŠâ
Jay turns to your brother, eyes shadowed, face still crumpled. Next to him, Sunoo is equally hollow. The worry plays out across his features plain as day as he glances at you.
âBut what?â Jay echoes, voice as hollow as he feels.Â
Sunoo sighs. âThese were on her bedside, when Hana called us here. After she found herâŠâ he trails off. The sight of you unconscious is enough to fill in the blanks. Jay doesnât need to hear him call a spade a spade.Â
Lips dry, Jayâs mouth parts with more effort that it should. He frowns at the stack of papers in Sunooâs hands, still half hidden between his fingers. âWhat are those?â
âHospital bills.â He casts a look at Jay. Weighted, meaningful. Not accusatory, but leaden with something that carries a similar connotation. âSettled ones. In your name.â
Jayâs lips part, preparing for an explanation that his mind still hasnât managed to conjure.Â
Sunoo sighs. âLook, I donât know exactly whatâs going on. Here,â he nods to the bills, âor between the two of you. But my mom was told that expenses were being covered under a special university fund. If something else is happening, thenâŠâ
âItâs hard to explain,â Jay mumbles.Â
âRight.â Sunooâs gaze is a bit more pointed now. âBut youâre going to have to. Youâve given me no reason not to like you, but this amount of money doesnât come for free. If my sister is being pressured into anything, thenââ
âNo,â Jay shakes his head. âNo, itâs nothing like that.â He takes a breath. âWe⊠we made a deal.â
âA deal,â Sunoo echoes flatly.Â
Jay nods. âMy family has money. I found out by chance that she was sick. And connected enough dots to realize she wasnât planning to tell anyone about it, that she wasnât planning to get treatment.â
âWhat?â Sunooâs expression falls, brows slack. âWhy?â
âItâs not my place to say, but I think she was scared. She didnât want to be a burden.â
âSheâs not a burden.â
âI know.â Jay nods. âWhich is why I offered.â
âThatâs stillâŠâ He looks uncertain. âYou said you made a deal,â Sunoo reminds him. âWhat did she give you?â
âFirst rank in our class,â Jay admits. He laughs, a humorless thing. âNot that it matters. I could come dead last for all I care, but it was the only way I could think of to get her to agree.â He casts a glance down at you, as if he expects to find anything other than your expressionless face. âTo let me handle it.â
Sunoo is quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, he looks directly at Jay. âAnd the two of you areâŠâ
Jay shakes his head. âI donât know,â he says quietly. âWe never talked about it. I think sheâd bite my head off if I tried to ask her.â He smiles, a distinct edge of sorrow to it. âBut I care about her. More than I could ever say.â
âThen why did you bring these here?â Sunoo gestures towards the bills still tucked between his fingers.Â
âI didnât.â Jay shakes his head. âI would neverââ He sighs, letting the declaration fade. His anger is misplaced. Sunoo is hurting too and doesnât deserve to be on the receiving end of it. âThose arenât from me.â
Sunooâs brow furrows. âThen who did?â
Jay isnât sure. Not entirely. But he has a suspicion thatâs starting to form. That has his vision going redder with every passing second, fingers curling into fists at his sides.Â
His lips pull into a thin line, jaw setting in determination. âThatâs what Iâm going to find out.â
Jayâs childhood home is hardly deserving of the name.Â
Full of more carefully curated art pieces than family photos, it feels more like a museum than a home.Â
Heâs lived in his own apartment since he started undergrad for a variety of reasons. Itâs closer to campus, it gives him the space he needs to study effectively, itâs taught him valuable lessons about the responsibilities of home ownership. But more than anything, itâs given him space away from thisâthe oppressive perfection expected in every corner and crevice of this house.Â
Jay doesnât stop to reminisce on his childhood as he storms through the foyer, footsteps even but heavy. Thereâs not much fondness to be had, anyway. He spent more time with his nannies and tutors than he ever did with his father.Â
His mother tried, but even the most noble of efforts are often strangled under the crushing weight of reality. She had her own responsibilities and appearances to upkeep. And Jay, although loved, was often left in the dust.Â
His father was a different story. He didnât call upon his son or pay him any attention unless he thought there was a lesson to be learned. He was relieved when Jay was born. A son meant he had an heir. They werenât royalty, but corporations like the one he heads value blood and tradition in the same way.Â
He had his legacy, and that was that. It didnât matter that his wife had always dreamed of a big family. It didnât matter that Jay was all alone in a room full of toys with no one to share them with.Â
His father made it clear from before he took his first steps. Jay was, first and foremost, the heir to the company. Business would always come first. Always.Â
Jay didnât get to choose his own clothes or friends or hobbies. Children canât be trusted to make decisions, and his father knew best.Â
He wasnât allowed to finish second in anything or misspeak or do anything that could potentially tarnish the last name he was born with. He didnât get to decide if he was competitive or self-motivated or ambitious. He was expected to be; he had to be, to survive. Jayâs entire life was a construction of someone elseâs making.Â
And even when he did well, rose to every expectation and impossible standard, even when he surpassed them, the most he ever got from his father was a mildly pleased nod.
Never a thank you. Never a congratulations. Never a well done.Â
Just the same lack of admonition he watched his father use with his least hated subordinates.Â
Of course Jay escaped his golden cage the second he could. Even if the responsibilities and expectations remained, at least now he had a place to curse them in peace.Â
Jay hasnât been back to his fatherâs house since his presence was required at the last family dinner, and that was nearly three months ago. Still, he walks the hallways with certainty. He remembers where everything is. He has a feeling he always will, no matter how much time passes.Â
He turns past the second-floor kitchen and follows the curve of the hallway all the way to the end where he knows his fatherâs home office stands just as solitary as ever. A home office, because the actual office he already spent nearly every waking hour in apparently wasnât enough.Â
Jay wraps his hand around the handle, and without any fanfare or announcement, barges right in.Â
Across from the rich, mahogany desk, his father quirks an eyebrow at him.Â
âSurely you havenât been out of good society long enough to forget all of your manners,â he drawls, voice even. âYou were raised to knock.â
Jay ignores him. Instead, he steps forward, slamming the stack of bills from your hospital room on his fatherâs desk. The force sends them scattering across the surface, one falling to the floor in his rage.Â
Neither man bothers to pick it up.Â
âWhat the fuck is this?â Jay fumes.Â
At that, his fatherâs expression turns sharp. âI donât know what you came here intending to do, but you are my son, and you will remember yourself. You will not come into my home, into my office, and curse at me.â
Jayâs eyebrows pinch together. Again, without the profanity, he repeats, âWhat is this?â
His father casts the bills a scathing glance, as if theyâre little more than a buzzing fly. An annoyance heâd rather be rid of. âI should be asking the same to you.â
Jayâs lips part, shoulders tense as he tries to piece it together. âWhy did youâ How did you evenââ
âAgain,â his father interrupts, with the same cold detachment of a dictator, âI should be asking you. Luckily, our investment firm has quite good security cameras. Tell me,â he drawls, âhow long did it take you to learn to forge my signature?â
Even standing above him, Jay suddenly feels like a child again. All of four feet tall. Begging for scraps of his fatherâs approval, his attention.Â
But even caught red handed, he wonât back down. âItâs my money,â Jay argues.
His father shakes his head. âItâs not, actually. Not in any sense of the law. Not until youâre twenty-five. And even thatâs operating under the assumption that youâve been formally initiated into the company. Something that I fear is becoming less likely with every⊠questionable decision you make.â
Jay does his best to keep his expression blank, even as the fury threatens to boil over in his chest. âSaving a life is questionable?â
His father all but rolls his eyes. âThere are charities if youâve suddenly developed a bleeding heart. Reputable ones. Take your pick, and Iâll have our publicist set up a photo opportunityââ
âI know her.â Jayâs breath is erratic now, even as he tries to control it. He sounds like heâs run a marathon. âSheâs my⊠sheâs my classmate. And she was going to die.â
In the stillness of his fatherâs office, the truth feels unbearable. Jay hates it, resents the way even something as tragic as death canât seem to shake his father into something resembling empathy.Â
âThatâs precisely the problem,â he says, with all the cold calculation of a businessman looking to cut his losses. âItâs personal. And you didnât even take proper precautions. No contract, no non-disclosure agreement⊠Youâve made yourself into a liability.â
Jay shakes his head. There have to be exceptions, even to the best kept rules. âSheâs not going to tell anyone. Sheâs the one who begged me to keep it a secretââ
âFor now,â his father interrupts again, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. âBut what happens when she realizes just how easy it is to extort money from you? When she threatens to take her story, real or fabricated, to the press unless you cough up another thousand? Another ten thousand? Another million? When she posts something incriminating on social media and we lose half of our shareholders for it?â His eyes hold nothing but disdain when he reminds, âAll from your carelessness.â
Jay realizes then that he can argue until heâs blue in the face. He can search for shreds of his fatherâs humanity for as long as he wants. He wonât find them here.
He asks the question thatâs been dangling at his fingertips since the beginning. âSo I should have let her die?â
His father sighs. âYou should have spoken with me firstââ
âYou would have said no.â
He doesnât deny it. âI would have acted in the best interest of this family.â
Jay scoffs, no humor in it. âThis company, you mean.â
âOne day youâll understand that the line between them is not so strong as you thought.â When he looks at Jay now, his gaze is evaluative. Disappointed, as if heâs failed some test. âFor now, you donât. Which is why you arenât yet burdened with decisions regarding our philanthropy.â
âSo Iâll ask you again.â Jay wonât let it go so easily. Wonât let him wrap cruelty in niceties. âI should have just let her die?â
But his response is even crueler. âFrom the looks of it, sheâs going to anyway. How long has she been unresponsive now? A day?â
The quiet, mangled sound that escapes Jayâs throat is involuntary. The reminder of your current state, the thought of his father keeping tabs on you, makes him feel ill. âHow do youââ
âDonât act surprised,â he scoffs. âYou decided to involve our name. I have to stay informed now to clean up any potential fallout from the mess youâve made.â
âAnd this was how you did it?â Jay gestures towards the scattered pile of bills. âThreatening her with medical bills you knew she could never pay?â
âI merely made her aware of the reality of the situation. Made my offer one she couldnât refuse. Iâm sure when,â he pauses, âif she wakes up,â he amends, âsheâll confirm our deal.â
Jay feels his blood run cold. âWhat fucking deal.â Itâs not a question.
His fathers eyes turn sharp. âWatch your mouth. I wonât tell you again.â
âWhat,â Jay repeats, voice low, âdeal.â
âMoney, of course. What else?â He waves his hand flippantly. âItâs all people like that ever want.â
Jay flounders for a moment, scrambling to make sense of it. âYou just berated me for giving money. How is this any different?â
âBecause mine,â his father enunciates, âcomes with stipulations. Protection.â
Jay can feel his heart starting to sink in his chest. He has his suspicions, but he has to be sure. âWhat are you talking about?â
âSheâd have to sign a non-disclosure agreement, of course. She wouldnât be allowed to speak of our agreement or any members of our family or company in private or public.â His eyes turn to his son. Assessing. âAnd you.â
âWhat about me?â Jay holds his breath.Â
âShe agreed to cut all contact with you. Any form of communication would immediately negate the contract.â
Jay falters, for just a fraction of a second, but itâs enough. âShe agreed to that?â
His father watches the way his expression falls, lips tightening like heâs just confirmed a terrible suspicion. âI gave her a day to think it over. She lost consciousness before she could sign anything.â
But still. Youâd considered it. You were willing to cut Jay completely from your life for whatever amount of money his father had offered you.Â
The sudden punch to the gut must play out across Jayâs features. Across from him, his father scoffs.Â
âLet this be a lesson,â he advises. âItâs always money. Always. No one can resist the way it glitters. Whatever⊠affections,â his voice wraps around the word like a sneer, âyou hold for her clearly arenât returned. Cut your losses, and move on. Iâll handle it from here.â
âLike hellââ
âYouâre lucky you havenât been stripped from your titles completely,â his voice is sharper now. More reprimand than conversation. âThat Iâm still giving you the opportunity for shareholder initiation at all. Let me be very clear, Park Jongseong, when I tell you that youâre very lucky you havenât been disowned. Iâd have done it already if your mother wouldnât put up such a fight.â
Jayâs shoulders slump, fight draining from his body as reality begins to sink in around him.Â
âYou want to save that girl?â his father goads, âThen stay as far away from that hospital as you can. Focus on your studies.â And then, more mockery than reminder, âI expect great things from you.â
Itâs his way of ending the conversation. Of reasserting their relative positions, his control over everything.Â
Jayâs footsteps feel like defeat on the way out. A cowardâs retreat. He feels as if heâs been backed into a corner with no way out.Â
With fingers wrapped so tight around the steering wheel his knuckles have turned white, he thinks that the worst of all is that youâd agreed. Or had at least been close to it. Enough to not refuse his father outright.Â
You were going to do it. To take the money. To cut Jay out of your life like none of this ever happened, like he was nothing to you.Â
Like the time you spent together in lecture halls and hospital rooms and the passenger seat of his car was disposable. Worthless.Â
Like the moments you shared in the secrecy of a beach house were easy to let go of. To move on from without so much as a goodbye.Â
Despite his fatherâs assumptions, Jay is intimately aware of what money does to people. The way it warps them, the way it eats at every moral and standard and principle until theyâve rotted down to the bone.Â
He knows itâs hardly fair for him to pass judgement. Heâs never known the struggle of missed meals or eviction notices or irregular paychecks.Â
He tries to understand why. And he lands on the only conclusion he can think of. Youâre doing it for them, for your family.Â
You havenât told him everything, but youâve told him enough. He can guess what it would mean to youâto themâto have all those worries disappear overnight.Â
But it stillâŠ
It still fucking hurts.Â
The thought that youâd so easily agree to just cutting him out of your life completely. He knows that whatever is building between the two or you is soon, itâs sudden. He doesnât expect to be a priority, for the connection between you to supersede your dedication to your family.Â
It makes him want to shout, to scream until his ears bleed. Heâd give you the world if youâd let him. But you wonât. The most youâll do is take reluctant fragments and feel guilty all the while.Â
And now, with his fatherâs iron claws embedded into everything, Jay canât so much as see you without jeopardizing the future youâve abandoned him to ensure.Â
But even those fears feel small in the face of reality. Youâre unconscious. For over a day now. The doctors have you under constant monitoring. Theyâve done everything they can think of, but youâre not waking up.Â
You didnât even get the three months you were promised.
Jayâs never studied medicine, but he knew what the look on Doctor Kimâs face meant when he saw him speaking to your mother in the hallway, understood that deep, resigned gaze when he stood over your hospital bed, adjusting the IV dripping into your arm.Â
It was the face of a man who recognized what he saw. Who was looking at nothing more than a possibility he expected. Doctor Kim wasnât surprised when you became unresponsive. Just sighed like he was worried it might come to this.Â
But Jay canât⊠he canât quite wrap his head around it.Â
There are so many things he wants to say to you, do with you. He wants to make some snide comment and watch you roll your eyes. He wants to take you out for coffee and suppress a smile when you let him hold your hand.Â
He wants to hold you, wants to kiss you till youâre breathless. Wants to get caught in a rainstorm without an umbrella and laugh while both of your clothes get soaked through. Wants to wrap you in a blanket afterwards and fuss over drying your hair so you donât catch a cold.
He wants to bring you to his apartment and cook you dinner. Wants to wake up with your head on his chest and his arm around your shoulders as he scatters tiny kisses against your hairline.Â
He wants to watch you graduate, to earn that degree you worked so hard for. He wants to obnoxiously scream your name as you walk across the stage to accept your diploma, laughing at the way your cheeks flush red in embarrassment.Â
He wants to watch you realize every last one of your dreams, wants to remind you how much youâre cared for, how capable you truly are, even on the days they seem impossible.
He wants, more than anything, to be given the chance to fall in love with you.
Mostly because he knows heâs already started to.Â
He thinks of that night, back in his car, when you agreed to get treatment. When he watched the beginnings of hope bleed back into your eyes when you thought he wasnât looking.Â
When he realized it was never never altruism that made you hesitate. When he saw for himself that with every fiber of your being, you want to live.Â
You have to live, he thinks. You have to.Â
All of it, his fatherâs threats, your agreement to cut him out of your life, he can face it. He can. He can find a way for it to all be okay.Â
You just have to live.Â
Minutes later, alone in his bedroom with no one to bear witness but the expanse of his own four walls, Jay lets loose the tears that have been threatening his lash line the entire drive home.Â
He cries, he sobs, deep, gut-wrenching, gasping.Â
And when he reaches into his pocket, he finds itâ the surprise he planned to give to you at the hospital earlier today. The two pieces of paper heâd picked back up off the hospital floor. It already feels like a lifetime ago.
Tickets. Plane tickets to Iceland. First class on a flight leaving in three weeks, right when the northern lights are projected to reach peak visibility.Â
Helpless, he crumples them between his fingers, squeezing as tight as he can until they form an unidentifiable mass of jumbled letters and misplaced hope.Â
Still sobbing, he hurls it at the wall across from him with enough force to put a hole in it.
But empty dreams are still empty. And paper is still paper.
The mangled plane tickets bounce harmlessly off his bedroom wall and fall to the ground in a silent heap.
âŠ..
Life moves in patterns, cycles.Â
And despite the unpredictability of it all, it always moves forward.
Days pass. Then weeks. Months.Â
Jay knows better than to anger his father, but he also knows that nothing has been signed yet. Thereâs no agreement to violate.Â
Winter sharpens its icy grip on the world, and he spends most days at your bedside. He talks to you, tells you about his day, about all the little things he wishes you could have seen too.Â
He holds your hand, pulls your blanket a little more snug around your body whenever your fingers feel cold. Does his best to ignore the way they always feel cold.Â
He talks to Sunoo, too. To your mother. Learns about their lives, about your place in them and their place in yours. He likes seeing you from their eyes, loves learning just how fiercely adored you are.
Sunoo rolls his eyes at an old memory, complaining but only half-heartedly, âShe always babied me.âÂ
Reminiscing makes them laugh until it makes them cry. But whatever it is, it beats the hollow, empty feeling Jay goes home with most nights.Â
December breaches the horizon, and the semester ends. Jay finishes first in the class, although most of it is due to the work he completed at the beginning of the semester. Heâs been on the receiving end of more than a few conversations conveying concern for his more recent academic progress.
Your official leave of absence is given to the university, and one afternoon in early December, Professor Jung makes a visit to the hospital. When she finds Jay already sitting at your bedside, fingers interlaced together, all she does is raise an eyebrow.Â
âJay,â she greets, like sheâs not entirely surprised.Â
âProfessor,â he returns, voice hoarse from overuse.Â
The flowers she leaves are beautiful, truly to your taste. Jay tells her as much, and all she does is offer a knowing smile.Â
âTake care of yourself,â she tells him.Â
Jay spends Christmas with your family, eating food served from the hospital cafeteria. There have been three family dinners that heâs missed since the last conversation he had with his father, but his absence for the holiday is the most egregious of all.Â
His mother calls him, and after staring at her name on his screen for several long seconds, he finally picks up on the sixth ring.
âJay,â she tells him, voice full of admonishment and worry in the way only mothers can manage. âCome home. Itâs Christmas.â
But Jay refuses to step foot in that house, refuses to look his father in the eye. To sit across from him like this holiday is some sort of celebration. To pretend that the blood that connects them is anything other than a formality.Â
âMerry Christmas, Mom,â he whispers into the receiver, guilt rolling when he swears he hears her stifle a sob on the other end. But his mother is used to masking her emotions, and the sound is gone as quickly as it came.Â
New Yearâs passes, and Jay feels nothing. It doesnât matter if the dateâs last digit has changed. His life feels frozen, stuck in this hospital room. Watching you cling to the last fragments of life left in your body. Hoping against all odds, that today will be the day everyoneâs agony can finally end.Â
After all, hope is the only thing thatâs left. Some days it feels like a bird with wings, ready to soar and fly and sing at the first sight of morning light. Some days it feels frayed around the edges. A torn, tattered thing threatening to dissolve at a momentâs notice.Â
But itâs always there. Steady, constant. Alive.Â
Slowly, winter begins to loosen its grip on the world.Â
Scattered snowstorms turn to rain showers. Spring starts to take root. Jay sees flowers now, on his drive to the hospital. Sees some of the green returning to the trees that line the highway.Â
Sunoo and him exchange recipes. Your mother notices the way he fidgets with his hands whenever heâs been sitting at your side for two long and teaches him how to crochet one quiet afternoon.Â
Classes start again, and Jayâs mind is anywhere but textbooks. This is his last semester, and it should be a celebration. The end of a chapter, the segue to new beginnings.Â
Heâs been promised a place in his fatherâs company upon graduation for as long as he can remember. After their last conversation and his blatant dismissal of his fatherâs wishes, heâs not sure if the offer still stands, and he doesnât care to ask.Â
When he hounds Doctor Kim for updates, he just looks at Jay with that same resigned expression heâs come to resent. Like heâs seeing probabilities instead of you. âThe same,â he always says, voice carefully controlled like heâs been practicing empathy all his life. âWeâll tell you if anything develops.â
Life continues like that, an endless cycle of days that feel repeated, until one Tuesday afternoon in early April.Â
Jay is sitting in the library, waiting for his next class to start, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Retrieving it, he checks the caller ID only briefly before answering.Â
âSunoo,â he breathes into the receiver.Â
âJay,â he hears the younger boy say. âSheâŠâ his voice trails off for a moment. âHer finger twitched.â
âWhat?â Jay asks, even though heâs already sitting up straighter in his seat. Already shoving his laptop into his bag.Â
âI was holding her hand earlier, and I squeezed her fingers, and sheâŠâ he pauses again.
âI mean, it was weak, but I swear,â he emphasizes. âShe squeezed back.â
Jay feels it then, for the first time in a long time, the kind of hope that feels like wings instead of a cage.Â
âIâm on my way.â
You donât wake up that afternoon, even with Jay, Sunoo, your mother, along with Doctor Kim and Hana, all practically sitting vigil around you.Â
But nearly a week and a half later, you do.Â
The light makes you squint. Itâs too bright, and your eyes have been closed for⊠Youâre not entirely sure.
Frowning, you reach for a memory, something to center yourself. Breakfast this morning, maybe. Dinner last night. A conversation with Sunoo or Jay or maybe Hana.Â
Sunoo. Eyes squeezed shut, you search your mind for pieces of the familiar name. Your brother, you think. Sweet, gentle, younger than you.Â
And Jay is a bit more disorienting. The emotions that surge at the sound of his name are more complicated, more difficult to sift through. Thereâs annoyance, frustration, emerald green envy, all tangled together with a strange, budding sense of affection. A deep, poignant gratitude. Bashfulness. Like a schoolgirl with a crush, you think.Â
And Hana. Sheâs⊠sheâs your nurse. Your nurse because youâre at the hospital. Because thereâs a malignant tumor sitting just behind your heart.Â
Suddenly, the gaps in memory feel terrifying. Why donât you remember breakfast this morning? Why do you have the strangest, dizziest sense that time has passed without your permission?
Scanning your body, you try to make sense of it. Thereâs a distinct heaviness in your limbs. They feel exhausted, but not the kind that comes with exertion. No, itâs the kind that comes with disuse.Â
Your throat feels as if someone has taken sandpaper to it. Almost painfully dry like itâs been months since you had a sip of water.Â
And your head â the ache is dull, throbbing. Persistent against the front of your skull. Like someone is knocking from the inside, begging to be let out.
You donât hear anything but the steady beep of something mechanical. The faint rush of blood from your own pulse in your ears.Â
Slowly, you try to open your eyes again. Itâs still bright, but if you squint, you can manage.Â
To your left, the beeping becomes frantic for a moment before it evens out again. But itâs enough to draw attention.Â
You hear it then, the quiet, desperate sound of your name. The scattered scuffle of footsteps against linoleum as multiple people rush to your bedside.Â
A hand against both of yours, a palm against your forehead.Â
âCall Hana,â you hear, intelligible even through the surge of emotion in the voice. âAnd Doctor Kim. Tell them sheâsâŠâ The voice trails off, a sob, a choked sound of elated disbelief breaking the sentence in two. âTell them sheâs awake.â
âŠ..
Your memories return slowly, in disjointed fragments.Â
Doctor Kim explains that itâs normal, that youâre lucky to be recovering your memories at all.Â
Thereâs no accurate description for the kind of disorientation that comes with missing months of your own life, but youâre grateful to have people at your side whoâve made it their mission to do their best at filling in the gaps.Â
For days, itâs enough to just listen. To your brotherâs enthusiastic stories and your motherâs fond memories and Jayâs gentle retellings. It helps you to hear their perspective, to stack it against the reconstructions being built within your own mind.Â
If your memories return slowly, then strength comes at a snailâs pace. It takes you nearly two days to sit up again, almost a week to walk.Â
But you do.Â
The flowers are blooming outside of your window, and even on cloudy days, sunlight slants across the linoleum floor in a way thatâs almost beautiful.
One afternoon, nearly three weeks after you wake up, Doctor Kim comes with a clipboard and something that almost looks like a smile.Â
âItâs working,â he tells you. âBetter than before. Youâll be strong enough for surgery soon.â The final step in his treatment plan. Removing the tumor that sits just behind your heart.Â
At your bedside, your mother and Sunoo all but collapse into one another, tears streaming as smiles overtake their features.Â
Next to you, Jay interlaces your fingers with his, strokes gently with his thumb against the back of your hand. His eyes shine too, and when he looks down at you, you see hope in his smile.Â
Itâs rare these days for the two of you to find yourselves alone. But one spring morning, nearly five weeks after you regain consciousness, your mother and Sunoo have stepped out for a moment.Â
And the last of your scattered memories have clicked back into place.Â
âJay,â you call gently, startling him from his handiwork. In the chair next to your bed, he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he works his crochet needles around a particularly difficult pattern. You havenât told him yet how terribly endearing you find his new hobby. âWhat are you making?â
âJust a coaster.â He holds up the half-finished work so you can have a better look at it. âYour mom says Iâm getting pretty good, though. Sheâs going to show me how to do dishcloths next.â
âMm,â you hum, smiling. But thereâs still something sitting heavy in your chest. After a moment, you ask, âCan we go for a walk?â
Jayâs eyes widen in surprise. âAre you up for thatâ
âI think so,â you nod. âWe might have to go slow.â
Itâs how you do everything these days, with a body thatâs still learning to work again.Â
Jay doesnât mind. You have a feeling heâd crawl if you asked him to. âSlow is perfect,â he tells you.
The small garden just outside the hospital is bright with fresh blooms and morning sunlight. It reminds you of a beach house months ago. Of the time the two of you spent there, of everything that happened between you.Â
It makes the beginnings of this conversation feel even more difficult to work out.Â
âJay,â you tell him, drawing in a long breath of fresh air. You hesitate for a moment, reluctant to break the peace between you.Â
Jay just waits, patient as ever.Â
âLast winter,â you continue, âright before I lost consciousness.â You pause. Inhale. âYour father came here, to the hospital. To see me.â
At your side, Jayâs exhale is audible. Then, he tells you, âI know.â
You turn to him, eyes wide. âYou do? You never saidâŠâ
âIs it terrible if I say I was hoping youâd forget?â He smiles, but thereâs no joy in it. âI was afraid if you remembered, thenâŠâ
Even as his words trail off, you an fill in the blanks well enough. âYou know what he told me, then,â you say. âWhat he offered me.â
âNot specifically,â Jay shakes his head. âBut enough.â
Thereâs no use hiding it then. No use prolonging it any further. Breathing deep, you gather the last of your courage, your honesty.
âI was going to tell him yes,â you say. At your side, Jayâs footsteps falter. Stopping, you turn back to face him. Eye contact is suddenly difficult to maintain, but you owe him that, at least. âFor a moment, I was going to accept his offer. I told myself it was for the best. That youâd forgive me.â
Jay takes half a step closer to you. He shakes his head, hair loose across his forehead, scattering with the motion. âI wouldnât,â he vows lowly. âI wouldnât forgive you.â
âI know.â You nod. You do look down then, if only to admit, âI donât think I could have forgiven myself either.â You meet his eye again, gaze glassy. âNot just because of you, although Iâd be lying if I said that didnât play a part.âÂ
You sigh, glancing at the flowers before you begin again.Â
âMy whole life, money has felt like a knife over my head,â you explain. âLIke sand between my fingers. There was never enough of it. I learned how to stop wanting things, to stop asking for things, to stop thinking I deserved things, because it made the truth a little easier to bear.â
You look at him again, trying to regain control over the emotions that threaten to rise. âBut Iâve always wanted things. I wanted a better life for my family, of course, but there were so many other things, too. Stupid things, frivolous things. I wanted nicer bedsheets that didnât feel so scratchy when I slept. I wanted a new computer that didnât crash every time I had too many open tabs. I wanted nice clothes and pretty jewelry and to finally feel like I belonged in the world I worked so hard to fit into. When I looked at you, all I saw was everything I never had. I resented you for it. I was so horribly jealous of you for it.â
Jayâs eyes are shining now, too. But he doesnât say anything. He just listens.
âAnd then,â you continue, âyou swooped in with this deal like some knight in shining armor, and I think I hated that most of all. That I couldnât just save myself. That I needed you, at least in some capacity, if I wanted to live. I never wanted someone to save me, and I certainly never wanted to depend on anyone else. It felt like debt. Like owing you something I could never repay. I was scared, too. Accepting help meant accepting the possibility that it could be taken away, and then Iâd be right back where I started. Maybe even worse off. Losing hope is worse than never having it at all, I think.â
You pause for a moment to breathe, to gather your thoughts.
âAnd then your father visited me, and he promised me all this money. It felt⊠I donât know. Safer, somehow. Because it felt like I was losing something, too. But then I thought about it and if I took that money from him⊠what would that make me? Iâve made it this far without it, havenât I? I can do it.â
You nod, resolve steeling as you voice your thoughts out loud. âI almost died. But Iâm not a victim. My life isn't some tragedy. Itâs just my life. There are hard things and good things and everything in between. But if I took that money from him, Iâd become a victim. One of my own making. Someone that abandons people they care about and has to resort to underhanded deals just for the easy way out. Thatâs not me. It never has been.â
You look down at your sleeve, tugging at the hemline as doubts start to take shape in your mind. âI donât know if itâs stupid. I donât know if Iâll regret it. But I know that if I took that money, I wouldnât be able to look Sunoo in the eye even if I gave him the restaurant of his dreams. I wouldnât be able to tell my mother to rest without the words tasting bitter in my mouth. And,â you look back up at him. âI would miss you. So much. More than I even think I understand.â
You bite at your bottom lip, as if the slight, sharp pain will distract from the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.
âI can struggle. I can. I have and I will again. But I canât lose myself. I refuse to change everything about me. Although,â you consider voice losing its edge as something lighter seeps into it, âthere are a few changes I have been thinking of making.â
âReally?â Jay asks. His voice is rough as he breaks his silence, scraped raw. âLike what?â
âWell,â you tilt your head, a quivering smile crossing your lips. âFor starters, I think it might be nice to have a friend.â
âA friend?â He echoes.
âYeah,â you nod. âWho knows?â you shrug. âMaybe Iâll even get really crazy and get two friends.â
Jay wants to press the conversation further, wants to go back to the all of the admissions youâve just laid at his feet and dissect them one by one. But he knows you. He can tell that your sudden shift in topic, in tone, is intentional.Â
Admitting it once was enough. For right now, at least, you want to move on. And Jay can do that for you.
So instead of demanding answers, he just gasps playfully. âI never thought Iâd see the day.â A moment passes. Still, he canât help but press his luck a little. Something in his gaze shifts, becomes heavier. âIs a friend the only thing youâre looking for?â
At that, your teeth find your bottom lip again, eyes falling down to the flowers at your feet. Itâs spring. If there was ever a time to breathe life into something fragile thatâs just begun to blossom, itâs now.Â
âIâm still deciding,â is what you tell him. But even as you look at him now, you can feel the ghost of his lips against yours, months ago in the sanctuary of a beach house he chose just for you.Â
It burns like a reminder, sings like a promise.Â
Between the two of you, at least, youâre certain of this. Things have just begun.Â
âŠ..
epilogue
When your phone starts working again, the first notification that comes through is from your brother.Â
Itâs a selfie of him and the new set of cookware he special ordered last week. As it turns out, years of saving every last penny from every part-time job added up all on their own. Without any of your help, Sunoo has nearly saved enough to turn his dream into a reality.Â
All on his own.Â
The idea still resonates somewhere deep in you, still tastes a bit bittersweet. For as long as you can remember, a huge part of your identity has come from supporting your family. Youâve prided yourself on helping Sunoo, on easing his struggles. On making his dreams come true.
But your brother has been growing up, too. Heâs not a fragile little kid anymore that needs you to shield him from the world. He understands responsibility and disappointment and hard work just as well as you. Heâs survived difficult things and come out the other side stronger. Heâs not crumbling under the weight of lifeâs challenges.Â
 Like you, like everyone, heâs learning how to live with them and get through them and thrive all the while.Â
The restaurant is still a long way from being profitable, and there is still work to be done. Work that youâre happy to do your share of. But the burden doesnât feel like it falls solely on your shoulders anymore. The responsibility that you decided was your alone has been divided, shared.Â
It feels like a collective effort now, and somehow, thatâs even more gratifying.
Trying new recipes! he writes beneath the picture, along with a ridiculously long string of smiley faces.Â
Beneath it, he tells you,Â
Have the best time ever! I want to hear about all of it when you get back. And send pictures!!
You smile at the message. From the seat next to you, Jay leans over into your space, shoulder brushing yours. âWhat is it?â he asks.Â
âJust a message from Sunoo,â you tell him. âHe wants me to send pictures.â
âMm,â he agrees. âGood.â With gentle fingers, he reaches for the phone tucked between your hands.Â
Confusion creases your brow as he takes it from you. âWhat are you doing?â
âTaking a picture,â he says like itâs obvious. Turning the camera towards you, he instructs, âSmile.â
âJay,â you whine, covering your face with your hands. âI havenât slept since the layover, and I didnât put on any makeup this morning. I look gross,â you protest.
But heâs not having any of it. âYou look beautiful,â he tells you. âNow and always.â Gently, he wraps his fingers around one of your wrists. Not forcing, just urging. âMove your hands, pretty girl.â
Peeking from between your fingers, you donât dare to lower them completely. âYou can take my picture after Iâve showered,â you bargain.Â
He wonât give in so easily. You should have known better than to think he ever would, even now. âCâmon,â he urges. âItâs a memory. Your first international flight.â Pausing for a moment, he adds, âYou donât have to send it to Sunoo if you donât want to. It can just be for you. For us,â he amends.Â
You sigh. âFine,â you agree, dropping your hands. âBut you have to be in it, too.âÂ
âDeal,â Jay grins. Next to you, he switches your phone to the front-facing camera. Then, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as he smiles for the picture. Leaning into him, you do the same.Â
You suppose it really doesnât matter. Whether youâve showered, whether your makeup is done, whether itâs been thirty minutes or twenty-four hours since your last full night of rest. Whether the plane lighting washes you out or makes your dark circles look a million times worse.
Youâve just touched down in Reykjavik, after all. Over a year since you first wrote it, the last piece of your bucket list is becoming a reality.Â
Looking back at it now, itâs almost hard to believe how much time has passed.Â
So many things have changed â your energy is still low, even on good days. Sometimes, your memories feel harder to access than they should. Youâll be returning to school for your final semester after winter vacation, and youâre already preparing for extra difficulties due to the brain fog you can never seem to fully shake.Â
Doctor Kim assures you that itâs normal at every check-up you have. Promises that it will get better with time, that your body is still recovering from losing so many healthy blood cells, from the surgery you underwent. That itâs natural to feel more tired than you did before, both physically and mentally.Â
That there is plenty to celebrate, too. Namely, the fact that months after your first clean bill of health was given, there are no signs of any new malignant cells forming. That the tumor behind your heart was removed successfully. Completely.Â
That the three months he estimated have come and gone. That your life is, once again, yours to live.Â
And other things, stranger yet, have remained exactly the same.Â
For starters, you still feel uncomfortable whenever Jay gets a little too outlandish with his gift ideas. You made him promise you that he wouldnât get you anything for your birthday or the next three Christmases before you begrudgingly accepted the first class plane ticket to Iceland that brought you here now.Â
He broke it, of course, but he at least had the decency to look sheepish.
You have gotten a bit better at it, though. At letting him love you the way he wants to, at letting things go.Â
Like when the gate agent apologized for difficulty sorting out the rebooking fee, and you looked at him with a question in your gaze. Jay waved it off, rattling off some excuse about inclement weather that hardly made any sense. More suspicious yet, you swore his cheekbones were dusted with a sudden rosy pink that hadnât been there before.Â
Still, you let it go. The sudden avoidance of his gaze, along with the tension in his shoulders, made you think it perhaps wasnât a memory he was quite ready to revisit.Â
Besides, you know that heâll tell you in his own time, when heâs ready. Thatâs the way things are between the two of you now. Affection, fondness, and even something that shimmers a whole lot like love, itâs all built on a solid foundation of trust.Â
Itâs why you didnât press the issue in the airport. Why you didnât hound him for updates on his status in his fatherâs company post-graduation, even though you saw his updated resume when he accidentally left it open on his laptop one evening.Â
Why you waited, until he was ready to tell you himself, that he accepted a different position, one in a much smaller company, one that he got on merit alone instead of the weight of his family name.Â
Itâs changed things for him, you know. His motherâs smile still sometimes doesnât quite reach her eyes when she looks at him. He still hasnât spoken to his father since the day he threatened you in the hospital.Â
It took time, itâs taking time, but Jay is happier, too, you think. Heâs more sure of himself these days. Trusts his decisions, his instincts, more than he did before.Â
Itâs not perfect, not by a long shot, but the beginning of his career is something that belongs to him and no one else. He smiles when he talks about it, even the difficult parts, like heâs proud of it, like it means the world to him that he gets to call it his.Â
And you, even now, as the dust settles and leaves a million possibilities in its wake, you canât find yourself to regret any of it. Not the decisions you made, nor the reasons you made them.Â
If you could go back in time and choose a different career path, a different field of study, youâre not sure what choice you would make. Without the tragedy of Sunooâs childhood, if business would still be the path you followed.Â
But you canât go back in time. You canât erase the past, and you canât change what happened. You canât conjure wealth from thin air, and you canât erase all of your familyâs struggles or pain with a snap of your fingers.Â
All you can do is move forward, give every past version of yourself grace for making the decisions she thought were best at the time. Trust the version of you that exists now to make decisions going forward.Â
At the very least, the future isnât something you look at with trepidation anymore. After everything, failure doesnât feel quite so terrifying, after all.Â
Youâre a miracle now, too. Someone thatâs been through hell and back and has come out with the scars to prove it.Â
You donât need perfection. Your life doesnât have to be something that you wrap into a bow and hand deliver to someone else on a silver platter.Â
Youâre allowed to take care of your family, and youâre allowed to want things for yourself, too. It doesnât make you greedy or selfish or ungrateful. Youâre learning, too. There are times when itâs hard, but youâre doing your best. Especially when it comes to accepting things from others.
When Jay told you he wanted to bring you to Iceland to see the northern lights, it wasnât because he wanted to watch you squirm uncomfortably at the differences in your finances. It wasnât because he wanted you to feel like you owe him or because he felt pity for everything youâve been through.Â
No, it was because he could see it all in his head â you, eyes turned towards the stars in the night sky, a wide, barely controlled smile breaking across your lips as the first rays of light began to dance across the universe above you.Â
He told you already once before. Love isnât some transaction you pass back and forth.Â
When you brought him a coffee and a photo of the two of you to christen his new office, he wasnât totalling up the amount you spent on the frame. He was thinking about how lucky he is to have someone that cares enough to think of him at all, how much it means to him to have a picture of you to glance at and smile whenever his meetings start to run too long.Â
Even now, as the plane draws to a stop on the tarmac, he takes both your bag and his, sliding it over his shoulder like the effort means nothing to him. Like itâs as natural as breathing. Not because youâre weak. Not because youâre fragile. Just because he likes doing things for you.Â
And as you stand to disembark, your gaze lands, not for the first time, right on the back of his head. Hair slightly mussed from the hours you just spent in the air, the sight makes you smile.Â
Biting at your bottom lip, you have a sudden memory of hours spent in lecture halls, staring at the back of his head, cursing the way it always seemed so out of reach, so effortlessly perfect. How desperately you wished you could have been like that too.Â
Reality, you think, no matter how messy, strained, and imperfect it may be, will always be so much better. Youâre grateful for every day youâve been given, for all the ways in which youâve been able to see through the facade and your own misconceptions. For all the ways that youâve gotten to know him, for all the ways youâve let him get to know you, the real you.
Reaching up, you brush a few misplaced strands back into place with your fingers.
Jay turns back to face you, a soft smile on his lips, a question in his eyes. âWhat was that for?â he asks.
âNo reason,â you tell him, returning his smile like itâs a secret just between the two of you.Â
model!heeseung x agent!reader âžâž female reader âžâž soulmate au âžâž 16k words âžâž lying / secrets âžâž slow burn âžâž inspired by recent events âžâž featuring nicholas from &team âžâž hurt/comfort âžâž reader is called a slut âžâž mentions of cheating âžâž nicho is mean
â :: thank you for reading my first enhypen fic! it is inspired by recent events but please note that this is a work of fiction â i have no idea what happens in the hybe building. also nicho is the villain in this story but i love him dearly irl.
The deep breaths did nothing to make it any less scary; nothing to make your hands steadier. You still stood in front of a long conference table pitching your ideas to your potential employers impromptu. You tried to speak clearly â loud but not too loud, confident but not too confidentâbut it came out wrong in your ears, all pitchy and unsure. Your eyes danced across the men sitting around the table, dressed in suits and perpetual frowns, and you were certain that they were only hearing the parts of your presentation that had dollar signs in front of it.
âThat would be the direction I would take.â You concluded, waiting for either an onslaught of passive aggressive questions or dead silence.Â
As you waited in bated breath only to receive blank stares, you schooled your face to be just as neutral.Â
âThank you, Miss L/N.â One of the directors said. You recognized it as your cue to dismiss yourself from the room.Â
Taking another useless deep breath, you made it back to the fifth floor. Grabbing the papers off the printer for your boss while following the path to your desk. You shook your head and the hope from your shoulders, before opening the Gmail icon where youâd spend the last three hours of your day. But as the page loaded into view, the most recent one dropped your heart to the floor.Â
Kim, Taeho EVAN PR Representative - L/N Y/N, your promotion to PR Manager has been granted.
ââ â â â ââ
The office wasnât extraordinarily big but it was an undeniable upgrade from the dingy grey cubicle youâd been calling your home for the past 2 years. You remember exactly what it felt like to move into that cubicle, especially because youâre having the exact same feeling as you stare at your empty office. Youâd gotten an internship at Hybe Corporation under BigHit about two years ago. Through many changes, firings, and quittings, youâd been promoted due to necessity â but now, youâd been promoted because of your own merit.
The pen youâd used to sign under Belift Lab as a public relations manager for their model: EVAN. Youâd learnt, while doing your research for the presentation, that his real name was Lee Heeseung and heâd been contracted under Belift Lab in 2020 for modeling alongside six others.Â
You walked past the boxes youâd yet to unpack and pulled out your laptop. Opening the messages you wrote out a text to Heeseung, informing him of the change.
You: Good morning, Mr. Lee Heeseung. My name is L/N Y/N and Iâll be your new PR Manager starting today. Iâll be contacting brands today in order to schedule gigs for you by the end of the week. If you have any questions or would like to meet to discuss anything, please let me know.
The message was strictly professional and maybe that's what pulled you into a birdâs eye state of consciousness. This was uncanny â both foreign and familiar â drafting a professional message to send to a client, yet this time you werenât drafting it with someone elseâs name attached. Your heart beat rapidly as you hit the send button, waiting to make sure it went through, before leaving your desk and opening one of the many filled boxes.Â
The sunset behind the clouds somewhere between setting up a personal printer and desperately searching for your laptop charger. The day having been spent setting up your new office and sending exactly one message, a message which was finally being answered only eight hours later.Â
Lee Heeseung: Good evening, sorry for the late reply. Iâd like to meet with you if itâs possible?Â
Your brows furrowed slightly. Youâd worked with plenty of models before, youâd contacted a handful too, none of them came across with the gentleness that Heeseung did. Nowhere was the demanding quality that texts were typically sent in. But of course, this was only the first text, things could change.
You: Of course. Letâs meet at 12:00 oâclock at Daydream Cafe. Does this work?
It was a silly question, you had Heeseungâs schedule â it was full of empty boxes.
Lee Heeseung: Yes, perfect. Thank you.
You: Iâll see you there Mr. Lee.
ââ â â â ââ
Working under BigHit, youâd seen many pretty faces. Worked quite close to some of them too, but time seemed to slow down like it was treading through a vat of honey. The pictures didnât quite do him justice, the cameras couldnât quite capture his dimension. It shouldâve embarrassed you at how hard you were staring â and it did, when you ran it over in your head before falling asleep that night â but in the moment, all you could think about was how beautiful Lee Heeseung was. The way the afternoon sun piercing through the glass windows cast a halo around his silhouette, how his simple outfit seemed to only highlight the natural beauty of his face, and how his eyes looked so wide, and so lost, and so breathtaking as he looked around the cafe.
And it dawned on you: he doesnât know what you look like.
âUh,â The legs of your chair scraped obnoxiously on the floor, âMr. Lee! Hi, Iâm sorry I hadnât realized you donât know what I look like.âÂ
His gentle eyes bore into yours; it drew a nervous laugh like water from a well and it painted blush on your cheeks in Alazarin Crimson.
âOh, hi.â It was embarrassing, how his smile made your heart stutter off beat.Â
You noted the fresh makeup resting on his face.Â
âWere you at a shoot?â
âHuh?â His eyes shone with innocent confusion. âUh, well, I made an Instagram account and I needed something to post so⊠I scheduled something last week.â
You gestured for Heeseung to take a seat across from you.Â
âWhat do you mean? Shouldnât your PR manager have done the scheduling for you?â
Those eyes which had held yours the whole time suddenly dropped, unable to look in your direction. His jaw was defined in the way a manâs only does when heâs holding back his influx of emotion. You heard the air shift as he breathed deeply.
âI havenât had one⊠for a while.â
âWhat do you mean you âhavenât had one for a whileâ? Whoâs been managing you?â
The constant chatter of the cafe hadnât diminished, hadnât silenced, hadnât increased, and yet it felt entirely too quiet with Heeseungâs lack of response.Â
âUh hey,â His voice, though soft, demanded your audience, âLet me grab a drink quickly and then I want to ask you about something.â
You pulled out your fresh, shiny, new company card and handed it over to him without hesitation. âIâd love to say itâs on me, but itâs actually on Lee Jaesang. Go crazy.â
Your smug smile was returned with an impressed one â and any tension you felt earlier dissipated in the exchange of a credit card.Â
Talking with Heeseung came much more naturally than youâd expected. Maybe that was because he wore his heart on his sleeve or because your friendly nature had dropped his guard. Whatever the case, as soon as you told him that youâd like to manage his career with consideration of his goals for himself, his eyes held you in the same awe as if you had hung the stars just for him.Â
âSo, to get this straight,â Your favorite pen â Black Pilot G-2 0.7 â smoothly glided across your small notebook, âYouâve been managing your own social media accounts for the past two weeks because your contract changed?â
His throat worked around a swallow, âYeah, yeah thatâs right.â He nodded.Â
âRight.â You flipped your notebook back a page, âI have notes from your previous manager. He had a detailed plan for you, including partnerships with major brands! I greenlighted them yesterday since your schedule seemed to be empty.â
Engrossed in your notes, you failed to recognize the slight tremor in his hand when he set his iced americano down.
âPartnerships?âÂ
âYeah! A lot of brands and magazines want to work with you, Mr. Lee.âÂ
âUh, Heeseung. Heeseung is fine.â
You turned your head up to see his shy face in all its world-renowned glory.Â
âAlright then, Heeseung,â You corrected, âI have a plane ticket to Shanghai for you for a gig.â
âOh okay.â He fidgeted with his hands.Â
âYes, I lined you up with a brand deal for SimCare who loved your prior work with Joocyee. Youâll be a brand ambassador for them.âÂ
Heeseung smiled softly in an apprehensive kind of way. Which confused you more than youâd like to admit. Because Lee Heeseung doesnât fit into the category youâd initially placed him in.Â
Sure, youâd never worked under Belift Lab before but youâd worked with models. Ones just as popular, successful, and handsome as Heeseung is. They all carried an energy characterized in confidence that bordered on arrogance and a directness that bordered on inconsideration. And youâd seen Heeseungâs work, he was confident and rightfully so. He was impeccable at his job and entirely multifaceted â so maybe it shouldnât be a surprise that he was able to present himself as humble too.Â
Perhaps you were too cynical for your own good but you didnât want to believe that to be true. That Heeseung was different from the other models youâd spent assisting the management of. No you couldnât believe it, not yet. Instead you just made a mental note to ask him about an acting career in the future.Â
ââ â â â ââ
The company car pulled up to the front of Heeseungâs apartment building at exactly 11:15, where the man of the hour had been waiting patiently. After throwing his luggage in the trunk, he opened the door and flinched back in surprise.Â
âOh⊠holyâ you scared me.â He stuttered with a hand on his heart.
âOh, Iâm sorry, I didnât mean to.â You apologized, almost nonchalantly.Â
âWhat are you doing here?â The door shut softly as he climbed in next to you.
âIâm headed to Shanghai as well. I have a couple PR teams that I wanted to meet with.â
âSimCare?â He asked, peeping over at your laptop which proudly displayed your Gmail account with the brightness all the way up.
It took you a second before you responded, your mind being too preoccupied with reading emails of nothingness.
âNo, no. I wonât be at your shoot, Iâll be discussing things with other potential business partners.â
Heeseung nodded at your words, his fingers flexing against the knees of his black sweats. The car ride to the airport mainly consisted of the smooth jazz radio being harmonized by the clicking of your fingers against the laptop. It was only broken a couple of times, all by Heeseung himself. Like when he asked where your luggage was and you pointed to the small duffel bag at your feet. Judging by the look on his face, he was horrified at how little youâd packed.Â
âItâs only a two hour flight.â You had explained; it did nothing to alleviate his concern.
Heâd also asked who youâd be meeting with in Shanghai and where youâd be. You responded that that was confidential information. You let him simmer in the disappointment of unanswered questions before telling him:
âI donât want to get your hopes up, Heeseung.â
The airport was crowded with fans, as usual, screaming Heeseungâs name at the top of their lungs and holding out letters as far as their arms could reach. This was the part of management that you never had to deal with. As an assistant, you got to sit behind a screen and answer emails or try not to roll your eyes every time you picked up the phone. Now, you walked alongside Heeseungâs body guards with heightened adrenaline â knowing all too well that the fans couldnât care less about you if only you would walk out of the frame of their fancams.
You only released a breath of relief after sitting in the aisle seat of row 17 economy. As if TSA and departure times werenât stressful enough, you had to worry about people following you â well, Heeseung.
Lee Heeseung: Hey where are you?
You read his message with the last bit of Wi-Fi the airport had to offer.
You: Row 17 aisle. Donât worry, Iâll take you to your shoot when we arrive in Shanghai.
Your eyes fell closed as you listened to the whirring of the air conditioner overhead. Your mind raced with all the PR representatives that youâd be meeting with for the next several hours after the plane landed. A faint throbbing rose in the back of your head and your phone felt hot in your hand. You silently prayed that your boss wouldnât send you another email before tomorrow; for both his and your own sanity. The flight was short and youâd never be able to fall asleep but closing your eyes was enough. Who knew management would be so stressful.
ââ â â â ââ
Shanghai was absolutely breathtaking. Seeing the city in person, standing beneath the buildings that reached toward the heavens, driving next to the water which glimmered in the afternoon sun â- it proved that pictures did not do her justice. The car dropped the two of you off at the hotel. Heeseung stood behind you, generously holding your duffel bag, as you checked into the hotel and handed him his keycard.
âIâll be gone for a couple hours but if you need me, please text me or call me.â You hit floors seven and five.Â
âWeâre not on the same floor?â He asked.
âNo, Iâm on five.â You took the opportunity to take your duffel back from his hands, âThank you for holding my bag, Heeseung.â
âNo problem.â He cleared his throat softly.
âOh also,â You glanced into his deep brown eyes, forcing yourself not to turn away from their gentleness, âFeel free to do whatever you want today but your shoot will start tomorrow at 9:00.â The elevator stopped and held itself in limbo before the doors opened. âLike I said, Iâll be there to drop you off at the site but I wonât stay. Iâll be in a meeting.â
âRight.â He nodded continuously, like he expected another topic to come up. Or maybe, that he wanted one to. âSo then, will you be there to pick me up?â
âUhâŠâ The doors beeped angrily due to their inability to close with your body in the way. âIf Iâm not in a meeting then sure, I can come get you.â
âOkay, great.â He smiled softly. âThen I guess, Iâll see you tomorrow.â
âYeah, Iâll see you at 8:00 in the lobby.â
His curled lips didnât drop even as the doors closed between you. It took you just a moment to make the journey to your hotel room, with your brows furrowed and head trying to figure out the 181cm enigma that had been cast under your care.Â
After three years of working with models â first as an intern, then as PR representative, then as a managing assistant â you thought it would have prepared you. You thought it had prepared you to manage a model on your own. Logistically, it had. You knew how to secure brand deals, negotiate contracts, schedule events, book travel and accommodations, hire security, and dodge questions that werenât meant for certain ears. Logistically, you knew how to manage Lee Heeseung.Â
But he wasnât like the models youâd worked with before â at least outside of the studio. Albeit, youâve never seen him in the studio, but where you used to tell models their flight details only to receive complaints or questions about their accommodations or comfort, Heeseung asked where you were, what youâd be doing, if you had time to pick him up. Why?Â
You were his manager. All models need to care about is whether their manager is failing them or not; you werenât wholly confident in your abilities to manage Heeseung but you knew for a fact you hadnât failed in under 36 hours. Which is why his interest in your job left you confused and mildly irritated. Like you were being watched; like he was waiting to see if you failed.
And maybe that gentle smile youâd held with such fondness was more sinister than you initially thought.
Your phone rang as soon as you tossed your duffel onto your hotel bed. Fishing it out of your pocket, you checked the caller I.D. and smiled.
âHi, babe.â You walked over to the balcony and stood in the breeze.
âHey, baby, howâs Shanghai?â His voice told that he was smiling brightly on the other end.
âGood so far!â
âOh, so you donât need me to hop on a plane and come translate?â
You let out a breathy laugh, âNo, Nicho, I donât need you to come translate for me.â
âOh, when did you learn Mandarin?â
âI hired a translator, babe, they have those.â
âYou hired a translator that's not me?â
You rolled your eyes playfully, despite knowing he wouldnât see, âI didnât know youâd cancel your shoot just to follow me around all day.âÂ
âAnd get paid for it? Câmon baby⊠you know thatâs my dream.â
You deadpanned to no one but the glorious skyline in front of you.Â
âSpeaking of dreams, how was the shoot?â
âIncredible, actually. The team Iâm working with are incredible dancers â itâs insane.â
This time he could hear your smile, âThatâs amazing, Nicho, Iâm so happy for you.â
âYeah,â He was blushing on the other end, you could tell, âHey I just wanted to check in on you. Iâll see you when you get back, have fun.â
âThanks Nicho,â You spoke softly while rubbing the combinations of numbers on your arm, âHow lucky are we to have found each other?â
âNot lucky at all babe,â He let out a pitchy laugh that tugged at your heartstrings, âItâs fate.â
ââ â â â ââ
You watched Heeseung trudge through the lobby at 8:00 as if he hadnât used his legs in 15 years. He rubbed his eyes and mumbled a good morning as he spotted you. Or at least, you thought it was a good morning â his raspy morning voice and lack of annunciation made it hard to tell.
âGood morning to you too, Heeseung,â You greeted, holding back a giggle, âWould you like to stop for coffee before we arrive at the studio?â
He nodded his head with his eyes sewn shut and had to force them open again. You shook your head fondly before leading the two of you toward the car which was waiting for you. The early morning Shanghai air bit at your skin as you opened the door for Heeseung to climb in.
âDo you have a specific coffee shop that you frequent in Shanghai?â As soon as your seatbelt clicked, the car started to drive toward the main road.
âNo, no,â He denied, âJust go to the closest one.â
You smiled softly at his droopy state and informed the driver to take you to the nearest coffee shop â praying that it was a good one.Â
Even as you watched Heeseung sleepily walk through the doors into the studio, you hadnât sipped your coffee. Instead you rattled off the address you were headed to and reviewed your negotiation strategies. Pretending like you were terrified of messing up on the first big contract negotiation for Heeseung, even though the condensation dripping from the sides of the cup was a visual representation of your nerves.
The car rolled in front of a tall sleek building which was even more sleek and expensive on the inside. The walls were white and seemed to glow with the intensity of the lights. The walls were bare and the furniture was minimalist which gave the feeling that more expense was given than less. That was all you realized under the constant pressure against your head to not fail.Â
It was all that reverberated inside your skull, even as you pulled the chair out at the conference table. Donât fail. You canât fail. You have to negotiate a good deal. You have to make EVAN a success. You have to re-establish his brand. You canât let him down. You canât fail him.
âGood morning, Miss L/N.â The man in front of you greeted as he sat down in front of you.Â
âGood morning, Mr. Liu.â You smiled and folded your shaking hands in your lap, âI could have met you at your headquarters in Hangzhou. It would have been no problem.â
âNo worries,â The translator spoke a beat after Mr. Liu finished his reply, âI was already in Shanghai for other business.âÂ
You nodded your head and smiled, carrying on a bit of small talk before you committed to talking in terms of business and revenue. For his intimidating appearance, Mr. Liu was quite friendly â more than you expected.Â
âI noticed that Proya Cosmetics have been attempting to secure a brand deal with Lee Heeseung for quite some time. Apologies for the wait, there were recent shifts in management but weâd be happy to accept and negotiate a deal that benefits all parties adequately.âÂ
You brushed your finger over the mark on your arm, the rhythmic motions calming your breathing down as you waited in the limbo of translation. Proya Cosmetics would be a perfect brand deal for Heeseung. He has experience working with Joocyee and now SimCare, he worked with Qrsessed in the past and a potential deal with said company would be in the works, if all went well. Youâre sure it would. And youâre sure Proya would accept him due to Heeseungâs popularity in China. You just had to discuss a deal that would properly benefit all parties: Heeseung, Proya, Belift Lab, and the consumer base.Â
No biggie.
âWeâd love to accept Evan to advertise our new products: a cushion foundation and sunscreen.â The translator spoke to your right but you looked and nodded along to the man who owned those words, âFor Proya, our ideal deal for Evan is to welcome him as a brand ambassador and run an immediate ad campaign and look into future campaigns later on.â
âRight, of course,â You nodded at the interest in long-term partnership, assuming it was due to his status among the customer base, âBelift Lab is interested in an ambassadorship as well, however Evan is not available to be Proyaâs ambassador exclusively.â
âOf course not!â Mr. Liu laughed, âOh I can name about five brands in China alone that want Evan to be their ambassador. Heâs quite popular everywhere though, isnât he?â
You laughed along though something tugged at your brows. Questions began to nag in the back of your brain, distracting you from the task at hand. Pressing your thumb deep into the mark, you grounded yourself and forced your attention to the negotiations.
ââ â â â ââ
The sun was setting behind the clouds by the time you lazily pulled the door to the car open. You had spent the morning negotiating and approving plans with Proya Cosmetics; then once the afternoon rolled around, you talked your tongue dry over the phone with PR representatives from Qrsessed at an outdoor table adjacent to a coffee shop. After finalizing the paperwork and responding to emails, you called the car to pick you up.Â
You jumped back in surprise as the door opened fully.
âHeeseung?!â You sighed in relief, letting your shoulders drop, âYou scared the everliving daylights out of me.â
His laugh echoed endlessly in the backseat, âNow you know how it feels.â
The sound of the door shutting cut off the rest of his giggle fit.Â
âYes, yes I do.â You snapped your seatbelt in place, âI thought I was picking you up, not the other way around?â
âWell,â He scratched at his right knee absentmindedly, âMy shoot ended hours ago.â He turned to you with a crease in his forehead, âDo meetings typically take all day?â
You laughed humorlessly, âDepends on the meeting.â
âMm,â He nodded.
âThe meetings involve your future, Heeseung. I canât take them lightly.â You confessed, turning to look at the passing buildings from the window. âI had to make sure that you got the best deal they had. And typically those deals are hidden under the table.â
The whirring of the air conditioner was the only sound filtering between the two of you. It was nice. The quiet of it all. It was indescribably serene after the day you had of constant talking and constant strategizing. You had no thoughts going through your head now. Well, not until:
âWait,â You turned to the driver, âWhere are we going?â
âAh,â Heeseung cleared his throat, âThereâs this restaurant Iâve been wanting to try. So, I got us a reservation.â
Perhaps you picked up on these things easier since youâd worked with so many models before but Heeseung had garnered a slight blush as he spoke. Not on his face â no his blushy cheeks were hidden beneath perfectly curated makeup, but his chest and ears were not. Again, it couldâve been the models youâd always worked with but no model youâd ever met had blushed at you. Perhaps heâs just nervous.
âOh, thatâs great!â The phantom pressure of deciding where to go and reserving a seat dissipated from your shoulders, âThank you, Heeseung.â
âOf course, Manager L/N.â
The foreignness of the words ripped a laugh from your chest, âPlease,â You waved him off, âPlease, just call me Y/N.âÂ
He smiled brightly â some would say fondly â at your reaction. A smile which didnât drop from his face; it stayed plastered on his lips like a bandaid.Â
Like proof that something was healing.
The walls were dark and the dim lights seemed to make them impossibly darker â like black holes that would inevitably suck you in. Heeseung spoke to the finely dressed waitress through the thin material of his black face mask. She smiled professionally before leading him toward a table that was secluded from windows and obscured from prying eyes.
Heeseung pulled a chair out from under the table and gestured for you to take a seat, the sight stopped you in your tracks, causing you to stare for just a moment too long.Â
âUh, thank you,â You scurried into the seat after realizing.
âNo problem.â He took his seat across from you and picked up the menu.
You glanced through the menu, noting the English translations under the Mandarin. The combination of languages had you glancing down to the mark on your left arm and then your thoughts traveled to the person who shared the same mark.
âThis place is known for their xiaolongbao,â Heeseung suddenly spoke, ripping you from your thoughts, âSo, we should probably get two orders of those.â
âPardon?â You furrowed your brows at him.
âOh well, I mean, I donât know how many you plan to eat but I could go through an entire order by myself.â
You nodded your head slowly, âRightâŠ.â
Sensing your confusion, Heeseung thought for a minute about why that was.Â
âThis is a family style type of restaurant,â He clarified, âYou order a dish and its for the whole table.â
âOh,â You dragged the word out, âThat makes more sense now.â
His lips curled upwards and the lights reflected as stars in his eyes, âYeah, so I think we should get two orders of xiaolongbao. Do you like pork, crab, chicken, or beef?âÂ
You contemplated for a moment, âWe should get one pork and one chicken.â
âThatâs what I was thinking!â He laughed softly before turning back to the menu.Â
The two of you deliberated over what dishes to get: the peppered beef sirloin was a no-brainer, the garlic green beans had good reviews, the noodles were a must for Heeseung, and the refreshing cucumber salad sounded like the perfect side dish.Â
âOh!â You turned to the waitress and pointed at something on the menu, âOne of these too, please.â
She nodded and left your table just as speedily as sheâd arrived.
âWhat was that?â He picked up his glass of water.
âA surprise.â You dodged, mirroring his actions.
âRight,â A breathy chuckle fell from his lips. At the sound, an unconscious smile rose to your lips.Â
âSo, how was the shoot?â
He leaned back in his seat, eyes turned up to the ceiling in thought. âIt was okay. Nothing out of the ordinary.â
You nodded, âHow did SimCare treat you?â
This time, he furrowed his brows at you, âWhat do you mean?â
âLike, were they patient with you? Did they demand things from you unnecessarily? Did they treat you with respect?â
âOh um, yeah I think so.â
âWhat do you mean âyou think soâ?â Your brows creased.
âWell, I mean, it was just a normal shoot. Why do you wanna know anyway?â
You frowned slightly, âBecause Iâm your manager, Heeseung. I want to know how youâre being treated, especially by a business partner that I helped form for you.â
He stared at you blankly â completely unreadable â those dark brown eyes full of thought but pouring none of it out to you.Â
âIt went fine.â He smiled softly, âHow were your meetings? Were they⊠successful?â
You mulled over the question, âI think so.â Your fingers lightly tapped against the side of your glass as the waitress set down a bottle of red wine, âI negotiated the best deal for you that I could.â
He nodded understandingly then moved to open the bottle.
âThe companies always take a majority of the revenue from these deals but youâll be taking home a large sum, donât worry. I made sure of it.â
You laughed softly in that tired way where it's mostly just air coming out of your nose. You watched the red liquid slosh into the glass and heard it scrape against the table as he pushed it toward you.Â
âOh, thank you.â
He only smiled easily in return. Thatâs what it felt like with Heeseung. It felt easy. As if he didnât have any expectations for you; as if when he looked at you, he saw a person instead of a machine.Â
Youâd never been to dinner with a client before, certainly not with an established model, but youâre certain that if it had been anyone else sitting across from you, it wouldnât feel the same. Your hands wouldnât be clammy and your heart wouldnât be beating out of your chest â certainly.
No if this were any other model: youâd force yourself to look at him when speaks, not choose to because his eyes are so entracing. Youâd force yourself to say filler response words as he rambled about his day, not listen intently like he was a friend youâd always known but hadnât seen in a while. Youâd tune out his laugh not search for it underneath the echoes of other patrons enjoying their meals.Â
You ate contentedly, sharing each otherâs days as much as you did the food. He wasnât expecting a fantastical story about the logistic side of his job but he listened to it as if he was genuinely curious to know what a manager did day-to-day. He spoke easy, casually, confidently, like youâd been the only manager heâd even known.Â
âActually Heeseung,â You remembered something youâd learnt about him earlier, âYou told me that you had been without a manager for a couple weeks. Why was that? I didnât see anything in your file?â
You watched his eyes blur out of focus before shifting to look down at the noodles in front of him.
âIt just⊠happened that way.â His voice could barely be categorized as a whisper.Â
âAlright,â You kept your voice light, noticing that the topic must be sore, âWell if you can, knowing more aboutââ
âAnd here is your final order!â The waitress spoke happily, placing another steamed basket in front of you and Heeseung.Â
âUh, more dumplings?â He asked inquisitively.Â
âOh, actually theyâreââ
The loud ringing of your phone cut you off. You turned to your bag to find it, a blush settling on your cheeks the longer it rang.Â
âTheyâre a different type of dumpling,â The information did not seem to quell his confusion. You checked the caller identification and immediately stood. âUh, sorry, Heeseung, I will be right back.â
âIs everything okay?â His voice dripped in concern.
âYeah! Yeah everything's fine, please enjoy the dessert.â You rushed toward an exit before finishing your sentence completely.
âHey, whatâs going on?âÂ
âY/N? Y/N? Y/N! Y/N.âÂ
Your brows furrowed in a deep worry, âYes, yes, Iâm here whatâs wrong, baby?â
âWhat do Iâ What do I do if I get caught doing something I shouldnât?â
âWhat do you mean, Nicho?â
âNo I mean, I was just at the club, you know? Yeah I was just there and there was this huge dance circleâ you shouldâve seen it.â His voice betrayed him, he was intoxicated. It was impossible to miss with his intonation and lazy speech.
âNicho what happened? What did you do?â Your voice was raised as if it was trying to compete with the loud beating of your heart.
âWell, you see I was in the dance circle, yeah? And in the dance circle I wanted to dance, yeah?â
You pressed your lips together, trying to hold back a frustrated and impatient sigh. The cool air was hitting you in waves and you couldâve sworn a droplet landed on your shoulder.Â
âYeah, and then what?â
âWell, it was so fresh in my mind with all the filming and stuff and, you know I really think itâs cool, I remember telling you that.â Your eyes widened in realization, âAnd I think I might be a little intoxicated because I just started doing the dance off of memory and everyone was cheering and celebrating and oh, it was awesome.â
âNicho, did you do the dance for the music video you just shot?â
âUh⊠yeah.â
âNo, no you didnât.â You pushed a hand through your hair, âBut thereâs no proof right?â
âWell, thatâs the thingâŠâ
âNicho how many people have that video?â
âUh I don't know, everyone was filming.â
âWell, can you make sure none of them post it?â
âThatâs not gonna help.â
âWhy?â
âItâs already on Twitter.âÂ
You screwed your eyes shut. Words failing to rise on your tongue until they came all at once.Â
âNicho, I told you to pace yourself on your drinking.â
âYeah, and I have! This was a one-time thing.â
âItâs not a one-time thing. Youâve done this before.â
âNo, I havenât? I never reveal top secret choreo!â
âIâm not talking about the choreo, Nicho. Iâm talking about the drinking and the clubbing. Listen, I donât care that thatâs what youâre into as long as it doesnât affect your professional life or our personal life together. Youâre under a contract with Hybe Japan, you canât just do whatever you want. You need to be more careful about where youâre seen in publicââ
âIâm already going through a lot right now, Y/N. I called because I need your help, not because I wanted to be reprimanded.â
âHow am I supposed to help you, Nicho?â You nearly yelled into the receiver of your phone, hands subtly rubbing your chilly skin.Â
The chill seeping into your skin made it all the easier to feel the warmth radiating behind you. You whipped your head around to see Heeseung removing the denim jacket heâd been wearing. Held within his hands along with a takeout bag from the restaurant and the purse youâd left inside, he offered you the jacket along with a look characterized by care.
âI donât know, Y/N. Youâre a higher up in Belift Lab now. Youâve worked in BigHit for years. You can probably suggest them to let me off the hook, you know?â
You broke your contact with Heeseungâs gaze.
âWhat, like if they take you to court? For leaking the choreo? You know that would put my job in jeopardy, right?â
You kept your eyes away from the sight of the 181cm model in front of you, causing you to miss the concern plastered all over his face. You swallowed thickly and suppressed the shiver that threatened to overtake you.
âAnd what about my career?â Nicho scoffed, âIâm really in a tough spot right now and youâre the only one who can help me.â
âI donât know how to help you.â As soon as you were about to rub your forehead, the heavy denim jacket found its way onto your shoulders via Heeseungâs hands. The same hands which held your purse and leftovers while hailing the sleek black car youâd been riding in all day.Â
Your hands tugged the jacket closer, you pretended that the strong cologne lingering on the fabric didnât offer you an inexplicable sense of comfort.
âShouldnât you know, though?â Your boyfriend asked as Heeseung opened the door for you, âIsnât it your job to represent client relationships to the public?â
A bitter laugh was contained only by how hard you were biting your lips, âYour employer â my employer â isnât the public, Nicho. When they find out that you leaked the choreo, thereâs nothing I can do to persuade them not to take legal action.â
âWould you do it for one of your models?â
âWhat?â
âNevermind, thanks for nothing, babe.âÂ
The next thing to flood your ears were the three disappointing beeps of an ended call. You pulled your phone from your ear and stared at the blank screen. Dazed, jarred, and guiltily disappointed.
âWho was that?â Heeseungâs soft and sweet voice filtered over to your ears.
The answer shouldâve been easy. Nicholas. Wang Yixiang. Your boyfriend. Your soulmate.Â
Instead you answered âno oneâ and scratched harshly at the mark on your arm. As if it had offended you â as if you could rid yourself of it.
You only said two other things that night. Nothing in the car, nothing in the elevator, nothing until the two of you made it to the door of your hotel room. You paused, taking off his coat and handing it to him with a sad but grateful smile. He traded the jacket for your purse and the leftovers.Â
âWhat time is the plane ride tomorrow?â He asked quietly.
â11 but we have to be there at 10. Be ready by 9:20.â
âOf course.â He agreed, deep browns holding yours so gently, so reverently, as if he couldnât â wouldnât â look away. It took you too long to realize, you shouldnât.
âGoodnight, Heeseung. Iâll see you tomorrow. Thank you.â
âOf course, yeah,â He watched you step deeper into the room, âSee you at 9:20.â
And that was a promise he kept. 9:20, there he was in the lobby. 10:00, there he was walking through the fan raided airport. 11:00, there he was boarding the plane 20 minutes earlier than you with the rest of first class. 14:30, there he was loading the car with your bags. 15:17, there he was saying goodbye to you at the company building â watching you walk off to a side of the building he never traversed.Â
And somehow as you walked off, it seemed like colors fell flat, notes didnât harmonize, and flowers didnât bloom.
ââ â â â ââ
Maybe Nicho was right. You were a higher-up in a Hybe subsidiary now. If anything comes up, you might be able to persuade them to consider the situation from a different view point. Nicho was drunk, it was an accident. Nicho is only one person, the music video features nine dancers â he didnât spoil much. Nicho is an incredible dancer, one of the four people who founded the dance team. Have some grace.
All of your defense â budding in when itâs not your business â could put your very new position, and the career youâve spent the past three years cultivating, in jeopardy. You mulled over that possibility a thousand and one times â but this is Nicho. Your soulmate. The man you are universally bound to by the string of numbers written on your arm.
You remember perfectly when they first appeared. They always appear once puberty hits, faint at first, as if thereâs something hiding beneath the first few layers of skin. Youâd searched for those faint marks all over your body, smiling when you saw them peaking through. Everyday, you checked to see if they got darker, more legible â and they did.Â
As a young teenage girl, of course you became obsessed with finding your soulmate. You looked at every piece of visible skin a person showed, you cultivated questions that would prod them into telling you their number, you would go on websites where people would post their numbers and hope their soulmate happened to be online too.Â
For years, you ignored the proverb that your soulmate would find you when you least expected it. Or that Fate would draw the two of you together when the time was right. But like most people who werenât lucky enough to have found their soulmate before university, you grew out of looking for that number in every place you went. You focused on yourself: your education, your career, your aspirations. With the occasional peak at any modelâs soulmate mark if given the opportunity. You never expected your soulmate to actually be a model â and thatâs partially true, Nicho isnât a model but heâs quite close to being one.Â
You donât have to imagine just how surprised you were meeting your soulmate on possibly the worst day of your life. Waking up the fire alarm going off in your apartment building, getting cleared to go back inside 30 minutes before you had to be at work, having to get gas in the that same morning, showing up late and running to the office, bumping into someone in the middle of the hallway and being too distracted to even apologize, your boss telling you that being late made you look irresponsible, getting told to help the mean manager of the Hybe Japan dance team, the air conditioner in the Hybe building breaking, getting ordered around by superiors that were not your own â it was an awful day.
Until you pulled up your sleeves to alleviate the heat, only to find that your soulmate mark had gone from a pitch black to a bright red. Youâd met your soulmate. You looked up to the sweet face of the boy you had just introduced yourself to. He ripped his gaze from that red mark and into your wide eyes â not knowing that his eyes had also widened in pure shock. Pulling his sleeve up, you recognized the pattern of numbers. And the worst day ever became the best day ever.
So maybe Nicho was right about your newfound power but he was also wrong about something else. You wouldnât jeopardize your career or future for one of your clients, one of the models under your care â Heeseung â yeah, you wouldnât. You wouldnât jeopardize your career for Heeseung but you would do it for your soulmate in a heartbeat.
Youâd do it for Nicho.
So you wait with your body tense and your breath held. Kept your ears open for any whispers of Nichoâs name, Twitter, or the dance team. You listened and waited, you did not speak or search. Instead you booked Heeseung a hair appointment. Texted him when to be there and when to expect the car to show up. You forwarded him the information of his finalized deals with Proya Cosmetics â told him to expect flight details soon. All from the safety of your office on the 15th floor of the Hybe building, trying to pretend like the anxiety wasnât chewing at you faster than you could chew at your nails.
Lee Heeseung: Will you be going to Hangzhou too?
You: No, youâll be going alone.
The text was snappy and it permeated a chilly cold through the digital screen. You noticed it for a millisecond before you packed your things in a rush to escape the dark walls of this retched building.Â
But even as you stepped into your quaint apartment, its light walls and warm lights did not embrace you in comfort. They looked almost just as confining. You flung your bag onto your couch and walked to your kitchen. Barely ten steps away from each other but your lazy footsteps doubled the distance. You didnât have a particular appetite, especially not for anything in your fridge, but you rested your hand on it nonetheless.
Your phone rang before you could pull the handle.
âHello?â
âHi, is this L/N Y/N? Manager of Evan under Belift Lab?â
âHi, yes. That is I.â You felt your knees go weak.
âRight. Well, Iâm calling as a representative of Hybe Japan and I have you cited here as someone who can vouch for the integrity of Wang Yixiang. Is this true?â
You threw your head back as your heart fell to the floor.Â
âYes,â You bit the words out, hating how bitter they tasted in your mouth, âI know Yixiang personally.â
âGreat,â The woman on the other line sounded like what a blank blackboard looked like. You could see the remnants of the writing that had been there before, but it was all indecipherable. You had no idea what to expect, no idea what she would ask. So you took it one word at a time:
Do you know the contract that Mr. Wang signed with Hybe Japan? Yes.
He cited that you had been the one to inform him of his rights as well as his restrictions upon signing said contract. Is that true? Yes.Â
Were you with Mr. Wang the night that the videos were taken? No, I was in Shanghai.
Do you know whether Mr. Wang was intoxicated at the time the video was filmed? Yes, he was.
Has Mr. Wang had a history of clubbing and excessive drinking? âŠI would not say âexcessiveâ.Â
Ms. L/N, you are aware that Hybe Corp is within full legal rights to submit a lawsuit for the leaking of classified information including choreography, yes?Â
You bit your lip hard, âYes. Yes, I am aware.â You took a deep breath, âI would hope that Hybe Corp would consider pursuing other routes before taking it up with the law. Though that is well within your prerogative to do so. If you want my honest analysis of Yixiangâs characterâŠâÂ
You sighed, tiredly. But not a tired that goes away with sleep; not a tired that comes from an isolated incident. A deep tired that accumulates until no amount of excess sleep could repair the strain that had stretched you too far.Â
âMy honest opinion? Yixiang is human. He makes mistakes but theyâre never done in malice or with bad intentions. He has a heart to chase what he wants and heâs willing to go the extra mile to achieve them. I think heâs an asset in this company, I think he has a bright future, I think itâd be too rash to involve the legal system before pursuing other routes on a singular mistake.â
âOne final question, Ms. L/N?â
âOf course.â
âAre you and Mr. Wang in a romantic relationship of any kind.â
The silence pierced your ears. Your eyes fell to the empty counter in front of you. You sat in limbo between the truth and the option which would be the most advantageous. And in that moment, you understood why managers lie.
âNo. We are not.â
âThank you, Ms. L/N. Iâll call you if I have any further questions. Goodnight.â
âGoodnight.â
Your hand immediately reached for the fridge, gaining an appetite suddenly for something specific. As soon as you pulled the fridge doors open, the smell hit you. Rotten, moldy, sour.
Your eyes landed on it immediately, you pulled it out of the fridge and unwrapped it from its plastic bag. Popping open the lid, just to make sure, you saw six round mochi chocolate dumplings resting in the box. And the sight brought tears to your eyes.Â
He saved all six.Â
You left him in the middle of the restaurant, told him to enjoy them. Youâre sure he would have since he loved the other dumplings. And he waited â for you. He had them packaged, held onto them with your bag, gave them to you at the hotel, and let you have the opportunity to enjoy them.Â
And for all his kindness, you let them rot in your fridge.
ââ â â â ââ
In any good story, the writer uses nature to symbolize the internal emotions of their protagonist. As you walked through the parking lot under the proud sun that was pre-gaming the summertime at the end of April, it dawned on you that you must not be the main character.Â
Thankfully the air conditioner was working when you stepped through the doors. Unlike other bad days that youâd had. This was a kind of mundane day â not good, not particularly bad. You did all your office work, called a couple companies, checked Heeseungâs brand reputation, answered emails, looked at potential partnerships, all the normal things.Â
Lee Heeseung: Proya asked if I could stay an extra day to finish the shoot. They had an issue with one of the sets.
You: Why are you telling me this? It's Proyaâs job to contact me about scheduling changes.
Lee Heeseung: Oh
Lee Heeseung: Iâm sorry
Lee Heeseung: I guess expect them to contact you soon then
You dropped your head onto the surface of your desk. You hadnât meant to make him feel dejected or scolded. Youâd been doing that too much lately. Speaking without thinking. Speculating without rationalizing.
You: Itâs no worries, Heeseung. Iâll have your flight rescheduled and the information sent to you shortly. Donât worry about moving hotel rooms, Iâll extend your stay as well.Â
Lee Heeseung: Ok thx
Your hands flew across your laptop keyboard: rescheduling the flight, extending his stay, informing the security and the driver, responding to Proyaâs request, anything. Anything to keep your mind off how you hurt him.Â
And maybe by âhimâ didnât mean the model who had completely changed your life in the matter of minutes after meeting him. Maybe it meant the dancer who was fatefully bound to you through a string of numbers plastered on your arm. The one you denied being in relation with despite the universe plainly telling you that you were each otherâs future forever.Â
And that guilt gnawed at you harder that night as you drank straight from the lip of the peach soju bottle from your fridge.
It gnawed at you before you took the first sip: you denied that you were in a romantic relationship with the person youâll spend the rest of your life with.
It gnawed after the next two: Might as well have said you didnât love him.
Then after 120 milliliters: But you donât love him do you?Â
And then 240 milliliters: Youâre supposed to but you donât â loving him feels like a chore. Youâre a pathetic excuse for a soulmate.Â
But the bottom of the bottle revealed just how monstrous you truly were: Heeseung never made you feel like that. Like it was hard to love him. No, no, loving him was so easy. He flashed you a smile, spoke to you in that soft sultry voice, treated you like a princess, like he cared.Â
Cared? A model that cared? For you?Â
Heeseung loved you like you loved Nicho? Falsely. Because you were supposed to; because you got something out of it; because it was in your best interests.
But you loved Heeseung like youâd never loved any other man. And it was so stupid â so childish â that he won your heart over with a look that conveyed that he cared about you and a box of mochi dumplings he saved for God knows what reason.
Youâd been on dates with Nicho, youâd kissed Nicho, youâd planned marriage with Nicho and you still didnât think of him with the same fondness you did Heeseung. A man who youâd barely had conversations with â certainly not personal ones.Â
You chased the peach soju with the big, salty, guilty tears that cascaded on your cheeks.
ââ â â â ââ
You: Your schedule will be busy when you get back so please be prepared. Iâve continued your brand deal with Qrsessed and youâll have a photoshoot and video shoot to promote their contact lenses. ELLE Korea is also picking up the shoot and is printing it in their magazine. You will be on the cover. I have all of the logistics including the times for everything in the link below.
You: https://calandar.com
Lee Heeseung: Wait, can we reschedule the fitting to the day before or after?
You: I can try to, yes. Why?
Lee Heeseung: Iâm just busy that day
You: What on Earth could you possibly be doing for the entirety of Tuesday?
âY/N.â Your old boss from BigHit called your name.
âWhat?â You snapped unintentionally?
The look they gave you wouldâve turned you to salt with all the fire it had behind it.
âYou know,â He spoke in his default passive aggressive tone, âDressing in a suit with your hair curled and your makeup done doesnât make you a professional. It doesnât make people respect you.â
You bit the inside of your cheeks and kept your eyes from his.
âLose the attitude, put on a smile, and pretend like you have everything under control even if you donât.â You swallowed thickly as he reached the conference door, âYouâre a public relations manager Y/N, lying is in the subscript of your job description.â
ââ â â â ââ
The last thing you wanted to see when you opened your apartment door was your boyfriend. Your soulmate. But there he was with a stupidly happy grin etched on his face as he jumped up from your couch.
âBaby! Baby, youâre never gonna guess what happened!â He all but squealed in excitement. You left no reply, just expected him to continue. âHybe Japan let me off with a warning that if it ever happened again, they would take legal action, but for now Iâm good.â
âHuh,â You mumbled, âDid they say why?â
âUh, well I think they said they reviewed the benefits of taking legal action against me and the benefits of keeping me on as a performer. They said someone pointed out that the second option is a much more fruitful investment long term than the first. Isnât that great?â
âYes, Nicho. Thatâs great.â Your bag landed on the arm of your couch before slipping onto the floor.
âAnd look! Nothing bad happened to your job either. You were worried for nothing.â
âExcuse me?â You whipped your head toward him, his words werenât even malicious, they werenât even all that wrong, but they flipped a switch that wouldnât flip back down, âNicho, who do you think vouched for you? Who do you think told them that keeping you as an asset was better than suing you for money you donât have?â
The grin on his face fell along with the temperature. You shouldnât have brought up the money when you know he hates that you make more than him.
âYes. Nothing happened to my job but you donât want to know what I did to make sure that it didnât. To make sure that you got off scot free and that I didnât tarnish the reputation I have been building for three years.â Your voice was so grave, so deep, you almost sounded like a different person.
You shoved the suit coat of your body.
âWhat do you mean? What did you do?â
âI finally have a position that means something in this company.â You ignored his question, words spilling out like WhiteOut, hoping the more there are the more you can cover the words you accidentally spoke; but it would never erase them. âA lot of it is by sheer luck, you know? With management always filtering out, I got promoted through necessity. And finally, I had a chance to prove myself and my value and I did. And I got the opportunity of a lifetime!â You laughed humorlessly, throwing your hands up to gesture the magnitude of your words, âI get to manage one of the most successful models in Hybe and you put that in jeopardy!â
âCan you stop saying that?â He asked, anger framing his tone, âYou didnât have to vouch for me but you did. Donât blame that on me.â
âWhat because I had a choice? My soulmate or my job? I love my job Nicho, I love it dearly, but you are my soulmate, soâŠâ
ââSoâ what?â He folded his sleeved arms, âYou love your job but you love me more? Yelling at me is a funny way of expressing that.â
âIâm not confessing my love for you Nicho, Iâm saying the choice isnât fair.â
âSo, youâre saying that you donât love me.â
You stared at him wide-eyed, âWhaâ What are you talking about?!â Your voice came out pitchy.Â
âYeah, that's it.â He spoke as if he had revealed the world's greatest mystery which he knew all along, smug and over-confident, âYou donât love me. Thatâs what this is about. You love your job more than your own soulmate.â
You only stared at him like he was trashing everything youâd built. And in a way, maybe thatâs exactly what it was. Compromising the foundation of your career; blurring the future youâd mapped within your head; disproving your undying devotion for him.
âLet me ask you a question, Y/N. If I wasnât your soulmate would you have vouched for me? Or would you have left me to deal with this all by myself? Do you not even love me enough as a human to help me?â
Your answer died on your tongue as your phone began to ring. You rolled your eyes, wishing â praying â that people would stop calling you after work hours. That was until you saw the ID. You accepted the call immediately, paying no mind to the walking steam train in front of you.
âHello? Heeseung are you alright?â You spoke quickly due to the adrenaline still coursing through you.
âHeeseung?â Your boyfriend mumbled, an irritated grimace pulling at his features.
âHey, Y/N,â Heesueng spoke softly, âListen uh, the plane I was on⊠We were sitting on the runway for like two hours and they just announced that thereâs a light on the dashboard. They canât fly this plane tonight and they wonât have any flights until the morning so⊠I need another night in the hotel. I know this is last minute butâŠâ
âNo, no, no. Donât worry about it Heeseung, Iâll get on that right away.â
âWhy do you talk to him like that?â Nicho asked bitterly. You only sent him an unimpressed look.
âWho was that?â Heeseungâs voice had an edge to it.
âItâs nobody, Heeseung. Listen Iâllââ
âNobody?â Nicho laughed humorlessly and loudly too, âTell that pretty boy that you love so much that this ânobodyâ is your soulmate. How about you do that? Or are you too embarrassed?â
âY/NâŠâ
âNicho, this is not the time. Heeseung do you haveââ
âHeeseung, Heeseung, Heeseung. Is that what this is about?â He moved closer to you, âIs this why you love your job so much? Is this why you love it more than me? Because of him?â His voice got dangerously low. His steps pursuing you toward the kitchen.
âY/N, whatâs going on? Are you okay? Are you safe?â
âHow much have you two done together?â Nicho asked the question as if it pained him, âWas that business trip to Shanghai even real?â
âYes, of course it was real, Nicho. Donât talk to me like you know what my job entails. You canât even do your own properly.â
âWhat is that supposed to mean?â
âYou know exactly what it means, Nicho. And donât act like you would still have a job right now if it werenât for me.â
âWhat did you do then? What did you do that I wouldnât wanna know?â He recalled your words from earlier, making your heart drop and your fingers itch to end the call. Heeseung couldnât know. He couldn't find out. He couldnât find out how awful of a person you were.
âDrop it, Nicho.â
âNo, what did you do? Did you sleep with my boss? Like you slept with Heeseung? Is that the âluckâ you were talking about earlier?â
Both your vision and your cheeks filled with a flaming red.Â
âWhat is wrong with you?!â You nearly screeched, dropping your phone to your side.
âThatâs it isnât it? Youâve been sleeping around to get what you want and youâre embarrassed. Did Heeseung know? Or did he and I both find out youâre a slut together on the same night.â
âI didnât sleep with anyone, Nicho.â Your voice crackled with pent up emotions forcing their way out, âI havenât slept with anyone because I was waiting for my soulmate. You wanna know what I did? The thing you wouldnât like? I denied our relationship so that whatever I said about your character would be taken seriously.â
Suddenly, after his accusations, what you did didnât seem all that bad.
âI lied for you. I told them you didnât have a drinking problem, I told them you were a good asset, I told them that we werenât together.â
âDid you tell them you didnât love me too? Did you tell them that youâre so small hearted you canât even love the only person you were ever meant to?â
You bit your lip and prayed the water in your eyes would go away if you just took a deep breath.
âHave you told Heeseung that? Youâre embarrassed of your own soulmate? What does that say about you? Youâd go seeking the comfort of another man while knowing exactly who your heart is supposed to belong to? Or was he under the impression that you were single too?â
âJust get out of my apartment, Nicho. I have work to do.â
âSo thatâs it? Just like that? Youâre choosing him over me?â He laughed pitchy and it scratched at your ears, âManâŠâ He breathed out, disbelievingly as he walked to the door of your apartment. âI hope the sex is good.âÂ
The door slammed, ending his sentence and ending the hold you had on your emotions. You dropped to your knees and let the tears spill out of your eyes. You shakily held your phone, fumbling through the buttons.Â
Just find the Hotels.com app.Â
âY/N are you alright?â Heeseungâs voice emitted gently from the speaker. It ripped an embarrassing cry from your throat. This was embarrassing. You are an embarrassment.
âUm, Iâll have your hotel booked.â Gone was your manager voice; gone was your pride in your puddle of humiliation on the floor of your unswept apartment.
âY/N, I donât care about the hotel. I care about whether you're okay or not.â His voice was stern but it was eons away from being mean.
âIâm sorry,â You strained your voice, begging and pleading yourself not to cry, âThat was really unprofessional. You shouldnât have had to hear that.â
âOh, Y/NâŠâ You could envision the face he was making; his eyebrows upturned and those dark brown eyes carrying all the sorrow you feel in your heart, âIâm sorry. No one should talk to you like that. No one, at all. Let alone your own soulmate.â
You pressed purchase on the hotel and exported the receipt to Heeseung.
âItâs okay, Heeseung.â You sniffled, âYour hotel information is on the receipt. Iâll see you tomorrow. Do you have a ride? Do I need to book that? I can call you an Uber?â
âY/N,â His voice anchored you in the midst of the rocky waves, âThank you. Iâll see you tomorrow.â
âOkayâŠâ You swallowed, hoping to alleviate the frailty of your voice, âGoodnight, Heeseung.â
âGoodnight,â His voice cut off as if he was about to say something else. Goodnight, Y/N? Goodnight, Manager? GoodnightâŠ.
ââ â â â ââ
You vaguely registered the dryness of your eyes as you checked the clock on the bottom right of your laptop screen. He should be here by now. Youâre not sure if heâd walk into the building. He doesnât need to be here today. He has no reason to be here. So, itâd be fine. He wouldnât see you.Â
And after an hour of waiting in bated breath, you were right. He didnât come see you. And you lied to yourself â saying you were wholly and completely relieved â but there was a part of you that wasnât. A part of you that longed to see his gentle brown eyes, his soft tan skin, his chiseled jawline, his prominently defined Adamâs apple, and his plump pillowy lips. The features he got paid millions of dollars a year for.Â
Even more than his indescribable beauty, you longed to hear that angelic voice of his. The voice that comforted you in the darkness of your apartment and the laugh that made the air feel lighter. That was the voice your heart lurched to hear.
Your mind would replay the softness in the way he said your name â how it sounded as if it were precious to him, like if you said it too loudly or too harshly it would break and fall apart. That sweet, sweet voice followed you all day until you walked to the lobby and it suddenly wasnât in your head anymore.
âThanks man,â He laughed lightly and clapped another man on the back, âI owe you big time.â
âNah, donât sweat it, bro.â The other man shook his head.
It was the first time you were seeing him with his new hair. It was bleached platinum blond and he left it messily unstyled â somehow he still looked perfect. All in a graphic hoodie and shorts with a green cap snapped around one of the belt loops. He was effortlessly attractive and it enthralled you completely. You debated whether or not to call out to him and ask him what he was doing here until you hesitated for too long and forfeited the choice.Â
Heeseungâs soft brown eyes caught sight of you as he casually turned in your direction. It was jarring the way your mind became existentially aware of how the scene looked to others. Model Heeseung in his casual outfit that cost well over the monthly rent you paid for your quaint apartment, Marketing Agent You in your newly purchased suit that looked much more expensive and intimidating than it actually was.Â
A model who knew way too much about his agent and an agent who knew way too little about her model.
âY/N! HeyâŠâ He turned to his friend and bid him adieu before jogging over to where you stood, clutching your work bag like a lifeline, âHow are you?â
His voice was exactly as you remembered: soft, gentle, and caring.Â
âUm,â You stammered, âFine. No, Iâm fine.â You nodded as if it would make your words any more convincing. It was obvious, as his eyebrows pinched slightly together, that you were only embarrassing yourself further, âWhat are you still doing here?â
All at once, concern turned into sheepishness, a dead giveaway being the way he rubbed the back of his neck.Â
âI uh, I was working on a project.â He nodded though he kept his eyes away from yours.
It took you a moment to consider his words, âProject? You donât have a project today? I kept your schedule clear today.â
âNot a modelling projectâŠâ There was a gleam in his eye that youâd never seen before. A gleam that conveyed a child-like wonder that only comes from a lifelong passion.
âOkayâŠâ You dragged the sound out before raising a brow and looking intensely into those sparkling browns, âWell, are you gonna tell me orâŠ?â
âYou wanna know?â He perked up immediately, a bright smile on the verge of breaking through.
âOf course, I do.â
And that smile came in full force as he grabbed your bag from you and circled your wrist in his large hand. He led you down the elevators buzzing with excitement barely contained as you dropped down two floors. He led you through a hallway of rooms until he pushed open the door to a vacant music studio. His hands guided you into the producerâs chair and handed you a headset â all before you could register the room you were in.
âAre you ready?â He bit his lip to control his smile but his happiness was so evident it might as well have been tangible.Â
You let out a small giggle, âOf course but what am I getting ready for?â
âOh!â His lips formed a perfect circle, âI⊠I think itâs better if you just listen.âÂ
And with that you placed the headset over your ears and watched his middle finger tap on the space bar of his laptop.
Immediately, an onslaught of tracks filled your ears. A musical mix of rock of dubstep and various elements of other genres flowed together in a unique blend that had the touch of a natural born genius.
Then you heard it. The voice which you loved so dearly filtering through the speakers of the headset, dropping your jaw and paralyzing every crevice of your mind in shock. And it stayed agape even after it ended and you turned to look at him like a deer in headlights.Â
âThe lyrics are a work in progressâŠâ He laughed bashfully, âBut the âride or dieâ part is there to stay.â
He looked at you expectantly and not in the way youâd think he would. He didnât look like he expected you to shower him in compliments and tell him that heâs created a true masterpiece; he looked at you as if he expected you to tell him to put the mic down and focus on his reflection in the mirror.
âHeeseung, this is insane! Like insanely incredible! Do you want to be an artist?â
âUh⊠yeah. I do.â His ears, chest, and cheeks flushed a pretty rouge.
âWhy did you become a model then?â
He looked down at his feet before answering.
âI tried to get a music contract with Belift but they thought Iâd be better as a model so I kinda just⊠gave up.â
âBut you picked it back up again?â
âI never stopped learning to produce. I never could.â His eyes poured into yours, âI loved it too much.â
You smiled brightly â proudly â and stood up, grabbing his shoulders.
 âSend me your demo,â You spoke in a gravely serious tone, âAnd any other demos you have. I have a meeting next Tuesday and I will get you that music contract Heeseung. Trust me.â
The look he gave you was unlike any other. As if you were an angel sent from Heaven just for him.
âReally?â His voice small, like the flame of a candle before it burns out but his eyes⊠his eyes were full. Full of hope, full of joy, full of adoration.
âYes.â You kept your hands on his broad, strong shoulders, pushing the thought of circling them around his neck from your mind. A thought that persisted even as you pulled your hands away.
âI have to go,â You grabbed your bag from the table, âBut weâre gonna make this happen, Heeseung.â You stopped at the door and turned to him. âTell me that you want this and I will fight with everything I have to achieve it for you.â
He leaned against the table, everything he felt in his heart was translated through the look in his eyes, âI want this more than anything.â
You nodded and offered him a smile that felt more like a promise.
ââ â â â ââ
It ran through your head in circles for the next half-week. Between reviewing the edited photo options for Proya, captions for Heeseungâs social media, plans to open up more platforms for him, emails for photoshoots schedules, root touch-up appointments, plans for future events, you somehow managed to hop on Canva and make a pitch.
The presentation was relatively simple, leaving room for Heeseungâs musical genius to contend for itself. Clipped parts of his demos were pasted onto the presentation â only 15 seconds each and only the parts that gathered the full essence of the song. You spent hours picking the right parts, listening to the songs over and over, being diligent and considerate in your choices.Â
For Ride or Die it was easy to choose the right part â the chorus was addictive. For Overflow, there were so many parts that stuck like glue in your mind which made it harder to choose the best section to clip. Dial Tragedy was short but there was still a lot to work with, a lot to decide within the nearly minute and a half ringtone. There was one demo you hadnât even looked at yet.
You fell on your couch and took a breath, eyes closed and ears full of the soft blow of the air conditioner. The surface of your laptop was cold when you picked it up and placed it in your lap, opening the Google Drive and clicking on the demos. You finally moved onto the last one â its name cut off by your minimized tab â reading Highway 10âŠ.
The melody of the guitar and the silky vocals came almost at the same moment. The lyrics were characterized by a love that was wholly and completely consuming. A love that disregarded the woes of life and resided in the space cultivated by their devotion for one another. It was a song that resonated and echoed in the chambers of your heart.
An echo of admiration.
An echo of fondness.
An echo of longing.
An echo of sadness.
The song was beautiful but it was clearly dedicated to someone specific. And that shouldnât have been surprising to you. That Heeseung had a soulmate. Of course he had a soulmate. He was remarkable in both body and spirit. He had a soul pure enough to cleanse those who caught even a glimpse of it. He was nothing like anyone youâd ever met and he was everything youâve ever dreamt of.
He had a face that would have brought Aphrodite to her knees.
He had a way with words that would have compelled Shakespeare to set down his pen.
He had a voice that would have drawn every siren to his side like moths to flames.
Like how you were drawn to his side.Â
The spiraling thoughts welled tears on your eyes and drew the music blank in your ears. Why did this happen?
Youâd never cared about models â this was just your job. Not with Yeonjun, not with Soobin, not with Beomhyu, nor Taehyun, nor Kai.Â
Youâd never cared about looks, or big brown eyes, or shiny smiles, or voices, or words, or actions, or denim jackets, or mochi chocolate dumplings, or midnight phone calls. Youâd only cared about marks. Only about the numbers that rose onto your skin at 13. You only cared about Fate and the man whoâd share the same set of numbers until your death.
The ones which bloomed red after you met Nicho.
The ones you desperately tried to scrub off of your arm after youâd drunk just a bit too much to think clearly.
The ones you used to caress gently and not scratch violently.
The ones that used to bring you comfort and whisper promises of a future but now fill you with dread and remind you of the prison you should get comfortable in â be it with Nicho or without him.
One thing was certain about your future, youâd be on Hangang Avenue driving yourself to work and Heeseung would be holding his soulmate on Highway 1009.
Every ounce of breath depleted from your lungs in an instant.Â
It was embarrassing how your heart filled with an inflated hope and your hands shook as they moved to the sleeve on your arm. Tugging on the thin fabric, the bright red numbers appeared in succession.
9 â the curves youâd seen for years seemed to look like a novelty.
0 â the quantity of the amount of breaths youâd taken since you touched your sleeve.
0 â your fingers shook violently as you reached the precipice of the final number.
1 â thousands of questions filled your mind like the breaking of a dam.Â
How is this possible? What does this mean? Why would he write a love song with the same number as your soulmate mark? Does he have the same one? Do you have the same mark? Are you soulmate? But Nicho has the same one too? Is it possible to have two? Is there a highway called 1009? Are you overthinking this? Will this hope fall away like autumn leaves?
Your hands flew across your laptop, typing in the Twitter website, and searching âEVANâ and searching through the photos tab. You searched every inch of his body futility â you knew better than most that a model desired by so many would not be allowed to show a mark that would confirm their exclusivity. You searched nonetheless; through photoshoots, Instagram posts, and fan photos until your eyes grew sandpaper-y.
Without thought, your fingers moved across the keyboard, typing as if they moved on their own.
The Google search bar held the question you were terrified to find the answer of: âIs it possible for multiple people to have the same soulmate number sequence?â No. There are no recorded instances of there being more than two living individuals with the same soulmate sequence of numbers.
Again you frantically typed out: âHighway 1009â
There is no highway 1009. Did you mean Gyeongbu Expressway?
So that was it then. Nicho was your soulmate and Heeseung coincidentally wrote a love song with the same number. It must represent something else. It must be a real highway somewhere. It must be a quantity. It must be a date. It must be a coincidence.Â
Coincidence. Thatâs what it was.
It had to be.
ââ â â â ââ
âFrom the moment he got contracted under Belift Lab in 2020, Lee Heeseung has been an irreplaceable asset. He, alongside the other six contracted models, have established Belift Lab as a respectable and renowned company within South Korea, Mainland China, Japan, and Globally. Although Belift predominantly manages models and scouts for new talent, the company has the resources to explore other routes for talent. Especially considering the in-house producers and composers at Hybe Corps disposal.â
Youâd found yourself in a similar position just a few weeks ago. With a dozen pairs of cold eyes staring more into your soul than at the powerpoint youâd spent hours putting together.Â
âExpanding into other areas of entertainment is a venture that Belift Lab has yet to do, however I believe having Lee Heeseung as the prospect for this endeavor would produce many fruitful results, including both revenue and reputation. I havââ
âPause.â Youâd recognize that tone anywhere. The one that demands attention and leaves no room for negotiation. âAre you suggesting that Lee Heeseung change his contract from a model to a soloist?â
ââChangeâ?â You repeated, âIâm not sure a full transition is necessary? I believe itâs possible to work both into his schedulââ
âWeâve already considered this path with Heeseung himself.â Kim Taeho, the CEO of Belift Lab, informed, âDid he persuade you to pitch the idea to me again? Quite frankly, I donât care whose mouth it comes from â I donât like the ramifications of the idea.â
The room was silent as you took a breath but your mind was anything but silent, âNo sir, Heeseung did not persuade me to pitch this idea to you. As I only became his manager a month ago, I was unaware that he had brought this idea to you. I decided of my own accord to bring it to the boardâs attention because I believe that Heeseungâs interest in pursuing this field could bring much fruit to this company. Itâs one I hope youâd be willing to consider now or in the future.â
With the intensity in which your heart was beating, you were nervous that youâd be unable to hear his response.Â
Luckily, that fear was irrational.
Youâd found that most of your fears were and yet, you still found yourself breathing shallowly when that song repeated in your head for the millionth time.Â
You: Heeseung, are you busy right now?
Lee Heeseung: ?
Lee Heeseung: Youâre the one with my schedule lol
Lee Heeseung: Donât tell me you forgot ://
You rolled your eyes playfully at his banter.
You: I know you donât have anything scheduled but you have your hobbies, you know?
Lee Heeseung: True⊠Iâm near the building. I can be in your office in 10 minutes.
You: Great, Iâll see you in 10
Your phone buzzed as soon as you put it down.
Lee Heeseung: RightâŠ
Lee Heeseung: Remind me where your office is?
The time seemed to stretch beyond its capacity before he knocked on your office door. A smile was already plastered across his face before the door was even fully ajar. You gestured for him to take a seat in front of you and as he did, you recognized the dynamic. From the height of your office chair and the distance between your big wooden desk, it was more obvious than it had ever been.Â
Lee Heeseung was your employee; you were his boss.
The thought sobered your mind to the point where you stared directly into those sparkling eyes and didnât see the numbers 1009 behind them.
You looked away from them anyway; those dark browns and their expectations, their hope, their adoration. Emotions too close to the four letter word you were trying so desperately to ignore.
âRight,â You breathed out, âI just got out of meeting with the Belift Lab board of directors.â
Heeseung flexed his fingers over his knees where his hands rested.Â
âI pitched the idea of a soloist contract to them, but Heeseung I have a question.â
A shadow of fear passed over his face, âWhat?â
âYou didnât tell me you had already tried to advocate for a contract. Why?â
His eyes shifted away from your figure entirely. You could almost visibly see the walls building up around him.
âI um⊠Well, I failed soâŠâÂ
âFailed is not the term I would use.âÂ
âWhat would you call it then?â He asked defeatedly.
âAccording to Kim Taeho, you pitched the idea relentlessly and you were given approval for the contract to be drawn. But, this is the part Iâm confused about,â You admitted, âYour manager quit the very next day? Which is why the contract was never officially drawn?â
Heeseung drew a breath and released it heavily, âHe said that he wasnât interested in non-model exclusive contracts. He said that getting my foot in as a successful soloist would be a grueling job and would come with scrutiny that he didnât care to manage.â
The wound to his heart was nearly visible â there might as well have been blood spilling out onto his shirt.
âRight. So, he was too lazy to manage a solo career for you and quit the next day?â You sighed and rolled your eyes, âHad he heard any of your music? Does he know how large your fanbase is?â
He shrugged his shoulders with his face downcast.
âHeeseung,â He lifted his eyes to your own, âI told you that Iâd do everything in my power to get this contract for you. I didnât plan to stop there.â You crossed your legs, âDo you know Choi Yeonjun from BigHit?â
He nodded, âWe knew each other when we were younger.â
âYou know heâs a model and a soloist, right? I assisted his manager for a year and a half before I took the position as your manager. Trust me, I know what Iâm doing.âÂ
He fought back a sheepish smile; you returned it with a comforting one.
âJust keep doing what youâre doing in the studio, tell me what help you need, and I will make sure the world hears your music. Donât worry about that part.â
He nodded and Van Goghâs Starry Night didnât sparkle like his eyes did in that moment.Â
âThank you,â He whispered softly. Getting up out of his chair, causing you to watch as he hesitated with every step toward your office door.Â
âOh, Heeseung?â You called out to him, watching as he turned around with anticipation swimming in his gaze, âWhen did your manager quit?âÂ
He sighed frustratedly, âMarch 10th.â
You rolled your eyes at that fateful Tuesday, âGosh, okay great. I guess everyone had a horrible March 10th then.â
He laughed and looked expectedly at you, âWhat happened to you?â An amused smile played on his plump lips.
You leaned against your desk and crossed your arms, âSome tenant in my apartment building decided to make popcorn at five in the morning. And then burnt it. So I woke up to the fire alarm, not my actual alarm.â
You smiled at his silly laugh.
âAnd then by the time I left, got gas, and arrived at the building, I was beyond late. My boss chewed me out for it which was extremely embarrassing.â You rubbed your forehead as he continued to laugh at your story, âI even bumped into someone in the hallway? Which was just the cherry on top.â
You considered that for a moment, too lost in thought to notice the sudden lack of noise.Â
âYou know? I guess it wasnât such a bad day.â You shrugged and tuned to feel his heavy gaze, âI got sent to help the new Hybe Japan dance team get their headshots and profile photos taken for the company website. Thatâs where I met my soulmate â Nicho.â
You mirrored his look with your own confusion, âWhat do you mean?â
âWell,â Heeseung shifted awkwardly where he stood, âBecause you guys broke up, right? And now youâre back together?â
You sat in confusion for a millisecond, âI have no idea what youâre talking about.â You recalled the phone call you had with Heeseung that night Nicho stormed out of your apartment, âNicho and I fight but weâve never broken up. And that call that we had,â You swallowed thickly, âThe things that Nicho said about me, they arenât true. Iâve neverââ
âI know.â He crossed his arms, his face suddenly steeling, âWait so, youâre telling me that you and Nicho met on March 10th?â
âYeah,â You confirmed, âI was talking to him and, if you remember that was the day the A/C was broken, so I pulled up my sleeve and my mark was red.â You recalled the moment clearly, âThen Nicho pulled his sleeve up and had the same mark.â
Heeseungâs eyes held wells of concern within the depths of his eyes, âY/N,â He licked his lips as if the words were too hard to say.
âWhat is it?â You straightened your posture as if it could guard you from whatever he was about to say, âYouâre scaring meâŠâ
âWhen I was still being scouted, I heard a lot about the Hybe Japan incoming talent from my friend EJ,â He spoke slowly, as if it would lessen the blow, âOf course, that means I heard a lot about Nicho.â
Your breath caught in your lungs; a grey cloud already began to form above your head.
âY/N, Nichoâs soulmate cheated on him before I even became a modelâŠâ Heeseung stammered over his next words, âI assumed since you called him your soulmate that you guys had fixed your relationship and it honestly wasnât any of my business so I tried not to think about it too much. But if youâre telling me that your soulmate mark turned red the day you met Nicho on March 10th, then either Nicho lied about his ex-girlfriend being his soulmate orâŠâÂ
The words fell dead on his lips and rose to life on yours.
âOr he lied to me about being my soulmate.â
Heeseung released a breath of air, âIâm so sorry, Y/N.â
You clenched your jaw, desperately trying to recall how many times youâd seen Nichoâs soulmate mark â he always wore long sleeves. You pushed a hand through your hair before grabbing your work bag and walking toward the door. Heeseungâs strong arms stopped you from walking past him.
âWait, Y/Nââ
âHeeseung,â You spoke with your eyes closed, a visible sign that you were holding back emotions that had reached a dangerous peak, âPlease. Please let me go.â
He hesitated for a moment, kept his mouth agape as if he had more he wanted to say, but he dropped his hands nonetheless.Â
He watched you walk out of your office like watching a car drive off on a highway.
ââ â â â ââ
The banging echoed through the entire apartment until it went quiet again. As soon as the echoes dissipated, they returned. Again and again until the door swung open. His dark eyes held a warmth that could only be replicated by a refrigerator.Â
âHave you finally decided that your boytoy isnât enough for you?â
The words held so much more meaning behind them knowing what his ex-girlfriend did. You felt bad for him, you understood him. But that wasnât what you were worried about right now.
âNicho, show me your mark.â
âWhat?â
âShow me your soulmate mark.â
âWhy? Youâve seen it before.â
âOnce. And I donât remember what it looks like.â
He laughed sharply, âAnd you canât look at your own arm to get the idea?â
You grabbed his arm, roughly, angrily, wrongly. But you werenât thinking kindly in your desperation. âShow me.â
Thereâs only one thing you particularly remember about Nichoâs mark: it was horizontal. If you were to stick your arm out in front of you, the numbers run in tandem with the direction of your arm. Its why you can pull your sleeve up and see the numbers appear in succession: 9, then 0, then 0, then 1; which reads 1009 from left to right.Â
Nichoâs isn't like that. His is horizontal, meaning that when he pulls his sleeve up, the bottom of all the numbers are there. The small line of the 1 and the round bottoms of the 009. You shouldâve paid more attention the first time. Maybe it was your excitement that caused you to not notice that he hid the top of the numbers from view. You realized it this time as he pulled his sleeve until it almost revealed the full numbers.Â
âSee? Weâre matching, baby.â
Before he could turn his gaze away from you, you pulled the last part of his sleeve to uncover the full number: 7009.
Bile in its purest acidic form rose to your throat, along with tears in your eyes. You stumbled back and tried to suck the air back into your lungs. You could barely hear him. Barely hear the desperate pleas that fell from his lips as you stumbled away from his apartment door.Â
Y/N, please.
Just hear me out.
Listen to me, you donât even know what happened?
After all the time we spent together, youâre just going to walk away?
Come back, please.
Please, please, come back to me.
As you drove away, his last words echoed faintly in your mind. And a part of you wondered if they were even meant for you.
You donât know what you were thinking. It was beyond unprofessional â if HR ever found out youâd not only be fired but likely prevented from getting other job opportunities in the future. Somehow, none of that broke through the devastation hardening within your mind causing you to think irrationally. To act irrationally.
Because what sane person drives to the apartment of their client?Â
What sane person punches the elevator button to his floor with tears flowing down their cheeks in steady streams?
What sane person knocks on his door, drunk on the thought of his strong arms wrapped around them?
The sight of him in a plain t-shirt and black basketball shorts and the most beautiful confused face youâve ever seen sobered that thought from your head and drew a gasp from your mouth.
âOh myâ Iâm so sorryâ I didnâtââ You gestured stupidly with your hands, âI wasnât thinking clearly. This is wildly unprofessional, Iâm so sorry, I shouldnât have come. Please forgive meââÂ
It was warm â he was warm â as his big hands moved to hold you. One finding its way behind your head and the other over your arm and around your middle, pulling you into his chest and nuzzling his cheek against your hair.
âPlease, donât apologize Y/N.â He nearly whispers, his voice like sweet honey to your ears, âIâm so sorry.â
You held your breath, hoping it would stop the cries that were clawing within your chest. It shouldnât hurt this much. You hadnât wasted that much of your life. Youâd only known Nicho for a little over a month. Youâd only known him since that awful Tuesday in March. The day when everything went wrong.Â
You wondered what would happen now. You used to look down at those four little numbers and see a promise, then when you were with Nicho they felt like a cage, what would they be like now? Would that bright red ink mock you for everything youâd lost.Â
March 10th: the day youâd met and lost your soulmate.
âY/N,â Heeseung whispered so gently, you wondered if he even wanted you to hear him. You pulled back to look into his eyes. Your faces inches apart â too close, too far. He looked at you with the same reverence he always had, âThe day I met my soulmate, I never caught her name. She was gone before I could even catch a glimpse of what she looked like.â His hands slid up to your face, as if losing contact with you would kill him, âI looked for her everywhere. In every hallway, in every room, on every floor.â
âDid you ever find her?â
âI thought I did,â He let out a ghost of a laugh, âBut she had allegedly found her soulmate already.â He watched your lips turn downward, âAnd I thought that was it. She had sped past me like a sports car on a highway.â
He looked down at his feet for a moment, just as yours filled with empathy.
âI dreamt of that metaphorical highway every night. One where Iâd find her again and pick her up, and hold her, and never let go.â The look in his eyes was so intense it felt magnetic. Like it was drawing you in deeper. âBut then, you know that, donât you? You heard my song?â
The melody played somewhere in the back of your mind and you hated how its mere tune flooded your heart with hope.Â
âOf courseâŠâ
âThen tell me, Y/N.â His voice held an indescribable desperation, âTell me, Iâm wrong. Tell me your body isnât marked with the same numbers I look for in every place. Tell me that demo means nothing to you and you didnât feel this crazy connection like we were being pulled together by strings of Fate.â
You didnât tell him anything. You just tugged at your sleeve. Watching his desperation increase with each number: 9⊠0⊠0⊠1⊠until he was face to face with the number heâd become all too familiar with.Â
His fingers grabbed the hem of his black shorts and pulled them up. In vibrant red ink, just above the knee, four numbers youâd never seen on anyoneâs body but your own. You stared at them like theyâd vanish if you blinked. Or worse, that the one would change into a seven or the nine would flip upside down.
His warm hands found their way back to your cheeks.
âItâs real,â He informed, as if he had read the transcript of your mind, âYouâre real.â He said as if it was hard to believe. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks and somehow you managed to pull even closer together.Â
âTell me if it's too much, all at once, and I wonât kiss you.â
Your lips didnât move but your eyes did, dragging down to his lips and locking them there. Of course, he knew exactly what that meant.Â
His breath fanned against your lips, his nose brushed against your own. Then finally, they pressed against yours like a promise fulfilled.Â
Like the colors gained their hue, every melody was joined by its harmony, and flowers were solely acquainted with blooming.
And as your lips parted from one another, they instantly found each other again.Â
And maybe Heeseung was right about Highway 1009.Â
Heâd pick you up, hold you, and he'd never let you go.
ââ â â â ââ
Heeseung flopped onto the sofa, placing his freshly washed hair straight in your lap, all with a dramatic groan. Without hesitation, you tousled his hair and brushed your nails gently through it.Â
âI just reviewed your answers for that W Korea interview.â
âMm,â He mumbled sleepily, âWhat do you think?â
âMm,â Youâd picked up on his habit, âI liked the part where you said that the producers called you crazy for challenging all the traditional conventions in composing.â
Heeseungâs eyes flew open and he held the most deadpan look they could muster. It wasnât his fault that he adored you too much to even pretend to look mad at you.
âSo, youâre just going to ignore the part where I said I wrote Highway 1009 for you?â
âHm,â You hummed, âIâm pretty sure you said âyour soulmateâ.â
Heeseung sat up and pushed his face inches before yours, âOh Iâm sorry, did you want me to call HR and tell them that EVAN and his manager are in a secret relationship?â He grew a wicked smile that only made him look more irresistible, âCâmon, Manager. You of all people should know how the public would take that.â
You rolled your eyes at his teasing, âYouâre lucky you're cute, Evan.â
He smiled slyly and pressed his forehead against yours.
âOh, I know Iâm lucky.â
His kisses always felt breathtaking and magnetic, it didnât matter if it was your first or your 1009th.
the premise ⧠amidst the suffocating heat of milan fashion week, maintaining a secret relationship with enhypen's yang jungwon is a dangerous game of stolen glances and strict thirty-foot boundaries. but when a senior global ambassador gets a little too comfortable in your personal space, jungwon's pristine, golden-boy facade completely shattersâleaving behind a fiercely possessive, territorial man determined to remind you exactly who you belong to the second the cameras turn off.
The Milanese sun wasnât just shining; it was burning. Inside the Fondazione Prada courtyard, the afternoon humidity hung like a suffocating shroud, trapping the expensive scent of cedarwood, hot asphalt, and the rapid flashes of three hundred cameras. It was an ecosystem built entirely on the currency of visuals, and the air was so dense it felt almost illegal to breathe.
And then, you stepped onto the white concrete.
You didn't just walk the red carpet; you owned it. Framed against the stark backdrop, your appearance was a masterclass in weaponized softness. The pale, ribbed knit of your crop top looked deceptively innocent, yet it clung to your chest with a predatory tightness, the plunging V-neck resting right over the rapid beating of your pulse. But it was the deliberate expanse of sun-kissed skin below itâthe taut stretch of your stomach meeting the dangerously low hem of your vintage denimâthat made the press pit draw a sharp, synchronized breath. In your hand, the dark patent leather bag looked slick and wet against the pale canvas of your thighs.
Thirty feet away, standing behind the velvet VIP rope, Yang Jungwon was quietly losing his mind.
He was trapped in the heavy drape of an oversized black wool coatâan outfit meant for autumn, now acting as a personal furnace. Beneath the dark lapels, his ivory shirt was unbuttoned just enough to bare his collarbones to the heat. A single bead of sweat gathered in the hollow of his throat, trembling like a ticking second hand.
His hands were buried in his pockets, knuckles turning white against the lining. He wasnât looking at the flashing cameras. He wasnât listening to his manager speaking beside him.
He was staring at the exact inch where your pastel shirt ended, and your bare skin began.
You didnât look back at him. That was the most devastating part of the choreography. As a top-tier model, your peripheral vision was flawless. You caught the dark silhouette of his coat at the edge of your sight. You felt the specific, heavy weight of his stare landing right on your waistline.
And instead of acknowledging him, you gave the paparazzi everything.
When the Italian photographers started screaming your name, begging you to turn left, you obeyed. But you deliberately angled your body a precise fifteen degrees toward the VIP section.
You didn't give them a standard, boring pose. Dropping your chin slightly, you let your eyelids fall into a lazy, heavy half-gaze. Fueled by the wicked heat of Milan, your free hand lifted.
For the fashion editors, it looked like an effortless, high-end editorial pose. But for the man standing thirty feet away, it was an absolute taunt.
Your thumb hooked casually into the front pocket of your jeans. The pad of your index finger rested directly against your own bare hipbone, pressing just hard enough to create a tiny, pale indentation under the blinding flashbulbs.
You kept your eyes glued to the cameras, parting your lips just a fraction, but the angle of your body was a private broadcast meant only for him.
This is what they get, the slight tilt of your pelvis whispered. This is what you canât touch.
A devastatingly arrogant smirk played at the corner of your mouth as a French photographer shouted his approval. You knew the exact moment that pose burned itself permanently into Yang Jungwonâs mind.
Across the courtyard, a visible tremor ran through Jungwonâs sharp jawline. The bead of sweat finally broke, racing down his chest into the hidden dark of his shirt. He was forced to stand there and watch three hundred grown men point their lenses at the exact stretch of bare skin his own fingers were currently itching to bruise.
His pupils dilated until the dark marble of his irises was swallowed by pure black.
He didnât look away. He leaned an inch further over the velvet rope, his chin dropping lower as a feral spike of adrenaline erased his polite idol facade. The pristine, golden-boy image cracked, leaving something dangerously raw and possessive in its wake.
Only when the floor manager called out to clear the carpet did you finally pivot to walk inside. And for one fleeting fraction of a second, right at the entrance, you let your gaze slide sideways.
It brushed past the velvet rope and locked onto his smoking, pitch-black eyes for a single, wicked beat.
Keep performing, his stare promised back through the roaring crowd, a smoldering threat. See what happens when these cameras turn off.
The heat hadn't died with the sun; it had merely shifted into the night.
The private garden of the Palazzo was a velvet-draped maze of amber candlelight, a pulsing bassline, and the clink of expensive crystal. The frantic energy of the afternoon had dissolved into something thick, slow, and thoroughly hedonistic.
You had stripped off the pastel top. In its place was Pradaâs midnight archiveâa floor-length, translucent slip of black silk-chiffon so impossibly weightless it felt like wearing a shadow. Held up by two microscopic straps, the dress left your entire back bare to the open air, dipping down dangerously low. When you moved, the high side slit parted like dark water, offering the room sweeping glimpses of bare skin.
You were standing by the marble balcony, lazily swirling the ice in your glass, when the air to your right suddenly grew heavier.
It was heralded by a scent: crushed juniper, clean linen, and Tom Fordâs Oud Wood.
"If you keep staring at the terrace like that, theyâre going to bill you for structural damage."
The voice was a low, toasted baritone. Smooth and vibrating right at the frequency of the music.
You didn't startle. Turning slowly, you met his eyes.
Jung Jaehyun stood there, completely relaxed in a fine, short-sleeved black cashmere knit and dark trousers. In the sultry amber light, his sleepy, sculpted features looked devastating. He leaned his forearm against the marble railing right next to yours, his broad shoulder brushing the bare skin of your arm.
"I was actually calculating the fastest exit to my car," you replied, your voice dropping into that quiet, smoky register reserved for the hours after midnight. "Though I see you opted for the 'billionaire off-duty' aesthetic tonight."
Jaehyun let out a soft, gravelly chuckle. "When you spend the afternoon in heavy denim, a cashmere t-shirt feels like a blessing," he murmured. His dark, heavy-lidded gaze did a slow appraisal of your silhouette, tracking the sharp, exposed dip of your bare spine before hauling his eyes back to your lips. "Besides... it seems only one of us decided to wear an actual fire hazard to a party."
"Itâs silk-chiffon, Jaehyun-ssi."
"Itâs an act of war," he countered, his voice dropping into something dangerously amused. "Iâm ninety percent sure if the breeze picks up, half of that dress will legally classify as an illusion."
A genuine, breathy laugh broke past your lips. You tilted your chin up. "Then I suggest you regulate your breathing. There are three Vogue editors sitting behind us."
"Let them write about it," he said softly.
He shifted his weight. His large hand came to rest flat on the cold stone, effectively trapping your hand right between his massive wrist and the marble. He didn't grab your fingers; he simply occupied the space so thoroughly that to pull your hand away, you'd have to slide your bare skin directly against his knuckles.
"You were lethal this afternoon, by the way," Jaehyun murmured, his tone shifting into a private whisper designed exclusively for the air between your faces. "The press pit looked like a disaster area after you walked off."
"They asked for a Prada girl," you said, your eyelashes casting delicate shadows over your cheekbones. "I merely obliged."
"Is that what it was?" Jaehyunâs thumb twitched against the marble, a single millimeter away from your pinky. His sleepy eyes gleamed with a sharp, knowing amusement. "Because from where I was standing... it looked an awful lot like highly targeted psychological torture."
Your breath hitched. Your heart did a sudden, traitorous thump against your ribs.
He knew.
Of course he knew. A man didn't sit at the top of the industry for years without developing a sixth sense for unspoken tension. He had seen the thumb in the pocket. He had seen the specific, cruel tilt of your hip.
Before you could reply, Jaehyun leaned down just a fraction closer. His warm breath brushed your ear, his voice intensely teasing.
"And speaking of collateral damage..." Jaehyun whispered, his dark eyes sliding right past your shoulder into the unlit perimeter of the VIP tables. "...I believe the ghost of your victim just walked into the garden."
Inside the dark velvet interior of VIP Booth 4, Yang Jungwon was failing spectacularly at pretending he didn't care.
He was sitting so immaculately straight he looked like a luxury statue. His heavy wool coat was folded over his knee; his feline eyes were locked onto the terrace with the unblinking intensity of a predator watching its prey.
Beside him, Sunghoon lazily popped an olive into his mouth, his gaze drifting between Jungwonâs rigid profile and the terrace with pure brotherly enjoyment.
"I'm just saying," Sunghoon mused to the ceiling, casually instigating, "from an editorial perspective? The height difference is crazy. Very cinematic."
Jungwon took a slow, agonizingly measured sip of his sparkling water. He didnât snap. Instead, his dimples made a brief, painfully tight appearance.
"Itâs an optical illusion caused by the lighting, Hyung," Jungwon reasoned, his voice hitting that smooth, polite register he used whenever he was lying through his teeth.
Across the table, Sunoo didnât even look up from his phone. "Ah, the lighting. That must be why youâve been staring so hard your water is boiling."
A dangerous twitch hit the muscle beneath Jungwonâs jaw. He poked his tongue hard into the inside of his cheek.
"I am observing the crowd," Jungwon corrected smoothly.
Jay took a slow sip of his whiskey, looking at Jungwon's white-knuckled grip on his folded coat with an amused chuckle. "He's too proud," Jay informed the table. "Heâs dying inside, but his outfit is too expensive to let him walk over there and act like a jealous boyfriend."
"She just touched his forearm," Ni-ki reported cheerfully from the corner.
Total system freeze.
Jungwon didnât blink. For three seconds, his pupils dilated until the dark marble of his irises turned completely black.
With silent grace, he set his glass down. He stood up, draping the heavy coat over his arm with the fluid arrogance of a runway veteran.
"Where are you going, Jungwon-ah?" Jay asked, his eyes crinkling with victorious delight.
Jungwon fixed his glossy, perfectly rehearsed smile back onto his face. "To remind Jaehyun-sunbaenim that black cashmere retains too much heat for a crowded garden. Itâs a cardiovascular hazard."
"A cardiovascular hazard," Jake wheezed into the stone. "God bless this group."
The black silk of your dress hadnât even finished settling around your ankles when the temperature on the terrace dropped to freezing zero.
Standing three feet away, his coat draped immaculately over his forearm, Yang Jungwon looked like the patron saint of high-society etiquette. Beneath his fine navy polo, his chest rose and fell with a slow, controlled rhythm.
Your breath stalled. He actually came. The man who avoided public interactions like a plague had just walked straight into the open lights.
He didnât look at the exposed dip of your back. He delivered a pristine, textbook bow to the man standing beside you.
"Annyeonghaseyo, Jaehyun-sunbaenim," Jungwonâs voice floated crystal-clear over the bassline. It was his polished leader voiceâpainfully bright, exquisitely courteous, but carrying an undercurrent of absolute static.
Jaehyun didn't lift his hand from the marble railing. He merely turned his chin, his dark eyes sliding over the younger man with the lazy amusement of a king watching a challenger.
"Jungwon-ssi," Jaehyun rumbled smoothly. "Enjoying the evening?"
"I am, Sunbaenim," Jungwon replied instantly. He straightened his spine, and a sharp dimple bloomed in his left cheek as he tilted his head. "However, I noticed the airflow here is quite bad. Seeing your dense cashmere, I was genuinely concerned about your thermal regulation."
Oh, he was a lethal little liar.
Jaehyun let out a low, incredibly rich sound of genuine laughter. He didn't look offended; he looked thoroughly entertained. When Jaehyun looked back at Jungwon, his own signature dimple carved into his right cheekâan effortless display of senior dominance.
"I appreciate the diligence, Jungwon-ssi," Jaehyun tasted the sheer audacity of the younger man's words. His dark eyes shifted deliberately onto the bare expanse of your back before lifting back to Jungwon. "Though I assure you, my circulation is fine. The heat in this corner is entirely... generated."
Hit. A massive, smoldering strike delivered straight to the younger man's pride.
You glanced at Jungwon, catching the exact fraction of a second his polite facade glitched.
The clean angle of his jaw flexed so hard the bone turned white, and his tongue poked sharply against the inside of his cheekâa localized warning sign of boiling possessiveness.
"Is that so?" Jungwon countered, his voice sweet and terrifyingly calm. "Thatâs a relief. Because from across the room, I wanted to ensure our fellow global ambassador wasn't depleting her energy before tomorrow's shoot."
For the first time all night, Jungwonâs unblinking gaze left Jaehyun and dropped straight onto yours.
It wasn't a standard colleague's check-in. His feline eyes were a smoking pit of dark matter. It was a stare so intense, so stripped of his usual protocol, that it felt like a heavy rope wrapping around your wrists.
"You must be exhausted, Sunbaenim," Jungwon addressed you directly, using the formal honorific with a sickeningly sweet irony that sent a shiver down your spine. "Standing up for so long in a backless piece. Itâs quite taxing on the posture, isn't it?"
Jaehyun leaned his hip back against the marble, crossing his massive arms over his chest, watching the two of you trap each other in the crossfire.
"She was holding up remarkably well, Jungwon-ssi," Jaehyun murmured lazily. "Though I suppose ENHYPEN's leadership prefers to oversee their investments firsthand."
"We pride ourselves on total accountability," Jungwon smiled backâradiating the cold heat of a boy who would happily buy the building just to bolt the doors shut.
Jaehyun didnât offer a verbal comeback. The toasted baritone chuckle rumbled in his chest one last time. Slowly, he turned his massive torso toward you.
He didnât ask for permission. His large hand lifted into the narrow space between your bodies. The pad of his index finger caught the microscopic silk halter strap resting against your bare shoulder blade.
With an agonizing, blatantly proprietary slowness, his thumb smoothed the fragile ribbon down against your skinâa tactile, public claim conducted right in the center of the garden.
"Iâll have my car at your lobby at ten tomorrow," Jaehyun murmured, his lips a breath away from your ear, his voice low enough for Jungwon to intercept every syllable. "Don't oversleep. I hate having my espresso alone."
He gave the black silk one final pat. Then, offering Jungwon a lazy half-nod, Jaehyun melted away into the party.
The silence that fell over the balcony was heavier than a collapsed star.
The pristine software inside Yang Jungwon didnât just glitch; it underwent a total instinctual override.
His dimples vanished completely. In the span of a single heartbeat, Jungwon abandoned his distance and stepped directly into your personal space.
He didn't stand in front of you. He stepped right behind your shoulder.
Because your dress was completely backless, the sheer heat of his chest hit your naked spine before his clothes even brushed you. You froze against the marble, your breath trapping as the intoxicating scent of his cologne and pure, unadulterated fury wrapped around your senses.
Then, his hand lifted.
His calloused thumb found the exact silk strap resting against your shoulder bladeâthe precise spot Jaehyun had just touched.
Jungwon slid his thumb deliberately underneath the ribbon, pressing the rough pad of his digit flat and hard against your bare flesh. He pressed down with a heavy, circular frictionâliterally rubbing the phantom sensation of another man's touch out of your pores until a hot, red mark bloomed on your skin.
A sharp gasp broke past your lips. Your spine arched backward automatically, bringing your lower back into solid, burning contact with the hard plane of his stomach.
"Ten o'clock," Jungwon repeated directly against your ear, his voice a low, vibrating rasp that felt like a hand wrapping around your throat. "He actually thinks heâs getting a second cup."
His hand didn't leave your back. Sliding down the bare curve of your spine, his long fingers splayed wide across your lower back. His thumb hooked over the low hem of the silk at your hipbone, tightening until he hauled your pelvis firmly back against him.
"Suite 410. You have ten minutes to get to the elevators," Jungwon commanded into your skin, his tone stripped of everything polite. "Go upstairs. Take this dress off. Because if I get to that room and find you still wrapped in this silk... Iâm going to tear it off your back."
He didn't wait for an answer. Releasing your hip with one last, agonizingly heavy press of his thumb, Yang Jungwon stepped backward into the darkâleaving your bare spine throbbing with the physical brand of his hand.
The silence inside the master bathroom of Suite 410 was aggressive.
Standing under the stark glare of the mirror, you gripped the edges of the marble sink so hard your knuckles turned white.
You had obeyed him.
The great, untouchable runway darling had sprinted through the unlit corridors, swiped her keycard, and shed her skin. The priceless Prada dress lay crumpled on the floor tiles like a discarded thought. In its place, clinging to your skin, was a two-piece sleep set of paper-thin white silk. The delicate camisole offered absolutely no defense; without your undergarments, the hardened peaks of your chest pressed blatantly against the liquid fabric.
You turned your back to the mirror and looked over your shoulder.
There it was.
Sitting right at the curve of your shoulder blade was a perfect, dark-red crescent. The physical indentation of his thumb. It was still radiating heatâa literal brand left behind to ensure your nervous system remembered who you belonged to.
You hadn't locked the front door.
When you crossed the suite's threshold ten minutes ago, your hand had hovered over the deadbolt. Pride demanded you lock it. But some dark, traitorous instinct wanted him to walk through it.
Click.
The heavy, distinct sound of the main door unlocking echoed from the foyer.
He hadn't taken fifteen minutes. He had taken twelve.
You stepped out of the bathroom into the dim, indigo light of the bedroom. The heavy oak door of the foyer sealed shut with the sound of a vault.
"You're three minutes earlyâ"
He stood at the threshold of the bedroom, his heavy coat already tossed onto the bench. He was just in the dark navy polo now, the top three buttons torn open to lay his sweat-flushed collarbones bare. But his face completely paralyzed you.
He didn't look bratty or polite. The dark marble of his irises had been swallowed entirely by a smoking, unblinking black eclipse.
Slowly, his broad shoulders dropped. With a blatant sense of menace, Jungwon rolled his head slowly to the left. You actually heard the sharp pop of his neck in the dead quiet of the room. His eyes snapped onto your waistline like a steel trap.
He started walking.
His polished boots dragged through the thick carpet with the terrifying certainty of a predator. His dark eyes systematically consumed the white silk. He took in the sharp silhouette of your bared nipples pressing against the fabric; he tracked the slip of the silk down to your bare ankles.
When he reached you, the heavy density of his presence hit your senses like a solid wall. You instinctively took half a step backward, until the backs of your thighs hit the edge of the mattress.
He stepped directly into your breathing space, his broad chest stopping half a millimeter away from the thin silk, his height casting a massive shadow over your parted lips.
"Excited?" Jungwonâs voice dropped into a gravelly rasp that vibrated down your ribs. He let out a dark scoff, his hot breath hitting your throat. "Standing there in white silk after spending the afternoon letting three hundred men photograph your waist, and the midnight letting Jung Jaehyun play with your straps."
His hands shot out from the dark.
He gripped the fragile silk of your camisole right at your ribs. His knuckles pressed hard into your warm flesh as he deliberately bunched the fabric in his fists, hauling your torso hard against the immovable, burning plane of his chest.
"Smile again," Jungwon whispered against your trembling lips. "Do that soft, pretty thing with your eyes you did for him downstairs. Let me see how long it takes me to rip this off you."
A fine, uncontrollable tremor started in your chest, vibrating the thin silk against his knuckles.
Jungwon felt it.
His grip stalled. Instead of pulling the silk over your head, his crooked dimple carved into his cheekâa look of such devastating supremacy it felt like a hand wrapping around your windpipe.
"Keep shaking," Jungwon rasped against your shoulder, his teeth grazing your neck just hard enough to send a violent jolt down to your toes. "I want him to see your face tomorrow and wonder why you look so tired. I want him to know you spent the entire night being dismantled by a junior."
The word junior hit the air like a dropped match.
It was meant to be his arrogant checkmate. But as his hot breath fanned your ear, your unyielding pride finally snapped back.
You didn't shrink against the mattress.
Slowly, fighting the frantic thudding of your pulse, your hands lifted. Your fingertips bypassed his collarbones, sliding up the hot column of his throat, slipping past his jaw to bury themselves deep into the dark hair at the base of his skull.
You didn't push him away; you hooked your fingers into his hair and forcefully pulled his head backward, forcing his dilated pupils to look down at you.
"You talk too much, Yang Jungwon," you breathed out.
Your voice wasnât a scream; it was a low, ruined whisper that cut through the quiet room.
A microscopic twitch hit his eyelid. The dimple froze.
"For someone so obsessed with efficiency..." you murmured, your thumb tracing his jawbone, applying just enough pressure for him to feel your nail. "...youâve spent three minutes talking, and zero minutes taking this off me. So tell me, Leader... are you going to keep talking, or are you actually going to do your job?"
Lethal.
The dimple snapped out of existence. The feline software crashed completely, leaving behind something totally unshielded and primitive.
He took a sharp intake of oxygen, his jaw locking so hard the bone looked ready to pierce his skin.
His hands disengaged from your ribs, sliding rapidly around your waist to splay wide across your lower back. His thumbs hooked over the fragile hem of your silk shorts, and with one fluid step forward, his thigh parted your knees.
He maintained complete surface contact as he bore you down onto the mattress. The sheer contrast of the ice-cold hotel sheets against your back, combined with the boiling furnace of his chest pressing you down, dragged a sharp gasp out of your throat.
He was bracketed entirely over you, his broad shoulders casting your face into shadow.
Reaching down between your bodies, his long fingers caught the hem of your camisole. With a slowness that bordered on torture, Jungwon dragged the liquid silk upward. The cool air of the suite hit your bare stomach, followed instantly by the rough, scorching pad of his palm trailing directly behind the rising fabric. He pushed the silk up until it bunched securely beneath the heavy swell of your chest.
He looked down at your bared torso, his breathing entirely ragged.
"I wasn't just talking," Jungwon rasped, his voice a vibrating growl against your lips as his thumb forcefully snapped the fragile white ribbon down over your branded shoulder. "But since you're so impatient..."
He bypassed your mouth entirely.
His entire center of gravity shifted downward. Sliding his broad torso over your thighs, his face dropped until his warm brow hovered an inch above your waistline.
His long thumbs found the waistband of your sleep shorts. With an agonizing, slow drag against your skin, Jungwon pulled the elastic down just two inches. Just enough to expose that soft, fiercely private stretch of your lower abdomen.
His head lowered.
The micro-second his parted lips pressed flat against your bare skin, an involuntary, fractured sound tore out of your throat. It wasnât a frantic kiss; it was a damp, scorching brand.
He kissed the jumping flutter of your diaphragm, his broad palms anchoring your hips immaculately flat to the mattress. His mouth trailed with maddening thoroughness over your stomach, climbing higher until his hot breath hit your collarbones. He buried his face directly into the sensitive crook of your throat.
For ten agonizing seconds, he simply kept his face buried there, drinking the frantic thudding of your pulse. But as his nose caught the faint trace of Jaehyun's cologne from the terrace, his golden-boy restraint shattered.
"No," Jungwon rasped against your wet skin. His teeth scraped harshly against the tendon of your neck, making your back bow off the bed, a desperate gasp fracturing past your lips. "He doesn't get to touch this."
His open mouth dragged upward to the bare peak of your shoulder, his teeth catching the exact spot his thumb had bruised red upstairs, pressing down hard enough to make your vision blur.
"Tell your team to look at this neck tomorrow," Jungwon commanded into your skin, his voice dropping to a feral register as his thumb dug mercilessly into your hip. "This is my territory. It belongs to me."
He lifted his head, his dark pupils locking onto your wide eyes as his hand slid up to completely cage your jaw.
"And the next time he asks for your morning schedule..." his thumb brutally parted your trembling lower lip, his face hovering a millimeter from yours, "...you tell him I kept you far too exhausted to drink espresso."
For three excruciating seconds, the room hung in absolute tension.
You looked up into the smoldering eclipse of his pupils and made the conscious decision to give him exactly what he wanted.
You didnât pull your chin away. You leaned into it.
Your right hand, still tangled in his hair, tightened violently. With an aggressive arch of your spine that forced your naked chest against his polo, you hauled his face down.
"Then make me forget his name," you breathed out.
The voice was a scraped-raw, entirely undone plea. You dropped the industry protocol. You looked him dead in the eye and dismantled the hierarchy.
"Show me, Jungwon-ah."
His real name hit his brain like dynamite.
A sharp, completely unhinged sound tore out of his throat. His thumb slipped inside your mouth, pressing flat against your tongue as his free hand shot up, tangling so aggressively into your hair that he locked your skull to the mattress.
"Say it again," Jungwon growled right against your lips, dropping his weight entirely to pin your hips down. "Say my name like that again while I tear this off you."
When his mouth crashed onto yours, it was a dark, wet, devouring collision. He kissed you with an agonizing rhythm, his teeth catching your lower lip, hauling a muffled moan out of your throat that he instantly swallowed.
His hand caught the fragile strap resting right above his red thumbprint on your shoulder. He closed his fist and violently yanked downward.
The sharp, beautiful sound of the silk tearing echoed through the quiet suite.
As the ruined fabric gave way, laying the warm swell of your breasts completely bare to the dark, the visual paralyzed him for a second. Jungwon hovered over you, his chest heaving, his dark eyes tracking the frantic rise and fall of your ribs with starved reverence.
And then, his mouth came down.
His lips dropped like a heavy weight directly onto the sensitive peak of your breast. The shocking contrast of his hot, wet mouth closing over your sensitized flesh dragged a sharp jolt straight through your spine. His teeth grazed the peakâdeliberate and testingâbefore his tongue soothed the sting with a slow, heavy lap that made your fingers dig violently into his shoulders.
"Pay attention," Jungwon rasped against your flesh.
His left hand began its systematic exploration. His calloused palm dragged flat over your stomach, hooking into the waistband of your shorts and pushing them down until your lower body was laid completely open to the chilled air.
He gripped the soft curve of your hip, his hand sliding underneath your knee to forcefully haul your leg up over his narrow waist, locking your pelvis immaculately flush against his.
There wasn't a single millimeter of distance left.
When his calloused thumb pressed a heavy, scorching upward line over your lower stomach, your composure finally snapped.
"Jungwonâugh, pleaseâ" a small, fragile whimper broke in your throat.
The sound hit the air, and the mattress caught fire.
Jungwonâs frame violently locked. His head snapped up, his breathing a harsh rattle.
"Don't say please," he growled.
His left hand shot up, catching both of your wrists and slamming them hard into the pillows above your head, his long fingers caging your forearms in a vice.
"You don't get to make a sound like that and ask for mercy," Jungwon rasped right against your mouth. His bared face was a mask of dark obsession. "Do it again. Make that exact sound again while I put myself inside you."
He laid siege to your mouth. His tongue parted your teeth with brute force, sweeping the warm interior, swallowing every breathless whimper you tried to make.
His right hand dropped like a plumb line.
Past the dip of your navel, until his broad palm cupped the heavy, slick heat of your pussy. The boiling temperature of his flesh against that fiercely private skin drew a high, fractured sound out of you.
He didn't plunge immediately. He splayed his fingers wide across your pelvis, pressing down with such heavy weight that your hips were physically welded to the mattress. You couldn't squirm away. You were pinned completely open.
Slowly, his thumb slid downward.
It caught the swollen apex. He pressed flat, heavy, and hard against the nerves, dragging his thumb upward with an agonizing friction that sent a blinding spike of electricity up your spine. Your back arched violently.
His middle and index fingers finally dipped South.
They slid past your wet threshold with an agonizingly slow, dragging pressure. You gasped into his mouth, your internal muscles instinctively clamping down around the intrusion. But he just pushed deeper, until his knuckles disappeared into your boiling heat.
He curled his fingers upward.
A sharp, animalistic shriek tore out of your lungs. He hit the deepest, most sensitized part of you. He didn't give your nervous system a second to recover, driving his digits in a heavy, piston-like upward stroke over and over again. The wet, unmistakable sound of your body accommodating his hand echoed through the room.
While his fingers hooked deep inside you, his heavy thumb remained locked over your clitoris, grinding down with a punishing, circular friction.
"Jungwonâugh, Godâplease, Jungwonâ" your ruined whimpers thrashed against the pillows. You were drowning in the sensation, your pelvis involuntarily jerking upward to meet the brutal tempo of his hand.
The two submerged digits inside you suddenly stopped moving. They locked deep inside your heat like a solid wedge, keeping your internal muscles permanently stretched.
That left his thumb with an absolute monopoly over the external nerve.
He didn't use a light touch. He pressed down with an agonizingly heavy, slow grind. The rough leather of his thumbpad rolled back and forth with an unyielding friction that crossed straight into sensory overload.
A high shriek tore past your lips, your spine snapping into a rigid arch.
"Jungwonâfuck, pleaseâit hurts, itâs too muchâ" your voice disintegrated into sobbing whimpers. You were crying now, genuine, feverish tears streaming down your temples. Your manicured nails clawed frantically at his fist pinning your wrists.
"Finish it, ugh, God, I can't take itâ" you begged, your untouchable runway hubris completely burning to ash.
Jungwon leaned down, his sweat-sheened face hovering a mere millimeter above your ruined features. "See what my hand is doing," he rasped, his jaw flexing. "See what this does to you."
His thumb pressed a fraction deeper, holding the punishing weight perfectly still at the absolute precipice of your release. You let out a choked sob.
"Beg me to let you drop," he commanded into your mouth. "Say 'Please let me come, Jungwon-ah.' Say it!"
Your pride died its final, beautiful death.
"Pleaseâugh, God, please let me come, Jungwon-ah!" you sobbed blindly into his throat.
The exact micro-second the surrender left your lips, Jungwonâs thumb executed a rapid, devouring vibration while his fingers violently thrust upward.
A massive wave of pure white static swallowed your brain as the climax ripped through your torso. Jungwon caught your final, broken wail with his open mouth, devouring your tears as he held you through the violent aftershocks.
Hovering directly over your trembling frame, his crooked dimple slowly carved its way back into his cheekâsickeningly smug.
Slowly, maintaining a deliberate drag against your twitching walls, Jungwon pulled his fingers out.
The sound was heavy in the quiet room. You let out a weak exhale, trying to flutter your eyes shut, but he didn't let you hide. He lifted his hand into the narrow space between your faces, catching the amber light to let you look at it.
His long fingers were entirely drenched, glistening with the undeniable proof of your ruin.
"Beautiful," Jungwon murmured, his voice replaced by a soft, teasing drawl. He tilted his head to the side. "You completely flooded my hand. And here I thought Prada ambassadors kept their composure."
A hot flush of humiliation hit your cheeks. You let out a tiny gasp, but his hand tightened on your wrists, anchoring you in place.
His glistening hand descended. The wet pads of his fingers pressed directly against your panting lower lip.
"Open," he commanded softly.
The second your teeth parted, Jungwon pushed both drenched digits past your lips, lodging them flat against your tongue. The taste of your own heavy heat hit your tastebuds instantly.
A muffled whimper got trapped in your throat.
"Good girl," Jungwon purred, his free thumb splaying across your jawline as he slowly pumped his fingers in and out of your wet mouth. "Clean it off for me. Make my hand spotless."
When he finally released your wrists, he shifted his weight back. In one violent, sweeping upward tear, he dragged the dark polo over his head and cast it into the shadows.
The visual hit your wide eyes like a flashbang.
Stripped of the dark armor, the indigo light poured over the broad, sculpted expanse of his torso. A fine sheen of sweat coated his chest, heaving with ragged intakes of oxygen. You stared at the hard line of his abs, your sanity completely snapping. Your hand lifted, your slick-coated fingertips reaching out to leave a long, glossy streak across his stomach.
"Jungwon..." your voice broke, a desperate sob escaping your lips as your hips arched up, seeking him blindly. "Please... I need it."
The heavy metallic clink of his belt buckle disengaging echoed through the suite.
He pushed his trousers down, his broad palms immediately catching both of your thighs and hauling them wide over his narrow hips. He aligned himself perfectly against you.
But he didn't thrust.
Instead, with a slowness that crossed into psychological warfare, Jungwon let the broad, scorching head of his dick rest against your drenched entrance. He applied zero forward momentum. Just the heavy, solid pressure grazing your threshold.
A frustrated wail broke past your teeth, your pelvis attempting to buck upward, but his hands clamped down over your hipbones, pinning you immaculately still.
"Ah-ah. Who gave you permission to move?" Jungwon purred. He leaned down, propping his weight on his forearms. "You need what, Sunbaenim? Use your vocabulary. Tell me what you're begging for."
"Put your dick inâfuck, Jungwon please, put it inside meâ" you sobbed, thrashing your head.
Jungwon let out a wicked scoff, executing a microscopic, teasing grind against your entrance that made your toes curl.
"So impatient," Jungwon rasped, his voice a filthy vibration. "I haven't even pushed, and your pussy is already trying to pull me in. You're completely drenched for me."
He pressed down one single centimeter. Just enough to breach the slick ring.
The stretch dragged an arching shriek out of your lungs. He froze right there. Half-in, half-out.
"Watch," Jungwon commanded, his thumb sliding up to force your chin down so your wide eyes had to witness the point of entry. "Look at how much you have to stretch just to take the head. Tell me it's too big for you. Say 'You're stretching me out.'"
Your world-class hubris ground itself into fine ash.
You looked up from the point of entry, locking your wet retinas straight into the smoking eclipse of his pupils.
"Put it in," you sobbed out. The voice was a ruined, filthy plea. "Fuck, Jungwon-ah... stretch me out. Put all of your dick inside me. Please... break me."
The word break acted as the final system override.
The smug dimple vanished. A raw, subterranean roar of pure male possession tore out of him.
He didn't give you a second to brace. Releasing your chin, his palms slammed down onto your hipbones, and with one brutal, devastating drive of his hipsâhe buried the entire, scorching length of himself inside you to the absolute hilt.
The impact was catastrophic.
The heavy, resounding slap of his thighs crashing against your hips knocked the oxygen out of your lungs. Your spine bowed so violently off the sheets that only your shoulders remained grounded, a high, animalistic shriek of his name ripping past your vocal cords.
It filled you completely, an agonizing, breathtaking density that stretched your interior to its limit.
He pulled back almost to the tip, the friction dragging a sobbing whimper out of your throat, before he drove back in with a merciless, bone-rattling velocity.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
The suite was reduced entirely to the frantic, wet sound of flesh colliding at blinding frequency. Every single downward drive was delivered with such unyielding force that your body was shunted backward, your fingers digging desperately into the sweat-soaked muscle of his shoulders.
You were moaning like a madwoman, a continuous cascade of unhinged pleasure. Your pussy was actively clenching, frantically milking the scorching length of him with every stroke, driving him feral.
His hands abandoned your hips, sliding underneath your thighs to forcefully hook your legs high over his broad shoulders, opening you completely. His dark hair was drenched, falling wildly over his eyes as he slammed into you with relentless hunger.
"Taking all of itâfuck, you feel so tightâwhose pussy is this?!" he growled, a ragged, hyper-ventilating rasp. "WHOSE IS INSIDE YOU?!"
"Yours! Ugh, God, yours, Jungwon-ah! Only yours!" you screamed blindly, your vision whiting out.
The absolute honesty of your scream broke his final restraint. Leaning down to crush his chest against yours, Jungwon caught your open mouth in a devouring collisionâswallowing your loudest shrieks whole as his hips locked into a frantic, blinding rhythm, driving both of your bodies straight over the edge.
But he wasn't finished.
Instead of collapsing, his iron grip suddenly shifted away from your thighs. His broad palms slid up to wrap around your waistline, his fingers digging into your soft flesh.
"Turn over," Jungwon rasped.
In one fluid sweep, he dismantled your forward-facing surrender. He hauled you over until your bare knees hit the mattress and your chest was pressed flat against the pillows. You were completely inverted. Upended. Your hips elevated high into the chilled air, your face buried sideways into the linen.
Total sensory deprivation.
The suite fell into a heavy quiet. You couldn't see him. Every microscopic sound sent a blinding spike of panic down your spine. Your muscles were frantically jumping, bracing for the blunt drive of his hips.
Nothing came.
"Jungwon...?" you whispered blindly into the pillow, your voice trembling. "What are you doing? Pleaseâ"
"Shh," the low purr drifted down from above your shoulder.
His long index finger traced the bare curve of your spine, sliding slow and heavy all the way down into the deep cleft where your thighs parted, dragging a single line of your own wetness up your back. You shuddered violently.
You heard the soft thud of his knees shifting as his center of gravity dropped completely.
The exact micro-second the wet, impossibly soft flat of his tongue struck the epicenter of your biology from behindâ
GASP.
A fractured shriek tore out of your lungs. Because of the inverted angle, the devouring upward lap of his tongue hit your clitoris with double the intensity. Your spine bowed downward, your hips bucking backward in a frantic attempt to escape the over-stimulation, but his massive palms shot outâgripping your thighs and locking your pelvis immaculately flush against his mouth.
He ate you alive.
It was a dark, wet, starved consumption. He buried his face entirely into your slick heat, his tongue executing a rapid flick that caught the raw nerve again and again. Every time your hips tried to thrash away, his thumbs dug brutally into your thighs, forcing your pussy to completely flood his mouth.
"Jungwonâugh, God, Jungwon-ah!" you sobbed blindly into the silk, your nails clawing at the headboard. "Stopâplease, I can't see you, fuck, please!"
He spoke directly against your drenched flesh, his teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin. "You don't need to see me," Jungwon rasped, his voice physically rattling your pubic bone. "You just need to feel what I'm doing to you. Tell me who's tasting your pussy."
"You areâugh, God, you are, Jungwon-ah!" you wailed out as his tongue executed a brutal, devouring swirl.
"Beg for it properly," he growled. "Don't tell me to stop. Beg me to keep going. Scream it so loud the hallway hears you!"
"Pleaseâugh, God, fuck, please keep going! Please don't stop!" you sobbed, your entire body locking into a rigid paralysis as the blinding wave of the climax ripped through your torso.
The micro-second your internal walls clamped down, violently shuddering, Jungwonâs mouth clamped down over the slick apexâdevouring your climax whole, drinking every drop of your heat as he let you sob his name into the dark until your arms gave out beneath you.
He didnât bother with pleasantries. He grabbed your waist, hauled your shaking body up from the mattress, and steered you toward the master bathroom. He was radiating a heat so intense your skin felt scorched against his palms.
He pressed your chest against the ice-cold glass of the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The freezing surface sent a violent shiver down your spine. Your palms pressed flat against the vanity, sliding down the glass as you tried to steady yourself.
His left hand wound brutally through your hair, hauling your head backward to force your chin up.
"Open your eyes," he hissed.
The woman in the glass looked like a stranger. Your hair was a tangled disaster, your lips swollen and parted, your eyes wide and weeping, locked onto the sight of Jungwonâs dark, predatory face looming over your shoulder.
"This is what you become when the lights are off," he growled into your ear, his breath hot and smelling of pure desire. "You're not the untouchable darling anymore. You belong to me."
His right hand left your hip, sliding upward over your stomach until he reached your breast. He grabbed the heavy weight of you with his damp palm, his fingers digging into the soft flesh.
The reflection was devastating. You watched his hand violently kneading the pale swell of your breast. His thumb hooked onto the peak, rolling the nipple with a punishing friction that sent white-hot lightning bolts directly into your core.
A broken keening sound ripped out of your throat.
"You have no idea how beautiful you are like this," Jungwon purred against your ear. He pinched the nipple, twisting it with a sharp flick of his wrist.
You shrieked, your face contorting in beautiful ruin. He reached down, his fingers abandoning your breasts to violently lock onto your hips, and without a second of hesitationâhe shoved himself forward.
Deep.
The impact knocked the breath out of you. You watched in the mirror as his hips crashed into yours, the sensation of his thick length slamming into your core from behind dragging a jagged scream out of your lungs.
"Keep your eyes on the mirror," Jungwon gritted out, his jaw locked as he hammered into you with a feral, unrelenting pace.
Every time he thrust, your shoulders jerked upward, your body helplessly folding against the cold glass. You were a wreckâsobbing, gasping, your reflection showing every jagged inch of your surrender while Jungwon stared at you, his face a mask of cold, unblinking triumph.
His hands gripped your hips so hard the imprints of his fingers were left on your skin, his rhythm quickening into a blinding blur that made the glass vibrate. "Watch me ruin you until you can't remember your own name."
Your reflection was a masterpiece of total surrenderâthe glass fogging up with the frantic steam of your combined heat.
"Say it," he gritted out, his hips slamming into you with a final, devastating velocity that made your head snap back against his shoulder. "Tell the mirror whose dick is inside you before I make you shatter!"
"I'M YOURS! UGH, GOD, JUNGWON-AH, I'M YOURS!" you wailed into the glass, your hands clawing desperately at the mirror, as he finally lost his last shred of control and drove his release into the very center of your soul.
The heavy, pulsating aftershocks of your climax were still actively rippling through your body, your forehead resting against the cool, fogged-up glass of the vanity mirror as you desperately tried to remember how to breathe.
You were entirely shattered. Your legs were trembling so violently they could barely hold your weight, kept upright only by the brutal, unyielding grip of Jungwonâs hands on your hips.
He hadn't pulled out.
Even after delivering his own release deep into your core, the sheer, heavy thickness of his dick remained buried inside you to the hilt. The heat radiating from his sweat-slicked chest against your bare back was a molten furnace.
You let out a shaky, pathetic little exhale, your eyelids fluttering open to stare blindly into the mirror.
Through the hazy steam of your combined body heat, your eyes locked onto the reflection standing behind you.
Yang Jungwon didnât look exhausted. He didn't look like a boy who had just emptied himself. His dark hair was a messy, damp halo around his face, and as your tear-blurred retinas met his pitch-black eyes in the glass, his expression shifted.
The corner of his mouth ticked upward.
It wasnât a gentle smile. It was a slow, sickeningly smug, incredibly wicked smirk. That signature, devastating dimple carved its way into his left cheekâa feature adored by millions of fans for its boyish sweetness. But right now, looking at it in the dim, indigo-lit bathroom, there was absolutely nothing sweet about it. It was pure, unadulterated evil. It was the face of a twenty-two-year-old brat who knew he held absolute, godlike power over you.
"Why do you look like you're finished, Sunbaenim?" Jungwon purred.
His voice was a dark, filthy rasp that sent a fresh shiver straight down your spine. He tilted his head, his dark eyes sparkling with malicious amusement in the mirror.
"Did you think a twenty-two-year-old was done after one round?"
Your breath hitched. Oh, God.
Before your brain could even process the threat, Jungwonâs hips snapped forward. He didn't pull all the way back; he executed a short, brutal, agonizingly deep grind, forcing the broad head of his dick to scrape directly against your most sensitive internal wall.
A sharp, broken squeak slipped past your lips, your hips involuntarily jerking backward to take him deeper.
"Look at you," Jungwon laughedâa dark, breathy sound that vibrated against the back of your neck. "Your pussy is still twitching around my dick. You're squeezing me so fucking tight."
He started to move again.
It wasn't the frantic, blinding pace from the bed. It was a slow, agonizing, deliberate roll of his hips. He pulled out just enough to let the cold air kiss your swollen entrance, before sliding the entire, thick length back inside you with a wet, heavy slosh that echoed obscenely off the marble tiles.
"Jungwonâahhh, wait, pleaseâ" you whimpered, your fingers slipping helplessly against the fogged glass. You were too sensitive. The over-stimulation was instant, making your knees buckle.
But Jungwon wasn't interested in mercy. He was in a purely teasing, deeply sadistic mood.
His left hand remained locked on your hip like a vice, but his right hand abandoned your waist. You watched in the mirror as his large, calloused hand slid around to the front of your stomach. The visual was incredibly debasingâhis dark, rough skin trailing down the pale, sweat-slicked canvas of your stomach, moving lower and lower until his fingers disappeared between your thighs.
The second his hand met the drenched, swollen heat of your pussy, you let out a godless moan.
He didn't just touch you. He slipped two fingers into the slick wetness framing his own dick, feeling how tightly your entrance was stretched around him, before his thumb deliberately traveled upward.
He found the swollen, hyper-sensitized little pearl of your clitoris.
"Look at the mirror," Jungwon commanded, his voice dropping into a register so filthy it made your stomach drop. "Open your eyes and look at what I'm doing to you."
You forced your heavy eyes to focus on the glass. The sight of your own completely ruined face, paired with the visual of his thumb pressing directly against your clit while his dick slid in and out of you from behind, snapped your sanity completely in half.
He started to rub.
It wasn't gentle. He used a firm, rapid, agonizingly wet friction, pressing the calloused pad of his thumb against the raw nerve while he simultaneously buried his hips deep inside you.
"FUCK!" you shrieked, your head snapping back to rest perfectly in the crook of his neck. Your spine arched so violently your stomach pushed forward against his working hand.
"That's it," Jungwon growled, his breathing turning ragged as he picked up his pace, slamming into you while his thumb relentlessly worked your clit. "Look at the great Prada muse. Look at how beautifully you take my dick. You look like a completely used little slut for me right now, don't you?"
The dirty talk hit you like a physical strike. Your world-class elegance was entirely gone, replaced by a desperate, sobbing mess of pure instinct.
"Yesâugh, God, yes!" you wailed, your internal walls convulsing wildly around his length.
"Say it," he demanded, his smirk turning into a feral snarl as he pinched the hood of your clitoris, sending a blinding bolt of white-hot electricity straight to your brain. He thrust deeper, bottoming out so hard you felt the impact in your ribs. "Tell me what you are. Tell me whose dick is completely stretching out your pussy right now!"
"Yours! It's your dick, Jungwon-ah!" you sobbed out, your face a mask of absolute ecstasy in the mirror. "I'm yoursâfuck, I'm your slutâ"
"Good girl," he praised, his voice a filthy, vibrating growl right against your ear. "Look at how much you love it. Look at how your pussy eats my dick every time I pull back. You're so fucking wet for me it's dripping down my fingers."
His thumb sped up, executing a rapid, merciless vibration directly on the raw nerve, perfectly syncing with the brutal, slapping rhythm of his hips. It was total sensory overload. The feeling of being stretched so fully from behind while your clit was being aggressively tortured in the front pushed your brain into a state of pure, absolute delirium.
"JungwonâI can'tâI'm going toâugh, fuck, I'm coming! I'm coming!" you screamed blindly at the mirror, your nails clawing desperately at his forearm.
"Come for my dick then!" Jungwon roared back, his boyish facade entirely dead, replaced by a completely unhinged apex predator.
He slammed into you with a blinding, savage velocity, his thumb pressing down with crushing force on your clit right as you tipped over the edge. You shattered. A massive, world-ending climax ripped through your entire body, your screams echoing off the cold marble as your pussy clamped down around his dick with violent, milking spasms.
Jungwon let out a guttural, scraped-raw groan, his eyes rolling back as he drove his hips forward one final, devastating time, completely losing himself inside your absolute ruin.
Forty-five minutes later, the marble bathroom had been thoroughly cleansed of its sins. The steaming cascade of the shower had washed away the primal instincts and the feral madness that had completely possessed the two of you, leaving behind a heavy, remarkably warm, and intensely domestic quiet.
The godless, merciless predator from the vanity mirror was entirely gone.
You were sitting up against the headboard of the freshly made bed, dressed in a simple, soft champagne-silk nightgown that draped loosely over your exhausted frame. The air in the suite no longer smelled of sweat, heavy friction, and Tom Fordâs Oud Wood; instead, it was replaced by the soft, comforting scent of clean linen and expensive hotel body wash.
The bathroom door clicked open. Jungwon padded out into the dim bedroom, completely shirtless and wearing nothing but a pair of dark, low-slung cotton boxers. His damp, dark hair fell softly over his forehead in fluffy, unstyled waves. Looking at the broad, immaculately sculpted expanse of his bare chest now, he didn't look like the terrifying, hyper-calculating Leader of ENHYPEN, and he definitely didn't look like the man who had just systematically dismantled your sanity.
He looked like a devastatingly exhausted, twenty-two-year-old boy who was about to be terribly, terribly clingy.
Jungwon didn't just climb onto the mattress. He crawled straight toward you, bypassed the duvet entirely, and dropped his entire, dead weight directly onto your lap. Wrapping his muscular arms tightly around your waist, he pressed his bare, warm chest flush against yours and buried his damp face straight into the crook of your neck. He clung to you like a giant, oversized koala that violently refused to be detached from its tree.
A soft, genuine laugh bubbled up from your chest. You let your body sink back into the pillows, your hands automatically lifting to thread your fingers gently through his damp hair.
"You're heavy, Yang Jungwon," you teased softly.
"Don't care," he mumbled into your skin, his bare shoulders shifting as he tightened his octopus-grip around your waist. He nuzzled his nose stubbornly against your jawline with a soft huff. "I hate everything right now."
You paused the soothing motion of your fingers, tilting your chin down to look at the top of his head. "Hate what, hm?"
Jungwon let out a long, dramatic sigh. He turned his face just enough to rest his chin directly on your chest, looking up at you with wide, round, incredibly sulky cat eyes. His dimple made an appearance, but it wasn't the wicked, arrogant slash from the bathroom. It was the soft, devastatingly sweet dimple of a boy who was legitimately pouting.
"I hate this secret," he complained, his voice dropping into a soft, whining register. "I hate that we have to act like we don't know each other outside."
You smiled fondly, gently brushing a damp strand of hair out of his eyes. "You were the one who lectured the manager about maintaining a strict thirty-foot radius this afternoon, remember?"
"That was before I had to stand behind a velvet rope and watch you show off your stomach to three hundred Italian photographers," he grumbled, his eyebrows furrowing adorably. "And that was before Jaehyun-sunbaenim decided he had the right to stand in your breathing space and touch your dress. If the world knew you were mine, no man would even dare to breathe near your shoulder. I swear."
Your heart did a strange, incredibly warm flutter against your ribs. The sheer contrast of it allâthe transition from the dominant, territorial king who commanded you in the dark, to this sulking, shirtless, jealous puppy resting on your lapâmade you entirely, hopelessly weak for him.
"He was just being polite, Jungwon-ah," you murmured, trying to soothe him.
"He was flirting," Jungwon argued instantly, entirely unconvinced. He released his grip on your waist with one hand just to point an accusing finger at the thin silk strap of your nightgown. "Everyone in this industry knows you're the untouchable Prada darling. But because we're a secret, these guys actually think they have a chance. They think you're single. I hate seeing the way they look at you. I really, really hate it."
His dark eyes stared up at you with such pure, unshielded honesty that your remaining model ego completely melted into the sheets. It wasn't just blind, irrational jealousy; it was the sheer weight of his love for you, a fierce protective instinct crashing headfirst into the reality of your careers.
You brought both of your hands down, warmly cupping his slightly flushed cheeks and stroking his sharp cheekbones with your thumbs.
"You're acting like a giant baby right now," you whispered, a teasing, affectionate smile playing on your lips.
"I am your baby," he replied instantly, possessing absolutely zero shame. He shifted his weight up just enough to press a soft peck to your lips, then your nose, and finally your forehead in rapid succession. "Your baby. Your man. Your leader. All of it."
A bright, breathy laugh escaped you. You wrapped your arms around his bare neck, pulling his face back down until your noses bumped gently. His breathing was warm and incredibly grounding.
"Listen to me," you whispered, holding his adoring gaze. "They can photograph me all they want. They can see me on the covers of Vogue, on billboards, and on the runways. But when the after-party ends and the cameras finally turn off..." You paused, tracing his jawline with infinite tenderness. "...who gets to see me wearing a simple silk nightgown? Who do I let into my hotel suite to... do all those things to me?"
A brilliant, incredibly shy blush crept up Jungwonâs neck and dusted his cheeksâa physical reaction that wildly contradicted the absolute filth he had whispered to you just an hour ago.
"Me," he squeaked softly, a wide, genuine smile finally breaking across his face, carving both of his sweet dimples incredibly deep into his cheeks.
"Exactly. Only you, Yang Jungwon," you nodded, pressing a slow, sweet, and deeply affectionate kiss to his lips. There was no frantic hunger this time, just the absolute, undeniable safety of belonging to each other. "So let them look. Because at the end of the day, I come home to you."
Jungwon closed his eyes, leaning into the kiss as if your words were the only oxygen left in the room. When he pulled back, his eyes curved into two perfect, happy crescents.
He immediately buried his face back into the warm crook of your neck, inhaling your scent deeply as he tangled his bare legs with yours, locking you down in a full-body embrace. The heat radiating from his bare skin against your silk nightgown was the most comforting sensation in the world.
"Good," he mumbled, his voice returning to that adorable, satisfied purr. "Tomorrow morning at the Prada breakfast, I'm lending you my jacket. Let all the European photographers figure out exactly where the smell of Oud Wood on your clothes came from."
"Jungwon, oh my Godâdon't cause a PR nightmare," you laughed, lightly slapping his broad, bare back, even as you hugged him just as tightly.
"Don't care," he mumbled sleepily against your collarbone, his eyes fluttering shut as the exhaustion finally caught up to him. "Just cuddle me until morning. And don't move too far."
A/N: Hi everyone! đ€ To be completely honest, I am SO nervous right now HAHA đ This is my very first time writing smut, so I really stepped out of my comfort zone for this one! I just couldn't get the idea of a ridiculously jealous, high-tension Prada!Jungwon out of my head, and I really wanted to capture that perfect duality: the merciless, dominant man behind closed doors, and the whiny, super clingy boyfriend right after.
Please go easy on me! I hope I managed to deliver the heavy tension and the Milan Fashion Week vibe properly. Let me know your thoughts in the comments or tagsâreading your feedback seriously means the world to me and calms my nerves down a lot! đ„ș
Summary: Jake has been thinking about you since that day you win over him in a boxing match, but because of you hidden identity. Now that he finally recognized you in campus. Fun things are going to happen.
âŠ
Sweat, and testosterone is what supposedly is the smell of the underground ring.
No one, expects anything different than men who are bulky enough for bodybuilding contests.
Not all of them. Though.
Boxing is not about weight, muscles or bones. Itâs about strategy. Or so thought Jake.
So when he steps to the ring, he has one thing to rely on better than muscular mass. Brains.
He knows how to read facial expressions on the opponents, and predict the next move while concealing his own. A skill he has developed after some matches in this ring since his freshman year.
He trained his reflexes more than his punches.
Trial and error, had him master weaknesses of all kinds of opponents. The reckless ones. The confident ones. The overthinkers. The beginners.
He knew how to deal with them all.
Thatâs what made him stand out in the ring. He made multiple people lose their bets for underestimating his height and weight.
Now he was waiting for his opponent for today. Jay, or at least thatâs his ring name.
His rival from the moment he stepped on the ring.
Their first match was the most challenging for Jake. Jay, had enough tactics and enough skill to be on par with Jake. He was taller and more built, but also smart. A healthy combination.
Moreover, their fighting style was different. It frustrated them both.
Jay relied on offense. He found any opening within the millisecond. And delivered fast punches.
While Jake was more on the defense. He waited for the one opportunity that could knock the opponent down.
It ended in a tie. Their first fight was dragged for so long the judge called quits.
They havenât got a rematch until today.
But Jay was late.
â5 more minutes.â The judge screamed to the audience. Half of them happy and the other half mad, mad that theyâre going to lose their money for bad time management.
Jake waited patiently, he hoped that Jay doesnât come on time. That he gets an easy win today, and eat the meal with the price of todayâs prize.
He was not only a fighter in boxing, but he was also a college student. One who actually studied in his off hours. He havenât seen rest since last week. Countless amount of projects and tutoring.
He just wanted to get this match over with.
But, the unexpected happened.
Instead of Jay, someone else stepped up to the ring. They were shorter than Jake by 3 cm. A black hoodie, and a mask that covered their upper face, leaving the lower exposed for breathing.
âWho are you?â The judge asked. The newcomer whispered few words to the judge. But making sure to roll their eyes at him.
âOmen will play against Jake on behalf of Jayâ the judge said.
âWait, thatâs not allowedâ Jake protested âsheâs not even a fighter in this ring. She canât just step up in place of someone elseâ
The boxer called Omen, tilted their head slightly. As in challenge.
âSheâs a new memberâ the judge said âand according to the rules, it could happen if the gamblers agreed.â
She? Now that he noticed the softness around the jaw and the plump lips, he couldnât be more surprised.
Great. Now Iâll have to hit a woman.
A roar erupted in the audience. Either that or they loose their money completely.
Jake retreated to his side. Giving up on the free dinner. But it all could go well for him.
The match started. As soon as the whistle blowed, Omen attacked Jake.
He was caught off guard, that he tried to regain his footing. But she has tripped him.
A loud âohhhhâ from the audience for the humiliation.
He got up quickly, but the opponent had already started their attacks.
They were fast from him to catch up. A surprising agility that he wasnât used to. Maybe because most of his opponents had to deal with greater mass of muscles.
Thatâs when he decided to play dirty too.
He tried to grab the mask.
It apparently was for concealing their identity.
Omen, did notice him going for the mask and retreated quickly. But Jake caught her arm slamming his weight on her.
âGive upâ he says, he used whatever strength he had over her and pined her wrists to the rings floor â I donât want to hurt youâ
He said, but he didnât realize that she was already planning to kick him where it hurts the most. She was still deciding if itâs too⊠much.
They lock eyes for a while, as if everything else was faded.
Her mask caused her to sweat more around the upper area of her face. Some sweat drops traveled from her cheeks, jawline, collarbone.
Jake got caught in watching her, that he forgot he was staring. He got caught watching a trail of her sweat in her collar bone.
âYou pervert!â She screamed, bringing him out of his daze. But too late. She has already freed her hand and punched him. Hard.
He fell to her side. And stayed limp like that for a while.
â the winner isâŠ. OMENâ the judge raised her hand up.
Jake sat there while Sunoo applied ointment on his wound.
âYou were never this hurt. Who was it?â
âI donât want to talk about itâ
âI donât think itâs Jay. Heâs known for not going for faceâ
Jake sighed. After losing he didnât go to the locker he remained there. He wanted to âŠ. He wasnât sure what he wanted to do.
Maybe apologize that he wasnât a pervert. And explaining that he wasnât trying to lookâŠ
âAiiish this is driving me crazyâ
But after a while he realized you were already gone. He waited 1 hour for nothing.
But the image of your dark eyes with the reflection of the lights on them, the only clue that he has of you might be.
One week later, he was finally done with most of the project. He can finally breathe. Not really.
He was sure he wasnât okay after that night, but heâd rather move on with his life than admit it out loud.
He was at the vending machine, getting a drink, when he turned around he saw someone was waiting the whole time for him.
But instead of being self conscious, his cheekbone throbbed. Where he was hit untill he swore he saw the stars. Omnious much.
Same height. Same eyes. Same hair colour and length.
âArenât you done yet?â She said in a cold tone, not a competitive one.
âYou pervertâ the flash back hit so that he can see if it was the same voice.
But what could he say, Iâm the guy whom you called a perv and punched that day.
Instead he moved away from the vending machine. In fact he just decided to leave.
Coward. He said to himself.
He had so many questions. But he didnât prep himself.
âI am imagining things nowâ he said, probably she didnât recognize him. Or at least she didnât show it.
He concluded, that he has been overthinking for the past week that he started to see her in the eyes of every other female.
On the other hand, you were just wishing for a can of sweet drinks to get you through the rest of the day.
Untill you bumped into him.
The pervert.
That punch was well deserved, but you feared he might have recognized you.
After all you donât want to be a new topic in university forums, you just wanted to keep a low profile untill you graduate.
And discovering that a girl fights illegally where half the uni guys attend to blow steam looks like a delicious news.
After getting your drink and making sure that guy wasnât roaming to get back at you.
You receive a new notification. It was Jay.
- Free tonight?
- What do you want?
- Soojin is coming tonight.
- Are you crazy or stupid. Actually youâre both.
- I didnât want her to, but she wanted to come. She has been worried last time when I blacked outâŠ. Just be there with her, I donât want her to be alone while Iâm at the ring.
- Only because Soojin is stubborn. I swore I would never help you concerning these fights.
- Believe me, I donât even want you there either.
- Whatever.
With that you turned off your phone and went back home.
Jake finally had his chance to fix his last mistake. A rematch with Jay today, he was determined to win this time.
But one thing has been bugging him since then.
Jay must know who Omen is, and Jay studies in the same university, so thereâs a higher chance that that girl is Omen.
So he was determined to ask him that first, thatâs why he came early.
To wait for Jayâs arrival.
And soon enough, he was there but not alone.
He was with her. The girl he met next to the vending machine.
They didnât notice him waiting, but he could see how close they were. Physically, their arms were brushing, and they were so deep into the conversation.
And it didnât set well with him at all.
They stopped at the exit, where he stood.
âA word with you?â Jake said, talking to Jay. But no matter how much he wanted to stop himself. He glanced at the girl he met not long ago that day.
âRight.â Jay said. Ushering you inside.
âWhat do you want to talk about?â Jay asked. Inside the locker rooms, both of them started getting ready. Both were back to back.
Jay changed into a tank top, showing his arms. He must have worked out even more compared to last time.
And Jake remained in his light grey hoodie. He was concentrated on fixing the tape on the Knuckles. Until he blurted out.
âYou know Omen?â He asked. Jake mentally slapped himself. While Jay froze. He turned around.
âYou know her??â
âI fought with her instead of youâ Jake said.
âOh⊠rightâ Jay said visibly sighing âI had an emergency. My girlfriend was sick. Otherwise I wouldnât have not comeâ
Oh. So that girl that was with him, she was not Omen.
He knew he was overthinking.
âWhy are you asking?â
âNothing. Seems like you had enough reason, but this match Iâll make sure it doesnât end with a tieâ
âOf course it wonât, because I will kick your assâ
On the ring. Both of them were fierce. They were sweating, lips slightly busted at the corners.
Jake usually is logical in his fights, but today he has to calm himself down but it wasnât working. Could it be rage? Or disappointment? Is that what he felt about you.
You who punched, and made him fall for you literally. But at the end he couldnât even know you properly because you were somebody elseâs.
That because he still believed that you and jay were a thing.
You were next to Soojin, in a less crowded part of the audience. Acting like a bodyguard while she screamed for Jay to win.
You made sure she wasnât next to any creepy men. It was not too far from the ring too.
But while you were focused on the surroundings, you couldnât help but take notice of Jakeâs fighting style.
It was obvious, that he wasnât the strongest player. But he was witty, and relied on his brain. Something that most fighters donât do. They chase adrenaline.
You know, because you were also a boxer before. Well, it was a long forgotten dream that you wanted to bury.
Until Jay asked you to replace him.
You accepted only, because not attending a match, could lead him out of fights for some time.
And he feared that. A lot.
Now that you are watching their fight something ignited again from your last dream. The rush you once felt came back, and the boy you punched now is determined to win. But, He wasnât logical anymore.
He was driven by something else entirely. You wondered what it was. Before you knew it you were already curious.
âAre you by chance⊠wishing for Jayâs rival to win?â Soojin asked you.
She has been staring at you the whole time. She watched how you were analyzing him, and fighting a smile from creeping into your face.
âHe is an interesting fighterâ
âHeâs beating up my boyfriendâ she sweatdropped, but understood that there might be something deeper that is starting to grow.
The fight ended withâŠ. A win.
Jake lost. No matter how much he enforced himself Jay was slightly stronger than him.
Soojin stepped up to the ring and Jay went down to greet her. They hugged tightly.
Such a romantic view.
But instead of enjoying it you looked at Jake.
He was laying there in the floor, he covered his eyes with his armâs grieving. Probably.
The sight of his chest rising and falling to catch his breath, and a bit of blood in the corner of his lips made you sympathize.
You brought a bottle of water with you. And got on the ring.
He heard footsteps and immediately looked up at you.
âWhat are you doing?â He said.
âComforting youâ you said giving him the bottle.
He then saw Jay with his actual girlfriend.
Took him 3 seconds to understand.
âYouâŠ.â
âYes, Pervertâ you said with a wink.
Jake couldnât believe it at first but he accepted the bottle of water.
Jay and you were not a thing. Got it.
He went back to his room, and found Sunoo waiting as always with bandages and aid kits
âWho patched you up?â
âLong storyâ he said jumping in his bed, and snatching his phone immediately. You offered fixing his face before he went home, you did that on the locker room. But. Nothing else happened. You just exchanged numbers.
âWho are you texting?â
âOmenâ
âYou know her now?â Sunoo rushed to his side to peek.
But Jake moved his phone away.
âYou owe me an explanationâ Sunoo sulked.
-Have you reched yet?
-Is this your attempt to flirt.
- No?
- Nice try.
-Jay and Soojin walked me home.
- Is he always with you?
- No lol.
- How do you know him.
- he comes at my fatherâs gym.
- How do you know how to fight? Your father thaught you?
- Do I get to ask a question too.
- Go ahead.
- Why were you out of it today. You were mad, and you seem like a cool headed person.
- I thought⊠nvm
- itâs Just that I saw you with Jay earlier, he explained that he had a gf. And I assumed it was you. I then realized, that maybe you arenât Omen. But still something haunted me. That it was you, and I became so confused.
You stared at the screen for a while.
He really is adorable. Like a puppy, you smiled to yourself.
- Well, yeah I am Omen. No Iâm not dating my friend. And I used to be a boxer thatâs why I replaced Jay that day.
- Why would he ask you for that.
- He doesnât want to be crossed out.
- Isnât like⊠rich. Why does he fight?
- Itâs his own motivation. He says it pushes him to improve. He says your rivalry with him is what makes him train more.
- What about you?
- I actually depend on it. To a certain degree, I used to be good at it. But I lost two times in a row now.
- You donât train enough.
- Hard to, when youâre a college student.
- Yeah it sucks.
- Why did you stop boxing. If you donât mind.
- it was my fatherâs dream not mine.
The converstion dragged on, he learned almost anything he could get.
Your major, your boxing prizes, your dream of becoming an architect âŠ. And many more.
He told you about his pet at home, his engineering path, his love for physics.
Time passed, you started meeting up in uni too.
Sunoo was with Jake gossiping about teachers and their demanding assignments. While Jake was sipping his soda can. Until he spotted you like a radar.
He raised his hand for you to see him. You did and reciprocated the wave from afar. You wore your usual style, hoodie and jeans. Your hair down and a bit messy, but it doesnât render you any less beautiful.
Sunoo stoped in his tracks, and so did Jake while you still made your way towards them.
âAre you kidding me?â
âWhat?â
âYou know a girlâ
âOmenâ Jake whispered to Sunoo before you reach them.
âHiâ
âHeyâ Jake said dreamingly. Okay. Heâs gone we lost him. Chat. thatâs what Sunoo thought.
âIs that your friend?â She asked waving at Sunoo too.
âYeah. My roomateâ Jake introduced Sunoo.
âWow your grip is strongâ Sunoo exclaimed when he shook your hand.
Jake kicked him.
But you laughed, and Jake was on cloud nine.
âSee you around. Pervertâ
âStop itâ Jake flushed pink while you moved on on your way.
âSheâs a menaceâ Sunoo said.
âI knowâ Jake actually clutched his chest dramatically.
-come at the gym today?
- me?
- yes you. Whom Iâm texting.
- yes maâam. send me the location.
So Jake did as told but he didnât expect what he would see. Jay, Soojin and you. In addition to a slightly older man.
He looked old, but he seemed strong. He was currently on a duel with Jay.
Jake gulped.
When he made his presence known. Everyone stopped.
Jay and Soojin greeted him back. You only waved. Jake could stop looking at you wore a tank top and sweatpants. That drove him creazier how can you be this hot.
But your father was the most intimidating.
âWho is he?â The man said is a deep voice. Making Jake tremble.
âFather heâs my friendâ you said stepping to Jake and draping your arm on his shoulder.
âFriend?â The old man said âare you planning on giving me a heart attack.â
Jake stood on his tracks when the father made his way towards him.
âYou fight?â
âUh, sometimesâ Jake was fidgeting. You father was taller than him. And stronger.
âGoodâ he said âfollow me to the ring. Iâll deal with you the right wayâ
You just watched Jake being dragged to the ring downstairs.
âAre we going to save him?â Jay asked. Turning to the boxing bag instead.
âNo. He needs to learn to actually fight?â
âDid he ask you to, or you just decided that for himâ
âBoth?â
On the ring Jake was fighting, and losing. Your father didnât hit him as much as to hurt him. But he humbled him through many ways.
Tripping him, twisting his arm, pushing him back whenever he got too close.
âSo you donât know how to survive a matchâ your father made the remark.
âNot really. I win most of the timesâ Jake clutched his stomach.
âWhen your opponents are stupid?â
âI just want enough to survive uni Anwâ Jake dropped on the floor.
âThatâs why you lose sometimesâ your father said.
âIâll teach you some tricks, my daughter favourits if youâre interestedâ
Jake stood up instantly, to which the trainer scoffed.
âYou fancy my daughter?â
âYes sirâ Jake said standing upright, and ready to receive any punch coming his way.
âYou prickâ
After a while, Jake was on the floor. Drenched in sweat. Your father long gone, when he realized that Jake is no longer moving out of tiredness.
âCome back tomorrowâ is all he said to him at last.
You stepped to the ring. âYou alive?â
âNo thanks to youâ he said sitting up. âYour father is a monsterâ he whispered the last part.
There he was easy in you. âHe was jut testing you, I asked him to be gentleâ
âWhy did you do that?â
âWell, you want to survive uni?â He nodded. âItâs your only way. Or, you can work a part time job?â
He rolled his eyes. âYouâre lucky i like youâ
He said it before he could stop himself making both of you freeze. He actually dropped his face to his palm when he realized.
Why did I say that out loud. He thought.
Then you stepped closer and sat in front of him taking his head in both hands.
You kissed him on his forehead, he was so tired, which made him soft around you. You moved back and looked at his eyes.
âI like you tooâ you said, close to his lips this time.
Finally, he chased your lips. Trapping you into a kiss that seemed to last too long. But he never stopped, he kissed you time and time again. Both with a stamina of someone who refused to let go.
The position was too awkward he pulled towards his lap. Snaking his arms around your waist. Allowing himself to caress you back beneath you tank top.
âYou really are such a pervertâ
âI swear it. Iâm not.â He said defending himself âI just got distracted for one secondâ
âLike now?â
âLike now.â He said pecking your lips once more âIâm sorry that day. I wasnât trying to look like a creepâ
âWell, I punched you.â
âItâs still not healedâ he pointed out.
âOh let me seeâ you inspected his cheeks, and suddenly you pecked his cheek and jaw too.
âOne more time?â He asked with his puppy eyes.
âYou both better get up before you get discoveredâ Soojin interrupted the moment. Well your father wouldnât be too happy youâre kissing his new student.
A/N: something I found hard to explain. Is that Omen is like a ring name for yn as boxer, I donât like to use yn. So if that confused itâs just a celebrity name. lol
Also, I know itâs about fighting but doesnât include too much action. But Iâm trying to work in it. lol.
