pshenha @pshenha - Tumblr Blog

sun keeps rising (like it tends to do)

pairing: jay park x fem!reader

summary: being the mum friend is rewarding, if not a little tricky—you would know. it wouldn't hurt to let someone look after you for once, would it?

genres: summer au, strangers to lovers, (friends-in-law to lovers really), smut, fluff, angst (sorry !!!)

warnings: minors dni, nct jeong jaehyun it is always nct jaehyun, tbh the angst is p mild you'll be fine, light self-sabotage, ningning is the maknae, accidentally made jay a freak.. my bad, appearances from JEONG JAEHYUN from nct (speedy return king), possible inaccuracies regarding the cooking process..

word count: 39,982 (had a lot to say after a year out ig)

playlist: ordinary things (feat. nonna) ariana grande, juna clairo

author's note: heyyyyyy.. been a while lmao.. my fault !!! 2024 really got away from me it's literally been a year since my last fic barely exaggerating.......................... whatever.. thanks to emma for the beta as always, heart u so bad little miss asahicore ! as always, enjoy the fic and lmk your thoughts even if you hate it and hope i never write again :D

You realise there is something about Park Jay the night you meet him at the bonfire—when he tells you he doesn’t want to sleep with you.

“You don’t want to sleep with me?” you repeat, amused.

He’s sitting beside you in the sand, watching the side of your face whenever you watch the fire. Embers lift into the darkness of summer. You’re part of a broken circle of (soon-to-be) fourth-years dangling cigarettes and beer cans from their fingers as the tide rolls quietly. You don’t know him, not really, despite sharing a university and some friends, but tonight, you’re talking. A little. Small talk at first, for a while. Trading information about majors and extracurriculars—Law, football, and music for Jay; Literature, and film for you.

His sudden confession catches you so off-guard you can’t even remember what led you there. You have no idea how you’d gone from casual conversation to.. whatever this is. Jay seems as thrown as you, a mildly terrified look flashing across his face, letting a very slow beat pass before he tilts his head. “Not really,” he admits.

You don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything at all. He takes this as a cue to keep talking, and you let him, his hand gesturing towards you when he says, “You’re obviously attractive. We just.. don’t know each other.”

Obviously, he said. You can’t help smiling at that. Egged on by alcohol and his compliment, you hold his gaze. “Not yet.”

Jay gulps, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he shakes his head. “No, not-not yet.”

And so, you spend the night talking, sitting so close that heat radiates from his bare knees across the inch of space between you. You let him steer the conversation, and he doesn’t seem opposed, guiding it this way and that while you hang onto his every word. The two of you talk about your favourite movies, embarrassing childhood memories, places you want to visit, and random thoughts that pop into your head.

Even after the fire dies out, the crowd clears, and it gets so chilly you start to shudder, you stay there, talking with Jay, shoulders touching under the blanket he brought.

In the quiet falling between you, the sea kisses the sand gently at the shore, and the smell of smoke tickles your nostrils. The feeling of Jay’s eyes on you grows harder to ignore. He doesn’t look away when you look at him. Instead, he meets your gaze with a smile.

“What is it?” you ask, playing with the frayed thread at the edge of his blanket.

“You’re so different in real life.”

The grin on his face makes you grin too, though you tilt your head in faux contemplation. “Yes,” you say, conspiratorially. “In real life, I’m three-dimensional.”

Jay chuckles, shaking his head. “I was going to say you’re taller.”

Even if you tried, you couldn’t hide your surprise or the way you sat up straighter, jaw falling open upon hearing his words. You haven’t been considered tall since you were ten, standing in the back row for a photo with your Brownie troop—by the time you’d moved up to Guides, you were one year older and two rows shorter, standing in front with the younger girls and short sixteen-year-olds.

If the grin on his face is anything to go by, your shock amuses him, and you can’t help but grin back. “Do I look short on Instagram?” you ask, genuinely curious.

He thinks about it sincerely, eyes trailing over every inch of your body before meeting yours again, a thoughtful tilt of his head to the left as he holds his thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. “Well, you’re like this height on Instagram, so yeah, I think you do.”

“Instagram isn’t to scale?” You make a show of your mock distress when he shakes his head, holding your own head in your hands and only letting a laugh slip when he does. “So all this time I’ve been catfishing everyone?”

Jay pulls air through his teeth, a solemn expression on his face. “Afraid so,” he says, laughing when you do.

And like it’s the most natural thing to do in the world, like you’ve known him for years, for ever, you nudge him in the ribs, faux offence written all over your face.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger!” He raises his hands defensively, lips stretched from ear to ear. “Tall women are great, don’t even worry about it,” he adds.

“I’m five foot four,” you point out.

“And that’s like.. 5 whole feet and 3 inches taller than I thought you’d be!” Jay laughs for a while at his own joke, and you laugh too even though you’d rolled your eyes at him.

“Thank you, I guess.”

Jay shrugs, an easy smile on his lips as he watches you, his eyes flickering over your face before meeting yours. For the first time all night, he hesitates, gaze falling to your lips for a moment so brief you wonder if you imagined it. He takes a beat, finding his words, all traces of his playful demeanour softening, giving way to something you can’t quite place. “In real life, it’s so much harder to look away from you.” There’s sincerity written all over his face and clear in his tone—he doesn’t even seem embarrassed by how forward he’s being.

Again, he’s caught you off-guard, flustered you completely. It’s all a bit disarming—in the best of ways. Your heart races. Warmth settling in your cheeks, creeping down the back of your neck. Your mind is reeling, hoping he’s being as sincere as he looks, hoping you’re not making a big deal out of nothing. Giddiness, or maybe alcohol, sets off a tickly flutter in your stomach regardless. The air around you is lighter, and you can’t help but hide your face in your hands, doing all you can to conceal your grin. Unfortunately, hiding your face does nothing for the giggle that breaks free.

When you finally calm down, you look at him—his face is much closer to yours, or, at least, it seems to be. Jay’s smile widens, his gaze softening again as he watches you. He reaches out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment, touch searing your skin.

“You’re just so,” he starts, but simply shakes his head, his expression saying what his words won’t.

You settle back into a comfortable silence, stealing glances and sharing smiles while listening to the murmured chatter of whatever other students are left on the beach. As time passes, the air growing cooler and the stars shining brighter above you, the two of you sit there like you have all night, content in the quiet.

Until Jay breaks it with a yawn he tries and fails to stifle. Amusement pulls your lips up at the corners, a soft laugh slipping out. “I see I’m boring you now,” you tease.

“Not at all.” Jay sits up straighter, shaking his head seriously. “Just more relaxed than I’ve been in a while.”

You nod, understanding the sentiment. Tonight has been great, better than you thought it would be. But as much as you want to stay in this moment, your eyes become heavier, and yawns become harder to hold back.

“I didn’t expect to enjoy tonight so much,” he says after a beat, looking up at the sky. “I almost stayed home.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.”

Jay turns his head to meet your gaze, grinning. “Me too.”

His eyes linger on yours, falling to your lips when you smile. He’s closer now, close enough to kiss if you want to, if he wants to. Instead, he pulls the blanket tighter around you, his knee brushing against yours, and you stay like that until the cold becomes too much to bear.

Hours later — when everyone’s gone home, and the only proof tonight even happened is the sand lodged beneath your fingernails and the stubborn smell of smoke clinging to your twice-washed hair — you get into bed with a smile on your face, thinking it’ll be a one-time, memorable night where you spoke to a friend-in-law for the first time, and there was nothing more to it than that. But his smile keeps you up that night. And again the night after.

It’s June 20th, the first day of summer—according to the calendar at least. Ask you or any of your friends, and summer began sometime in the middle of April when you were all wine-drunk in Yizhuo’s apartment, watching rain attack the windows as you celebrated Jeno’s birthday. Not even finals could dwindle your summer spirit. Nights out were meticulously scheduled around exam timetables, with Jaemin even dragged out for Hwang Yeji’s birthday party the night before his 9 a.m. pharmacology final—leaving the party at dawn and the exam hall with an A, because Na Jaemin is nothing short of a hard worker.

The weather hasn’t always cooperated, but as far as you guys are concerned, it has been summer for two whole months, and with Yizhuo’s AC still busted, the group has no option but to gather at your and Minjeong’s place instead—though you can think of a few alternatives. As the second-most sober person in the flat, you find yourself on a 9 p.m. ice cream run with your competition: completely sober Jaemin. The heat is sweltering despite the time, relentless, so intense you swear there’s a hole burning in the back of your vest. All the same, Jaemin walks beside you with his lips set into a small smile, the way they always are.

As the street bakes around you and sunburnt kids sprint past with skateboards tucked under their arms, you walk in comfortable silence. You don’t comment on the sweat on his bare arm whenever it brushes yours, and he does the same for you. His sunglasses are propped up in his hair, pulling it back off his forehead and revealing the sweat beading along his hairline.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he says, glancing at you. “I needed the company.”

If it wasn’t for the way Jaemin forced you out the door, you might’ve thought he was being sweet. But he did force you, lifting you off your feet and over the threshold before you even had a chance to protest—not that you would have.

You roll your eyes and Jaemin chuckles, letting you enter the shop first as the double doors open, a much-needed blast of cold air hitting your skin. You let out a sigh of relief, stepping inside and letting him lead the way, basket in hand. The narrow aisles of the off-licence are cosy in the heat, and the two of you linger in the dairy section where the open fridges cool your skin. The light draught is nice, and clearly, Jaemin thinks so too, standing in place with his free hand on his hip, eyeing the butter with a thoughtful look.

It’s hard to look away from him, the stiffness of his posture catching your eye as you try to gauge his mood. You turn your words over in your head, searching for the right thing to say—expressing your sincerity without spoiling his mood. For as long as you’ve known Jaemin, he’s never spoken seriously with you about anything, always finding a way to steer the conversation in another direction, which is why you know you need to choose your words delicately.

“I heard about your placement, by the way.” The words come out so quickly and with such force you startle yourself, though he doesn’t react. “I’m sorry you didn't get it.”

He takes so long to respond you wonder if, like he always seems to be, he’s thinking the same thing you are—or if he’s even heard you at all. A long quiet moment stretches over the aisle before he sighs, tilting his head as his eyes meet yours. “I’m not,” he says, and you can tell he means it. “It went to a grad student. They deserved it more.”

“No one deserved that slot more than you, Jaem. That clinic is stupid.”

His lips curl into a lopsided grin as he nudges your shoulder with his palm. “They’re not stupid for hiring someone more qualified, Duckie. But I do feel good hearing you say that.”

You beam at him, relieved. “That stupid, stupid clinic.”

“That stupid, stupid clinic.” Jaemin nods, his grin widening.

Like before, you trail after him, laughing as you walk in step toward the frozen food aisle. Jaemin pulls on one of the freezers, the door yawning open with a sharp hiss, cold air spilling out onto your skin like something from a dream, crisp, refreshing. Enough to make you sigh with exaggerated relief as he opens the door next to you, letting you hog the first one.

“Feels like heaven,” you whisper, savouring the coolness.

“Liar,” Jaemin says through a laugh, flicking your shoulder with his fingers. “You said it was only two cans of cider.”

“It was only two cans of cider.” Your tone comes out defensive, but not on purpose.

“Right.” He draws out the word and mischief shines in his eyes when you look at him. “If I knew your tolerance had gotten so shit, I’d have brought Jaehyun instead.”

The suggestion of that lightweight in your place makes you cackle. “Don’t even. Jaehyun just has to see a bottle before he’s crying over that dead plant.”

“Wait.” Jaemin pauses, puzzled. “Injang was a plant?”

“Yes, a cactus.”

“Huh,” he utters, seeming to consider this for a moment, as if for the first time. “I always thought Injang was, like, a pet or something—a sibling maybe?”

“You’re a mess.”

“Yeah, like you’re any better.”

“Jaem.” You scoff. “I have seen you get lost in your own apartment after a mimosa.”

Jaemin opens his mouth to retort, but before he can say anything, his phone starts ringing in his pocket—killing the words on the tip of his tongue. You smirk, sensing a victory, and he rolls his eyes at the timing. “It’s Jeno,” he says, answering the call.

Jeno’s voice comes through the phone so loud Jaemin cringes, yanking it from his ear. You can hear the accusation in Jeno’s tone as he asks what’s taking you guys so long. Jaemin’s eyes dart around the store before landing on you, wide and begging for your help. You stare back, shrugging helplessly—you’re as stuck as he is.

“Traffic,” Jaemin blurts out at last, grinning—pleased with himself.

On the other side of the phone, Jeno doesn’t seem to share his amusement, repeating the word traffic like it’s the most bizarre suggestion he’s ever heard. “You walked.”

Jaemin’s gaze snaps back to you, and you lean out from behind the freezer door. “Foot traffic,” you offer, rather unhelpfully, though he’s impressed—observing you through the glass with a glint of admiration in his eyes, smiling when do.

“Whatever,” Jeno huffs. “Just hurry up.” And with that, he cuts the call.

From the corner of your eye, you see Jaemin putting his phone away and glancing at you with a knowing smile, but you’re already scanning the freezer for the flavours you know your friends like. Jaemin grabs an orange-flavoured Calippo and waves it in front of your face, raising a brow when you look at him as if to ask this one? You nod, amused, as he tosses it — and one for himself — into the basket.

After making sure you’ve gotten everyone’s favourites, you close the freezer. Jaemin, however, lingers, enjoying the breeze with his eyes shut.

“Come on,” you say, nudging him with your shoulder as you start towards the till. “Let’s head back before Jen sends a search party.”

He chuckles, walking with you and swinging the basket before emptying it into the conveyor. The cashier doesn’t look at you as he rings you up. You don’t try to argue with Jaemin when he says he’ll pay, nor do you offer to help him with the bags, knowing he won’t let you.

Outside, the heat slams into you, worse now than earlier. The sun is sinking towards the horizon, glaring directly into your eyes. Unfortunately, your sunglasses are buried somewhere in your room, abandoned in your rush to leave, so you bring your hand up to shield your eyes. Noticing this, Jaemin takes his sunglasses off and hands them to you. He shrugs when you thank him, slipping them on.

Back at your apartment, Jeno’s so pleased to be unwrapping a Twister that he doesn’t complain about how long you guys took. Minjeong, however, is nowhere in sight. You knock on her door, though you know you don’t need to, and she comes to answer it, smiling when she sees you, grinning when she sees the Fab in your hands.

With the door closed, Minjeong takes a proper look at you, snorting in your face while she fumbles with the ice cream wrapper. “Nice shades.”

You frown at this, watching as she takes a seat at the top of her bed, and go over to her wardrobe to see your reflection. Admittedly, Jaemin’s chunky aviators do not look as good on you as they do on him. In the mirror, Minjeong’s wearing a shit-eating grin that widens when you flip her off.

“I mean it! They’re cute on you, in a sort of..” She trails off, running a hand through her hair while she thinks. “Girl who doesn’t care about wearing flattering accessories kind of way. It’s chic, I think—very cool girl of you.”

“Right, MJ, thanks,” you mutter, pushing the glasses into your hair.

You and Minjeong have been close since you were kids and have only gotten closer. So close that when it came time to fly the proverbial nest, you didn’t even discuss moving in together. Minjeong simply texted you the link to an apartment in the city and said: Open viewing at three of the units in this building on Friday. Are you free or should I look for us?

When you sit at the end of her bed, Minjeong shuffles down the duvet to sit next to you—movements relaxed and unhurried. In the newfound quiet, the two of you eat your ice cream, comfortable enough with each other that the silence is reassuring rather than unsettling. It’s always been like this for you two, the ease of being in Minjeong’s company is twofold in silence.

The fresh orange flavour of the Calippo is distractingly refreshing, cooling you down immediately. It’s impossible to savour and before you realise it, you’re drinking the melted remains from the bottom, a little slice of summer handed to you in a cardboard tube.

With her popsicle stick between her teeth, Minjeong lays down on her stomach, absently turning her phone over and over in her hands. She’s thinking. About what, you’re not yet sure, but you won’t press—letting her ease into it at her own pace. Laughter and yelling bleeding through the closed door, her bedroom is like a refuge from the chaos in the living room, a space to recharge. You’re happy to be here with her, to talk about anything or nothing at all—just you and Minjeong, the way she likes it.

It takes a while, but she sets her phone down, looking at you with a small smile tugging the corners of her mouth. “You know,” she starts, voice light and already teasing. “I’ve been asking around about your little boyfriend.”

You raise a brow. “My little boyfriend?”

“Jay,” Minjeong states simply, giving you a look as if you should have known who she was referring to.

The mere mention of his name makes your stomach flutter, a giggle coming out that you don’t bother trying to conceal from her. Still, you scoff. “That’s what you’ve been thinking about this whole time?”

“Wait! Just listen, just listen,” she says through a laugh. “Apparently — according to Heeseung and his big drunken mouth — he’s been going on and on about this beautiful girl he was talking to at the bonfire.”

You’d be lying if you said your curiosity wasn’t piqued over what else Jay might have said about you, but you’ve been here before — eager with your hopes higher than ever — and you know how it ends, so you don’t bother asking. The smile falls from your face.

“Shut up,” you mumble, looking down at your hands in your lap.

She doesn’t. “It’s like we have a J name curse or something.. Jimin, Jay, J—” she lists, though you hold up a hand to stop her from going on.

“I get it.”

Minjeong sighs happily, a smile on her face, pleased with herself for getting a reaction out of you. She’s the picture of satisfaction, giddily kicking her feet back and forth. A long moment of quiet settles between you, broken only by the sound of her socked toes gently thudding against the wall behind her. She rests her cheek on her arms, tucks her bangs behind her ear. Presses her eyes shut, chews on her lip, thinking, again. You wait for her, again—you will always wait for Minjeong.

A while passes like this until she blinks her eyes open, voice soft, contemplative when she says, “I’m so nervous about spending the week at Jimin’s that I almost want to say I can’t go.”

You frown but don’t speak, waiting for her to continue.

“I am excited, I’m mostly excited, but I just.. I want it to go well, so badly. I really want her parents to like me, you know?” She sighs, hiding her face in her hands. “Jimin said they’re really excited to see me again, and it’s sweet, obviously—it’s really sweet, but it’s making me feel sick and I have no idea why.”

Minjeong leans into your touch when you stroke her hair, a sigh rumbling out of her, seeming more frustrated with herself than the situation. “I’m being stupid, right?”

You shake your head. “It’s natural to want people to like you, no less your girlfriend’s parents, but as far as I see it, it seems like they already do. It was their idea for you to stay over, right? And it was her mum who dropped off that soup for you when you were sick, I’m pretty sure they love you, Minjeong.”

Her brows furrow as if presented with this information for the first time. Head tilting. A slow blink. “You really think so?” she asks, voice soft, right on the edge of hope despite the tension clinging to her features.

“Of course, I think so. Why wouldn’t they love you?”

Minjeong thinks about this for a while, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. “I don’t know,” she mumbles, shrugging.

“You’re going to be fine, I promise,” you tell her sincerely. “And on the off chance that you’re not fine, I can always fake an emergency so you can come back home.”

At this, she looks relieved, cracking a small smile, one that grows as her eyes finally meet yours, the weight of her anxiety lifting—even if only a little bit. She sits up properly on the bed, wrapping her arms around her knees and resting her chin on them. Neither of you speaks, just sitting there in the calm of her bedroom, in the calm of each other’s presence.

Eventually, Minjeong smiles to herself, shaking her head. “You don’t even need an emergency, just tell me you miss me and I’ll be back before you know it.”

Since the bonfire, you’ve been hounding the group chat for a beach day. And finally, the day is here—whether it’s here because your friends have come around to the idea of recharging by the sea, or simply to appease you, the day is here, like a reward for surviving the days spent cooped up in your city apartment with everyone. Jeno, God bless him, texted in the morning to let you know he’s running errands with Aeri — which, somehow, only you seem to know is code for having sex — but would be at yours around 12 if that’s okay.

And like clockwork, a text from Aeri comes in at 12 on the dot: otw to yours w jen, space in the cooler if u wanna bring more drinks !!! You grab your phone from the charger and a six-pack of Old Mout from the fridge before slipping on your flip-flops, buzzing with excitement until they arrive.

Aeri’s sitting shotgun while you share the backseat with the cooler, holding onto its handle as you watch the trees blur by through the open window. Her phone is connected to the car, playing your friend group’s quarterly collaborative playlist on shuffle, stuck in a thick fog of Jaemin’s current 00s R&B fixations—he had his playlist privileges revoked last summer after adding every single song in Ariana Grande’s discography to boost streams and judging by the 151 songs he’s added since being allowed back two weeks ago, he’s more than happy to be back. Though you will never complain about getting to yell the lyrics to Promiscuous in the car with your friends, all the windows down on your way to the beach. The playlist is sprawling, and the two of you yell along to Mitski. Jeno is too busy craning his neck, searching for a parking spot to pay any mind to Mitski or her Washing Machine Heart.

As you near the sea, the trees give way to kiosks and clear skies. You can’t resist closing your eyes, letting the breeze and the scent of saltwater wrap around you like a hug. Despite Aeri’s protests, Jeno insists on looping the car park in hopes the perfect spot will open up. You, on the other hand, are just happy to observe how different the beach looks today—still busy, but in a different, more wholesome way. You rest your chin on the car window frame, watching colourful kites in the sky and kids running after each other, caked in sludgy sand from the shoreline.

Jeno, God bless him, is too polite to barge into a spot, muttering swear words under his breath as he lets other drivers pull in, and drumming his fingers against the steering wheel with increasing speed. All it takes is one more loop for the perfect space to open up and Aeri seems more relieved than Jeno, huffing out an impatient, finally, as he pulls in—and it really is a perfect spot, so close you can feel the sand between your toes already.

As soon as you all get out of the car, Aeri walks ahead to take a phone call, chatting animatedly as soon as it touches her ear—and Jeno doesn’t seem to mind that you’re not helping him with the cooler, he’s got it.

“I keep meaning to ask you,” he starts, tilting his head as he speaks. “What the hell happened to you at the bonfire? I remember you and Jaemin seemed pretty comfortable again when we left, but then me and Hyuck got back, and poor Jaem could hardly remember how he got to the beach, never mind where you went.”

At this, a hodgepodge of vivid memories comes to you at once — kisses and late drives in July, sneaking off at parties to feel the wet heat of a summer evening hang over your shoulders, old feelings (good and bad) — threatening to bubble beneath the surface. A thick coolness settles in your chest, only spreading the more you try to will it away.

You sigh, adjusting your tote bag on your shoulder. “That was ages ago, Jen. Leave it there.”

He frowns, seeming to pick up on your discomfort and hesitates before speaking with an earnestness that catches you off-guard. “Look,” he says, lowering his voice. “I’m not going to judge you for hooking up on the beach—I won’t even pry for details, I just want to know who it was so Jaem and I can scare them a little.” His tone is oddly protective, brotherly.

It’s sweet, really, what Jeno’s willing to do under the guise of protecting you, but you can’t help but scoff anyway, knowing it’s partly an excuse for him to show off his gym gains. “Jaemin isn’t exactly intimidating,” you point out.

Whatever he says in response is as good as nothing to you, whose breath has caught in your throat at the sight of Jay. The iciness quickly subsides when you see him, melted by an overwhelming heat coursing through your body by the second. He’s in the middle of a heated volleyball match with some guys you know because Jeno knows them—Heeseung, Jake, and Sunghoon. It’s no surprise that they’re attractive, they’re college athletes—good looks might as well be part of the team contract. But Jay? Jay’s glowing. The sun beating down against his honeyed skin and making the sheen of sweat covering his body attractive.

“Ahh,” Jeno hums in understanding, following your gaze. “One of Jaemin’s football buddies, huh? No wonder you’re so secretive.”

“I didn’t hook up with anybody,” you assert, finding it impossible to look away. “He made it clear he’s not interested, not like that anyway.”

“Sure, he’s not.”

You roll your eyes but don’t reply, reluctantly tearing your gaze from Jay, thankful to have reached the spot where Aeri’s taking her beach blanket out of her bag, and for the sudden lightness her presence brings. But even as you help lay out the blanket, the image of Jay persists, stuck like a song you can’t get out of your head. Jeno sets the cooler by your feet, its weight denting the sand as you watch the game. Curious — not at all swayed by Jay’s muscle definition or his back flexing as he runs around his half of the court — you push up your sunglasses, resting them in your hair to get a good look. Jeno and Aeri’s conversation about Minjeong potentially bringing Jimin only half hits your ears as you marvel at Jay, offering occasional nods to the best of your ability. Normally, the click of the cooler opening would grab your attention and hold it until you had a drink in your hand. Today though, you don’t even realise Jeno’s holding a can of cider out for you until he snaps his fingers in your face, sitting down next to Aeri and opening it for himself when you shake your head.

“Hyuck’s going to be crushed,” he says, and you don’t need to see him to know he’s smiling at the thought, but when you do look, his smile is a grin, covering his whole face.

“Why would Minjeong fake a girlfriend anyway?” you ask.

Jeno shrugs. “I think he thinks she’s playing hard to get.”

“Because lesbian Minjeong is playing hard to get with a man,” you say, rolling your eyes. A laugh slips from your lips as you think about how ridiculous that sounds, struggling to remember the origins of Donghyuck’s (made-up) crush on Minjeong.

Your comment makes Aeri snort as she looks through her bag. “Can we be sure Hyuck’s not playing hard to get rid of?”

Jeno’s face scrunches up with laughter, and yours does the same. “Sounds like Hyuck,” he adds eventually.

As your laughter subsides, you glance back at the court. The boys are switching sides, granting you a view of Jay’s stomach that you won’t complain about, though he still hasn’t noticed you. Instead, he preps for his serve, throwing the ball before whacking it over the net. Sunghoon jumps to return it, and Jake sends it back. They work up a rally, teamwork and concentration on full display until Jay’s eyes flicker in your direction, doing a double-take when he realises it’s you. On the other side of the court, locked in, Heeseung dives into the sand to hit the ball, and it’s so impressive when he does that Aeri stops talking mid-sentence. The ball sails through the air, a perfect arc hurtling towards Jay, but his eyes stay fixed on you—and there’s that smile again, finally, you think. The impact is so sudden and jarring a collective gasp rises from everyone who sees and hears the ball strike Jay’s cheek with an audible thwack. He stumbles backwards, hand rising to cup the stinging spot, seeming more shocked than hurt by the collision. Heeseung runs over to him, yelling apologies through laughter as Jake and Sunghoon cackle into their hands, turning away from the scene.

For a moment, you watch as Jay regains composure, and your concern forces you into action. Without a second thought, you reach into the cooler, pull out the first thing you touch and jog over to Heeseung and Jay. They look at you in sync, four eyes falling to your face and then the cold, damp can you’re holding.

“Here,” you say quietly, perhaps a beat too late.

Jay accepts the can with a grateful smile, sighing with relief when it touches his cheek. “Thanks,” he says, gaze meeting yours briefly before looking away, the tip of his ears flushing red.

You shrug, paying no mind to the smile on Heeseung’s face as he looks between you and Jay, or the way the sun scorches your back through your shirt. The moment stretches over you, tension palpable though quickly broken when Heeseung clears his throat, and abruptly takes off in the direction he came from.

“Hey,” Jay says.

He looks so different in the sun. Looks so good. Younger, gentler, because of the freckles you can now see dotting the centre of his face, the peeling skin on the bridge of his nose, his smile softer; a dimple appears that you hadn’t noticed the other night.

“Hi,” you say belatedly, cheeks flushing as you realise he caught you admiring him. “I’d say good game, but..” You trail off, gesturing to the can of Kopparberg he’s holding to his cheek.

Jay laughs softly, fondness in his eyes as he looks at you. “Got distracted,” he admits with a self-deprecating grin. “We were winning, if that matters.”

A smile as you nod, you can’t help smiling. “It does, actually. But you shouldn’t let your guard down like that; might get hit by a volleyball or something.”

He gives you a grateful smile, moved by your stupid attempt at a joke. “Thanks,” he says. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Jake and Sunghoon reach you before you can reply—the former giving you a huge hug like you’re the best thing he’s seen all day, and the latter offering a small smile and stiff wave. “Are you okay?” Sunghoon asks Jay. “Like, back to playing, okay?”

Jay’s eyes light up, seeming eager to return to the game. “Yeah, I think so,” he says, taking the can from his cheek. Seeing the swelling and angry red skin, the three of you scowl, mumbling expletives as Jay frowns at your reactions. “Shit, maybe not?”

Beside you, Jake snorts, grabbing Jay’s wrist and pressing the can back to his face roughly, laughing with delight when Jay winces. The word, hey, slips from your lips before you can stop it. Pitying Jay, you nudge Jake in the ribs, mumbling at him to be gentle and casting a playful glare at him. Jake grins, unfazed, but you feel a little guilty until Jay looks at you, mouthing his thanks.

“Game over, I guess.” Jay frowns. “My fault.”

“Jeno’s here,” you offer, pointing limply over your shoulder to where your friends are laughing as Yizhuo and Jaemin sit down with them. “He’d want in, probably.”

Jake beams, nodding eagerly and rushing away with Sunghoon close behind.

Alone again, Jay gets your attention by tapping your shoulder, the soft smile on his face making you grin when you see it. “Is it that bad?” he asks.

You sigh, amused and sympathetic. “Yeah, it’s pretty bad.”

“Guess I’ll sit out for now.”

“Probably a good idea. You’ll be back in no time, though.”

His eyes meet yours, soft gratitude shining through them. “Thanks, Doc.”

The two of you join Aeri, Yizhuo, and Jaemin, who are sipping cocktail cans, and gossiping—if the scandalised look on Jaemin’s face is anything to go by. He’s the first to look up, smiling at you before his brows raise at the sight of Jay beside you. You glare down at him, willing him not to comment. The girls make room for you both on the blanket, and you sit down, enjoying the warmth of the sun.

“What happened to you?” Jaemin asks Jay, a teasing smile on his lips as he pushes his sunglasses up into his hair.

“Got distracted,” Jay admits, glancing at you with a grin. “But I’m in good hands.”

Jaemin’s eyes flicker over to you, unable to conceal his amused scoff. “I’ll bet—Duckie’s had her fair share of distractions too.”

There’s no time to process that as the conversation continues like you and Jay hadn’t interrupted. Laughing, teasing, light and easy. Jay fits in perfectly, and Jaemin keeps an eye on you.

Ahead of you, the volleyball game goes on like nothing happened, though Jake and his new partner, Jeno, are butting heads a bit. Literally. Both boys, competitive as anyone you know, diving for the ball at the same time, yelling out some variation of my ball and ignoring each other. It takes a while, but they seem to settle into a good groove—though admittedly, without Jay on the court, the game doesn’t interest you quite so much.

As the afternoon wears on, the sun doesn’t tire, leading most of the group into the water. Donghyuck and Jeno are having a lengthy discussion about potential takeout options for lunch (though given the time, it’ll more likely be an early dinner) because, between all ten of you — Jay and his friends included — no one had the foresight to bring anything to eat. You and Jay are sitting together, knees touching as you quietly watch everyone in the water. The easy silence wraps you up so much you don’t even notice that Minjeong and Jimin have arrived until Jeno calls out asking if they brought food.

“Hey, Jen,” Minjeong says, giving him a side hug, not daring to unclasp her hand from Jimin’s. “Why would we bring food? We ate at that new burger place downtown, so good.” Still chatting with Jeno, Minjeong’s eyes scan the blanket before meeting yours and she grins at you, waving happily and mouthing hey.

There’s no stopping the grin that spreads over your lips, stretching from ear to ear at the sight of her as a rush of warmth passes through you. It’s rare for you and Minjeong to go long without seeing each other. You even make plans during the week you spend at home over the holidays. Meeting up at the Christmas markets for clumsy laps around the ice rink, and sweet sips of Baileys hot chocolate, or sharing Boxing Day dinners with her family. Four days apart feels like a year, and seeing her now is a breath of fresh air.

“Jeno!” Jimin exclaims, hugging him with the same enthusiasm — just as committed to hand-holding as her girlfriend — though her smile falters when she spots Donghyuck. “Renjun,” she says in greeting, voice dripping with disinterest.

Donghyuck looks up at her, rolling his eyes. “Dong. Hyuck,” he corrects again, stressing the syllables.

For a moment, Jimin seems to consider this before shrugging. “Don’t. Care.”

With Donghyuck sufficiently irritated, the two girls leave him alone, all bright smiles and waggling eyebrows as they sit down next to you. They greet Jay, giving you a teasing look you hope he doesn’t catch—not that there’s much time for him to think about it anyway, as Jeno comes over, clapping his shoulders with both hands and making him flinch.

“Alright,” he says, laughing. “Let’s go get food.”

You frown, looking up at him. “What do you need Jay for?”

With a chuckle, Jay bumps your shoulder with his. “Yeah, Jeno. What do you need me for?” he asks.

Straightening up, Jeno rests his hands on his hips, an excited smile curving over his lips. “I’ve never had a bad meal out with this guy, dude knows his shit.”

Jay’s smile is soft, humble, as he gets up and drapes an arm around Jeno’s shoulders. “Can’t argue with that,” he admits, turning to you, gaze lingering. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

You nod, not bothering to hide your smile, warmth spreading throughout your chest. As the boys disappear in search of sustenance — Donghyuck complaining in the background — Jimin spots Aeri and Yizhuo in the water and pulls off her coverup before running away to join them, leaving you and Minjeong in the dust for some much-needed alone time.

“So?” you ask, just as she blurts out, “I’m having so much fun!”

You both laugh, and Minjeong groans, hiding her face behind her hands. “I feel so stupid! I was so nervous for no reason.” She shakes her head, as if scolding herself.

“Told you,” you say in a sing-song tone, nudging her with your shoulder.

“I’ll tell you everything when I get back on Sunday.” She gives you a look, curiosity glimmering behind her eyes. “Did Jay get that bruise in a fight to defend your honour?”

You blink at her. “What?”

“Sorry.” Minjeong laughs to herself, waving her hand dismissively. “Jimin’s parents have been showing me a ton of old movies. I just saw Dirty Dancing last night, and now I’m thinking I want that for you.”

The thought of Jay in a fight makes you laugh, you can hardly imagine him killing a spider. You shake your head. “He took a volleyball to the face.”

“Did he do it in your honour?”

“I mean.. I guess.” You take a moment to consider it, turning the idea over in your head. “He was looking at me instead of the ball, so, yeah, sure.”

Minjeong sits up straight, pointing an accusatory finger at you as a grin stretches over her lips. “Do you know you just giggled right now?”

Taken aback, you eye her wearily, squinting. “Did not!” you say, more defensive than you mean to be when honestly you might have giggled—you can’t remember.

“Did too!” She gives you a once over, awe coating her features. “Look at you! I don’t know how I didn’t see it before, but you’re glowing.”

You scoff. “It’s thirty-two degrees out, Minjeong, everyone is glowing.”

She laughs, repeating your words in a tone so whiny you can’t help but laugh with her. She settles down before you do though, her expression softens, a sincere look in her eyes as she rests her palm on your knee, shaking your leg. “Seriously, YN. I’m excited for you!” she says—she means every word.

Her sincerity, the sheer delight in her voice takes you by surprise. You bring your knees to your chest, hugging yourself. “There’s nothing to be excited about, MJ, don’t get carried away.”

“I know it’s still early days, but don’t close yourself off—let what happens happen.” You don’t know what to say, so you don’t say anything, and she continues. “You deserve this, and I really want you to let yourself have it.” Minjeong’s eyes bore deeply into yours, earnest, searching, for a long quiet beat. “The world isn’t going to end if you choose yourself for once,” she says softly.

Again, her sincerity leaves you speechless, words echoing in your head as you sit with them, taking them in. It’s been a long while since the last time you let yourself have it. So long since the last time you even wanted to. You don’t know why Jay makes it so easy to want. Too easy.

“Maybe I will,” you say eventually, shrugging. A big part of you hopes you mean that.

Your answer pleases Minjeong, if the bright grin on her face is anything to go by. She nods, alight with hope as she leans back on her palms, tilting her head back to face the sun; it looks like she’s glowing too. The sounds of the beach seem louder now—your friends, the crashing waves, laughter and chatter all amplified. You steal a glance over your shoulder towards where the boys went off, mind wandering to Jay and what he might be thinking about right now—if he’s thinking about you too. There’s something about his presence, about him — the thought of him, even — that makes everything just a little bit lighter, a steadiness you never knew you could feel with someone you only just met. Overhead, the sun stretches its rays across everything it can reach, soaking the beach in a warm, golden hue. Side by side, you watch as your friends chase each other along the shore, tripping over waves and their own feet, cackling and swearing into the sky. There is peace here for you, with them, and maybe, if you take Minjeong’s words to heart, there can be peace here for you, with Jay too.

And then, after a while, in the distance, you hear the familiar sound of the boys’ laughter ringing out over the beach, breaking your stupor. You turn, and there they are—there he is, making his way back with carrier bags in his hands and a bright grin on his face.

Jay takes a container from the bag and sits next to you, opening it up. “For you,” he says, grinning.

“Seriously?” you ask, raising a brow. “You were talking crazy game about ‘knowing your shit’ and it’s fish and chips? Jay, come on.”

He frowns at this, his eyebrows knitting together. “Fish and chips are like a beach staple,” he points out, pouting. “What did you think we’d bring back? Kalguksu?” Jay cuts a piece of fish with plastic cutlery, and spears it with the fork, holding it out to you. “Can you at least try it before you judge me?”

With a roll of your eyes and a smile on your lips, you take it from him, blowing on it a little before trying the fish and eating your words with it. Unfortunately, it’s really good. Jay smiles as he watches you chew, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “So?” he prompts, leaning closer. “It’s good, right?”

You nod, the warmth of the food settling in your stomach. “I hate to admit it,” you start, savouring the way his expression shifts, like he’s bracing for impact. “But this is really nice.”

“I knew you’d come around.” He beams, triumphant, and you can’t help but laugh at his pure, unfiltered joy. “A good meal goes a long way.”

Even in adulthood, playing at the beach all day is a surefire way to work up an appetite. Out from the ocean, your friends come running, lazily towelling off and gathering around the food, awestruck, like it’s a gift from God. With your knees tucked to your chest, you watch them all with a smile, happy to be here, happy they’re happy, and Jay gets to work cutting his comically large fish. Despite the bickering, everyone smiles as they inspect the containers, sharing them amongst themselves, and right when you reach for one of them, Jay slides his in front of you—fish cut into neat, little bite-sized chunks.

“It’s still kind of hot, so I’d let it sit for a bit,” he tells you quietly.

You look up at him, finding his eyes and finding your heart rate climbing from you what see in them—earnest affection staring right back at you. His lips tip up at the corners, upending your stomach and all of the butterflies in it.

“Okay?” you say, voice lifting on the last syllable. “Let it sit for a bit, then.”

He laughs quietly, more to himself than anything, shaking his head. “I cut it for you,” he says, gesturing at the food like you haven’t seen it yet.

Your gaze drifts down to it, warmth unfurling in your chest, spreading slowly—a ripple moving outward. At a loss for words, you only manage to utter his name, lips pushing into a pout as you look at him. He doesn’t say anything, just lets his eyes meet yours with that easy, unbothered smile of his like it’s no big deal, like it was the most natural thing in the world to do, like he hasn’t completely undone you with such a simple action.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

It doesn’t seem like he thought much about it, considering you before considering himself. You can’t quite believe it. This stranger, practically—but that’s the thing though, isn’t it? He doesn’t feel like a stranger at all. It’s like you’ve always known him, like he’s always existed on the edge of your life, just outside the frame, waiting to step into focus.

His stare is unwavering as he shrugs. “I know.”

Suddenly nervous, you tuck your hair behind your ear, nudging the container towards him. “Well, at least share it with me.”

He asks if you’re sure, his brow raising slightly, as if amused, when you nod. He hesitates, eyes on the fish for a moment as he makes his decision. Then, with a small smile, he nods too. “After you.” And so, under the teasing gazes of Minjeong and Jeno, you and Jay share a portion of fish and chips—neither of you saying anything when your hands brush against each other.

Around you, your friends fall into sharp concentration, their undivided attention on their food, praising Jay’s chippy selection between bites and swallows—he sits up straighter and gives you a look each time they do, waggling his brows or wearing a toothy grin as though he’d cooked the food himself.

Tipsy and full, everyone lays around for a while as you nurse a cider. Jay, still by your side, is telling you about a cartoon he used to watch as a kid but can’t remember the name of. Every time his eyes meet yours, the butterflies in your stomach — giddy and drunk — pick up speed, while a burning flash attacks your cheeks and neck.

If it weren’t for the way he’s blocking the sun in front of you, you wouldn’t even have noticed Sunghoon was there until he spoke. “Can we borrow him for a sec?” he asks, looking down at you with a smile as you spot Jake standing beside him.

You nod. “Sure, go ahead.”

Jay doesn’t even have a chance to say anything before Sunghoon takes hold of his legs and Jake grabs him by the arms, the two boys running off towards the shore, cackling louder than Jay can yell. Jaemin and Heeseung get up to join them, making it to the water right as Jake and Sunghoon throw Jay in, and Jaemin’s so pleased he jumps around cheering with his arms up above his head.

Jeno comes over to sit with you, slinging an arm — and what you think must be all of his weight — over your shoulders, saltwater dripping from him down your back. “Jay, huh?” he asks—smile wide, eyes tired.

You only shrug in response, the weight of his arm pressing down as damp sea air clings to your skin.

There’s a glint of mischief in his eyes as he laughs to himself. “You know what’s funny?”

A sigh slips out of you. You’ve known Jeno long enough to know that most of the things he finds funny aren't usually very funny at all. “What?” you ask, watching Jay, who’s chasing Jake around the shoreline with a water gun that seems to have appeared from thin air.

“It’s not much,” he says. “It’s just.. I would’ve thought Heeseung was more your type.”

He has your full attention now, eyes on him and the smirk he’s wearing. “What? Jay’s not good enough for me either?” you ask, scared to hear his answer.

“No!” Jeno shakes his head vigorously as if offended by the mere suggestion. “Not at all. If anything I’m relieved it’s Jay, he’s sweet, good head on his shoulders. If I didn’t know you so well, I might say Jay’s out of your league.”

You’re not sure what to make of that, brows knitting together as your lips curl downwards. “I can’t tell if you’re insulting me.”

“I’m saying I think Jay’s a good match for you, that’s all.”

At this, you hum, playing nonchalant so Jeno doesn’t see how much you value his opinion. You only let yourself smile when you look over at Jay again—who is currently being dragged at the foot through the ocean by Jake, thrashing around and yelling in protest.

“Want me to put in a good word?” Jeno offers. “I could warn him about your Jellycat problem.”

You roll your eyes, nudging him. “Liking plushies is not a problem, Jen. You are a problem,” you say, throwing sand at his face, laughing when he sputters.

Jeno shakes his head, getting water and sand all over you. “Hope you’re happy, Duckie,” he says after a beat, standing up and ruffling your hair. “Jay’s going to pay for that.”

Before you can ask what he’s talking about, he takes off sprinting towards the water, towards Jay—poor, unsuspecting Jay. Jeno barrels into him, and both boys disappear into the water with a huge splash, surfacing in seconds, though only Jeno comes up with a grin on his face. Jay’s spluttering, somehow still attractive as he pushes his hair back. Jake roars with laughter, clapping Jeno on the back, seeming pleased to have an ally and Jaemin runs over to join in, whooping and hollering like it’s the best thing he’s seen all day.

You feel bad about it, you do, honestly, as you see Jay running around the shore for dear life, three guys ganging up on him for different reasons—though you can’t help thinking it’s better him than you.

“Time!” Jay yells, forming a T with his arms. “Time! Time, please!” Despite his best efforts, his pleas are ignored and the other guys keep pushing him around.

Finally, waterlogged and exhausted, Jay gives up. At the first opportunity, he runs from the water without looking back, only stopping to throw himself down on the blanket beside you. “Man,” he says, fighting for breath. “What did I do?”

“Well,” you start. “I might have had something to do with Jeno tackling you,” you admit through a laugh.

Immediately, Jay looks betrayed, shaking his head. “Wow, and here I thought we had something going,” he mutters dramatically.

You hold up your hands defensively, eyes wide as you nod, and Jay’s façade crumbles immediately, wearing a smile of his own at the sight of you. “We do! We do! You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” you explain, trying your best to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

Jay grins at you, nodding his head. “I guess it all worked out in the end—I’m exactly where I want to be right now.”

It’s been two years since Donghyuck got you all barred from Hong Seunghan’s place after vomiting up cherry-flavoured Sourz all over his parents' plush white carpet—which means it’s been two years since you got relegated to the public pool like the rest of your city. Overpriced refreshments, no control over the music, and having to sneak alcohol. Not this summer, though. Oh no, because through Minjeong’s relationship with Jimin, you’ve finally made another friend with a pool.

Over Jimin’s back garden, the sun beams brightly at you all from the cloudless sky, and save for under the parasol at the garden table, there isn’t a spot of shade in sight. The grass is hot and rough, somehow still lush despite the heat pulling sweat to every inch of your skin’s surface—if anyone’s bothered by it, you’re all having too much fun to notice.

Typically, you spend pool days twirling the strings of your bikini bottoms around your finger, watching anxiously as your friends bob drunkenly around the pool, and worrying about their safety because no one else seemed to be. Atypically, you’re buzzed off two cans of cider and three shots of Pineapple AU that you slurped out of Donghyuck’s belly button. It is worth noting that most of your better ideas do not start with Pineapple AU — or Donghyuck — which is probably why you’re sitting on Donghyuck’s shoulders with your core fully engaged, trying to shove Aeri from Jeno’s shoulders and into the pool. As you lock eyes with her, you realise that this might not end well—but you tell yourself that’s half the fun.

Unfortunately, your gym sessions with Aeri are only paying off for one of you—and it’s not the one who walks for an hour on the treadmill while switching through social media apps. So, much to Donghyuck’s dismay, you’ve been launched back into the pool more times than you can count, and Aeri’s hair is starting to dry from her seat on Jeno’s shoulders.

Each defeat takes more out of you than the last, and as you splash back into the water once more, you start to wonder if it might be time for a break. As soon as you call time, Aeri and Jeno start gloating and the sight is enough to make you regret your decision.

“This isn’t over!” you call out, and Donghyuck stands behind you, echoing your words like a child.

When you get out of the water, the air is cooler on your skin than you expect it to be — though you appreciate it in this heat — a shiver running down your spine as you wring water from your hair, droplets splashing against the sun-baked concrete at your feet. You take a towel from a sun lounger to dry off, draping it over your shoulders, muscles pleasantly sore from the game.

Behind you, Minjeong calls out your name. “Oh, YN!” Her tone is sing-songy in a way that makes you fear the teasing you’re about to endure, so you hesitate before turning. But when you do, you find yourself almost colliding with—Jay. He’s just arrived, you assume, with some of his friends in tow, and the sight of him makes you freeze in place, caught off-guard. You had no idea he’d be here.

Time stands still as your eyes shamelessly trail over every inch of his exposed torso—all tact lost to alcohol and the summer heat. His skin catches the light in a way that makes him, and everything around him, seem a bit too bright. You haven’t seen him since the beach last week, and your daydreams haven’t done much for his abs, which are somehow more defined in person. It’s like a cheat code, how good he looks—too perfect to be standing there like it’s nothing.

He catches you, of course — gawking at him like a deer in headlights — and smiles. “Hey,” he says casually, like he hasn’t just thrown your brain into total disarray. There’s something in his eyes though—a glimmer that says he knows exactly what effect he has on you. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

It takes you a beat longer than it should to process his words. “I didn’t know you were coming,” you manage, hoping you sound more composed than you feel, pulse skittering in your chest.

Before you can say anything else, Jaemin appears, draping an arm over Jay’s shoulder. “You made it!” he says, grinning widely, mischief evident in his eyes and smile—the way it often is. “Thought it might be fun to have everyone together again, you know? What do you think, Duckie?”

You blink again, trying to clear the fog in your mind. It is immediately clear to you that Jaemin, a walking, talking good intention, is responsible—being that he outright said it. But you can’t wrap your head around why. For now though, with Jay looking at you the way he is, all soft eyes and sweet smile, you choose to cast your suspicion aside and enjoy his presence.

“Yeah,” you say, finally finding your voice. “The more the merrier.”

Jay’s smile widens like he’s in on something you’re not. “Glad you think so.”

Rather than using his big boy words, Jaemin exits the conversation with a backflip into the pool, drawing the attention of all the guys who cheer and applaud like it’s the first time they’ve ever seen someone do it. If this was a normal hangout with your friends, you would have rolled your eyes and turned your attention elsewhere, but Jay is here, cheering and applauding like everyone else. And it’s so endearing when he does it that you can’t help but smile. However, right when Jaemin hits the surface, a wave of water comes rushing in your direction, and Jay steps in front of you, shielding you from the worst of it, his back taking the brunt of the spray. You blink at him, a little surprised as droplets hit your feet.

Yet again, he catches you staring, grinning brightly as he says, “Hey.” Again.

You raise a brow. “So, is it a requirement that you always show up when I’m not expecting you to?”

“More fun that way, don’t you think?” he quips, his smile widening. He leans in slightly, his voice dipping into a teasing tone. “Keeps you on your toes, huh, Duckie?”

Coming from his mouth, the nickname is almost cute, though you can’t help cringing anyway. You sigh, bringing your hands up to cover your face, groaning softly. “Don’t let Jaem — or anyone else — fool you, Duckie is not a nickname I like.”

Jay’s smile falters, curiosity flickering over his face. His right eyebrow quirks up, but he doesn’t ask—even though you know he’s wondering why. The memory stirs in your chest, still embarrassing, but you can laugh about it now. So you do, letting a breathy chuckle slip out as you think about it. “Let’s just say you’re not the only one who’s taken a volleyball to the face,” you tell him.

He blinks a few times before his teasing smile comes back in full effect—dreamy as ever. “So that’s where it comes from?” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, I’ll lay off on the Duckie thing, then,” he says, his voice softening. “But if you let me off the hook for the nickname, maybe you’ll let me off the hook for something else, too.”

Anticipation turns your stomach as you tilt your head, raising a brow in mock suspicion. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

Jay leans in a little closer. “How about..” He trails off, hesitating for a split second as if trying to feel out the moment, then gives you a sheepish smile. “How about we hang out on purpose sometime? You know, so we’re not always surprising each other.”

His words catch you off guard, pulling your lips into a grin, a breathy laugh coming out of you that brings your shoulders down a little, his suggestion sitting on the edge of the warm breeze. There’s a jelly-like feeling in your knees, leaving you off-centre. “Yeah,” you say. “I think that could be arranged.”

Visibly relaxing, Jay nods, an exhale coming from his nose as he smiles, showing off his dimples. “Cool.” He nods again, once, firmly—seeming not to notice Sunghoon’s sudden closeness over his shoulder as he goes on. “Cool, so maybe I coul—” He’s cut off by Sunghoon leaning in and yelling, “Boo!” straight into his ear.

Jay flinches, his hand flying up to his ear like he’s been stung, eyes wide for a second before narrowing in irritation. Sunghoon cackles, already taking off in a sprint across the grass, and Jay groans, rubbing his temple before chasing after his friend. “I’m sorry!” he yells to you over his shoulder.

A laugh comes out of you as you watch them. And you’re still laughing when Aeri comes up behind you, her arms snaking around your waist as her chin digs lightly into your shoulder. “Chicken round two?” she asks quietly like it’s a secret.

You nod, but the moment you start moving, Donghyuck cuts you off, shaking his head—a firm no. “I’m busy,” he says without looking up from his phone. Craning your neck, you get a look at his screen where he’s saving the world apparently, one level of Candy Crush at a time.

“Serious business, I see,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else.

Aeri lets out a soft laugh, her grip on you easing up as she peels herself away, already halfway out of the conversation. Jeno snagged her attention, calling her name from the pool and the splash you hear behind you tells you everything you need to know. You’re left there, standing with your hands on your hips like Superman, as you glance around the pool, weighing your options. With Jeno and Aeri already paired up, he’s out; Jaemin being, quite conveniently, nowhere to be found; and Donghyuck rejecting you before you can even get the question out, you quickly realise you’re fresh out of options.

Almost.

Your gaze lands on Jay, who’s sitting on the grass, leaning back on his palms, laughter crinkling the corners of his eyes as he talks to Sunghoon. You hesitate, the thought of being so close to Jay with his hands on your thighs giving you pause. You’re not sure you’ll be able to act normal in that position. Sighing, you look back towards the house and spot Heeseung and Jake sitting at the table with Minjeong and Jimin, and relief washes over you. Minjeong is comfortably settled in Jimin’s lap, her eyes fluttering open the second you approach as if she can sense your presence. She smiles when you squeeze her shoulder.

“Either of you girls up for a round of chicken?” you ask, already knowing they’ll say no too.

Minjeong’s smile is apologetic, and Jimin’s is teasing as they both shake their heads, looking up at you from their seat. You turn your attention to the boys across the table, and there’s a smile on Jake’s face that tells you he’s dying for you to ask him. So you do, or at least you try to—he shoots up out of his seat before you even finish saying his name, nodding fervently until Heeseung elbows him and he keels over, wincing.

“On second thought,” he manages, sitting back down. “I’m not in the mood to play chicken,” he says through gritted teeth, glaring at his friend, though Heeseung looks up at you with a smile, the picture of innocence.

“Sorry, YN. I’m not in the mood either,” Heeseung says, sounding sincere. “But I’m sure Jay would be happy to play if you asked.”

The girls giggle amongst themselves at this obvious attempt to put you and Jay together in one manner or another, and you can’t help laughing too.

Jake’s nodding enthusiastically now, seeming to realise what’s going on, just a beat too late. “Jay loves chicken,” he says reverently. “He’s like the chicken fight master.”

You grin despite yourself. “Is that so?”

Looking back over your shoulder, you set your sights on Jay, who’s now lying down — abandoned by Sunghoon who’s sitting with Donghyuck and Yizhuo — oblivious to the plot forming around him. You take a deep breath and approach him, one step at a time, until you’re standing over him. Jay’s eyes snap open when you say hi, smiling at you as he stands up.

“You’ll never guess what Jake let slip about you.”

The colour drains from his face, and you watch as his smile wavers. “He’s exaggerating,” he blurts out.

“Oh?” You tilt your head, feigning disappointment. “That’s too bad. I heard you’re the chicken fight master.”

For a moment, he watches you before running a hand through his hair, serious all of a sudden. “They actually call it a Jay fight where I’m from,” he tells you, shrugging, though his casual demeanour slips when you laugh, and he grins. “I’m retired now though. Wanted to go to university, do normal 21-year-old shit, you know? Change of pace.”

You roll your eyes, resting your hands on your hips. “Are you going to play with me or not, Jay?”

Deciding not to wait for his answer, you turn on your heels and walk away — perhaps with more of a sway in your hips than normal — and hoping he’ll follow. After a beat he does, footsteps padding along the grass as he jogs after you. When you look over your shoulder, his eyes are on your ass, and his ears burn red when he realises you’ve caught him staring.

A wicked grin spreads over your face as you get into the pool and Jay follows suit, much to Jeno’s great satisfaction as he calls out from the other side, “Took you long enough!” The smile on his face doesn’t quite manage the impatience in his voice.

Jay pinches his nostrils before ducking under the water, his free hand tapping your thigh—a silent signal for you to get on. Your heart was already racing just thinking about his hands on your legs, but now, as you get settled on his shoulders, his head between your thighs as he wraps his arms around them, your heart, you think, is on its last beat. As soon as he stands up straight, you notice how much more stable he is than Donghyuck, and realise that his grip on your thighs might send you into a frenzy.

He tips his head back, looking up at you with concern written all over his face. “All good?” he asks, squeezing your thighs in a way you think is meant to be reassuring, but only serves to send you into a panic.

“All good,” you repeat, breathless.

He smiles, squeezing your thighs again and the game starts before you can think about it too hard.

Being on Jay’s shoulders, feeling his strength beneath you, gives you a renewed sense of determination. Alight with competitive energy you didn’t know you could bring out for a swimming pool game, you find yourself finally pushing Aeri over. Not once. Not twice. But three consecutive times. Each time, the victory is sweeter and sweeter—Jay’s smile forcing a swell of pride to heat your chest, forcing frenzied butterflies to flutter.

With each of Aeri’s defeats, she takes longer and longer to come up from the water, though she seems delighted now that you’re actually trying, a huge grin on her face every time Jeno hoists her up into the air, wobbling a little from sweet cocktails and all the extra height she’s gained on his shoulders. And for a fourth time, she falls back into the pool, cackling to herself on the way down as you and Jay high-five.

Leave it to Jaemin to spoil everyone’s fun though, as he comes out of the house with a bottle of water in hand, and his eyes popping out of their sockets at the sight of you on Jay’s shoulders. “Looking pretty calm out there for a guy who can’t swim, huh, Jay?”

You freeze, and Jay does too, losing your balance as Jaemin’s words sink in. “Wait, what?” you ask after a beat, glancing down at him. “You can’t swim?”

Jay looks up, a sheepish yet amused smile on his face. “Not really, no.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Your eyes widen in disbelief. “Why would you get in the pool? Why would you agree to this?”

He hesitates for a moment before squeezing your thigh, lips curving into a small smile. “Because you asked me to.”

The simplicity of his answer, his honesty and his firm grip on your thighs heat your body from the inside out. You stare down at him, all thoughts of the game and everything else lost to the fondness in his eyes. It’s hard to focus on anything other than Jay and the way your heart races in your chest. For fear of saying something stupid, you decide to do something stupid instead. Your breath catches for a moment, eyes on his, hanging in the balance. Without a second thought, you screw your eyes shut and throw yourself back into the water, the splash jolting you back to reality.

“Because you asked me to,” he’d said, and what kind of response is that? Overwhelmed and waterlogged, you can’t find the words to say back. Can’t process anything but the hiss of water in your ears, the laughter of your friends. Too soon, you resurface, pushing your hair out of your face just in time to see him grinning at you, clearly amused by your display.

You have no idea how Jay manages to say the things he says so easily, or why it always moves you so much—but you are certain, without a shadow of a doubt, that this boy and that pretty mouth of his are going to be a big problem for you this summer.

Since she’s always the quickest to get ready, Minjeong is always the last to get into the shower, and you can hear her playlist through the walls. In her room, you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone while Jimin sits cross-legged in front of the full-length mirror, digging through her makeup bag.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she starts, glancing at your reflection with a bit of hesitation. “But Minjeong told me about your little crush on Jay.”

Her words make you pause mid-scroll, the corners of your lips twitching up in amusement. “I figured she might’ve told you,” you say, setting your phone down. “Though I’m not sure there’s much to do about it. He’s cute, sure, but..”

Jimin twists around to face you, careful not to topple her drink. “Minjeong also told me about your whole.. self-sabotage thing,” she adds cautiously.

A resigned laugh slips out of you. “Yeah, that sounds like Minjeong.”

Along with her softening facial expression, her tone becomes gentler too. “No one’s saying you have to, like, marry the guy, but if you like him — or even if you just think he’s cute — maybe it’s worth giving it a shot. Wouldn’t you rather look back and know you tried, instead of wondering what might’ve been?”

Try as you might, you can’t keep your smile from faltering. Even though your group and friendship with Jaemin survived, it took a long time for that to seem like a viable option, for you to hear his name without an ache in your chest—all because you wanted to give it a shot. You do your best to remind yourself that Jimin’s only being supportive, that things don’t have to end badly this time, but you can’t shake the bitter taste in your mouth at the thought—like your body’s way of warning you about making the same mistake twice.

“I’ll think about it,” you say after a beat, voice too formal, too stiff.

Jimin doesn’t let up though, only grinning at you and nodding her head like you’ve made a promise. “If you’re worried about him being a dick or something, don’t be. Jay’s too nice for his own good.”

“So I keep hearing.”

She gives you a look, assessing you for a second before laughing. “Only because it’s true.” And with that, she turns back to the mirror as the shower cuts off.

Over the next hour, the three of you finish getting ready, right on time for Jeno to pick you all up for pres at Aeri’s. Nobody mentions Jay until you get there. When you get out of the car, Jeno gives you a once over, smiling to himself as the waning 10 p.m. sun shows off the mischief in his eyes.

“Is Jay coming tonight?” he asks.

You shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking about it,” you lie, thankful that Jimin and Minjeong are too busy with each other to expose you—or leave the car.

Jeno, on the other hand, is not so easily fooled and he raises a sceptical eyebrow but keeps his mouth shut.

“Okay, fine,” you admit, sighing. “I was thinking he might be, but I’m not sure.”

The girls choose this moment to leave the car, and you wait for traffic to pass by before crossing the road to Aeri’s building. A satisfied laugh curls up Jeno’s entire face, his shoulders shaking as he holds the door open. “Well, whether he shows up or not, at least you look nice,” he says in a tone that leaves you wondering where the teasing ends and the compliment begins.

In her living room, Aeri’s putting glasses on the table as music spills out from her JBL speaker, bass thrumming through the wall. She’s standing in front of the globe floor lamp she bought on Facebook Marketplace last week, silhouetted in soft yellow, glowing at the edges in the dark room, and so stunning in her cute black dress. Jeno thinks so too, gasping beside you when he sees her. He wastes no time giving her a hug, whispering in her ear, making her giggle—bright and carefree, beaming up at him. The smile doesn’t leave her face as she waves at you and the other girls. You hug her and follow her to the fridge, helping carry over the drinks — a six-pack of cider, three bottles of soju, and a bottle of lemonade — and the five of you settle around the table, Jimin on Minjeong’s lap so there’s room for everyone.

Aeri’s place might just be your favourite, cosy and just big enough for a handful of you to hang out, always quieter and more intimate than the chaos of a day spent at your apartment or Yizhuo’s. Everyone else is meeting at Mark’s house for the party, while you, Minjeong and Jimin opted to ride with Jeno, which led to Aeri offering to host the four of you for pre-drinks.

Beaming, she pulls up a Power Hour video on her laptop, turning the screen so everyone can see the timer. A rush of dread washes over you as you eye your glass, kindly filled up by Jeno with a 1:1 ratio of cider and soju that tastes startlingly juice-like. In the seat across from you — self-appointed designated driver — Jeno’s taking huge gulps of water as each minute passes quicker than the last, conversation becoming funnier and funnier, grimaces fading into smiles. You’re about fifteen minutes in when Jeno’s phone lights up with Donghyuck’s name on it and he answers with a smile, putting him on speaker. Muffled music comes through the phone as Donghyuck complains, as always, about how late you all are and how stupid he looks standing by himself.

“It’s okay, Hyuckie!” Jimin starts, pausing only to hiccup. “You’re still going to look stupid when we’re all together.” Her words are running into each other already, her plan of alternating shots of soju and lemonade not quite working out the way she’d expected.

“Thanks, bud. That means a lot,” Donghyuck deadpans, and you can hear his eye roll through the phone.

Minjeong covers Jimin’s mouth with her hand and Jeno gives her a grateful smile, taking the phone off speaker and bringing it to his ear. “We’ll leave in five, send me the address,” he says before hanging up. With a bright smile, he tucks his phone away before downing the last of his water, unprompted by the video. “Drink up, and let’s go.”

With the timer zeroing in on eighteen minutes, you don’t take your eyes off the screen and finish off your drink when the video tells you to. The warmth of soju and cider settles in your stomach as you stand up, limbs suddenly lighter. Jimin giggles beside you, leaning into Minjeong, who gives her a soft smile, her own laughter bubbling up in response.

As you gather your things and head for the door, Aeri slips her arm through yours, her head leaning on your shoulder. “You look so pretty, I love this dress on you,” she tells you quietly, pinching your waist. “Drink as much as you want tonight, I’ll take care of you.” She holds out her pinky finger towards you, wagging it as she waits for you to lock your finger with hers.

You smile, locking your pinky with hers to seal the promise and keeping them locked until you reach the car. The warmth of her words sticks with you as you buckle your seatbelt, and without even realising it, you’re smoothing out your dress and checking your makeup in your phone camera. Jay and curiosity about his attendance tonight creep into your thoughts, wrapping around your mind like a vine.

Jimin and Minjeong instruct Aeri to turn the volume up to full blast, belting out California Gurls like their lives depend on it, but even the bass, frying the speakers and rattling against your calf can’t distract you—your curiosity won’t loosen up. It follows you down the street, through Mark’s front door and straight into the thick, pulsing thrum of the party. Even the start of your favourite party song thudding through the house, vibrating in your chest like a heartbeat, isn’t enough to shake the hold Jay has on your mind.

It’s not until Jaehyun hugs you, handing you a drink you recognise to be his signature vodka lemonade right when you smell it — though lemonade-tinged vodka would be a better name for your new drink — that you’re finally tugged back down to earth, back into the moment. This moment, in Mark Lee’s parents’ hallway with guests flooding in by the second, weed, cologne and a plug-in air freshener mingling under your nose in a way you won’t say you dislike.

Jaemin hugs you next, and it’s only when he says he thought you came with Minjeong that you realise she and Jimin have disappeared from your side—he laughs when you tell him you did. With a raised brow, he ducks down to sniff the cup Jaehyun gave you and immediately recoils, shaking his head before replacing the cup with his own.

He leans down, mouth against your ear, whispered words tickling your skin. “Pace yourself, Duckie,” he says protectively, though barely a second later, you hear a grin spread over his lips. “Got a feeling you might want to remember tonight.” Straightening up, Jaemin winks at you, nodding towards the kitchen.

Knowing Jaemin, any number of things could be waiting for you over the threshold, and as much as you’re hoping it’s Jay, you’re a little more excited to see him than what you think is appropriate. Grin still sitting on his lips, Jaemin slings an arm over Jaehyun’s shoulders and the two take off towards the front door. With a deep breath, you lift his cup to your lips, hoping the alcohol will help you loosen up a bit, and maybe if it wasn’t a cup of water, it might have.

Seeming to sense your thoughts, Aeri distracts you by throwing herself around to the music and you can’t help but join in, Jeno following suit as he laughs at your dancing. You’re not sure who’s responsible for the playlist, but you won’t pretend like you’re not having the time of your life jumping around to Black Eyed Peas and Nirvana.

Mid-headbang, Jeno nudges you hard enough to jostle your cup, cool water spilling over your fingers and slipping down your wrist. You blink, eyes locked on his finger instead of what it’s pointing at. “There’s your boy,” he says in your ear, voice low and teasing.

Your heart kicks up a notch as you turn—and there he is. Your boy.

With Huh Yunjin.

Jay’s standing by the counter, nodding slowly at her. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you can hear how loud she’s laughing about it, her head falling back as her hand hits his bicep, lingering before falling to his forearm and then back to her side. Yunjin flirting, that much is clear—flipping her silky dark hair, batting her long lashes at him. And Jay is.. he’s smiling. A lot. That same easy grin you’ve been daydreaming about for the past few weeks.

When you look back at Jeno, his smile doesn’t falter, bright and sweet, reassuring. “He’s just being nice,” he says, waving a hand dismissively like it’s obvious.

Maybe it is.

Either way, you need to get out of here.

Unfortunately, the kitchen is your closest escape route, a narrow corridor of laughter and sticky floors, the sharp smell of spilt beer, and something frying in a pan. Laughter rings louder in here, or maybe it’s just Yunjin’s—bright, clear, happy. You don’t dare glance at them. Your feet move faster, eyes fixed on the smudged glass of the back door. The LEDs in the kitchen are too vivid, shifting through the spectrum at what must be lightspeed, catching on the edges of Jay’s smile—you can feel it even if you refuse to look. Her laugh spills through the air, wrapping around you, making the room smaller.

Under your hand, the door gives easily, like it understands your urgency, and as soon as you step outside, the air is thicker than you remember—a stuffy night that might swallow you whole, and you find yourself staring at the sky. Despite being indistinguishable from one another, meshing to create a great, thick purple mass over your head, you can’t deny how beautiful the clouds still are. You don’t mean to get so caught up in the sight, but it happens, forcing you to take a seat in the dry grass before you even realise it.

There is, you’ve found, something quite humbling about getting second, third, and fourth opinions on your outfit after perfecting your hair and makeup, only to be bested by a girl with bright pink star-shaped pimple patches on, wearing a baby tee and baggy jorts—the outfit you’d changed out of in favour of Aeri’s black dress that’s a guaranteed compliment magnet.

The clouds, while messy, are a good distraction from what you saw inside, which.. was nothing, ultimately. It’s not like it’s against the law to laugh and drink with a girl. Is it? You shake your head to clear the thought. The clouds are pretty and everyone around you is having a good time, so you should too.

You hear Jay’s voice before you see him, smile audible around his words, each syllable dripping with excitement. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you!” he calls out from behind you. It’s the kind of statement that might come off as cliché, mildly ridiculous if it weren’t for the fact that Jay said it. And because it is Jay — and because you are drunk — it feels like something else entirely. Something you can’t quite put your finger on but makes your heart stutter all the same.

When he reaches you, he asks if he can sit and you nod, patting the spot beside you in the grass. Jay doesn’t hesitate to sit down, leaving no space between the two of you, thigh pressed against yours like there’s no other option—like it belongs there. His lips curl up even more, and there’s that smile, beautiful even in the dark—a little lopsided, entirely irresistible. The kind of smile you haven’t seen since the night you met, drunken giddiness written all over it, eyes twinkling at you. For a split second, you remember Yunjin’s hand on his arm, how he’d smiled at her. But here he is, beside you now, all of his attention on you, and it’s hard to remember why you’d been bothered at all. With your heart beating in the back of your throat, you turn away from him, head tilting towards the sky again, eyes locked on the clouds.

Jay doesn’t take his eyes off you. “What’re we looking at?” he asks, voice thick with curiosity.

“The clouds,” you say softly, raising your arm to point at the sky as if he might not understand. “They’re kind of a mess tonight—I can’t make anything out.”

At this, he follows your gaze, leaning back on his hands. You turn your head instinctively, attention on him and the straight slope of his nose. His smile doesn’t fade, his dimple is still showing. He looks so good it’s unreasonable—how could you ever look at another guy and be anything remotely close to interested again? It seems like getting to watch him watch the clouds is the universe’s way of rewarding you for existing.

“Huh.. I can’t make anything out either,” he says finally. “But, I really like your dress. A lot, you look so beautiful, I like it.”

An audible smile stretches your lips, heart tripping over itself as you thank him, cheeks burning enough to rival the summer heat.

Silence falls between you and it’s as if the world has shrunk down to you two and the murky sky above—sounds of the party quieting to a distant hum as they fade into the background. It’s nice, more comfortable than maybe it should be, though fleeting because Jay’s quick to break it, amusement clear in his voice when he says, “Jaehyun is so gone, by the way. I don’t know if you’ve seen him, but he’s completely fucked.”

You can’t help but laugh, finding the image easy to picture even without seeing him tonight. “Yeah, Jeno’s on DD tonight. Poor guy, I think Jaehyun’s just trying to make up for all the drinks Jen’s missing.”

Jay considers this for a while, head nodding in slow contemplation before he chuckles—a low, sardonic sound. “Jeno’s.. he’s a solid guy.”

This makes you laugh too, a soft smile on your lips as you agree, perhaps too dreamily. “Yeah, he is.”

“You two seem really close,” he blurts out, all subtlety lost to alcohol.

“We are really close.” You shrug, fighting a smile. “He likes to pretend we all annoy him, but I know he likes us relying on him—so I’m always asking him for help with things, even if I know I can do it myself.”

Jay turns his head slightly, his eyes still on you, but there’s something different in his gaze now that makes your breath catch. It’s soft again, more than you’ve ever seen it as a small smile curves his lips. “You’re always looking after everyone, aren’t you?”

You wonder if his question is a trap, but step into it anyway. “I’m trying to,” you admit, keeping your answer short before you start monologuing about how much you love doing it.

Your response only makes his smile widen, a soft look in his eyes when he says, “Maybe I should start looking after you, then. You keep focusing on everyone else, and I’ll focus on you.”

A tickly flutter goes off in your stomach at his words. It’s so Jay to say something like that and mean it, and it works on you every single time.

“Yeah, alright,” you say, giving in. “Maybe you should.”

Ever since you got Jay’s number, you’ve been hyper aware of the fact that you have it. His name, Park Jay, nestled snugly between Na Jaemin and Park Jisung in your contact list, sticks out like a sore thumb—reminding you of the fact that you haven’t used it yet, even though you want to.

Jay, choosing to be a gentleman — you think — had asked if you wanted his number after Mark’s party like it wasn’t a big deal and beamed when you said yes—placing the ball firmly in your court. And there it’s been, for a whole week, sitting at your feet, collecting dust.

Minjeong’s teasing has been lighthearted enough, poking her head into your room and asking if you’ve texted him yet quickly becoming part of her daily routine. And shaking your head while mumbling a refutation has quickly become part of yours. But when Minjeong teams up with Jimin? That’s another story entirely. Emboldened by her girlfriend, Minjeong’s pestering is relentless. After an hour of being ignored — even though you’re wedged between them on the couch — you find yourself wishing for the constant teasing instead.

Enough is enough.

Your frustration reaches a peak, forcing you off the couch. “Fine!” you say, shocking yourself, and the girls with your volume. “What should I say?”

Jimin gives you a wicked grin, eyes glowing with mischief, but Minjeong is quick to rein her in. “Just ask if he wants to hang out tonight.”

“Tonight? Minjeong, it’s six o’clock!” you say, scandalised at the mere suggestion.

“What are you, eighty? It’s barely evening!” Jimin scoffs, rolling her eyes.

Minjeong shakes her head. “No, this is perfect. If he takes a while to respond, it won’t be too late to make new plans.”

“Takes a while to respond?” Jimin repeats, eyes wide with shock. She groans dramatically, throwing her head back. “This is YN we’re talking about. The poor guy’s probably been glued to his phone all week, wondering what’s taking so long.”

The visual, while unrealistic, makes you giddy all the same—the thought of Jay pacing around his apartment, phone in hand, getting his hopes up when it goes off, only to sigh when he realises it’s not you. You can’t help getting carried away while the girls go back and forth, imagining what it might be like when you finally text him, losing his cool over a simple: Hey, it’s YN. Sorry, I took so long, been busy. Apparently, in this version of events, you’re a cool girl™—vague, mysterious, and nonchalant. Confident, cocky even, but no one cares because you’re hot and everyone knows it.

In the spirit of the cool girl™, you pull up his contact and start typing, sending your message without hesitation.

You: Hey, I was just wondering if you’re free tn and maybe we could hang out?

You: This is YN btw………

Against all the odds, as Jimin predicted, Jay replies immediately, like he’d truly been waiting by the phone for you to text. You’re so taken aback by his response that you gasp, causing both girls’ heads to snap in your direction, eyes wide with anticipation. But you’re too caught up trying to process the speed of his reply to relay the fact it happened at all.

“What?” They say in unison. “What is it?”

“YN!” you read out loud, snapping back to reality. “Good hearing from you, I was actually about to start making dinner.”

“I told you! I told you!” Jimin jumps to her feet, joy radiating from every single part of her. In the middle of her celebration, your phone vibrates with another text from him, and she reads it aloud over your shoulder. “If you haven’t eaten already, we could eat together?”

At this, Minjeong gets up too, standing on your other side as he starts typing again.

Jay: And if you have eaten already, maybe you could just keep me company while I eat?

The girls immediately spring into action, running to your bedroom before you’ve even had a chance to send a reply to him. After minimal deliberation, you tell him you haven’t eaten yet, and Jay asks if you like steak. With your plans confirmed, and butterflies in your stomach, you join the girls, sighing when you see the state of your room—wardrobe doors flung open, your dresser drawers all varying levels of ajar, and potential outfits laid out on the bed.

Despite the mess they’ve made, having the girls around to help out has really taken a weight off your shoulders, and as you pull your favourite skirt over your hips, you can’t help but let out a sigh of relief. In your full-length mirror, you assess the outfit — with Minjeong and Jimin grinning at either side of you like your fairy godmothers — and nod your head, deeming it worthy. Cute and simple enough to seem effortless despite the thirty minutes it took all three of you to agree on it.

With your makeup done and a strawberry margarita — which Jimin coerced you into drinking ‘for confidence’ — heating your stomach, the two girls finally dismiss you, watching you walk to the bus stop from the living room window, yelling a stream of good lucks and tell us everythings.

On Jay’s doorstep, you can’t help but linger, wondering if it’s not too late to walk away. Wondering how on earth you went from sitting in silence on the couch to standing outside of the door to — what feels like — the rest of your life in a matter of hours. Doubts creep in, and the bottle of wine poking out of your bag starts feeling like a bit much, a box of chocolates might have sufficed. Maybe you should have come empty-handed; it’s not like this is a date or anything.

Right?

Jay answers the door when you knock on it. Handsome as ever with a wide smile on his face, a button-up and loose jeans hanging from his frame—exuding an effortlessness that has you weak in the knees. You barely manage to get all the way through saying hello to him when he pulls you into a hug, the light scent of laundry detergent and something warm, sweet, hits your nostrils, distracting you from the weight of his arms around your shoulders, and how at ease you suddenly are.

“Did you get here okay? I know the route from the bus stop can be kind of tricky.” His hold on you loosens, though his scent lingers. Concern knits his brows together, eyes boring into yours as his lips pout around his words. “I wish you would’ve let me pick you up.”

Butterflies go wild in your stomach as you smile at him, shaking your head. “I got on just fine, Jay, stop worrying,” you assure him—like the five-minute walk, as Google Maps predicted, hadn’t taken you ten minutes.

Jay stares down at you like he doesn’t believe you, though he doesn’t press you on it, only stepping aside to let you in. He tells you that you look so pretty, that he’s happy to see you as you take your shoes off by the door, and, shyly, you mumble your thanks, cheeks burning. Immediately, you take the bottle of wine from your bag, holding it out to him. With both hands, he accepts it, grinning at you, gratitude clear in his eyes. Behind him, there’s a white console table—stylish and sleek, yes, but it’s the painting leaning against it that catches your eye. A landscape, abstract with thick strokes of lush greens, and blocky white masses scattered over what looks like a blue sky. Jay follows your eyeline over his shoulder, looking back at you with a smile.

“It’s new, Hoon brought it when he got back from visiting his parents, his little sister painted it.”

Nosy, you nod eagerly when Jay offers a tour of his apartment—it’s spotless. Cleaner than the place you and Minjeong share, which admittedly, with all the hosting you’ve been doing, has a habit of getting messy within hours of straightening up. All of the furniture is sleek, modern yet tasteful, leaps and bounds away from the micro-trend hellscapes that some of the other guys you know inhabit.

Sunghoon’s bedroom door is propped open, and Jay lets you peek inside, though begs you not to cross the threshold because he’ll know. With a smile on his face, he explains that it’s the bigger of the two rooms and that they played rock, paper, scissors to see who would get it—though both boys walked away victorious, with Sunghoon winning the bigger room, and Jay winning the en-suite. It might be the tidiest bedroom you’ve seen in your life, nothing looks like it’s not in place. Even his rug is perfectly aligned, running parallel to the bed, and the only thing on his dresser is a framed photo of Sunghoon and his friends, sitting dead centre.

“Is he home tonight?” you ask, suddenly noting the stillness of the apartment.

Jay’s answer takes a moment to come out, a look on his face that tells you he wasn’t expecting you to ask. “I.. I sort of kicked him out when you agreed to come over,” he admits, looking down at his feet. There’s a bashfulness to his demeanour that you’re not used to seeing from him, but endears you nonetheless. A giggle slips out when you see the red flush spreading over his neck.

Only as he continues leading you through the apartment does your solitude, and its weight, dawn on you—the fact that he went out of his way to ensure you’d be alone. Your heart skips a beat, imagination spiralling out of control as you wonder what this might mean about tonight, or if Jay has any expectations. Before you even have the chance to picture his button-up slipping down his shoulders, rationale reels you back in. You’d have done the same if roles were reversed—asking Minjeong to leave. Not because of ‘expectations’, but to rid you both of the pressure of having an audience.

In contrast, Jay’s room is full of clutter—though somehow remains tidy. All of his likes and interests greet you from every corner—walls covered in posters, trinkets on his desk, a handful of plushies on his bed, a full guitar stand by the door, and a glass display cabinet housing his collection of whiskey and signed records. With utmost reverence, he takes a moment to tell you about his most prized possession, a signed copy of Definitely Maybe by Oasis.

“I was so distracted trying to bid for that on the train, I ended up like four towns over and the ticket inspector charged me crazy. Worth it though.”

“I bet,” you agree with a smile, feeling like you understand him better after having seen his room.

As Jay leads you to the kitchen, you can’t stop yourself from saying, “I never thought you’d be such a neat freak.”

He chuckles, raising a brow as he looks at you. “You think about me?”

This makes you stutter, unsure how to respond and Jay nudges you gently with his elbow.

“I’m teasing, relax.” He’s smirking though, triumphant looking. “It’s all Hoon’s doing,” he admits after a beat. “I probably wouldn’t be so tidy if it wasn’t for him picking up after me all the time when we roomed together in first year. He made it a habit.”

Everything is laid out on the counter, waiting to be cooked, and Jay ties a black apron around his waist, suddenly becoming very cinched in his oversized clothes, the breadth of his shoulders standing out to you like a third person in the room. Right when you offer to help him out, Jay offers you a drink. You say yes. Jay says no.

“Should we open the bottle?” he asks, reaching for it when you nod. “I wouldn’t invite you over for dinner then make you cook it, come on, YN, have some faith in me.”

“Alright, alright,” you concede, shy under his soft gaze.

With a nod, Jay reaches into one of the cabinets behind him, pulling out two glasses and opening the bottle. He pours the wine into both of them, filling one about halfway, while you stand around awkwardly, lingering by the counter. With the fuller glass in hand, he steps past you, setting it down on the table and pulling out a chair.

“You can sit down if you’d like,” he offers, eyes meeting yours as his hands rest on the back of the chair.

A smile tugs at your lips, and you nod. “I’d like,” you say, sitting down. “How come you filled mine up so much?” you ask.

“If it were just me, I’d drive home after two glasses and some time, but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything when I’m taking you home, so I just poured a little so I could try it.”

You nod, not even trying to argue on the point of him driving you home later because it already took you ten minutes to convince him to let you make your own way to his. With a smile, Jay clinks his glass against yours and the two of you take a sip.

To you, wine is wine—you like white, you love rosé, and you can tolerate red if you’re already drunk. To Jay, it seems, wine is an experience—a great one if the appreciative hum he lets out while examining the label is anything to go by.

“You know your shit, huh? White doesn’t typically go with steak, but chardonnay is beautiful, this one especially,” he comments after a sip, setting down his glass.

“Really?” When Jay nods in response, you smile. “Lucky guess,” you tell him, shrugging.

This is not entirely untrue—if the definition of a ‘lucky guess’ can be stretched to include meticulous research into finding out which white wine pairs best with steak, and pulling a highly recommended (and affordable) bottle from the shelf at the shop after reading an argument on the r/wine subreddit.

“Are you sure you don’t need a hand?” you ask again.

Jay nods. “I promise.”

“There’s really nothing I can do to help?”

“Just let me do something nice for you,” he says, though it comes out like a question, like a sincere request.

It’s nice, albeit weird, to have him — to have anyone — insist on taking care of you when you’re perfectly capable. Of course, Jeno’s always there to take you home when you’ve had too much to drink, and Minjeong will always make you soup and hot tea when you have the flu, but neither of them would ever insist on doing all the work, while you, unencumbered by alcohol or illness, sit there and watch.

Jay’s words echo in your head, each one slowly sinking in with tangible weight and then hitting you all at once. You keep focusing on everyone else, and I’ll just focus on you. He’s keeping his promise, you realise. Without prompt or reminder, not out of obligation or expectation, but simply because he can and wants to. This realisation changes the way he looks to you—he’s softer around the edges somehow, hazy like an apparition, glowing under the soft warm cast of the lightbulb over your heads.

It’s at this moment, here in Jay’s kitchen, that you realise this isn’t just a silly crush anymore.

As dreamy as the situation is, with a handsome man — who is not only kind, but is living and breathing and single — about to make a meal for you, it’s not the ideal moment for such an epiphany.

At the table, you sit with one leg crossed over the other, admiring the various magnets and photos stuck to the fridge, showing off trips to different countries and nights out immortalised in 6x4 prints, pretending like you feel a healthy and appropriate amount of affection for the man in front of you. All the while he moves around the kitchen, washing his hands before opening a packet of spaghetti. He falters, staring at it like it’s some kind of puzzle, but he doesn’t speak up until he notices your eyes on him.

“I swear I know what I’m doing,” he mumbles, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice.

You smile, amused. “I don’t doubt it.”

Jay empties some of the noodles into his palm, holding it in his hand and eyeing it for a beat before extending it to you with wide eyes. “Do you think that’s enough for one serving?”

Tilting your head, you try to remember the general rule. “I think it’s meant to be about the size of a coin.”

“Yeah?” he asks, nodding along. “Which one?”

“I.. have no idea.”

Jay grins, wide and boyish — butterfly-inducing — shaking his head. “Great advice, YN. Thanks.”

It only takes a quick Google search to restore his confidence, and before long, the kitchen is filled with the sound of boiling water bubbling away on the stove as the pasta softens into it. In the meantime, he cracks two eggs into a bowl, whisking them together before grating a generous amount of cheese into the mixture. You watch him with interest, leaning over a little. For Jay, the cooking process is a much more serious practice than when you do it—lucky to find yourself making more than a pot of ramen or rice in the cooker.

“Did you put olive oil in the water?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Jay smiles, shaking his head. “You’re not supposed to. At least, they don’t in Italy.”

“Ahh,” you hum, nodding thoughtfully. “When in Rome.”

He finds this hilarious, laughing as he stirs the mixture. “When in Rome,” he repeats to himself under his breath, trying the phrase on for size.

Even with his attention back on the task at hand, focused on making dinner — a simple but delicious meal, steak and pasta, his speciality, he’d said — his enthusiasm is subtle yet hard to miss. It’s not lost on you how his eyes light up when he lifts the dark green sleeve on the end of the counter, taking out a shiny knife. It's new, he tells you, before launching into a story about how he ran around like a madman this afternoon trying to get it sharpened. A proud grin on his face as he shows you the spot on the bottom of the blade where his name is engraved.

It’s clear as day that cooking is more than a hobby for him, but a passion—a fact that shows itself to you as the process continues. From the way his tongue pokes out between his lips while he works to how carefully he handles each of the ingredients—chopping vegetables delicately, only seasoning the steaks on one side, and going so far as to wrap them in twine so they keep their shape. He doesn’t skimp out on presentation either. He uses chopsticks to twirl the pasta in the pan before moving it carefully to the centre of the plate, twirling it again for good measure. The first one comes out beautifully, restaurant-worthy, and the second one—not so much. Even after a few attempts, the pasta still refuses to cooperate, and the tips of his ears flush.

“Only one of them needs to look good,” he mumbles, a sheepish smile on his face as he looks up at you. “This one’s mine.” His honesty is endearing, and you grin despite yourself as you watch him chop the cooked steak, sheer concentration written all over his face.

After a while, he looks up from the chopping board, his gaze meeting yours, a hint of nervousness in his eyes. “Sorry if I’m being weird,” he blurts out. “I don’t normally cook in front of anyone besides my mum.”

A soft smile plays on your lips as you try to ignore the butterflies flitting about in your stomach. “You’re not being weird, don’t worry about it,” you assure him, doing your best to sound calm and collected. To sound like someone who’s not reading too much into being one of the first people to see him cook. “If anything, I’m the weirdo who can’t take her eyes off you.”

Jay chuckles at this, a grin spreading across his face as he shakes his head. “That makes two of us.”

With more success, he moves the chopped steak from board to plate, setting the sauteed vegetables on the side. A sigh of relief slips out of him, proud of his work, and he smiles at you, carrying your plate to the table and setting it down in front of you before bringing over his own plate and glass.

Steam brings the smell straight to your nose, so enticing already that you have to suppress a moan—though you can’t do anything about the quiet rumbling of your stomach. The food looks beautiful, so beautiful that without thinking, you pull out your phone and snap a picture, knowing that this moment — this meal — will linger in your mind long after tonight, no matter what ends up happening between you and Jay.

As you set your phone down, his eyes are lit up with anticipation. You wonder if he notices the way he’s leaning forward, watching you expectantly, like a student awaiting a teacher’s critique, eager for you to take that first bite. The weight of his gaze makes you nervous, but as another, particularly tempting, waft of steak tickles your nostrils, you pick up your fork and tuck in.

Life begins, in earnest you think, the moment the food touches your tongue. It’s a simple meal, a carbonara with steak, but it’s unlike anything you’ve eaten in your life. Your eyes flutter shut and you slump in your seat a little, a low hum of approval escaping your lips. The steak is tender, perfectly seasoned, and the pasta is rich, creamy, the perfect balance of flavours. Delicious isn’t enough of a word—you’re not even sure if heavenly would cut it either.

When you finally open your eyes, Jay’s watching you intently, his expression a mixture of pride and nervousness, as if he’s hanging onto every minute detail of your reactions, deciphering it. The way his gaze softens when he sees your smile makes your heart flutter. You nod your head, still savouring the taste, and find yourself at a loss for words. All you can manage is a breathless, “Holy shit.”

Jay doesn’t relax quite yet. “Is that a good ‘holy shit’ or a bad one?”

“Are you kidding? It’s an incredible ‘holy shit’, the best ‘holy shit’ I’ve ever uttered,” you say, eyes wide in disbelief that he could even think otherwise.

Finally, he grins and it’s everything, his shoulders relaxing as a wave of relief seems to wash over him. You watch him, awestruck, absently stabbing at a chunk of steak.

“I take it you like cooking then?” you ask dumbly.

Jay nods, laughing a little. “It’s fun.”

“It’s a lot of work.”

“I’m not scared of hard work.” He shrugs, smile unwavering, though there’s something in his eyes that you can’t make out. “It was, like, my second ever dream—to be a chef.”

Curious, you raise an eyebrow. “What was your first dream?”

“I—uh..” Jay’s cheeks redden as he chuckles, twirling pasta on his fork, but he doesn’t seem embarrassed. “I had wanted to sell watermelons, at first. My mum has, like, at least three years’ worth of icebreaker sheets from primary school where I wrote about wanting to be a watermelon salesman.”

You can’t help but laugh, covering your mouth with your hand, thinking fondly of a tiny Jay with twinkling eyes and dreams of watermelons. “Why watermelons?”

“They’re my favourite,” he says simply.

You hum in response. “When did law come into the picture?” you ask.

Jay tilts his head, pausing to chew as he considers this. “Sort of late, honestly. I think I was.. around seventeen? I just knew I wanted to help people—so I had also thought about being a doctor, a social worker, a teacher, but I chose law. I’m not sure why, but my parents were really happy when I brought it up, so..” He trails off, taking a sip from his glass. “They’re super supportive, so it’s not like they pressured me or anything, it’s just.. they sacrificed a lot for me, and I’m their only kid, so I feel like I should give them something to be proud of.”

You pause, the food on your fork and his words hanging in the air, and you’re not really sure what to say. Jay seems to sense this, quickly adding, “But I love studying law, so it could be a lot worse.”

Nodding, you smile at him. “And at least you’ll get to help people.”

His smile returns. “At least I’ll get to help people.” He seems pleased with this as if realising it for the first time. A moment passes as he considers it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get biblical during our first time hanging out.”

A soft laugh comes out of you as you sit up straighter in your seat. “If this is your version of biblical, I think I could get used to it.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” He grins.

As the meal goes on, you can’t stop gushing over his cooking skills and Jay can’t stop beaming at you, humbly accepting your compliments as his cheeks grow redder and redder. Long after your plates are clear, the two of you stay at the table, conversation meandering through various topics, with him asking about your plans after studying Literature — which you haven’t completely finalised, and he assures you that’s okay — and the two of you discovering that your Brownie and Cub Scout troops were being run out of the same church hall. You laugh and chat, the rhythm between you only growing more and more comfortable as the night stretches on.

Eventually, you stand up and start gathering the dishes, despite Jay’s immediate protest. “You don’t have to do that,” he says, though there’s a soft, resigned smile on his face that tells you he knows better than to try and stop you.

“Too late,” you tease, stacking plates and taking them to the sink.

He follows, grumbling half-heartedly about how you’re supposed to be relaxing, but you shake your head, rolling up your sleeves as you help him load the dishwasher. “You know, I’m not happy about this,” Jay mumbles, handing you another pan. His words might have held more weight if it weren’t for the playful glint in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, sure you’re not.” You grin despite yourself as you slot the last dish into place.

With the kitchen tidied up, the two of you stay on your feet, watching each other until you reach for your glass on the counter beside you, taking a slow sip and finishing the last of your wine.

“Top up?” he asks, raising the bottle, eyebrows quirked up.

You consider it for a moment before nodding. “Yes, please.”

Jay nods, filling your glass before pouring himself a glass of water instead. He leans back against the counter, taking a sip, and you have to make an effort to tear your eyes off of him, looking over at the fridge instead.

“These are so cute,” you say, gesturing towards the magnets and photos on the door. “Looks like you’ve been to some cool places.”

He smiles, stepping closer to the fridge — closer to you — as if seeing it anew through your eyes. “Yeah, some of these are from trips with the guys. I love magnets, and Hoon basically worships his film camera, so he’s always getting pictures of us doing stupid shit—he doesn’t leave the house without it.”

You lean in, getting a closer look, examining the photos with curiosity. It’s hard not to notice that Jay is always smiling when he sees the camera on him, a sincere grin from ear to ear no matter who he’s with or where he is. He shrugs when you point it out.

“It’s not something I think much about. I guess I always find myself around things, or people, worth smiling about.”

His words make your heart stutter, a warmth spreading through you that you’re sure has nothing to do with the wine. For a split second, the air around you changes, charged with something you don’t have the wits to put a finger on. So you take another sip from your glass and look up at him. “Lucky you,” you say.

“Yeah.” Jay’s eyes find yours, a small smile curving his lips. “Lucky me.”

At your request, he spends a while telling you the story behind some of the photos, until you somehow know the lore behind each one, and Jay asks if you want to hang out in the living room. The two of you chat mindlessly on the couch, inching towards each other little by little, and it’s not until Minjeong sends you a text asking if you’re coming home that either of you realise it’s well after midnight already.

“Wow, it’s late,” you say, a mix of surprise and reluctance in your voice.

Jay glances at his watch, eyebrows raising. “I guess time really does fly when you’re exchanging embarrassing stories about Jaehyun.”

Laughing again, you stand up from the couch, getting your things together as Jay takes your long-empty glass to the kitchen. Before long, you’re getting into his car and heading home. The quiet hum of the radio is lost entirely to conversation, a grin on his face as Jay tells you he finally had time to check out How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, and that it was every bit as good as you said it was that night at the bonfire.

At the bonfire—it feels like years have gone by since then.

You were confident you remembered every last detail of the conversation you shared that night, but it’s only when Jay brings up the movie that the moment comes back to you. You hadn’t even said it was a favourite of yours — which it is — just that you bought the yellow bikini you were wearing because it reminded you of the colour of Kate Hudson’s dress in the movie. The fact that Jay took the time to watch the movie at all makes your heart skip a beat.

Your heart has a funny way of doing that when he’s around.

Time slips away without warning, and before you know it, the car slows to a gentle stop. You blink, slightly disoriented, to find your building right in front of you. Jay’s already unbuckling his seatbelt when you find your voice, it’s softer than you mean for it to be but insistent nonetheless, telling him he doesn’t need to walk you up. But Jay, ever so stubborn in his quiet way, is out of the car before you realise, rounding to your side and opening the door with a smile.

“What kind of guy doesn’t walk a girl up after driving her home?” he asks, his brow knitting in a way that feels both sincere and playful as you step out.

You tilt your head, adjusting your skirt. “You’d be surprised.” The words slip out before you can stop them.

Jay’s frown is fleeting, a shadow that passes as quickly as it comes. He doesn’t say anything though, simply shakes his head and locks the car. The cool air of your building embraces you as you step in, the stuffy night air left outside as the door swings shut behind you. And for the first time all evening, silence stretches over you—the sounds of your apartment complex at 1 a.m. only amplified because of it. The elevator arrives with a soft chime, and Jay gestures for you to get in first. The air in the lift is different—heavier, not with discomfort but with the weight of things unspoken, words lingering on the tips of your tongues. You wonder what he’s thinking. As the doors open up on your floor, the tension finds a way to relieve itself, though the quiet follows you out.

When you reach your door, you pause, gesturing towards it. “This is me.”

Jay’s expression shifts, a spark of playfulness behind his eyes. “No, that’s a door,” he points out, the corners of his mouth lifting into a grin that quickly breaks into laughter, rich and warm.

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your own lips is inevitable. “You’re hilarious,” you mumble, and his laughter only grows, echoing down the hall.

As his laughter fades, his expression softens, and the two of you settle into silence again.

“I’m really happy you texted me tonight,” Jay admits, a smile on his face as he speaks. “I’ve been going crazy in my apartment hoping you would—was starting to lose hope actually,” he continues in his typical manner.

So earnest yet so casual, said not just for saying’s sake, but because it’s the truth—because he wants you to know.

And in your typical manner, you are charmed, stomach turning giddily, heat rushing to your cheeks and spreading down your neck. It’s a mystery to you how you don’t melt into a puddle by his feet. You can’t help smiling, and a soft chuckle slips out of you knowing how pleased Jimin’s going to be when she finds out her prediction was correct.

“You’ve been thinking about me?” you ask, teasing him with his words from earlier.

They don’t have the same effect on him as they’d had on you, though. Jay only smiles, nodding. “Of course, I’ve been thinking about you.” He tucks his hands into his pockets, swaying gently on his heels, letting his eyes fall to your lips where they linger for more than a short while before meeting your eyes again.

“Right,” you say, suddenly nervous. “Right. Well, thanks for dinner, and for bringing me home, I had a lot of fun.”

He raises his shoulders a little, shrugging. “Anytime,” he says, and you’re sure he means it. “Thank you for coming, I had a lot of fun too.” Jay bites his bottom lip, teeth denting the plump skin.

A beat passes, slow in a good way—the two of you just looking at each other. Waiting—though for what you aren’t sure. In your ribcage, your heart hammers so hard you almost check to see if it’s visible through your shirt. You can’t stop smiling.

“Goodnight, Jay,” you say, finally.

His grin deepens, two dimples coming out to bid you goodnight as well. “Goodnight, YN.”

Even after you’ve locked the door, Jay stays exactly where you left him on your doormat for a few minutes, grinning to himself, while you watch through the peephole, grinning too. The smile on your face doesn’t fade, even as you slip off your shoes, soft steps leading you to the bathroom like you’re floating.

Your smile is unwavering, bright and beaming while you brush your teeth, though you have to try a little more to hang onto it when you get into the shower, try to let the warmth of the evening stay with you a bit longer as you drag your exfoliating glove over your skin. He’s so sweet, you think. They were right about him. It’s hard to push the thought aside, but you try, try to replace it with the thought of that smile, those dimples. He’s just nice. The words don’t leave you, no matter how hard you scrub.

The bathroom is thick with steam when you leave the shower, the heat of the water clinging to your skin even as you dry off. Your moisturiser is too slick between your fingers, too smooth, like it’s slipping away before you’ve fully grasped it. You sigh, rubbing it into your skin, its soft vanilla scent a comfort, finally, a comfort.

Minjeong is laying on your bed when you get back to your room, amongst all of your plushies, a white teddy bear your dad got for you on a trip to London tucked under her arm as she scrolls on her phone. She quickly locks it upon seeing you, sitting up, a grin on her face when she asks, “How was dinner with your boyfriend?”

The question stirs butterflies in your stomach, a smile creeping onto your own lips as you approach the bed to move your plushies, two at a time like always, to your desk. “I do not have a boyfriend,” you mutter, flustered.

“You tanked dinner?” Her voice is soft, faux disappointment dripping from it as she sighs. “Damn, we were rooting for you.”

Suddenly defensive, you look over your shoulder at her, your last two plushies in your hands, shaking a little. Not enough for Minjeong to notice, but enough that you feel it—a tremor of excitement, nerves maybe, you can’t tell. “I didn’t tank dinner either.” You can’t stop grinning at the thought, and there’s no point trying to school your expression as you approach the bed to get in. You peel the duvet back and Minjeong scooches off of it, helping you push it down to the end of the mattress as you lie down, facing each other.

Eagerness and curiosity shine in her eyes as she demands, “Tell me everything.” And so, you do.

She squeals to herself, the picture of delight as she kicks her feet, covering her face with her hands. “He’s so sweet!” she yells, so loud you have to reach out and cover her mouth with your hand. “I’m ready to be quiet now,” she mumbles into your palm. You wait for a beat before freeing her, wiping your hand on your thigh as she continues, “He really likes you, are you kidding? What are you waiting for?”

You shake your head, shutting her down immediately, shutting down your own hopes before they even have a chance to materialise again. “He’s just being nice,” you say, more for yourself than for Minjeong.

There’s no playfulness on her face anymore. “Why can’t he be nice and really like you?” No playfulness in her voice either. “Get out of your own way for once.”

Minjeong, in her way, is being kind. You know she’s being kind. The edge in her voice not matching the sweetness in her eyes, or the gentle squeeze of your hand in hers. But her words sting all the same.

You turn away from her, facing the wall instead. “Okay, yeah,” you say. “Goodnight.”

Behind you, she sighs, mumbling, goodnight, as she leaves your bed, turning off your lamp on the way out. Get out of your own way for once. You squeeze your eyes shut, tightly, willing sleep to come, but instead, all you can think about is the way Jay smiled at you tonight, how he lingered at your door. Maybe Minjeong is right. It might be nice not to run away from this—from Jay, and all the what-ifs you normally don’t allow yourself.

Whether you expected it to or not, dinner at Jay’s has changed a lot for you. Your text thread with him is rarely ever not at the top of your messages app, with him inundating your phone with Spotify and YouTube links—songs he likes and songs he doesn’t, videos he thinks are interesting and videos he thinks are stupid. And whatever the case, whether you like the song or the video, the two of you find ways to discuss them for hours on end, typing quickly, accuracy and punctuation to the wind, so the conversation never dies.

He once sent you a blurry photo of a snack he knows you like while grocery shopping with Sunghoon, and when you replied, Would give up a vital organ to trade places with you rn, he showed up at your door later, a crate of yoghurt coated banana chips in each arm. “Because they were on offer,” he told you, helping you find room for twenty-four packets of dried fruit. Knowing Jay, nice as ever, you don’t doubt he would have brought them even if they weren’t.

You’ve spent more evenings than you care to count (eleven) at his place, often sitting on the couch between him and Sunghoon, watching some of the most obscure movies you’ve ever seen, low budget horrors and religious films they found on DVD at thrift shops around town. Some nights, when Sunghoon isn’t around, the two of you talk for hours on that couch, your head on his shoulder, his arm around yours. You share secrets like this, parts of yourselves that now only the two of you know about and don’t bring up again.

Jay brings the boys to your and Minjeong’s flat whenever all your friends are over, and the two of you spend hours alone in the kitchen, sitting on the counter, sharing pizza and bottles of beer when you’re too lazy to stand up and get your own.

It’s easy to read into the moments you spend like this, analysing them in bed before you fall asleep, hours after everyone’s left and gone home—wondering if Jay meant to hug you for longer than he hugged Minjeong, if he’s actually staring at you when he thinks you can’t see or if he’s just zoning out in your general direction. Your sleep-fogged brain always struggles to settle on a conclusion. Each morning though, while you brush your teeth, it’s hard not to think about everything you’re always hearing about him. Hard not to think of Jeno and his response to your stories, voice heavy with sleep through the phone as he says, yeah that sounds like Jay, or, we’re not all saying he’s nice just for fun, you know. Rational thinking, as always, smacks your cheek with its big, rough palm. Jay has been nice to you, of course, he has, but Jay is just a nice guy, the nicest if you ask literally anyone who’s ever even breathed near him. You spit toothpaste into the sink, blue foam on white ceramic, and sigh, suddenly tired again.

Even with all the time you’ve been spending together, there are still nights like this—nights where you find yourself alone in the apartment, the quiet settling in like a comfortable weight. Minjeong’s spending the night at Jimin’s, but it’s not so bad, you’ve got snacks. You’ve got the leftover rice and bulgogi Minjeong made for dinner last night, and a chilled can of Guinness to keep you company. Initially, you thought you might start one of the shows on your growing watchlist, but you find yourself scrolling through your continue watching, on the hunt for Modern Family and beam with delight when you find it.

You make it through two episodes and a packet of salt and vinegar crisps when your phone lights up next to you on the couch. It’s a text from Jay, and then another.

Jay: Are you coming to Seunghan’s?

Jay: I don’t see any of your crew here or what but idk

A smile stretches over your lips, a giggle threatening to come out as you read the messages and read them again, wishing there was something you could do to lift the ban from Seunghan’s place, get ready, and teleport over there as quickly as possible. You wonder, though briefly, how serious Seunghan was, and if he even knew you were friends with Donghyuck—after all, he was the only one mentioned by name, and ‘your group’ could be in reference to anyone.

You: Lmaooo I didn’t even know he was hosting tn..

You: Hyuck got us all barred haha so no Seunghan’s for us tonight, or ever?

Jay: Noooo that sucks

Jay: What’s your moves tn then?

You: Idk MJ’s not here so sleep soon ig

For a while, you watch the screen as your phone shows you that he’s typing, but he stops quickly before starting again, the dancing ellipses moving for at least ten seconds before they disappear again. Showing up for a split second and leaving, your text going unanswered. Locking your phone, you hit play on the TV and try to think away your disappointment at being left on read. Two whole episodes start and finish before your phone goes off again. Jay, again.

Jay: Gonna miss you tonight :(

You: Me too lmao

Jay: Lmao.. damn 😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢😢?

You grin at the message, not bothering to keep your giggles to yourself as you type back.

You: I meant me toooo !!!!!!! /srs

Jay: 😸😸😸

You can’t help but think the grinning cat emoji looks like him as you put your phone down, focusing on the TV until your eyes get heavy. Knowing you’ll hate yourself if you leave your dishes in the sink, you force yourself to do the washing up now, even as you struggle to keep your eyes open. It doesn’t take too long, thankfully, and you’re drying your hands off, flicking off the kitchen light before you know it.

The knock at the door echoes through the empty flat, interrupting the soft hum of your solitude. Anxiety stirs a pit in your stomach, wondering who could possibly be here at this time, though the thought of your friends calms you down—Aeri is often more likely to come to your house unannounced after midnight than during the day. But she’s not the one standing at the door when you open it.

For a beat, you can only stare, stunned. “Jay?”

Your heart stumbles at the sight of him, swaying a little like he’s caught in some invisible tide. His hair is ruffled, cheeks flushed red, lips pulled up into a lopsided smile. All of a sudden, you feel startlingly awake.

“Hey,” he says, smile faltering. “It’s weird that I’m here, right?” His words are soft around the edges, beginnings and endings melting into each other.

You want to tell him that it isn’t, that him being here feels like the most natural thing in the world. But you don’t, only shaking your head, which seems to be enough for Jay, brings his smile back.

He bites on his bottom lip but it doesn’t stop his grin. “I just wanted to see you tonight,” he admits, and the words come out so simple, like there’s nothing more to explain. He just wanted to see you. Like it’s that easy.

There’s no one else in the hall when you look out, head turning in both directions. “How did you get here?” you ask, voice too calm for how fast your heart is racing.

He shrugs like the answer is obvious. “I walked.”

“From Seunghan’s?” Your voice spikes, disbelief pouring out of every syllable as you try to remember the distance. Hong Seunghan lives thirty minutes away by car. Your eyes widen, heart stumbling all over again. “How long did that take?”

Jay blinks slowly. “I left right after I sent you those emojis, and you left me on read. Thanks for that by the way.” His words are tumbling out now. “Twenty minutes? Maybe? I don’t remember.”

You stare at him, heart twisting in a way you weren’t expecting. He stumbles a little and you can’t bear it anymore. “You sent that text an hour ago, Jay. Get inside,” you say, reaching out to grab him and pull him inside.

With your hands loosely wrapped around his arm, you guide him through the dim hallway. He trudges against the hardwood, a slow shuffle like each step is an effort, but his eyes are wide, alive, drinking in everything around him like he’s never been in your flat before. When you open the door to your room, he stops in his tracks, blinking at the sight.

“Whoa,” he whispers, like it’s sacred. His eyes sweep over the room, taking in every detail, from the pictures on the wall to the clutter on your dresser, until they land on you. “Your bedroom,” he says, awestruck, like it’s the most important room in the world, and the thought makes your heart stutter.

It’s impossible to ignore the fluttering in your chest. You tell yourself it’s just the nerves of having a new person in your room, seeing such a personal part of you. This makes you even, you suppose, thinking of all the time you’ve spent together in his room. Still, the nervousness persists.

“I’ll get you some water,” you offer, turning quickly, desperate for a few seconds away from his gaze.

But as soon as you step toward the door, Jay moves too, like he’s not letting you go alone. “I’ll come with you.”

Sleepiness sets into your bones all at once, and you don’t have it in you to keep him upright again. You shake your head. “Stay here. I’ll be quick.”

On your bedside table, you place a glass of water and a packet of paracetamol, already picturing him needing them in the morning, all while he sits on the edge of your bed, hands tucked under his thighs, eyes on the floor. You move around him, taking your plushies off the bed and leaving them on your desk.

“I’ll take the couch,” he says suddenly. “I can’t just show up here and kick you out of your own bed.”

Your back is turned, fingers curling around the last plushie when you answer absentmindedly. “I thought we could just sleep together.” It takes a heartbeat too long for you to process what you said. Your hand freezes, plushie half in the air as the words settle over the room. You whip your head around, eyes wide. “I mean share the bed! Just sleep in the same bed.. at the same time.” The backpedalling feels ridiculous, but you can’t stop it, cheeks burning furiously.

Jay’s looking at you with a smile that’s half amused and half.. something you don’t quite recognise. “Right, YN. Sure.” He nods, the teasing lacing his voice so thick it sends a jolt of warmth through you, even as you try to untangle your embarrassment.

“I’m serious,” you say, trying to regain some kind of footing. “I share the bed with my friends all the time, of course we can share.”

For a second, so fleeting you barely catch it — like you imagined it — his smile falters. “Right,” he says again after a beat, softer this time, playful tone gone, giving way to something quieter, colder, you think.

The temperature dips in your room, the spark gone, blown out like a candle as you get into bed, mattress sinking beside you when Jay gets in too. You feel every shift of his body, every inch of space keeping you apart. He yawns after a while, the sound breaking through the heavy silence, and relief washes over you when you hear the smile that colours his voice. “Do you cuddle with your friends too?”

Again, your heart stumbles over yourself, the question heating your skin. You swallow, pulse loud in your ears. “I, uh.. I do, actually.” Your voice is smaller than you expect, your throat tight.

Jay doesn’t move though, lying there completely still on his back, the same as you. His breath hitches when you shift, letting your head rest on his chest, the soft cotton of his shirt on your skin, the familiar warmth of his scent tickling your nose. With the way your heart is racing, you don’t trust your voice, so you whisper instead. “Is this okay?”

He hums in response, his arm draping over your waist, fingers brushing against the small sliver of skin exposed by your top. “Is this okay?” he whispers back, his breath warm against the top of your head.

You nod, humming. Jay’s lips spread in an audible smile, his hand squeezing your waist gently and that’s when you feel it—the strike of a match, a candle lit, heat turning over in your stomach as you fall asleep, wrapped up in the comfort of each other.

When you wake up in the morning, with the happy sun beaming through your window, you are alone—nothing left to prove Jay was even here but the smell of him on your sheets and the ring of water on your nightstand where his glass had been.

Yizhuo’s AC is fixed, finally, which the group has, justifiably, deemed cause for celebration. Less justifiable, perhaps, is the fact that you and Minjeong are the ones hosting. Again. Being the guest of honour, Yizhuo is the first to arrive, greeting you and Minjeong with a kiss on the cheek before crouching to untie her shoes by the door.

“I couldn’t get Red Bull,” she grumbles, pushing her hair from her face. “Not for lack of trying.”

Minjeong makes her way to the kitchen, calling out over her shoulder, “What do you mean you couldn’t?”

“I forgot my ID at home!” Yizhuo yells, voice loud in your ear as she stands up, stretching her arms out as she yawns. “I’m giving fifteen-year-old today, I guess.” Looking at her now, with her hair falling out of the bun on top of her head, framing her face, stuck with sweat to her skin, she does look awfully young.

You pinch her cheek. “Sweet, baby Yizhuo,” you coo, endeared by her.

She rolls her eyes though makes no attempt to free herself from your grip. “We’re the same age.”

“And I don’t get ID’d when I buy Red Bull,” you point out, grinning at the lack of amusement on her face. “We might have a can or two in the fridge though.”

Yizhuo brightens up immediately, heading off to the kitchen to join Minjeong. You follow. But you don’t get very far before you hear Aeri’s laughter echoing in the corridor, a firm knock following it—she’s with Jeno and Jaemin, laughing even as she hugs you, not stopping when all six of you are sitting in the living room.

“Surprised we beat Jaehyun here,” Jeno says, looking around as if Jaehyun might pop out from behind a piece of furniture or something. “He’s usually camped out by the door two days before the party.”

Aeri leans into him, still laughing, laughing more. “Referring to an exam as a party is crazy work, Jen.”

This makes Jeno crease his brows, giving her a look, laughing too. “Surely standing outside the exam hall for four hours, on the wrong day, is also, objectively, crazy work.”

You can’t help the laugh that comes through your nose as you lean further back in your seat, and take a sip from your cup. You shake your head, poor Jaehyun. Minjeong’s phone goes off next to you, and she launches off the arm of the couch and to the front door, before Jimin even has a chance to knock. You can hear them in the hall, laughing, chatting, voices just lost to rumbling of Yizhuo’s new speaker against your floor, PinkPantheress’ new single rushing out of it into the room, as the two girls come back, Jaehyun and Donghyuck following close behind.

Together, you share drinks and stories and laughter, so much laughter, an hour passing by quite quickly like this. And yet, they’re missing, still, all four of them—Heeseung, Jake, Sunghoon, and Jay are missing. Their absence, Jay’s mostly, looms in the periphery of your mind, inching towards the forefront, slowly but surely. You take the last sip of your cider, cool and fizzy and delicious, but it does nothing to quiet your thoughts. Even if it weren’t for your liking Jay, you would be lying if you said they haven’t all been a welcome addition to the group — your group — that has held fast through three years of university, staunchly resisting any newcomers until now. And the end of last year when Jimin started dating Minjeong. The boys fit in like they’ve been here all along, a seamless transition, easy. Until now, when their absence is so glaringly obvious, to you, at least.

Jeno, perhaps sensing your unease, comes in from the kitchen, leaning in the doorway with a smile as he asks if the other guys are coming. The question isn’t directed at anyone in particular, but all eyes flick towards you—like you’re Jay’s personal spokesperson. You shrug, you don’t know either. “Maybe they haven’t checked the chat yet,” you offer, shrugging again in an attempt to feign calmness, to make it look like you’re not still trying to work out whether Jay’s lack of response has annoyed you, or made you anxious, or a bit upset.

Everyone nods and moves on, satisfied. Except for Minjeong, who lingers, her brows furrowing when you catch her eye. But she’s distracted a second later by Jimin’s lips on her cheek, and you take that moment to breathe, to relax.

It doesn’t work.

You follow Jeno back into the kitchen, looping your arm through Aeri’s as you reach into the fridge for another drink. She leans in as you open the can, her voice quiet in your ear when she says, “They’re definitely coming.”

She’s smiling when you look at her, playing with your bracelet, but there’s a knock at the front door before you get to quiz her on it, and her lips spread into a grin as she nudges you out of the room. The door opens easily when you try the handle, and there he is.

Jay.

With his friends.

He looks incredible, of course. Better somehow, his good looks amplified by his absence, you think—as they are wont to do. The freckles dotted around his left eye stand out especially, pretty like a constellation. You know from stalking his Instagram that they stick around through all four seasons, unlike the ones dotting the centre of his face, arms, and back sporadically, tiny kisses from the summer sun. He’s in a white vest and loose pants, nothing special though enough to take your breath away, arms buff, as ever, even while he’s just standing there. You shouldn’t be as surprised to see him as you are, you invited him, personally, after all. It’s just that, he didn’t exactly text you back last night when you did, or.. at all, since he left the flat last week. Heat, stupid, traitorous, creeps up the back of your neck, air knocked out of you to make space for something else, something tickly and warm, heart stuttering in your chest and you can’t tell if it’s gearing up to race ahead or stop entirely—for better or for worse, it does the former. His lips are set apart a little, slightly ajar, eyes wide, like he wasn’t expecting you to be the one to answer the door to your own place, like he wasn’t expecting to find you here at all.

It’s Jake who breaks the silence, stepping into the apartment with an extended, hey, and a big hug for you as always, with Heeseung and Sunghoon following suit, bright beams on their faces while Jay stands there, on your doorstep, again, still as a photograph, a moment caught in time, the past.

“It’s okay that we’re here, right?” he finally asks, voice a little tight. “That I’m here?”

You smile but it’s just as stiff as you feel. “I invited you, didn’t I?”

Jay presses his lips into a straight line, observing you for a moment longer before nodding his head and stepping inside. He leaves his shoes by the door and joins everyone else in the living room.

The evening stretches out before you, voices rising and falling, slipping under the music as Yizhuo’s new speaker makes the floorboards vibrate. You’re sitting at the table with Jaehyun and Jake, half-listening to their conversation about.. You’re sitting at the table with Jaehyun and Jake, their conversation lost on you, background noise as far as you’re concerned. Even if you don’t have any of his, Jay has your full attention. He’s on the other side of the room, sitting on the couch next to Yizhuo, his hand wrapped around a bottle of beer and his head tilted back, laughing at something she said. You can hear it over the music, warm and infectious and genuine.

You shift in your seat a little, crossing one leg over the other as you take a long swig from your can. Minjeong joins you, pulling a chair behind yours and resting her chin on your shoulder, arms wrapping around you—you ease up immediately. And right when you’re about to turn away, Jay looks at you. Finally. It’s only now, after its absence, that you realise how much you’ve missed that smile of his, the quirk of his lips, his deep, asymmetrical smile lines, his dimples, and perfect straight teeth. But he just looks, expression neutral and unchanging like he’s looking beyond you, through you, and then—nothing. He’s back to laughing with Yizhuo and Jeno like it’s no big deal, like your relationship, everything you’ve built up this summer, is no big deal.

“Bathroom,” Minjeong whispers in your ear, yanking you out of your chair before you have a chance to protest, and dragging you down the hall where she flicks on the extractor fan and shuts the door with a dull click that seems to mute everything on the other side of it. The bathroom light is harsher than you’ve ever realised, stark and abrasive on your eyes compared to the ambience of the living room and the rest of the flat. You’ll need to swap it with a softer bulb, a warmer one, maybe Jeno can help you change it.

“What happened with you two?”

She’s being gentle, but her voice, the question still stings a little. You blink at her, cheeks flushed, suddenly feeling like a scolded child, and even more so when she brushes your hair behind your ears with her hands, soft, sweet, Minjeong. Unsure how to answer, you shrug, chewing on your lip.

“Did he do something?”

You shake your head, mumbling the word, no, and hating the way her face shifts, a furrow in her brow before she sighs, pulling you in. The sudden pressure of her arms around you is unexpected but welcome. She’s hugging you tightly, the scent of her perfume, clean, light, jasmine, enveloping you, a familiar comfort as she strokes your hair.

“It’s only me,” she mumbles into your shoulder, as if reminding you. “You can tell me if he did something.”

The words melt into you, loosening something in your chest that you didn’t realise had been knotted so tightly. You laugh, dry, humourless, shaking your head. It takes a bit, but you manage to ease your way out of her hold, eyeing her for a moment, catching the concern written all over her face.

“He didn’t,” you say after a while. “It was my fault, I don’t know why I let him spend the night.”

Minjeong’s head snaps up, eyes wide, nearly bugging out of her head. “Why you let him what?” The words escape her in a burst, loud enough to make you flinch. She clamps her hand over her mouth, and you can’t help but laugh.

“He went to Seunghan’s last week, but left to come over here,” you explain vaguely, scratching at your thigh. “It was late, and he didn’t have a way home, so I told him he could sleep over.”

Her hand is still over her mouth, but you can see her brain whirring, processing this new piece of information. When she finally lowers her hand, her face is a storm of emotions—shock, disbelief, maybe even a little irritation. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”

You don’t have a real answer, and Minjeong knows that. She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, the way she always does when she’s trying to keep her frustration in check. “So what happened?” she asks, and her voice is softer now, but more intense—like she’s ready to solve this mystery whether you like it or not. “How was he acting? What did he say? What did you say?”

Playing with the hem of your shorts, you hesitate before finally giving in. The story spills out of you like water from a faucet, the night replaying in your mind as you speak, a smile on your lips as you get wrapped up in details like the little pout on his lips when you left to go get water, and how his calloused fingers felt on your skin. Minjeong squeals and grins at all the right parts, a dreamy look in her eyes until you reach the end, when she snaps out of her trance and looks at you like you’re stupid.

“Are you, like, chronically stupid or something?”

Oh, you think, frowning.

“Use your brain!” she yells, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Why on earth would you choose that moment to lament on friendship? Jay was in your bed — your dream guy, in your bed — and you called him your friend?”

“Newsflash, MJ, he is my friend!” you say defensively, cheeks burning as you do your best to ignore the ache in your chest at having to call him that. “And I didn’t even really call him my friend. I meant it in a ‘I’ve shared the bed with Jeno and Jaem a million times and they’re just my friends, of course I’d share the bed with you’ sort of way.”

Minjeong takes a step back, her face twisting in horror. “You brought up Jaemin?”

“No! Jesus, I’m not that stupid.”

Her brow raises, unconvinced. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Hey!” you shout, smacking her on the arm. She smacks you right back, and the sting of it snaps you out of your self-pity for a moment, as you mumble, “Ouch.” A small smile creeps over your lips as you rub your arm, and Minjeong catches it, her eyes softening.

“You two need to talk,” she says firmly, her voice quieter now. She gives you a look — a mixture of exasperation and affection — right when someone knocks on the door. Minjeong looks over her shoulder at it before gripping the handle. One last look at you, stern this time. “If you don’t talk to him soon, YN, I swear, I’ll do it for you.”

Jay texts you back as soon as you hit send, like he’d been waiting for another chance to turn you down — Yoooo that’d be so fire.. I’m out w Hoon tn but another time for sure, YN! — and it’s the seventh time he’s turned you down via text message in two weeks.

You’ve never known him to be so popular. If it’s not Sunghoon, it’s Heeseung, or it’s Jake—or some combination of those three. If not them, it’s the guys from his Law cohort, and if not them, he’s with Jaemin, of all people. You, it seems, aren’t even worth a single night. His bro-speak comes in several painful degrees, with Monday’s message being the most violent offence. A text composed of eighty-two characters—a whopping four of them used to call you dude. Each word, a carefully crafted brick in the wall between you and the Jay you thought you knew. The Jay who drove one of the first years thirty miles home after football training because he forgot his wallet on the bus. The Jay you’ve spent the whole summer falling for.

Being left on read would be less insulting.

In your clenched fist, your phone — rigid, metal — starts hurting your fingers, a red imprint on your palm when you put it on your lap. As you inspect the indents in your skin, a lightbulb turns on in your head, glowing with an idea that’s either genius or unhinged. Spurred on by irritation, your fingers hover over the keys, thumb pressing send before you have a chance to change your mind.

You: Hey Hoon, are you with Jay?

There’s a moment — a brief, anxiety-induced moment — where you consider deleting the message. But your phone goes off with a jarring ding, the screen lighting up to show you Sunghoon’s reply.

Nah, Jay was too busy being a loser in his room to come out tn 👎

The revelation, the truth, turns your stomach, but you can’t help but laugh at Sunghoon’s next message, a belated attempt at loyalty for his best friend.

Unless he said he’s w me, then yeah he’s at the bar rn getting drinks.

Without a second thought, you stand up from the couch, tugging your shoes on with one hand and grabbing your keys with the other before storming out. The bus is late, of course, but you’re not sure how much that matters. You sit in the hot silence of the night, anger filling the space where music normally is. Off the bus, down the winding path, and through the door to Jay’s building that a kind elderly woman holds open for you. The elevator trudges up the shaft, every jolt a reminder of why you’re here—because he’s avoiding you, and doesn’t have the decency to tell you the truth, or at least coordinate stories with his friend. When you finally knock on Jay’s door, it’s like pushing the last domino in a row.

This door swings open, and Jay’s standing in front of you, bags under his wide eyes, surprise, and maybe guilt coating your name when he says it. He sounds confused, voice soft—a far cry from the nonchalant texts he’s been sending you. Unfortunately, the sight of him blinking sleepily at you crumbles your resolve instantly—all irritation slipping away into nothing but pure concern. “Come,” you say quietly. “Let’s go eat.”

As if in a daze, Jay only nods, taking the key out of the door and stepping out in his sliders.

Silence follows the two of you out of his building and all the way down the street, interrupted only by the scuffing of his shoes against the pavement. Around you, the stuffy evening air swallows up any words that might have been spoken. Then the smell of food hits, tteokbokki you think, wafting from the open door of a restaurant you’ve never been to, sharp and spicy, tempting under your nose, enough to make you stop in your tracks. Jay stops too, following you inside.

You find a table near the window, bright sunlight shining in through the glass, warming your skin. Behind you, Jay lingers, hanging back as if he’s waiting for your permission to sit, to relax—he doesn’t though, shoulders stiff as he sits in the seat across from you. Before you know it, he’s up from his chair, already at the drinks fridge in the corner, scanning the shelves like he has a goal in mind. There’s no time to tell him what you want to drink because when you think of it, he’s already pulling the can from the shelf, lip caught between his teeth as he browses for himself. The waitress comes while he’s away, a too-bright smile plastered on her face as you order ramen for both of you and tteokbokki to share. When Jay sits back down, it’s with your drink in hand, cracking it open without a word and setting it down in front of you. You mumble your thanks but don’t take a sip, hands in your lap playing with the hem of your shorts. He doesn’t reply, staring at his own hands on the table, fingers tapping once, twice, before his gaze lifts to meet yours, lips parting to speak.

You don’t give him a chance, cutting in. “We can talk later, Jay. Let’s just eat for now.” The words slip out, your voice quieter than you expected.

He tilts his head, the softness in his eyes catching you off guard. He says your name with a weight in his voice that makes you pause, uttering a quiet, what? in response.

“I’m sorry I lied to you tonight.”

It’s the way he says it — plain, simple, not dressed up to hide anything — that makes your chest tighten. You shake your head like he’s being silly, though you appreciate the apology nonetheless. “It’s okay,” you tell him, meaning it. He seems to know you’re being sincere.

Your food is piping hot when it reaches the table, steam heating your cheeks. Jay doesn’t seem to mind though, digging in immediately, not even stopping to blow on his ramen before eating it. His hands are quick, chopsticks moving from bowl to mouth in a blur as he nods appreciatively. You don’t even realise you’re staring until his eyes flick up to yours, straightening up a little and dabbing at his broth-red lips with a napkin.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, clearing his throat.

Without words, you stab at a cheese-covered rice cake and enjoy the tangy spice on your tongue. The sound of slurping ramen fills the air between you, but it’s not awkward, not really. Just.. quiet. And you don’t bother asking if he’s eaten yet because you can tell he hasn’t, because you know he’ll shrug it off. So instead, you start eating too, trying to match his rhythm but never quite catching up.

When your bowls are cleared and your stomachs are full, both of you rise from your seats at the same time. Jay steps towards the till first, hand already halfway into his pocket, but you stop him, hand wrapping around his wrist like a reflex.

“I’m paying,” you say firmly, reaching for your phone.

“YN—” He starts, but you cut him off with a shake of your head, not wanting the back and forth that always comes with dining out.

“Don’t argue with me, Jay.” Your voice is soft but edged with a finality that makes him stop.

This is normally the part of the night where he’d insist, eyes twinkling with challenge—but there is nothing normal about tonight. He nods, a tired smile flickering across his lips for a beat before it fades. At the till, the worker taps the total into the machine and you pay in one smooth motion, not letting Jay get close enough to protest in case he changes his mind. He watches, not saying anything as he slips his hands into his pockets, waiting for you like always. Once more, silence follows you out, walking between you like a third person joining you on the way back to his place. The air is cooler now, a breeze biting in place of the now-set sun, enough to make you wrap your arms around yourself as you walk.

“I’ll drive you home,” he says quietly, right when his building comes into view.

For a second, you consider arguing, telling him you’ll take the bus, but you know it’s pointless. He is — for the first time in two weeks — being the Jay you’ve always known, albeit saying much less, who looks out for you even when you don’t ask him to.

“Okay,” you mumble.

The silence doesn’t stop when you get into the car either, sitting like a passenger amongst you both, stifled only by the engine’s low hum that occupies the empty spaces you two typically fill up with conversation. Jay glances over at you every so often, his gaze clear in your peripheral as you look straight out the windscreen at the street. The quiet remains even when he pulls up to your flat. You unbuckle your seatbelt, not looking at him when you thank him or even when you hear his door opening. Again, he trails behind you. Jay’s demeanour, his quietness and distance, put a guilty pit in your stomach—you’d wanted to yell at him, chew him out when you left this evening, but now, in the silence of the elevator, all you want to do is give him a hug and stroke his back, let him cry into your shoulder—God knows it looks like he needs it.

As you near your door, you’re not sure what to say, even as you’re turning your key in the lock and stepping inside, words escape you. Jay’s still standing on the doormat, looking down at his feet when you turn around. You stand in the open doorway, hand gripping the frame like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the moment. He’s close enough to touch but somehow miles away on his side of the door—just outside, hands in his pockets, not crossing the threshold. Not quite in your world yet.

“Do you want to come in?” you ask, for lack of anything better to say, straightening up and pointing over your shoulder as if he wouldn’t know what you meant.

Jay shakes his head, and his voice is too loud and too quiet all at once. “I should get going. Thanks, though, for tonight.”

A sigh claws its way out from your chest, heavy exasperation coming out in the sound. “Why are you mad at me?” you demand, petulant like a child about to stomp her feet.

“Mad at you?” he repeats as if you’ve brought up a novel concept, confusion running along his knitted brows. “I’m not mad at you, YN.”

“Then..” You trail off—you’d been so sure of it, so fixated on the existence of his annoyance that you can’t help but be surprised by his denial of it and how quickly you believe him. “Well, then.. Why are you avoiding me?”

His lips twitch, parting to speak, but you cut him off, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “And don’t say you’re not avoiding me, because I know you are.”

It’s Jay’s turn to sigh, heavily, like the weight of his own words is too much for him to bear. His hand wraps around your pointing finger, his touch sending a jolt through you as he lowers it.

“I wasn’t going to say that, I don’t want to lie to you,” he says softly, gaze struggling to meet yours before falling to the floor. “It wasn’t going to be forever, I just needed to figure some shit out.”

Again, you’re taken aback by his words—you hadn’t been expecting him to confirm that he’d been avoiding you either. At least not so quickly. “Figure what out?”

Jay shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and you only realise that he’d been holding onto your finger this whole time when he lets go of it, hands finding their way back into his pockets. More hesitation follows. A pit forms in your stomach as the silence stretches. “We have a good thing going, a solid friendship. I didn’t want to ruin it,” he says finally.

Friendship.

If it weren’t for the tightness in your throat or the way the door frame seems to be shrinking around you, you might have had it in you to laugh at how much the truth is hurting your feelings. You are friends with Jay, you’ve only ever been friends with Jay. So, why your chest is starting to hurt over this is beyond you. “Ruin it?” you ask finally, voice a mere whisper.

Jay’s eyes flick back up to meet yours, something behind them so warm it quiets your thoughts and twists your heart all at once. “It wouldn’t be fair if I kept making moves on a girl who’s clearly not interested. I mean, it might take me a while, but I can take a hint, you know?” He lets out a self-deprecating laugh, his voice softer when he continues. “I didn’t want to ruin things between us because I caught feelings and you didn’t.”

His words, his confession, hang in the air between you, looming like a cloud that doesn’t quite know where to settle. Off-kilter. Everything is off-kilter—the corridor of your apartment building warps and skews as if you’re on the other side of a portal to an alternate dimension. Only he remains static, steady. Jay is steady.

“You caught feelings for me?” you ask. “You like me?” Your voice doesn’t even sound like you—muffled, distant, like it belongs to someone else. The question floats between you, and you half-expect him to take it back, but instead, he nods.

His lips tug into that same lopsided smile you’ve come to love so much—sheepish yet unashamed. “Of course, I like you. Couldn’t you tell?” He’s never sounded so gentle, helping you put together a puzzle you should have solved already. “I’ve been begging your friends all summer to let me crash your hangouts, getting into pools I had no business getting into—fuck, I even took advice from Jaemin, of all people.”

You blink at him, stunned by what you’re hearing, his words echoing in your mind as you try to make sense of what he’s saying, to work out where everything went wrong. Suddenly, the last seven weeks of your life hit you in a starkly different light—the fact he kept appearing but never seemed surprised to see you, how he never seemed to mind watching whatever movie you mentioned, reading the books you’ve read, how he’d always look at you with the world’s affection in his eyes. He couldn’t have been less subtle if he’d been wearing a shirt that said I have feelings for you, YN!—honestly, you think he may as well have been wearing one. How didn’t you see it? It seems so obvious now that you know.

“You asked Jaemin for advice?” It’s not the follow-up question you’d been hoping to ask, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about it.

Jay nods, laughing, and you can’t help but laugh too, more from disbelief than anything else. He runs a hand through his hair, so effortless yet still somehow looking like he’s stepped off the cover of a magazine. “Yeah, I know. Desperate times, and all that.”

Finally, the question you meant to ask makes its way out, but your voice is smaller than you expect it to be. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

His smile falters, eyes locked on yours as he chews his lip. “Because I didn’t want to hear you say no.”

“Jay,” you whisper, shaking your head. “How could I ever say no to you?”

He takes a step back, more maddening distance between you—you don’t know why he won’t cross the line, why he won’t come in. “Are you saying you like me?” he asks, voice so soft you barely hear him.

“I am.” You nod, heart pounding, pulse loud in your ears. “I like you a lot.”

At this, his jaw drops—the only movement he makes for a beat. His expression quickly softens, the uncertainty in his eyes giving way to warmth. A sheepish smile quirks at his lips. “You mean it?”

You nod, grinning at him, giggling when he repeats it to himself, you like me, his relief showing itself through a soft sigh, and he beams at you when you question him. “You really didn’t know?”

“I knew, like, basically the whole time, sort of,” he admits, scratching at the back of his neck. “It was only when you called me your friend that night in your room that I thought I should, like.. kill myself or something.”

Just the mention of that night is enough to make you cringe, hands coming up to cover your face as you laugh at your own obliviousness. It’s not until you hear the ding of the elevator arriving at your floor that you remember you and Jay aren’t the only two left in the world, that you’ve been standing in your doorway this whole time. As the doors whoosh open, you look up at him, and he’s looking at you with that same soft gaze you recognise but can’t name—the one that says he’s right here and he’s been here all along.

Half-grinning, half-wondering if any of this is real, you lean against the doorframe, eyes stuck on his. “Do you want to come inside?” you ask for the second time.

Jay glances at his watch, his eyes widening when he sees the time. “I really do need to get going,” he says, hesitation in his voice like he doesn’t want to leave yet, like he’s not ready to—you’re not either, the thought of another night without him, knowing what you know now, pulls your lips into a frown. His eyes follow the movement, stuck on your mouth for a beat before he frowns too, as if he’s already regretting the words.

“I know, baby,” he coos, the word slipping out naturally like it’s been on the tip of his tongue this whole time. Then his eyes widen again, panic flashing across his face. “Wait, sorry—can I call you that? Is that okay?”

“Baby,” you repeat, letting the word unravel in your mouth, savouring its sweetness like candy on your tongue. It echoes in your brain, itching it the right way as you nod, unsure how better to express yourself. “That’s good, I like it,” you add eventually, smiling to yourself as if the pet name was one he’d made up on the spot with you in mind.

The grin on your face feels too wide, stretched from ear to ear and aching just a bit. You can’t help it though, it’s like you’ve forgotten how to hold your face in any other way. Jay’s wearing one to match as he pulls you into his chest, his arms solid and warm around you, hands big on your waist, letting you melt into him. His shirt is soft against your cheek, his scent clinging to it—warm and sweet and good. He’s still beaming when you look up at him.

“Goodnight, Jay,” you whisper, reflexively, not because you want him to go.

“Goodnight, baby,” he whispers back, and his voice is so soft, so fond, your heart flutters like it’s grown wings.

It doesn’t help that hearing that word from him is driving you crazy, making you dizzy—like it’s a key to a door you didn’t realise was locked. All this time, you’ve been holding your breath, suffering quietly under the weight of your feelings for him. Being here now with him, like this, you feel like you can finally breathe—like you’re safe here, with Jay.

You want to kiss him, need to. Not so much a thought as it is a pull, a magnetic force tugging your gaze to his lips and you can’t look away, wondering what they’d feel like, willing him to be the one to let you find out.

“I really want to kiss you,” he says suddenly, following the script in your head perfectly, lips so close to yours that the words spill out onto your skin, so close it’s like you’re the one who said it. “Can I do that? Please?”

There’s something — to you — so surreal, so dreamlike about this situation that you’re overwhelmed by your distance from the realm of things you thought possible even thirty minutes ago. In your chest, your heart trips over itself, your body betraying you with its need. You nod belatedly, not trusting yourself to speak. Before you can even take a breath, his lips touch yours, soft, tentative at first, each brush of his lips against yours sweeter than the last, tender in a way you wish you could bottle up and keep forever. But then, something shifts, his grip on your waist tightening, the kiss deepening, his tongue on yours, and suddenly everything clicks into place—a kiss that feels more like an unravelling than a beginning. Your stomach is doing flips, and Jay is laughing into the kiss — joy incarnate — happy breaths passed from him to you, making you giggle as well. Of course, Jay would kiss you like this, all giddy and earnest.

When he pulls away, he lets his forehead rest against yours and pecks your lips—seeming relieved like this is exactly where he’s supposed to be. You’re breathless, but you don’t let him get too far, chasing after his kisses, even when he smiles. With his lips on yours, Jay’s having second thoughts, mumbling, “I guess I could stay for a little while.” The words slip from his mouth straight into yours as he steps inside.

Finally.

You only separate out of necessity to lock the door behind you, kicking your shoes off while you’re at it, but he’s still there — hands glued to your waist like it’s where they’re meant to be, where they belong — waiting for your attention again. You aim for the hook, but the keys miss it, hitting the floor with a soft clatter, forgotten about. They aren’t important to you, not now. And neither is the way you’re tripping over your feet trying to lead him through your apartment—how could it be when his face is in your hands, when his lips are on yours and you don’t want to part again even for a second?

The same can’t be said for Jay who doesn’t miss a beat, grip tightening on your waist, lifting you before your feet even register leaving the ground, and you wrap your legs around him without a second thought. He feels his way through the hall, free hand thudding against the walls and the edges of things, the sound making you laugh into the kiss—drunk on the moment, on him, until the bed catches him with you in his lap.

You can feel him underneath you, hard, throbbing, through his sweatpants, you can’t resist grinding down on him, a sigh passing from your mouth into his. You want so desperately to sleep with him. His fingers dig into your hips—a low groan when you rut against him again. It’s a personal offence when he pulls away to catch his breath, but when you open your eyes and see the state of him, you quickly forget why. Kiss-plump lips all red and glossy with saliva, head tipped back, brown eyes blinking heavily, dark with lust.

The accumulation of weeks passed, quietly longing, wanting this exact thing, manifests itself in burning impatience. Unbridled want clenching around your stomach, urging your hips back and forth before you can think twice about it. His face, gorgeous as ever, twists with pleasure. A scrunch along the straight bridge of his nose, eyes screwed shut, lips parting, a breathy grunt punched out of him as his hips buck up against you. Now that you’ve seen that face, been the reason for that face, you can’t get enough. Your hand slips under his shirt, his stomach firm under your palm, trembling as a shudder racks through him. The hair under his belly button soft under your fingers, leading you all the way to his waistband. His lidded eyes are stuck on your hands, lips wet, tempting. You tell him you want to touch him, asking if you can. He nods slowly, moving his lips to mumble the word, please. Your hand disappears under his sweats, his underwear, and he pulls air through his teeth, quickly expelling it in a jagged sigh. He is hot and thick in your palm, so.. big, it doesn’t even feel real, him or the moment—to hold him like this, have him under you like this, sharp breaths tugged out of him as you stroke him, slow, experimental almost. His tip is slick with precum, your thumb slipping over it, over his slit right as he grabs your wrist to stop you.

Nervous, not wanting to go too far, you ask, “You don’t want it?”

Jay lifts his head, looking at you like you’re crazy, his eyes wide, brows raised. “Of course, I want it,” he says after a beat, slow like he’s trying to convince himself, or trying to convince you, though he tightens his grip when you move your thumb again, a groan coming out of him. “Just..” He trails off, heavy breaths pulling his chest in and out against yours. “Do you trust me?” he asks.

You hum in response, nodding your head.

“I told you I’d look after you, right? Told you I’d focus on you..” Jay leans in when you nod, his lips finding the base of your neck. One kiss. Another. A beat. A whisper, breath fanning your ear. “You trust me to do that? Going to be good and let me do that?”

There’s not enough time to process how that makes you feel. Fire in your stomach. Ache in your core. Throbbing heat between your thighs. You nod. He smiles. Turns you over, your back to the mattress, head on your plushies as he watches, eyes dark and all over you. His hand finds your waist, lips finding yours. Slow. Soft. His fingers reach your waistband, stroking the skin there, touch so light you can barely feel it. He asks if this is okay. You nod, it’s more than okay, and you nod again when he asks if he can take your shorts off.

You miss him as soon as he leaves your side, moving towards the end of the bed. “Up, baby,” he mumbles, and yet again, you nod like you’re in a trance — maybe you are — as you lift your hips off the bed.

Jay takes his time easing your shorts down your legs, unhurried, relaxed, like he has all the time in the world—you hope he does. His eyes don’t leave the spot between your legs, stuck on your underwear. He doesn’t even look away when he folds up your shorts, leaving them neatly on the end of the bed. Your legs part for him unthinkingly, and he grins, an amused breath coming from his nose. He leans forward, so close you can feel his breath through the thin fabric of your underwear, the only real barrier between you and his mouth. His lips press a soft kiss to the inside of your thigh, a breath slips out of you, one you didn’t know you were holding.

His tongue darts over his lips, wetting them, fingers coming up to touch the red lace. “I like these,” he says, running his thumb along the hem.

“You caught me on a good day,” you say, breathless. “Don’t get used to it.”

He shakes his head, looking up at you — an unbelievably tender softness in his eyes — before straightening up and crawling back up the bed towards you. “You didn’t let me finish,” he mumbles, lips on your cheek, hand on your waist. “Yeah, I like them, but I like the girl wearing them way more.”

Overwhelming heat floods your cheeks, and Jay smiles into your skin. He tips your chin up towards his face, lips catching yours in a slow kiss, charged with lust and all of the things you can’t get yourselves to say, His tongue sweeps yours, hungry, carnal, enough to distract you from the movement of his hand slipping between your thighs and pushing your underwear aside. Relief washes over you and he hasn’t even done anything yet. A beat passes and Jay’s thumb finds your clit, rubbing it in maddening circles, drawing a breath out of you. Both of you sigh, relieved, when his finger slips into you, your walls clenching around him, pulling him in.

You whisper his name, clutching his forearm, and an audible smile spreads over his lips, eyes finding yours as he says, “Yeah, baby?”

Another finger, pushing in as easy as the first, pries a moan out of you. You can’t help but give in to him so easily, and if he wasn’t looking at you the way he is, you might feel a little embarrassed about it. But there he is, your Jay, straight teeth digging into his plush bottom lip, staring down at you like you’re the only thing that matters. His attention unwavering, completely yours, desire written all over his face and all because of you—just the thought is enough to make you shiver under his touch.

An exhale, jagged, torn out when his thumb meets your clit again, circling it, slow but not teasing. Gentle. Intentional. His touch is so light it feels imagined, fingertips just grazing the spot you need him the most.

“Good, baby? You like that?” he asks when you moan.

You can’t respond, can’t say anything but his name as he eases a third finger into you, a sweet stretch that makes you curse. His thick fingers pump in and out of you, a lewd sound filling the room as his thumb slips over your clit, movement sloppier than before but better, much better. It’s only now that you notice the knot in your stomach, the flame burning away at you from the inside out. White-hot. Blinding. He keeps a steady pace, fingers curling in a rhythm that makes your back arch and thighs clamp around his wrist.

A cry. A desperate whine. An obscene moan when you come, making a mess of yourself and his hand. Heat scalds you from all angles, coating your skin. Jay kisses the shell of your ear, cooing and praising you under his breath as you shake against him. As sweet as he’s being, he doesn’t give you any time to catch your breath, to process—he doesn’t stop. Not when your toes curl against the duvet, or your hips buck up against his palm, not when your nails sink into his forearm. His thumb stays on your clit, fingers still filling you to the knuckle, drawing out your high for as long as he can until you come again—another shuddering orgasm hitting you quicker than the last.

“My pretty girl,” Jay whispers, cradling you in his arms, and kissing the top of your head. “I’ve got you, baby, I’m here.”

You let yourself sink into his hold, catching your breath, liking the steady beat of his heart against your back. His scent and the warmth of his body — his presence — wrap around you like a promise, grounding, safe. Your eyes flutter shut, a soft, happy sigh slipping out of you, liking the way your heart races when he’s around.

Later, you brush your teeth in the bathroom while Jay waits on your bed. The bristles of your toothbrush are soft, but the pressure in your chest is hard, stubborn. Giggles erupt out of you, muffled by toothpaste foam, and you can’t stop looking at your reflection, obsessed with how different you look—a completely flustered being staring back at you, glowing so bright it hurts your eyes.

When you get back to your room, you find him with your Hello Kitty plushie in hand, freezing mid-movement like a caught criminal. His eyes meet yours after a moment, a small, guilty smile twitching at his lips as he lowers the plushie towards your desk, where the rest of your collection now sits in a soft, colourful row. You freeze for a moment, watching him, warmth tugging at the corners of your heart. You’d never thought much of it before, thinking of all the guys who’d shoved them aside—pushing them onto the floor like they were an afterthought. You never saw it as rude, just guys being guys, a little careless, a little indifferent. But seeing Jay now — his soft, deliberate way — placing each one with care like it’s something important, pulls at your heart.

“Jay,” you say, a light chuckle following. “You didn’t have to do that,” you tell him, touched like he’s put in some grand effort to move all seven of your stuffed toys from the bed to your desk.

He catches your eye, chuckling too, a sheepish grin when he says, “You know I wouldn’t just put them on the floor, right?” His voice is low, amusement clear in his tone as if he’s letting you in on some unspoken tenet of human decency. “I’m not a supervillain, YN.” The way he says it, with the slightest hesitation, the faintest shadow of nerves darting across his features makes something inside you soften. He scratches at the back of his neck, an unintentional gesture, his rare awkwardness threading between the space of your laughter. “Besides, you were going to do it anyway..” His voice trails off, suddenly seeming unsure. You pull him into a hug, his body relaxing into your touch as you lean up to kiss him and mumble your thanks against his lips. Jay smiles, the two of you still connected at the mouth. “It’s okay, baby,” he says. “It’s no big deal.”

Deep down, a part of you knows he’s right. It’s not a big deal at all. But it feels like one for you.

You’re way more tired than you’d realised, so getting into bed is like a reward. The sheets are soft against your skin, still warm from where you’d been lying down earlier, and you sink into the mattress as the entire world shrinks to the size of your room, your bed. To the size of your boy, back from the bathroom, climbing in next to you, pressing a kiss to your cheek, his chest to your back. A short moment passes quietly, listening to the sounds of outside — distant cars, the faint rustle of trees — and Jay’s breath on the nape of your neck, soft, steady.

“You really didn’t have to move my plushies,” you whisper, shifting to look at him even though it’s dark in your room.

“I know,” he whispers back, soft and sleepy. “But you liked it.”

The sound of your lips spreading into a smile breaks the silence that follows, and you press your eyes shut as his fingers rub little circles on your hip, his skin warm on yours in the space between the hem of your vest and the waistband of your shorts, a rhythm soothing enough to lull you to sleep. Jay says, of course, when you thank him belatedly, your heavy eyelids drooping as the heat from his body seeps into your skin, and then, as you’re drifting off, you feel it—the softest press of his lips against the top of your head.

There’s no way to know how much time has passed when you blink your eyes open, and you’re not sure what woke you in the first place, but your room is cast in dim orange from the slowly rising sun outside.

Sticky warmth wraps you up like a hug, near unbearable heat radiating from everywhere—your own body, Jay’s, the thick air pressing down on you. Too hot for cuddles if you’re honest, chances of overheating at an all-time high—your cheek stuck by sweat to his bare chest, his heart thudding dully against your ear. Even with the duvet bunched up at your feet, sweat forms relentlessly over your skin.

You shift, slightly, careful not to wake him as you tilt your head back to look at him. Under your palm, you can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest as he breathes—and God, even in the syrupy heat of summer, he’s beautiful. Straight lashes, impossibly long, casting shadows over the swell of his cheeks. Neck glistening with sweat. Plump lips sitting in a subtle curve. Your heart beats faster just watching him, so hard and loud in your chest you wonder if he can hear it. His face scrunches, brow furrowing as if he can sense your eyes on him. You can’t look away, even though you should. His eyes flutter open, a slow, tired blink as his gaze lands on you, completely unguarded. Belatedly, you screw your eyes shut, faking sleep. He chuckles, soft and drowsy, but entertains you all the same, not saying anything until you open your eyes with an outstretched arm.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmurs groggily, voice deeper, thick with sleep as his lips graze your forehead on their way to your mouth in a sweet kiss. His hand rests on your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze.

There go those butterflies again, feral. You smile against his lips. “Hi, baby.”

Jay yawns, a long, lazy stretch of breath that he turns away from you as if the air between you is too fragile to interrupt. But then he’s back — thankfully — mouth brushing yours, soft like he’s shy about it, unthinkably tender. “So sleepy,” he mumbles.

His arm moves out from under you in an awkward, languid movement as he leans up on his elbow, body rolling towards you—the position is identical to hours before, and the realisation coats your cheeks with blazing heat. Jay doesn’t seem so affected. He’s looking down at you, eyes flickering over your whole face like he’s studying you, his fingers on your shoulder — gaze following closely — tracing the untanned skin where your bikini tops have been sitting, evidence of a summer spent outside. Your skin burns under his touch, his eyes darting up to meet yours. The strap of your vest slips down, and Jay pulls it back up with his pinky, ducking his head down to kiss you slowly, tender as ever. His lips find yours in a slow, deliberate press, a kiss that has more layers than it should. Pure affection laced with something deeper, not quite out of reach but just under the surface.

For the second time, you wake up alone after spending the night with Jay.

The sheets are still warm, a whisper of him still lingering there, clinging to your skin. The silence is pervasive, pressing on your chest like a weight. But it’s okay, everything is okay. You tell yourself everything is okay, not to freak out. That Jay wouldn’t just leave. Not again. Not after last night and the softness of his voice when he said, of course, I like you. Couldn’t you tell?

But then you hear it—nothing. No flushing toilet, no footsteps, not the sound of the shower starting up. Just the hollow quiet of the flat swallowing you whole. A sigh slips from your lips. This is okay. You are okay. Yeah, you’re good. Another sigh. You blink, once, twice. Nothing changes. At the end of the bed, your shorts are folded neatly, exactly as Jay left them, quiet, mocking somehow. You shake your head, you’re okay. He told you he liked you and you believed him, let him touch you.. There’s a pit in your stomach, but if you focus on the pounding of your heart in the back of your throat you can almost ignore it. You hide your face in the pillow, embarrassed, mortified. He’s left before, without warning or explanation, so maybe this is just who he is. Maybe you’re the problem after all, something bad always happens when you want more—you can’t believe you let Minjeong get in your head.

Then, the door opens, its soft creak jarring in the quiet.

“Baby?” Jay’s voice is gentle, almost concerned.

For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to look up. It’s all too much—the relief, the embarrassment. He didn’t leave. Of course, he didn’t. Your mind is stupid and cruel, betraying you like that. Slowly — cheeks hot, heart pounding — you peek over the edge of the pillow, the sweet scent of syrup hitting your nose. The sight of Jay lifts the weight in your chest, lets you breathe, truly breathe, finally, for the first time since waking up. His hair is ruffled, flat on his forehead. Still shirtless, sweatpants low on his hips. Something from a dream. Pancakes in one hand, a glass of water in the other. As if afraid you might disappear if he moves too quickly, he approaches with some hesitation.

“What’s the matter?” His voice is gentle, enough to make your heart settle into a normal rhythm.

You choke on a small laugh, more out of self-deprecation than amusement. “I thought you left,” you admit, feeling ridiculous as you do—voice tiny to your own ears, small, childlike.

Jay frowns, setting the plate on the nightstand. He sits beside you, hand hovering over your back like he’s afraid to touch you. When he finally does, he’s gentle, careful, grounding. “I just went to make breakfast,” he says quietly, thumb tracing soothing circles against your skin. “Why would I leave?”

“After last time..” You trail off, unsure how to put it.

A beat passes before he says your name, voice much quieter now. “I felt kind of stupid that night, thinking you felt the same as I did, that you just needed time or didn’t want to rush into anything, and then you called me your friend, and I just.. I don’t know. I shouldn’t have left, not like that.”

Taken aback by his openness, all you can do is blink. Words escape you, knowing you should say something, anything, but nothing comes. Jay watches you, eyes scanning your face, stopping on your forehead, staring, like he’s trying to see what’s in there. We’ve been so stupid, you think, almost wanting to laugh.

He breaks the silence, apologising. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, meaning it.

Jay shakes his head. “It’s not,” he says, voice firm but gentle, pulling you into his chest, his skin warm on your cheek as his chin rests on top of your head, fingers brushing your hair. “I fucked up—didn’t even realise how much that must’ve hurt you until now. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere, baby. Not now, not ever.” His words buzz against your scalp, sinking in fully as he says them, holding you like he’s trying to make sure you understand.

The two of you stay like that for a while, your arms around his waist, enjoying the warmth of his skin on yours. Until your stomach growls, loud, insistent.

He laughs, low and soft, while you try to fight the flush on your cheeks and neck. Pulling back just a little, Jay grabs the plate, holding it out for you to take. And he lets go completely when you do, grabbing cutlery and an orange you hadn’t noticed. “Eat up, baby,” he says.

You try to offer him a bite, but he shakes his head, still grinning. “I made them for you,” he insists, guiding the fork to your mouth instead, feeding you. You let him.

The pancake is perfect, soft and sweet, drenched in just the right amount of syrup. “So good,” you mumble around it, sweetness lingering on your tongue. Suddenly, you’re relieved that Jay doesn’t want to share with you.

“Let’s at least share that,” you say after a beat, feeling nervous under his gaze, gesturing towards the orange sitting in his lap.

Jay nods, picking it up. The peel, vibrant, porous, splits under his fingernail, coming away easily in his palm. You watch as he splits the fruit in half, pulling the segments apart one at a time before holding one out to you, a soft smile on his lips as he does, watching you, waiting. Before you can take it from him, he lifts it to your mouth, eyes on yours, a slow nod like he’s giving you permission.

You eat the fruit from his fingers, ignoring the stir in your stomach. His touch lingers a second longer than expected, a shiver running down your spine, heat scalding the surface of your skin. He lets his thumb graze your lip, and you can’t help but hold your breath for a beat, heart thudding louder in your chest. You think about the orange as you chew, trying not to focus on the look in Jay’s lidded eyes as he watches you. The way he licks his lips. It’s good—the orange. As vibrant and juicy as you expected, a little sour in the way you think the best oranges always are.

“Quit looking at me like that,” you tell him, even though you like it.

A laugh comes out of him, genuinely amused as he shakes his head. “No way, I’m allowed to now,” he says, grinning like he can’t believe it. “And you’re just so pretty, why wouldn’t I?”

“You’ve always been allowed to,” you point out, ignoring the last part of what he said, and the subsequent butterflies going wild in your stomach as a result of it.

Jay’s eyes soften, smile unchanging as he leans back on his elbows, finishing off his half of the orange. There’s something about the moment’s almost suffocating intimacy that makes you feel rather vulnerable, transparent—smudged glass he can see through anyway. It’s easier to look at the food than to meet his gaze, syrup pooling at the pancake’s edge like a moat, split orange segments, bright wedges on white ceramic.

In the kitchen, Jay hums to himself while washing the dishes. The sound of water against ceramic fills the space, dishes being placed carefully in the drying rack but clinking against the metal all the same. You should ask him. You need to, need the security of a label. But you don’t. Instead, you lean against the counter behind him and watch—his back, his arms, the rhythm of his movement, how his muscles shift under his skin. It’s hypnotic. Quiet. Domestic.

He turns when he’s done, drying his hands with a dish towel. “Hey, gorgeous,” he says when he sees you. That smile again, so easy, so handsome. “What’s on your mind?”

You hesitate before wrapping your arms around him, pulling him in, pressing your face into his chest and inhaling the warmth of his skin. His arms loop over your shoulder, holding you close. You tip your chin towards him, lips catching his in a kiss. Slow and gentle, enough to quiet your worries. He’s not going anywhere. He wants this. Wants you. He means it and you can tell.

And then, almost without thinking, you say it. “You’re like.. my little boyfriend, right?”

Jay pulls back slightly, blinking, a cough as his grip on your waist loosens up. “I mean, yeah,” he says after a while, nodding. “Yeah, I am. I want to be.”

There’s a moment of silence, both of you holding your breath. Waiting. Him for you to say something, tell him what you want; you for.. Well, you’re not entirely sure.

“Not in love with your hesitation on that,” you admit, narrowing your eyes, mock-serious despite the flutter in your stomach.

He laughs, shaking his head. “I was just thinking the same thing, been wondering when I should ask you.” A kiss to your forehead, quick and sweet. “Guess you beat me to it.”

“Mm.” You nod, lips pressed together but smiling nonetheless. “Guess I did.”

Jay hides his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm and steady against your skin. “Your boyfriend?” he asks, voice muffled, lips tracing the curve of your collarbone. There’s a slight tremor in his grip—like he needs reassurance too. When you nod, his fingers press into your waist as though he’s trying to make sure you’re really there, that the moment is real, that you are.

“Yes,” he says, and you feel the words more than you hear them, spoken into your skin. “Of course.”

Your heart swells, the feeling of him against you blending into a heady warmth, sticky as the syrup down the drain, sweet as the orange you’d shared. Too much but not enough. Again, your lips find each other, drawn like magnets. A low groan escapes him when your fingers weave into his hair, tugging, the sound making you shudder as his hands find the curve of your ass resting there, grabbing. Kissing and kissing and kissing. Jay’s lips quirk up, smiling, he’s always smiling.

Then, from the doorway, a thud.

You flinch, breaking apart with racing hearts as you look over. Minjeong. Jaw dropped. Tote bag dumped by her feet. She’s looking between the two of you, eyebrows furrowed. Not quite surprised, but.. confused, you think. “Is this actually happening?” she asks.

Hardly believing the situation yourself, you don’t respond.

“I hope so,” Jay says, his smile audible.

Silence follows, and Minjeong steps further into the room, arms crossed, eyeing him like he’s the enemy. She points an accusatory finger at him, so close you can feel the warmth radiating from her. “Don’t mess this up. Don’t hurt her.”

He raises his brows, blinking like a scolded child. “I won’t,” he says, a smile creeping onto his lips.

“I’m serious,” she continues, voice still firm but softening slightly. “You look after her, okay? I’ve spent a long time rooting for you, so don’t make me regret it.”

You stand there, mortified, hiding your face in Jay’s chest, as his hand rubs soothing circles on your back. “MJ, please,” you mumble into his skin. “I’m right here.”

“I know,” she replies. “That’s why I’m saying this.”

Jay wraps his arms around your shoulders, holding you close and smiling at you when you resurface. “I’ll take care of her,” he says, gaze locked on yours, butterflies stirring in your stomach as he speaks. Lifting his head, he looks over at Minjeong. “I promise.” He extends his pinky finger and she looks at it like it’s offensive, scoffing.

And with that, she turns on her heels and leaves the two of you alone in the kitchen. At the sound of Minjeong’s door closing down the hall, Jay lets out a breath, looking relieved in a way you hadn’t noticed he wasn’t. He looks down at you again, a sheepish smile on his face. “She’s a little scary,” he mumbles, hands finding your waist again, pinching.

As if sensing your boyfriend’s terror, she texts you before you can console him, the notification’s ping! making him flinch.

Minjeong: SO HAPPY FOR YOU😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭don’t tell ur man but I wanted to hug you both so bad.. Needed to be scary bff for today but another time I swear

Minjeong: JAYN FINALLYYYYYYYYYYYYY 🥳

You: I LOVE YOU

You: He saw my screen btw sorry pookie

You: I can’t stop smiling..

Minjeong: Loser. (same)

Minjeong: I love you more.

PDA has never mattered to you in the past, not in the way that some are against it, or others live for it—you’ve never cared one way or the other. If a partner took your hand while walking, you wouldn’t pull away, but you probably wouldn't be the one to initiate it either. Kissing in front of others was okay, but typically reserved for greetings, or something special, and only ever a peck unless you were drunk. But with Jay, you just can’t help yourself. You don’t have to think about reaching for him—it just happens. Fingers locking with his, your head on his shoulder, only realising when his thumb brushes the back of your hand, or his head rests on top of yours. When you’re together, it’s like the concept of personal space doesn’t exist between you.

Even after a week of hanging out almost every day, your friends still light up at the sight of you and Jay together, practically swooning whenever he pours a drink for you or kisses your temple. You won’t act like you don’t like the attention, even when it comes in the form of Donghyuck groaning at you, covering his eyes. Tonight, though, told off by Jaehyun and Yizhuo, he doesn’t say anything. Not even when Jay joins the four of you in the kitchen, greeting you with a kiss in front of them, hand slipping into your back pocket. And it stays there when you walk back into the living room, thumb grazing the top of your shorts, his touch soft, but sending shivers up your spine anyway.

The group is sprawled around the room, the TV on though no one is watching, and from the dining table, Minjeong says aww when she sees you and Jay. Jeno offers a bright grin from the seat beside her, looking at you both like he’s watching something inevitable as he raises his glass of water in a silent toast. Jay pulls you into him when he sits on the couch, and the night spills out around you, cosy, comfortable. Lamps turned on as the sun sets outside, easy laughter cutting over the faint hum of the music, Jay’s chin on your shoulder, his arms around your waist, fingers tracing lazy circles on the fabric of your tank top—no hesitation when he lets his touch fall to your hip.

Minjeong joins you on the couch, sinking into the cushions next to you. Her cheeks are flushed from drinking and the heat that sticks her hair to her cheeks and neck. She’s on the verge of sleep, blinking heavily, each one longer than the last. Still, she manages a smile, shaking her head when you tell her to go to bed.

“It’s so nice seeing you like this, all affectionate,” she mumbles after a while. “It suits you.”

You glance at Jay. His smile makes your heart race when he meets your gaze, soft and small like it’s something he’s keeping just for you. “Yeah,” you say quietly, turning back to Minjeong. “It does.”

She nods, letting her head fall back against the couch. You watch as she finally succumbs to sleep after having fought so valiantly against it and can’t help but smile. Gently, you brush her hair from her face, thinking about how easy this all feels—this group, this night, this moment. Jay’s hand rests on your thigh, his touch steady and familiar.

Before leaving, your friends help you tidy up—a task you notice is much easier when you’re sober, finding yourself more efficient tonight than ever. Save for Jay and Jeno, everyone else is slowed by sleepiness and alcohol, shuffling around the flat while fumbling with empty pizza boxes and drink bottles. Your comfort in this routine, however, is unchanged — heightened, maybe — spending even the mundane moments of the night in each other’s company, still reluctant to leave when the flat is tidier than when they arrived.

Jay stands by your side in the doorway, arm slipping around your shoulders as you watch Jeno and Yizhuo walk down the corridor towards the stairwell, staying put until you hear the door slam shut behind them. The apartment feels bigger now that it’s just the two of you — and Minjeong, sleeping soundly in her room — again. While he watches, you lock the door, double-checking it right away before you head towards the bathroom together.

Side by side, you brush your teeth in a comfortable quiet, shoulders bumping, maddening heat spreading over your skin from the contact. While washing your face, you watch Jay unfasten his belt in the mirror, stuck on his hands as he does—and you flush, mortified when he catches your gaze in the glass, smiling. Your eyes are screwed shut when he gets into the shower cubicle, sliding the door shut behind him—you don’t open them again until long after the water starts running. For a moment, you think about joining him, asking if you can, but can’t get the words out as you pat your face dry with a towel. In your room, you put on your pyjamas and get into bed, listening to the soft murmur of the shower while you wait for him.

Freshly showered, shirt dark around his collar, Jay joins you at long last. He’s humming an old song as he stands in front of the mirror, a towel in his hand, scrunching it through his damp hair. You watch from the bed, eyes tracing the familiar shape of him, his reflection hazy in the dim light. There’s something soothing about watching him go through his routine, fingers working essence through his hair, smoothing it with a quiet concentration you love. It’s all so familiar already, a comfort you never knew you’d been lacking.

Jay pulls his shirt over his head, and your breath catches in your throat. It’s a sight you’ve seen more times than you can count, but it still takes your breath away, Painted golden by the soft lamplight, his skin glows, honeyed and warm. His plaid pyjama pants hang low on his hips, the waistband of his underwear peeking out. He stretches his arms above his head, muscles shifting and flexing in his back, putting on a show—he must be.

Not wanting to endure your separation any longer, you pat the spot beside you like he can see. “Come to bed.”

He turns, grinning, the sight of it forcing warmth to curl through your chest. “You sleepy, baby?” he asks, voice dipping low, smooth like velvet.

“Just missing you,” you admit, shaking your head—he makes it so easy to say things like that.

His smile widens as he crosses the room, and you want him more with each step he takes towards you. Joining you in bed, he pulls you into him, wrapping you up in his arms and his scent, velvety and rich, warm and so Jay. He threads his fingers through your hair, a soft sigh slipping out of you as he kisses your temple.

“I’m right here,” he says, lips moving on your skin.

You’ve never felt so at ease. And you’ll never tire of kissing him, unable to resist—mouth on his before you even realise. He hums into the kiss, lips quirking up into a smile at your eagerness. His hand slips under your shirt, his palm on your lower back, holding you close. Whether he means to or not, hips buck against you, cock hard through his soft pants. Goosebumps crowd your skin at the feeling, a wave of desperation washing over you, so hot and all-consuming it pulls a moan from your chest.

It’s not the first time you’ve been here with him — it’s not even the first time today — but the familiarity of the situation only heightens your anticipation, rather than stifling it. Your hands find his hair, fingers threading through the strands and pulling absentmindedly, a groan tugged out of him, the two of you pressed so close together you feel the hum of it buzz against you. Already, you’ve shared so many moments like this, kissing and touching until your breath turns ragged. Hands in underwear and heads between thighs—always so close but never quite going all the way.

Jay’s lips leave yours, kissing along your jaw, wet and open-mouthed. Down your neck as your head tips back. Your collarbone, chest, right above your tank top before he stops, eyes fluttering open and locking on yours. The sight of him gives you pause, he’s unbearably pretty like this—looking up at you through long lashes, hair covering his forehead, parted lips swollen, red and glossy and perfect.

“Can I?” he asks, fingers caught on the fabric, unmoving.

You nod and he smiles sweetly, a warm look in his eyes that makes your heart race as his pinky hooks under the strap, pulling it down and letting it fall. The thin fabric is loose around your arm as it slips unceremoniously before resting. Nothing much has changed, at least where your level of decency is concerned, but he looks at your shoulder like it’s something special. Like you’re something special. For better or for worse, you don’t have time to dwell on this. He pulls the neckline down under your breasts, eyes blown and staring as if it’s his first time seeing you this way—bare-chested and wanting. A beat passes, unnerving before he leans in, his finger on your nipple as he presses a kiss to the spot below your ear, mumbling into your skin about how beautiful you are. At the compliment, at the pinch of his thumb and index finger on your nipple, the twist, a sigh slips out of you, equal parts relieved and turned on—this feeling only exaggerated when he lets his lips find your other breast, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin with his teeth. His teeth graze the bud, biting just a bit, barely enough to even feel, but your eyes screw shut anyway, thighs pressing together—forcing pressure where you need it, need him, the most.

It takes him a while to move on, kissing your stomach until he reaches your shorts and you lift your hips from the bed, desperate for him. He smiles and you can hear it, feel it on your skin as his fingers hook under your waistband, pulling your shorts and underwear down your legs. Your thighs part for him instinctively, his palms resting on your raised knees as he chuckles.

“You want it?” he asks, raising a brow.

You nod, stuck in a daze, under his spell.

Jay smiles, leaning in. His tongue finds your slit, licking slow, agonisingly slow until he reaches your clit. You gasp, toes curling from the contact as he groans against you, fingers threading through his soft hair. A wave of pleasure rushes over you at once, a desperate whine tumbling out of you when he catches your clit between his lips, sucking, grazing it with the tip of his tongue, humming around it. He’s enjoying it as much as you, revelling in the way you respond to him, every moan of his name and tug of his hair spurring him on.

You never last long with Jay, and tonight is no exception. Your back arches off the bed as he pushes his finger into you, working you open on his knuckles while his tongue swirls over your clit—eating you out like he worships you. It’s all too much all at once, almost unbearable. He only pushes his face further into you, fingers hitting your spot over and over as you come undone.

Pleased with himself, Jay sits up straight once you’ve calmed down, thumb stroking the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh. His eyes are lidded, stuck on your clit like he needs more. His chin and plump lips are glowing, shining golden under the lamplight. He’s catching his breath, chest heaving, pretty face flushed. All while you watch, chewing on your bottom lip as he brings his right hand to his mouth, groaning around his fingers when he sucks on them.

He blinks his eyes open slowly, gaze flicking up to yours, needy. “So good, baby, always tastes so good,” he says.

For some reason, the words leave you flustered, hiding your face with your hands, suddenly shy as if you haven’t begged him to come on your face after sucking him off. As if you haven’t just had his head between your legs.

“Sweet girl,” he coos, a soft smile on his face as he crawls up the bed towards you. His torso over yours, hips dipping between your thighs. “You’re not shy, baby, I know you’re not shy. In fact, I think you like it when I talk like that, huh?”

Not trusting the steadiness of your voice, you shake your head.

“No?” Jay sounds surprised but you know he doesn’t buy it. “You don’t like hearing how much I love those pictures you’re always sending me? That video?”

Your cheeks burn as he moves your hands, smiling down at you and pressing a peck to your lips. When he pulls away, his dark eyes search yours, waiting for an answer. Too embarrassed to admit how much his compliments affect you — even though he seems to know — you mumble, “I like it a normal amount.”

“Yeah?” He raises a brow.

You nod. “Yeah.”

His cock throbs through his pants, the only thing separating you as his lips find yours—heat pooling in your stomach at the taste of yourself on his tongue. Jay grinds against you, the friction sweet, almost too much for how sensitive you are, making a mess on his pants that he doesn’t seem to care about. You can’t stop moaning, passing them from your mouth into his, choked out sobs slipping out of you until you can’t take it anymore. He whines into the kiss, the sound so hot you can hardly breathe. Hardly think to move your lips properly against his, teeth bumping a little, messy in the best way.

“Please,” you manage, somehow. “Need you.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, leaning back. Jay’s gaze meets yours, dark with want, lidded. Scanning your face, tracing every feature before meeting your eyes again.

Beyond desperate, your hips buck up against his. “Please, Jay,” you repeat, watching as he gets up without a word.

Jay’s standing by the bed, chest heaving as he pulls his pants down. Your stomach flips at the sight of the wet spot darkening his grey underwear, his cock hard and thick against the fabric, an outline you can’t look away from. He pulls his underwear off too, cock smacking his toned stomach with a wet sound, tip red, glossy, a shiny streak left in its wake as he wraps his palm around it. You couldn’t look away if you tried. He likes the attention though. He must. It’s obvious in the way he strokes himself, lets his thumb swipe his slit, spreading his precum. Brows knitting together, jaw slack, ragged breaths tugged out of his chest as his eyes trail over your body, gaze so focused it makes your cheeks burn.

Chewing on your lip, you manage to tear your eyes away from him — with much effort — reaching for your bedside table to get a condom out. Jay steps towards you, holding his free hand to take it from you, but you shake your head, and he raises a brow, tilts his head.

His hand cups your chin, tipping your head up to look at him. “No?”

“I want to put it on for you,” you mumble, eyes on his.

His eyes widen for a split second, a hum coming out of him as he nods, tracing your lips with his thumb as he says, “Go ahead, princess. Whatever you want.”

Ignoring the butterflies in your stomach at the pet name, you look down at your hands to tear the foil and take the condom out. Pinching the condom and rolling it down on him, you do your best not to think about the feeling of his cock in your fist, because you’ll be here all day if you don’t move on—doing your best not to think about the sigh he lets out under your touch, or the way he mutters good girl, under his breath.

In a moment, you’re lying on your back again, Jay over you as his eyes search into yours.

“Now, Jay. Please,” you whisper, about one more second away from begging.

Jay nods, ducking down to press a kiss to your cheek as his hand reaches for his cock, letting it glide over your slit—the feeling making him gasp. Anticipating courses through you, sweat beading on your skin’s surface, a sigh when he pushes in, finally. That sting, that stretch—your body trying to accommodate him. You have to tell yourself to relax, remind yourself to breathe through the thud of your heart beating in your ears.

“All good?” he asks, voice strained, breathy.

You nod, barely. “Uh huh.”

He keeps pushing, slow as he can, one inch at a time, filling you up and up and up until he bottoms out. Aching heat pulses between your legs, right where you connect, so full you can’t believe it. You can barely breathe. Jay lets out a sigh, a harsh breath, hot on your skin as his head falls forward, his nose in the crook of your neck.

“So full,” you whisper.

“Yeah, baby,” he mumbles. A kiss to your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Feels good,” you tell him on a shaky breath. “Just.. a lot.”

Jay chuckles at that, light and airy against your neck. “So perfect,” he says. “My perfect girl.”

His perfect girl. The sound of his voice, the feeling of his words on your skin, of him closer than ever makes you clench around him, forcing a muffled moan out of him and into your collarbone. A beat passes like this. Slow. Adjusting. Until, finally, Jay leans up on his palms, pulling his hips back as far as he can without slipping out. You hate the emptiness as soon as you feel it, but slowly, again, he thrusts into you, filling you up, fucking you open.

His eyes find yours, hand pushing hair from your face, resting on your cheek, thumb stroking your skin. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, keeping him there. You have never been so full or so in love in your life. You want to tell him, need to, but you can’t get the words out, can’t say anything. So, you kiss his palm instead, hoping he’ll understand.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes boring into yours.

You nod. You’re okay, you’ve never been better. The words are stuck in your throat. I love you, Jay. So much. I love you so much. You can’t speak. You can hardly breathe. You nod again, you’ve never been better.

“You feel so good, baby, so right,” he whispers. “Made just for me.”

Racing heart. Fluttering stomach. “Just for you,” you tell him. You mean it.

Jay smiles, lips brushing yours, a moan from your mouth to his when he moves. Slow. Gentle. Tender. Mumbled praises, soft whimpers, trembling breaths. His lips on your cheek, your neck—sucking the skin at the base, leaving a mark probably. A few. Your breath hitches, caught in your throat, as he rocks his hips against yours. He’s settled into a rhythm, steady enough now for his tip to brush that perfect spot, right where you need him, with each thrust.

“There,” you moan, eyes falling shut. “Fuck, Jay.”

Something shifts in him when you say that, his thrusts getting quicker, needier—so deep it doesn’t feel real. He’s moaning, your name slipping from his lips without constraint. His eyes are dewy, lips kiss-bitten, wet, red, parted just a touch, his sweat-damp hair clinging to his skin. Seeing him like this and knowing it’s because of you, that he wants you just as much as you want him only makes it that much better, that much more overwhelming. His thumb finds your clit again, rubbing it in circles and sending your mind into a spiral until you’re nothing more than a whiny mess underneath him.

Jay leans towards your ear, his lips grazing its shell. “Want to see you make a mess, baby. Don’t hold back,” he says, his voice deep, the words hot against your skin.

Something about the depth of his voice, the heat of his words against your skin makes a flame burn blue in your stomach. It curls over you, engulfing you, heat and pleasure filling you up, expanding so much you can feel it in every corner of your body as you come undone around him, unravelling completely.

“Fuck,” he groans. “My pretty baby.”

You don’t have it in you to reply, you can’t. Not when Jay keeps going, his palm pressing on your stomach as he fucks into you, the sound, noisy and wet, fills the room. His thrusts lose their rhythm, slowing down a little, sporadic as his head falls into the crook of your neck, his moans muffled by your skin.

It takes a while for the two of you to come to, Jay only pulling out once he’s settled down, rolling over and pulling you into his chest. The feeling of his slick skin against yours should be uncomfortable in this heat but it’s exactly what you need, his palm stroking your back as he whispers into your hair. There’s something so tender about the moment that you feel your heart swell against your ribcage, beating a mile a minute.

Jay wipes you clean with his t-shirt before carrying you off to the bathroom. You don’t have it in you to protest, completely spent, eyelids heavy, yawns impossible to suppress as he sets you on your feet in the shower. Steam curls quickly around the cubicle, and being here with Jay makes you acutely aware of every single inch of your body, and the feeling of his fingers all over it. The water slips over you in soft rivulets, the warmth wrapping around you like a blanket. Jay reaches for the soap, gently lathering your shoulders, his hand brushing yours as your eyes fall shut, leaning against him.

The night air clings to your skin as you lie back in bed, warmth still heavy in your room despite the distant hum of the fan, and the open window. Jay watches you, eyes fixed in a way that makes your heart skip, and you can’t help but laugh softly.

“What is it?” you ask, the word more breath than sound.

He shrugs, the smallest lift of his shoulder, as if he’s embarrassed by the simplicity of it. “Nothing,” he says, voice soft, eyes unwavering. “I just love you.”

It’s blurted out, like it slipped past his defenses before he could catch it. An accident, he seems to think—he immediately turns his head, face hidden in the pillow. But you can see the flush blooming on the tips of his ears, the back of his neck turning a deep, warm pink. Vulnerable. Exposed.

For a moment, you’re stunned, the words hanging in the air between you—fragile and precious. There’s no stopping the warmth blooming in your chest, spreading like sunlight through your veins until it reaches every part of you. A tickly flutter disrupts your stomach, butterflies going mad at the thought, the knowledge—he loves you. Said it like it was the most natural thing in the world to say, like it’d been on his mind for a while, sitting on the tip of his tongue waiting for the perfect moment. You can’t help the grin that splits over your lips, too wide to contain. Reaching out, you let your fingers card through his soft hair, touch as gentle as you can manage.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you whisper, voice soft but sure. “I love you too.”

Slowly, Jay lifts his face from the pillow, eyes wide, almost disbelieving. A pretty flush dusts his cheekbones, eyes locking onto yours, excitement flickering behind them like a fire’s first spark, making your heart race. His lips part to speak, moving soundlessly for a beat before he gives you a butterfly-inducing, knee-weakening grin, a breathy laugh slipping out of him. He pulls you closer, hands cradling your face like you’re something special, something he can’t quite believe is real. The thought makes your pulse trip over itself. Jay’s lips are soft against your, slow, gentle, kissing you like you have all the time in the world to do it.

With time, the novelty of your and Jay’s relationship has worn off amongst your friends. Gone are the gasps when you kiss Jay’s cheek, and the awws (and singular gag from Donghyuck) when either of you does anything in the other’s general vicinity. So no one says anything when you reach Jimin’s place, hand in hand as you join the group in the backyard, or when you lay in a lounge chair and Jay leaves the boys to join you, laying on top of you, with his head on your chest while you’re talking to Minjeong and Yizhuo—neither girl missing a beat, continuing the conversation like nothing happened.

For you however, every brush of Jay’s lips on your skin, every smile sent your way from across the room, just the feeling of his eyes on you — so soft and so fond and so full of love — is still enough to make you and the butterflies in your stomach giddy. And you suspect it always will be.

There are a few things you separate for, like going to the bathroom, helping Jimin put food in the oven, and getting into the pool for a game of chicken while Jay stays behind, cheering for you and Jaehyun from the grass with Jeno and Jake. But when it’s all said and done, time and time again, you find yourselves gravitating back to one another, and you end up leading Aeri over to him while drying your hair after the game.

The two of you lay undisturbed at the back of the garden, only a fleecy blanket separating your skin from the dry grass. In Jay’s company, everything else — the music, the sounds of your friends — falls away, lost to the world outside your bubble. And like they’ve been since that night in your room, his hands are on you, smoothing sunscreen over your shoulders with as much care as a sculptor.

“There,” he murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction as though he’s created a masterpiece, not just protected you from the climbing UV index. His hands linger, then drag lazily down your back as you let out a laugh through your nose. You don’t tell him to stop, you don’t want him to, loving the security you feel under his touch, how it always feels like a claim—the thought sends a rush of warmth through you, a quiet thrill humming beneath your skin.

Much to Donghyuck’s loud disgust, Jay feeds you a bite of his pizza at the garden table. He rolls his eyes, slumping in his seat across from the two of you. “Somehow, I liked you two more when you were pretending not to know your feelings were mutual.” He makes a big show of putting his cup down on the table while you laugh at him. “And you were really annoying back then.”

“Back then? That was only three weeks ago..” Jaehyun says, playing with the tab on his Guinness.

Donghyuck is incredulous, saucer-eyed as he whips his head in Jaehyun’s direction. “Three weeks?!” he repeats, horror covering his face as Jaheyun nods. “Feels like a lifetime,” he mutters, shaking his head.

Against your back, Jay’s chest vibrates with laughter, warm and healing on your skin. His head falls forward, hair tickling your shoulder. Fidgeting with your necklace you get lost in your thoughts, hardly believing either that you and Jay have only been together for three weeks—have only really known each other for a few months. Those months gone like seconds, everything changing right before your eyes. It’s already the end of August and the end of summer is right at your fingertips if you stretch enough—all while things have only just begun with you and Jay.

Bellies full, a cider in his hand and yours in the other, you retreat to the blanket, to your bubble. There you lie together under the sun, talking, playing with his hair, and stealing kisses. Again, the world blurs at the edges, conversations falling away, unnoticed by either of you. Only as the sun goes down and the night air turns cool, do you take note of the shift—the party suddenly swelling around you, more people arriving, laughter rising. You put your skirt back on, steal Jay’s button-up, and see Mark and Jaemin sitting on the garden swing together, beaming at each other as Kim Chaewon takes a seat between them.

Next to you, Jay can’t take his eyes off of you, grinning like always. A flutter in your stomach. Like always.

“You know,” you say, half-joking. “A picture would last longer.”

He shakes his head like he’s scolding himself internally. “Why didn’t I think of that?” he asks sincerely, pulling his phone from his pocket before you can say anything else. Jay’s smile deepens as snaps a few photos, looking at you when he’s done like you’re something he wants to keep forever.

With wobbly knees and a racing heart, you go to button up his shirt, but he gives you a look—one that stops you mid-motion, that says more than words could ever manage, so you leave it open. The sleeves are much too long, hanging well past your hands. He rolls them up for you, his fingers quick, warm, efficient.

“You look ridiculous,” he teases, but the warmth in his voice betrays him, his grin finally faltering when you remind him that the shirt’s too big for him too.

Pleased with his work, both sleeves rolled to your elbows, his hands are on your waist — hot and deliberate — and his lips are on yours. Soft and lingering, not caring for the steadily growing crowd in Jimin’s garden or if any of them see. Even as the night urges on, those hands, that touch, don’t leave you. Chin on your shoulder while you pour a drink in the kitchen. Fingers twirling around the strings of your bikini bottoms while you close the lemonade. Lips on yours before you have a chance to take a sip—cool Malibu and lemonade running down your arm, wetting your sleeve.

Through the window above the sink, your friends are around the garden table, sitting on laps and sharing drinks, laughing mouths wide open, an empty seat next to the fence waiting for you and Jay to join them. Everyone’s smiling when you do, Jay sitting first and pulling you into his lap, arms around you. His hand slips to your thigh, fixing your skirt, thumb moving in lazy circles on your skin. Minjeong catches your eye, a knowing smile on her lips as she squeezes your knee—a perfect moment. A perfect summer.

Hours later — when everyone’s gone home, and the only proof tonight even happened is your damp bikini on Jay’s doorknob, still smelling vaguely of chlorine, and a text to Minjeong, saying you and Jay got home okay, knowing she’ll tease you later about calling his place home — you get into bed with him, a smile on your face, and the certainty of two things: he’ll be here in the morning, and so will the sun, rising as always, like it tends to do.

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