[readingmochi]

reviews run on queue !

@writingmochi’s shelf / 23

have been writing as a hobby for 10+ years in the forms of literary fiction, copywriting, and play scripts. always open to learn more

/spoiler ahead for each fic

/mdni for nsfw fics

/sometimes will talk about writing and the state of the current kpop fanficblr environment as well

/usually praise, sometimes will add constructive criticism

[filmnings]

a vent… if anyone cares lmao..

if anyone knows how to not worry about notes on works and feedback/lack of feedback or interaction and literally any and everything that surround being a writer on tumblr that would be very appreciated. idk… i’ve said this so many times to my friends that i don’t want to bother them with it again, but i can’t help but feel like writing on here is just being in competition with everyone on who writes the best, who has the most notes, who’s account is more visually pleasing, who has more followers and interactions, who gets the most asks, who has the most friends, like… and it’s SO hard to try and distance myself from that. especially after having been a writer on here for years under two separate blogs now and being on the lower end of everything when it comes to that…

and everyone always says “don’t write for notes/feedback or validation from others! write for fun and for yourself!!” but that’s MUCHHH easier said than done and a lot of the time the people who constantly say that don’t even take their own advice (as someone who has also given it)😭 idk… i just don’t know what to do… it’s just causing me writer’s block and making me hate writing (at least fanfic) in general and i really don’t want that to keep happening because it’s TERRIBLE and i fucking love writing with all of my heart. it’s my one passion in this world and every time i log on this app and try my best to be pleasing and digestible so people will hopefully interact with me and read my works that i put effort into i just feel even more horrible and my relationship with writing deteriorates more and more and it feel like this neverending cycle.

then it’s like “well then take a hiatus!! stop writing fanfic and focus on something that brings you more joy!!” and i’ve done both of those things and neither has helped me. idk what the answer to this could be… but if you have one……

maybe it’s because i love writing so much (to the point where i’m going to university for it and making it my profession) that i inherently place my value in the works i publish on here, so if i feel like they don’t have the average number of notes that others do i feel like i’m a failure. i know i shouldn’t be doing that, but i fr can’t help myself… and then i feel guilty because i have works where i’ve gotten really lucky with notes and feedback/interactions and i feel like a greedy bastard complaining about nothing. and then i compare myself to these people dropping 30k fics two times a week and i’m like,, why can’t i be like that? i see all their anons and the people that have their post notifs on and shit and i get so jealous and i look at myself and i think that i’m not doing enough and it causes my writer’s block to get even worse.

even during my recent hiatus, i felt like this when i should’ve been taking time away from tumblr and focusing on my mental health. but no, i was stressing on trying to write a 3k fanfic wondering why i could produce 30k fanfics multiple times a week like seemingly everyone else. idk man. like something has to give. i can’t keep feeling like this and repeating how i feel to the point where i’m annoying my fucking self over and over.

[readingmochi]

honestly, it has been a struggle for so many writers on here and has been talked about so many times. so you are definitely not alone on it because that insecurity is definitely real. if someone made a web extension that allows me to get rid of the numbers on the notes, i would use it in an instant.

but the psychological aspect of it is different. i definitely had that hit me a few weeks back when i realised that i was such on a streak and am very disappointed that i cut it off when i go on a vacation, feeling a tinge of guilty for actually having fun. it makes me realise that the current environment on kpop fanficblr is a dog-eat-dog one, and you just can't help yourself to be thrown in it even if you don't want to when you posted that fic.

that insecurity is very real in a way that i had a writer's block after a fic gained traction from the algorithm and made me have tons of notes--something i didn't expect even after years of posting on this very platform. but then it dips when i realised that i couldn't retain those people. i am very insecure about blogs that look prettier than mine, one that could change their themes easily when i am committed to a theme that i ideated back in 2021 because it is my blog's identity. that insecurity is real when i see mutuals who answer back-to-back asks whenever i look at the main dashboard, knowing that they're return is being expected, while i feel like talking to a void every time i post anything other than a fic...

i do have ways to handle all of those, ways that are hard to verbalise or written because it is pretty complex. and i do understand that people will handle this problem differently, have read your ways and to know how some of them works on me, but not on you.

i do apologise for even venting on the reblog because it is just something that i have been keeping in the back of my mind until i read your post. in a way, it's pretty cathartic to me that even someone who i see as a successful writer in this place also feels the same hardships i do, knowing that i'm not alone in having this turmoil inside of me.

i hope that we can go through it, separately or together, fellow mutual~ feel free to send dm or asks on this blog or my main. we can link up outside of blr if you wanna talk more

[liuhsng]

─────⋆˚࿔ ⋆ in lilac and gold ( lhs ! )

✩ˎˊ˗ enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — heeseung x fem!reader ⤷ word count — 21.2k ⤷ based on this request by @heesbbygurl ⤷ permanent taglist — open !

⤷ a/n — i had so much fun writing this—truly. this honestly might be one of my favorite pieces yet. also, please don’t mind the enhypen masterlist, it’s still under editing and a little messy 🤍

⤷ warnings — smut (minors dni), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), reincarnation au, royal au, prince!heeseung, princess!reader, modern!heeseung, modern!reader, past lives, heavy emotional themes, mentions of childbirth, faint references to past death, soulmate trope, red string trope, fluff, angst, destiny/universe themes, mentions of pain (labor), crying, protective!heeseung, foul language, mentions of historical war/politics, romantic tension, fate-written love, farmer george reference, happy ending, breeding kink, marking, biting, light possessiveness, overstimulation, praise kink, slight size kink

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — as the crown prince of a powerful kingdom, lee heeseung was raised to rule—with sharp instincts, a loyal heart, and a crown that never sat too heavily on his head. he was born for diplomacy, bred for war, and destined for a throne. but the only thing he truly lived for was you. his wife, his queen, the only soul who could quiet the chaos inside him. you loved each other until your final breath. and somehow, even after that. or, where two strangers meet under the eyes of their past selves, and something the universe once forgot finally begins again.

The sun poured golden ribbons over the stone path, warm and gentle as it kissed the castle grounds. Somewhere beyond the hedges, the faint splash of the courtyard fountain echoed—a lullaby of water meeting water, rhythmic and calming.

You sat nestled within the pale embrace of a gazebo, its wooden frame delicately laced with ivy and blooming wisteria, soft petals swaying with every tender breeze.

The book in your hands was worn in the corners but loved—its parchment pages aged, the ink slightly faded yet still carrying the weight of every word.

A sigh left your lips, soft and drawn out.

“'And in silence, he longed for what he dared not touch,'” you read aloud, your voice barely rising above the wind. “What a tragic sort of devotion…”

Your fingers tightened around the spine.

The garden stretched out before you, a sea of color—roses, tulips, peonies, and little blue forget-me-nots nestled near the base of every trimmed bush. Everything was alive, and yet it all stood still, like the entire world paused to listen.

Footsteps padded softly across the gravel behind you.

“Milady,” came the quiet voice of one of the castle maids, her head bowed low as she placed a fresh tray of refreshments upon the small table beside you. Crystal glasses caught the light, and the silver tray gleamed beneath the sun.

You offered a gentle smile. “Thank you.”

She returned it, modest and fleeting, before stepping back. “Shall I leave the strawberries as well?”

“Yes, please,” you replied, adjusting the folds of your gown with one hand.

The silk skirt pooled around you in waves, layered with pale pastels, laced edges, and gold-stitched bows that shimmered every time you moved. A corset hugged your waist, cinched just enough to be proper, but not unbearable—a compromise between elegance and comfort.

She bowed again. “Call if you need anything, my lady.”

“I always do,” you murmured, your gaze falling back to the book.

You turned the page delicately, brushing your fingertips against the words as though they were fragile glass.

And then, quietly to yourself, “How strange it must be, to long for someone in secret… and be loved loudly by someone else entirely.”

You were just about to turn the page—fingertip sliding gently under the parchment—when you heard it.

Footsteps.

Your gaze lifted from the book and drifted to the right, toward one of the many winding paths that led into the garden. Sunlight spilled across the white cobblestone in slanted rays, dancing between the petals and ivy.

Prince Heeseung.

Your breath caught for only a second—but your smile came instantly, unbidden, as if your heart had recognized him long before your eyes did.

He looked like he belonged in the very pages of your book—dressed in a tailored white coat lined with gold filigree that caught the sun at every turn.

The fabric shimmered faintly with each step he took, the polished black boots beneath his dark trousers clicking softly against the stones. His hands were careful, cradling a fresh bouquet of lilacs—your favorite, which he never once forgot.

The lilacs were nearly the same shade as the ribbon in your hair.

His dark hair was brushed back in soft waves, a few strands falling loosely near his brow. And those eyes—those warm, honey-brown eyes—found yours with ease, with something gentle tucked inside their gaze.

“Princess,” he greeted with a smile that turned your knees to air. His voice, low and warm, always had a way of curling around your name like a promise.

You sat up straighter, your hands folding over your lap as you tilted your head at him, playful. “You walk like a man with secrets.”

“I walk like a man bringing flowers to the only one who makes the garden look dull,” he said, grinning as he reached the steps of the gazebo.

“Oh, how terribly dramatic of you.”

Heeseung chuckled, holding out the bouquet. “And yet it made you smile.”

You accepted the lilacs carefully, the scent washing over you like a memory. “You know, the florists will start suspecting you’re courting someone.”

“I am courting someone,” he replied easily, eyes never leaving yours.

Your cheeks warmed under the weight of his gaze.

“Lucky her,” you said softly, brushing your thumb over one of the petals.

Heeseung stepped closer, just enough to lower himself onto the bench beside you—his posture relaxed, his shoulder brushing yours faintly. His arm rested casually behind you on the seat, not quite touching, but close enough to feel.

“Lucky me,” he corrected, leaning in the slightest bit as his voice dipped lower. “For having a princess who reads poetry and meets me in gardens.”

You laughed under your breath, looking down at the bouquet once more. “You always say the right things.”

Heeseung tilted his head, expression soft. “Only when I’m around you.”

You gave him another smile, one that crinkled your eyes and pulled at the corners of your lips. Then, with a careful hand, you set the bouquet beside the refreshments—delicate lilacs now resting in the sun’s golden glow, nestled beside chilled lemonade and a dish of strawberries.

“Come closer,” you said gently, patting the spot beside you with a slight tilt of your head.

And he did.

Heeseung obeyed with that boyish grin tugging at his lips, sinking into the bench with ease until his shoulder brushed yours—warm, familiar. The closeness was effortless, the kind that came with hours and weeks and years of knowing. Of loving.

He turned slightly, eyes gleaming as if simply sitting beside you made the world right again.

“How was practice?” you asked, reaching instinctively for his hand, your thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles.

He let out a dramatic sigh, one that rattled from the very depths of his chest before he leaned in further—head finding its way to the crook of your neck, nose brushing the soft skin there as he inhaled.

“Exhausting,” he murmured, voice muffled by your skin. “Sunghoon almost ripped my sleeve off.”

Your brows raised, amused. “Did he now?”

“All because I told him he ought to start thinking about finding a lady of his own. He’s only two years younger than me, but you'd think I told him to marry a goat the way he reacted.”

You stifled a laugh.

“And Jongseong?” you asked, already guessing.

“Backed me up, of course,” Heeseung grinned into your neck. “He even dragged Jungwon into it—said the two of them were becoming old maids with swords.”

You gasped playfully. “Cruel!”

Heeseung laughed, his breath tickling your skin. “Cruel but not wrong. So naturally, the younger ones decided the only reasonable response was chasing us through the courtyard with their blades drawn like little terrors.”

You blinked. “With actual swords?”

“Oh yes,” he said, sounding far too amused. “They meant business. The knights on patrol just stood there, watching. I think one of them placed a bet.”

You giggled, running a hand through his soft hair as he leaned further into you, completely unbothered by decorum or the passing time. Your fingers threaded through the dark locks gently, combing through with care as if he were the most precious thing in the garden—and he was.

Heeseung hummed under your touch, arms moving around your waist as he drew you closer until there was no space left between you.

“You spoil me,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

“And you let me,” you replied with a teasing smile, brushing your fingers along his temple.

“That’s because I’d gladly die in your hands,” he muttered sleepily. “Even if your hands are… very soft. And smell like roses.”

You laughed again, delighted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours,” he corrected, holding you tighter.

And then—without warning—he leaned in and began pressing warm, slow kisses against the slope of your neck. One. Then another. His lips trailing softly just below your jaw, then lower, brushing against the skin just above your collarbone—barely hidden by the delicate neckline of your gown.

“Your dress is unfair,” he whispered between kisses, voice low and teasing. “Makes it impossible to behave.”

You let out a breathy giggle, hand curling into the fabric of his sleeve. “You’re impossible, Heeseung.”

“Mm, say it again.”

“You’re impossible?”

“No. My name. I like it when you say it like that.”

You cooed gently, tilting your head as he angled for your lips. His gaze dipped to your mouth, and his hand moved up the side of your back, eyes half-lidded and completely enamored.

And just as your lips were about to meet—

“Heeseung hyung!”

The prince froze mid-movement, groaning against your skin like a man personally betrayed by the gods.

Another voice followed, louder and more frantic.

“Hyung? We’ve been looking for you for ages!”

From beyond the tall rose bushes near the edge of the gazebo, two familiar figures stumbled into view—Sunoo and Riki, each looking like scolded puppies who’d wandered too far from their leash.

“Unbelievable,” Heeseung muttered under his breath, finally lifting his head with the most exasperated expression. “What could possibly be so urgent?”

Sunoo offered you a sheepish smile as he waved. “Good afternoon, Princess. Sorry to interrupt.”

Riki, meanwhile, had already sauntered over and shamelessly plucked a macaron off the silver tray in front of you, examining it like he’d just discovered a new species. “Pink. My favorite.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “Riki.”

“I figured if I’m going to interrupt, I may as well get a snack.”

Sunoo sighed and folded his arms. “Hyung, the head of the knight guard—Hwan—has been looking for you. Something about finalizing next week’s banquet security plans?”

At that, Heeseung visibly deflated, letting out a second, louder groan before dramatically resting his chin on top of your head like a sulking child. “I’m not going.”

You stifled a laugh, reaching up to play with the ends of his hair. “You do know you’re the crown prince, yes?”

“I do,” he mumbled. “And yet I feel incredibly underappreciated.”

Riki snorted as he took another bite of the macaron, his voice muffled by sugar. “Relax, brother. Princess (Y/N)’s not going anywhere.”

Heeseung gave a noise of agreement and nuzzled further into your hair, arms still locked firmly around your waist. “Exactly. This is clearly a case of poor timing and disrespect toward royal romantic affairs.”

Sunoo rolled his eyes. “You say that as if your ‘romantic affair’ isn’t sprawled across a public gazebo.”

“Then they should build us a private one.”

You laughed again, threading your fingers through his hair as he melted into you like a spoiled cat. Riki and Sunoo exchanged one last glance before Riki shrugged and grabbed a second dessert.

“We’ll tell Hwan you’re ‘in conference.’”

“And tell him to come back never,” Heeseung added, voice muffled into your hair.

You sighed through a soft laugh, tapping his arms gently where they were stubbornly wrapped around your waist. “My Prince,” you said with mock sternness. “If you don’t get going, Hwan will double your training hours. Maybe even triple.”

He let out a groan—not very prince-like—as he nuzzled into you one last time. “Cruel. You wound me, my love.”

“You’ll survive,” you hummed, gently nudging him away. He reluctantly loosened his grip, though he still hadn’t made any effort to actually stand.

You smiled fondly. “Come on. The earlier you finish your duties, the earlier you can be with me again.”

That made him perk up, his eyes suddenly lighting like sun-touched gold. “Now that is motivation.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek—warm, lingering, a promise tucked into it.

“Ugh,” Sunoo groaned dramatically, throwing his head back. “Do you have to kiss every five seconds?”

“Some of us are still single,” Riki added, arms crossed with an exaggerated pout.

You grinned. “Well, maybe if you two stopped terrorizing every debutante at every ball…”

Heeseung snorted, standing at last with a stretch before he placed one last, feather-light kiss to the top of your head. “Ignore them, princess. They’re simply jealous.”

You brushed your hands gently along the front of your gown, preparing to stand as well. “I must get going back inside,” you murmured, glancing toward the palace doors. “The sun is starting to turn hotter, and I might melt before you return.”

Heeseung stepped beside you immediately, his hand finding the small of your back with natural ease. “Then I’ll escort you,” he said. “It’s on the way to the courtyard anyway.”

He looked to Sunoo expectantly. “That alright?”

Sunoo gave a small, understanding nod. “Of course. We’ll catch up with the captain while you two take your sweet time.”

As you moved forward, the heavy layers of your gown shifted around your legs, the delicate fabric and gold embroidery trailing slightly behind you. You let out a tiny sigh, brushing your skirt to the side.

“These gowns were not made for walking,” you muttered.

“They were made for floating, though,” Heeseung teased, offering his arm with a grin. “And I’m honored to be walking beside the most beautiful one to ever wear them.”

You flushed as you took his arm, allowing him to guide you gently toward the entrance of the palace. Behind you, Riki mock-gagged and grabbed another macaron while Sunoo simply shook his head, already anticipating a very dramatic retelling of this moment at dinner.

“I’m serious,” you added playfully over your shoulder, glancing at Heeseung. “Hwan is already so tired of your antics. Please, spare the poor man.”

That made the prince laugh—a sound so full and bright that it echoed against the walls of the palace garden like music. “Alright, alright,” he said, pulling you just a little closer. “For your sake, I’ll behave. But only slightly.”

The afternoon breeze was kind to your skin—neither too warm nor biting. It danced through the open corridor, carrying the scent of roses and distant sunlight as you strolled leisurely, your gown trailing behind like golden water. The lace fluttered slightly with each step, your slippers tapping gently against the polished stone floor.

Your two handmaidens flanked you, both young, bright-eyed, and as full of energy as always. The three of you had long abandoned any sense of formality as laughter echoed softly down the hall.

“White and gold,” you said confidently, letting your fingers trace the embroidered detailing of your sleeve. “No combination has ever looked better.”

They both gasped as if you had uttered gospel.

“I told her the same thing!” one of them chirped. “Gold goes with everything. It brings out the elegance in the plainest of things.”

“And it’s so regal,” the other sighed dreamily. “Like something only worn by goddesses and queens.”

You laughed, soft and genuine, as you reached the spiral stairs that led to the tower balcony. The stone was cool beneath your fingertips as you climbed, sunlight spilling in through narrow windows that cast slanted beams along the walls.

Stepping out onto the balcony, the three of you were greeted by the view of the castle’s courtyard below—alive with the clang of swords, thuds of boots, and echoes of distant chatter.

“There they go again,” your handmaiden giggled, pointing toward the princes at the far end of the yard.

You followed her gaze and stifled a laugh of your own as you caught sight of Jungwon’s sword accidentally hitting Riki with the hilt—straight to the side.

Riki let out a loud yelp, and without missing a beat, launched himself at the cat-like prince, chasing him in furious circles around the yard as their sparring partners stood stunned.

“They’re going to fall face-first into the fountain one of these days,” you muttered, watching as the younger princes dashed around wildly.

Your eyes scanned across the yard—rows of knights moving in formation, sparring amongst themselves, or preparing equipment—until they landed on a more composed sight. Prince Heeseung.

He stood slightly away from the others, deep in conversation with the ever-serious Captain Hwan. Between them lay a large scroll, its corners pinned with small weights, possibly a map of the castle grounds.

You could just barely make out their gestures—Heeseung pointing toward a marked area while Hwan nodded sharply. Likely preparations for next week’s banquet, you thought.

“The crown prince looks far too serious today,” one of the girls murmured, following your gaze.

“He always does when Hwan’s involved,” the other added, then nudged your arm with a sly smile. “Now those knights over there, though…”

You turned your head just as she gestured to the opposite end of the courtyard, where Prince Jaeyun and Prince Jongseong—both shirt-sleeved and flushed from training—were surrounded by a group of younger knights. Their laughter echoed faintly, the two clearly in the middle of friendly teasing.

“They’re the heart-stoppers of the guard,” she sighed dramatically. “Imagine catching one of those eyes from below the helmet.”

You chuckled, resting your arms on the balcony railing. “They’re charming,” you admitted. “But Prince Heeseung has my heart.”

Both girls turned to you with the same dreamy expression.

“As he should,” one said, smiling. “You’re both lucky.”

“Betrothed and still looking at you like he’s thirteen again, sneaking out of language lessons to see you in the garden,” the other added with a fond laugh.

You let out a soft breath of laughter, the memory settling sweetly in your chest. “He still acts like it,” you mused. “He gifted me lilacs this morning and almost forgot he had training until Sunoo dragged him out.”

They both laughed at that, clearly endeared.

“And every time he kisses you in public, Prince Riki looks like he’s about to hurl,” your handmaiden added through a grin.

You covered your mouth to stifle the sudden laughter, nodding in agreement.

“Honestly,” you sighed, “I should start rewarding the poor prince for tolerating all our affections.”

“You already do, Your Highness,” one handmaiden said with a wink, leaning her elbows on the stone railing.

The other smiled softly, her voice quieter now, a sincerity woven into her words. “You were the sister figure they always needed, you know.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in tone.

“They’re adored by everyone,” she continued, eyes trailing down to the chaos of the courtyard. “The Queen loves her sons dearly—but with the business of the court, the councils, the expectations—well… they needed someone to be there. And you were.”

“She’s right,” the first agreed. “From the moment you met them… they looked up to you. Just as much as they look up to Prince Heeseung.”

The wind blew gently again, carrying with it the laughter of the younger princes and the faint scent of lavender from the courtyard gardens.

Your gaze softened as it drifted across the yard—Riki now wrestling Jungwon to the ground playfully while Jaeyun scolded them half-heartedly in between sword swings.

They had always looked at you that way, hadn’t they? As if your presence gave them peace in ways no royal decree or bloodline ever could. They weren’t just princes to you. They were yours. In some small, cherished way—they had become the brothers you never had.

You sighed through a smile, delicately pushing your hair back over your shoulder, careful not to disturb the lilac bow resting perfectly near your crown.

“Enough with this sentimental talk,” you murmured, though your voice was thick with affection. “You’re going to make me cry.”

Both handmaidens giggled, nudging each other playfully.

“I’d offer my handkerchief, but it’s silk and I don’t want to ruin it,” one teased.

“Such loyalty,” you quipped, laughing along, your heart lighter now.

Your gaze floated back to the courtyard, naturally—always—seeking him.

Heeseung was still beside Hwan, nodding along to something the knight was pointing to on the map. His arms were folded behind his back, posture noble and every bit the Crown Prince. But then—almost as if the gods whispered your name into his ear—he looked up.

Right at you.

The seriousness faded instantly. His brows softened. His lips curved into a grin brighter than any sunbeam could ever hope to rival.

You giggled quietly, your hand raising in a gentle wave toward him. Heeseung returned the gesture with no hesitation, his smile only growing wider as he waved back, completely unbothered by Hwan’s sharp sigh beside him.

Below, the courtyard erupted.

“OI—LOOK AT THAT! THE PRINCE IS SMILING!”

“You sure that’s our Crown Prince?!”

More teasing hollers rang out as knights and princes alike noticed the sudden softness in their usually stoic eldest. And then—

“Noona! Hi!” Jungwon shouted from where he was pinned by Riki, waving his arm wildly while the younger prince sat on his back like a triumphant puppy.

You covered your mouth, trying—and failing—to hold in the laughter that spilled from your chest.

Then Jongseong’s voice echoed from below, loud and teasing. “Come down here! It’s hot up there, you know!”

He wasn’t wrong. In the few minutes you'd lingered at the stone balcony, the once-soft breeze had given way to a harsher warmth. The sun bore down with more intent now, and you found yourself squinting slightly under its golden glare.

You nodded in agreement and stepped away from the railing, your handmaidens trailing just behind, still giggling about the interaction like it had been the most charming thing they’d seen all day. You couldn’t blame them—it really was.

As you descended the winding steps and approached the edge of the courtyard, the sight that greeted you was one of casual chaos—Jungwon brushing dust from his tunic.

Riki now tugging at Sunghoon’s sleeve as the elder prince tried to ignore him with utmost patience while seated on one of the carved stone benches. Knights moved in rhythm nearby, sparring or catching their breath, the clang of steel and soft thuds of boots filling the air.

Your handmaidens, ever the schemers, gave you one last nudge forward.

“Go on,” one whispered with a grin.

“Oh, don’t give us that look, Your Highness,” the other added when you turned to glare, all faux-offended elegance. “You’re the one engaged to him.”

Before you could retort, they laughed and slipped away—heading straight toward a few young knights polishing their swords under a shaded tree, whispering and giggling like it was a market square and not royal training grounds.

You sighed with fond exasperation, shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

But your thoughts were quickly interrupted by a familiar warmth at your back.

A hand gently found your lower spine, fingers curling just slightly—a touch meant only for you. You looked up to see Heeseung already beside you, as if drawn by instinct.

“Princess,” he murmured softly, before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. His voice was low, threaded with affection and familiarity.

You smiled at him, heart fluttering despite how often he did that—how natural it had become. “Your brothers are creating chaos.”

Heeseung chuckled, eyes lifting briefly toward the mess of limbs and swords still clashing nearby. “If they come back with their tunics torn again, I’m blaming Jongseong.”

“I heard that!” Jongseong called from somewhere near the fencing rack, earning another soft laugh from you.

The two of you began walking toward the area Heeseung had been previously, where a large table had been set under a temporary canopy.

Scrolls and maps lay sprawled across it, Hwan stood nearby, his posture straight and composed as always, though his expression warmed when he saw you.

“Princess (Y/N),” Hwan greeted with a small nod, voice crisp.

“Sir Hwan,” you replied, offering a gentle smile as your eyes flicked toward the detailed floor plan spread out before you.

Ink lined the parchment in precise, looping script—notes and arrows detailing various parts of the castle, side entrances, garden paths, and service tunnels. Red wax marked certain points, perhaps the ones in need of reinforcement.

The upcoming banquet was to host royals from three nearby kingdoms—it was no surprise security had become the highest concern.

Heeseung stepped beside you again, eyes flicking toward the plan. “We’re adjusting the placements for the northern watchmen,” he explained. “The last storm weakened the stone wall near the greenhouse.”

“I see…” you murmured, leaning in just a bit. “Does that mean the western rose arch will be blocked off?”

Heeseung blinked, a touch surprised. “Yes—how did you know that?”

You smiled faintly. “I remember which part of the garden floods first. We used to race through there, remember? When we were younger?”

Heeseung chuckled. “You always cheated. You’d pretend your skirt got caught, and I’d turn around to help—then you’d sprint past me.”

You tried not to laugh, but failed. “I never cheated.”

Hwan cleared his throat politely, trying not to smile too much. “Well, if we’re done reliving the princess’s war crimes…”

Heeseung chuckled, the sound low and fond as he pressed another kiss to the top of your head—like habit. His hand curled more firmly around your waist as he turned back toward the map, eyes scanning the ink-streaked parchment with renewed focus.

“Minjun,” he called, gesturing to one of the younger knights standing nearby, armor gleaming faintly under the sun.

“Take the final plan to the western and southern wings. Make sure Sir Jiwon and Sir Minho review them thoroughly. And pass it along to the patrols stationed at the back gardens.”

“Yes, Your Highness!” the young knight responded quickly, already moving with purpose.

“And Sir Hwan—” Heeseung added, catching his knight just as he began to turn away, “hold a meeting with the guards tomorrow morning. I want every possible weak point reinforced and every post briefed, understood?”

“Understood, Your Highness.” Hwan bowed at the waist, casting you a brief respectful smile before walking off. His exit left a small bubble of quiet around you and Heeseung amidst the occasional clatter of sparring swords and the buzz of wind.

With the absence of his ever-stoic personal knight, Heeseung turned fully to you.

A grin tugged at his lips, soft and lazy, like he had no interest in returning to the royal rhythm of duty just yet. He looked down at you, eyes twinkling, and then without warning, both hands found your hips—gentle but confident.

You blinked up at him, caught off guard. “Heeseung,” you hissed, eyes flickering to the side where a few knights—not so subtly—pretended to focus on tying bootlaces or checking their gear. “Are you serious? In front of all these young men?”

Heeseung only laughed, head tipping back slightly. The sound was musical and boyish and so unlike the Crown Prince everyone else bowed to.

“They’ve seen worse,” he teased, leaning in a little, nose brushing yours before pulling away just slightly. “Besides, I’m only reminding them what love looks like.”

You gawked at him, flustered and trying not to smile.

Heeseung's grin softened then, his thumb rubbing a slow circle against your hip. “Do you have plans this afternoon, my heart?” he asked, voice low and full of intention. “Because if not, I was going to steal you away.”

You laughed under your breath, warmth bubbling in your chest. “I do, actually. Tea time.”

Heeseung pouted dramatically. “Again?”

“Yes, but this time your mother invited me,” you said with a knowing look. “And apparently, your brother Sunoo begged her to include him. Said he was going insane from training every day, and sparring with Sunghoon is ‘slowly ruining his will to live.’ His words. Not mine.”

That made Heeseung snort. “Poor Sunoo. I warned him—Sunghoon takes no prisoners, not even in practice.”

“He said your brother has no mercy,” you confirmed with a giggle, “and refuses to hold back just because he’s younger.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes, mock-exasperated. “Sunghoon doesn’t even hold back on me.”

You shrugged playfully, “Well, he has your mother’s approval for being ‘disciplined.’”

Heeseung groaned. “Please don’t tell me she said that again.”

“She did,” you replied, smiling wide. “Right after she compared you to a ‘cloud of mischief.’”

Heeseung dragged a hand down his face, clearly wounded. “I’m her firstborn. How is this fair?”

You only leaned in to whisper, “You’re my favorite prince. That’s all that matters.”

Heeseung looked at you like you hung the stars just to light his way.

But a smirk crept up on his face, the type of playful mischief you knew all too well. He leaned in closer, voice low and teasing against your ear, “So you’re saying… you have other favorites?”

You gasped dramatically, eyes widening with faux betrayal. “What? I would never—” you paused for effect, then added with a grin, “But if I did… Jungwon’s a very close second.”

Heeseung clicked his tongue, pretending to pull away. “Unbelievable. Betrayed in daylight. By my own betrothed.”

You laughed, unable to hide your grin as you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “You’re still number one.”

“I better be,” he murmured, before cupping your cheek gently and stealing a real kiss this time—soft, warm, and full of all the affection he never seemed to run out of. You smiled into it, fingertips brushing the hem of his sleeve as you stayed there for a breath too long.

“I’m honored, noona!”

You both startled at the voice, pulling away just in time to see Jungwon grinning wide, his hands clasped behind his back as he strolled over with a puffed-out chest. He practically radiated smugness.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he added innocently, though his mischievous eyes said otherwise.

You giggled, arms opening instinctively. “Come here, you.”

The second youngest prince leaned in, wrapping you in a brief but warm hug. You ruffled his hair with a sisterly laugh just as Heeseung groaned beside you.

“Oh no. Now we’re hugging him too?”

Before Jungwon could respond, Heeseung reached over and roughly tousled the younger boy’s hair, effectively ruining the neat style Jungwon’s handmaid had worked on earlier that morning.

“Hyung!” Jungwon yelped, swatting at his older brother’s hand with a glare. “Do you mind?!”

Heeseung shrugged with a proud grin, not sorry in the slightest. “Affection builds character.”

“It builds trauma,” Jungwon muttered under his breath, brushing his dark bangs back into place with a scowl.

Still, he didn’t move away right away. He just sighed, casting a sideways look at his brother before straightening his shoulders like he had something important to say. “Come on, hyung. I’m not eleven anymore.”

That made you smile fondly.

“I know,” Heeseung said quietly, voice laced with something softer, something older. “But you’ll always be my annoying little brother.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes, cheeks flushing the tiniest bit before he turned on his heel with a dramatic huff. “Whatever. Just don’t embarrass me again in front of the knights!”

Heeseung smirked as he watched the younger boy storm off.

“No promises,” he said, just loud enough for Jungwon to hear.

“I heard that!”

You and Heeseung laughed, watching the youngest stalk toward the training field like a prince on a mission.

Still smiling, Heeseung turned to you again. “So… Jungwon, huh?”

You looped your arm through his. “He’s charming.”

Heeseung made a dramatic face as he led you away from the courtyard, your steps falling into rhythm with his as you both began walking through one of the many open-air corridors that stretched between the training grounds and the main castle. Sunlight filtered through the tall arches, casting golden lines across the stone floors.

“Charming,” he repeated, as if tasting the word. “Unbelievable.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm lightly. “Come on, don’t pout. Doesn’t he like some princess from the neighboring kingdom or something?”

“My love,” he said with a faux-wounded pout, placing a hand over his chest. “You are from the neighboring kingdom.”

You gave him a deadpan look. “The other one, Hee. You know what I mean.”

He chuckled, his shoulder bumping yours as he nodded at a few knights that passed by and bowed to their Crown Prince. “I’m only teasing, my love. You wound me with your accusations.”

“Oh please,” you drawled, pretending to flip your hair. “You’d survive a thousand of my wounds and still crawl back with a bouquet of stolen garden roses.”

“I don’t steal them,” he said defensively, eyes wide. “I borrow them.”

You snorted. “They're still dying in a vase somewhere, my thief.”

“Ah, but they die for love,” he whispered dramatically, and you both burst into quiet laughter, the sound echoing softly against the archways.

As you entered the main castle, the air shifted cooler against your skin. The familiar stretch of marble under your shoes and the pristine white-and-gold corridors felt like coming home.

You leaned into Heeseung naturally, no longer needing to keep up appearances of royalty. Here, you were just his. And he was just yours.

“Did you know,” Heeseung started, voice low and casual, “that one of the kitchen boys swears he saw a raccoon sneak into the pantry last night?”

You blinked. “What?”

“He says it ran off with a wedge of brie. I’m inclined to believe him.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “If it’s the same raccoon that stole my slippers last month, I’m filing a formal complaint.”

Heeseung smirked. “We’ll draft a letter. ‘To His Royal Sneakiness, Lord Raccoon.’”

“‘Please return the slippers. And the cheese.’”

You both snorted again, shoulders brushing, hands nearly touching but not quite. Not until Heeseung gently reached over and linked your pinky with his.

As you approached the end of the hallway, two stationed knights nodded respectfully at Heeseung, who gave a short nod back, the air between you momentarily still.

Then, with a small tug, he guided you down a quieter wing of the castle and opened a pair of familiar ivory doors—the ones adorned with subtle silver embroidery, vines carved into the wood. Your shared bedroom.

It wasn’t common for betrotheds to share a room before marriage. But then again, nothing about you and Heeseung had ever been traditional.

You’d known each other since you were in diapers, practically raised beside him during summer visits and royal meetings. Your parents were longtime allies, your mothers best friends, and your fathers forever trying to outmatch each other in chess.

So when Heeseung looked his parents in the eye and asked, “Why wait?”—with that charming, persuasive voice and soft gaze—they had merely exchanged a look and nodded. And you had moved into the Crown Prince’s wing a week later.

Heeseung stepped aside to let you in first, hand brushing your lower back gently.

“I still can’t believe this room is technically mine too,” you murmured, looking at the familiar blend of warm candles, velvet throws, and the little reading nook by the window he’d helped you decorate himself.

“You say that every time,” he smiled, closing the door behind you.

“And I mean it every time.”

You moved to sit at the edge of the bed as Heeseung discarded his royal sash and coat onto the nearby chaise. He walked over, cupped your cheeks, and leaned down until his forehead pressed against yours.

“My love,” he said softly. “This room was mine. But it’s only ever felt like home when you were in it.”

“And, you’ve been sleeping in the same bed with me since we were fifteen. Why do you always act like you’ve kissed me for the first time?” he murmured, eyes gleaming.

Your jaw dropped in disbelief. “You arrogant—”

Without hesitation, your fingers found his cheek and you pinched—hard.

He hissed. “Ow—! Okay, okay, that’s uncalled for!”

“Shut up, Lee Heeseung,” you grumbled, though the amused twitch in your lips betrayed you.

He laughed, low and full, his hands finding your cheeks once more—but this time, there was no trace of playfulness in the way he tilted your chin upward, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Come here, then,” he whispered.

And then he kissed you.

A proper one.

His mouth moved against yours with practiced ease, tilting just enough to deepen the kiss, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to keep you exactly where he wanted you. You sighed into him, hands curling around his forearms as the warmth between you bloomed fast—like fire catching silk.

He pulled back barely an inch, just enough to catch his breath and your dazed expression. Then, without a single word, he sank onto the bed, tugging you by the waist and pulling you to straddle his lap.

You gasped, landing atop him with a jolt as your palms pressed against his chest.

“Heeseung!” you hissed. “You little—”

He cut you off, arms curling around your waist and dragging you in closer—flush now, no space between your chest and his, your skirts spilling around both of your legs. His lips brushed your ear.

“Finish that sentence, and I’ll make sure you say my name louder next time,” he whispered.

Your breath hitched.

“Heeseung,” you warned, voice trembling from the heat he lit in your stomach.

“Yes, my love?” he said, all mock innocence—his hands not-so-innocently sliding over your waist, fingers curling around the fabric at the dip of your back.

“I have tea with our mothers and Sunoo,” you reminded, heart racing, mind spinning.

He clicked his tongue. “They’ll understand. They adore you. Especially Sunoo—he probably planned this delay.”

You let out a half-laugh, half-sigh, resting your forehead on his. “We can’t keep doing this in broad daylight.”

“Then let’s get married already,” he replied instantly, eyes gleaming as his grip on your hips tightened just slightly, anchoring you to him. “That way, I can kiss my wife whenever I damn please.”

You leaned in again, eyes twinkling, catching his lips in a playful kiss that had him chasing after more.

As you pulled back just enough to breathe the words into his mouth, you smiled, “We are at the end of the month, patience, my prince.”

But Heeseung only growled lowly, a sound vibrating in his chest, deep and utterly possessive.

“Not when you sit on me like this,” he muttered—voice thick, the restraint cracking.

He didn’t wait for your teasing reply.

He surged forward, claiming your lips in a kiss that had nothing soft about it this time. It was all heat and desperation—his mouth molding to yours, tongue brushing boldly against the seam of your lips until you gasped and gave in.

You couldn’t stop the small sound that escaped your throat, your fingers digging into the lapels of his shirt, clutching him like he was the only solid thing keeping you grounded.

Your breaths grew louder, shorter—shared between kisses that turned more and more feverish. Heeseung only paused to stare at you, chest rising and falling. His eyes, which held stars just seconds ago, were now blazing with something darker, needier.

And still—still so full of love.

He didn’t say anything as his hands moved behind you, already knowing what to do—his fingers skillfully unlacing the back of your corset. It wasn’t the first time. It was second nature to him by now, and the realization sent a rush of heat all over you. While you would usually fumble with the ties for minutes at a time, he did it in less than ten seconds, eyes never leaving yours.

“Show-off,” you muttered breathlessly, cheeks warm.

“You wouldn’t need help if you didn’t keep choosing the ones with so many damn laces,” he shot back with a smirk, but it faded as quickly as it appeared—his gaze trailing down.

Your hands went to the buttons of his vest with haste, lips brushing against the edge of his jaw as you worked them open. He let you, watching with a hunger that made your fingers tremble slightly.

Once the last button gave, you pushed the garment off, and Heeseung flung it somewhere across the room with zero care.

“Too slow,” he murmured.

You barely got a breath in before he was tugging at your sleeves, your dress slipping down your shoulders in one smooth motion. The soft fabric hung loosely on your arms, exposing the delicate skin of your collarbones, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath it.

“You’re killing me,” he said quietly, forehead leaning against yours again. “Do you know what you do to me?”

You couldn’t answer. Not when he was looking at you like this.

Not when his mouth kissed every bit of skin the dress dared reveal. From your shoulder to the hollow of your throat. Slow. Devout. Like worship.

“I want you,” he whispered into your skin. “Not just now. Not just like this. I want every part of you, every night, every morning. In this room. In that temple. Before the gods and after them.”

You shivered, pulling him closer by the front of his shirt. “You already have me, Heeseung. You always have.”

A guttural sound tore from his throat as his hand gripped the laces of your dress. “Say it again,” he breathed, lips brushing against your collarbone.

“You have me,” you whispered, heart pounding. “Every piece. Every breath.”

With one swift motion, he loosened the bodice, the fabric sliding off your shoulders and pooling at your waist. He drew back slightly, chest rising and falling, eyes devouring the bare skin now revealed to him. His gaze was starved—like he’d waited centuries to touch you like this.

“Mine,” he groaned, hands trembling slightly as they moved over your ribs, your waist, the dip between your hipbones. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

His mouth followed the path of his hands—slow, deliberate. He kissed down your neck, nipping at the skin just below your jaw until a breathy moan escaped you. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice strained as he left a trail of marks, warm and tinged with devotion. “The gods have nothing on you.”

When his lips reached the softest part of your chest, his hands gripped your hips tightly—almost possessively—pressing his forehead against your sternum for a second like he was trying to calm himself.

Then he looked up at you, pupils blown. “I’ll worship you like this,” he said, voice rough, “until the stars burn out.”

You didn’t get the chance to answer.

He grabbed your thighs, flipped you effortlessly onto your back, and pressed you into the mattress. Your breath caught in your throat as he pulled the rest of your dress off with a low growl, letting it drop to the floor. His body hovered above yours now, heat radiating between you as your bare skin met his.

“You make me lose control,” he said, almost like a confession. “And I don’t want it back.”

His mouth was everywhere—claiming your neck, your shoulders, the curve of your stomach. His name slipped past your lips again and again, soft and helpless, like a prayer and a curse all at once.

He kissed you then—deep, head-spinning, like he wanted to taste your soul. “Let me have you,” he murmured between kisses. “Let me love you the way I was always meant to.”

And when he finally lowered himself between your legs, hands splayed across your hips, tongue tracing fire across your skin, he whispered, “I’ll leave no part untouched.”

His lips grazed the inside of your thigh, slow and reverent, like he was memorizing you inch by inch. His thumbs dragged upward, parting you gently, and when he looked up—eyes dark, hungry, reverent—you nearly forgot how to breathe.

“Stay just like this,” he murmured, voice low, almost trembling. “Let me taste what’s mine.”

And then he buried his face between your thighs.

A gasp tore from your throat as his tongue moved against your core—firm, relentless, like he had something to prove. And maybe he did.

Maybe he was proving that no one else could ever make you feel like this. That no other hands, no other mouth, no other name would ever fall from your lips in this way.

Heeseung groaned against you, the sound vibrating straight through your bones. “You’re everything,” he muttered, voice muffled by your skin. “Sweet. Divine. Addicting.”

Your hips bucked, but his grip only tightened—holding you down, keeping you open. “Don’t run from it,” he said, looking up briefly, mouth glistening. “Take it. Take all of me.”

Then he dove back in—slower this time, more intentional. He licked into you like a man starving, like he wanted to carve his name into you with every flick of his tongue.

Your fingers twisted into his hair, a moan spilling out of you so raw and desperate it made him groan again—deeper this time, as if he felt it.

He sucked gently, then harder, then just right—and your body arched, breath catching as your thighs shook around his head. “That’s it,” he whispered, not letting up. “Come undone for me. I want to feel you lose yourself.”

And when you did—back arched, fingers digging into his scalp, his name a broken chant on your lips—he didn’t stop. Not even then.

Heeseung stayed there, kissing you through it, tongue softening to gentle licks, like he couldn’t bear to let go of the taste of you.

“You taste like heaven,” he said hoarsely, crawling back up your body. “And I’m never going to stop sinning.”

His mouth captured yours in a kiss so deep and possessive, it left you dizzy. His hand cradled the back of your head, the other splayed at your waist as he kissed you like he’d never let you go.

When he finally pulled away, your lips were parted, your breaths uneven, your body still aching for more.

You blinked at him, dazed. “I should—shouldn’t I… return the favor?” you managed to breathe, fingers lightly tracing the edge of his jaw. “It’s only fair.”

But Heeseung only chuckled, low and fond. He clicked his tongue as he cupped your chin between his thumb and forefinger, shaking his head. “Not now, my love,” he said, tone full of mock discipline. “Don’t you have tea with our mothers and poor, bored Sunoo?”

You stared at him, scandalized. “You—!”

Your mouth hung open in shock, lips still tingling from his kisses, body still humming with want, and Heeseung had the audacity to smile—smile—as he kissed you again. Tender, slow, and sweet. But the taste of you still lingered on his lips, and the moment it hit your tongue, your cheeks flushed deep crimson.

He pulled back with a grin, clearly satisfied with your flustered state. “There’s that look I love,” he murmured, his thumb brushing the corner of your kiss-bitten mouth.

You squeaked as he got up, completely unhurried, and bent to retrieve your dress from where it lay pooled on the carpet. He handled it with surprising care, holding it up like it was made of glass, before walking over to grab your corset next—still slightly unlaced from earlier.

He turned to you, holding both items up. “Come now, princess. I may be a selfish man, but I’m not about to be blamed for you being late to tea.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You are absolutely going to be blamed. You undressed me, Heeseung.”

He only smirked as he crossed the room again, kneeling in front of you as he gently helped you slip back into the gown. “And I’ll do it again later,” he whispered, wickedly close to your ear, “but slower.”

You hissed, slapping his shoulder lightly. “You menace.”

Heeseung laughed softly, guiding your arms through the sleeves and then slipping around to lace your corset like it was second nature—deft fingers pulling the strings tight, not too firm, but enough for you to feel properly put together again. His knuckles grazed your back as he worked, and you swore he did it just to rile you up.

“You’ve done this way too many times,” you mumbled, folding your arms as he tied the last ribbon neatly.

“Practice makes perfect,” he replied cheekily, placing a final kiss on your shoulder before straightening up.

Your reflection in the gilded mirror caught your eye—cheeks rosy, lips swollen, hair slightly mussed, but glowing in a way you couldn’t quite hide.

You groaned under your breath.

With a quick sweep, you pulled your hair over one shoulder, trying in vain to cover the fresh marks Heeseung had shamelessly left trailing along your neck and collarbone.

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered as you frantically smoothed your sleeves and tried to pat down the mess of curls he’d tangled earlier.

Behind you, Heeseung strolled over, a knowing grin tugging at his lips. “Here,” he said, lifting the delicate golden circlet that had been knocked off and tossed aside somewhere between his kisses and your surrender.

He gently placed it atop your head, careful not to tug or misplace a single strand. Then, with surprising finesse, he combed his fingers through your hair and pulled a few pieces loose to frame your face just right. The strands softened your features, made your flushed cheeks look like a gentle blush rather than a royal scandal.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Forgive me for the mess, my love,” he whispered against your skin, his voice laced with playful guilt.

You puffed out your cheeks, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. “Mess? Heeseung, I look like I just survived a storm.”

You puffed out your cheeks, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. “Mess? Heeseung, I look like I just survived a storm.”

“You look like a woman in love,” he teased, clearly far too pleased with himself. “And slightly ravished, yes, but radiant nonetheless.”

You smacked his arm as he burst into soft laughter.

He reached for his coat from the chaise and slipped it on with practiced ease, but left his royal sash on the side—too formal for a simple walk across the castle, and besides, you both knew he wanted an excuse to not look too princely in front of Sunoo, who would definitely tease him about it.

He offered his hand, and you took it with a begrudging sigh. “You’re lucky I’m fond of you.”

“I’m aware,” he grinned.

With your hand in his, he opened the door and gently tugged you along the corridor, nodding at the knights stationed nearby, who respectfully bowed but absolutely did not miss the light flush on your face or the smug tilt of Heeseung’s smile.

As the two of you walked, fingers still entwined, you couldn’t help but glance sideways at him.

“Should I expect a scolding from your mother for being late?”

Heeseung hummed thoughtfully. “No. But from Sunoo? Absolutely.”

You groaned. “He’s going to smell the perfume and still say, ‘Why do you smell like sex?’”

Heeseung laughed out loud. “Because you do.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You planned this.”

He just gave your hand a little squeeze. “I can’t help it. I like when you leave with part of me on you.”

You choked back a sound—half flustered, half delighted—and smacked his chest again. “You’re awful.”

“And you’re late for tea.”

You rolled your eyes fondly as Heeseung gently tugged you down the main marble steps and out into one of the many open-air gardens nestled in the kingdom’s sprawling palace grounds.

A breeze kissed your cheeks as the scent of lilacs and chamomile floated in the air, winding between columns and trellises of soft wisteria, the sunlight hitting just right

Then the scent grew stronger—steeped lilac tea, freshly poured.

You paused with a soft inhale. “My favorite,” you murmured with a smile.

Heeseung glanced sideways at you, eyes already on your face. “Yeah, I know,” he said simply, like it was obvious—because to him, it was.

You rounded the hedge-lined path and reached the open gazebo area in the heart of the garden. Woven vines framed the white pillars and soft silks blew gently from above, casting dappled shadows on the large round table filled with silver-tiered trays of fruit tarts, scones, sweet breads, and golden jars of jam. The sound of bickering cut through the serene setting.

“No, I’m telling you! Apricot is a universal jam—like, anyone would pick it!”

“Universal doesn’t mean it’s good, Riki! Raspberry is superior, and everyone with a tongue knows that!”

You laughed under your breath at the familiar sight of Sunoo and Riki, seated on opposite ends and leaning toward each other with exaggerated scowls.

Sunoo’s sleeves were dramatically pushed up like he was ready to duel with a spoon, and Riki’s pout was so intense it could’ve curdled milk.

Your smile grew as your eyes landed on the two women seated elegantly between them—your mother, Queen of your homeland, draped in soft burgundy with jewels that shimmered beneath the garden light, and Heeseung’s mother, the Queen of this kingdom, regal in deep navy lined with gold.

They sat side by side, teacups in hand, mid-conversation and sharing a laugh—the kind that spoke of decades of friendship, diplomacy, and sisterhood.

Heeseung slowed beside you, offering a slight bow of his head.

“My queens,” you said softly as you approached, your tone still laced with respect despite the fondness behind your eyes. You followed Heeseung’s lead, dipping your head slightly.

“Oh, please,” your mother groaned playfully. “Do we still have to do this every time?”

The Queen beside her smiled knowingly. “You’re about to be our daughter-in-law, not a courtier.”

“Sit, sit,” your mother added with a wave of her hand.

You and Heeseung chuckled, and he leaned in to kiss the top of your head once more, hands resting on your arms just a moment longer before he let go.

“I’ll leave you in good company,” he said, eyes locking with yours. “Try not to let Sunoo drag you into jam debates.”

Sunoo looked up, eyes wide. “You agree with me, right?” he demanded before Heeseung could even take a step back. “You like raspberry more, right?”

Heeseung only smirked. “I like peace and quiet. Which I clearly won’t get here.”

You snorted behind your hand as Heeseung’s mother laughed, waving her son off. “Go, Heeseung, before Sunoo recruits you into his crusade.”

Heeseung chuckled and gave you a parting wink before disappearing through the garden arch.

You turned back to the table and gracefully took the seat beside your mother, smoothing down your skirts.

Sunoo immediately leaned in and whispered, “Tell me you noticed the lip marks on your neck.”

“Sunoo!” you hissed, glancing at the queens who pretended not to overhear, amused smiles tugging at their lips.

“What?” Riki snorted, sipping his tea far too smugly. “You’re the one who came back glowing like you just won a war.”

You sighed deeply, cheeks already flushing again. “I hate both of you.”

Your mother smiled behind her cup. “Oh, sweetheart… you’re in love. We were all insufferable once too.”

The night of the banquet arrived with stars high and proud in the velvet sky, but even they would dim compared to what awaited within the castle walls.

You stood before the towering gilded mirror in your shared chambers, the scent of roses and lavender oils clinging softly to the air. Your hair was being twisted and pinned into perfection by skilled fingers, each strand smoothed and coiled as your lady-in-waiting delicately fastened glittering earrings to your ears.

Another slid your necklace into place—a heavy yet elegant piece of red garnet and obsidian, catching the flickering glow of the chandelier like drops of fire and shadow.

Your gown was made of the richest velvet in black, kissed with deep red silk layers beneath, cascading like spilled wine around your legs. Embroidered gold vines twirled across the bodice and sleeves, wrapping you in something regal, something worthy of a queen.

A knock at the heavy oak doors pulled everyone’s attention.

“May I?” Heeseung’s voice called from outside, deep and silken, already warm with a smile.

You barely had time to answer before the door cracked open, and there he was—standing in all his glory.

The red and black of his coat matched yours perfectly, the fabric gleaming with intricate golden embroidery and crystal embellishments that sparkled beneath the room’s warm lights.

His broad shoulders carried the weight of a kingdom and yet, the moment his eyes found you—his world narrowed.

He stood there, still, breath caught in his chest.

“…My gods,” he whispered. “You look like you walked out of a dream.”

You gave a soft wave of your hand, a simple motion that dismissed the flurry of handmaidens and attendants. With quiet bows and knowing smiles, they exited swiftly, leaving only the two of you in your glowing, silent world.

Heeseung didn’t wait.

He crossed the room in long, purposeful strides and spun you gently in place, eyes devouring every inch of your form. Your dress flared at your movement, brushing against the polished marble like a whisper.

“You’re unreal,” he murmured, hands settling on your waist as he stopped your twirl. “You look like a flame carved into royalty.”

“And you,” you teased, trailing your fingers down the gleaming lapel of his coat. “Look like temptation in human form.”

Heeseung grinned, gaze dropping to your lips for half a second too long. “Then what happens when royalty meets temptation?”

You raised a brow, smirking as you replied, “A scandal the bards will sing about for centuries.”

Heeseung laughed, rich and deep, before tugging you closer by the waist. “Let them sing, my love. Let them sing.”

His forehead pressed gently to yours. “Tonight, everyone will see what I’ve always known.”

“That I’m yours?” you whispered.

“No.” He shook his head slowly. “That I’m yours.”

He kissed your hand before pulling your arm through his.

“Shall we go make the entire kingdom jealous?”

You grinned, your fingers tightening around his. “Lead the way, my prince.”

With that, Heeseung offered his arm like a true royal consort and guided you out of the warm, perfumed sanctuary of your shared chambers. The heavy double doors closed behind you, and the subtle echo of your steps fell against the polished stone floors.

Two royal knights—adorned in your shared kingdom’s colors of crimson and onyx—followed at a respectful distance, silent and poised.

The corridor was dimly lit by torchlight, flickering shadows casting dancing patterns across the walls. But inside your little bubble, the world felt quieter, warmer. You and Heeseung strolled side by side, caught in easy conversation that dissolved any remaining nerves.

“Do you remember last month’s banquet?” Heeseung asked with a smirk, nudging your side.

“You mean the one where you complained about the wine?” you teased, arching a brow.

He scoffed dramatically. “It wasn’t wine. It was grape juice in disguise.”

You burst into soft laughter. “You pouted about it for a full hour. Told the steward you expected something aged, not squeezed fresh that morning.”

“I’m a prince. I expect stringency in my wine,” he said in a mock-snobby voice, chin tilted upward as you giggled.

But your smile faded slightly as you reached the archway that led to the Great Hall. You could already hear it—the hum of noble chatter, bursts of light laughter, and the elegant trill of string instruments playing from the balcony above. The scent of roasted meats and spiced wine filled the air.

Your posture straightened instinctively, hands smoothing down the front of your gown. Heeseung noticed.

He slowed his pace, his hand sliding gently around your waist to pull you closer. His lips dipped to your ear, his voice low and soothing.

“There’s nothing to be scared of, my love,” he whispered. “They should be scared of you.”

“You are the future Queen of both kingdoms,” he continued, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, a quiet storm of pride behind his smile. “And you’ve already won their prince.”

Your cheeks warmed, but the nerves began to ease. You exhaled, squeezing his hand in silent gratitude. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Heeseung only grinned, squeezing back once before the chamberlain standing just outside the banquet doors struck his staff once against the marble.

“Presenting,” he boomed, his voice echoing through the high-arched ceilings, “Crown Prince Lee Heeseung of House Lee, and Crown Princess (L/N) (Y/N) of House (L/N).”

At once, the hall stilled. Music faltered. Conversations died mid-sentence. It was like the world hushed—like the wind itself bowed.

All eyes turned.

Every noble, every knight, every courtly guest from both your homeland and Heeseung’s, rose from their seats. Heads lowered in bows and curtsies, hands pressed over hearts in solemn reverence. But more than formality, there was awe—undeniable awe—at the sight of you two.

Your steps were fluid as you and your prince made your way toward the long banquet table seated at the front of the room. Your parents were already seated—your mother glowing in cream and emerald, your father in sleek royal navy. Heeseung’s parents sat beside them, regal and composed, eyes glinting with something between pride and fondness.

The long table had empty seats between the kings and queens—but your eyes caught the familiar shadows of six tall figures standing further back. The other six princes. They stood at the side of the hall, backs straight, hands clasped behind them, watching as the two of you passed.

When you drew near, they bowed in unison with the crowd—a sea of heads dipping low in reverence.

But only they rose slowly, eyes glinting with quiet respect.

Jungwon was the first to lift his head, a smirk tugging at his lips as he mouthed dramatically, “About time.”

You suppressed a laugh.

Heeseung only rolled his eyes subtly and pulled your chair out for you like the proper gentleman he always was. “Your throne, my queen,” he teased softly.

The moment you were both seated, the hall gradually stirred back to life. Conversations resumed, the orchestra picked up its melody again, and the clinking of goblets filled the golden-lit room.

You greeted your parents first—your mother reached over the table to press a kiss to your cheek, her rings cool against your skin. “You both look stunning,” she said, eyes dancing. “But don’t just sit there like old monarchs.”

“Go,” Heeseung’s mother added, smiling behind her teacup. “Socialize. Be young. Dance. Be adored.”

Your father gave a playful huff. “Yes, yes, impress your subjects.”

Heeseung let out a breathy laugh and rose from his seat, pulling your chair out once again as he offered you his hand. “Shall we obey our queens and kings?”

You took it with a grin. “What choice do we have?”

He placed a gentle hand at the small of your back as he led you from the front dais and into the growing crowd. Your gown swished elegantly around your legs as you walked, and the subtle music and chatter wrapped around you like silk.

It didn’t take long to reach the cluster of princes near the long side of the room—familiar faces all dressed in variations of dark velvet, adorned with gold, sapphire, and crimson embellishments. The other royal heirs.

“Look who decided to show up,” Jongseong teased as he raised his glass at your approach, eyes glinting. “And matching too. I should’ve expected the dramatics.”

“You’re just jealous,” Heeseung quipped, “that your partner doesn’t coordinate with you.”

“You don’t have a partner,” Jaeyun pointed out.

“Exactly my point,” Heeseung smirked.

You couldn’t help but laugh, stepping a little closer to the group when—

“Oh my gods!” A familiar voice squealed behind you.

You turned just in time to be pulled into a sudden, elegant hug, delicate perfume surrounding you as Wonyoung grinned from ear to ear.

“It is you,” she beamed. “I told Yujin it was you and she said, ‘No, that can’t be her, she’s probably still getting ready—’”

“That does sound like me,” Yujin said with a giggle as she joined, wrapping her arms around you in a warm embrace. “But seriously, look at you! This dress? That crown? Prince Heeseung’s gonna have a hard time keeping people away tonight.”

“Please, he’s already glaring at everyone who makes eye contact with her,” Wonyoung whispered playfully, tipping her head toward your prince.

You glanced back—Heeseung, very much still engaged in conversation with Sunghoon, had his arm folded as he gave the other prince a look. You couldn’t hear the words, but you definitely saw the eye roll Sunghoon gave in response.

“Still boring as ever,” Woonyoung said under her breath, giving Sunghoon a pointed look.

Heeseung caught the tail end of that and shook his head with a laugh, muttering to Sunghoon, “Don’t mind them, they’ve been like this since we were kids.”

“I do mind, actually,” Sunghoon muttered back dryly, lifting his glass. “I was having a nice quiet moment before the fanclub showed up.”

“Oh, poor baby,” Wonyoung cooed sarcastically.

You giggled as she and Yujin each hooked an arm through yours, pulling you just a little away from the boys and deeper into the social haze of the room.

“You have to tell us everything,” Yujin said, eyes wide with curiosity. “How’s your room? Did the Queen really let you redecorate the west wing? Is it true that Heeseung almost punched a steward for misplacing your earrings last week?”

“Okay, that one was not my fault—” you began.

“Defensive,” Wonyoung grinned. “That means it’s true.”

You let out a snort, eyes trailing briefly to Heeseung just a few feet away, standing tall among his brothers. He caught your gaze with that familiar amused tilt of his head, his lips twitching as if he was holding back a laugh of his own.

“I swear,” Wonyoung continued, drawing your attention back. “Sunghoon nearly pushed me into the fountain last week.”

“What?” you blinked.

“All I said was that he walks like he owns the ground he steps on,” she huffed dramatically, flipping her hair. “Which is true, by the way. And he said, ‘Perhaps you should walk on water next time so I don’t have to see your face.’ Can you believe that?”

You burst into laughter, hand covering your mouth as Yujin gasped beside you. “He did not say that.”

“Oh, he did. Ask him.” Wonyoung nodded toward Sunghoon, who—unaware he was being discussed—was now slowly sipping from his own goblet, side-eyeing the trio of you as if expecting more trouble.

You and the girls dissolved into giggles again, your shoulders bumping lightly as the night continued to swell with warmth and music. Soon enough, more familiar faces began approaching, drawn to the lively cluster you had unintentionally created.

A group of princesses from neighboring kingdoms swept in, silk gowns gliding across the marble floor, their hair braided in intricate gold-threaded patterns, each one offering hugs and kisses on the cheek in greeting.

“Princess (Y/N), it’s been too long.”

“You look divine tonight, truly.”

“We heard about your new position—Crown Princess now, huh?”

You smiled graciously, cheeks warming under the compliments as you exchanged hugs and pleasantries, your fingers brushing over glittering sleeves and layered skirts. The perfume of lilac and fresh berries mixed with the sound of laughter and violins in the air.

Then, Yujin reappeared with a golden goblet, holding it out to you with a grin.

You eyed it skeptically. “You know I have the alcohol tolerance of a dying rabbit, right?”

“It’s not wine, your highness,” she sing-songed, lifting her chin. “It’s grape juice. I promise. I even tasted it.”

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “Yujin, last time you said that I ended up singing to a ficus tree.”

“That ficus was deeply moved,” Wonyoung said solemnly, hand over her chest. “You had it in tears.”

You rolled your eyes but took the goblet anyway, the cool metal glinting in the light. You took a sip—sweet, chilled grape juice, just as she’d said.

“…Okay, fine,” you mumbled. “You’re forgiven.”

Yujin smiled smugly. “As I always am.”

The chatter around you buzzed softly—princesses and lords weaving in and out of conversations, the noble youth of kingdoms mingling under chandeliers and candlelight.

You glanced once more toward Heeseung, only to find he was already watching you. Elbow leaned against a polished oak table, golden goblet in hand, the lamplight tracing the sharp line of his jaw. His head tilted in quiet admiration, lips slightly curled upward like he couldn’t help himself.

You gave him a soft smile, one only he could read through the crowd, and mouthed, “I’m okay.”

His grin deepened just slightly before he dipped his head in a subtle nod, his attention returning to the conversation he was having with someone you recognized instantly—Prince Taehyun of the Southern Kingdom, poised and calm as always, expression unreadable even while sipping wine.

“Did you hear,” Yujin leaned in close to whisper behind her goblet, her voice conspiratorial, “Prince Beomgyu’s got it bad for Taehyun’s older sister?”

Your brows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Oh, deadly serious. And Taehyun doesn’t approve—” she paused, nose wrinkling, “—or disapprove. Which, honestly, makes it worse.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up. “Of course he doesn’t. He’s too diplomatic to give a straight answer.”

Wonyoung perked up beside you, eyes wide. “Wait, wait. Isn’t she the one who wore that gold corset at the Summer Moon banquet last year?”

“The very one,” Yujin confirmed, nodding. “And Beomgyu’s been in love ever since. I’m telling you, it’s been a mess.”

You nearly choked on your sip of juice, laughing. “Oh gods—do you remember the night Beomgyu told me about it?”

Yujin blinked, then her mouth split into a knowing grin. “The drunken night in Dalanor’s banquet hall?”

You nodded, eyes sparkling at the memory. “He had one too many glasses of wine and started ranting about how Taehyun keeps throwing him into a spiral.”

Wonyoung leaned in eagerly. “What did he say?”

“He was so drunk, he grabbed Heeseung’s shoulder like he was the last sane man in the world,” you said through a giggle, “and went, ‘Your Highness, is it yes or no? Does he want me to marry her or does he want to stab me in my sleep?’”

Yujin laughed, nearly spilling her drink. “I remember Heeseung’s face! He just laughed and poured him another drink.”

You grinned. “And Beomgyu started sobbing into his goblet about how Taehyun winked at him when he mentioned the wedding idea. A wink. What does a wink even mean?”

“It means,” Wonyoung drawled dramatically, “welcome to royal romance hell.”

The three of you burst into laughter again, the sound bubbling up and mixing with the music in the air. You glanced back over toward Heeseung just in time to see him casually glance your way once more—his gaze lingering for a beat longer than it needed to, as if your laugh pulled his focus no matter where he stood.

Then he turned back to Taehyun, the two princes deep in what looked like a heated discussion about wine—or possibly the definition of flirting—while the night carried on around you.

You fidgeted with your fingers, gloved hands resting delicately over the fabric pooled at your lap. The royal carriage swayed gently with each turn, the soft creak of gilded wheels and distant sounds of celebration muffled behind velvet-lined walls.

Your white wedding gown—stitched with fine silver thread and delicate pearls—billowed across the floor like a river of moonlight. It was heavy, grand, and far too large for the carriage… but you didn’t mind.

Matching jewelry adorned your ears, neck, and wrists—heirloom pieces passed down through generations, each gemstone kissed by history and polished for this day.

Your veil shimmered like frost under the faint sunlight peeking through the curtained window, yet none of it glittered as brightly as your nerves.

Across from you, your mother and father sat side by side, their fingers loosely intertwined as they watched you with a softness that only parents could carry.

Your mother smiled first, the kind that carried decades of wisdom behind it. “Your hands always fidget when you’re nervous,” she said, gently reaching over to fix a strand of hair that had slipped from your veil.

“But you don’t need to be. You’re marrying for love—not alliance, not duty. That alone makes your union more powerful than any treaty signed before it.”

You blinked, lips parting in a slow smile. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so,” she replied, squeezing your hand. “I’ve seen the way Heeseung looks at you. Like the stars themselves would bow if you asked them to. That kind of devotion cannot be taught—it’s rare, and it’s real.”

You felt your throat tighten just a little.

Then your father let out a quiet sigh, the sound a little too heavy to hide. His eyes stayed on you, warm and just slightly glassy. “I told myself I’d be ready for this,” he said. “But nothing could prepare me to see my little girl in a wedding gown.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out half choked. “You’re going to make me cry.”

He reached for your hand, squeezing it between his own. “You’ll always be my little girl. Even when you're crowned queen. Even when you have children of your own. That will never change.”

You nodded slowly, breathing through the swell in your chest. “Thank you, Father. Thank you both.”

The carriage began to slow, the golden wheels rolling over polished stone as the sound of bells rang out in the distance.

Your breath hitched. You could hear the faint murmur of voices outside, the gathered crowd, the music… and just beyond it all, the sacred temple—its white marble steps lined with petals, towering pillars wrapped in garlands of lilacs and white roses, the banner of your kingdom billowing gently in the breeze beside Heeseung’s.

A high priest awaited at the top of the stairs, hands folded in reverence. The temple doors stood open, glowing with sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. It looked like a dream carved into reality.

The door to the carriage opened with a creak.

Your father stepped out first, extending his hand to help you. You took a deep breath as your gloved fingers slid into his, and your feet touched the polished stone ground. The hem of your gown brushed the flower-strewn path as you stood tall, eyes lifting toward the temple ahead.

“Ready?” your father asked, voice low beside you.

You nodded, slowly, then turned to look back one last time at the carriage—at the road that brought you here—and finally, forward again. “Yes. I’m ready.”

Your mother let out the smallest breath of a smile, a hand delicately pressing over her heart as she watched you with glassy eyes. One of the royal knights approached her with a polite bow, then gently extended his arm.

She took it with practiced grace, allowing herself to be escorted to her place at the front row of the temple—where the sacred lights from the stained-glass windows painted the marble floors in hues of gold and violet.

You stood at the start of the long aisle, the flower-strewn carpet lined with lanterns and pale petals. The air inside the temple was reverent, heavy with the scent of lilac and rosewater, lit only by candlelight and divine sunbeams that poured through the windows like blessings themselves.

And at the end of it all—standing before the altar beneath arching stone and blooming ivy—was Heeseung.

His white ceremonial suit shimmered under the temple lights, the gold embroidery gleaming with each breath he took. Crystals lined the trim of his royal jacket, catching the light like stars. His hair was perfectly styled—yet a single strand still fell naturally over his brow—and gods, he had never looked more like a king.

Heeseung swore his breath left his lungs.

The moment your figure stepped onto the aisle, framed by light and shadow, your gown flowing like starlight behind you and veil trailing with each slow, graceful step—he couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed across his lips. Not the small kind. Not the gentle kind. The full kind, the one that crinkled his eyes and made his chest ache with a thousand unsaid words.

“By the gods,” he murmured under his breath. “She’s real.”

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t blink. Could only stand there in full awe as if you were the very goddess the temple was built for.

Your gaze met his—warm, filled with every memory and every dream you’d ever shared. And as you stepped closer and closer to the altar, the sounds of hushed gasps and admiration filled the pews.

Heeseung barely heard them. He only saw you.

At the end of the aisle, your father stood tall but emotional as he gently guided you the last few steps forward. Once the music slowed, he turned toward Heeseung, looking the prince in the eye with all the weight of a father handing off the most precious thing he’d ever protected.

He took Heeseung’s hand and placed yours in it.

“Take care of her,” your father said, his voice deep but warm, soft with meaning. “She’s always been our light.”

Heeseung’s expression softened instantly. He nodded—not with stiff formality, but with reverent sincerity. “Always,” he whispered. “With all I have.”

Your father gave a small, proud smile before stepping aside, finding his seat beside your mother, who wiped the corner of her eye with her silk handkerchief.

You and Heeseung now stood before the altar together.

Fingers interlocked.

He looked down at you, and the way his thumb grazed the back of your knuckles sent a wave of calm through you.

“You look like every prayer I never thought would be answered,” he murmured so only you could hear. “And I must’ve done something right in a past life… because you're walking straight to me.”

You felt your heart rise to your throat as your eyes welled up—but you smiled, wide and unstoppable.

“Then hold me like you’ll never let me go,” you whispered back, voice trembling slightly.

“I already do,” Heeseung breathed, gaze locked on yours. “I already have.”

And somewhere behind you, the temple bells began to chime.

The ceremony was about to begin.

The gods were watching.

And the entire kingdom held its breath—for this union, for this love, for the future they believed in.

Laughter spilled from your lips like music, even as your hand tightened around Heeseung’s. The sky was dusted with sunset, the air alive with the roaring cheers of thousands—your people, your kingdom, the witnesses to a union that would be written into history books and bedtime stories alike.

“Careful,” Heeseung chuckled, eyes glinting as he helped you navigate the ornate steps of the royal carriage. “The gown’s winning the battle right now.”

You gave him a playful glare but let him hoist the heavy train of your dress just enough so you could climb inside without tripping. The velvet cushions cradled you immediately, the whole space fragrant with rose petals and wild lilac—gifts from the palace staff who had prepared it in secret.

Heeseung followed in after you, and the moment he closed the door behind him—sealing out the deafening celebration, the blinding flash of royal photographers, the weight of the world—

He turned to you.

And pulled you into him.

The kiss was firm and full of everything he hadn’t said at the altar. His hands cradled your jaw with devotion, lips pressing to yours like they were finding home.

You smiled against his mouth—because how could you not?—arms wrapping around his shoulders as your laughter was swallowed into the warmth of him.

He only pulled away when your lungs begged for air.

And even then, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand, fingers trembling ever so slightly as his gaze dropped to the dazzling ring glittering on your finger.

A rare golden band, wrapped in tiny vines of diamonds. At its center—a stone so clear and so rare, it was said to have been taken from the gods’ altar themselves, gifted only to royal soulmates.

Heeseung sighed softly, brushing his lips against the gem once more, before lifting his gaze back to you.

“My wife,” he whispered, as if saying it for the first time made it real. His voice cracked with the weight of it, eyes shining like the stars overhead. “My beautiful wife.”

The word settled in your chest like a prayer answered.

You reached forward, cupping his cheek, fingers threading into the strands of his dark hair that had begun to fall from their styled place. His skin was warm under your touch, his eyes—god, his eyes—were filled with nothing but wonder.

Your voice trembled as tears began to blur your vision. “And you’re my husband,” you whispered. “My beginning. My middle. And my always.”

Heeseung’s eyes fluttered shut for a second, as if the moment was too much. Then he leaned into your touch, turning just enough to kiss your palm.

“Remind me to thank the gods for making you,” he said softly, pressing your forehead against his. “Because there is no way I deserved this. Deserved you.”

“You deserve everything,” you whispered, pulling him closer. “Everything, Heeseung.”

You let out a soft breath, letting your forehead rest gently against his chest, the rise and fall of it slow and steady beneath your cheek.

His arms wrapped around you instinctively, pulling you closer, your white gown crinkling slightly between your bodies but neither of you cared.

“We’re headed to the island, right?” you murmured into the fabric of his coat, fingers curling around the lapel, the velvet soft under your touch.

Heeseung hummed, chin resting gently on the top of your head, his voice vibrating against your cheek. “Mhm. The very island I had that mansion built on… for us.”

He smiled as he spoke, almost shy about it. “Just for the two of us to spend our honeymoon in peace. No titles. No duties. Just you. Me. And the sea.”

You giggled, tilting your head up slightly to press a kiss to the tip of his chin. “I swear, I have the best husband ever. The perfect prince ever.”

That made his whole face light up. He beamed, heart full, like he was just realizing he could finally hold you like this without rules or eyes or limits. His hand slid to your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin as he whispered, “You’re perfect. Really perfect.”

You flushed, lips curling in a soft smile. “Well… I’m just glad the island isn’t that far from the mainland. At least we can come and go whenever we want.”

Heeseung snorted, pulling back just enough to give you a playful look. “You mean you can come and go as you please,” he said, eyes teasing. “Because you have a habit of storming off on me, my love.”

You gasped with a laugh, swatting lightly at his chest. “That was one time—!”

“Three,” he corrected smoothly. “Once after I forgot your birthday flower, the other when I fell asleep halfway through your poetry reading—”

You narrowed your eyes. “And the third?”

He grinned. “I don’t even remember, I think you were just being dramatic.”

You let out a mock gasp of offense, which only made Heeseung laugh harder. He pulled you back in, kissing your temple as he whispered, “I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth, you know. Even if you storm off again.”

“Even in this giant dress?” you teased, gesturing to the sheer volume of fabric surrounding you.

He nodded solemnly. “Even if I have to carry you and the fifteen layers of it across the entire kingdom.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing too loudly, burying your face back into his chest as the carriage bumped gently along the road—your fingers tangled in his, your heart full, your future already unfolding before you in soft gold and island winds.

You gasped as Heeseung thrust into you again, deep and unrelenting, his rhythm messy and desperate now—etiquette forgotten, restraint burned to ash.

He moaned low into your ear, voice wrecked. “Fuck—been dreaming of this,” he whispered, lips dragging along your jaw. “Years of holding back—do you even know what you’ve done to me?”

You whimpered, arching into him as your nails raked down his back, drawing soft, broken curses from his lips. “Heeseung—”

“That’s it,” he breathed, kissing you hard, possessive. “Say my name like that again, sweetheart—please—”

“Heeseung,” you gasped, body trembling under him, overwhelmed by the sheer stretch and heat of him, of this, of everything. “You’re my husband—y-you’re really mine—”

That did something to him.

He growled low in his throat, pulled out, and you whined at the loss—but then he flipped you onto your stomach, firm and commanding, and patted your ass twice, a dark gleam in his eyes as he said, “Up, love. Let me see you.”

You obeyed on instinct, body moving to all fours, ass raised, face flushed against the pillows.

“Fuck,” he muttered behind you, dragging his hands down your spine. “Look at you… gods, you’re perfect.”

He lined himself up again, the thick head of his cock brushing against you, teasing, making you whine and twitch in anticipation.

“Beg for it,” he said, voice barely steady. “Just once. Please, baby—after everything—I need to hear it.”

“Please, Heeseung,” you whimpered, backing against him. “Please… I need you.”

He slammed back into you with a groan that echoed off the high ceilings, one hand gripping your hip, the other wrapping around your waist to pull you against him. The sound of skin meeting skin was shameless, vulgar, as he lost himself in the heat of you, panting curses into your shoulder.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” he moaned, head dropping to your back. “This body—this fucking body was made for me.”

Your cries grew louder as his thrusts deepened, more erratic now—driven by years of pent-up love, desire, obsession.

When he reached forward and wrapped his fingers around your throat, pulling your back to his chest, he whispered against your ear: “Mine. My queen. My wife. I’ll spend the rest of my life ruining you like this.”

And as your walls clenched around him, body trembling from the pleasure blooming like wildfire inside you, he kissed your temple—soft, reverent, the only gentle thing in that moment—and whispered, “Give it to me, love. Let go. Let me have all of you.”

You shattered with a cry, the kind that echoed off the walls, one hand gripping the sheets as your body convulsed around him. Your release hit hard—white-hot and overwhelming—and Heeseung groaned against your skin, hips stuttering as you clenched tight around him.

“That’s it,” he rasped, pressing kisses along your shoulder, hips still lazily rocking into your overstimulated body. “Fuck—so good for me, so perfect.”

You could barely breathe, chest rising and falling as sweat clung to your skin. But Heeseung wasn’t done—not even close.

He hooked two fingers under your chin, lifting your face to meet his. Your eyes were glossy with tears, lips parted as soft whimpers spilled out of you. Heeseung’s gaze flickered between your eyes and mouth, his own expression completely undone.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmured, then kissed you—sloppy, desperate, like he was trying to taste the moans still lingering in your throat.

But then he pulled away—just enough to flip you back onto your back, drawing a gasp from your lips as he manhandled you closer to the edge of the bed.

“Heeseung—” you breathed, voice cracking.

He leaned down, kissed the tears slipping from the corners of your eyes with such gentleness it made your heart ache.

“I know, baby,” he whispered. “I know. But I need you one more time.” Then he raised your legs, resting them over his shoulders, and thrust back in.

Your cry was broken, high and breathless, your hands flying to his arms for something to hold onto as your body arched into him.

“Still so tight,” he groaned, hips rolling into you deep and slow, like he was savoring every second. “Gods, you take me so well, even after—fuck, I’ll never get over this.”

You sobbed softly, overwhelmed by the stretch, the intensity, the sheer love in the way he moved inside you.

He leaned down, folding your legs closer to your chest, his forehead pressed against yours as he whispered, “Look at me. Let me see you fall apart again.”

And then he slammed into you—hard and sloppy, each thrust punching a moan out of your throat as he hit that spot inside you that made your eyes roll back instantly.

“Heeseung—ah—!” you cried, voice ragged, high, needy.

“That’s it,” he rasped, watching your face with a wild hunger in his eyes. “That’s the face I wanted to see—gods, look at you—so gone for me.”

You couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. The pleasure was blinding, white-hot and all-consuming as he plunged into you over and over, cock hitting so deep and so perfect, your body had no choice but to obey.

Your mouth hung open, drooling a little, moaning with every deep, brutal thrust—and Heeseung ate it up like a man possessed.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, sweat dripping from his brow as his pace grew faster, rougher. “I’ve fucked you stupid, haven’t I?”

You whimpered, tried to answer, but only a breathless moan left your lips.

He smirked darkly. “Can’t even talk. Just taking it. Letting me ruin you.”

Your body jolted with every movement of his hips, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the chamber like a prayer.

“I’m close,” he panted, voice shaking. “You’re squeezing me so tight, gods, I’m gonna—fuck—”

You could only whimper, tears sliding down your cheeks again from the overwhelming heat building inside you.

He leaned in close, lips brushing your ear, voice low and wrecked. “I’ll fill you up,” he whispered. “Make you mine. Want you so round and full of me. Barefoot in the palace with my child inside you—fuck, baby, you’d look so perfect like that.”

A strangled moan ripped out of you, nails digging into his arms as your legs trembled around his shoulders.

“Wanna get you pregnant,” he kept going, voice turning desperate as his thrusts grew rougher. “Wanna see your belly swell. Everyone’ll know you’re mine—all mine. My wife. My queen. My everything.”

You cried out, and he kissed the tears from your cheeks again, groaning as your body tightened around him.

“Gonna give it to you,” he gasped. “Take it—take all of me—”

And then he buried himself deep one final time, spilling inside you with a long, low moan, his whole body shaking as he pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged, arms trembling.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips. “I love you—I love you—I love you.”

He kissed you again—deep, slow, as if trying to pour every bit of himself into your mouth, like he didn’t know where he ended and you began. His hands were still trembling, still greedy even now, cradling your face.

Then, slowly, gently, he eased your legs down from his shoulders, never once letting go. His hips shifted just enough so that he could wrap his arms around you, rolling onto his side and taking you with him—still buried inside you, warm and full and his.

You let out a soft gasp as your body adjusted, sensitive and raw, but comforted by his arms pulling you flush against his chest.

Heeseung let out a shaky exhale, pressing his nose into your hair. “Still with me?” he murmured, lips brushing your temple.

You nodded sleepily, breath shallow, heart pounding as you pressed your palm against his bare chest—feeling his heartbeat racing beneath your fingertips.

He kissed your forehead, and then your cheek, then the corner of your lips, his voice low and thick. “I’m not pulling out,” he mumbled, half-drunk on love, half-drunk on you. “Not yet. Not ever.”

You laughed softly—weakly—body still pulsing from everything. “You’re serious.”

“Dead serious,” he muttered, pulling you impossibly closer, like he wanted to fuse your bodies together. “I meant what I said, you know. About getting you pregnant. About seeing you with my child.”

“I want all of it,” he whispered. “You in this bed, in our castle. You walking through the palace holding your stomach. You with my name, my ring, my child. I want everything.”

You could barely speak. So you just whispered, “You already have everything.”

His eyes fluttered shut at that, a soft, boyish smile tugging at his lips.

The room was quiet, save for your breathing, the soft rustle of the silk sheets tangled beneath you. You were both still trembling from the aftermath—but wrapped in him, filled by him, you felt like the world had stopped moving just for the two of you.

The royal library was bathed in the soft light of the afternoon sun, golden beams streaking through the high arched windows. The gentle rustle of pages echoed quietly, along with Jaeyun’s voice reading aloud from a worn leather-bound storybook.

“…and then the young prince lifted the veil of thorns, finding the princess fast asleep, untouched by time, heart still waiting for his,” Jaeyun read, lips curling into a fond smile as he glanced down at your belly, voice softening even more. “He kissed her, and—”

You huffed, adjusting your position with an audible grunt as you shifted your weight on the deep-cushioned couch. It was custom-made, one of Heeseung’s many attempts to appease your growing complaints about how “every chair in the palace was clearly built for pain and suffering.”

Jaeyun winced. “Uh… did I do something wrong, noona?” he asked carefully, lowering the book.

You sighed heavily and gave him a sweet smile, brushing his arm. “No, sweet boy. You’re perfect. Don’t let the thundercloud above my head scare you.”

His brows furrowed in confusion before glancing up—and that’s when he saw your husband, standing near the grand shelf of magical history books, looking like a deer caught in divine, hormonal headlights.

Heeseung blinked. “What… what’d I do?”

You didn’t answer right away. You just stared. A slow, furious, finger-pointing kind of glare.

Heeseung looked behind him. Then pointed at himself. “Me?”

Jaeyun immediately started packing up the book with the speed of a trained soldier. “I’m gonna, um… give you two some privacy. Or leave the continent. Whichever’s safer.”

You gently held his wrist. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Jaeyun. Don’t let the idiot standing near the bookshelf convince you otherwise.”

Heeseung’s jaw dropped. “Wait—what idiot—hey!”

That’s when you sniffled. Loudly. Tears instantly welled up in your eyes as your lip trembled, and you looked down at your round belly, hand resting protectively over it.

Jaeyun froze in horror. “Noona—wait, are you crying? Did I—?”

From across the library, Jungwon’s head snapped up, quill falling from his fingers. He was at your side in a heartbeat, eyes wide and worried.

“What happened?” Jungwon asked, voice soft but urgent, his hand gently resting on the edge of your couch as he leaned over. “Noona, what’s wrong?”

You pointed at Heeseung again, face crumpling as the tears rolled down your cheeks. “He forgot my pickles and sour cream,” you sniffled. “I woke up and it wasn’t there and I waited and waited and I was starving and craving and he just—”

“Oh.” Jungwon tried very, very hard not to laugh, biting the inside of his cheek as he nodded seriously. “Pickles and sour cream. A fatal offense.”

“I didn’t forget!” Heeseung defended, walking closer, arms flailing slightly in helplessness. “I mean—I did, but not on purpose! I had to help Jungwon with the—”

Jungwon lifted his hand, still grinning. “Forgive my brother, noona,” he said sweetly. “I think it’s partly my fault. I made him stay up last night helping me deal with some… knight stuff.”

You raised a brow, still crying, still very much hormonal. “What kind of knight stuff?”

Jungwon cleared his throat. “Uhm. A few of the southern patrol horses were unshod, and the stablemaster said the armory budget was overspent again. So we were fixing allocations and—”

“Oh, so horses are more important than your pregnant wife?” you cut in, voice trembling as you narrowed your eyes at your husband.

Heeseung panicked. “No! No, absolutely not—I would die for you. I would kill for you. I was going to go after breakfast and—”

“You said that yesterday!” you cried, covering your face.

Jaeyun stood behind Jungwon now, whispering, “We should probably leave before she gives birth out of spite.”

“Smart,” Jungwon whispered back.

Heeseung rushed to your side, dropping to his knees in front of you and placing both hands gently on your belly.

“My love, please,” he said, looking up at you with big, guilty eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ll get you all the pickles. All the sour cream. I’ll grow a pickle tree if I have to. Just please don’t cry, it breaks my heart.”

You glared at him for one more moment before sighing, lower lip still wobbling. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Heeseung beamed. “That’s a relief. Because I love you too. And you, little one,” he said, pressing a kiss to your belly. “Don’t worry, father will bring home all your weird cravings.”

You sniffed again, wiping your face as Heeseung pulled out a silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed your cheeks gently.

“…You want ice cream with chili flakes too?” he asked cautiously.

“Obviously,” you muttered. “I’m not a monster.”

Jungwon and Jaeyun had already vanished by then, likely off to send a servant to retrieve a very urgent royal order of pickles and sour cream.

You sniffled once more, dabbing your own cheek as you tapped your fingers insistently on Heeseung’s arm.

He blinked. “Huh?”

You gave him a look.

“Oh! Right—right, sorry!” he scrambled, immediately hopping to his feet in a heartbeat. One arm slipped behind your back, the other lacing through your fingers with practiced ease. “Here we go—one, two—”

You groaned as he gently helped you up from the cushioned couch, belly stretching against the fabric of your soft dress. “Ugh. This is all your fault.”

Heeseung winced. “Yes, I—I know.”

“I should have your cock chopped off for this, you little—”

“Whoa—! Okay!” Heeseung laughed nervously, heart thudding against his ribs as he tucked you closer to his side. “Easy now, love. You scare me sometimes.”

You shot him a narrowed glare. “Sometimes? You should live in fear.”

“I do!” he said immediately, guiding your steps slowly and carefully as you waddled your way toward the hallway. “Every waking second, actually. Have I mentioned how stunning you look while plotting my demise?”

You clicked your tongue, though your cheeks betrayed you with the faintest tinge of blush.

Pregnancy had turned you into an emotional tempest. One second, you were smiling sweetly and asking Heeseung if he’d sing to the baby—and the next, you were threatening bodily harm over poorly cut fruit or lukewarm tea.

He loved you more for it. Terrified? A little. But madly in love? Completely.

Heeseung tried not to laugh at the memory of last week, when one of your most beloved royal cooks almost got fired.

You had wobbled your way down to the kitchen, belly-first, eyes ablaze. He had just finished making your requested plate of crackers—and forgot the sour cream.

The way you gasped, horrified, clutching your chest like your world had ended.

“I waited all day for this,” you whispered like a betrayed ghost. “And no sour cream? Off with your hat. No—your head!”

The poor man stood there, blinking in shock as you fumed.

By the time Heeseung had rushed in—dragging Sunghoon behind him for backup—he found you mid-sob and mid-threat, the cook still trying to apologize.

Sunghoon, eyes wide, bowed quickly to the cook. “We’re so sorry—she’s, uh—pregnant. Very pregnant.”

The cook only chuckled, waving it off. “It’s alright, Your Highness. This happens all the time. It’s quite normal, really.”

“Normal?!” Sunghoon whispered in horror as you let out a wail again.

Back in the present, Heeseung looked down at you now, walking slowly through the castle hallway, his hand cradling your back while you leaned your weight into him.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You sighed. “No. I’m bloated, I’m mad at you, my ankles feel like they’re being crushed by divine punishment, and I’m sweating in places no princess should sweat.”

“…So that’s a yes?”

You smacked his chest, and he only grinned, leaning down to kiss your temple again. “I love you, you know. You’re terrifying. But I’m obsessed with you.”

“I know,” you muttered, lips twitching upward despite yourself.

As you passed a stained-glass window, you paused and turned to face him—hand still on the curve of your belly.

“…You really forgot the pickles?” you asked again, narrowing your eyes.

Heeseung’s face went pale. “I swear to the gods, I’ll name our firstborn Sour Cream if that’s what it takes to make it up to you.”

You burst into laughter so hard you had to lean against him again.

The palace gardens were in full bloom.

You walked slowly beneath the soft morning sun, the wind warm and gentle as it kissed your face. Every step felt like a task and a half at nine months pregnant, your belly stretching the limits of your once-elegant maternity dress that now clung to you like it was begging for retirement.

Still, you needed the air.

The lilacs and lavenders had just been planted—your favorite colors. A gift from Heeseung after you spent an entire evening crying because you missed the way your childhood home used to smell.

“They’re blooming beautifully,” you murmured as you waddled beside your mother and mother-in-law, who were deep in discussion about installing fountains near the kingdom gates.

“A marble structure, perhaps,” your mother-in-law offered, gesturing with her fan. “Something timeless, to match the new rose archway.”

Your own mother nodded, her hand resting gently against your back. “And maybe benches shaded by wisteria vines—good for walks like these.”

You smiled faintly, hands settled protectively over your belly. You felt huge. Round and sore and terribly emotional.

Lately, all you wanted was Heeseung. You missed his hands on your belly, his kisses at the corners of your mouth, the way he’d whisper “You’re still the most beautiful woman in the world” every time you cried over not fitting into your royal robes anymore.

Poor Heeseung had endured months of emotional whiplash—you throwing pillows at him one minute, begging for cuddles the next—but he never wavered. Always patient. Always soft.

You sighed. “That man is too good for me.”

A sharp pang shot through your lower abdomen.

Your hand shot down to your belly as your breath caught, and in the next heartbeat—warm liquid trickled down your legs, soaking the hem of your dress and dripping onto the garden soil below.

Your eyes widened.

The queens turned to you instantly. “Darling?” “What is it?!”

“I think… I think my water just broke,” you whispered.

Panic, majestic and maternal, swept through both women. Your mother’s voice shot up first. “Servants! Fetch the midwife—now!”

“The healer too!” your mother-in-law added. “And blankets! Bring towels! Quickly!”

You winced again, grabbing at your lower back as another cramp rocked through you. “I can walk! I’m fine—just… need help.”

“Absolutely not,” your mother huffed, hooking her arm under yours with impressive strength for someone in full court attire. “You’re not walking anywhere without us.”

The two queens flanked you like royal guards, one on each side, carefully helping you take slow, careful steps back toward the palace. You groaned at each movement, breath labored, hands trembling.

“Where is Heeseung?” you whined, voice wobbling.

“He’s in council with the stewards—someone will fetch him,” your mother-in-law promised, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Don’t you worry, darling. He’ll be with you before the next contraction hits.”

“I swear if he misses this—” you hissed as another pain bloomed in your spine, “—I’ll induce a second pregnancy just to make him suffer through the next one!”

Both queens laughed despite themselves.

“You’re doing wonderfully, sweetheart,” your mother whispered, kissing your temple. “Heeseung will come running the second he hears. Just hold on a little longer.”

“And scream at him when he does,” your mother-in-law added with a mischievous grin. “It’s tradition.”

You let out a strangled half-laugh, half-sob as your foot crossed the marble threshold of the castle.

“Bring hot water!” a maid cried out. “Prepare the birthing chamber!”

Servants scrambled like a military drill as the two queens continued leading you toward the royal wing.

And as another wave of pain rolled through you, sharp and sudden, you gripped both women’s hands tightly and muttered—

“…Heeseung is so dead.”

The words had barely left your mouth when a young servant, barely older than a squire, nodded frantically at your mothers’s command.

He turned on his heel and sprinted down the castle corridors, nearly slipping on polished marble as he weaved past nobles and guards. His face was pale, his steps frantic—because everyone in the kingdom knew that when it came to you, Prince Heeseung did not waste time.

Especially not today.

The council room sat in a gilded hallway of the eastern wing, its doors heavy with ornate gold carvings, muffling the sound of bored sighs and shuffling chairs from within.

Inside, the seven princes were scattered across the long oak table, listening—somewhat respectfully—as an aging duke discussed property disputes near the northern border.

Heeseung sat at the center of the table, shoulders square, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His jaw tensed as he adjusted the fit of his vest, trying to mask just how miserable he looked.

Beside him, Jongseong leaned on an elbow, eyes half-lidded in sheer exhaustion. “If he says the word acreage one more time, I’m jumping out the window.”

Sunoo, who had long given up on pretending to listen, was poking Jungwon with a quill, whispering, “Bet you a week of your rations that hyung zones out and agrees to give the entire north to some greedy lord.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes, muttering, “He already did last month.”

Across the table, Riki and Sunghoon were whispering animatedly—probably about girls or sword duels or which of them would win in a wrestling match if their lives depended on it.

Jaeyun had a book propped open on his lap, held just under the table’s edge, completely absorbed and occasionally mouthing the words under his breath.

Heeseung cleared his throat, trying to gather enough composure to politely end the duke’s hour-long monologue. “We’ll reconvene to review—”

The council room doors flew open so hard they rattled on their hinges.

All seven princes shot up, hands instinctively flying to their sides as if expecting danger. The guards posted at the entrance had barely enough time to react before the young servant stumbled into the room, panting so hard it sounded like he’d just outrun a horse.

Heeseung was already halfway to standing, eyes sharp and alert. “Speak.”

The servant didn’t even bow. “T-The princess! Princess (Y/N)—she’s gone into labor!”

The words hit Heeseung like lightning.

Everything else vanished. The air, the weight of duty, the politics, the room itself—it was all just static in the background.

“Council dismissed,” Heeseung ordered, voice hard and final.

He didn’t wait for a single reply. He threw his glasses on the table with a clatter, not even bothering to place them gently, and shrugged off his coat as he made for the door. His vest was still half-buttoned, his cravat slightly askew, but he didn’t stop to fix any of it. He just ran.

“Hyung!” Jongseong called after him, but he was gone.

Sunoo blinked. “He didn’t even breathe.”

“Why do I feel like we’re in labor too?” Riki muttered, already on his feet.

“Heeseung-hyung’s going to faint before (Y/N) does,” Sunghoon said, half amused and half terrified.

Back in the halls, Heeseung’s footsteps echoed like thunder. Servants scrambled out of the way, bowing quickly before darting aside. He passed the main stairs, two wings of the palace, and stormed through three doors before finally reaching the private chambers near your bedroom—where the royal birthing room had been prepared days in advance.

He saw the royal guards, saw the maids darting in and out with wet cloths and blankets.

And then he heard you.

A muffled cry of pain from within.

His heart nearly stopped.

Heeseung stood just outside the doors, hand on the carved gold handle, breaths ragged as he tried to steel himself—but just before he could push it open, a commanding voice echoed through the corridor.

“Prince Heeseung, you cannot go in.”

He turned, startled, eyes narrowing as he was met by the flowing robes of the Archbishop of Decelis, flanked by a few elder members of the High Council—those who hadn’t been in attendance during the earlier meeting. Their expressions were grave, respectful, but firm.

“What?” Heeseung snapped, his tone already laced with disbelief. “Why not?”

One of the older men stepped forward, hands folded neatly in front of him. “My prince, it is tradition. Men are not permitted inside the royal birthing chambers. It is an honored law of the land.”

Heeseung dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated and on the verge of unraveling. “Tradition?” he echoed, almost laughing bitterly.

“That’s my wife in there. My child. And you’re telling me I can’t be with them because of some old, dusty decree written before any of you were even born?”

The Archbishop stood firm. “It is to maintain the sanctity and protection of both mother and child. We must follow protocol.”

Heeseung clenched his jaw, nostrils flaring, his heart screaming inside his chest. Behind him, hurried footsteps approached—the rest of his brothers flooding into the corridor one by one, panting and wide-eyed.

“Hyung, we came as fast as—” Jungwon began before seeing the situation unfold.

But Heeseung didn’t turn to them.

Because just then, through the thick double doors, he heard you scream again.

His spine straightened. His vision tunneled.

A young maid appeared from the side chamber, looking breathless and flushed. “Prince Heeseung!” she called, bowing quickly. “Her Highness is calling for you. She keeps asking—she’s crying, asking where you are.”

Heeseung moved for the doors again, only for the Archbishop to raise a hand, stepping into his path once more.

“Your Highness, please—”

“Do you like being the Archbishop of Decelis?” Heeseung asked sharply, voice low and dangerous.

The man froze.

The council members stiffened.

“Do you?” Heeseung repeated, eyes like wildfire.

“…Yes, my prince.”

“And you all,” Heeseung turned to the councilmen. “Do you like your titles? Your seats? Your influence?”

No one answered.

He took a slow, threatening step forward, each word like a blade. “Would you like to remain the Archbishop of Decelis? And remain members of this council?”

The hallway went deadly silent. Even the guards didn’t breathe.

Because Heeseung had never raised his voice. Never threatened anyone. Never looked like this before. But now—he was livid. A man unhinged by love, fear, and a cry from someone he couldn’t bear to be separated from.

“You forget your place,” he growled. “That’s my wife. That’s my child. And I swore before gods and men to protect her, cherish her, be by her side in every joy and every pain. And if any of you think for a second that I’ll let her scream for me alone while you stand here quoting traditions—”

His voice cracked at the edge.

“Then you’re not just wrong. You’re finished.”

The Archbishop opened his mouth—then closed it again.

“I said move.”

The men parted.

Heeseung didn’t waste another second—he slammed the doors open and marched in, not as a prince, not as a future king, but as your husband.

As a man about to become a father. As someone so in love with you that the thought of you suffering made him feel physically ill.

You were there, on the padded birthing bed, your back supported by pillows, your hair sticking to your forehead with sweat, hands gripping the sheets so tightly your knuckles were white.

Your mother and mother-in-law were at your side. The midwife—an older woman with gentle hands and sharp instructions—was calmly checking your status.

You looked up, eyes glassy and tired, and—

“Heeseung,” you whimpered.

He rushed to you without a word, dropping to his knees beside the bed and grabbing your hand. His fingers trembled as they laced through yours. “I’m here. I’m here, love, I’m right here.”

“I told you you were dead,” you gasped between contractions, squeezing his hand hard enough to crush bone.

Heeseung winced. “If I survive this, I’m building you another garden. Bigger. Full of lilacs. And pickles. And sour cream. Just—keep breathing, okay?”

You cried. “This is your fault!”

“Yes, it is,” he agreed, kissing your hand desperately, forehead resting against your arm. “I’m a terrible husband. I’ll never touch you again—I’ll sleep in the stables if I have to.”

“You’re damn right you will,” you hissed, then screamed through the next wave of pain.

Heeseung paled, but kissed your temple anyway. “You’re doing amazing, my love. You’re almost there.”

Behind him, one of the queens whispered, “He’s more scared than she is.”

And he was.

Because he’d faced sword fights, battles, political scandals, and enemy threats. But nothing terrified him more than the idea of you in pain.

The midwife barely glanced at him, too focused on the task. She peeked between your parted legs and gave a tight, pleased smile. “She’s fully dilated. We’re ready.” Then she dropped onto the birthing stool at the end of the bed and called over her shoulder, “You, get the clean towels. And the water, now.”

“Yes, madam!” a maid stammered as they scurried to follow.

“Alright, Your Highness,” the midwife addressed you gently now, her voice calm but firm. “When I say push, I need you to push hard, understand?”

You nodded, breath hitching. “It hurts—gods, it hurts so much—”

Heeseung was already at your side, kneeling beside you despite the thick gold embroidery of his royal vest crumpling beneath him. He took your trembling hand and pressed it to his lips, his forehead leaning against yours.

“You can do this, love,” he murmured, voice cracking. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You sobbed softly, body trembling. “I’m scared…”

“I know,” he said. “But you’re strong. So strong. You’re everything. And our baby—our little prince or princess—they’re so close. Just a little more, okay?”

Another contraction hit and the midwife barked, “Push!”

You cried out, gripping Heeseung’s hand so tightly it felt like you might break it, and he welcomed every second of it—because if he could take your pain for you, he would a thousand times over.

“That’s it!” the midwife encouraged. “Good girl, Your Highness, again!”

Heeseung wiped the tears streaking down your cheeks with his other hand, pushing the damp strands of hair off your sticky forehead, his lips kissing every inch he could reach.

“I love you,” he whispered. “You’re doing so well, I’m so proud of you.”

But after another few rounds, you fell back against the pillows, exhausted. “I can’t… I can’t anymore, Hee…”

“Yes, you can,” he whispered, desperate now, tears pricking his eyes. “You’ve made it this far, you can. Just one more, darling. Please. Our baby’s waiting for you.”

You whimpered, chest rising and falling fast, but his hand didn’t leave yours, and his words—warm and trembling—wrapped around you like armor.

“One more push!” the midwife called again. “I see the head! One big push, my lady!”

You screamed as you gave everything, every last ounce of strength in your body—and then—

A sharp, high-pitched cry cut through the air.

The room stilled.

Heeseung gasped, tears immediately spilling down his cheeks as the sound hit him like an arrow through the heart.

“She’s here,” the midwife breathed with a smile. “A healthy baby girl!”

The moment your daughter was wrapped in warm linens and placed against your chest, your body quaked with sobs—relief, exhaustion, love, everything. She was tiny, pink, and perfect, crying softly as her fists curled against your skin.

“Oh, gods,” you wept, arms trembling as you cradled her. “She’s so… she’s so little…”

Heeseung was crying openly now, brushing soft, trembling kisses over your cheeks, your temple, your lips—everywhere.

“You did it,” he breathed, voice shaking as he stared at you like you hung the stars. “You did so good, love. She’s perfect. You’re both perfect.”

He pressed his forehead against yours, his hand gently stroking your daughter’s soft downy head. Her cries softened, soothed by your warmth, and when her tiny hand flailed, Heeseung instinctively wrapped his finger around hers.

“She’s got your nose,” he whispered with a teary laugh.

“And your eyes,” you whispered back, voice breaking as more tears fell.

He kissed you again, lingering and reverent.

“My queen,” he murmured, voice soaked in awe, “my love, the mother of my child…”

And for the first time in forever, the kingdom outside went quiet—because in that room, on that bed, with your daughter in your arms and your husband holding you like you were made of gold.

You stood in the quiet, polished halls of the royal wing of the museum, the scent of aged books and lavender floor polish lingering in the air.

Jungwon and Sunoo had excused themselves a few minutes ago, excited to take pictures by the towering marble fountain near the entrance, leaving you to explore at your own pace, sipping on the lilac tea you bought from the museum café.

Your footsteps slowed to a stop when you turned the corner and came face to face with it.

A massive oil painting, stretching from the polished floor almost to the vaulted ceiling. Encased in a golden frame, dusted only at the corners with time. And in it, frozen in hues of soft ivory and golden light—

“Prince Lee Heeseung and Princess (L/N) (Y/N), in a timeless embrace beneath a canopy of lilacs and lavenders.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

The artist had captured something so impossibly intimate it made your chest ache. Heeseung stood tall, dressed in a white military-style coat, adorned with golden embroidery that shimmered even under the museum’s soft lights. His hand gently cupped the princess’s cheek, gaze tender and unguarded, as if the entire kingdom didn’t exist when she was near.

The princess wore a flowing white gown with a lilac sash, long sleeves embroidered with delicate gold threads, mimicking vines curling around her arms. She looked up at him, her eyes almost tearful with love, one gloved hand clutching the edge of his coat as though anchoring herself to him.

But it wasn’t just the beauty of the painting that left you frozen.

It was her face.

Her face—your face.

Same eyes. Same smile. Same shape of the nose and curve of the chin. Even the way she tilted her head slightly, like she was listening to something only he could whisper.

You took a shaky breath and stepped closer, glancing at the golden standee resting just beside the red velvet rope:

“Prince Lee Heeseung and Princess (L/N) (Y/N). Captured in the royal gardens during the Spring Festival of 1782.

This portrait is one of the most beloved in the royal collection, known not just for its artistic mastery, but for the love story it represents. Theirs was not a marriage of convenience or political alliance—but one of deep, enduring love.

They were said to have loved each other until their very last breath.”

You blinked at the plaque, rereading your name etched in gold again and again, as if the letters might rearrange themselves into something more logical.

“…That’s not funny,” you whispered, barely audible.

A slow chill crawled up your spine as you looked back at the painting.

What were the odds? Your name. Your face. The same features captured in oil centuries ago. Was the tea messing with you? Were you sleep-deprived?

You turned to glance behind you, half-expecting Jungwon and Sunoo to be playing some elaborate prank, but the corridor was empty.

You let out a small exhale and turned back to the painting.

But you weren’t alone anymore.

There was someone standing beside you.

A tall figure, dressed in a sleek black blazer and slacks, his silhouette sharp against the soft golden lighting of the gallery. His hands were tucked into his pockets, posture relaxed, but his gaze… his gaze was fixed right where yours had been moments before—on the painting. Unmoving. Focused. Like it meant something.

Your eyes flicked down to the silver pin on the left lapel of his blazer: the Decelis University insignia. A student, then.

You shrugged to yourself, figuring he was probably here on the same field trip. You took another sip of your lilac tea, the floral taste now bittersweet on your tongue as your heart settled in your chest again.

“It’s uncanny,” he murmured beside you.

You blinked and tilted your head slightly. “Are you talking to me?”

His lips curved, not quite into a full smile—but into something quieter, gentler. And his voice—God, his voice was warm. Deep, but velvety.

“Maybe,” he said. “I don’t really see anyone else here besides you.”

You let out a soft laugh, caught off guard. “Wow. Is that your line, or do you just flirt in front of 18th-century paintings?”

“Only with people who look like they’ve just seen a ghost,” he teased.

You turned to him, finally taking in his features properly. And your breath caught in your throat.

His hair was dyed a soft lilac—the exact same shade as the flowers in the painting. It caught the sunlight pouring in from the museum’s high glass windows, casting a faint halo around his head. But it wasn’t just the hair. It was the eyes. The way he looked at you—not like a stranger—but like someone remembering.

“What did you mean by uncanny?” you asked softly, your grip tightening around your tea cup.

He glanced at the painting again, then back at you.

“Well,” he began, “for starters… she looks exactly like you.”

You swallowed. “Yeah,” you said, voice smaller than you meant. “I noticed that.”

The stranger beside you let out a soft laugh—not the polite kind, but the real one. Full-bodied and warm, the kind that came from the chest, from somewhere deeper. His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, something boyish blooming across his face as he fully turned to face you now.

He was breathtaking up close.

Lilac hair tousled like the wind had played with it on the walk here, his blazer crisp and worn with ease, like he wasn’t trying to impress anyone—but still somehow did.

There was something timeless about him. Like his face didn’t belong to any specific era. Like it had been painted in oil and carved into memory long before today.

He glanced back at the painting again and tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Well,” he teased, “the real one looks way better.”

Your breath hitched.

Heat rushed to your cheeks before you could stop it. “Oh my gods,” you muttered under your breath, fighting a smile as you stared at the floor, willing it to open and swallow you whole.

He chuckled, clearly pleased with your reaction.

You sighed, defeated, and risked another look at him.

The way he stood there, relaxed but attentive. The way he smiled like he already knew you—like he was waiting for you to remember too. The way his eyes searched yours with a kind of gentleness, like he didn’t want to scare you off, but couldn’t help getting drawn in.

You finally found your voice again, soft but steady.

“Well,” you said, looking right at him this time, “you look exactly like him, so…”

Your hand lifted slightly, finger pointing toward the prince in the painting, but he didn’t follow it. His eyes were on you. Only you.

He took a step closer.

Not too much—but just enough that you could smell his cologne, something clean and woodsy, like cedar trees after the rain.

“You think so?” he asked, voice quiet, as if the question itself held centuries of weight.

You nodded.

And you gave him the smallest smile. The kind of smile you only give someone you feel like you’ve known your whole life—someone you’ve missed before you even met.

His eyes softened.

And then he looked up at the painting once more, but not for long. “They say those two married for love, not for politics,” he murmured. “That they stayed together until their last breath.”

You blinked. “You know the story?”

“Bits and pieces,” he said. “My professor’s a nerd about royal bloodlines. Said they were the last real fairytale before the world became… complicated.”

“…That’s kind of beautiful,” you said quietly.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking back at you. “It is.”

You stared at each other for a moment too long.

And in that silence—filled only by distant footsteps and the soft hum of the museum—you felt it.

That pull in your chest.

Like gravity—but gentler. Like you’d been waiting your whole life to stand in this exact spot, with this exact person, under the eyes of your past selves immortalized in paint and gold leaf.

You swallowed down the weight in your chest and cleared your throat, unsure how to ask the question on your tongue without sounding absolutely unhinged. But the curiosity burned hotter than your nerves.

So you looked up at him, voice hesitant but steady.

“…What’s your name?”

He turned to you, that boyish grin softening into something quieter—shyer, even. He chuckled under his breath and reached a hand toward you, the sunlight from the glass ceiling catching on the silver ring he wore.

“Lee Heeseung,” he said.

You stared.

You had to blink once, twice, to make sure you heard him right.

The same name etched into the gold plate by the painting.

The same name whispered by fate across brushstrokes and centuries.

The same name that made something in your bones stir like they remembered.

Was the universe playing a joke? A test? A cosmic prank?

Or had it been quietly arranging this moment since the day you were born?

You were certain if someone snapped a photo of this second, the stars would burn a little brighter behind the frame.

You reached for his outstretched hand, your fingers brushing against his palm. The moment your skin touched his, a jolt shot up your arm—not painful, not harsh. Just… warm. Familiar. Like home.

He didn’t let go.

And honestly? You didn’t want him to.

His fingers wrapped around yours just right, firm but careful, like he already knew you needed both comfort and gentleness.

“And you?” he asked, voice softer now. Like he was scared to breathe too hard and shatter something delicate.

You swallowed, heart loud in your ears.

“(L/N) (Y/N),” you said, breathless.

Something shifted in his eyes.

Like a sunrise cracked through storm clouds.

Heeseung smiled—slowly, knowingly. “Nice to meet you, Princess,” he murmured, still not letting go.

Your breath hitched.

The nickname shouldn’t have meant anything coming from a stranger. But from him—it felt like the world had finally remembered a story it forgot to finish.

In that fleeting space between his smile and your breathless heartbeat, you realized something:

Maybe some loves weren’t just meant to last lifetimes.

Maybe some loves were lifetimes.

Maybe you and him—Lee Heeseung, the stranger who felt like a memory—had been chasing each other through history, always finding, always losing, always waiting.

And as the sunlight spilled through the stained glass, casting lilac and gold across your skin, you smiled.

Because somehow, in a crowded museum filled with relics of the past—you had found your future.

© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[starrihan]

Arranged = In Love (Jaehyun Fic)

-> Pairing: Viscount! Jaehyun x Adopted Daughter, afab! Reader

-> Plot: Your cruel parents arrange you to marry the coldest, most disinterested man in the town. How do you fare when he acts no differently towards you than your parents did?

-> Genre: smut, fluff, angst, piv sex, fingering, oral (f receiving), no protection (wrap it up!), both Y/N and Jaehyun come from troubled childhoods, Jaehyun is cold and lowk misogynistic in the beginning, crying, cruel parents, arranged marriage, little brother! Woonhak, let me know if I missed anything

-> Warnings: mentions of dead parents and potentially triggering backgrounds for the characters

-> Word Count: 10,536

-> Notes: This fic was a long one and took me a little over a month to complete. It was a request from my lovely @mikk1-lol. I am so sorry this took so long, I experienced so much writers block and literally wrote this 3 different times with me completely scrapping the first 2 ideas but I had so much fun writing this! I absolutely LOVE writing royal/ renaissance AU type fics and hopefully receive more asks about them in the future!

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

༄ ༄ ༄

He always kept his nose buried in his work. As the next Viscount of the Myung estate, he couldn’t afford any distractions. There was a lot of unfinished paperwork to attend to, many files to fill out. Not to mention the pressure his grandparents had put on him as the new head of the household not so long after the death of both his parents, soon after he became a teen. Ever since then, his chaotic and carefree spirit had slowly dwindled away, leaving him to always be a shell of the person he once was, so serious, so tightly wound. 

He was nearing his mid-20’s, the age at which most men would be concerned with finding a wife. But he never cared to find a wife— at least not this early. He had too much to worry about already, but even then, his grandparents insisted he find someone to marry. He refused to find anyone on his own, always making excuses as to why he wasn’t able to find a date. It was then that his grandfather got fed up, arranging for him to meet with different women in hopes of finding a wife. But he never paid any interest to his dates, not caring about them or what skills they possessed or what stories they wanted to share. 

He had hoped that this disinterest would stop his grandfather from finding more dates, but it only kept him going, determined to find someone for him. It was like he knew everyone from everywhere, calling ladies from many towns away in order to meet with his grandson. But as time went on, the dates became less and less, much to his appeasement. He continued to focus on his work without the worry of marriage following him around, for now. 

༄ ༄ ༄

The sound of broken glass filled your ears, the sharp noise hard to drown out. You wince, watching your mother smirk as she deliberately dropped a glass tea saucer and cup set onto the floor. 

“Oh no, looks like I dropped a plate.” 

She turned towards you, an evil glint in her eyes. 

“What are you waiting for, pest? Clean that up will you?”

You nod in understanding, walking up with a broom and dustpan, careful not to get tiny shards of glass stuck in your bare feet. 

“Well, if no one is willing to marry you, at least I can keep you as my slave forever.” 

The tears slowly fall from your eyes and onto the broken glass as your witch of a mother walks away, cackling to herself. Correction: adoptive mother. You couldn’t bear the idea that she was anything like your real mom. 

Your father had left shortly after you were born, leaving you in the care of only your mother. You didn’t know much about your father, and you never really asked any questions since whenever you would, your mother would start sobbing uncontrollably. You never asked after that, wanting to spare her from any more pain. You didn’t have much growing up. You lived in a little house with only one bedroom and a small, slim mattress that you shared with your mother. 

You were so young, but you could never forget the day your mother died. She had fallen gravely ill, ultimately resulting in her death a few short months later. The pain you felt of losing the only person that had ever loved you still hurt you to this day, almost thirteen years later. You were adopted by the Kim family, and, while not exactly royalty themselves, they were the Baron and Baroness of the town. They had mass amounts of wealth, more than you could dream of, and more rooms in their house than you could’ve ever imagined. Even though nothing could replace the home you grew up in, you sure believed this would be the best place to live. 

But seeing as you weren’t their real daughter, and the fact that they already had a son that was a bit younger than you, you were never treated as more than a servant in the house. Everyone in the town knew about the adoption and had believed that they saved you after your mother had died. They would always be praised for their kindness, pretending that they loved you so much. But behind closed doors they had no problem raising their hand against you, punishing you for mistakes all children make, but to them it was justified because you weren’t their biological daughter. 

You were at that age where marriage was on the forefront of your mind, partly because you wanted to experience real love again, but mostly because you wanted to get out of this godforsaken household. 

You empty the dustpan into the garbage can, sighing as you put everything away neatly. Your mother had put out the call that you were ready to be married, waiting for a suitor to call upon you. But it seemed that everyone in town around your age had already found someone to marry, leaving you with very limited options. 

You were very kind, yet timid, your once bouncy and bubbly personality beaten out of you through your adoptive mother’s relentless punishments and laborious tasks. But you never let it stop you from always wanting the best for everyone around you. You had never stopped being kind, especially to your younger brother, Woonhak. 

He was the only one in the house that treated you with any kind of respect. Though you didn’t see him much, seeing as your parents always favored taking him out and letting him leave the house, he would always make time at the end of the day to come see you, telling him about his adventures, allowing you to live vicariously through him. You were always thankful that you had at least one person who cared about you. 

༄ ༄ ༄

“You are to go to their house at once! I am tired of your constant pushback and attitude! There is no excuse for you anymore. You are to visit that girl and you will marry her, that is final!” 

His grandfather had really given it to him now: an arranged marriage. There was no way out of this one. He could try to fight it, but he knew nothing would come of it. 

After the constant rejections he’d given, rumors about his cold and aloof attitude had spread, with many ladies being able to corroborate each other's stories as they were true. It was to the point where no families had reached out for their daughters to marry him, all except one.

But maybe, if his search for a wife was over, he could finally get back to his work. His silence was enough of an answer for his grandfather who was still angry yet pleased with his grandson’s conformism. He made his way to the carriage, preparing himself to meet his future wife, whether he liked it or not. 

“I have set you up with the Baron’s daughter, Kim Y/N. Her mother says that she is looking to marry. You are to accept her and bring her back here, she needs to adjust to the family and you as soon as possible to speed up this process of marriage.”

He scoffed, returning to his office. He sighed, the reality of what he would soon do hitting him now. He was going to get married. 

༄ ༄ ༄

“He’s cold and uninterested. No woman has ever dated him and gotten anything out of it. But he has no choice now but to marry you, a miserable little shell of a human. Who knows? Maybe you’re made for each other. You and the apathetic Viscount, Myung Jaehyun.” 

Your viper of a mother says to you, sitting back in her chair before sipping at her cup of tea. You run to your room, tears in your eyes. Of course you had heard rumors from the servants around the house about Myung Jaehyun, about how terrible of a suitor he is. How he never cares about the lady in front of him, keeping to himself and only responding in short phrases and sentences. You had always wished to be freed from this house, but was it worth living with someone who would choose to ignore you completely? Was that a life that you could truly be happy with?

You didn’t have much of a choice though. He was going to visit the next day. You hear a knock on your door, choking out a weak ‘come in,’ knowing who it was.

“I just heard the news, I am so sorry big sister.”

Woonhak says, closing the door behind him and taking a seat next to you on your bed. You rest your head on his shoulder, letting any stray tears fall down your face and onto your raggedy dress. 

“It’s not like you set me up Woon. Besides, this is what I’ve been asking for, right?” 

You laugh bitterly, not really believing it yourself that this is what you truly want.

“Yeah but not like this. You deserve to be with someone nice that treats you kindly and like a human. Not some scum that doesn’t know how to treat a lady!”

You sit up straight, facing him with a smile on your face and wiping your tears. 

“C’mon Woon, that’s no way to talk about your future brother-in-law. I know you don't like it. I don’t either, but I dont have another choice. But I'll be okay, alright? Just take care of yourself.”

He scoffs, facing away from you before pulling you into a hug. 

“I don’t know how you do it, being positive all the time and even seeing the good in bad people. And just because he’s going to be my brother-in-law doesnt mean I have to like him.”

You chuckle, hugging him back and enjoying the comfort of your younger brother, cherishing what little time you have left with him. You agree that you don’t know how you’ve managed to stay so kind and positive throughout the tragedies of your life, but you like to think it has something to do with how your mother loved you, and by extension, how Woonhak loves you. 

༄ ༄ ༄

The next day, you wake up early to get ready, putting on your best dress to meet Jaehyun. You go out once you’re ready, preparing tea like you did for your parents everyday. 

“This is the best you could do? You might just have to stay here forever. He might break the arraignment if he sees how decrepit you look.”

Of course the first words she speaks to you on arguably the most important day for you is nothing but negativity. You excuse yourself to tidy up, making sure the little bit of makeup you were allowed to wear looked smooth. You stare at your dress, the only decent one you had amongst your old, worn-out servants’ gowns. You try to stay positive, putting on your best smile for when the guests arrive. As if it was perfectly timed, you hear a ring throughout the living room, signaling to you that your guest had arrived. Your parents and Woonhak are off to the side of the room while you stand in the back of the room, in line with the door. 

“Welcome, Lord Myung, I hope the carriage ride over wasn’t too troublesome for you.” 

She says, bowing to him. You couldn’t stand her and her fake act of concern, it was sickening. He was stoic in his expression, not really one to care for small talk. He bows back, returning the sentiment. 

“Not at all Lady Kim.” 

He looks over to you who is shyly standing across from him. What your mother had said seemed true. He seemed cold and uninterested, but his features looked soft, he was very handsome. You stop analyzing him, bowing your head. 

“Hello Lord Myung, my name is Kim Y/N.” 

You were nervous, and it showed by your shaky voice that came out small in the big room. He tsks. 

“Quit being nervous and hold yourself up better. If you’re going to be my wife you’re going to need to learn to be a lady. And what is the raggedy dress you have on? We must get you a new one immediately.” 

You held back tears as he was harshly degrading you in front of your parents and brother, something you thought you’d be used to by now. Woonhak looked over to you before looking back at him, clenching his jaw and balling up his fist in rage, but releasing both to calm himself down. He couldn’t stand your parents treating you this way, how would he be okay with a stranger acting the same?

“Y-yes, Lord Myung…” 

You hated the way you spoke, not being able to hide your sadness and emotions overall. You were told beforehand that this arrangement was set in stone, that there was no room for objection, that the end result was most definitely going to be marriage. But this is what you had wished for, to be away from your accursed family, even if it meant that your husband wouldn’t be much better than them. 

“I am sure you have packed your belongings. You will be coming to stay with me at the Myung estate for a while. I’ll have someone grab your things.”

“Don’t bother,”

Woonhak glares at him, making sure he can see it before walking past him, making sure to nudge his shoulder on his way to your room. He wanted to help you in any way he could, even in just the small act of grabbing your things for you. He loaded your stuff up in the carriage for you, smiling at you when you showed up outside. You look at your parents, barely waving to them before walking up to Woonhak.

“Don’t cause too much trouble while I’m gone. There’s no one here to discipline you.”

You laugh, taking subtle jabs at your parents but trying your best to hold in your tears. But you don’t expect them from Woonhak. He pulls you in a tight hug, one hand on your back and one over your head. 

“You’re coming back soon right? Please tell me you’ll be back soon.”

He didn’t show his affection much, especially not this boldly where he outright displays his feelings. You can’t help but let tears soak onto his shirt, wrapping your arms around him tightly. 

“Yes. I’ll be back soon.”

༄ ༄ ༄

The carriage ride back to the Myung household was silent, not a single word exchanged between the two of you. He had come alone save for the carriage driver, making the ride awkward and nerve wracking for you. Your attempts to make conversation were almost always shut down with his next response being vague or direct, neither leaving any room for elaboration. You opted to stare out the window instead, the view outside providing you more entertainment than your supposed fiancée. You were careful in your movements, not wanting him to see the small tears flow down your cheeks as you try to subtly wipe them away.   

Upon arriving at the Myung household, your bags were taken by one of his servants, presumably to the room that you would be staying in. 

“Welcome to the Myung household, Lady Kim.” 

You were greeted by his grandfather, a man who seemed much kinder than him, and was pleased at your arrival. 

“Hello, Lord Myung. The pleasure of meeting you is all mine.” 

You bow, already feeling better about the whole arrangement. You’re taken to your room where you were told to settle in. You take your time setting your things down, smiling when you pull out a framed picture of you and your mother when you were just a kid, laughing as she was holding you, and another picture of you and Woonhak when you were kids. A few small tears escape your eyes at the overwhelming rush of emotions you were feeling right now. ‘This really is how I’m going to be spending the rest of my life…’ 

On the other side of the house was Jaehyun, already cooped back up in his office. Just because he was marrying you didn’t mean he had to see you all time. 

After settling in, you made your way downstairs with the escort of your maid who was assigned to you shortly after your arrival. 

“Take a moment to walk around, Lady Kim, lunch will be ready soon.” 

“Thank you Ms. Choi, and please, just call me Y/N.” 

“Alright Y/N, I will see you soon.” 

You nod your head, taking the time to explore your new home. You let yourself picture what life here would be like. Imagining little kids running around, though you have trouble picturing such a cold man with sweet children. You were glad to be walking alone but the house was bigger than the outside lead on, having trouble navigating through the maze of hallways and endless doors aligning the walls. You’re wandering aimlessly at this point, stopping when you see a set of open glass doors. You peer in, staring in awe at the millions of books lining the shelves. 

“Has anyone ever taught you manners? How rude of you to simply walk in unannounced, without so much as a knock on the door?”

You flinch, not having noticed Jaehyun sitting at the desk all the way in the back of the room. Heat rises to your cheeks out of embarrassment, bowing to him.

“I-I am so sorry, Lord Myung. I was told to walk around, I had no idea this was your off-”

You stutter, voice shaky before being cut off by him. 

“Are you always this shaky and emotional? First you choke up when greeting me, then you cry saying goodbye to your brother and now this? Not to mention how you continued crying in the carriage even after we had departed from your home. You have no business being my Viscountess if this is the way you’re going to behave, not being able to control your emotions. That is weakness.”

You try to fight back the tears welling in your eyes, trying not to prove his point about you being emotional as images of your mother yelling at you for crying play through your head. You carefully lift your head back up once he’s done scolding you, taking another look around the room, taking note of the state of his desk, the broken pen holder and low ink cartridge specifically, before silently walking away, making sure he couldn’t see the way you wiped your tears while leaving the room. ‘Am I really weak for crying after being yelled at and showing emotions?’ You sit with the thought for a while before continuing on your own tour of the house. 

༄ ༄ ༄

It was time for lunch. You had walked around the house for a bit, even having some time left over to rest in your room. You all gathered at the table, Jaehyun sitting at one end and his grandfather on the other, you sitting opposite of his grandmother. She was very sweet.

“How did you like the house, Lady Kim? Is everything to your liking?”

“Yes, of course, everything is magnificent, thank you. And please, Y/N is fine.”

You explain, smiling as she nods at your preference. You continue eating silently, when Jaehyun’s grandfather starts speaking.

“Jaehyun, how was meeting your future wife?”

You look over to him, curious at his response but not expecting much.

“She’s fine. Could use a little refresher about manners, how to knock on doors specifically, and she needs to learn to handle her emotions and not cry all the time.”

He didn’t seem pleased with his grandson’s response, but accepted it nonetheless, figuring it would just take him some time to get used to the arrangement. You all continued to eat, having small conversations here and there, but it was mostly his grandparents asking you questions, Jaehyun not participating in the conversation unless directly asked a question. He leaves first, not saying anything as he simply returns to his office. You try not to think about it too much, not wanting your feelings of inadequacy to eat you alive after what he said. But it wasn’t anything that you weren’t used to, taking it and continuing the conversation with his grandparents like normal. 

༄ ༄ ༄

The next couple days were uneventful. You spent a great deal of time with his grandparents and Ms. Choi, getting to know the estate better. It was really big so you still got confused where everything was. You would spend the mornings asking Ms. Choi to let you help around the house. You had a love for gardening and nature in general, wanting to be outside whenever you could, even though you weren’t allowed to do it back at home. 

You got to know all the servants, and you were really excited to be able to help out. You would ask them about Jaehyun, what he likes and what things make him mad or upset. You wanted to know for the future, so you wouldn’t make him upset again like you did when you walked into the office without knocking. They all found it adorable how you tried to get to know him, knowing how difficult it is for him to open up. You guys hadn’t spoken much, only a small conversation here and there during meals and on the rare times you’d see him leave his office. Like now. You greeted him with a bow as always. 

“Good evening, my Lord. Have you been busy today?” 

He looks at you, returning your bow before scanning your appearance, the worn out servant’s gown getting on his nerves. 

“Yes I have. Do you not have any other clothes? Why do you insist on wearing these hideous servant's garb? Are you a future viscountess or a lowly peasant? Tomorrow, I will arrange for us to go into the town and get you some new clothing. I refuse to look at you in this horrid attire any longer.” 

He walks away from you, scoffing like you offended him. You look down at your clothes, sighing as a few small tears escape your eyes and hit the fabric of the dress. You decide to rest up early. You had an early day tomorrow, going shopping for new dresses as per Jaehyun’s demand, your old servant gowns not good enough for him. 

You make your way to your room, sighing and taking off your makeup first before taking off your dress, only being left in your white undergown. You walk to the bathroom attached to your room, running a bath. You step out of the bathroom, looking into the mirror and  trying to unzip the back of the gown, not hearing the knock on the door over the sound of the running water. You flinch upon hearing the sound of the doorknob being turned, door slightly creaking as someone walks in. You look back, face red as you find Jaehyun staring at you. 

“Oh my– why didn’t you respond when I knocked on the door?”

He looks embarrassed himself, a light shade of pink dusting his face.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear it over the sound of running water…”

You’re in a compromising position, right hand reaching behind your back to grab at the zipper, the left holding it taut against you to make it easier to unzip. You shiver when you feel a pair of hands on your shoulder. 

“Next time you’re changing to take a bath, lock the door. You seriously have no manners… were you taught any at all?”

He says, very gently unzipping your gown. He was flustered but he kept his tone. You turn around, holding the front of the gown up to prevent it from falling down, pushing your chest up and defining their curves. 

“Thank you, Lord Myung. I’m sorry about the door. My last room didn’t have a lock so I’m not used to locking doors.”

You say with a smile. He’s looking down, taking glances between your moving lips and your chest. You walk into the bathroom, closing the door, a ‘click’ being heard from the other side; you locked the door. He couldn’t help but think about what you said while leaving the room. ‘She’s the daughter of the Baron… what does she mean she didn’t have a lock on her door?’

He takes the night to think about, but gets distracted, the image of your chest pushed up and the way your lips move when you talk clouding his mind. He shakes his head, snapping himself out of any thought before going to bed. 

You come out of your bath wrapped in a towel, going to your bag to grab a nightgown when something pink on your white bed catches your attention. A silk, baby pink gown was neatly placed on your bed. You smile at the fabric knowing it was most likely Jaehyun that came to give you a new nightgown whilst you were bathing. You quickly slip it on, locking the door before going to sleep. 

༄ ༄ ༄

The next morning you wake up refreshed, sunlight pouring in through the little spaces between the curtains, warming up the room. You hear a knock on your door, unlocking it before opening it. 

“Good morning Lady Y/N. I hope you slept well last night. Lord Myung wanted me to deliver you this dress to wear for today. Please let me know if you need help with anything.”

The smile on your face is radiant, cheerfully taking the clothes. 

“Good morning Ms. Choi. Thank you so much, I am so excited to wear it. It is absolutely beautiful.” 

You look at the dress in awe, thanking her once again before getting yourself ready for the day. Once you’re ready, you make your way downstairs where you see Jaehyun. 

“Good morning, Lord Myung. How was your sleep?”

You bow to him and he bows back. 

“Good morning, Lady Kim. You should know I am not one for small talk, but I suppose it was alright. And you?”

“I slept well, thank you. I shall keep that noted, no small talk.”

He seemed happier today, which made you happy in return. You both ate breakfast quickly, already running slightly late. You head out to the carriage, Jaehyun offering his hand to help you in, making you blush. The town wasn’t too far from here, only a 30 minute carriage ride. You sit across from Jaehyun, looking out the window. He tries to do the same, but his eyes keep drifting back to you. The way you look in the new dress he gave you. The way you fill out the dress perfectly, the sweetheart neckline perfectly complimenting your body. The shade of light green very fitting for the late spring season and accenting your skin tone.

You can feel his eyes on you, the familiar burn of your cheeks causing you to open the window slightly. You didn’t want to look back, too nervous to meet his gaze. He could see the way your face flushes, opting to look out the window instead to avoid causing you any further self-consciousness. 

Upon arriving at the town, Jaehyun helps you down, making sure the bottom of your dress doesn't get caught in your shoes. You thank him, looking up at him, urging him to lead the way. 

“Do you know where the boutique is? You are welcome to walk next to me.”

“Umm… my family actually never took me out. That’s why I don’t have any good dresses. I have no idea where we even are.”

You admit, and the look on Jaehyun's face shocks even you. He decided not to ask any questions, wondering how you could say such a disheartening thing with a smile on your face. ‘Was she used to being imprisoned in her own house…?’ Nonetheless, he guides you to the boutique, looking back every few steps to make sure you were behind him. 

“You know, even if you don’t know the way, as my fiancée, you should still stand next to me. We have a reputation to uphold you know.”

You nod your head, smiling as you wrap your arm around his, walking side-by-side. He can’t help but find your actions dainty and delicate, or in other words, cute. But still, he kept his cold demeanor, face stoic as you walked into the boutique, the both of you bowing as you entered.

You looked around, in awe at all the colors and styles they carried. You had never seen a place so vibrant and full of colors. This was your first time at a boutique. Your gaze was like that of a child, unable to fathom the concept of so many dresses. Jaehyun observes your behavior, confused at your sudden fixation. 

“You’re so… focused? Have you never been in a boutique before?”

“Exactly!”

He looks dumbfounded at your cheerful answer. Why were you excited about having never been to a boutique, something even babies experience regularly? Though, it clicks in his mind after you said your parents never took you out. 

“I’m glad I could be here today, thank you, Lord Myung.”

You say, a genuine sparkle in your eyes. He could melt at the sentiment, cold exterior slowly breaking down. You were so nice to him, even when he hasn’t been the nicest to you. 

He watches as your eyes zero in on a specific dress, a lilac piece with little white lace flowers topped with crystals creating the design. You reach your hand out to touch the dress, falling in love with it more. 

“Do you like that one? Do you want to try it on?”

You turned your head back fast enough to give you whiplash, as if you couldn’t believe what he was saying. A small smile spreads across his face, pointing to the little changing booth on the opposite side of the boutique. 

“Go try it on, I’ll have someone come over and assist you.”

You try your best to contain your excitement, speed walking to the booth. He didn’t know it now, but already, Jaehyun had seemed to carry a certain fondness for you, your slowly unveiling backstory coupled with your attitude towards life being something he would come to admire about you, and envy you for all the same.

Once you got the dress on, you step out, nervous for what his reaction might be. ‘What if he doesn't like it…’ You look at yourself one more time, the first time you've ever seen yourself look so pretty. You look around for Jaehyun, heart thumping in your chest when you see his back is towards you. You tap his shoulder, smoothing down your dress once more. His eyes go big in shock, dazed at how beautiful you look. But you can’t tell if he like it or not, bashfully looking away.

“It doesn’t look good, does it? I should put it ba–”

“Keep it! I mean, if you like it of course…”

You’re surprised by how excited and quick his response is. 

“Do you like it, my Lord? I will wear only what you approve…”

He thought he would like the feeling of control, in every sense of the word. He liked being in control of his work, of his business affairs, of his household for the most part, but the way you said you’d only wear what he would allow you to, it didn’t sit right with him. He didn’t want to control you. He didn’t want you to feel like you couldn’t have your own opinions and free will. ‘Is this what she went through back at her home?’

“I think it makes you look very beautiful…”

You have to face away from him, hurriedly walking back to the changing booth to hide your beet red blush and the way your heartbeat speeds up at the compliment. He also looks away, calming himself down to keep his composure and ‘cold’ image. He clears his throat, walking up to the clerk and paying for the dress, along with a couple other dresses he thinks would suit you and that you would like. You hand him the dress when you walk out, hair a little messed up from changing your clothes. 

“Didn’t you look in the mirror before leaving? Your hair is all messed up.”

“O-oh, I’m sorry my Lord, I’ll fix it right–”

Your sentence is cut off by him as he silently runs his hands over your head to tame the flyaways, fixing any pieces that were moved out of place. You needed a fan for how often he seemed to catch you off guard and make you blush, heat spreading throughout your face. 

“Alright, let's go.”

He brings his arm out for you to hold, walking out and back to the carriage where he hands the bag of your dresses to the carriage driver.

Maybe he was nicer than you initially thought…

༄ ༄ ༄

The rest of your time out consisted of more shopping. Jaehyun was adamant about getting you a new wardrobe fit with new nightgowns, under gowns, shoes and dresses. If you were going to be Viscountess you had to look like one. It was late in the afternoon when you had arrived back at the Myung estate. You had come back with many bags, enlisting the help of your maid and other servants to help bring them up to your room before making your way to the dining room for dinner. You greeted his grandparents, talking about your day all together and eating dinner before Jaehyun announced that he was going to go back to his office. 

“Lord Myung, I just wanted to say thank you, for today. Thank you for getting me new clothes and other items.”

Your tone, the way you look up at him, the way your hand was barely tugging on his overcoat to get his attention, he found it all so endearing. 

“Of course, Lady Kim. That is part of my role as your fiancée and future husband, I must provide for you. But I am glad that you are appreciative nonetheless, I guess you do have some manners.”

You smile, happy that he was starting to warm up to you. You both go your separate ways, you to your room and him to his office. It is late now, the day’s activities weighing down on you as you draw yourself a bath. You relax in the warm water, letting your body recover for a while, this bath longer than your usual ones. You think back on the day. The amount of times you caught him staring at you and the way he looked at you when you came out wearing the dress that you chose. How he cared more if you liked it and told you to buy it only if you wanted it. How he called you beautiful in the dress. And the way he fixed your hair for you even after he scolded you. Your cheeks burn replaying the memories, but you wished they lasted a little bit longer.

After your bath you went to sort and put away all the new clothes you bought, a tiny box inside one of the other bags catching your eye. You don’t recall buying anything like it so you were confused, opening it up to see a little lilac colored ribbon inside, one that would perfectly match the dress you bought. You smile, wrapping it into your hair in a braid. You grabbed the last bag left, making your way towards Jaehyun’s office. 

You remember to knock this time, even if the door was open, to get his attention. 

“Come in!”

He says, voice echoing throughout the grand space. He doesn’t look up right away, not knowing that it was you who walked in. 

“You haven't washed up yet, is it going to be a late night for you?”

You ask calmly. He looks up at you, looks back down at his papers before looking back up again. The ribbon. He glances down at the bag in your hand. 

“What brings you in here? Shouldn’t you be asleep by now?”

“I was putting my new clothes away when I remembered this–”

You pause to pull out the items from the bag: a new pen holder, one that matched his desk, and two new ink cartridges. 

“–I noticed your pen holder was broken and that you were almost out of ink. I gave the carriage driver some money and had him get these when you were in the washroom when we were out earlier today.”

You look at him, smiling.

“I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t use any of the money you gave me, I used my own…”

You go to place the items down, his hand coming to assist you in a fleeting touch. 

“Thank you… I really needed these. That was very thoughtful of you, I really appreciate it, Lady Kim.”

He gets up from his chair, walking around the desk and standing directly in front of you. He grabs your hands, holding them both softly in his own, looking at the ribbon in your braid.

“The ribbon looks wonderful. Do you like it?”

Your eyes sparkle at the contact, finding it hard to stop the smile forming on your face.

“I love it. It matches the dress you bought me.”

He places a kiss to the backs of your hands, his pillow-soft lips barely touching the skin. 

“I’m glad. I shouldn’t be up too late, but you should go to bed. I will see you tomorrow morning, Lady Kim.”

“Y/N.”

He smiles, chucking a little before repeating after you. 

“Lady Y/N.”

༄ ༄ ༄

You woke up this morning covered in sweat. As the summer was approaching, you found it harder to keep dry during the night, even with the windows open and wearing lighter clothes to sleep, oftentimes not even sleeping with the covers over your body. You get up, closing the windows and blinds to block out the sun, drawing yourself a bath right away to get the sticky sweat off of you. After bathing, you get dressed for the day, opting not to wear makeup in fear of sweating it off. Making your way out of the room, you’re surprised to see Jaehyun standing outside your door.   

“Good morning, my Lord. What brings you outside my door this early? Is everything alright?”

“Good morning, my Lady. I hope you slept alright. I just wanted to be the first to greet you today. And to give you this, I know it's hot today.” 

He says, handing you a fan. You take it, immediately fanning yourself down.

“My Lord, thank you so much. How very thoughtful of you. What a pleasant way to start my morning.”

Your cheeriness and heartwarming kindness never fails to bring a smile to his face. 

“Come by my office later. Whenever you’re free.”

He says walking away, but not before leaving a chaste kiss on the back of your hand, causing you to fan your face a little harder. ‘Why does he want me to come by his office later?’ You nod, giving him your word and continuing about the rest of your day, spending more time with his grandparents and the servants. 

You smile at the announcement that lunch is ready, asking if you could go up to tell Jaehyun yourself that it was time to eat. Making your way up the stairs, you knock on the door before entering.

“Could you close the doors for a second, I want to speak to you privately.”

You quietly close the door, standing across the desk from him as nerves build in you, worrying about what it is that he wants to talk to you privately about. 

“You were adopted into the Kim family, is that correct?”

You nod, confused as to why he’d be asking you something he already knew. 

“Your old family, would you tell me what happened? If you are comfortable, of course.”

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself for the emotions you’re about to feel.

“Well, my father left when I was a baby. It was just me and my mom. We didn’t have much and she would be working as much as she could so I learned to be happy by myself and embrace what he had. My mom, she was so amazing, the most loving mother ever. She died when I was about 8 years old. She fell ill, but we couldn’t afford to get her treated and she died. I was taken in by the Baron and Baroness Kim soon after.”

He was listening so intently, but you couldn’t help but let a tear or two fall down.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m too emotional and that crying is a weakness. I won’t do it again my Lord.”

“Don’t ever apologize for being emotional. I was wrong in saying that. It stemmed from my own emotions, being told not to cry, that it was weak. I know now that it doesn’t matter if you cry. I’m sorry for ever saying something so wrong.”

He walks around the desk, pulling you into his arms, letting you cry on his chest. You wrap your arms around him, the feeling of being hugged by someone other than Woonhak foreign to you. His heart broke for you. 

“I ask because of everything you’ve told me about yourself over these past few weeks. Not knowing to lock the doors and only having servant’s clothes. Did they make you do that? Why?”

Sniffling, you wipe your tears after pulling away from him, taking his hands in yours. 

“They didn’t see me as their real daughter. They already had my little brother, Woonhak, when they adopted me and they only did it because they were losing their popularity in the town. No one was really asking them for anything or helping them out. When they heard about an orphaned girl, they decided to use me as publicity, thinking I would restore their status– and I did, but it only benefitted them. They didn’t let me go out or have fun, I never had any friends outside of my brother, I wasn’t even allowed to be seen by other people. If they asked about me, they’d lie and say I didn’t like being out and that I’d rather be away from society. They treated me like their personal servant, mostly my mother, but I would have to make tea and clean up with the maids.”

His eyes widened in shock, not realizing how deep your story went and the magnitude of your mistreatment growing up. He had respected you and admired you more for it. 

“I am so sorry… for everything. About what happened to your real parents, and what you went through at home. And I am deeply sorry for the way I’ve treated you until this point. I should’ve never treated you that way. You deserve so much better than what I’ve been giving you…”

This was the first time you’d ever see him so vulnerable and open about his feelings, used to seeing his cold exterior with some sprinkles of bashfulness here and there. You hadn’t known much about him or what he spent most of his day doing, but you sighed, falling back into his embrace. You felt a big weight lift off of your shoulders as this was the first time you’d ever told anyone the truth. 

“Don’t say that. I am so grateful that you’re my fiancée. Thank you, for everything.”

“How are you so kind and happy all the time given what you’ve been through?”

“I never forget how happy and kind my mother was. No matter what we went through, she never once yelled or got mad, always trying to shield me from any sadness. I have her to thank for teaching me to always love. I especially owe it to Woonhak. He never treated me any different, he treated me like a real older sister. He let me love him like a sister, and I will never forget the love he showed me in return. The only person who has loved me since my mother died.”

He looks up, tongue at the roof of his mouth to stop himself from crying. You look up, wiping your tears and giggling. He looks down, confused as to why you’re giggling but you only shake your head. 

“I am okay. I have been through a lot but I am really okay. Thank you for asking and thank you for listening.”

He trails his hands up your face, caressing it softly. He wipes away any tears that are left on your face. He stares into your eyes for a bit and you look back up into his, emotions that you couldn’t say out loud being conveyed through your eye contact. He leans down, looking between your eyes and lips before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Your breath hitches: your first kiss. You almost miss it, slowly moving your lips against his. His feelings for you pouring into the kiss, and yours for him. It doesn’t last very long, but when he pulls away, he rests his forehead on yours. 

“Thank you, for telling me.”

༄ ༄ ༄

The days only got hotter as the season of summer arrived. And it didn’t help that Jaehyun seemed to be adding to the heat. After you had opened up to him, he had been kinder and wanted to spend more time together. Of course, you never objected but there were many different scenarios in which you’d find yourself alone with him, the air between the two of you becoming thicker each time, tensions rising. 

Like a few days ago, when you were told that you were going out with Ms. Choi to meet other noble wives or soon-to-be noble wives, to learn more about what it means to be nobility and possibly to make new friends. 

You chose to wear the lavender dress that Jaehyun had bought you, matching it with the ribbon he gifted you. To say that you were nervous was an understatement. You never had any real contact with other women around your age and you’ve never had friends before. You were worried about how you should act and what you should say. Before going out, you sought to enlist the help of Jaehyun. Surely he would know how to help you. 

“Unfortunately, my Lady, I have no words for you except, be yourself.”

You looked at him, dumbfounded at his lack of response. You walked around his desk and stood in front of him, something he had you do if you were talking to him while he was working, to garner his full attention. 

“You have friends, surely there is more to this than just being myself. This is my first time meeting other ladies like this, I want it to go well and make some friends of my own.”

He turned to face you as you walked up to him, smiling while taking in your beauty, before taking your hands in his. 

“You look so beautiful. That color suits you very well.”

You were about to speak again, when he swiftly pulled you down onto his lap. The instant heat rising to your face required you to fan yourself even harder than you were before while he laughed at your cute behavior. 

“I am sure the other ladies will love you just for who you are. If they don’t, then you have no business being friends with people like that. They would be considered undeserving of your kindness.”

His sincere words had you giggling. 

“Maybe they will be undeserving of your kindness, that way I can have you all for myself.”

He says, hands that were once firmly gripping your waist now trailing down to rub at and caress your thighs. Your breath was caught in your throat at the sudden shift in his tone and his bold actions.

“Are you saying that you hope that I don’t make any friends, my Lord?”

He pulled you in closer, breath fanning your ear as he pushed the hair away from your neck. 

“Would that be so wrong of me to hope for, Lady Y/N?”

He smirked, pulling you in for a kiss. You gasped into his mouth, this kiss much more fiery than ones you’ve shared previously. The tension is only growing stronger, each kiss preceding this one becoming increasingly more intense as the days went by. Your hands grasped at his shoulders, collecting the fabric of his shirt between your fingers. He ran his fingers back up your hips and waist, resting them there before pulling away. 

“Can’t get carried away now, can we? You have things to do.”

You knew what he was doing, but you were too dizzy from the kiss to feel anything but want for him. You stood up, orienting yourself before getting ready to leave. 

“Hurry back now. Don’t have too much fun.”

You smile and nod, closing the door to his office behind you, the kiss still fresh on your mind. You’re greeted by Ms. Choi, who you forgot was waiting outside of the door for you that day. 

“I’m glad your relationship with the Viscount is alive and passionate. Shall we get going?”

You hid behind your fan as you shook your head, laughing with her whilst heading to the carriage. 

Or like tonight, when you need his help before your nightly bath. You had gotten new undergowns, ones that were lighter and more flowy to help ease the heat during the summer months. While you were grateful to have gotten more, these ones were a little different than your other ones, the zippers being much harder to unzip. After trying for a couple of minutes, you put a throw over your shoulders, walking across the hall to knock on the door to Jaehyun’s room.

“My Lord? It’s me, I would like your help with something if you don’t mind.”

He swung the door open quickly upon hearing your voice, hair tousled from taking off his overcoat, leaving him only in his button-down, that had the first couple of buttons undone, giving you a clear view of his toned chest. You ogle at him for a second. 

“That’s not very ladylike of you m’Lady, staring at my chest like that.”

You look up in his eyes, that teasing glint he’s been holding for days only becoming more apparent. 

“Right, I, umm… can I come in?”

He steps aside, closing the door behind you. You realize that this was the first time you’d ever been in his bedroom. The walls were a light blue-gray shade, an even bigger bathroom than the one in your room attached to his. You walk up to the big mirror in the corner of his room, staring at him through the reflection. He watches you as you look around, meeting your gaze in the mirror as he also realized that this was the first time you’d ever seen his room. 

“What did you need help with?”

You keep your back turned, holding his gaze. You shrug the throw off your shoulders, draping it around your arms.

“Could you help me unzip my undergown? I tried for a bit, but I couldn’t seem to get it.”

He approached you slowly, eyes never leaving yours from the mirror. He gently caressed your shoulders, tracing their outline. You’re staring at him, the way his expression shows something more than just wanting to help you out, his lips leaving kisses down your left shoulder as he carefully unzips the gown, not wanting to break it from the tracks. You take in a sharp breath at the feeling of his cold fingers brushing your bare back, the feeling doing the opposite of cooling you down, instead causing more heat to blossom throughout your body. His touch is so delicate, like you’re too fragile to apply more pressure. He fully unzips it, kisses now trailing up to your neck, but you can barely feel them, feeling almost a tickle-like sensation in their wake. 

You move your hand from its position next to you to hold the gown up, knowing it would slip off of your frame if you didn’t. He places the hand that was on your back on the hand you're using to hold your dress up, squeezing it as his other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer against him. His scent of musk and amber from his perfume, encapsulating your sense, almost dizzying. 

“My Lord…”

You whisper, moving your head back to allow him more room on your neck. The way he’s kissing you so softly, making you feel things you’ve never felt before. He hums against your neck, moving up to your jaw. He pulls away, looking down at you as you continue to look at him through the mirror. He brings his hand up to your face, tilting it to face him, drinking in your features. 

“My Lady…”

It's you that leans into him this time, gravitating towards his lips. He spins you to face him properly, holding you tighter against him as your lips lock in a heated kiss. You sigh into the kiss, coming out more like a moan and driving him to deepen the kiss. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip before engaging it with your own tongue. Moving your hand off of your chest, you place one arm around his neck, the other going up into his hair, pressing him into you even more. You don’t think you can get any closer than this, heat budding into sweat along both your foreheads, both from the heat of the warm summer night and the intensity of the kiss. You pull away first, needing some air as he goes back to your neck, breathing heavily against it and pressing harder, hotter kisses to the skin. 

“Lord Myung–”

“Jaehyun. You need not be so formal with me, like you fear me. Please speak to me comfortably.”

“Lord Jaehyun. We cannot do this right now, we aren’t married yet. You need to stop.”

Your body says otherwise, but you can’t help but think this is wrong from everything you’ve heard growing up. He doesn’t seem to care though, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Do you want me to stop because you don’t want to do this, or because of the technicality that only married couples should engage in these actions?”

He already knows your answer by the way you keep pushing his head further into your neck. You don’t want him to stop, moaning lightly as he bites your neck, soothing over it with little sucks and kisses. He pulls away, keeping you close and resting his forehead on yours. 

“If you’re not ready yet, we can wait. But we are adults who were arranged into this marriage, and I can confidently say that I am falling in love with you. So my intentions aren’t coming from a place of sheer need. Whose to stop us from having some fun?”

Your heart races at his confession. He can sense your shock, chuckling before shifting to hug you, head resting on your shoulder. Your hands around him squeeze at his sides, face pressed firmly against his chest. 

“Take the night to think about it. Have a relaxing bath. We can talk about it in the morning if you’d like.” 

You were certain in your feelings for the Viscount. You were falling in love with him too. Why should you let any previous stigma heard from other people stop you from showing your love to each other?  

“I don’t need time to think about it. You are right my Lord. No one can tell us what to do.”

He’s beaming at your words, taking your hand and leading you to the bed, making sure to lock the door on his way. He lays you down gently, caressing your hair softly. 

“Let me show you how hard I’ve fallen for you.” 

He continues trailing kisses down your neck to your chest, stopping just before the valley of your breasts. 

“May I take this off of you, my Lady?”

You nod quickly, the heat between your thighs growing hotter at every move he makes. He eagerly slips the gown off of your body, staring at your chest and smiling.

“You’re so beautiful.”

You blush at his words, leaning your head back as he places kisses on your boobs, tongue flicking over your nipple. You moan quietly, careful to not make much noise, the rest of the people in the house still awake and walking around. His hands trail lower down your body, pulling your gown down lower as he goes. You arch your back, pushing your chest further into his face as he switches between your boobs, licking and suckong on your other nipple while rolling the other one between his fingers. Your hands tug at his hair, pulling it to get his attention. 

“Feels so good… but please…”

“Please, what?”

That teasing tone of his has you stammering over your words, embarrassed to ask him to touch you. But the ache is only growing worse at every second he’s not touching you passes by. You try to push your hips against his obvious bulge, hoping that he’ll get the hint that way. And he does, but he wants to tease you a little more first. Fully slipping your gown off of you and taking his shirt off, he hovers over you again, finger toying with your clit over the material of your panties. You let out a breathy moan, letting him know exactly what you wanted. He brings himself lower on your body, kissing above your naval as he hooks his fingers over your panties, pulling them down as you shiver at the cool air hitting your heat. 

“You are truly magnificent,”

He kisses along your thighs and outer lips, dancing around your hole as you start to grind against his finger. He laughs, the vibration going straight through you. He drags his finger down from your clit to your hole, inching it in carefully as you let out a mewl, the best sound he’s ever heard escaping your lips. 

“Oh my…”

You grip the sheets, continuing to grind yourself on his fingers, hoping to catch his nose on your clit with how close he is to it. He obliges, taking in your scent and letting you graze his nose a little before he sticks his tongue out, giving your clit little kitten-like-licks. You’re getting hotter, the pleasure building up faster than you can comprehend. Your walls clench around his fingers, preparing for your orgasm. But he pulls his fingers out, leaning up to kiss you before you can protest. He takes off his pants, his briefs following as you take in how big and hard he is. He giggles at your reaction, finding your scared expression cute. 

“This might feel a little uncomfortable, let me know if it’s too much.”

You nod, trying your best to relax yourself as he lines himself up with your hole, spitting into his palm and rubbing himself a little to get it wet enough to slip in you with ease, not that he would need it with how wet you were already. You nod at him, giving him the okay to slowly push into you. You grip his arms, pulling him down to kiss you as he pushes just the tip in first. You inhale sharply against his mouth, the burn of the stretch a lot stronger than you believed it would be. He tries to pull away, wanting to make sure you’re okay, but you hold him in place, assuring him that you’re fine and to keep going. 

Little by little, he fully bottoms out inside of you, letting out a deep groan into your mouth as he waits for you to adjust. Your nails are digging into his biceps, the tight yet filling feeling of him being fully inside you overwhelming. You’re both sweating like crazy, bodies almost stuck together with how close you have him held against you. 

“You can move now…”

You manage to croak out, throat dry and breathless. He lifts his hips carefully, pulling out half way before pushing back in, keeping a slow pace. Your face displays everything you’re feeling, quickly changing from being scrunched up in pain to being completely relaxed from the pleasure, the stinging pain being replaced by the same feeling you felt earlier when his fingers were inside you. He quickens his pace, moans matching yours as you both struggle to keep your voices down. 

“Jaehyun…”

You’re so lost in pleasure, completely dropping formalities as you feel your high approaching. Normally, he wouldn’t let anyone get away with calling out to him informally, but it was the way you said it so effortlessly and blissed out, like his name was meant to roll off your tongue that has him slamming his hips into harder, almost too much for you to handle. 

“Fuck, you sound so amazing, saying my name like that.”

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to call you informally…”

“Don’t be. I like it. Shows that you’re comfortable around me, and that you’re enjoying yourself.”

You smile as he kisses you again, letting out a particularly loud moan into his mouth as you cum hard around him. He almost doesn’t pull out in time, lost in the way you moan for him. But he manages to just barely pull out, cumming all over your lips and navel, breathing heavy and shallow against your neck. 

“That was so… amazing.”

You say, catching your breath was you smooth your hands in his now sweaty hair, taking in his scent and relishing the post-orgasm bliss you’re feeling right now. He peels himself off of you, cringing at the way your bodies stick together because of the sweat. He lifts you up bridal style, carrying you over to the bathtub in his attached bathroom. 

“You were amazing, Y/N. I love you. I am so sorry for the way I used to treat you. You never deserved that, and if you let me, I will continue to make it up to you until the day we cease to exist.” 

He places loving kisses against your forehead and lips, making you giggle at the ticklish sensation. 

“I love you too, my Lord. I already forgave you before. I am forever grateful that we were arranged. I couldn’t have asked for a more amazing fiancée. I can’t wait to be your wife.”

He runs the bath for the both of you, cleaning you up before getting in with you, savoring the bath together. You talk for hours, even after getting out of the tub, deciding to sleep with him for the first time since you started living there. And you couldn’t have been happier with the arrangement. 

༄ ༄ ༄

Ending is a little shitty cuz I couldn't figure out how to end it but I still hope that this was up to your standards!

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

[readingmochi]

i’m reading this while listening to the pride and prejudice soundtrack and i swear, it is so good

i love the slow burn unraveling between jaehyun and (y/n). how they both are so similar in the way that they hid themselves and who they truly are deep down. both are detail-oriented people who notices each other’s environment ((y/n) with jaehyun’s work supplies, jaehyun with her dresses and words). i genuinely teared up when those two had their talk right near the end. in a way, (y/n)’s engagement to jaehyun is the best decision. not only is she getting out of a toxic family house, she got into a family who seemed to care for her. not only jaehyun, but also jaehyun’s grandparents.

would love to read a little drabble of those two during their wedding because that would be such a good revenge to (y/n)’s adoptive mom >.<

[faeyun]

ˋ 𑁍 ⨾ THE LIGHTHOUSE

the land has always been something you desperately wished you could walk on. be like the humans and walk among them. one dark and stormy night, you are granted your wish—but, it comes with a deadly price. and you only have one month to decide if you’re willing to pay it.

❛ 박성훈 𝑥 𝑓!reader ❜ 𓈒𓈒 ❨ 歌 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ❩ 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝖽𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗂𝖽!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗋!𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇, 𝗆𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖼, 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝖺𝗎, 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗒, 𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝟣𝟫𝟢𝟢𝗌 𝖺𝗎 𝗂𝗇𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗅𝗈𝗐 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇, 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾, 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗑𝗂𝗆𝗂𝗍𝗒, 𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖼 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗐𝖺𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗈𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝖺 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗌𝗍, 𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾／𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗄𝖾𝖾𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗂𝖽 𝗋𝖾𝖿𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗌, 𝗌𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗋 𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 ✴︎ 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩／𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩, 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘴𝘩 𝘴𝘦𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘴, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘢𝘵𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥, 𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦, 𝘶𝘯𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘶𝘣／𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘥𝘺𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 (𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺’𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘥), 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 (𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘱𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘳), 𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴 (𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺, 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵, 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭), 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘱𝘶𝘴𝘴𝘺 𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 (𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨), 𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘧 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘫𝘰𝘣 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘢?, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦, 𝘳𝘪𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦 (𝘰𝘯 ＆ 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘦) 𓏸 25,6OO ╱ 𝓶. list

( 𝓷 )。 the rework for the lighthouse is finally here aaaa!!! i hope that you love this story as much as i do ♡♡♡ hehe~~ i still very vividly remember going into a deep dive about lighthouses and lighthouse keepers and watching a four hour documentary about them lmao… i hope you all enjoy all of the new scenes and such!! ♡

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏   ͏  ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏  ͏ ͏͏ REBLOGS ◜◡◝ ASKS APPRECIATED!

You knew that traveling to the surface was forbidden, but you couldn’t help the way that it called to you deep in the depths of the sea. Like a moth to a flame, you swam and swam until you could feel the bright sun on your wet skin. Until you could hear the sound of the waves crashing onto the nearby rocks and the distant chatter of the village nearby.

It filled you with such profound longing and want that the only thing that helped ease the feeling was to watch the way the landwalkers went about their days. You watched as giggling landwalking guppies darted from place to place and under their parent’s legs. As people shouted to passersby about the wares they were selling and people walking arm in arm.

You made sure you were always carefully hidden behind some rocks so that you weren’t seen and that your dark blue shifting tail blended nicely with the water. Still, you watched and watched for what seemed like hours.

You wondered what it felt like to be able to walk on land, to feel the rocky surface beneath your feet. Does it hurt? How does one stay upright? Is land walking to the landwalkers the same as swimming to the merfolk? These were all questions you desperately wanted to know the answers to.

Swimming away from the village’s edge, you waded through the fog along the ocean’s surface. You were just about to dive when a flickering light in the distance caught your eye. Cautiously, you decided to see what it was.

Landwalker’s buildings were already tall as it is, but this one was completely different. It pierced through the sky with a beacon of light shining from the top—almost like a second sun being held up. Your eyes widened as you drew closer, ducking behind some rocks as you surveyed the area.

It was on a small island of its own, not too far away from the island the village sat on, but far enough that you’d have to swim for a short while to get from island to island. The building was white and a deep red color like coral on the seafloor. You stared in amazement at it, climbing up onto the rock to get a better look. A tiny building was attached to the bottom of it that looked like it had seen much better days. It was beautiful, you’ve never seen anything quite like it.

Movement in your peripheral had your head snapping in its direction. The door of the small attached building swung open and a man carrying a box stepped out of it, the hat he was wearing nearly slipping off of his head and exposing his dark locks of hair blowing in the crisp wind. You ducked down on the rock a little, making sure that you were covered by the fog. He sat the box down near the entrance of the building just as a loud sound had you jumping out of your scales.

It was a deep, almost guttural sound. You tried to look for the source of it and saw that it came from the large horn near the small building. Birds flew from their perches to a quieter place and you slid off the rock, drawing nearer to the shore.

Your father’s warnings rang deep inside you, yet you tried to push his words down. Don’t go near the surface, my child. The dangerous landwalkers will lure you in and capture you so that you are never seen ever again. They cannot be trusted. They will bottle your song and use it for their wrongdoings.

You hid behind some more rocks and watched him work. He kept disappearing into the small building and if you looked up, you could almost see him between the flickering light. If he wasn’t inside, he was out tidying the area around where he worked—stacking and fixing various things. Occasionally, he would also look out to the sea, seemingly monitoring the waves and the fog before scribbling something down in what you think was called a book. When he did, you sunk down into the water until only your eyes and the top of your head was above the surface.

What interested you the most was how the man seemed to be alone. Why was he so far away from the rest of the landwalkers? What made him different? What was this building that he was working on? You had so many questions and so little answers—and nobody to ask.

You couldn’t tell any of your people that you watched the landwalkers daily. You would get into an enormous amount of trouble and would never be able to see the surface again. You didn’t want that to happen, and you couldn’t bear the thought of it. Especially with your newfound fixation on the lonely landwalker.

Instead, day after day, you watched the man work—no longer so curious about the ventures of the village landwalkers. The more you watched him work, muscles straining against his rolled up sleeves and brows furrowed, the more you noticed him. He was very handsome in a landwalker sort of way, the most beautiful out of them you’ve seen thus far. You wondered if he had a life outside of this building on the shore. Perhaps it was back in the small house a short walk away from the shore? Was his whole life on this tiny island?

You suppose you wouldn’t mind a life of solitude if you were him. Busy life in the village seemed to be overwhelming after a while. Maybe he thought the same way you did.

Dusk fell and a cold breeze swept up the shore from the waters. You had spent the whole day again watching the man work at what you now knew was called a lighthouse. He was wiping the attached building of the lighthouse down after the recent rainstorm, frustratingly muttering under his breath.

You noticed that he didn’t talk much, only a simple, quiet word here or there. At first, you thought he couldn’t speak at all, until now.

“Shit!” he hissed as he threw the rag down onto the ground. The paint was starting to peel off of the siding on the building from the harsh winds and water. “Now I’m gonna have to paint this whole building again.”

You giggled at his reaction. Your giggle must’ve been too loud because his head snapped in your direction and you quickly sunk down behind the rocks. This was dangerous, you knew that, and it already seemed that you were getting too comfortable being out in the open. Yet, you giggled to yourself more, more quietly this time as bubbles rippled up from the water. The man’s brows furrowed but he just shook his head a little. You slowly rose to the surface just as he spoke again. “Come on, Sunghoon. Don’t start losing it now,” he murmured.

Sunghoon, that was his name. You tried his name on your tongue. “Sung… hoon…” you spoke softly before smiling. “Pretty.”

The light at the top of the lighthouse burned brightly against the darkening sky, signaling that it was past the time for you to start swimming home. You turned and began swimming away from the shore, starting your journey.

Something sat heavily in the pit of your stomach and it was beginning to weigh you down. It was that same longing and want, this time more pronounced and refusing to be swallowed and digested. You stopped swimming and stared up at the bright, almost full moon in the sky.

You would give anything to walk on land, to experience life as a landwalker does and be on land. You didn’t want to be confined to the sea anymore. You didn’t want to have a tail anymore—you wanted legs. You wanted to be a landwalker, not a mermaid.

Your heart racing, an old story your father once told you interrupted your thoughts. The story of a young mermaid trading her tail for landwalker’s legs.

It was supposed to be a cautionary tale, one to ward off small merfolk from intermingling with the landwalkers, but to you, it was an answer. One you were desperate for. The tale talked about how the mermaid visited a sea witch deep down in a cave at the bottom of the ocean and begged her to change her tail for legs.

The witch and her struck a deal: the mermaid was to sacrifice four of her pearlescent scales in exchange for a week on land. During said week, the mermaid had to find the witch various hard-to-find ingredients and bring it back to her by the end of it. If she didn’t fulfill her end of the deal after the week was up, her tail would come back and she would never be able to have legs again. Only, swimming would not be as easy or as painless as it once was.

You made your decision. You were going to find the sea witch and strike a deal with her the same way the mermaid from the story did. What were a few scales and ingredients when you could finally walk on land? Finally have your dreams become reality?

Your next course of action was to find out information on where the sea witch’s cave could be.

Instead of spending your time up at the surface, you instead kept beneath the water. You asked your family and Elders about the sea witch in subtle ways, blaming your questions on your curiosity and love of storytelling. As days passed, the information you were provided pushed you more and more into the direction you were hoping for.

You had first gone to one of your Elders, a sweet and wondering smile spread across your face. You had asked her about the sea witch and her cave and about the mermaid who made a deal with her, trying to see if there was anything else to the story.

“Why do you ask?” your Elder asked, her red hair rippling in the water. Her voice was gentle, but cautious. Her gaze flicked over to you when you asked and you saw her eyes widen the slightest bit. You honeyed your smile.

“Well, its just so many little guppies take their curiosity too far, you know? Remember that little girl in the square?” You trailed off a little for good measure, sighing softly and looking off to one of the arches. You saw merfolk swim by as they looked for the book they came to the library for. “I don’t want them to accidentally stumble upon it if the cave is close. Accidentally make a deal that they shouldn’t.”

You heard her sigh and looked back to her. She set the book she was putting away back on the stack of other unorganized books. “I suppose I’ve never thought of that before… But, there’s no need to worry. The cave is quite far away—all the way near the old shipwreck. It’s deep enough that it should be hidden and someone shouldn’t find it accidentally.”

Breathing out a faux sigh of relief, you let your body dramatically relax. She smiled at you, “Thank you for looking out for the little ones. You’d make a good addition to the council one day.”

Smiling back at her, you said nothing, but nodded. That didn’t matter. Your time in the water was limited. You gave her a flutter before showing yourself out.

The next person you had gone to was your father. It was perhaps a mistake to ask him questions about the sea witch, but if you asked another Elder, they would start to get suspicious. You had no choice but to ask your father.

He furrowed his brows at you, twisting the black pearl weaved in his hair between two fingers, as he assessed your question. He was quiet for a long while, and the more time that spanned on, the more nervous you felt. Finally, he responded, “Why do you want to know, my child?”

“Well… The sea witch cannot trick any more people into deals if the witch’s torch is not lit, right? Have you and the council ever thought of just… taking it? At least so then no more merfolk could make deals?” You nervously gulped.

Your father hummed and looked away from you, deep in thought. “That would be most helpful but unfortunately the witch’s torch cannot be unlit. It’s part of the sea witch’s magic.”

Now you are getting somewhere. Foolishly, you let your curiosity get ahead of you and the next word spilled out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Why?”

Like a hammer, your father’s gaze settled on you. He swam from his seat and came to float in front of you.

“Why don’t you go get some fresh lotus for your Mother?”

It wasn’t a question, but a demand. You cast your eyes to the floor and nodded after a moment before leaving the room.

You were doing just that, collecting lotus roots, when you felt someone swim up next to you. When you looked at them, you noticed that it was someone you didn’t recognize. They didn’t say anything, and you stopped what you were doing to see what they wanted.

They were wearing a large sewn cloak of seaweed that covered their face, but you could still see their bright, shifting orange scales. Something about their tail looked off. There were patches that were smoother than others and completely rid of scales. It almost looked… sickly.

“I hear you’re asking around about the sea witch,” they said in a hushed voice.

You held the lotus roots close to your chest. Some of the buds were already starting to open. Clearing your throat, you said, “For the safety of the little ones, yes. Is that a problem?”

The cloaked figure wryly chuckled. “It is. Because you do not seek the sea witch for the ‘safety of the little ones,’ you seek the sea witch for yourself.” Your opened your mouth to speak, but they cut you off. “My wise advice for you—don’t. End this search for the sea witch, now.”

They swam away and you remained in the lotus grove utterly confused. For the rest of the day, their words stuck with you and replayed in your mind over and over. Yet, it still wasn’t enough to stop your search. The surface still called to you, and you were determined to answer it.

It felt weird to be amongst your people again. You were so busy vicariously living with the landwalkers that you forgot how different interactions between merfolk and landwalkers were. Instead of walking or running, it was swimming and tail flapping. Instead of giggles, it was a flurry of bubbles and occasional muted speech. Unless the conversation was important enough, you merfolk spoke with your hands. Merfolk swam with their tails on top of one another and their arms intertwined ahead of them.

Strangely, you felt out of place. Everything felt so different than it had once felt before. It felt like you didn’t belong under the water anymore.

You were going over the information you had gathered when suddenly the pieces all fit together. The old shipwreck… At first you didn’t know where it was but you vaguely remember your father ushering you away from it as a guppy. It was when you were out with your mother. The Elder you visited was right—it was quite far if you remembered correctly, but you had to try. And if the witch’s torch couldn’t be unlit against her will, then she might be there for you to ask a wish from her.

You twirled in excitement. The sea witch… you finally found her! You were going to have your legs that you’ve spent so many nights dreaming of, and you didn’t want to waste anymore time.

As the light rays dwindled, you quickly snuck out under the cover of darkness and began to swim towards the location, sneaking past any merfolk who were still out of their seaweed beds. Deep, deep down you swam and swam until you could barely see ahead of you. That was, until a sparkling light appeared and guided you—the witch’s torch.

You darted towards it, a nervous excitement bubbling inside of you as you drew closer and closer. You pushed all of the warnings your people gave you and all of the cautionary tales into the furthest, darkest corner of your mind. Today was the day that your life was going to change. When you reached it, a large opening with more sparkling lights beckoned you inside and you hesitantly followed them one by one.

The swim felt like it lasted an eternity as you twisted and turned, the large muscle in your tail burning and throbbing with exertion, until you saw a bright light that almost blinded you at first look. You swam towards it and surfaced from the water inside a decent sized pool in what looked like the interior of a rocky, rundown and dingy hut.

“Ah, a visitor!” a voice said and you swung around. A woman—a landwalking woman—was in front of a shelf of various trinkets and knick knacks next to a table full of jars of spices and herbs. Her voice came out more as a rasp, a scratchy sound that sounded like she didn’t use her voice much. She turned towards where you surfaced with a bright smile that was all teeth. Her dark, shadowed eyes widened and a chill ran down your spine all the way to the fin at the end of your tail.

She wore clothes that hung limply from her body and was tattered and dirty. Her hair a wild mess. When you thought of the sea witch, this is not what you were expecting. Still, you could feel the waves of power radiating off of her, and it made your heart beat faster in a twisted excitement.

She was real. The sea witch was real.

She walked towards the pool you were in. “Don’t get too many of those anymore, especially from the depths. Must be all the stories o—your people tell of me.” She chortled and you tilted your head in confusion before realizing that she had made a joke a second too late. The witch waved her hand in the air at your silence, “I kid, I kid.”

“The depths?” you asked her.

She chortled more before giving you a bewildered look. “Hm, what are they saying to you? Yes, child. I am both the sea and the land.” She turned back to the shelf, and as she did, she muttered, “At least, before that blasted curse long ago. You would think they would have some empathy… But, I digress.”

Pushing away from the shelf, the witch stepped towards you. Her tattered dress was ripped at the hems at multiple points so pieces of fabric hung from it and dragged along the stone floor. When she moved, the shells, sticks, and pearls she wore clacked together in an alluring harmony. It reminded you a little of the sea. She bent down at the edge of the pool so she was eye level with you, her messy hair fanning around her face.

“What deal did you come to make, little mermaid?” she asked, her eyes still wide and her smile still all teeth.

You waded backwards in the water slightly, but stood your ground. You swallowed, willing your voice to speak. “Legs…” you trailed softly before licking your lips. “Legs,” you said, louder and with more confidence. “I want to trade my tail for legs. I wish to walk on land like the landwalkers do—be a landwalker like them.”

“Legs,” the witch drawled out before tsking as she turned away from you in a large, dramatic motion. She grabbed a stone bowl from the top of one of her shelves, picking here and there at spices and herbs and trinkets as she moved about the room. “Always legs,” she continued. “You all could wish for anything—wings at your back, a stony gaze, the will for revenge—but you never do. Just legs. Always a deep desire to be human, what is it about them?” She spat out the last word, human, like it was stuck on the roof of her mouth.

Your brows furrowed in worry. What if she didn’t accept your deal? What if she was too tired of giving foolish mermaids like you legs to walk on land with and denied you wish?

The witch suddenly turned towards you and you jumped. “As I’m sure you know, everything always comes with a price—and this is mine. I will accept your request, but in return you must do something for me as well.”

You nodded furiously. “Y-Yes! Anything… I’ll do anything!”

The sea witch smiled, but it lacked all of the playfulness she previously possessed. Instead, it was almost cold, like she had flipped a fin. The change shocked and scared you deep to your core. You wanted to swim further back and away from her, but her gaze locked you in place and you felt paralyzed.

“In one month’s time, you must cut out the beating heart of the human you love the most and bring it to me.” The sea witch slowly leaned away from you, her eyes remaining on yours. “If you don’t fulfill your end of the deal, you will never walk on land again and you will never swim in the recesses of the ocean again either. You will instead turn to seafoam and be nevermore. That is your price, guppy.”

The way ‘guppy’ passed through her dry lips was like a bolt of lightning through water. Her scratchy voice was plain, like she said the words so many times that she simply plucked them from her memory and presented them to you. It made you sink deeper into the water and realize how foolish this dream of yours must look to others—to the one who granted the same wish to other merfolk time and time again before you. It made you feel… small.

Your eyes widened in shock and in fear. “B-But, in the story—”

The witch swiftly interrupted you, her voice harsh and grating. She leaned down to you again so fast you had no time to process it. Her teeth were sharp and her eyes were almost fully black. “In the ‘story,’ I gave that halfwitted thing a single day and every step she took felt like standing upon urchins. Be grateful, girl, that I am showing you kindness. Now what will it be? Do you accept, or do you waste my time?”

The clacking of her jewelry sounded like a ticking clock, urging you to answer quickly. “I accept!” you blurted. Your eyes widened further and you gasped softly at your own words. The sea witch’s sharp smile grew.

She got in the water and hooked her arms under you and dragged you towards the stone floor. “Yes, child!” she shouted, her voice suddenly a wondrous melody, and smoke rose all around you out of the bubbling cauldron you suddenly noticed. “A deal has been made—one you will die for to break! There’s no turning back!” She cackled loudly as she dragged you fully onto the ground, dropping you unceremoniously. You sat up, fear flooding your entire body as you froze and shook from the sudden change in temperature.

“There’s no turning back! There’s no turning back! A debt to be made, a word on contract. The beating heart shall be mine, for all you have sacrificed will be paid!” the witch shouted, cackling to herself.

The room grew dark and the light from the cauldron shimmered off of your deep blue scales. Before you could do much else, the sea witch plucked four scales from your tail and you hissed out in pain. She dropped them into the cauldron along with the trinkets and such from the stone bowl, mixing them all together with a hearty laugh.

You began to rise in the air and your tail started to tingle before becoming so unbearably hot that you started to writhe. You screamed out in pain as the smoke clouded around you and left you blind to the rest of the room. Smoke entered your lungs and you began to cough violently as fog rose above the surface of the pool and left it completely covered. You were suddenly reminded of your father’s previous words, “They will bottle your song and use it for their wrongdoings.” He should’ve told you how it wasn’t a landwalker that would steal your song, but something else entirely.

The sea witch’s voice rang in your head as she cackled more in the background. There’s no turning back.

From beyond the smoke and fog, you heard the witch shout, “Tonight, a vicious storm will brew and take you on your journey. A month from now the same storm will return, with or without you.”

You could barely hear her between your screams. You could barely hear your screams at all from the way your blood rushed to your ears. One by one, your scales ripped from your tail and withered away into nothingness. The more you writhed in pain, the more it felt like your tail was being split in two. You rose further into the air and noticed the suspended pool of water hanging above you. Suddenly, you couldn’t breathe. Like your gills had completely closed and you were suffocating. The top of your head rose into the water and despite not being able to breathe, you screamed—a shrill sound full of unabashed fear.

From the distance, you heard the sea witch’s voice again. This time she wasn’t shouting, but instead chuckling in satisfaction. She continued, “Either way, I’ll have a heart.”

As you entered the water, you were whooshed into a current that helped you breathe again. You gasped in large breaths as you spun around disoriented. The pain you felt was unimaginable. Your tail felt as if someone was ripping a leg off of a starfish. Except, instead of growing back the same, it was growing something else entirely. Something foreign that never should be growing there in the first place. More scales ripped and withered off of you as your tail split.

You tried to think about the future. Of how worth it this will all be in the end when you have your legs and you finally walk on land, living amongst the landwalkers—or humans, as the sea witch interestingly called them.

But, a thought prodded at your mind. The bargain you made and the heart you will have to bring back.

You didn’t think you could do it. You didn’t have the stomach to cut out someone’s heart, but you had no choice. Not anymore. Who’s heart will you cut out? Will you find some unsuspecting victim and force yourself to love them until you actually do, so in the end you can rip out the heart they entrusted you with? It was all so wrong. What have you done?

The current led you to the sea’s surface and in the heart of the most vicious storm you’ve ever seen. Waves crashed against you and pummeled you back down under the surface, yet each time you emerged again and again. Harsh, stinging winds slashed across your skin, yet you remained unharmed. You hoarsely yelled out in pain and looked down at the beautiful blue tail you once had, the scales a myriad of shades. You didn’t even recognize it anymore.

Instead, what you saw was a half tail, half pair of legs monstrosity. It perfectly described where you were at this current moment—between the waves of the watery life you had been stripped from and being pushed forward to the dry land of the life you will come to know. In the distance, you heard that loud, guttural sound that you recognized so well. You turned and saw the beacon of fluttering light emitting from the lighthouse standing tall against the storm.

A dark thought polluted your mind. You weren’t expecting to be spat out so close to the village. Your mind traveled to the man working the lighthouse as you fought against the waves to breathe the cold air.

What if it was his heart you cut out?

No… you didn’t want to think that. Didn’t want that thought to be true. You pushed out the thought as soon as it came to mind. Anybody, but him. Anybody, but Sunghoon. You’ve grown too fond of him during the times you watched over him. You can’t let his already seemingly lonely life be cut short by getting his heart ripped out. You wouldn’t allow yourself to do that to him.

The tormenting waves seemed to have other plans for you. It felt as if they read your mind and sensed your discomfort. They took you directly towards the shore where the lighthouse sat with purposeful glides and you started to cry.

Shock jolted you as you felt wetness roll down your cheeks just as the rain started to pour down harder from a light sprinkling. You touched your cheeks with trembling hands. The change was all too much too fast. It was so overwhelming. You weren’t expecting it to be this way.

When you heard the story of the mermaid trading her tail for legs it was nothing like this. She emerged from the water like a graceful swan, a beautiful sunset behind her that reflected off the calm sea. You couldn’t help but feel betrayed by the lies you were told.

You didn’t feel graceful, you felt forsaken. This was a journey of death, not rebirth.

The closer you got to the shore, the more regret started to pierce deep inside you. It didn’t help that the storm clouds seemed to break so the moon’s light could illuminate just you. It all felt so unfair. All you wanted to do was walk on land, why must you endure all this? Why must you love someone deeply only to rip their heart out? And why were the sea witch’s waves so hellbent on that person being Sunghoon?

Why did the excitement still flood in the pit of your belly at the thought of the life you may live after?

A second, smaller light flickered on at the tiny island you were barreling towards and you knew it was him. You watched as the small light raced towards the shore almost as fast as you were being pushed to it. The two of you were heading towards a deadly collision and you weren’t ready for it.

The waves spat you out and you washed up on the sand of the shore. You felt weak and dizzy and something else entirely that you couldn't name or figure out. Your stomach rumbled like the thunder and your head ached. You raised your head as much as you could and looked down at your new body. You were in so much pain that you almost couldn’t feel anything at all.

Sniffling a little, a laugh spilled from your lips and the corners of your mouth pulled upwards. You have legs. They may be painful at the moment and slightly numb, but you finally had them. You felt every grain against them and dug your legs further into the sand. The last remaining scales of your former life surrounded you like glittering rocks. You were surprised that they hadn’t withered away like the rest of them.

You looked up at the full moon, glowing and huge. It looked like a pearl hung in the sky. You smiled wider before inhaling deeply. You felt brand new. Maybe the whole journey was worth it in the end. A wave of sleep hit you and you struggled to keep your eyes open.

Just as your eyes began to close fully, a warm light draped over your body. Sunghoon’s worried face appeared in your view just as another wave of sleep overcame you, the ghost of a smile on your face.

As you drifted off into the unknown, the claws of regret sank into you again and it’s almost as if you could hear the sea witch’s cruel cackling. You can’t rip out his heart, you just couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Because, unbeknownst to you, that fondness you held so deeply for him was already blossoming into something more. Something dangerous. And you would protect it with your last dying breath.

It was a strange day, indeed, for Sunghoon.

More of a strange week, actually. Firstly, his assistant keeper was nowhere to be found, so he was on the small island all alone; manning all of the work and upkeep of the lighthouse on his own. As he went on about his days, Sunghoon constantly felt watched—he even swore he heard a woman’s laugh before, even saw the apparition of her along the shore, but it was just him. Maybe it was finally his time to go mad like so many of the other lighthouse keepers that came before him.

Now a vicious storm appearing out of nowhere? After his logs over the week have only shown mostly clear skies? It was all very strange to him.

Even stranger was how loud the storm was—louder than any storm he has ever heard before. It was as if it wanted to make its chaotic presence known. It had awoken him from his dreamless sleep like an alluring song. As Sunghoon scanned the waters for any possible boats or ships, a woman, illuminated by a beam of moonlight, fought against the waves and crashed upon his shore like some holy being. The storm had come so fast he barely had time to get from his bed and light his oil lantern to go out and try to assist her.

That is where Sunghoon was now, holding his lantern over your bare body as he worriedly looked over you for any injuries. You seemed completely unharmed, surrounded by shifting blue scales with pearls in your hair and shiny skin that still clung to the water from the ocean. With skin the slightest bit tinted blue and with slightly webbed hands, you almost looked… human—but, more ethereal and beautiful than anything Sunghoon has ever seen in his entire life. You were prettier than any Gibson Girl appearance the women of the village sported by far.

Realizing that he was gazing upon a woman’s naked body who he didn’t know, Sunghoon quickly sat his lantern down in the sand as he shrugged off his wet coat. He laid it over you before hooking his arms under your legs and back to carry you back to safety in his quarters, making sure to grab his lantern to light his way back through the dark. Every few seconds Sunghoon peered down to gape at you, too entranced with your beauty. It was as if he couldn’t bring himself to look away, no matter how hard he tried.

The closer to his small house and the further away from the shore he got, the storm simmered until he was at the front of his door and the skies and sea were almost calm again. Very strange, Sunghoon thought.

Sunghoon laid you down gently onto his couch and replaced his coat for one of the thick blankets strewn across the back of the couch. You were completely out cold, and probably would be for a while. Sunghoon shook his head in wonder as he stared down at you. “What happened to you? How did you manage to get caught vulnerable and alone in the middle of a storm?”

His questions would have to wait for later. Sunghoon rushed back outside and to the lighthouse. He climbed up the narrow winding staircase to the top and ensured that the lamp was still burning. After adjusting the flame, everything was back in order and the mechanism was spinning efficiently.

Sunghoon sighed as he exited the lighthouse and leaned against the wind-worn door of it for a moment. The weather was calm again and he still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. It felt like a storm only one would see in text of myths and legends. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to do much cleaning up after the sudden storm. After logging everything that happened, Sunghoon ventured back down to the shore—back down to where he found you.

In the sand, he picked up some of the blue scales that had surrounded you and inspected them. They were somewhat transparent and flexible. When Sunghoon held them out to the light, they shifted from a dark blue to a deep teal color. It only left him with more questions, but he pocketed them to ask you about later.

He remembered how in the books he read, they told of mermaids and the magic that surrounded them. It said how if a mermaid were to give you one of their scales, the scale would bring you good fortune for as long as you kept it close to you. It also said how pirates would use this to their advantage to pillage other ships and take treasure for their own.

A yawn was ripped from Sunghoon’s mouth and he looked out at the moon. If his calculations were correct, he still had a couple of hours until he had to be up again for the day. Heading back to the small house near the lighthouse, Sunghoon decided to go back to sleep until either it was time for him to wake up, or you awoke. There was no point in staying awake if everything outside was calm with no signs of changing and you were asleep.

Sunghoon quickly ran upstairs and changed his wet clothes for dryer ones, making sure to bring some down for you to wear when you woke up. He sunk down into the armchair next to the couch, running his hands through his damp hair. Sunghoon glanced over to you, sleeping peacefully, with a sigh. He just hoped that nothing else strange occurred.

He got as comfortable as he could on the armchair and yawned once again. Sunghoon closed his eyes and let himself drift off to sleep.

You awoke inside a simply adorned house that you didn’t recognize. Memories rushed towards the forefront of your mind and you recalled the events you just went through. The sea witch, your new—and no longer painful—legs, the storm, and Sunghoon’s worried face. You slowly sat up and the fabric across your body fell off your shoulders and pooled in your lap.

You turned towards the window and looked out at the sky. It was still rather dark outside, but you could tell that the dawn was not too far away. The light atop of the lighthouse still flickered like a beacon in the sky and there were no remnants of whatever storm brought you here.

The surface… you were finally on it. A smile grew on your face and you turned your attention back to your new legs, flipping the fabric off of them completely to gaze upon them.

They were absolutely glorious. You giggled a little as you wiggled the tiny fingers at the end of them. They felt unusual, but you suppose you would eventually get used to the feeling. Another thought popped into your head, loud and demanding—Sunghoon.

He was asleep in the chair next to you, his body uncomfortably twisted in it. You tilted your head as you looked at him. You actually couldn’t believe it, you were finally getting a close look at a landwalker—a human. You stood on your new legs, shaking and using the couch to stabilize you. You took a shaky step towards him, and another until you were basically hovering over him and trying your hardest not to tip over and fall into his lap.

How fascinating, humans. They didn’t have any gills like merfolk did, nor the tinged blue-ish skin or shiny tail. And from what you could tell, their ears didn’t have any attached fins on them either. You touched your own ears, astonished at how different they felt. They were rounded now, and smooth to the touch. You then held out your hand and held it up near Sunghoon’s to see if there was still a difference. They were still slightly webbed, but not nearly like how they used to be. It was all so… new.

Your skin was soft and warm rather than cold, wet, and almost slick. Sunghoon’s hair also didn’t sprawl out around him like yours did when you were underwater. Instead, it covered his eyes in a dark curtain and rested softly across his cheeks.

You reached out your hand further and brushed the hair away to see Sunghoon’s closed eyes, your fingers brushing lightly across his skin. He really was beautiful. Your brows knitted together as the tips of your fingers dragged down his cheek. Did all humans look like him?

Sunghoon’s eyes cracked open and you gasped softly, pulling your hand away. You took a wobbly step back and nearly fell onto the table if it hadn’t been for Sunghoon jumping up from his chair and quickly reaching out and grabbing your waist to steady you. You both looked at each other with wide eyes and in complete silence. You were sure that even the waves halted its chorus. Sunghoon’s eyes trailed your body and his eyes widened even more before he swiftly removed his hands from your bare waist and turned his head to the side, blinking rapidly.

“T-There’s clothes on the table for you…” Sunghoon stuttered, the sleep still in his voice, as he shifted back against the edge of the armchair nervously. His eyes darted to yours before looking away again.

You gave him a confused look before turning to the table. You held up the “clothes” he was talking about in front of you and turned back to him with a puzzled look. “What… is it?” you asked. You stuck your arm through one of its various holes, confused on what you were to do with it.

Sunghoon shifted more until he suddenly fell down in the seat and he dragged his gaze up to you. You could see the way his body heated up and the redness that creeped up his neck and tinted his cheeks pink. It made him look even prettier. He took the pillow from behind him and pressed it down in his lap. “Uh… I-It’s a shirt,” he stuttered more, just as confused as you were. “You wear it?”

You lowered the shirt so you could look at him and Sunghoon looked at the ceiling. “Wear it?” you repeated. What is a “shirt” and how does one “wear it?” There was so much about a human’s life that you didn’t know. It made you excited to learn about it all.

Sunghoon cleared his throat and his brows drew together more, like he didn’t understand how you didn’t understand what he was talking about. Suddenly, realization dawned on his features and he slowly looked down from the ceiling so his eyes connected with yours. “Yeah,” he said slowly. You could see the geysers blowing in his head the more he stared at you, his eyes shifting along your face and your hair. He glanced towards the door before settling on you. “Have you seen them before?” he suddenly asked.

“From afar on humans, but never this close! We don’t wear things such as this. It’s soft,” you smiled. You then gasped, covering your mouth with your hand. You didn’t think it was wise to let him know that you were—or, use to be—a mermaid. Your father’s words came to mind again, but, as you stared at Sunghoon with wide eyes, it didn’t look like he was dangerous.

After all, he did rescue you from the storm and gave you shelter. He is even giving you some of his clothes, even if you didn’t know what to do with them or how to wear them. Maybe you could trust him with your secret before going off to the village in hopes of finding someone to fall in love with. Treat it as a farewell before you leave him to ensure your fondness doesn't grow any further.

A knowing smile grew on Sunghoon’s face and as you stared at each other for another moment, you could see him put all the pieces together himself. “Well, us humans usually wear a shirt like this,” he started, motioning down to the shirt that covered his chest. “And trousers to cover our lower half. You’re, uh, naked… right now.”

Your brows raised in shock and your fingers rose to your hair. Naked? How were you naked? Most of your pearls were still in your hair and your hair was relatively decent still. You were completely dressed.

Sunghoon slowly stood. He grabbed the shirt from you and held it in between your bodies. “I’m not sure how things work where you’re from… but here, let me help you…” He lifted the shirt and pulled it over your head through one of the holes. “Your arms go through the other two,” Sunghoon murmured awkwardly.

He then very awkwardly guided you through putting on the trousers and you quickly learned about balance and its importance.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely as you smiled at him. Sunghoon sheepishly smiled back, rubbing the back of his neck. “But, I must ask one last thing of you. The village… it’s dire that I get there as fast as possible.”

Sunghoon’s smile dropped. You leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his warm cheek. You still weren’t used to the warmth that came with humans. You then started to make your way to the door, a lot less wobbly. The kiss was risky, but you couldn’t help yourself. Sunghoon raced towards you, his arms out. “Wait!” he called out.

He held you in place by your shoulders to stop you from leaving. “You can’t leave—not without someone guiding you, and I can’t leave the lighthouse. The villagers… they’ll eat someone like you alive up there. It’s not safe.” You could tell Sunghoon wasn’t joking by the serious expression on his face.

What were you supposed to do now? “Someone like me?” you asked.

Sunghoon gave you an almost incredulous look. “You arrived in a storm completely unharmed and alive. When I found you, you were surrounded by these scales and you wear pearls in your hair…” he trailed off, like the answer was blatantly obvious. “The villagers don’t believe, but spending time here, alone, at this lighthouse will at the very least have you questioning. Nevermind the generations of journals that my family has kept stored away with tales of fair maidens from the waters and their shimmering tails.”

Your shoulders sagged. At least you didn’t have to hide what you were from him anymore—not that you were doing a good job of it anyway. “B-But… I have to go to the village!” you exclaimed.

“Listen, why don’t you stay here for a while? I’ll teach you everything you need to know—human to mermaid—and after, you can go on your merry way and live amongst us on your own!” said Sunghoon.

“You don’t understand.” You slumped down on the couch, crossing your arms. “It’s not safe for you, and I don’t have that much time.”

Sunghoon quirked a brow, chuckling, “What? Are you gonna eat me or something?” You stayed silent. He sat down on the couch next to you. “If you were, you would’ve done so on the shore or while I was sleeping. I promise that no angry mob is gonna come rowing here after you, you don’t have to worry. And, I’ll teach you everything as fast as I can.”

You sighed defeatedly, you just hoped it was fast enough for you to still find someone else. It couldn’t be Sunghoon who’s heart you ripped out. “Okay,” you murmured.

Sunghoon smiled brightly at you. “Now, what’s your name, darling?”

You finally turned to look at him again. Sunghoon had the warmest brown eyes that you couldn’t even begin to decipher, but you wouldn’t mind getting lost in them. Everything about him was warm like the feeling of the sun on your skin. Hesitantly, you told him your name.

“I’m Sunghoon, here at your service!” You laughed and he joined in with you. You almost wanted to tell him that you already knew, that you’ve been watching him, but you decided against it. It was best that he didn’t know. You wouldn’t be staying here for long anyway.

“Sunghoon,” you repeated instead, like you haven’t already said it before, “that’s very pretty.”

“A compliment, coming from a pretty woman like yourself? Well, it must be! Thank you kindly, Miss!” He smiled playfully and you rolled your eyes. There was a pang in your chest and you inhaled. Thankfully it was covered by a loud growl, causing you to furrow your brows.

Sunghoon’s face lit up in realization again. “Ah, right. You must be hungry. Let me fetch you something to eat.”

It has been about a week since you landed in Sunghoon’s care and time was ticking down. You tried to not think about how much time you had left, instead distracting yourself by helping Sunghoon around the lighthouse, but it was near impossible. It didn’t help that since the two of you were alone on the island together, you both had no choice but to be in each other’s presence and get to know each other.

Sunghoon has taught you a lot about humans throughout the week you’ve been here and in turn you’ve told him about how things worked under the water. The two of you were fascinated by each other’s stories and that, in turn, only brought you both even closer. It was a dangerous game that you couldn’t bring yourself to stop playing.

The day was clear, and as Sunghoon said, “It holds no signs of changing.”

He had taught you how to track the weather and which signs to look for that signaled an oncoming storm. You listened diligently as he explained to you clouds and how they varied from the big, white fluffy ones to the dark grey ones that led to rain. Sunghoon stopped his painting of the side of the connected building of the lighthouse, leaning his back against the dried part to watch you and listen to you speak, when you began to tell him how you tracked the weather underwater. You weren’t used to the attention, and still not used to Sunghoon’s intense gaze either, so you had kept your eyes firmly on the task at hand as you spoke of bubbles and currents.

Sunghoon didn’t take his eyes off of you, not once. You finally raised your head to meet his stare. “There’s not really ‘weather’ underwater, for the most part,” you started. “Think of blowing into a cup of water from the surface of it, and now think of that as rain up here.” You waved the hand that held the large paintbrush up towards the clouds. “That’s how we’d be able to know if it was raining up at the surface—though, going to the surface is forbidden anyway.”

You thought back to all of the times where your Elders and you father especially forbade you from even getting close to the surface—and how you would ignore their demands anyway. Although it was such a grievance then, you thought back to your father’s voice and the warning it always carried. “Don’t go near the surface, my child. They will bottle your song and use it for their wrongdoings. Landwalkers are dangerous,” you recalled aloud.

Sunghoon took a step towards you, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “Do you think that I’m dangerous?” he asked.

You looked over at him again, a grin across your face and one of your eyebrows raised. “If anyone here is dangerous, it’s me. No offense. But, you are the one who decided to house a mermaid with no survival instincts whatsoever.”

Sunghoon laughed and it was the most glorious sound that you have ever heard. Your eyes widened a little at the sound and watched as he threw his head back, his hat almost slipping off and catching the wind. It made your own smile brighten and you laughed a little along with him. “I can’t argue with that, sweetheart,” Sunghoon spoke, the smile still lingering on his face. He had teeth that looked like little fangs and it reminded you a lot of the merfolk back home.

“So, what did make you want to come to the surface in the first place? Especially after all of the warnings you heard?” asked Sunghoon.

You continued to paint the siding as you spoke, your voice soft as you recalled the memories from long ago. “At first, I was completely against going to the surface. I thought, ‘why go through all of that trouble to put myself into a dangerous situation’? But the more that I thought that thought, the more curious I became.”

You could see the memory in your mind so vividly, it was almost like you were reliving it. “One day, one of the guppies—children,” you corrected yourself with a sheepish grin and a brief look over to Sunghoon. His complete attention was still on you. “Got curious enough to try and swim up to the surface herself.”

The image of the child was burned into your memory. Everyone was too busy to pay attention to her and she took the opportunity to reach what she always dreamed of touching. You remembered how the ray of sunlight cast down from the surface onto her, how close she was. It had ignited a fiery inspiration inside of you and unlocked a deep, hidden desire that you didn’t know you beheld.

“Nobody, but me, was watching her. So, I watched as her little tail took her to the surface, and the way her arm outstretched to touch it…” you trailed. Hands wrapping around the child and dragging her back down flashed in your mind, and you winced a little. Her screams were so loud, her felled dream even louder. It completely broke your heart. You cleared your throat and looked at Sunghoon. His thick brows were furrowed as he put together the rest of the story without you even having to say anything. You smiled at him, but it was strained. “The more you try to keep someone from something, the more they want it, you know?” you said finally.

You quickly shifted the subject away from the little girl. “I couldn’t get it out of my mind. So, a couple days later, I decided to try and touch the surface myself, see how dangerous it really was.” You started to paint again, turning away from Sunghoon and watching the streaks of paint that appeared with each graze of your paintbrush. “My father had always said that when he was a kid, merfolk used to go to the surface all of the time. He talked a lot about these people called pirates and how we would help them. That was, before something happened and merfolk decided to stick to the sea.”

Sunghoon’s low voice startled you out of your memories. “Pirates?” he asked, and the tone of his voice made it seem like he knew what you were talking about. “I guess that’s not all that surprising. A lot of pirates weren’t good people. Did your father ever tell you what happened with the pirates?”

You shook your head. “Not at all… It wasn’t a time he recalled fondly. And the Elders refused to even answer questions about it.” Realizing that you were drifting from the question Sunghoon initially asked you, you shifted the conversation again. “Anyway, it was nighttime and I had waited for everyone to be asleep to make my grand journey. I remember when my hand first broke through the water. It was such a surreal feeling. Even though I knew there was a whole other world beyond the surface, it was a completely different experience actually seeing it and realizing that all of the stories about the surface were real.”

Sunghoon grabbed your elbow and gently pulled you away from the siding so that you could face him. He wanted to see the excitement seep through every crevice of your face and the way your eyes lit up. He wanted to experience it with you. You looked at him through your eyelashes as heat crept up your spine and along your neck until it made your cheeks burn.

“And when I dared to surface fully…” A large smile spread across your features that you couldn't stop. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was unlike anything that I had ever imagined—it was like a whole other world.” Sunghoon held your hands in his as his own smile spread and brightened. It was a bit awkward with the paintbrushes, but the two of you didn’t mind. “I had to see it for myself. I knew that if I didn’t, I would never forgive myself. So, I kept coming to the surface, just staring at all of the buildings at first. Then that turned to getting close and hearing the sounds of people, then watching their daily lives from behind rocks.”

“Have you ever watched me?” Sunghoon jokingly asked. You quickly looked away from him in embarrassment, but Sunghoon just laughed that beautiful sound again and it made you feel like the embarrassment was worth it if you were able to hear him laugh again.

You said your response through a murmur, your eyes cast down to the grass below, “I think you’re the one I watched the most.” You dared a glance at him, only to meet his eyes and be locked down by his smile.

Clearing your throat, you pulled your hands from his grasp. You instead bent down to the paint can between the two of you and dipped your paintbrush into it to resume painting the side of your building. For a moment, you could feel Sunghoon’s stare on you, his sunlit smile, until he too went back to painting and it was quiet between the two of you. It was a long moment before one of you spoke again.

“What do you say we row over to the village? Get you some proper clothes?” asked Sunghoon. “I don’t think you want to keep wearing mine.” He paused from the siding he was painting again to look over at you.

You halted the paintbrush you were holding, looking at his clothes that you wore. “What? Do they not look good on me?” you giggled.

Sunghoon’s eyes widened, almost like something clicked in his head, but a smile grew on his face. He said nothing for a moment, just stared at you with a fond smile. “Of course they look good on you,” he said.

You looked away, hiding your face, as you continued painting. “That would be nice,” you murmured, before speaking a little louder. “It would be nice to see the village.”

Not soon after that, the two of you were climbing up the dock at the village together. You stuck near Sunghoon’s side, suddenly overwhelmed by the bust life of the villagers. As you walked through the streets, you couldn’t help but notice all their stares—their dirty looks. You pressed more into Sunghoon’s side and he wrapped his arm around your waist.

“A man’s clothes!” you heard the village women mutter amongst each other. “And her hair…”

You now knew what Sunghoon meant when he said that the village would eat you alive. You didn’t look how the village women looked and the difference was drastic and obvious. None of them had pearls intricately wrapped in strands of their hair or even had their hair down. Their hair was all put up, with flowing skirts and modest blouses or fitted dresses that showed the curve of their hips that didn’t match the buttoned up untucked men’s shirt and trousers you wore. It was all so overwhelming.

By the time you reached the tailors, you were practically clutching onto Sunghoon’s side, clinging onto him like you were helpless. How did you ever expect to do this alone? When you entered, every eye was on you. A human woman—who you assumed was the owner of the shop—rushed towards you. “Oh, you poor thing! Let me fix you up!” she cooed as she pulled you away from Sunghoon’s grasp.

You looked back at him with wide, fearful eyes. “It’ll be okay,” he assured you, grabbing your hand. “I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

“This will take a while,” the woman said to him, before glancing at you. At least she didn’t look at you like the other women did. It was more with pity than disgust. Sunghoon nodded, sitting in one of the chairs with his hat clutched in his hands. You didn’t turn away from him until your view of him was physically cut off by the curtain the woman pulled in front of your face and he didn’t look away either.

Suddenly, the woman had you out of Sunghoon’s clothes and in long skirts and blouses. She had you try on various ones to gauge your size, along with pulling out what she called a “measuring tape.”

Once you had on an outfit she was satisfied with, her fingers hovered over the pearls in your hair, a look you couldn’t name in her eyes. “Pearls are very beautiful, don’t you agree?” she asked as she turned to look at your face. You nodded, still a bit uncomfortable, as you cast your gaze downwards to the floor.

“All that hardship for beauty… for a simple creation,” the woman said. “I was just like you once, little guppy.” You gaze snapped to hers in shock as her eyes stared at the pearls in your hair.

The woman continued, and you saw the sadness in her eyes. She nodded her head towards the curtain, “That man out there, he found you, didn’t he?” You opened your mouth to speak but no words came out, so you just nodded. “He’s already swimming down deep for you,” she said. “It gets easier, dear. When it’s all over, you come and find me, you hear?”

She worked on your outfit, pinning fabric in places here and smoothing fabric down there. It was a tentative process and your legs started to ache from standing for so long. You took the chance to inspect the tailor for her mermaid attributes. It was very, very faint, but you could still see the coolness in her skin. When she smoothed down the fabric of the skirt you wore, you saw her slightly webbed hands and looked down at your own. She was much older than you, and you could tell that she had settled nicely into the life she had created for herself here.

There was a long silence that stretched between the two of you, one that wasn’t uncomfortable, when the woman finally spoke again. There was an air of distaste in her words. “When I was a much younger woman, I made the same deal that you did—one that certainly came with its hardships. My pearly scales were taken from me and I was sent here in a storm like you and so many others who wash up along the shores of this village. The sea witch had only given me a day and a knife. I had no one but myself to rely on as I was outcasted from the sea, and I don’t want that for other young mermaids.”

The tailor didn’t look at you as she worked. Her eyes remained downcast. Something in her voice began to break, but she quickly covered it by clearing her throat. “It’s a horrible thing, but it is necessary if you want a life out of the sea. If you wish for advice, I will not hesitate to give it and help aid you along your own journey.”

She said nothing else—nothing else about the fact that you both crawled from the deep in hopes of a new life. Nothing about how she must’ve had to sacrifice the one she loved most in order to be standing in front of you right now. Nothing about if it was worth it or not—and you so desperately needed to know.

Instead, she carefully untangled the pearls from your windswept hair and worked them into the up-do she styled your hair in. As she worked around you, you noticed the single pearl in her own hair, and your heart broke in two. It was carefully weaved into a braid along with what you were assuming was one of her scales from so long ago. Too late did you remember the infamous story you’ve heard countless times now of the naive mermaid with the pearlescent tail.

Once she was done and the curtain was opened, you all but ran back to where Sunghoon still sat, just like he said he would. As you approached, he stood to his feet as he looked over you. His eyes were wide and his mouth hung open. The woman giggled, winking at you and handing you your bags, before leaving the two of you alone.

“Better?” you asked him, glancing down at the new clothes you wore.

“You were already beautiful,” Sunghoon replied, a bit breathlessly and flustered. You smiled and felt your face start to heat up rapidly. His ears were a flaming red that made you giggle a little. Sunghoon cleared his throat, blinking., “B-But, it’s a good hu—good look on you. Do you like it?”

You thought it over for a moment, ‘There’s aspects of it that I like, some that I don’t.” You like how intricate it all looked. A lot of it reminded you of the seabed. With all of the colors, it looked like you wore a coral reef with the most beautiful and shimmering fish in it. You weren’t sure about how fitted it all felt, but you were sure you would get used to it. It bummed you that your hair was put up, but at least you kept your pearls.

“Well, you can wear it all however you like when we’re back on the island, sweetheart,” said Sunghoon, stepping towards you. He took your hands in his and smiled at you.

When the two of you walked back through the village, you still felt eyes on you—more snickers and muttering. On the row home you were quiet, which Sunghoon noticed. Your eyes had stayed on the water, your fingers reaching down to touch the surface but stopping before you could make contact. At the house, he saw how the sadness twisted your features.

He guided you towards the couch, his brows drawn together in worry. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice low. Sunghoon watched helplessly as the tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at him before sliding down your cheeks. You touched your fingers to the wetness, confused.

“What is this?” you asked him.

“Tears,” Sunghoon replied. “They happen when you feel an emotion deeply—like sadness.” More tears fell down your cheeks and you buried your face in his chest. Sunghoon wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly.

After a few moments, you peeked your head out and looked at him with big, teary eyes. Your eyes darted down to Sunghoon’s lips before looking back up at him, your brows furrowing as you battled your inner turmoil. Slowly, you leaned up and softly pressed your lips to his.

Sunghoon’s own eyebrows raised in slight shock. You pulled away the slightest bit, your lips still hovering near his like you were frozen. For a second, Sunghoon was too. He then chased your lips with his, kissing you again.

Your lips worked in perfect harmony together as you kissed each other. Like the past week has been building to this moment and it’s finally here and it’s perfect. His lips felt perfect on yours and yours on his. It was as if they were made for each other and you never wanted to spend another moment not kissing Sunghoon.

His hand cupped your face and you sat up more, nearly in his lap, as the kiss deepened. You kissed each other like you were desperate. Like the waves were crashing around you—and they were. The time you had left flashed in your mind and you ran your hands through his hair to distract yourself from the thoughts and instead focus on him—only Sunghoon.

Sunghoon’s hat fell to the side somewhere on the couch and his other hand slid down to rest on your waist. You kissed each other like you didn’t need air, or water, or anything. Just each other. But you did, and you pulled away as heavy breathing overtook the both of you. Not far, but enough so that your lips had the slightest distance from his. Your thoughts came back full force, the sand in your hourglass falling and falling and in the distance you could hear the sea witch’s cackling.

You shook your head a little, eyes still closed. “W-We can’t… This is too dangerous,” you trailed off in a soft and low voice, your eyes fluttering open and meeting his.

“I don’t understand…” Sunghoon whispered. “What is so dangerous about it?” The pads of his thumbs wiped away freshly fallen tears. You shook your head again, pulling away from him fully and sitting properly back on the couch. Sunghoon sat up straighter and placed his dropped hat in his lap.

You wrapped your arms around yourself. You looked out the window towards the calm sea and felt yourself break. It was already too late. You’ve reached the point of no return, and if you continued down the path you were going with Sunghoon, there would be no going back.

“This won’t end well,” you told him, “and we’ll both end up getting hurt—or worse.”

You felt his fingers gently turn your face towards his. His face was inches from yours and he pulled you closed to him as you sniffled, wrapping his arms around you in comfort once again.

“And what if I like the pain—the danger?” Sunghoon asked you quietly. “What if I want to get hurt by you?”

You shook your head once again and turned your head away from him. “You don’t,” you replied. He didn’t know what he was asking, and you knew that someday soon you would have to tell him. Oh, how you wished that time would just freeze here in this moment and let you stay in it a bit longer with him. But, that wasn’t possible.

Sunghoon turned you towards him again, nodding. “I do,” he said.

His lips met yours again and you could feel the harsh winds whip around the two of you. The tides bent and broke and turned. You were both caught in a riptide and there was no escaping. Your fates were already put in motion and sealed with the kiss you shared.

You were a fool to think you could stop it. You kissed Sunghoon back with so much passion and wanting that you were sure it would knock the two of you right over. Instead, he kept you stable, kept both of your heads above the water as you got pushed by the tall waves hand in hand. Sunghoon kissed you back just as feverishly.

From the second you saw him through the fog you knew that your souls would be intertwined. You knew that you would fall in love with him. There was no stopping it, and you couldn’t no matter how hard you tried.

But then you thought of his bloody, beating heart in your cold hands. His lifeless eyes staring up at you. You had to fight against your ripping love for him, there was no other option. You didn’t want the sea witch to have his pure heart. She didn’t deserve it. And you felt like you didn’t deserve it either.

But the anchor has already been dropped into the water, and by the time you hurriedly pull it back up it would already be too late.

So you kept kissing him. You let everything you felt for him speak for itself through your moving lips on his and hoped that it was enough. You hoped that Sunghoon understood it all—hoped that once he found out the truth that he would forgive you for keeping it from him. You hoped that his feelings for you would change.

The woman’s words from earlier seeped between your thoughts. “He’s already swimming down deep for you.” You didn’t think it could get easier like she has said. At the end of the time you had, when it was either you or Sunghoon, you were choosing him. You just hoped that, in time, it would get easier for him.

Since you and Sunghoon shared a kiss that shifted everything between the two of you, a little over a week had passed. You tried hard to fight against your rapidly growing love for him, but it seemed like Sunghoon fought against you every step of the way. Whether it was fleeting but charged touches, longing looks, or the words he spoke, Sunghoon was determined to let the feelings between the two of you grow. He's even gotten more bolder with his displays of affection.

Slowly, throughout the time since your kiss, you let yourself feel all of the deep and confusing and complex emotions for him. Let yourself pretend that you weren't a doomed mermaid, but a regular human girl who was falling in love. There were moments where you completely forgot that you were on a timer—and those moments were filled with complete bliss before your mind snapped back into place and you were ripped from your illusion. Still, you didn’t let that change anything, even if you knew that it should.

So, you shivered at his fleeting touch, wishing for more. You hid your heated face as the two of you exchanged longing glances. You melted at his sweet and honest words, as if it was a secret only the two of you shared. And for the first time in your life, you had everything you’ve ever wanted.

“You feeling better today, my pearl?” Sunghoon asked you gently.

A couple days ago you lightly burned your hand while lighting the oil lamp. It was a mere sting, really, but Sunghoon has been fawning over you ever since. When he first called you “my pearl,” a few days after your kiss, it came as a shock.

“My pearl?” you asked him, slight shock fueling your voice. It was later in the day after the two of you finished the majority of what you had to do around the lighthouse. You and Sunghoon sat across from each other at the table with a discarded shared meal pushed to the side in the center of you both. His hand was intertwined with yours, his thumb caressing the back of it.

“Like the ones in your hair,” he said, using his free hand to motion to them. His smile—one that seemed permanent these days—grew even more and it lit up his whole face. “Unless you want to be called something different…” Sunghoon leaned across the small table towards you, tilting his head. His lips were inches from yours. In a loving voice, he added, “Like sweetheart, or darling, or baby…”

A permanent smile seemed planted on your lips too. Your face felt like it was on fire. “I’ll like whatever you want to call me. The only thing that matters is that it comes from your lips.”

Sunghoon chuckled and his head fell in the other direction before placing a sweet kiss on your lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“I told you, I’m okay,” you started as Sunghoon looked over your wrapped hand. He glanced up at you with his brows raised before softly kissing the spot on your hand that you hurt. “There's no need to worry.” Sunghoon then brought your hand to his chest. You felt the dull thump of his heartbeat and your assuring smile faltered slightly. You pulled your hand away. “We should finish cleaning the lighthouse,” you said, looking down to your feet. You glanced back up and Sunghoon nodded. You saw the worry start to settle on his face but you moved before he could say anything else.

Later that night, a storm had rolled in. It wasn’t as bad as the one that brought you here, but it still scared you nonetheless. It had woken you up and the thunder shook you to your core. It made you remember that just because you were pretending everything was okay and normal didn’t mean that they were. Your time was ticking down and you had to tell Sunghoon the truth at some point, and it had to be soon.

You shakily slid out your bed, clutching tightly to your frilly, high-collared white nightgown, and made cautious steps towards your door. With each strike of lightning, your bedroom illuminated and you saw your shadow dance across the floor. Sometimes, it didn’t look like you had legs at all, but a tail still. The more steps you took, the more some of them felt wrong. Like you were stepping on hot coals or urchins.

Shaking your head as you slowly opened your door, you tried to calm yourself down. It was all in your head, that’s all. Everything was okay.

You made your way down the short hall towards Sunghoon's room. Carefully, you opened his door, the creaking getting drowned out by the rolling thunder. Sunghoon was already awake, staring out his window from his bed at the storm, his features drawn in complete focus. His eyes snapped to you and his slowly opening door before softening.

You felt silly, like a child coming to a parent after a bad dream. He must’ve seen how scared you were, because he motioned you over to him. You closed his door before walking over to his bed. You climbed up onto it and sat next to him, the two of you peering out his window.

The storm was even less bad than you initially thought it was. It was mainly just a little rain and a lot of thunder. The sea waves weren’t even as large and imposing as they seemed from your own window. Instead, they were relatively calm. Sunghoon had his journal out, writing down and calculating the storm into it, before he set it aside on his nightstand with his fountain pen.

“The storm should be over soon,” Sunghoon said, looking over to you, “The waves of thunder are getting further and further apart.” His spectacles caught the moonlight briefly before he took them off and sat them on his nightstand next to his journal. “Here, you should get some sleep.”

Sunghoon shifted in the bed and pulled his covers over you, urging you to lay down. Once you did, the two of you laid in silence and in the darkness side by side—besides the flash of lightning here and there that briefly illuminated your bodies. You looked over at him in the dark, watching his silhouette. “Sunghoon, I—”

Your mouth clamped shut. How do you even bring something like ‘cutting someone’s heart out’ up? How do you do it without confirming to yourself and revealing to him that you love him deeply? How would he react to it all? You didn’t want your relationship to change, but this road had to be crossed. You had let him know that your time was limited together—that you only had roughly another two weeks before you’d be seafoam.

How there is no salvation waiting for you at the end of all of this.

You decided that it had to wait another day. One where it wasn’t storming and you could see each other’s faces. Sunghoon deserved that.

“Thank you…” you trailed instead, swallowing the lump in your throat. “For all that you’ve done for me thus far. I can't tell you how much it all means to me.” You felt him shift and though you didn’t physically see his face, you felt the weight of his eyes on you.

In a quiet voice, you added, “How much you mean to me.”

The warmth of his body next to yours was suddenly too much for you. How different everything felt was, once again, overwhelming. It took everything in you not to cry.

“You mean a lot to me, too,” Sunghoon said in the same quiet voice as you. “More than you know.”

His arms reached out towards you and his touch felt like sparks along your body. They wrapped around your body and pulled you closer to him, until your head was resting on his chest and you could hear his quickening heartbeat as his chest rose and fell. It made you want to cry even more. The sea witch was so cruel. How dare she ask this horrid thing of you? You’d rather die than hurt Sunghoon—and at the end of this, you would.

“I'm glad that you came in. I actually can’t sleep that well during storms,” Sunghoon said. You looked up at him and you could almost make out his face. “And your presence is always a welcome one. Makes me feel calmer.”

You smiled to yourself, your face heating. “I think I can help with that…” you trailed. Sunghoon looked down and hummed in question. You continued, “There’s a lullaby my mother used to sing to me as a child when I couldn’t sleep. Maybe it’ll help you too.” You began to hum the start of it softly.

Like magic, Sunghoon felt his body begin to get heavy and his eyes struggled to stay open. He yawned and you stopped humming briefly to giggle before continuing. He pulled you even closer, to the point where you were practically almost on top of him. Sunghoon just couldn’t get over the way you smelled like the sea waves. It reminded him so much of everything he loves.

In no time at all he was drifting into a peaceful sleep. Sunghoon felt like the calm ripples of waves were all around him and next to him was you—the beautiful maiden who had come from the waves, capturing his heart and singing your beautiful lullabies.

Sunghoon was past smitten, was past falling, he was in deep. Deeper than he’s ever been before and the more time he spent with you, the farther down he went willingly. Sunghoon was in love with you, he just needed some way to put his emotions into words and tell you. He needed to find the perfect moment. There was doubt in his mind about you not feeling the same.

The weather had grown colder than usual, especially during the night. When you and Sunghoon weren’t working around the lighthouse, you were both in the house by the fire, talking about nothing and everything. You had just come back inside from relighting the oil lamp at the top of the lighthouse to find Sunghoon waiting for you in the living room. “It’s really cold out there!” you exclaimed with a laugh as you walked towards where he sat at the armchair.

Sunghoon has just come from lighting the fireplace in his bedroom, where you’ve been sleeping ever since that night a week ago when you came in during a storm. Sunghoon extended his hand towards you and you intertwined your fingers with his. He quickly pulled you to him and you fell into his lap with a squeal while he laughed. “Let me warm you up then, my love,” Sunghoon chuckled, pressing warm kisses to your cold cheeks.

The fire in the downstairs hearth was already merely warm embers and it was nearly time for bed. Sunghoon pressed a lasting kiss to your lips, both of your mouths moving in sync before you had to break away for air. You stared into his warm brown eyes with wide eyes, lips just a breath away from each other. Sunghoon’s hand was cupping your cheek and for a moment, it was just the two of you in the whole world. You’d do anything to stay in this moment forever.

You inhaled sharply before kissing him again, and you knew that this time you were about to cross a threshold that you’d never be able to walk across again. It was full of that same passion and want from the first kiss the two of you shared. In the midst of it, you twisted in his lap, hiking up your nightgown and straddling him as your lips worked against each other’s.

Sunghoon’s hands immediately trailed up your thighs and sat along your hips. His breath caught in his throat for a moment and he rested his forehead against yours as he tried to garner it, all the while his eyes hungrily took in every inch of you that he could. Sunghoon shifted a little, his chest rising and falling with vigor. His shaking fingers closed around the fabric at your hips and his eyes fluttered shut before he closed the distance between the two of you again.

It felt like the jar you kept all your love for him began to crack until it finally exploded, letting all the love you held flow freely. It was too much to contain—too powerful to control. There was no stopping it and it only grew more and more. You didn’t think that you wanted to stop it—in fact, you wanted it to flow more. It felt as if there was fire in the pit of your belly, making your skin hot and your head clouded. It was so dizzying, but so exciting at the same time. The river of your love flooded everything until it was only you and Sunghoon that was afloat.

You pulled away from Sunghoon’s lips just enough to speak. “Take me,” you whispered lowly. You saw the way his eyes widened and his grasp on your nightgown moved to his fingers softly digging into the skin at your hips. You didn’t care if he took you right there in the chair you both were sitting in, you needed him with a desire that couldn’t be quelled—a need that you don’t think will ever be fulfilled no matter how much of himself he gave you. It tangled together with all of your other inner desires until he was the core of them all, and you didn’t mind it one bit.

“Please,” you begged Sunghoon before placing your lips back on his with a hot kiss.

Sunghoon moved with urgency, but you could tell that he was conflicted on whether to give you your ask or not. At first, it was with his lips—they moved against yours almost sloppily, like he couldn’t bring himself to even kiss you properly if that meant his lips leaving yours for even a second. It wasn’t until you began to push him further against the soft velvet of the chair and leant his head back that he sat the two of you up so you were no longer leaning back against it at all. It seemed like it took everything in him to rip his lips away from yours, and you felt the coldness on your own when they were gone like a plunge into freezing-cold water. He stood the two of you up and you intertwined your hand with his and led him up the stairs.

When the two of you made it to his room, you let go of his hand as he stoked the fire. You pulled off your white nightgown and let it fall to the floor below. You then crawled onto his bed as you waited, completely naked. The warmth of the flames made your already hot skin feel like it was scorching. The longer you waited for Sunghoon to get the fire going, the more your heart raced and raced and you had to try and calm yourself down.

Sunghoon froze when he saw you on his bed, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape. You looked like an angel descended from the heavens just for him and he wondered to himself how he got to be so lucky to witness your beauty like this. He watched as the flickering light bathed you in warm hues and made your hair glitter with all of the pearls strung in it. You smiled at him shyly, your gaze casting down for a moment before looking back up at him. You looked so beautiful that it truly took Sunghoon’s breath away; and it took him a couple shaky inhales to realize he was just standing in the middle of the room and gaping at you.

He wasted no time, stripping off his own clothes before climbing onto his bed and on top of you, his lips latching with yours in a heated kiss. You had barely gotten to look over him yourself before he raised against you a need of a thousand suns, rivaling your own. It made you melt that Sunghoon needed you as much as you needed him.

You moaned against his lips as the tips of his fingers slowly slid down in between the two of you and down to where you needed to feel him the most. It shot tingles along your skin and made the fire in the pit of your belly burn brighter. With his thumb, he rubbed slow circles at the sensitive bud and made your back arch off of the bedsheets. Your breath hitched and you whimpered into his mouth, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you.

The feeling he provided you was unlike any that you have ever felt before. With just his thumb, Sunghoon gave you a glimpse of Heaven and it made you nervous for when he eventually gave you more. The thought made you slick with arousal and needy for even more. Your hips rose towards his hand on their own and you broke your mouth away from his just so you could try and get any oxygen to your lungs that you could. It was no use—every slow and deliberate motion pushed waves throughout your body and flooded it with a deep craving. You could feel Sunghoon’s smile against the skin at the crook of your neck as his hand continued to work, your body shivering as he pressed gentle kisses against it.

You kissed him again to keep yourself from drowning. Did it always feel like this? You were sure that it didn’t, that only Sunghoon could make you feel like this—bring you to your knees with just a simple motion like it was absolutely nothing. It astonished you and upset you in the same breath how easily Sunghoon pulled emotions from you. You didn’t stand a chance against him, and he was only getting started.

Sunghoon’s thumb then traveled down farther, spreading your arousal between your folds and having you whining. The sound of wetness broke through the crackling of the flame. His warm hands sent electricity through your body and you didn’t know how much more you’d be able to take if he didn’t do something about it. By now, you knew he was teasing you and seeing how far he could bring you with just his hand alone while his other hand grazed along every inch of your skin it could reach. It sneakily rose up your stomach and to your breast while you were distracted by his thumb ghosting across your entrance. Sunghoon’s other thumb then ran along your perked nipple and you nearly jumped. He smiled against your lips cheekily and you knew that it would be up to you to put an end to this torment. You were having no more of it.

You pulled away from his lips, your chest rising and falling heavily as your brows knitted together. “I need you,” you begged in a low voice, it sounded raspy with want and that alone sent Sunghoon ablaze.

Sunghoon then slipped a finger inside of you and you gasped and held onto him tighter. He watched as your face twisted into one of pleasure as he slowly began to pump it in and out of you, savoring the way your body reacted to him and his touch. It smothered every word from your mouth until you were a heap of whimpers and soft moans. When Sunghoon slipped in another finger, curling them at just the right angle to have you melt underneath him, you swear you felt the wave take you under. He held down your hips with his hand that was once at your breast so you couldn’t grind against his hand.

“Does that feel good, darling?” Sunghoon asked you. He knew that it did, the way your moans increased in volume and you sucked his fingers in deeper was confirmation enough. But, he needed to hear you say it. He needed to hear the way your voice sounded at the height of your most vulnerable and pleasurable moment and know that it sounded that way all because of him.

You clawed at his exposed back, supple for the taking, and Sunghoon chuckled. Your voice came out hushed in arousal and breathy. “It feels unlike anything I’ve ever felt before… I need more of it. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

You’ve never felt pleasure like this before and it made you angry that you waited so long with Sunghoon. The way he repeatedly pushed his slender fingers inside you, coating them with your wetness and pressing them against just the right places, made every withering scale and the debilitating pain worth it. As long as you got to be with him, everything was worth it.

Sunghoon pressed open mouthed kisses down your neck and to your breasts, the tips of his dark hair tickling you and sending you into more of a frenzy. His tongue circled your nipple before he pulled away. You were writhing beneath him and soft moans fell more from your lips at the way his fingers moved. They only got louder when Sunghoon would curl them at just the right moment and press them up against your sweet spot.

He watched with a satisfied smile as you tried to press your legs together, a whimpering mess and your body trembling. Sunghoon pushed one of your legs away with his free hand, his fingers splaying across the back of your thigh and keeping it up towards your chest. Soon, he felt your walls clench around his fingers tighter than they did previously before you were covering them in a pretty pearly white. But, Sunghoon wasn’t finished with you just yet. He was determined to make this the best night of your life.

Helping you ride out your high, he brought his lips back down to yours as he slowly pumped his fingers inside you. Your chest rose and fell as you tried to fill your lungs up with oxygen, but you still turned the slow kiss into a deeper one.

Sunghoon trailed his kiss from your lips to along your jaw and down the curve of your neck. His kisses didn’t stop there like you expected them to, though. They circled your breasts and he moved leisurely down the soft skin of your stomach and further still. You held your breath, and Sunghoon’s fervent gaze flicked up to yours. His eyes were blown out and shadowed with desire, and the warm light blanketing him from the fire in the hearth made it even more apparent. Sunghoon pulled his fingers from out of you, much to your dismay, and pushed your other leg up to chest as well. Your release still coating his fingers shined in the firelight and spilling out of you.

You jolted when Sunghoon kissed down to your sensitive clit, despite his touch being as soft and gentle as a feather. He didn’t look away from you, and you rose onto your elbows so you could watch him better. Your brows knitted together and your face twisted with pleasure as he pressed feather-light kisses against your core. Sunghoon's lips were glossy from your release, but that didn’t stop him. He licked them clean, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as he inhaled deeply, before his tongue darted out taste more. You gasped and grasped at his bedsheets.

He licked a thick, wet stripe up your core and licked his lips again before diving into you like a man who was starved most of his life. Sunghoon's eyes left yours and closed completely. He didn’t spare a single inch of your glistening folds, and if it hadn’t been for his firm hands keeping your thighs at your chest you would’ve crushed his head with them because of it. Sunghoon hummed in satisfaction and your elbows gave out weakly. He chuckled, his gaze flicking up to you for a moment, and your back arched completely off of the bed. “Oh my,” you moaned, words dying immediately when Sunghoon started to suck on your sensitive bud. You felt like you had to scream and your fingernails digging into the sheets wasn’t enough.

“I can’t…” you trailed through a broken whine, your back arching more in a futile attempt to bring Sunghoon's mouth even closer. Shallow moans pushed through your lips as he continued to devour you. There was one thing that you knew for sure as your body reached a high sensitivity that you thought was impossible—Sunghoon was absolute heaven, but his mouth and his fingers were complete hell.

Right before you were about to unravel again completely, Sunghoon suddenly stopped. You didn’t realize your eyes were squeezed shut until they flew open and looked down at him confused. “Wha-What?” you breathed.

Sunghoon kissed up your body—this time with longer distances between them—and left wet kiss marks behind him against your skin. He captured your lips with his and you tasted your sweetness on his tongue. You pulled him so close to you that your lips could barely move against his—and it still wasn’t close enough. His cock dragged across right where you needed him and you moaned into his mouth. Your arms unwrapped themselves from around his neck and dragged down his chest to the soft ridges at his abdomen that tightened with your touch. Sunghoon's breath caught in his throat and you watched the way his brows furrowed in barely concealed need before he tried to collect himself.

“Are you ready, baby?” Sunghoon asked you in a soft voice, breaking away from your lips. You nodded eagerly. You were more than ready.

You leaned forward more and reached your hand out to touch him, more curious really than anything. Your fingers trailed along his fat cockhead and down his length before you wrapped them around it completely. Sunghoon swayed, and you could tell that your simple touch alone was enough to send him reeling. This time, it was you who took satisfaction in the other’s pleasure and the corners of your mouth rose. Slowly, you pulled your hand up while gripping firmly. Sunghoon's fingers dug into the plush skin of your thighs and he breathed rigorously when you pushed your hand back down. When you did, you noticed that you dragged wetness back down his cock with you. It made your smile grow more.

Sunghoon crept a hand up your stomach and gently pushed you back down to the bed. you held onto him for as long as you could and when your hand closed around his tip, Sunghoon let out a low moan. Ever so slightly, you felt the way his hand trembled. Without him saying a single word, you could hear his voice at your ear. “Tonight is about you, not me.”

Sunghoon lined himself up with your entrance and dragged the tip of his cock through your folds and coated his tip with your arousal. Slowly, agonizingly, he slid into you inch by inch. You gasped loudly at the feeling of his cock stretching you out so deliciously and the feeling of being so full, so completely enraptured by him. Once he was fully inside of you, he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your lips. As your lips moved in sync with his, you wrapped your legs around his hips to bring him closer to you.

Sunghoon started to rut his hips forward, repeatedly pushing himself inside of you. He couldn’t stop himself from moaning at how good you felt around him, at how beautiful you looked underneath him with your pretty moans and your face full of blissful pleasure. It started to upset him a little that the fire would eventually go out and the two of you would have to stop and return to your daily life.

The two of you tried to pull each other impossibly closer. It was an eager war between you both that would have no winner no matter how hard the two of you tried—you wanted each other too much. You were sure that the only way you’d both find any semblance of satisfaction is if you both were to claw at each other’s skin and climb inside of it. You were both desperate for each other’s touch and no matter how close you were, it was never close enough.

You pulled away from Sunghoon’s lips after fighting the urge to breathe for too long, still not used to the feeling of having to battle for air, and buried your face in his neck. He pressed chaste kisses to your shoulder as your bodies moved in motion. It was like two waves colliding over and over again.

Your body felt hot and its temperature only grew and grew. Each time you touched Sunghoon, it felt like you were touching the surface of the sun. A loud drumming rang in your ears, just below the sound of you and Sunghoon’s moans, and it took you a moment to realize that it was a heartbeat. Only, you weren’t sure if it was yours or not. When you touched Sunghoon, you swear you could feel the thumping of his heart beneath his skin and how it rang in time with yours. Perhaps, both of your hearts had fallen in sync with each other—at least, just for the moment where the two of you shared everything. From your body to his, the two of you were finally one.

Sunghoon's thrusts picked up pace and it made your head spin. the pressure from the previous build-up crashed into you and full force and you felt your body lock up. Your chest pressed into Sunghoon’s as your back arched more off of the bed and your head dug into the pillow underneath your head. Sunghoon didn’t stop, his hips continued to hit off of yours and it added the sound of skin slapping against each other to the stunning symphony the two of you were creating. Jaw falling slack, waves of pretty moans swam up from your throat and filled Sunghoon’s ears.

He fell completely entranced, somehow even more than he already was by you. It was like you lit the lamp inside of his head and the sudden flood of light that illuminated everything was you. You were everything.

Sunghoon felt his abdomen tense and he knew he had to reel himself back, but he couldn’t. It felt like an unearthly task with you under him like this. How could he deny himself of this—deny you of this? It would be almost inhumane, he thinks. Your body pulled him in like he was caught in a deadly current and your legs tightened around his hips like the trap he willingly walked in to set it off and it was perfect. You are perfect. Sunghoon could barely move now, but that didn’t matter to either of you with the way you wrapped around each other.

Inside of you, you felt the rope of pleasure start to fray and begin to snap. You whimpered, breathing heavily as you looked up at Sunghoon and the thin sheen of sweat that made him glow even more. “Please,” you begged him, whining as your back arched off the bed again and your hips pathetically tried to lift towards his. “Please.”

Your head felt too clouded and it took all your effort to even say that simple word. You were so close, so-so close to seeing heaven again—this time the full thing in its divine glory. Your body never felt like this before, tingly all over and on fire. It was such a stark contrast to how it felt when you were a mermaid. Did humans always feel like this, or was this purely from Sunghoon’s actions? Your eyes opened and when you only saw Sunghoon, his face of pure bliss and his body shining and bathed in warm hues, you knew that this was the divinity you were seeking.

You weakly sat up, wrapping your arms around Sunghoon’s neck for leverage. The two of you breathed heavily in tandem, and you didn’t need to speak for Sunghoon to know what you intended to do. He leaned back on his knees and splayed his hands across your hips. A desperate need overtook your senses as you rocked your hips against his in time with the way he pushed into you and the both of you moaned at the new sudden feeling. Sunghoon leaned his forehead against yours and delighted you in the feeling of him unraveling and trying desperately to stay sane. He was losing.

“You feel so good,” Sunghoon murmured, his lips ghosting over yours. “So perfect.”

He sloppily smashed his lips against yours, too eager to kiss you properly with how good you were making each other feel. It felt like your bodies were made for each other—like the two of you were made for each other.

Soon, the rope completely snapped and you moaned loudly against his lips, body shaking as your movement halted. More whines and moans fell from your parted lips as Sunghoon kept moving your hips. You held him tightly, scared that if you were to let go you would fall apart completely or that he would get caught up in the wind from the ocean and wear away.

It wasn’t long after that you felt warmness spill inside you. Sunghoon stilled, his head falling into the crook of your neck and his breathing coming out haggard. Soft moans emitted from him and for a moment the two of you caught your breaths in blissful silence.

Once you felt like you weren’t in the clouds, a shy giggle escaped you. Sunghoon looked up from your neck, an amused smile on his face. “What?” he asked, bringing his hand up to cradle your cheek. You shook your head as you giggled more, kissing him briefly. You intertwined your hand with his other.

“That was heavenly,” you smiled, your face completely hot. Sunghoon’s thumb caressed the warm skin of your cheek before his hand trailed down to catch hold of your chin. He kissed you again with a grin. “Is it always like that?” you wondered.

Sunghoon laughed, shaking his head a little. “Not in my experience—no. Nothing close to that,” he replied. “You’re just special.”

A sheepish smile tugged at your face and you looked away from his gaze. Sunghoon pressed a kiss to your jaw and you giggled more as he pressed another to you until you turned to look at him again. “Come on,” he murmured against your skin, “Lets get you cleaned up, darling.”

After the two of you were cleaned up, you laid together on his bed beneath the covers still bare, the dwindling firelight illuminating the two of you. Your back was to Sunghoon's chest and he trailed the tips of his fingers along your shoulder and arm, sometimes softly kissing them.

You turned to face him and he fondly smiled down at you, causing his expression to mirror on your own face. He leaned down to kiss you. “My pearl,” Sunghoon whispered affectionately before kissing you again.

The next day, the air around you and Sunghoon was charged. No longer were the touches fleeting nor the two of you shared longing glances. Everything was practically out in the open now, one of you just had to bridge the gap completely.

A deep rooted sensation bubbled inside you and you could only describe it as fear. You had to tell Sunghoon about the sea witch’s deal, and you had to do it today. You were running out of time—with only a week left—and it couldn’t be put off any longer. You couldn’t live in this fantasy you’ve put yourself in any longer.

It made the fear in the pit of your stomach worse when you noticed how Sunghoon looked at you—how he always looked at you. It was full of love and hope and yearning. You could almost see the words forming at the tip of his tongue without him needing to say anything. You noticed how he would take any chance he could to touch you or be in your general vicinity, even if he was supposed to be working on something else around the lighthouse. It was something that he has always done, but now it’s different.

It made you feel guilty that you waited until the last moment to say anything.

Sunghoon couldn’t keep his eyes off of you for the whole day. He kept falling behind in his duties because he was too busy focusing on you. Too focused on the way your dress swayed as you moved, or the way the pearls in your hair glittered in the sunlight, completely free from the up-do that the women of the village wore. Or the way you smiled at him every time you caught him staring—that smile that he would do anything and everything for. Each time your skin brushed against his he was brought back to last night and the heat between the two of you. It made his head spin each time, but he couldn’t stop getting close to you.

The fire lighting the lighthouse was nothing compared to the fire that burned in his heart for you, so blinding that it was the only thing he could make out. You set him alight, made his skin hot and his cheeks rosy. Sunghoon felt like he didn’t even need his thicker, wool clothes with you around him. You made his heart race and race until he was sure it would go jumping out of his chest and into your gentle awaiting hands.

How could he not love you? From the moment he saw you it felt like something clicked into place within himself. Like you were the final piece he’s been waiting for and he was now complete. You completed him.

If you were the lighthouse, Sunghoon was the boats and ships drawn to your light with the excitement of land. For the rest of his days, his soul would desperately call out to yours until you came home to him. He was the moth and you were the flame—and he would gladly get burned by your heat if that meant he could be with you, however brief.

You were the springtime with the promise of pretty, blooming flowers. The sunlight bouncing off the ripples of the sea and the cool air that flowed up from it. You were the shadows that the leaves cast on the ground, the sun that peaked through them, and the calming sound of the remnants of waves hitting the rocks. Sunghoon could shout from the top of the lighthouse everything he adored about you, but by the time he would be anywhere even remotely close to finishing you both would be old and grey, skin wrinkled from all the times you made him laugh and smile.

Today was the day, he had to tell you how he felt. He couldn't keep it locked inside him any longer.

After the two of you finished everything for the day, Sunghoon pulled you inside and away from the chilling winds. He had to calm his heart from its rapid drumming when you giggled and smiled at him, asking what the two of you were doing. When you intertwined your hand with his, he almost spilled his words then and there. Sunghoon sat you on the couch and nervously twiddled his thumbs as he forced the words from his mouth, and once he started he found it even harder to stop.

“I love you,” Sunghoon finally breathed. “I love you so much that it’s too much to contain. It spills out of me like uncontrollable rivers. I could tell you over and over and it still wouldn’t be enough—I love you, I love you, I love you!”

He grasped your hands in his, desperately holding onto them as he stared into your eyes with furrowed brows. Nothing would be able to capture Sunghoon's love for you and it frustrated him to no end, yet, it didn’t stop him from trying. “I love you like the water loves the land. Like the sun loves the moon and all of the stars in the sky,” he finally concluded.

You stared at him with a melancholic look and for a moment Sunghoon thought that he might’ve been mistaken. That he read into you a little too much. But, all his worries were eased when you flung yourself into his arms and into his lap, making him fall back against the couch from the edge. You kissed him so passionately that it took his breath away again, but he was content with the burning in his lungs.

“I love you,” you told him, like you had discovered the secrets to the world and it all lied within him. “You paint all of my skies the most saturated colors of blue like I've never seen before. You’re the air in my lungs and the beating of my heart—oh, I love you so much!”

All Sunghoon could do was laugh joyously as he held you close to him, planting a million and one kisses onto your face as you, too, laughed. He didn't think he’d ever be this happy in his life, and it was all because of you. No longer were his days lonely and grey; they were filled with the most magnificent colors and your presence. He heard your voice in the wind and it swam all the way down to his heart. You were why he woke up in the morning, and the reason why he was so eager to go to sleep. You are everything.

You didn’t realize the tears that began to fall down your face, or how the overwhelming fear in your stomach came to the surface until you got a good look at Sunghoon’s happy face. You inhaled sharply before it was all too much and you broke down completely. At first, Sunghoon thought they were happy tears until he saw the way you violently shook and his smile faltered.

He pulled you to his chest as his hand rubbed comforting circles against your back. “You're crying, my pearl? Why are you sad?” he asked you gently, pulling you away from him so he could see your face.

You shook your head, sniffling and wiping the tears from your cheeks. “I'm happy! I'm so happy for the first time in my life and it’s because of you,” you started. “Only, I'm still that naive girl I was when I first washed up on your shore, because this can’t last…”

Sunghoon's brows drew together further. “What do you mean, my love?”

And so you told him everything. Right from the beginning. About how when you were a mermaid you dreamed of having legs like the landwalkers did, dreamed of walking on land and leading a human life. You told him how you would watch the villagers and then how the lighthouse caught your attention and you saw him from the water for the very first time and knew that he would always have your heart. You told him of the childhood story your father used to tell you of the mermaid who wished for legs and the sea witch who granted it. It was easier to tell him things that he already knew, and you knew you were just procrastinating the truth. But, you really didn’t want to watch the happiness strip off of him when you did.

Finally, you told him about how you sought out said sea witch and found her, making a wish for legs of your very own. About the precedent of the deal and how it required you to cut out the beating heart of the human who you loved the most—him. Then, you told him how you could never go through with it, how you’d rather throw yourself to the sea and become seafoam before ever thinking of hurting him. You should’ve left that very first day for the village when you had the chance. You both never should’ve fallen in love with each other, now you both are in danger.

Sunghoon sat quietly with a slight look of horror as you spoke, intently listening to every word that fell from your mouth. “Don't you see why I told you it was dangerous for us to get closer? Why it’s not safe?” you cried. “And it’s all my fault… I should've insisted that you take me to the village instead of staying. Now we only have a week left before I leave you forever.”

Another moment passed as you cried and cried and Sunghoon held you as tightly as he could, fearful that you’d crumble completely in his arms. He struggled to wrap his mind around the whole thing—around the fact that your time together was limited. He didn’t want to believe it. A part of him hoped that this was all just a test of true love from the sea witch. That she’d come up from the waves and grant you the life that you deserved fully and then you and him would run off into your new lives together, hand in hand. But, Sunghoon knew deep down that that wasn’t the case. This was it. This was the only time you both had left together. It wasn't fair—yet, if given the chance, he’d do it all again with you.

Sunghoon couldn’t bear living without you, that was the only stable thought in his mind.

It was so cruel. Sunghoon desperately needed more time with you. The two of you were supposed to have the rest of your lives together and now everything was cut so short. How was he supposed to go on after this without you? Sunghoon took your face in his hands and gently wiped away your tears with the pads of his thumbs. It broke his heart to see you so sad, so… defeated. All Sunghoon wanted to see was your beautiful smile again. To make you laugh and tell you to let all of your worries wash away—but he couldn’t.

“Why did you think I'd let you sacrifice yourself for me?” Sunghoon asked. As if he’d let you do such a ridiculous thing. He would rather carve out his heart himself and throw it to the sea if it meant you could keep the life you dreamed of.

You threw his words back at him. “Why did you think I'd let you sacrifice yourself for me? It’s not a life if you aren’t in it.”

“Because my heart already beats for you.” Sunghoon said it like it was the simplest thing ever. You shook your head at his words but Sunghoon just nodded. “It does. And I want you to have everything you’ve ever wanted, even if it’s at the cost of my own life.”

“No…” you shook your head as more tears fell from your watery eyes. “No,” you stated more firmly. “This life means nothing to me without you. I'm not giving her your heart and neither are you. It'll be hard when I'm gone, but it will get easier with time. We just have to make the most of the week we have left.”

Sunghoon just tilted his head at you and shook his head as tears of his own fell from his eyes. It wouldn't get easier, and no matter how close he held you, it wouldn’t be close enough. He pressed his lips to yours, a slow and wanting kiss, as he tried to beg Time to show the two of you mercy.

In the days leading towards the end of the month you were given, you and Sunghoon spent every waking moment together. Duties were cast aside to only its bare bones and deemed unimportant. You spent time leaving little pieces of yourself on the tiny island. You had taken some of the pearls from your hair and sewn them onto the hat that Sunghoon always wore; he even let you weave some of them into the strands of his hair.

He had asked what you were doing, and when you told him you saw his heart break.

The two of you had walked down to the dock and you stripped down to the last layer of the clothes you wore as he watched you. You haven’t really touched the ocean since you washed up on the shore from it. A part of you was terrified that if you did your tail would grow back or the sea witch would scoop you up again. So each time you and Sunghoon walked along the beach at sunset, you had always skirted around the water and stayed in the sand instead. But, this was more important than that. You just hoped that swimming as a human wasn’t that difficult and it came easily to you.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, my pearl?” Sunghoon asked you as he held your clothes in his arms. The coming summer sun beat down on him, and you finally understood why his eyes sparkled each time he looked at you. The pearls sewn on his hat and twisted between his dark strands of hair made him look ethereal. Even more beautiful than he already was. It made you wonder if there was a version of the two of you somewhere where he sacrificed his legs for a tail instead.

Your own pearls in your hair had dwindled significantly since you gave the majority of yours to him. There was one pearl, though, that you didn’t own. One that you needed to give to him before you left.

“Not exactly,” you said, “But it’s important.”

You sat down on the edge of the dock and dipped your feet into the water to test them. Even though your back was turned to him, you could feel how Sunghoon held his breath along with you. There was silence between the two of you, and after a moment of absolutely nothing, you looked back at him with a grin. As soon as you smiled at him, Sunghoon's whole face lit up. You turned back to the water and slid in.

Your head went beneath the surface and you were expecting to be able to breathe until you remembered that you weren’t a mermaid anymore. This was going to be a lot more difficult than you were initially expecting it to be, but you were determined. When you surfaced again, you gasped out for air and squeezed your eyes shut from the sunlight shining directly in them. When you opened them again, Sunghoon was at the very edge of the dock—your clothes strewn to the side—looking worriedly at you. His mouth opened to speak, but you beat him to it.

“I’m okay, I'm okay. Don't worry, my love.” you beamed up at him as you swam to the dock and held on to the edge. Oh, how you missed the salty water against your skin. “I’m gonna dive down now, but don’t worry about me, okay?”

Sunghoon smiled at you. “I'll never not worry about you.”

You laughed a little before pushing up on the dock a little so you could bring your lips to his for a chaste kiss. When you moved to turn, Sunghoon called out your name and you turned back to him in question. He gently took your face in his hands and kissed you hard. If you weren’t already above the surface, you would’ve thought that you were drowning—and you would’ve sunk down to the depths happily. You smiled against his lips and the two of you kissed until heat spread throughout your faces and you were forced to pull away.

“I love you, my pearl.” Sunghoon kissed the corner of your mouth.

“I’ll be back!” you exclaimed through a laugh. That didn’t matter to Sunghoon, though. He just needed to remind you of it—needed to hear you say it again.

“I know,” Sunghoon says. “I still love you.”

You smiled at him, bigger and brighter than before. “I love you.”

Sinking back down into the water, you began swimming down to the bottom of the ocean floor. It was a bit awkward at first, but the water was like second nature to you and you quickly got the hang of it. You weren’t sure if you would have enough breath to find the pearl that you were looking for, but you’d try and try again until you did.

And you did try. A few times you had to resurface for air and when you did, you found that you were in a different place completely and Sunghoon was just a speck along the horizon still waiting on the dock for you. You worked as quickly as you could with the timer hanging above you. You didn’t want to spend too much time in the water and away from him.

You nearly cried tears of joy when you tickled the oyster and coaxed it open. There it was, the beautiful black set of pearls that you were looking for. They reminded you of the time you snuck to the surface and saw an array of colors against the nighttime sky. It was an alluring light show that you still can’t believe you managed to witness.

It also made you remember the time your father had shown you pearls like these. They were his and your mother’s—a symbol of the purest and eternal love between two people, your father had said. He told you of how one day, you and another would exchange them on the day you were to be wed and the pearl would be the foremost adornment with all of the other pearls in your hair. You held the memory fondly, even if that life was miles away now. You began to wonder what your people thought of your disappearance, but you thought better of it. There was no use making yourself sad when this was supposed to be a happy occasion.

You swam back as fast as you could to Sunghoon, with the sun still hanging high in the sky.

When you surfaced at the dock again, you nearly scared Sunghoon out of his skin. His eyes were scanning the water and when they landed on you suddenly in front of him, he nearly fell into it. You giggled at him and he helped you up onto the dock, immediately shedding off his thin jacket to place over your shoulders. “Did you find what you were looking for?” Sunghoon asked, and you nodded ecstatically.

You took his hand and pulled him away from the sea while Sunghoon tried not to focus on the way the white cotton fabric stuck to your skin and became almost translucent. When you were in the sand again, you turned to him and held open the hand that clutched the black pearls for him to see. Sunghoon's eyes widened, and he looked down at them before quickly looking back up at you. You nodded at him, and he took one of the pearls between two of his fingers to examine it.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Sunghoon breathed as he held it up to the sunlight. He then smiles ear to ear and turns towards you. “It's almost as beautiful as you are, my darling.”

You shyly look away from him, heat creeping across your wet cheeks and your heart fluttering. “Under the sea,” you started, catching his loving stare, “a pearl like this is very special. Typically, you only receive one like it on your wedding day. It's a symbol of how your love for your partner is pure and eternal. You tie it in each other’s hair and it’s the one pearl that you never unweave.” Your eyes widened a little as the sudden implication hit you, and you opened your mouth to explain more to Sunghoon but he was already taking your hair between his fingers.

You looked at him from between your lashes as you watched him weave the black pearl into your hair. His brows were knitted together with his focus and you could feel his breath fan across your cheeks from how close he was to you. When he was finished, he held the hair with the black pearl weaved into it in his hand and smiled.

“There we go,” Sunghoon spoke softly, his voice just above a whisper. “Your turn.”

An enamored smile slowly spread across your face and you took a bit of his dark hair and began to weave the black pearl into it. Sunghoon watched you the entire time, his eyes full of so much love that it looked like it was going to spill from his stare at any moment. It felt like a warm and comforting blanket around you, and you didn’t know what you were going to do without it. After you were done, you took a moment to admire him and you could tell he was doing the same to you. You tried your hardest to commit every aspect of him to memory.

You reached your hand up and gingerly touched the black pearl in his hair with a smile. You then delicately touched his pale skin and trailed the tips of your fingers along the moles that prettied it. There was a pang in your chest and your heart began to ache. You were going to miss him.

“It reminds me of your scales—the pearl,” said Sunghoon after a while. You caught his gaze, shock written all throughout your expression. “They're more blue, but they have the same reflection the pearl has.”

In that moment, a desire hidden deep within you—so deep that you didn’t know it even existed—bubbled up to the surface and jumped out of your body. Tears sprang to your eyes and Sunghoon cradled your cheek with his hand, his brows furrowed. Never in your life have you felt seen like Sunghoon makes you feel seen. He took both sides of you—the mermaid and the newfound human—and held them both close to his soul like they were one. He loved you no matter the change.

You couldn’t even begin to express to him how you were feeling, you could barely even get your words out. All you could manage to choke out was: “You’ve seen them?”

The two of you turned to where you had washed up almost a month ago now. The scales that were once a part of your tail are long gone, swept back into the sea with the storm where they belonged to never be seen by you again. You had checked for them, but you were already too late. Sunghoon nodded, looking to you. “I had meant to ask you about them when you first woke up that day, but it completely slipped my mind. I kept some of them.”

Tears slid down your cheeks and he wiped them for you before leading you back to the house. When the two of you got there, Sunghoon dug around in his heavy coats for the one he wore that night before pulling it out. He then dug in the pockets before pulling his hand out. Sunghoon outstretched his hand to you, a couple of your shifting blue scales in his palm. You gasped and covered your mouth with your hands before reaching out for them. Your hand hovered above his before you drew it back. Instead, you closed Sunghoon's hand around them again.

“Keep them close to your heart,” you said, wiping your tears as you smiled happily at him. “A mermaid’s scale will bring you good luck.”

“Are you sure you don’t want them, my pearl?” he asked, and you shook your head. You had no use for them, and he needed them more than you did. If they would keep him safe and bring him good fortune, then that’s all you could ask for.

Sunghoon carefully placed them in the pocket of his cotton shirt under his waistcoat and it reminded you that you were practically naked in human terms. Your chemise was still damp and clung to your skin. You looked down at your clothes. “Oh,” you sheepishly chuckled. Sunghoon's eyes locked onto you and you could tell it’s been plaguing his mind this entire time. Your gaze flicked back up to him and you noticed how blown out his eyes were. You sheepishly chuckled more.

Grinning, Sunghoon took a step forward and wrapped his arms around you. “Is that all you have to say?” he teased. “‘Oh?’ Nothing else?” You shook your head, giggling, before kissing him. Sunghoon pulled back from you a little and in faux bewilderment, he said, “No? Nothing at all?” He brought his lips back to yours, muffling more of your giggles. He then backed you up towards where the hallway was as his fingers gripped at your wet chemise. Sunghoon went to pull it up, but you pushed it back down and hummed against his lips.

Breaking from his lips, you smirked at him before taking his hand and leading him to the bedroom.

A storm had begun to brew along the horizon of the sea that left everything dark and cloudy. You knew that the storm was for you—for him, and it saddened you deeply. It also filled you with a grim determination. The sea witch wouldn’t have Sunghoon’s heart. You would die making sure that was true.

It felt as if all hope was lost. Like a blanket of complete darkness covered the two of you and you walked lost through it. The rest of the week was spent as if you both were mourning each other, and you were. Sunghoon just couldn’t believe that this would be the last time he would ever see you again—he refused to believe it. It hurt too much.

He ensured that he had as much physical attachments of you two together as possible, even going so far to hire a photographer and have your pictures taken. At night, he could hear you weeping and he couldn’t do anything to comfort you except hold you. It wasn't enough for either of you. How could the two of you possibly pretend to be happy when you both knew that the end was near? That the two of you were doomed from the very start?

It was like ice replaced all the warmth inside him and froze him down to the marrow in his bones. The only spark inside him was his undying love for you and you for him. Besides his limited time with you, it was the only thing that was keeping him going. Just getting a glimpse of your face, whether if it was next to him or from one of the pictures he had framed of the two of you, meant the world to him.

It felt strange to feel such deep and heartbreaking, mournful sorrow over someone who was still living. Like his one true love was already taken from him.

How would Sunghoon live on once you were gone? Everywhere he goes he would search for you, whether that be beneath the empty covers of his bed or between the flickering light of the lighthouse. Would he see someone at the village and think that it was you, only for them to turn and he’d see that it wasn’t? Would he see the glittering sunlight along the water and think that it was the pearls in your hair—that you’ve returned home to him? He couldn’t bear it all.

But, he couldn’t do anything to stop it. The final day was here and the storm that was previously brewing in the horizon raged on, demanding to be felt—demanding the heart it came for. Unease sunk deep into Sunghoon, and as you both watched the storm and harsh winds from the window he held you close.

“Please,” Sunghoon begged, voice hoarse, barely above a whisper and half-muffled from his face buried in your hair, “Please, don’t do this. We can figure out another way, just… just don’t go.”

Sunghoon had been crying all night and the storm didn’t help one bit. Even your lullaby only barely managed to make him fall asleep. He didn't want to miss a single precious second with you by sleeping. He had the rest of his life without you to sleep. He’d sleep when he throws himself to the sea years from now and beg the water to bury him next to you. Now wasn’t the time for it.

“It’s too late, my love,” you said somberly. You shifted to face him, tears welling in your eyes. “There's no other option. I have to do this. It's the only way… You’re the land and I'm the sea—we only touch for a brief moment.”

You pressed your lips to Sunghoon’s firmly, letting all your passion and love for him seep through it. No matter how much your lungs ached and your head pounded, you both didn’t break away. If it was going to be your last kiss, it would be one you’ll both remember forever.

Only when you felt like you were about to pass out did you gently pull away from him. A strike of lightning followed by a vicious roar of thunder sounded. “It is time,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks.

You stood from the couch, forcing yourself to break away from Sunghoon and the life you cherished so deeply. You bent down to give him one last hug. “I love you, forever,” you said, “And I'll miss you for even longer.”

“I love you,” Sunghoon said, his voice breaking into a cry as tears slid down his face. “I miss you.” With bated breath, Sunghoon looked up at you through his tears, "I'm sorry.”

You shook your head at Sunghoon as you stood to your full height, your hand fell from his face as you wiped away his tears. You inhaled sharply and you got one last look at Sunghoon, one last look at him to burn into your mind before you turned to seafoam.

You took in every inch of him, down to the hat with your pearls sewn onto it discarded at his feet and the pearls woven into his dark hair as he ran his hands through it. You focused for a moment on the black pearl in his hair that you both shared and you hoped that when he looked at it too he would remember how much you love him. Sunghoon was so drastically different from when you first met him, yet, completely the same all at once. It broke your heart into a million pieces to see him this way and have it be all because of you.

Inhaling deeply, you turned your back to him before he could convince you to stay. Your hand lingered near the door and you turned back to him one last time. “Goodbye, my love, my Sunghoon.”

With your last goodbye, you opened the door and faced the storm.

There was no use in delaying the inevitable. You stomped towards the water, stripping off your clothes and your last shred of humanity. Anger permeated you, hot like the flame of the flickering lighthouse.

It was so unfair. It was so unfair that you couldn’t have the one thing you’ve ever wished for. But you guess that it was no easy wish going against nature. A thing belonging to the sea cannot step onto the land without consequences—and here you were, facing them. Walking headfirst back to the sea—to your own death—like one would if they had pockets full of stones.

You barely got to your knees in the water before red-hot pain spread throughout your legs, the same pain that you felt when they formed from your tail. Soon after you were falling to the water, your deep blue, color shifting tail emerging from behind you. You dived underwater, thankful for once that mermaids couldn’t cry.

You began to swim further out into the sea, watching as more and more of your body transformed back to its original state. The entire time you thought of the sea witch, of how you hated her and her cruelness. She did this to you—she let you dream of hope only to turn the lights back out. You never should’ve made that bargain. Maybe then you and Sunghoon could still be together. He'd wait at the dock for you and you’d wait at the shore for him, and it would be enough.

Above you, you saw the water ripple like something was dropped in. You wouldn’t have thought anything of it if not for the feeling against your tail. You stopped swimming and twisted to look behind you. Shock filled you and your eyes widened. Sunghoon swam towards you, clothes flowing in the water as he got closer.

No. What was he doing here? Doesn't he know how dangerous it is for him to be in the sea at this moment? You wanted to lecture him, scream at him—but, all that filled you was the immense love you have for him.

Sunghoon reached out his hands toward your face and gently grabbed your cheeks. He swam forward and placed his lips onto yours. You should’ve known that he wouldn’t let you go alone, that he would be there with you until the very end—even if you told him over and over that it would only make the pain worse.

You pulled away and let yourself smile at him one last time—for the first time as what you truly were. That smile quickly faltered when you saw all the red start to seep out from around the two of you, the feeling of something hard puncturing your chest.

Looking down, you gasped and bubbles of air floated towards the surface. Lodged in Sunghoon's chest was a knife with blood rapidly coming from it. You shook your head at him, brows knitting together in anguish, and Sunghoon just nodded.

You refused to let him do this—to let him die. To let him die for you. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be you, not him. You were supposed to be the sacrifice.

You linked your arms under his and swam as fast as you could to the shore, bringing Sunghoon towards the surface and fighting against the harsh waves. Every second felt like a grain of sand in an hourglass, and you didn’t have much sand left. You now know what he meant when Sunghoon said “I'm sorry.”

Sunghoon didn’t have much time, you knew that from the way he began to cough violently. You dragged him as far up on the shore and as far away from the water as you possibly could with the hindrance of your tail. You made sure not even the waves lapped up to the two of you. The sea witch wouldn’t have him, you will die making sure of it.

You started screaming for help until your voice was hoarse, but it was no use against the whipping winds of the storm. Nobody would hear you on this tiny island away from the village anyway. “Why?” you asked him, your voice breaking as tears fell from your face, “Why would you do this? The sea doesn’t deserve a heart like yours.”

Sunghoon grabbed your hands and brought them to the hilt of the blade in his chest. “Take it… It’s yours. It will always be yours,” he said hoarsely. Blood spilled past his lips and you cried harder. “Go, be free. Walk on land and live the life you’ve always wanted. Be human.”

He violently coughed more and more blood coated his lips.

“It's not a life I want if it isn’t with you,” you cried, removing your hands from the hilt and pressing them to his wound. Your hands were stained but the blood wouldn’t stop.

Sunghoon took your hands in his, “It’s not a world I want to live in if you’re not by my side, my pearl.”

With the last of his strength, Sunghoon wrapped his hands around the hilt and harshly pulled the blade from his chest. You cried out as more blood gushed from the wound and stained his shirt red. “No, no, no!” You sobbed louder with each word.

“Kiss.. me… One last time?” Sunghoon heaved in question. His eyes started to close but he fought to keep them open—he wouldn’t waste any more precious seconds. You couldn’t believe that it was all ending like this—that it all could come to this. You stupid, halfwitted, naive little guppy. How dare you dream of a life you could never have?

You sniffled and nodded. You didn’t care that his blood would be on your lips, you bent down to press yours to his anyway. As they moved in sync you could feel the life draining from him and you pulled away, letting him get as much oxygen as he possibly can. It wasn't supposed to be this way.

Sunghoon smiled up at you and it was the last glimmer of light in the darkness as the rain poured down around the two of you. He cupped your face gently, his hand trembling. “My pearl…” he whispered, "I love you so much. I love you, forever.”

With those last words, Sunghoon's eyes closed and his hand fell from your face and into the wet sand below.

You looked down at him with wide, watery eyes. A loud sob ripped through you and you cried until your chest felt like exploding and you could barely see from the burning tears. You raised a shaky hand and placed it softly on Sunghoon’s chest where his heart resided. It no longer beat. He was gone, truly… gone.

You took the knife laying limply in his other hand and threw it as far away from the two of you as you could. You then laid your head on his chest like you did all those nights ago in the bed you shared, only, it wasn’t the same.

Sunghoon was gone. His warm body was now growing cold and his beating heart had stilled. All that was left was you—and soon, even you would cease to exist.

You felt tingling in your tail, little stabbing pains that would hurt if you didn’t feel so numb right now. You knew that you were withering away—turning into seafoam like the sea witch promised with only your bones and your heart to leave behind so she could collect it. You welcomed it, for you had nothing left.

Let her take your heart, so long as she doesn’t touch his.

Softly, you began to hum the lullaby your mother used to sing to you as a child. You hoped that it would aid Sunghoon on his journey beyond, that the storm would no longer make him anxious and instead he felt calm. That it would gently lull him to where he needed to be.

More tears slid down your wet cheeks from the lack of sound in his chest. How it didn’t rise and fall with his breathing. But, you continued humming.

The fin of your tail started to turn first. Seafoam overtook it and fell away into the sand in a pool of foamy white and bone. You closed your eyes as it spread further and further up your body. You hummed until you physically couldn’t anymore—until your entire body was seafoam and so were your lips. Until you were nothing but a beating heart against Sunghoon’s still chest.

The storm began to melt away, the dark clouds very slowly rolling back towards the magic that casted them and the rain traveling upwards towards them. It is unknown how long the remnants of your bodies laid in the wet sand, curled into each other.

There was no telling where Sunghoon ended and you began.

Deep down below at the sea floor there is a rumbling. A loud, angry scream follows and it is said it can be heard for miles. The sea witch tries with all her might, but her waters are just too far away from where the two lovers lie. She is unable to take their hearts, for they are their own—they belong to each other and no one else. And soon after, your heart turns to seafoam too. The two of you, at once, were at home with each other.

While the law searches the tiny island to figure out what came of the lighthouse keeper, they find a picture of a woman with pearls in her hair—similar to the pearls found in the lighthouse keeper’s hair—and shifting blue scales. The picture and the scales were hidden in a pocket close to his chest and free from any blood. The woman was never found and the villagers have no recollection of her—despite the various photographs around the lighthouse keeper’s small home.

Through the breaking light of the dawn, it is said you can see two souls turn to one.

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏   ͏  ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏  ͏ ͏͏ REBLOGS ◜◡◝ ASKS APPRECIATED!

✉️   ⦂   hey…. hey… i just want to say first and foremost and i am so unbelievably sorry for the pain i just put you all through LMAO <//3 can everyone make some noise for #realyearners tho?!?!?!!? btw, if any of you wanted to see all the changes / additions i made to the rework, then here is the original version! ♡ AND THANK YOU SO SO SOOO MUCH TO @yingelics FOR THE ABSOLUTELYYYYYY BEAUTIFUL DIVIDER ABOVE AAAA!!! (づ ￣ ³￣)づ♡♡♡♡♡

𖥦 ﴾ 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗎𝖾 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗈 . . . 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 , 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 ﴿ @innocygnet @ikeukiss @tinycatharsis @prkhaven @fangel @jaylaxies @bambiihee @xylatox @whosserina @jellymochii @minaateez @lvrs-street2mmorrow @chccnne @sunoosgfv @everythingvirgoes @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @sumsumtingz @riribelle @yingelics @yourislandgirl @milza12 @dollyyhoon @fancypeacepersona @maidens-world @hoonstrology @invsomnixa1 @hoonkishoe

© faeyun - all rights reserved. do not repost on any social media or sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

[svmjaeyvn]

NIGHTS LIKE THIS — 박종성

MINORS DNI ! IM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU CONSUME

You’d never consider yourself a smoker, hell, last year you couldn’t even bare the smell of weed that lingered on your cousins’ clothes after a night out. But one night of feeling adventurous turned into many, and now you found yourself being your plug's favorite sweetheart. You didn’t even care that Park Jongseong was a notorious asshole to everyone, considering it was everyone but you. Besides, there’s no way you’d pass up having your plug be your friends with benefits, especially when it came with way more than you’d imagined.

pairing — stoner+plug!jay x semi-stonerfem!reader, college/ya au

word count -- 22k (oops?)

featuring — stoner!enha hyung line, enha!maknae line as your nosey neighbors and juniors, manon and lara from katseye as your besties (LUV), and (1) keeho mention for shits and giggles

content/warnings — weed smoking (duh), partying, alcohol, profanity, loads of sexual innuendos + casual convos about sex cause they’re adults!, heeseung as your annoying ass older cousin, jay being the plug-turned-close friend bc of heeseung, lots of sex or sexual tension the entire time, mentions of jay being an asshole but you never see it bc you’re a princess, unprotected sex (oops), public-ish sex?? (at a party, in the car, fucking while on the phone, etc.), throat fucking (ish), sloppy head (m&f receiving), lots of pet names (princess, baby, love, pretty girl, etc.), reader referred to as slut one time (endearing lol), creampies, fucking under the influence, possessive/jealous jay (A LOT cause i love a possessive fictional man), messy situationship, sort of toxic dynamic at first, (1) scene of vaping/smoking with riki, reader has her faults let her live!, one almost fight scene between guys, jay fell first and harder (hell yeah), reader is a BADDIE (ass fat, big tits and nipple piercings yuh), reader is described as conventionally attractive and small

note — don’t like it? don’t read it! full disclosure, my dabble into smoking is, like, minimal so i’m mostly talking out of my ass but the concept of jay lighting a blunt in my mouth is teeew good to NOT write about. this was originally made to be a short drabble but i dont know how to stfu so here we are (this took me 2 months to write, it was supposed to come out on 4/20 lol). tbh the smoking plotline got lost in the midst of minimal angst and fluff but i promise desperate cutesy jay is worth everything. please enjoy <3

“You’re sick,” Riki grimaces, eyes following you as you pause in front of your full length mirror. “Sick in the head,” He continues, you leaning closer to ensure your lipgloss wasn’t smudged in the slightest and hair flowed the way you wanted.

“You realize that Jay’s literally seen you at your worst, right? Like before you decided he was hot and shit you looked like a troll here at the house,” Heeseung adds with a snort, leant against the doorframe with his arms crossed. You meet his gaze through the mirror, a sarcastic smile sent his way as you flip him off through the reflection.

“We’re going to a party,” You remind, deflecting how much effort you put into the look rather than the majority of it being to impress the practically household name that belongs to Park Jongseong. “Besides, he likes this skirt and gives me stuff for free so this would actually benefit you too, idiot,”

Heeseung pauses, thinking over the fact that even with the long-term friend discount, Jay practically gave you whatever you asked for these days with little to no charge. Biting his tongue for once, he nods, but that doesn’t erase the obvious annoyance and discomfort he felt thinking about you and one of his best friends being together.

Riki shakes his head, laid on your bed petting the short-haired cat that was curled into his side. Said boy was a part of the trio that lived next door to your apartment, Nishiurma Riki, the one you and Heeseung called over to feed your shared pets and watch them for a while on the nights you planned on being out for long.

He had no problem with it, especially with the easy money he gained and the fact that the two of you always left enough for him to order in on top of that. Thus he was familiar with the sight, one he’s been having to see unfold more and more recently.

What he did have a problem with was you getting involved with Park Jongseong in the first place. You were smart, pretty, and admittedly a crazy bitch, but you were one of the first people who he actually felt at home with aside from Jungwon and Sunoo.

And sure, Jay wasn’t that bad. Hell, he allows Riki to speak Japanese openly and keeps up, though sometimes slow and tripping over his words, but still allows him to feel comfortable speaking his native language. But Jay also sold weed as a pastime and had a track record of being the biggest asshole when something pissed him off. Not that he’s actually seen it quite yet but still, you deserved the best.

Not that Riki would actually ever voice his opinion on it, after all it was your life and you were an adult. Besides, Sunoo and Jungwon made their comments enough to tell you their not quite distaste but not quite liking of him even though your circles rarely overlapped on occasion.

“Are you done? Jake says they’re pulling up,” Heeseung pulls your attention away from the reflection where you had just finished clasping your last layered necklace. You gave yourself a once over, a smile of satisfaction quirking at the corners of your lips as you turned around.

“Let’s go,” You hum, slinging the thin jacket over your shoulders for minimal protection from the cold outside air. You spared a look to Riki before you exited the room, shooting the younger boy a wink as your voice lingered through the walls bidding your goodbyes to him and the cats for the night.

You could hear Heeseung’s footsteps follow, you waiting at the front door for him to open it per routine and you nearly jumping coming inches apart from a rather giddy looking Jake. There was a slight gleam to his look, notably already started on his pregame and a few strands fallen from his almost perfectly styled hair from his habit of running his hands through it.

Jake practically bounced on the heels of his feet, a sloppy smile playing at his lips as he pulled a familiar thin white tube from his pocket. “Hoon’s not drinking but he’s down for a smoke, you guys want in on this one?”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · ─ ·✶ ─ · ·

“There she is!” Lara giggles, an arm thrown around your shoulders pulling you in for a hug with her words somehow louder than the blaring music that came from the speakers in the house. “Bitch, where have you been? It’s soo late,”

“It’s barely 9,” You snort, stumbling a bit to uphold her weight seeing how rather fucked up she already seemed so early on. “We just got here, you been drinking for a minute?”

“Manon and I might’ve gone a little crazy while pregaming,” Lara admits, the cup in her hand sloshing around with unfamiliar contents of alcohol. “Midterms have been a bitch, I needed this. But trust, I’m good—nowhere near throwing up yet,”

“Guess we gotta catch up,” Heeseung’s voice interrupts from behind. You noted the way Lara suddenly stood up straighter, and the stupid smile Heeseung was notorious for causing you to roll your eyes with a grimace.

“Don’t touch her,” You warn, waggling a finger at Heeseung while he lets out a laugh. You turn to Lara next as she pouts, “He’s gross, you’re drunk, trust me you’ll regret it,”

You excused yourself to make your way to the kitchen, the layout of the frat house familiar considering you’ve been here more times than you could count for parties. You bid friendly smiles and short greetings to the familiar faces, settling into the line of alcohol to choose from in the coolers filled with ice and a huge jug of jungle juice you wouldn’t dare think of trying.

You peeked into the fridge, smiling seeing the bottles of pineapple juice you begged Keeho to buy earlier in the day when he asked what drinks the frat should provide for the night. Perks of being friends with a member, you got to make yourself sweet drinks that tasted good and fucked you up at the same time.

Just as you finished pouring a generous amount of tequila into a new solo cup, you felt a hand find its place on your hip and the familiar smell of cologne that filled your senses that you’ve grown rather fond of.

“Hi princess,” Jay’s voice fluttered against the shell of your ear, the heat of his breath causing a chill to run up your spine and stupidly annoying smile to appear at your lips.

“Hi Jay,” You repeat, not bothering to spare him a look quite yet. You topped off your drink with juice to the brim, turning in your spot in his arms that kept you encased against the counter. You brought the drink to your lips, taking a sip and maintaining eye contact with him as you did.

“You look pretty,” He compliments, eyes flickering down to your lips as you hum. You held the cup up, Jay taking a small sip and chuckling at the excessive amount of liquor you had poured into the half-assed cocktail.

“Too strong?”

He shook his head, one hand squeezing your hip and the other tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as it fell out of place. “You know I don’t drink much,”

You hummed again, taking a longer drink this time and feeling the familiar burn down your throat. “You been waiting for me?” You tease, knowing well enough Jay was at practically every party on campus due to it being his best selling grounds.

But he nods, a laugh leaving his lips and you smile at the sight. A few months ago it would’ve been a rare occasion to even see him crack a smile at any of the stupid jokes the guys made, it felt good knowing how easy it was for you to see an even prettier sight of him now.

“Of course I have,” His voice is warm, the words teasing but there was a certain glint in his eyes as he scanned over every little detail of your face, almost as if he were memorizing a picture in his mind. “You get all dressed up f’me?”

“Of course I did,” You repeat, half hearted but his lips quirked at your words anyway. Just as he was about to speak again, a loud voice broke the bubble the two of you were in, reminding you of the loud music and numerous bodies that flowed about.

“Hey! I've been looking for you. You still got anything on you man?” An obnoxiously unfamiliar guy barreling toward you caused you to grimace. Obviously intoxicated, and probably far too drunk to get cross-faded at this point, you shrink away from Jays’ hold to allow him to do his business.

“Nah man,” Jay’s words were short, to the point and he barely spared the guy a look as his hand on your hip squeezed gently—a silent gesture for you to stay put.

“What? C’mon man it’s barely gonna be 10? No way you’re out—” The guy persisted, slurring his words and swaying in his spot. One of his hands came up to grab onto Jay’s shoulder while the other nearly dropped his opened seltzer right where you stood.

You stiffened, ready to push the clearly drunk loser away from you if he fell but you didn’t have to. Jay used one arm, shoving the guy back a few stumbled steps with a bored expression while the other hand didn’t let go of the protective hold he had on you.

“I’m out,” Is all he says. His jaw clenched, emphasizing his already prominent jawline and eyes sharp, practically daring the guy to push for more.

Even drunk, he seemed to take the hint. A short mumble of something along the lines of muttered insults were heard before you and Jay were left alone once more. And you snickered, giggling at the sight of the stumbling drunkard who made his way back to his group of friends who were expectantly waiting on his return.

“You alright?” Jay asked after a beat of silence, eyes running over your figure while you nod. He visibly relaxed, a smile quirking at his lips as he leaned in slightly. “You smoking tonight, pretty girl?”

You laughed, “Thought you were out?”

“I always have something for you,” He smirks, hand lacing with your own and beginning to pull you toward the back door that leads outside.

“For how much?”

Jay glances over his shoulder to send you a pointed look. “Don’t ask stupid questions,” He scoffs, nearly offended considering he hasn’t charged you in months. The only time you gave him money recently was for Heeseung who paid you for it in the first place.

“You’re letting me rob you at this point Jjong,” You snicker, goosebumps forming at the skin exposed on your legs from the chilly outside air that your mini skirt did nothing to combat against.

He doesn’t say anything, though you noticed the small quirk of his lips that he attempted to bite back. Jay pulls the two of you to the far end of the yard, numerous chairs spread around the pool unoccupied as it was growing colder with the seasons changing leaving the outside of the house with only a few lingering groups who talked amongst themselves.

He settles into a seat, dragging you down onto his lap rather than the empty chair directly beside his own. You raise a brow, refraining from a remark at how he couldn’t get enough of you considering you’ve grown to love how clingy he got at times. One of your arms draped over his shoulder, your legs perched across his own and he held you steady allowing for your weight to be leant against him with an arm encasing you to his chest.

Jay pulled a familiar baggie from his pocket, there only being two near perfectly rolled joints. He plucked one out, hand dipping into his pocket once more to pull out his lighter and tucking the remaining one away for now.

Wordlessly, he holds it up to your lips with one hand causing you to pout. “I have gloss on,” You remind, moving your head away while he sends you a bored look.

“When have I cared about shit like that?” He snickers. “It’s just me and you princess, not like you’re sharing with a group,” Jay reminds, eyes holding your own as you scrunch your nose. 

Jay lets out a breathy laugh before pulling you closer as he grips your chin, guiding your lips to his own. Your lips meet, a small gasp leaving your mouth out of surprise at the sudden contact and you could feel the cocky smile that formed on his features. Your hand found his hair, playing with the longer strands while rolling your hips in the slightest manner.

He pulled back, holding you in place with a pointed look as if telling you to behave. You smiled, thumb dragging over his bottom lip to remove the shine that transferred over from yours.

“Making me ruin your pretty make up,” Jay mumbles with a playful tsk, holding the joint up once more while you hum. Your lips wrapped around the tip, just enough to hold it while his other hand uses the lighter to spark it. He held the flame just enough for the paper to ignite, you sucking in a long hit to ensure the spliff would stay burning.

You held it for a moment, inhaling the smoke before turning your head the other way to not blow it directly in Jays’ face. You hear his laugh, knowing that you didn’t tend to like starting the first hit and you faced him with a roll of your eyes.

You watched him take a long drag, one that never failed to make you wonder how he didn’t end up coughing more but then again, he’s been smoking a lot longer than you. Jay could feel your eyes lingering on him longer than they should’ve, his second inhale shorter but he blew the smoke in your face this time after meeting your gaze.

You shook your head, hand gently pushing his face away from your own as his laugh filtered through the air between you. He holds out the joint for you to grab, careful to not drop it considering your nails were longer than usual thanks to your fresh set and Manon encouraging you to do long rather than medium this time.

You took a comfortable puff while glancing around the backyard. You looked toward the house, half a mind to remember to check on Jake soon considering he was probably the most fucked up by now.

“You come with the guys, right?”

You nod. “Sunghoon’s the DD for the night,” Cheeks blowing out a notable breath due to the cold air as you tilted your head back with a sigh. “Jake was already on a good one before we left, had two joints in the car… which I assume he got from you?”

Jay lets out a breathy laugh, the sound causing your gaze to fall back on him feeling the small shrug he did. “Gave him a couple extra the other day but I guess he held onto them for tonight,”

A beat of silence passed over you two, your eyes scanning his side profile as Jay draws small circles with his hand on your hip. You pass back the slow burning joint to him, taking a sip of the cold drink in your hand which caused you to shiver.

“Why’d you start selling?” Your question lingered in the air between you. You’ve never asked, because quite frankly, you never cared. Hell, it wasn’t like Jay was the deep type that went through the why’s and what if’s in his life much anyway.

Plus, everyone in his circle knew him, so why talk about the shitty situations he’s put himself through more than needed? It wasn’t healthy, obviously, but he was also a guy who had friends that didn’t get emotional with each other unless drunk around a fire at 3am.

But you were you, Heeseung’s loud mouth younger cousin that infiltrated the group's lives two years ago when you came to live with him for uni. He’d seen you at your worst already, be it first thing in the morning or late at night off a drunken escapade having to be carried home and slung over the toilet for hours on end.

He knew you, and you knew him, but neither of you actually cared aside from the superficial bond between you two that Heeseung bridged.

Well until a few months ago when whatever this was started to occur. It took one night, an utterly helpless you who flunked your econ class that led to you and Jay in a room together at a party much like this. Your first smoke, one that you begged for and he only gave in after you shoved a crumpled wad of cash — that he snuck back into your purse that night, into his hands because he felt bad.

Because you were you, and he’d never seen you look so miserable before. It was just supposed to be an excuse for him to let you rant, let you indulge in whatever turmoil shit you had going on that you refused to tell Heeseung out of your own ego.

But it wasn’t that simple, not after you spilled every last worry to him as if he were a paid therapist and he realized that you were a dramatic overthinking kid hours away from anyone and everything familiar. So maybe it was pity, or maybe it was the sprout of attraction that misguided his judgment, but one night of self indulgence led to many.

And at some point instead of you sitting across the room from him, you were perched beside him. Ghost smiles and gentle touches turned to sharing seats with one another til at some point, whenever you were together Jay couldn’t keep his hands off you.

“Money,” He says simply, the words clipped in an obvious manner to not ask more. You purse your lips, a slight sting felt from his blunt way to keep you at a distance. You felt like he should’ve given you a little credit, hell he’s been in you a handful of times now, having a decent conversation aside from weed, sex, and alcohol seemed reasonable to you.

When you didn’t respond, Jay took note of the silence that followed. The way you didn’t bother to spare him a look, seemingly finding the open night sky more fascinating than him and taking long sips of your drink that continued to melt as time passed.

Jay watched you, the slight annoyance overshadowed once he noticed your pout. He shook his head, adjusting in his seat with you still perched on his lap as his arms snaked around your waist. “C’mon pretty, don’t get like that. We don’t need to talk about useless shit,”

He mumbled the words against your skin, placing a lazy kiss to your shoulder while you shifted against him. Jay chuckles, a hand softly but firmly moving your chin to look at him. “Can’t have my girl mad at me,”

“I’m not your girl, Jay,” You mutter, attempting to pull your head away but he tsks, fingers gripping the sides of your face and holding you steady. His eyes held a certain look, cocky and taunting as he leaned closer.

“Wanna bet?”

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“What’s wrong, baby?” Jay hummed, laughter bubbling through his words as he forced your head up with the grip he held on the base of your hair. His eyes met yours through the mirror, teeth grazing up your neck, making sure to leave a mark while his hips pressed your own into the bathroom counter.

Your skirt was hiked up, lace panties pushed to the side and your tits bounced with each thrust from where Jay had yanked your shirt down. The metal of your piercings glistened every bounce, your nipples fully erect and sensitive every time Jay’s fingers rolled the buds. Your mascara smudged, hair in disarray from Jay’s yanking, forcing you to watch the way he fucked himself into you. Muffled music blared throughout the house, the occasional knock on the door letting you know you had an audience but Jay didn’t care, not after you practically begged him to show you who you belonged to earlier like it was a cute joke.

Your bottom lip was tucked between your teeth, muffling your moans out of your own ego but also so the line waiting outside didn’t have more of a clue of the fact that you were getting put in your place—although Jay had made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t going to be out until he was done after the third knock.

“You should know better by now,” Jay continued, the heat of his breath lingered against your skin. His palm placed a harsh smack to your ass that bounced against him, the hit causing you to hiss while he smirked. His fingertips dug into the flesh of your hips surely to leave a mark, Jay let out a gruntled groan as your walls clenched around him, your body showing how much you liked it even if you were giving him the silence treatment to prove a point. “Pussy knows who you belong to already, you’re made f’me and she knows it,”

“Fuck off,” You manage out, eyes screwed shut feeling the way Jay’s dick kissed your cervix with every deep thrust. There was only one other time the sex you had was like this, rough and possessive, Jay fed up with your drunken behavior that led to you flirting with another guy at a party after a small fight between you two.

He was definitely rougher that time, dragging you into his car and fucking you dumb after making you repeat like a mantra how your body was only for him to touch as long as he was around. You loved it, your body reacting to his touch proving it without you even saying a word.

“So mean baby,” Jay tsks, words mumbled with faux offense. He manages to press himself deeper into you, the curve of his dick hitting just right as a moan left your lips before you could stop it. “Fuuck, there you go, ‘was missing those pretty little noises you make,”

You let out muffled whimpers, head falling forward and desperately trying to keep quiet but you couldn’t. Not with the feeling of Jay hitting you just right every time, not when he reached around to rub his thumb against your clit, your mind going fuzzy and legs growing wobbly to where he had to wrap his arm around your waist and keep you steady.

“So tight baby,” Jay breathes out, a sloppy open mouthed kiss pressed to your shoulder. “You’re takin’ me so well,”

The lewd sounds of your skin slapping echoed throughout the acoustics of the bathroom. If you weren’t slightly intoxicated you might’ve had half a mind to tell Jay to stop being so loud, you probably would’ve convinced him to find a room in the first place. But you didn’t, and god did you not care about anyone else right now.

Your head falls to his shoulder, moans now overtaking the sounds of your bodies and Jay fingers continue the assault on your clit with his growing sloppy pace. He connects your lips, half a mind to shut you up but couldn’t deny the ego boost of his name falling from your mouth.

The tight pull in your stomach tensed, Jay’s grip on your hip leaving fingerprints in your skin. “Fuck, Jay, please,” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a rush between the sloppy kisses. He hummed against your lips, his smile felt as he picked up the pace. His other hand trailed up your waist, pinching at your erect nipple and rolling the piercing, the sight far too pretty and he was grateful for the past you who decided to pierce them in the first place.

You clenched around him, your pussy sucking him in as you rode out your own orgasm, eyes screwed shut and mind fuzzy. His thumb rubbed your clit at a consistent pace until it became overstimulating, you pushed him away lazily and he bent you over the sink to finish.

“Such a good girl my love,” Jay praised, voice low and strained as his head dips back. “So good,” He muttered, continuing with a few more deep thrusts before he pulled out just enough so his tip spilled his warm cum onto your ass, not quite inside but all over your hole that clenched at the loss of him. You could see him smile through the mirror, heavy breaths of satisfaction and a slight gleam of sweat covered his honey skin in the light.

His eyes met yours, the smirk on his lips only growing once he pushed his tip back inside momentarily, you letting out a loud moan feeling the remnant of his cum pushed deep inside you to drip out later.

He pulled you up, dick still buried inside and you could feel the last few twitches of his cock against your walls. The warmth was overwhelming, he hadn’t came inside you directly, but made sure to push enough in after the initial few shots to prove a point. You were on the pill, and Jay would most likely get you one tomorrow either way, but he was a cocky bastard who simply wanted his cum to drain out of you for the rest of the night either way.

“You okay?” He asks softly, a small but innocent kiss placed on your shoulder. His hands softly grazed over your body, adjusting your shirt and brushing the astray strands of hair from your face that stuck to your sweat. You nodded, far too fucked out to say anything and still in a daze from your own orgasm. “What, you don’t got any other smart ass remarks now?”

You rolled your eyes, turning your head ever so slightly to meet his gaze properly. “Shut up,” You mumble, lip tucked between your teeth as you playfully tsked. Jay laughed, placing a chaste kiss to your lips in the process. “Now clean me up, we have a walk of shame to do and a line of pissed off drunk people to see,”

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“I peed in a bush, you sick fucks,” Manon huffs, eyes narrowed at you from across the table where she was slumped over her books. You rolled your eyes, biting back your smile of amusement as memories of last Friday flicker in your mind.

Lara giggles to your left, nudging her shoulder into your own with a suggestive smile. “I support women’s wrongs, good for you for getting dick by one of the hottest guys on campus,”

“Ah yes, because we want you to be a druglord's wife once we graduate,” Manon snorts, the statement one that caused you to burst out in a fit of laughter, baffled by the sudden upgrade of distaste to this.

“You’re so dramatic,” Lara rolls her eyes.

“He sells weed, it’s not like he’s a kingpin, Mon,” You snicker. “Seung told me he’s gonna stop soon too I guess, ‘cause ya know, we’re gonna graduate at some point. I know you guys think he’s just a pothead but he is prelaw and on track with summa cum laude,”

“Every time you tell us that, I think it’s ironic considering he’s selling weed, illegally, to minors a lot of the time ,” Manon emphasized, leaning back in her seat as she played with the ends of her braids absentmindedly.

You purse your lips with a small shrug. You weren’t together, technically, and you weren’t required to defend him to quite literally everyone around you because of his reputation, but it was growing a little old hearing how much your friends disliked him. Sure it wasn’t a great relationship, but you weren’t sitting there begging him to be your boyfriend in some one-sided situationship.

Jay treated you well, better than he owed you considering you were fuck buddies more than anything. At no point did you expect anything, not more than you were willing to give, and to be quite honest, you didn’t want a relationship. You had no actual responsibility, no mental need to be mindful of another person when you barely kept yourself afloat these days.

You didn’t have to see him everyday, you didn’t have to remember to text back, and you sure as hell didn’t have to care about his feelings when you weren’t together. But it was your choice to keep him around, and honestly, you loved the way he acted to your beck and call when needed.

Lara, seemingly catching the subtle shift in your mood, cleared her throat. She nudged her shoulder into your own, a soft smile of quiet reassurance before she changed the topic entirely. You nodded, engaging in small conversation but your mind was elsewhere as you scribbled random drawings in the corner of your notebook.

Your phone buzzed from the tabletop, you picking it up while the two continued to talk unaware.

jjong<3: busy?

y/nnie: why you missing me already?

jjong<3: always

jjong<3: let me take you out for the night

y/nnie: hm fine. at the study hall, come get me🥱

You click off your phone, beginning to gather your things into your bag in order. Manon and Lara watched you, both silently sending each other looks but knowingly choosing to not say a word. And like clockwork, your head picked up to see Jay’s familiar figure stepping in through the entry doors.

His hair was messily slicked back, once done perfectly but had a hand run through it throughout the day. You rose a brow at the business casual look he was sporting–dark slacks, a black button up, and dress shoes with his bag slung over his shoulder, presumably just finished up with whatever assignment his class required for him to dress up for.

You spared a look to your friends who had followed your line of view. You smiled innocently, bidding them a halfhearted goodbye. “Sorry girls, I’m off to self-sabotage and let my walking red flag take me out for the night,” You wink, partially joking but the slight annoyance from the conversation seeped into your words.

You didn’t stay for their responses and sure remarks of you ditching the unprompted study session you were in the midst of. Instead you waltzed your way to Jay who met you halfway, a small smirk quirked at the corner of his lips as he gave you a once over, his eyes slow and deliberate.

“I’m gonna stop you right now,” You cleared your throat as soon as you were in talking range, a hand held up to create distance between you. “You’re not getting any sex from me tonight, Park Jongseong. Take it or leave it,” You state bluntly, you regretting it as soon as the words left your lips though once you got an up close view of him, the thought of unbuckling his belt and seeing his come undone in his formal attire flickering through your mind.

Jay raises a brow, head tilting in the smallest of ways as his eyes narrow at you. He takes a second, gaze searching your own for a moment. “I’m not that bad for you to assume that’s all I want you for, am I?” He chuckles, words meant to be joking but you felt the slight offense hidden in his expression.

You shrug, breaking his gaze suddenly embarrassed for insinuating. Sure your relationship was mainly sex, but Jay wasn’t that shallow to leave you just because you didn’t want to do anything, he was your sort of friend-by-association before anything.

Maybe everyone being in your ear emphasizing how you were basically a free use doll was starting to get to you.

He stays silent for a moment, you still avoiding his gaze and shifting your arms across your front uncomfortably. Jay sighs, rolling his eyes half-heartedly as he closes the space between you. “Stop overthinking whatever shits making your pretty little head spin,” He mutters, dragging the strap of your bag off your shoulder and instead slinging it over his own to carry. Jay then grabs hold of your hand, gently lacing your fingers and beginning to guide you out of the student center.

“For the record, I never expect anything from you whenever we see each other,”

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Your shoulder brushed against his arm every so often, sandwiched between Jay’s broad shoulders and the wall as he insisted on sitting on the same side of the tiny booth you sat at. Tucked away in the corner of the small Thai place you found a few weeks ago, the low lighting created a cozy ambiance with delicious aroma flowing throughout the fairly busy restaurant.

Jay was leant against the tabletop, body angled toward you and arm draped across the seats, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair absentmindedly. The orders of spring rolls, fried rice, and pad sew half eaten, both of you fed and engaging in small conversation.

After a lingering beat of silence, Jay lets out a long, frustrated, groan. His head tilts back, adam’s apple bobbing and jawline prominent. “Alright, what’s up doll?”

“Huh?”

Jay gave you a bored look, eyes trailing over you, studying your features as if he knew everything about you. “You’re thinking about something,” He mutters, his thumb pressing gently to your forehead to release the tension of your pinched brows you were unaware of. “What’s going on in that pretty little head?”

You shrug, turning your attention toward your plate and pushing around the few bites you hadn’t finished from before. The fork softly scraped against the porcelain, the sound causing you to wince. “Everyone keeps telling me you’re bad for me, and I’m getting tired of hearing it,”

Jay doesn’t respond at first, instead he scoffs, the light laugh that followed didn’t feel as nonchalant as it was supposed to. His eyes watch you, your gaze focused through the shop windows avoiding him. Your hands toyed with each other, shoulders dropping once you let out a long breath.

“It’s annoying, you know? We’re not even together, so I don’t get why it matters. And you’re not as bad as everyone makes you out to be,” You ramble, brows pinched once more growing seemingly annoyed as you speak. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want a relationship with you. I’m perfectly fine with what we have going on but everyone’s in my ear about us being together or not and it’s just like, a girl can want a casual fuck too, you know? Besides, you may be an asshole sometimes but the frat guys are ten times worse with no provoking. So I don’t know why everyone thinks you’re so bad for me like I’m a kid who doesn’t know any better. I’m an adult, actively making decisions, one including the friends with benefits thing we have so why is it so bad?”

Jay watched you for a moment, the way your shoulders tensed, the way you began to wave your hands around as you spoke, your lips pulled into a pout unknowingly. He couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corners of his lips, your words registered but held little importance to him where he stood in the predicament you found yourself in.

“Even if I were the perfect guy for you, everyone would have something to say eventually,” He shrugs, words stated so simply while you broke your simmering anger to give him a confused look. “You’re choosing this, I’m choosing you. Who cares what everyone thinks?”

You falter, shoulders shrinking not knowing what to say. Your lips part, a loss for words as you blink. “I don’t,” You stutter. “Not necessarily, it’s just, don’t you get tired of everyone asking if we’re dating?”

Jay shrugs, leaning back against the booth as he takes a sip of his drink. “Everyone knows you’re mine,”

You roll your eyes. “That, that’s the point,” You tsk. “We’re not together, Jongseong, you can’t keep feeding that theory by saying shit like that. We’re fucking exclusively out of respect for one another, not because we’re boyfriend-girlfriend. Your ‘claim’ on me can only go so far,” You ramble, arms folding across your front. “You can’t call me your girl with your whole chest like that. Just because we know each other physically and have a surface level relationship, doesn’t mean we’re anywhere near this imaginary couple everyone thinks we are,”

“We’re not together because you don’t want us to be,” Jay says through a clipped tone, words stated with an obvious edge while you gave him an incredulous look. He met your gaze, his steady and certain, a slight annoyance in his expression while your mind ran over analyzing in denial of the confession.

“Wh-what’re you talking about?”

“I’ve never said I was opposed to an actual relationship with you, our dynamic is the way that it is on your own accord,” He states bluntly. “We’ve been at this for months, if you were just a fuck and dump I would’ve been gone a long time ago, you know that,” Jay emphasized, still refusing to shift his piercing gaze from your own.

You had nothing to say. You couldn’t at least, not once did you overthink your relationship, not once did you allow any sort of delusional feelings fester out of your own pride. The thought of being a cliche girl left heartbroken far too embarrassing, not to mention you truly knew nothing about each other when it came down to it.

“We don’t even know each other,” You breathe out, lamely grasping at straws to justify your oblivious ignorance to his confession and presumed feelings all this time.

Jay pursed his lips, nodding along after a moment. He cleared his throat, sitting up straighter and gathering the leftover food items the waiter had dropped off before your sort-of fight began. There was a shift, an obvious wall wedged between you even if Jay hadn’t said so, moving around you with ease.

“You let me know what you want then Y/N,” Jay finally says. “Relationship or not, being with me means people will talk. You decide where this goes,”

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It’s been a week. The longest you’ve gone without contact with Jay since you moved in with Heeseung a few years ago considering every few days the apartment would be flooded with the group hanging out in your living room and eating all the snacks in sight after getting the munchies.

You felt like an idiot, a confused  jumble of a mess because you thought that you had full control over your life once upon a time. Hell, the whole reason you didn’t want a proper relationship was for this–the fighting, stressing, and miscommunications turned into upset feelings and petty frustration. He hadn’t reached out, no random texts every day, no call in the middle of the night to talk, no meet-up slash date.

You didn’t either, taking time and over analyzing every moment you’ve spent together. You were an idiot for how much denial you were in prior, Jay was certainly your boyfriend without the label, at your beck and call and nearly always the one to put himself in your realm to ensure you felt taken care of but you never did the same. You were deluded by the fact that you believed he never, in a million years, wanted a relationship with you, Park Jongseong didn’t do relationships—at least according to every person you asked on campus, so what would’ve made you think differently? 

You were embarrassed, too awkward to reach out now. Everyday that passed you felt worse, deeming it as too much time to ask for forgiveness when you didn’t even have a proper handle on your own feelings. You still didn’t know if you were ready for a relationship, not because you were opposed to one with Jay, but because you lacked emotional maturity that you were willing to admit. Your last proper boyfriend was from high school, and that barely even counted.

Your door was pushed open without warning, Heeseung leaning against the frame holding one of your cats—Koi, in his arms. “You kiss and make up yet?” He asks with a raised brow. You pursed your lips, shaking your head and turning back to the mess you had on your desk from the attempts of studying you’ve been doing the last few days as a distraction. Heeseung let out a long groan. “Stop being stubborn, he’s been in a bad mood all week and it’s starting to get old with both of you moping over whatever dumb shit you’re fighting about,”

“He wants a relationship,” You mutter, words quiet but enough for Heeseung to catch across the room. You didn’t bother to look back, a small weight lifting off your shoulders as you hadn’t uttered a word to anyone about the shift in your relationship no matter how many times they asked.

“Jay told you he wants a relationship?” Heeseung repeats, voice significantly closer as you hear the weight of your bed shift behind you. You nod once. There was a beat of silence, and then a breathless laugh that escaped from Heeseung’s lips as he dragged your chair around to face him. “Park Jongseong told you he wants to be official and what? You don’t? I don’t understand, you two were basically there after the first month of whatever the fuck you had going on,”

“I didn’t think we were like that!” You defend lamely, pulling at the sleeves of your hoodie and shrinking in your seat. “As far as I knew, we were supposed to be friends with benefits, nothing more, nothing less,”

Heeseung scoffs, rolling his eyes at your excuses. “The only reason I didn’t flip out after finding out the two of you were hooking up was because I knew him,” He emphasized. “Jay wouldn’t have been around you everyday just because you gave him pussy. He’s an asshole, he wouldn’t care about you if you didn’t mean something to him Y/N,”

“How was I supposed to know that?” You shoot back, growing frustrated hearing the words you’ve thought in your head spoken out loud. “He doesn’t talk to me! I barely know him, he always pushed me away when I tried to get closer to him more than sex and surface level conversations. I don’t know him, so why is it my fault for thinking this meant nothing?”

Heeseung paused, his eyes softening slightly as he watched you ball yourself up in the chair. He reminded himself you didn’t know the guys like he did, you hadn’t known Jay long, nor did you meet him at the right time of who he truly is. “He’s been through a lot,” Heeseung starts carefully, words soft and watching the way you rolled your eyes. “It’s stupid, but he’s a guy. He’s not gonna tell you everything out of his own ego, and probably because he doesn’t want to bother you with worrying about him,”

“It’s been months Hee,” You sigh, head buried in your arms. “I deserve a little more credit, don’t I? He should trust me to talk to me, especially if he’s been waiting all this time for us to be together,”

“I’m not saying he’s justified for keeping himself blocked off when you’ve been there for him,” Heeseung agrees. “But, as smart as Jay is, he’s not the type to talk about his feelings after he deems them over with. I guess that’s why he’s gonna be a good lawyer, he compartmentalizes, as soon as it’s done, he pushes it away and forces himself to move on even if it’s not healthy and seeps through the cracks sometimes,”

You take a second, lifting your head with a pout. “I shouldn’t have to deal with an emotionally fucked up guy and help him help me understand him,”

Heeseung snorts, shrugging his shoulders. “True, but you’re not exactly sunshine and rainbows to be with either kid,”

You narrow your eyes. “What’re you getting at?”

“You’re avoidant,” He says simply. “I love Uncle Seon but it’s obvious to everyone he isn’t the best at expressing himself. You got a lot of his good qualities but you also picked up on how scared of love he is after what happened with your mom,” Heeseung adds carefully, watching how you reacted to the mention but you didn’t seem to flinch like you used to as kids. “You’re a good person, a best friend, but you suck at romance. You’d rather have the person without the commitment, hence your string of hook-ups before you landed on Jay cause he didn’t run away when you tried to push him out at the start,”

You blinked, eyes trailing over Heeseung who sat on your bed nonchalantly, hands absentmindedly playing with Koi who was settled at the foot of your bed. “When the fuck did you become emotionally mature and suddenly have all the answers?”

He smiled, a small laugh leaving his lips. “Wisdom comes with age,” Heeseung jokes, causing you to roll your eyes considering he was only three years older than you. “I took a psych class last semester for the credits, it was about interpersonal relationships,”

You hum. “That makes sense. At least you actually go to class and learn, I thought your stupid business major only taught you guys the primary colors and networking,”“Yah! Next time you need help with math don’t come to me,” Heeseung scolds, though his laughter bubbles through as you smile cheekily. He hits your knee lightly, rolling his eyes. “Point is, asshole, at least talk to him. You guys are good together, in some weird, gross, way that I’ll never admit to again unless you get married and I get to give a speech and talk about how I’m the reason you two met,”

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You had no idea what you were doing standing outside the Political Science building at 4pm on a Friday but here you were. You found out from Jake that Jay had a big project due today, all the fellow PolySci students dressed in formal attire had been going in and out of the building. You rocked on the heels of your feet, surprised by how many people actually took Friday classes as you refused to enroll in any from your first semester.

Apparently, Jay had to come in the extra day for a lecture and presentation and according to Jake, his portion was supposed to end at 4:15. You had no idea if he was certain, Jake was notorious for being terrible with time, hence why he was late to nearly every event you guys planned as a group.

But here you stood, awkwardly sat on one of the concrete benches under a large tree in the courtyard. You had a direct view to the main building, again you taking Jake’s word for it and praying he got all the information right.

Ten days have passed. After your talk with Heeseung, and mulling over your own ego and pettiness for a while, you woke up today feeling confident in resolving the weird limbo you were in. You figured a text would’ve been too impersonal, instead–for some god forsaken reason, your morning self was certain you could talk face-to-face without so much as a warning to Jay that you’d be coming by.

So you sat, too stubborn to run back home like you wanted but also simmering in your own pit of anxiety as time passed. Your head lifted up every time you heard the double doors creak open, you had showed up early—just in case, and practically counted down each minute.

4:16. You attempted to remain calm, restraining yourself from calling Jake and flipping out on him stating he had the wrong time.

4:17. The minutes seemed to pass quickly now. Your gaze steady on the entrance which has stayed still for the past few.

4:18. You glanced at your phone, lip tucked between your teeth nervously and you found yourself scrolling to Jay’s contact. You contemplated pressing the call button, the tightness in your chest from your nerves doing good to convince yourself that this was an idiotic plan and you should’ve asked to meet in the first place.

Just as you were about to give in, a figure casted a shadow over your own where the sun previously shone. You looked up, part of you hoping it was Jay but you were disappointed seeing a face you were unfamiliar with. A brunette stood in front of you, dressed in the formal attire you’d seen other students wear as well.

One hand held onto his backpack strap that was slung over one shoulder. The other was nervously scratching the back of his neck as he sent you a sheepish smile. “Hi,” He spoke, voice deep but shy. His eyes were light in the sun, the brown mixing into a golden hue. “I’m Park Wonbin,”

“Hi,” You respond, confused by the sudden exchange. “Lee Y/N,” You add, a polite smile on your features wishing to hurry up whatever he came over for. The suit definitely helped present himself but you could care less. You spent the last week grueling over a man, you intend to never have to do that again. “Did you need something?”

Wonbin falters for a second, eyes casting down nervously as he slips his phone from his back pocket. “You’re-uh, you’re beautiful,” He stumbles over his words, your shoulders tensing and having to refrain from visibly grimacing knowing he was attempting to ask you out. He was cute, conventionally at least, and seemed polite from how he approached, but the last thing you needed right now was a confession when you were trying to make one to Jay. “I was wondering if I could get your socials?”

Your mouth opens, then closes, unable to find the right words to let him down gently. You give him an apologetic smile, one he didn’t seem to catch onto causing you to sigh. “I’m sorry, I’m actually waiting for someone that I’m dating,”

“Dating?” He repeats.

“Exclusively,” You add, still sporting the smile but it felt more like a grimace. You let out a huff, grabbing your bag to stand up and praying you didn’t miss Jay exiting the building in the short minutes that took up your attention. Or worse, he saw, considering how jealous he was from the start. “I have to go—”

Your words were cut short once you looked past Wonbin for a split second. A few feet away, at the edge of the grass that met the concrete courtyard, Jay stood with his bag lazily draped over his shoulder and other hand tucked in his pants pocket. His hair was combed up neatly, button up shirt unbuttoned at the top three, exposing his undershirt and chain–the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dress pants hung nicely on his hips. His eyes were narrowed, flickering between you and Wonbin who turned to follow your gaze.

“Ah, Jay-shi, hello,” Wonbin greets with a polite bow. Jay tilts his head slightly in acknowledgment, not bothering for a proper response and you wince.

Jay’s eyes traveled over him, narrowed and sharp, taking account of the phone in his hand with the familiar add contact and how close he stood next to you. They shifted to you, softening slightly but you saw the flicker, obvious annoyance and confusion seeing you standing outside his class building when you didn’t take any courses anywhere near nor did you have them on Fridays.

His gaze stayed locked on you, head tilting and your feet moved quickly to reach his side. You hesitated on linking your arm with his own, Jay arching a brow noting your nerves and you pursed your lips. With a bow, you gave Wonbin a clipped smile. “Nice to meet you,” You say quickly, wishing to be anywhere but here in the awkward stares and uncomfortable silence.

You felt Jay’s hand press to your back, urging you to get up from the goodbye he deemed unnecessary. You stood straight and he allowed his hand to hold your hip, guiding the two of you away without another word. Jay looked forward, not bothering to spare you a glance as his free hand took your bag for him to carry like second nature. You gaped, not knowing if you should speak now or explain yourself as if you’d been caught doing something bad.

“Jay I—”

“Next time be rude,” He interrupts, words clipped and filled with frustration that he was managing well. “Don’t waste your breath being polite when I’ll make sure you never have to speak to him again,”

You purse your lips, eyes staring up at him for a moment but he didn’t bother to meet your gaze. You nod, looking ahead and following his lead wherever he meant to take you. “Okay,”

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The joint was tucked between Jay’s lips, one hand on the steering wheel while the other sparked the lighter to begin burning the end of his handmade roll. His knuckles were white from how hard he was gripping the wheel, no words spoke between the two of you after he got you in the car and began driving.

Loud music blared from the speakers, the windows rolled down allowing for the cool breeze to run through your hair in a comforting mess. He didn’t bother putting on the usual playlist he knew you liked, the one filled with slow RnB and cheesy love songs, instead it was filled with rap, the type of upbeat and intense songs you assumed he mostly used at the gym to hype himself up to blow off steam.

Jay took a long puff to start the burning joint, the cloudy smoke filling the air between you though it dissipated fairly quickly with the windows down. He took another drag, sparing you glance for the first time as you rolled to a stoplight. He held his hand toward you, the spliff tucked between his fingers and you hesitantly reached out to take hold of the end but he quickly pulled away.

Your brows frowned, turning to Jay who stared back at you with an emotionless expression. He moves his hand once more, closer to your face and it registers that he was offering you a hit, but it had to be from him holding it. You leaned forward a bit, lips curling around the end and taking a deep inhale, the smoke flooded your lungs, Jay holding the joint steady even as the light turned green.

You pulled away, a small cough leaving your lips and you swore you caught the smirk that flickered at Jay’s lips as he watched you attempt to regain your composure. You gently pushed his hand away, him taking a long drag with ease causing you to roll your eyes.

“Are we gonna talk?” You finally manage, voice strained attempting to be louder than the song that blared through the speakers with heavy bass on every beat.

Jay spared you a short glance, joint tucked between his lips with a shrug. “Talk,” He says simply, you have to refrain from reacting to his obvious petty nature.

You pursed your lips, reaching for the stereo knob and turning down the music to a respectable level. “I didn’t come to get high with you,” You start. You nearly wince at the lame attempt at an ice breaker, Jay snorting at your words.

“You’ve pissed me off for the past week,” He shrugs. “If I was gonna hear you out, I needed this. Besides, I figured it would help you finally spit out whatever you came to say,”

“Well I’d rather not you be high for this,” You huff, growing annoyed with his attitude. “And I’d rather you actually be able to look at me and focus on me,”

Jay doesn’t say anything, instead he rolls his eyes. Smudging the half burned joint into the ashtray in the center consul, Jay pulled into a random shopping center. He parked the car on the far end, away from all the shops and foot traffic under a large tree, providing a sense of privacy under the golden sunlight as the sun had begun its descent.

He shuts off the engine, taking off his seatbelt and shifting so he could face you the best the seats allowed. Jay leans against the car door, an arm lazily draped over the wheel while the other combed through his disarray of hair. You purse your lips, a small sigh escaping them as you pull a leg up to sit half crisscrossed, the angle providing you to face him fully in the passenger seat.

Your hands wring together, suddenly nervous for the one thing you actually came to say. You let out a breath, eyes searching for his own but he was looking the other way. His jawline prominent, gaze focused on the trees that brushed in the breeze instead of you.

“Do you still mean what you said?”

Jay pauses. You saw the smallest quirk in his expression, brows frowning as he turned to you lazily. “I didn’t say that on a whim Y/N, I wouldn’t play with you like that,”

“Well, I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure the last week didn’t change your mind,” You shrug, fumbling with the hem of your skirt.

“10 days,” Jay corrects. You wince, knowing exactly how long it’s been but the way you put it seemed better than the emphasis. “You haven’t talked to me since,”

“Neither did you?” Your voice raises an octave, growing defensive while Jay merely hums, a humorless chuckle leaving his lips.

“I told you, you decide where this goes,”

You have to refrain from the groan that wants to leave your lips. You were terrible at touchy-feely serious conversations, that was obvious enough. “I thought about it,” You start, words slow and filled with hesitance. He watched, eyes glued on you though you couldn’t manage to meet his gaze as you stared down at your lap. “I think we both have our faults—lack of communication, fear of commitment, a hard time expressing our actual feelings when things are serious,”

Jay snorts, seemingly already knowing the downsides you were pointing out but doesn’t interrupt.

“So, I think we should work on that,” You add, the words a jumbled mess. “I like you, I do, but I want us to know more about each other. Sex and weed can’t be the only thing that connects us. I want to know about you, without having to force it out. I want you to trust me with whatever personal turmoil you have. I want to be with you, but we can’t just get together and have everything be the same. A relationship to me is more than this, I would be the person who knows you best, the darkest parts of you unapologetically and vice versa,”

Jay doesn’t say anything for a while. When you finally looked up, his eyes held your own. They flickered, searching for what to say and you shifted, embarrassed by the vulnerability and feeling small. “Okay,” he finally utters. “So we should date? Like a proper couple would, I should pursue you? A restart on the dynamic we have, no more sex until I prove to you what I feel,”

“Well—” You stutter, eyes wide and shaking your head. “I didn’t say all that—”

“But you deserve more than what we have now,” Jay interrupts. His voice was steady, clearly already made up in his head while you falter. “I’m sorry for making you feel like I didn’t trust you, like I didn’t want you to actually know me. I’ll do better with that, but if this’ll work you have to allow me to prove it and trust that I mean it. I never wanted you for just pleasure Y/N, not since the start, it was more than that for me but I didn’t know how to show it,”

You nod, the smallest amount of blush forming on the apples of your cheeks. You were nervous, heartbeat thumping through your ears and you had to refrain from hiding behind your hands. “Okay,” You manage out, avoiding his gaze that had shifted from serious to amused in an instant.

Jay leaned closer, the act alone causing you to look the other way as you acted as if the parking lot was fascinating. “Y/N,” He hums, the feeling of his breath tickling the skin by your ear, significantly closer than you anticipated causing you to flinch. He laughs, the sound overwhelming the flutter in your stomach. Jay reaches over, his hand gently tugging your chin, forcing you to look at him but your eyes squeezed shut and you could feel your face grow hot. “Look at me,”

You shake your head. You could hear the smile in his words. In the months of you two together, not once had he ever seen you like this. You were confident, sure of yourself, and rightfully so but now you seemed so shy and embarrassed. Jay couldn’t help but laugh, heart warmed at the sight considering he was the one to make you giddy like you were kids.

“I know I said no more sex but does that apply to kissing too?” Your eyes snapped open at his words, Jay sporting the prettiest smile you’ve seen and you nearly melted at the sight.

“I never agreed to no sex,” You mumble, tilting your head up with a small pout. Your faces were inches apart, the surly tone in your voice not going unnoticed and Jay raised a brow.

“Yeah?” He mumbles, the heat of his breath tickling your lips while you nod. Jay, with his hand still placed delicately along your jaw, pulls you close enough so your lips grazed as he spoke. “Too bad baby, I have to do this right,”

Your protests were interrupted by his lips meeting your own. You practically melted against him, a hand tangling to the back of his head to pull him closer and you felt his smirk against your lips. The kiss was intense, enough to say the unspoken words between you and to make up for the frustration from the past week. Your lips parted, attempting to deepen the kiss but Jay hummed, pulling away but not before nipping your bottom lip, dragging it out for a moment and placing a final chaste kiss.

A small whine of disappointment left your mouth as you attempted to pull him back but Jay shook his head. His fingers brushed a few strands of hair out of your face, your eyes fluttering open to match the sight of his blown out pupils.

“No more,” He finally says, voice raspy but certain. You pout, shaking your head but Jay doesn’t allow you to get closer. “You have to be patient baby, no more,”

You huff, slumping back into the seat with your arms folded. “Fine,” You mutter, visibly bothered while Jay couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.

“Glad to know you’ve been missin’ me,”

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“Remind me to stop lettin’ them get you high,” Jay mumbles under his breath, hands gripping your waist to keep you from practically jumping on him. You tsk, perched on your tippy toes to place a trail of sloppy kisses up his neck.

“S’not my fault,” You whine, words whispered in his ear. “You look good, and you’ve refused to let me do anything for the past month,” You add, pulling back enough for Jay to get a proper look at you. Lips pouted and swollen, eyes blinking up at him with a doe-y look, you knew exactly what you were doing.

“You get horny when you’re high,” Jay shakes his head, thumb trailing over your lip to fix the smudged gloss but you were quick to wrap your lips around his digit instead. He lets out a breathy laugh, in disbelief at your shameless nature as he takes a quick glance around. “We’re in public Y/N,”

“No one’s around,” You mutter, the words vibrating against his finger. “Let me make you feel good, we can go back to the car,”

“You’re fucking gross,” Jay tsks, though you noted the slight rasp to his words. He pulled his hand away, instead gripping your chin to connect your lips, the kiss hard, hungry and your teeth skimmed one another but you hummed in delight. Before it could proceed, Jay pulled away, pushing himself off the wall he was leant against with you following. “Behave,” He whispered in the shell of your ear, a chaste kiss placed to your temple as he pulled you along, forcing the two of you away from the hidden bathrooms you attempted to drag him to earlier.

You huff but follow without protest. His hand stayed steady against your lower back, protective and guiding through the now more crowded corridor as you made your way back to your seats. You glanced up at him every so often, still pouting over your umpteenth failed attempt. Jay had better self restraint than you thought, even if you had an obvious effect on him and it seemed physically painful to drag you off of him, he has.

You caught a glimpse of his neck, giggling at the sight of your shimmery kiss that stayed imprinted like a tattoo and he raised a brow, silently asking what was so funny but you didn’t elaborate.

The two of you reached the lower level, your friends spotted now all there and filled in their respective seats. Jake was the first to see you both, waving overly excitedly which caught the attention of the others.

At some point, between you and Jay’s agreement to actually attempt at a relationship, your friend groups have merged. Sunoo, Jungwon, and Riki have come around more, no more snarky remarks, no more awkward conversations, but genuinely integrated with Heeseung, Jake, Sunghoon and Jay. Lara and Manon have come around too, it took a while—Jay jumping through hoops of admittedly unnecessary tests, before he got the stamp of approval to court you. There had only been one other time of your friends all coming together thus far, and today was in support of Sunghoon’s hockey game, newly promoted to team captain and Heeseung emphasized how you all had to embarrass him for his first game as captain with large neon poster papers with his face plastered to it.

Somehow, Sunghoon managed to get enough tickets for you all in the lower bowl. How he managed to get them all seated together, you had no idea but you were sure he was regretting it with Sunoo and Manon both holding up signs and screaming rather loudly to get his attention in the players bench where the team was doing their pregame talk.

Two rows your group claimed, five sitting in one and the other four directly in front. The two seats in the second row were left unoccupied beside Jake and Heeseung. “What took you guys so long?” Lara calls out over the sound of the crowd that was filling in the stadium by the second. You merely smiled, shimming past the two to your seat while Jay followed without a word.

You heard a gasp, looking back to Jungwon who pointed at Jay with a grimace. “You guys are sick,” He tuts, the rest who sat above following his gaze and each reacting similarly.

“What? What’re we looking at?” Jake suddenly butts in, peering past you over to Jay with his brows frowned.

You snicker, turning to your almost-boyfriend who smirked. He turned his head, allowing Jake and Heeseung a clear view of his neck and the trail of kisses from your assault on him earlier. Jake gapes, reaching over to give Jay a dap-up while you roll your eyes, smacking their arms away.

Heeseung shakes his head, leaning back in his seat like a disappointed father. “You bring shame to the Lee name,” You scoff, narrowing your eyes and leaning over Jake to smack Heeseung’s elbow off the armrest he was leant against.

“I know you’re not talking, we find you like a damn dog in heat every party,”

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“If he doesn’t fold tonight I think it’s a loss cause,” Lara whistles, arms folding across her front as she takes a once over your body. You smile, applying your gloss and meeting her eyes in the mirror of your vanity.

It was a rare opportunity, a new club opening up near campus and the group all agreeing to hit it together for the first time. With both Sunghoon and Riki’s birthday coming and going, it allowed for the youngest to finally tag along on a night out and an excuse for a celebration before the semester ended and the holidays occurred.

Two months, two months of (mainly) innocent touches, cheesy dates that would’ve made you nauseous thinking about last year, and Jay morphing into the most perfect man as if he were made specifically for you. Countless dates, a million acts of service, and sweet nothings—you were absolutely smitten.

You knew it was your doing, telling him to take things slow, that you wanted to get to know each other first before anything official. And he’s proven that, deep conversations in the middle of the night led to vulnerability, Jay even managing to let himself cry to you for the first time when he explained his family situation and how he started selling to ensure he had money to keep him enrolled in uni.

It was a waiting game at this point. You had no idea when, or how he’d ask, but all that was left for you was to wait for him to make the final move. You’ve mentioned it, and you’ve attempted to seduce him more than once, but he’s held off. You loved the new parts of him, the parts of him that no one else knew and you were thankful he took the time to allow you both to understand one another, but god did you miss him.

Months of the best sex you had gone in an instant was horrendous for your admittedly high libido. You didn’t know how much you depended on your beneficial relationship until then. Not to mention knowing Jay the way you did now only increased your feelings for him, you wanted him for him, not just because he was hot and packed eight inches.

So you dug through your closet, finding the skimpiest little black dress you had no business buying the second you became an adult. Far too short, fitting your curves like a second skin, and deep cut in the neckline that gave a pretty view of your perky tits that sat beautifully thanks to your trusty push up that never failed before.

It was the middle of December, you truly should not be wearing that in the midst of winter and it was obvious enough what your motive was. You didn’t care, entirely shameless and excusing the lack of covering on your body with a large, thick, leather jacket and leg warmers that matched your chunky platforms. You wouldn’t be outside long either, inside the car and club would be warm enough.

Your skin glistened under the low lighting in your room, courtesy of the body shimmer Manon brought over, and your hair cascaded down in a half-up do that Jay has complimented more than once. Your make up was equally stunning, you letting a small sigh out of content as you stood, the jewelry you slipped on earlier adding a nice addition to your outfit and exposed skin.

You gave yourself a once over in your floor length mirror, spraying your signature perfume over your heat points before smiling.

“Oh yeah, he’s done for,” Manon states matter-of-factly, coming back from the bathroom where she finished getting ready. She stood beside Lara in the doorway, both dressed up as well but it was obvious you made an emphasis on your appearance for the night. “If he doesn’t fuck you tonight, call me instead,”

“Me too,” Lara adds, the three of you falling into a fit of giggles complimenting one another. You grabbed your small clutch, the other two mirroring your actions and gathering their things for the night out.

“Ladies, are you ready?!” Heeseung’s loud voice boomed through the walls, his footsteps sounding from his room that he had been cooped up in getting ready himself.

“Yes!” The three of your voices mixed in response, another round of giggles at the mimic while you heard the front door open followed by Jake’s loud voice. You heard a series of footsteps, far too many and male voices mixing together, presumably all the guys filing into your small living room on time.

Heeseung pops his head into your bedroom door. “Okay everyone’s here let’s—” He trails off upon seeing your outfit, you smiling innocently while he frowns his brows. “What the fuck are you wearing?”

“A dress,” You state matter-of-factly. Heeseung scoffs, turning to Lara and Manon who looked the opposite way, knowing well enough he would’ve had a problem with it considering the first time you moved here and attempted at a girls night out in that very dress, he forced you to change.

“You’re wearing a piece of fabric Y/N,” He scolds, visibly uncomfortable with the little coverage on your body while you roll your eyes.

“My ass isn’t out and my tits are covered?” You point out, doing a spin to show, although rather short, the dress still covered enough. “We’re going to a club Hee, with a mob of guys including you, I’ll be fine,”

“You’re going to get us in a fight,” Heeseung shakes his head. “You’re going to get Jay in a fight,” He adds, the thought suddenly popping in his head and you see the way he perked up. “Jongseong, come here and look at what your girlfriend’s trying to wear!”

You scoff, arms folding across your front like a child ready to throw a tantrum but it only draws more attention to the swell of your breasts. Heeseung, being the ever dramatic, gags as he holds a hand up, not wanting to look at anything aside from your face.

“Why would you two let her put this on?” He asks Manon and Lara who shared a look before shrugging.

“She’s grown,” Manon says simply. Lara nods, giving you an apologetic wince as you could hear a set of footsteps echo through the apartment with Jay stepping into view.

“What’re you talking about?” He asks before reaching the doorway. His eyes pick up, immediately falling on you and doing a long trail over your figure. You shift, feeling shy all of a sudden compared to your previous confidence with everyone else, you noted the shift in Jay’s eyes before they met yours, his irises darker than before but he shakes his head. “What’s this?”

“A dress?” You repeat, although significantly less certain this time.

“A hot dress,” Lara interjects, attempting to help you save face and not give in to changing.

“She’s covered, she’s grown,” Manon nods. “Her man will be there along with a group of idiotic guys and us, who will kick anyone’s ass for touching her. Let her wear what she wants, it’s the 21st century! Just cause she has a fat ass and tits doesn’t mean she can’t wear tight clothes and people should know revealing outfits doesn’t give consent so we’ll just start a brawl if anything,” She says the words so simply, leaving no room for discussion.

You nod, thankful for your friends who had your back. Your motive was for Jay specifically, and you knew he wouldn’t let you out of his grasp anyway, but it was nice to hear reassurance.

Heeseung sighs, turning toward Jay giving him the final say. You held his gaze, his expression unreadable but you didn’t waver under the intensity. Finally, he nods, it barely noticeable but you break out into a smile.

“Perfect,” You grin, grabbing your clutch and the jacket from your bed. Manon and Lara giggle, leading the way out of your room with Heeseung rolling his eyes but guiding the group to where the others were waiting. You step out of the doorway, Jay quick to grab your waist and drag you against him.

“You’re playing dirty,” He grumbles, the words whispered against your ear while you hum.

“Not my fault you have a pretty girlfriend,” You shrug, pulling away enough to glance at his features.

Jay raises a brow. “Girlfriend?”

“Ah, right,” You tut, hand reaching up to gently pat his cheek. “Sorry, you have no actual claim on me so hopefully I don’t get too much attention later,” You say with a faux pout, stepping out of his grasp but you hear the scoff that came from Jay.

“If you keep talking shit like that we won’t end up going,” He mumbles, hand falling to your waist but not allowing you any time to respond as he guides you to the living room where the rest filled. You bit back the cheeky smile that wanted to fall upon your lips, the click of your heels gaining everyone’s attention as they were waiting on the two of you.

“Okay good! Everyone take a pregame shot together,” Jake calls out from the kitchen island, the open floor plan showing everyone huddled around him with shot glasses already filled. You felt the pairs of eyes settle on you, Jay unamused as you felt his grip on your hip tightens while he pulls you closer.

“You get two seconds to stop staring,” He calls out, voice low as he watches the pairs of eyes flicker up and around awkwardly, finding anything else to stare at. “Don’t piss me off, I know she looks good but you know better,”

Manon whistles, clapping in delight at Jay’s warning. Lara laughs along with her, Heeseung rolling his eyes and grimacing at the thought of all his friends finding his little cousin attractive. You place a hand to Jay’s chest, reassuring him it was fine.

You clear your throat, stepping to the island and grabbing the two unclaimed shot glasses in front of Jake. Holding one to Jay, you smiled at the group, clearing the uncomfortable air.

“Shots?”

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God, he should’ve made you change. It was bad enough Jay was barely managing himself as it was, but that little black dress that clung to your skin was impossible to ignore. The past hour you’ve been here, you’ve had more than a handful of eyes on you and the ego boost Jay got every time you clung to him did wonders but with the more alcohol that entered your system, the more bold you got.

You were tipsy by the time you reached the club, the pregame shots doing its job in making you feel a buzz. The fruity cocktail you had him order you along with the rounds of shots Heeseung and Jake ordered, setting you over what was the typical amount you drank.

And just like with weed, you were horny when drunk—specifically when Jay was in the vicinity. You had been dancing, a messy group of you, Manon, and Lara. Heeseung and Jake were there with your trio, but the eldest long forgotten after he found a girl for the night and Jake came back to the bar to order another drink.

Each time you returned to the claimed table your group had, you grew closer and closer to Jay. Your hands lingered, the kisses you placed going from his lips to his neck. The last time you came for a sip of your melting Mai Tai, your hand grazed over his pants, feeling his dick that reacted embarrassingly fast to your touch. You sipped from the straw innocently, even engaging in conversation with Sunoo and Riki as if you weren’t attempting to pump him under the table before you disappeared back into the crowd with Manon and Lara at your sides.

Sunghoon nudged Jay’s shoulder, beer in hand that he had been nursing since they first got here as he nodded in your direction. “You guys together yet?” He asks over the blaring music.

Jay, flickering his gaze from you for a second to glance at him, shook his head slightly. He reached for his own glass, taking a sip of the lukewarm liquid with a scrunch of his nose. “Not yet,”

Sunghoon whistles, his eyes scanning over the packed club floor for a moment. “She still need more time?”

“Haven’t asked,” Jay shrugs, the words causing Sunghoon to give him a confused look. “What?”

“Why not?” He laughs. “You guys still not having sex too? Is that why she’s all dressed up and trying to climb on top of you tonight?” Jay rolls his eyes, giving Sunghoon a warning look who merely holds his hands up showing no harm. “I’m just sayin’ man, you know she’s fine, she knows she’s fine. You need to get on that before she gets bored of waiting and finds someone else to mess with,”

“She’s the one who told me to take it slow,” Jay scoffs, suddenly defensive over your relationship as his eyes locked on you in the crowd.

“And you have,” Sunghoon agrees. “You’ve done the cute dating bullshit for the past two months, you’ve opened up to her about everything. You two seem pretty damn close so why not make it official? I’m tired of you taking hour long showers beating your dick everyday, we have one bathroom and too many people in the house,”

“It’s me, you, and Jake,” Jay snickers, finding Sunghoon’s dramatics amusing while the slightly younger of the two nods in emphasis.

“You two keep wasting all of the hot water! Jake has always taken forever but you? I know what you’re doing you sick fuck,” Jay snorts, unable to keep his laughter from bubbling over while Sunghoon lightly shoves his shoulder. “I’m serious. You’re definitely happier now too but you’re still an asshole sometimes. I think the blueballs are getting to you,”

Jay merely nods, not bothering with a defense as his eyes stay glued to your figure. Manon and Lara were dancing, bodies pressed together as Lara was rolling her hips onto Manon to the beat of the song, you yelling in delight giggling at your friends. Your hips swayed along to the music, albeit a bit sloppy due to how much alcohol you had in your system but you were having the time of your life.

Until a random guy suddenly came up to your left, far too close for comfort and you stepped to the side, still in your own little world believing he wanted to dance near you not on you. Manon was quick to catch it, pulling Lara up and Jay watched as the girls pulled you close, away from the unknown man between them. He spoke, Lara frowning her brows and holding up at hand to keep distance.

Aside from Heeseung who had disappeared not long ago, the rest of the guys sat at the table, conversing and watching the nightlife as well as you three in their direct sight. Sunoo leaned across the table, brows frowned as he looked to Jay to ensure he was seeing what they were.

He was, eyes zeroed in on the back of the guy's head but not moving quite yet. You were having fun, still unaware as you danced and Manon and Lara did good at keeping you guarded. If the man walked away, there would be no need for Jay to step in.

“Hyung?” Jungwon says carefully, brows frowning seeing Manon begin to argue with the man.

“The fuck is he doing?” Jake scoffed, words slightly slurred as he pulled himself up. Jay shook his head, standing as well to make his way over. Sunghoon followed, the most level headed as he wasn’t nearly as drunk as Jake and although he’d defend his friends for anything, it wasn’t nearly the same as it was for Jay protecting you.

The youngest three stayed at the table, keeping watch of your belongings but also ready to step in if need be. Riki shook his head, Sunoo’s brows pinched together worriedly, and Jungwon scanned to see if Heeseung was anywhere near.

Jay was bad enough, Heeseung would only add to it as he tended to be irrational when it came to you, especially while drunk.

“Get the fuck away,” Manon’s voice pulled you out of the daze you were in. You frowned, vision slightly blurry as you turned, hyperaware of the fact that you were sandwiched between your two friends though no one was happy and carefree anymore.

“She’s good,” Lara repeats, hand still up creating distance with the unfamiliar man who stood a mere foot away.

“She’s been dancing alone, I can keep her company while you two dance,” The guy offers, an innocent smile on his lips but you frown.

“She has a man,” Manon emphasizes. “She’s fine dancing with us, go away,”

“Why’s she here by herself then?” The guy snickers, looking around for anyone that would’ve been paying attention to you three. The people around you paid no mind, far too drunk and in their own groups to notice the hostility forming. “C’mon, she’s wearing a dress like that here by herself? She wants company,”

“What I’m wearing has nothing to do with you?” You scoff. Lara was quick to grab your arm, a notorious reputation in the Lee family was to pick fights when intoxicated. There’s been less than a handful of times where you actually tried to fight someone bigger than you at parties, typically when a guy was making someone else uncomfortable. “I don’t fucking know you, go away,”

“I’m just trying to have fun baby, don’t act like that,” The man’s tone changed when talking to you, appearing genuine but you rolled your eyes with visible disgust.

“Jay!” You call out, pushing out of the barrier Manon and Lara had on you. You go to move past the guy, certain that the table he’d be at was straight ahead but you’re stopped once the unfamiliar creep grabs you. “Are you fucking dumb? Get off of me!”

Manon and Lara were yelling as well, your elbow flying into the man’s face as you flailed in his hold, the hit to his nose enough for him to stumble. You didn’t have time to turn around and hit him like you anticipated, instead you felt a different pair of hands pull you back. You nearly began to yell again but you turned to see Sunghoon, his hands holding you in place by your shoulders but his eyes were focused ahead.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You heard Jake’s voice over the music. He stood in front of Manon and Lara, shoving the guy back another few steps. Jay stood in front of you, blocking your view but you could see the stiff positioning of his shoulders. “They told you to get lost and you think grabbing her is the answer?”

“Who the fuck are you?” The guy shoots back, hand holding his nose before pressing the damp blood that came from his nostril. “That bitch hit me!”

“No shit,” Jay scoffs, voice dangerously low and humorless through his dry laughter. “Your fucking lucky she’s the one who did it,” He spits while the man takes a second, eyes narrowing at Jay as he analyzed his features longer than necessary.

“Ay, hold on,” He laughs, holding up his hands to show no harm. “You’re Jay, aren’t you? You sell right? Man I haven’t seen you in a while,” The last part was quieter than the rest, the words causing Jay to roll his eyes before it clicked in realization. “That your girl? She’s strong man,”

“What’d I tell you last time Rinu?” Jay lets out an exasperated sigh. “You owe me money, and now you hit my girl? You’re begging like a bitch for me to do something,”

“I didn’t hit her,” Rinu corrects. “I didn’t know she was your girl either, she’s wearing that dress and been looking at me all night so—”

“In your fucking dreams,” You laugh, throughly baffled by his attempt to spin the blame on you. “You’re a fucking pervert who doesn’t know how to take no for an answer,”

Jay turns his head, catching a glimpse of you who struggled in Sunghoon’s grasp, standing on your tippy toes to throw insults over his figure that blocked your sight. He smirks, a hand held out for you to take and Sunghoon lets you leave his side. Jay sighs, his arm slithering around your waist and you fit perfectly into him, his hand holding you tight knowing you could pounce any second to attempt another swing.

“I’ll let your brother know,” Jay nods, the words causing Rinu’s previous smug expression to drain from his face. “I’m sure he’d be happy to handle it for me,”

“Jay, man, come on—”

“One of you wanna walk him out?” Jay interrupts, the words spoken to Sunghoon and Jake who nod in response. Sunghoon moved first, pushing Rinu forward without a word, shoving him through the crowd with Jake tagging along happily, practically bouncing on his feet to talk shit and ensure the club security knew to not let him in again.

“That was fucked up,” Manon huffs, hands running over her hair to straighten out any loose strands.

Lara nods with a sigh. “You need to stop fighting people,” She scolds, pointing a finger at you as you send them an apologetic smile.

“I knew the guys would handle it,” You defend meekly but know well enough your temper gets the best of you at times. “I’m sorry, thank you for defending me at first though. He just wouldn’t take no for an answer,”

“Yeah weirdo,” Manon scoffs. “Who was that guy?” The question was directed to Jay who still had you pulled flush against him.

“His brother used to buy from me a lot, I sold to him a few times but he started flaking on the money. I stopped selling to both of them because of it but he’s scared shitless of his brother. You can imagine how me telling him I wouldn’t sell to him because of Rinu went for them,” Jay shrugs, the old memories of him first selling popping in his head.

“Right, well hopefully his brother fucks him up then,” You mutter bitterly. You wrap your arms around yourself, the outfit you picked suddenly not as comfortable as before causing you to shy away.

The three noticed, Lara holding out her hand to give yours a squeeze. “C’mon, let’s take a break and drink a little more. Fucker ruined my buzz,”

Manon hums in agreement, the two leading the way back to the table where the last three of your group waited, practically buzzing to hear the context of what happened. Jay held you close against him, hands resting on your hips as the two of you shimmed through the crowd.

Just before you reached the table, he pulled you back and placed a lingering kiss on your shoulder. “I’m sorry he touched you,”

You pout, spinning around to face Jay as your hands cup his cheeks. “It’s not your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong,” You reassure, leaning up to place a kiss to his lips. “You guys came in time and we’re fine, let’s not let that ruin the night, okay?”

His eyes closed for a moment, basking in the feeling of your soft hands that caressed his skin. Almost instantly, the simmering anger that stayed beneath the surface began to subside, Jay letting out a breath and his head moved to place a kiss to your palm. “Stay with me for the rest of the night, yeah?”

You smile, nodding along with a little giggle escaping your lips. “You gonna show me your dance moves then, pretty boy?”

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“I’ve decided on my New Year’s resolution!” You grin, your voice carrying through the empty apartment as you waltz into the kitchen. Jay hummed, back turned to you as he stood at the stove, the delectable aroma filling your senses and you nearly went back on your word at the sight of him.

Loose pajama pants hung low on his hips, a black tank top allowed for a view of his arms and shoulders that flexed as he moved. To top it off, the messy bed head and apron over his clothes were disgustingly adorable.

“What’s that, love?” Jay calls back, not expecting you to be standing at the kitchen island so he jumps as he turns around. You smile, leant over the counter and your hair still wet from the shower you just had. The large white t-shirt you borrowed from him was damp in the areas where you pulled your hair forward, the areas see through to your breasts as you wore nothing underneath and he had to force himself to look in your eyes. The new jewelry of your piercings were cute, dazzling hearts on either side of your nipples that poked out beneath the material.

“I’ve decided,” You start, walking around the island to reach him by the stove. Jay nearly dropped to his feet, a dangerous outfit you were wearing as he shared his apartment with Sunghoon and Jake but you were told they wouldn’t be home til the afternoon. The only thing he knew you were wearing was his shirt, he prayed you weren’t cruel enough to walk through his house without your panties as well. “I’m gonna respect myself, no more messing with boys unless we’re in a committed relationship,” Jay paused, eyes narrowing at you who stood with a cheeky smile. “No more kisses, no more touching, and no more sleepovers. I’m off limits until I’m off the market starting right now,”

Jay scoffs in disbelief, turning to shut off the stove, interrupting the breakfast he was amidst making for you. Two weeks ago after the club night out, sleepovers had become a regular routine for the two of you. Nothing went further than the deep make-out sessions and dry humping that forced Jay to lock himself in the bathroom like some loser teenager. He was planning out the way to ask, waiting for the holidays to end to form an anniversary date that wouldn’t share the busy season in the future.

But you, it seems, couldn’t wait another few days. Practically forcing his hand with the no kissing no touching rules, those being his saving grace to keep himself grounded thus far. It would be impossible, especially tonight at the New Year’s Eve party you’d all be attending and the outfit he helped you pick out.

It was cruel, a low blow, but Jay had to give it to you for knowing what you want. He pulled the apron over his head, tossing it onto the counter and taking a step closer to you who still stood with the same cheeky expression, arms folded across your front and ensuring he saw the swell of your tits through the material.

“You know, I had a whole date planned,” Jay starts, you humming as a pathetic attempt to seem sad for him. He corners you against the island, arms trapping you on either side of the marble top but not close enough to touch you. “January 4th,” He sighs, tilting his head with a faux pout. “Day trip, I was gonna take you out to the beach, we’d have a picnic. I even had a necklace ready to give you and a flower order placed. Few days away from the holidays, far enough from anyone’s birthday so I’d be able to spoil you with trips for our anniversary,”

Your resolve falters hearing his words. Your lips part, unable to come up with a proper response hearing his play-by-play and how much thought he put into the day that was quite literally a dream for you. Jay tsks, eyes holding your own with no sense of remorse, instead they were amused, practically egging you on to take back your words.

“This’ll be a funny story to tell our kids, December 31st is our anniversary ‘cause your mom couldn’t wait anymore, forced my hand in asking her in my shitty college apartment,” He mimics, a snort leaving his lips at the hypothetical while your heart picks up at the mention of Jay banking on the long term with you. “You can’t say no now, tell me you’re mine and I’ll give you what you want since you’re so desperate you had to find a way to make me ruin all our plans,”

His voice was low, head dipped dangerously close to yours but he still wasn’t touching. His body invaded your space, almost suffocating but he respected your rule. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, head tilting to feel his lips against your own but Jay clicks his tongue.

“Tell me we’re together, Y/N,” Jay hums, words raspy and practically mumbled into your mouth but he stayed far enough away to ensure they didn’t quite touch.

“Jay please,” You force out, the whine in your voice almost pornographic and your thighs squeezed together where you stood. “We can do your plan on the fourth, call it our actual anniversary but I need you,” You beg, arms trailing up and falling to his neck. You attempted to pull him closer, to reach up for a kiss but Jay stayed steady. “Please baby, it’s too much. It’s been too long, I miss you—I need you, I know you want me too so please,”

Your attempt at getting him to fold first failed. Exceptionally so but your cloudy judgment refused to let you acknowledge how utterly fucked out you sounded already, something he’d be sure to tease you about later but you didn’t care. You leaned up, straining on your tippy toes to begin a sloppy trail up his neck, sucking at a particular spot below his ear you remember being his favorite. One of your hands trailed down, grazing over the indentation of his muscles, each flexing at your touch until you reached his pants. You paused at the waistband, palm trailing down and you moaned at the feeling of his fully hard cock that was strained in the material.

You peered up at him, hand working through the pajama pants and lips pouted. “Please? Let me make you feel good Jjongie,”

He would’ve been insane to say no. Park Jongseong put up a good fight but the morality he had for your relationship was out the window as soon as you looked up at him. Months, three months he lasted, countless cold showers and growing nearly desensitized to the feeling of his own hand led to this.

“You’re such a slut sometimes,” Jay finally says, the words an insult but you grinned. One of his hands pushed you down to your knees, the other ridding his pants and underwear at once, his erect length smacking against his torso. “You missed my dick that much? Making you act dumb for it?”

You didn’t respond, eyes fixated on his pretty pink tip that was begging for a release. Jay pulled you up, shifting so you sat on his foot and he nearly laughed at the lack of underwear you had on. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, suddenly shy but he shook his head.

“C’mere,” Jay mumbles, a hand on the back of your head while the other guides his cock into your mouth. You licked a long strip up his shaft, tongue swirling around the head before spitting extra spit on it. You peered up at him, a smirk on his lips with heavy breaths heaving his chest. You opened your mouth, taking in his girth and you gave yourself a second to adjust but Jay had other plans.

His hips jutted forward, pushing himself deep down your throat without warning and your eyes snapped shut. He pulled back, a hand gently caressing your cheek. “You okay, pretty?”

You nod, a slight soreness beginning in the back of your throat but you loved the way he was handling you. This is what you wanted, to show how eager you were to please and for Jay to use you as he wished. Three long, bullshit months without his dick was hell, you hoped it’d never happen again.

You open your mouth, one of your hands gripping the base of his shaft as you begin to take him in again. You moved up and down, a slow but deliberate pace which allowed you to take him deeper each time. He smiled, head lulling back remembering your lack of a gag reflex as he reached the back of your throat, your cheeks hallowing and staying put for a second on your own accord.

Once you pulled out you spit the excess saliva onto his shaft, your hand pumping up and down creating a slobbery mess along his thighs as well as your chin. “Good job baby, makin’ me feel good with that pretty little mouth,” He praises, the hand on the back of your head having a light hold on your hair. He shoved his dick back into your mouth, guiding you back and forth at a pace he enjoyed and you hallowed out your cheeks, allowing for his hips to move in sync and fuck your mouth. He pressed himself all the way down, your eyes stinging with tears at the feeling of his tip pushed down your throat that clenched unintentionally.

He pulled out, a small pop sounding at suck you had on his tip. You felt him twitch, your lips quirking with a smirk knowing well enough it would be easy to get him to cum, his pent up frustration easy to unfold. You stared up at him, eyes doe-y and wide, lashes fluttering and a beautiful mess of spit that glistened from your lips and chin. You sat beneath him, back arched and shirt hiked up so he got a perfect view of your ass and pushed up tits through the still see-through shirt.

Jay doesn’t say a word, instead his arms hook around your waist and he pulls you up with ease. You yelp in surprise, the cool marble countertop causing goosebumps to arise on your skin while you stare at Jay with the same look. He leans over, a trail of kisses starting from your ankle, working his way up to your inner thigh.

“Jay,” You squirm, his series of open mouth kisses creating a circle around your heat. “Stop teasing,” You pout, hips bucking as he used one hand to push them back down.

He tsks, eyes flickering up to meet your own before placing a kiss to the top of your vulva. A loud gasp leaves your lips, head falling back but growing frustrated as he moves back to your thighs. “You’re so needy,” He hums, breath fanning against your lips as one of his fingers skims over your center. A laugh leaves his lips as reaches your hole, the collection of arousal drenching the digit enough for him to slip it in with ease.

“Oh my—” A loud moan escaped your lips, hips rolling, feeling his finger curl, the size of his hands much larger than yours and doing so much more than you ever could. Your pussy clenches around him, a measly finger enough to make you a mess and he can’t help but smirk at the sight of you pulling him in. “Fuck, fuck, please. More Jjong, please,”

Jay licks a strip up your folds, finger still inside and pumping in and out slowly. Your moans fill the room, his tongue flattening against your core, flicking up and down your clit as if he were starved. He hums against you, the vibration causing your hips to buck and legs clench, Jay forcibly holding your legs down to continue. He was good, one of the only guys to make you cum on his tongue before, but something about the desperation he was giving was intoxicating. His finger fluttered in and out of you, a second added in the mix while he practically made out with your clit. Licking, sucking, listening to your reactions and curling his fingers hitting just the right spot.

“Oh fuck,” You rush out, hands finding his hair and tangling through the strands. “Oh my god, baby, please don’t stop,” Your hips bucked, moving in sync with his mouth that refused to come up for a breath of air. His nose nudged against your clit every so often, tongue swirling up and down with his fingers pumping in you at an overwhelming rate. A loud moan escaped your lips, your walls clenching around his digits and Jay continued to lick your clit slowly, ensuring your orgasm road out as long as it could as your legs closed due to the sensitivity.

When he finally pulled away, the bottom portion of his face was wet with your slick. He gently pulls his fingers out of you, making sure to suck the drops of you clean before he stood up. Your eyes met his own, pupils blown out and heavy breaths filling the space between you.

“You okay?” He asks softly, leaning over your body and placing a kiss to your lips. You hum against him, tongue swiping against his own and you felt his smile. “Good, we’re not done yet,” He mumbles, the feeling of his shaft swiping up your slick folds causing you to gasp. He smears the precum off his tip, giving his dick a few pumps as he grazes the tip against your pussy.

“You’re so pretty baby,” Jay praises, one hand squeezing your hip while the other guides his tip to your hole. Gasps left each other's lips, your eyes half-lidded as you stared up at him. His hips push forward, pushing himself further into you at a dangerously slow pace. Your pussy clenches around him all the way until he bottoms out, stilling for a moment to gain his composure. “Fuuck, I’ve missed you,” He mumbles, head tilting back and eyes shut in pleasure.

Your moans fill the air between you, your hips moving to create some type of friction causing him to hiss. “H-hold on baby,” Jay stutters, eyes still shut and you see the way he forced himself to hold back. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, your hand trailing down his prominent muscles with a pout. “I haven’t felt you in a while, gonna make me cum too fast,” He explains in a hushed voice, gaze meeting your own and noting the smirk that picked up on your lips.

“Guess you’ll just have to give me more than one then,”

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Three rounds. Three you managed in under two hours. One in the kitchen, one in the bedroom, and one in the shower attempting to clean up from the other two. It was a record for the both of you, the urgency due to how pent up you both were along with the fact you wanted to finish before either Jake or Sunghoon had come home.

Jay had just finished cleaning up the kitchen when the pair walked in. The two complained about the windows having been opened in the midst of winter but Jay snorted back stating it was either be cold or them coming home to the smell of sex.

There was a series of yells, disgusted by the fact that the two of you fucked somewhere in the shared space before shifting to thanks of a higher being for Jay getting pussy for the first time in months. Jake had personally come to thank you, wishing you a happy sex life so his best friend wouldn’t be a “pent up prick all the time.” The conversation then shifted to congratulations on your relationship, genuinely happy for the two of you and boasting that they were the first to know but you shut them down before they could text the group chat and wreck havoc.

Jay explained, with minimal details, that your anniversary would technically be the fourth. Sunghoon snorted at the fact that you both were too horny to wait but also stated how utterly stupid it was to wait until you were a couple in the first place considering you had been fucking for a long time prior.

Now here you were, sitting in the passenger seat comfortably lacing your fingers with Jay’s who drove. Meanwhile, Manon, Lara, and Sunoo were crammed in the back. The other half of your group crammed in Sunghoon’s car—though Jungwon volunteered himself as the DD so he drove for the night.

“You guys make me sick,” Manon huffs, tossing the empty water bottle she had been hydrating with in your direction.

You sent her an innocent smile, tossing the bottle back as Sunoo and Lara laugh at the sight. You hear Jay’s chuckle, his eyes flickering from the rear view mirror to see Manon’s finger flick you off but you paid her no mind. You smiled at him, this time genuine and he spared you a glance as you rolled to a spotlight. He peered to the backseat, a smirk forming on his lips before leaning in, placing a chaste kiss to your lips earning a series of grumbles and gags from the back.

You looked to the front, the light still red and you took the opportunity to pull Jay back. You connect your lips once more, his smile felt against your lips and your free hand holding up the middle finger in response to your friends who groaned with dramatics.

He pulled away as the light flickered green, instead lacing your hand with his own and placing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Sick!” Manon huffs.

“Wait, when’d you get this bracelet?” Sunoo suddenly asks, pointing to you and Jay’s interlocked hands, the dazzling sparkle of your newly gifted tennis bracelet shining in the nightlight.

Lara hums, patting Sunoo’s shoulder. “I forget you went home for Christmas,” She giggles, wiggling her brows suggestively. “It was her present from Jay,”

“Along with a Prada bag and a gazillion new make up items,” Manon snorts, you sticking her tongue out at her which she mirrors.

“I also got her lingerie,” Jay adds nonchalantly. You gape, smacking his shoulder while he laughs. Lara gasps, the final gift being unknown while Sunoo cringes.

“Was it cute?” Manon asks and you nod.

“Hot,” You smirk. “I’ll show you guys later, it’s comfortable too,”

Jay whips his head at the mention of you sharing his outfit choice. You giggle, rubbing his shoulder reassuringly while the girls snicker from the back.

“Sorry Jay, before you there was us. We got all the nudes and pre-approved them,” Lara shrugs.

“I literally pierced her nipples,” Manon snorts. “You’re welcome for that by the way,” Your eyes widened, Sunoo choking on his spit in the corner where he sat.

Jay stiffened, sparing you a glance while you fumble for your words. “Manon!” Was the best you could come up with, voice an octave higher and Lara laughing from her seat in the middle.

Manon pauses, turning to Sunoo and wincing. “Sorry?” She offers. “I forgot not everyone here has seen you naked, my bad,”

“Naked?” Jay interjects.

Lara sighs, patting his shoulder with a shake of her head. “We’re girls Jongseong, this is normal, don’t take it personal,”

Manon hums in agreement, you smiling sheepishly as he glances at you. You shrug, pulling his hand closer toward your chest.

Sunoo, now knowing far too much information about the three of you, wished he switched places with Riki earlier. Jay doesn’t say anything for a moment, stiff silence falling over the car before he smirks.

“Good job on the piercings,”

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“Do I have to piss on your leg like a dog or what?” Jay scoffs, allowing you to drag him away from the random guy who attempted on hitting on you after he disappeared to the bathroom for two minutes. You snort, shaking your head and guiding your way through the sea of people.

There was a surprising amount at the frat party. You would’ve assumed most would’ve been home for the break, but that didn’t stop the house from being filled to the brim and everyone packed in like sardines. Loud music blared throughout, the sound traveling to the backyard where your seats were left.

Jungwon, Riki, and Sunghoon sat in the far corner around the fire-pit that was claimed early on in the night. You and Jay being the only couple, choosing to shy away from the crowd inside, were joined by each due to their introverted nature or simply because they didn’t want to deal with the scene inside.

You made your way back, settling into your seat, well Jay’s even though you had your own but he refused to have you anywhere aside from his lap. You were covered up, outfit certainly more acceptable for the cold weather and snuggled into his embrace. You felt him shift beneath you, a familiar baggy being pulled from his jacket causing you to raise a brow.

“I said I’d stop selling this new year, not smoking,” Jay winks, placing a kiss on your temple as you roll your eyes. The lighter igniting caught everyone’s attention, Jay helping you start with the first puff, the smoke filling your senses with a deep inhale. Jay lifted his gaze, glancing over at Jungwon and Riki. “You guys smoke?” He asks as he takes a hit of his own, passing the joint to Sunghoon.

Jungwon shakes his head, Riki holds up his puff bar instead that he pulled from his pocket. Your eyes light up, seeing the pretty light pink vape and Jay shakes his head knowing you were enticed by the color. “What flavor is that?”

“Peach-guava,” Riki answers, rolling his eyes at Jungwon who snorted at the fruity flavor. He passed the bar to Sunghoon, who exchanged the joint to him before handing it over.

You grin, taking a deep inhale and instantly feeling the smoke flood your senses. The fruity smell mixed with the flower, Riki taking his first hit from the joint with a cough immediately leaving his lips. Sunghoon hold out his half empty water bottle to the youngest, you blowing out a long puff of air directly in Jay’s face as he grimaced.

You giggle, enjoying the flavored air and hold the vape for Jay to try. Him shaking his head, gently pulling the puff bar from your hands to make its way back to Riki. “I don’t like nic,” Jay mumbles, scrunching his nose at the fruity air that still lingered.

“Baby,” You tease, sticking out your tongue while Jay rolls his eyes.

“Shits nasty,” He says simply. “It’s worse for you too,”

“Oh and smoking weed like a habit isn’t?” You snort.

“It’s not as bad as long as you’re not addicted,” Sunghoon chips in, taking a long drag from the joint before it finally reaches you and Jay. You pout with a small huff. Jay smiles, his arm tightening around you to pull you closer.

He lifted the spliff to his lips, taking an inhale before leaning up, his lips ghosting against your own to exhale the smoke in your mouth. You smile, connecting your lips fully as Jay hums against you.

“Gross,” Jungwon boos, Sunghoon and Riki chuckling at the sight of you two.

“Shut up man,” Jay teases, lifting the joint to your lips for a puff. You oblige, maintaining the eye contact that Jay forced himself to break, swallowing hard causing you to smile.

You placed a chaste kiss to the shell of his ear. “Another round before the new year?”

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“Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty,” Jay groans, feeling your slick against him as you grind your hips down on his shaft. The two of you managed to slip away from the others twenty minutes ago, giving yourself thirty minutes before midnight when they’d be sure to come looking for you.

Perched in the backseats of Jay’s car, you had just pulled yourself up from giving him head. Your legs wrapped around his waist, you naked aside from your panties that were pulled to the side while Jay still had his shirt on and pants pooled down at his ankles.

Jay, ever the courteous, was kind enough to lay down a spare blanket he had tucked away in the trunk months ago after a day trip to the beach with the guys, considerate of your friends who would be making their way home with you later on.

His hands trail up your skin, the dim lighting from the street lamp being the only illumination in the car parked along the quiet street aside from the frat house in full swing. Jay pulled you closer, arm wrapped around your waist and shifted so he was able to take one of your nipples in between his lips. Your head lulled back, humming in delight feeling his tongue swipe against the cool metal bar, toying with your piercing and his other hand gently rolled the other nub between his finger tips.

You lifted your weight off his lap momentarily, hand falling to his hard shaft and guiding the tip between your lips. You smile, feeling him hum against you, the pool of arousal between your legs more than enough lubricant as you slowly inched down on his dick. Breathy moans fill the air, your eyes pinching shut at the fullness and Jay’s grip on your hips tightening. You stilled as you bottomed out, allowing you both a second to settle at the feeling of his cock buried all the way inside you.

Your hips rocked, slowly at first. The curve of his dick hitting just right, tip kissing your cervix and clit rubbing against his pelvis creating more friction. You couldn’t remember the last time you rode him, making a mental note to do so more often and Jay’s half lidded eyes stayed focused on you. His hands stay put on your waist, guiding you back and forth, encouraging you to move against him at a consistent pace.

You felt him twitch, your eyes opening to see Jay fixated on your stomach. You roll your hips, moaning at the feeling but Jay presses his palm against your lower abdomen, the feeling causing the fullness of his dick to increase.

“Oh fuck,” He breathes out. “I’m all the way in you, huh?” He smirks, the belly bulge something new he hadn’t seen before and couldn’t help but boost his ego at the sight.

You let out a breathy laugh, lifting your hips slightly before pushing back down. Jay moans, the sight of him filling you euphoric, his hands helping guide you up and down, slow at first, deliberate with each stroke before his hips began to meet you halfway. The lewd noises of your skin hitting filled the car, the wetness between you heard, your arousal dampening your thighs.

“Jay,” You moan, tits bouncing along to each stroke, palms pressed to his chest, nails digging into his skin with the recoil of your ass hitting his hips. “Feels so deep,” You add, words mumbled together in a jumbled mess.

A phone rings through the hot air between you. A groan leaving your lips as you fumbled behind your back, picking up the buzzing phone without a glance at the screen for Jay to answer. You stopped bouncing on his dick, giving yourself a small break as he held the device up to his ear.

“What’s up?” Jay asks without a hitch, voice steady but his eyes stay glued to your body. His free hand sat at your waist, rolling your hips forward against his own as your eyes widened, biting back a muffled moan. “We’re a little preoccupied,” He answers after a beat, loud voices jumbling together and you watch the smirk form on his features. From the smug tone of his voice, and the coincidence of the both of you disappearing without explanation, it didn’t take a genius to know what you two went off to do.

He juts his hips forward, skin slapping together creating a clap and your hand flies up to your mouth. He pulls the phone away for a split second, the same cheeky smile on his features as he winks. “Yeah we’ll meet you guys after,”

You heard a series of voices, no doubt your friends and in particular hearing Manon scream through the speaker that Jay winced at. He rolls his eyes, ending the call and tossing the phone beside him on the backseats. “Always interrupting us,” He tsks playfully, hands helping you bounce up and down and hips meeting your own at an equal rhythm. You smiled, though it didn’t last as moans fell from your lips, his name repeated like a prayer while Jay leaned forward, one hand falling to your clit and managing to capture one of your tits in his mouth, tongue circling around your nipple and sucking with a pop.

“Good job baby,” Jay praises, heavy breaths leaving his lips. Your eyes squeeze shut, palms pressed to his chest and he could feel your pussy clench around him. “There you go, make yourself cum on my dick, yeah?”

“Mhmm,” You mewl. A whine comes from your lips, the familiar pit in your stomach tightening and the feeling of his cock hitting deep into your cervix was enough to push you over the edge. You could hear Jay’s heavy breathes, each becoming more shallow, his grip tightening on your body, and quiet moans followed the feeling of your walls that clenched around him.

“Fuck, oh my—fuck, Jay please,” You hips jut down, stopping the in and out thrust to instead feel every inch of his dick buried all the way inside you. You rock yourself back and forth, fast and deliberate, chasing the pleasure while Jay couldn’t help himself, eyes ravishing the way you used him, the sight of your tits bouncing in his face and the fucked out look you sent him was enough.

Almost simultaneously, you tense, body shaking and pussy clenching with a loud series of moans. Feeling your own orgasm, the heat that flooded within you added to the euphoric feeling, the twitch of Jay’s dick buried inside you—shooting out hot beads of cum directly in your cunt, was overstimulating in the best way possible.

“Good job pretty girl,” Jay pants, head thrown back against the seats, hands gripping your thighs stopping your body from bucking, legs tense against his own. “You did so well, such a good girl f’me,”

You slump against his body, head buried in the crook of his neck with his arms wrapped around your waist. The slight sweat on your bodies ignored, pressed against one another as close as humanly possible as you regain your breath. “M’tired,” You mumble, words whispered against his skin and Jay laughs lightly.

“I know my love,” He agrees, a hand soothingly trailing up and down your back. A lingering kiss was placed to your cheek, sweet and innocent, filled with more than lust from before. You turn your head slightly, enough so your faces are centimeters apart but able to look at Jay. His eyes were glossy, a certain fondness in his gaze that you couldn’t help but smile at. “What’s so funny?” He tsked, though he sported a toothy grin of his own at the sight of your glowing state.

“You like me,” You giggle, a little delirious but entirely satisfied with the childish statement. He chuckles, nodding once with another short peck to the tip of your nose.

“I do,” he confirms. “You like me too,”

“I do,” You repeat, the same giddy expression on your features. Jay hums, his gaze flickering away from you after a moment. Silence fills the car, your steady breaths mixing but your eyes stay trained on Jay, at first merely admiring his features in the dim lighting, but you felt a subtle shift in his demeanor.

If you didn’t know him so well, you could’ve missed it. So you sat up slightly, your finger reaching out to poke the dimple in his cheek, pulling him out of the daze where he was staring out the car window. He blinks, shaking his head and gently moving your hand away from his face, lacing your fingers together instead.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, words quiet and soft, as if you spoke too loud it would break the bubble you were in. Jay hums, shaking his head with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. You frown, sitting up entirely to look at him properly. “Jay,”

“Nothing baby,” He reassures, though it did little to help the visible nervousness in his eyes. You tilt your head, completely disregarding the fact that he was practically cock warming you, and entirely ready to have a proper conversation. “I promise, s’nothing important,”

“We just had insanely good car sex but you look worried instead of relieved,” You deadpan. “It’s important now. Talk to me Jjong, you know I’d rather know than you let it fester alone,”

Jay pauses, taking a deep breath as his eyes shut. The hand interlocked with your own squeezing tighter, as if he were afraid you’d slip through his fingers. “Is…” He begins, a slight crack in his voice and you frown. Jay opens his eyes to meet your own, the visible glossiness holding back tears which causes you to react immediately, your free hand brushing against his cheek as you urge him to continue. “Would it scare you away if I told you I love you?”

You pause, mouth parting agape in surprise. Your heart begins to thump in your chest, loud enough you were sure he could hear it too. “You’re not just saying that out of post-nut delusions, right?” You mumble, lamely attempting to lighten the air between you, giving Jay the room to take back his words but he shook his head.

“I know we only agreed to something real a few months ago,” He starts, a nervous smile playing at his lips but his words stay steady. “And we’re not technically official,” Jay snickers, shooting you a pointed look while you laugh, the nervousness in your expression obvious and you could feel the lump in your throat growing. “But we’ve been doing, whatever this is, for a year. It’s been you for me from the start, and I think with me finally pursuing you in the way I should’ve a long time ago allowed for clarity,”

Your vision grew blurry, tears pooling at the corners of your eyes that mirrored Jay’s. The confession was vulnerable, you felt shy and entirely too nervous to function but the warmth that spread in your stomach let you know that the inkling of fear was a good thing.

“I’m not expecting you to say it back,” Jay says quickly, a deep breath leaving his lips as if it were out of relief. His hand reaches up, fingertips grazing against your skin and pushing away the strands of hair that fell into your gaze. “Trust me—I’ve been thinking about it. A lot,” He admits, you letting out a watery laugh as he smiles. “It popped in my head one day, it felt dumb at first. But since then every time we were together, every time I thought about you, every time we said goodnight it was like a reflex, it feels right,”

You were at a loss for words, staring back at Jay with the start of tears beginning to dance down your cheeks. It was overwhelming, and you’d be sure to look back on it one day and laugh at the fact that your first ‘I love you’ came after a rendezvous in the car on New Years but for now, it was perfect.

“Who knew Mr. Bad Reputation could be such a softie, crying as he confessed his undying love for me?” You giggle, allowing for Jay to brush away your tears with the pads of his thumb. He rolls his eyes, wiping away the stray few that managed to escape the corners of his own but he stared back at you with the same fondness. “You love me, Park Jongseong?”

“I love you, Lee Y/N,” He confirms, the words soft but clear. You couldn’t help the smile that fell on your features, leaning forward to place a long, lingering kiss to his lips that you felt Jay grin against.

“I guess I love you too,” You tease, words mumbled against his skin and Jay snickers, arms wrapped around you keeping you close. Your hands tangled in his messy hair, basking in the warmth between you with small, innocent kisses shared between you.

A ping echoed simultaneously from your phones. The brightness from the screens lit up the dim car, both your eyes falling to Jay’s phone which was still placed beside him, a new message from the shared group chat between your friends the cause. But you paused, noting the time displayed at the top of the screen. Jay, seemingly reading your mind, sent you a heart stopping grin.

“Happy New Year, Jjong,”

“To many more nights like this, pretty girl,”

[solefi]

God Between My Legs

𓂃𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠,

| 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐢 𝐚𝐦 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

〻(muse.) sim jaeyun

〻(wc.) 11.4k

〻(genre.) smut. dark-ish romance.

〻(notes.) this was inspired by the song 'a little death' by the neighbourhood. i tried writing in third person for the first time in a while as a way to challenge myself, so... sorry if it sounds weird :p

〻(cont.) fem! reader. description of female anatomy. use of Y/N. kissing (a lot). unprotected sex. pulling out. switch! jake. fingering. cunnilingus. multiple positions. overstimulation. licking(?). mentions of cum. cum eating (male). dirty talk (like, a lot of it). spreading my jake oral fixation agenda. mirror sex (kinda? but not really). use of petnames (baby, sweetheart). reader is described as being smaller than jake and having hair long enough to grab in a ponytail. porn with a little plot?

Exhausted and on the run, a runaway girl and the boy who holds her like she’s the only thing worth living for find sanctuary in each other.

The road stretched endlessly and in complete darkness, only broken by the occasional flickering lamppost, the passing of headlights, or the red neon glow of a motel sign. The only sound was the low hum of the car engine and the muted hum of raindrops against the car windows.

Jake’s hands were steady on the wheel, knuckles pale under the dim dashboard light. He hadn’t said a word since they left. His jaw was tight, and his shoulders looked stiff. Every so often, he would turn his head to look at her, but then quickly look back. This time, though, he looked for longer.

She sat curled into the passenger seat, legs tucked beneath her, sleeves covering her hands. Her eyes were distant, and her voice had gone hoarse hours ago due to all the screaming, but at least she wasn’t crying anymore.

She heard him exhale heavily and stopped feeling his eyes on her.

A black duffel bag sat in the back seat, its contents being everything important they owned: clothes, IDs, cash, medication, basic toiletries, a burner phone, a couple of Jake’s blood bags (carefully hidden inside an unassuming pouch), and his watch, which he refused to wear anymore—too recognizable, he said. Too risky.

His hand twitched on the gearshift, then reached toward her—slowly, like he wasn’t sure if she’d pull away.

She didn’t.

Their fingers met, barely. But she clutched his hand like it was the last solid thing in the world.

“I've got you. Always,” Jake said finally, voice low, rasped from hours of silence. His accent melted the edges of the words.

Y/N answered by tightening her grip, eyes still focused out the window.

He glanced at her, then added, “I’ll kill anyone that comes near you again,” his voice no louder than a murmur. “Anyone.”

A beat of silence passed. She turned towards him.

“I’d help you bury them,” she said quietly with a shaky voice.

Jake let out a short breath—half a laugh, half a sigh. He pressed her knuckles against his lips, “That’s my girl.”

The silence returned, but it was different now. Not empty—just waiting. Expectant.

A bright light from a crumbling motel illuminated their faces. It’d been the first in over two hours to show that relieving word in green light, blooming like a beacon that promised some rest for both of them.

With a swift flick of his wrist against the steering wheel, Jake pulled into the lot. Gravel crunched beneath the tires. The building looked like it had seen better days—fluorescent lighting leaking through grimy windows, paint peeling, and a Coke machine that looked forgotten by time.

Jake turned the engine off.

For a moment, they just sat there.

“Wanna stay in the car?” he asked gently, not looking at her.

Y/N blinked. “I…I don’t wanna be alone.”

Jake turned to her then. His hair was tousled, damp near his temples, and he looked impossibly tired—but his eyes held her like another’s arms never could.

“Okay,” he said, voice almost a whisper. “I’ll take care of you, yeah?”

She nodded, “Okay.”

The motel lobby smelled like stale air and damp carpet. Fluorescent lights flickered and buzzed overhead. There were vending machines along one wall with empty rows of old-looking snacks, and a plastic dust-coated fern in a chipped ceramic pot by the entrance. 

Jake walked in first, black duffel slung over one of his broad shoulders. His sweater was damp, making it slightly heavier than usual. It was a little stretched at the sleeves, but long enough to cover his belt and the waistband of his jeans; it was his favorite. Y/N had gifted it to him on their first anniversary.

She followed just a step behind, eyes down but sharp, scanning everything—quietly clocking exits, faces, weaknesses. He hated that she had to. Her legs were bare beneath a pair of denim shorts, she had a tank top clinging to her chest, and Jake’s oversized hoodie swallowing the rest of her.  

Behind the desk sat a man in his mid-50s who looked like he hadn’t seen the light of day in years. Greasy hair clung to his forehead, and the collar of his shirt was stained with sweat. His breath stank of microwave dinners and cheap beer. 

“Well, shit,” the man drawled, leaning forward on his elbows. His eyes didn’t even pretend not to wander over Y/N. “That’s a pretty little thing you got there.”

Jake’s expression hardened. 

The man reached beneath the desk and slapped a dingy clipboard with a registration form down, in front of him. “Bet she keeps you warm at night, huh?” 

Jake said nothing, opting to fill the paper and try not to tear the man’s throat out. He didn’t want to cause a scene, being aware that the last thing Y/N needed was another traumatic event happening because of her, but god, was that ball of grease making it hard from him to behave.

The man scratched at his neck, his eyes never leaving Y/N. Tracing the way her hair fell over her shoulders. 

“If I were you, I’d be careful, boy. Girls like that one don’t stay loyal for long,” His smile widened. His eyes cut toward Y/N again—lingering too long on her bare legs and the dip of her cleavage. “Though, I bet she looks gorgeous on her knees with her tongue out.”

The air changed like a static charge crawling across the skin.

Jake didn’t say a word. He just set the pen down and gave the man a look while his hand dropped to the back pocket of his jeans. His fingers grazed a sharp blade—small, easy to flick open, and easier to bury in someone’s throat. Quick, and much less messy. Though at that point he wanted to make it hurt.

But before the situation could escalate, Y/N wrapped her fingers around his wrist. She didn’t need to say anything. 

He paused.

‘It’s not about you, idiot. Think about her.’

He remembered how her body trembled in the shower while he scrubbed the blood off her body—not having the luxury of time, to be able to do it as gently as he would’ve wanted—and the way her eyes avoided the dead body in her floor at all costs.

His grip loosened.

His hand moved to his front pocket, taking out his wallet and sliding the cash across the counter.

The man slid a grimy clipboard across the counter, followed by a single plastic key. “7B. Corner room. Pretty quiet. No one would hear a thing.”

Jake took the key and started walking outside with Y/N, now holding his arm.

“Better hang on to him, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Boys like him don’t last long out here. The minute he goes for gas, I might just answer the door instead.”

Jake stopped mid-step.

Y/N pulled him gently, asking for his attention. 

“It’s not worth it,” she whispered so that only he could hear.

Jake didn’t move.

“Jake.”

He turned to look at her. Angry. Offended. Possessive.

He held her gaze for a few seconds and then closed his eyes for a beat, jaw flexing as he breathed through his nose. Y/N didn’t let go of his hand until they were outside.

The cool air hit once the door opened—wet with rain that never stopped pouring.

As soon as the motel door swung shut behind them, Jake turned to her, voice low and serious. “Should’ve killed that fucker.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Y/N said softly.

Jake turned to her with something dark and hot in his stare. Y/N brushed her fingers along his knuckles. “It’d be hard to get the blood off your sweater.”

That got a ghost of a smile from him.

They walked in silence again, hands still laced, until they reached the door to their room. Jake unlocked it without a word. It smelled like mildew, the carpet was littered with suspicious stains, and the comforter on the bed was older than both of them combined. A single lamp flickered in the corner next to a small table with two wooden chairs, casting warped light across the room.

Jake stepped in first, scanned every inch—walls, window, ceiling tiles. Once he made sure the room was clear, he let the duffel drop to the floor near the dresser. She didn’t question his actions, allowing him to do whatever he needed to calm his paranoia.

He shut the door, locked it, and slid the bolt into place. Then he checked the knob, then the bolt, then the knob again. Still feeling like it wasn’t enough, he grabbed a chair from the corner of the room and wedged it under the door handle with a slow, deliberate shove. Only then did he step back, still facing the door with tense shoulders.

Y/N sat quietly on the edge of the bed, legs drawn up beneath her, Jake’s hoodie bunched around her thighs. Her fingers played with the frayed seam near the pocket. 

“It won’t open,” she said gently. “No one’s getting in.”

“Not gonna risk it,” he muttered while checking the door again.

With a heavy exhale—let out like he hadn’t taken a real breath since they left the city—Jake sank down to his knees in front of her, resting his head in her lap. 

His hands moved, sliding up the outside of her calves, thumbs tracing gentle circles to soothe the nerves under her skin back into place. Yet his movements—up and down, over and over—seemed more like it was him who needed the repetition to calm whatever was clawing at his ribs.

Y/N’s hands slipped into his hair without hesitation. Her fingers tangled through the raven-black strands, nails brushing his scalp gently. It was instinct. Muscle memory. The way she touched him when she didn’t know what else to say.

They stayed like that—him with his eyes closed, and her lost in thought.

Just that morning, she’d woken up in her bed, sunlight peeking through the curtains in soft streams. His arm was around her waist, mouth against her shoulder, whispering something about finding a place for just the two of them—a stupid, perfect moment.

She remembered the gunshots. Her apartment torn to hell—furniture flipped and broken, bullet holes in the walls, blood across the floor. She remembered the sound of Jake kicking down the door. She remembered him dressing her up and dragging her towards a car that she didn’t recognize.

And now they were here.

In a motel that smelled like rot and someone else’s regrets, with Jake kneeling in front of her like her penance. Her savior and her ruin.

He raised his head slowly, like it hurt to move. His eyes met hers, tired, red-rimmed, and crystallized. Y/N studied every inch of him. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered—rough and low, like the words had clawed out of his throat.

His lips were dry, the lower one split with a cut he kept bothering between his teeth. There was a bruise blooming just under his jaw, ugly and dark, half-hidden beneath his hair. His sweater was damp at the collar, wet with a mixture of rainwater and sweat.

Her hands reached to cradle his face delicately, as if he were to break if she used too much force. Her thumbs brushed slowly across his cheeks, wiping away what little was left of his composure. And instead of pulling away, Jake leaned into her touch.

One of her thumbs trailed down, brushing the cut on his lip and then applying more pressure. He flinched slightly, his mouth parting from the sting. His eyes searched hers as if he were afraid she might vanish if he blinked.

“I love you,” she said.

A single tear rolled down Jake’s cheek, his eyes never once leaving hers. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly, trying—and failing—to find words to formulate an answer.

So instead, he stood up. 

Y/N didn’t move—didn’t even breathe—as he stepped forward and caged her with one hand braced on the bed beside her hip, the other gently brushing her cheek.

Jake stared down at her, eyes glossy but intense, and then he kissed her.

Not slow or careful, but everything—all of it—at once. Love, fear, need, guilt, relief. It poured into the kiss from his very being like water breaking through a dam. His mouth crashed against hers, urgent and soft at the same time, teeth grazing her lip before he kissed her deeper, letting his body press into hers like he needed to be sure she was real.

Y/N responded without hesitation. She opened to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him back with everything she had, like this was the only place in the universe where she belonged. Her hands travelled upwards to tangle in his hair, fingers sliding through the strands like she never wanted to let go again.

Jake let out a low sound against her mouth—half a growl, half a moan. His hips pressed into hers as he deepened the kiss, mouth moving feverishly, hands wandering beneath the fabric of her clothes like he needed skin under his palms.

He pulled back just enough to breathe, foreheads pressed, eyes locked.

“I fucking adore you,” he whispered. “I love you so much it hurts.”

One of her hands moved down again to wipe off the fresh tear tracks on his cheeks.

His eyes swept over her face—cheeks flushed, lips parted, chest rising with shallow, anticipating breath. His lips found hers once more, slower this time—but no less hungry.

His hands moved to the hem of the hoodie she wore—his hoodie—and slowly, he unzipped it. The sound was quiet, but it felt loud within the room's silence. He peeled it off her shoulders, letting it fall behind her onto the bed.

Then, his fingers slid beneath her tank top. He didn’t rush it, though. He pushed the fabric up slowly, palms brushing the warm slope of her stomach, ribs, and finally lifting it over her head. Her hair fell around her face in soft waves.

“God, look at you,” he whispered.

His hands slipped down to her shorts, thumbs brushing the band before sliding them off inch by inch. He knelt again to guide them down her thighs, his mouth ghosting across her skin as he did. His lips pressed a kiss to the bruise on her knee as a silent promise. Then they were gone—shorts, fear, and the last of the night’s cold fingers.

She was left in only her bra and panties, breath soft and body already arching toward him.

Jake rose again, eyes locked on hers, and reached behind her to unhook the clasp. The straps slipped down her arms like falling silk. 

His hand slid between her thighs, brushing her still-clothed core with the lightest stroke of his fingers.

She let out a breathy moan—soft and instinctive and his.

“There she is,” he murmured, a smile growing on his face. “You always sound so pretty when you want me.”

Y/N reached up without a word and tugged at the hem of his sweater. He raised his arms and let her pull it off, revealing the slightly damp T-shirt beneath, clinging to his frame.

She slipped her hands beneath that next layer and lifted it too, revealing the bare torso beneath—warm skin, faint scars, a few smudges of grime from the road and the fight. Her palms ran along his chest, slow and lingering, over the bruise just below his ribs, up to the center of his chest where his heart beat like a war drum.

Then her fingers moved to his belt.

She undid it with steady hands, her knuckles grazing the soft line of hair beneath his navel. The buckle clinked. The button snapped open. The zipper came down slowly.

She eased his jeans down his hips, her eyes never leaving his. 

Jake stepped out of them, standing over her now in nothing but breath and want and the fire burning in his eyes.

Her hands slid back up his thighs, over his hips, tracing along the sharp lines of his toned abdomen and the dip of his lower back. Her hands weren’t shy. She knew him. And he let her see him.

“Touch me,” he rasped. “Everywhere. I want to feel like I belong to you.”

“You do,” she said, voice low, shaky with need. “You always have.”

Jake followed when Y/N tugged gently at his wrist, guiding him down onto the bed beside her. The mattress creaked beneath their combined weight, thin and worn, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but skin and breath and the heat building between them.

He laid facing her, propped on one elbwo, his chest rising and falling just a little too fast. Y/N mirrored him, her fingers already skimming his shoulder, then down along the soft line of muscle across his chest. His skin was warm beneath her palm—faintly damp, flushed, and alive.

Jake’s eyes traced every flicker of movement. She could feel his stare like a physical touch.

“You look like a fucking dream,” he murmured, voice rough silk. His accent curled around the words, low and thick like honey.

She smiled, slow and sinful, and leaned in close until her lips hovered just by his ear.

“Then do something about it.”

Jake let out a breath of a laugh, short and sharp. “Oh, believe me, I’m gonna.”

He turned his head, nose brushing her cheek, and whispered directly against her skin. “I’ve been thinking about this… about you in my hoodie… parading around with your thighs all soft and bare… I swear it had me losing my mind.”

She gasped softly when his hand slid over her waist, pulling her tighter to him. Her thigh brushed his—then something else. Hard and thick, straining against the fabric of his boxers. She tilted her head just enough to catch his smirk.

“You’ve got such a filthy mouth, Jakey.”

“And you love every word,” he whispered, kissing the shell of her ear. 

Her hand trailed down his stomach, her fingers feathering along the band of his boxers before dipping lower, slowly pressing over the thick bulge beneath the fabric. 

His hips flexed forward instinctively, chasing her touch. “Fuck…” he hissed.

Her hand rubbed over him again, firmer this time, and Jake groaned—low and guttural, his eyes fluttering half-closed.

“You’re so hard,” she whispered, dragging her lips along his jaw. “Have you been aching for me since we walked through the door?”

Jake turned toward her, his lips brushing hers with maddening slowness.

“Since way before that,” he breathed. “Since I saw you covered in blood and still fuckin’ beautiful. Since you said ‘I love you’ with those shaky hands and I wanted to drop to my knees and taste every inch of you for the rest of my life.”

Y/N whimpered, her hand curling tighter around him through the fabric.

“I’d never feed again in my life if it meant I can have that pretty mouth on me at all times.”

Jake kissed her—open-mouthed, deep, his tongue claiming hers as his fingers slid along the dip of her waist, down to the curve of her ass. He squeezed gently, grinding himself into her touch.

“You wanna see what my mouth can do?” she murmured against his lips.

Jake grinned, teeth flashing as he licked into her mouth again. 

“Oh, trust me, I know.” One of his hands slipped between her thighs to rub slow circles over her soaked panties.

“I want your thighs on my shoulders and your voice hoarse from screaming my name,” he growled. “I’ll have you so fucked out you’ll forget everything else but me.”

She moaned, and he bit her lower lip gently.

He leaned in, slowly, and pressed a single kiss to her inner thigh. Then another, higher up. Then another—closer. She twitched beneath his mouth.

And when his lips ghosted over her slick, swollen heat through the thin barrier of her panties—fuck. She let out a sound that shot straight through his spine.

Jake chuckled low.

“You’re already soaked?” he murmured, his breath hot against her clothed core. “Just from me running my mouth?”

He licked her through the fabric again—slow and deliberate. A long, wet stripe from the bottom of her slit to the swollen nub at the top. Her thighs tensed, and her fingers twisted in the sheets.

Jake moaned.

“I can taste it, even through the cotton,” he groaned. “You’re not fuckin’ real.”

Then he did it again—his tongue flattening, dragging up over her with aching pressure. He circled her clit through the soaked fabric, then used his fingers to push it slightly aside, exposing her properly.

She gasped when the cool air hit her slick folds, and Jake didn’t waste another second to let his tongue meet bare skin.

A slow stroke. One, then two. Then the tip of his tongue flicked right over her clit—fast, teasing, before he flattened his mouth against her, licking and sucking in slow, sinful rhythm.

Y/N moaned, long and high.

She could feel every flick of Jake’s tongue like a pulse.

It started as warmth—wet and slow, the drag of heat between her thighs making her legs tremble. But then it spread. Her skin flushed, prickled, tightened in waves. Her belly clenched. Her chest rose and fell faster, nipples hardening in the motel’s stale air.

Jake growled into her.

“Fuckin’ sing for me, baby.”

His fingers slipped down, circling her entrance, smearing her wetness up over her slit and back down, working in tandem with his mouth—pressure and motion, just enough to tease her open without giving her what she wanted. Yet.

One finger dipped inside, shallow, curling just a little.

“Feel that?” he whispered, voice soaked with lust. “You’re pulling me in already. She missed me.”

Y/N’s head fell back.

“Jake…”

He sucked hard on her clit at the same time his finger slid deeper, and her whole body arched off the bed.

“Oh—fuck—Jake—”

He didn’t let up. Didn’t even pause. His tongue circled, flicked, pressed. His finger curled again, and then another joined it—thrusting slow, thick, wet sounds echoing in the small motel room as her body clamped around him.

His fingers slipped beneath the band of her panties, tugging them down with a quick, practiced motion and letting them slide past her thighs, knees, and ankles until they were gone—tossed somewhere on the motel floor, forgotten like everything else that wasn’t her.

He resumed his ministrations to her heat with another long lick of his tongue. Her hips bucked involuntarily, only to be caught by his strong hands. He held her open possessively, grounding her like he belonged there. Like she belonged to him.

Every time his tongue swirled over her clit, it was like a current. It tugged something deep in her gut—coiled and heavy and needy.

She whined softly, head rolling against the pillow.

Jake chuckled darkly, tongue flattening against her again before he spoke.

“There she is,” he murmured, lips brushing right over her. “My sweet girl. My pretty baby with a filthy fuckin’ mind. You gonna come for me, yeah?”

Her fingers fisted the sheets. The pleasure was sharp now—buzzing and deep, like her body couldn’t decide if she needed more or needed to escape. But he wasn’t letting her go.

“Shit, every sound you make just makes me hungrier,” he whispered. “Like I could stay down here for hours. Would you let me, baby? Would you ride my tongue like you ride my cock? All sweet and needy and wrecked?”

She gasped—a ragged sound pulled straight from her chest.

Her thighs tried to close, instinctively reacting to the intensity, but Jake didn’t let them. His arms pinned her open again, his mouth dragging over her again with more pressure this time—faster. His fingers teased her entrance, soaked and twitching, never pushing in again, just stroking, circling, making her want.

“She’s mine. This cunt’s mine. Say it,” he groaned.

Y/N’s voice shook, barely a whisper. “Yours. Jake—I’m yours.”

“Louder.”

“Yours. Fuck, Jake—don’t stop!”

He latched onto her clit with his mouth, sucking just hard enough to have her back arching. His tongue flicked over the swollen nub, rhythmic and relentless, while his fingers finally slid back inside—two, then curling.

The stretch. The wet sound. His fucking voice.

“You’re so tight like this, baby. So fuckin’ good around my fingers… just imagine when I sink my cock into you. Gonna fill you up so deep you’ll forget your own name.”

Y/N let out a strangled moan. Her body was right there—trembling on the edge, her vision blurring with the heat. Every nerve under her skin was singing. Her thighs trembled, her core slick and throbbing, her hands lost in the mess of Jake’s dark hair.

And just as that perfect, unbearable heat coiled impossibly tight in her belly, his mouth slowed.

He stopped.

He parted from her with a long, slow lick—one last deep stroke, his tongue pressing into her fluttering, soaked entrance. She gasped, back arching. Her body welcomed it, clamped down around the warm, wet intrusion, needy and desperate for more. But it was only a taste. A farewell.

Then he pulled back, licking his lips like a man coming up from worship, not war.

Her slick shimmered on his mouth, on his chin. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing heavy, chest rising and falling with the pace of his hunger.

Jake gave her pussy one final kiss—slow, wet, open-mouthed, his lips sealing over her entrance in a filthy goodbye that made her toes curl.

Then he leaned back, running his hand slowly up her trembling thigh, fingers trailing like embers on overheated skin. He grinned, smug and shining.

“She missed me,” he murmured.

Y/N blinked, dazed. “What?”

Jake dragged his fingers gently through her folds again, a soft touch now, barely-there. Just enough to make her twitch.

“Your sweet little cunt,” he whispered. “She missed me. Clenching ‘round my tongue like she hadn’t felt me in days.”

Y/N flushed instantly, eyes wide, lips parted in shock.

“You—Jake—that’s so—”

He leaned forward, raised a brow, and let the smirk crawl across his face. “That same pussy I had my fingers in this morning, baby. When I made you grind against my hand until you came all over the sheets.” His voice dipped lower. “And you’re telling me she still missed me?”

She slapped his shoulder lightly, giggling despite herself. “You’re the worst.”

Jake laughed, that deep, messy, boyish sound that made her chest ache. 

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then kissed her inner thigh gently, almost apologetically. Then again, softer, trailing upward—his body following the path until he was level with her.

Y/N watched him rise, her skin still flushed and buzzing, her thighs parted, her breath catching when his face came close again.

This time, instead of being teasing or wild, the kiss was calm.

His mouth met hers like he was kissing her in the kitchen on a Sunday morning, like she hadn’t just screamed into the motel pillows. Like her taste on his lips didn’t matter—or maybe it mattered too much.

She sighed into it, arms looping loosely around his neck, fingers curling into the still-damp strands at his nape.

And when he finally pulled back, his voice was quiet. Different.

“I’m never letting anything touch you again.”

Y/N tugged gently at his arm again, pulling him down with her.

Jake followed instantly, like he was born for it. They sank into the mattress together, bodies pressed side by side, her hand still curled behind his neck, fingers threading through the damp strands at his nape. He was warm against her—bare skin to bare skin, all muscle and heat and tension—but her focus was already drifting.

Because then he kissed her again.

Slow at first. Soft.

Just the faintest brush of lips that sent sparks across the surface of her skin.

But then his mouth opened, and everything else stopped.

Jake’s tongue slipped into her mouth like he owned the air she was breathing. He didn’t push—he coaxed. He guided. His lips molded to hers with aching, perfect pressure, and then that wicked tongue of his licked over hers—just once, slow, deep, wet—and her entire body reacted.

Her thighs clenched instinctively.

A low whimper escaped her throat before she could catch it.

Jake smiled into the kiss.

He heard that.

He licked into her again, tongue flicking, curling, then retreating just to pull her back in with a gentle suck on her lower lip. It was sensual. Hypnotic. Her thoughts dissolved like sugar in warm water. Her fingers slid over his shoulder, her palm resting on his chest, feeling the sharp beat of his heart through her touch.

His mouth was too much and not enough all at once.

Every time he sucked her lip, her stomach fluttered. Every time his tongue dragged over hers, slick and slow, her core throbbed—empty, wet, waiting. Her knees pressed together again, a silent attempt to ground herself.

It didn’t work.

Because he knew. He always knew.

Jake broke the kiss just long enough to breathe into her mouth.

“You’re squeezing your thighs pretty hard,” he whispered, voice thick and hoarse. “Did my kiss makes your pussy ache, baby?”

Her hands tightened on his skin.

This time, she kissed him. Deeper, with more tongue, more heat, more of her mouth claiming every soft part of him. The rhythm was slow, but the weight of it pressed deep, like she could feel his tongue between her legs even though he wasn’t touching her there now.

Their bodies writhed closer, chasing the warmth of each other’s chests, the friction of his thigh between hers, her mouth that wouldn’t stop making him need.

Jake pulled back from the kiss, lips slick, parted. His chest heaved beneath her palm, and his voice when he spoke came out like a growl filtered through a moan.

“You keep kissin’ me like that and I’m gonna fuck you like I did in that bathroom stall. Remember that, baby? In between classes… you were so needy and made me late for my lecture.”

Y/N chuckled breathily at the memory. Her thighs clenched again—this time around him.

She climbed into his lap, slow and sure, knees bracketing his hips. Her body sank down onto his thighs, bare heat pressed to the strain of him beneath his boxers. Jake’s head fell back with a hiss through his teeth.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasped.

Y/N leaned in, pressing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his throat. She felt his Adam’s apple twitch beneath her lips, felt the vibration of his groan as she dragged her tongue up over it.

Jake’s hands gripped her hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin there like he didn’t know whether to worship or hold her down.

She kissed his jaw next—slow and adoring, lips dragging over the faint stubble, then behind his ear, where her tongue flicked just enough to make him shudder.

And through it all, he kept talking.

His voice was broken, breathless, ruined.

“Gonna bend you over this bed next. Hands flat, back arched, legs shaking. Gonna fuck you ‘til your voice is gone and your knees are too weak to close around me.”

She moaned softly into his neck.

“You like it when I talk like this, don’t you?” he whispered, nipping gently at her shoulder. “My pretty baby gets wet when I tell her all the ways I’m gonna ruin her.”

Her hips rolled forward against him—slow, aching friction that made them both gasp.

“Gonna take you from behind,” he panted, “one hand on your throat, the other between your thighs, makin’ you drip all over me. Then I’m gonna flip you on your back, press your knees to your chest, and fuck into you so deep you won’t remember what day it is.”

Y/N whimpered, her hands dragging up his chest, her mouth pressing kisses along his collarbone, her tongue tasting salt and desperation.

Jake was shaking under her.

“And when you come?” he breathed, “I’m gonna stay inside you. Keep fuckin’ you through it. Gonna keep you open for me and stretch you ‘til you don’t want anyone else. Not that you ever could, baby. No one else knows how to break you like I do.”

His voice cracked, just a little, at the end.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “No one makes me feel the way you do. You ruin me. Every time.”

Y/N lifted her head. Their eyes met. Her breath was ragged, her lips swollen, her heart thundering in her chest.

“You want to break me?” she whispered. “Then do it.”

Jake’s hands tightened on her hips. His next breath hitched into a growl.

They shifted together, both kneeling now on the motel bed, their bodies bare and flushed and starving. The room was quiet except for their heavy breathing, the low creak of the old mattress beneath them, and the far-off hiss of passing cars outside the window.

Jake kissed her again.

Hard and raw. 

Tongue and teeth and heat—his hand tangled in her hair as he dragged her mouth open and took. His tongue plunged deep, slick and possessive, curling against hers in slow, molten strokes that made her hips rock forward without thinking.

She moaned into him. Loud. Needy.

Jake swallowed the sound, then pulled back, lips wet and swollen.

“Turn around,” he rasped. 

Y/N obeyed, breath shaking. She turned slowly, body burning, and knelt on the bed facing the front of the motel room. The beat-up TV sat on top of the scratched old dresser, screen black and slightly dull; however, in the warped, glassy surface, she saw them.

Faintly, hazy with distortion—but there.

Her bare chest, belly, and thighs. The curve of her hips, the dip of her waist and the possessive hold that Jake kept on her. Her flushed face. The dark silhouette of Jake behind her.

And her body reacted.

Her cunt clenched, slick leaking down her thighs, the heat of it so sudden she gasped. 

Jake saw it all.

He slid in behind her, chest to her back, hands framing her hips like he was sculpting her posture to his taste. He leaned in close, lips brushing her ear.

“You like seeing us like this,” he murmured, voice honey-thick and wicked. “My girl… dripping just from a reflection.”

Y/N whimpered.

Jake’s hand gathered her hair—twisting it gently at the base of her skull—and made an imperfect ponytail with his fist. Her head tipped back into his grip, neck exposed.

He groaned softly.

“Pretty fuckin’ neck,” he whispered, and then—his mouth was on her again.

His lips dragged over the skin of her nape, slow and possessive. Then he licked her.

A long, wet stripe from the base of her spine to the crest of her neck. All tongue. Hot and firm and deliberate. Like he was tasting her. Claiming her.

She shuddered violently, hips twitching forward.

“Jake…”

“Shh,” he breathed, mouth still pressed to her skin. “Let me have this.”

He licked her again. Tongue flat, dragging slowly across the sensitive skin just beneath her hairline. His breath hitched.

“I could die like this,” he muttered.

Jake’s fingers slid between her thighs with the same confidence his mouth carried—like he already knew exactly how to ruin her.

He pressed in just enough to glide through her slick, then found her clit with maddening ease. Two fingers moved in tight, slow circles—firm pressure, the rhythm tuned perfectly to her body, like muscle memory.

Y/N moaned, low and broken, knees quivering on the mattress.

“Fuck,” she whispered, arching her back into him, “just like that.”

She turned her head—wanted to see him. Kiss him. She twisted just enough to catch his mouth again, pulling him in with lips parted and tongue already waiting.

But this time, she took the lead.

Jake didn’t resist. He groaned against her lips as she kissed him—hard, hungry. Her tongue slid over his, slick and confident, coaxing every sound from his throat. Then she bit his bottom lip, not enough to hurt—but enough to claim.

Jake’s cock twitched hard behind her, straining against the fabric of his boxers. He ground forward, hips rolling into the soft dip of her ass and lower back, pressing the thick, hot length of himself into her skin so she could feel exactly how desperate he was.

He groaned into her mouth, lips swollen, breath ragged.

“Christ, you kiss like you want to own me.”

“You already said I could,” she whispered.

Jake didn’t argue.

Her left hand reached down, covering the wrist of the hand still playing with her pussy. She didn’t stop him—just held him there, grounding herself in the motion of his fingers. Feeling every stroke, every circle as it sent sparks through her hips and up her spine.

The other hand twisted up and into his hair, fingers tangling tight, pulling.

Jake gasped, his mouth parting under hers, head tipping forward like his whole body was surrendering.

“Fuck, baby…” he whispered against her lips. “You feel that? You feel how hard you’ve got me? Just from your mouth—just from the way you taste.”

His fingers never stopped.

That steady rhythm—perfect circles, light press, then firmer when she whimpered. The slick sounds between her legs grew louder, wetter, and Jake groaned like it was a symphony he’d been dying to conduct.

“You’re dripping,” he murmured. “Fuck, I can feel it all over my hand.”

“Good,” she breathed. “You make me like this.”

He kissed her again, messier now. Tongue everywhere. Groaning into her mouth.

Her hips rocked in time with his fingers, and every press of his cock against her back made her body throb harder. Every kiss she stole made him weaker.

Jake’s fingers slowed—just slightly—then slipped away from her soaked, abused clit.

Y/N let out a gasp, her hips instinctively rolling forward, chasing the friction that had been building into fire under her skin.

Then she whined, high-pitched and desperate.  

Jake groaned at the sound—low and guttural, forehead pressing against the back of her shoulder.

“Fuck me,” he muttered. “You don’t even know what that sound does to me.”

She whined again, back arching, her hand grabbing blindly for his wrist, trying to pull his fingers back down between her thighs.

“Jakey—please—why’d you—”

“I have to get these off, baby,” he rasped, pulling his hips back just far enough for her to feel the absence, but not forget it. His hand left her pussy, but he reached down immediately, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers.

“Gonna lose my fucking mind if I don’t get inside you.”

He pushed the fabric down over his hips and his cock sprang free—thick, flushed dark at the tip, glistening with precum, aching for her. It slapped softly against his lower stomach before he wrapped a hand around the base, groaning at the contact.

“See what you do to me?” he whispered, his voice a growl in her ear. “Look at that. I’ve never been this fucking hard in my life. Never wanted anyone like I want you. Not like this.”

She whimpered, and his hand came up—fingertips trailing along her spine, soft, reverent, until they found her waist again.

Jake leaned in close again, his voice low, rough with hunger and awe.

“Down for me,” he breathed. “Face down. Ass up. You know what I like.”

Y/N obeyed without hesitation.

She lowered her chest to the mattress, arching her back, lifting her hips—slow and deliberate—until she gave him that perfect line, that sweet curve of her spine that he’d seen a hundred times. Her hair spilled around her shoulders, her hands gripping the sheets, thighs parted just wide enough to let him see everything.

Jake let out a sound—raw, desperate, worshipful.

“Jesus fuck, baby… look at you. You want me this bad?”

She looked over her shoulder, eyes dark and gleaming.

“I want all of you.”

Jake’s hand slid up her back, tracing the arch, possessive and trembling. The other wrapped around the base of his cock again as he stepped in closer, the flushed tip dragging through the slick heat of her folds, wetting himself with her arousal.

Then he found her entrance.

She was swollen, fluttering, dripping with need.

And he pushed in.

The thick head of his cock eased inside, stretching her open, filling her just enough to steal the air from her lungs.

Y/N gasped—sharp and high-pitched.

Her hands fisted the sheets, her head dropping between her arms.

He was inside her.

Not fully. Not yet. Just the tip.

But still, it was everything.

Jake groaned behind her, voice breaking.

“You feel that?” he rasped. “How tight you are around just the tip? She missed me, baby.”

Then—inch by inch—he pushed deeper.

Y/N felt it like a tide rolling through her.

The slow, overwhelming pressure of him filling her, pressing into spots only he could reach. The friction, the fullness, the way her walls fluttered with every slow slide forward—it was too much and not enough all at once. Her pussy clenched around him, wet and greedy.

He was hot and thick and so hard, the stretch sending shocks of both pleasure and pain up her spine. Her body pulsed around him, instinctively trying to pull him deeper.

Her mouth fell open.

But it wasn’t just her body reacting.

It was her heart, as well.

Because this was Jake—her Jake. The boy who kissed her forehead after she woke up from a nightmare, who licked blood from her thighs like a vow, and who said I love you with his tongue inside her and meant every syllable.

And now he was filling her completely.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes—not from pain. From how much she felt.

He leaned over her, one hand braced on the bed, the other still gripping her hip like he couldn’t let go.

He bottomed out—finally—the base of his cock pressing flush against her soaked, trembling cunt. Her body took every inch, molded to fit him, welcomed him like he belonged there.

At first, Jake didn’t move.

He just held himself there, buried to the hilt, letting her walls pulse around him—hot and slick and impossibly tight. His hands gripped her hips like he was holding on for dear life, and when he finally pulled back, it was a slow torture. 

Then he thrust back in.

Deep.

“Fuck… this pussy,” he panted. “So fuckin’ warm. So tight. Squeezin’ me like you never want me to leave.”

Y/N’s back arched, and she let out a shaky moan as his hips rolled forward again, another slow, deep stroke that dragged every nerve along her walls.

Jake leaned over her a bit more, his mouth hovering by her ear, his voice a growl softened by awe.

“Do you know how good you feel? How fuckin’ wet you are for me? God, baby—she’s greedy. She’s pulling me in.”

She whimpered, her thighs shaking.

“Jakey, feels so, so good—”

“I know it does,” he whispered, biting softly at her shoulder, hips dragging back again before plunging in deep, deeper. “I get it now. I understand.”

She gasped.

“Understand what?”

Jake groaned, kissing her nape, tongue running up the curve of her spine between thrusts.

“Why men start wars over girls like you.”

Y/N let out a breathless, stunned laugh, even as her body clamped down around him again.

“You’re insane.”

“Mmhm.” He smirked, dragging his cock all the way out until just the tip lingered at her entrance—then slammed back in with one smooth, slow roll of his hips. “Crazy. Absolutely fucking gone for you.”

She moaned again, and her laugh turned into a shiver.

Jake’s thrusts kept the same rhythm—slow, deep, deliberate. His hips snapped forward with weight, burying himself again and again in the tight heat of her cunt, groaning every time her body fluttered around him.

His hand slid up her spine, pressing between her shoulders to deepen that perfect arch.

“You were made for this,” he growled. “For me. This tight little hole’s mine, baby.”

He kissed her again—messy and open-mouthed against her back.

“Could fuck you like this forever. Never pull out. Just keep you full and dripping. Bet you’d love that.”

Jake’s pace began to shift—slow, deep strokes turning faster, sharper. His hips slapped softly against her ass, wet sounds echoing in the quiet, hot room, timed perfectly with her breathy moans and the creak of the bed frame.

He couldn’t stop watching her.

His bottom lip caught between his teeth, bitten and red, eyes locked on the way she moved for him. Met his thrusts halfway. Took him like she’d been sculpted just for this.

And Y/N noticed. Of course she did.

Even through the dizzying pleasure, she saw in their reflection the way his gaze stayed glued to her ass, saw the way he twitched every time she clenched around him.

And she grinned—breathless, wicked.

“I thought you were a boob guy,” she panted, voice laced with teasing. “What happened to all that chest worship, huh?”

Jake froze for a split second.

Then laughed—ragged and wrecked, the sound spilling out of his throat between groans.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he growled, snapping his hips forward harder, making her jolt with the sudden depth, “you bounce this ass like that and expect me to focus on anything else?”

Y/N laughed too—cut short by a moan as his cock hit that perfect spot inside her.

Jake leaned in over her, lips brushing her ear, one hand still gripping her hip, the other now sliding around her front—palming one of her breasts with a rough groan.

“I am a boob guy,” he rasped. “And an ass guy, and a pussy guy. I’m a ‘you’ guy.”

He pinched her nipple, rolled it gently between his fingers.

“You could breathe in my direction, and I’d get hard. Doesn’t matter what part I’m lookin’ at. It’s all mine.”

She gasped again, back arching deeper into him, ass pushing up to meet his thrusts.

He watched the motion in the reflection again—the way she pushed back onto him, watched her face tighten with every thrust. Her mouth open, eyes heavy-lidded, her skin flushed and glistening.

Jake’s rhythm had gone near-perfect—deep and sharp, his hips pistoning into her with that mix of strength and craving. But then he felt it.

Every time he slid out, her pussy fluttered around him, squeezing tight, as if trying to hold him in. And then—when he pushed back in, thick and deep—her muscles relaxed, like she was letting him in on purpose. Inviting him.

Jake choked on a moan, thrust stuttering.

“Baby—fuck—what are you doing to me?”

She smiled—he knew she did, even without seeing her face.

He looked in the reflection.

That wicked, breathless grin.

That soft bounce of her ass every time she clenched around him.

She did it again.

Tighter.

Then again—pulsing around his cock like her body was trying to pull him apart.

Jake snapped.

His hand shot up, grabbing a fistful of her hair, not rough enough to hurt, not really, but enough to make her feel it. He pulled her back hard, arching her spine into a curve so perfect it made his cock throb inside her.

She whined, voice high and sharp.

“Jake—ow—fuck. That hurts—”

He bent over her, his lips brushing her jawline.

“You love it.”

She did.

And so did he.

His free arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her upright against him—flush to his chest, his cock still buried deep inside her, now from a new angle that made them both gasp. The fullness. The depth. The way her walls clung to him like a second skin.

He kissed her again. Tongue-first. All heat, no hesitation. Her mouth opened to him instantly. Tongues collided. Teeth clicked. Her hand flew back, clawing at the side of his thigh, holding him in place as she rocked her hips back into his lap.

Jake moaned into her mouth, hips still moving, fucking up into her from beneath now, his cock dragging against her spot with every thrust.

“You milk me like that again,” he panted against her lips, “and I’m gonna fill you up so deep you’ll feel it in your fucking throat.”

Y/N gasped, lips red and slick, eyes dazed and so full of him.

Jake started to move—hand still in her hair, cock still buried deep, ready to flip her into a new position and fuck her from a new angle.

“Wait,” she breathed, voice soft—breathless, but sweet. “Can—Can you… can you be on top of me?”

He froze.

Still half-sheathed inside her, his hips twitching with restraint.

She looked back at him, over her shoulder, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, hair messy from where he’d gripped it.

Her voice went softer, and her smile turned sheepish.

“I’m tired,” she said, barely louder than a whisper.

Jake blinked once, then a smirk makes its way onto his face. He stared at her—really stared at her. That look in her eyes. The slight tremble in her thighs. Her trust.

He felt it hit right in his chest.

“You’re just lazy,” he said, teasing but warm.

Her cheeks flushed deeper.

“Maybe.”

Jake chuckled, the sound low and loving.

“Come here then, lazy girl.”

He moved gently, slipping out of her to adjust their bodies. He guided her down onto her back, her body folding into the mattress, eyes fluttering shut for a moment with the loss of him. The sheets were rumpled, warm, and damp from sweat and sex.

Then he settled between her legs. Face to face.

His hand found hers, fingers lacing. His other hand came up to brush the damp hair off her forehead, his expression suddenly soft—worshipful.

“You’re so beautiful like this.”

Then he slowly pushed back in.

Her soaked cunt parted for him, her walls welcoming him back like he belonged there. Every inch stretched her again, but now she could see his face. See his lashes flutter when he bottomed out. See the tension in his jaw, the part in his lips when her pussy clenched again.

Her mouth opened in a gasp. Her brows knit with pleasure. Her chest rose with every shaky breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, hips pressing deep, “I can feel all of you.”

Y/N whimpered, wrapping her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper.

Jake’s hips rolled into her—deep strokes that made the bed creak and her breath stutter.

But he couldn’t stop looking at her chest.

The rise and fall of her breasts with every thrust.

The way her nipples were already pebbled, flushed, just begging for his mouth.

His hand slid up between them—palm warm and rough—and he groaned low in his throat.

Then he took one into his mouth.

He sucked hard at first, like he wanted to bruise her with his lips, then softened—his tongue circling her nipple, then flicking it in short, wet strokes that made her gasp and arch into him. He used his hand on the other, kneading, rolling the other peak between his fingers while his teeth grazed the one in his mouth.

Y/N moaned, high and ragged.

Her fingers flew into his hair, tangling there, holding him against her. She gripped tighter every time he sucked harder, tugging the way she knew he loved.

Jake groaned into her breast.

“Fuck, baby… your tits were made for my mouth.”

He bit gently—just enough to make her hips jump—and she let out a breathless, shaky laugh.

Then she started talking.

And it undid him.

“You feel so good, Jakey,” she whispered, eyes locked on his flushed, focused face. “So, so deep… I can feel you in my stomach.”

Jake growled around her nipple, thrusting deeper, slower.

“You’re fucking me so well, baby… you always know what I need.”

His hips twitched, rhythm faltering for a second. Her praise hit different—like she was stroking something raw inside him.

Her thumb brushed his temple as he licked across her chest.

“I love the way you move inside me. Like you’re made for it. Like you know I was made for you.”

Jake lifted his head, mouth wet, jaw tight.

“Keep talking like that,” he panted, “and I’m not gonna last.”

Y/N smiled, dazed and wrecked.

“Good,” she whispered. “I want you to fall apart. I want to feel you lose it inside me.”

Jake kissed her again—open, messy, tongue tangled with hers—while his cock thrust deeper, harder, the rhythm now desperate. His mouth moved from hers to her neck, back to her breast, worshipping, sucking, devouring.

His free hand slipped down between them, careful through the thrusts, until his fingers found her clit again—swollen, soaked, needy.

He rubbed tight, firm circles just the way she liked. Not too fast. Not too soft. Perfect.

Y/N cried out.

Her back arched. Her thighs jerked. Her eyes fluttered half-shut as she grabbed at his shoulder with one hand, her other still tangled in his hair.

“Jake—fuck—don’t stop—don’t stop—”

He didn’t.

His hips rolled deep, cock thrusting in fast, rough strokes that brushed right there, over and over—right on the spot inside her that made her toes curl and her whole body feel like fire under her skin.

His tongue flicked over her nipple again, teeth grazing, sucking, biting.

His fingers never stopped moving.

And her voice—God, her voice—just kept coming.

“You feel so good, Jake—so deep—you’re fucking me so good, baby—I can’t think—I can’t—”

Jake moaned into her chest, cock twitching inside her from her words alone.

“I—I love your cock—fuck, I love how good you fuck me—like I’m yours—Ah!”

“You are mine,” he growled, voice muffled against her skin. “Every inch. Every breath. Every fuckin’ moan—mine.”

“Faster, Jakey,” Y/N gasped, voice cracked and begging. “Harder—please—I need you.”

Jake didn’t hesitate.

His hips snapped forward with more force now, driving into her with heavy, wet thrusts that made the bed rock and her breath catch with every impact. His fingers on her clit moved faster—tight circles, perfect rhythm, slick with her arousal and the heat of how close she was to coming undone.

He kissed her breast again—open-mouthed, tongue dragging over her nipple as he groaned into her skin.

Y/N clutched at his back, nails pressing into the flex of his shoulder blades.

“No one else, Jake,” she breathed, words tumbling between gasps and moans. “There’s no one else who makes me feel like this. No one else I want.”

Jake’s body jerked at that—cock twitching deep inside her, his breath stuttering against her chest.

“I’d rather die than live without you,” she whispered.

His groan was guttural, primal, ripped straight from his chest.

“You mean that?” he rasped, voice shaking, hips pounding into her now, every thrust hitting so deep she could barely breathe.

“I need you,” she said. “I belong to you. I’m yours, Jake—only yours.”

His rhythm faltered for just a moment, like her words had broken something loose inside him.

Then he snapped.

His fingers on her clit moved faster, tighter.

His cock drove into her with the kind of force that made her body bounce into the mattress, thighs trembling with the overload of sensation.

“You’re mine,” he growled, kissing her throat, biting softly at her jaw. “No one gets you but me. No one ever could.”

Her hands flew back into his hair, dragging him down into another kiss—sloppy, deep, tongue-heavy.

She whimpered into his mouth, her thighs shaking, her body trembling beneath him as that coil in her belly tightened dangerously.

“Come for me,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel you.”

Y/N shattered like glass struck by lightning. 

It hit fast and overwhelming—the first spasm of pleasure rolling through her like a shockwave. Her thighs clenched around his hips, her toes curled, and her walls tightened around Jake’s cock with a force that nearly made him come on the spot.

“Oh my god—Jake—Jake—” her voice was broken, high, holy, like prayer and desperation fused together.

He felt every squeeze. Every flutter.

His thrusts slowed immediately, deep and controlled, his cock dragging through the slick heat of her as her body convulsed around him. His fingers on her clit softened just slightly, keeping her there, guiding her through it, not rushing, not pulling away.

He kissed her cheek, her throat, her collarbone—open-mouthed and breathless.

“There you go, baby,” he murmured, eyes locked on her face. “That’s it. Fuck, you’re so beautiful like this. Just let it happen.”

She was gasping, eyes squeezed shut, back arching as another wave ripped through her.

Her cunt pulsed around him again—tight, wet, relentless.

Jake didn’t stand a chance.

The second he felt her come—the way her pussy clamped down on him, fluttering around his cock like she was trying to keep him there forever—he was gone.

He slowed even more, each thrust deliberate, letting her feel the weight and stretch of him through the peak of it.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Y/N trembled beneath him, her moans tapering off into soft, overwhelmed whimpers as the high began to fade—but the glow stayed. Her whole body buzzed. Her heart raced. Her fingers gripped him like she’d sink without his skin.

His grip on her hip tightened, his jaw clenched, and he groaned into her shoulder, the sound deep and guttural and full of something breaking.

He was so fucking close, so, so full.

And it took every last ounce of strength in him to pull out—slowly, painfully—her slick, soaked walls dragging on him like a velvet vice, clinging as if to say, ‘don’t go’.

“Fuck—you’re so tight,” he gasped, pulling back inch by inch, every nerve ending in his body on fire. “I don’t wanna leave—shit—”

But he did.

Barely.

And the second he was out—his cock flushed and glistening, twitching with the need to release—he wrapped his hand around the base and stroked himself once—

Twice—

Three times—

“Fuck—Y/N—”

The first rope of cum shot out of him with force, landing right across her slit—thick and creamy and hot.

He groaned through his teeth as another followed—painting her pussy lips white, coating her clit in the warm, sticky mess of it.

More spilled over her entrance—so close to filling her, some of it already seeping inside just the slightest bit, thick drips collecting there, slicking her folds.

He watched it happen, jaw slack, breath ragged.

Her pussy, twitching from aftershocks.

His cum, marking her.

Not bred—but his, nonetheless.

He rubbed the tip of his cock along her soaked slit, dragging through the mess, smearing it across her clit, watching her shiver slightly beneath him.

The room was silent, save for the sound of their ragged breathing—his slower now, hers soft and shallow, like she hadn’t quite come back to earth yet.

Their bodies were still tangled, neither willing to move yet. The motel air was warm against sweat-slick skin, the sheets rumpled and half-slid off the bed.

Jake hovered just above her, propped on one trembling arm. His other hand rested flat over her ribcage, feeling the rise and fall of her chest under his palm.

Her breasts were flushed and glistening, nipples still wet from his mouth, the skin beneath them mottled with hickeys he’d sucked deep into her flesh—his signature, his need. Her collarbones bore more—dark blooms of red-purple where his tongue and teeth had lingered too long. The soft skin at her hips was red, raw where his hands had gripped her too tightly. Possessive. Worshipful. Maybe even a little cruel.

Her lips—God, her lips—swollen and bitten, shiny with spit from their messy, desperate kisses. They looked like sin, and he’d never wanted anything more in his life than to kiss them again.

Her hair spilled out over the motel pillow in wild, damp waves. A halo of chaos. A crown she didn’t even know she wore.

But it was her cunt that kept his eyes.

Red, puffy, glistening. Her pussy lips were flushed and swollen, the delicate folds puffy from how hard she’d been worked, how deep he’d fucked her. The soft pink of her inner lips peeked through slick-stained outer lips—raw, parted, like she was still open for him even now.

His cum was everywhere.

Thick, creamy streaks filled the soft creases between her folds. Some of it clung stubbornly to her clit, tangled in the ridges, glossy and warm, slowly dripping. Another trail had slipped lower—pale white against the flush of her used entrance, where it threatened to slide in, teasing the raw, fluttering rim of her hole.

Her pussy was still clenching.

Twitching—tightening around nothing in soft, slow pulses like it hadn’t yet realized he was gone. As if it was still calling for him, still missing the stretch of his cock. The emptiness only made the mess more obscene.

Her inner thighs gleamed with her slick—slick that had soaked her before he’d even touched her. Before she’d come. Before he’d been inside. It had poured out of her in waves, wetting her soft skin, dripping in thin rivulets down the smooth curve of her thighs, pooling beneath her.

Now, mixed with his cum, it looked even more filthy.

Even more beautiful.

Jake moved without a word.

He slid down the bed, between her still-trembling thighs, resting on his forearms like he belonged there.

Y/N laid open and flushed, her legs barely parted now, heavy with fatigue and aftershocks. But she didn’t resist when he gently eased them apart again. She knew what he was doing. And she let him.

He started at her thighs.

Slow licks first, his tongue dragging along the inside, tracing the sticky remnants of her arousal. He licked through the streaks of slick that had dried to her skin, then lower, collecting the creamy drips of his own cum that had spilled from her. His mouth worked without pause, lips pressing soft kisses in between every lick, every stroke of tongue.

Y/N sighed softly. A shiver rolled through her.

Then he moved up.

There was a bit of his semen clinging to the soft mound above her slit—just a smear, pale and glossy against her flushed skin. Jake leaned in and sucked it clean. Slow. Wet. His tongue flattened, dragging upward, collecting every trace.

He kissed it, then exhaled, hot and heavy.

Then he moves onto her outer lips.

Swollen. Gleaming. Still puffy from the stretch of him.

He mouthed over them first, soft kisses that turned into gentle sucks. His tongue worked in slow strokes along the edges, tasting her, cleaning her, owning the mess he’d made. His hands held her thighs gently now, thumbs stroking mindlessly.

Then his mouth found her clit.

He didn’t rush.

He circled first—just the tip of his tongue, light flicks over the sensitive nub, coaxing it rather than attacking it. Then he flattened his tongue and dragged it across—up, down, again—pressing just a little firmer when she gasped and arched her back.

Jake groaned softly.

She was still so reactive.

He sucked it gently into his mouth, just for a moment, rolling it between his lips before letting go. Her hips twitched. Her breath caught. He loved how she responded to his mouth.

He slid lower.

His tongue pressed between her folds now—slow, deliberate strokes that gathered her slick, his cum, everything in between. He traced the shape of her, the soft, delicate creases, licking through the aftermath like it was his favorite flavor.

And then he reached her hole.

Still red. Still open, just barely.

Still twitching.

Jake moaned, the sound low and desperate.

He leaned in, tongue circling the rim, gentle but unrelenting. He licked over it, around it, into it—just a little. Just enough to make her gasp and shift and say his name like she wasn’t sure if she could take more.

But Jake couldn’t stop. 

His mouth never left her—tongue dragging from the soft folds of her used pussy back up to her clit, where he paused.

Her breath hitched.

“Jakey…” she murmured, voice hoarse, barely more than a whimper.

But it wasn’t no.

It was more.

So he latched onto her clit again—deliberate now, tongue flicking fast and tight, then circling slow, then flicking again.

Y/N’s legs jumped.

Her thighs pressed inward, instinctively trying to close around his head—but Jake just wrapped his arms around them, holding her wide and open.

“You love this,” he murmured between strokes. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”

She moaned—high and helpless.

“I—I can’t—”

“You can,” he growled, tongue never breaking rhythm. “You will. You’re gonna come again, sweetheart. Gonna let me taste it this time.”

He sucked her clit between his lips again, harder now—drawing circles with his tongue while he held her in place.

She writhed under him, fingers twisting in the sheets, her hips stuttering against his face, overwhelmed and overstimulated and so fucking close.

Jake moaned into her, eyes half-lidded, cock still half-hard just from the taste of her.

“You’re so fucking good for me,” he murmured. “Letting me fuck you like that… letting me lick you clean. You’re gonna come just from my mouth, aren’t you?”

She nodded, breathless, gasping.

“Yes—yes, Jake—I’m close again—”

He buried his face deeper, tongue stroking harder, faster—one hand sneaking up to press flat over her lower belly, holding her down.

“Then fucking do it, baby,” he growled. “Come on my tongue. I want you shaking. I want you crying for me.”

And she did.

With a cry that broke halfway into a sob, her body arched, then locked, her legs trembling, cunt clenching in fluttering spasms as another orgasm crashed through her. This one was sharper—brighter, and painfully sweet. Her thighs trembled, her hips jerked, her hands flew to his hair, pulling him tighter.

Jake held on.

Held her.

Licked her through every wave, clench, and aftershock. Letting her calm down just enough for her squirming to become light twitching and her moans to become soft whimpers. 

And with that, Jake kissed her one last time.

A full-mouthed smack to her overstimulated, twitching pussy—his tongue already gone, but his claim still lingering in the sound. A parting gift. A promise. Something she’d remember every time she shifted her legs and felt the soreness he left behind.

She let out a shivery, exhausted laugh.

He grinned against her thigh.

Then he finally moved.

Jake dragged his body up the bed, slow and loose with post-release heaviness, skin damp with sweat and her scent. His hair was a mess—flattened where she’d held him, spiked where she’d pulled—but his eyes were soft, dark and warm when they found her face.

She was wrecked.

Her lips parted, lashes low, chest still heaving with the final echoes of that second climax. Her skin glowed with heat, her body limp and raw and safe.

He laid down beside her, then pulled her in—an arm looping around her waist, tugging gently until she rolled into him, face tucked under his chin, her leg sliding over his thigh like it had always belonged there.

“Hey,” he murmured. “Still with me?”

Y/N let out a soft hum against his chest.

“Mmhmm.”

Jake smiled softly and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He ran a hand slowly down her spine, then back up to her shoulder, fingers tracing lazy circles into her skin. There was no need for more now. No pressure. Just her in his arms.

Quiet, safe, and his.

The room was dim now, shadows stretching long across the motel ceiling, the air heavy with the scent of sweat, sex, and fading adrenaline.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t need to.

Jake held her close—her cheek resting just above his heart, her leg thrown over his hips, his arms a circle around her small, worn body like a vow made in flesh. She was warm. Quiet. Real.

Her fingertips traced his bicep in slow, looping lines. Barely there. Soothing. The kind of touch that wasn’t meant to stir—but to keep.

She spoke softly.

“What do we do now?”

Jake’s breath hitched. 

“We can’t run forever.” she added. Her voice was tired. 

He didn’t answer right away.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he said.

Her fingers paused.

“We can’t go back,” he added. “Not to your place. Not to the city. They’ll be looking.”

Y/N nodded faintly against his chest.

“Then what?”

Jake looked up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused. 

Y/N waited, heart pressed against his, her fingers still trailing slowly along his skin. She could feel the hesitation in the way his chest rose beneath her cheek. The pause in his breath. The heaviness starting to creep in again.

And then, finally—softly:

“I don’t know.”

He turned his face slightly, hiding in her hair, one arm tightening around her waist like he was afraid she might let go after hearing it.

“Just hold me,” he whispered.

Y/N didn’t hesitate and pulled him in.

Both arms around him now. Her leg tightening over his hip. Her fingers finding the back of his neck and threading into his hair, grounding him.

“I think I can be okay,” she murmured. “As long as you’re with me.”

He didn’t speak again.

He didn’t have to.

Because in that moment, with her heart pressed to his, her breath warm against his skin, and her arms wrapped around his body—that was the only answer either of them needed.

And in the quiet, with hundreds of questions but nothing left to say, they stayed together.

For now.

TAGLIST @yourislandgirl @splzq @rikiislovrr @hoonprksung @kyunlov

[mikaxoriki]

Reset and replay | a nishimura riki of 𝗘𝗡- fic ᴅ𝐢𝐬ℎ 001' [🍽️]

Idol!ni-ki×fem!reader [proofread]´ | <note from chef mika : ℬℴ𝓃 𝒶𝓅𝓅ℯ𝓉𝒾𝓉ℯ!´> |

Sneak peek(🔎):You've always loved your boyfriend riki but does it all matter when your relationship has no point of improvement and you keep going back to where it started?...

ingredients💭:fluff,angst,comfort,depression,mention of self harm.

No calls,no messages.

You've been staring right through your phone for hours,eyes burning not just from the screen but from something else deep within.Your boyfriend riki has gone on a tour to the states,you've been seeing clips from fan accounts on your socials.You were happy really,but you just feel so stupid right now sitting on your bed holding onto your phone for any updates from your boyfriend.Is it really that bad,you have to scramble through your socials to find fan accounts made for him and see him through the screen,if he's doing well,if he's all smiley?.No,when did it ever get bad to this point?.Thinking about it,it has happened a long time ago.At that time you were just busy telling yourself it would be fine,brightening up because it was just the start.The start is what that has brought you to this.When you had first met him,it was simple.He didn't have any schedules walking freely around chrome hearts,his supposedly favourite store.That's where you met him,one look and he got you staring.God was he handsome,on a second thought he looked really cute more like a duck? Yeah that's what you said to yourself when you found him unconsciously pouting while paying the bill in the cashier counter.After that you started seeing him frequently and sometimes you had gone just to see him.When he noticed you,you guys really clicked.Had same interests,fun talks,love for figurines.When had it started hurting really? Have you been lying to yourself all this time?.

It was not okay,it is the time to accept it.You thought you were the silly one missing him like crazy full well knowing that he's an idol and he's really determined in making himself successful.Years of late night dance practice even when he was with you,you'd be on the floor leaning back on the wall,eyes threatening to close shut and take you to a peaceful sleep.But no,your boyfriend was there working himself to the bones.You had to stay awake support him,offer him water and cutted fruits because you really cared for him.You would tell him to take a break of atleast 10 minutes but he just looked at you with that adorable grin saying he's fine.Sometimes he would consider it and would sit beside you,playing with your hair or with the water bottle in his hands leaning his head on your shoulder,scooting closer.You liked it even though he was all sweaty.You both were really in love at that moment.But now? oh you don't ever want to doubt his love for you but it's been hard lately like you're the only one who's trying,who's pushing hard.You have decided to at least show up to one of his concerts or attend a fan call,it broke you that you had to pay to see him.A fancall would do you thought as you lifted your heavy limbs to walk and get your card.

You punched in the code,the website "weverse" loading your transaction.After some minutes animated confetti shower fills your screen "You've won a fancall,congrats! " It felt empty,the mere words generated by the app to provide excitement was only breaking you more.You were shaking.The fan call was in five days.Five more days,till you see him.This was it.You had a small dinner by yourself watching your favourite show remembering how riki also loves it.You quietly entered your bedroom not bothering to shower and change into your pyjamas or do your skincare.You plopped down on the bed pulling the warm cozy blanket till your neck,hair splayed across the pillow.You usually braid your hair to bed to avoid getting it tangled but you don't now.Tonight feels suffocating, without him on the side of your bed,clinging onto you like you're his lifeline.He was there to make the cold side of your pillow warm,even if he's not physically here sometimes.You would facetime eachother talk about latest memes and funny things or rumours that gets passed on around about him by the netizens.Sometimes a full yap session on what you've both missed out on each other's life.It was nice and fulfilling.

You silently pull the blanket over your head,leaving out a shaky breath.You quickly press it down on your face.Your lungs burn at some point,your vision blurring.Your throat was burning and your eyes were watering.You need him like the oxygen you're so deprived of right now.It's painful,you never thought about yourself here in this moment at the start of your relationship.Moving on from exes were so easy,you backed out the moment you saw a bit of red flag behaviour.But you can't here not when you love him so much that you're suffocating yourself.You don't like to call him a red flag,it's you who is stupid and hurt.He is working hard there and you're here crying like a silly over literally nothing.Void consumes you as you enter into an unconscious state of sleep.

The next few days are haunting,a quick blur.It all merges into this day as you sit on your desk,your phone facing you.The front camera staring right at you,catching your face.You quickly fix your hair and makeup and double check.Clearing your throat awkwardly,your eyes dart to the time display on your phone.Just three more minutes.You fixed your dress again not wanting to sit idle and then your phone freezes momentarily before another screen joins in.You gulp nervously putting on a smile and checking if the lighting is okay.The screen is a little blurry before it fully focuses.Ni-ki emerges from under the desk,mumbling to himself as he dropped something.He sits comfortably in his chair and finally his eyes focus on you.His brows scrunch a little before his eyes widen.You open your mouth to greet him.In a hushed whisper he cuts you off "What are you doing here?My manager is right there y/n.Do you want us to get caught?"right,usual ni-ki when he is panicking.You put on a smile again.

"Hey it's been a while since i saw you" you speak casually getting the hint and acting like a fan.He replies back"How are you? I think I saw you in our concert in LA right? You were the one holding up the duck banner.Yeah?".You nod quickly,composing yourself "yes,you remember!.I'm fine.How are you?". "Ah im fine of course just busy with comeback preparations" he says while you think of it as a subtle reply as to why he's not available.But his tone lacks the warmth reserved only for you,right now he's talking to you like you're his beloved fan maybe because his manager is right there and things could go wrong.Or maybe it's always been like this for a while.You remind yourself to not overthink as you speak through, "I miss seeing you,hope you're doing fine" you say as to subtly convey your worries.Not confiding in it,he waves dismissively with a quick masked laugh as he replies casually to you like you're just a fan.

The call ends in a blur,the timer ringing from his side as you guys quickly exchange goodbyes.As soon as it ends and your screen goes black,you put your hands over your face,regretting acting like a fan.That's not what you wanted clearly,this is not enough.Maybe a concert? well if he doesn't act like himself in a fancall how is it possible in a concert.Your heart twists painfully as you let yourself cry.You think of your little self,always so unsure,picking around your nails,scared to make friends.World felt so large and unfamiliar.Will you let yourself tell her that you never changed and somehow she is always there afraid and lonely.You thought you were all grown up now,only to find yourself crying covering your face,letting the pretty makeup get ruined.You dolled yourself up for what?for hurt?,for pain?.Maybe you were always like this,maybe you failed as a person to give yourself attention and self love.You've always been one for self hatred or self loathing.Quickly regretting things you do or you say.You wish you were better,you always did.But with ni-ki things like that disappeared,it faded in the background,only living around his smiles and just him.

Maybe you depended too much on him,you were always clingy at some point.Not physically maybe but emotionally? You give yourself in wholly to whomever you love and right now you love riki.You think that's what has led to this.You love calling him riki while no one else did,quietly liking the meaning that his name means strength in his language.He was your strength,your love,your trust,your rock.Everything you had to look forward to.He was your dream and you sure did achieve it but it feels so distant.Runny nose,swollen eyes,somethings never change you think to yourself as you wipe at your tears.You lean forward for the tissues,so white and so fragile like you in a sense.Easily gets soaked,like you are right now in tears.But it makes some things go away,so maybe it's different.You can't ever make this depression clinging onto you like a second skin go away,ever.Would you ever be fixed?,tearing yourself away from this misery is as hard as building a skyscraper.Insecurity,embarassment,anxiety, overthinking,self doubt,low self esteem....what else honestly?.You think when these emotions came crashing down,it was your first ever real depression.You couldn't bear it,couldn't deal with it.You told no one.Looking at your old cut marks on your delicate wrist makes you shake and cry more,the mark so faint.Going through it was like walking through hell,your mind was your own punisher.Pushing you to self harm and self destruction.You cut your hair,wore new dresses,put on a pretty smile.You've come this far yet you still feel it,the old you.The you who is very fragile and is on the edge of breaking.You wish people were able to put up with you,you wish you had a normal mind.Getting sad only when necessary like normal people.Oh,how bad you want to be like others again.Does time really heal? Or does it push things back only for it to burst out like a volcano at some point? You never knew.You just missed him so much,you miss riki.But you can't ever bring yourself to cry like this in front of him.Opening up is hard when you've buried your old self to the ground around him.Now that he's not here,it's acting up again.You plan on running back to his arms.You don't want to tell him though,you know he's really stressed and overworked.

You quietly pull out your phone and swipe up the screen to unlock it.The brightness hurts your eyes,hissing frustratedly you lower it.You open your contacts and text jake and jay,your boyfriend's bandmates.You send out a quick greet and start texting about the surprise plan you've been wanting to do.You carry on with your day,waiting for their reply.You open your phone screen momentarily to check your notifications.When you were about to go to bed,you receive a notification from jake first.He agrees and says he will start preparing excitedly.He is a big enthusiast of your relationship with riki after all.Five minutes later when you're scrolling on spotify to make a new playlist,you receive a text from jay.He says that he heard from jake and they both will request their manager to let you make a surprise visit in the name of a family member specifically his younger sister's friend.The fake cause of visit is an urgent family matter to be passed on and since his family is on a vacation out somewhere,they've sent you.Perfect lie.Sure you do know sola,she's cute and funny but you feel nervous thinking about keeping up that facade while being watched by his manager.Days drag on as you receive a text from them that the company has accepted the request and the said date for the visit is a month away,you can stay with him there for about a week.You focus on trying to heal yourself but it all goes wrong anyway.Typical you.The sun shines through your curtains everyday but you're the one who's not shining at all.You pick up on your old depressive habits.It felt comfortable but consuming.You know you're gonna drown in it one day and lose yourself.Right now all you want and love is riki.You have to hang on for him.You have to be there to keep loving and supporting him.A goal to your insignificant life.That's what you think it is.

The day arrives as you drag your packed suitcase along the disinfected airport floor,you look down at your reflection on the floor for a moment.The jet lag was crazy,you feel so tired.The ache in your bones won't go away but you are here.Finally doing what you wanted to do.You're gonna meet him after so long.You open your phone's lockscreen to quickly look at riki's pic,he was smiling like a goofball with you in his arms posing for the photo.A lovely mirror selca is what it was.You fan yourself using your hands to make the heat in the atmosphere go away.It was really hot,you wish you dressed more lightly but you're more like all covered up.You thought it won't be that hot,well...your fault it is.You reach the destination as you look from side to side in search of the car the company has sent to pick you up.Suddenly you hear a horn from the far left corner and you recognise it.It's his manager's car.You cross the road cautiously reminding yourself to act like sola's close friend as you pull the black car's door.Making yourself comfortable in your seat,you pull back your phone and inform jay and jake that you're on your way.Taking in a deep breath you look out the window to stop being so nervous.The city was beautiful,just like riki mentioned in his chat with a fan that went viral.

The car pulls up to the hybe company,the big building standing tall in front of you.You look up to take a quick look as the sun hurts your eyes.You also click a photo as it's your first time visiting your boyfriend's workplace.Sighing you make your way into building by passing the revolving door.The interior was grand,well it had to be.It was the most famous k-pop agency after all,one of the big three's.They get the most money out the idols like your boyfriend.You enter the lift as you spot some staffs in there too.The manager guides you to enhypen's dance practice room.You hold your breath seeing the big bold inked letters on the door reading "Enhypen".You quietly push through the door,you could hear the new song blasting through the speakers and the loud instructions from the dance mentor.Heavy smell of sweat and cologne hits your nose as you step in.All of their heads turn towards you on the click of the door shutting except one,your boyfriend riki.

He's in the corner tired and unbothered.Sunoo gasps loudly as jake and jay remind him to treat you like sola's friend in hushed whispers.They exchange glances before calling riki and walk towards you.When riki really turns to look at you,he's surprised.He almost hugs you but jay stops him,telling him that there's a supposed hidden plan.He co operates though,sending quiet longing glances from his place.When the practice is over and everyone leaves including the staffs and his manager especially.He runs to you,arms woven around you as he pulls you in close leaving a relieved sigh.You bask in his warmth."Sorry,i was kind of off during the fan call" he says immediately.You pat him in the back to quietly let him know that it's okay.You pull back to look into his eyes before you place a quick peck on his cheek.He holds you like he's never letting you go."Seriously though,i never thought you would come this far to see me" he says with a grin."Just missed you,you know?" you try not to sound too cheesy but the laugh from him assures you that you just did sound cheesy.Now he's gonna tease you forever with it.That's what you think but "okay i kinda missed you too..." he says trailing of shyly.THE nishimura riki getting shy? No way...,you giggle to yourself and he only finds it more endearing.

The door opens and a figure emerges interrupting your moment,"oh sorry,i just left my airpods here" jungwon says cheekily before leaving the room with a thumbs up in your guys direction.You let out the breath you didn't know you were holding in,"scared much?" He says calmly toying with your baby hairs on your forehead.Sighing you say,"I don't know,i still feel so cautious around here as i lied saying that I'm your sister's friend".He waves it off dismissively,teasing you about being careful.You both decide to go to his dorm.You are greeted by loud screams when you step in,it's heeseung and sunghoon playing league of legends.Typical them,you sigh to yourself as you both head towards riki's room.Looking around his room,you see the joker figurine and some cool stuff that's just so him."Sit" he pats the edge of his bed,you comply sitting beside him.His hand extends to hold yours but he stops,"Wait....why is there dry skin around your nails?Have you been picking on them?" He says examining you.You stop fidgeting with the hem of your shirt "Oh,uh it's a habit of mine" you say drained of the energy you had now that you had to act like you were fine again."Don't ever do it again" he says before standing up to get a hand cream offering it to you.You apply it gently,the cream cool on your dry skin."I don't really use it but you should" he states while all you could think was how he can always see right through and how you always manage to hide it and get away.You've been playing these games with him for long enough,does he really not know? or is he just pretending?.Pushing out your thoughts you cuddle with him on the bed,his hands swung over you like a koala.Hours pass and you can't sleep much instead you prop yourself on your elbows, leaning against the headboard to look at his peaceful sleeping face.He probably must've thought you were asleep.The depressive thoughts resurface again,you try to push it out as tears silently fall from your eyes.You have been sleep deprived for long,it's disturbing.Insomnia was an issue solved long agao when you met him.Yet you are here again,in his arms right where you wanted to be but you can't seem to sleep and shake off those thoughts.They are becoming a part of you,slow and consuming.This time nothing makes it right,your heart still aches the same way when you miss him.It's like you have him right here in your arms but you can't reach him out for comfort.Is this real struggle?.You opt to quietly look at the clock and the slow rhythmic ticking of the clock spirals you into a deep slumber.

Days pass and you have a good time with riki,the thoughts consuming you momentarily.The final day arrives and you're left feeling empty at the start of the day.Grumbling to yourself you finish your breakfast.Then you go out with riki,spending time in places you didn't know existed.It was fun but you couldn't shake off the fact that this is the last day.The final day before you fall deeper without him.You want to keep seeing him but his job forbids you.Night arrives quickly and you make dinner with him,knowing nothing about cooking you both make a mess in the kitchen until jay arrives for rescue.Finally after dinner and some games,you're spent.Calling yourself out for a bathroom break,you stand in front of the mirror looking at your reflection,the colour draining from your face now that you're alone again.You fix your hair to cover your eyebags,pulling a few strands of hair infront of your face to look normal."I was thinking we should stay up late and play some video games" you yell closing the bathroom door to enter the living room only to find riki on the couch sleeping.Your eyes soften as you quietly try not to step on the legos you had built earlier.You plop on the couch beside him fidgeting with the hem of your oversized shirt.No,his oversized shirt.You consider taking it back with you when you leave next morning.

The members enter bidding you goodbyes and saying that they had a good time with you staying over in the dorm.You look off the whole time and the members notice it.Jay is the first one to question it,"Are you really that sad? He's gonna be back in a few months you know." he says trying to soothe you.Even if riki didn't sense it,the members had always known of your depressive side.Your smile fades quickly sometimes when you're alone and it is very noticeable.Maybe riki doesn't notice it since he's really close but everyone from a third person view can.You nod hesitantly,a tear slipping out before you can even stop it.The members face fall as they exchange worrisome glances.They offer you comfort and give their word that somehow they'll get riki to be in touch with you even when he's away from you.You can only glance at riki every now and then to assure that he's comfortable sleeping,half heartedly nodding at their words.They leave one by one and suddenly the living room is empty.It's just you again now.You place a feather light kiss on riki's forehead as you head towards his bedroom.You turn on the lights and start packing,stealing a few of his things and clothes.Throwing in some tees and hoodies of his,you still had a lot to pack.The night drags on as you stay awake and keep preparing for your flight tomorrow back home.You cover him with a blanket and leave a note on his table with few of your hair ties in the middle of your packing session.You know he loves wearing your hair ties around his wrist everywhere that fans question it sometime.

You leave early in the morning,jay the only one up to cook breakfast greets you as you have as your breakfast."Aren't you gonna wait up for ni-ki,you know say goodbye to him?" he says glancing at you."No but i did leave him a note,he'll know".Jay frowns but understands and bids goodbye as you finally step out of the dorm.The fresh air blesses your lungs as you wait for the cab to pick you up.The ride is silent and finally it pulls up to the airport.Dragging your suitcase along,you quickly look at your reflection on the airport floor again.You seemed so drained to yourself.Taking a seat nearby,you wait for your flight.You pull out your phone and check the time,riki must've been up by now yet you still recieve no texts.You smile sadly to yourself leaning back on your seat.It has always been like this.Push and pull with him was not fun to you.You wanted to keep in touch no matter what only for him to shut you off randomly,making you doubt your relationship with him.He acts like you don't exist at all,completely ghosts you but then again he is there holding you and making you happy.It was for him maybe not for you,when he needed a person to spend time closely with,he chose you.Maybe you should've stayed just a friend.The airport announcement shakes you out of your thoughts as you enter the plane and take your seat.

The jet lag catches up to you by the time you wake up to return back to your home.Weakly dragging your suitcase you take yet another cab to your home.You enter pocketing your keys after you unlock the door,the house still a mess just as you left it and you're here again to become one with it.A mess.It's the same the continuing days,he never texts,you cry questioning it again,the members try hard to make riki interact with you but he doesn't acting annoyed on the mere mention of your name,they hide it from you how he acts like he despises you.But you know from the lack of texts or calls once again that he's back to himself.Maybe it's just you who can't escape out of this with your depression and deep love for him.You hope everyday that you live a better life.Maybe next time,next life,maybe again with him but not like this.Not like reset and replay.

𝒞ℎ𝑒𝑓'𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒:It's my first dish and the opening of my restaurant "The spice route".Hope you had a good meal!.Leave ratings!!. [✩✩✩✩✩/✩✩✩✩✩].

[calumcxke]

NOTHING SAFE IS WORTH THE DRIVE - L.HS

pairing: playboy!heeseung x inexperienced!reader

summary: lee heeseung was an asshole. you had decided that. having to work with him on a group project made things a hundred times worse. but when a heart longing to experience love for the first time meets someone more than willing to give it, the line between irritation and something deeper starts to blur.

wc: 37.9k (i’m sorry)

warnings: reader is completely inexperienced, angst, miscommunication, reader falls too quickly and gets flustered very easily, kinda slow burn but not really, heeseung plays basketball but it’s barely mentioned, heeseung calls reader “princess” a lot, kissing, making out, features wonyoung (ive), yunjin (le sserafim), beomgyu (txt), sieun (stayc), reader cries a lot

smut warnings: dry humping, oral (f rec.), unprotected sex, virginity loss

🎵: playlist

notes: it’s here!! i'm SO sorry this took so long, i was having issues with tumblr :( this was originally only supposed to be 20k words… idk what happened. but it’s a rollercoaster and i love it!!! have fun reading! <3

you had heard of him before you ever saw him. everyone knew his name- whispered in dorm hallways, watched at games, the life of the party. a reputation built on charm, late-night hookups, and the kind of confidence that made girls fall to his feet with every word he said. you never cared to pay him any mind. but today, you walked into class and found him sitting in your seat. lee heeseung. just your luck. you hesitated for half a second before walking up to him. he was hunched over his phone, tapping out a message, looking about as invested in being here as a teenager at their grandma’s bingo game. "that’s my seat." his eyes flicked up at you, slow and lazy, like you’d interrupted something important. he gave you a once-over- casual, unreadable- and then, just as plainly, looked back at his phone. "doesn’t have your name on it." you exhaled sharply. of course. "i’ve been sitting here all semester." "congrats." he didn’t even look at you this time. "find another spot." and just like that, every rumor, every complaint you’d heard about him settled into place. arrogant. entitled. exactly the kind of guy you had no patience for. fine. whatever. you weren’t about to argue with someone who clearly wasn’t worth the energy. wordlessy, you drop into the seat beside him, pull out your notebook, and act like he doesn’t exist. he didn’t pay you any mind after that, instead shifting so he was leaned back against the seat, his feet kicked out in front of him. you wondered what made heeseung so popular with the ladies. sure, he was attractive. that much was undeniable. sadly. but you had barely had a ten second interaction with him, and he had already managed to piss you off. you bit the inside of your cheek, holding back a sigh as you waited for the professor to show up. the universe had to have been out for you today. you woke up late, you’re out of your go-to breakfast bars, and you’re sitting next to lee heeseung in class. you were silently praying nothing worse could happen. you hadn’t signed up for this. you were just trying to get through this class and move on with your day. but here you were, next to the campus playboy himself, the guy who never seemed to take anything seriously, the guy who had a different girl on his arm every weekend. you tried not to look over at him. you really did. but he practically radiated attention. his messy hair fell perfectly in place, and his broad shoulders took up way too much space for someone who was so annoying. heeseung wasn’t talking to you, but you could feel his presence next to you, and it was somehow more distracting than if he had been talking to you. the way his fingers tapped on the desk, the faint cologne smell that wafted over to you, even the way his shoes shifted against the floor- it was like he was intentionally making everything around him more noticeable. you hated how easily he commanded the room. you hated that even now, you were aware of him more than anyone else. and of course, the universe had to pick today to make you sit right next to him. of course, it had to be this class, the one you hated the most. the one you dreaded attending every single day. you were so deep in thought that you barely noticed when your professor- dr. kim- walked in, snapping you out of your spiral. he glanced up from his notes, then scanned the room with a smile. “alright, everyone,” dr. kim began, “i’ve got the group project assignments here. please try to work well with your partners, and don't hesitate to reach out if you have any questions.” your eyes widened slightly at his words, gulping as your eyes flickered down to your notebook. group project? there had been no mention of this before. or maybe there was, and you just forgot.

  there was one thing about you. you hated group projects. they were the bane of your existence. you preferred to work alone, at your own pace, and not having to be stressed out by a freeloader or have awkward study sessions that consisted of deafening silence. "and for the final pair…" dr. kim’s voice broke through your haze, "y/n and heeseung." fuck. of course, the universe was never on your side. your eyes shot to him automatically, your stomach doing a flip that had nothing to do with excitement. his eyes flickered to meet yours, his expression unreadable. and then, a quirk of his lips and a tilt of his head. like he was observing you. you groaned internally, wishing for nothing more than for the floor to swallow you whole, turning your gaze back to your notebook. the professor was still talking, but all you could focus on was how you'd somehow ended up in this mess. you barely met this guy, he was an ass, and now you had to work on a project with him. “guess we better get used to each other, huh?” heeseung’s voice was low and casual, breaking the silence between you two. you forced a smile, nodding at him, “i guess.” you were already dreading the next few weeks. you sat in silence for the rest of the class. he didn’t speak to you, and you didn’t speak to him. you wondered if things would’ve gone differently if your morning had gone better, or if heeseung hadn’t been such an asshole. you couldn’t wait to tell wonyoung and yunjin about how shitty your day was already. as dr. kim wrapped up, you sat there, wondering just how you were going to survive this. there was no way to escape the fact that you were going to have to work with heeseung. you only hoped you’d survive it with your sanity intact. he had already proved just how arrogant he could be. the moment dr. kim dismisses class, you’re up out of your seat, dying to get out of this hell-sent class and to the comfort of your go-to café with your friends. you’re so close to the door when you hear his voice- smooth and casual, like he owns the place. “hey, y/n,” heeseung calls, and you freeze, your hand still on the strap of your bag. you turn to face him, trying to hide the frustration written all over your face. “yeah?” you reply, fighting to keep your tone neutral, but he can hear the hint of annoyance in it anyway. he flashes that signature smirk of his, leaning casually against the desk like he owns the whole room. “we’re gonna need to exchange numbers for the project,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “so we can work around my basketball stuff, y’know? i can’t really be falling behind.” you feel your eye twitch. of course anything other than class would be more important to him. the star player of the basketball team is unable to commit to a school project. you push the annoyance aside, instead reaching into your back pocket and pulling out your phone. “sure,” you mutter, handing it to him after opening the phone app. you can’t help but notice how his fingers brush against yours, the touch sending a small chill through you. he taps a few things into your phone before handing it back. “i’ll text you later,” he says, his smile a little too knowing. you can already feel the heat rising in your cheeks, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of letting him see it. you nod curtly and turn on your heels, heading straight out the door.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

“and then i woke up late! nothing is working out today!” you whisper-shout, dramatically letting your head fall into your hands as wonyoung watches you with a smile, yunjin scrolling on her phone and only halfway listening to your angry rant. “so, how’s that class going?” wonyoung asks, her tone casual as she stirs her drink. “you still surviving?” you had told them how much you hated your history class, practically having a complaint about something every time you attended it. “barely,” you mumble, finally lifting your head from your hands. “we got assigned group projects today.” wonyoung puffs out a breath of air, squinting her eyes. “brutal. who’d you get paired with?” you glance at her, your face blank, silently hoping she can see the despair in your eyes as you groan, throwing your head back in annoyance before mumbling, “lee heeseung.” you hear yunjin gasp slightly, looking back to see her finally staring at you with wide eyes before slamming her phone down on the table. “wait… heeseung?” she asks, a disbelieving scoff slipping past her lips. “as in the heeseung who’s like… the playboy basketball player?” you nod slowly, suddenly feeling way more nervous than you’d like to admit, “yep. that heeseung.” wonyoung laughs softly, pushing your shoulder with her arm. “no way. the universe really hates you, doesn’t it?” you glare at her, flipping her off with an eye roll, “it’s not funny. i’m gonna slam my head into the nearest wall.” “let’s not do that,” yunjin shakes her head, placing her chin on her palm as she tilts her head at you, “what’s the big deal, anyway? he’s just a player.” you sigh, playing with the rim of your cup while shaking your head, “he was an absolute ass this morning. it was like… the worst first impression of anyone i’ve ever had. i actually can’t deal with that for a whole project on top of the class already being a shithole.” wonyoung leans back in her chair slightly, looking at you with an amused smile. “he can’t be that bad. maybe you’re just having a bad day and he happened to rub you the wrong way.” you roll your eyes, but her words don’t make you feel any better. “yeah, sure.” “plus,” yunjin adds, leaning forward with a smirk, “maybe you can have some fun. i mean, make the most of it. you’re working with lee heeseung. most girls would kill to be in your spot.” you stare at them both, you lips parted in slight disbelief.  “yeah, well they can have him.” the two girls smile at you, clearly more entertained by your suffering and how overdramatic you were. you bring up another topic, eager to get the attention off of you and your project from hell, instead shifting the focus to yunjin’s project in music theory.

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wonyoung was wrong. horribly wrong. heeseung was that bad. you check your phone for the fifth time in the last ten minutes, the glowing screen mocking you with the time. heeseung was supposed to be here half an hour ago. thirty whole minutes. you sigh, your fingers tightening around your phone. you had already texted him- a simple, are you still coming?- but it was staring back at you with “delivered” right under it. your fingers tap against the table impatiently as you stare down at the open laptop in front of you. the library is quieter than usual, the hum of low voices and the occasional rustle of pages filling the space. you consider packing up and leaving, your hands beginning to collect the pencils and highlighters you had set out around you. “you’re pretty dedicated to this, aren’t you?” you don’t even need to look up to know who it is. finally. slowly, you lift your gaze, leveling heeseung with an unimpressed stare. he’s standing there, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, looking completely unbothered. like he hasn’t just left you waiting for half an hour. “you’re half an hour late,” you deadpan. heeseung grins, like he finds your irritation amusing. “technicalities.” you scoff, shaking your head. “you said we’d meet at six.” “yeah, and i meant it,” he says, smirking at the way you roll your eyes. “it’s just that… time is a social construct.” is he fucking serious. you gape at him, your eyebrows furrowed. “are you seriously trying to use philosophy as an excuse?” “would you rather me lie?” he asks, finally sitting, slinging his backpack onto the table. “i’d prefer you actually care about this project. it’s a huge part of our grade, heeseung.” he waves a dismissive hand, pulling his laptop out of his backpack. “relax, princess. i’m here now, aren’t i?” you gulp at the nickname, turning your head back to your laptop to open up the assignment. “barely,” you mumble. heeseung chuckles, enjoying your annoyance. “fine. i had practice, it ran later than expected.” “that’s all you had to say,” you reply, your eyes flickering up to meet his, “and a text would’ve been nice.”

“can’t really text when i’m on the court, princess.” he shoots back, tilting his head with a smile. you exhale sharply, already regretting ever agreeing to meet with him. “can we just start? we’re already behind schedule.” luckily, he agrees, his eyes drifting to his own laptop. you sigh, your own attention drifting back to your laptop. all you can do is hope that things begin to go smoother than this at some point. because right now, you’re considering slamming your head into your laptop or the table. you try to focus, you really do. but it’s hard when every few minutes, heeseung is moving. drumming his fingers against the table, shifting in his seat, clicking his pen as he reads articles on his computer. finally, you snap, your eyes looking up at him from your screen. “are you always this restless, or do you just have an allergy to being productive?” heeseung blinks at you, lips quirking up like he finds your irritation entertaining. “nah, i’m just bored. this class is stupid.” “why are you like this?” you roll your eyes, glaring at him. “even if this class is stupid, it’s still an important project.” “like what?” he tilts his head, all faux innocence, completely ignoring your second statement. “charming? fun to be around?” you scoff. “you were late. plus you were a dick this morning.” heeseung chuckles, shaking his head lightly. “c’mon, princess. loosen up a bit. you’re making a big deal over nothing.” “look, i had a shitty day. you’re not making it any better,” you mutter, scoffing again. a voice in the back of your head wonders if you’ve broken the world record for scoffing this much in five minutes. heeseung leans forward, resting his chin on one hand. “i’m sorry. you know… i’m pretty good at relieving stress.” your jaw drops. “excuse me?” you clear your throat, trying to ignore the way his words have a blush creeping up your cheeks, instead turning your attention back to your laptop. “just focus on your work, heeseung. we need to plan out who’s gonna do what part.” you don’t miss how he tilts his head, a knowing smile on his lips as he clicks his tongue, nodding. “alright. just remember we have to work around my schedule.” you let out a groan, your head rolling back as you look back towards him. “heeseung!” he only laughs in response, shaking his head at how you get embarrassed when other students give you dirty glares. “sorry,” you mumble softly, your eyes glaring at him. “focus.” an hour later, you guys had made relatively good progress. you had divided tasks, and heeseung had done his work, for the most part. he still found every opportunity to get on your nerves, but at least he did so while being productive. you both pack up in silence, swinging your bag over your shoulder. you spare him a glance, mumbling out a small, “bye, heeseung.”

just as you step outside, you hear the unmistakable sound of sneakers scuffing against the pavement behind you, “where you headed?” you turn your head slightly to see heeseung strolling up beside you, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie as he looks down at you. “my dorm,” you reply, shifting your bag higher on your shoulder, “it’s late.” he nods, shrugging as he continues to walk next to you, “i’ll walk you.” you stop in your tracks, turning to face him with narrowed eyes. “why?” he tilts his head, raising his eyebrows slightly. “why not? i have nothing else to do.” “because…” you search for a logical reason, but there really seems to be none. you blurt out the only excuse that comes to mind. “it’s late.” he furrows his brows, falling in place beside you as you begin to walk again. “it’s 7:30.” you glance at him, shrugging. “that’s considered late for some people.” he smirks, tilting his head at you, an amused look on his face. “what if i just enjoy your company, princess?” your face heats at the nickname, and you roll your eyes, quickening your pace. “we barely know each other.” “well, i’d like to change that.” he keeps up effortlessly, long strides matching yours with ease. you scoff, trying to ignore the affect his words have on you. “i think you like to get on my nerves, heeseung.” he grins, nudging your shoulder lightly. “that too.” you sigh, glancing at him before looking straight ahead. but you don’t tell him to leave. maybe a part of you deep down enjoys the company. maybe you could allow for a part of yourself to feel wanted if the campus playboy was walking you back to your dorm. and if your heart stumbles a little when he walks just close enough for your arms to brush, you choose to ignore it. 

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

the door clicks shut behind you, sealing you off from the rest of the world. you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, pressing your back against the door as if that alone could ground you. it doesn’t. your mind is still running, replaying the moments heeseung’s arms brushed against yours, or the cocky smirks he sent your way, or the remarks he would make to get under your skin. with a frustrated groan, you push off the door and drop your bag onto your desk chair. you smush your cheeks with your hands, sighing, as if that will stop the warmth from creeping up your cheeks again. heeseung is nothing but trouble. you know that. everyone knows that. a playboy who knows how to charm his way into girls hearts with cocky words and athletic skills that has anyone swooning. and yet… your stomach twists. you shouldn’t like his attention. you shouldn’t feel special. heeseung flirts with everyone. that’s just how he was. so why was your stomach in knots? why was your mind replaying every interaction with him- no matter how insufferable he was? you collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. you don’t know how to handle this. it’s not like you have experience. no boyfriend, no first kiss, hell, you haven’t even held hands with a guy romantically. the concept of flirting- especially with someone like heeseung, who’s it’s practically second nature to- is foreign to you. you don’t know whether you’re looking too deeply into things, or if there’s actually something there. you turn onto your side, hugging your pillow. reading too many romance novels had truly skewed your perception of love. this wasn’t a movie. the playboy wasn’t going to fall for the girl in class. this was reality, and things didn’t work like that. sadly. you’re overthinking it. reading too deeply into his words, his touches, his actions. but why does your heart speed up at the thought of him? you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and hoping to turn off your overactive brain. but instead, you feel that same flutter in your chest every time you think about him. the sound of the door opening catches your attention, glancing behind you to see yunjin entering the dorm. her presence relives you slightly, knowing you’ll have a distraction from the storm of confusion in your brain right now. she sends a smile your way, kicking off her shoes and walking towards you.

"what’s going on?" she asks, raising an eyebrow as she surveys you curled up on your bed. "you look like you’re seconds away from ripping all your hair out.” you laugh breathlessly, flopping on your back so you can look at her without straining your neck. “i’m fine.” you watch as she smiles slightly, shaking her head and making her way to the edge of your bed, sitting down. “don’t lie. what is it?” you hesitate, knowing full well what’s bothering you. but you can’t exactly tell yunjin, can you? she knew you better than anyone, knew how insecure you were about having no experience. she would tell you to wake up, and not to fall for his playboy antics. so you shrug, pursing your lips before you speak. “it’s just school. stuff is piling up, and i’m behind on a few assignments. i’m just overwhelmed.” yunjin studies your face, not saying much. you can tell she doesn’t buy it, and for a second anxiety bubbles inside you at the thought that she knows, or that she’ll keep pushing. but she doesn’t. instead, she nods. “i get it. school’s been ass lately. you’re smart, though. you’ll figure it out.” you nod, appreciating the way she doesn’t pry. pushing yourself on your elbows so you’re sitting up, leaning against the headboard, you smile. “well, we’ll see if i actually make it through the semester this time.” she giggles, gesturing for you to move over as she cuddles up beside you. “if you don’t wanna talk about it, what about we watch tv? it could get your mind off of things. we could continue rewatching business proposal?” you smile, your eyes lighting up at the mention of the show. “please, i can’t live without my daily dose of hari and taemoo.” she laughs, turning on the tv and going to netflix. you feel a pang of guilt for lying to her, and her knowing that’s she’s lying. but yunjin is your closest friend, she won’t pressure you for answers, and knows when to stop digging. you shake your head slightly, pushing your anxieties to the back of your head. right now, you just need netflix and yunjin’s presence. everything else can come later.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

you tap your pen against the edge of your notebook, staring at the notes that made you want to rip your hair out. why you had to sit here and listen to your professor talk about smallpox for over an hour was unbeknownst to you. plus, you hadn’t slept well last night. you and yunjin were up until 2 a.m., and when you finally decided to sleep, you couldn’t. your mind kept racing, your bed felt too uncomfortable, the room felt too hot. you didn’t feel like yourself. and then he walked in. hands in his pockets, his backpack slung over one shoulder. he was late, of course he was. it should be annoying- it is annoying, he’s annoying- but for some reason, something in your chest tightens. your fingers curl around your pen, forcing your eyes back to your notebook. this was not happening. you’re just irritated. that’s all. he’s been an ass, he was late yesterday, he’s late today, and he walked in like he owns the place. while you’ve been sitting here for the past twenty minutes, writing down notes that are definitely going to be important for the project. but then he slides into the seat next to you, the smell of his cologne wafting your way as he clears his throat. “what’d i miss?” you turn, narrowing your eyes. “twenty minutes of lecture.” “no shit, sherlock.” he replies, pulling a notebook out of his bag. “mind sending me those notes later?” you shake your head with an eye roll, turning back to the front of the classroom. “this is why you need to show up on time.” “c‘mon, princess,” he mumbles, a hand reaching out to tug at the one of the legs of your chair, “help a guy out.” you gasp at the unexpected tug, turning to glare at him. “what the fuck? stop that.” he only tilts his head, shrugging with that same stupid smirk. your stomach flips again, but this time, you focus on the irritation bubbling inside you. this is exactly why you would never fall for heeseung. because he’s insufferable. he’s rude. he’s never on time. he uses flirting as an excuse to get out of everything, to get girls to bow at his feet. he chuckles, moving his hand away. “you’re annoyed.” “of course i am, heeseung. leave me alone.” you mutter, scoffing as he only shakes his head playfully. “y/n. heeseung.” dr kim. speaks, your body tensing as you turn towards the front of the classroom, meeting your professor’s expectant eyes. “is this something important you would like to share with the class? or would you like to keep bothering everyone with your banter?” your cheeks immediately flush, your body running cold as all the heads in the classroom towards you two. you’ve never wanted the floor to swallow more than you did right now. you shake your head, your voice coming out quiet. “no sir, sorry about that.” heeseung says nothing, simply nodding his head. you were going to kill him. “alright, then. anyway, as i was saying…” dr. kim speaks, continuing on with the lesson like nothing happened as you sit there in humiliation.

“so…” he begins. “shut up.” you mumble back, your voice quiet as your eyes stay trained on your notebook, picking up your pen to continue writing down whatever nonsense your professor spills. you were pissed off now, all thoughts of entertaining the annoying boy sat next to you gone. you didn’t know if he had realized how embarrassed you actually were, but he didn’t push. you watched him shift in his seat so he was facing the front of the classroom out of your peripheral vision, also beginning to jot down notes. the rest of class drags on unbearably slow. you try to keep your focus on the lecture, but your mind buzzes with embarrassment, replaying the way dr. kim had called you both out in front of everyone. when class finally ends, you don’t waste a second in shoving your notebook into your bag, slinging it over your shoulder, and making a beeline for the door. of course, you’re never quite quick enough. heeseung appears next to you, falling in step beside you once again. “you’re really gonna ignore me after that?” you scoff, refusing to look at him as you keep your gaze trained ahead. “that’s exactly what i’m gonna do.” you hear him laugh, one that shows he clearly finds you entertaining. “it wasn’t that bad.” you finally glance at him, an annoyed expression on your face. “we got called out in front of the entire class for arguing like little kids, heeseung.” “and?” he grins, nudging your arm. “it was kinda cute. no big deal.” you inhale sharply, turning away before he can catch the way your face heats up. “you are insufferable. not everyone is as popular as you, alright? i don’t appreciate that many eyes on me.” he hums, tilting his head, as if he’s acknowledging your words. “where are you headed, anyway?” “lunch,” you say automatically, before realizing your mistake. a smirk creeps into his lips, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. “perfect. i’m hungry, too.” “no.” you blurt out, your eyes snapping to his. he feigns innocence. “no?” “you are not coming with me, heeseung. i’ve dealt with you enough today.” you clarify, trying to make your expression as serious as you can, looking to your front again. “why not?” he grins, clearly enjoying getting a rise out of you. “we’re partners, aren’t we? we need to work on our… chemistry.” you groan, rubbing your temples. maybe if you ignore him, he’ll take the hint. he does not take the hint. he continues to walk next to you, ignoring the stares of other girls wondering why heeseung is walking around with you.

so now, much to your dismay, you find yourself exiting the building with heeseung beside you, practically- no, literally- inviting himself to lunch. and as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, your stomach is in knots at the thought of spending more time with him. the walk is awfully quiet. heeseung doesn’t say a lot- much to your dismay. you wouldn’t say it’s peaceful, it was far from it. while heeseung may have been relaxed, just enjoying the walk, you on the other hand were losing it inside. caught between being annoyed at him or acknowledging whatever feeling was in your chest every time he was near. it wasn’t like you couldn’t pretend what the feeling was. you knew what a crush felt like. but you didn’t want to pay it any mind. how could you have a crush on lee heeseung? how could you fall for someone this quickly? you had to have set a new record for yourself. you decided it was just the fact that you were yearning for any kind of romantic attention, and heeseung was providing that… kinda. calling you ‘princess’ wasn’t exactly flirting. but you had never had this before, were you just expected to not be flustered? this feeling was treacherous, and you knew it. falling for the playboy was the last thing you wanted to do. you fidgeted with your hands, worries swirling around inside your head as you try to come up with an excuse that doesn’t make you seem like a touch-deprived college student. lost in your thoughts, you don’t notice the incoming cyclist until it’s too late. before you can process what’s happening, a firm grip wraps around your wrist, yanking you backward just in time. your breath stutters, a small squeak leaving you as you crash into something- someone. the scent of his cologne is suddenly overwhelming, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his hoodie to ground yourself. his arm is still around you, his body warm against yours, his grip on your wrist loosening, but not completely letting go. your heart pounds in your chest, and you don’t know if it’s from almost getting run over or him. you can feel his breath fanning lightly against your temple, his chest moving as he breathes in. was he always this built? you knew heeseung was strong, but you had never touched him. “careful, princess,” he murmurs, voice lower than usual. “you trying to get yourself killed?” you blink up at him, your lips parting, but no words come out. not when he’s this close, not when his arm is splayed across your back, his hand still holding onto your wrist lightly. and that’s when it hits you. this is a crush. you like lee heeseung. you pull away quickly, trying to ignore the warmth lingering on your skin as you clear your throat. “i- i wasn’t paying attention.” you stutter out, refusing to meet his gaze. heeseung lets out a soft chuckle, shoving his hands into his pockets as he watches you, nodding lightly. “yeah, i noticed.” you scowl, turning on your heel and stomping toward the café, hoping he doesn’t see the way your ears burn. he keeps up with you, and you can hear the smirk in his voice even when you don’t look at him. “so i don’t get a thank you?” you roll your eyes, trying to fight the blush climbing up your cheeks as you turn your head to the side, never realizing how interesting the road was. “thank you,” you mutter, your voice too quiet he almost didn’t hear. but he hums, and that’s enough for you to know he won’t push further… hopefully.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

it’s been a week. a week of trying to push away the way your heart speeds up whenever heeseung so much as looks at you. a week of acting like the casual touches and the teasing remarks don’t make your stomach flip. a week of trying to convince yourself you don’t like heeseung. a week of failing. now at lunch, you’re sat with wonyoung and yunjin, the conversation flowing easily between them- an annoying professor, a party next weekend, overdue homework- but the words barely process. your eyes are trained on heeseung across the cafeteria. the same place he always sits, with his team and friends, but now you can’t stop looking. he’s leaned back in his chair, laughing at something one of his friends said. he looks beautiful. you can admire his sharp jawline, or the way his adam’s apple moves when he throws his head back, laughing at a joke. and for some stupid, down bad reason, you can’t tear your eyes away. you’re not even aware you’ve been staring until yunjin’s voice snaps you out of it. “you can’t be serious.” your head snaps towards her, blinking in confusion. “what happened?” she doesn’t say anything. instead she pursues her lips, tilting her chin slightly in heeseung direction with a quirk of her brow. “heeseung.” your stomach drops, your mouth opening and closing as she waits for an answer. “it’s not like that,” you blurt, suddenly finding your untouched lunch very interesting. yunjin doesn’t buy it. she crosses her arms, watching you closely. “then why are you staring at him like that? is this why you’ve been so out of it lately?” silence. the air feels too thick, your face burning hotter by the second. you have no good excuse. no answer to her question, because that means you would have to admit it out loud. and you weren’t ready to do that. you hated how obvious you were being, how you were acting like every other girl he’s wrapped around his finger before now. finally, wonyoung- who has been watching this exchange like it’s the most entertaining thing she’s seen all day- chimes in, "i wouldn’t blame you.” you turn to her, your eyebrows raising. “what?” she shrugs, stealing one of your fries before tossing it in her mouth. "i’m just saying, he’s hot. everyone knows that. you’ve been spending a lot of time with him because of your project. i mean… would it be the worst thing if something happened?” your eyes widen more- if that’s even possible. but before you can get any words out, yunjin is speaking. she looks at her like she’s lost her mind, shaking her head quickly. "are you insane? don’t encourage this.” "i’m just saying!" wonyoung laughs, holding her hands up in mock surrender. “you never know.” yunjin scoffs, rolling her eyes dramatically. “no, we do know. heeseung is heeseung. an asshole.” she turns back to you, her expression softening slightly. "you just need to be careful.” it’s the same thing she always says. it’s everything that you’ve been telling yourself. you just nod, too embarrassed that they found out to even speak.

silence lingers between the three of you. you look on the food in front of you, the other students walking by, the ground. but you can feel their eyes on you, like they’re waiting for you to acknowledge their words- to say anything. wonyoung breaks the silence, picking at her nails, “i mean, it’s not like you have much experience- let me rephrase- you have no experience with this stuff.” your head snaps towards her, your jaw dropped. “what the fuck?” she smiles at you, shrugging. “i’m just pointing out the facts’ y/n. you get flustered by everything. you’re gonna fall too fast, especially with someone like him. that’s the reality for a romance virgin.” as if this moment wasn’t already embarrassing enough. your face burns, glaring at her. “a romance virgin? what the fuck does that even mean?” you go quiet, realizing you don’t have a comeback to her words, because as much as you hate it, she’s telling the truth. so you resort to sighing, grabbing a fry and plopping it in your mouth. “you guys are so annoying.” yunjin laughs, also stealing a fry from your plate. “we’re being realistic. and looking out for you.” “i don’t even like him,” you mumble, your mouth filled with a bite of food, wonyoung wincing at the sight. you only flip her off in response. she laughs, raising her eyebrows, “right. that’s why you were making heart eyes at him across the cafeteria. i’m surprised you didn’t raise up and start floating towards him.” you gape at her, scoffing as you shove her shoulder. “fuck off! i was not!” she doesn’t respond, but her and yunjin share a knowing look, smiles on their faces as they look back at you. you groan, pressing your hands against your face, “you guys suck. why are you torturing me?” yunjin speaks, her smile already telling you she’s about to make things worse, “just saying, do you really want heeseung to be your first everything?” you reach your hand over the table to smack her arm, practically glaring daggers at her as all she does is laugh. “yunjin! shut up!” she just shrugs, fighting back more laughs as you sulk in your chair, arms crossed against your chest. "what? i’m looking out for you. i mean, at least he’ll be good, he knows what he’s doing.” you decide to ignore her words, your cheeks burning as you look off to the side, sighing at how wonyoung laughs at her words. “i hate you,” you mumble, shaking your head. they only laugh more, wonyoung leaning over to give you a hug. you reciprocate, begrudgingly. you just want the floor to swallow you right now.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

you were late. to be fair, you weren’t that worried. heeseung was never on time to your study sessions. and, if anything, you were only going to be 5 minutes late. pushing open the door of the library, you’re greeted with the smell of books, the quiet sounds of footsteps, and fingers tapping keys quietly. time seems to slow in here, somehow. you like it. it’s so peaceful, everyone minding their own business. you stroll quietly, making your way to the study rooms on the side of the library. you had reserved one of the rooms, sending heeseung a text earlier in the day of which one to meet you at. you walk up to the door, the frosted glass frame with a big blue “5” staring back at you, before pushing it open. you’ll be able to set everything up, maybe get ahead a bit before you have to deal with him, go over things- but he’s already there. your brain short circuits, like all the thoughts you had disappeared. sitting in one of the chairs, leaned back with one leg stretched out and the other one bent. his hair is damp, which you assume is from practice, hanging in his eyes. a white wifebeater clings to his skin, leaving little to the imagination. his shoulders, his biceps, his chest, his torso. you swear you’re going insane. your eyes flicker to the way his forearm flexes when he scrolls on his phone, your fingers tightening around the strap on your bag. it’s only then that you realize you’ve been staring. his eyes flicker up from his phone as his gaze locks on yours, the corner of his lip rising. “like what you see?” you swallow, shaking your head as you step further into the room, letting the door shut behind you. “i’m just surprised you’re actually here on time.” he only nods, completely seeing through your little act. he leans back more, raising his arms above his head. he groans, and you can’t tear your eyes away from the way his muscles flex, or the way his shirt lifts- just slightly, but enough for you to see a sliver of his skin, his abs highlighted by the fluorescent lights shining down on you two. you feel insane. your body heats up, taking a deep breath as you (reluctantly) tear your eyes away from him. you busy yourself with pulling everything you need out, trying to ignore heeseung’s gaze on you. the space suddenly feels too small, and you regret reserving a room. you can’t look at anyone else, can’t find a distraction outside of this room. you’re stuck. heeseung pulls out his own laptop, opening it and speaking, like it’s the most casual thing. “you were staring.” your breath hitches, but you play it off, glaring at him. “i told you, i was surprised you were here on time.” his brows lift in amusement. “that’s all?” you nod, eyes turning back to your screen as you pull up the project. “that’s all.” “alright,” he hums, but the smile doesn’t drop from his face. your face burns, trying to push all thoughts of how good he looked away as you try desperately to lock in, typing out anything that seems of significance. this was going to be a long study session.

that it was. you were nearing the hour and a half mark, your brain starting to jumble all the words you read, taking in too much information at once. if you had to read one more article about the impact of diseases and medicine on our society you were sure you were going to start slamming your head against the table. for once, heeseung wasn’t being a pain. no remarks or teasing. he was silent, actually doing his work. you were grateful for the change, considering how earlier had gone. luckily the tensions had died down, and you two hadn’t talked since you walked in. then, without warning, he leans in. your body tenses, his arm reaching past you to grab a pen that had rolled over to your side. the scent of his cologne filled your nose, along with his breath lightly fanning against your cheek. you swallowed, trying to keep your eyes trained on your laptop like nothing was wrong. but he notices. of course he does. his fingers hover over the pen, but he doesn’t grab it. his gaze flickers to you, the corner of his lip lifting up. “you good?” his voice is lower, the teasing lilt evident in his voice already. you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you continue typing, trying to ignore how fast your heart is beating, “yeah, i’m fine.” he tilts his head, just watching you. then he moves a bit closer, your breath hitching. “are you sure?” he asks again, smiling slightly. you nod again, too scared to even look his way as you feel your cheeks burning up. “you’re too close. that’s all.” he grins, unable to hide how amusing this is to him, “too close?” you nod, confirming his words with a quiet, “yeah.” he doesn’t back away, instead slowly dragging the pen towards himself as he continues. “what, never had a guy this close before?” you open your mouth to respond- but no words come out. it’s like you glitched, the words refusing to leave your lips as you try to come up with an excuse, an insult, anything to get the attention off of you right now. fuck. he picks up on it immediately. his grin falters slightly, his eyes flickering over your face to gauge your reaction. “you haven’t?” you feel stupid. your chest tightens, embarrassment flooding you. you turn your head quickly- too quickly. not realizing how close the two of you were, your nose brushes against his as you stutter out words. “that’s not- no- i mean-“ “oh my god.” he mumbles, leaning back in his chair. “heeseung.” you speak, your eyes pleading with him. he blinks, the smirk gone off his face and replaced with curiosity. “you’ve never been kissed before? actually?”

“heeseung-” you mumble, no other word leaving your lips as your ears heat up, your stomach twisting as he stares at you. his grin returns, just slightly, a small laugh leaving him as he shakes his head. “that’s.. wow.” he doesn’t sound judgmental, more so surprised, but the damage was already done. “just drop it,” you mutter, suddenly feeling the need to get out of the room, closing your laptop and beginning to pack up. “that’s interesting,” he continues, slowly shutting his laptop as he continues to watch you, “you’re leaving?” you nod, trying to ignore the mortification you feel as you shove things into your backpack carelessly. “it’s already been an hour and a half.” you go to shove a pencil inside, but with how shaky your hands are, it slips through your fingers, landing on the table. “fuck,” you whisper, so quiet he almost doesn’t hear. he reaches for the pen, his fingers moving faster than yours as he twirls it in between his fingers, watching you. “you good?” you nod, holding out your hand for the pen, refusing to meet his eyes, “i’m fine. just- can i have it?” he hesitates, before slowly placing it in your palm. he doesn’t say anything, instead simply watching as you move your hand quickly, shoving the pen into your backpack, before quickly zipping it up and slinging it over your shoulder. you can feel his gaze on you, turning on your heel and making a beeline for the door. “i’ll see you in class,” you mutter, the door shutting behind you as you walk out as quickly as your legs will take you, trying to hold back the flood of emotions and embarrassment swirling inside you.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

it felt like everything hit you the second you stepped through the door. the silence only heightened the sound of your pounding heartbeat in your ears. you kick off your shoes, your hands shaky as you let your backpack fall to the floor. your mind can’t stop replaying every interaction with heeseung earlier that day. but it felt like so much more than that. it was about the way you slipped up, your own body betraying you and the truth slipping out. it wasn’t like being inexperienced was a bad thing- you knew that. but you hated how everyone around you was able to talk about it so casually. while you fell behind and lived vicariously through romance novels and cheesy romcoms. for once, you wanted to know what it was like. and for all people that could’ve found out- heeseung had to know. the boy who had a new girl on his arm every week, who was no stranger to romance. it felt mocking. embarrassing. like the universe was making a joke of you, pointing at you and laughing. your breath catches in your throat, tears spilling down your cheeks before you can process it. you don’t stop them, you don’t react. you simply stand there, small sobs leaving you as the defeated feeling takes over. you’d tried to hard to not let this take over. to be okay with the fact that you hadn’t experienced love yet, it was no big deal. but it somehow hurt more knowing the one you liked was probably the most unattainable person on campus. you shuffle towards your bed, your feet barely leaving the ground until you reach the foot of your bed, letting yourself fall forward, straight into a pillow. your tears soak the fabric, your mind swirling with insecurities and thoughts of yearning. to know. to feel. to be loved. it feels so impossible at this point. like love- true love- will never find you. it felt like everything was boiling over, your body curling up as your tears grow more intense, louder sobs slipping from your lips as your hands grip the pillow. you didn’t even know how long you had been crying for. you cried until no more tears came out, the sobs transforming into quiet sniffles and labored breaths, until exhaustion took over your body and lulled your body into a peaceful sleep, safe from all the worries of the outside world.

but the peace didn’t last. the sound of the door opening stirs you awake, yunjin’s voice filling the apartment. your body feels too heavy, a dull pounding in your head and a lump in your throat still remain as you turn over slowly. you rub your eyes, trying your best to remove the evidence of your breakdown through your sleepy confusion. “-and he was so fucking hot, y/n. ugh, i wish i would’ve gone over to his place. and he told me he had a good time, and he wants to see me again!” she spills, kicking off her shoes and throwing her purse somewhere near the door, flailing her hands as she recounts all the details. she pauses as she turns to you, finally taking in the state you’re in. “were you asleep? sorry. i didn’t mean to wake you up,” she laughs quietly, lowering her voice. you simply shake your head, still coming back to reality as you push yourself up. you speak, your voice scratchy and slurred from lingering exhaustion, “it’s fine. i shouldn’t have fallen asleep that early, anyway.” she walks over, sitting at the edge of your bed and looking at you, a smile on her lips before she takes in your puffy eyes. “you doing alright?” you swallow, pushing down the emotions that threaten to resurface. you nod, forcing a smile. “i’m good. just tired… i’ve had a lot of work lately.” she watches you, her head tilting like she doesn’t believe you. finally, a smile breaks out on her face as she lets herself fall back against your bed, turning her head to face you. “he was so perfect. like, usually i don’t like pisces men, but beomgyu? he was just.. fuck, y/n, i’m losing my mind.” you smile slightly at her lovesick rant, her words filled with a giddy happiness that only love can bring to you. you nod along to her words, her eyes lighting up when she recounts the best details. “are you going out again?” you ask quietly, playing with the hem of your blanket when she stops talking, simply staring at your ceiling with a lovesick smile. that question breaks her out of the trance, turning to you with a grin. “fuck yeah! he asked me to go to his place next? you know what that means,” she trails off, wriggling her eyebrows before kicking her feet, covering her face with her hands as she squeals. you laugh, although deep down, you wish you could know what it feels like. the feeling of being desired, of being wanted. and as yunjin continues to ramble, expressive hands and wide eyes, you can’t push down the feeling that creeps up and surrounds you, making you feel like you’re locked inside a dark room that has no key, no door. like you’re falling behind while everyone races ahead.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

“no.” the word leaves your lips before yunjin can finish her sentence, already knowing where it was going when she started with, “so, i was thinking…” you don’t look up from your laptop, hoping that if you don’t acknowledge them, they’ll drop it. they never do. wonyoung groans, flopping backwards onto your bed before she rolls over on her stomach, resting her chin on her hands as she stares at you. “y/n, please. you literally never go out.” you finally spare her a glance, before looking back at your computer. “i’m busy.” yunjin crosses her arms, a huff of air leaving her. “you fucking liar. all you do is rot in bed. then you wonder why you get no action.” you glare at her, choosing to ignore her jab at your love- or lack thereof- life. “i enjoy the tranquility.” “god, you’re hopeless.” she sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed beside wonyoung’s sprawled out figure. “you need to have some fun for once.” “i do have fun,” you reply, finally shutting your laptop, “a party is not my idea of fun. it’s sweaty bodies, and drunk people, and people making out against walls.” “you’re so dramatic,” wonyoung laughs, her hands tugging lightly at your calves. “it’s one night. maybe something will happen.” you shake your head, ignoring the puppy dog eyes she sends you. “no, nothing will. i’ll go and hate it, want to kill myself, and wish i could be back in bed watching reruns of gossip girl.” yunjin groans, tossing her head back at your resilience. “i’m gonna kill you. you’re coming to this party. you need some action. that’s probably why you’ve been so… whatever you’ve been, lately.” you freeze, shaking your head lightly. “i don’t need action.” wonyoung giggles, turning her head to smile at yunjin. “you know, y/n, she has a point. don’t you think it’s time to put yourself out there?” you roll your eyes, biting the inside of your cheek. “shut up.” but your stomach twists uncomfortably. they don’t mean it in a harmful way- to them it’s just teasing. they don’t know how much you hate having nothing, the fear of putting yourself out there. and after your breakdown a few nights ago, the topic felt heavier. more anxiety fills you as another thought creeps in. impossible to shake, growing larger the more you try to ignore it. if it’s a party, heeseung will be there. he always is. the thought of running into him after your last interaction makes your chest feel tight, your eyes flickering around the room. “i just don’t wanna go,” you mumble, trying your luck again. of course, they don’t listen. yunjin sends you a look, standing up and grabbing your arms, tugging you forward. you gasp, catching your balance before you tumble off your bed. “didn’t i already tell you you’re coming to this party? get up, loser.” you huff, reluctantly listening to her just this once. you toss your feet over the side of the bed, letting yunjin pull you to your feet. “you’re so lucky i love you guys,” you mutter, glaring at both of them. wonyoung squeals, practically flying off of your bed as she wraps you in a hug, jumping up and down. “finally! i’ve been waiting for this day forever!”

you only shake your head, trying to bite back a smile at her excitement. yunjin, on the other hand, has already made her way to your dresser, pulling random clothes out and tossing them over her shoulder. “okay,” she speaks, tossing a pair of shorts that are too short beside her, “we wanna make you look hot. but also not like you’re trying too hard, a good balance. heeseung’s gonna be there, right?” wonyoung laughs, making her way over to yunjin to look at the clothes she’s already picked out, holding them up to your body before nodding or shaking her head. your stomach, however, twists at the mention of his name. “i’m not trying to impress anyone,” you blurt, shaking your head as yunjin pulls out a tiny red dress, “i’m only going because you guys are forcing me.” she gives you a look, raising her eyebrows. “you realize we can see right through you, right? you act like we’re not your best friends. you want the guy, admit it.” you go silent, opting to roll your eyes at her words instead. she only laughs, tossing the red dress at you. “try that on.” “i’m not wearing this,” you mutter, holding it out in front of you.wonyoung whines, shaking your shoulders. “it’s a house party, girl. other people are going to be wearing so much worse. just try it.” you groan, reluctantly trying the dress on. it’s too tight, too short, showing off your body in ways you’re not used to. you look up, gauging the two girls’ reactions. yunjin tilts her head, analyzing you, before finally shaking her head. “no, i don’t think that’s very you,” she says, turning back to your closet. “you wanna look slutty, but like, fashion.” you furrow your eyebrows, almost wanting to laugh at how seriously they were taking this. “great explanation.”

wonyoung gasps, stopping both of you in your tracks. “yunjin, give me that shirt,” she exclaims, pointing to a black lace tube top yunjin is holding up. the lace wraps around itself, one edge falling to create an asymmetrical look. once yunjin hands it over, she grabs a black denim skirt off the floor, holding the items to your body as best she can. “yes. this is it,” she smiles, yunjin nodding beside her. “put this on. you’re gonna look so hot.” you can’t deny wonyoung’s words once you have the outfit on. it looks good, the pieces accentuating your body while not showing off too much. yunjin’s jaw drops slightly, nodding as you spin slowly. “i’m so in love with you.” you smile, shaking your head at her. wonyoung grabs a pair of black heeled-boots, the leather tight around your calves, with a platform that makes you at least 5 inches taller. yunjin nods, looking at wonyoung, “add a leather jacket.” once the whole outfit is assembled, you can’t deny it. you feel hot. you look hot. “you look amazing, y/n. heeseung’s one lucky guy.” wonyoung smiles, stepping up to you to adjust the top. you glare at her, an exasperated breath leaving you. “stop bringing him up. nothing has happened between us.” “yet,” yunjin says, a teasing smile on her lips. “oh, fuck off,” you laugh, flipping her off. you couldn’t help the feeling that settled in your stomach. was it anxiety? excitement? you couldn’t tell, but you knew this was going to be a long night. and maybe, deep down, a part of you wanted heeseung to see you in this outfit.

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you regretted coming the second you stepped through the door. music was blasting through the speakers, the volume combined with all the conversations happening almost unbearable. the smell of weed and alcohol invaded your senses almost immediately. people were everywhere you looked, crowded together. drinking, smoking, dancing, talking, making out. your feet slowed down, suddenly wanting to turn around and go back home. yunjin tugged your arm, forcing your feet to move again as she dragged you along, weaving through the mass of bodies, trying to avoid bumping into anyone. wonyoung was right. people were wearing much worse. you still felt out of place though. like people knew you didn’t normally dress like this. like people knew you were trying to look good just for this party. once the three of you stopped moving, wonyoung looked at you, immediately sensing your discomfort. “you’re fine. no one’s judging you, okay? everyone’s too caught up in their own thing here.” you only nodded in response, glancing around at everyone. “there’s… a lot of people here.” wonyoung laughs, finding your reactions cute. “yeah, that’s usually what it’s like at house parties.” the idea of willingly putting yourself in this environment weekly sent a chill down your spine. things like this weren’t your speed. though, sometimes, you wonder what it would be like to be an extrovert, to enjoy talking to others, spending your days socializing. wonyoung explains something to you, but you’re only halfway listening. your eyes are drifting around the party. looking for something, or someone. hoping to see his black hair in the crowd of people. a bit hard, when half the people here had black hair. “oh- there he is!” yunjin gasps, her words pulling you out of your trance as you look at her, raising your eyebrows. you follow her line of vision, nerves bubbling in you at the thought of actually seeing him- “beomgyu!” she smiles, turning to you and wonyoung with a cheesy grin. “i’m gonna go say hi. i’ll catch you guys in a bit?” “go get your man,” you smile, watching as she heads off, a pep in her step as gets closer to him. you turn back to wonyoung, unsure of what to do now that you were here.

“so, like, what do we do?” you ask, once again glancing around at the people around you. “talk to people. get a drink. find someone hot.” she nudges you at the last option, sending a teasing smile your way. “no.” your reply is immediate, shaking your head. “i’m not having any of my firsts at a random house party.” she sighs, throwing her head back before looking back at you. “you read too many romance novels.” you gape at her, your lips forming into a pout. “a girl can dream. let me wait for the one.” “well, looking like you do tonight,” she pauses, her eyes flickering up and down your figure, “i’m gonna be surprised if no one hits on you.” her sentence sends a hint of excitement through you, but you quickly shake your head, dismissing the feeling. “i’d rather someone not. that would just be awkward. i can’t talk to people.” she laughs, but she’s shaking her head. “this is exactly why you need to go out more. put yourself out there.” you don’t respond, your eyes flickering around the crowd of people once again, watching people's body language, and how they interact with one another. everyone looks so relaxed, simply enjoying the environment. “anyway,” wonyoung speaks, breaking the silence that settled between you two, “i’m gonna go get a drink. do you wanna come?” you shake your head, not feeling like navigating through the crowd of people once again, choosing to wait for wonyoung to get back. “no. it’s fine. i’ll wait.” “alright, do you want anything?” she continues, watching as you shake your head again, denying her offer. “i’ll be right back, then.” you watch as she walks off, weaving through the crowd and heading towards the kitchen. you lean back against the wall, fidgeting with your fingers as you wait calmly for wonyoung to return. she doesn’t. two minutes turn to five, which turns to ten, which turns to fifteen. people were starting to send you looks, wondering why you were standing around alone, with no drink. you felt out of place. no, you were out of place. you glance around, the nerves of everything becoming too overstimulating. you needed to get away from the crowds. slowly, you push through the crowd, making your way to the hallway. you slip past the people having conversations, and the couple making out against the wall. one door is cracked open, which you can only assume means it’s safe to enter. you wait outside for a bit, listening for if there’s any noises. it’s silent. you hesitate for a second, before finally pushing the door open. the room was empty, the quiet away from the loud voices instantly calming your nerves. you shut the door behind you, the noise of the party becoming even more muffled, feeling like a breath of fresh air.

you glanced around the room, your heart nearly stopping. heeseung was leaned against the wall, scrolling on his phone. could this night get any worse? he hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy scrolling on his phone. you gulped, feeling your face flush. you could turn around, you could leave the room. you should do that. but for some reason, your feet wouldn’t move. it was like they were planted into the ground. he lifted his gaze from his phone, locking eyes with you. you felt like a deer caught in headlights. his expression was unreadable, but he tilted his head slightly. a brief moment of silence passed between the two of you, your heart thudding loudly in your chest as he watched you. “y/n?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit surprised. “sorry,” you finally forced out, fidgeting with your fingers as your gaze drifts away from his, focusing on the wall instead. “i thought this room was empty.” he simply shrugged, a small smile on his lips. “too loud out there?” you nod, awkwardly shifting your weight from one foot to the other. this somehow felt more suffocating than the party did. “i didn’t mean to… bother you.” you mumble, turning around to head for the door. “you don’t have to leave,” he said, his voice quiet, your stomach fluttering at the sound, “i’m not doing anything. stay if you need a break. if you want.” you stand still, both choices seeming wrong. staying in the room with him felt like a mistake, but walking back out to the chaos of the party felt slightly worse. slowly, you nodded, turning around and stepping further into the room. “okay. uh, thanks.” you both stood there, not saying anything for a moment. you shifted your gaze around the room, your nerves palpable. and heeseung, of course, picked up on it. “this isn’t exactly your scene, is it, princess?” he asked, voice filled with that familiar teasing tone. you tried to ignore how the nickname had your heart doing somersaults, or how your face heated up. everything felt so much more elevated in the room. you swallowed, trying to push your nerves aside as you looked back at him. “uh, no, it’s not,” you mumble, almost wanting to laugh at how awkward you sounded. he hums, pushing himself off the wall and walking towards the bed, sitting on the edge. he looks at you expectantly, only laughing slightly when you raise your brows in response. “are you just gonna stand there the whole time?” your face flushes, suddenly feeling too embarrassed. your body moves before you realize it, getting closer to him. you can feel your heartbeat speeding up, his eyes watching you as you sit down next to him. you’re not an awkward distance away, but you made sure to put some space between the two of you. the room was quiet, except for the noise of your nervous breaths, your fingers fidgeting with each other.

“so,” he began, breaking the silence, “what’re you doing here, anyway?” you look at him, shrugging. “my friends dragged me along.” he hummed, tilting his head, “so then why are you in here?” this was humiliating. “one is talking to her date and another went to get drinks and didn’t come back,” you mumbled, trying to ignore the smile that crept up on his face. “damn, princess,” he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head lightly, “they ditched you?” “i mean, they’re more used to this environment. i wouldn’t wanna, like, hold them back from having fun,” you shrug, glancing down at your hands. “if you say so,” he responds, going quiet for a few seconds before speaking again. “i just still don’t see why you would even come, considering, y’know..” your stomach drops. your eyes flicker up to his, raising your eyebrows slightly. “considering… what?” he tilts his head, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “you’ve never kissed anyone. you weren’t lying about that, right?” heat rises on your cheeks, the embarrassment that hits you suddenly making you feel sick, once again stuck in a room with heeseung and talking about this. “heeseung. i don’t wanna talk about that.” “why? it’s nothing to be ashamed about,” he replies with a shrug, leaning back against the pillows and playing with the hem of his shirt. “you ever had a boyfriend?” “heeseung.” you say, but his expression tells you he’s not letting this go anytime soon. you sigh, your voice quiet, the word coming out as a hushed whisper, “no.” he was quiet, and the more the silence dragged on, the more you felt like you wanted the floor to swallow you. the same humiliating feeling from before was slowly making its way back, the room feeling like it was closing in on you. and then, heeseung spoke. “you ever wonder what it’s like? to kiss someone?” he asks, and you almost want to laugh. “that’s a stupid question,” you blurt before you can stop it, listening to the way he laughs quietly. “sorry. had to make sure,” he replies, and this, for some reason, doesn’t feel as bad as last time did. it doesn’t feel like he’s judging you. more so, just asking questions. “of course i do. it’s kinda hard not to when all everyone talks about is their love lives,” you reply, finally opening up a bit. you don’t know why you’re telling him this much. you could’ve diverted the conversation, made him talk about something else, but you were opening up. you were trying to ignore the anxiety bubbling in your chest. from being in a room alone with heeseung, to discussing your desolate love life with him. it felt unnatural- it was unnatural. you were never one to open up to people easily, but it felt like he did it without trying (well, besides when he wouldn’t like a topic go).

“i could teach you,” he speaks, and your head snaps up to his so fast you’re surprised your neck didn’t break in the process. it felt like time stopped. you couldn’t hear the music outside, or the muffled voices. all you could hear was your heartbeat in your ears and the way your breathing picked up. heeseung continued to stare at you, his eyebrows raised slightly as he waited for an answer. “w-what?” you stutter out, trying to convince yourself you heard his words wrong, that you made it up, some kind of excuse. “i said i could teach you. you heard me,” he repeats his words, the corner of his lip lifting up again. your breath hitched. the silence was too loud, the two of you just staring at each other as you tried your hardest to process his words. “you’re joking, right?” you finally ask, your voice quiet, unsure. but he didn’t laugh. he only watched you, his voice dropping just a bit lower. “it’s not hard. if you want, i could teach you.” you sat, frozen. blinking out of whatever daze you were in since he spoke, your eyes flickering the the ground. heeseung- the playboy heeseung, the heeseung you liked- offering to be your first kiss. it didn’t feel right. it felt like the universe was trying to play a sick joke on you. like this would turn out to be too good to be true. you heard him laugh softly, and your eyes drifted back up to him. he seemed to be enjoying how flustered you were, how your brain was quite literally short circuiting. “we don’t have to if you don’t want to. it’s just an offer. but, if you want to, i’m right here.” you felt your heart speed up more at his words. your mind felt like it couldn’t process what was going on. what was the right choice here? one side of you felt like you should laugh it off, change the subject and act like the conversation never happened. continue to save your first kiss for something special. but on the other hand, this did feel special. you were curious. hell, you’ve been curious for the last 22 years. you were caught between forcing down your desires and enlightening them, finally understanding what you’ve been wondering about your whole life. finally being able to understand the conversations, the movie scenes, the books. your mouth opened, a protest about to leave your lips, but no words came out. your words got stuck, your true feelings not letting them leave. heeseung noticed your hesitation, pushing himself to sit up. he watched you, his voice getting softer, quieter. “come here,” he mumbled, his words making your stomach do flips. god, you wanted to slam your head against the wall. your heartbeat sped up, but you moved closer to him anyway, sitting so close your knees were pressed together. you didn’t know what you were doing, but you knew you didn’t wanna turn around and leave. not at this point. heeseung watched you, not reaching out until you had stopped moving. his hand reached up slowly, cautiously, gently cupping your jaw. his thumb brushed over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. his gaze flickered between your eyes and lips, the reality of what was happening sinking it. “you’re nervous,” he whispered, the words spoken like they were a secret just between the two of you. his breath fans across your face, further solidifying the reality of the distance between you two. you nodded, your breath shallow, unsure. you let your own eyes flicker to his lips before moving back to his eyes. you whispered, your voice shaky, “what if i’m bad?” he smiled, his thumb tracing your jaw as he shook his head. “don’t worry about that. just follow my lead.”

you nod, everything feeling like a haze. he leans in slowly, and before you can think too much about it, his lips are on yours. it felt like everything around you stopped. your eyes fluttered shut, your breath stuttering. his lips are soft, and you try to follow his movements as best you can. his touch is gentle, guiding you, taking a first experience from you. the outside world seems quiet, likes it’s just you and heeseung in this moment. he presses his lips a bit harder against yours, tilting your head just slightly. the feeling is all-consuming. overwhelming. you want more and want to get away all at the same time. but it feels nice. it feels like everything you’ve dreamed of. what the lead in a romance movie feels, what the books describe, how your friend’s eyes light up when they tell you about their first kiss with a new guy. he pulls away slowly, his hand still remaining on your jaw. your eyes flutter open, blinking a little, like you’re trying to ground yourself. his face was still so close to yours, your breaths mixing together. his expression was unreadable, and your heart sped up at the reality. “was that okay?” you ask, your voice quiet, barely above a whisper. heeseung stared at you for a moment, not saying anything. his eyes searched yours, his breath soft against your skin, his touch still so light. “yeah,” he mumbled, his eyes still flickering around your face, his thumb tracing your jaw again. “not bad, princess.” you nod, your mind in too much of a haze to mumble out exact words. you eyes flickered to his lips again, fighting the urge to lean in again, to feel the warmth of his lips against yours. but before you could think about it too much, your phone buzzed loudly against your lap, the ringing snapping you back to reality. you blink, still dazed, as you look down on at your phone, shaky hands turning it over, the name staring back at you. wonyoung. shit. you hesitated for a second, before answering the call, pressing the phone to your ear. “hello?” “where are you?” wonyoung’s voice came through, a bit hard to hear over the pounding music. “i came back to the spot you were at. i got caught up with some friends, i’m sorry.” you swallowed, your mind still in a haze. your gaze flickered to heeseung. he was already watching you, having had leaned back against the headboard. “it’s fine,” you mumble, words trailing off. your heartbeat still felt too loud, and your thoughts were jumbled and all over the place. “it’s- i’m just..” heeseung raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. he tilted his head, clearly amused by your inability to form a sentence right now. “hello?” wonyoung’s voice spoke again, pulling your attention back to her. “are you there?” “yeah! yeah, sorry,” you mumble, pursing your lips. “i’ll be right there.” “okay. i’ll see you soon.” she replied, the line going dead.

the room went silent, filled with nothing but the awkwardness swirling around the two of you. you were too afraid to meet his gaze, so you stare at your hands, before standing up slowly, placing your phone in your pocket. “um… i should go. i’ll see you around?” heeseung didn’t say anything, and you took that as your cue to just leave. you walked towards the door, trying to form a coherent thought as you reached for the doorknob. his voice finally cut through the quiet, making you stop in your tracks. “you know,” he began, his voice teasing, with a hint of something else you couldn’t quite pinpoint, “you look nice tonight.” the words sent butterflies swirling in your stomach, closing your eyes as you tried to ground yourself. what was wrong with you? you didn’t turn around, too scared to meet his eyes. you couldn’t. so you only nodded, your voice shaky, “thank you.” you opened the door, stepping out and back into the party. it felt like you were snapped back to reality the second the loud music hit your ears, met with the sight of a swarm of people again as you pushed through the crowd. you tried to ignore the way your lips still tingled, or the way your cheeks heated up when you thought about his hand on your face, his breath so close to you, his lips against yours. you almost bumped into someone, muttering out a pathetic “sorry” as you corrected your path, finally catching a glimpse of yunjin and wonyoung standing together, talking about some random topic. wonyoung noticed you first, smiling and waving as she noticed you walking over. you wave back, forcing a smile as you join up with them. all you know is that you’re going crazy. you kissed heeseung. your first kiss. was it a mistake? did you make too irrational of a decision while being caught in the moment? your thoughts are interrupted by yunjin’s loud voice, pulling you back to the current moment, “you missed everything, y/n. i had so much to talk about. where were you, anyway?” you open your mouth, your eyes flickering between the two girls watching you with expectant stares. you should lie, make some kind of excuse to avert the attention from you, ask what yunjin had to talk about. but the thought of hiding your feelings from them more than you already are makes a sick feeling appear in your stomach. “i kissed heeseung.” the words are out before you even realize you said that. they stand there, unmoving before yunjin speaks, “you what?”

wonyoung only covers her mouth with her hand, a loud gasp leaving her lips as she looks between you and yunjin. you stare sheepishly at the two, no more words leaving your lips as you open and close your mouth, wonyoung finally forcing some words out. “bitch, are you serious?” the reality of everything feels like it’s hitting you all over again, a shaky breath leaving your lips as you look up, trying to form a sentence in your mind before you speak out loud. “i kissed heeseung. or, he kissed me. we kissed each other? i don’t know…” you cover your eyes with one of your hands, clenching your eyes shut. everything feels too surreal right now. yunjin blinks, shaking her head as she tries to make sense of the situation. “hold on, start from the beginning, please. what the fuck happened?” you laugh shakily, shrugging as words come spilling out, “i just- i needed a break from the party, so i went into what i thought was an empty room, but he was in there. he told me i could stay, and we started talking, and he brought up the fact that i’d never kissed anyone-“ wonyoung cuts you off, raising an eyebrow. “how did he know that?” you gulp, averting your eyes. “that’s a story for another time.” the two share a look, but don’t interrupt you again, letting you continue. “anyway, he said he could teach me… and, yeah,” you mumble, words getting quieter as you finish the story, finally looking back at the two. yunjin’s jaw is dropped, and she turns to wonyoung with a glare. “you left her alone for ten minutes and she kissed heeseung?” “i wanted a drink!” wonyoung defends herself, pointing at you, “i didn’t know she was gonna sneak off and make out with someone while i was gone.” your cheeks heat up, shaking your head quickly. “it wasn’t like that. it was just one kiss.” yunjin only laughs, giving you a hug. “well, congratulations. my baby is all grown up.” “oh, fuck off,” you mutter, but your arms wrap around her, fighting back a smile. “was it good?” wonyoung asks, your eyes widening. “like… is he really that good of a kisser like everyone says?”

your breath hitches at the question. your mind flickers back to how his lips felt on yours, how softly he held you, his breath soft against your lips, how his voice dropped, quiet and gentle. the way everything made you felt. your heart speeds up again at the thought, and you swallow, hesitating slightly before answering, trying to disguise the true thoughts you have. “i don’t know, wonyoung. it was my first kiss. how am i supposed to know what good means?” you reply, huffing out a laugh. she groans, unsatisfied with your answer, but she doesn’t push further. yunjin pulls back from the hug, but her hands remain on your shoulders. “you kissed lee heeseung. the lee heeseung. and he offered to teach you. girl, you’re in so deep.” you shake your head, feeling your cheeks heat up even more, if that’s possible. wonyoung chimes in, tugging your arm. “okay. back to your dorm, right now. tell us everything. leave absolutely nothing out.” you only laugh, but let wonyoung drag you along, yunjin following closely behind. the comfort the two provide for you makes things feel not as stressful, trying your best to push the anxieties and self-doubt about the turn the night took away.

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your stomach was a mess of nerves as you stepped through the classroom door. it wasn’t that you didn’t expect to see heeseung- you knew he was going to be here. but you didn’t know if you were ready. you had spent the past two days replaying every moment, every detail of that night, too caught up in your own thoughts. you tried to convince yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that it was just a kiss, but your true feelings betrayed you. you spotted him in what had become his usual seat- which was previously yours- scrolling on his phone, leaned back in the chair. you swallowed, getting closer to the seat as you put on a front, acting as nonchalant and unaffected as you could.  you slid into the chair next to him, pulling out your notebook and letting your bag hit the floor with a soft thud. you busied yourself with opening to an empty page, dragging your pencil along the page to make random, pointless drawings. anything to try and ease your nerves at the moment. “hey, princess,” heeseung spoke, his voice carrying that signature teasing lilt. his tone was so casual, like nothing had happened. you tried to ignore the way your heartbeat sped up at the sounds of his voice, or the nickname that used to make you grind your teeth. “i didn’t see you after you left the room. i thought you disappeared.” you finally glanced at him, your eyes meeting his. “i’m still here. sadly.” his lip twitched, that signature smirk forming on his lips. “good to know.”

his tone was so casual, so normal. but yet, things felt different. maybe it was the way he was watching you- his gaze lingering for just a second too long before looking away. or how he wasn’t teasing you as much, you two having a normal conversation for once. you were reading too much into it. this was the last thing you wanted to do. you kissed him because he offered to teach you. there was no meaning, no feelings behind it- on his end. you cleared your throat, turning back to your notebook. “did you look over the project? i added some notes to the shared document. there’s an article that seems like it could be helpful.” he shook his head, leaning forward so his elbows were on the desk. “nah. i’ve been busy with practice.” you roll your eyes, but the usual irritation didn’t come. you continued to doodle on your notebook, trying to focus on the small flower you were creating. but you couldn’t ignore the way you could feel his gaze on you, making heat rise to your cheeks. “you’re staring,” you mumble, eyes still trained on the flower, adding small blades of grass at the bottom, adding another small flower next to it. “am i?” he asked, and you could see the way he tilted his head in your peripheral vision. “i didn’t notice.” you huffed out a breath, forcing yourself not to react. if you gave him an inch, he’d take a mile, pointing out every little flustered reaction you have. it was the last thing you needed. dr. kim entered the room, greeting the class, indirectly saving you from having to reply. you tried to focus, jotting down whatever he mentioned, but your focus was somewhere else entirely. every time heeseung moved, shifting in his seat, tapping his pen against your notebook, your attention would be drawn to him. you couldn’t stop it. as much as you tried to focus, trying to ignore him, your mind wouldn’t let you. you felt like a middle schooler with a pathetic crush all over again. it was stupid. he was acting normal. you were (trying to) act normal. so why did nothing feel normal? slowly, your head turned just slightly, looking towards him. but he was already looking at you. he didn’t look away, your eyes meeting for a fleeting second. your breath caught in your throat, and you turned back to your notebook quickly, shifting in your seat. you were screwed. your heart lurched, your pulse quickening. a small part of your mind tells you that you’re not imagining things- that something has shifted. something is different. but you can’t place your finger on it. you feel like you’re making yourself go crazy, overanalyzing every little detail. every little glance, every sentence, hell, you payed attention to the tone of his voice. all you know is that you’re fucked. you’re officially down bad for lee heeseung.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

your day had been horrible. you wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and sleep, forgetting that this shitshow of a day ever happened. you woke up late, the shrill sound of your alarm shocking you awake, the time on the clock practically mocking you as you realized you were going to be late to class. you rushed your morning, not even having enough time to get breakfast, leaving your stomach growling as you rushed to class. you looked like you had just rolled out of bed- which was the truth- as you walked into the classroom, sending an apologetic smile as your professor glared at you. the lecture was a blur, and to make matters worse, you absolutely failed your test. you knew you weren’t confident with the material, but to have a low c staring back at you made you feel too incompetent. your professor didn’t even hide her disappointment, shaking her head as she placed the paper on your desk, your ears turning red with embarrassment. now, your heavy feet were carrying you to your favorite café, your comfort away from the hectic world, the one place that brought you peace after a bad day. about halfway there, it had started sprinkling, small droplets landing on you as you walked. it truly felt like you had a rain cloud above only you, making fun of how bad your day had gone so far. you pushed open the door to the café, the comforting smell filling your senses, and you felt the tension in your body ease just slightly. you tried to ignore the looks of other patrons, wondering why you had no umbrella, your hair and clothes damp as you stepped inside. all that was on your mind was a hot chocolate, topped with whipped cream. you’d been dreaming about it since you walked into class earlier, making a promise to yourself you would pick one up after class to hopefully raise your dejected feelings. of course, the universe had other plans. the cup looked fine, the white paper concealing what was inside. but when you took a sip, the sharp taste hit your tastebuds, completely wrong. bitter coffee covered your tongue, making your face scrunch up. you blinked in confusion, slowly popping the lid off the cup. they had given you straight black coffee. you stared at the coffee, your pitiful stare reflecting off the dark liquid. you sighed, frustration bubbling up inside you. you weren’t going to make a scene, you were too exhausted for that. it wasn’t what you did. but you also knew if you didn’t have your hot chocolate you were going to go insane. was it pathetic that a drink could help make your day that much better? maybe.

you walked back up to the counter, politely pointing the mistake out to the barista, even pulling out your crumpled up receipt from your pocket to solidify your point. she didn’t seem to care, staring at you blankly before taking the cup with a sigh, muttering out a half-assed apology. you wanted to say something, your inner dialogue filled with very creative language as you watched her roll her eyes when she turned around. you felt like a burden, the comfort this place usually provided suddenly turning into a unpleasant experience. they finally handed you the right drink, about five minutes later. it should’ve made things better, but it didn’t. you thanked her with the biggest smile you could muster, apologizing for the inconvenience and turning around. you were starting to walk to your favorite seat, a table in the corner that gave you a perfect view of the scenery outside, a perfect place to put in your headphones and daydream. and that’s when it happened. too focused on the previous interaction, too distracted with everything that had gone wrong today. you ran into someone- hard. your shoulders slammed into each other, the force making you stumble backwards, your drink almost spilling. some splashed out the small opening, the hot liquid splashing against your hand, causing a small curse to leave your mouth as you winced. you steadied yourself, looking up at the stranger. an apology was on the tip of your tongue, ready to admit that you weren’t paying attention, but that’s when you saw his expression. cold. angry. he looked you up and down, like you were a piece of garbage. as if you were an inconvenience. like you had ruined his whole day, his eyes full of judgement. he didn’t bother to say anything, let alone hear whatever you had to say as he scoffed and continued on his way. it felt like a slap in the face. your mouth opened, almost ready to sputter out insults, but no words came out. suddenly, it felt like the weight of everything that had happened today was crashing down on you. your rushed morning, your failed test, your disappointed professor, the rain, the wrong order, the barista, this stranger- his glare, like you meant nothing. it all felt like too much. hot tears brimmed your eyes before you could get your emotions in check. you turned around, pushing open the café doors, taking deep breaths to calm yourself. the soft rain from earlier had begun to fall in fat, harsh drops, pouring down on everything. the weather felt like an accurate representation of your emotions in the moment, cold, sad, chaotic. you pressed a hand to your forehead, trying, and failing to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. a lump formed in your throat, and you leaned back against the wall of the café. you pulled your phone out from your pocket, trying to ignore how pathetic your reflection looked as you unlocked it, a tear slipping down your cheek as you opened your contacts, your fingers immediately finding yunjin’s name as you pressed the call button. it was like once one tear fell, the floodgates opened. you couldn’t control them anymore, tears spilling down your cheeks as you wiped at your eyes pathetically. the only noise being the quiet ringing of your phone, the rain falling, and your quiet sniffles.

it went to voicemail, yunjin’s happy voice breaking the sad silence. you tried again. still no answer. more tears fell, moving onto wonyoung next. it repeated the same process, ringing. and ringing. and ringing. and then- voicemail. you tried once again to be sure, clinging onto any ounce of hope. same result. you could feel your heart shattering more and more. you felt alone. your sniffles turned into quiet sobs, clutching your phone as you tried to catch your breath. everything felt too overwhelming, too out of your control, too messed up. you were stuck here. you couldn’t walk home, the rain was too strong. you couldn’t go back inside, not looking like this. everything was slowly unraveling. your closest friends weren’t even picking up, and you couldn’t get mad at them for it. they had lives too, not always able to drop everything for you. but the betrayal still stung, everything feeling like a personal attack at this point. you forced yourself to breathe, slowly unlocking your phone once again. you scrolled through your contacts, blurry, tear-filled vision making it harder. you just needed someone, anyone who you could call. anyone who could come get you. your eyes stopped on one person, your heart beating faster at the thought. you clicked on his contact, you finger hovering over the call button, before finally, you pressed it. it rang once. twice. three times. you were losing hope, more tears spilling down your cheeks as the reality of your situation set in. and then- “hello?” your breath catches. you hadn’t expected someone to actually pick up. everything felt so hopeless, the sound of someone’s voice sending a shock through you. you sniffle quietly, trying to get a word out, but it’s like they’re all caught in your throat. “hello?” heeseung repeats again, his voice more clear this time. “are you there?” you take a deep breath, forcing your tears and shaky breaths to calm down. you feel like if you speak a new wave of tears will just spill down your cheeks. “i-“ you start, before your voice breaks. you swallow, trying again. “i need a ride… it’s raining. no one else was picking up.” there’s a long pause, silence stretching between the two of you. you begin to feel stupid for calling, for being such an inconvenience to another person, more than you’ve already been today. you hear a small laugh on the other end, your eyebrows furrowing slightly at the sound. “can’t handle a little rain, princess?”

frustration builds inside of you, but you hold your feelings down. this, however, makes the dam in your eyes break again, more tears spilling down your cheeks. “heeseung, please,” you sniffle, sucking in a shaky breath as you try to get your emotions in check again. the teasing tone of his voice is gone almost immediately, replaced by confusion as he speaks again. “y/n? are you okay?” your breath catches at his change in tone. you didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, didn’t want to push your emotions onto someone else, all because you couldn’t handle a bad day. but everything was too much right now. “yeah,” your speak, you words quieter than you expected, a shaky tone to your voice. “just… tired.” he’s silent for a bit, before he speaks again, and you can hear shuffling on the other end, the jingling of car keys sending a small hope through you. “where are you?” “the café near campus. the one we went to that one time,” you force out, trying your hardest to sound normal. and not like there’s tears slipping down your cheeks. you think you must look insane. standing under the awning of a café in the pouring rain, tears streaming down your cheeks as you hold a hot chocolate and a phone. it must be a laughable sight. heeseung’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts, calm and serious, a vast difference from the usual teasing, smug tone he has. “i’ll be there soon. when i get there just walk to my car, alright? i’ll pull up next to the curb.” you nod, forgetting he can’t see you. when you finally speak, your voice is barely above a whisper, defeated, shaky. “okay.” the call ends, leaving you in silence again. a shaky sigh leaves your lips as your hand wipes your tears, trying your best to collect yourself. you take a sip of your hot chocolate, the warm liquid providing a small sense of comfort in whatever whirlwind your day has turned into. nerves fill you again, the thought that you could be a burden creeping into your mind. your hands shake as you rub at your eyes, trying to push the thoughts away. god, you don’t wanna be a total mess when heeseung gets here, but you can’t stop crying. you force yourself to focus on something different. business proposal, hot chocolate, your favorite salad, cats. anything that makes you happy. and slowly but surely, your tears turn into small sniffles. you watch cars drive by, but there’s not a lot. most classes are out by now and students don’t wanna be parading in this rain. the rain doesn’t let up- if anything, it’s gotten heavier, wind whipping around you at this point. after a few minutes, you finally see a car pulling up. the sight is so reassuring, but you can’t stop the way your pulse speeds up, or the nerves that run through you. your feet don’t move at first, still too caught in your emotions to move. you take a small step, slow, cautious, before the rain showers you, pelting, hard. you speed up quickly, ignoring the chill of the water as you cling to your hot chocolate, as if that will do anything to warm you up in this weather. it’s lukewarm by now, anyway. when you reach the car, heeseung’s eyes are on you, the window rolling down as you get closer. “get in,” he says, voice low, but not unkind, “you’re shaking.” you can only nod, pulling open the door and slipping inside. the warmth of the car immediately envelops you, feeling like a warm hug. you try your best to ignore the way your clothes, now wet, feel against your body. neither of you says anything, but you can feel his eyes on you. you finally turn, meeting his eyes. he looks… concerned.

he raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to speak. you don’t. so he finally does, his voice softer than it was before. “you wanna talk about it?” you shake your head, a new wave of emotions hitting you at his question. you blink back the hot tears brimming your eyes again, snapping your head towards the window as a shaky breath leaves you. “thank you,” you sniffle, your voice quiet. defeated. he hums, his voice reassuring, whether he means it or not. it feels like it’s grounding you in the chaotic mess of your emotions. “don’t worry about it.” without another word, he pulls away from the curb. heading towards the dorms. he doesn’t tease you, doesn’t ask any more questions. the only noise is the soft radio, the car’s engine, and the rain pattering outside. you bite your lip, trying to hold back a new wave of tears as you rest your head against the window. it doesn’t work. tears spill down your cheeks, your breathing irregular, labored, as you try to stay quiet, wiping at your eyes as inconspicuously as you can. heeseung notices, looking at you out of the corner of his eye. he doesn’t push, simply turning up the volume of the radio, masking the sounds of your tears behind the music. it’s such a small action, but it makes your stomach flip, taking a small sip of your hot chocolate to ground yourself. as you get closer to the dorms, your thoughts swirl, uncontrollable, chaotic. you close your eyes, taking deep breaths. you need to forget about today. pretend it never happened, pretend it was all just a nightmare that you’re going to wake up from tomorrow morning. but as you sit there, dried tears on your face as you look over at heeseung, your heart speeds up a bit. maybe you needed a distraction. maybe you just needed… something to take your mind off of the day. he turns to you, meeting your eyes, and you glance down at your hands quickly. god, you must look like shit right now. would it be weird if you asked for another kiss? would that actually take your mind off of how bad today was? thoughts swirl in your mind, half of yourself telling you to just go for it, be bold, ask for what you want. the other side battles it, scenarios of him giving you a dirty look, like the stranger did, filling your mind. you sigh, shaking your head. there’s too much going on in your mind right now for you to also be dealing with this. the car slows as heeseung pulls up outside your dorm. the low hum of the radio filling the tense silence between the two of you. you should leave. unbuckle your seatbelt, thank him for the ride, open the door, and go back to your dorm. but you don’t. you sit there. your fingers tighten around the cup in your lap, feeling the paper mold to your grip. you can feel his gaze flickering to you. waiting. you keep your eyes fixed on the window, watching the rain droplets race each other down the glass. your heartbeat sped up in your chest, the pounding in your ears drowning out the noise of anything else. you should just go. but you can’t move. you inhale shakily, focusing on every ounce of courage you have. “heeseung,” you begin, but the moment you turn your head, his attention on you, the words get caught in your throat. refusing to leave. he hums, waiting for you to continue. you swallow, nerves building. this is stupid. this is so stupid. what if he says no? what if laughs in your face? the weight of today is already pressing down on you, heavy, suffocating. if he rejects you, if he looks at you with even a fraction of the disdain the stranger at the café did, you might just end it. you should forget it. push your thoughts aside and leave the car. just curl up in bed and go to sleep. your thoughts aren’t correct right now. your mind is jumbled, your emotions are out of whack- but then he shifts slightly. placing his elbow on the center console as he faces you. his full, undivided attention on you. he’s waiting.

your breath stutters, heat climbing up your neck. “at the party,” you begin, your voice quiet, barely above a whisper. “when we-“ you stop, shutting your eyes for a second. it’s too late to back out now, you’re already speaking. “when we kissed.” he doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, simply waiting for you to continue. your breath is shaky, your next words unsure. “did that mean anything to you?” you regret the words the moment they leave your lips. you sound desperate. pathetic. needy. you shake your head quickly, shutting your eyes. “forget it,” you mumble, as if you can take back the words you just said. “i’m a mess right-“ “i wouldn’t have done it if it didn’t,” heeseung speaks, cutting you off. his voice is quieter than usual. softer, but still firm. “that was your first kiss.” your pulse stutters, a breath catching in your throat. you finally turn to look at him, your stomach twisting at the intensity of his gaze. you should stop talking. end this before you do something you’ll regret. but you keep talking, your voice so quiet, you’re unsure if he hears it over the sound of the radio. “can you… can you do it again?” his eyes widen a bit, but the moment is brief. a flicker. and then that unreadable look is back. you want to take your words back immediately, erase this moment from existence entirely. “you don’t have to,” you add, words tumbling out before you can stop them. “it’s just- fuck. today has been horrible, and i can’t stop thinking about that kiss, and i thought that maybe-“ “are you sure?” heeseung asks, cutting your rambling off again. his voice is softer now, almost as quiet as yours. like these words are only meant to heard by the two of you, hidden from the rest of the world. you swallow, setting your cup in his cup holder. you don’t trust your voice right now- can't trust it- so you nod instead. for a second, he only watches you, his expression unreadable. it sends a chill through you, anxiety seeping in. then he slowly reaches up, tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear. his touch is soft, barely there, but it’s everything you need right now. his gaze flickers over yours- searching for any signs of hesitation. like he’s waiting for you to pull away. but you don’t. you lean in slightly, a silent confirmation. and that’s all it takes. “okay,” he murmurs. and then his lips are on yours again. his lips brush against yours, soft, careful, like he’s still making sure this is what you want. he doesn’t press hard, his hand holding your jaw, his lips barely there. you shudder at his touch, at the feeling of him. and then you kiss him back. it's hesitant- unsure. you still don’t know how to do this, how to match someone’s rhythm, someone who knows what they’re doing. but heeseung doesn’t rush you. it’s not overwhelming. he just guides you, and you let him. he tilts his head slightly, molding his lips against yours, coaxing you to follow his lead. and you do. you follow the way his lips move, melting more into the kiss by the second. you can feel his other hand moving, his fingers ghosting over the side of your neck. you shiver at his touch, the warmth, the position of his touch sending a wave of heat rushing through you. his fingers rest on the back of your neck, just below your hairline. his touch is gentle, guiding you closer to him, and you let him, instinctively moving closer to him. the kiss deepens just slightly, his hand pulling you even closer. you should pull away. stop here. this should be enough. but you want more. a flicker of something unfamiliar and new buzzes in your chest, and you’re moving before you can think too much about it. your hands reach out, finding the front of his hoodie as your hands grip the fabric, pulling him even closer.

that changed everything. heeseung exhales sharply against your lips, and then he’s kissing you harder, deeper. your brain short circuits, the added intensity unfamiliar, but so welcomed. his grip on the back of your neck loosens, his fingers tangling in your hair. a small noise escapes you, desperate, wanting. it’s barely audible over the noise of the radio and the rain against the windshield. but he hears it. you know he does. you feel the way his fingers tighten in your hair, tilting your head as he deepens the kiss, a quiet hum vibrating in his throat. your head is spinning. it’s only your second kiss ever, you’re still fumbling to keep up, still clumsy in your movements. but the way he’s holding you, guiding you through it like he knows exactly what he’s doing- he does- you don’t have to think too much. you just follow his movements. your body melts into his touch, the nerves leading your body as you focus on his kisses and nothing else. your fingers loosen their grip on his hoodie, threading into his hair, your fingers tightening slightly. his breath hitches for a second, a noise leaving his lips. it sends a shiver down your spine. his lips slow, his kisses growing softer again, like he’s trying to ground himself. the thought makes your stomach flip, so many different feelings swirling inside you. new feelings. foreign feelings. but you love them. neither of you speak when you finally pull away, your foreheads resting against each other. you’re both breathless, lips parted and swollen as you catch your breath. your hands stay tangled in each other’s hair, like neither of you want to let go just yet. the air is thick with something unspoken, like a line was crossed tonight. you don’t care right now. you don’t want to think about that. part of your mind knows you should pull away, create some distance before this goes further than it already has. but you don’t want to. so you don’t. your fingers that are tangled in his hair tighten slightly, and before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning in again. pressing your lips against his, not soft, not gentle. you want more. heeseung exhales softly, and it’s like his resolve snaps. like everything he was holding back breaks at your movements. his hands drop to your waist, tugging slightly. you pull away from his lips, your breath heavy as your brows furrow. “what-“ you begin, blinking in confusion. he cuts you off with a quiet laugh, his voice almost teasing, but with a hint of warmness that’s not usually there. “trust me.” and you do. you let his hands lift you, the space between you becoming increasingly smaller. the awkwardness of the car’s cramped interior makes your movements more careful. you let him guide you over the center console, your body bending slightly as it digs into your legs. and then you’re in his lap. his hands remain on your waist, just holding you, watching you. your hands rest on his shoulders, steadying yourself. the new proximity makes your pulse stutter, so close to him it feels dizzying. his eyes search over your face, before his hands find your back, and he’s pulling you into him. his lips are on yours again, and every thought you had vanishes. this kiss is different than the other two.

it's hungrier, more desperate. like he was holding back, waiting for permission to let go. and you gave him that. his hands are everywhere- your back, trailing up your sides, your thighs, your hips, his touch desperate. like he’s trying to commit you to his memory. it's dizzying. intoxicating. your hands tangle in his hoodie again, trying to ground yourself as a small noise slips past your lips. everywhere he touches feels like it leaves fire in his wake. and then his lips leave yours. your breath catches as his lips move lower. he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw. the sensation is foreign. it’s overwhelming. you can feel his breath against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as a sigh leaves your lips. his hand on your thigh tightens at the noise, a noise coming from deep in his throat as his kisses become messier. his kisses trail along your neck, sucking, kissing, his breath ghosting over your skin. you felt hot. your fingers tighten in his hoodie, a sharp exhale leaving your lips. your heart is racing, your breathing picking up. your body is reacting to sensations you’ve never experienced before. your head falls back slightly, his lips exploring more area. it’s intoxicating. dizzying. but it’s a lot. it’s too much all at once, as much as you want more. the moment you shift slightly, heeseung notices. his kisses stop, but he doesn’t pull away. his breath is warm against your neck before, slowly, he lifts his head, his gaze searching yours. his grip on your body loosens slightly, just resting there now. “you okay?” his voice is low, laced with something that makes your head spin. “too much?” you swallow, grounding yourself. you want this. you want his touch, his kisses, his attention on you. but it feels like it’s moving too fast, caught between the two emotions. you nod, before quickly shaking your head. “i-“ you stutter, your voice quiet, breathy and shaky. “i don’t know. it’s a lot. but i want it.” his brows draw together slightly. he doesn’t look angry, he looks concerned. his voice is quiet, comforting. his hands slide to rest on your waist, simply holding you. “we’ll stop for now. i don’t want to rush you.” his voice is steady, but his breathing is uneven. there’s an emotion in his eyes you can’t place. they’re darker, flickering over your face. your heart lurches at the mention of ‘for now.’ he wants more as well. you exhale, your breath shaky as you nod. “okay.” you want to feel something more. you don’t want to move, don’t want to leave the moment. so you lean in, your cheek resting against his shoulder as you breathe out, the warmth of his body grounding you. his hands hover slightly over your waist, before they trail up your back, hands splaying out as he tugs you closer to him. it’s intimate. too intimate. you’re crossing a line, and you know it. his chest rises and falls beneath you, his steady breathing calming your erratic heartbeat. the warmth of his body feels like a blanket, everything quiet. you let the silence wash over you. it’s not awkward. it’s comfortable. the only sound that surrounds you is the rain, and the soft radio, “delicate” by taylor swift playing quietly.

his thumbs rub against your back, the small action causing a quiet hum to leave you as you shift against him, getting more comfortable. you hear a quiet laugh leave him, so soft it almost just sounds like a breath. his voice is soft, but it has the familiar teasing tone you’re used to. “you good, princess?” the nickname feels different this time- not used to tease anymore. like an unspoken acknowledgement that something has shifted, the layers of tension being peeled back slowly, your desires coming to fruition more every time you see him. it’s something neither of you want to say out loud, but you both feel it. you smile softly, nodding your head against his shoulder. “yeah. i’m good,” you whisper, your voice soft. he hums, tilting his head slightly so his lips brush against your ear as he speaks again, his voice so soft. “you sure? i know that was… a lot.” and you know it was. you’re feeling so much. so many feelings swirling in your chest. but you only nod, not wanting to break the moment. “yeah.” you press closer into him, snuggling up against his warmth. his arms tighten just slightly around you, locking you in his embrace, like you would ever want to leave. “i’m not going anywhere,” he laughs softly, feeling your hands grip his hoodie just a bit tighter. his voice has a warmth you’ve never heard before, the tone making your stomach flip, and you only hum in response, snuggling your head further against his shoulder. you know you’re down bad, you know you’re falling. hell, you’ve already fallen. part of you knows it’s a bad idea. while the other part just wants to live. wants to experience this moment. the serenity, the soft sound of the radio, and the warmth of lee heeseung. and for the first time today, it doesn’t feel like everything is falling apart.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

“i don’t know!” you cry out, throwing your hands up as you stare at the two girls sat in front of you with their jaws dropped. "i don’t even know what happened! it’s all a mess!” yunjin stands up, immediately pacing the room as she looks at you, shaking her head in disbelief. “wait, let me get this straight? you made out with him. in a car. in the rain? y/n, what the fuck?” wonyoung, still sitting, crosses her arms. “and you didn’t think to- what, call us? text us? i don’t know, anything.” you roll your eyes, staring back at her. “i did call you guys. yunjin was too busy getting her back blown out by beomgyu, and god knows what you were doing. he was the last person i could call, and i wasn’t about to walk home sobbing in that rain!” yunjin stops pacing, turning to you with her jaw dropped. “that’s a valid reason to not pick up the phone!” wonyoung’s face scrunches up in confusion, her head tilting. “you called me? i was watching youtube, i swear my phone didn’t ring.” you throw your hands up in frustration. “i don’t care! it’s in the past, i’m just- fuck, i’m losing my mind. i don’t know what i’m supposed to feel.” yunjin looks at wonyoung, the two sharing a look of disbelief. “okay. you asked him to kiss you, so obviously part of you knows what you’re feeling.” “i don’t-“ you groan, dropping your head in your hands. “i’ve never done this before, yunjin! it’s all new to me. it’s terrifying.” wonyoung smirks, clearly enjoying your misery. “you’re down bad, girl. just admit it.” you sigh, falling back onto the couch. “i know i’m down bad, wonyoung. i blush just thinking about the guy.” yunjin sucks in a breath, sitting down next to you. “brutal. so, like, what happened after? you made out, then what?” you pause, mind still spinning as you recount the memories of everything. you turn away from her, your voice quiet as you speak. “he like… pulled me into his lap. and he was kissing my neck…”

there’s a long silence. no one saying anything. you look back to see yunjin and wonyoung both staring at you with wide eyes. “what the fuck?” wonyoung yells, standing up. you press a finger over your mouth, begging her to shut up. she shakes her head, continuing to ramble. “y/n! oh my god, this is insane!” you place your hands over your face, heat crawling up your cheeks. “i know! i don’t know what i’m doing, guys! then we kinda hugged? and just sat there for like ten minutes. we only stopped because my legs were falling asleep and i made up some excuse to go inside.” yunjin only sighs, leaning her head back against the couch. “you’re so oblivious. he wants you.” you raise an eyebrow at her, slowly uncovering your face. “you don’t know that. why would he want me when he has a ton of other girls that know so much more than i do? i feel like a burden, like he has to teach me everything. i chickened out from a few seconds of him kissing my fucking neck!” wonyoung laughs, shaking her head. “i don’t know, y/n. why do guys do half of the stuff that they do?” she stretches, raising her arms above her head as she continues. “plus, not every guys mind is filed with sex. maybe he’s okay with taking it slow with you. i still can’t believe you bagged heeseung of all people, though. he’s known for his hook-ups.” “that’s exactly what i mean,” you mumble, your voice growing more defeated by the second. “maybe this isn’t a good idea. i feel like an idiot.” yunjin sits up, smacking your stomach before rising to her feet. “stop doubting yourself. you’re hot, okay? you’re looking into it too much, i promise.” you only glance at her, a pout on your lips. she sighs, grabbing your arms and pulling you to sit up. “i’m not saying to rush into anything, alright? don’t forget his reputation. but if he was willing to just hold you for ten minutes like that? there’s obviously something more there.” you give her a half-smile, considering her words. they hit deep, considering that his reputation had been the one thing lingering in the back of your mind when you got butterflies thinking about something that he did. what if you were just a game? just something to entertain him until the next girl came along?

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

the last few days had been brutal. you had forgetting what having a crush- an actual crush- felt like. on top of the… physical aspect of it, you were losing your mind. searching for heeseung around campus, daydreaming in class, your body heating up at the memory of his hands on you. you felt like a teenage boy with raging hormones. it didn’t help that you barely ever had the form to yourself, so being able to act on your desires was rare. now, it’s 10pm. you’re sitting in your room, finishing up some last minute assignments. yunjin is in her bed, scrolling on her phone, tiktoks playing quietly in the background. you submit your last assignment, your phone buzzing next to you. you glance at it, expecting a random notification, but it’s a text from heeseung. your heart speeds up just slightly. heeseung [10:20 pm]: u busy?you squint at the message. your stomach twists slightly, the two simple words sending a rush of adrenaline through you. you pick it up, anyway, typing out a quick response. you tell yourself to act normal. he can’t tell if you’re flustered over text. you [10:21 pm] why?it’s read immediately. and almost just as quickly, three dots appear. heeseung [10:21 pm]: wanna watch a movieoh, for fuck’s sake. this could only mean one thing. you felt your pulse speed up slightly, your fingers hovering over the keyboard before you send your response. you [10:22 pm]: watch it yourselfheeseung [10:22 pm]: don’t want toyou sigh, reading his message over and over. you couldn’t fall for a trap this easily, but yet, you wanted to. you [10:22 pm]: ask jake or somethingheeseung [10:23 pm]: he doesn’t look as good as uyour breath catches. oh. your whole body felt like it was heating up, betraying you quicker than your mind was. you should ignore him. put down the phone, pretend this conversation didn’t happen. save your sanity. heeseung [10:24 pm]: u gonna respond?fuck it. you [10:24 pm]: i hate u. be there in 10.you push yourself off the bed, yunjin sending you a look when you grab your jacket, pulling it over your arms. “are you going somewhere?” she asks, tilting her head. you jump slightly at her voice. you had forgotten she was here. fuck. “uh, yeah.” she raises an eyebrow, a tiktok playing on loop as she watches you. “at 10:30 pm?” fuck. think of an excuse. anything. “yeah, i need to-“ you glance around, your eyes landing on your backpack. “i need to print something!” she just stares at you, her expression full of amusement. “print something.” you want the floor to swallow you. “yeah.” "...at 10:30?”

"yep!” you reply, trying your hardest to seem believable. she blinks. “what do you need a printer for?” “class!” you reply quickly. too quickly. “what else would i need it for? that’s why, i’m going to the library.” her eyes narrow, her eyebrows furrowing. “the library closes at nine.” fuck. you’re horrible at this. “wonyoung has a printer! in her dorm! so i’m going. to print. my paper. because class is important.” no response. silence envelops the two of you. finally, she tilts her head. “you don’t have class tomorrow.” you’re going to slam your head into the wall. “fine!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up. “i’m going to walmart for snacks! is that better?”yunjin holds back a laugh, her eyes flickering with amusement. “snack run. got it.” “yeah, i had to lie or else… or else you would ask me to buy you something. and i don’t have a lot of money.” you reply. she only smirks. she knows you’re full of shit. you know she knows. “okay,” she shrugs, looking back at her phone. you let out a deep breath you didn’t know you were holding, walking towards the door. just as your hand touches the doorknob, she speaks again. “use protection.” you freeze, your stomach dropping. you turn to look at her, slowly. “what?” she keeps her eyes trained on her phone, but there’s a shit-eating grin on her face. “you heard me.” you gasp incredulously, glancing around the room. “i told you i’m going to walmart.” she snorts, finally glancing up at you, “yeah, and i’m going to paris next weekend.” you glare at her, flipping her off. “it was the best i could come up with! you put me on the spot!” “it was horrible,” she sighs, shaking her head in disappointment before continuing, “i don’t care what you’re do, but at least lie better. and i’m a bit offended you didn’t just tell me the truth.” you shake your head, embarrassment rushing through you. “nothing’s happening!” “no.” she replies, a smirk on her lips as she turns off her phone, placing it next to her. “you’re getting dicked down by lee heeseung. that’s what’s happening.” your jaw drops, and you yank the door open, your face burning red. “i am not! shut up!” “goodnight, y/n,” she muses, a teasing smile on her lips. you slam the door shut behind you, stomping down the hall. fuck. that was humiliating. you’re never living that down. she’s probably texting wonyoung at this exact moment, telling her everything that just happened. you groan out loud, your head falling back as you wait outside the elevator, sending heeseung a text. you [10:27 pm]: i’m going to kill u.you don’t wait for his response, stepping into the elevator as it opens. your stomach is twisting in anticipation, for… whatever is going to happen tonight. your body is betraying you. your mind is betraying you. thoughts flickering through your mind, making you feel dizzy as you walk to his dorm. it’s a short enough walk, simply enjoying the scenery of campus as you make your way to his dorm. it’s quiet at this hour, and it almost feels like you’re the only one here, besides the student you pass every few minutes. every step feels heavier, like you’re getting closer to what you know is a like you haven’t crossed before. as if you haven’t crossed more in the last week than you ever thought you would.

when you finally make it to his dorm, following the directions he gave you, your heart pounds in your chest as you stand outside his door. you hesitate, before raising your hand and knocking once. twice. you hear footplates approaching the door, before it swings open and- oh. your mouth almost waters at the sight. heeseung is standing there, a white wifebeater clinging to his skin, grey sweatpants low on his hips. his hair is messy and disheveled, making him look even more irresistible. his arms are crossed against his chest, muscles flexing every time he moves slightly. your brain stops working, your eyes raking over his figure before you realize what you’re doing. they snap back up to his face, but it’s too late. he already has the smug look on his face, and you’re praying he doesn’t say anything. luckily, by the grace of god, he doesn’t. he leans against the doorframe, raising his eyebrows slightly. “took you long enough.” you sigh, your lips pursing as you glare at him. “shut up. i’m here, aren’t i?” “yeah.” he says, voice dropping with teasing tone as he tilts his head. “i was starting to miss you, pretty girl.” your eyes widen a bit at the new nickname, and you swear your heart skips a few beats. you want to slam your head into the nearest wall repeatedly. you want him to- no. you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to get a grip. “move,” you finally say, pushing past him and entering his dorm. it looks like a typical college athlete dorm room. he was lucky enough to get a whole dorm to himself, basketball posters littering the walls, a pc set up where the other bed usually goes, and a small couch and tv off to the other side of the room. it was cozy, and not too cluttered. he lets you push him, and you try not to focus on how his muscles feel so much more defined through his tank top than they did through his hoodie. “damn, princess. you’re killing me.” you roll your eyes, walking over to his couch and plopping down on it. you watch as he shuts the door, stepping closer to you. his smirk stays on his lips, his eyes full of something you can’t read, but it sends a shiver down your spine. “so,” you begin, trying to keep your emotions in check. “what movie are we watching?” he doesn’t say anything, simply sitting next to you on the couch and turning the tv on. the movie of choice is waiting to be played, and your eyes squint slightly. “10 things i hate about you?” your voice comes out more surprised than you meant, and heeseung looks at you, tilting his head. you hadn’t expected this choice. you were expecting him to pick a marvel movie, or mad max, something that guys watch, you didn’t know. his smile is smug, glancing at the tv and back at you. “yeah,” he shrugs, not seeing the big deal. “do you not like it?” you blink, thrown off. a rom-com? it’s not something you had expected heeseung- or any college boy in general- to enjoy. you feel like you’re uncovering a new side of him, one that you haven’t seen before. you shake your head quickly, “no, it’s one of my favorites. just didn’t think you would watch something like this.” he raises an eyebrow in response, leaning back against the couch as he presses play. “i’m a man of depth, y/n.” his voice is teasing, his eyes flickering from yours to the tv. your stomach flips, but you don’t say anything else. you settle back into the couch, unsure of how much distance to put between the two of you. about halfway through the movie, patrick and kat finally kiss. lying down after the paintball game, against the hay. it’s like you can feel the tension snapping between them, your eyes staring longingly at the screen.

you can’t look away. it’s something you’ve always wanted. the kind of love you’ve always wanted to experience (well, besides the fact it all started as a bet). your mind flickers to you and heeseung and whatever… this is. without thinking, the words spill out, wistful, longing. “i’ve always wanted a love like theirs. this movie is perfect.” silence. the reality of who you just spoke those words in front of settles in. you blink, wanting the ground to swallow you. you glance over at heeseung, praying to every god that he somehow didn’t hear you. he definitely did. his eyes flicker towards yours, the corner of his mouth lifting into that signature smirk. he doesn’t say anything at first, just watching you, the way you shift in your seat, obviously regretting your choice of words. “yeah?” he finally asks, his voice low and teasing. it sends a chill through your body, and he leans just a bit closer. “i guess they are pretty nice together, aren’t they? reminds me of us.” his words make your eyes widen just slightly, your pulse speeding up at his comment. you swallow, hard. your mouth opens, but no words leave your lips. his gaze stays on yours, intense, waiting. but you can’t speak. the room feels like it’s shrinking, the air suddenly too think to breathe. he tilts his head, the stupid smirk still on his lips. “cat got your tongue?” his voice is still low, but there’s something else to it now. you bite your lip, nerves crackling between the both of you. the movie continues to play, but it’s just background noise now, only sound filling the heated silence between you. he shifts, his body facing yours completely now, making him feel so much closer. the smirk on his face drops slightly, an unreadable expression taking over his features. your breath stutters, and you force words to leave your lips. “well… i mean-“ he leans in closer, so close you can feel his warm breath against your skin. your heartbeat quickens, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the moment. you try to ignore your nerves, your erratic heartbeat, your shaky breath, the way your lips part slightly. but it’s impossible. he raises a hand to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “tell me,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with something you can’t quite place. he drags your bottom lip down with his thumb, before letting it fall back into place. “you ever think about that with someone like me?” you swear your heartbeat stops. because you have. god, of course you have. but the words are stuck in your throat, the moment too tense for you to force any words out. you can’t even think straight. you feel surrounded by him. the look in his eyes, the proximity, his touch. you inhale sharply, your eyes closing for just a second as you try to ground yourself. it’s useless. you’re too far gone, the moment is too tense. his gaze flickers to your lips, a soft breath leaving his lips, and something inside you snaps.

your lips crash against his, your hands threading into his hair to pull him closer. he reciprocates immediately, groaning against your lips, like he had been waiting all night for this. his hand on your jaw tilts your head, deepening the kiss. it’s frantic, messy, and desperate. charged with emotion and the tension that had been building all night. all the unsaid words pouring themselves into the way your lips move against each other. his free hand finds your waist, pulling you closer. slowly, he shifts his hand to your back, fingers splaying out as he secures you, slowly guiding you down until you’re lying back on the couch, your bodies pressed together, his legs between yours. his weight settles over you, caging you in, but it feels like more than that. something you can’t quite place. your fingers leave his hair, trailing down to his chest, your breath stuttering as you feel the way his muscles move beneath his tank top, desire shooting through you. his tongue prods at your bottom lip, asking for more, your mouth opening instinctively to let him in. your breath catches as his tongue brushes against yours. it’s a foreign feeling, and you don’t know what to do. your inexperience is painfully obvious, insecurity filling you. but heeseung doesn’t rush you. his hand on your jaw tilts your head slightly, coaxing you to follow his movements. his kisses are slower now, letting you adjust. it’s messy and uncertain, but he exhales against your lips, hot and heavy, and you realize that he doesn’t care. your inexperience doesn’t matter to him. he wants this. you want this. you let yourself relax, your lips moving more confidently against his. something inside you clicks, your resolve shattering as your mind is clouded with the desire. the want for more. more of his lips, his touch, everything. your body feels like it’s on fire, need spreading throughout you. you pull back, gasping for air, both of your chests rising and falling as you catch your breath. your mind is hazy from the intensity of the kiss, of the feelings swirling through you. heeseung’s gaze softens slightly, like he’s about to say something, but before he can speak, you interrupt him. your voice is shaky, but firm. “i want more.” he stares at you for a second, processing your words. then, his eyes darken, and it’s like you can feel the shift in the room. a deep, guttural groan leaves his lips, and before you can process it, his lips are back on yours. his kisses are deeper, more urgent, desperate, like you just shattered his last ounce of restraint he had. you feel dizzy, his kisses intoxicating. his touch grows more fervent, one tangling in your hair to tilt your head. you sigh against his lips, everything feeling like too much and not enough at the same time as your hands grip his biceps, grounding yourself to something. his tongue slides against yours in a way that makes your head spin, the intensity of his kisses sending your mind reeling.

and then he shifts. just slightly, but his hips press against yours. it’s subtle, unintentional, but it sends a shock through your body, a familiar spark burning in your core. you gasp against his lips, your fingers tightening around his biceps as the pleasure spreads. he notices. fuck, of course he notices. hears the small, shaky sound that leaves you. he pulls back just slightly, his breath warm against your lips. his voice is low, dripping with amusement. “that feel good, princess?” you tighten around nothing, your thighs attempting to close, squeeze together, ease some of the tension you’re feeling. but you can’t, not with heeseung in between your legs. his lips curve into a smirk, picking up on every detail about your body. he presses his lips against yours again. rolling his hips again, this time deliberately. your breath stutters. the feeling is overwhelming, too much with all the emotions you’re already feeling, but you want it. your fingers dig into his biceps, using your grip as an anchor for your sanity, but he doesn’t stop. his lips trail along your jaw, down your neck, his voice tickling your skin. “you like that, don’t you?” you can’t answer, can barely breathe. you try to speak, but he rolls his hips just right, pressing right against your clit, and a whimper slips past your lips. he hears it. loves it. but when you don’t answer, he slows his hips, the loss of friction making your fingers tighten. you go to protest, but he speaks before you. “c’mon princess”, he murmurs, hand sliding down to grip your waist. “i asked you a question.” he shifts slightly- just enough for you to feel it. but it’s not enough. your core clenches at the fleeting pressure. “don’t get all shy on me now,” he hums, angling your hips just right before rolling his agan. slower, more controlled. your nails dig into his arms, head tipping back slightly. it’s not enough. and he knows. he’s waiting. waiting for you to break. and finally, you do. you gasp, voice breathless and desperate as it leaves your lips. “yes.” he huffs out a laugh against your ear, a shiver running down your spine. “that’s my girl.” his lips crash against yours, grinding against you harder, pulling gasps and whimpers from you. “fuck,” he exhales, forehead resting against yours. his breath is ragged, fingers tightening on your waist, like he’s trying to hold back. but you need more. your hips push up, chasing the dizzying pleasure. his grip tightens, his hips rocking harder, faster. “shit- princess…” he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. then you feel it. the solid press of him through his sweats. fuck, he’s huge. your stomach clenches, an involuntary moan leaving you. he’s hard, because of you. he’s enjoying this. you shift again, your underwear sticking uncomfortably to yourself, voice shaky and broken. “heeseung-“ his hand slides beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across your waist. his lips hover against yours, voice quiet, strained. “i’ve got you.”

it's too much. every roll of his hips, every kiss, every touch. your head rolls back, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure rushes through you. you can feel the knot in your stomach tightening, so close to tipping over the edge. heeseung watches, his breath hitching. his eyes are dark, lidded, filled with lust. his hands tighten on your waist, hips pressing harder. “you close, princess?” you nod, your hips trying to push up against him, but he holds you down, forcing you to take it. a groan leaves his lips, his voice strained as he grits his teeth. “fuck… you’re gonna make me blow a load in my pants.” his words make you shiver, barely processing words at this point. and then his hips move just right- and you break. your entire body tenses, your back arching off the couch as a broken cry leaves you, white-hot pleasure crashing over you. heeseung’s brows are furrowed, his jaw slack, watching as you tremble beneath him. and that’s all it takes for him. his fingers grip your waist tighter, his hips stuttering against yours as a choked gasp spills past his lips. “ah, fuck-“ he groans out, finally finishing in his pants. his body shakes against yours, the feeling only heightening your pleasure. it’s silent for a bit, the only sounds being the movie playing quietly in the background and your heaving breaths. you can still feel the aftershocks, your mind foggy, having felt as if it's flown somewhere far away. and then, a quiet, breathless laugh leaves heeseung’s lips. “damn, princess.” your lips part, but nothing but a soft exhale leaves your lips. your heartbeat is pounding in your ears, everything feeling too heavy. heeseung’s expression shifts, his amusement turning into something softer, his fingers brushing against your cheek. his touch sends a shiver down your spine, still hypersensitive. “you good?” your eyes finally flutter open, blinking softly. you manage a small nod, slowly coming back to reality. a small laugh leaves his lips, but his tone remains soft. “you sure? you look like you’re on another planet.” you nod again, and then reality sinks in. you just came in your pants because of lee heeseung. you basically had indirect sex with lee heeseung. your eyes widen slightly, a hand covering your eyes as you groan quietly. “i can’t believe we just did that.” he leans down just slightly, his lips brushing against yours ever so softly. “believe it, baby.” you let out an exasperated laugh, rolling your eyes as you shove at his chest. “literally shut up.” he only laughs, pushing himself so he’s hovering above you. he just watches you for a moment, silence enveloping you as you both process everything. and then. “not gonna lie, i’ve never came in my pants before.” your eyes widen, just looking at him. “oh.” you blink, averting your gaze. but then, something clicks. you did that. you were a first for him, too. it causes something proud to bloom in your chest, holding back a smile. “why do you-“ heeseung squints at you, an amused scoff leaving his lips. “are you proud of yourself right now?” you avert your gaze, poorly biting back a smile. “no.” “oh my god,” he groans, his head dropping to rest against your chest. “you so are.” you giggle, trying to ignore how his touch affects you. “i mean, i think that’s kinda an accomplishment. don’t you?” he lifts his head, an amused expression on his face. he laughs softly, shaking his head. “you’re unreal.” “i guess you’re rubbing off on me,” you shrug, pushing some hair out of his face. due to his positioning, though, it falls back right away.

“and, uh…” you hand runs down his face, fingers grazing down his chest as your eyes remain on his. “i’ve never done that with anyone before.” he lets out a quiet curse, and you can feel his muscles tensing under your fingers. he finally snaps out of it, glancing down at where you’re still connected. “this is just uncomfortable now.” you shift your hips, trying to ease some of the uncomfortable stickiness. it backfires, heeseung’s hand gripping your hip as he sucks a breath in through his teeth. “don’t move.” it sends a jolt of electricity through you, your lips parting slightly. fuck, this was such new territory for you. before you can speak, heseung is pushing himself off of you, standing up with a groan. “i’m gonna go get us some pants.” you push yourself up on your elbows, your stomach doing a little flip. the word leaves your lips before you can think about it. “us?” he tilts his head, a soft smile on his lips. “yes, us. i’m not letting you sleep over in ruined pants.” sleep over. you’re sleeping over. you’re spending the night at a guys dorm- heeseung’s dorm. “don’t look so surprised, princess. i’m not letting you walk home this late,” he speaks again, watching your surprised expression. and when he reaches out his hand, pulling you up to your feet, you let him. you let him get you a change of pants. you let him pull you closer in bed. you let yourself fall asleep in lee heeseung’s arms, even though your heart is beating out of your chest the whole time.

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it’s been two weeks. two weeks of this… thing with heeseung. and you’re happy. you’ve never felt this way about anyone before. you’re not dating. neither of you would call it that. no one has. not yunjin, not wonyoung, not his friends- but they all have that look in their eyes when they see you together. they know. because you’re together. kind of. you go to his games occasionally, dragging either yunjin or wonyoung along. because he asked you to come. he wanted you to be there.he’s on time for study sessions, even picking you up from your dorm sometimes. half the time is spent actually getting work done, and the other half is spent talking about everything and nothing at the same time. you go out together now. you take heeseung with you to your favorite café after class. you remember the first time you walked in with him after everything. a few of the workers just stared at you. you always came in alone, but here you were with lee heeseung, standing so close to each other, whispering like your words were only meant for you two. he takes you to a lookout about a twenty-minute drive from campus. it’s always quiet, peaceful. nothing’s said, but everything is understood. he always takes you late at night, the lights far away creating one of the most beautiful nights. the city feels so close, but so far away. just like everything feels with him. and then there’s the other moments. the ones that make you question whatever this is. when he brings your favorite drink to class- because he knows it now. when he watches the shows you recommended, listens to the music you play. when he always makes sure you get home safe, walking you all the way to your door before sending you off. when you catch him looking at you, his eyes softer, something that you can’t quite place. when he can always tell when you’re cold, not even saying anything before he drapes his sweater over your shoulders, going back to whatever he was doing like it was no big deal.it's not obvious you’re together, but it’s obvious that there’s something there. and that’s enough. you’re happy. you’re happy. right? the walk to your dorm is quiet. it’s not awkward- it’s never awkward. it’s just quiet. filled with words that neither of you want to say, caught in your swirling minds. the night is cold, but you can’t feel it. not with heeseung’s hoodie enveloping you, sheltering you from the nipping night air. his shoulder continues to brush against yours, the proximity making you feel safe. but something feels different tonight. the whole day, something felt off. like all the unspoken words were going to come to fruition. he had acted different tonight. softer. closer.

tonight, he had pulled the hood of your (his) hoodie up when the wind picked up, his fingers lingering for just a second too long. his fingers brushed against yours while you walked together, and for a second, you thought he was going to intertwine your fingers. tonight, he had just watched you when you were speaking. really watched you. like he was memorizing every detail of your face. and now, you’re here at your dorm. and you don’t want to go inside. you don’t want the night to end. you shift your weight from one foot to the other, looking up at heeseung as he stands in front of you. “thanks for walking me back,” you mumble, shoving your hands in the pocket of his hoodie. heeseung nods, his lips parting. your eyes light up the slightest bit. it looks like he’s going to do something, say something. finally, finally cross that line. maybe a kiss. not a kiss filled with tension, or a makeout session. a kiss just because. a soft, fleeting goodnight kiss. but then, he just exhales through his nose, his lips curling into a soft smile. his hands lift, your heart speeding up. it’s happening. and then, he tugs your hood down. his touch is so soft, it’s comforting. he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, your breath hitching at the action. his eyes flicker over your face, filled with unsaid words, and you can almost see the way he’s fighting his thoughts.his voice is so quiet when he speaks, filled with something you can’t place. “goodnight, princess.” you swallow, something akin to disappointment filling you. but you brush it off, simply nodding as you take a step back. “goodnight, heeseung.”his lips part again, but he closes them quickly, simply returning the nod. you try not to let your emotions show, just turning around and entering your dorm, the ghost of whatever moment should’ve just happened disappearing into the air. the door clicks shut behind you, and now it’s just you. alone. it’s quiet. too quiet. you’re half-expecting yunjin’s voice to fill the room, teasing you, asking you to spill all the details- but it doesn’t. she’s spending the night at beomgyu’s. it’s become routine for her. part of you wishes that was routine for you and heeseung as well. you sigh, running a hand through your hair before finally making your way to your bed, sliding under the covers. heeseung’s hoodie smells like him. that somehow makes everything worse. everything should be fine. this shouldn’t be a big deal. but you can’t stop thinking about it. the way he looked at you tonight- hell, the way he’s been looking at you every day lately. how close he got tonight, how his touch lingered. and the look in his eyes. like there was so much he wanted to say. but he didn’t. he never does. you stare at the ceiling, unsure of whether your feelings are valid or not. this isn’t how you expected your first romance to go. not that this is even a romance. or a relationship. or a situationship. whatever it is. you always thought love would be easier to understand, to navigate. that you would see someone, and everything would just click. you wouldn’t have to wonder, you wouldn’t be anxious. love at first sight, they call it. maybe you read too many books, watched too many movies. maybe you just had an unrealistic expectation of love. you push the doubt away, along with the lingering thoughts of confusion. they’re not fair. not to heeseung, and definitely not to you. you’re happy. or, you’re supposed to be happy. so why does it feel like you’re waiting for something that’s never going to come? something just out of reach, like a mirage? no matter how close you get, it continues to get further away.

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the sun is out, trees rustling slightly with the breeze. you and wonyoung walk side by side, her rambling about how some guy in her economics class- anton- keeps trying to flirt with her. it’s funny. sometimes you wonder if wonyoung truly understands how beautiful she is. you can’t blame the guy. “girl, i don’t know why you’re surprised,” you roll your eyes, a small laugh leaving your lips, “you’re stunning.” she smiles, her mouth opening as she goes to respond, but the words die on her lips as both your ears pick up on the conversation happening next to you. “heeseung? oh yeah, he said they were just messing around.” something said in passing by a guy talking to his friend. something not meant for your ears, but you heard it. and it hurt. made your stomach twist, a disgusting feeling settling in your gut. there was a party yesterday. heeseung went. he told you he was going. your mind swirled with endless possibilities. did something happen there? was something said? why are other people talking about you? you don’t react- at least, not outwardly. but the words feel like a punch to your gut. a bucket of ice water being poured over your head. wonyoung hears it, too. you know she did. you watch as she turns to you, her eyebrows furrowing slightly. “heeseung?” she asks, tilting her head slightly. “did something happen?” it only makes the ugly feeling inside you worse. you shake your head, trying to keep your voice as normal as possible. “no. but rumors are just rumors. besides, he’s really popular. people are bound to talk.” you try to convince yourself you mean what you’re saying out loud. like everything’s fine. like it doesn’t hurt. she hesitates a bit, studying your face. she opens her mouth, but ultimately nods along to your words slowly, letting it go. she continues to talk, the conversation between you two easily flowing again. you reply, trying to seem invested. trying to stop the uneasiness forming inside you more and more by the second. but it’s hard. you know heeseung. you know his reputation.

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the café was busy this time of day. conversation and the sound of drinks being made filled the small building, the smell of coffee heavy in the air. you’re sat at your favorite seat in the corner, heeseung sitting across from you. the conversation was flowing easily, the two of you talking about anything that came to your minds. you didn’t mention what you heard earlier, even though the doubts burned in the back of your mind. as much as you tried to push the thoughts away, they stayed. taunting you. the bell jingles, alerting that a new customer is walking in. you turn your head, your stomach dropping the second your eyes land on her. sieun. she makes direct eye contact with you, a slow smirk forming on her face as she walks over. your guard goes up immediately, heeseung having yet to notice her. you knew about their history. everyone did. an on-and-off fling that lasted for months. they ended things for good just a couple months ago, right before you met heeseung. “well,” she says, her voice dripping with false sweetness, a fake smile on her lips as she places her hands on the table. “you move on quick, don’t you? i’ve heard a lot about you two.” your body feels like it goes cold. you glance at heeseung, waiting for him to do something. say anything. but he doesn’t. his smile falters, his eyes flickering towards her. you watch as he rubs the back of his neck, simply shaking his head before turning back to his cup. it sends a chill through you, that same ugly feeling forming in the pit of your stomach. sieun doesn’t even acknowledge you. her eyes stay trained on heeseung, her smile darkening, lips curling into something sadistic. “don’t have anything to say? i heard you were just messing around with this one,” she continues. she can’t even use your name. ‘this one’ stings like a burning rod being pressed to your skin. but her words stick out the most. messing around. the same words you hear earlier. the same words that had been swirling in your head this whole day, making anxiety pound through you. it felt like every fear you had was being confirmed. every rumor, coming to fruition. you watch heeseung, your eyes pleading with him to say something. to say she’s wrong, that there is something between you two. that she heard wrong, and things are different this time. anything to make this right. but instead, he just shakes his head again a small, breathless laugh leaves his lips like he can’t believe this is happening. it makes your stomach twist, frustration bubbling up inside you. the man who always had something to say was now sitting wordlessly in front of you, avoiding eye contact with the both of you.

sieun finally turns to look at you, her smile turning sympathetic, taunting. “you’re cute,” she muses, fake sadness dripping from her voice. “i hope you’re not expecting anything serious.” it hurts. it feels like a stab wound to the heart, pain rushing through your whole body. your mouth opens and closes, but no words leave you. your gaze flickers back too heeseung, waiting for something, anything. that something never comes. sieun simply laughs under her breath and shakes her head, leaving as quickly as she came. leaving you two surrounded by a crushing silence. your hands curl into fists underneath the table, frustration turning to anger and hurt as you stare at the tabletop. heeseung still hasn’t said anything. he sits there, silent, and you can feel his gaze on you. it hurts too much. your heart feels like it’s shattering more by the second, and you can’t take it anymore. you’re pushing yourself up from your seat before you can think twice about it, grabbing your bag, and walking. you don’t look back. you don’t listen to his voice, or the stares from others as you make a beeline for the door. it swings open, the cold outside air whipping around you immediately, only adding to the storm of emotions in your head. you can’t think straight, every thought in your mind jumbled. you don’t hear him behind you, not until you feel the faintest pull on your wrist do you stop, your breath catching in your throat. you hear his breath, ragged, quick. and finally, after everything, he speaks. “y/n,” he says softly, cautiously, almost hesitant. his grip tightens just slightly, tugging just slightly more. “you could’ve said something,” you mumble, the words barely escaping your lips. “anything. and you didn’t.” there’s a pause. silence. deafening silence. and suddenly, it’s like the rose-tinted glasses were ripped off, leaving you standing with the reality of your actions. tears brim your eyes as everything hits you all at once. you fell for the playboy. you were stupid enough to just be another one of his girls. your throat tightens, and the words spill out before you can stop them. “i gave you so much,” you choke out, your voice trembling as you turn around to face him. “i- i actually trusted you. i had hope.” his expression falters just slightly, his grip loosening, just barely, but you notice it. his mouth opens, but you cut him off before he can speak, all the frustrated feelings you’ve bottled up leaving you. “you knew how new this was for me,” you continue, your voice rising. you ignore the stares of other students, or the tears that begin to spill from your eyes. “how new all of this is. why would you- why would you take that from me? i don’t know what i’m doing half the time we’re together, but i still try. and you- you just… you don’t try! you give me nothing in return!”

a bitter laugh leaves your lips, full of disbelief. your free hand comes up to rest on your forehead, trying to ground yourself somehow. but it’s no use. your tears keep falling, anger and heartbreak mixing to form the worst rush of emotions you’ve ever had. “you don’t even kiss me goodnight, heeseung,” you mumble, your voice breaking as more tears spill from your eyes, blurring your vision. “you can’t even do that. the only time we kiss is when you want to fucking make out.” his eyes widen slightly, and you can see the way guilt floods his features. but you can’t stop. it’s like you’re running on autopilot at this point. you laugh again, the sound borderline hysterical. your body is shaking with a mix of your cries and the emotion running through you, the adrenaline, the heartbreak. “you can’t even call me by my actual name,” you whisper, the words tasting bitter as they leave your mouth. part of you can’t believe you’re saying these things out loud. “just ‘princess’. always just princess.” the laugh in your throat dies, simply replaced by silence aside from your sniffles. his face- the guilt on his face- burns into you the more you look at him, your heart shattering at the sight. but whatever this is hurts more. you can’t take it anymore. can’t keep sacrificing your happiness, and having doubts about if lingering touches are true or not. “you don’t know how much that hurts,” you whisper, the anger you felt finally fading into nothing but heartbreak and hurt. “to give you everything, and only feel like a game. you know, i used to dream about my first kiss. every first i could ever have. and you- you took so many of them from me.” you finally stop speaking, letting the words sink in for the both of you. it’s quiet, tears slipping down your cheeks, but your face is blank. and heeseung stands there, motionless. confusion and guilt filling his expression, but you can’t wait around for a baseless apology. so you don’t. you pull your wrist from his grip, and he doesn’t hold you back. he doesn’t say anything. he just watches. and that somehow hurts more than hearing him say anything. you shut your eyes, biting your bottom lip to contain a sob as you turn on your heel, walking away. through your blurry vision, you don’t look back, keeping your vision forward as you walk away so fast it’s borderline running, your heart shattering more with every shaky step.

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your footsteps were heavy, dragging. the walk back to your dorm had been torturous, dried tears on your face, little sniffles escaping you as you ignored the stares of other students. you could acknowledge that you probably looked like shit. the door clicked quietly as you shut it behind you, locking you in silence. the familiar space that always provided comfort, seemed to do absolutely nothing for you now. your bag slid off your shoulder, falling to the floor with a quiet thud, but you didn’t even hear it. you felt numb, everything far away. but here, in the silence, it felt like everything replayed. every word, every emotion, him. your chest tightened, tears brimming in your eyes once again. they started to fall, soft at first, but they soon became uncontrollable. you tried to hold them back, to calm yourself down, but it was no use. your back hit the door, your legs giving out as you slid down, hitting the floor. you tried desperately to catch your breath, your sobs wracking through you as your hands gripped at your chest, trying to grasp at any sense of control over the situation. nothing was working. everything hurt. you were left feeling stupid and gullible. just another one of lee heeseung’s girls. and then, you saw it. on your desk chair, his hoodie was draped over the back. the sight sending a new wave of emotions through you. it was like you could feel it from where you sat on the floor, smell the familiar scent of him the hoodie carried. and it was all too much. a sob broke from your chest, loud, audible, everything crashing down at once. your chest burned. your head hurt. everything felt wrong. you were trying to pull yourself together, but it only got worse. the reality of everything kept tumbling down on you, forcing you to replay the memories of the day over and over. finally, you heard a door open, your eyes flickering over to the bathroom door only to see wonyoung and yunjin rushing to your side. their expressions filled with concern and confusion. it only made everything hurt more. your sobs were bordering being painful, your body shaking with each and every heaving breath you sucked in. wonyoung was next to you first, wrapping her arms around you as you continued to cry. you couldn't do anything, your hands shaking in your lap as the tears flowed freely. “what’d he do?” she asked bluntly, remembering the conversation from earlier. her hands rubbed your head, trying to calm you down as best she could. “what happened?” your lip trembled as you tried to get words out, but all that left was a strangled sob, your eyes clenching shut. your hands came up to your face, as if you were attempting to block out the pain. but nothing worked. you felt the ache deep inside you, burning, stinging. “what do you mean ‘what’d he do’?” you heard yunjin ask, her hand rubbing your knee comfortingly. you couldn’t reply, couldn’t even get a single word out. but you heard wonyoung filling her in on the conversation you overheard earlier, only adding to the pain you felt. you tried to speak, tried to fill them in on what had just happened, but it felt like the words were stuck in your throat, like bile threatening to come up. all that left you was gasps for air. and then, you sucked in a breath, and it all spilled out.

“she…  sieun came up to us. said.. he moved on quickly. that i was a game.” you choked out between sobs, shutting your eyes to ground yourself. “he didn’t- he didn’t say anything. nothing. he was just silent.” “so… fuck. i left.” your chest heaved, squeezing your eyes shut as you spoke the words that felt too real. “he tried to stop me- but i told him everything. everything i’ve been feeling… ands he still didn’t say a single fucking word.” it felt like saying them out loud meant that it actually happened. that it was real. that you didn’t imagine it, it wasn’t a bad dream. wonyoung’s arms tightened around you, pulling your head against her chest as you continued to sob, everything feeling too real. you had never felt this before. this all consuming pain that enveloped your whole body. a pain you couldn’t pinpoint, not a physical pain, but an emotional pain. resting somewhere deep inside you. yunjin’s eyes softened, her hands continuing to rub soft circles on your knee as you shook. “you deserve so much better than that asshole, y/n.” you swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing. “i don’t know what i was expecting, but i-“ you choked on your words, closing your eyes before continuing. “i thought it was real.” wonyoung rubbed your arm with the hand she had wrapped around you, the touch grounding you, comforting you. “don’t say that,” she whispered, her lips brushing against the top of your head, “this isn’t your fault.” you shook your head, finally lifting it as you wiped your tears, a bitter, disbelieving laugh slipping past your lips. “but it is,” you mumble, your voice shaky, “i let him in. i knew what i was getting into. lee heeseung, campus playboy. and i’m so, so fucking stupid for falling.” the two girls stared at you, pity etched across their faces as they watched you break down on the floor, the happiness you had been feeling being ripped away from you all too soon, leaving you empty and heartbroken.

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the world kept moving. the days stretched on, long and unbearable. it felt like each one bled into the other. it was strange. how time could feel so, so agonizingly slow. it had only been a few days, but it felt like weeks. but a part of you felt like you were still there. standing, waiting, begging for anything, and getting nothing but silence in return. you went to class because you had to. because you couldn’t let your grades slip. you sat in your usual seat with your notebook open, but the words blurred together. you busied yourself by doodling on your paper, words entering one ear and leaving the other. you couldn’t focus on anything, when your mind would drift back to him. every time someone leaned back in their chair, or tapped their pen on their notebook, you felt like you could see him. it made something in your stomach twist violently. you couldn’t tell if it was nausea or longing. but you knew it hurt. “y/n?” you blinked, snapping back to reality at the sound of your name. you looked up, only to be met with the eyes of your professor, staring at you expectantly. fuck. you swallow, gripping your pen just a bit tighter. “uh…” your eyes scanned the board for something, anything, but nothing made sense. you had no idea what was being discussed, or what question had been asked. you felt embarrassment flood you, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as you sighed. “i’m sorry, i wasn’t paying attention. it’s been a long day.”your professor shook her head, eyes full of disappointment. “you need to pay attention, you’re usually better than this.” it hurt. her look of disappointment, her words. if only she knew how you felt right now, the thoughts running through your head. but you only nodded, sinking in your seat as she moved on, another student raising their hand enthusiastically to answer the one you head clearly missed. you forced yourself to sit through the rest of the lecture, trying to pay attention as best as you could. it didn’t work. eventually, you went back to doodling, your mind running wild with thoughts of regret again.

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eventually, yunjin and wonyoung forced you to go out. they thought it might help, and you believed them. maybe you just needed a night out, surrounded by people. that was bound to get your mind off of everything. so, you did your hair, your makeup, put on an outfit you felt good in. forced yourself to smile, taking a deep breath as you told yourself over and over that this would help. it was a good idea. but the second you stepped inside the bustling restaurant, laughter and voices echoing around you, you realized just how wrong you were. he was everywhere. in the boy at the next table, who wore his hoodie half zipped, his elbows rested on the table as he talked to his friends. in the smell of the cup of coffee a waiter walked by you, your mind drifting back to the café that had become your go-to. you haven’t gone since. in the laugh from someone a few tables down- a different voice, a different person, but it still made your stomach twist. the worst part was the basketball game playing on the tv mounted above the bar. you couldn’t help the way your eyes kept drifting to it, scanning the screen over and over again like you would see him. it wasn’t even your schools team, but you couldn’t stop. it just reminded you of him. the way he moved, controlling the court, making everyone root for him. you remembered the way his eyes would look for yours in the crowd after he scored a point. it made your breath hitch. you weren’t sure how long you stared, hyper focused on the tv, until yunjin’s hand tapped your lightly, your eyes reluctantly pulling away from the tv and back to hers. “you alright? you haven’t said much,” she murmured, beat voice soft, cautious. you shook your head, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “i’m fine,” you lied, forcing yourself to engage in the conversation that was happening. neither of them look convinced. and your eyes kept flickering back to the tv.

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you barely ate. you weren’t even doing it on purpose- didn’t realize how long you would go without eating. you just had no appetite, no desire to fuel your body. you would go the whole day, not even realizing you hadn’t eaten until it was 9pm and yunjin was shoving a cup of ramen in your face with a firm “eat.” it reminded you of how much he loved ramen. the thought only made you want to eat it less, your stomach churning at the thought. sleep wasn’t much better. nights were the absolute worst. at least during the day, you could fake it. pretend you were fine, put on a fake smile and laugh at unfunny jokes people made. busy yourself with small talk, classwork, and meaningless conversations to pull your mind away from the storm inside you, even if only for a bit. but at night, there was nothing to distract you. you had yunjin, of course, but you were tired of dragging her into your heartbreak fueled rants and crying sessions. so it was just you lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, yunjin’s soft breaths the only noise filling the room. you felt like you were drowning in your emotions. the loss. the regret. the ache in your chest that hadn’t gone away since that day. it was like you could feel it physically. like a weight pressing down on you, constantly following you around throughout the whole day, but it was the worst at night. you were tired. all you wanted to do was sleep. but you couldn’t. your mind was running at a million miles a minute, everything coming back to you. when you finally fell asleep, it wasn’t any better. in your dreams, you were back there- standing in front of him with a broken heart and crushed dreams. you always woke up before he could answer. and you felt stupid. because this is exactly what you had been afraid of. this is why you had been so hesitant. because you knew how it would end- you knew what he was like. and still, you let yourself fall. you didn’t even try to catch yourself, willingly stepping off the edge and enjoying the freefall until you hit the ground. hard. this was why you had stuck to romance novels for so long. why you had lived vicariously through kat stratford, rose bukater, lara jean covey… the list could go on and on. because, as much as you longed to experience romance, you were scared. scared that real life wouldn’t be like the book and movies. it wouldn’t be like the songs, or the cheesy love-at-first-sight stories old couples would tell you. and it wasn’t. it was painful, and things weren’t always destined to work out. even your playlists had shifted. whereas a week ago, your most played song was ‘bewitched’ by laufey, a lovesick smile on your face as you laid in bed, singing along to the lyrics, you found yourself repeating ‘right where you left me’ by taylor swift lately. you felt like the song described your situation too perfectly. you couldn’t decide if that was better or worse for coping. eventually you settled on the latter, because you would cry every time it came on, your breath hitching the second you heard the ‘friends break up, friends get married.” you just wanted everything to go back to normal. you wanted to go back to the day you met heeseung, walking to a different seat instead of sitting down next to him. you wanted to beg the professor to assign you with someone else. you wanted to never step foot in that fateful party that changed everything.

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it’s quiet aside from the video playing from your phone. you’re curled up in bed, a bowl of pretzels in your lap as you watch a video essay on youtube about fourth wall breaks. you had nothing else to do. yunjin was spending the night at beomgyu’s. again. wonyoung had to study for an exam coming up. you were left alone, your phone being your only entertainment. sure, you could’ve gone out. but it’s 11pm. you just needed something to keep your mind occupied. it usually doesn’t work. but tonight, things are different. you’re happier tonight. things are easier. your mind doesn’t keep drifting back to him. you stretch, rolling your neck as the voice talks about deadpool’s fourth wall breaks. it’s weirdly interesting. you forgot how entertaining youtube essays could be. the peace is shattered by a knock on your door. the sound is sharp and unexpected, making you jump slightly as you look towards the door. you freeze for a second, before checking the time on your phone. 11:15pm. who would be here this late? part of you thinks yunjin came back. but she has a key, so why wouldn’t she just unlock the door? you stand, slowly walking towards the door, yawning slightly as you near it. maybe it’s wonyoung. she could’ve finished studying and wanted to hang out. but when you finally pull open the door, your breath catches in your throat. there, standing on the other side, is heeseung. you feel your stomach churn. he looks different. there’s bags under his eyes, and his hair is messy, like he’s been running his hands through it. there’s a look in his eyes that you can quite place, something you’re grown accustomed to. you can never truly tell what he’s thinking. you stare at him, but you can’t get any words out. his eyes are staring back into yours, and it feels like time stops. you’re frozen, unable to move. he’s here. standing in front of you. you finally find your voice, forcing the words to leave your parted lips. “what are you doing here?” your tone is sharper than intended, and part of you wishes you could take them back. but it’s too late. they’re out there. heeseung stands still, his body tense. his eyes flicker around, like he’s lost deep in thought. it’s overwhelming. he hasn’t even said anything and you feel like he’s already said too much. you take a deep breath, your hand on the door as you get ready to close it. but heeseung’s fast. he reaches out, his fingers splaying across the door and halting your movements. “wait. wait,” he pleads, his voice quiet, breathy. “just let me explain, please. just- just let me in. i need to, fuck… i need to say something.” you hesitate, your eyes searching his. your mind is telling you to shut the door in his face, crawl back in bed, and pretend this conversation never happened. but you don’t. you can’t. something about his expression, the way he’s standing there, eyes pleading with you to listen for once- it stops you. so you open the door wider, letting him step inside. your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest, averting your gaze from his as you step to the side. he steps inside, and it’s like you can feel the shift in the room. you shut the door behind him, turning around to face him, and it’s like something cracks within him. he doesn’t wait a second longer. he just starts talking, words spilling out of him like a dam, like he’s been holding them back for some time. “i don’t- i don’t do relationships. i don’t know how to do them. i don’t know how to feel this way. wasn’t supposed to feel this way,” he pauses for a moment, running a shaky hand through his hair. “i was fine before you. but now, everything has changed. i’m so fucking confused.” you stand there, frozen, your stomach twisting at his words. it feels like you’ve been hit by a truck. you don’t know what to do, what to say, how to react. his voice rises slightly, and for the first time, you see his true feelings. “you- fuck, you ruined me.”

his words are softer than you expect. they lack the usual teasing. they’re not sharp or mocking. they’re just a quiet emission of something he’s been dealing with, something he doesn’t know how to navigate. the pure emotion in his voice cuts through like a knife, hitting somewhere deep inside where all the sadness had piled up inside you. “you make me want things i don’t even know how to want,” he continues, his voice quiet now, barely above a whisper. “i tried to deny it. i tried to push every feeling i had away. i couldn’t admit it to myself- i was scared.” he stops talking, sucking in a breath as he stares at you. his eyes search yours, like he’s trying to gauge your emotions. you’re not sure. you don’t even know what you’re feeling right now. you’re finally able to force a word out, your voice shaky and quiet, like you’re not even sure you want him to hear. “heeseung…” but he doesn’t respond. he just stands there, his chest rising and falling with every shaky breath he takes. his eyes stay locked on yours, and his mouth parts like he’s going to say something, start speaking again. but instead, he runs a hand through his hair, letting out an incredulous laugh. it’s not a happy laugh. it’s disbelieving, tinged with frustration and sadness, like he can’t even comprehend the fact that he’s in this position right now, pouring his heart out to someone he hurt. “fuck,” he mutters, shaking his head, his voice wavering. “i can’t even focus at practice. coach keeps yelling at me, reprimanding me, but-“ he pauses, his eyes landing on yours again. “i can’t stop thinking about you. it’s screwing me up.” you blink, the weight of his admission sinking in, making your eyes sting and a lump form in your throat. his voice is so raw, his words hitting you like a punch to the gut every time. his hand is shaky as he runs it over his face, shaking his head like he’s fighting something inside himself. “i don’t know what’s happening to me,” he continues, his voice breathy and laced with emotion. “i can’t stop wanting you. i don’t know what to do with that. i’ve never felt this for someone before.” he steps forward slightly, and you can feel yourself tense up. there’s an intensity in his eyes, raw and unfiltered. like he’s determined. it’s the most honest you’ve ever seen him be, the first time you’ve been able to tell what he’s feeling by looking at him. it almost knocks the breath out of you. “i want… i want you to be mine, y/n,” he confesses, his voice full of sincerity. “i want to hold your hand, not just have our fingers brush. i want to kiss you, for no reason at all, but because i can’t help it. i want you to be able to tell people i’m yours. i just, i want to be close to you all the time. i’ve never experienced this before, and it scares the hell out of me. but losing you is worse. i can’t keep pushing my feelings- and you- away when you’re all that i think about.” you freeze, your breath hitching as his words sink in more and more. he wants you. he wants this. your heart is racing, and your breathing picks up just a bit. heeseung takes another step closer, his voice barely above a whisper now as if he’s scared to say the words out loud. “i’m so fucking scared, y/n. this is all new to me. i don’t know how to do this. but i want to make this right. i want to be able to tell you what i’m feeling and what i want, just- please, don’t walk away again.”

the desperation in his voice tears at you, and before you can stop yourself, your vision blurs. the pressure in your chest builds, and a shaky breath leaves you as you feel the dam break. tears spill from your eyes, hot and fast, all the emotions you’ve been bottling up crashing down from the weight of his words. heeseung’s eyes widen the second he sees your face shift, and in an instant, he’s there. his hands gently cup your face, his thumb softly wiping away every tear that falls. your breath hitches at his touch, a quiet sob leaving your lips. “hey, hey, look at me,” he says softly, his hands guiding your face up carefully, like he’s afraid you might break. “i didn’t mean to- fuck. don’t cry, baby.” you can’t stop it. the tears are falling down faster that you can hold them back. heeseung’s thumbs continue to brush against your cheeks, trying to calm down the rush of emotions you’re experiencing. but it’s too much- the words, the emotions, the tenderness. it’s all so new, so different from what you’ve been experiencing these past few days. your chest tightens, a mix of pain and relief swirling inside you, and before you can stop yourself, you press your head against his chest, your fingers gripping tightly onto his hoodie in a desperate attempt to steady yourself. heeseung tenses up at the contact, his hands still cradling your face, albeit a bit awkward in this new positioning. but he doesn’t pull away. he lets you lean against him, tears spilling from your eyes as both of you breath shakily, like you’re afraid this moment could disappear at any second. for a few seconds, neither of you moves. the room is thick with tension, and the sounds of your sniffles and his uneven breathing. then slowly, cautiously, his hands finally slip down to rest at your back, gently- his touch so light you almost don’t feel it- pulling you a bit closer to him. his movements are tentative, like he’s not sure if he even has the right to hold you, but he’s too afraid to let you go. then, slowly, you pull away. but not far. just enough so you can tilt your head up, your eyes locking with his. and for a moment, it feels like the world stops. all his emotions are laid bare- his sincerity, his longing, his fear. and every emotion he’s feeling is mirrored in your gaze. you’re both scared, but you’re no longer hiding those feelings from each other. this is something new for both of you, but you know you’re ready to navigate it together.

before you can think too much about it, or second guess your thought process, you’re leaning in, pressing your lips against his. softly, tentatively at first. it’s different from every other kiss you shared. it’s not the rushed, messy kisses born from confusion and curiosity. no. it’s different. it’s slow, tender, filled with every unspoken word, every quiet confession that’s stayed locked deep inside until now. all the feelings of longing that have finally surfaced. it’s everything you both wanted but were too scared to ask for. his lips move against yours slowly, and the gentleness of the kiss contrasts everything that came before it. the rush of emotions is still there, but it's calm now, dissipating softly like the rain slowing down after a thunderstorm. it’s just the two of you, finally letting go, spilling your emotions out. heeseung’s hand moves to the back of your neck, his touch gentle but firm, pulling you closer. you can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips, the soft press of his body against yours. it’s not like before. it’s real. and it’s yours. when he finally pulls back, there’s a moment of silence. neither of you say anything, but you don’t have to. the air is thick with meaning. there’s no need for words anymore. there’s a silent understanding between the two of you. a small, hesitant smile tugs at his lips, his hand moving from the back of your neck to cup your face. “i mean it,” he whispers softly, as though he’s trying to reassure both of you. his thumb brushes against your bottom lip, his eyes flickering to them before back up to your eyes. “i’m not going anywhere.” you nod, a shaky breath leaving your lips as your eyes search his. “i know,” you whisper back, the words a promise exchanged between the two of you. you lean back in, connecting your lips for the second time that night. the second they meet again, it’s different. the hesitation, the sadness, it all melts away, being replaced by something different. something neither of you can hold back anymore. your fingers dig deeper into the fabric of his hoodie, desperate for something to ground you in this moment. you feel heeseung’s hand move around to the back of your head again, fingers tangling slightly in your hair. you pull away, just slightly. your lips are still hovering over his, and you whisper, so quiet you’re not even sure if he heard. “heeseung…” you don’t even know what you’re asking for. you don’t know why you’re saying his name. his breath hitches, but he doesn’t pull away. you can feel the hand on your back tighten slightly, and he exhales softly, voice low. “i know.” and then he’s kissing you again, more sure this time, more determined. he guides you backward, each step slow, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. he doesn’t rush you. he just holds you there, lips moving against yours, as if he’s waiting for you to stop him. you don’t.

he slowly eases you down on the bed, his hand on your back supporting you until your back collides with the bed. he follows you, until his body is hovering over yours. he finally pulls back, his weight braced on his forearm. his gaze flickers over your face, as if he’s memorizing every piece of you, trying to read your mind in this exact moment. it’s a look you’ve never seen in his eyes before, and it makes your stomach do flips. he raises one of his hands, his thumb brushing against your cheek. the softness of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help the way you push your head into his touch. and then, he speaks quietly, almost like a vow. “let me prove it to you.”your breath hitches. your eyes widen slightly, and you feel like you can’t move. you can’t speak. you feel like these past two weeks heeseung has spilt you open, making you feel things no one else has ever done before, and now he’s in front of you, offering to do the same. and for the first time, it feels real. heeseung doesn’t push. he just waits. because for the first time in a long time, this isn’t a game to him. it’s not about winning, or getting the girl. it’s about you. silence lingers between you, his words sinking into your mind. let me prove it to you. your heart pounds against your ribs, and part of you is sure he can hear it. his thumb continues to trace slow, soothing circles against your cheek, and the gentleness of it, the want, the need you feel pushes you. your fingers tighten in the fabric of his hoodie, exhaling a slow deep breath. you can feel the nerves pulsing through your body, but the warmth of his body above you, the emotions in his eyes, the softness of his touch, it’s enough. you tilt your chin up, pulling him down into another kiss. he reacts immediately, his lips moving against yours in slow, careful kisses. he still doesn’t rush you. his hand slips from your cheek to trail down your arm, fingertips skimming across your skin and leaving goosebumps in their wake. slowly, the kiss deepens, bit by bit. his tongue swipes across your bottom lip, and just like last time, you let him in. it’s still clumsy, but you let yourself relax under his touch, sighing against his lips. his hand finds your waist, his fingers tightening slightly like he’s trying to hold himself back, and slowly, his lips trail lowers. to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the soft curve of your neck. your breath hitches. his lips are moving slowly, his kisses soft and fleeting, like he’s testing the waters, lingering, waiting for any sign that this is too much. but you don’t stop him. instead, you let your head roll back slightly against the pillow, granting him more access to your neck. his kisses grow more intense at that, sucking a piece of your skin and pulling a gasp out of you. his fingers brush under the hem of your shirt, just barely slipping beneath the fabric, his fingertips pressing slightly on your stomach. it sends a shiver down your spine, and instinctively, your body tenses. not out of fear- but because it’s new.

this isn’t like the last time this happened. it’s more full of emotion, more sure, like you’re dedicating yourself to him. like this time, you’re truly crossing a line that can never be undone. heeseung notices immediately. he stills, his lips hovering over your skin, his warm breath against your neck sending a shiver through you. he stops moving his hand up, simply opting to run slow, lazy circles on your torso with his thumb. he pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes searching your face, as if he’s trying to understand what you want. what you need.you swallow, his gaze making something churn inside you. your chest is rising and falling in quick, timid breaths, nerves rushing through you. the hesitation is there. the fear. but so is the anticipation. the want. the need to experience something new, to finally give in to what your body and heart have been desiring. so you don’t pull away. you don’t stop him. instead, you push yourself up slightly, your lips hovering against his, and you whisper, “it’s okay.” something in his gaze darkens, something unreadable passing through his expression. he holds your gaze for a second longer, like he’s giving you one last chance to change your mind. like he’s trying to make sure that you’re sure. but when you don’t- when you reach up and curl your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling his lips fully against yours- his restraint snaps.his kisses are hungry, taking more and more from you. and you love it. his hand under your shirt moves again, fingers splaying across your ribs as he holds you there, his lips moving against yours. for the first time, neither of you are trying to hold back. you arch slightly, pushing your chest into his hand, assuring him he can go further. and just like that his hand moves up more, cupping your breast over your bra and eliciting a gasp from your lips. your fingers curl in his hair, your chest rising and falling at the new sensation. heeseung can feel his restraint slipping more and more by the second. the need to be all over you, to make you feel sensations you’ve never felt before. but even through the haze, he’s careful. because this is you. and he knows this is a lot. his lips place sloppy kisses against your neck, his fingers groping and massaging your breast, ripping gasps and sighs from your lips. it’s like each kiss, each touch is a silent question, waiting, asking for permission without saying the words. and you give it to him. in the way your back arches, the way your hands tug at the strands of his hair, the gasps that leave your pretty lips as he explores places of you no one ever has before. he exhales a shaky breath against your skin, and he pauses, resting his head against your shoulder. his hand pulls at the cup of your bra, teasing you- and himself. tempting both of you with what’s about to happen. his body is tense, his breathing heavy, like he’s trying to control himself.

and then he lifts his head, his eyes dark and dazed as he looks at you. god, the way he looks at you. it makes your heart stutter, your stomach flip, it sends a rush of desire through you, your thighs attempting to close, rub together, ease any of the tension you’re feeling. but of course, like last time, you can’t. not with heeseung resting between your legs. his lips part slightly, like he wants to say something. but instead, he swallows hard, his eyes roaming across your frame. and before you can even process it, before you can allow yourself to feel self-conscious under his gaze- he moves. his finger slides out from under your shirt, and his hands curl around the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head with one smooth motion. a gasp leaves your lips, and he tosses it aside, not caring where it lands. and then he’s back on you. his lips are pressing urgent, feverish kisses across your newly exposed skin. his hands are everywhere, his lips are everywhere. he kisses you like he needs it. it leaves your head spinning, and your body feeling like it’s on fire. “heeseung-“ his name leaves your lips in a breathless plea, barely more than a whisper, feeling everything all at once. you feel him shudder against you, his lips pausing against your breast. then, slowly, his hand slips behind your back, his fingers resting on your bra clasp. it sends a shiver through you, your heart stuttering at the feeling. his voice is low, filled with lust, and he raises his head just slightly, his eyes meeting yours. “can i?” and you nod. you don’t think twice, simply pushing your back off the bed to give him easier access. and slowly, he pulls your bra off of you, leaving your top half completely exposed to him, showing him more than anyone else has ever seen. “you’re fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, before his lips are back on you, his lips immediately latching onto one of your nipples, his tongue flicking, his lips sucking lightly, sending pleasure coursing through your veins. his hand comes up to massage the other one, pulling a choked moan from your lips. the feeling is so new, so foreign, and you didn’t know it could feel this good. you can’t help the way you squirm under his touch, your head falling back as breathless sighs leave your lips. your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard. and heeseung groans against your skin. a low, deep sound that vibrates through you, making your stomach clench and your thighs twitch, desperate to alleviate the need growing within you. and slowly, he sits up, his eyes locked on yours. your chest rises and falls rapidly as you watch him, already missing the feeling of his mouth on you. but then. his fingers grab his hoodie, pulling it over his head.

something deep pools inside you at the sight of him. something that has you attempting to clench your thighs. your eyes take over his figure. the toned muscles, the sharp lines, his v-line, the way his sweatpants hang just a little too low on his hips. it makes your mouth water. but you don’t get to stare long. because his lips are back on you immediately. trailing over your chest before moving down slowly. his hands rub down your sides, mapping out every curve. his lips trail between your breasts, then down the center of your stomach. his kisses are slow and unhurried, making you feel dizzy. you body is so sensitive to every little thing he does. your breath catches as he gets lower, and lower, and lower- until he stops. his lips rest right above the waistband of your sweatpants, his hot breath against your skin making you shudder. he looks up at you, his eyes dark, filled with lust, and you can feel yourself clench around nothing. his fingers toy with the waistband of your sweats, simply watching you. as if he’s asking for permission without saying a word. and you give it to him. you push your hips off the bed slightly, slow and needy, your eyes full of desire as you stare at him, a shaky exhale leaving your lips. “fuck,” heeseung whispers against your skin, a shiver running through you. you feel the way his grip on your waistband tightens, his mouth so tantalizingly close to where you need him. and then his lips part, a soft breath leaving his lips as he finally speaks, his voice low and dark. “are you sure?” you nod, a soft whimper leaving your lips as you wriggle your hips, your eyes pleading with him. he only breathes a laugh against your skin, the sound quiet and breathless, his lips pressing a soft kiss against your skin, a shaky breath leaving your lips as the feeling sends a shiver down your spine. “words, baby,” he whispers out, his voice low and teasing, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach twist and your core clench around nothing. you don’t even know if you can speak. everything is so overwhelming in the best way possible, your eyes flickering all over his face as he just watches you with a smirk. you push your hips up again, your breath coming out desperate and breathy as you whisper. “heeseung, please.” that’s all it takes for him. he smiles, pressing another kiss to your skin before his fingers dip under your waistband, tugging your sweats and underwear down in one go. his fingers tug slowly, revealing more and more by the second. you feel more exposed, suddenly aware of how you’re now completely naked in front of heeseung. but you trust him. his eyes stay on yours the entire time, until he finally gets your pants off your legs completely, tossing them somewhere in the room. only then, does his gaze drop down, and you can see the way his eyes darken as he zeroes in on you. you go to close your legs, suddenly self aware, but he grips your thighs before you get the chance, a soft gasp leaving your lips as he looks back up at you. “keep these open for me, hm?” his thumbs rub slow, absentminded circles against your skin as he just watches you. like he’s committing the sight of you laid out bare beneath him to his memory. but it’s torturous for you.a whimper catches in your throat as your hands grip at the sheets, your hips attempting to move. “heeseung-“ he pushes your hips down, keeping you in place as he shakes his head. “you’re so needy, baby.” slowly, his fingers trail up your inner thighs, so close to where you need him, but never quite touching you, never giving you what you so desperately need. you whine, shifting your hips up, trying to feel something, but he just pushes your thighs down again. “patience,” he murmurs, the corner of his lips quirking up. “let me take my time with you.” and slowly, so slowly, he runs a finger along your slick folds, the sensation making a gasp slip from your lips. your thighs twitch, and he moves his finger up, pressing down on your clit and pulling a soft moan from you.

“oh- heeseung,” you gasp out, your eyes closing and opening again as your chest rises and falls rapidly, growing accustomed to the feeling of someone else controlling your pleasure. he hums, before moving his finger back down, finally inserting a finger inside you. a moan slips past your lips, your walls fluttering around him. “shit, baby,” he exhales, a breathy laugh leaving him as he looks up at your face before back down at your cunt. “you’re so tight.” he curls his finger, stretching you open as you gasp and whine, your hands tightening in the sheets as he pushes another finger inside your dripping cunt. you let out a shaky breath, your head rolling back against the pillow. and then his mouth is on you. a choked moan rips from your throat as his mouth sucks on your clit, the new feeling making your eyes shoot open as your hands fly from the sheets to his hair. “heeseung- fuck-“ you gasp out, your hips attempting to move, but he uses his free hand to press down on your stomach, forcing you to stay still. to take it. it’s too much too fast. you can feel the knot in your stomach tightening, every suck and press pushing you closer to the edge. your fingers tighten in his hair, and heeseung groans against you, sending a delicious vibration through you. your thighs shake as you gasp, teetering right on the edge. “heeseung,” you moan out, your voice shaky and strained, “gonna- i-“ you can barely get the words out before his lips curve into a smirk against your skin. he hums, the feeling making you squirm before he mutters, “already?” and then his mouth is back on you. his fingers are moving faster, his mouth sucking harder, his tongue working over your clit in slow circles. it's too much. your body tenses up and finally, the coil snaps. a broken moan spills from your throat as your back arches off the bed, your body trembling as you come undone. you can feel his arm press down harder, holding your bottom half still as you gasp, unable to do anything but take it. he doesn’t stop. at least, not immediately. he works you through it, his tongue lapping up every drop of your release, his fingers still moving and drawing out your pleasure. only when it’s too much, a whine slipping past your lips as your hands tug at his hair, does he stop. he pulls back, the bottom half of his face glistening with your slick, his eyes dark as he meets yours- and somehow, you want more all over again. “still with me, princess?” his voice is teasing, and he pushes himself up until he’s hovering over you. “or did i fuck you dumb already?” you can barely answer, the aftershocks of your orgasm still coursing through you. his lips hover above yours, a small smile on his lips before he presses them against yours. you can taste yourself against his lips, slightly bitter. your hips attempt to close, but he’s already settled himself between your legs, and you can feel him smirk against your lips as he grinds his hips just enough for you to feel him. it makes you gasp against his lips, desire coursing through you again. you can feel how hard he is, the outline of his cock pressing against your inner thigh through his sweats. “you want this just as much as i do, don’t you?” he mumbles against your lips, his voice a low rasp. you can only nod, your breath catching in your throat as he rolls his hips again. “think you can take me, baby?” he smirks, one of his hands sliding down your body to pull your legs open further, pressing his clothed cock right against your core and grinding down, forcing a quiet moan from you. “please,” you whine out, your eyes fluttering shut as your mouth falls open in a silent gasp. “yeah? want me inside you? stretching you out, filling you up for the first time?” he whispers against your lips, pressing his hips harder against yours as he lets out a strained breath. your breath hitches at the lewd words leaving his lips, but your cunt clenches around nothing. you finally crack, words spilling from your lips. “yes- please… want you,” you murmur, your eyes pleading with him, full of desire.

his smirk deepens, and he presses a final kiss to your lips before pushing himself up. his fingers dig into the waistband of his sweats, and in one fluid motion, he pulls them down along with his boxers. his cock slaps against his stomach, his tip angry and leaking, and your eyes widen at the sight. how the fuck was that going to fit inside you? he stroked himself a few times, huffing out a laugh at your surprised expression. “see something you like?” he asks, a teasing tone to his voice. you roll your eyes with a small smile, but you can’t hide the desire in your expression. the way your cunt clenches around nothing as your eyes flicker back down to where his cock strands. he leans down, hovering over you as he pulls one of your legs open, exposing you to himself further. his cock brushes against your inner thigh, his tip leaking against your skin and causing you to shudder. “is it… gonna hurt?” you ask quietly, almost feeling stupid for asking such a question. but he doesn’t judge you. his expression shifts from one of amusement to something more soft, his hand on your thigh rubbing gentle circles as he smiles at you. “it might sting a little bit,” he whispers back, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “but just relax for me, alright? i’ll take care of you.” you nod, your voice breathless as you reply. “okay.” your pulse races as his cock brushes against your folds, the reality of everything setting in. you’re about to lose your virginity. it makes a mix of anxiety and adrenaline rush through you, a mewl leaving you at the feeling. “that’s my girl,” he whispers, his hand leaving your thigh to grab his cock, rubbing himself up and down your folds, coating himself in your juices and drawing quiet moans from your lips, your hips pushing up just slightly, chasing the sensation. finally, he positions himself at your entrance, his hips pushing forward as he enters you. the stretch makes your breath catch in your throat. it stings. it’s overwhelming. it’s such a new feeling, sending a shiver down your spine as your cunt clenches around him, drawing a groan from his lips. “fuck,” you breathe out, your voice shaky and quiet, fading into a moan as your eyes clench shut. he pauses for a moment, letting you adjust to the stretch as he presses a kiss to the corner of your lips. “you’re doing so good for me, baby,” he murmurs, his hand sliding to your cunt, rubbing soft circles on your clit and ripping a gasp from you. “just breathe for me.” it distracts you from the burning stretch, dulling the pain the slightest bit as your cunt clenches around him, his hips starting to move again. a soft, shaky breath leaves your lips, your hands coming up to grip his shoulders as he fills you completely. “feel good, princess?” he murmurs against your lips, his voice soft as his thumb continues to rub circles against your clit, a little faster now. you nod, words caught in your throat as the pleasure begins to mix with the pain, giving way to a sensation- a fullness- you’ve never felt before. finally, he bottoms out. you can fill every ridge and vein, your cunt pulsing around him as it struggles to accommodate the stretch. his thumb never stops circling your clit, easing you into full pleasure. he doesn’t move, simply resting inside you and letting you adjust to the new feeling. and slowly, the pain fades. replaced by pleasure, a want- a need- for more. your hips move slightly, a gasped moan slipping past your lips at the pleasure that rushes through you. “please,” you whimper, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your eyes flutter open, meeting his. “move…”

slowly, carefully, he pulls out slightly, dragging out of you before pushing back in, pulling a soft moan from your lips. every roll of his hips presses him further inside you, making your mind hazy as you adjust to the fullness. “hee,” you whimper out, your head rolling back as the feeling grows more pleasurable, sending your head spiraling with every thrust. his thumb still circles your clit, drinking in every reaction you give him. “yeah, baby?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, making you focus on him for a second. “still doing good?” you nod, your breath getting caught in your throat as he hits a particularly deep spot. it feels good. it feels so good. but you want more. you need more. “yeah,” you whisper. “feels good, but-“ you hesitate, but you don’t need to finish. you catch the way heeseung’s eyes darken immediately, his movements stilling for just a second, like he’s processing your words, before he’s moving again. “you want more, princess?” his voice is lower now, darker. hungrier. it makes you clench around him, a hiss leaving his lips, the corner of his lips quirking up. you nod frantically, your fingers gripping his shoulders as his hand leaves your clit to find purchase on your waist. “please,” you gasp out. “i need-“ you don’t get to finish. a moan spills from your throat as he pulls out, only to slam back in. his careful, slow, pace is gone in an instant, replaced by something deeper. something intoxicating. your fingers claw at his shoulders, his arms, his back, anything you can to ground yourself as his thrusts speed up. “fuck,” he grits out, his head dropping to your shoulder as his hips snap forward again, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. “knew you’d take me so well, baby.” it’s too much. the pleasure builds, your moans getting louder. you can’t even control the noises leaving your mouth, too lost in the pleasure. you don’t even register how loud you’re getting until his hand clamps over your mouth. your eyes fly open, seeing him hovering over you now, his gaze half-lidded and dark. his lips are parted, uneven breaths leaving him as his hips continue to ram into you.“shh, princess,” he rasps, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he hits a particularly deep spot, making you moan out against his mouth. “only i get to hear those pretty sounds, yeah?” a muffled whimper leaves your mouth, your walls fluttering around him as you process his words. his pace never slows, pushing your limits, testing just how much you can really take. and you love it. “bet you’d sound so pretty if you could really let go,” he murmurs, his dark eyes staring into yours. his free hand trails down, resting on your stomach. your eyebrows furrow slightly, just before he presses down. your eyes roll back, a loud moan escaping your mouth and being concealed by his palm. it makes you feel him, all of him. stretching you. filling you completely. “you feel that, baby?” his fingers press harder, drawing another strangled moan from your lips as your eyes clench shut. “so fucking deep inside you. you take me so well, fuck-“ your body responds before you know what you’re doing. your hips roll up to meet his, desperate for more of the pleasure you’re experiencing. and heeseung loses it. “can you be quiet for me, princess?” he whispers. and you nod, hazy, dazed. he smirks, pressing harder on your stomach and pulling a broken moan from your lips as your body jolts beneath him. he slowly removes his hand from your mouth, sliding it down your body to grab your thigh, spreading you wider for him. a choked whimper leaves your lips, your mouth clenched shut as you try your hardest to hold your sounds in. but it feels too good. tears gather in your lashes, your body arching into his.

his cock twitches inside you, a dark grin on his face as he tilts his head at you. “what’s wrong, baby?” his voice is mocking, teasing, cruel. and it only drives you crazier. a tear slips down your cheek, your cunt clenching around him. you don’t trust your voice- hell, you don’t even know if you can speak right now.“too much?” he asks, but he doesn’t stop. if anything, he pushes deeper. you shake your head frantically, a broken sob leaving your lips as more tears spill down your cheeks. he sits back on his heels, the new angle pushing him deeper as a choked moan slips past your lips, your own hand coming up to cover your mouth. he only chuckles, his voice dripping with amusement- and something darker- as he watches you unravel beneath him. “feels good, doesn’t it?” it’s too much. it’s all too much. the coil in your stomach is winding tight, threatening to pull you over the edge at any second. and heeseung notices. he notices how your thighs began to shake, your moans turning into breathy, desperate whimpers, the way you clench around him. “close?” is all he asks, his eyes dark and lidded as he watches you. your hand slides from the sheet to his arm, desperate to find something to ground yourself as you teeter on the edge. “hee-“ you manage to gasp out, your voice breaking off into a moan as tears slide down your cheeks. he groans at the way you clench around him, his hand finding your clit again, rubbing tight, merciless circles, forcing you closer to the edge. and it’s too much. it builds so fast it makes your head spin. hell, you don’t even feel like you’re real at this point.“come for me, princess,” he groans out, thrusting particularly deep inside you. “let go.”your orgasm rips through you, your back arching off the bed as you cry out, a loud, broken moan barely muffled by your hand. your vision goes white, your body locking up as the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had takes over your body. but he doesn’t stop. his pace doesn’t falter for a second, fucking you through your high, testing your limits as the pleasure shifts into something more intense. your body can barely keep up. you’re sobbing, gasping, your body stuck between pushing him away and pulling him closer. “just a bit longer, baby,” he groans, his hand moving from your clit to your waist, holding you still as his thrusts turn erratic. your eyes roll back, your poor body unable to keep up with the pleasure you’re feeling. and then, a low guttural moan escapes heeseung’s lips, his hips pressing as hard as they can against yours as he finally spills inside you. the sensation of being filled has you gasping, clenching around him as his body trembles with his orgasm. slowly, he lowers himself down, pressing soft kisses to your lips to ease you back to reality, your dazed eyes meeting his as ragged breaths escape your lips. you’re wrecked. “you did so good for me, princess,” he murmurs, his voice breathless as his lips trail soft kisses down your jaw, his warm hands soothing over your trembling thighs, slowly pulling you back down to earth. you can’t even find the words to speak. you only nod, your hand slowly lifting to tangle in his hair, just resting there. he chuckles, leaning up to look at you. a soft smile forms on his lips, his thumbs brushing the tears off of your cheeks. “you okay?” you nod again, your voice wrecked, barely more than a whisper. “yeah.”

he doesn’t say anything, simply watching you. his gaze is so soft, his touch featherlight against your skin. his hips pull back slowly, making you gasp at the sensitivity it sends through you. and then he’s pulling out, his hands moving down to your hips as he sits back on his heels. your hips shift, adjusting to the empty feeling, a shiver running through you when you feel his cum dripping out of you. heeseung pauses, his eyes fixed on the sight, hands gripping your hips tighter as he breathes out, “fuck…” your face heats up, self-consciousness taking over when it finally sets in that you’re completely exposed in front of him. your legs attempt to close, a whine leaving your lips- but heeseung’s faster. his hands grip your thighs, keeping you held open as a smile forms on his lips. “don’t get all shy on me now, baby,” his voice is quiet, his eyes flickering up to yours as you avert your gaze. your hips shift, another soft, embarrassed noise leaving you, but he simply laughs under his breath. “you were just moaning for me a few minutes ago.” “heeseung,” you mumble, dragging out his name as you continue to move beneath him, trying to pull your thighs out of his grasp. your hands attempt to bat his away halfheartedly, but you’re too exhausted to actually push him, watching the way he pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth with a smile while watching your struggle. he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your stomach that has your breath catching, your hands halting their movements. “you were so good for me. look at you,” he mumbles, his eyes dragging over your body slowly, “all fucked out and pretty.” you let out a noise of protest, slapping at his shoulder before your hands come up to cover your face, groaning against your hands. “okay,” he laughs, finally letting go of your legs. “i’ll stop. don’t want you crying again.” you huff, turning your head to hide your face in the pillow, but a smile tugs at your lips. “you’re the worst.” he only laughs again, slipping off the bed, and you hear his footsteps moving away from the bed. “mhm. didn’t hear you complaining earlier.” you let out a dramatic groan, completely turning your body away from him, choosing not to answer this time.

when he finally returns, he sits down on the bed, one hand gently pulling your leg up, exposing you to him again. “heeseung,” you whine, lifting your head to look at him. his eyes flicker up to yours, before looking down again, the wet rag making contact with your legs and making you gasp, everything still so sensitive. “relax,” he whispers, his touch gentle, moving ever so carefully over the parts that make you flinch, your legs shifting with every pass. you nod into the pillow, finally letting your body relax again as your eyes flutter shut, exhaustion slowly taking over your body. “there we go,” he murmurs, tossing the rag aside and settling in bed besides you, pulling the covers over the both of you. his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer to him, your body instantly relaxing into his. his fingers rake through your hair, slow and comforting, making you let out a soft sigh, curling further into him. “you good?” he whispers again, like he always have to make sure you’re alright. “yeah,” you you yawn, shifting and closing your eyes. “tired.” you hear a soft, breathy laugh leaving his lips, before he presses a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers resuming their movements in your hair. “go to sleep, y/n.” you nod, letting the beating of heeseung’s heart in your ear guide you into a slumber as sleep lulls you away.

───⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───

“one iced coffee, please,” you smile, holding out a ten-dollar bill to the cashier in front of you. she gives you a look, but smiles back, taking the cash anyway. “no hot chocolate today?” you wave your hand dismissively, biting back a giddy smile. “oh, it’s not for me.” she raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push, simply nodding and punching in your order. “alright, then. we’ll have that out soon.” you rock back and forth on your feet, wonyoung and yunjin waiting at a table behind you. once your order is out, you’re walking back to the girls with a bit more pep in your step, holding the cup up to signal you’re ready to leave. you begin to walk out the door, a giddy smile on your lips as you look down at the coffee, before back up- completely oblivious to the look wonyoung and yunjin share. “so, why’d you get an iced coffee?” yunjin asks, tilting her head as she looks at the drink in your hand. “oh, just for someone,” you smile, shrugging lightly as you continue to walk. “you look too happy,” wonyoung teases you, poking your cheek as she watches the smile on your face grow larger, “what happened?” “nothing, guys!” you laugh, pushing wonyoung’s hand away. you continue to walk, making a beeline for the gym. you don’t miss the confused looks they send you as you speed up slightly. “okay, seriously, where are we going?” wonyoung asks, speeding up slightly as she picks up on the direction you’re headed. “the gym? the basketball team is in there right now,” yunjin adds, scrunching her eyebrows. “y/n. y/n? that means heeseung is in there! hello?” you don’t even hesitate when you open the gym doors, the two girls trailing behind you, clearly confused. “y/n. why are we in here?” wonyoung hisses, grabbing your arm as the sound of squeaking shoes and a basketball hitting the floor fills the air.

and then, all the noises slow. the guys spare a glance at you, before doing a double take once they recognize you. because heeseung has talked about you. and they’ve seen you with him. but the moment heeseung sees you, his focused expression shifts. his sharp gaze softens, a smile forming on his face as his feet slow to a stop. he starts moving, jogging over slowly. his shirt is slightly damp, his breathing slightly heavy. “hi, pretty girl,” he smiles, his gaze warmer. wonyoung’s grip on your arm loosens, and you can see her jaw drop from the corner of your eye. “hi,” you reply, holding out the coffee, “i brought you coffee.” he grins, taking the cup and tilting his head. “really? i thought you hated iced coffee.” you bite back a laugh, shaking your head lightly before shrugging. “you don’t.” you watch as his smile shifts into something else. something in his eyes that you can’t process, but he’s looking at you like you placed the stars in the sky. it makes your stomach flip, a blush forming on your cheeks. his hand slips around your waist, tugging you closer as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. your hand instinctively grabs onto his jersey, tugging him slightly closer, your lips forming into a smile against his. “hello?” you hear yunjin ask, a few guys behind you laughing. “what?” you ask, pulling back from heeseung’s lips, tilting your head with a small smile. “am i not allowed to come say hi to my boyfriend?” silence. until wonyoung squeals, practically yanking yunjin towards her. “i called it!” even heeseung himself seems a bit thrown off guard, his eyes widening a bit before he pulls himself together, a smug grin pulling at the corner of his lips. “oh?” he murmurs, leaning in just enough for you to hear. “say that again?” “damn, y/n,” jake laughs, stepping up besides the two of you and clapping heeseung on the back. “you managed to lock the playboy down.” “so,” jake continues, nodding at the drink in your hand with a shit-eating grin, “care to bring me one of those next time?” you don’t even get to open your mouth before heeseung is speaking. “no.” jake blinks. “i was talking to-“ “still no.” he throws his hands up, turning on his heel and walking away, grumbling out, “forget i asked.” you roll your eyes, suppressing a smile as you look back at heeseung, who simply shrugs at you. he’s insufferable. and he’s yours. 

AFTER FIGHTING FOR THREE DAYS... I GOT IT TO WORK. sorry about the weird formatting at some points, it's the only way i was able to fit this whole fic into one post ^^! also,, did not realize how much i wrote "and then" until i was editing this god damn girl stop sing those words for one second... hope you guys enjoyed !!!!

taglist: @bussolares @w3willris3 @nithxhoon @elairah @fancypeacepersona @talesofthegreatest @jaehoonii @onlyticket-home @cutehoons02 @isagistar @immelissaaa @seongiewon @llearlert @rosepetals09 @cloud-lyy @enhaheart8 @millisvlog @rayofsunshineeee @littlesweettea-aine @evorlaah @kittycatwonie @somuchdard @miraeluv @heewenos @katarinamae @h4niyahcar @aejakeslvr @girlwholovekpop @dearestdreamies

^i tried to tag everyone, but some ppl weren’t coming up so if urs doesn’t work i’m sorry abt that😭

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[sungshoe]

my hail mary ♥︎

a hail mary in american football is a desperate, last-second long throw in football where the quarterback launches the ball toward the end zone, hoping to score a final touchdown miracle.

footballplayer!sungho x cheerleader!y/n nsfw

a two pov story with a shared ending

➤ now playing: never felt so alone · labrinth

genre / warnings: lowercase intended, angst, comfort, fluff, smut (ending), confession, unrequited love/rejection, crying, mutual pining, mental health, emotional distress, injury, unprotected sex, emotional sex, public sex (bathroom), creampie, “princess” nickname

pov: y/n｜synopsis: you love sungho, and have always liked him. now that you’re both graduating from college, you want to confess. you throw your final pass. you ask one of his teammates to put in a word for you but sungho rejects you. your world falls apart. was the hail mary really a miss?

pov: sungho｜synopsis: sungho loves american football, and has always liked it. but after getting injured during a game, he’s benched for the rest of senior year. his world falls apart. until he notices a cheerleader from the sidelines. he starts liking her and with a few months left on the clock, he throws his final pass. but she rejects him. was the hail mary really a miss?

now, you are reading pov: y/n

i loved him, a lot. sungho was the most perfect boy i’ve ever met.

when i saw him for the first time on campus, he looked so confident. sungho was the ultimate package: his well trained body, beautiful hair, and alluring facial features.

don’t be mistaken though. sungho was a major cutie too. his sweet personality, his pouts and smiles, and his love for american football — my heart belonged to him.

sungho was the golden boy of the team, and dare i say of the university.

and i? i was just a cheerleader. i was another girl on the sidelines, who longed for a boy who knew little about her. every time i cheered, my eyes found him — he never looked back.

i tried to approach sungho many times. however, i ended up crushed by the people surrounding him and his busy training schedule.

i felt a wall building between me and him, made of heaving bricks i couldn’t lift nor remove.

i wanted to climb over the edge. scared for the drop, even more scared of not being able to reach its height.

we were graduating soon. this was definitely my last chance to make my love for him known, to get rid of the stinging feeling inside of me.

so, i threw my hail mary.

the football team wrapped up their first football game since summer break. sungho seemed to have rushed to the changing room as one of the first players like usual.

i tapped on one of his teammates’ shoulders. my heart was still racing and my hands were shaking.

i politely asked the stranger if he could tell his friend sungho about my feelings. the boy promised to tell me sungho’s answer once he got it.

a day later, i heard back: ‘sungho said no. didn’t even ask who’. my heart quietly shattered.

ouch. i should’ve known better — i was merely a nameless and faceless figure to a boy i admired for years and failed to approach even for a second.

all the time i thought i didn’t try hard enough — it hurt. i wished it wasn’t true, really.

i knew it wasn’t something personal. i respected sungho’s feelings and never resented him. it was a valid punch in the stomach.

i simply felt that brickwall between us fall onto me and crush me. i couldn’t stand up, i couldn’t move, i let it all fall down on me.

my world felt small suddenly. filled with myself only, wanting to fit someone in, who had his own filled space to preserve.

i cried night after night and wanted to move forward. but my heart stayed behind. i continued to feel heavy on the inside — fixed in place and left unfixed myself.

all the while, i tried to continue to smile and cheer. but nothing truly felt the same to me anymore.

i should’ve not thrown that hail mary. it irreversibly revealed the truth about my agonising longing.

i certainly looked so insignificant in this world, the world i dedicated to sungho.

this was no fault of his. i threw the ball to a deserted area, thinking sungho was there to catch it. only making myself look more like a foolish loser than a daring winner.

now, you are reading pov: sungho

i can’t remember exactly how it happened. i do remember i was in immense pain but nothing felt worse than knowing my career was shattered, the one i dedicated my entire life to.

when it happened, the pain in my knee, the crowd’s gasps, the silence — the weight of everything crushed me. i resented that moment badly.

no more games. no more plays. just the bench.

a torn acl tore my dream apart, for good. i loved nothing, i only loved football. i felt so insignificant, i felt empty without football. this couldn’t be me, i refused.

i lost my dream, my spark, my light.

but then i saw her. i sat on the bench and glanced at my teammates, with envy. a girl caught my attention.

i realised she was always there, right by the field at every game. i felt drawn in, not knowing by what but i wanted to be fixed by her.

i could’ve seen her a hundred times, but none of those times i would’ve actually noticed.

now that my world turned grey, i couldn’t take my eyes off of her. she looked back at me with sad, soft, and understanding eyes. eyes of a person i knew nothing about, a nameless figure.

in that moment, i felt a deep longing for closure. i wished to be comforted by her, and to comfort her.

i started watching her more than the game. the warmness the field had once given me, i found again in loving this girl.

i managed to figure out her name, it was y/n. she was one of the senior cheerleaders.

i fell in love with her. i wasn’t confused, nor longing for distraction, nor overwhelmed by change. i knew it, i was sure — my heart belonged to her.

it was all or nothing, i had to tell her, not wanting to let anything dear to me slip away again. we were a month away from the last football game for seniors.

so, i threw my hail mary.

i confessed to her on the field. my voice was shaking but i meant it from the bottom of my heart. which once was only filled with a dedication to sport, now spacious for only her.

but she looked at me like i’d punched her in the stomach. i quickly apologised for the sudden confession.

she looked down and said “sorry i don’t love you”. then she turned around.

i stood there, motionless, heart pounding, wanting to know how i got it so wrong. did i ruin it?

she oddly hesitated to move. i wanted to run up to her and ask how i could win her over. but it was far too late.

it wasn’t my sport to play, i was an assigned loser. i wasn’t in my prime anymore, i lost it all.

no hail mary could’ve saved the game. i was a washed-up player chasing a long-lost victory.

now, you are reading pov: y/n

during the seniors’ last game, sungho was still on the bench as he was still injured.

sungho quietly cried, too helpless, too depraved from anything he loved. no one noticed — except for me, i did.

i wanted to ignore him, look away but i couldn’t. my eyes fell back on this miserable figure.

after the game, i walked up to sungho. as i walked up to him, he stopped crying, his eyes widened.

i hugged him. his nose sniffed. i said nothing, neither did sungho. i felt a tighter hug back.

i patted him on the back. tears started flowing down my face. this time, sungho looked at me like he always should have.

i wiped away his tears and kissed him. wanting to feel his lips. sungho kissed me back passionately. a pure love emerged from us both.

i held his hand tightly and we walked to a bathroom stall to calm down. i washed his face.

sungho started crying again. he was overwhelmingly disappointed about his inability to play. so i kissed him to make him stop.

sungho pulled me closer until there was no space between us. he kissed me back like he was drowning. my mouth being the only thing keeping him alive, the air sungho so desperately needed.

sungho’s hands trembled and voice shaked. he whispered “don’t leave” almost breathless.

i promised i wouldn’t. rubbing his cheeks and eyeing him with authenticity within my teary eyes. “how could i leave you, sungho? i have always loved you”, i said quietly.

sungho’s tears fell on my skin, warm and aching. we grinded up against each other, longing for each other’s closure. we felt entitled to each other’s truth and devotion.

“want you”, i said vulnerably, at his mercy, yet stern. i gave away my soul to sungho, i healed my scars with every touch of his.

we were ugly crying, rubbing against each other, with nothing to hide any longer.

“i’m sorry”, sungho cried in my neck apologetically, overstimulated by the emotions and pleasure.

we pressed against each other in need of raw confirmation. a moan escaped my mouth during our kiss. i looked sungho straight in the eyes. “i’m all yours”, i said sensually.

sungho carefully reached under my cheerleading outfit, unsure and trembling. i reassuringly helped pull down what clothed my core.

i then rubbed myself against sungho’s clothed crotch, earning a desperate moan.

we made love then and there. we undressed and sungho slid into me gently from the back while hugging me. “fuck—my princess”, he groaned as i immediately clenched around him.

i desperately held onto the sink as my walls gripped his cock tightly, back arching. sungho hit every spot perfectly. he was made to be inside of me, he fit into me like a missing puzzle piece.

tenderly panting, feeling him, bare and burning against my dripping core. we pressed into each other, whimpering at the sensation. so undeniably exposed to each other, it felt so authentic, so intoxicating.

i softly yelled sungho’s name while my head fell back onto him, eyes rolling back, too lost in the endless pleasure he gave me with each deep and loving thrust behind.

we whined for each other. both needy, both craving for love, both begging to prove something during this intimate naked connection.

sungho turned me around and lifted me up with his arms. he wanted to see my face more than anything.

we were rocking into each other like a cry for help. our movements revealed a mutual yearning. we gasped for oxygen in each other’s mouths.

“i love you so much”, sungho said full of emotion. we were uncontrollably in love as more liquids leaked out onto the bathroom floor.

i felt so vulnerable but protected in his hands. “love you, princess”, sungho moaned out right before we both came again.

the wet sounds, the white mixtures leaking out, the sweat drops on our faces — we were so desperate for each other. we were inseparable like romeo and juliet.

sungho’s rhythm, my clenching, it was our gentle euphoric moment. claiming each other’s names with whimpers, natural liquids, and unfiltered sobs in between what felt like heaven.

the last game, once thought to be our last meeting, turned into our renaissance.

we learned the score board was left untouched by our hail marys, they made no difference. but we had failed to realise those were never our games to win. we were unknowingly on opposite teams.

only when we gave up on the game, did we make the final score of the season. we settled our love story, that ran on miracles, saved by timing.

how he looks when he’s sitting on the bench and keeping his eyes on you, the love of his life that he can’t get over 💔

also thank you for the people reading and/or liking my posts. i appreciate every one of you <3

[readingmochi]

https://www.tumblr.com/writingmochi/793238247880916992/lissie-so-i-guess-thats-the-reason-why-i

hi hey! what is this about? i am a bit curious

hello! thanks for stopping by and sending an ask

i don't really want to make it seem bigger, but i think an elaboration is pretty much needed. so, i very much thank you for being curious as well. it is pretty long so i hope you'll understand. if there is something you want to discuss more, feel free to send an ask again!

as this is a reading blog and i usually add commentary for every reblogs i make through tags or text, all of them come from a sense of appreciation and wanting to uplift the writers themselves in terms of breadth and depth. i treated this blog as my storygraph/goodreads where my reviews go more into analysis-based instead of plain-old compliments that create dopamine for the writers, especially with fics that intrigue me in their character creation, narratives, themes, and more that could make me talk about it.

coming from a writer who also makes fics, my writing blog is an open space for people to, not only read and enjoy, but also comment beyond what the story is from start to finish, such as the themes, the inspirations it comes from and what it says, maybe even why i choose this certain member in the first place or why i choose to write it. i let the readers dissect my story and interpret it however they want, even if it sometimes hurts me because it is a part of the growing pains to improve not only as a writer, but also as an individual. and because i have made a space like that, i projected it onto the way i write my reviews as well on this blog.

i believe that a previous review of mine from yesterday came across as tone-deaf for the writer in the sense that they perceived that i added criticism because i don't like the fic. i made that analysis because i like the fic so much. i made that criticism because i believe that it has the potential to be something more and the writer is capable of doing more beyond what has been written. i made it to let them know that there is someone out there who wants more of what this universe and these characters the writer has made. this particular fic was also pretty controversial with the way it depicts its characters and i understand that the writer's reply to me was their way of trying to be protective of it, given that said fic has been discussed many times. yet, it gave me a wake-up call instead, one where i realised that long, analytical type of reviews with constructive criticism is now pretty frowned upon because it has a bad connotation in this current fanfic climate.

other than that, i have also been struggling with wanting to stay and write on this platform because it has been pretty lonely for me. adding to what i have elaborated in the previous paragraph, i felt myself being projected as an "other" and getting pushed further away from the community that i love creating in. hence, the first sentence in that post.

so, i wrote that post as a reminder to my readers that you can actually speak to me about whatever intrigues you or bother you about the fic that you read. because their interpretation will be different from mine and if it is a positive or negative comment, i will reply to it because i believe that it elevates the fic’s story more. the "death of me as an author" and my interpretations when making said story create "the birth of you as a reader" who perceived this storytelling in the ways you believe it to be. you can disagree with my writings and i could disagree with your interpretations. in the end, i am still going to be so happy because those disagreements and critical thinking can help improve what, how, and why i write in the future, and maybe it could help inspired the reader as well. that side of the community is the one that i miss and seeing it dwindle makes me sad. and so, i will do my best to keep it alive, from both the writer and the reader sides, even if it will end in me swallowing so much bittersweetness

[cursedhvn]

When The Night Comes || Choi Yeonjun

➛Pairing // Choi Yeonjun x fem! reader

➛Word Count // 18.8k

➛Genre // university au, fluff, angst, slice of life, strangers to friends to friends with benefits to lovers.

➛Warnings // // substance use [cigarettes and weed], mental health issues [not directly stated], past trauma, suggestive language, mentions of past abuse, reader has multiple nicknames [petal, blossom], general pet names [sweetheart, gorgeous, etc]

➛Synopsis // And I hope when the night comes, we stay in limbo together, savouring this moment—ignoring the way I can no longer hold you the same under the morning gaze.

In which Choi Yeonjun finds himself entangled with you. Yearning for a deeper connection, Yeonjun has to navigate his feelings while sharing unforgettable moments with you. 

He must confront the question: does love really conquer all or will the shadows of your past prevent him from achieving the happy ending he so desperately seeks?

➛Playlist

adeline's opening ✉ - my first fic ahh >< genuinely can't believe I was able to write something like this. I'd love to thank 3 individuals actually!! @dawngyu for being such a sweetheart to me and was so supportive during the entire process, @yunverie for having the sweetest reactions to the early snippets I gave her and to my wife @just-nc-tea who read it even when it wasn't completed yet :). I love you all so much, thank you <3

I || Whispers of Spring ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

The emergence of Spring reminded Yeonjun of you. After Winter made her exit, Spring began to reveal herself—welcoming the warmth of the sun and the vibrant blooms that burst forth in preparation for her lively sister, Summer. To most, Spring signified renewal and the blossoming of new beginnings—yet to Yeonjun, Spring evoked memories of your first interaction. Like the season you possessed a cool demeanour, yet a touch of warmth remained hidden deep within you, waiting to be revealed. To Yeonjun, Spring marked the beginning of his entanglement with you.

Seeing you for the first time felt like a breath of fresh air.  It was the first year of college and you were sitting on a bench near the quadrangle nursing a cigarette while you listened to Beomgyu, someone he got acquainted with in one of his earlier classes. Your presence was undeniable—despite your intimidating aura, Yeonjun thought you were gorgeous. The way the sunlight caught your eyes, the slight curve of your lips when Beomgyu said something funny, captivated him—your entire being captivated him, like a magnetic pull, drawing Yeonjun in. He couldn't deny his immediate attraction to you. 

Over the years, Yeonjun’s attraction to you blossomed more than he would’ve imagined. Naturally, he and Beomgyu became friends through their shared classes; every mention of you from Beomgyu made his heart leap for joy, his interest in you seemed to deepen with every blurb of information he was told about you. Despite his extroverted nature, Yeonjun always shied away at the idea of talking to you. In a world where everyone wanted to be the Sun, to him, you were the Moon—unreachable, only to be admired from afar.

Your first interaction with Yeonjun remained etched into his being. Amidst the chaos of the party, there you were, clinging to the corner, as if the walls themselves whispered secrets to you. It was the final party of Sophomore year, and despite the drink in your hand, you seemed more sober than tipsy. Even though you appeared nervous, you seemed to maintain a steady conversation with Beomgyu, smiling at his antics.

While all eyes were on him, Yeonjun couldn't help but focus on you. In that moment, the lights reflected on your skin, causing you to illuminate a soft glow almost as if you were the Moon—so close, yet unattainable. Your unapproachable aura always left Yeonjun yearning for more—wanting to explore your secrets, unravel your complexities, yet treat your body as a sacred temple, whispering silent prayers hoping that you might grant him a taste of the salvation you had to offer.

Despite the season, the moment the cold air enveloped you as you stepped onto the balcony, it felt as if Death itself embraced you—a biting cold that seeped into your bones. A cigarette found solace between your lips, dulling Death’s grip on you, allowing you a moment of respite. The first drag was bittersweet—despite the warmth it brought to you, you couldn't help but be reminded of why you hoped to quit in the first place.

The second drag felt tantalizing—tormenting you on the goals you're unable to achieve, reminding you that quitting meant letting go of the only thing that connected you to your past—like a noose around your neck, unable to be free of the comfort the addiction brings you. The third drag was interrupted—Yeonjun, the party’s main guest, enters, glowing, as if he were the Sun itself and you, Icarus, destined to fly too close and be burned.

You’ve seen him around campus before—always surrounded by some form of company, as if he were a flame that drew people in like moths. Known for his charisma and talent, Yeonjun was never a bore—from what Beomgyu told you, he was also a giant sweetheart despite what people may think. In contrast, you found solitude in flowers, the silent messages they conveyed, and the untold stories weaved between their leaves. With each bloom, a message waiting to be relayed.

With a final drag, you crushed the remnants of your cigarette as you turned to face Yeonjun as he approached—his raven-coloured hair cascading along his neck, eyes filled with something akin to wonder, “Is the party too much for you?” he asked.

As you wrapped your arms around yourself, you responded, “Beomgyu drained all the energy out of me.” You paused, glancing away, “I needed to sober up before I decided to leave.” 

“But it’s only 12 am! The party has barely started, Pretty,” Yeonjun pouted, his expression playful.

“Unlike you, I have the social battery of a Plum Blossom. Alcohol can only help me so much,” you replied, ignoring the way the nickname made you uneasy.

“A Plum Blossom?” he asked, surprised.

As heat rushed to your cheeks, you clarified, “The flower. They symbolize loneliness, so to an extent, I like being alone.”

Smirking, Yeonjun leaned in slightly, “Then what flower am I?”

“A sunflower,” you said softly as your gaze fell to the ground, “you’re bright, warm and approachable with loads of energy.” As you turned to leave, you felt embarrassed having shared so much about flowers. Despite this, you looked back to give Yeonjun a non-verbal goodbye, only to find him placing his jacket around your shoulders.

Instantly, his scent surrounds you—grapefruit with undertones of incense and jasmine—pleasant, but not overwhelming. The jacket was a touch too big but like his personality, it immediately warmed you—almost as if it were a talisman, warding off Death’s embrace.

Confusion etched across your features as he smiled sweetly, “An excuse for me to see you again. You’re friends with Gyu, right? So, we’re bound to see each other on campus. I hope to see you soon Blossom,” he added before making his way back on the dance floor as if the entire interaction had been a casual exchange. 

Embarrassingly, you've avoided seeing Yeonjun for a month. Despite your desire to return his jacket, you've steered clear of places you knew he frequented, only staying within the confines of your safe space—the University's greenhouse. Beomgyu teased you about it, relishing the idea of his two friends interacting—you however dreaded the thought of seeing him again. 

It's not that your first interaction with him was terrible: it's just that to you, Yeonjun was the Sun—ethereal and radiant while someone like you, was too broken to be seen with someone like him.

“You know you can't avoid him forever, right?” Beomgyu started one day, leaning against the table as you watered the orchids. “He asked me for you, asking if I'm coming to see you in your little hideout,” he teased.

“It's not a hideout,” you mumbled, focusing on the delicate flowers, “It's just that, he shines so brightly, I don't think I deserve to be in the same space as him, Cookie. He shouldn't waste his time on someone like me.”

Beomgyu sighed, his expression softening, “You're more than worth it, Petal. Don't let your past define you, you're more than that. You shine just as brightly; anyone would be lucky to get to know you.”

You placed the watering can down as tears welled in your eyes. You've known Beomgyu since you both were in elementary school—he's been with you at your worst, from the loss of your brother when you were fifteen to your parents abandoning you at sixteen, leaving you to navigate in a world that moved on too quickly, denying you a chance to grieve. He's witnessed the aftermath of your last relationship, the way that even in his death, your ex haunted you, leaving you shattered.

Giving you a side hug, Beomgyu continued, “I know it's hard, but give him a chance. Yeonjun’s a nice guy. Even if it takes time for you to get close as friends, he'll understand.”

You had really hoped that could be true, but the fear and anxiety wrapped around you, made you hesitate. Deep down, you really wanted to believe things could turn out differently.

Your second interaction made Yeonjun feel alive; nostalgic even—you're with a cigarette again as you sat with Beomgyu, talking. Despite not having seen you in months, Yeonjun couldn't help but think you're even more gorgeous than when he first met you—his feelings resurfacing almost as if it had never truly left.  You were glowing—you seem more animated that day; happy in the bubble you're currently in, laughing at the antics Beomgyu is doing—your rosy cheeks contrasting the chilly weather.

With a newfound sense of confidence, Yeonjun decided to approach you both—hoping his presence doesn’t cause this side of your personality to be stored away again.

“Gyu, hey!” Yeonjun said as he made his way over with his gaze fixed on you. He noticed the surprise in your eyes at his presence and he finds it adorable—the way your smile softened, and your nose scrunched at his arrival made him feel as if he were in heaven. 

“Hey man,” Beomgyu said as he greeted him with a high-five. “You’ve never met Petal, right? She’s like a sister to me, so this is me formally introducing you.” He smiled as he ruffled your hair.

“Nice to meet you Petal," Yeonjun smirked slightly, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

With furrowed brows, you gently pushed Beomgyu as you quietly told Yeonjun your name with a shy smile.

After a brief moment of silence, Beomgyu suddenly jumped up, “I just remembered I had to print an assignment for my next class,” Giving your arm a squeeze, he continued, “Later guys! I'll see you for lunch, Petal!” as he ran off towards the library. 

As you both waved goodbye to Beomgyu, Yeonjun took a seat next to you, his eyes sparkled with anticipation as you handed him a gift bag.

“Your hoodie,” you stated, “and a pressed sunflower, as an apology for taking so long to get it back to you.”

“You didn't have to get me an apology, Blossom,” Yeonjun replied as he took out the pressed sunflower, admiring it—it's beautiful, he thinks. The pressed sunflowers are carefully confined within a picture frame ensuring its beauty is preserved—recalling your first encounter he thinks it's endearing that you gave him one.

“You did this yourself?” he asked, genuinely impressed. 

As you nodded in response, Yeonjun noticed you watching him as he continued to admire your work, sensing the care you put into it.

To others, this may seem like a superficial interaction between two people—but to Yeonjun, this was the beginning of something more. Like a budding flower, this relationship had potential to blossom into something truly beautiful and fulfilling.

Over the next few months, your interactions with Yeonjun became more frequent. He began having lunch with you and Beomgyu more often, even visiting the greenhouse whether Beomgyu was there or not. At first, you were hesitant to open up, your budding relationship destined to remain stunted—with a lack of food it seemed inevitable to fall apart, but Yeonjun's warm smile and genuine interest in your life slowly chipped away at your defences.

At first, it started small—Yeonjun began to join you and Beomgyu in the cafeteria for lunch, a simple action that spoke volumes to you. 

“What's your favourite book?” he asked one day. Evident hesitation on your features left you unsure of how to respond, but Beomgyu chimed in, “Oh, Petal absolutely loves mythology and folklore! Especially stories deeply rooted in romance and symbolism.” As Beomgyu ruffled your hair teasingly, Yeonjun looked at you, his eyes lighting up, “Be sure to tell me about them next time, yeah? Especially your favourite.” With a shy smile and heat rising to your cheeks you nodded as the remainder of lunch fell into a quiet, casual conversation between you three.

In the following weeks, Yeonjun’s visits to the greenhouse became a daily occurrence, often bringing you a coffee or a sweet snack you liked. Some days were quiet, others were filled with sweet conversation between you two—you, explaining the nuances of flower language while he listened intently, admiring the way you carefully tended to each flower.

“I brought these for you today,” Yeonjun said as his eyes sparkled while he entered, handing you a small bouquet of beautifully arranged red chrysanthemums and white roses with a tiny bag of freshly baked cookies. “I'm sure you'll understand the message I'm trying to convey.” Your blush deepened as Yeonjun smiled softly at you, “And the cookies were something Soobin and I made earlier. Wanted to give you some. The cookies taste good though! Even though Soobin helped, I made sure everything was edible in the end,” he smiled cutely as he sat next to you on the bench. You felt a flutter in your chest as you accepted the gift, feeling a sense of gratitude towards him.

The times when the greenhouse was filled with you, Beomgyu and Yeonjun, it became livelier—the flowers embracing the energy that surrounded them. Beomgyu watched from the sidelines as the conversation naturally got quieter, he smiled at the way Yeonjun looked at you, with a look of adoration, unmatched. “I'm glad the two of you are getting along,” he commented, his voice filled with warmth. “It's nice to see my two best friends get along.”

In the confines of the greenhouse—amongst the laughter and quieter moments, it became a safe house—a sanctuary where your blossoming friendship with Yeonjun was nurtured into a young seedling full of life and vigour. The way Yeonjun listened, really listened, made you feel valued—it felt nice to be heard, to be seen, to feel as if you were human like everyone else even if your past tried to tell you otherwise.

And with Spring coming to an end, the vibrant colours surrounding you mirrored the warmth of your connection; as the last petals of the season began to fall, you both stood on the precipice of something beautiful—ready to embrace the Summer of your hearts with open arms.

II || A Glimpse of Heaven ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

The next time Yeonjun saw you, you were at a party again but this time it's the beginning of Autumn—unlike your first meeting.

After the sweltering heat of Summer, Autumn's crisp air made him feel alive—her leaves, painted in hues of auburn and crimson, dancing gently in the breeze, creating a nostalgic atmosphere that somewhat felt romantic, contrasting the solemnity of Winter that steadily approached.

This time, he saw you on the dance floor, which was surprising considering your withdrawn personality—your body language was comfortable, with relaxed shoulders, you swayed with Beomgyu to the music, surrounded by other attendants of the party. Yeonjun was mesmerized. The way you handled yourself even in this moment felt addicting to him—he couldn’t resist staring at you as you sipped on your drink, giggling at something Beomgyu whispered to you over the music before you made direct eye contact with him.

He couldn't help but feel shy as he felt the way heat rushed to his cheeks, still, he waved at you from across the room. In response, your eyes shone with excitement which Yeonjun assumed was due to the alcohol, but he felt giddy at the idea of you being happy to see him.

Despite the moments you shared over the last few months, Yeonjun still wasn't sure on where the relationship was headed. Still staring, Yeonjun saw you whisper something to Beomgyu as you stepped outside, onto the same balcony where you first talked last Spring—and Yeonjun, he couldn't stop himself from following.

As you placed your joint between your lips, you fished for your lighter in your purse—you don’t smoke weed often, the relaxed feeling you got, usually became too much for you—but in this moment is felt like a reward for overcoming Summer and enjoying yourself even if the anxiety remained in the back of your mind. 

Annoyed, you realized you left your lighter home, causing you to cut your celebration short—or so you thought, like last Spring, Yeonjun met you on the balcony again. He had a glow to him, a little different than usual—maybe it's the alcohol, maybe it's something else, but whatever it is that made him look like he had the Moon, made him look even more beautiful to you.

“Do you have a light?” You asked. “It seems like I forgot my lighter home and I wanted to celebrate,” you stated, the pout evident in your voice as you gestured to your joint.

Leaning in, you allowed Yeonjun to light the joint—the proximity between you two allowed you to get a whiff of his cologne, this time it's stronger, instead of the jasmine and incense undertones, it's woodier with undertones of sage and pomegranate—its addicting you think, it made Yeonjun even more captivating to you, spellbinding almost. It made you want to ravish him in ways that you rather not explain—despite forming something akin to a friendship, the little moments you shared made you hope for something more. As the THC began to enter your bloodstream, you passed the joint to Yeonjun as smoke filled the air.

“What’s the cause for celebration, Pretty?” Yeonjun asked as he took up the offer on the joint, allowing its warmth to surround him. 

“Just cause,” you stated, as you giggle, the alcohol and weed beginning to take effect, “Anything can be a celebration,” you continued as the joint found its way between your lips again. 

The music in the background set the mood for the conversation between you and Yeonjun—in your own bubble you conversed about celebrations and for once, you felt happy without anxiety eating you up inside.

As the night progressed, Yeonjun invited you to continue the celebration at his place, making you feel giddy inside, being cross faded didn't allow you to overthink the situation. Before leaving with Yeonjun, you made sure to let Beomgyu know of your whereabouts. He doesn't let you go before teasing you a bit, his eyes glimmering with mischief at the thought of the two of you being alone together. 

After taking an Uber, you and Yeonjun arrived at his place. Nervousness bubbled within you, you didn't expect Yeonjun to invite someone like you to his apartment. Settling on the couch, the two began to sober up as music played in the background, its soft melodies mingling with the ambient lighting within the room, setting the mood. 

For the next hour, you conversed about mundane things—you shared stories about the new flower you're tending to while Yeonjun animatedly told you of his love for pottery.

Despite the TV flickering in the background, you couldn't help but notice Yeonjun's gaze lingering on your lips for a moment longer than it should. The way the proximity between you two closed in just slightly, felt electric. Your knees brushing against each other made you feel excited—in your little moment things felt easy, the comfort that surrounded the atmosphere was like no other, wrapping its arms around you, shielding you from the outside world.

“May I kiss you?” Yeonjun whispered, his voice low and filled with longing as he gently twirls a strand of your hair, “It's just that, you’re so addicting; I can't help but want you.” With a mixture of desire and sincerity, his eyes searched for yours—causing your heart to race with excitement and anticipation as the tension thickened.

Not trusting your own voice, you nodded, granting him permission. As his hands found their way on your face, he caressed the apples of your cheeks—glancing at your lips, before locking eyes with you again. With blown-out pupils, he searched for any signs of hesitance from you. Once satisfied, Yeonjun closed the gap—his lips against yours are softer than you expected. The kiss itself was amazing—to you, it felt better than fireworks—it felt as if your souls were intertwined, surrounded by bursts of colours. The way Yeonjun held you sent shivers down your spine—gentle, as if he was scared to break you, yet also scared to lose you.

Running your hands through his hair, you deepened the kiss, feeling more alive than you did before. The moment made you feel giddy, yet anxious, the weed in your systems further amplifying the experience. As you pulled away, laughter bubbled between you, euphoria rushing through your veins. The second kiss is more desperate, as if you were afraid of disappearing from each other's grasp.

Breaking the kiss, your foreheads touched—the only sounds are the TV and music in the background, mixed in with your heavy breathing. “Do you want to continue this upstairs?” Yeonjun asked, his gaze locked onto yours, the unspoken feelings dancing around you.

“I'd love to,” you whispered, almost as if you were afraid of shattering the moment.

“Are you sure?” Concern flickered in his eyes. “We can stop here if you want.”

Leaning in, you pecked his lips softly, smiling as you said, “I've never been more sure about something in my life.”

The morning after was quiet—the early morning light seeped into the room, giving you an undeniable glow. Yeonjun felt as if he’s on top of the world—with you beside him, dressed in his shirt, a gentle reminder of the night you shared. He thought you look beautiful like this, in his clothes—even in your tranquil state, Yeonjun can't help but gaze at you in wonder.

Every aspect of the night before remained in the forefront of his mind. From the moment on the balcony to the conversations in his apartment—Yeonjun couldn't get rid of the grin on his face. The way you smiled at him throughout the night, the way your eyes sparkled with joy as you maintained conversation had him captivated. The moment your lips met, it felt as if the world had faded away—you ignited something within him that Yeonjun didn't know existed, a feeling deep down that made him want to savour every moment with you. He remembered the way your bodies intertwined—the way he lost himself in you, the way he was finally able to worship you. The shared breaths and whispered words, a moment he wished he could inscribe into his very being.

As a cool breeze makes its way into the room, it caused you to unconsciously reach out for him, making his heart leap for joy. With you beside him, Yeonjun believed he could conquer anything. As your body instinctively stayed close to him, he couldn't help but smile, he wondered if you would want more from the relationship—at least, he hoped you did.

Contrary to what people thought on campus, despite his undeniable popularity, Yeonjun was a lover boy at heart. He never indulged in the idea of hookups or meaningless relationships, he always valued something deeper. But when it came to you, Yeonjun felt all logic go out the window—he couldn't help but want to go against his values if it meant he got to stay beside you. He wasn’t sure about your views on relationships, but Yeonjun hoped you’d want something more with him.

Scared that the moment might be ruined, Yeonjun decided to be a bit selfish. Even if it was just for a while, he held you a little closer, fantasizing about the idea of you being together. He wasn't sure what would happen when you woke up, but for now, Yeonjun enjoyed the proximity between you two, the warmth of your skin against his. Without a doubt, he was scared—scared that from this moment on, things wouldn't be the same with you, and his chances of having you might have already slipped away.

Waking up, your nostrils were filled with a pleasant scent of coffee, its rich aroma filling the room. As you gathered your bearings, you rubbed your eyes and sat up. Your body ached pleasantly as you thought of what had occurred between you and Yeonjun the night before—flushing as the memories replayed in your mind. Although you hated to admit it, you had never felt so wanted in your life. You remembered the way Yeonjun’s hands adorned your body—the way he treated you as if you were a sacred item. Even when you told him he could be rougher, Yeonjun couldn't help but be gentle with you, as if you were a gift so delicate it could break—the way he whispered sweet nothings in your ear as he made love to you was something foreign to you, and it scared you. 

In the back of your mind, the words of Josh, your ex, plagued you, reminding you that you were nothing more than a body for men to use. The more you thought of Yeonjun, the louder the voice became—as if it was mocking you for the happiness you so selfishly sought. You hated your ex and the power he still held over you despite being six feet under. The way his rough hands made you feel still haunted you, the way it felt to be a puppet while he was the master—the way he treated you like nothing but a doll, the way—

“Hey, you okay?” Yeonjun asked,  as he peeked his head into the room. He gazed at you softly with concern, “I made us breakfast. I'll give you a sec to freshen up, and you can meet me downstairs.” He left you alone and suddenly your once festering thoughts retreated—afraid to reveal themselves almost as if Yeonjun were their kryptonite.

Breakfast felt suffocating. Yeonjun sat at the kitchen table, the scent of freshly brewed coffee, kimbap, and kimchi pancakes wafting through the air. He glanced at you, seated across from him—your hair dishevelled from the night before, your eyes weary and still in the process of waking up. The sight made his heart flutter despite the awkwardness that swirled in the air.

For once, Yeonjun didn't know how to begin the conversation—the only thought occupying his mind was you.

“Last night…you were amazing,” he began, his voice shaky. “Every moment we spent together, I enjoyed it. Even before this happened, your presence always captivated me. This just made me feel more connected to you.”

Surprise flickered in your eyes, causing you to momentarily choke on your coffee, “Yeah, it was nice,” clearing your throat, trying to make your tone casual, “I think that was the best night I’ve ever had.” Despite your praise, Yeonjun can't help but feel the tension that lay beneath your words.

Taking a deep breath, Yeonjun tried again, “I really like you, Blossom. Like, really like you.” His heart raced, the words tumbled out before he had a chance to think, “I know we've been talking for a while, but I would love to get to know you on a deeper level, if you'll allow me to.”

The surprise was evident in your eyes as you looked up, then it faded into something more guarded, almost scared. “Yeonjun, I—” you hesitated, causing Yeonjun to visibly deflate, the anxiety creeping in as he braced for your response.

“I can't promise you a relationship,” you continued, causing Yeonjun’s stomach to drop, a lump forming in his throat, “But, if you want, we can keep things simple—a friends with benefits arrangement? I promise not to do any sort of written agreement; it's just right now I'd prefer something with no strings attached. I'm sorry.”

Despite Yeonjun's desire for something more, he considered your suggestion. Even though it completely went against his voice on reason, he rather hold on to the physical connection for now than lose you entirely.

Running his hands through his hair, “I can do that,” he replied, even if the words on his tongue felt like a dagger slowly twisting into his heart. “I am giving you full disclosure that I'm still interested in you, not just…this.”

For a moment, your gaze lingered on him, making Yeonjun’s throat tighten. “I appreciate your honesty, Yeonjun. But for right now, I really don't think I can handle something deeper. I'm sorry.”

Nodding, breakfast resumed as if everything was normal. The tense atmosphere still lingered, but it gradually faded into something different—the unspoken understanding hung in the air, words and lingering glances between you and Yeonjun made him feel as if the arrangement would be more than what he bargained for.

Slowly, you fell into conversation, your small smile brightening as you complimented his cooking, “I didn't know you could cook like this Yeonjun! These kimchi pancakes taste amazing.” The way you giggled as if the prior conversation had never occurred, hurt Yeonjun in a way that he's never felt before. Despite the dull ache in his chest, he couldn't help but gaze at you lovingly, forever captivated by your presence.

For once, Yeonjun is grateful that Soobin wasn't home for the weekend. He'd hate having to explain the current state of affairs—not only the tension in their shared apartment but also in his heart. The thought of Soobin questioning him made him shudder.

As you continued to chat, talking about your plans for the day Yeonjun found himself stuck between two worlds; in one world he's with you, a smile adorning you face as you share breakfast and in another he's in his head, hoping that somehow the gods above would grant him grace, and maybe, just maybe this arrangement could lead to something more.

But as he takes a sip of his coffee, its bitter taste reminded him of his reality—with the boundaries you've set, Yeonjun has to thread carefully, balancing his feelings, even if it hurts him in the end. For now, he decides to savour these moments, even if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

After breakfast, Yeonjun drove you home, the car was filled with a comfortable silence with the soft hum of the radio. As you found yourself lost in thought, you glanced over at Yeonjun, watching the way his eyes shone as he hummed along to the melody—his fingers tapping against the steering wheel, matching the rhythm. You pondered over this morning's events—Yeonjun making you breakfast, the way he expressed his desire for wanting something more, which both excited and scared you. Even in this moment, Yeonjun radiated a warmth like no other, his presence, even in such a serene moment was immaculate. 

As he catched your gaze, he smiled brightly—leaving an unbearable flutter in your chest, reminding you that the arrangement itself is more than you deserve. In the back of your mind, memories of your ex nagged at you—reminding you of the way he belittled you, reducing you to nothing but an object of desire. A relationship built on sand, destined to crumble; he made you feel invisible, your feelings and interests insignificant as it had no bearing on the satisfaction you gave him—leaving you, a hollow shell of your former self.

As Yeonjun pulled into the driveway of your apartment, the engine's soft purr and the tunes from the radio, created a moment of tranquillity. In the passenger seat you watched Yeonjun, drinking in the way the sunlight gave him an undeniable glow. “Thanks for driving me home, Yeonjun, and breakfast. It was amazing,” your voice, feathery, like the air.

Yeonjun turned to face you, his eyes filled with warmth, “It was a pleasure having you, Blossom. I enjoyed having you over,” the softness in his voice spreading warmth throughout your body.

Suddenly, his gaze made you feel shy, a blush creeping up on your cheeks. “I should get going now,” you murmured, fumbling with your seatbelt. “I'm sure Beomgyu is waiting for me.” As you unbuckled, Yeonjun leaned across, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. Your breath hitched at the unexpected intimacy. Before you could fully process what happened Yeonjun leaned in, kissing you tenderly.

Despite your surprise, you welcomed the kiss, relishing in the feeling—his hand cradling your chin, pulling you closer while your hands instinctively gripped his shirt.

Pulling away, a playful grin adorned Yeonjun’s face, “I hope to see you soon, Pretty.” 

“See you soon, Yeonjun,” you replied with flushed cheeks as you stepped out of the car, waving goodbye as he drove off.

“Woah, what was that?” A voice called from behind you, pulling you from your thoughts. You turned around, mortified, coming face to face with Beomgyu who leaned casually against your front door, his eyes glimmering with mischief.

“Gyu! When did you get here?” you exclaimed, wishing the ground would swallow you whole.

Beomgyu chuckled, clearly amused, “Sorry to break it to you Petal, but I've been here since Yeonjun drove in. Was wondering when he'd bring you back.” His teasing tone made your cheeks flush even more.

Unable to muster a response, the bag in your hand, once forgotten, suddenly felt heavier. “You know,” Beomgyu teased, leaning in closer, “you can't hide anything from me, right? Especially after that kiss. Let's get you inside,” He said as he took the bag from you, “How about we have some ramyeon and talk about it, yeah?”

Unable to resist ramyeon with Beomgyu, you nodded eagerly. As you made your way next to him, he ruffled your hair, “I can't believe I saw you kissing Choi Yeonjun! Who would've thought?”

You laughed slyly, teasingly pushing Beomgyu as you made your way into the apartment. 

Amidst the laughs echoing within the confines of your apartment, you and Beomgyu settled on the floor, slurping your ramyeon as you recalled the time you spent with Yeonjun, sparing him the explicit details. Moments like these allowed you to cherish your friendship—its warmth wraps around you like a swaddling cloth, reminding you of your appreciation for your best friend.

III || Changing Seasons ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

Like the season, as Autumn progressed, and the air grew colder in preparation for Winter—so did Yeonjun's relationship with you. The start of your arrangement felt shy, filled with fleeting glances and even shyer touches. It felt ironic that you and Yeonjun were shy with each other despite having explored each other before. 

Despite the initial shyness, Yeonjun took you to stargaze one evening—determined to maintain your friendship, even if you have seen each other naked. 

Settling on the soft blanket spread across the grass, the world around you felt idyllic—the evening sky coloured an indigo hue, adorned with the sparkles of countless stars. The moment felt protected, almost as if the gods themselves were watching over you, ensuring your moment of peace.

As you both lied down, you snuggled close to Yeonjun, using his arm as a pillow. It made his heart race—the proximity between you two highlighted your scent, with undertones of lilac and cinnamon, Yeonjun couldn’t help but feel his focus falter, lost in the warmth of your presence. 

“Look at that,” Yeonjun whispered in your ear, pointing upwards. “That's Pisces, the two fishes are swimming in opposite directions.”

“Yeah?” you replied, looking up at him, your eyes twinkling in the moonlight.

“Yeah,” Yeonjun smiled softly, booping your nose as he looked at you. Your laugh in response was light and melodic, reminding him of a choir of angels.

“And over there,” you pointed out this time. “That's Andromeda, right?”

Yeonjun looked down at you smiling, “Yeah, the princess who was saved by Perseus.” For a moment, he paused, contemplating the weight of his next words, “Do you think they're us?” Yeonjun whispered, his voice laced with curiosity.

“Do you save me from a sea monster?” You joked, eyes glimmering with mischief.

“Maybe,” Yeonjun replied, pulling you closer as the air grew serious. “Just like Perseus fought for Andromeda, I'll fight for you. In every lifetime, I'll slay your metaphorical sea monster, once it means I get to have you.”

Instantly, you sat up, looking back at Yeonjun in shock, “Jjun…” you mumbled, tears forming in your eyes, a mix of disbelief and overwhelming emotions. The sincerity behind his declaration caused your heart to swell, hardly believing his words you wondered, could it be true? In every lifetime? The thought fills you with hope but also a flutter of anxiety at the idea of someone wanting you that badly.

Yeonjun brought you back down, allowing you to face each other. “I mean it,” he whispered, even quieter. “In every lifetime, I'd fight for you.” 

The air became thick with unspoken words, the magnetic pull drew you closer together. You felt the warmth radiating from him, the sincerity in his gaze made your heart race. Slowly, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a tender, tentative kiss.

You pulled away, breathless, searching his eyes for something more—with a blush adorning your cheeks, you smile shyly, “You really mean that?”

“Every word.” Yeonjun affirmed with confidence and sincerity, “I'd face anything for you.”

Under the twilight sky, it felt as if everything else faded into nothingness and only the two of you remain, lost in each other—the twinkling stars above witness your love, the beginning of a beautiful journey together.

Winter arrived in full force—as she finally settled, claiming her throne, the air felt crisp as she covered the Earth in soft layers of white. As the snowflakes danced with one another in the air, it felt as though they represented the relationship between you and Yeonjun—a transformative moment between you two, where shy touches turned into confident ones.

Snowflakes drifted lazily outside your window, reminding you of the warmth that you yearned for during the season. It was Christmas week, and Beomgyu had been urging you for weeks to come home since his family hadn't seen you for a while. Despite missing them, you decided to spend Christmas alone this year—a solemn feeling settling in as you looked back on the year gone by.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come home this year, Petal?” Beomgyu asked again, his voice glimmering with hope as he got ready to leave. “Mom and dad miss you, even my annoying brother misses seeing your face.” he pouted as he held onto your arm.

Reassuring him you replied, “I’m sure, Cookie. I want you all to enjoy time on your own.” You offered him a small smile, hoping to ease his worries. “I'll be okay. I promise. If it gets too lonely, I'll spend time with Yeonjun.”

Despite his distaste, Beomgyu doesn't push you further—he pulled you into a tight hug, his warmth enveloping you. “I can't believe this is our first Christmas apart. I'll miss you, Petal.”

“I'll miss you too, Cookie. Take care and enjoy Christmas for me,” you said, as you watched him leave.

Closing the door, you thought of ways to decorate the apartment. Even though you didn't feel the Christmas spirit, you began to gather old decorations to get yourself into the holiday mood.

On Christmas Eve, however, Yeonjun messaged you, asking you if he could come over. This year, he decided to spend Christmas on campus, and with Soobin going home this year, he felt a bit lonely. Welcoming the idea of two lonely souls being together for the holidays, Yeonjun was now sitting in your apartment, the two of you cuddling under blankets, watching nostalgic Christmas movies and sipping hot cocoa. The air was thick with the scent of pine and cinnamon creating an atmosphere that almost felt domestic—the way you both eased into each other, as if it has always been that way. As the months went by, your relationship changed, where friends became something deeper, yet neither of you refused to acknowledge the change. 

As midnight arrives, Yeonjun goes to the Christmas tree you had decorated days prior and reached for your gift. He turned to you, eyes sparkling with adoration, warmth and a touch of nervousness, “Merry Christmas, Blossom. It isn't much, but I wanted to get you something that reminded me of our time together.

As he handed you the gift, you admired the way it's wrapped—the care radiating from it. With a shy smile, you slowly unwrapped the present, revealing a delicate gold necklace, adorned with a sunflower and blossom pendant. Reminding you of your first interaction together, tears pricked at your eyes. “It's beautiful,” you breathed, touched by Yeonjun’s thoughtfulness as it showed you how much he valued the relationship you had built thus far.

“Put it on for me?” you asked, smiling cutely at Yeonjun with sparkling eyes. As you handed Yeonjun the necklace and turned around, his hand touched you almost teasingly, as he fastened it around your neck—his hands lingered a moment longer than necessary, but you didn't mind the warmth from his fingertips.

As you turned back around, you reached up to him, giving him a tender kiss. Feeling the way his breath hitched in response, sent a thrill through you. Immediately, he responded to you, pulling you closer—the air thick with unspoken feelings. As he deepened the kiss, it became more passionate, more sensual, more urgent. A soft sigh escaped you as Yeonjun, savoured your taste in the moment, your natural bittersweetness mingling with remnants of the hot cocoa from earlier, creating a unique flavour.

Before things could go further, you pulled away, giggling at the way Yeonjun pouted at you. “Wait, let me give you your gift too!” you said excitedly as you made your way to the tree, picking up a medium sized box adorned with a blue and white bow.

“What is it?” Yeonjun asked, his eyes glimmering with curiosity as you handed him the box.

“Open it, silly!” you giggled, playfully slapping his arm, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling within you.

As Yeonjun opened the box, his eyes seemed to shine brighter than they ever did before. Pulling out a beautifully knitted sweater and matching scarf—its purple and blue yarn interchanging to form a beautiful blend that brings out his complexion, your love felt in every stitch.

“Wow,” he breathed, slipping the sweater on, “You made this?”

Heat slowly crept onto your cheeks, “Yeah! I wanted to make you something you could use. To keep you warm during the Winter,” you replied shyly.

Yeonjun’s expression softened as he wrapped the scarf around himself, “And it's the perfect fit too. Thank you, Blossom. This is the best gift ever; no one has ever made me something like this before. I love it, really.”

With that, Yeonjun leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead, then on your nose, a kiss for each cheek before finally settling on your lips. Unlike the kiss before, this one felt innocent—full of unconditional love, as if Yeonjun was trying to transfer all his feelings into that one kiss. 

He pulled back for a moment, gazing lovingly into your eyes, before holding your face tenderly and kissing you slowly again. As you gripped his sweater, you returned the kiss, hoping your emotions were transferred too. 

As the snow began to fall, the two of you continued to kiss in the middle of your apartment, the glow of the Christmas lights adoring both your features. With love filling the air, you shared an unforgettable Christmas—a moment that showed the blossoming of journey together.

Yeonjun made your apartment his home for the next week—relishing in the domestic moments together, from sharing the same bed to cooking meals together, you and Yeonjun enjoyed your time escaping from the world. Instead of attending a New Year’s Eve party, you both decided to spend the night together—savouring the intimacy that formed between you.

 As the clock inched closer to midnight, you found yourselves on the balcony outside your room, swaying gently to the soft melody in the background. Holding you close, Yeonjun admired you—with the snowflakes adoring your hair and fairy lights from your room, casting a soft glow on your face, he thought you looked ethereal, almost like an angel.

“You're the best thing that happened to me,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence that formed between you.

Looking up at him, your eyes wide with disbelief, “How so?” 

“It's just that…ever since I met you, I've never felt more alive. I feel like I can finally breathe.” Yeonjun paused, looking down at you, gauging your reaction. You seem content in the moment, staying close to him as you continued to sway. “You make me feel alive. Every moment I spend with you, I cherish. Almost as if I'm afraid to lose you,” he admitted embarrassment colouring his cheeks.

You stopped swaying, your gaze locking onto his, your eyes melancholic, “You won’t lose me Jjun. I promise.”

A sad smile tugged at Yeonjun’s lips as he hoped to believe you. Yet, in the back of his mind, a mocking voice reminded him that it was only an arrangement—nothing more, nothing less. Ignoring it, Yeonjun focused on the warmth of the moment, determined to live in the present.

As the countdown played softly from the TV in your room, you and Yeonjun picked up your wine glasses, excitement bubbling between you as you joined the countdown, gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Ten…nine…eight…” With each number, the anticipation grew and once the countdown reached zero, Yeonjun immediately pulled you into a sweet kiss, his glass resting forgotten on the table beside you.

“Happy New Year, Blossom,” he murmured against your lips, voice thick with emotion. 

Pulling back slowly, you rest your drink next to him before you shyly pecked his lips, “Happy New Year, Sunflower. Thank you for starting the new year with me.”

Laughing softly, Yeonjun responded, “Of course, there’s no one else I'd rather spend New Year’s with than you.”

In that moment, surrounded by the soft glow of the lights and the gentle snowfall, the weight of the world felt momentarily lifted. No one knew what the future held, but despite the uncertainty, you had each other, and for now, that was enough. 

For the remainder of Winter break, Yeonjun was able to encourage you to spend it at his apartment.

Currently, you both were in the kitchen, the soft hum of holiday music filling the air—the countertops were dusted with flour and sugar, a sweet scent of vanilla and orange in the atmosphere, enticing you—a perfect way to end the holiday celebrations. 

As you measured the ingredients, putting it in the bowl, Yeonjun ensured he preheated the oven correctly—he glanced at you for a moment, drinking in the way you were, adorned in one of his hoodies and sweatpants, your eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as you glanced between the recipe and the bowl. Your hair was pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands fell delicately in your face as you ensured you were following the correct steps. Even in this moment, something so simple, Yeonjun thought you're the most beautiful being ever. 

“How’s little miss baker going?” Yeonjun teased as he hugged you from behind.

“Good!” you replied, as you tried to look up at him, “I just have to mix the batter.”

“Let me help you with that,” Yeonjun said, as he held your hand. Mixing the batter together—the warmth between your bodies merged together, the simple moment, feeling intimate between you both. Once the batter was thoroughly mixed, Yeonjun poured the batter in the pan, deciding to give you a gentle kiss as he placed it in the oven.

Moments like these Yeonjun cherished the most, while he loved the passionate moments when you were under him, the domestic nature of these innocently intimate moments felt like a drug—addicting, with no chances of sobriety.

Once the cake finished baking and cooled, you and Yeonjun moved to the counter to ice it. The scent of the freshly baked good filled the air, as you both prepared to decorate your creation. As you spread a generous layer of frosting, your tongue peeked out in concentration as you focussed intently—grabbing another spatula caused a dollop of icing to land on the corner of your mouth. Yeonjun couldn't help but chuckle. Glancing at you, he pointed playfully. “You have something there, Blossom,” a teasing smile on his lips as he gestured to the corner of your lips . With raised eyebrows, you reached up to wipe it away, but before you could, Yeonjun stepped closer, his gaze locking with yours, “Let me help you with that,” he murmured, his voice low and inviting.

Without waiting for a response, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss, the sweetness of the icing lingering between you, igniting the moment into something more—something passionate. Yeonjun’s hands cupped your face, tilting your head slightly upwards as he deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against your lips, asking for permission. 

With the parting of your lips, you allowed him to slip inside, a rush of warmth and arousal flooded between you—the cake long forgotten as the world around you began to fade away, leaving only the taste of the frosting as you found yourselves lost in each other.

Yeonjun’s heart raced as you leaned into him, feeling the heat radiating from your body—his hands travelled from your face down to your waist, where he pulled you closer as your hands travelled through his hair, slightly tugging. In that moment, nothing else mattered, it was just the two of you, wrapped in a cocoon of sweetness and desire.

“Hey, are you two—” Soobin’s voice trailed off, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in the scene before him. A half-decorated cake sat forgotten on the counter, icing smeared across the table, and the two of you quickly pulled away—cheeks flushed, your lips glistening with remnants of frosting, a sweet testament to the kiss you just shared. You exchanged a glance, filled with a mix of embarrassment and amusement, the moment charged with an undeniable spark that remained lingering in the air.

Soobin blinked, processing the scene before him before bursting into awkward laughter. “Didn't mean to interrupt your, uh…baking session,” he teased. A playful grin spread across his face as he watched your cheeks deepen in colour and Yeonjun with a smug smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Yeonjun grinned, clearing his throat, “We were just, uh, tasting the frosting, you know, quality control.”

Soobin, raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but amused, “More like tasting each other.”

“Sorry you had to see that, Soobin,” you squeaked out as the embarrassment slowly washes away. “Do you want to help us finish frost the cake? I promise all taste testing is over.”

Yeonjun laughed as Soobin accepted your invitation, grabbing a spare spatula. The earlier embarrassment faded, replaced by the warm laughter of you three as you attempted to decorate the cake.

You don't interact with Soobin much, but in the moments that you do, you cherish the quiet friendship between you both—he reminds you of your departed brother, the way he quietly looked after you, his steady presence bringing comfort to your life. 

As you three admired your chaotic masterpiece—a lopsided snowman adoring the top of the cake, an attempt at a winter wonderland—you couldn't help but laugh at the delightful mess you made.

Amidst the chaos, you settled down enjoying your cake while watching nostalgic holiday movies.

“This is definitely the best cake I’ve ever seen,” Soobin joked, earning a playful nudge from Yeonjun.

Surrounded by this chaotic, sweet moment you realized this is exactly what you needed—a reminder that love and friendship can coexist beautifully, having you thankful for your formed friendships—a beautiful end to winter break indeed.

With Spring’s return, you are reminded of your first interaction with Yeonjun—on the balcony of a random party, there you were, two unlikely souls who formed an unseemly connection. Now, life without him seemed dull—like the flower he represents, Yeonjun had brightened your life in ways you never thought possible. Choi Yeonjun became the air you breathe, a deeply engraved part of you. Looking back on your time together you feel alive—like you've never felt before, grateful for the man you've met.

At the start of the season, you decided to take Yeonjun to a flower arrangement class. Within the flower shop, the scent of fresh blooms delightfully filled the air, everyone in their own world as they received guidance from the instructor. You remembered how you made arrangements for each other—Yeonjun gifting you baby's breath and lilies while you chose carnations and tulips for him. Both arrangements perfectly made to fit the vases you crafted for each other in a previous pottery class. Although they weren't perfect, the vases were filled with character and love, serving as a constant reminder of the time you've shared.

“Hey, are you two dating by chance?” a participant asked you, glancing at the way you and Yeonjun conversed.

Surprised, you quickly glanced at Yeonjun, who was busy fixing his arrangement. “No, just friends!” you replied, perhaps a bit too quickly.

“Well, from the way he looks at you, Sweetheart, that man is totally in love with you. I hope you don't let him go.” As the participant turned back to their arrangement, you looked back at Yeonjun.

“What was that about?” he asks curiously.

“Nothing,” you brushed off casually. “She just said our arrangements were pretty.”

As the class continued that day, you found yourself staring at Yeonjun more than before, wondering of the way he looked at you. But for now, you savoured the moment—enjoying the way his arrangement brightened your apartment in its vase, reminding you of him every time you looked at it.

With the progression of Spring, your birthday dawned, bringing with it a sense of renewal and hope. You stirred awake to the soft sound of singing, fluttering your eyes open, you saw Beomgyu walking in, a big smile on his face as he carried a tray in his hands.

“Happy Birthday, Petal,” Beomgyu sang softly as he rested the tray on your nightstand—the aroma of seaweed soup and the assortment of side dishes, waking you up pleasantly.

As he ruffled your hair playfully, you sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Thank you, Cookie,” you replied, giving him a small hug.

Growing up, you hated your birthday, it being a painful reminder of the loss you suffered—a reminder of those who abandoned you, but with Beomgyu by your side, he and his family embraced you as their own, ensuring you enjoyed your birthday regardless. For the remainder of your morning, you and Beomgyu enjoyed breakfast in bed, sharing laughter and reminiscing on the moments you spent together. After a while you video called his parents who, despite being away, wanted to celebrate with you. A familiar warmth filled you as you enjoy the remainder of your morning with your best friend and his family, thankful for the love they gave you.

“Thanks for breakfast, Gyu, and for always celebrating my birthday with me. You mean a lot to me, I hope you know that.” You said sincerely as you both made your way downstairs.

“Of course,” Beomgyu grinned, “I wouldn't have it any other way. I hope you look forward to tonight!” he teased, winking at you.

“Tonight?” you say confused. 

Once you make your way down, Beomgyu handed you a flat velvety-black box, mischief glimmering in his eyes, “Open it.” Opening the box, revealed a note, which said,

To my World,

Happy Birthday Blossom!

I hope you love this surprise! I wanted to get you a special outfit for tonight. I think it would look amazing on you, something to make you feel as beautiful and confident as you truly are.

Reservation is at 8. Can't wait to see you tonight!

Love, 

Your Sunflower, Yeonjun.

With disbelief in your eyes, you set the note down gently before turning your attention to the box, pulling out the most breathtaking dress ever created by man. The fabric felt luxurious and soft against your fingertips, its silhouette destined to hug your curves in all the right places while cascading gracefully to the floor. Its colour was deep and rich—a beautiful shade that complemented your skin tone beautifully.

“He sure knows how to make a girl feel special, huh?” Beomgyu, commented as he observed your reaction. Wordlessly, you nod, rendered speechless. Then, you reached for the heels nestled beside the dress. Their design was one of a kind, a stunning blend of elegance and allure—sleek and sophisticated, their graceful arch that would elongate your leg just enough while adding an air of confidence to your stride. The shoes were not just an accessory, but a statement piece, elevating the outfit and making you feel empowered.

“You knew about this?” You asked Beomgyu as you looked up, your eyes filled with amazement. 

“Maybe,” he teased. “Needed to help him get your perfect size.” 

You playfully swatted Beomgyu’s arm, “Gyu, what the fuck? I’m genuinely at a loss for words.”

Ruffling your hair, Beomgyu chuckled, “I hope you enjoy your night, Petal.”

The evening couldn't come soon enough. As you added the final touches to your outfit, you admired yourself in the mirror. The dress adorned your body beautifully, the silhouette hugging your curves perfectly, accentuating your waist as it flowed gracefully to the floor. The neckline’s elegant cut revealed enough skin to feel alluring while leaving the rest to the imagination. The slit that went up to your thigh allowed the heel to peek through, adding a hint of playful sexiness. 

Your makeup was perfectly understated,  enhancing your features while making you look even more irresistible. Finally, the necklace Yeonjun gave you last Christmas felt like the perfect finishing touch—the way its delicate chain rests against your collarbone, completing the look entirely. 

With one final twirl in front the mirror, you applied your perfume—amber and vanilla, swirling together creating an intoxicating scent that lingered. Grabbing your purse, you make your way downstairs, excitedly waiting for Yeonjun's arrival.

“Woah! You look amazing,” Beomgyu commented, his eyes wide with admiration. “Yeonjun will absolutely love it.”

“You think so?” you asked nervously, your heart racing at the thought of Yeonjun seeing you like this. The weight of the evening hung in the air—despite you and Yeonjun being in each other's company for a year, this felt different, and you couldn't help but wonder what tonight might bring.

Before Beomgyu could answer, the doorbell rang, its chime feeling louder than usual, almost as if it was mimicking your nervousness. “That’s him!” Beomgyu grinned as he made his way to the door.

As Yeonjun’s silhouette was revealed, you couldn’t help but gasp softly at his appearance. Adorned in a simple black suit—his hair was styled slicked back, exposing his forehead—an unexpected but striking look for him, different to his usual, everyday style. The slight exposure of his chest housed a simple chain, while various rings and a few bracelets decorated his hands, adding a touch of flair to the entire ordeal. 

In one hand, Yeonjun held a bouquet of red roses, an addicting aroma filled the air as their sweet scent mixed with his musky perfume. When he looked at you, the world seemed to stand still. You didn't see it before, but in this moment, you finally recognized the way Yeonjun looked at you—as if his eyes penetrated your very soul. He looked at you as if you're the only woman on Earth—as if no one else existed. Finally, you saw the depth of his feelings, the way he looked at you with so much love both excited and scared you.

“Roses, for the most beautiful girl in the world,” Yeonjun said, as he stepped into the room and handed you the bouquet. “Happy birthday, Gorgeous. You look absolutely divine.”

With a gentle kiss on the forehead, Yeonjun took a step back and looked at you again, his eyes filled with an undeniable admiration. Smiling shyly, you replaced the old flowers in your vase with the newly received roses, their vibrant petals standing out beautifully against the soft glow of the candles. Before you both leave, Beomgyu excitedly brought his camera out, taking out a few pictures to commemorate the memory, encouraging you both to stand close, like a proud dad. 

As you made your way to the restaurant, you couldn't help but focus on the way Yeonjun’s hand felt against your thigh, his slightly calloused hands gripped you softly, sending a rush of warmth through you, while the other confidently steered the wheel.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked Yeonjun, your voice unusually shy.

“You.” he says, gripping your thigh a little tighter. His simple admittance rendered you speechless, leaving you aroused. As you pulled into the restaurant's parking lot, the only thing you could focus on was Yeonjun and the way he ignited a desire within you, one that can only be quenched by feeling his body against yours. Thinking of the way he peppered kisses along your skin under the moonlight, the warmth of his breath that sent shivers down your spine—the thought left you unfocused—in anticipation of what the rest of the night might have to offer.

The soft lighting illuminated the restaurant creating an intimate atmosphere, perfect for the occasion. As the night progressed, you both enjoyed a delightful dinner—one filled with laughter and reminiscent stories of the time you spent together, a circumstance you never expected to be in. 

When the special birthday dessert was brought out at Yeonjun’s request, he eagerly took his phone to capture the moment. The dessert, a beautiful, deconstructed cheesecake, topped with rose petals and fresh strawberry pieces, looks almost too divine to eat. As you smiled softly, the light from the candle faintly reflected in your eyes, making you look even more alive in the moment. 

Reaching into his pocket, Yeonjun pulled out a small, elegantly wrapped box—your heart racing as he placed it in front of you. “Happy birthday again, Darling,” he said, his voice low and sincere.

Unwrapping the gift, you revealed a small framed picture of your time spent under the stars last Autumn and a delicate silver chain. Attached to it was a pendant of Perseus’ constellation—something so simple, yet powerful. 

“A reminder of our time,” Yeonjun started, shyly showing you his hand. It's decorated with a matching bracelet with a pendant of Andromeda attached. “I really meant what I said then. I’d face anything for you.

You couldn’t help but feel a wave of love and gratitude wash over you, knowing that this night was one you would cherish forever.

The night ended within the confines of Yeonjun’s bedroom—with your dress on the floor and his hands feverishly exploring your body, tracing over your curves. Each touch sent a wave of electricity coursing through you. Wrapped in each other, you lost track of time—with a touch, gentle and possessive, you arch into Yeonjun, craving more of him. The kisses, nothing short of passionate, ignited that fire within you as you made love to each other.

While the rest of the world slept, you found solace in your intimate space, rediscovering not only each other’s bodies but also the depths of your unspoken feelings that lingered in the air. The warmth of his skin against yours as he held you close, whispering sweet nothings—creating a cocoon of intimacy and love.

Its night of passion, a suitable end to a wonderful birthday, indeed—leaving you both breathless, yearning for more.

The Summer before senior year crashed in like a wave, washing over you with a mixture of excitement and uncertainty—the sunny days and vibrant colours Summer brought with her filled you with anticipation for the season ahead. For the first time in a while, you and Yeonjun were spending some time apart, each returning to your respective homes for a bit. Despite not wanting to be separated, they did say that absence makes the heart grow fonder—the saying filled you with hope, excitement coursing through your veins as you looked forward to being reunited with Yeonjun.

Even though thoughts of Yeonjun plagued your mind, you enjoyed your time back in Daegu with Beomgyu. His parents and brother welcomed you both back in open arms, almost as if you hadn't left in the first place. They ensured you've had your fill of the local cuisine before going back to Seoul in August, showering you in affection and home-cooked meals, reminding you of how much you missed familial warmth. 

Beomgyu’s mom fussed over you, exclaiming that you've lost too much weight as she fed you generous plates of food. While his dad pinched your cheek lovingly asking if any boys were bothering you. It takes everything in you to not trample Beomgyu as he quickly mentioned Yeonjun—leaving his dad to lecture you on the importance of being a responsible adult.

Moments like these made you miss home. After they took you in and treated you as their own, you've always been grateful for their presence and the way they treated you as their daughter. Even the moments where Beomgyu and his brother teased you about Yeonjun filled you with joy. It felt oddly nice having two brothers tease you about boys—it allowed you to forget your family history, even for a moment. You don't mind it, as you felt truly happy with your found family.

As you sat in the living room one afternoon, everyone was doing their own thing while basking in each other’s presence. Your phone buzzed with Yeonjun’s name popping up as he video called you, a smile spread across your face as you answered, delighted to see and hear him.

“Hi Blossom!” Yeonjun beamed, his eyes lighting up as he saw you, “I miss you.” His admission left you flustered, “I miss you too, Jjun,” you smiled shyly. “How’s everything with your parents?” you asked, getting comfortable on the couch.

The conversation flowed easily as you shared stories about your time apart. You told him about all the home-cooked meals you had while he told you about the places he visited with his parents.

Suddenly, you heard a voice from off-screen, “Yeonjun, who are you talking to?” His mom said as she appeared on screen, her voice warm and curious. As he said your name, her eyes shine in recognition, “Blossom” she exclaims, smiling softly, “Jjunie, told me so much about you! You’re even prettier than he says!”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, embarrassed, “Thank you Mrs. Choi! I see where Yeonjun gets his looks from.”

Yeonjun’s mum gushed over your response, turning to him with a proud smile. “You've met such a sweet girl, Jjunie!”

As your chat continued, you glanced over at Beomgyu’s parents, who were watching you with knowing smiles. A sense of belonging washed over you, feeling glad to have received the warmth from Yeonjun’s family—it left you looking even more forward to being reunited with him.

Going back to Seoul felt bittersweet—after being under the care of Beomgyu’s family for the last month, it felt nice to let go of the worries of life, if only for a moment. 

Even though you were glad to be back as it meant reuniting with Yeonjun, you couldn't help but wish to go on another getaway—somewhere sunny and serene, where you could relax under the sun, with the pleasant sea breeze brushing against your skin.

As you made your way into your apartment, Beomgyu looked at you with excitement.

“What?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“It's nothing,” he shrugged, resting his luggage down with a grin. “Just excited to see your reaction.”

You gave him a weird look. “To what?”

Beomgyu remained silent, his eyes sparkling with mischief as you headed upstairs. As you stood outside your bedroom door, Beomgyu leaned against the wall looking at you, he seemed to be more excited than before. You couldn't help but feel nervous as you wondered what lied beyond your door. The sight that greeted you left you utterly shocked. There, sitting on your bed, was Yeonjun, a wide smile spread across his features.

“Yeonjun?! What the fuck? I thought you were coming back to campus till next week?” you exclaimed, enveloping him in a tight hug.

Yeonjun laughed, the sound warm and familiar as he embraced you, lifting you off the ground for a moment. “We have plans, Blossom.”

“Plans?” You said as you took a step back, admiring Yeonjun for a moment. Despite the short time away, his hair is a bit longer and he had a glow to him that felt more confident than.

He took a deep breath, “I actually planned a trip for us to Jeju Island. We leave in a few hours.” His voice getting a bit softer, “I know how much you love the Summer and enjoying the beach. And I know you've never been before. I just wanted to have that new experience with you before senior year started. You deserve it.”

His words left you in shock, emotions overwhelmed you. Tears welled up in your eyes, “Oh my God, Yeonjun…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “How did you manage all this?”

Taken aback by your tears, Yeonjun wiped them away slowly, “Don't cry, Pretty.” A sheepish smile formed on his face, “My parents covered the cost actually. They knew how much I wanted to take you somewhere special and actually offered to pay for us. They were really excited for us to have this experience together.”

“Thank you Jjunie,’ you mumbled as you began to cry more, “no one has ever done this for me.” 

“Do you like your surprise, Petal?” Beomgyu piped up, smirking.

You turn to him, eyes wide in disbelief. “You knew all this time?”

Beomgyu laughed softly, “I helped plan the trip. You deserve to enjoy yourself.”

A wave of gratitude washed over you—you couldn't help but laugh through your tears. The sheer realization that Yeonjun had put in so much effort to surprise you filled you with warmth, but it also scared you yet you were determined to make long-lasting memories.

And with that, you and Yeonjun embarked on your journey, hearts full of excitement and anticipation for the adventures that awaited you. The moment the plane arrived on Jeju Island; you were overflowing with excitement—overwhelmed with all the possibilities that lied ahead.

When you arrived at your accommodation, you were rendered speechless—it was a quaint little cottage hidden among the lush greenery overlooking one of the island’s many beaches. The warmth in its atmosphere makes it feel like a home away from home—with a beautiful exterior, adorned with wooden beams, the inside is even more breathtaking, leaving you in wonder; the inclusion of a skylight in the bedroom makes the place even more cozy than it did before.

“This place is beautiful,” you said to Yeonjun as you took it all in.

Yeonjun grinned, pleased with your reaction, “I thought you’d like it,” he pulled you close, “let’s rest a bit before we head out again, yeah?”

Your days in Jeju were nothing short of magical, filled with breathtaking views and cherished moments. While Yeonjun ensured to take you to known places such as the Hallasan National Park and the Cheonjiyeon Waterfall, he also ensured you enjoyed the quieter moments—taking a day trip to Biyangdo Island was one of those moments that left you captivated. The small uninhabited island left for a day filled with hiking and exploring, a moment you would never forget.

As the sun began to set on your last day in Jeju, the sky transformed into a breathtaking canvas as if it were painted with orange and red hues, casting a warm glow over the island. Your evening began with a lovely dinner at a local restaurant—as many other moments you've shared together, you and Yeonjun were in your own world, making idle chit chat as you savoured each other’s presence. 

Followed by a walk along the beach near your cottage, you both enjoy the feeling of the sand between your toes as the ocean sang quiet hums to you with its waves—the moon, casting a silvery light over the water with the cool breeze creating a romantic atmosphere. Pulling out a pair of wired headphones, Yeonjun handed you one side as soft melodies began to play. As he held you close, you both swayed to its rhythm—losing yourselves in each other as the world melted into nothingness.

With a sweet kiss, your night concluded in the bedroom—as Yeonjun had you under the stars, your body glowed softly in the moonlight, only the melodious sounds of your breaths mingling together were heard. With every kiss, the connection deepened, somehow becoming more intimate than before—your heart full as Yeonjun looked at you in adoration, worshiping your body as if it were his last chance at salvation.

Resting his forehead against yours, Yeonjun confessed softly, “I love you,” his voice thick with emotion. The confession pierced your heart in a way you never felt before—as if all your fears and doubts began to rise to the surface, making it unable to breathe. 

“Yeonjun…” you breathed, your voice trembling as tears began to spill over. The intensity of the moment left you overwhelmed, every insecurity you had felt more seen—leaving you exposed.

Cupping your face softly, his thumbs brushed away your tears that fell. “You don’t have to say it back,” he murmured, his eyes understanding. “I just wanted to let you know that I am truly and utterly in love with you.” As Yeonjun kissed you softly, your salty tears mixed in the kiss and you continued to cry, unable to contain your emotions. With each gentle kiss you shared, your heart ached more as the weight of his confession became more real with each passing second.

“Please don’t cry,” he murmured tenderly between kisses. “I’m here, I’ve got you. It’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.” Yeonjun’s thumbs continuously wiped away your tears which only seemed to flow harder.

As your final night in Jeju Island came to an end, time seemed to stand still as the stars above witnessed your love. Unspoken words created a tension that lingered in the air. This transformative moment became a pivotal point in your relationship—both terrifying and exhilarating; only time will tell whether the outcome led to joy or heartbreak. The salt and sweet mingling on your lips as you shared a final kiss that night filled you with unease—the feeling haunted you as you drifted into a restless sleep, shadows of doubt weaving through your dreams.

IV || Love Is Like A Cigarette…Quick To Burn Out ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

Autumn felt colder than before—her reappearance felt like a mockery, a reminder of what once was. You found yourselves intertwined beneath the covers each night—his warmth, a bittersweet testimony to the love that still lingered as you slowly felt yourself slipping away. The fragility of each shared breath hung in the air like a whispered secret—an unspoken acknowledgment of the growing distance.

As you lay beside Yeonjun, the shadowy hands of doubt made their return, pleased to reacquaint themselves with you—finding their way back around your neck, tightening their grip, reminding you of why your fears lingered.

“Please. Don’t look at me like you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Like what?” he asked softly.

“Like you want to kiss me,” you replied, averting your eyes as tears welled up in your eyes.

Yeonjun reached out, his hand brushing against yours sent shivers down your spine. Hurt flashed across his face as you flinched at his touch. “Please,” you begged, “just…don't kiss me.” As you cried yourself to sleep, Yeonjun held you tenderly—whispering sweet words of reassurance, hoping to alleviate your fears.

Ever since the confession, your dependency on cigarettes seemed to increase tenfold—unable to let go of your source of divine relief. Each inhale felt like a desperate attempt to fill the void inside you while each exhale felt like a mocking reminder of the scars Josh had left behind.

Josh's cycle of abuse was an intricate web of manipulation, woven with such precision that it left you trapped and helpless. It started slow; he first reeled you in with a whirlwind of affection—his words and actions sweet, leaving you feeling intoxicated, invigorated, desperately wanting more. But as he ensnared you in his tapestry of lies, his personality shifted. The once sweet Josh became your worst nightmare; berating you, blaming you for the way your life turned out. His sweet words turned into knives, leaving deep cuts in you that left you questioning your worth. 

Every time he claimed you as his own, it felt like a twisted blend of passion and possession—the once intimate moments morphed into something darker. Each caress, a reminder that your body was his, only meant to fuel his desires. The aftermath always left you hollow, like a mere shell of your former self—your body desperately begging to be free. 

At those times, he became withdrawn, leaving you to pick up your broken pieces—his warmth replaced by a chilling cold, one that settled in the corners of your mind. Inevitably, he would return, charming as he once was, offering a tender-hearted apology and sweet lies, pulling you back into the same destructive cycle. Each time you forgave him, you hoped for change, only to find yourself more deeply entangled in your ultimate demise. 

Despite severing your ties, the cycle continued to haunt the forefront of your mind. As you closed your eyes each night, you relived the haunting memories of your past—sleep becoming a battleground of destruction. As the nightmares faded and reality embraced you—you found Yeonjun lying beside you, his concerned gaze meeting yours as tears fell from your eyes. You sank deeper into him, whispering that you were okay, desperately hoping that would be the case.

Yeonjun didn’t know what to do—he was at a standstill in his life, unable to make his next decision. Ever since you returned from your trip to Jeju Island, things had shifted. It started small, with the way you avoided his gaze, a subtle action that tore his soul apart. Then it transitioned to you avoiding his kisses, something Yeonjun never expected. His breaking point came when he noticed how you flinched at his touch and cried in your sleep—holding onto him as if you were afraid he'd disappear. Yeonjun loved you, but he feared this arrangement was now hurting you both more than it should. 

Yeonjun stood outside Soobin’s room, riddled with anxiety as he contemplated the conversation he was about to have. He wanted to ask Beomgyu for advice, but he decided against it, thinking it was unfair to put him in such a position.

Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself before softly knocking in the door. “Hey, Soobin. Can I come in?” he called out.

“Yeah!” Soobin replied, his tone light.

As Yeonjun entered, he saw Soobin sprawled out on his bed, phone in hand.

“Are you okay?” he asked as he sat up, “You look like you have a lot on your mind.”

Smiling sheepishly, Yeonjun rubbed the back of his neck. “It's about Blossom, actually.”

Soobin sat up a bit straighter, his expression shifted to one of concern. “Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“Remember when we took that trip to Jeju in the Summer?” Yeonjun asked.

Soobin nodded slowly in understanding. “Yeah…you guys had a wonderful time, right?”

Nodding, Yeonjun continued, “Yeah, but I sort of confessed to her?”

A deadpan expression formed on Soobin's face. “You…confessed. Aren't you dating her?” 

Yeonjun felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him. “Well…no, we're not.”

Soobin's eyes widened in shock. “Wait, what? You two were kissing in our kitchen last winter and you aren't dating?”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun responded, running his hands through his hair in frustration. “We just had an arrangement. No strings attached.”

Looking more shocked than before Soobin says, “Why don't you explain everything to me? From the beginning.”

Yeonjun recounted to Soobin the story of his entanglement with you, from your first meeting to the night you slept together, detailing every moment that led up to this one.

“Honestly,” Soobin started, “I think it's best you step back. For both your sakes. It's clearly taking a toll on you both and it isn't worth it that you both are hurting in your own way. You love each other, anyone would be stupid enough to think otherwise. I know she hasn't said it, but she looks at you with so much love, Yeonjun.” Clearing his throat he continued, “Just give her the space to work things out on her own. It will hurt, but she'll come back to you once she's gathered her thoughts. She's clearly going through something deeper, so have some patience with her, yeah?”

With a nod, Yeonjun hugged Soobin, grateful for having a friend like him during times like this. This newfound perspective guided Yeonjun on the path he had to take—he didn't want to, but if it meant you slowly got to heal from your unspoken trauma, he would do anything to save you from that.

The cool evening air wrapped around you as you sat on the balcony of your room—with a cigarette in hand you're listening to Beomgyu beside you, his eyes full of worry as he talked to you. You saw his lips moving, eyebrows furrowed yet you couldn't hear him—it was as if you and your body were disconnected.

The world around you felt blurred, the once vibrant colours, fading into a muted palette. It felt as if you were a spectator in your own life, watching the scene unfold, nodding absently to Beomgyu. As you inhaled the last remnants of your cigarette, you felt yourself fading back into reality.

“...And I'm just worried about you, Petal. These days you don't seem like you're present in reality. I just want you to talk to me, please. I just want to help you,” Beomgyu said as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I can't lose my best friend. Not again,” he added softly.

You watched Beomgyu with sad eyes, feeling the weight of his concern. “I'm sorry, Cookie. I…I don't know where to start. I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. Just tell me what happened,” he urged, his voice quivering, “you've been smoking so much more lately. I'm worried.”

“Yeonjun confessed,” you said, biting your lips. “During our last night in Jeju, and it kind of just freaked me out? Ever since Josh happened six years ago, I just don't feel worthy?”

Beomgyu looked at you earnestly, his steady gaze urging you to continue. “It's just that, my mind convinces me that I'm destined to be in a perpetual cycle of abuse and…” Your voice breaks, tears welled in your eyes, “...And I don't think I'm deserving of the love Yeonjun’s willing to give.” Wiping your eyes, you continued, “Ever since the nightmares resurfaced, I keep seeing his face and reliving moments and it scares me. I'm terrified of slipping back into that space.” 

Beomgyu’s expression softened, “I get that, Petal. But hanging onto the past isn't going to help you or Yeonjun. You both will get hurt in the end. You need to let it go.”

“I'm scared, Gyu. Not of letting go but facing what comes after.”

Beomgyu rested a reassuring hand on your shoulder, “We’ll be here to support you, you know that, Petal. It'll be okay,” he smiled softly. “Just give yourself some space and gather your thoughts. Then talk to him, shutting him out won't help either of you. He loves you, he'll understand and want to help.”

You sighed softly as the weight of his words settled in your heart. “Okay,” you whispered, “time to let go.”

The weather was overcast, almost as if it mirrored your mood, or was mocking you—either way, you didn't like the feeling. Yeonjun asked to meet you at your apartment that day and it filled you with dread. It wasn't like his usual messages or spontaneous visits—this felt different, as if the air was thick with an impending change.

To ease your nerves while you waited for Yeonjun, you smoked three cigarettes, each one making you feel worse than the last. Nothing seemed to help extinguish the turmoil inside you.

As you contemplated lighting another, the doorbell rang, disrupting your spiralling thoughts. Your heart raced, anticipation and dread coursing through your veins as you prepared yourself to open the door.

Opening it, you found Yeonjun standing there but unlike his usual lively appearance, today, he looked exhausted—the dark circles under slightly bloodshot eyes were evidence that he hadn't been sleeping well—the sight made your heart ache.

Closing the door behind you, you glanced at Yeonjun again with sorrowful eyes. “Yeonjun…are you okay?” you asked, your voice, barely above a whisper, fear knotting in your stomach at the thought of his answer.

“I'm sorry,” he began, his voice heavy with emotion, “I don't think this arrangement can continue. I'm too in love with you and too selfish.” Yeonjun paused, running his hands through his hair in frustration, “I desperately want more, and I don't want to ask you for more than you're willing to give.”

As the rain began to fall softly, each drop mirrored the emotions swirling between you in this very moment. Yeonjun stepped closer, his eyes searching yours, filled with a mix of heartbreak and desperation. 

“Just this once,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the patter of the rain, “I know you've been avoiding kissing me lately, but just this once,” he begged, his voice breaking, “let me kiss you one last time before I end this.”

The desperation in Yeonjun’s voice is evident—it broke you knowing that you're the one that caused him to be like this. Despite your hesitation and racing heart, the weight of his words pulled you in. As he leaned in, the world around you faded into nothingness—the final kiss is sweet and sorrowful, mixed with desperation, the moment feeling suspended in time. As the rain begins to fall harder, your clothes become soaked but the warmth from Yeonjun lips makes the chill forgettable.

The kiss deepened, hot and cold, salty and sweet; mixing with your tears and his—as his hands cradled your face gently, his thumb brushing away your stray tears that mixed with the incoming raindrops.

“Please,” he murmured against your lips, saying your name softly, “just let me have this.”

The urgency in his voice spoke volumes, all his unspoken feelings poured out into this single moment. Pulling you closer, as a final desperate grasp, the world around you seemed to blur further, the rain, swaddling you, shielding you from everything else.

As you both pulled away, tears streamed down your faces—breathless and trembling, the reality of the situation crashed in. The sheer vulnerability in his eyes broke you more than you had hope. It almost felt as if his gaze mirrored your own pain.

“Yeonjun I—”

“Don't,” he interrupted softly, almost begging. He placed his forehead against yours, “Just let me be selfish one last time.”

With a final kiss, Yeonjun wiped your remaining tears, whispered an “I love you” and made his way to his car, where he left you, standing in the rain.

Everything then came crashing down on you as he left. You felt your strength fade away, suddenly you're on the floor—glancing at Yeonjun’s figure became smaller as he drove away. The feeling of his lips haunting you as you began to sob uncontrollably. You knew it was your fault the things turned out this way, unable to give him more. Yeonjun made the decision for you, preventing the inevitable. It shouldn't hurt, since it was something you needed; it shouldn't feel like this—but you couldn't help it since you were so utterly in love with Choi Yeonjun.

Going back into the apartment you felt numb, like a piece of you left with Yeonjun. Part of you knew this was necessary, best for both parties—yet a small part of you hoped to stay in your current arrangement, ignoring the unspoken feelings. Beomgyu looked at you as you entered the living room, shocked at your appearance—soaked, with tears streaming down your face.

“Are you okay? What happened?” He asked as he fetched a towel, gently drying your hair, then wrapping it around you.

“It's Yeonjun,” you mumbled quietly, your tears slowly subsiding. “He ended the arrangement. Which is fine, I just didn't expect it to hurt so much.”

Beomgyu looked at you with empathy, “I know it hurts, but you knew you needed this. It's okay to feel sad about it. You loved him even if you didn't say it out loud.”

“Yeah…I do love him” you admitted quietly, “I think I want to start therapy. I want to get better—not just for myself, but for Yeonjun as well. Once I get through the beginning of that journey, I'll reach out to him again.”

“That's more like it, Petal,” Beomgyu encouraged softly, “Let's get you upstairs and I'll run you a warm bath, yeah?”

Despite the heartbreaking moment, you understood what had to be done. Now, it was time to embark on your journey of letting go—letting go of the past that haunted you and embracing the present. You knew it would be hard initially, but you were determined to be better, determined to reclaim the life you once lost.

For once in his life, Yeonjun absolutely hated himself. He knew he should feel relief—relief that he let you go, not because he wanted to but because he needed to. Yet still, there seemed to be a you-shaped hole in his chest, which had a hollowness more profound than any heartbreak he ever felt. The void reeked of you, memories of your laughter, your warmth, your presence—now replaced by an unbearable silence that was almost deafening.

After what felt like forever, Yeonjun stopped at the park near his apartment—today it was quiet, usually filled with the laughter of innocent children—the air remained still, deadly still. As the sun began to set, the park felt tranquil, almost as if it empathized with him. With the rain finally passing, the orange and red hues adorn the sky and even in this moment, Yeonjun’s first thought was you—he thought you'd love the sight before him, your eyes would light up in delight, wanting to take a picture to savour the moment.

As if his body moved on autopilot, Yeonjun walked to the nearest convenience store. In front of him was a cigarette display with various brands—unconsciously he picked up your favourite brand and a lighter, paying for them and settling on some swings within the park. Yeonjun didn't smoke often, but in this moment, he craved some kind of proximity with you, something to keep him grounded, something to fill the hollow feeling inside.

As Yeonjun lit the cigarette, the flame flickered in the dimming light, taking a drag, the smoke filled his lungs—the warmth contrasting the chill air as the evening came. 

Momentarily, the hollowness receded, but as he exhaled, the feeling rushed back in, somehow worse than before. With each drag, Yeonjun felt more reminiscent than before. He recalled the moments during the arrangement, the way you mentioned that you liked having a black coffee, a croissant and a cigarette for breakfast—something about wanting to feel like a girl in Paris. He chuckled sadly at the memory, even though in the moment he was stressed about your lack of a nutritionally balanced breakfast. 

He remembered the way your body felt against his, how every intimate moment you shared felt like matching puzzle pieces, your body immediately reacted to him as if you were made for each other. He recalled the way you looked at him, with so much love shining in your eyes, and the way you kissed him as if each one might be your last.

“Why did it have to be this way?” he whispered, the only response being the wind rustling through the leaves. A bitter chuckle escaped him as he took another drag, “God,” he sighed, “I love you so much. I wish I didn't have to do it, but I couldn't just have an arrangement with you anymore.” Yeonjun continued, speaking to the universe, hoping that somehow you could hear him in the confines of your apartment. 

With a final drag, the smoke swirled around him, flickering the ash from his cigarette—he watched it fall to the ground, like the remnants of your relationship. Despite the emptiness of the park, memories of your time together lingered in the air, haunting him.

Leaving the pack of cigarettes on the swing, Yeonjun made his way to his car, the weight of your absence more present than before. As he drove back to his apartment, he knew the hole you left would take time to heal, but for right now, he listened to the playlist you made together, living through the moments for one last time as familiar melodies washed over him, each note a bitter reminder of what once was.

Arriving home, Yeonjun felt a lingering sadness. The decision to give you space weighed heavily on his heart. Remembering the way you cried those nights haunted him, the sound of your sobs as you held onto him were heartbreaking. He knew you needed space to sort out the problems you haven't mentioned even if you didn't openly admit it. He loved you and this was the only thing he thought of doing to help you.

“Soobin,” Yeonjun began, his voice low, “I finally let her go.” The admission lifted a weight off his shoulders, but the pain still lingered. “It hurts more than I expected.”

“It's normal to feel that way,” Soobin reassured him. “You love her and giving her the space is best for both of you. She'll come back when she's ready, I know it.”

Yeonjun nodded, consoled by the idea that you would come back, better than you did before.

As quick as Autumn came, so did she leave—leaving behind soon-to-be distant memories, each day served as a reminder of what was lost. With the days getting shorter and the nights growing colder, Yeonjun hoped you were on the path to a better place—like the changing seasons he hoped you were becoming stronger, no longer a slave to your haunting past.

V || Ashes and Second Chances ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

The first snow of Winter came quietly in the beginning of December—unlike her previous arrivals, this year her snow quietly blanketed the Earth like a mother nursing her child. You haven't spoken to Yeonjun since your last conversation two months ago but sometimes he sent you messages encouraging you to eat and take care of yourself. You didn't have the heart to respond just yet, but his messages filled you with hope. It felt nice knowing that he still cared even though you weren't on speaking terms—each message a reminder that the bond was still there, despite the distance.

You started therapy the same week Yeonjun left, a daunting but necessary decision. The first few sessions of therapy felt suffocating at first—almost as if you were scared to admit what was wrong. But once you got over that hurdle, things became easier—your therapist encouraged you to confront your past so that you could take a hold of your future. 

Within that safe space of the therapy room, you were taught ways to cope with the cycle of manipulation you had gone through without relying on your cigarettes. As the ties to your past slowly became severed, you developed a love for painting. Each brushstroke became a form of expression for the words you were unable to convey. 

As winter settled in, you felt a growing pain to properly move on from your past—a persistent discomfort that gnawed at you.

Thus, you found yourself at a gravesite during the harsh Daegu winter, determined to make amends. Your first visit was to your brother—you hadn't visited his grave when you returned to Daegu last summer, so you decided to have a conversation with him, sharing your journey.

The cemetery was serene, the snowflakes danced around you as you walked toward a familiar headstone. Sitting down in front of the grave, you placed a bouquet of blue forget-me-nots.

“Hey, big brother,” you whispered quietly. “I miss you. I'm sorry I didn't visit you last Summer.” You took a breath, feeling the weight of your emotions. “I've been trying to get better. I started therapy and I'm learning to cope with everything,” You smiled sadly and continued, “I broke up with Josh too, I know how much you hated him when we first started dating back then. I'm sorry, I should've listened to you.” You recalled all the memories you spent with Yeonjun, “I met someone new,” you laughed quietly, “you would've loved him. He's special to me but I messed up.” Tears began to fall from your eyes, “I promised myself to quit smoking too. It's been hard going through the withdrawals, but I'm getting better.” You took a moment to collect yourself, wiping the tears that fell, “I promise to be better—not just for myself, but for Yeonjun too. I want to be someone he can be proud of, someone who can love without fear.”

Standing up, you took one last look at the grave, “I miss you so much and I wish you were here. I promise to be better so you can be proud of your little sister, okay? I love you.”

You walked away from your brother's grave feeling a sense of warmth filled you as if a weight had been lifted, but there was one more conversation you had to have—one that had been long overdue.

As you stood in front of Josh's grave you no longer felt anxiety and fear washing over only that of anger. You took a deep breath, allowing the cold air to fill your lungs, “You took so much from me,” you began, voice rising slowly. “You took my sense of self and trust. You made me feel like I was never good enough and I let you. I let you control me for so long even when you're dead and gone and I'm done.”

Gently, you rested a bouquet of black roses at the base of the headstone. “I'm here to say my final goodbye. I'm here to reclaim my life.” You take out your last cigarette from the pack, now, a symbol of your past, placing it on the grave as a final offering. “This is my last one. You loved it when I smoked but I'm no longer letting any aspect of you take control over me.” With a steady voice, you declared, “I'm letting this go and I'm letting you go too. I hope you know how much I hate you.”

As you walked away you felt lighter, relieved that it was over, but also relieved that the shackles of your past no longer had a hold on you. The cold Winter now felt like a moment of transformation—as you made your way back to Seoul, hope filled you as you were ready to embrace the life you were finally reclaiming.

Winter felt colder to Yeonjun this year—the lack of your warm presence beside him became a constant reminder of the void that settled in his heart. Despite the ache, he knew it was for the betterment of your relationship. Occasionally, he sent you a message, a word or two of encouragement—a part of him hoped you would respond. He was thankful that Beomgyu always gave him an update on your wellbeing, letting him know you were getting the help you needed.

During your time apart, Yeonjun found himself visiting places you had been together. One morning he visited the greenhouse before he went to the café, admiring the way you always took care of the flowers there. He saw the sunflowers and plum blossoms next to each other in bloom and stared at them in wonder—recalling the day you decided to place them together, cutely saying, “They're us,” as you smiled softly at him. From that moment on, your relationship blossomed with every waking moment you spent together.

At the café you frequented together, he had a croissant and coffee, another attempt at feeling closer to you. The combination of the bitter coffee and flaky pastry only served to be another painful reminder of the laughs you shared over breakfast—the way you would lean across the table, your eyes bright with excitement as you stole a strawberry from his plate. Yeonjun missed those days dearly.

In the middle of winter, Yeonjun found himself staring at the night sky, watching the constellations of Perseus and Andromeda together. He remembered that night all too well, the way you pointed Andromeda out, the way your eyes filled with wonder as he recalled the story. Yeonjun fell in love with you that night—from that moment on he knew he would fight for you in every lifetime. 

He wondered if you were okay—praying to the gods above that your past would no longer haunt you and you could finally take control of your life. The memories, although painful at times, had a comforting warmth that contrasted the stillness of Winter leaving Yeonjun holding onto faith—faith that your relationship would be okay, like the changing seasons, your love had the power to endure and flourish even in the harshest of winters.

Ever since you visited Daegu weeks ago, life has felt brighter—for once you felt like you were able to breathe on your own without any shadows or voices tormenting you. 

Sometimes the nightmares still lingered, but they occurred less frequently than they did before—something you were absolutely grateful for. Therapy had been beneficial as well; after understanding how your abuse affected you, the road to recovery wasn't a terrible journey.

Your sobriety journey from nicotine was a different story. Aside from the typical cravings after withdrawals, the increased irritability and insomnia you faced stressed you out. After Mrs. Kim, your therapist recommended Nicotine Anonymous (NicA), things became easier, especially since Beomgyu came with you, providing you with the extra support that you needed. The meetings made you feel seen as people understood your struggles while Beomgyu’s reassuring presence reminded you that you weren't alone.

With the festive season approaching, you felt a growing desire to reach out to Yeonjun—to give him the explanation that he deserved and to apologize for the distance that had grown between you. You decided to get him a special gift—something that signified the moments you shared and what he meant to you.

A chain, adorned with both of your birthstones along with a painting you did of your time together in Jeju. A landscape painting of the day you spent on Biyangdo Island—on top of its peak, both of you smiling as with the surrounding ocean and nearby islands in the background—truly one of your happiest days there.

You knew Yeonjun would've been alone again this Christmas. Not wanting him to spend it alone, you gathered your courage and with a bouquet of apology flowers and his gifts, you made your way to his apartment. 

As you stood in front of his apartment you took a deep breath, reminding yourself of the progress you had made. You were no longer living in the past, letting a gripping fear dictate your actions—now you lived in the present, ready to embrace what life had to offer. With the gifts tucked under your arm, you quietly knocked on the door, heart racing, hoping that this would be the beginning of a new chapter for both of you—one filled with promise of brighter days ahead.

As Christmas approached, the world around Yeonjun transformed into a wonderful winter wonderland. Yet, despite the festive atmosphere, a heaviness settled in Yeonjun's heart as he yearned for you, hoping that somehow, he was granted a Christmas miracle, and you would greet him at his door.

Despite not knowing when you would talk again, Yeonjun wrote letters for you, one for each season since you've met, each detailing the different ways he fell deeper in love with you—testament to the memories you shared, little things about you that made you unique.

Alongside the letters, Yeonjun made a homemade scrapbook, each page filled with photos you took together and surprise ones he took just of you—each with a little note highlighting his favourite thing from that memory. He included snapshots of places you had visited, menus from your favourite restaurant and even pressed flowers that reminded him of you. Each page was adorned with quotes and song lyrics that reminded of you—their words encapsulating the love he had for you.

His doorbell rang Christmas morning, his heart raced as he prayed it was you and when he finally opened the door Yeonjun smiled, his heart racing—there you are standing, in all your glory, looking brighter than before. 

“Merry Christmas, Yeonjun,” you said as you smiled softly at him, “Can I come inside?”

As you stepped inside, Yeonjun embraced you tightly, “Merry Christmas, Blossom,” he murmured against your hair, his voice thick with emotion, “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, Yeonjun,” you said lightly as you laughed, hugging him back tightly as the familiar scent of his cologne enveloped you, a scent you missed. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come back.”

Yeonjun pulled away, his expression serious, “You don’t have to apologize, Sweetheart. How has everything been going?”

Taking a deep breath, you gave Yeonjun the apology flowers, feeling the weight of your past for a moment, “It was hard at first. To let go. But therapy helped me confront my past and it no longer haunts me. Now, I've started to understand how it shaped me, and I’ve finally taken control of my life.” As you explained to him the details of your last relationship and how it left you, Yeonjun’s fists tightened, angry at the idea that you've been through something like that.

“I’m proud of you,” he said softly as he cupped your cheek, “It takes a lot of courage to go through that and still face the past. You’re stronger than you think.”

You continued to give him details of your therapy sessions, your new love for painting and even mention how your NicA sessions helped with your sobriety.

“Thank you for being patient with me. For letting me go when you did, it really helped push me towards the right direction.”

“Always,” he promised, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “I'll always fight for you.”

“I actually got you some presents,” you said with a shy smile, gesturing to the gifts you brought with you. 

Yeonjun's eyes lit up, “I got you some presents too! Let me get them then we can exchange gifts.”

As you sat together, Yeonjun slowly unwrapped your presents. His eyes shining as he admired the chain you got him.

“A reminder that we’re always together, even if we are physically apart,” you said, shyly.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek, “I love it, Blossom,” he said with adoration as he put on the chain. “I'll cherish it forever.” As Yeonjun unwrapped your second gift he gasps, looking at you in shock. “You painted this?!” he exclaimed in amazement.

“Yeah!” you say excitedly, matching his energy. “Once I realized my love for painting, I was determined to paint one of my favourite moments.”

“It's beautiful,” Yeonjun said softly, “It’s definitely getting framed and hanging up in my room.”

The atmosphere that surrounded you both was light—the soft glow of the Christmas lights illuminating the room left you feeling excited and nervous as Yeonjun handed you his gifts. 

As you pulled out the stack of letters, your heart swelled—each letter adorned with a different seasonal motif. With trembling fingers, you read each letter, tears welled in your eyes—with each season since you've met, Yeonjun highlights the moments in which he fell deeper in love with you. From your laughter in the spring to the warmth of your hand in his during the summer nights—to the cozy moments together in autumn and the quiet times during the winter evenings, each highlighted moment cherishing every little thing about you.

“Yeonjun…” Your voice broke. “I can't believe you wrote all this for me. These are incredible.”

He smiled softly, his eyes shining with warmth, “I wanted you to know how much you mean to me. With every season I felt more hopelessly in love with you.”

As you set the letters aside, you turned your attention to the scrapbook—each page was a beautiful collage of your time together, from photos of you laughing to menus from your favourite restaurant, each page was filled with  Yeonjun’s thoughts and even more things we loved about you.

“I didn't even know you took some of these,” you laughed softly as you flipped through the scrapbook.

“I wanted you to see yourself from my eyes.” Yeonjun said softly, wiping the tears that fell from your eyes, “To understand just how beautiful you are, not just on the outside, but also in the way you radiate kindness and strength, lighting up the darkest days. You’re incredible, Blossom.”

The weight of Yeonjun’s words hung in the air, his hands still against your cheeks—gazing at you with unconditional love.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly, his voice filled with longing and tenderness.

With a racing heart, you nodded. As he closed the distance between you, the sweet kiss transcends the heavens, filled with all the love and longing that had built up over the time apart—you both savoured the moment, tasting the sweetness of reunion after so much uncertainty.

Your hands find their way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss—reality dimming, leaving you two, suspended in a perfect moment. As you pulled away, you're both breathless and smiling. “Yeonjun,” you began, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. “There's something I need to tell you.”

He looked at you, eyes twinkling with curiosity, “What is it?”

“I love you, Yeonjun.” you said proudly, “I’ve loved you for a long time, and I just needed you to know.”

With a radiant smile on his face, Yeonjun laughs softly, “I love you too, Blossom. More than I can express.” 

As Yeonjun kissed you, his warmth enveloped you, reminding you that relationships are like the changing seasons—despite the warmth they bring, they often have the coldest winters. Just as flowers bloom in spring after enduring harsh conditions, so does love flourish after facing trials and tribulations, growing stronger and more vibrant with each passing season. 

Together, you and Yeonjun would be okay—with each season, you would endure what came, hand in hand, knowing that your love had the power to conquer all storms and shine through even the darkest of days.

Epilogue || Seasons of Us ٠ ࣪⭑ˎˊ˗

It's been a year since that fateful kiss, and as Spring returned, Yeonjun was once again reminded of you. With your past no longer haunting you, he had watched you blossom to your full potential, radiating like a Plum Blossom in full bloom—your vibrant spirit surrounding the atmosphere in all its glory. He marvels at the way you've fully embraced life, proud that you have surpassed your struggles. 

The seasons, once a memory of Yeonjun’s entanglement with you, has now transformed into cherished memories of your time together. Now, he's able to hold you the same under the morning gaze—no longer stuck in limbo, Yeonjun is now able to live the rest of his life with you. The last year has been transformative for you both—having graduated and moved in together, you and Yeonjun were now ready to embark on another part of your journey. 

Together, you stepped into the world, eager to embrace every moment, every season and every challenge that came your way. Together, you would continue to bloom. 

Taglist.ᐟ – @yunverie, @filmnings, @yeonjunnnielover, @just-nc-tea, @iluvjjunie, @fancypeacepersona, @usuallyunlikelyfox, @bunniwords, @lostgirlyystuff, @beomgyusluver, @beaabz

adeline's closing ✉ - if you've made it to the end, I thank you for reading!! I'd also love to know which moment was your favourite, I'd love to hear your thoughts :] mine was the kiss in the rain!

[writingmochi]

lissie: so i guess... that's the reason why i don't have that many friends here. even if my words came off spicy, it still comes from a place of care after all. i am glad that i got a wake-up call and maybe i should shut up more

i'm as open to criticism as any other creatives out there are because i want to improve. i am not perfect and i'm open to many interpretations. and if, at the end, i should move to another platform to get them, i would. as the idea of "the death of an author" implies, part of myself died in a gory way when i released a fic because you can interpret it anyway you like. all i could do was create a reply that you can agree to or not...

[nephynes]

SECONDHAND HEAVEN ── .✦ lee heeseung

You’re broke, exhausted, and desperate enough to take a cleaning job no one else will touch. The client lives alone in a silent penthouse, hidden from the world by rumor and choice. You weren’t supposed to know his name—just clean and leave. But when your journal goes missing and comes back with his handwriting in the margins, everything changes.

minors do not interact

pairing: schizophrenic concert pianist!heeseung x afab reader

wc: 28k

content tags: angst, hurt/comfort, mental health themes, depictions of schizophrenia, poverty, class disparity, emotional repression, slow burn, journal entries, forbidden closeness, soft smut, loneliness, poetic prose, mentions of blood, trauma, caretaker dynamics, emotionally intense, non-idol au, heeseung x reader, reader-insert.

WARNINGS: mental illness (schizophrenia), mentions of blood, emotional breakdowns, poverty, food insecurity, toxic living environment, isolation, possible dissociation, references to past trauma, depersonalization, implied neglect, emotionally heavy content, not a fluff centric story. okay maybe there’s a little fluff.

nene’s note: this was meant to be a 15k word fic (don’t ask me what happened) i would still die for recluse heeseung.

nsfw tags under the cut

SMUT, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, unprotected sex, bloodplay implications, sex during dissociation, power imbalance, emotional dependency, mental illness (schizophrenia), mentions of self-harm, trauma, possessive behavior, emotionally intense dynamic, obsession themes. (lmk if i missed any) not proofread!

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You're running. Again. The strap of your tote bag digs into your shoulder as your shoes slap the sidewalk, water splashing up your ankles with each desperate step. Rain mist clings to your skin like sweat—except sweat would be warm. This is just cold and inconvenient. Your Literature lecture ran ten minutes over because, of course, your professor finally decided to acknowledge your existence the one time you needed to leave early. He asked for your thoughts on postmodern fragmentation in the age of digital alienation while you sat there wondering if postmodern fragmentation was what your GPA would look like this semester.

By the time you made it outside, the bus was already pulling up. You waved frantically, almost twisting your ankle as you darted across the crosswalk—nearly colliding with a cyclist. He swerved. You screamed. He cursed. It was poetic, in a tragicomedy kind of way. Now, you're clinging to the pole in the bus's center aisle, damp hair clinging to your cheeks as it rocks around corners, your phone buzzing with the time—12:46 PM.

Mrs. Do expects you at 12:30. Sharp, always sharp but today you're going to disappoint her, again and it makes you nervous cause this isn't your first fuck up. Getting off at the bus stop in Mrs. Do's neighborhood is like stepping into another world. Wide sidewalks, trimmed hedges. Every driveway is the kind of polished grey stone that seems to repel dirt on principle. The kind of neighborhood that smells like generational wealth and imported jasmine diffusers.

The sky's already sour when you round the corner onto the cobblestone lane. Gray and sullen, like it knows something you don't. Your thighs ache from sprinting across campus, your spine's slick with sweat under your too-thin hoodie, and your fingers are still raw from gripping the metal pole on the bus. You hadn't even realized how tightly you were holding on—like the bus was the only thing standing between you and collapse. You're fifteen minutes late, sixteen, actually.

The house looms before you like a museum exhibit—grand, sterile, and quiet enough to make you feel like you've already done something wrong just by being there. All tall glass windows and trimmed hedges, with a front door so glossy you can see your own desperation reflected in it. You ring the bell, sucking in a breath and she opens it almost immediately. Mrs. Do doesn't need to speak to make her opinion known. Her eyes flick down your frame—hoodie, faded jeans, dirt-smudged sneakers—and her mouth flattens like she's biting back something acidic. Her nose twitches once.

"You're late."

"I'm so sorry," you say, voice thin. "My class ran over and I missed my bus, and—" She rolls her eyes, cutting you off, "You people always have an excuse". You people. "I've already called your manager," she says coolly, stepping back just enough to make room for your shame to enter. "This is unacceptable. I hired help, not excuses."

Help. You step inside anyway because she hasn't technically slammed the door in your face yet. The floor gleams beneath your feet and you're careful not to drip on the marble. "I can still clean," you try, gripping the handle of your tote tighter. "I—I'll stay longer if you need. P—Please don't fire me." She turns slowly, folding her arms like she's posing for a luxury handbag ad. "You'll leave," she says. "And next time, be honest with yourself about what you're capable of."

That's it. No raised voice, no chance to plead. Just ice in human form and the creak of the front door swinging back open like a guillotine. You stand there a second too long—long enough for it to become pathetic—then you turn and walk back out with your head down and your heart thudding where your confidence used to be. It starts to drizzle as soon as you step off her perfect property. Of course it does.You jog down to the bus stop at the end of the street, ignoring the way your socks squelch in your shoes. Your bag knocks awkwardly against your side. You still have half a bottle of disinfectant in there, you could drink it and cleanse the humiliation right out of your system.

The bus pulls up late. You board with the same dread you imagine people feel before surgery—knowing it's necessary, knowing it's going to hurt. Inside, it's packed. You stand, gripping the pole, body swaying with every uneven turn. The lights flicker overhead. A kid is screaming two seats over. A man is coughing into his hand and not covering his mouth. You catch your reflection in the window—wet hair clinging to your cheeks, eyes dull, lips chapped from chewing them in nervous spirals. This is your life, this bus ride, this moment, is unfortunately your life. The route winds through the city, away from the clean sidewalks and polished gates, deeper into the cracked edges of town where the concrete is more gum than stone and the streetlights work in pairs—if at all. You get off at the corner near the faded liquor store, shoulders hunched under the growing weight of your day.

Your apartment building is a boxy, red-brick rectangle with iron balconies rusting at the corners. The woman who lives two floors up is yelling at her boyfriend again. You can hear every word, you wonder why they're still together seeing as they're fighting every other day. You climb the stairs slowly, dragging your legs like anchors. The third floor always smells like someone burned toast and sprayed perfume to hide it. Your door sticks and it takes three tries to get it open. The TV is already blaring, some british reality dating show, laughter, the pop of a beer can. Minjae is sprawled across the couch, shirtless, remote in one hand and a bowl in the other.

Your bowl. "Yo," he greets, mouth full. "You look like death."

"Thanks." You kick off your shoes and look around in the apartment that's in pure chaos—shoes everywhere, makeup on the kitchen counter, someone's bra dangling from the dining chair. Probably Jiyoon's. The dishes in the sink are starting grow by numbers. She appears in the hallway, barefoot and probably wine-drunk, wearing one of her boyfriend's shirts.

"Hey," she slurs. "How was the bitch?" You stare at her. "I got fired." "Again?" she groans, flopping dramatically onto the peeling loveseat. "Ugh. I told you to lie and say your grandma died. It works every time." You don't respond, heading to the kitchen to open the fridge, the light flickers when you open it. There's nothing inside except a carton of milk that expired last week and someone's half-eaten burger. You close it and lean against the counter, pressing your forehead to the cabinet above.

This can't be your life. This can't keep being your life.

Your socks are still wet when you drag yourself down the narrow hall toward the shared bathroom. You don't even bother turning on the light at first—just reach blindly into the shower caddy for your body wash, hoping a hot rinse will wash off the day, or at least the last of Mrs. Do's perfume that still clings to your sleeves like a curse. Your hand closes around the bottle.

Empty.

You blink, now flipping on the harsh fluorescent light. The bottle is sitting there—your expensive one, the only thing you splurged on in months, lavender and eucalyptus, bought during a panic attack at the drugstore like a promise to yourself that things would get better but now it's squeezed dry. You stand there, frozen. Cold water dripping off your hood. Your knuckles whitening around the neck of the bottle. "Jiyoon!" your voice cracks down the hallway like a whip.

A pause. "What?" she calls back, annoyed, like you're interrupting something important—like Love Island. You storm back into the living room, brandishing the empty bottle like evidence at a trial. Minjae doesn't even glance up from the couch, he's playing something on his phone now, earbuds in, cereal bowl at his feet. Your fucking bowl.

"Tell me this wasn't him." Jiyoon sits up, scowling at your tone. "What are you talking about?" "This." You shake the bottle. "My body wash. The one you 'borrowed' last week. It's gone. Empty. And I know you don't like the smell—so unless I'm hallucinating, your leech of a boyfriend used the last of it."

She rolls her eyes. "Jesus, it's not that deep. It's body wash." "No, it's my body wash. The only nice thing I own. And he used it, again, after eating the rest of my leftovers and leaving dirty socks in the sink and never ever paying rent!"

Minjae finally glances up, one earbud still in. "Damn. You need a Xanax or something?"

Your mouth goes dry.

Jiyoon frowns. "Okay, first of all, don't talk to her like that—"

"No, don't defend me now," you cut in, voice shaking. "You let him live here for free. You make excuses for him while I scrape together every last cent to keep a roof over our heads. I work two jobs, Jiyoon. I eat scraps. I got fired today and came home in the rain to this—and now I can't even take a damn shower without discovering he's drained the last thing I own that smells like something other than despair."

She shifts, uncomfortable. "You could've said something nicer."

"And you could've picked someone who showers in his own place instead of mine!"

Silence.

You don't cry and you won't. Not in front of him. Not even here. You don't wait for an apology that'll never come. You retreat to your room, slam the door, and lock it behind you—not because you're afraid, but because you're done.

You strip off your hoodie, throw it in the corner, and climb into bed fully damp and exhausted. The blanket clings to your legs. You curl around your pillow and let the tension tremble out of your fingertips like static electricity.

You curl up in bed fully clothed, hoodie damp and clinging to your skin, fingers still aching from scrubbing tile three days ago. The blanket smells faintly like bleach. Jiyoon is laughing in the next room, voice high and bright and grating. You close your eyes.

*•*•*

You wake up to the clink of glassware and Minjae's laugh from the kitchen, that smug, high-pitched snort that always sets your teeth on edge. There's no time to be angry—not this morning. You're already late. Again.

You roll out of bed and throw on the first vaguely clean outfit you can find, dragging a brush through your tangled hair and pinning it up like your life depends on it. Your backpack's already half-packed from the night before. You stuff in your worn-out copy of Beloved, a dog-eared notebook filled with scribbles and half-finished poems, and race out the door without breakfast.

It's colder today. The kind of cold that bites under your clothes and leaves your fingers raw. You catch the bus by sheer miracle—sprinting half a block and nearly losing a shoe in the process—and squeeze into the back seat between a teenage couple whispering too loud and a man who keeps humming to himself.

You reach campus with two minutes to spare. The lecture hall smells like chalk dust and old books. It's one of your favorite smells in the world. You slide into the third row, clutching your notebook to your chest, and feel a quiet sort of calm settle over you. This is your safe place. Literature. Language. Storytelling.

The professor enters with her usual elegance, a tall woman with soft curls and a warm smile that doesn't waver even when her students barely look up. She doesn't need to raise her voice to command the room. She carries presence the way some people carry perfume—effortlessly.

"Today," she begins, "we talk about longing." You feel your chest tighten in the most bittersweet way.

She reads a passage aloud—something from a contemporary poet you love but couldn't afford to buy the full collection of—and for a while, you forget the bruising ache in your back from yesterday, or the hollowness in your stomach. You forget Minjae. You forget Mrs. Do.

After class, you linger longer than usual, pretending to organize your papers while most students file out. Professor Cha doesn't seem surprised when you approach her desk.

"I loved what you read today," you say, voice still soft from reverence. "The way it ached."

Her eyes sparkle behind her glasses. "That's a good word. A poem should ache. And yours always do."

You blink. "You read my last submission?"

"I did." She smiles, more maternal than academic now. "You write like you've lived ten lives. There's heartbreak in your syntax, but also something... resilient. It's beautiful. Raw."

The compliment hits deeper than she probably intends. You swallow. "Thank you. I... needed to hear that."

She tilts her head. "You've looked tired lately."

"I got fired," you confess, voice breaking a little at the edges. "From one of my jobs." She doesn't blink or pity you, she nods instead. "Then the world made space for something better. Keep showing up. Your stories matter even if no one pays you for them yet."

It's not much but it's enough to lift your spine straighter as you thank her and walk out the door.

The sunshine doesn't feel quite so cold.

You're halfway down the campus stairs, still thinking about her words, when your phone rings. A number you don't recognize, but one you know instinctively not to ignore.

You answer.

"About damn time," a gravelly voice snaps through the line. "Did you turn off your phone all day or do you just enjoy making my blood pressure spike?"

You wince. "Sorry, Cee. I was in class—"

"I don't care if you were in confession with the Pope," he growls. "You missed your shift yesterday and you got us fired from the Do account." You open your mouth to explain, but he keeps going.

"Lucky for you," he says, as if the words are knives between his teeth, "no one else wants this new job and I'm too tired to argue. Penthouse gig. Rich recluse. We charge double, client pays in advance, and no one wants to take it because apparently the guy's a freak."

You frown. "A freak?"

"Unstable. Hermit. Been on the news, but who the hell keeps track? Listen, I don't care if he's a lizard in a human suit—he's paying. You're taking it."

Your throat dries.

"How many days?"

"Three a week. Big place. Clean what you can, don't snoop. I'll send the address. Be early." and then, just before he hangs up, his tone softens—barely. "Don't mess this up, kid. You need it."

You really, really do.

You stare at the phone screen even after the call ends, the manager's words still ringing in your ears. Freak. Hermit. Don't mess this up.

The ache in your calves from walking half a mile after the bus dropped you off doesn't compare to the slow sinking in your stomach as you lift your head to take in the building before you.

It's not just big—it's obscene. The kind of place you'd see in a glossy magazine left behind in a waiting room. Black glass, white stone, gold accents on the automatic double doors. No peeling paint, no squeaky hinges, no smell of cheap weed in the lobby. You shift your backpack higher on your shoulder and wipe your palms on your pants, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you look.

The doorman gives you a glance that says you're not the usual type, but he opens the door for you anyway. Inside, the lobby is quiet. Too quiet. Your footsteps echo on the marble like you're trespassing.

You check the note your manager texted again: Penthouse, 45th floor. Don't use the front elevator. Service lift in the back.

Figures.

You find the service lift through a hallway no guest would ever wander down—a dimly lit corridor that smells faintly of lemon polish and secrecy. The kind of place you get swallowed in. You step inside the narrow elevator, the floor humming under your boots.

The doors slide shut with a groan. You breathe out. The kind of breath that's supposed to steady you but doesn't.

Your phone buzzes again just before the elevator doors open.

Cee: Don't fuck this up. Get there exactly at 10, leave exactly at 4. Even if you finish early, you stay. No exceptions. And whatever you do, NEVER go upstairs. He has rules. Don't test them.

You stare at the screen.

What kind of house has an upstairs in a penthouse? you think, and the second the thought passes, the elevator dings.

The doors creak open onto a hallway draped in shadow. No welcome mat, no noise or signs of life. Just a wide, heavy door that looks more like it belongs on a bank vault than a home.

You step out.

Your boots sound stupidly loud on the marble tile, and you hesitate before raising your hand to knock. But there's no need. The moment your knuckles reach the wood, the door clicks open on its own.

Unlocked.

The place is massive. The ceilings stretch too high, the walls too white, everything too pristine. There's barely any furniture. Just space and silence and air so still it feels like it hasn't been disturbed in years. You don't call out cause your manager said he wouldn't speak to you and that he likely wouldn't even show himself.

Just clean and leave. Do not go upstairs.

You hold your breath and step inside.

The air smells like cedar and something colder, like snow, if snow could haunt. You set your backpack down, find the gloves and cleaning supplies neatly packed inside, and glance around for somewhere to begin. The living room stretches out in an open floor plan—windows from floor to ceiling, giving a panoramic view of the city that glitters like it belongs to someone else.

You move quietly, gently, like the house might shatter if you're not careful, there's a faint creak above you that makes you freeze.

Somewhere beyond the mezzanine level—a second floor, tucked behind shadows and sleek black railings—you hear slow footsteps. Nothing fast, just the sound of pacing but then it stops and you don't look up.

You don't have to but you can feel the weight of someone above you. Maybe it's just the paranoia settling in or maybe it's the echo of your manager's warning.

Don't go upstairs.

You lower your gaze and start cleaning the untouched coffee table. You don't see a single cup stain or a single fingerprint. You think of the journal in your bag—the one you always carry, the one you use to write about your clients. He'll be in there by tonight, nameless, faceless. The man who lives upstairs like a ghost in the penthouse he knows.

For now, you work. Quiet and invisible. There's a fine layer of dust on everything. Not filth—just time, settled air and neglect. No signs of life, no spilled coffee mugs or kicked-off shoes. Just clean lines, cold surfaces, and untouched space.

You start in the living room, wiping down the windowsills and working your way around the low furniture. The couch looks barely used, the cushions still stiff. You sweep, mop, vacuum, moving silently through the rooms that all look the same—stunning, sterile, too expensive to feel real.

In the hallway near the back, there's a closet.

You pause in front of it.

It's nothing special—just a tall, sleek black door flush against the wall like all the others. But your fingers hesitate on the handle. Something about it makes your stomach twist. A soft wrongness that makes you not open it, that makes you turn around and just keep cleaning.

By 2:30, you've gone through the whole first floor. Kitchen wiped down. Bathroom gleaming. Trash collected and everything you were paid to do—done.

But Cee's voice rings in your head; Even if you finish early—stay. No exceptions.

So you sit.

You settle into one of the chairs by the window, the soft hum of the city beyond the glass lulling you into something between boredom and thoughtfulness. You reach into your bag and pull out your journal—worn leather, pages soft at the edges.

You click your pen open and start writing.

Day one at the penthouse. It smells like dust and something else I can't quite name. The kind of clean that doesn't feel lived in. I didn't open the black closet near the back. It felt like something in a horror film but I'll pretend it's just full of broken umbrellas.

Got fired from the Do account. Still bitter. She had a face like a lemon and a heart to match. Professor was a much-needed balm in comparison—thank God for her and her endless belief in me.

New job might be decent money if I don't screw it up. Cee says the guy who lives here is a recluse. Said he hasn't left the penthouse in two years. But I don't know. Maybe he's just lonely.

You pause there, tapping the pen against the paper. The upper floor is quiet. Still. You underline the word lonely and draw a small star beside it.

At exactly 4:00, you pack up your supplies, double-check every corner, and sling your bag over your shoulder and slide your journal right back into the side pocket of your bag, safe and sound.

You take the service elevator down, your own reflection warping in the mirrored steel walls, and step out into the cool evening air. The sun is already dipping lower, the clouds streaked in gold and gray.

The bus ride home is slower than usual. You sit in the back corner, forehead pressed to the rattling glass, zoning out to the lull of traffic and tired bodies. The city outside blurs past in tired shades.

As your apartment door creaks open, you start praying no one hears or sees you. But it's already too late.

Minjae's voice rings out sharp and annoyed. "I told you I'm looking, Jiyoon. What do you want me to do, lie on a fucking application?"

Jiyoon fires back just as quickly. "No, I want you to try! I'm covering your half of the rent again this month—what do you think I am, an ATM?!"

You freeze in the doorway, trying to shrink into your coat. If you're quiet enough, maybe you can just slip past—

"Hey," Jiyoon says suddenly, spotting you over Minjae's shoulder. Her tone shifts fast—softer now, almost guilty. "You just get in?"

You nod, shrugging your bag higher. "Yeah." "How's the nut house?"

You drop your bag by the door and stare at her. "The what?"

"The place you're cleaning. You know, that recluse guy who's like—off his rocker? Isn't that what your boss said?"

You toe off your shoes and mutter, "It's just a job."

Minjae grins walking away from Jiyoon's presence like the change in topic is suddenly the end of their argument. "I bet he's got some freaky shit there. Hidden cameras. Severed heads. Weird old dude stuff."

"I don't even know if he's old," you say, voice low. "And you don't know anything about him."

Minjae snorts. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You turn back to Jiyoon, your constant irritation for her boyfriend crawling up your neck. "It's... weird," you admit. "But clean. Quiet. Better than getting yelled at by lemon-faced socialites, I guess."

Jiyoon gives you a weak smile. "Well, if anyone can survive a haunted tower or whatever that place is, it's you."

You hum, tired beyond belief, and slip down the hall toward your room without waiting for more, maybe more will come in the morning.

And when morning does come, it hits like a slow bruise. No alarm, just the muted scrape of a garbage truck outside and the sound of Jiyoon's laughter echoing down the hall, already too loud for the hour. You blink up at the water-stained ceiling, let the ache in your jaw settle, and for a few seconds, you don't move. The blanket's twisted around your leg like it's trying to keep you here. You wish it would.

But you're broke. So you move

You don't eat breakfast. There's no time, and besides, Jiyoon's boyfriend used the last of your cereal. You found the empty box in the sink this morning, soggy and limp with leftover milk, like a personal fuck-you from the universe.

Outside, the streets are still wet from last night's rain, the air sharp and cold enough to crack your lips. You tug your coat tighter around yourself and walk fast, half-hoping your legs will just carry you somewhere else. But the route to the campus library is too familiar, too automatic. You take the side street behind the deli, cutting through the alley behind the 24-hour laundromat where the machines always sound like they're choking. There's graffiti on the brick wall now—someone's drawn a woman with eyes for hands.

The library is warm in that stale, overused way that makes you sleepy, but you know the quiet corner where the heater rattles just enough to keep you awake. You sit with your laptop and your headphones, the cushion on the chair still warm from the last desperate student who used it.

This is job number two.

You click play on the next transcription project; an audiobook manuscript from some retired executive who thinks the world needs to hear about his rise to glory. The audio crackles. His voice is deep, smug, like he's narrating his own documentary.

"It all began with a vision. I was just a boy, standing in my father's study, realizing the empire I'd one day build..." You try not to roll your eyes. Your fingers find the rhythm. You transcribe as fast as he talks, catching every word, every pretentious pause.

"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some, like me, are greatness incarnate."

Jesus.

You pause the audio and lean back, pressing your fingers into your temples. He's unbearable. Still—you need the money, so you press play again. But somewhere in the haze of his bravado, your mind drifts, not too far, just up.

Up to the penthouse you cleaned yesterday. The thick silence, untouched surfaces and the staircase you weren't allowed to climb. It all made something you couldn't name press down on the air.

You wonder what he sounds like.

The man who lives there, the one Cee called a shut-in, a recluse. Heeseung. You only know the name because of the envelope on the front table. You weren't supposed to look, but you did. Of course you did.

You imagine his voice now, layered under the pompous narration. Not loud or self-important. Just... quiet. Measured. Maybe hoarse from disuse. You imagine what it would feel like to hear it. To be the reason it breaks the silence. Your fingers falter. The word "greatness" stutters across the screen three times in a row.

You stop typing.

And for a second, you just sit there, headphones still on, the man's voice buzzing in your ears like a mosquito trapped in a jar, and you wonder if loneliness has a sound. And if maybe you've already heard it.

You leave the library when your laptop battery dies, the sky already smudged with dusk. Your ears still ring faintly from the droning of Mr. Greatness Incarnate. You swing your bag over your shoulder, scarf loose around your neck, hands shoved deep into your coat pockets. The wind cuts sharper than it did this morning. You're too tired to fight it.

By the time you reach your apartment building, you dread the climb to the third floor, not knowing what's behind your door—and your key sticks like always when you jam it into the lock but when the door finally swings open, you freeze.

The apartment is clean. Spotless even.

No laundry tossed across the couch, no cereal bowls fossilized with milk crust sitting on the coffee table. The garbage isn't overflowing. There's even a faint citrus scent in the air, like someone opened a window and let the idea of cleanliness drift in.

And Jiyoon's on the couch. Calm. Legs tucked under her, hair braided down one side, munching on a bag of shrimp chips like this is just... normal. Like this is how things have always been.

You drop your keys into the chipped bowl by the door. "What happened?" She glances at you, shrugs. "I cleaned." You blink. "No, I mean... what happened happened. Did the landlord threaten an inspection or—"

"I broke up with Minjae," she says, and pops another chip into her mouth like she didn't just detonate an-eighteen-month-long catastrophe with five words. "Told him to pack his shit and go."

You stare. "You what?"

Her eyes don't even flicker from the TV. "He was a leech. I hate leeches."

You're still frozen in the hallway, bag slipping down your arm, unsure what dimension you walked into. The silence feels wrong. Too still. Too empty. But... not bad.

Just different.

Eventually, your feet remember what to do, and you drift to your room, slowly, almost cautiously, like something might jump out at you. You twist your doorknob, push it open—and stop again cause there's a gift bag sitting on your bed.

Brown paper, neatly folded at the top, a little gold sticker sealing the tissue paper closed. You don't touch it right away, you just stare at it like it might explode.

Then you sit, gently, fingers trembling a little now. but peel the sticker away anyway, opening the bag.

Two bottles. Your favorite body wash. The same kind Minjae used up without asking. Double this time, still sealed and tucked between them, a note—scrawled in Jiyoon's quick, sharp handwriting on a sticky note she probably pulled from her planner.

"I'm sorry."

It doesn't say anything else. Doesn't have to.

You let out this huff of a sound, half a laugh, half a sob—and press the heels of your hands into your eyes. You weren't ready for this, especially not after today, not after everything you've been through this week. You sniff, smile through the sting behind your eyes, and whisper, "What the hell is going on?"

For the first time in a long time, no one answers and it doesn't feel like a threat. Just... peace. Quiet, a rare kind.

And the bathroom is yours again.

*•*•*

The next morning wakes you gently.

Not with screaming or slamming doors or the unmistakable sound of Minjae trying to justify why rent is a social construct—but with the smell of bacon.

You lie there for a moment, still curled in your sheets, nose twitching like it can't quite believe it. Bacon. And eggs. The sizzle, the clink of a pan. There's sunlight bleeding between the slats of your blinds, the kind of sleepy, golden light that feels warm just by looking at it.

You slip out of bed in your socks, shuffle into the kitchen, and there's Jiyoon—hair still messy from sleep, an oversized shirt hanging off one of her shoulders, poking a spatula at a pan like she does this every day, like this isn't a wildly new domestic era you've entered.

"Are you dying?" you ask, voice still rasped with sleep.

She smirks. "Sit your broke ass down. We're having breakfast." You do, blinking dumbly as she plates eggs and bacon and toast like some sitcom mom. The kind of meal that costs too much time and too many groceries for the world you live in. But it's real. It's on your plate. It's hot.

And it tastes like actual heaven.

"Okay," Jiyoon says through a bite, "you're not allowed to cry over eggs." "I'm not," you lie, chewing around the lump in your throat. "Shut up."

It's quiet for a beat, just the sounds of cutlery and your lives slowly stitching back together. Then she speaks, softer this time.

"I missed this."

You glance up.

"I mean—us," she says quickly. "It got weird. And Minjae was—he j—just made everything about him. And I let it happen." You nod, eyes falling to your plate. "I missed you too."

And that's all it takes. The two of you just... fall back into it. Like nothing ever cracked. Like the gap never grew wide enough to drown you.

You're halfway through your second cup of coffee when your phone buzzes. A bank notification lights up the screen.

Deposit: $400.00 — From: H.C.A. CLEANING INC.

Your breath catches and your stomach flips but you don't even have enough time to process it before a follow-up text comes in from your manager.

Cee: Well done. Keep it up.

You stare at your phone, stunned. Your fork hangs mid-air. "What?" Jiyoon leans over, eyes narrowing, trying to look at your screen. "What is it? What's that look?"

You show her the screen.

She lets out a whistle, snatching the phone out of your hand. "Four hundred dollars?! For one day?"

You nod slowly. "It's... the penthouse."

Jiyoon's eyes go wide. "Girl. Are you sure this isn't a sex dungeon?"

"It's not—!"

"I'm just saying!" she laughs, waving the phone in your face. "Do they need two cleaners? Cause I got two hands and a back that only mildly hurts."

You snort.

"No, seriously," she grins, handing your phone back. "Keep this up, and you're gonna sugar mama us out of this hellhole."

"Us?"

"Obviously. I've already picked out my new bedroom. It has a balcony."

You shake your head, grinning despite yourself. The weight on your chest feels a little lighter today. There's food in your stomach, laughter in your lungs, and a number in your bank account that feels like it belongs to someone else. Someone who isn't drowning, maybe someone who could start swimming soon.

You rinse your plate in the sink, tie your boots, and throw on your coat with renewed resilience. There's something weird in your chest—not bad weird. Just... fluttery. A quiet excitement you can't explain, maybe it's the money. $1200 a week is enough to make a broke girl like you feel fluttery.

The penthouse is a mystery. The man inside, even more so and something about it tugs at you. You leave the apartment with a full stomach and something flickering under your ribs that almost feels like hope.

The security guard barely glances up when you pass through the front lobby, your shoes echoing across the cold marble. You know the route now—the elevator on the far end, the one with the gilded trim and the keycard scanner that flickers green the second you swipe the little laminated badge clipped to your bag.

Penthouse access. Floor 45.

You ride up alone, the hum of the elevator filling your ears, your stomach still fluttering for some godforsaken reason. It's ridiculous, really. It's just cleaning. A job. A space.

Still—there's something about this building, this job, this man—something you don't have a name for yet. Something a little strange.

When the elevator dings open at the top floor, you step out and blink at the sheer silence. It always feels a little too still up here, like the air's holding its breath. You cross the short hallway toward the penthouse door, adjusting your bag over your shoulder, then pause.

A man is walking out.

Tall. Black coat. Black hair. He doesn't look up as he pulls the door behind him and lets it click shut. There's a thick folder of papers in his hand—some printed, some handwritten—and he's flipping through them like he's on a mission. Brows furrowed as though he's deep in thought. You shift slightly to the side, give a small, polite "Good morning," but he doesn't respond, he doesn't even glance at you.

Okay.

You watch him disappear down the hallway, a little unsettled, but before your brain can start drawing conclusions, you catch something else. From behind the door.

Movement. Light.

A quiet creak, then a faint thump from the floor above. Right—he's upstairs. He hasn't come down, just like your manager said he wouldn't.

So, not Heeseung.

You shake it off, and push open the door to the penthouse. It's the same as last time. Too clean to feel lived in, a place more structure than soul. The marble kitchen glints under the soft daylight that pours in through those floor-to-ceiling windows, and the air smells faintly sterile. Like eucalyptus and untouched laundry.

You drop your bag by the door, change into your inside shoes, and head for the linen closet to start where you left off last time.

There's a note.

You spot it taped neatly to the inside of the closet door, white paper against the cool gray shelves. Typed in black ink, neatly, not handwritten.

You folded the towels wrong.

Beneath it, stapled neatly, is a printed diagram. A diagram with steps and numbered illustrations. You blink. It's absurd. It's pedantic. It's—

You laugh, quietly, to yourself. "What a nutjob," you mutter under your breath, echoing Jiyoon's words.

And then you catch yourself.

He's paying you. Four hundred dollars. For one day. To clean and to follow instructions. Folding towels properly is not asking too much—not for this kind of money, not for the kind of life you're trying to claw your way toward.

You shake your head, shoulders straightening, and refold every towel in the linen closet with the care of a military cadet. Corners aligned, fold sharp, just the way the diagram instructs.

Once you've checked them twice, you move on. The floors—again. There's always a thin veil of dust on the hardwood, like no one has lived here in years. The glass in the shower, the streaks on the chrome fixtures. You find a guest room with a window cracked just slightly, letting in the city noise below, and you seal it shut.

It's all the same movements as last time. Your body goes through the checklist while your mind wanders, as it always does. Little fragments of poetry rise up behind your eyes. A line about silence that weighs too much, about towels that speak louder than people. You file them away for later.

And like last time, you finish early.

3:26.

You double-check the space. Everything in order. Then you drift toward the single chair by the massive window that overlooks the skyline. The same chair you sat in last time. You pull out your journal, and you start writing.

He left a note about the towels. Said I did it wrong. I guess... he's not what I imagined. There's something almost neurotic about him, but not messy. Not in a Minjae way. It's all too deliberate. He's exacting. Controlled. Still not a trace of him anywhere—not a pair of shoes, not a book out of place. It's like he's trying to erase his presence even though it's so obviously here, breathing under everything.

Your pen hovers, you almost scratch it all out, but you don't.

A soft thud interrupts you. Distant. Upstairs. You freeze, eyes lifting from the page.

Another sound. A voice—muffled. A man's voice, low and smooth, bleeding through the ceiling like the floorboards are too thin to keep him contained.

You can't make out the words, but you hear the timbre. The rhythm.

You write until your hand cramps and the ink starts to skip. At 3:52, you check the time and shut the journal slowly, your gaze drifting out the window for a long moment.

But then... it happens again.

Your eyes flick to the closet door.

Same as last time. Same quiet weight pressing against your chest when you look at it. You don't know what it is about it—just a regular black door, no lock, no sign, nothing particularly ominous—but it nags at you. And before you know it, your legs are moving.

Soft steps across the hardwood. You don't even really make the decision—you just find yourself there, hand on the doorknob, heart ticking unevenly.

It's probably something stupid. Creepy. Like a skeleton, or jars of teeth. A body. It's always the ones who care too much about towel folding who hide people in their walls.

You exhale, slow, and turn the knob.

The door creaks open.

It's dim, a strip of light spilling in over your feet—and then your eyes adjust.

Not bodies. Not bones.

Photos.

Hundreds of them. Pinned to corkboard walls, stacked in boxes, frames leaning against shelves. Posters rolled into rubber-banded scrolls. A trophy case sits in the corner, glass clean, the metal plaques catching the light like little knives.

You blink, stepping in cautiously.

There are certificates. Paper yellowed with age. Borletti-Buitoni Trust Award. First Place—2022. Van Cliburn International Piano Competition 2021. Tchaikovsky Conservatory Excellence Award 2023. All in English, some in Korean, some in French.

You walk along the wall, fingertips brushing the edge of a matte photo. A group picture. A symphony ensemble, maybe. Then another, a candid shot of a teenage boy at a grand piano, his hands hovering above the keys, his brow furrowed like the music is something physical he's trying to catch.

And then another. A close-up this time. His face.

Heeseung.

Your breath catches.

He's younger in these—baby-faced almost—but you want to believe it's him. There's something about his posture, his expression, that quiet intensity even the camera couldn't wash out.

You crouch beside a crate of rolled-up posters and untangle one gently. The paper's dusty, brittle near the corners. When you unroll it, it flutters open across your lap.

A concert poster. The image glossy and faded with time: a sleek black grand piano under a single spotlight. A man sits at it, back straight, head bowed. His name sprawls across the top in elegant serif font:

LEE HEESEUNG

It's signed at the bottom, right across the curve of the piano. —With love, always, LH.

You stare at it for a long moment.

And then... the pieces begin to arrange themselves.

The penthouse. The silence. The exactness. The distance. And now—this.

He must've been a concert pianist.

You blink again, stunned that you'd never heard of him. Someone who'd clearly been celebrated, decorated, known. At some point, at least.

You tuck the poster back carefully and ease the door shut behind you. But the quiet feels different now. Not empty.

The whole bus ride home, your brain won't stop flipping through those images—trophies, posters, photos, that signature on the rolled-up poster. With love, always, LH. You hold it all in your head like puzzle pieces that almost fit, just not quite yet. But there's no mistaking it—the man in the penthouse was someone once.

The apartment smells like garlic and soy sauce when you walk in. You blink at the strange scent, automatically bracing for another fight—but it's quiet. Peaceful, even. The living room light is on, and Jiyoon's perched on the couch still in her stiff black skirt and her knock-off kitten heels, hair pinned up and eyeliner smudged.

"Hey," she says, not looking up from her phone. "Dinner's in the microwave. I made bulgogi."

You pause in the doorway, still blinking, confused. "You cooked?"

She shrugs. "Had a day. Needed to stir something before I murdered someone."

You heat up your plate and sink into the couch beside her, pulling your knees up and balancing the food on top. The meat is tender, warm and sweet, and the rice is just sticky enough.

"So?" she mumbles, mouth full of chips. "How's the nutjob in the tower?"

You laugh, almost choking on rice. "He's not a nutjob."

"Old man, then."

You glance at her. "He's not old."

She raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? And how do you know that?"

You chew slowly, smirking to yourself. "I did his laundry today."

"Oh?" She sits up straighter, grinning. "And what? The briefs don't lie?"

You laugh, snorting, and try to wave her off, cheeks hot. "No, just—his clothes. They weren't... old man clothes."

She gives you the most exaggerated eyebrow wiggle you've ever seen. "Ohhhh. So they were hot man clothes."

"Shut up."

"You want to see what he looks like," she accuses, pointing a chip at you.

You mumble something under your breath, something you don't even realize you've said aloud until she gasps.

"What was that?" she demands. "Tell me. Tell me right now."

You set your plate aside and sink into the couch cushions, eyes on the ceiling. "Okay. Fine. I opened some weird closet in his hallway today"

Her jaw drops.

"And?"

You tell her everything. The photos. The awards. The posters and the certificates. The name. The signature. The signed poster. You recite the words, LEE HEESEUNG.

She blinks. "Wait. Wait wait wait. You mean the dude you clean for is famous?"

"Was," you say softly. "I think he was famous. He was a concert pianist."

There's a beat of silence then she's snatching up her laptop. "What are we doing just sitting here? Let's Google him."

You shift beside her as she types in his name watching it autofill halfway through. She scrolls.

First result: a blurry photo of a younger Heeseung at a concert, fingers splayed on the keys.

Second result: Top 10 Rising Stars of the Classical World.

Third: The Golden Boy of the Grand Piano—Why Lee Heeseung Was Next.

There are photos—clean, posed ones, then live shots of him in motion, bent over the keys, expression contorted like the music is tearing out of him.

"Damn," Jiyoon whispers. "He was hot."

You smack her arm. "Focus."

She scrolls again—and then pauses.

You feel her go still beside you.

Her thumb hovers over the next headline.

Concert Pianist Lee Heeseung Suffers On-Stage Mental Breakdown During Performance.

Your stomach drops. It's dated 2 years ago.

"Holy shit," she whispers.

There's a thumbnail image of the article and beneath it, a video. Your fingers are trembling but you press play anyway.

The video opens on a massive concert hall. Heeseung sits alone at a grand piano under a soft blue spotlight. There's silence—and then music. Soaring, masterful, all-consuming. His fingers move like they're made of air.

He plays so beautifully that you find yourself immersed but then, something shifts.

His hands slow. His face tenses. He mutters something under his breath, eyes wide like he's seeing something the rest of the room can't. Then—

A violent slam of the keys.

The audience flinches.

He starts playing again, erratically, pounding the piano with discordant noise. His head jerks to the side. He mutters again, louder this time. Words you can't make out. Security rushes the stage. The video ends in chaos, with the camera shaking, audience gasping.

You stare at the screen long after it's gone black.

"That's why," you whisper.

Jiyoon nods slowly. "That's why he lives like that now."

Neither of you speak for a long time. There's just the hum of the microwave clock ticking forward, the faint buzz of the fridge, the afterimage of that video burned into your mind.

Heeseung isn't just a recluse. He's a man who was once made of music—and then unraveled by it.

The video plays again in your head when the screen's long since gone black.

Heeseung's face in that last shot—wild and glassy-eyed, haunted—lingers like smoke. Even with the dinner gone and the dishes rinsed, even with the taste of bulgogi faded from your tongue, it clings to your ribs.

Jiyoon breaks the silence first. She sets her laptop down with a sigh and rubs her forehead like she's trying to will away her own stress.

"Anyway," she mutters, "my manager's still a raging bitch."

The shift in topic feels abrupt, like someone slammed the door on something unfinished. You blink and turn your head, trying to meet her halfway.

"She moved my report to a different folder this morning and then cc'd her manager asking where mine was," Jiyoon grumbles, tossing a chip in her mouth. "Like she didn't just put it there herself. I swear she's trying to build a case to get me fired."

You hum a vague sound of sympathy, but your eyes are unfocused. Your thoughts are half in that concert hall, half in that penthouse closet, all tangled up with things that don't make sense yet.

Jiyoon squints at you, crunching slowly. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah," you say, blinking hard. "Sorry. I just..."

"You look tired," she says gently. "Like tired-tired. Go to bed."

You nod. "I will. Just—gonna change first."

She lets you go, and you disappear into your room, clicking the door shut behind you.

The quiet hits fast.

You peel off your jacket, your jeans. Change into your sleep shirt. The light on your desk is soft and yellow, and you go to your tote bag by instinct, unzipping it without thinking.

You freeze.

Your fingers reach the bottom of the bag.

You check again.

Then again.

Your journal's not there.

You turn the bag upside down—shake it, even though you know how pointless it is—and the only thing that falls out is a used lip balm, your wallet and your bus pass.

You drop to your knees beside the desk, rifling through the bag's compartments. Check under your bed. In your drawers. You dig through the laundry pile.

Your breath quickens. Your pulse starts to speed.

A whole year and a half. That's how long you've been writing in that journal. Every scattered thought, every tiny win, every loss, every panic attack, every private daydream. It's not just a notebook—it's you. You wrote yourself into those pages, over and over and you can think is; it's gone.

You dart back into the living room, voice already strained. "Jiyoon—have you seen my journal? The brown one?"

She looks up from her phone, blinking. "Journal? No. Did you leave it at the library?"

You shake your head too fast. "No—I had it with me. I know I had it with me. I wrote in it today, I always put it in the tote after, I—I—"

She sits up straighter. "Okay, hey. Don't panic. Maybe it slipped out on the bus?"

You clutch your arms, stomach turning. The thought of it sitting there in some grimy bus seat, left behind, already flipped through by strangers, your handwriting exposed—your insides exposed—makes you sick.

Your throat tightens.

"Hey," Jiyoon says, getting up now, her voice softer. "It's okay. We'll retrace your steps tomorrow, alright?"

But you're already crying. Not big sobs—just quiet, stunned tears, the kind that sting as they fall, the kind you can't stop once they start.

You laugh bitterly through it, pressing your palm to your mouth. "It's stupid," you mumble. "It's just a journal."

"It's not stupid," Jiyoon says, crossing the room and pulling you into a hug.

You close your eyes. Her office clothes smell like starch and soy sauce and the bad perfume her coworker probably wears, but her arms are warm and solid around you.

Still, your heart aches like something's gone missing.

And somewhere—somewhere else—those pages are no longer just yours.

*•*•*

You don't even realize how much weight you've been dragging until it starts to leave marks—under your eyes, behind your ribs, along your spine.

It's been a whole day without it. Twenty-four hours without your journal and you're already unraveling. Not crying anymore—just dulled out. The kind of sadness that makes everything taste like paper, feel like static.

Jiyoon tried her best. She really did. She even called in sick that morning just to help look. Said her manager could go chew on gravel, she didn't care. She pulled you out of bed, made you drink an iced coffee, and walked with you back to every single place you'd been.

You retraced your steps with her hand on your shoulder the entire time—gentle, like you'd break.

Back to the library. Back to the plaza where you sat for five minutes waiting on the bus. You even got on the same damn route, asked the driver if he'd seen a brown journal with an elastic band and too many taped-in receipts.

Nothing.

Just a kind smile from a man who said he was sorry and wished you luck.

So when Friday comes around—when you have to drag yourself out of bed again for the penthouse job—you feel heavy. Disconnected. You brush your teeth with your eyes half-closed. Tie your laces without bothering to double knot them. You're not crying, not even angry, just—

Faded.

You leave the house a little past nine. Jiyoon waves from the couch but doesn't try to stop you. She knows money talks, even when you're too tired to listen.

You arrive at ten sharp like always. Same hallway, same elevator ding, same code punched into the keypad.

The door opens.

And the stillness inside hits you harder than usual. Not just quiet—vacant. Like the walls themselves are holding their breath.

You don't bother kicking off your shoes this time.

You walk in and turn toward the kitchen to get the supplies—straight to the cabinets under the sink—and that's when you freeze.

There.

On the counter.

Your journal.

You stand still for so long the air starts to pulse in your ears cause it's open. Pages parted like a secret mid-sentence. And the breath that's been caged in your lungs for a whole day catches halfway up your throat.

You move closer. Like if you blink too hard it'll vanish.

It's turned to that entry. The one you wrote after cleaning here the first time—where you wrote about the towels and the light and the strange emptiness of a life lived up high and alone. The part where you called him lonely.

Your eyes track the handwriting in the margin. Small. Neat. Slightly angled.

An arrow is drawn from the word lonely and next to it, in ink that definitely isn't yours:

you have no idea.

Your throat goes dry.

You run your fingertips over the words—his words—like touching them will make them make sense. But they don't. Not really. They just buzz in your chest like something secret and sad and suddenly real.

He read it. He read it.

And not just read it—responded.

You sink into the nearest stool, heart hammering, holding the journal like it might slip away again.

This man—this ghost of a man, the one who hides behind silence and rules and perfectly folded towels—he read you. And then he left this like it wasn't a confession. Like it wasn't a crack in the wall you didn't think you'd ever see.

"You have no idea."

You don't.

But for the first time, you think you want to so you tear a sheet from the back of your journal. The lines are faint blue, the edge ragged where it rips. You stare at it longer than necessary—like the paper's going to change its mind about letting you say what you need to.

Your hand shakes as you write it, "I didn't mean to be invasive, just honest."

You don't sign it.

You fold it in half once, then again. Then you slide it under the coaster on the marble coffee table—tucked, but not hidden. If he wants to find it, he will.

And then you're out the door. Before 4, for the the first time not caring about the rule.

*•*•*

When you get home, Jiyoon's door is locked. You knock once, then try the handle. Still locked. "Jiyoon," you call. "Let me in." Nothing, so you knock harder. When she finally opens it, her hair is a mess and her cheeks are a deep, guilty pink. She looks like she just sprinted a mile and saw God somewhere in the middle of it.

You know what she was doing but you don't care, you just brush right past her and drop your journal on her bed like it's a live grenade.

"He read my fucking journal," you hiss, turning on your heel. "He wrote in it." "What!?" Jiyoon gasps, not even trying to play it cool. "That's where you left it?!"

"I didn't mean to!" "Wait—he wrote in it? Like, wrote wrote? Pen to page?" You nod, pacing like your bones are electric. "He responded to a line I wrote about him being lonely. Just—drew an arrow to it and wrote 'you have no idea.' Like what the fuck is that even supposed to mean!?" "That's—" She stops. Blinks. Then starts again, because of course she has to. "That's kind of hot," she says, lips twitching.

"Jiyoon!" "Okay, okay! It's fucked up, but it's also..." She trails off, thoughtful. "It's kind of giving tortured artist. Haunted tower. Piano-playing ghost with emotional constipation." You flop onto her bed, face buried in your hands. "I feel violated. But also like...I violated him first? Is that weird? I feel like we both got naked and didn't mean to."

"That is the weirdest metaphor you've ever said," Jiyoon mutters, but there's affection under it and you're about to respond but then your phone rings. Shrill and loud against the padded silence of Jiyoon's room. You check the screen and it's Cee. You answer it with a sigh. "Hello?" "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He barks immediately. "Did you leave before 4?" Your stomach drops. "Yes, I did, but—"

"You had clear fucking instructions! You don't leave before 4. Ever."

"I had to. I was done, I—" "I don't give a shit," he snaps. "From now on? You clean for him every day. That's what he wants." You blink. "Every day?"

"Every. Fucking. Day. Starting tomorrow." The line goes dead. You lower the phone slowly and Jiyoon's looking at you like you just told her you're moving to Mars. "You're cleaning for him every day?" You nod, feeling numb. She whistles. "Guess you better start folding towels in your dreams."

You flop back on her bed again, journal beside you, limbs heavy and brain scrambled, because somehow this man has read your secrets, insulted your towel folding, haunted your thoughts and gotten you trapped in a daily cleaning contract. You stare at the ceiling, heart a mess of beats. You truly have no idea what the hell you've gotten yourself into, just like Heeseung wrote.

*•*•*

You hate today. Not in the throwaway I-hate-Mondays kind of way, but in that deep, simmering, "I'd rather get hit by a bus than scrub your already-clean floors for six hours" kind of way. It's Saturday. Saturday. And you're supposed to be doing anything else. Sleeping in. Going to the corner store with Jiyoon in your pajamas. Sitting in silence and mourning the part of yourself that used to be a free woman.

Instead, you're here. The penthouse again. Cold and looming and weirdly beautiful in a way you hate to admit. It's only 9:30. You're early and you could wait. You should wait. But something reckless and slightly unhinged is buzzing in your blood—maybe it's the journal thing, or the fact that he read every single thing you've ever written about yourself. You don't know.

You just know that this time, you're not waiting. You take the elevator up. No code. No warning. Just your footsteps, soft and slow, echoing across the marble as you step into the penthouse and then—you stop. Dead.

Because there's someone already down here, in fact two someones. One of them, you recognize as the man you saw leaving that day—now unmistakably a doctor of some sort, clipboard in hand, every movement clinical and restrained. He's sitting next to another man. A man who's— Oh fuck.

Shirtless.

Barefoot. Wearing only a pair of jeans that hang low on his hips like they're barely there at all. Lee Heeseung, the one on all the pictures and posters in the haunting closet, the one from the articles you saw.He's not a ghost or a shadow upstairs. He's definitely real and he's here, laughing at something he just said, a low warm sound that breaks the silence—and then cuts off the second he sees you.They both stare and you can't help but stare back cause your brain short-circuits because not only is he real—he's gorgeous. Devastatingly beautiful in a way that feels cruel. Sharp jaw, dark hair a mess, skin golden and soft in the morning light and then the audacity of the amused curl of his mouth as he takes you in.

The doctor doesn't laugh at Heeseung's joke, he just closes his clipboard with a hard snap, locks the files into a black case with practiced hands, mutters something clipped to Heeseung, and walks past you like you're air. You don't move, not because you don't want to but because you can't. And now Heeseung just stands there, right in front of you, 6 feet away. Shirtless.

As if this is all some sort of routine, where he expected you to show up early to catch him sitting there. Then he speaks. Voice low, smooth, maddeningly calm. "You're early."

You blink, stunned mute. He cocks his head slightly. Barely.

"Is this how you always barge into my home?" You open your mouth but you have to close it again because no words will come out.Because all you can think is holy shit. Not only is he not old, like Jiyoon said, not only is he not some weird piano hermit ghost—he is breathtaking. And apparently, deeply unbothered by the fact that you've just witnessed whatever strange intimate evaluation that was.

"I—sorry," you finally manage, voice rough to the point of shame. "I didn't think—there was someone—upstairs, usually—" Heeseung raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "You didn't think as I didn't think you'd be here before ten, hmm?" You bristle, flustered and mortified and somewhere under all that, burning. "I'm just here to clean." He smiles at that and it's not kind, it's not mocking either. Just... knowing, he's got that look—the kind that says he's already pages ahead in your journal entry for tonight, already memorized the lines, already knows exactly how this ends.

"Good," he says. "Then clean." And he walks past you—slow, easy, barefoot steps—disappearing back up the stairs without another word. Leaving you there, alone with your rage, your humiliation, and your heart pounding so loud in your chest it echoes in the silence. What do you do now? You clean. Of course you do. That's what you're here for, and you already showed up thirty minutes earlier than you were supposed to, so now you're finishing faster than usual—dusting the shelves with extra care just to stall, organizing the rows of books he never touches, wiping down the marble countertops even though they don't look like they've been used in days.

And all the while your brain won't stop looping back to your journal on his kitchen counter, to the handwriting in the margins that isn't yours, to the arrow pointing right to the word lonely and the quiet weight of you have no idea written beneath it.

It's unfair, you think, the way he's just living in his architectural digest penthouse, barefoot and cryptic, while you're pacing through his living room, trying not to wonder how much of your life he's read. You almost forget the weight of it—almost—until he's suddenly back.

You hear him before you see him, the soft sound of his footsteps against the dark wood floor, and when you turn, there he is.

Coming down the stairs like a fucking problem you can't afford to have, still barefoot, still in those jeans that hang too low on his hips, but now in a loose linen shirt that he didn't even bother to button all the way.

It's distracting, infuriatingly so. You don't even want to think about how hot he is—because it's wrong, and messy, and also, you're still mad.

He sees you before you can pretend you weren't watching him descend like some kind of fallen angel with unresolved trauma, and for a moment, he says nothing. Just stands there at the bottom of the stairs, head tilted slightly, his eyes unreadably deep, like he's trying to pin you to the spot with silence alone.

Then he turns, walks toward the closet in the hallway—the one with the photographs and trophies and that signed, rolled-up poster of his own damn face—and you stare after him without meaning to, without even trying to be subtle. There's something about the way he moves, like someone who hasn't had to explain himself in years, like someone who only speaks when the silence becomes too loud to tolerate.

You don't expect him to come back out and walk straight toward you and you definitely don't expect him to stop right in front of you to speak.

"Do you always sit in my chair when you psychoanalyze me in your journal?" His voice is even, smooth, and just sharp enough to make your jaw clench. There's something teasing in it, mocking maybe, or maybe just observant, but either way—it makes your chest tighten.

You straighten where you sit, looking up at him without flinching. "You had no right to read my journal."

He doesn't flinch either.

"You wouldn't read a strange book you found in your house?"

And that's what throws you—how casual he says it, how unbothered he is by the violation, like it was never that serious to begin with.

In your head, you're screaming. Not because you're scared, but because it's almost worse that he read it without hesitation. Because that journal was yours, it was everything. A year and a half of pain and boredom and loneliness and softness and tiny bursts of joy that you didn't know where else to put. Little poems about love you've never felt. Sentences that barely made sense to you at the time. Half-finished stories and full-bodied grief. And now he knows. Maybe not all of it—but enough.

You bite your tongue before your mouth runs wild, but your thoughts are already racing.

He read it. He read all of it, probably. God, did he see the poem you wrote about the boy who only existed in your dreams? Did he read the list of things you want to do before you die? Did he see the part about wanting someone to ask you how your day was, without needing a reason?

You want to be mad. You are mad. But under that is the hot sting of embarrassment, the helplessness of being seen without warning, without consent.

He's still watching you, expression still unreadable.

You blink hard. "It wasn't for you."

"I figured."

You exhale sharply through your nose. "Then why did you—"

He cuts you off without cutting you off. His voice is softer this time. "I found your note."

That makes your stomach turn.

You remember the note. I didn't mean to be invasive, just honest.

You didn't even think when you left it. You just wrote it and ran. And now he's standing here, bare feet planted firmly on the floor, chest half-exposed, staring at you like your truth didn't scare him off at all.

"I don't think you're invasive," he says. "You were just... honest, like you said."

That word again.

And suddenly you're not sure what this is anymore—what he is. Because he's not yelling. He's not smug. You don't even think he's trying to humiliate you, he's just standing there, calm, casual—as if this is routine, as if your journal wasn't a goddamn blueprint of everything you never said out loud. As if he didn't drag his pen under the word lonely and scrawl you have no idea in the margins, careless, cruel, and so absurdly calm about it.

You really don't know what to say but you guess your silence must say enough, because his eyes soften just enough to sting.

"People don't usually stay when I'm honest," He says it like it's already written in stone, something that happened, not something he's choosing.

You just sit there, unsure if you're still furious or if your heart just broke a little for a man you don't understand at all.

You really want to ask him why he wrote in your journal, why he felt comfortable enough to reply to it like you were in some kind of conversation. You should get up and walk out, slam the door for good measure, remind him you're the help and he's a man who's too comfortable living above the rest of the world, shirtless and half-smiling at things that should have been private. But instead, you're still sitting there.

And instead of leaving, you ask, "What's with the whole coming at ten and leaving at four thing?"

He blinks.

It's not the question he expected, maybe not the one you expected either, but it's already out in the air now and hanging between you like mist.

He exhales through his nose, shifting his weight slightly as he leans a hip against the back of the chair across from you. You watch the movement—too closely—and hate how your eyes keep catching on the little things: the curve of his collarbone, the faint line of a vein down his forearm, the way he smells faintly like vanilla and clean linen. You force your gaze back up to his face.

He doesn't answer right away.

Then, after a moment, he says, "I just thought six hours was enough time for you to do what you needed."

It's almost clipped, controlled.

"And..." He pauses, eyes flicking to the side, as if choosing his next words carefully. "It's better for you if you follow it."

You blink. "What do you mean better for me?"

He shrugs one shoulder, nonchalant but not exactly casual. "You walked in on something you weren't supposed to see this morning."

Your mind flashes back to that moment—the doctor, the manilla folders, the way Heeseung was sitting on the chair laughing to himself with no shirt on and then suddenly not laughing at all.

Your throat feels a little dry.

"You mean the doctor?" you ask carefully.

He nods once. "Yeah." Then, quieter, "There are... things I deal with. Things I don't need anyone witnessing."

It's not quite a warning. Not quite a confession either. It floats in the space between.

You shift in your seat, uncertain. "So the schedule is more for... your privacy?"

He lets out a sound that's almost a laugh but not quite, low and humorless. "Sure. Let's go with that."

There's something in the way he says it that tells you he doesn't really mean it—not entirely. Like there's more he could say if he wanted to, but he doesn't.

Still, you nod slowly, even though you don't really understand. Even though the idea of spending six hours in a place that holds your most personal words hostage is suffocating.

Even though his presence is starting to feel... electric in the worst and best way.

And then, after a beat, you ask softly, "And what happens if I don't follow it?"

He looks at you.

Really looks at you.

And for a second, something shifts. The air between you turns thicker, heavier. You can feel his eyes like heat on your skin.

"I don't think you'd want to find out," he says, voice low and quiet, but not threatening. Just true.

And you believe him.

Not because you think he'd hurt you. But because there are some parts of him—some stories, some shadows—you haven't earned the right to touch yet.

You don't answer.

You just hold his gaze until it feels like it burns and then drop your eyes to your hands and stand up to walk away, walk towards the door

He straightens then, subtly, pushing off from the chair like the moment's passed. You don't know if you're relieved or disappointed.

"Of course a person as beautiful as you would write so heartbreakingly beautiful." It's low. Almost to himself. Like he didn't mean to say it aloud.

But you hear it.

And it feels like your ribcage cracks clean in half.

You turn—just slightly, just enough to look at him over your shoulder. He's not even watching you. He's looking down at the floor, one hand resting loosely on the back of the chair like he hadn't just broken you open and left you bleeding all over his expensive floors.

"What did you ju—" you almost ask but he's already cutting you off. "You're done for the day, right?"

You barely nod, fully facing him now, bewildered.

"Then you should go."

You turn around and walk slowly, legs a little stiff, journal heavy in your bag, chest heavier still.

And as you move past him, toward the front door, he doesn't say anything else.

He just watches you go.

You walk home like your body isn't yours, it feels like your bones are made of sound, the way you hear everything but can't feel a single step. Your bag is even heavier than it should be for some reason.

The door to your apartment creaks as you open it. Warmth hits you in the face. Jiyoon's music is loud—some upbeat synth-pop song she always plays when she's cooking—and the smell of garlic and oil and something spicy wraps around you like a familiar blanket. But you don't step in right away. You stand in the doorway a little too long, still wearing your shoes, still holding your keys in one hand like you forgot what they're for.

Then she turns. She sees you.

And she freezes.

The music doesn't. But she grabs her phone and hits pause mid-chorus, eyebrows already pulled together in the way they do when she's bracing herself for gossip. "You look... feral."

You blink. "What?"

"Your face," she says, pointing a wooden spoon at you. "It's giving war-torn romantic heroine. What happened?"

You close the door behind you. You walk inside. You don't know where to begin.

So you say the first thing that spills from your mouth.

"I saw him."

She doesn't need clarification. "Him?"

You nod.

"Lee Heeseung?"

You nod again.

She gasps so loud the spoon hits the floor.

You don't laugh. You can't.

"He was shirtless," you add quietly, like it's something illegal.

Jiyoon makes a noise so high-pitched only the dead could hear it.

"No. No. No," she says, rushing over and grabbing both your arms like she's checking for a pulse. "You have to tell me everything. And I mean everything. Did he talk to you? Did he breathe near you? Did he smell good? Does he look weird? Did you black out? Are you still alive? Blink twice if you need CPR."

You let out a long breath, barely a laugh. "He was laughing with some man. A doctor, I think. He was barefoot. Just jeans, low. He didn't even look at me at first. Just kind of... existed."

You don't realize how tightly you're gripping the edge of the counter until your knuckles start to ache.

"Then he did see me later when he came back down, I was sitting. In that chair I said I always journal in. And he just... stared. Then he disappeared into that hallway closet with all the photos and came back out without something, and I watched him the whole time like a creep." Jiyoon looks winded. "This is already the best thing I've ever heard."

"He asked me if I always sit in his chair when I psychoanalyze him in my journal." Her eyes explode. "No."

You nod. "Yes."

"What did you say?"

"I told him he had no right to read it."

"Did he deny it?" You shake your head slowly. "He said—and I quote—'you wouldn't read a strange book you found in your house?'" Jiyoon puts her whole body on the counter, like gravity's too much. "This is sick. This is sick. I can't believe you're living out the plot of the exact kind of emotionally unstable literature you always say you hate." You let your head fall next to hers. "I'm going to have to switch some of my classes."

She lifts her face, blinking. "Wait, what?"

"I can't keep going in the mornings. Not if I'm cleaning for him every day. The only opening left in my schedule is evening sections and some online ones, and I'll probably miss my favorite professors class."

"You love that class."

"I know."

"I don't know if you can tell but you're kind of acting like it's worth it"

*•*•*

You wake up feeling weirdly... eager. Which is insane in your opinion. It's cleaning. You're going to clean for six hours in a house where the walls are silent and the air feels kind of tight, and maybe—maybe—he'll come down again. Maybe he won't. You tell yourself it doesn't matter. You dress in your usual oversized tee and leggings, but you switch your sneakers for the cleaner pair, the ones without scuff marks. You spend longer on your face than necessary. Just moisturizer, a little concealer—nothing obvious. Just in case. You tell yourself it's just habit. You tell yourself a lot of things.

You get there at 9:57. By 10:02, your coat is hung up and the cleaning supplies are laid out in their usual corners. The house is quiet—same as always—but now it's a different kind of quiet. Now you know who it's holding and it makes you all irrationally aware of everything.

You start with the mirrors.

Not because they're dirty. They're not.

But because they reflect the hallway, and every time you glance up, you can see the top of the stairs.

By 11:17, you've vacuumed every rug on the main floor. Nothing.

By 12:04, you've re-organized the kitchen drawers. Again. Not that he'd notice. You don't even know if he uses them.

By 12:58, you're dusting frames that don't need dusting, glancing at the ceiling like footsteps might fall out of it.

By 1:45, you've convinced yourself he's not coming down. That yesterday was a one-off. That he's upstairs doing whatever rich, complicated people do—brooding maybe, like some Austenian shut-in. You try to laugh at yourself for even caring but it sits low in your chest. He's just a man, you only even met him once.

So why does it feel this weird? You're so distracted you almost forget to check the pantry. You always check the pantry. And when you finally do, you find it's already been stocked. Someone else did it.

Maybe him.

Your stomach turns and don't know why. By 3:50, you're packing your things, fingers slow on the zipper of your bag. By 3:56, you're glancing around the room like it might give you a reason to stay longer. By 3:58, you hear it.

Footsteps that make you freeze. And there he is.

Heeseung. Descending the stairs like it's nothing. Like he didn't make you wait all day without knowing you were waiting. He's wearing another linen shirt—this one in charcoal—and it's loose over his frame, the top two buttons undone. His hair is a little messy, like he's been lying down or pulling his fingers through it and, he's barefoot again. He smiles.

"Hey," he says, voice warm in that slow, easy way. "You're still here." You swallow. "Not for long."

He steps down the last stair. "How was your day?" You blink at him. It takes a second for your voice to catch up. "I spent it here. You tell me." His brows lift a little. Not offended—more amused. He shifts his weight and leans against the banister.

"I missed my favorite class."

"You're a student? And you missed a class? Because of this?" You glance down at your hands. They're still a little red from scrubbing tile. "Yeah."

He's quiet for a second. "Have you had dinner?" You start to say no—but your stomach betrays you before your mouth can lie. It growls. Audibly. Your eyes go wide and he laughs at your expression. "Sit," he says, already turning toward the kitchen. "I'll make something."

You blink. "What? No, that's not—" He turns to look at you over his shoulder. "Sit." And there's something in the way he says it that has you obeying, hesitantly still. The counter's cool beneath your palms as you lower yourself into the chair, eyes tracking his every movement. He moves so naturally in the kitchen—opens the fridge with one hand, pulls down a skillet with the other, all casual familiarity and soft clattering sounds. It smells like garlic again. Butter. Something fresh.

"What are you making?" you ask.

He shrugs. "Something edible. Hopefully."

Heeseung's cutting vegetables like he's done it a thousand times. He slices a tomato without looking down, throws it into a pan, then adds something else from a jar. The sizzle is instant.

You lean forward. "Do you cook for all your maids?"

He pauses, halfway to the sink. Then he glances at you, a slow grin spreading across his mouth. "You're barely a maid."

"Excuse me?"

He shrugs again, that same lazy charm. "Have you seen the state of the guest bathroom?"

You laugh—actually laugh, the sound startling even to you but you catch yourself wondering why you're not offended he just insulted your cleaning skills. You watch his smile grow wider and somehow, in the scent of sautéing herbs and low music playing from the speaker he must've turned on when you weren't looking, it feels normal. Almost. Except not at all. Because when he sets the plate down in front of you, you look up to thank him—and he's already watching you. Eyes soft and focused.

And for the first time all day, your chest doesn't feel so tight.

You dig in and it's stupidly delicious, making your eyes go wide again, mouth still full. "Okay.

That's insane."

Heeseung chuckles, taking a bite of his own.

You point your fork at him. "You made this? Just now?"

He nods, watching you intently. It doesn't take long before the plates are empty—yours cleaned down to the sauce, his barely touched—and there's music playing from somewhere in the house, something soft and unfamiliar, all instrumentals and quiet piano.

You're both still sitting at the counter, opposite ends, your elbows propped up, legs curled beneath the stool. He's lounging with his long body twisted toward you, shirt sleeves rolled up, one hand holding a wine glass he hasn't taken a sip from yet.

The conversation has slowed into something looser now—easier. He asked what books you've been reading lately. You asked if he's always this good at cooking. He pretended to be modest and then very much wasn't.

And then you ask, "Why every day?"

He looks at you. "Why did you suddenly want me to come clean every day?" There's a beat of silence. Heeseung's gaze drops to the rim of his glass, the edge of his thumb skimming around it once, twice.

"When I saw your note," he says finally, voice lower now, "I didn't know what to do with it." He lifts his eyes, meets yours.

"I knew you weren't going to come again until the day after next. And it made me... restless. Waiting for a reply. Not being able to ask."

You inhale, slow and careful.

"And then I read your journal."

You stiffen a little, but he doesn't apologize. He doesn't even flinch.

"I didn't read all of it," he adds, leaning forward, closer. "I swear. Just some pages. A few entries. And one poem."

You stare at him.

He sets the glass down. Both elbows on the counter now. His fingers lace together.

"I read this line—" he begins, eyes on yours, "Your silence filled the house louder than your voice ever did."

You're stunned like your brain can't comprehend he's reciting your poem word for word.

He doesn't even blink. "I memorized the gaps in your sentences like scripture. I waited for the ending, but all you left was air."

Your mouth opens—just barely—but you can't speak.

"There's still a teacup on the windowsill. There's still a sweater on the hook. There's still a ghost in the shape of you that lives in the room where you never said goodbye."

You whisper the final two lines without thinking.

"And I still set the table for two, like a fool. Like you might remember that you left me starving."

His lips part—just slightly. Your voice had gone soft at the end, cracking a little, like it didn't want to be said out loud. And maybe it didn't. Maybe it never was.

You didn't even think it was that good. You wrote it half-asleep. You'd forgotten you even. "I needed to know," he says, not looking away, "who could write something like that."

You're quiet for a long time. "You shouldn't have read it."

"I know."

"I didn't write it for anyone to—"

"I know," he says again, voice quiet now. "But I couldn't help it. I wanted to meet the person behind it. I wanted to see if you'd look at me the way your words did."

The room is suddenly very still.

You don't know what to say. You don't know if there's even language for the way your body is reacting. There's heat in your throat, under your skin, behind your ribs. You should leave. You really should but instead you ask, "Do I?"

His brow creases. "Do you what?"

"Do I look at you that way?"

He doesn't answer your question, not with words anyway. Just studies you with that same unreadable stare, something flickering behind his eyes that makes it hard to breathe.

And then, as if someone's pressed fast-forward on the moment, he shifts his weight back and clears his throat softly. "Do you play any instruments?" he asks, voice casual, like he didn't just memorize one of the most vulnerable things you've ever written.

You blink. "What?"

He shrugs, gaze dropping to the counter. "You write. I assumed you like music."

"I do," you say carefully. "I like listening more than anything. I used to sing."

He hums, smiling faintly. "Used to?"

You sigh, deflecting. "It's different when people are watching. When you're older. The recorder was more forgiving."

That gets a real laugh out of him. He tilts his head, grinning. "The recorder?"

"Yes, and I was a prodigy. First chair in third grade." You press a hand to your chest dramatically. "The youngest to ever play Hot Cross Buns with such emotional depth."

He snorts and leans closer like he's about to say something else, but the next thing you know, he's not across the counter anymore—he's beside you.

You don't know exactly when he moved, maybe it was when he stood up from the stool to put the plates in the sink, still laughing about the recorder joke.

His elbow brushes yours. His shoulder is an inch from yours. You feel his presence like heat—radiating and dangerous in the best possible way.

And somehow, you're still laughing. You're still talking about childhood instruments and music you like and whether jazz is romantic or just sad in a pretty way. He teases you for not knowing any Miles Davis and you tease him back for quoting poetry like a teenage girl with a Tumblr account.

It's light. Easy. It's so different from the static in the air earlier this week, from the careful distance you both tried to maintain. But now...

Now his hand brushes the counter beside yours. And your breathing changes. And the silence feels like a held breath.

You don't look at each other—you're still talking, kind of. But your voices are softer now. Lower. A little slower.

And then it happens.

Your eyes meet.

His face tilts just slightly toward yours, making your breath catch.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you and doesn't. His eyes drop to your lips. He leans in, just a little—just enough that the space between you crackles—and you feel yourself tilting too, breath hitching, mouth parting.

And then he pulls back, all too quick and 

sudden. He clears his throat, looks away, stepping back so abruptly he almost knocks over the stool that was next to you.

You flinch at the sound.

"I—" he starts, then shakes his head, jaw tight. "You should go."

Your stomach drops.

"I didn't mean to—" he breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't have to come tomorrow. Go to your class. I'll tell your manager."

You stay frozen for a second, eyes wide, lips still tingling with something that didn't happen.

And then you nod, slow. Trying not to show how much you're shaking. "Okay."

He doesn't say anything else.

You leave quietly.

But your pulse pounds in your ears all the way home and in the haze of it all you don't take the bus home.

You don't want the rush of it—the closed windows and stale air and elbows brushing yours. You want air, real air, the kind that cools your skin and cuts through the confusion curling heavy in your chest. The heels of your sneakers hit the sidewalk harder than usual. You don't notice until your toes ache.

You can still feel it. The almost of his mouth on yours. His voice whispering poetry that used to belong to no one but you. The way he looked at you right before he pulled back—like he could drown and not care.

You don't realize how far you've walked until your phone rings, sharp in the quiet. You check the screen and it's Cee. You sigh, thumb swiping across the glass.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Where are you right now?"

You blink. "Uh... on my way home. I finished cleaning—he told me not to come tomorrow, so—"

"Yeah, well, change of plans," he cuts in, voice tight, clipped. "He called. Wants you in tomorrow."

You stop walking. "What?"

"That's what I said. Twenty minutes ago, he told me you weren't coming. Five minutes ago, he said make sure you do."

Your grip tightens around your phone. You glance down at the pavement, cracked and worn, your shadow stretched long in the streetlight. "That... doesn't make sense."

"Welcome to my fucking week."

You don't know what to say. You try to remember exactly how he said it. You don't have to come tomorrow. You can take your class.

He said it like a kindness. Like a favor.

Or maybe—maybe it was a trick. A test. Maybe you failed.

The line is quiet for a moment. Then, softer—softer than you're used to from him, like he has to chew it first before he can let it out—your manager says:

"Hey. Is everything okay over there?"

Your breath catches.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." A pause. "He hasn't done anything weird, right? Or tried something? You'd tell me, yeah?"

You blink again, hard. It feels like stepping off a curb you didn't see. Your lips part, your heart kicks—because no, he hasn't. But he almost did and you're starting to think maybe it would've been fine if he did. Maybe it would've been more than fine.

"No," you say quickly. "Nothing like that. He's... he's not like that."

"You sure?"

"Yes." You don't hesitate. "I don't want to quit."

There's silence on the line. You can hear him exhale.

"Alright," he says finally. "You're there again at ten. Don't be late."

You nod, even though he can't see you. "Okay."

He hangs up.

You just stand there. A low breeze rustles through the trees, brushes cool fingers against your neck.

He asked for you. After almost kissing you and pulling away—after telling you not to come tomorrow—he called and asked for you. Your pulse flickers hot beneath your skin as your mind raced with questions.

Was he testing you?

Did he think you wouldn't come back?

You suddenly realize your mouth is dry, your throat tight. The stars feel too bright above you. Your phone buzzes in your palm, a silent reminder that something has shifted, again.

And for better or worse, you'll be seeing him tomorrow.

You don't even bother to take your shoes off when you get in the door.

The front door slams behind you harder than you mean it to, and Jiyoon—sweet, perceptive, too-curious Jiyoon—is immediately shouting from the kitchen, "Is that you? Are you okay? You've been gone forever, I was about to—"

"I'm fine!" you yell back, already halfway down the hall. Your voice cracks halfway through the word. You don't even try to fix it.

"Wait—" Jiyoon appears around the corner, wooden spoon still in hand, some ridiculous song playing from the speaker behind her. "Wait, wait, what happened? Did you see him again?"

You keep walking.

"Did he—?"

"I'm fine," you repeat, softer this time but not gentler. "He said I don't have to come in tomorrow, so I'll probably go to my class."

"Oh my god, what does that mean?" she laughs, stepping after you. "Did you finally tell him off or did he—?"

"I'm tired, Jiyoon," you mumble, hand on your doorknob. "So tired."

She crosses her arms. "You look like you just made out with someone in a Jane Austen novel."

Your face goes hot.

"I love you," you say, deadpan. "But I need to be alone right now."

She gasps dramatically, "You're hiding something! You always say I love you when you're hiding something—"

You shut the door in her face.

Lock it.

Lean back against it.

Your heart is still thudding too loud in your ears.

You sink down to the floor, journal already in your hands before you even realize you've moved. Your fingers tremble when you unscrew the cap of your pen. You press it to the page.

And for a moment, you just sit there, not even writing.

Just breathing.

You write, He said I write beautifully.

Then, slower, He said he felt restless about not getting a response.

And then, He pulled away.

The ink smudges beneath your fingers. You don't wipe it away. You just keep writing, your handwriting more frantic than usual, trailing across the page in swooping spirals and crooked curves. You write about the way he looked at you—so real and intense it felt like it burned. About how close he was, how you could feel the heat of him.

About the poem.

How he remembered every word.

How you finished it together.

And when you're done, you stare at the page—like maybe it'll give you answers. Like maybe it'll tell you what it means when a man like Heeseung tells you not to come, then calls your manager like he can't bear not seeing you.

You close your journal.

And press it to your chest.

You crawl into bed, still in your jeans, feet hanging off the edge, journal clutched to your chest like a heartbeat you don't trust to stay steady on its own.

It takes everything in you to peel yourself away, toss the journal aside, and dig out your laptop from where it's tangled in yesterday's laundry on the floor. You log into your evening class with exactly thirty seconds to spare, camera off, mic muted, chin propped against the heel of your palm.

The professor's voice starts droning through your headphones—soft, monotone, familiar—and for a second you think maybe you can do this.

And then your eyelids get heavy.

You blink hard.

You scribble your name into the attendance chat and pretend like you're absorbing something, anything, while your mind floats right back to—

That linen shirt hanging open just enough to see his collarbones. His voice, low and steady, reciting your words back to you like scripture. The smell of garlic and rosemary from his cooking still clinging to your hair. The way he moved closer without you even realizing. The moment before the kiss that never happened—the way your heart caught on the edge of it.

You shake your head violently, try to refocus. The slide on your screen says something about semiotic theory. You don't know what that means. You don't care what that means.

You're so screwed.

Your professor's voice fades into a low buzz, and you press your palm to your cheek harder, like maybe pressure can keep you conscious. It can't.

The laptop screen glares into your face. The chat scrolls with questions you don't have the energy to fake-read. You close your eyes just for a second.

You tell yourself it's only for a second.

Just one.

Just—

You jolt awake six minutes later to your professor asking, "And how might this apply to authorial intent, Y/N?"

You blink, brain empty.

You type in the chat: Sorry, my mic's not working.

And you thank every god that ever existed for mute buttons.

*•*•*

You find yourself hovering just outside the penthouse door, hesitating.

Your fingers are curled in a loose fist, suspended midair like they've forgotten how to move. You've stood in this exact spot every day for about a week now, but this time—this time you're unsure. The same polished floor under your shoes, the same towering door with its sleek gold handle and silent weight, but something about today feels different. You feel different.

You almost turn around.

Almost.

But then—voices. Muffled, low but distinct, curling around the edges of the thick door.

You lean in without meaning to, breath held as if your body knows this is a moment you're not meant to be part of. You recognize his voice first, Heeseung's—light, teasing, a tone you've come to know well, though it still unsettles you how easily it affects you. The other voice is lower, older maybe, with clipped words and a sternness that makes your stomach tighten. It must be the doctor from the other day.

"No," the doctor says, firm and quiet. "Now isn't the time to have a new person around every day. You know that."

There's a pause. You hear something creak—maybe a chair.

"It's fine," Heeseung replies, far too casually. "Nothing's happened. She's just cleaning. It's fine."

"She's not just cleaning."

There's silence. A long one. And then—Heeseung's voice again, softer. "Maybe she's good for me."

You freeze. You don't know what they're talking about exactly, not in full, but the heat that rushes to your face is impossible to fight. Good for him? What the hell does that mean? And why does it make your chest feel like it's caving in? Before you can hear anything else, the door swings open, making you stumble back just in time, blinking up at the man who steps through—tall, with sharp eyes that land on you and skim over every inch of your body like you're being scanned. He doesn't say hello, he doesn't smile just like last time. Instead, he mutters something—so low you barely catch it but the edge is there, sharp enough to wound. Something about "distractions" and "too young" and "another mistake."

You step aside without responding, your mouth suddenly too dry to speak. He walks past you with a slight shake of his head and a long sigh, like your very existence is a burden.

And then—

"Didn't think you'd come."

You turn back around.

Heeseung's standing in the doorway, barefoot again, hair still damp like he just showered, dressed in a loose gray shirt and soft black pants that cling to his hips in a way that makes your head fog. He's smiling—nothing too wide, just soft, like a secret meant only for you. Like he's genuinely happy to see you.

You open your mouth to say something, anything—but he's already speaking again.

"About yesterday," he says, stepping aside so you can walk in. "I'm sorry. I overstepped."

And the whiplash? It's instant. Because wasn't he the one who told you not to come today? All quiet and serious and guilt-stricken after nearly kissing you in his kitchen? Now he's soft again, familiar again, and it throws you completely off.

"You don't need to apologize," you say quickly, almost defensively, as you walk inside.

"I do," he says, just as fast. "I really—"

"No, Heeseung." You stop and turn to face him, heart in your throat. "You really don't need to apologize."

He opens his mouth again, brows furrowing, about to insist—but your voice cuts through the air before you can stop yourself.

Quiet. Barely a whisper.

"You didn't have to stop either."

Silence, all heavy and immediate. Heeseung just stares at you. Still and looking stunned. His lips parted like he wants to speak but the words haven't caught up to his brain. His eyes search your face slowly, like he's not sure if he heard you right—or if you meant to say it out loud.

And maybe you didn't.

But you did.

And there's no taking it back.

The door clicks shut behind you before you can even remember stepping inside.

Heeseung doesn't move at first. Just stares at you like he's not entirely sure you're real. Like maybe he conjured you up somehow. His eyes stay on your mouth a little too long, and you try not to notice the way his chest rises and falls, slow and controlled, as if he's reminding himself how to breathe.

Then you say it again. Softer this time.

"You didn't have to stop."

It hangs in the air between you. Heavy, reckless and unapologetic.

Heeseung blinks once. His expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes shutters. He exhales through his nose—shaky—and drags a hand through his hair, the curls still slightly messy from sleep or stress or something in between.

"That's inappropriate," he says, not unkindly. More like he's trying to draw a boundary he doesn't even believe in.

And the words sting. Maybe more than they should. Maybe because you were just beginning to feel something real stirring between the two of you—something outside of your job, your journal, your blurring lines. You freeze. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out at first, and it's too late anyway. He's already turning from you.

The confused hurt in your eyes stops him in his tracks, but only for a second. He looks back at you—and really looks. Something passes behind his eyes, quiet and aching. Regret maybe or worse, restraint. You watch his jaw flex, as if he's chewing on something bitter, swallowing all the things he'll never allow himself to say.

Then he's stepping away. A slow, deliberate retreat. His footsteps are soft against the stairs as he disappears up them without another word.

And just like that, you're alone. Again.

The silence is incredibly deafening.

Your hands are still trembling.

They have been ever since you left his place. You could barely wipe the kitchen counters without your fingers missing the edge. The dishes were spotless before you even realized you'd scrubbed them twice. Your head was everywhere but here, rerunning that moment—that look in his eyes, the cold withdrawal of his body after your quiet, desperate confession.

And he never came back down.

You didn't know what you expected, but it wasn't this.

The day drags, and when the clock finally blinks 4:00, you practically flee. Your phone's already to your ear by the time you hit the elevator.

"I can't do this anymore," you say as soon as Cee picks up.

He sounds startled. "Do what? Are you—what happened? Are you okay?"

"Nothing happened. I just—" You press your fingers to your temple. The weight of everything suddenly lands all at once. "I don't want to clean for him anymore."

He's quiet for a second. Then, softer, "Did he do something?"

"No. I just..." You sigh. "It's better this way."

And you think that's the end of it.

But the second you step into the building's reception, the front desk clerk—neatly pressed shirt, neutral expression, his name tag slightly askew—glances up from his computer. "Miss," he says, "Mr. Lee is asking for you upstairs."

You freeze.

Your mouth goes dry. "I—I was just up there."

He nods once, polite. "He asked me to let you know."

You hesitate.

Everything inside you says don't go. That this is how it always begins—with soft invitations and good intentions and doors that don't close fast enough behind you.

But your feet are already moving.

The elevator ride is silent, save the rush of your pulse in your ears. And when you push the door open, Heeseung is there, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. Waiting.

You can't read his expression.

"I figured you'd quit," he says. Not accusing. Not even upset. Just matter-of-fact, like he'd already prepared for it.

"I am," you say. "I think it's for the best."

There's a beat.

"I don't want that."

You scoff before you can help it, stepping inside, letting the door close behind you with a soft hiss. "I'm not even sure you know what you want."

You don't even realize you're walking until you're standing in front of him, so close you could count the lashes framing his eyes if you weren't too scared to look directly into them. There's something in his face—some falter in his composure—that makes your chest feel too tight.

He doesn't move.

So you do.

Your fingers curl into fists at your sides, your heart hammers, and then—you're kissing him.

It's a mess of a thing. Sudden. Brash. Tipped forward on hope and recklessness. Your lips crash into his like a question you don't want answered and—

Nothing.

He doesn't move.

Your lips are on his, but he's frozen. Unresponsive.

The rejection burns so fast it chokes you, and you start to pull back, humiliated—but something in you makes you whisper to him, "Please," you almost sound broken. "Please kiss me back, Heeseung."

That's all it takes.

The air leaves his lungs like he's been sucker-punched. His hands are on your face instantly, his mouth catching yours like he's been starving for it. Like the moment he tasted you, he remembered how badly he wanted.

And this time, he answers the question

His mouth is on yours like he's finally allowed himself to breathe. You're not sure who moves first after that—him or you—but the space between you disappears completely. His hands are in your hair, on your waist, gripping your hips like he needs the reminder that you're real and here and kissing him back just as desperately.

And when he pulls away to look at you—face flushed, eyes dark and confused—you whisper again, barely audible, "Heeseung..."

That does it for him because you can swear you see the moment something in him breaks. Suddenly he's not hesitating anymore, like the sound of your voice cracked through whatever restraint he'd been clinging to, and now it was all unraveling.

He's swallowing the soft sounds you make, capturing every gasp, every whimper, like he needs to devour them, and his mouth is hot and insistent as it trails down your jaw, your neck, his teeth grazing the delicate skin like he's trying to mark the moment there.

You gasp when he lifts you without warning, your thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your arms around his neck. You can feel his heartbeat through his shirt. It's erratic—wild—matching yours nearly beat for beat.

He sets you down on the kitchen counter like you weigh nothing, the cool marble biting at the backs of your thighs through your jeans. His lips return to yours before they begin their descent again, brushing over your collarbone, down the slope of your chest. His fingers find the hem of your top and pause, glancing up, breath hitching.

You nod.

That's all he needs.

He peels it off gently—too gently for the look in his eyes—and when your bra joins the growing pile of fabric, he's silent for a second. Just watching you. Then he exhales something like a curse and leans in, pressing slow, reverent kisses down your sternum, the curve of your breasts, dragging his teeth lightly, sucking your nipple into his mouth, making you shiver and arch into him.

Every time you whimper, he presses closer.

Every time you moan, he groans softly against your skin, like your sounds undo him.

And just when you think your legs might give out from how tightly your body is wound, he lifts you again. Not onto the floor—but down, off the counter, and turns you gently, pressing you forward. You gasp softly as your hands meet the marble again, your heart stuttering.

Your jeans are tugged down with unhurried hands. Your underwear follows. You're so exposed. Breathless. And behind you, Heeseung lets out a shaky breath that sounds almost like a prayer.

One of his hands smooths over your lower back. The other grips your hip. "God forgive me," he whispers.

You don't know how to stay quiet—not when his mouth is trailing behind you, kissing the backs of your thighs, the curve of you, everywhere—and when he finally leans in, when you feel the first sweep of his tongue, your entire body jolts forward like he's short-circuited something deep inside you.

"Heeseung—" It leaves your mouth like a sob.

He groans in response, tightening his grip around your thighs, but his pace doesn't falter.

And all you can do is press your cheek against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut, biting down on your own hand as he ruins you slowly.

Intimately.

He watches you unravel with so much intensity from beneath you, it's like he's trying to imprint every detail into memory. His tongue maps out every inch of you, teasing and tasting places you never realized could make you feel this way—until he finds your clit again. Instinct takes over; your hips roll down against his mouth, and he responds with a low hum, gripping your thighs to hold them open just enough to tilt his head and drag his tongue lower once more. "Spread your legs for me baby" He whispers it in a way that has you thinking you'll do anything he says, as long as he says it in that voice.

Suddenly and surprisingly, he shoves his tongue deep inside you while using his fingers to rub tight circles against your clit. "Hee—Ah!" You're moaning and whimpering so uncontrollably, the whole thing has your legs trembling where you're stood. You're convinced if he wasn't holding you up himself you'll collapse from the pleasure and pressure of it all.

His tongue is incredibly relentless, slurping you up, not even caring that he's drooling down his chin with your essence, "Wait! W-Wait!" You cry out suddenly.

"What? What? What's wrong? Did I hu—" His words cut through to you as he gets up off his knees where he was, but you're cutting him off and pulling him for another deep kiss, hopping yourself up on the counter again. Heeseung kisses you back like he's starving—like you're the first thing he's ever been allowed to want.

Your hands are in motion before you can think. Clumsy, eager, pulling his shirt halfway out from where it's tucked into his sweats, feeling the heat of his stomach beneath your palms. You moan into his mouth and his hands squeeze your thighs in response, hard enough to leave a mark.

He doesn't stop you when your fingers find the waistband of his sweatpants. If anything, he kisses you harder. His tongue sweeps into your mouth like he owns it—owns you—and you're letting him. Begging for more.

Your hands are shaking when you fumble at the button of his slacks, but you manage to get it undone, your fingers brushing the trail of skin that dips below the waistband. Heeseung lets out a sharp, broken sound against your mouth—fuck—his head tipping forward, forehead resting against yours as you palm him through the fabric.

You weren't ready for how hard and heavy he would be in your hand. It was like the length of him just went on and on.

You feel the twitch beneath your palm and gasp, and his breath stutters like he's seconds from losing it.

"Jesus—" heeseung grits, his voice deep and wrecked. His head tips back, neck exposed, throat bobbing, you've never seen someone come undone like this.

He's panting now, hips shifting forward like he needs the friction, like your hand is the only thing anchoring him.

"Is this okay?" you whisper, breathless, your voice barely steady as you trace him again, bolder this time.

His eyes find yours, blown wide and unreadable, lips parted. "You're gonna kill me," he breathes, but he nods. "Don't stop. Please take it out, please."

Your hand moves again, more confidently now, doing as he says, and his mouth crashes into yours mid-moan—swallowing it whole, like he can't bear the sound of his own unraveling.

And when he groans into you, deep and guttural and feral, you feel it between your legs—hot and pulsing and near unbearable.

He grips your hips like he's trying to anchor himself—like you're the only thing holding him together. He's dragging you to the edge of the counter and pinning your hand behind you, it has you feeling dizzy—the way he has you pinned there, at his mercy.

Before you can pull away to look down at where you have your hand wrapped around him, he's picking you up off the counter yet again, carrying you and setting you down on the couch, ever so gently.

Heeseung is panting into your mouth, your bodies pressed flush—his chest against yours, your legs wrapped around his waist. The fabric between you is suffocating. His sweats are halfway down his hips, your jeans are already abandoned on the kitchen floor, along with your panties, your composure, and any shred of dignity you once clung to when it came to him.

He's got you caged between his body and the couch. One arm braced beside your head, the other skimming down your side until his fingers are slipping between your legs again. You jolt, gasping against his lips, forehead pressed to his as his fingers slide through the mess he's made of you.

"Fuck—" you whisper, clutching at the back of his neck.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, his voice nothing but gravel and smoke, his thumb teasing your clit in slow, deliberate circles that make your spine curl. "You're perfect like this...I knew you'd come back."

You moan again, louder, desperate, rocking against his hand—your whole body begging for him.

His mouth finds yours again, kisses sloppier now, and then he's gripping himself, lining up with your entrance, breath hot and uneven against your cheek.

And then—

"Rina," he breathes.

You freeze for half a second.

It's soft—tender as a whispered prayer, effortless as a breath, a name escaping his lips before he even realizes it.

But your brain doesn't quite catch it—not fully. You're too far gone. Too overwhelmed by the stretch of him nudging at your entrance, by the unbearable heat of his body, the quiet, feral groan rumbling from his chest.

You blink, dazed. "What...?"

But the next second, he's pushing in.

And everything else disappears.

Your body arches, mouth falling open around a choked cry as he fills you in one slow, devastating thrust.

The stretch burns in the best way, and Heeseung moans something guttural, animalistic, like the moment he's inside you he's forgotten his own name too.

"So tight," he groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he holds himself there, buried to the hilt. "Fucking heaven."

Your fingers claw at his back, your mouth finding the shell of his ear.

"Heeseung—move. Please—"

He pulls back, just enough to slam into you again, and you swear the stars tilt. His rhythm is brutal, relentless, every thrust stealing the breath from your lungs, and you're sobbing now—moaning into his mouth like you've lost your mind. Maybe you have.

Maybe he has.

Because he's whispering things you can't quite understand—fragmented pieces of something almost sweet, almost unhinged.

"My perfect girl... only mine... waited so long—so long—Rina..."

You hear it again. Clearer now, but you're too gone to stop. Too full of him to question it. Your body writhes beneath his like it's what it was made for—like he's been carved into your DNA.

And you don't know what he means but something about the way he's holding you—possessive, reverent, frantic like he'll die without you—sends a chill up your spine even as you're unraveling around him.

Where they meet—the madness and the need—you don't know where you end and he begins. But you're already lifting your hips to meet his just to chase your high. You're pretty sure you're drooling now and by the way he looks down at you a smiles you know he likes what he seeing "You're so beautiful" "So tight wrapped aroun—" He keeps silencing himself with strangled moans, pulling back and sitting up, too overwhelmed to even remember he hasn't apologized for already being on the edge.

"I'm gonna c—" "Oh fuck fuck fuuuuckkk" He drawls on and on, you can feel your release coming too, in fact it almost feel like you're going to pee. "Don't stop! Heeseung! Fuck!" You moan loudly, yanking him down into a sloppy kiss before pushing his hips back, his cock slipping wet and twitching from your cunt. Without pause, your fingers find your clit, working it in savage, relentless circles, each one followed by a sharp slap that makes your thighs jolt. "Fuck—shit!" you cry out, body arching as a hot stream shoots from you, splattering across his stomach and chest.

His breath catches—eyes blown wide, chest heaving—watching you lose control all over him "You're so sexy". You haven't even caught your breath when he suddenly takes over again, letting the mess spill from you as if your trembling doesn't matter, pushing you down and driving himself deep into the pulsing aftermath still rippling through your body.

"Cum on my cock again, please" "Need you to, Rina—Fuck! I'm so close!" He's mumbling half incoherent half desperate and your overstimulated self doesn't seem to hear the alarm bells ringing in your head at the name he just called you again.  You're already on the brink again, trembling and aching for it, and when it finally crashes through you, it's because Heeseung drags it out with no mercy. He pulls out, cock dripping, and fists it furiously as he paints your stomach—but he doesn't let your cunt stay empty. Two fingers slam back into your soaked hole, curling deep and fast, forcing you to squirt all over his wrist as he talks you through it with a low, filthy grin.

You're both trembling.

Sweaty skin pressed to sweaty skin. Harsh breathing. The deep, ragged quiet of two people who forgot where they were, who they were, what any of this even meant. He slumps forward, collapsing into you with a half-groan, half-laugh, and you let your fingers drift up his spine, your body humming with aftershocks.

You don't say anything and neither does he, not for a long, long moment.

Then he pushes up, slowly, gently—his hands sliding beneath your thighs as he lifts you off the couch. You whimper softly from the sensitivity, clinging to his shoulders.

"Come on," he says, voice raw and low. "Shower."

Your limbs feel like water, but you nod, letting him carry you. He walks the both of you to the massive bathroom like you weigh nothing—like you're still something precious in his arms—and sets you down on the warm tile floor. The shower clicks on, hot water spraying against his hand as he checks the temperature, then guides you under it with him.

The moment the water hits you, you shiver—more from the way he's looking at you than the heat. His gaze doesn't drop once. Not when he's rubbing gentle soap over your skin, not when he's rinsing between your legs with careful fingers, not when he presses a kiss to your shoulder like an apology he's too afraid to say aloud.

He doesn't speak until you're both out, towel-wrapped and damp.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, toweling off your hair with surprising tenderness.

You nod. And you don't stop him when he pulls one of his T-shirts over your head—soft and oversized, falling to your mid-thigh. You don't stop him when he pulls on a pair of boxers for you either, or when he leads you to the guest bedroom, the sheets cool and clean beneath your bare legs as you crawl under them.

He climbs in next to you, his body warm beside yours, and without a word, he pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your waist like it's muscle memory.

There's no more heat. No more tension. Just his heartbeat against your back, his breath slow and steady in your ear and you fall asleep like that, in his clothes, in his bed, in his arms. Not thining about the name he whispered.

*•*•*

You wake up before Heeseung does.

There's no buzzing alarm, no sunlight breaking through the blackout curtains, but your body jolts upright anyway—like your soul remembered what your mind didn't.

Panic grips you first.

Jiyoon. She's definitely called. Probably texted. Maybe even filed a missing person's report.

You twist in the sheets, trying not to disturb the weight draped over your waist. Heeseung's arm. Heavy, possessive, warm. His hand is splayed over your hip like it belongs there.

You freeze. Your breath catches in your throat.

What did I do?

Your heart's racing as you carefully, carefully peel his arm off of you, shimmying toward the edge of the bed. You manage to get one leg off, then another, tiptoeing like a thief in the early morning hush—

"Why are you sneaking out?"

You squeak.

Spinning around, your hands instinctively fly to your chest, but you're still wearing his shirt. You breathe a little but then freeze again when you see him. Heeseung is propped up on one elbow, hair mussed, eyes half-lidded and heavy with sleep. His voice is low and scratchy—one of those voices that somehow sounds like velvet and gravel all at once.

You stare. And then it hits you—like a freight train right between the ribs. Everything he did to you. Every moan he pulled from your lips. The way he tasted. The way he touched you like you were something sacred and sinful at the same time. You gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth like you can trap the memory there.

His brow lifts just slightly, eyes crinkling with amusement. "What am I gonna do with you?" he mutters, flipping back onto the bed with a sigh, one arm flung over his eyes. "You're trouble."

"I have to go," you say quickly, eyes darting to the door. "My friend is probably freaking out, she didn't know where I was—"

"Okay," he murmurs, voice muffled beneath his forearm. "But can I get a kiss?" You blink, feeling your heart stutter. Then, slowly, you cross the room again, padding back to the side of the bed. His arm lowers just enough to watch you. When you lean down, brushing your lips to his, he hums—like he's been waiting for that exact moment.

But just as you try to pull away, he grabs you. You yelp, landing on top of him with a soft thud as his hands anchor you by the hips. "Heeseung—" He kisses you again and t's not a chaste goodbye kiss this time. It's deeper, hotter—his lips moving slow and sure against yours, like he has all the time in the world. His tongue licks into your mouth, and you melt against him without thinking, your fingers clutching the soft fabric of his T-shirt over his chest.

You whine into his mouth. "I have to go..." He nips at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with a soft kiss before pulling back just enough to breathe. "Come back," he whispers. "Tonight. Seven o'clock."

You're blinking at him, breathless. "To... clean?" He shakes his head once, lips twitching. "No. I'll cook." You can't help it. You smile. It's shy and warm and completely helpless. "Okay," you whisper.

He lets you go then, but not before placing one last kiss on your cheek, right beneath your eye. "Don't be late."

You close the door to the guest bedroom behind you, twisting the handle slowly so it doesn't make a sound, like he might stir just from the click, not that he could even be asleep again. Your heart's still thudding, though softer now, your body still warm from how he held you—not just last night, but moments ago. You feel him on your skin. Between your thighs. In your mouth, even. You pad into the hallway, feet silent against the floor, and the penthouse feels even bigger in the morning, stretching out wide and echoey. Sunlight slips in through the tall windows of the living room, golden and faint, catching dust in the air.

Your clothes are everywhere. A trail—your bra laying on the kitchen floor with your jeans close by, your shirt hanging from the edge of a barstool like some kind of white flag.

You sigh.

You gather them quickly, cradling the bundle to your chest. But when you unfold your shirt—well, what's left of it—you remember the exact moment he took it off, how he looked at you like you were some forbidden fruit he'd gone too long without, you hadn't even realized he had ripped it. It's unsalvageable.

So you just... don't put it on. You slip your bra back on, then shrug his black shirt over it. It swallows you, soft and warm from sleep. You wiggle into your jeans next, the ones he peeled off of you. Your hands tremble as you do the button up.

Last thing—your phone. You search the couch. Nothing. Under the cushions. Still nothing. You check the kitchen counter, the bar, even crouch down to peek under the sofa. "Come on, come on..." Then finally, mercifully, you spot it near the edge of the carpet, half-tucked under the dining chair. You dive for it like it's oxygen and fumble to unlock it.

Ten missed calls. Three voicemails. Twenty-two messages.

All from one name. You don't even get a word out when you hit call—Jiyoon answers on the first ring. "You bitch." You wince. "Oh my god," she cackles. "You bitch. Where were you? Don't tell me—no, no actually, tell me everything right now."

"Ji—"

"You slept with him, didn't you? You fucking whore. You got that psycho dick, didn't you?! Tell me. Was it good? Was it crazy?!"

You cover your face with your hand, crouching down behind the kitchen island like you're trying to hide from the embarrassment sinking into your bones. "I'm coming home," you say weakly, voice still raspy from sleep and... everything else.

"Oh," Jiyoon says, tone shifting slightly. "I'm not home right now. I'm covering a shift for my lazy coworker. But I'll be back later—wait, wait, is he still there? Are you still there? What's he doing?"

"Jiyoon."

"What?"

"Bye."

You hang up.

Still pink-faced and hot, you shove your phone in your pocket, tug on your sneakers, and walk to the elevator with your head ducked low—like the doors might open and the walls themselves would whisper what happened between them. You're not sure how to feel. Still floating. Still wrecked. But you know you'll be back by 7.

*•*•*

You unlock the door to your apartment with shaking fingers, pushing it open slowly like you might find the night before still waiting for you on the other side. But it's empty, cause there's no Heeseung here. No soft piano notes echoing from hidden corners. No whispered "be back by seven." Just your little apartment, lived-in and warm and smelling faintly of vanilla from the candle Jiyoon must've lit last night. You step inside, close the door behind you, and lean back against it for a second. Just to breathe. Your body aches so deliciously and shamefully. Your lips are sore. Your thighs. Your heart.

You change into something soft and oversized before dropping onto your desk chair and logging into your online class, the kind of class that requires so much effort to focus on even when you haven't just had... whatever that was. The screen lights up. A professor you don't care about is already talking, already droning on about something you're not registering. You blink at the slides. The bullet points. You try. Really, you do. But your brain?

It's busy. Because it won't stop showing you his face in the dark. The way he hovered over you, lips parted, skin burning hot against yours. The way he touched you like you were something he needed to know. Memorize.

The way he whispered—low and wrecked—"Rina." You flinch.

It hits you all at once. You'd been so caught up in the moment, too far gone to process it then. But now? Now it loops. The way he said it. Like a prayer. Like a confession. Rina.

Who the hell is Rina? You shift in your seat, open a new tab, and hesitate. Your heart is racing again—not the good kind this time, as your hands tremble over the keyboard. Then you type it in regardless,

Lee Heeseung Rina

The search bar blinks at you. You hit enter. And there it is.

The very first result is a glossy thumbnail from three years ago. Heeseung in an interview, seated on a sleek navy couch, wearing black slacks and a gray button up sweater and a white shirt beneath it. He's smiling. That breathtaking smile you've only seen a few times up close, so effortless and disarming. You click the video.

The host laughs and leans forward. "Come on, Heeseung. Everyone wants to know. Who's Rina?" Heeseung chuckles, mouth tugging up at one side. You sit a little straighter.

"She's my first love," he says. "And probably the only one I'll ever love like that." The crowd awwws and your heart cracks like glass under pressure, you have pause the video. So she was real. A real woman.Someone he loved so deeply he admitted it on camera—publicly, permanently. Your throat closes up. Your chest tightens. He called you that name. Did he think of her while he was—. You don't even finish the thought. Instead, you search harder. Scroll deeper. You need to know what she looks like. If you look like her. If this is some messed up ghost-of-an-ex situation.

Another video pops up—this one titled "Behind the Scenes | Seoul Symphony Ensemble (ft. Lee Heeseung)"

You click it. The footage is candid, grainy. Heeseung's younger here, maybe only twenty or twenty-one, still too beautiful for it to be fair. The camera follows him backstage as he leads a film crew through the dim corridors of a concert hall. Then he stops, turns to the camera. "Come here," he says with a quiet laugh, gesturing to the next room. "You have to meet her." The camera jostles slightly as they follow. Heeseung walks up to a sleek, glossy black grand piano and runs his fingers across the keys. "This is Rina," he says, like he's introducing a person. His voice is reverent. Almost loving. "She's been with me since I was thirteen. She's...kind of everything to me."

You freeze.

The camera zooms in slightly. Heeseung brushes dust from the piano's surface with his sleeve, smiling at it so softly it hurts. "She's my first love." You sit there, staring, mind blank and full all at once.

Rina's not a person.

Rina's a piano.

A fucking piano. A part of you wants to laugh at your delusion but you don't, instead you just sit there.  Eyes glued to the screen. To him. To the way he's speaking—not to the camera, not even to the crew—but to the piano, like it's something alive. Like it's someone he's missed. Someone he still longs for in the softest, most ruined parts of himself. And that name—Rina—sits different now in your head. Not like a rival. Not like someone he's still in love with. But like... a memory. A feeling. Something that made him whole when the world couldn't.

Rina is his piano.

You let the video run, sound turned low, just watching him—barely twenty two, still beautiful, still broken. The way he presses one key gently and listens. How he says, she's been with me since I was thirteen. How he adds, she's my first love like it's a secret and a confession all at once. Your heart folds in on itself. Because in a way it makes sense now. The way he said your name last night, the way he whispered Rina instead—like he couldn't tell the difference. Like in his mind, in that haze of need and obsession and closeness, you had become something sacred. Something he hadn't let himself love in years. Something he used to play like music. And he'd touched you the same way—with reverence and hunger, as if trying to figure out where you end and he begins. You press your palm to your chest, like maybe you can settle your heartbeat if you hold it hard enough.

He doesn't see you as a replacement. You're not her. But in that moment, you think he felt something he hadn't in a long time. Something pure. Something familiar. Something maybe even terrifying. Heeseung, in his fractured, beautiful, obsessive mind, didn't just mistake you for his piano, he associated the moment—you—with what he once felt when he played Rina. And maybe he's so far gone he doesn't even realize he did it. And maybe you should be scared, but all you feel is this deep, warm ache in your ribs that won't go away. You close the laptop, completely forgetting about your class, and press your fingers to your lips. They still tingle from kissing him and you feel your stomach turn with excitement for the night to come.

*•*•*

You hear it before you see her. The clatter of her keys on the counter. The heavy sigh. And then, sharp—like a bullet of disbelief,  "YOU BITCH." "OH MY GOD." You don't even turn. Just let your eyes flutter shut and mentally brace for it. "You absolute filthy little minx," Jiyoon hisses, storming into the hallway in her work flats and crumpled apron, "Don't even try to deny it—I know you did it." "I'm not denying anything," you mumble, turning slowly to face her. She's halfway through unzipping her jacket, eyes wide, expression scandalized.

Your entire face bursts into flames. "Jiyoon—" "Oh my God, you did sleep with him." She points at you like she's witnessing a war crime. "You have sex hair. You're literally glowing. What the hell is that shirt? Wait—don't tell me." She takes a dramatic step back. "Is that his shirt?" You tug the hem instinctively. "It's just... something I had to wear. Mine got—um. Ripped." She stares at you. Blinks once. Twice. Then screams. "Oh my GOD. He ripped your clothes off? That's—like—that's premium movie-level sexy violence."

You bury your face in your hands. "Please lower your voice." "You didn't even text me last night!" she cries. "Do you know how worried I was? I thought he locked you in a cage or something!"

"I was busy," you say, voice strangled. "You were BUSY getting ravenously destroyed," she says, flopping onto the couch like the dramatics are too heavy for her legs. "Okay. Tell me everything. Don't leave out any of the details. Did he talk? Was it intense? Slow burn? Did he like—say your name all rough and gravelly or was he like, all quiet and crazy about it?" You hesitate.

You want to tell her and you almost do, but something about that moment—about everything that happened last night, the hazy weight of his body pressed against yours, his breath in your ear, how he held you like you were a prayer and a ghost all at once—feels too delicate. Too personal. You can't even begin to explain the shift you felt inside yourself, let alone the strange ache in your chest when he said that name. You swallow, keeping your voice light. "It was... really good."

Jiyoon lifts a brow. "That's it? Good?" You shoot her a look. "I'm not giving you a full play-by-play." She gasps. "So it was insane." "I'm gonna be late," you deflect, brushing past her to grab your phone. "I told him I'd be there at seven." "Ugh. Seven is such a romantic time."

"What does that even mean?" "Like. Not too early, not too late. Right in the middle. Candlelight o'clock." She wiggles her eyebrows. "You gonna let him feed you and then fuck you again?""Jiyoon."

"You are. Oh my God. Are you shaving again or are we doing stubble and surrender tonight?" You groan. "I can't talk to you about this." "Yes, you can," she says, pulling her hair into a bun. "We signed a roommate agreement, remember? Emotional nudity clause." You smile despite yourself. "Just wish me luck, okay?" She softens then, eyes scanning your face. "You like him." You hesitate, fingers pausing on your necklace clasp. "I don't know what I feel," you say truthfully. "It's... fast. Messy." "You don't do messy."

"Exactly." Jiyoon walks over, squeezes your shoulder. "That shirt looks hot on you, by the way. Like dangerously I-was-just-fucked-by-a-mentally-ill-man hot." "Thanks, I think."

"Be safe. Don't let him tie you to anything unless there's a safe word. Call me if he tries to perform an exorcism." You laugh, heading for the bathroom door. "You're gonna fall for him," she calls behind you. "You already are, huh?" But you don't answer, because you don't know that yet, and if you do, you're not ready to say it out loud.

You check the time again when it's 6:38 PM. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror stares back at you—doe-eyed, glossed lips parted slightly, a tiny knot of nerves cinched beneath your ribs. You smooth your hands down your dress for the fifth time, whispering to yourself under your breath like it might change something. "Okay," you murmur. "Just dinner. It's just... dinner." With Heeseung. At his penthouse. In a dress you specifically picked to walk the very fine line between I wanted to look nice for you and I definitely didn't spend two hours trying on everything I own. A dress that clings at your waist and floats at your knees and makes you feel pretty but also exposed. Not in a bad way, just... in a way that makes your skin feel watched. Known.

You hesitate in the doorway, staring down the hallway toward the stairs. And then you groan. "Nope. No way I'm taking the bus." You can already see it—you standing sandwiched between strangers, one arm clutching the overhead bar, the other yanking at your skirt, trying not to breathe too loud. You can feel the wrinkles forming just thinking about it. You'd show up looking like a disheveled little sandwich and Heeseung—Heeseung with his white linen shirts and leather watchbands—would tilt his head and maybe smile and maybe not say anything, but you'd know. You open your phone and call a cab.

It feels ridiculous. Extravagant even. But the moment you sink into the backseat, cool leather beneath your thighs and the city lights blinking past your window like slow breaths, something quiet settles inside you. You take a long, shaky inhale. Heeseung's face comes to mind. The way he looked last night—flushed and breathless and so terribly hungry for you, like you were the first and last thing he'd ever wanted. The way he whispered your name. Except—it wasn't your name. Not the first time. Your fingers tighten slightly on your bag and you push the thought away. You already made peace with it—told yourself it didn't mean anything. Not really. You'd seen the videos. You know what Rina is. And in some strange, abstract way, you think maybe you understand what happened better than you should.

Maybe he sees things in fragments—maybe he feels things in them too. Maybe last night, you reminded him of something he loved once so deeply he carved a home for it in his bones. And maybe tonight, you want him to start carving space for you instead. You glance atthe time on your phone, 6:53. Your stomach flutters. Are you nervous?

God—yes. Your knees won't stop bouncing, and your fingers keep picking at the edge of your dress. But you're also... excited.You don't know what's waiting for you on the other side of this ride—don't know if dinner will be awkward or sweet or laced with something heavier—but it feels like something real. Something different. And that terrifies you. Because you've never been looked at the way he looked at you last night. Not like you were music.

The cab pulls up to the building. You pay with shaky hands, thank the driver too softly, and walk inside. The elevator ride is a blur of breath-holding. The ding at the top floor even sends a jolt through your chest. And then you're standing in front of his penthouse door, your hand hovering, not sure whether to knock or just—. It's not locked. The knob turns and you step inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click, and you're met with... silence. You take one hesitant step forward into the quiet space. It's too quiet. The air feels still in a way it didn't the last time you were here—when it was thick with the scent of his skin, his hands, your gasps and moans echoing off the walls like confessions. Now it's like the space is holding its breath again.

"Heeseung?" you call, your voice barely above a whisper. You glance at the clock on the wall, 7:01. You chew on your lip, glancing around. The kitchen looks untouched. There's no trace of movement, no clatter of pans or scent of dinner in the air. There's a single light on in the far corner by the bookshelves, casting golden shadows across the couch where he held you just hours ago, his mouth in your hair and his arms locked around your waist like he was afraid you'd disappear. You exhale softly. "Heeseung?" you try again, louder this time, taking cautious steps farther in. Still nothing.

And then it hits you—you don't even have his number. You came here like some wide-eyed idiot with your heart between your teeth, expecting him to just be there, waiting, arms outstretched. It hadn't occurred to you that he might not hear the door, or might be upstairs, or might have changed his mind entirely.

God. You sink down onto the arm of the couch and try not to panic. You won't text Jiyoon—not yet. She'd tease you mercilessly and then probably tell you to go snoop in case he was sleeping with other people or something absurd. You don't want to snoop. You just want to see him. You shift in your seat, smoothing your dress again, tugging at the edge of it and check the time again, 7:06. You blink, already feeling defeated and ready to leave but then a sharp loud sound echoes from upstairs that has you snapping your head towards the stairs. There's another thud—louder this time—followed by a crash that sends a sharp jolt through your chest. Something shattered. And then, unmistakably, screaming. Blood-curdling. Ragged. Like pain clawing itself out of a throat too raw to hold it anymore.

Your breath snags. Your heart kicks into high gear. Your body's moving before your mind can catch up, instinct overriding hesitation as you bolt through the living room, past the grand piano, toward the stairs. Breaking every rule you were given when you first started working here, but that's the last thing on your mind.

He's upstairs. That's him—him screaming.You take the stairs two at a time, heart pounding, fingers scrambling against the banister. When you reach the top, there's only one door that makes sense—tall and black, you sprint to it, chest heaving, and try the handle.

Locked.

Your fist slams against it before you can think. "Heeseung?!" There's no response—just another crash, something metallic this time, like a stand being thrown, maybe a chair. Your knuckles are pulsing against the wood. "Heeseung, open the door! Please!" Still no answer. Just a chorus of garbled words—frenzied, nonsensical, frantic.

"They changed the notes—don't you hear it? It's all wrong, out of key, they're inside the piano! Stop watching me! The rhythm's bleeding, I can't—" Another crash. "It's too loud in here, too loud in my head, make it stop!" Your blood runs cold. Something primal flickers inside you—panic morphing into something sharper, braver. You back up, brace your shoulder against the frame, and throw yourself forward.

Once. Twice—

CRACK.

The door flies open, and you stumble into the absolute chaos, the first thing you see is the floor, and at the center of it all; a piano or what's left of one. Splintered wood. Torn wires. Ivory keys cracked like teeth knocked from a skull. You recognize it instantly. Rina.

There more glass and splintered wood than floor beneath her. Crumpled sheet music. A chair lying on its side. Blood. Blood like paint streaked across the wooden floor, thin trails leading to—

Him. Heeseung.

Standing in the center of it all like a broken monument. There's a deep gash across his forearm, blood still dripping sluggishly onto his hand and down his knuckles. His chest rises and falls too fast, ribs pushing sharply beneath skin that gleams with sweat. His hair sticks to his face. His eyes—wide, unseeing, glazed with something far away and chaotic and terrifying—don't register you at first. He's breathing like he's drowning.

You try to speak, to talk to him, but your throat won't open. He moves before you can. Quick, jerky. Like his body's not entirely his own. He spins, stares at the wall like it's speaking to him, fingers twitching at his sides. "They changed the notes," he mutters. "They changed the fucking notes." His voice is shredded. Raw. Like he's been screaming for hours. Maybe he has. You take one step closer, and your heel lands on a snapped piano key. It clicks beneath your foot like a trigger. He whips around, eyes on you now, all wild, unhinged and unfocused. "Who are you?" he rasps.

You freeze. The question slices clean through you. Your mouth opens, but your voice won't come. Heeseung stares, pupils blown so wide you can barely see the brown. His hands curl and uncurl like he's not sure if he wants to reach for you or strangle you. "Who are you?" he repeats. "Why are you watching me? Are you one of them?"

Them? Your heart stutters. "Heeseung..." you whisper, finally finding your voice. "It's me." But he flinches like you've struck him. You take another step and watch as he instinctively steps back. "No," he whispers. "No—Rina? I'm so sorry. I hurt you. You were perfect and I ruined you. My perfect girl. Please forgive me." Your breath catches.

"It's okay, it's okay." You don't know where it comes from. Maybe instinct. Maybe desperation. Maybe the way his voice cracks like the word is a wound. "I forgive you," you say, voice steadier this time. "I came back for you." His mouth parts and his whole body stills. You can see the thought slotting into place behind his eyes, crooked and trembling and fragile. But it settles. "...Rina?" You nod. "I'm here."

He walks toward you slowly. So slow. Like every step might set him off again. And still, you don't move. His bloodied hand lifts, fingers brushing your cheek—his touch clumsy and too hard at first, like he doesn't remember how to be gentle. But then it softens. His palm cups your jaw, and he leans in so close his breath skates across your lips. "I knew you'd come back," he murmurs. Your throat tightens and swallow around the ache, allowing him to press his forehead against yours. "I'm here now."

"Don't leave," he breathes. "Please don't leave me again. The music stops when you're gone. It stops and I can't breathe, I can't—"

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper. He leans back just enough to look at you. The way he's looking now—it breaks you, because there's no rage or wildness. Just pure, shivering exhaustion. He's unraveling at the seams, and you're the only thread keeping him together. "I want to play," he says softly. "Let me play you."

You nod. And when he tugs you toward the mangled piano, you follow. It's barely standing. The legs are cracked. One pedal's missing. The keys are uneven—some bloodied, some broken. It shouldn't work. It shouldn't sound. But he sits on the shattered bench, breath hitching, and gently pulls you onto his lap.

You settle there, straddling him, your dress bunching slightly against the rough edge of the wood. Your hands brace on his shoulders. His arms wrap around you, drawing you closer. And then—fingers trembling—Heeseung presses his hands to the keys. The sound is... haunting. Off. Warped. But he plays anyway. A melody, jagged and soft. A lullaby with broken bones. The piano cries beneath his touch, but he keeps playing. For you, because of you, it all makes your chest ache for him, you even feel your eyes sting. And all you can do is hold him, let him pour whatever's left of himself into the broken body of his piano—into you.

Because right now, in this room thick with blood and chaos and ghosts, you're the only thing anchoring him to earth. The music tumbles out of him in discordant bursts, crooked and aching like his mind, like his body—like whatever this is between you. And you swear, you'd let him play you forever. But then his fingers slip, not from the broken keys, but because your breath stutters against his jaw. He stills, drifting one hand away from the piano to find your waist instead, the other continues to play, the curve of your back—and then he's holding you so tight you feel the blood from his arm soak warm through your dress.

You don't flinch.

He tilts his face up, searching yours. Your lips part, not for words, but for the way his mouth captures yours the second you breathe in. It's so so desperate. A kiss that tastes like iron and sweat and the kind of madness that wants to be known, wants to be seen.

You whimper into him, clutching at the front of his shirt, and his hands are already moving—shaky, hurried, needing—grabbing at your dress, dragging it up your thighs as if he doesn't care it's stained now, doesn't care it's soft and new and something you wore for him.The keys beneath you clatter with each shift of your hips, and his fingers fumble at the zipper on your side like it's fighting him. He groans low in his throat, kissing you harder, tongue sliding hot against yours as if he's trying to crawl inside of you—trying to disappear there, to lose the noise in his head.

"You came back," he gasps against your mouth. "You really came back—" You nod, breathless, eyes wet, thighs tightening around his waist. "I told you I would." He tugs the dress down your shoulders, hands smeared with red, smearing it onto you, painting you with it. It sticks to your collarbones, your arms, a fever-warm trail of devotion and ruin, but you don't stop him.

He's kissing you like he needs this to survive, like he'll lose his mind all over again if you pull away. Your fingers thread through his hair, and he groans at the way you pull, his mouth moving from your lips to your neck, your jaw, your shoulder—biting, tasting his blood smeared there, claiming. You tremble. And then his hand is between your legs, cupping you through your panties, a low, reverent moan tearing from his chest when he feels the heat there. "For me," he mutters, delirious. "You're like this for me."

"Yes," you breathe, rolling your hips into his hand, nails clawing at his back through his shirt. "Only for you." He groans again, like the words unmake him.

Your dress is halfway down your body, straps hanging off your arms, and you're so tangled together that it's hard to tell whose limbs are whose. He continues kissing you then like a vow. Like salvation. And everything else—the broken piano, the screaming from earlier, the sharp pain in your back from the cracked lid—fades to nothing. The music stutters beneath you—sharp, erratic keystrokes like a hymn being pulled apart at the seams.

But he doesn't stop playing. Even as his bloody fingers slip over the ivories, even as his other hand bunches your dress up around your hips, even as you gasp into his mouth and his teeth catch your bottom lip hard enough to sting. You're still straddling him, thighs trembling on either side of his lap, and he's shifting beneath you like he can't get close enough, like the distance between your bodies is an insult to the devotion he's shaking with.

"Heeseung," you whisper, breath hitching as his hand slides between your legs, the fabric of your panties clinging to you wet and ruined. "Please—" "Shh," he hushes, mouth dragging down your neck, blood and spit slick on your skin. "It's okay, it's okay—I got you, baby, I got you—" His fingers tremble as he pushes the fabric aside, clumsy and rushed, and you flinch when his knuckles brush over you. He groans against your throat, hand gripping your hip like he might break it, like it's the only anchor he has.

"Fuck, you're so warm—" he pants, "—I missed you so much, I missed you—" You don't know if he's talking to you or to her, to Rina, to whatever memory he's tangled you up with—but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when he's freeing himself beneath you with frantic hands, moaning under his breath as he fumbles himself through his sweats, panting into your collarbone like he's on the verge of falling apart. And then he's there. Thick, flushed, already so hard it makes your head spin. He grips your thighs, pulling you up just enough—just enough to align—and then sinks you down onto him in one ragged, choking breath.

You cry out, clenching around him, thighs shaking. Heeseung's head snaps back, a guttural sound ripping from his throat, and his hands clamp down on your hips like he's afraid you'll vanish again. "Oh my God—" he gasps, "—move, baby, please, come on—come on—"

He's twitching inside you already, so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but he's begging for more. Encouraging you, pushing up into you while his hands guide your hips, while his fingers—still stained with his blood—return to the keys beneath him, pressing out that same broken melody. You try to move—hips rising, sinking—but it's messy. Desperate. Your thighs burn, your breath hitches, and your forehead presses to his as he whispers, "Just like that, just like that—don't stop—don't stop—" The piano groans beneath you both. His legs tremble. Your panties are barely hanging on, twisted and soaked, caught somewhere between you, and still—still—he keeps playing.

Keeps playing through the rise and fall of your bodies, through the wet slap of your hips, through the breathless moans and the ache and the madness. He's shaking beneath you. His mouth finds yours again, swallowing your sobs, blood smearing from his wrist to your waist as he holds you tighter—deeper—closer.

"I knew you'd come back," he whispers, forehead to yours. "You always come back to me." You can't answer. You can only cry out his name, again and again, as the notes beneath you unravel into chaos and crescendo Your fingers claw at his shoulders as you rock against him, pace faltering with every thick thrust. The bench groans beneath your bodies, protesting under the weight of it all, but you don't stop. Neither of you could if you tried.

His hands are all over you—up your back, into your hair, clawing at your waist like he doesn't know where to hold, just that he has to hold somewhere.

The piano is completely forgotten now. The keys he was so desperate to press—abandoned mid-chord, half-played notes frozen under bloodied fingertips. But Heeseung's mouth is moving and he's moaning something. At first it's a whisper, hoarse and uneven, barely above the wet sound of your bodies meeting again and again. But then—clearer, louder— "Y/N... oh my god, Y/N—" You halt for a second. Barely. Just long enough to catch your breath. To hear him. Your name—your name, not his pianos—spilling from his lips like prayer, like apology, like it's the only thing anchoring him to reality.

Heeseung's head drops to your shoulder, and he's panting your name again, so sweet and unguarded it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. "Y/N," he gasps, "you feel so good, baby—fuck—so good—" It's like he sees you now. Really sees you. And his hands are softer now, less frantic, still trembling but reverent in how they hold you—his thumb brushing your waist, his other hand cradling your jaw as he lifts your face to his.

Your noses bump. His eyes search yours like he's never seen anything more precious. "It's you," he whispers, almost awed. "It's really you..."He leans in, kissing you like the world's finally slowed down, like he's finally returned to it. To you. And when you move again—hips grinding, slow now, deeper—he moans your name into your mouth, over and over like it's his undoing. Each syllable spills from him shakily, soaked with disbelief and want and something that almost sounds like worship.

Your hands find his cheeks, thumbs stroking where the dried tears have clung to his skin, and when you whisper his name back, soft and breathless, he shudders. Heeseung's forehead presses to yours. You feel him twitch inside you, thighs clenching around him as you both near that terrible, beautiful edge again, and he breathes your name one last time— "Y/N, I'm—fuck—I'm gonna cum, baby, please—stay with me—stay—" Your hips stutter. His hands seize. And then everything splinters—. Your name tears from his throat in a ragged moan, your own lips parted in soundless release as your body collapses forward, curling into his chest like instinct.

Heeseung's arms close around you immediately. One low on your spine, the other twisted into your hair, as if he can press you into him hard enough to keep you there forever. Your pulse throbs everywhere. Between your legs, in your throat, under your tongue. Heeseung is trembling beneath you, arms loose but shaking, chest heaving like he's run for miles and only now stopped to breathe.

He's still inside you. Still in you, cradled and connected and caught in the softness of what just happened. No piano. No ghosts. Just this.You shift slightly, just to catch your breath, and he shudders around you with a hoarse gasp. His head drops to your shoulder, face buried in the crook of your neck. You stay there a while. No words. No need. Just the sound of the wind against the high windows, the echo of your breathing, and the quiet creak of a broken piano bench holding two too-lost people.

Eventually, his fingers twitch against your waist. "Y/N," he breathes, voice scratchy and soft. You hum, stroking the sweaty strands of hair back from his temple. Your touch is gentle, slow, grounding. He lifts his head—eyes glassy, wide and wet around the edges. You watch them drop down, settle on the stains between you, the faint blood still smudged across his hands and chest. He catches your wrist.Brings your fingers—still trembling—to the mess of red streaked across his ribs. The open cuts from earlier have mostly clotted, but the wounds are still fresh, angry-looking, like they're still listening to the madness that tore them open. He presses your palm there, over his heart.

"This body..." he whispers, eyes still downcast. "It belongs to too many ghosts." Your chest tightens, but you don't pull away. Instead, your fingers spread gently over the damp skin of his chest, pressing softly, reverently. You guide his gaze up to meet yours. "It belongs to me tonight," you murmur, voice quiet but sure. "It's okay, Heeseung. I've got you."

He blinks hard and for a second, something in him flickers. Something soft. Almost boyish and safe. Then his forehead presses against yours again. He leans into the cradle of your hands like he's never been touched this way before—like he doesn't know what to do with it. "...Don't let go yet," he whispers. "I won't," you promise. "Not tonight." Heeseung's head is resting against yours, your hand still pressed to his chest, when he whispers it. So faint, it's nearly lost in your breathing.

"...Call her." You pull back a little, brushing your nose against his cheek. "Hm?" He blinks slowly, like the exhaustion is hitting him all at once. "Phone's somewhere here, on the shelf by the metronome. Just—tell her it's bad, she'll come." You stare back into his eyes cluelessly,

"My nurse".

You nod, slipping gently off his lap. He groans softly at the loss of you but doesn't stop you. Doesn't move at all, really—just tilts his head back against the edge of the bench, hair damp with blood sweat and tears. You find the phone where he said it would be, swipe up, and call the nurse. She picks up after one ring. You tell her to come and you don't have to say much more—she must be used to these calls by now. And as you're hanging up, you hear him say it behind you, low and soft, "Thanks... for coming upstairs."

You turn, heart squeezing. He's still sitting there, shirtless and smeared in blood, legs parted like he couldn't stand if he tried. But he's looking at you—really looking—and something about it makes your breath catch in your throat.

You walk over. Kiss his forehead. Then slip into the bathroom for towels, water, and cleaner. By the time the nurse arrives, you're back upstairs, on your knees by the piano, gently gathering the shattered ivory keys and splintered wood into a pile. You've scrubbed some of the blood from the floor, though the stains are stubborn. The piano looks gutted—her insides exposed, wires torn and twisted like veins. Your heart aches again. Not for the piano. But for him.

Heeseung, who stayed downstairs. Who let someone else tend to him while you tried to do what you could for the mess he left behind. You hear footsteps coming up the stairs, then his voice—calmer now, hoarse, but steady. "Leave it." You glance over your shoulder. He's standing there, freshly bandaged, a clean shirt half-buttoned and hanging loose on his frame. The nurse must have left quietly.

"I'm still your cleaner, remember?" you say lightly, trying to ease the air. "Let me do my job." His lips twitch. But there's something softer in his eyes now—something closer to sorrow than amusement.

"You're more than that." You pause and look down at the broken keys in your hands. "I know."

And he comes to you—sinks down beside you on the floor, still moving slowly like he's holding his bones together by sheer will—and rests his forehead to yours again. Neither of you says anything else, you just sit in the wreckage of something beautiful. Together.

*•*•*

It's hard to say how much time has passed. Days, maybe. Weeks. The kind that blur together, quiet and golden at the edges, like light filtered through gauze. The scar on Heeseung's arm is healing well—just a thin red seam now, barely visible when he rolls his sleeves up. He doesn't try to hide it anymore.

You're downstairs today. The sun is dipping low and warm across the windows, lighting up the dust motes dancing in the air. The piano stands rebuilt, restored—not the same one from upstairs, but something new. Something you picked out together.

You're sitting beside him on the bench, your knees touching. Heeseung's hands are guiding yours across the keys with quiet patience.

"No, baby, focus" he murmurs, laughing when you hit the wrong note again. "That's an A, not a G."

"I am focused," you argue, shoulders tensing in mock defense. "I just—I forgot which finger goes where." He leans closer, brushing his lips against your temple. "The one I showed you. Your third finger. C'mon. Try again." You exhale, pouting a little as you reposition your hands. Heeseung watches you with a softness that folds itself into the corners of his smile.

You press the keys again. It's still wrong. You groan dramatically. "Ugh, why is this so hard?" And he can't help it—he grabs your chin and kisses you mid-pout. Quick and warm. The kind of kiss that says you're the most precious thing I've ever ruined myself for.

Your lips curve into a grin beneath his. He chuckles. "You know what I think?"

"Hm?"

"I think you just like messing up so I'll kiss you."

You nudge him with your shoulder. "Maybe." Heeseung leans in again. A little slower this time. A little deeper. Then his hands return to the keys. And so do yours.

You sit like that a while—two shadows against the shine of the piano, laughter and missed notes echoing softly in the room. And if someone were to peek in just then, they might think it's a simple thing. A boy and a girl, and a piano between them. But it's not. It's an anchor. A promise. A world rebuilt from ash and ghosts and broken music.

And maybe you never learned to play perfectly, but he never stopped telling you you were the most beautiful song he'd ever heard.

➺ taglist-

@immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @inawonderfulworld @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji

©️ nephynes 2025

all works are pieces of original fiction, do not repost, translate, or adapt without explicit permission.

[readingmochi]

it actually has been a long time since i write a review that is not in tags. so i guess this fic is special and will last in my head a long time.

the thing that i want to point out is that both mc and heeseung are lonely people with their own problems who found each other. i also really liked tortured artists' stories, and both mc and heeseung are that. the intrigue to the mental health aspect of it that both have are the things that joined them together, especially how differently they cope: heeseung becoming a recluse while mc just continues to hustle. but i also like how calm mc is facing heeseung. instead of being suspicious, she researched more and more about him.

maybe a little critique that i can give is that i want more of mc's writing and literary prowess after the inciting incident of the exchange in her journal. it's the thing that makes me fall in love with her character, just like her words make heeseung fall in love with her. i do think it's very underutilised at the end because she is enamoured by him so much. it definitely shows how the relationship is a bit lopsided at the end, even though it seems that heeseung also sees her love for literature and poems

p.s. i recently just finished watching the movie "love and mercy" about the beach boys' brain wilson, who is diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, and how its depiction on screen is similar to what you described heeseung has. so i think that a good touch of the depiction, in my opinion

[nephynes]

i appreciate the time you took to write this. that being said, it’s not really reflective of what I was going for, so I’ll just leave it at that. i wrote the story exactly the way it was meant to be told. anything else you’re reading into it (or not) isn’t from me💕

[readingmochi]

to each their own, and interpretations will be different anyway; not only between me and you, but also to the others as well, as we come from differing points of view and backgrounds to read this piece.

other than that, i've seen that you've posted a poll that implies about my review specifically. i apologise if you feel indifferent about it because i don't mean it that way whatsoever. and, if you feel like it, i'll stop making this type of post for your fics specifically. i have a belief that fanfiction is also another form of literature and dissecting it is a way for me to appreciate it, as a fanfic writer and reader myself. and i'll stop if you say so.

i appreciate you reblogging my review so much. and also, welcome back! glad to have seen your account returning because i don't want another enhablr writer leaving, especially with talent like yours!

[nephynes]

SECONDHAND HEAVEN ── .✦ lee heeseung

You’re broke, exhausted, and desperate enough to take a cleaning job no one else will touch. The client lives alone in a silent penthouse, hidden from the world by rumor and choice. You weren’t supposed to know his name—just clean and leave. But when your journal goes missing and comes back with his handwriting in the margins, everything changes.

minors do not interact

pairing: schizophrenic concert pianist!heeseung x afab reader

wc: 28k

content tags: angst, hurt/comfort, mental health themes, depictions of schizophrenia, poverty, class disparity, emotional repression, slow burn, journal entries, forbidden closeness, soft smut, loneliness, poetic prose, mentions of blood, trauma, caretaker dynamics, emotionally intense, non-idol au, heeseung x reader, reader-insert.

WARNINGS: mental illness (schizophrenia), mentions of blood, emotional breakdowns, poverty, food insecurity, toxic living environment, isolation, possible dissociation, references to past trauma, depersonalization, implied neglect, emotionally heavy content, not a fluff centric story. okay maybe there’s a little fluff.

nene’s note: this was meant to be a 15k word fic (don’t ask me what happened) i would still die for recluse heeseung.

nsfw tags under the cut

SMUT, oral sex (f receiving), squirting, unprotected sex, bloodplay implications, sex during dissociation, power imbalance, emotional dependency, mental illness (schizophrenia), mentions of self-harm, trauma, possessive behavior, emotionally intense dynamic, obsession themes. (lmk if i missed any) not proofread!

══════════════════════════

You're running. Again. The strap of your tote bag digs into your shoulder as your shoes slap the sidewalk, water splashing up your ankles with each desperate step. Rain mist clings to your skin like sweat—except sweat would be warm. This is just cold and inconvenient. Your Literature lecture ran ten minutes over because, of course, your professor finally decided to acknowledge your existence the one time you needed to leave early. He asked for your thoughts on postmodern fragmentation in the age of digital alienation while you sat there wondering if postmodern fragmentation was what your GPA would look like this semester.

By the time you made it outside, the bus was already pulling up. You waved frantically, almost twisting your ankle as you darted across the crosswalk—nearly colliding with a cyclist. He swerved. You screamed. He cursed. It was poetic, in a tragicomedy kind of way. Now, you're clinging to the pole in the bus's center aisle, damp hair clinging to your cheeks as it rocks around corners, your phone buzzing with the time—12:46 PM.

Mrs. Do expects you at 12:30. Sharp, always sharp but today you're going to disappoint her, again and it makes you nervous cause this isn't your first fuck up. Getting off at the bus stop in Mrs. Do's neighborhood is like stepping into another world. Wide sidewalks, trimmed hedges. Every driveway is the kind of polished grey stone that seems to repel dirt on principle. The kind of neighborhood that smells like generational wealth and imported jasmine diffusers.

The sky's already sour when you round the corner onto the cobblestone lane. Gray and sullen, like it knows something you don't. Your thighs ache from sprinting across campus, your spine's slick with sweat under your too-thin hoodie, and your fingers are still raw from gripping the metal pole on the bus. You hadn't even realized how tightly you were holding on—like the bus was the only thing standing between you and collapse. You're fifteen minutes late, sixteen, actually.

The house looms before you like a museum exhibit—grand, sterile, and quiet enough to make you feel like you've already done something wrong just by being there. All tall glass windows and trimmed hedges, with a front door so glossy you can see your own desperation reflected in it. You ring the bell, sucking in a breath and she opens it almost immediately. Mrs. Do doesn't need to speak to make her opinion known. Her eyes flick down your frame—hoodie, faded jeans, dirt-smudged sneakers—and her mouth flattens like she's biting back something acidic. Her nose twitches once.

"You're late."

"I'm so sorry," you say, voice thin. "My class ran over and I missed my bus, and—" She rolls her eyes, cutting you off, "You people always have an excuse". You people. "I've already called your manager," she says coolly, stepping back just enough to make room for your shame to enter. "This is unacceptable. I hired help, not excuses."

Help. You step inside anyway because she hasn't technically slammed the door in your face yet. The floor gleams beneath your feet and you're careful not to drip on the marble. "I can still clean," you try, gripping the handle of your tote tighter. "I—I'll stay longer if you need. P—Please don't fire me." She turns slowly, folding her arms like she's posing for a luxury handbag ad. "You'll leave," she says. "And next time, be honest with yourself about what you're capable of."

That's it. No raised voice, no chance to plead. Just ice in human form and the creak of the front door swinging back open like a guillotine. You stand there a second too long—long enough for it to become pathetic—then you turn and walk back out with your head down and your heart thudding where your confidence used to be. It starts to drizzle as soon as you step off her perfect property. Of course it does.You jog down to the bus stop at the end of the street, ignoring the way your socks squelch in your shoes. Your bag knocks awkwardly against your side. You still have half a bottle of disinfectant in there, you could drink it and cleanse the humiliation right out of your system.

The bus pulls up late. You board with the same dread you imagine people feel before surgery—knowing it's necessary, knowing it's going to hurt. Inside, it's packed. You stand, gripping the pole, body swaying with every uneven turn. The lights flicker overhead. A kid is screaming two seats over. A man is coughing into his hand and not covering his mouth. You catch your reflection in the window—wet hair clinging to your cheeks, eyes dull, lips chapped from chewing them in nervous spirals. This is your life, this bus ride, this moment, is unfortunately your life. The route winds through the city, away from the clean sidewalks and polished gates, deeper into the cracked edges of town where the concrete is more gum than stone and the streetlights work in pairs—if at all. You get off at the corner near the faded liquor store, shoulders hunched under the growing weight of your day.

Your apartment building is a boxy, red-brick rectangle with iron balconies rusting at the corners. The woman who lives two floors up is yelling at her boyfriend again. You can hear every word, you wonder why they're still together seeing as they're fighting every other day. You climb the stairs slowly, dragging your legs like anchors. The third floor always smells like someone burned toast and sprayed perfume to hide it. Your door sticks and it takes three tries to get it open. The TV is already blaring, some british reality dating show, laughter, the pop of a beer can. Minjae is sprawled across the couch, shirtless, remote in one hand and a bowl in the other.

Your bowl. "Yo," he greets, mouth full. "You look like death."

"Thanks." You kick off your shoes and look around in the apartment that's in pure chaos—shoes everywhere, makeup on the kitchen counter, someone's bra dangling from the dining chair. Probably Jiyoon's. The dishes in the sink are starting grow by numbers. She appears in the hallway, barefoot and probably wine-drunk, wearing one of her boyfriend's shirts.

"Hey," she slurs. "How was the bitch?" You stare at her. "I got fired." "Again?" she groans, flopping dramatically onto the peeling loveseat. "Ugh. I told you to lie and say your grandma died. It works every time." You don't respond, heading to the kitchen to open the fridge, the light flickers when you open it. There's nothing inside except a carton of milk that expired last week and someone's half-eaten burger. You close it and lean against the counter, pressing your forehead to the cabinet above.

This can't be your life. This can't keep being your life.

Your socks are still wet when you drag yourself down the narrow hall toward the shared bathroom. You don't even bother turning on the light at first—just reach blindly into the shower caddy for your body wash, hoping a hot rinse will wash off the day, or at least the last of Mrs. Do's perfume that still clings to your sleeves like a curse. Your hand closes around the bottle.

Empty.

You blink, now flipping on the harsh fluorescent light. The bottle is sitting there—your expensive one, the only thing you splurged on in months, lavender and eucalyptus, bought during a panic attack at the drugstore like a promise to yourself that things would get better but now it's squeezed dry. You stand there, frozen. Cold water dripping off your hood. Your knuckles whitening around the neck of the bottle. "Jiyoon!" your voice cracks down the hallway like a whip.

A pause. "What?" she calls back, annoyed, like you're interrupting something important—like Love Island. You storm back into the living room, brandishing the empty bottle like evidence at a trial. Minjae doesn't even glance up from the couch, he's playing something on his phone now, earbuds in, cereal bowl at his feet. Your fucking bowl.

"Tell me this wasn't him." Jiyoon sits up, scowling at your tone. "What are you talking about?" "This." You shake the bottle. "My body wash. The one you 'borrowed' last week. It's gone. Empty. And I know you don't like the smell—so unless I'm hallucinating, your leech of a boyfriend used the last of it."

She rolls her eyes. "Jesus, it's not that deep. It's body wash." "No, it's my body wash. The only nice thing I own. And he used it, again, after eating the rest of my leftovers and leaving dirty socks in the sink and never ever paying rent!"

Minjae finally glances up, one earbud still in. "Damn. You need a Xanax or something?"

Your mouth goes dry.

Jiyoon frowns. "Okay, first of all, don't talk to her like that—"

"No, don't defend me now," you cut in, voice shaking. "You let him live here for free. You make excuses for him while I scrape together every last cent to keep a roof over our heads. I work two jobs, Jiyoon. I eat scraps. I got fired today and came home in the rain to this—and now I can't even take a damn shower without discovering he's drained the last thing I own that smells like something other than despair."

She shifts, uncomfortable. "You could've said something nicer."

"And you could've picked someone who showers in his own place instead of mine!"

Silence.

You don't cry and you won't. Not in front of him. Not even here. You don't wait for an apology that'll never come. You retreat to your room, slam the door, and lock it behind you—not because you're afraid, but because you're done.

You strip off your hoodie, throw it in the corner, and climb into bed fully damp and exhausted. The blanket clings to your legs. You curl around your pillow and let the tension tremble out of your fingertips like static electricity.

You curl up in bed fully clothed, hoodie damp and clinging to your skin, fingers still aching from scrubbing tile three days ago. The blanket smells faintly like bleach. Jiyoon is laughing in the next room, voice high and bright and grating. You close your eyes.

*•*•*

You wake up to the clink of glassware and Minjae's laugh from the kitchen, that smug, high-pitched snort that always sets your teeth on edge. There's no time to be angry—not this morning. You're already late. Again.

You roll out of bed and throw on the first vaguely clean outfit you can find, dragging a brush through your tangled hair and pinning it up like your life depends on it. Your backpack's already half-packed from the night before. You stuff in your worn-out copy of Beloved, a dog-eared notebook filled with scribbles and half-finished poems, and race out the door without breakfast.

It's colder today. The kind of cold that bites under your clothes and leaves your fingers raw. You catch the bus by sheer miracle—sprinting half a block and nearly losing a shoe in the process—and squeeze into the back seat between a teenage couple whispering too loud and a man who keeps humming to himself.

You reach campus with two minutes to spare. The lecture hall smells like chalk dust and old books. It's one of your favorite smells in the world. You slide into the third row, clutching your notebook to your chest, and feel a quiet sort of calm settle over you. This is your safe place. Literature. Language. Storytelling.

The professor enters with her usual elegance, a tall woman with soft curls and a warm smile that doesn't waver even when her students barely look up. She doesn't need to raise her voice to command the room. She carries presence the way some people carry perfume—effortlessly.

"Today," she begins, "we talk about longing." You feel your chest tighten in the most bittersweet way.

She reads a passage aloud—something from a contemporary poet you love but couldn't afford to buy the full collection of—and for a while, you forget the bruising ache in your back from yesterday, or the hollowness in your stomach. You forget Minjae. You forget Mrs. Do.

After class, you linger longer than usual, pretending to organize your papers while most students file out. Professor Cha doesn't seem surprised when you approach her desk.

"I loved what you read today," you say, voice still soft from reverence. "The way it ached."

Her eyes sparkle behind her glasses. "That's a good word. A poem should ache. And yours always do."

You blink. "You read my last submission?"

"I did." She smiles, more maternal than academic now. "You write like you've lived ten lives. There's heartbreak in your syntax, but also something... resilient. It's beautiful. Raw."

The compliment hits deeper than she probably intends. You swallow. "Thank you. I... needed to hear that."

She tilts her head. "You've looked tired lately."

"I got fired," you confess, voice breaking a little at the edges. "From one of my jobs." She doesn't blink or pity you, she nods instead. "Then the world made space for something better. Keep showing up. Your stories matter even if no one pays you for them yet."

It's not much but it's enough to lift your spine straighter as you thank her and walk out the door.

The sunshine doesn't feel quite so cold.

You're halfway down the campus stairs, still thinking about her words, when your phone rings. A number you don't recognize, but one you know instinctively not to ignore.

You answer.

"About damn time," a gravelly voice snaps through the line. "Did you turn off your phone all day or do you just enjoy making my blood pressure spike?"

You wince. "Sorry, Cee. I was in class—"

"I don't care if you were in confession with the Pope," he growls. "You missed your shift yesterday and you got us fired from the Do account." You open your mouth to explain, but he keeps going.

"Lucky for you," he says, as if the words are knives between his teeth, "no one else wants this new job and I'm too tired to argue. Penthouse gig. Rich recluse. We charge double, client pays in advance, and no one wants to take it because apparently the guy's a freak."

You frown. "A freak?"

"Unstable. Hermit. Been on the news, but who the hell keeps track? Listen, I don't care if he's a lizard in a human suit—he's paying. You're taking it."

Your throat dries.

"How many days?"

"Three a week. Big place. Clean what you can, don't snoop. I'll send the address. Be early." and then, just before he hangs up, his tone softens—barely. "Don't mess this up, kid. You need it."

You really, really do.

You stare at the phone screen even after the call ends, the manager's words still ringing in your ears. Freak. Hermit. Don't mess this up.

The ache in your calves from walking half a mile after the bus dropped you off doesn't compare to the slow sinking in your stomach as you lift your head to take in the building before you.

It's not just big—it's obscene. The kind of place you'd see in a glossy magazine left behind in a waiting room. Black glass, white stone, gold accents on the automatic double doors. No peeling paint, no squeaky hinges, no smell of cheap weed in the lobby. You shift your backpack higher on your shoulder and wipe your palms on your pants, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you look.

The doorman gives you a glance that says you're not the usual type, but he opens the door for you anyway. Inside, the lobby is quiet. Too quiet. Your footsteps echo on the marble like you're trespassing.

You check the note your manager texted again: Penthouse, 45th floor. Don't use the front elevator. Service lift in the back.

Figures.

You find the service lift through a hallway no guest would ever wander down—a dimly lit corridor that smells faintly of lemon polish and secrecy. The kind of place you get swallowed in. You step inside the narrow elevator, the floor humming under your boots.

The doors slide shut with a groan. You breathe out. The kind of breath that's supposed to steady you but doesn't.

Your phone buzzes again just before the elevator doors open.

Cee: Don't fuck this up. Get there exactly at 10, leave exactly at 4. Even if you finish early, you stay. No exceptions. And whatever you do, NEVER go upstairs. He has rules. Don't test them.

You stare at the screen.

What kind of house has an upstairs in a penthouse? you think, and the second the thought passes, the elevator dings.

The doors creak open onto a hallway draped in shadow. No welcome mat, no noise or signs of life. Just a wide, heavy door that looks more like it belongs on a bank vault than a home.

You step out.

Your boots sound stupidly loud on the marble tile, and you hesitate before raising your hand to knock. But there's no need. The moment your knuckles reach the wood, the door clicks open on its own.

Unlocked.

The place is massive. The ceilings stretch too high, the walls too white, everything too pristine. There's barely any furniture. Just space and silence and air so still it feels like it hasn't been disturbed in years. You don't call out cause your manager said he wouldn't speak to you and that he likely wouldn't even show himself.

Just clean and leave. Do not go upstairs.

You hold your breath and step inside.

The air smells like cedar and something colder, like snow, if snow could haunt. You set your backpack down, find the gloves and cleaning supplies neatly packed inside, and glance around for somewhere to begin. The living room stretches out in an open floor plan—windows from floor to ceiling, giving a panoramic view of the city that glitters like it belongs to someone else.

You move quietly, gently, like the house might shatter if you're not careful, there's a faint creak above you that makes you freeze.

Somewhere beyond the mezzanine level—a second floor, tucked behind shadows and sleek black railings—you hear slow footsteps. Nothing fast, just the sound of pacing but then it stops and you don't look up.

You don't have to but you can feel the weight of someone above you. Maybe it's just the paranoia settling in or maybe it's the echo of your manager's warning.

Don't go upstairs.

You lower your gaze and start cleaning the untouched coffee table. You don't see a single cup stain or a single fingerprint. You think of the journal in your bag—the one you always carry, the one you use to write about your clients. He'll be in there by tonight, nameless, faceless. The man who lives upstairs like a ghost in the penthouse he knows.

For now, you work. Quiet and invisible. There's a fine layer of dust on everything. Not filth—just time, settled air and neglect. No signs of life, no spilled coffee mugs or kicked-off shoes. Just clean lines, cold surfaces, and untouched space.

You start in the living room, wiping down the windowsills and working your way around the low furniture. The couch looks barely used, the cushions still stiff. You sweep, mop, vacuum, moving silently through the rooms that all look the same—stunning, sterile, too expensive to feel real.

In the hallway near the back, there's a closet.

You pause in front of it.

It's nothing special—just a tall, sleek black door flush against the wall like all the others. But your fingers hesitate on the handle. Something about it makes your stomach twist. A soft wrongness that makes you not open it, that makes you turn around and just keep cleaning.

By 2:30, you've gone through the whole first floor. Kitchen wiped down. Bathroom gleaming. Trash collected and everything you were paid to do—done.

But Cee's voice rings in your head; Even if you finish early—stay. No exceptions.

So you sit.

You settle into one of the chairs by the window, the soft hum of the city beyond the glass lulling you into something between boredom and thoughtfulness. You reach into your bag and pull out your journal—worn leather, pages soft at the edges.

You click your pen open and start writing.

Day one at the penthouse. It smells like dust and something else I can't quite name. The kind of clean that doesn't feel lived in. I didn't open the black closet near the back. It felt like something in a horror film but I'll pretend it's just full of broken umbrellas.

Got fired from the Do account. Still bitter. She had a face like a lemon and a heart to match. Professor was a much-needed balm in comparison—thank God for her and her endless belief in me.

New job might be decent money if I don't screw it up. Cee says the guy who lives here is a recluse. Said he hasn't left the penthouse in two years. But I don't know. Maybe he's just lonely.

You pause there, tapping the pen against the paper. The upper floor is quiet. Still. You underline the word lonely and draw a small star beside it.

At exactly 4:00, you pack up your supplies, double-check every corner, and sling your bag over your shoulder and slide your journal right back into the side pocket of your bag, safe and sound.

You take the service elevator down, your own reflection warping in the mirrored steel walls, and step out into the cool evening air. The sun is already dipping lower, the clouds streaked in gold and gray.

The bus ride home is slower than usual. You sit in the back corner, forehead pressed to the rattling glass, zoning out to the lull of traffic and tired bodies. The city outside blurs past in tired shades.

As your apartment door creaks open, you start praying no one hears or sees you. But it's already too late.

Minjae's voice rings out sharp and annoyed. "I told you I'm looking, Jiyoon. What do you want me to do, lie on a fucking application?"

Jiyoon fires back just as quickly. "No, I want you to try! I'm covering your half of the rent again this month—what do you think I am, an ATM?!"

You freeze in the doorway, trying to shrink into your coat. If you're quiet enough, maybe you can just slip past—

"Hey," Jiyoon says suddenly, spotting you over Minjae's shoulder. Her tone shifts fast—softer now, almost guilty. "You just get in?"

You nod, shrugging your bag higher. "Yeah." "How's the nut house?"

You drop your bag by the door and stare at her. "The what?"

"The place you're cleaning. You know, that recluse guy who's like—off his rocker? Isn't that what your boss said?"

You toe off your shoes and mutter, "It's just a job."

Minjae grins walking away from Jiyoon's presence like the change in topic is suddenly the end of their argument. "I bet he's got some freaky shit there. Hidden cameras. Severed heads. Weird old dude stuff."

"I don't even know if he's old," you say, voice low. "And you don't know anything about him."

Minjae snorts. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You turn back to Jiyoon, your constant irritation for her boyfriend crawling up your neck. "It's... weird," you admit. "But clean. Quiet. Better than getting yelled at by lemon-faced socialites, I guess."

Jiyoon gives you a weak smile. "Well, if anyone can survive a haunted tower or whatever that place is, it's you."

You hum, tired beyond belief, and slip down the hall toward your room without waiting for more, maybe more will come in the morning.

And when morning does come, it hits like a slow bruise. No alarm, just the muted scrape of a garbage truck outside and the sound of Jiyoon's laughter echoing down the hall, already too loud for the hour. You blink up at the water-stained ceiling, let the ache in your jaw settle, and for a few seconds, you don't move. The blanket's twisted around your leg like it's trying to keep you here. You wish it would.

But you're broke. So you move

You don't eat breakfast. There's no time, and besides, Jiyoon's boyfriend used the last of your cereal. You found the empty box in the sink this morning, soggy and limp with leftover milk, like a personal fuck-you from the universe.

Outside, the streets are still wet from last night's rain, the air sharp and cold enough to crack your lips. You tug your coat tighter around yourself and walk fast, half-hoping your legs will just carry you somewhere else. But the route to the campus library is too familiar, too automatic. You take the side street behind the deli, cutting through the alley behind the 24-hour laundromat where the machines always sound like they're choking. There's graffiti on the brick wall now—someone's drawn a woman with eyes for hands.

The library is warm in that stale, overused way that makes you sleepy, but you know the quiet corner where the heater rattles just enough to keep you awake. You sit with your laptop and your headphones, the cushion on the chair still warm from the last desperate student who used it.

This is job number two.

You click play on the next transcription project; an audiobook manuscript from some retired executive who thinks the world needs to hear about his rise to glory. The audio crackles. His voice is deep, smug, like he's narrating his own documentary.

"It all began with a vision. I was just a boy, standing in my father's study, realizing the empire I'd one day build..." You try not to roll your eyes. Your fingers find the rhythm. You transcribe as fast as he talks, catching every word, every pretentious pause.

"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some, like me, are greatness incarnate."

Jesus.

You pause the audio and lean back, pressing your fingers into your temples. He's unbearable. Still—you need the money, so you press play again. But somewhere in the haze of his bravado, your mind drifts, not too far, just up.

Up to the penthouse you cleaned yesterday. The thick silence, untouched surfaces and the staircase you weren't allowed to climb. It all made something you couldn't name press down on the air.

You wonder what he sounds like.

The man who lives there, the one Cee called a shut-in, a recluse. Heeseung. You only know the name because of the envelope on the front table. You weren't supposed to look, but you did. Of course you did.

You imagine his voice now, layered under the pompous narration. Not loud or self-important. Just... quiet. Measured. Maybe hoarse from disuse. You imagine what it would feel like to hear it. To be the reason it breaks the silence. Your fingers falter. The word "greatness" stutters across the screen three times in a row.

You stop typing.

And for a second, you just sit there, headphones still on, the man's voice buzzing in your ears like a mosquito trapped in a jar, and you wonder if loneliness has a sound. And if maybe you've already heard it.

You leave the library when your laptop battery dies, the sky already smudged with dusk. Your ears still ring faintly from the droning of Mr. Greatness Incarnate. You swing your bag over your shoulder, scarf loose around your neck, hands shoved deep into your coat pockets. The wind cuts sharper than it did this morning. You're too tired to fight it.

By the time you reach your apartment building, you dread the climb to the third floor, not knowing what's behind your door—and your key sticks like always when you jam it into the lock but when the door finally swings open, you freeze.

The apartment is clean. Spotless even.

No laundry tossed across the couch, no cereal bowls fossilized with milk crust sitting on the coffee table. The garbage isn't overflowing. There's even a faint citrus scent in the air, like someone opened a window and let the idea of cleanliness drift in.

And Jiyoon's on the couch. Calm. Legs tucked under her, hair braided down one side, munching on a bag of shrimp chips like this is just... normal. Like this is how things have always been.

You drop your keys into the chipped bowl by the door. "What happened?" She glances at you, shrugs. "I cleaned." You blink. "No, I mean... what happened happened. Did the landlord threaten an inspection or—"

"I broke up with Minjae," she says, and pops another chip into her mouth like she didn't just detonate an-eighteen-month-long catastrophe with five words. "Told him to pack his shit and go."

You stare. "You what?"

Her eyes don't even flicker from the TV. "He was a leech. I hate leeches."

You're still frozen in the hallway, bag slipping down your arm, unsure what dimension you walked into. The silence feels wrong. Too still. Too empty. But... not bad.

Just different.

Eventually, your feet remember what to do, and you drift to your room, slowly, almost cautiously, like something might jump out at you. You twist your doorknob, push it open—and stop again cause there's a gift bag sitting on your bed.

Brown paper, neatly folded at the top, a little gold sticker sealing the tissue paper closed. You don't touch it right away, you just stare at it like it might explode.

Then you sit, gently, fingers trembling a little now. but peel the sticker away anyway, opening the bag.

Two bottles. Your favorite body wash. The same kind Minjae used up without asking. Double this time, still sealed and tucked between them, a note—scrawled in Jiyoon's quick, sharp handwriting on a sticky note she probably pulled from her planner.

"I'm sorry."

It doesn't say anything else. Doesn't have to.

You let out this huff of a sound, half a laugh, half a sob—and press the heels of your hands into your eyes. You weren't ready for this, especially not after today, not after everything you've been through this week. You sniff, smile through the sting behind your eyes, and whisper, "What the hell is going on?"

For the first time in a long time, no one answers and it doesn't feel like a threat. Just... peace. Quiet, a rare kind.

And the bathroom is yours again.

*•*•*

The next morning wakes you gently.

Not with screaming or slamming doors or the unmistakable sound of Minjae trying to justify why rent is a social construct—but with the smell of bacon.

You lie there for a moment, still curled in your sheets, nose twitching like it can't quite believe it. Bacon. And eggs. The sizzle, the clink of a pan. There's sunlight bleeding between the slats of your blinds, the kind of sleepy, golden light that feels warm just by looking at it.

You slip out of bed in your socks, shuffle into the kitchen, and there's Jiyoon—hair still messy from sleep, an oversized shirt hanging off one of her shoulders, poking a spatula at a pan like she does this every day, like this isn't a wildly new domestic era you've entered.

"Are you dying?" you ask, voice still rasped with sleep.

She smirks. "Sit your broke ass down. We're having breakfast." You do, blinking dumbly as she plates eggs and bacon and toast like some sitcom mom. The kind of meal that costs too much time and too many groceries for the world you live in. But it's real. It's on your plate. It's hot.

And it tastes like actual heaven.

"Okay," Jiyoon says through a bite, "you're not allowed to cry over eggs." "I'm not," you lie, chewing around the lump in your throat. "Shut up."

It's quiet for a beat, just the sounds of cutlery and your lives slowly stitching back together. Then she speaks, softer this time.

"I missed this."

You glance up.

"I mean—us," she says quickly. "It got weird. And Minjae was—he j—just made everything about him. And I let it happen." You nod, eyes falling to your plate. "I missed you too."

And that's all it takes. The two of you just... fall back into it. Like nothing ever cracked. Like the gap never grew wide enough to drown you.

You're halfway through your second cup of coffee when your phone buzzes. A bank notification lights up the screen.

Deposit: $400.00 — From: H.C.A. CLEANING INC.

Your breath catches and your stomach flips but you don't even have enough time to process it before a follow-up text comes in from your manager.

Cee: Well done. Keep it up.

You stare at your phone, stunned. Your fork hangs mid-air. "What?" Jiyoon leans over, eyes narrowing, trying to look at your screen. "What is it? What's that look?"

You show her the screen.

She lets out a whistle, snatching the phone out of your hand. "Four hundred dollars?! For one day?"

You nod slowly. "It's... the penthouse."

Jiyoon's eyes go wide. "Girl. Are you sure this isn't a sex dungeon?"

"It's not—!"

"I'm just saying!" she laughs, waving the phone in your face. "Do they need two cleaners? Cause I got two hands and a back that only mildly hurts."

You snort.

"No, seriously," she grins, handing your phone back. "Keep this up, and you're gonna sugar mama us out of this hellhole."

"Us?"

"Obviously. I've already picked out my new bedroom. It has a balcony."

You shake your head, grinning despite yourself. The weight on your chest feels a little lighter today. There's food in your stomach, laughter in your lungs, and a number in your bank account that feels like it belongs to someone else. Someone who isn't drowning, maybe someone who could start swimming soon.

You rinse your plate in the sink, tie your boots, and throw on your coat with renewed resilience. There's something weird in your chest—not bad weird. Just... fluttery. A quiet excitement you can't explain, maybe it's the money. $1200 a week is enough to make a broke girl like you feel fluttery.

The penthouse is a mystery. The man inside, even more so and something about it tugs at you. You leave the apartment with a full stomach and something flickering under your ribs that almost feels like hope.

The security guard barely glances up when you pass through the front lobby, your shoes echoing across the cold marble. You know the route now—the elevator on the far end, the one with the gilded trim and the keycard scanner that flickers green the second you swipe the little laminated badge clipped to your bag.

Penthouse access. Floor 45.

You ride up alone, the hum of the elevator filling your ears, your stomach still fluttering for some godforsaken reason. It's ridiculous, really. It's just cleaning. A job. A space.

Still—there's something about this building, this job, this man—something you don't have a name for yet. Something a little strange.

When the elevator dings open at the top floor, you step out and blink at the sheer silence. It always feels a little too still up here, like the air's holding its breath. You cross the short hallway toward the penthouse door, adjusting your bag over your shoulder, then pause.

A man is walking out.

Tall. Black coat. Black hair. He doesn't look up as he pulls the door behind him and lets it click shut. There's a thick folder of papers in his hand—some printed, some handwritten—and he's flipping through them like he's on a mission. Brows furrowed as though he's deep in thought. You shift slightly to the side, give a small, polite "Good morning," but he doesn't respond, he doesn't even glance at you.

Okay.

You watch him disappear down the hallway, a little unsettled, but before your brain can start drawing conclusions, you catch something else. From behind the door.

Movement. Light.

A quiet creak, then a faint thump from the floor above. Right—he's upstairs. He hasn't come down, just like your manager said he wouldn't.

So, not Heeseung.

You shake it off, and push open the door to the penthouse. It's the same as last time. Too clean to feel lived in, a place more structure than soul. The marble kitchen glints under the soft daylight that pours in through those floor-to-ceiling windows, and the air smells faintly sterile. Like eucalyptus and untouched laundry.

You drop your bag by the door, change into your inside shoes, and head for the linen closet to start where you left off last time.

There's a note.

You spot it taped neatly to the inside of the closet door, white paper against the cool gray shelves. Typed in black ink, neatly, not handwritten.

You folded the towels wrong.

Beneath it, stapled neatly, is a printed diagram. A diagram with steps and numbered illustrations. You blink. It's absurd. It's pedantic. It's—

You laugh, quietly, to yourself. "What a nutjob," you mutter under your breath, echoing Jiyoon's words.

And then you catch yourself.

He's paying you. Four hundred dollars. For one day. To clean and to follow instructions. Folding towels properly is not asking too much—not for this kind of money, not for the kind of life you're trying to claw your way toward.

You shake your head, shoulders straightening, and refold every towel in the linen closet with the care of a military cadet. Corners aligned, fold sharp, just the way the diagram instructs.

Once you've checked them twice, you move on. The floors—again. There's always a thin veil of dust on the hardwood, like no one has lived here in years. The glass in the shower, the streaks on the chrome fixtures. You find a guest room with a window cracked just slightly, letting in the city noise below, and you seal it shut.

It's all the same movements as last time. Your body goes through the checklist while your mind wanders, as it always does. Little fragments of poetry rise up behind your eyes. A line about silence that weighs too much, about towels that speak louder than people. You file them away for later.

And like last time, you finish early.

3:26.

You double-check the space. Everything in order. Then you drift toward the single chair by the massive window that overlooks the skyline. The same chair you sat in last time. You pull out your journal, and you start writing.

He left a note about the towels. Said I did it wrong. I guess... he's not what I imagined. There's something almost neurotic about him, but not messy. Not in a Minjae way. It's all too deliberate. He's exacting. Controlled. Still not a trace of him anywhere—not a pair of shoes, not a book out of place. It's like he's trying to erase his presence even though it's so obviously here, breathing under everything.

Your pen hovers, you almost scratch it all out, but you don't.

A soft thud interrupts you. Distant. Upstairs. You freeze, eyes lifting from the page.

Another sound. A voice—muffled. A man's voice, low and smooth, bleeding through the ceiling like the floorboards are too thin to keep him contained.

You can't make out the words, but you hear the timbre. The rhythm.

You write until your hand cramps and the ink starts to skip. At 3:52, you check the time and shut the journal slowly, your gaze drifting out the window for a long moment.

But then... it happens again.

Your eyes flick to the closet door.

Same as last time. Same quiet weight pressing against your chest when you look at it. You don't know what it is about it—just a regular black door, no lock, no sign, nothing particularly ominous—but it nags at you. And before you know it, your legs are moving.

Soft steps across the hardwood. You don't even really make the decision—you just find yourself there, hand on the doorknob, heart ticking unevenly.

It's probably something stupid. Creepy. Like a skeleton, or jars of teeth. A body. It's always the ones who care too much about towel folding who hide people in their walls.

You exhale, slow, and turn the knob.

The door creaks open.

It's dim, a strip of light spilling in over your feet—and then your eyes adjust.

Not bodies. Not bones.

Photos.

Hundreds of them. Pinned to corkboard walls, stacked in boxes, frames leaning against shelves. Posters rolled into rubber-banded scrolls. A trophy case sits in the corner, glass clean, the metal plaques catching the light like little knives.

You blink, stepping in cautiously.

There are certificates. Paper yellowed with age. Borletti-Buitoni Trust Award. First Place—2022. Van Cliburn International Piano Competition 2021. Tchaikovsky Conservatory Excellence Award 2023. All in English, some in Korean, some in French.

You walk along the wall, fingertips brushing the edge of a matte photo. A group picture. A symphony ensemble, maybe. Then another, a candid shot of a teenage boy at a grand piano, his hands hovering above the keys, his brow furrowed like the music is something physical he's trying to catch.

And then another. A close-up this time. His face.

Heeseung.

Your breath catches.

He's younger in these—baby-faced almost—but you want to believe it's him. There's something about his posture, his expression, that quiet intensity even the camera couldn't wash out.

You crouch beside a crate of rolled-up posters and untangle one gently. The paper's dusty, brittle near the corners. When you unroll it, it flutters open across your lap.

A concert poster. The image glossy and faded with time: a sleek black grand piano under a single spotlight. A man sits at it, back straight, head bowed. His name sprawls across the top in elegant serif font:

LEE HEESEUNG

It's signed at the bottom, right across the curve of the piano. —With love, always, LH.

You stare at it for a long moment.

And then... the pieces begin to arrange themselves.

The penthouse. The silence. The exactness. The distance. And now—this.

He must've been a concert pianist.

You blink again, stunned that you'd never heard of him. Someone who'd clearly been celebrated, decorated, known. At some point, at least.

You tuck the poster back carefully and ease the door shut behind you. But the quiet feels different now. Not empty.

The whole bus ride home, your brain won't stop flipping through those images—trophies, posters, photos, that signature on the rolled-up poster. With love, always, LH. You hold it all in your head like puzzle pieces that almost fit, just not quite yet. But there's no mistaking it—the man in the penthouse was someone once.

The apartment smells like garlic and soy sauce when you walk in. You blink at the strange scent, automatically bracing for another fight—but it's quiet. Peaceful, even. The living room light is on, and Jiyoon's perched on the couch still in her stiff black skirt and her knock-off kitten heels, hair pinned up and eyeliner smudged.

"Hey," she says, not looking up from her phone. "Dinner's in the microwave. I made bulgogi."

You pause in the doorway, still blinking, confused. "You cooked?"

She shrugs. "Had a day. Needed to stir something before I murdered someone."

You heat up your plate and sink into the couch beside her, pulling your knees up and balancing the food on top. The meat is tender, warm and sweet, and the rice is just sticky enough.

"So?" she mumbles, mouth full of chips. "How's the nutjob in the tower?"

You laugh, almost choking on rice. "He's not a nutjob."

"Old man, then."

You glance at her. "He's not old."

She raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? And how do you know that?"

You chew slowly, smirking to yourself. "I did his laundry today."

"Oh?" She sits up straighter, grinning. "And what? The briefs don't lie?"

You laugh, snorting, and try to wave her off, cheeks hot. "No, just—his clothes. They weren't... old man clothes."

She gives you the most exaggerated eyebrow wiggle you've ever seen. "Ohhhh. So they were hot man clothes."

"Shut up."

"You want to see what he looks like," she accuses, pointing a chip at you.

You mumble something under your breath, something you don't even realize you've said aloud until she gasps.

"What was that?" she demands. "Tell me. Tell me right now."

You set your plate aside and sink into the couch cushions, eyes on the ceiling. "Okay. Fine. I opened some weird closet in his hallway today"

Her jaw drops.

"And?"

You tell her everything. The photos. The awards. The posters and the certificates. The name. The signature. The signed poster. You recite the words, LEE HEESEUNG.

She blinks. "Wait. Wait wait wait. You mean the dude you clean for is famous?"

"Was," you say softly. "I think he was famous. He was a concert pianist."

There's a beat of silence then she's snatching up her laptop. "What are we doing just sitting here? Let's Google him."

You shift beside her as she types in his name watching it autofill halfway through. She scrolls.

First result: a blurry photo of a younger Heeseung at a concert, fingers splayed on the keys.

Second result: Top 10 Rising Stars of the Classical World.

Third: The Golden Boy of the Grand Piano—Why Lee Heeseung Was Next.

There are photos—clean, posed ones, then live shots of him in motion, bent over the keys, expression contorted like the music is tearing out of him.

"Damn," Jiyoon whispers. "He was hot."

You smack her arm. "Focus."

She scrolls again—and then pauses.

You feel her go still beside you.

Her thumb hovers over the next headline.

Concert Pianist Lee Heeseung Suffers On-Stage Mental Breakdown During Performance.

Your stomach drops. It's dated 2 years ago.

"Holy shit," she whispers.

There's a thumbnail image of the article and beneath it, a video. Your fingers are trembling but you press play anyway.

The video opens on a massive concert hall. Heeseung sits alone at a grand piano under a soft blue spotlight. There's silence—and then music. Soaring, masterful, all-consuming. His fingers move like they're made of air.

He plays so beautifully that you find yourself immersed but then, something shifts.

His hands slow. His face tenses. He mutters something under his breath, eyes wide like he's seeing something the rest of the room can't. Then—

A violent slam of the keys.

The audience flinches.

He starts playing again, erratically, pounding the piano with discordant noise. His head jerks to the side. He mutters again, louder this time. Words you can't make out. Security rushes the stage. The video ends in chaos, with the camera shaking, audience gasping.

You stare at the screen long after it's gone black.

"That's why," you whisper.

Jiyoon nods slowly. "That's why he lives like that now."

Neither of you speak for a long time. There's just the hum of the microwave clock ticking forward, the faint buzz of the fridge, the afterimage of that video burned into your mind.

Heeseung isn't just a recluse. He's a man who was once made of music—and then unraveled by it.

The video plays again in your head when the screen's long since gone black.

Heeseung's face in that last shot—wild and glassy-eyed, haunted—lingers like smoke. Even with the dinner gone and the dishes rinsed, even with the taste of bulgogi faded from your tongue, it clings to your ribs.

Jiyoon breaks the silence first. She sets her laptop down with a sigh and rubs her forehead like she's trying to will away her own stress.

"Anyway," she mutters, "my manager's still a raging bitch."

The shift in topic feels abrupt, like someone slammed the door on something unfinished. You blink and turn your head, trying to meet her halfway.

"She moved my report to a different folder this morning and then cc'd her manager asking where mine was," Jiyoon grumbles, tossing a chip in her mouth. "Like she didn't just put it there herself. I swear she's trying to build a case to get me fired."

You hum a vague sound of sympathy, but your eyes are unfocused. Your thoughts are half in that concert hall, half in that penthouse closet, all tangled up with things that don't make sense yet.

Jiyoon squints at you, crunching slowly. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah," you say, blinking hard. "Sorry. I just..."

"You look tired," she says gently. "Like tired-tired. Go to bed."

You nod. "I will. Just—gonna change first."

She lets you go, and you disappear into your room, clicking the door shut behind you.

The quiet hits fast.

You peel off your jacket, your jeans. Change into your sleep shirt. The light on your desk is soft and yellow, and you go to your tote bag by instinct, unzipping it without thinking.

You freeze.

Your fingers reach the bottom of the bag.

You check again.

Then again.

Your journal's not there.

You turn the bag upside down—shake it, even though you know how pointless it is—and the only thing that falls out is a used lip balm, your wallet and your bus pass.

You drop to your knees beside the desk, rifling through the bag's compartments. Check under your bed. In your drawers. You dig through the laundry pile.

Your breath quickens. Your pulse starts to speed.

A whole year and a half. That's how long you've been writing in that journal. Every scattered thought, every tiny win, every loss, every panic attack, every private daydream. It's not just a notebook—it's you. You wrote yourself into those pages, over and over and you can think is; it's gone.

You dart back into the living room, voice already strained. "Jiyoon—have you seen my journal? The brown one?"

She looks up from her phone, blinking. "Journal? No. Did you leave it at the library?"

You shake your head too fast. "No—I had it with me. I know I had it with me. I wrote in it today, I always put it in the tote after, I—I—"

She sits up straighter. "Okay, hey. Don't panic. Maybe it slipped out on the bus?"

You clutch your arms, stomach turning. The thought of it sitting there in some grimy bus seat, left behind, already flipped through by strangers, your handwriting exposed—your insides exposed—makes you sick.

Your throat tightens.

"Hey," Jiyoon says, getting up now, her voice softer. "It's okay. We'll retrace your steps tomorrow, alright?"

But you're already crying. Not big sobs—just quiet, stunned tears, the kind that sting as they fall, the kind you can't stop once they start.

You laugh bitterly through it, pressing your palm to your mouth. "It's stupid," you mumble. "It's just a journal."

"It's not stupid," Jiyoon says, crossing the room and pulling you into a hug.

You close your eyes. Her office clothes smell like starch and soy sauce and the bad perfume her coworker probably wears, but her arms are warm and solid around you.

Still, your heart aches like something's gone missing.

And somewhere—somewhere else—those pages are no longer just yours.

*•*•*

You don't even realize how much weight you've been dragging until it starts to leave marks—under your eyes, behind your ribs, along your spine.

It's been a whole day without it. Twenty-four hours without your journal and you're already unraveling. Not crying anymore—just dulled out. The kind of sadness that makes everything taste like paper, feel like static.

Jiyoon tried her best. She really did. She even called in sick that morning just to help look. Said her manager could go chew on gravel, she didn't care. She pulled you out of bed, made you drink an iced coffee, and walked with you back to every single place you'd been.

You retraced your steps with her hand on your shoulder the entire time—gentle, like you'd break.

Back to the library. Back to the plaza where you sat for five minutes waiting on the bus. You even got on the same damn route, asked the driver if he'd seen a brown journal with an elastic band and too many taped-in receipts.

Nothing.

Just a kind smile from a man who said he was sorry and wished you luck.

So when Friday comes around—when you have to drag yourself out of bed again for the penthouse job—you feel heavy. Disconnected. You brush your teeth with your eyes half-closed. Tie your laces without bothering to double knot them. You're not crying, not even angry, just—

Faded.

You leave the house a little past nine. Jiyoon waves from the couch but doesn't try to stop you. She knows money talks, even when you're too tired to listen.

You arrive at ten sharp like always. Same hallway, same elevator ding, same code punched into the keypad.

The door opens.

And the stillness inside hits you harder than usual. Not just quiet—vacant. Like the walls themselves are holding their breath.

You don't bother kicking off your shoes this time.

You walk in and turn toward the kitchen to get the supplies—straight to the cabinets under the sink—and that's when you freeze.

There.

On the counter.

Your journal.

You stand still for so long the air starts to pulse in your ears cause it's open. Pages parted like a secret mid-sentence. And the breath that's been caged in your lungs for a whole day catches halfway up your throat.

You move closer. Like if you blink too hard it'll vanish.

It's turned to that entry. The one you wrote after cleaning here the first time—where you wrote about the towels and the light and the strange emptiness of a life lived up high and alone. The part where you called him lonely.

Your eyes track the handwriting in the margin. Small. Neat. Slightly angled.

An arrow is drawn from the word lonely and next to it, in ink that definitely isn't yours:

you have no idea.

Your throat goes dry.

You run your fingertips over the words—his words—like touching them will make them make sense. But they don't. Not really. They just buzz in your chest like something secret and sad and suddenly real.

He read it. He read it.

And not just read it—responded.

You sink into the nearest stool, heart hammering, holding the journal like it might slip away again.

This man—this ghost of a man, the one who hides behind silence and rules and perfectly folded towels—he read you. And then he left this like it wasn't a confession. Like it wasn't a crack in the wall you didn't think you'd ever see.

"You have no idea."

You don't.

But for the first time, you think you want to so you tear a sheet from the back of your journal. The lines are faint blue, the edge ragged where it rips. You stare at it longer than necessary—like the paper's going to change its mind about letting you say what you need to.

Your hand shakes as you write it, "I didn't mean to be invasive, just honest."

You don't sign it.

You fold it in half once, then again. Then you slide it under the coaster on the marble coffee table—tucked, but not hidden. If he wants to find it, he will.

And then you're out the door. Before 4, for the the first time not caring about the rule.

*•*•*

When you get home, Jiyoon's door is locked. You knock once, then try the handle. Still locked. "Jiyoon," you call. "Let me in." Nothing, so you knock harder. When she finally opens it, her hair is a mess and her cheeks are a deep, guilty pink. She looks like she just sprinted a mile and saw God somewhere in the middle of it.

You know what she was doing but you don't care, you just brush right past her and drop your journal on her bed like it's a live grenade.

"He read my fucking journal," you hiss, turning on your heel. "He wrote in it." "What!?" Jiyoon gasps, not even trying to play it cool. "That's where you left it?!"

"I didn't mean to!" "Wait—he wrote in it? Like, wrote wrote? Pen to page?" You nod, pacing like your bones are electric. "He responded to a line I wrote about him being lonely. Just—drew an arrow to it and wrote 'you have no idea.' Like what the fuck is that even supposed to mean!?" "That's—" She stops. Blinks. Then starts again, because of course she has to. "That's kind of hot," she says, lips twitching.

"Jiyoon!" "Okay, okay! It's fucked up, but it's also..." She trails off, thoughtful. "It's kind of giving tortured artist. Haunted tower. Piano-playing ghost with emotional constipation." You flop onto her bed, face buried in your hands. "I feel violated. But also like...I violated him first? Is that weird? I feel like we both got naked and didn't mean to."

"That is the weirdest metaphor you've ever said," Jiyoon mutters, but there's affection under it and you're about to respond but then your phone rings. Shrill and loud against the padded silence of Jiyoon's room. You check the screen and it's Cee. You answer it with a sigh. "Hello?" "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He barks immediately. "Did you leave before 4?" Your stomach drops. "Yes, I did, but—"

"You had clear fucking instructions! You don't leave before 4. Ever."

"I had to. I was done, I—" "I don't give a shit," he snaps. "From now on? You clean for him every day. That's what he wants." You blink. "Every day?"

"Every. Fucking. Day. Starting tomorrow." The line goes dead. You lower the phone slowly and Jiyoon's looking at you like you just told her you're moving to Mars. "You're cleaning for him every day?" You nod, feeling numb. She whistles. "Guess you better start folding towels in your dreams."

You flop back on her bed again, journal beside you, limbs heavy and brain scrambled, because somehow this man has read your secrets, insulted your towel folding, haunted your thoughts and gotten you trapped in a daily cleaning contract. You stare at the ceiling, heart a mess of beats. You truly have no idea what the hell you've gotten yourself into, just like Heeseung wrote.

*•*•*

You hate today. Not in the throwaway I-hate-Mondays kind of way, but in that deep, simmering, "I'd rather get hit by a bus than scrub your already-clean floors for six hours" kind of way. It's Saturday. Saturday. And you're supposed to be doing anything else. Sleeping in. Going to the corner store with Jiyoon in your pajamas. Sitting in silence and mourning the part of yourself that used to be a free woman.

Instead, you're here. The penthouse again. Cold and looming and weirdly beautiful in a way you hate to admit. It's only 9:30. You're early and you could wait. You should wait. But something reckless and slightly unhinged is buzzing in your blood—maybe it's the journal thing, or the fact that he read every single thing you've ever written about yourself. You don't know.

You just know that this time, you're not waiting. You take the elevator up. No code. No warning. Just your footsteps, soft and slow, echoing across the marble as you step into the penthouse and then—you stop. Dead.

Because there's someone already down here, in fact two someones. One of them, you recognize as the man you saw leaving that day—now unmistakably a doctor of some sort, clipboard in hand, every movement clinical and restrained. He's sitting next to another man. A man who's— Oh fuck.

Shirtless.

Barefoot. Wearing only a pair of jeans that hang low on his hips like they're barely there at all. Lee Heeseung, the one on all the pictures and posters in the haunting closet, the one from the articles you saw.He's not a ghost or a shadow upstairs. He's definitely real and he's here, laughing at something he just said, a low warm sound that breaks the silence—and then cuts off the second he sees you.They both stare and you can't help but stare back cause your brain short-circuits because not only is he real—he's gorgeous. Devastatingly beautiful in a way that feels cruel. Sharp jaw, dark hair a mess, skin golden and soft in the morning light and then the audacity of the amused curl of his mouth as he takes you in.

The doctor doesn't laugh at Heeseung's joke, he just closes his clipboard with a hard snap, locks the files into a black case with practiced hands, mutters something clipped to Heeseung, and walks past you like you're air. You don't move, not because you don't want to but because you can't. And now Heeseung just stands there, right in front of you, 6 feet away. Shirtless.

As if this is all some sort of routine, where he expected you to show up early to catch him sitting there. Then he speaks. Voice low, smooth, maddeningly calm. "You're early."

You blink, stunned mute. He cocks his head slightly. Barely.

"Is this how you always barge into my home?" You open your mouth but you have to close it again because no words will come out.Because all you can think is holy shit. Not only is he not old, like Jiyoon said, not only is he not some weird piano hermit ghost—he is breathtaking. And apparently, deeply unbothered by the fact that you've just witnessed whatever strange intimate evaluation that was.

"I—sorry," you finally manage, voice rough to the point of shame. "I didn't think—there was someone—upstairs, usually—" Heeseung raises an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "You didn't think as I didn't think you'd be here before ten, hmm?" You bristle, flustered and mortified and somewhere under all that, burning. "I'm just here to clean." He smiles at that and it's not kind, it's not mocking either. Just... knowing, he's got that look—the kind that says he's already pages ahead in your journal entry for tonight, already memorized the lines, already knows exactly how this ends.

"Good," he says. "Then clean." And he walks past you—slow, easy, barefoot steps—disappearing back up the stairs without another word. Leaving you there, alone with your rage, your humiliation, and your heart pounding so loud in your chest it echoes in the silence. What do you do now? You clean. Of course you do. That's what you're here for, and you already showed up thirty minutes earlier than you were supposed to, so now you're finishing faster than usual—dusting the shelves with extra care just to stall, organizing the rows of books he never touches, wiping down the marble countertops even though they don't look like they've been used in days.

And all the while your brain won't stop looping back to your journal on his kitchen counter, to the handwriting in the margins that isn't yours, to the arrow pointing right to the word lonely and the quiet weight of you have no idea written beneath it.

It's unfair, you think, the way he's just living in his architectural digest penthouse, barefoot and cryptic, while you're pacing through his living room, trying not to wonder how much of your life he's read. You almost forget the weight of it—almost—until he's suddenly back.

You hear him before you see him, the soft sound of his footsteps against the dark wood floor, and when you turn, there he is.

Coming down the stairs like a fucking problem you can't afford to have, still barefoot, still in those jeans that hang too low on his hips, but now in a loose linen shirt that he didn't even bother to button all the way.

It's distracting, infuriatingly so. You don't even want to think about how hot he is—because it's wrong, and messy, and also, you're still mad.

He sees you before you can pretend you weren't watching him descend like some kind of fallen angel with unresolved trauma, and for a moment, he says nothing. Just stands there at the bottom of the stairs, head tilted slightly, his eyes unreadably deep, like he's trying to pin you to the spot with silence alone.

Then he turns, walks toward the closet in the hallway—the one with the photographs and trophies and that signed, rolled-up poster of his own damn face—and you stare after him without meaning to, without even trying to be subtle. There's something about the way he moves, like someone who hasn't had to explain himself in years, like someone who only speaks when the silence becomes too loud to tolerate.

You don't expect him to come back out and walk straight toward you and you definitely don't expect him to stop right in front of you to speak.

"Do you always sit in my chair when you psychoanalyze me in your journal?" His voice is even, smooth, and just sharp enough to make your jaw clench. There's something teasing in it, mocking maybe, or maybe just observant, but either way—it makes your chest tighten.

You straighten where you sit, looking up at him without flinching. "You had no right to read my journal."

He doesn't flinch either.

"You wouldn't read a strange book you found in your house?"

And that's what throws you—how casual he says it, how unbothered he is by the violation, like it was never that serious to begin with.

In your head, you're screaming. Not because you're scared, but because it's almost worse that he read it without hesitation. Because that journal was yours, it was everything. A year and a half of pain and boredom and loneliness and softness and tiny bursts of joy that you didn't know where else to put. Little poems about love you've never felt. Sentences that barely made sense to you at the time. Half-finished stories and full-bodied grief. And now he knows. Maybe not all of it—but enough.

You bite your tongue before your mouth runs wild, but your thoughts are already racing.

He read it. He read all of it, probably. God, did he see the poem you wrote about the boy who only existed in your dreams? Did he read the list of things you want to do before you die? Did he see the part about wanting someone to ask you how your day was, without needing a reason?

You want to be mad. You are mad. But under that is the hot sting of embarrassment, the helplessness of being seen without warning, without consent.

He's still watching you, expression still unreadable.

You blink hard. "It wasn't for you."

"I figured."

You exhale sharply through your nose. "Then why did you—"

He cuts you off without cutting you off. His voice is softer this time. "I found your note."

That makes your stomach turn.

You remember the note. I didn't mean to be invasive, just honest.

You didn't even think when you left it. You just wrote it and ran. And now he's standing here, bare feet planted firmly on the floor, chest half-exposed, staring at you like your truth didn't scare him off at all.

"I don't think you're invasive," he says. "You were just... honest, like you said."

That word again.

And suddenly you're not sure what this is anymore—what he is. Because he's not yelling. He's not smug. You don't even think he's trying to humiliate you, he's just standing there, calm, casual—as if this is routine, as if your journal wasn't a goddamn blueprint of everything you never said out loud. As if he didn't drag his pen under the word lonely and scrawl you have no idea in the margins, careless, cruel, and so absurdly calm about it.

You really don't know what to say but you guess your silence must say enough, because his eyes soften just enough to sting.

"People don't usually stay when I'm honest," He says it like it's already written in stone, something that happened, not something he's choosing.

You just sit there, unsure if you're still furious or if your heart just broke a little for a man you don't understand at all.

You really want to ask him why he wrote in your journal, why he felt comfortable enough to reply to it like you were in some kind of conversation. You should get up and walk out, slam the door for good measure, remind him you're the help and he's a man who's too comfortable living above the rest of the world, shirtless and half-smiling at things that should have been private. But instead, you're still sitting there.

And instead of leaving, you ask, "What's with the whole coming at ten and leaving at four thing?"

He blinks.

It's not the question he expected, maybe not the one you expected either, but it's already out in the air now and hanging between you like mist.

He exhales through his nose, shifting his weight slightly as he leans a hip against the back of the chair across from you. You watch the movement—too closely—and hate how your eyes keep catching on the little things: the curve of his collarbone, the faint line of a vein down his forearm, the way he smells faintly like vanilla and clean linen. You force your gaze back up to his face.

He doesn't answer right away.

Then, after a moment, he says, "I just thought six hours was enough time for you to do what you needed."

It's almost clipped, controlled.

"And..." He pauses, eyes flicking to the side, as if choosing his next words carefully. "It's better for you if you follow it."

You blink. "What do you mean better for me?"

He shrugs one shoulder, nonchalant but not exactly casual. "You walked in on something you weren't supposed to see this morning."

Your mind flashes back to that moment—the doctor, the manilla folders, the way Heeseung was sitting on the chair laughing to himself with no shirt on and then suddenly not laughing at all.

Your throat feels a little dry.

"You mean the doctor?" you ask carefully.

He nods once. "Yeah." Then, quieter, "There are... things I deal with. Things I don't need anyone witnessing."

It's not quite a warning. Not quite a confession either. It floats in the space between.

You shift in your seat, uncertain. "So the schedule is more for... your privacy?"

He lets out a sound that's almost a laugh but not quite, low and humorless. "Sure. Let's go with that."

There's something in the way he says it that tells you he doesn't really mean it—not entirely. Like there's more he could say if he wanted to, but he doesn't.

Still, you nod slowly, even though you don't really understand. Even though the idea of spending six hours in a place that holds your most personal words hostage is suffocating.

Even though his presence is starting to feel... electric in the worst and best way.

And then, after a beat, you ask softly, "And what happens if I don't follow it?"

He looks at you.

Really looks at you.

And for a second, something shifts. The air between you turns thicker, heavier. You can feel his eyes like heat on your skin.

"I don't think you'd want to find out," he says, voice low and quiet, but not threatening. Just true.

And you believe him.

Not because you think he'd hurt you. But because there are some parts of him—some stories, some shadows—you haven't earned the right to touch yet.

You don't answer.

You just hold his gaze until it feels like it burns and then drop your eyes to your hands and stand up to walk away, walk towards the door

He straightens then, subtly, pushing off from the chair like the moment's passed. You don't know if you're relieved or disappointed.

"Of course a person as beautiful as you would write so heartbreakingly beautiful." It's low. Almost to himself. Like he didn't mean to say it aloud.

But you hear it.

And it feels like your ribcage cracks clean in half.

You turn—just slightly, just enough to look at him over your shoulder. He's not even watching you. He's looking down at the floor, one hand resting loosely on the back of the chair like he hadn't just broken you open and left you bleeding all over his expensive floors.

"What did you ju—" you almost ask but he's already cutting you off. "You're done for the day, right?"

You barely nod, fully facing him now, bewildered.

"Then you should go."

You turn around and walk slowly, legs a little stiff, journal heavy in your bag, chest heavier still.

And as you move past him, toward the front door, he doesn't say anything else.

He just watches you go.

You walk home like your body isn't yours, it feels like your bones are made of sound, the way you hear everything but can't feel a single step. Your bag is even heavier than it should be for some reason.

The door to your apartment creaks as you open it. Warmth hits you in the face. Jiyoon's music is loud—some upbeat synth-pop song she always plays when she's cooking—and the smell of garlic and oil and something spicy wraps around you like a familiar blanket. But you don't step in right away. You stand in the doorway a little too long, still wearing your shoes, still holding your keys in one hand like you forgot what they're for.

Then she turns. She sees you.

And she freezes.

The music doesn't. But she grabs her phone and hits pause mid-chorus, eyebrows already pulled together in the way they do when she's bracing herself for gossip. "You look... feral."

You blink. "What?"

"Your face," she says, pointing a wooden spoon at you. "It's giving war-torn romantic heroine. What happened?"

You close the door behind you. You walk inside. You don't know where to begin.

So you say the first thing that spills from your mouth.

"I saw him."

She doesn't need clarification. "Him?"

You nod.

"Lee Heeseung?"

You nod again.

She gasps so loud the spoon hits the floor.

You don't laugh. You can't.

"He was shirtless," you add quietly, like it's something illegal.

Jiyoon makes a noise so high-pitched only the dead could hear it.

"No. No. No," she says, rushing over and grabbing both your arms like she's checking for a pulse. "You have to tell me everything. And I mean everything. Did he talk to you? Did he breathe near you? Did he smell good? Does he look weird? Did you black out? Are you still alive? Blink twice if you need CPR."

You let out a long breath, barely a laugh. "He was laughing with some man. A doctor, I think. He was barefoot. Just jeans, low. He didn't even look at me at first. Just kind of... existed."

You don't realize how tightly you're gripping the edge of the counter until your knuckles start to ache.

"Then he did see me later when he came back down, I was sitting. In that chair I said I always journal in. And he just... stared. Then he disappeared into that hallway closet with all the photos and came back out without something, and I watched him the whole time like a creep." Jiyoon looks winded. "This is already the best thing I've ever heard."

"He asked me if I always sit in his chair when I psychoanalyze him in my journal." Her eyes explode. "No."

You nod. "Yes."

"What did you say?"

"I told him he had no right to read it."

"Did he deny it?" You shake your head slowly. "He said—and I quote—'you wouldn't read a strange book you found in your house?'" Jiyoon puts her whole body on the counter, like gravity's too much. "This is sick. This is sick. I can't believe you're living out the plot of the exact kind of emotionally unstable literature you always say you hate." You let your head fall next to hers. "I'm going to have to switch some of my classes."

She lifts her face, blinking. "Wait, what?"

"I can't keep going in the mornings. Not if I'm cleaning for him every day. The only opening left in my schedule is evening sections and some online ones, and I'll probably miss my favorite professors class."

"You love that class."

"I know."

"I don't know if you can tell but you're kind of acting like it's worth it"

*•*•*

You wake up feeling weirdly... eager. Which is insane in your opinion. It's cleaning. You're going to clean for six hours in a house where the walls are silent and the air feels kind of tight, and maybe—maybe—he'll come down again. Maybe he won't. You tell yourself it doesn't matter. You dress in your usual oversized tee and leggings, but you switch your sneakers for the cleaner pair, the ones without scuff marks. You spend longer on your face than necessary. Just moisturizer, a little concealer—nothing obvious. Just in case. You tell yourself it's just habit. You tell yourself a lot of things.

You get there at 9:57. By 10:02, your coat is hung up and the cleaning supplies are laid out in their usual corners. The house is quiet—same as always—but now it's a different kind of quiet. Now you know who it's holding and it makes you all irrationally aware of everything.

You start with the mirrors.

Not because they're dirty. They're not.

But because they reflect the hallway, and every time you glance up, you can see the top of the stairs.

By 11:17, you've vacuumed every rug on the main floor. Nothing.

By 12:04, you've re-organized the kitchen drawers. Again. Not that he'd notice. You don't even know if he uses them.

By 12:58, you're dusting frames that don't need dusting, glancing at the ceiling like footsteps might fall out of it.

By 1:45, you've convinced yourself he's not coming down. That yesterday was a one-off. That he's upstairs doing whatever rich, complicated people do—brooding maybe, like some Austenian shut-in. You try to laugh at yourself for even caring but it sits low in your chest. He's just a man, you only even met him once.

So why does it feel this weird? You're so distracted you almost forget to check the pantry. You always check the pantry. And when you finally do, you find it's already been stocked. Someone else did it.

Maybe him.

Your stomach turns and don't know why. By 3:50, you're packing your things, fingers slow on the zipper of your bag. By 3:56, you're glancing around the room like it might give you a reason to stay longer. By 3:58, you hear it.

Footsteps that make you freeze. And there he is.

Heeseung. Descending the stairs like it's nothing. Like he didn't make you wait all day without knowing you were waiting. He's wearing another linen shirt—this one in charcoal—and it's loose over his frame, the top two buttons undone. His hair is a little messy, like he's been lying down or pulling his fingers through it and, he's barefoot again. He smiles.

"Hey," he says, voice warm in that slow, easy way. "You're still here." You swallow. "Not for long."

He steps down the last stair. "How was your day?" You blink at him. It takes a second for your voice to catch up. "I spent it here. You tell me." His brows lift a little. Not offended—more amused. He shifts his weight and leans against the banister.

"I missed my favorite class."

"You're a student? And you missed a class? Because of this?" You glance down at your hands. They're still a little red from scrubbing tile. "Yeah."

He's quiet for a second. "Have you had dinner?" You start to say no—but your stomach betrays you before your mouth can lie. It growls. Audibly. Your eyes go wide and he laughs at your expression. "Sit," he says, already turning toward the kitchen. "I'll make something."

You blink. "What? No, that's not—" He turns to look at you over his shoulder. "Sit." And there's something in the way he says it that has you obeying, hesitantly still. The counter's cool beneath your palms as you lower yourself into the chair, eyes tracking his every movement. He moves so naturally in the kitchen—opens the fridge with one hand, pulls down a skillet with the other, all casual familiarity and soft clattering sounds. It smells like garlic again. Butter. Something fresh.

"What are you making?" you ask.

He shrugs. "Something edible. Hopefully."

Heeseung's cutting vegetables like he's done it a thousand times. He slices a tomato without looking down, throws it into a pan, then adds something else from a jar. The sizzle is instant.

You lean forward. "Do you cook for all your maids?"

He pauses, halfway to the sink. Then he glances at you, a slow grin spreading across his mouth. "You're barely a maid."

"Excuse me?"

He shrugs again, that same lazy charm. "Have you seen the state of the guest bathroom?"

You laugh—actually laugh, the sound startling even to you but you catch yourself wondering why you're not offended he just insulted your cleaning skills. You watch his smile grow wider and somehow, in the scent of sautéing herbs and low music playing from the speaker he must've turned on when you weren't looking, it feels normal. Almost. Except not at all. Because when he sets the plate down in front of you, you look up to thank him—and he's already watching you. Eyes soft and focused.

And for the first time all day, your chest doesn't feel so tight.

You dig in and it's stupidly delicious, making your eyes go wide again, mouth still full. "Okay.

That's insane."

Heeseung chuckles, taking a bite of his own.

You point your fork at him. "You made this? Just now?"

He nods, watching you intently. It doesn't take long before the plates are empty—yours cleaned down to the sauce, his barely touched—and there's music playing from somewhere in the house, something soft and unfamiliar, all instrumentals and quiet piano.

You're both still sitting at the counter, opposite ends, your elbows propped up, legs curled beneath the stool. He's lounging with his long body twisted toward you, shirt sleeves rolled up, one hand holding a wine glass he hasn't taken a sip from yet.

The conversation has slowed into something looser now—easier. He asked what books you've been reading lately. You asked if he's always this good at cooking. He pretended to be modest and then very much wasn't.

And then you ask, "Why every day?"

He looks at you. "Why did you suddenly want me to come clean every day?" There's a beat of silence. Heeseung's gaze drops to the rim of his glass, the edge of his thumb skimming around it once, twice.

"When I saw your note," he says finally, voice lower now, "I didn't know what to do with it." He lifts his eyes, meets yours.

"I knew you weren't going to come again until the day after next. And it made me... restless. Waiting for a reply. Not being able to ask."

You inhale, slow and careful.

"And then I read your journal."

You stiffen a little, but he doesn't apologize. He doesn't even flinch.

"I didn't read all of it," he adds, leaning forward, closer. "I swear. Just some pages. A few entries. And one poem."

You stare at him.

He sets the glass down. Both elbows on the counter now. His fingers lace together.

"I read this line—" he begins, eyes on yours, "Your silence filled the house louder than your voice ever did."

You're stunned like your brain can't comprehend he's reciting your poem word for word.

He doesn't even blink. "I memorized the gaps in your sentences like scripture. I waited for the ending, but all you left was air."

Your mouth opens—just barely—but you can't speak.

"There's still a teacup on the windowsill. There's still a sweater on the hook. There's still a ghost in the shape of you that lives in the room where you never said goodbye."

You whisper the final two lines without thinking.

"And I still set the table for two, like a fool. Like you might remember that you left me starving."

His lips part—just slightly. Your voice had gone soft at the end, cracking a little, like it didn't want to be said out loud. And maybe it didn't. Maybe it never was.

You didn't even think it was that good. You wrote it half-asleep. You'd forgotten you even. "I needed to know," he says, not looking away, "who could write something like that."

You're quiet for a long time. "You shouldn't have read it."

"I know."

"I didn't write it for anyone to—"

"I know," he says again, voice quiet now. "But I couldn't help it. I wanted to meet the person behind it. I wanted to see if you'd look at me the way your words did."

The room is suddenly very still.

You don't know what to say. You don't know if there's even language for the way your body is reacting. There's heat in your throat, under your skin, behind your ribs. You should leave. You really should but instead you ask, "Do I?"

His brow creases. "Do you what?"

"Do I look at you that way?"

He doesn't answer your question, not with words anyway. Just studies you with that same unreadable stare, something flickering behind his eyes that makes it hard to breathe.

And then, as if someone's pressed fast-forward on the moment, he shifts his weight back and clears his throat softly. "Do you play any instruments?" he asks, voice casual, like he didn't just memorize one of the most vulnerable things you've ever written.

You blink. "What?"

He shrugs, gaze dropping to the counter. "You write. I assumed you like music."

"I do," you say carefully. "I like listening more than anything. I used to sing."

He hums, smiling faintly. "Used to?"

You sigh, deflecting. "It's different when people are watching. When you're older. The recorder was more forgiving."

That gets a real laugh out of him. He tilts his head, grinning. "The recorder?"

"Yes, and I was a prodigy. First chair in third grade." You press a hand to your chest dramatically. "The youngest to ever play Hot Cross Buns with such emotional depth."

He snorts and leans closer like he's about to say something else, but the next thing you know, he's not across the counter anymore—he's beside you.

You don't know exactly when he moved, maybe it was when he stood up from the stool to put the plates in the sink, still laughing about the recorder joke.

His elbow brushes yours. His shoulder is an inch from yours. You feel his presence like heat—radiating and dangerous in the best possible way.

And somehow, you're still laughing. You're still talking about childhood instruments and music you like and whether jazz is romantic or just sad in a pretty way. He teases you for not knowing any Miles Davis and you tease him back for quoting poetry like a teenage girl with a Tumblr account.

It's light. Easy. It's so different from the static in the air earlier this week, from the careful distance you both tried to maintain. But now...

Now his hand brushes the counter beside yours. And your breathing changes. And the silence feels like a held breath.

You don't look at each other—you're still talking, kind of. But your voices are softer now. Lower. A little slower.

And then it happens.

Your eyes meet.

His face tilts just slightly toward yours, making your breath catch.

His hand twitches like he wants to reach for you and doesn't. His eyes drop to your lips. He leans in, just a little—just enough that the space between you crackles—and you feel yourself tilting too, breath hitching, mouth parting.

And then he pulls back, all too quick and 

sudden. He clears his throat, looks away, stepping back so abruptly he almost knocks over the stool that was next to you.

You flinch at the sound.

"I—" he starts, then shakes his head, jaw tight. "You should go."

Your stomach drops.

"I didn't mean to—" he breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You don't have to come tomorrow. Go to your class. I'll tell your manager."

You stay frozen for a second, eyes wide, lips still tingling with something that didn't happen.

And then you nod, slow. Trying not to show how much you're shaking. "Okay."

He doesn't say anything else.

You leave quietly.

But your pulse pounds in your ears all the way home and in the haze of it all you don't take the bus home.

You don't want the rush of it—the closed windows and stale air and elbows brushing yours. You want air, real air, the kind that cools your skin and cuts through the confusion curling heavy in your chest. The heels of your sneakers hit the sidewalk harder than usual. You don't notice until your toes ache.

You can still feel it. The almost of his mouth on yours. His voice whispering poetry that used to belong to no one but you. The way he looked at you right before he pulled back—like he could drown and not care.

You don't realize how far you've walked until your phone rings, sharp in the quiet. You check the screen and it's Cee. You sigh, thumb swiping across the glass.

"Hello?"

"Hey. Where are you right now?"

You blink. "Uh... on my way home. I finished cleaning—he told me not to come tomorrow, so—"

"Yeah, well, change of plans," he cuts in, voice tight, clipped. "He called. Wants you in tomorrow."

You stop walking. "What?"

"That's what I said. Twenty minutes ago, he told me you weren't coming. Five minutes ago, he said make sure you do."

Your grip tightens around your phone. You glance down at the pavement, cracked and worn, your shadow stretched long in the streetlight. "That... doesn't make sense."

"Welcome to my fucking week."

You don't know what to say. You try to remember exactly how he said it. You don't have to come tomorrow. You can take your class.

He said it like a kindness. Like a favor.

Or maybe—maybe it was a trick. A test. Maybe you failed.

The line is quiet for a moment. Then, softer—softer than you're used to from him, like he has to chew it first before he can let it out—your manager says:

"Hey. Is everything okay over there?"

Your breath catches.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean..." A pause. "He hasn't done anything weird, right? Or tried something? You'd tell me, yeah?"

You blink again, hard. It feels like stepping off a curb you didn't see. Your lips part, your heart kicks—because no, he hasn't. But he almost did and you're starting to think maybe it would've been fine if he did. Maybe it would've been more than fine.

"No," you say quickly. "Nothing like that. He's... he's not like that."

"You sure?"

"Yes." You don't hesitate. "I don't want to quit."

There's silence on the line. You can hear him exhale.

"Alright," he says finally. "You're there again at ten. Don't be late."

You nod, even though he can't see you. "Okay."

He hangs up.

You just stand there. A low breeze rustles through the trees, brushes cool fingers against your neck.

He asked for you. After almost kissing you and pulling away—after telling you not to come tomorrow—he called and asked for you. Your pulse flickers hot beneath your skin as your mind raced with questions.

Was he testing you?

Did he think you wouldn't come back?

You suddenly realize your mouth is dry, your throat tight. The stars feel too bright above you. Your phone buzzes in your palm, a silent reminder that something has shifted, again.

And for better or worse, you'll be seeing him tomorrow.

You don't even bother to take your shoes off when you get in the door.

The front door slams behind you harder than you mean it to, and Jiyoon—sweet, perceptive, too-curious Jiyoon—is immediately shouting from the kitchen, "Is that you? Are you okay? You've been gone forever, I was about to—"

"I'm fine!" you yell back, already halfway down the hall. Your voice cracks halfway through the word. You don't even try to fix it.

"Wait—" Jiyoon appears around the corner, wooden spoon still in hand, some ridiculous song playing from the speaker behind her. "Wait, wait, what happened? Did you see him again?"

You keep walking.

"Did he—?"

"I'm fine," you repeat, softer this time but not gentler. "He said I don't have to come in tomorrow, so I'll probably go to my class."

"Oh my god, what does that mean?" she laughs, stepping after you. "Did you finally tell him off or did he—?"

"I'm tired, Jiyoon," you mumble, hand on your doorknob. "So tired."

She crosses her arms. "You look like you just made out with someone in a Jane Austen novel."

Your face goes hot.

"I love you," you say, deadpan. "But I need to be alone right now."

She gasps dramatically, "You're hiding something! You always say I love you when you're hiding something—"

You shut the door in her face.

Lock it.

Lean back against it.

Your heart is still thudding too loud in your ears.

You sink down to the floor, journal already in your hands before you even realize you've moved. Your fingers tremble when you unscrew the cap of your pen. You press it to the page.

And for a moment, you just sit there, not even writing.

Just breathing.

You write, He said I write beautifully.

Then, slower, He said he felt restless about not getting a response.

And then, He pulled away.

The ink smudges beneath your fingers. You don't wipe it away. You just keep writing, your handwriting more frantic than usual, trailing across the page in swooping spirals and crooked curves. You write about the way he looked at you—so real and intense it felt like it burned. About how close he was, how you could feel the heat of him.

About the poem.

How he remembered every word.

How you finished it together.

And when you're done, you stare at the page—like maybe it'll give you answers. Like maybe it'll tell you what it means when a man like Heeseung tells you not to come, then calls your manager like he can't bear not seeing you.

You close your journal.

And press it to your chest.

You crawl into bed, still in your jeans, feet hanging off the edge, journal clutched to your chest like a heartbeat you don't trust to stay steady on its own.

It takes everything in you to peel yourself away, toss the journal aside, and dig out your laptop from where it's tangled in yesterday's laundry on the floor. You log into your evening class with exactly thirty seconds to spare, camera off, mic muted, chin propped against the heel of your palm.

The professor's voice starts droning through your headphones—soft, monotone, familiar—and for a second you think maybe you can do this.

And then your eyelids get heavy.

You blink hard.

You scribble your name into the attendance chat and pretend like you're absorbing something, anything, while your mind floats right back to—

That linen shirt hanging open just enough to see his collarbones. His voice, low and steady, reciting your words back to you like scripture. The smell of garlic and rosemary from his cooking still clinging to your hair. The way he moved closer without you even realizing. The moment before the kiss that never happened—the way your heart caught on the edge of it.

You shake your head violently, try to refocus. The slide on your screen says something about semiotic theory. You don't know what that means. You don't care what that means.

You're so screwed.

Your professor's voice fades into a low buzz, and you press your palm to your cheek harder, like maybe pressure can keep you conscious. It can't.

The laptop screen glares into your face. The chat scrolls with questions you don't have the energy to fake-read. You close your eyes just for a second.

You tell yourself it's only for a second.

Just one.

Just—

You jolt awake six minutes later to your professor asking, "And how might this apply to authorial intent, Y/N?"

You blink, brain empty.

You type in the chat: Sorry, my mic's not working.

And you thank every god that ever existed for mute buttons.

*•*•*

You find yourself hovering just outside the penthouse door, hesitating.

Your fingers are curled in a loose fist, suspended midair like they've forgotten how to move. You've stood in this exact spot every day for about a week now, but this time—this time you're unsure. The same polished floor under your shoes, the same towering door with its sleek gold handle and silent weight, but something about today feels different. You feel different.

You almost turn around.

Almost.

But then—voices. Muffled, low but distinct, curling around the edges of the thick door.

You lean in without meaning to, breath held as if your body knows this is a moment you're not meant to be part of. You recognize his voice first, Heeseung's—light, teasing, a tone you've come to know well, though it still unsettles you how easily it affects you. The other voice is lower, older maybe, with clipped words and a sternness that makes your stomach tighten. It must be the doctor from the other day.

"No," the doctor says, firm and quiet. "Now isn't the time to have a new person around every day. You know that."

There's a pause. You hear something creak—maybe a chair.

"It's fine," Heeseung replies, far too casually. "Nothing's happened. She's just cleaning. It's fine."

"She's not just cleaning."

There's silence. A long one. And then—Heeseung's voice again, softer. "Maybe she's good for me."

You freeze. You don't know what they're talking about exactly, not in full, but the heat that rushes to your face is impossible to fight. Good for him? What the hell does that mean? And why does it make your chest feel like it's caving in? Before you can hear anything else, the door swings open, making you stumble back just in time, blinking up at the man who steps through—tall, with sharp eyes that land on you and skim over every inch of your body like you're being scanned. He doesn't say hello, he doesn't smile just like last time. Instead, he mutters something—so low you barely catch it but the edge is there, sharp enough to wound. Something about "distractions" and "too young" and "another mistake."

You step aside without responding, your mouth suddenly too dry to speak. He walks past you with a slight shake of his head and a long sigh, like your very existence is a burden.

And then—

"Didn't think you'd come."

You turn back around.

Heeseung's standing in the doorway, barefoot again, hair still damp like he just showered, dressed in a loose gray shirt and soft black pants that cling to his hips in a way that makes your head fog. He's smiling—nothing too wide, just soft, like a secret meant only for you. Like he's genuinely happy to see you.

You open your mouth to say something, anything—but he's already speaking again.

"About yesterday," he says, stepping aside so you can walk in. "I'm sorry. I overstepped."

And the whiplash? It's instant. Because wasn't he the one who told you not to come today? All quiet and serious and guilt-stricken after nearly kissing you in his kitchen? Now he's soft again, familiar again, and it throws you completely off.

"You don't need to apologize," you say quickly, almost defensively, as you walk inside.

"I do," he says, just as fast. "I really—"

"No, Heeseung." You stop and turn to face him, heart in your throat. "You really don't need to apologize."

He opens his mouth again, brows furrowing, about to insist—but your voice cuts through the air before you can stop yourself.

Quiet. Barely a whisper.

"You didn't have to stop either."

Silence, all heavy and immediate. Heeseung just stares at you. Still and looking stunned. His lips parted like he wants to speak but the words haven't caught up to his brain. His eyes search your face slowly, like he's not sure if he heard you right—or if you meant to say it out loud.

And maybe you didn't.

But you did.

And there's no taking it back.

The door clicks shut behind you before you can even remember stepping inside.

Heeseung doesn't move at first. Just stares at you like he's not entirely sure you're real. Like maybe he conjured you up somehow. His eyes stay on your mouth a little too long, and you try not to notice the way his chest rises and falls, slow and controlled, as if he's reminding himself how to breathe.

Then you say it again. Softer this time.

"You didn't have to stop."

It hangs in the air between you. Heavy, reckless and unapologetic.

Heeseung blinks once. His expression doesn't change, but something in his eyes shutters. He exhales through his nose—shaky—and drags a hand through his hair, the curls still slightly messy from sleep or stress or something in between.

"That's inappropriate," he says, not unkindly. More like he's trying to draw a boundary he doesn't even believe in.

And the words sting. Maybe more than they should. Maybe because you were just beginning to feel something real stirring between the two of you—something outside of your job, your journal, your blurring lines. You freeze. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out at first, and it's too late anyway. He's already turning from you.

The confused hurt in your eyes stops him in his tracks, but only for a second. He looks back at you—and really looks. Something passes behind his eyes, quiet and aching. Regret maybe or worse, restraint. You watch his jaw flex, as if he's chewing on something bitter, swallowing all the things he'll never allow himself to say.

Then he's stepping away. A slow, deliberate retreat. His footsteps are soft against the stairs as he disappears up them without another word.

And just like that, you're alone. Again.

The silence is incredibly deafening.

Your hands are still trembling.

They have been ever since you left his place. You could barely wipe the kitchen counters without your fingers missing the edge. The dishes were spotless before you even realized you'd scrubbed them twice. Your head was everywhere but here, rerunning that moment—that look in his eyes, the cold withdrawal of his body after your quiet, desperate confession.

And he never came back down.

You didn't know what you expected, but it wasn't this.

The day drags, and when the clock finally blinks 4:00, you practically flee. Your phone's already to your ear by the time you hit the elevator.

"I can't do this anymore," you say as soon as Cee picks up.

He sounds startled. "Do what? Are you—what happened? Are you okay?"

"Nothing happened. I just—" You press your fingers to your temple. The weight of everything suddenly lands all at once. "I don't want to clean for him anymore."

He's quiet for a second. Then, softer, "Did he do something?"

"No. I just..." You sigh. "It's better this way."

And you think that's the end of it.

But the second you step into the building's reception, the front desk clerk—neatly pressed shirt, neutral expression, his name tag slightly askew—glances up from his computer. "Miss," he says, "Mr. Lee is asking for you upstairs."

You freeze.

Your mouth goes dry. "I—I was just up there."

He nods once, polite. "He asked me to let you know."

You hesitate.

Everything inside you says don't go. That this is how it always begins—with soft invitations and good intentions and doors that don't close fast enough behind you.

But your feet are already moving.

The elevator ride is silent, save the rush of your pulse in your ears. And when you push the door open, Heeseung is there, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. Waiting.

You can't read his expression.

"I figured you'd quit," he says. Not accusing. Not even upset. Just matter-of-fact, like he'd already prepared for it.

"I am," you say. "I think it's for the best."

There's a beat.

"I don't want that."

You scoff before you can help it, stepping inside, letting the door close behind you with a soft hiss. "I'm not even sure you know what you want."

You don't even realize you're walking until you're standing in front of him, so close you could count the lashes framing his eyes if you weren't too scared to look directly into them. There's something in his face—some falter in his composure—that makes your chest feel too tight.

He doesn't move.

So you do.

Your fingers curl into fists at your sides, your heart hammers, and then—you're kissing him.

It's a mess of a thing. Sudden. Brash. Tipped forward on hope and recklessness. Your lips crash into his like a question you don't want answered and—

Nothing.

He doesn't move.

Your lips are on his, but he's frozen. Unresponsive.

The rejection burns so fast it chokes you, and you start to pull back, humiliated—but something in you makes you whisper to him, "Please," you almost sound broken. "Please kiss me back, Heeseung."

That's all it takes.

The air leaves his lungs like he's been sucker-punched. His hands are on your face instantly, his mouth catching yours like he's been starving for it. Like the moment he tasted you, he remembered how badly he wanted.

And this time, he answers the question

His mouth is on yours like he's finally allowed himself to breathe. You're not sure who moves first after that—him or you—but the space between you disappears completely. His hands are in your hair, on your waist, gripping your hips like he needs the reminder that you're real and here and kissing him back just as desperately.

And when he pulls away to look at you—face flushed, eyes dark and confused—you whisper again, barely audible, "Heeseung..."

That does it for him because you can swear you see the moment something in him breaks. Suddenly he's not hesitating anymore, like the sound of your voice cracked through whatever restraint he'd been clinging to, and now it was all unraveling.

He's swallowing the soft sounds you make, capturing every gasp, every whimper, like he needs to devour them, and his mouth is hot and insistent as it trails down your jaw, your neck, his teeth grazing the delicate skin like he's trying to mark the moment there.

You gasp when he lifts you without warning, your thighs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your arms around his neck. You can feel his heartbeat through his shirt. It's erratic—wild—matching yours nearly beat for beat.

He sets you down on the kitchen counter like you weigh nothing, the cool marble biting at the backs of your thighs through your jeans. His lips return to yours before they begin their descent again, brushing over your collarbone, down the slope of your chest. His fingers find the hem of your top and pause, glancing up, breath hitching.

You nod.

That's all he needs.

He peels it off gently—too gently for the look in his eyes—and when your bra joins the growing pile of fabric, he's silent for a second. Just watching you. Then he exhales something like a curse and leans in, pressing slow, reverent kisses down your sternum, the curve of your breasts, dragging his teeth lightly, sucking your nipple into his mouth, making you shiver and arch into him.

Every time you whimper, he presses closer.

Every time you moan, he groans softly against your skin, like your sounds undo him.

And just when you think your legs might give out from how tightly your body is wound, he lifts you again. Not onto the floor—but down, off the counter, and turns you gently, pressing you forward. You gasp softly as your hands meet the marble again, your heart stuttering.

Your jeans are tugged down with unhurried hands. Your underwear follows. You're so exposed. Breathless. And behind you, Heeseung lets out a shaky breath that sounds almost like a prayer.

One of his hands smooths over your lower back. The other grips your hip. "God forgive me," he whispers.

You don't know how to stay quiet—not when his mouth is trailing behind you, kissing the backs of your thighs, the curve of you, everywhere—and when he finally leans in, when you feel the first sweep of his tongue, your entire body jolts forward like he's short-circuited something deep inside you.

"Heeseung—" It leaves your mouth like a sob.

He groans in response, tightening his grip around your thighs, but his pace doesn't falter.

And all you can do is press your cheek against the cool counter, eyes fluttering shut, biting down on your own hand as he ruins you slowly.

Intimately.

He watches you unravel with so much intensity from beneath you, it's like he's trying to imprint every detail into memory. His tongue maps out every inch of you, teasing and tasting places you never realized could make you feel this way—until he finds your clit again. Instinct takes over; your hips roll down against his mouth, and he responds with a low hum, gripping your thighs to hold them open just enough to tilt his head and drag his tongue lower once more. "Spread your legs for me baby" He whispers it in a way that has you thinking you'll do anything he says, as long as he says it in that voice.

Suddenly and surprisingly, he shoves his tongue deep inside you while using his fingers to rub tight circles against your clit. "Hee—Ah!" You're moaning and whimpering so uncontrollably, the whole thing has your legs trembling where you're stood. You're convinced if he wasn't holding you up himself you'll collapse from the pleasure and pressure of it all.

His tongue is incredibly relentless, slurping you up, not even caring that he's drooling down his chin with your essence, "Wait! W-Wait!" You cry out suddenly.

"What? What? What's wrong? Did I hu—" His words cut through to you as he gets up off his knees where he was, but you're cutting him off and pulling him for another deep kiss, hopping yourself up on the counter again. Heeseung kisses you back like he's starving—like you're the first thing he's ever been allowed to want.

Your hands are in motion before you can think. Clumsy, eager, pulling his shirt halfway out from where it's tucked into his sweats, feeling the heat of his stomach beneath your palms. You moan into his mouth and his hands squeeze your thighs in response, hard enough to leave a mark.

He doesn't stop you when your fingers find the waistband of his sweatpants. If anything, he kisses you harder. His tongue sweeps into your mouth like he owns it—owns you—and you're letting him. Begging for more.

Your hands are shaking when you fumble at the button of his slacks, but you manage to get it undone, your fingers brushing the trail of skin that dips below the waistband. Heeseung lets out a sharp, broken sound against your mouth—fuck—his head tipping forward, forehead resting against yours as you palm him through the fabric.

You weren't ready for how hard and heavy he would be in your hand. It was like the length of him just went on and on.

You feel the twitch beneath your palm and gasp, and his breath stutters like he's seconds from losing it.

"Jesus—" heeseung grits, his voice deep and wrecked. His head tips back, neck exposed, throat bobbing, you've never seen someone come undone like this.

He's panting now, hips shifting forward like he needs the friction, like your hand is the only thing anchoring him.

"Is this okay?" you whisper, breathless, your voice barely steady as you trace him again, bolder this time.

His eyes find yours, blown wide and unreadable, lips parted. "You're gonna kill me," he breathes, but he nods. "Don't stop. Please take it out, please."

Your hand moves again, more confidently now, doing as he says, and his mouth crashes into yours mid-moan—swallowing it whole, like he can't bear the sound of his own unraveling.

And when he groans into you, deep and guttural and feral, you feel it between your legs—hot and pulsing and near unbearable.

He grips your hips like he's trying to anchor himself—like you're the only thing holding him together. He's dragging you to the edge of the counter and pinning your hand behind you, it has you feeling dizzy—the way he has you pinned there, at his mercy.

Before you can pull away to look down at where you have your hand wrapped around him, he's picking you up off the counter yet again, carrying you and setting you down on the couch, ever so gently.

Heeseung is panting into your mouth, your bodies pressed flush—his chest against yours, your legs wrapped around his waist. The fabric between you is suffocating. His sweats are halfway down his hips, your jeans are already abandoned on the kitchen floor, along with your panties, your composure, and any shred of dignity you once clung to when it came to him.

He's got you caged between his body and the couch. One arm braced beside your head, the other skimming down your side until his fingers are slipping between your legs again. You jolt, gasping against his lips, forehead pressed to his as his fingers slide through the mess he's made of you.

"Fuck—" you whisper, clutching at the back of his neck.

"So wet for me," he murmurs, his voice nothing but gravel and smoke, his thumb teasing your clit in slow, deliberate circles that make your spine curl. "You're perfect like this...I knew you'd come back."

You moan again, louder, desperate, rocking against his hand—your whole body begging for him.

His mouth finds yours again, kisses sloppier now, and then he's gripping himself, lining up with your entrance, breath hot and uneven against your cheek.

And then—

"Rina," he breathes.

You freeze for half a second.

It's soft—tender as a whispered prayer, effortless as a breath, a name escaping his lips before he even realizes it.

But your brain doesn't quite catch it—not fully. You're too far gone. Too overwhelmed by the stretch of him nudging at your entrance, by the unbearable heat of his body, the quiet, feral groan rumbling from his chest.

You blink, dazed. "What...?"

But the next second, he's pushing in.

And everything else disappears.

Your body arches, mouth falling open around a choked cry as he fills you in one slow, devastating thrust.

The stretch burns in the best way, and Heeseung moans something guttural, animalistic, like the moment he's inside you he's forgotten his own name too.

"So tight," he groans, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he holds himself there, buried to the hilt. "Fucking heaven."

Your fingers claw at his back, your mouth finding the shell of his ear.

"Heeseung—move. Please—"

He pulls back, just enough to slam into you again, and you swear the stars tilt. His rhythm is brutal, relentless, every thrust stealing the breath from your lungs, and you're sobbing now—moaning into his mouth like you've lost your mind. Maybe you have.

Maybe he has.

Because he's whispering things you can't quite understand—fragmented pieces of something almost sweet, almost unhinged.

"My perfect girl... only mine... waited so long—so long—Rina..."

You hear it again. Clearer now, but you're too gone to stop. Too full of him to question it. Your body writhes beneath his like it's what it was made for—like he's been carved into your DNA.

And you don't know what he means but something about the way he's holding you—possessive, reverent, frantic like he'll die without you—sends a chill up your spine even as you're unraveling around him.

Where they meet—the madness and the need—you don't know where you end and he begins. But you're already lifting your hips to meet his just to chase your high. You're pretty sure you're drooling now and by the way he looks down at you a smiles you know he likes what he seeing "You're so beautiful" "So tight wrapped aroun—" He keeps silencing himself with strangled moans, pulling back and sitting up, too overwhelmed to even remember he hasn't apologized for already being on the edge.

"I'm gonna c—" "Oh fuck fuck fuuuuckkk" He drawls on and on, you can feel your release coming too, in fact it almost feel like you're going to pee. "Don't stop! Heeseung! Fuck!" You moan loudly, yanking him down into a sloppy kiss before pushing his hips back, his cock slipping wet and twitching from your cunt. Without pause, your fingers find your clit, working it in savage, relentless circles, each one followed by a sharp slap that makes your thighs jolt. "Fuck—shit!" you cry out, body arching as a hot stream shoots from you, splattering across his stomach and chest.

His breath catches—eyes blown wide, chest heaving—watching you lose control all over him "You're so sexy". You haven't even caught your breath when he suddenly takes over again, letting the mess spill from you as if your trembling doesn't matter, pushing you down and driving himself deep into the pulsing aftermath still rippling through your body.

"Cum on my cock again, please" "Need you to, Rina—Fuck! I'm so close!" He's mumbling half incoherent half desperate and your overstimulated self doesn't seem to hear the alarm bells ringing in your head at the name he just called you again.  You're already on the brink again, trembling and aching for it, and when it finally crashes through you, it's because Heeseung drags it out with no mercy. He pulls out, cock dripping, and fists it furiously as he paints your stomach—but he doesn't let your cunt stay empty. Two fingers slam back into your soaked hole, curling deep and fast, forcing you to squirt all over his wrist as he talks you through it with a low, filthy grin.

You're both trembling.

Sweaty skin pressed to sweaty skin. Harsh breathing. The deep, ragged quiet of two people who forgot where they were, who they were, what any of this even meant. He slumps forward, collapsing into you with a half-groan, half-laugh, and you let your fingers drift up his spine, your body humming with aftershocks.

You don't say anything and neither does he, not for a long, long moment.

Then he pushes up, slowly, gently—his hands sliding beneath your thighs as he lifts you off the couch. You whimper softly from the sensitivity, clinging to his shoulders.

"Come on," he says, voice raw and low. "Shower."

Your limbs feel like water, but you nod, letting him carry you. He walks the both of you to the massive bathroom like you weigh nothing—like you're still something precious in his arms—and sets you down on the warm tile floor. The shower clicks on, hot water spraying against his hand as he checks the temperature, then guides you under it with him.

The moment the water hits you, you shiver—more from the way he's looking at you than the heat. His gaze doesn't drop once. Not when he's rubbing gentle soap over your skin, not when he's rinsing between your legs with careful fingers, not when he presses a kiss to your shoulder like an apology he's too afraid to say aloud.

He doesn't speak until you're both out, towel-wrapped and damp.

"You okay?" he asks quietly, toweling off your hair with surprising tenderness.

You nod. And you don't stop him when he pulls one of his T-shirts over your head—soft and oversized, falling to your mid-thigh. You don't stop him when he pulls on a pair of boxers for you either, or when he leads you to the guest bedroom, the sheets cool and clean beneath your bare legs as you crawl under them.

He climbs in next to you, his body warm beside yours, and without a word, he pulls you close, wrapping an arm around your waist like it's muscle memory.

There's no more heat. No more tension. Just his heartbeat against your back, his breath slow and steady in your ear and you fall asleep like that, in his clothes, in his bed, in his arms. Not thining about the name he whispered.

*•*•*

You wake up before Heeseung does.

There's no buzzing alarm, no sunlight breaking through the blackout curtains, but your body jolts upright anyway—like your soul remembered what your mind didn't.

Panic grips you first.

Jiyoon. She's definitely called. Probably texted. Maybe even filed a missing person's report.

You twist in the sheets, trying not to disturb the weight draped over your waist. Heeseung's arm. Heavy, possessive, warm. His hand is splayed over your hip like it belongs there.

You freeze. Your breath catches in your throat.

What did I do?

Your heart's racing as you carefully, carefully peel his arm off of you, shimmying toward the edge of the bed. You manage to get one leg off, then another, tiptoeing like a thief in the early morning hush—

"Why are you sneaking out?"

You squeak.

Spinning around, your hands instinctively fly to your chest, but you're still wearing his shirt. You breathe a little but then freeze again when you see him. Heeseung is propped up on one elbow, hair mussed, eyes half-lidded and heavy with sleep. His voice is low and scratchy—one of those voices that somehow sounds like velvet and gravel all at once.

You stare. And then it hits you—like a freight train right between the ribs. Everything he did to you. Every moan he pulled from your lips. The way he tasted. The way he touched you like you were something sacred and sinful at the same time. You gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth like you can trap the memory there.

His brow lifts just slightly, eyes crinkling with amusement. "What am I gonna do with you?" he mutters, flipping back onto the bed with a sigh, one arm flung over his eyes. "You're trouble."

"I have to go," you say quickly, eyes darting to the door. "My friend is probably freaking out, she didn't know where I was—"

"Okay," he murmurs, voice muffled beneath his forearm. "But can I get a kiss?" You blink, feeling your heart stutter. Then, slowly, you cross the room again, padding back to the side of the bed. His arm lowers just enough to watch you. When you lean down, brushing your lips to his, he hums—like he's been waiting for that exact moment.

But just as you try to pull away, he grabs you. You yelp, landing on top of him with a soft thud as his hands anchor you by the hips. "Heeseung—" He kisses you again and t's not a chaste goodbye kiss this time. It's deeper, hotter—his lips moving slow and sure against yours, like he has all the time in the world. His tongue licks into your mouth, and you melt against him without thinking, your fingers clutching the soft fabric of his T-shirt over his chest.

You whine into his mouth. "I have to go..." He nips at your bottom lip, soothing the sting with a soft kiss before pulling back just enough to breathe. "Come back," he whispers. "Tonight. Seven o'clock."

You're blinking at him, breathless. "To... clean?" He shakes his head once, lips twitching. "No. I'll cook." You can't help it. You smile. It's shy and warm and completely helpless. "Okay," you whisper.

He lets you go then, but not before placing one last kiss on your cheek, right beneath your eye. "Don't be late."

You close the door to the guest bedroom behind you, twisting the handle slowly so it doesn't make a sound, like he might stir just from the click, not that he could even be asleep again. Your heart's still thudding, though softer now, your body still warm from how he held you—not just last night, but moments ago. You feel him on your skin. Between your thighs. In your mouth, even. You pad into the hallway, feet silent against the floor, and the penthouse feels even bigger in the morning, stretching out wide and echoey. Sunlight slips in through the tall windows of the living room, golden and faint, catching dust in the air.

Your clothes are everywhere. A trail—your bra laying on the kitchen floor with your jeans close by, your shirt hanging from the edge of a barstool like some kind of white flag.

You sigh.

You gather them quickly, cradling the bundle to your chest. But when you unfold your shirt—well, what's left of it—you remember the exact moment he took it off, how he looked at you like you were some forbidden fruit he'd gone too long without, you hadn't even realized he had ripped it. It's unsalvageable.

So you just... don't put it on. You slip your bra back on, then shrug his black shirt over it. It swallows you, soft and warm from sleep. You wiggle into your jeans next, the ones he peeled off of you. Your hands tremble as you do the button up.

Last thing—your phone. You search the couch. Nothing. Under the cushions. Still nothing. You check the kitchen counter, the bar, even crouch down to peek under the sofa. "Come on, come on..." Then finally, mercifully, you spot it near the edge of the carpet, half-tucked under the dining chair. You dive for it like it's oxygen and fumble to unlock it.

Ten missed calls. Three voicemails. Twenty-two messages.

All from one name. You don't even get a word out when you hit call—Jiyoon answers on the first ring. "You bitch." You wince. "Oh my god," she cackles. "You bitch. Where were you? Don't tell me—no, no actually, tell me everything right now."

"Ji—"

"You slept with him, didn't you? You fucking whore. You got that psycho dick, didn't you?! Tell me. Was it good? Was it crazy?!"

You cover your face with your hand, crouching down behind the kitchen island like you're trying to hide from the embarrassment sinking into your bones. "I'm coming home," you say weakly, voice still raspy from sleep and... everything else.

"Oh," Jiyoon says, tone shifting slightly. "I'm not home right now. I'm covering a shift for my lazy coworker. But I'll be back later—wait, wait, is he still there? Are you still there? What's he doing?"

"Jiyoon."

"What?"

"Bye."

You hang up.

Still pink-faced and hot, you shove your phone in your pocket, tug on your sneakers, and walk to the elevator with your head ducked low—like the doors might open and the walls themselves would whisper what happened between them. You're not sure how to feel. Still floating. Still wrecked. But you know you'll be back by 7.

*•*•*

You unlock the door to your apartment with shaking fingers, pushing it open slowly like you might find the night before still waiting for you on the other side. But it's empty, cause there's no Heeseung here. No soft piano notes echoing from hidden corners. No whispered "be back by seven." Just your little apartment, lived-in and warm and smelling faintly of vanilla from the candle Jiyoon must've lit last night. You step inside, close the door behind you, and lean back against it for a second. Just to breathe. Your body aches so deliciously and shamefully. Your lips are sore. Your thighs. Your heart.

You change into something soft and oversized before dropping onto your desk chair and logging into your online class, the kind of class that requires so much effort to focus on even when you haven't just had... whatever that was. The screen lights up. A professor you don't care about is already talking, already droning on about something you're not registering. You blink at the slides. The bullet points. You try. Really, you do. But your brain?

It's busy. Because it won't stop showing you his face in the dark. The way he hovered over you, lips parted, skin burning hot against yours. The way he touched you like you were something he needed to know. Memorize.

The way he whispered—low and wrecked—"Rina." You flinch.

It hits you all at once. You'd been so caught up in the moment, too far gone to process it then. But now? Now it loops. The way he said it. Like a prayer. Like a confession. Rina.

Who the hell is Rina? You shift in your seat, open a new tab, and hesitate. Your heart is racing again—not the good kind this time, as your hands tremble over the keyboard. Then you type it in regardless,

Lee Heeseung Rina

The search bar blinks at you. You hit enter. And there it is.

The very first result is a glossy thumbnail from three years ago. Heeseung in an interview, seated on a sleek navy couch, wearing black slacks and a gray button up sweater and a white shirt beneath it. He's smiling. That breathtaking smile you've only seen a few times up close, so effortless and disarming. You click the video.

The host laughs and leans forward. "Come on, Heeseung. Everyone wants to know. Who's Rina?" Heeseung chuckles, mouth tugging up at one side. You sit a little straighter.

"She's my first love," he says. "And probably the only one I'll ever love like that." The crowd awwws and your heart cracks like glass under pressure, you have pause the video. So she was real. A real woman.Someone he loved so deeply he admitted it on camera—publicly, permanently. Your throat closes up. Your chest tightens. He called you that name. Did he think of her while he was—. You don't even finish the thought. Instead, you search harder. Scroll deeper. You need to know what she looks like. If you look like her. If this is some messed up ghost-of-an-ex situation.

Another video pops up—this one titled "Behind the Scenes | Seoul Symphony Ensemble (ft. Lee Heeseung)"

You click it. The footage is candid, grainy. Heeseung's younger here, maybe only twenty or twenty-one, still too beautiful for it to be fair. The camera follows him backstage as he leads a film crew through the dim corridors of a concert hall. Then he stops, turns to the camera. "Come here," he says with a quiet laugh, gesturing to the next room. "You have to meet her." The camera jostles slightly as they follow. Heeseung walks up to a sleek, glossy black grand piano and runs his fingers across the keys. "This is Rina," he says, like he's introducing a person. His voice is reverent. Almost loving. "She's been with me since I was thirteen. She's...kind of everything to me."

You freeze.

The camera zooms in slightly. Heeseung brushes dust from the piano's surface with his sleeve, smiling at it so softly it hurts. "She's my first love." You sit there, staring, mind blank and full all at once.

Rina's not a person.

Rina's a piano.

A fucking piano. A part of you wants to laugh at your delusion but you don't, instead you just sit there.  Eyes glued to the screen. To him. To the way he's speaking—not to the camera, not even to the crew—but to the piano, like it's something alive. Like it's someone he's missed. Someone he still longs for in the softest, most ruined parts of himself. And that name—Rina—sits different now in your head. Not like a rival. Not like someone he's still in love with. But like... a memory. A feeling. Something that made him whole when the world couldn't.

Rina is his piano.

You let the video run, sound turned low, just watching him—barely twenty two, still beautiful, still broken. The way he presses one key gently and listens. How he says, she's been with me since I was thirteen. How he adds, she's my first love like it's a secret and a confession all at once. Your heart folds in on itself. Because in a way it makes sense now. The way he said your name last night, the way he whispered Rina instead—like he couldn't tell the difference. Like in his mind, in that haze of need and obsession and closeness, you had become something sacred. Something he hadn't let himself love in years. Something he used to play like music. And he'd touched you the same way—with reverence and hunger, as if trying to figure out where you end and he begins. You press your palm to your chest, like maybe you can settle your heartbeat if you hold it hard enough.

He doesn't see you as a replacement. You're not her. But in that moment, you think he felt something he hadn't in a long time. Something pure. Something familiar. Something maybe even terrifying. Heeseung, in his fractured, beautiful, obsessive mind, didn't just mistake you for his piano, he associated the moment—you—with what he once felt when he played Rina. And maybe he's so far gone he doesn't even realize he did it. And maybe you should be scared, but all you feel is this deep, warm ache in your ribs that won't go away. You close the laptop, completely forgetting about your class, and press your fingers to your lips. They still tingle from kissing him and you feel your stomach turn with excitement for the night to come.

*•*•*

You hear it before you see her. The clatter of her keys on the counter. The heavy sigh. And then, sharp—like a bullet of disbelief,  "YOU BITCH." "OH MY GOD." You don't even turn. Just let your eyes flutter shut and mentally brace for it. "You absolute filthy little minx," Jiyoon hisses, storming into the hallway in her work flats and crumpled apron, "Don't even try to deny it—I know you did it." "I'm not denying anything," you mumble, turning slowly to face her. She's halfway through unzipping her jacket, eyes wide, expression scandalized.

Your entire face bursts into flames. "Jiyoon—" "Oh my God, you did sleep with him." She points at you like she's witnessing a war crime. "You have sex hair. You're literally glowing. What the hell is that shirt? Wait—don't tell me." She takes a dramatic step back. "Is that his shirt?" You tug the hem instinctively. "It's just... something I had to wear. Mine got—um. Ripped." She stares at you. Blinks once. Twice. Then screams. "Oh my GOD. He ripped your clothes off? That's—like—that's premium movie-level sexy violence."

You bury your face in your hands. "Please lower your voice." "You didn't even text me last night!" she cries. "Do you know how worried I was? I thought he locked you in a cage or something!"

"I was busy," you say, voice strangled. "You were BUSY getting ravenously destroyed," she says, flopping onto the couch like the dramatics are too heavy for her legs. "Okay. Tell me everything. Don't leave out any of the details. Did he talk? Was it intense? Slow burn? Did he like—say your name all rough and gravelly or was he like, all quiet and crazy about it?" You hesitate.

You want to tell her and you almost do, but something about that moment—about everything that happened last night, the hazy weight of his body pressed against yours, his breath in your ear, how he held you like you were a prayer and a ghost all at once—feels too delicate. Too personal. You can't even begin to explain the shift you felt inside yourself, let alone the strange ache in your chest when he said that name. You swallow, keeping your voice light. "It was... really good."

Jiyoon lifts a brow. "That's it? Good?" You shoot her a look. "I'm not giving you a full play-by-play." She gasps. "So it was insane." "I'm gonna be late," you deflect, brushing past her to grab your phone. "I told him I'd be there at seven." "Ugh. Seven is such a romantic time."

"What does that even mean?" "Like. Not too early, not too late. Right in the middle. Candlelight o'clock." She wiggles her eyebrows. "You gonna let him feed you and then fuck you again?""Jiyoon."

"You are. Oh my God. Are you shaving again or are we doing stubble and surrender tonight?" You groan. "I can't talk to you about this." "Yes, you can," she says, pulling her hair into a bun. "We signed a roommate agreement, remember? Emotional nudity clause." You smile despite yourself. "Just wish me luck, okay?" She softens then, eyes scanning your face. "You like him." You hesitate, fingers pausing on your necklace clasp. "I don't know what I feel," you say truthfully. "It's... fast. Messy." "You don't do messy."

"Exactly." Jiyoon walks over, squeezes your shoulder. "That shirt looks hot on you, by the way. Like dangerously I-was-just-fucked-by-a-mentally-ill-man hot." "Thanks, I think."

"Be safe. Don't let him tie you to anything unless there's a safe word. Call me if he tries to perform an exorcism." You laugh, heading for the bathroom door. "You're gonna fall for him," she calls behind you. "You already are, huh?" But you don't answer, because you don't know that yet, and if you do, you're not ready to say it out loud.

You check the time again when it's 6:38 PM. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror stares back at you—doe-eyed, glossed lips parted slightly, a tiny knot of nerves cinched beneath your ribs. You smooth your hands down your dress for the fifth time, whispering to yourself under your breath like it might change something. "Okay," you murmur. "Just dinner. It's just... dinner." With Heeseung. At his penthouse. In a dress you specifically picked to walk the very fine line between I wanted to look nice for you and I definitely didn't spend two hours trying on everything I own. A dress that clings at your waist and floats at your knees and makes you feel pretty but also exposed. Not in a bad way, just... in a way that makes your skin feel watched. Known.

You hesitate in the doorway, staring down the hallway toward the stairs. And then you groan. "Nope. No way I'm taking the bus." You can already see it—you standing sandwiched between strangers, one arm clutching the overhead bar, the other yanking at your skirt, trying not to breathe too loud. You can feel the wrinkles forming just thinking about it. You'd show up looking like a disheveled little sandwich and Heeseung—Heeseung with his white linen shirts and leather watchbands—would tilt his head and maybe smile and maybe not say anything, but you'd know. You open your phone and call a cab.

It feels ridiculous. Extravagant even. But the moment you sink into the backseat, cool leather beneath your thighs and the city lights blinking past your window like slow breaths, something quiet settles inside you. You take a long, shaky inhale. Heeseung's face comes to mind. The way he looked last night—flushed and breathless and so terribly hungry for you, like you were the first and last thing he'd ever wanted. The way he whispered your name. Except—it wasn't your name. Not the first time. Your fingers tighten slightly on your bag and you push the thought away. You already made peace with it—told yourself it didn't mean anything. Not really. You'd seen the videos. You know what Rina is. And in some strange, abstract way, you think maybe you understand what happened better than you should.

Maybe he sees things in fragments—maybe he feels things in them too. Maybe last night, you reminded him of something he loved once so deeply he carved a home for it in his bones. And maybe tonight, you want him to start carving space for you instead. You glance atthe time on your phone, 6:53. Your stomach flutters. Are you nervous?

God—yes. Your knees won't stop bouncing, and your fingers keep picking at the edge of your dress. But you're also... excited.You don't know what's waiting for you on the other side of this ride—don't know if dinner will be awkward or sweet or laced with something heavier—but it feels like something real. Something different. And that terrifies you. Because you've never been looked at the way he looked at you last night. Not like you were music.

The cab pulls up to the building. You pay with shaky hands, thank the driver too softly, and walk inside. The elevator ride is a blur of breath-holding. The ding at the top floor even sends a jolt through your chest. And then you're standing in front of his penthouse door, your hand hovering, not sure whether to knock or just—. It's not locked. The knob turns and you step inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click, and you're met with... silence. You take one hesitant step forward into the quiet space. It's too quiet. The air feels still in a way it didn't the last time you were here—when it was thick with the scent of his skin, his hands, your gasps and moans echoing off the walls like confessions. Now it's like the space is holding its breath again.

"Heeseung?" you call, your voice barely above a whisper. You glance at the clock on the wall, 7:01. You chew on your lip, glancing around. The kitchen looks untouched. There's no trace of movement, no clatter of pans or scent of dinner in the air. There's a single light on in the far corner by the bookshelves, casting golden shadows across the couch where he held you just hours ago, his mouth in your hair and his arms locked around your waist like he was afraid you'd disappear. You exhale softly. "Heeseung?" you try again, louder this time, taking cautious steps farther in. Still nothing.

And then it hits you—you don't even have his number. You came here like some wide-eyed idiot with your heart between your teeth, expecting him to just be there, waiting, arms outstretched. It hadn't occurred to you that he might not hear the door, or might be upstairs, or might have changed his mind entirely.

God. You sink down onto the arm of the couch and try not to panic. You won't text Jiyoon—not yet. She'd tease you mercilessly and then probably tell you to go snoop in case he was sleeping with other people or something absurd. You don't want to snoop. You just want to see him. You shift in your seat, smoothing your dress again, tugging at the edge of it and check the time again, 7:06. You blink, already feeling defeated and ready to leave but then a sharp loud sound echoes from upstairs that has you snapping your head towards the stairs. There's another thud—louder this time—followed by a crash that sends a sharp jolt through your chest. Something shattered. And then, unmistakably, screaming. Blood-curdling. Ragged. Like pain clawing itself out of a throat too raw to hold it anymore.

Your breath snags. Your heart kicks into high gear. Your body's moving before your mind can catch up, instinct overriding hesitation as you bolt through the living room, past the grand piano, toward the stairs. Breaking every rule you were given when you first started working here, but that's the last thing on your mind.

He's upstairs. That's him—him screaming.You take the stairs two at a time, heart pounding, fingers scrambling against the banister. When you reach the top, there's only one door that makes sense—tall and black, you sprint to it, chest heaving, and try the handle.

Locked.

Your fist slams against it before you can think. "Heeseung?!" There's no response—just another crash, something metallic this time, like a stand being thrown, maybe a chair. Your knuckles are pulsing against the wood. "Heeseung, open the door! Please!" Still no answer. Just a chorus of garbled words—frenzied, nonsensical, frantic.

"They changed the notes—don't you hear it? It's all wrong, out of key, they're inside the piano! Stop watching me! The rhythm's bleeding, I can't—" Another crash. "It's too loud in here, too loud in my head, make it stop!" Your blood runs cold. Something primal flickers inside you—panic morphing into something sharper, braver. You back up, brace your shoulder against the frame, and throw yourself forward.

Once. Twice—

CRACK.

The door flies open, and you stumble into the absolute chaos, the first thing you see is the floor, and at the center of it all; a piano or what's left of one. Splintered wood. Torn wires. Ivory keys cracked like teeth knocked from a skull. You recognize it instantly. Rina.

There more glass and splintered wood than floor beneath her. Crumpled sheet music. A chair lying on its side. Blood. Blood like paint streaked across the wooden floor, thin trails leading to—

Him. Heeseung.

Standing in the center of it all like a broken monument. There's a deep gash across his forearm, blood still dripping sluggishly onto his hand and down his knuckles. His chest rises and falls too fast, ribs pushing sharply beneath skin that gleams with sweat. His hair sticks to his face. His eyes—wide, unseeing, glazed with something far away and chaotic and terrifying—don't register you at first. He's breathing like he's drowning.

You try to speak, to talk to him, but your throat won't open. He moves before you can. Quick, jerky. Like his body's not entirely his own. He spins, stares at the wall like it's speaking to him, fingers twitching at his sides. "They changed the notes," he mutters. "They changed the fucking notes." His voice is shredded. Raw. Like he's been screaming for hours. Maybe he has. You take one step closer, and your heel lands on a snapped piano key. It clicks beneath your foot like a trigger. He whips around, eyes on you now, all wild, unhinged and unfocused. "Who are you?" he rasps.

You freeze. The question slices clean through you. Your mouth opens, but your voice won't come. Heeseung stares, pupils blown so wide you can barely see the brown. His hands curl and uncurl like he's not sure if he wants to reach for you or strangle you. "Who are you?" he repeats. "Why are you watching me? Are you one of them?"

Them? Your heart stutters. "Heeseung..." you whisper, finally finding your voice. "It's me." But he flinches like you've struck him. You take another step and watch as he instinctively steps back. "No," he whispers. "No—Rina? I'm so sorry. I hurt you. You were perfect and I ruined you. My perfect girl. Please forgive me." Your breath catches.

"It's okay, it's okay." You don't know where it comes from. Maybe instinct. Maybe desperation. Maybe the way his voice cracks like the word is a wound. "I forgive you," you say, voice steadier this time. "I came back for you." His mouth parts and his whole body stills. You can see the thought slotting into place behind his eyes, crooked and trembling and fragile. But it settles. "...Rina?" You nod. "I'm here."

He walks toward you slowly. So slow. Like every step might set him off again. And still, you don't move. His bloodied hand lifts, fingers brushing your cheek—his touch clumsy and too hard at first, like he doesn't remember how to be gentle. But then it softens. His palm cups your jaw, and he leans in so close his breath skates across your lips. "I knew you'd come back," he murmurs. Your throat tightens and swallow around the ache, allowing him to press his forehead against yours. "I'm here now."

"Don't leave," he breathes. "Please don't leave me again. The music stops when you're gone. It stops and I can't breathe, I can't—"

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper. He leans back just enough to look at you. The way he's looking now—it breaks you, because there's no rage or wildness. Just pure, shivering exhaustion. He's unraveling at the seams, and you're the only thread keeping him together. "I want to play," he says softly. "Let me play you."

You nod. And when he tugs you toward the mangled piano, you follow. It's barely standing. The legs are cracked. One pedal's missing. The keys are uneven—some bloodied, some broken. It shouldn't work. It shouldn't sound. But he sits on the shattered bench, breath hitching, and gently pulls you onto his lap.

You settle there, straddling him, your dress bunching slightly against the rough edge of the wood. Your hands brace on his shoulders. His arms wrap around you, drawing you closer. And then—fingers trembling—Heeseung presses his hands to the keys. The sound is... haunting. Off. Warped. But he plays anyway. A melody, jagged and soft. A lullaby with broken bones. The piano cries beneath his touch, but he keeps playing. For you, because of you, it all makes your chest ache for him, you even feel your eyes sting. And all you can do is hold him, let him pour whatever's left of himself into the broken body of his piano—into you.

Because right now, in this room thick with blood and chaos and ghosts, you're the only thing anchoring him to earth. The music tumbles out of him in discordant bursts, crooked and aching like his mind, like his body—like whatever this is between you. And you swear, you'd let him play you forever. But then his fingers slip, not from the broken keys, but because your breath stutters against his jaw. He stills, drifting one hand away from the piano to find your waist instead, the other continues to play, the curve of your back—and then he's holding you so tight you feel the blood from his arm soak warm through your dress.

You don't flinch.

He tilts his face up, searching yours. Your lips part, not for words, but for the way his mouth captures yours the second you breathe in. It's so so desperate. A kiss that tastes like iron and sweat and the kind of madness that wants to be known, wants to be seen.

You whimper into him, clutching at the front of his shirt, and his hands are already moving—shaky, hurried, needing—grabbing at your dress, dragging it up your thighs as if he doesn't care it's stained now, doesn't care it's soft and new and something you wore for him.The keys beneath you clatter with each shift of your hips, and his fingers fumble at the zipper on your side like it's fighting him. He groans low in his throat, kissing you harder, tongue sliding hot against yours as if he's trying to crawl inside of you—trying to disappear there, to lose the noise in his head.

"You came back," he gasps against your mouth. "You really came back—" You nod, breathless, eyes wet, thighs tightening around his waist. "I told you I would." He tugs the dress down your shoulders, hands smeared with red, smearing it onto you, painting you with it. It sticks to your collarbones, your arms, a fever-warm trail of devotion and ruin, but you don't stop him.

He's kissing you like he needs this to survive, like he'll lose his mind all over again if you pull away. Your fingers thread through his hair, and he groans at the way you pull, his mouth moving from your lips to your neck, your jaw, your shoulder—biting, tasting his blood smeared there, claiming. You tremble. And then his hand is between your legs, cupping you through your panties, a low, reverent moan tearing from his chest when he feels the heat there. "For me," he mutters, delirious. "You're like this for me."

"Yes," you breathe, rolling your hips into his hand, nails clawing at his back through his shirt. "Only for you." He groans again, like the words unmake him.

Your dress is halfway down your body, straps hanging off your arms, and you're so tangled together that it's hard to tell whose limbs are whose. He continues kissing you then like a vow. Like salvation. And everything else—the broken piano, the screaming from earlier, the sharp pain in your back from the cracked lid—fades to nothing. The music stutters beneath you—sharp, erratic keystrokes like a hymn being pulled apart at the seams.

But he doesn't stop playing. Even as his bloody fingers slip over the ivories, even as his other hand bunches your dress up around your hips, even as you gasp into his mouth and his teeth catch your bottom lip hard enough to sting. You're still straddling him, thighs trembling on either side of his lap, and he's shifting beneath you like he can't get close enough, like the distance between your bodies is an insult to the devotion he's shaking with.

"Heeseung," you whisper, breath hitching as his hand slides between your legs, the fabric of your panties clinging to you wet and ruined. "Please—" "Shh," he hushes, mouth dragging down your neck, blood and spit slick on your skin. "It's okay, it's okay—I got you, baby, I got you—" His fingers tremble as he pushes the fabric aside, clumsy and rushed, and you flinch when his knuckles brush over you. He groans against your throat, hand gripping your hip like he might break it, like it's the only anchor he has.

"Fuck, you're so warm—" he pants, "—I missed you so much, I missed you—" You don't know if he's talking to you or to her, to Rina, to whatever memory he's tangled you up with—but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when he's freeing himself beneath you with frantic hands, moaning under his breath as he fumbles himself through his sweats, panting into your collarbone like he's on the verge of falling apart. And then he's there. Thick, flushed, already so hard it makes your head spin. He grips your thighs, pulling you up just enough—just enough to align—and then sinks you down onto him in one ragged, choking breath.

You cry out, clenching around him, thighs shaking. Heeseung's head snaps back, a guttural sound ripping from his throat, and his hands clamp down on your hips like he's afraid you'll vanish again. "Oh my God—" he gasps, "—move, baby, please, come on—come on—"

He's twitching inside you already, so sensitive, so overwhelmed, but he's begging for more. Encouraging you, pushing up into you while his hands guide your hips, while his fingers—still stained with his blood—return to the keys beneath him, pressing out that same broken melody. You try to move—hips rising, sinking—but it's messy. Desperate. Your thighs burn, your breath hitches, and your forehead presses to his as he whispers, "Just like that, just like that—don't stop—don't stop—" The piano groans beneath you both. His legs tremble. Your panties are barely hanging on, twisted and soaked, caught somewhere between you, and still—still—he keeps playing.

Keeps playing through the rise and fall of your bodies, through the wet slap of your hips, through the breathless moans and the ache and the madness. He's shaking beneath you. His mouth finds yours again, swallowing your sobs, blood smearing from his wrist to your waist as he holds you tighter—deeper—closer.

"I knew you'd come back," he whispers, forehead to yours. "You always come back to me." You can't answer. You can only cry out his name, again and again, as the notes beneath you unravel into chaos and crescendo Your fingers claw at his shoulders as you rock against him, pace faltering with every thick thrust. The bench groans beneath your bodies, protesting under the weight of it all, but you don't stop. Neither of you could if you tried.

His hands are all over you—up your back, into your hair, clawing at your waist like he doesn't know where to hold, just that he has to hold somewhere.

The piano is completely forgotten now. The keys he was so desperate to press—abandoned mid-chord, half-played notes frozen under bloodied fingertips. But Heeseung's mouth is moving and he's moaning something. At first it's a whisper, hoarse and uneven, barely above the wet sound of your bodies meeting again and again. But then—clearer, louder— "Y/N... oh my god, Y/N—" You halt for a second. Barely. Just long enough to catch your breath. To hear him. Your name—your name, not his pianos—spilling from his lips like prayer, like apology, like it's the only thing anchoring him to reality.

Heeseung's head drops to your shoulder, and he's panting your name again, so sweet and unguarded it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. "Y/N," he gasps, "you feel so good, baby—fuck—so good—" It's like he sees you now. Really sees you. And his hands are softer now, less frantic, still trembling but reverent in how they hold you—his thumb brushing your waist, his other hand cradling your jaw as he lifts your face to his.

Your noses bump. His eyes search yours like he's never seen anything more precious. "It's you," he whispers, almost awed. "It's really you..."He leans in, kissing you like the world's finally slowed down, like he's finally returned to it. To you. And when you move again—hips grinding, slow now, deeper—he moans your name into your mouth, over and over like it's his undoing. Each syllable spills from him shakily, soaked with disbelief and want and something that almost sounds like worship.

Your hands find his cheeks, thumbs stroking where the dried tears have clung to his skin, and when you whisper his name back, soft and breathless, he shudders. Heeseung's forehead presses to yours. You feel him twitch inside you, thighs clenching around him as you both near that terrible, beautiful edge again, and he breathes your name one last time— "Y/N, I'm—fuck—I'm gonna cum, baby, please—stay with me—stay—" Your hips stutter. His hands seize. And then everything splinters—. Your name tears from his throat in a ragged moan, your own lips parted in soundless release as your body collapses forward, curling into his chest like instinct.

Heeseung's arms close around you immediately. One low on your spine, the other twisted into your hair, as if he can press you into him hard enough to keep you there forever. Your pulse throbs everywhere. Between your legs, in your throat, under your tongue. Heeseung is trembling beneath you, arms loose but shaking, chest heaving like he's run for miles and only now stopped to breathe.

He's still inside you. Still in you, cradled and connected and caught in the softness of what just happened. No piano. No ghosts. Just this.You shift slightly, just to catch your breath, and he shudders around you with a hoarse gasp. His head drops to your shoulder, face buried in the crook of your neck. You stay there a while. No words. No need. Just the sound of the wind against the high windows, the echo of your breathing, and the quiet creak of a broken piano bench holding two too-lost people.

Eventually, his fingers twitch against your waist. "Y/N," he breathes, voice scratchy and soft. You hum, stroking the sweaty strands of hair back from his temple. Your touch is gentle, slow, grounding. He lifts his head—eyes glassy, wide and wet around the edges. You watch them drop down, settle on the stains between you, the faint blood still smudged across his hands and chest. He catches your wrist.Brings your fingers—still trembling—to the mess of red streaked across his ribs. The open cuts from earlier have mostly clotted, but the wounds are still fresh, angry-looking, like they're still listening to the madness that tore them open. He presses your palm there, over his heart.

"This body..." he whispers, eyes still downcast. "It belongs to too many ghosts." Your chest tightens, but you don't pull away. Instead, your fingers spread gently over the damp skin of his chest, pressing softly, reverently. You guide his gaze up to meet yours. "It belongs to me tonight," you murmur, voice quiet but sure. "It's okay, Heeseung. I've got you."

He blinks hard and for a second, something in him flickers. Something soft. Almost boyish and safe. Then his forehead presses against yours again. He leans into the cradle of your hands like he's never been touched this way before—like he doesn't know what to do with it. "...Don't let go yet," he whispers. "I won't," you promise. "Not tonight." Heeseung's head is resting against yours, your hand still pressed to his chest, when he whispers it. So faint, it's nearly lost in your breathing.

"...Call her." You pull back a little, brushing your nose against his cheek. "Hm?" He blinks slowly, like the exhaustion is hitting him all at once. "Phone's somewhere here, on the shelf by the metronome. Just—tell her it's bad, she'll come." You stare back into his eyes cluelessly,

"My nurse".

You nod, slipping gently off his lap. He groans softly at the loss of you but doesn't stop you. Doesn't move at all, really—just tilts his head back against the edge of the bench, hair damp with blood sweat and tears. You find the phone where he said it would be, swipe up, and call the nurse. She picks up after one ring. You tell her to come and you don't have to say much more—she must be used to these calls by now. And as you're hanging up, you hear him say it behind you, low and soft, "Thanks... for coming upstairs."

You turn, heart squeezing. He's still sitting there, shirtless and smeared in blood, legs parted like he couldn't stand if he tried. But he's looking at you—really looking—and something about it makes your breath catch in your throat.

You walk over. Kiss his forehead. Then slip into the bathroom for towels, water, and cleaner. By the time the nurse arrives, you're back upstairs, on your knees by the piano, gently gathering the shattered ivory keys and splintered wood into a pile. You've scrubbed some of the blood from the floor, though the stains are stubborn. The piano looks gutted—her insides exposed, wires torn and twisted like veins. Your heart aches again. Not for the piano. But for him.

Heeseung, who stayed downstairs. Who let someone else tend to him while you tried to do what you could for the mess he left behind. You hear footsteps coming up the stairs, then his voice—calmer now, hoarse, but steady. "Leave it." You glance over your shoulder. He's standing there, freshly bandaged, a clean shirt half-buttoned and hanging loose on his frame. The nurse must have left quietly.

"I'm still your cleaner, remember?" you say lightly, trying to ease the air. "Let me do my job." His lips twitch. But there's something softer in his eyes now—something closer to sorrow than amusement.

"You're more than that." You pause and look down at the broken keys in your hands. "I know."

And he comes to you—sinks down beside you on the floor, still moving slowly like he's holding his bones together by sheer will—and rests his forehead to yours again. Neither of you says anything else, you just sit in the wreckage of something beautiful. Together.

*•*•*

It's hard to say how much time has passed. Days, maybe. Weeks. The kind that blur together, quiet and golden at the edges, like light filtered through gauze. The scar on Heeseung's arm is healing well—just a thin red seam now, barely visible when he rolls his sleeves up. He doesn't try to hide it anymore.

You're downstairs today. The sun is dipping low and warm across the windows, lighting up the dust motes dancing in the air. The piano stands rebuilt, restored—not the same one from upstairs, but something new. Something you picked out together.

You're sitting beside him on the bench, your knees touching. Heeseung's hands are guiding yours across the keys with quiet patience.

"No, baby, focus" he murmurs, laughing when you hit the wrong note again. "That's an A, not a G."

"I am focused," you argue, shoulders tensing in mock defense. "I just—I forgot which finger goes where." He leans closer, brushing his lips against your temple. "The one I showed you. Your third finger. C'mon. Try again." You exhale, pouting a little as you reposition your hands. Heeseung watches you with a softness that folds itself into the corners of his smile.

You press the keys again. It's still wrong. You groan dramatically. "Ugh, why is this so hard?" And he can't help it—he grabs your chin and kisses you mid-pout. Quick and warm. The kind of kiss that says you're the most precious thing I've ever ruined myself for.

Your lips curve into a grin beneath his. He chuckles. "You know what I think?"

"Hm?"

"I think you just like messing up so I'll kiss you."

You nudge him with your shoulder. "Maybe." Heeseung leans in again. A little slower this time. A little deeper. Then his hands return to the keys. And so do yours.

You sit like that a while—two shadows against the shine of the piano, laughter and missed notes echoing softly in the room. And if someone were to peek in just then, they might think it's a simple thing. A boy and a girl, and a piano between them. But it's not. It's an anchor. A promise. A world rebuilt from ash and ghosts and broken music.

And maybe you never learned to play perfectly, but he never stopped telling you you were the most beautiful song he'd ever heard.

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@immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @inawonderfulworld @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji

©️ nephynes 2025

all works are pieces of original fiction, do not repost, translate, or adapt without explicit permission.

[readingmochi]

it actually has been a long time since i write a review that is not in tags. so i guess this fic is special and will last in my head a long time.

the thing that i want to point out is that both mc and heeseung are lonely people with their own problems who found each other. i also really liked tortured artists' stories, and both mc and heeseung are that. the intrigue to the mental health aspect of it that both have are the things that joined them together, especially how differently they cope: heeseung becoming a recluse while mc just continues to hustle. but i also like how calm mc is facing heeseung. instead of being suspicious, she researched more and more about him.

maybe a little critique that i can give is that i want more of mc's writing and literary prowess after the inciting incident of the exchange in her journal. it's the thing that makes me fall in love with her character, just like her words make heeseung fall in love with her. i do think it's very underutilised at the end because she is enamoured by him so much. it definitely shows how the relationship is a bit lopsided at the end, even though it seems that heeseung also sees her love for literature and poems

p.s. i recently just finished watching the movie "love and mercy" about the beach boys' brain wilson, who is diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder, and how its depiction on screen is similar to what you described heeseung has. so i think that a good touch of the depiction, in my opinion

[xiaohuoguo]

RED LIGHT, GREEN LIGHT! S.JY

2025, ONESHOT — 5K WC. GENRE — yandere! jake, squid game! universe. WARNING — profanity, death, suggestive, force kissing turn dubcon uhhh, implied smut at the end.

NOTE wrote this since january bc of that cute guard scene in squid game lolol. jungwon is my muse and rlly wanna make this about him but for the first time jake rlly does fit the vibe here, so here's my first jakey oneshot :> not reallyyy proofread tho since this is my second blog to let go of my perfectionist habits so expect some grammar errors 🫠 ... still hope u enjoy it ♡

Every single color has its purpose and function.

Blue gives you the oceanic peace. White, an embodiment of innocence and purity. Purple, the symbol of royalty. Yellow, the glory of summer sun. Yet they don't actually exist, we only gave meaning to a bunch of fragmented lights.

Like how we framed traffic lights as the way to maintain order. Red, green, yellow—three distinct lights. Nothing too hard to obey, however no matter how much you enforce a rule, a very simple one at that—some people are bound to defy it. Why?

Because colors don't mean the same for each and one of us. There's no universal meaning to it. Red alerts people, warns them from a potential danger, but for some, it arouses their entire being. It tempts them, like a red cloth dangling before a bull bursting with flames.

And that's what Jake had always been and will always be, which explains why he ended up in this game of death.

In the vast expanse of the outside world, you could encounter countless of faces but he abhorred such tedious task. Lines contorting into what they call expressions. But here you only got two; red and green. He doesn't recognize faces, he sees colors, finding himself reacting to them more intensely, whisked away by it's whims and sways as if it was his calling.

Red was all he had soaked himself in.

However just like every other thing, boredom is bound to follow. Sharp edges now painfully, painfully dull—until a particular person carves it back to it's glory; you.

"Red light!"

Morphing his empty well of eyes with the reflection of your subtle cowering frame. You who were trying your best to put up a strong front. A bright green gym shirt like a flickering traffic light. Your smooth fluff fringe resting above your lashes, terribly failing from concealing the grim reality unveiling itself before your eyes. You stood so bright. Painfully green. A different shade of green, he added with an afterthought.

"Green light!"

Jake observes you clinging to life amidst the exploding fleshes and heads—their blood decorating your pale white face and down your green attire. Oh dear, poor you. Who could've known? Who could've guess?

Those little steps you took—Jake finds it funny how it reminds him of a heart monitor; if you rushed without a care, you'd be dead, and if you stand still for too long, you'd be dead either.

But you were doing pretty well, too well, actually.

Bullets rained one after another.

Drilled into each head—emitting the sound of pure satisfaction.

Jake hums along with melodic rhythm of the children's song, hitting the fallen players with exceeding precision. Yet once in awhile, you were there in his line of sight, begging his eyes to drift to you, and somehow he caught himself spilling the words—go, go, faster, faster,—as his pupil steals a glance from the ticking clock.

You were so small, smaller yet you were still here while all the players with bigger, stronger, and athletic stature had fallen to his hands. He starts to think it'd be a pity to see you dead after surpassing all of them. But you pushed yourself against the heavy wall of air—leaping over the red line—dropping on your knees, gasping for oxygen that has been drained out from your lungs.

The first game is over. And there are still plenty of players—shook to their core after the reality they've been thrown at just a few minutes ago. Their chest heaved up and down in relief. But who knows what awaits them later?

As Jake finishes up, placing his weapon back in the case. Yet he halted, taking one more look at you from the distance. This game—he wonders how long it will take till they get caught? It excites him. Even the players themselves, he anticipates it over what they could bring into the table. Last time one player played a pathetic role of a savior and he even got a bunch of others to side with him, with scripts rolling out of his tongue titled righteousness—he says. It was a sight to witness. Although they pretty much ended up dead after, a futile effort indeed though commended.

Boom! Boom! Boom—off with their heads rolling on the ground! It would make a very good material for a bowling ball. They brought a very compelling twist into this game.

Long after that, barely enough players bring in anything new on the table. Not a daredevil in sight.

But then you came. You were perfect. One might say you're no rare sight; a timid, feeble, fragile young lady. There was more like you, carrying the same image yet there was a glint in your eyes that begs to be unraveled. Countless players had the same goal; money, and why do they need money? That's where a vast array of reasons arise. You need money, but what do you need it for?

To pay your debt? Or to get your debt inexplicably higher? Greed, greed, people never change! Only death awaits. That was what sealed the deal for him, and he was not in the mood to see you get served up on a platter yet. For sure, how long you pique his interest decides how long you live. Because it would be a pity, pity indeed—to have you split open before you he could see your potential. He doesn't want to get your organs harvested yet, to see your limbs cut apart, and organs beating on a platter.

Just a weed in a sea of weeds. Still, it's not the type of face he'd expect to fall into a well of buried money. He didn't expect you'd be the type of face to bury yourself in a graveyard and that is why it compels him to uncover the deepest depths beneath this layer of your skin.

Maybe, you hid something even more interesting things.

It was a gamble, then! Nothing new for the pink guards, really. Just like the bright greens, the pink ones also had their own little game—carving another layer of masochism of playtime. Because sanity is thrown out of the door the moment you step into this madness.

"The second game for today is—Dalgona." The speaker's voice reverberated throughout the innocent childhood wallpaper of the playroom. "Players are required to carve out the shape. ."

A facade so intoxicating it brings a wave of nostalgia. Wishes and promises. Everyone starts to feel, a little too comfortable with the atmosphere. Who could've guess a simple sugar cookie could decide the entire course of your life? Each player settles into their position, and like a little game played by the universes he supposes, he was assigned to be your guard.

Curious he was, to see what shape you've chosen. Is luck still clinging by your side?

Twisting the cover, the shape revealed itself—an umbrella.

Ah, how pitiful—the glimmer of little hope left in your eyes morphs into fear, you've done so well shielding yourself from the rain, but now it is the pathway to your pernicious death.

"The game starts now."

Beep, beep.

The red neon digit ticks down—parallel to the players’ eyes flickering with dread.

He watches intently behind the mask; your hand trembles, yet the death grip on the needle expresses your determination to live. You pierced the honeycomb, carving the edges, slowly and surely. He wonders how it will feel in his hand, should it feel warm—he'll definitely bring it to his cheek to revel in it. But oh, your little expressions accompanied with deep inhales and slow exhales, a little sigh over here and there. The sight of a bead of sweat trailing down your chin from your temple.

A sudden bang brings forth a jolt to your frame.

The first kill.

It is now evident, the face of death inching closer.

And then two.

One more.

And like smashed piano keys—it rambled on, screeching against everyone’s ears, screaming at them to focus, focus, focus!

You struggled, though, struggling immensely from picking up the needle from the soil with your clammy hands. It wasn't faring any better to your ears as how the speaker began to announce the following deaths, and soon after, the players who successfully passed the game.

A sticky feeling latched, crawled across your spine; it was the image of a tiny ball dwarfed by this playroom, and that was you. Whisked away by the whims of fate, and now you're all alone with your eyes shot wide open—accompanied by a little fly feasting on your corpse.

You cried out a no. A desperate, desperate refusal to such a pathetic death.

The fear of your head blown off by the weapon dangling before you. The grip the triangle guard had around it made you gulped down. You slapped yourself, cussing in-between. Time is truly an illusion. But amidst between life and death, you weren't so sure, but—there was another inexplicable weight. Sure, it was death knocking on your door that was pushing you through your limits—but, something else has you on edge. You look up, just a bit, at the triangle mask glued on you. Call it whatever, intuition as they call it—but something's telling you whoever is behind that mask has misplaced his attention—not on the dalgona, but you.

The language of his body was palpable, despite being covered with a thick layer of pink jacket. The tilt of his head, unlike the rigid stance of the other guards, made you uneasy. It's akin to nails screeching against your ears, spikes of nails sticking up and high from the ground. But you had no luxury to pay attention to it right now.

Focus!

You've look at him for the first time. Have you finally caught on? But you didn't just look, no, you gazed into him. Jake swore you made him felt like you've seen his real face that it scratches his heart a little. Just a little. He couldn't help but laugh if that ever happens. He almost felt like a tiny desire to help you there but he knows it's no use when everything is recorded by the mini camera attached to his chest.

So small, so fragile.

Almost, almost.

You just have to win this game, and maybe, just maybe he'll be able to help you soon.

"Player 139, success."

You sucked in a huge lump of air into your throbbing lungs. You've felt alive once more, each breath reminding you that you more alive than ever. While the man before you stood still, watching you as another guard escorted you out. The timer ticks down with one last digit, ending with a zero—and then he finishes up all the players behind him. Each bullet mimicking the thump of a heart—he could hear it, the pattern of his very own, as you've clawed your way into it—clenching his blood into a state of frenzy.

It soon became a little game in his head.

A game of luck and fate, he supposed. How long can you live? How far can you push your luck? Like a bet, like a gamble, like hordes of horses sprinting down the lane of victory. He guessed he’d never be able to leave his addiction in whatever form of betting, and now that form is your life.

The next game are soon approaching. You've done so well surviving on your own, but now, will you be able to share this luck with others in the next game? Or—will your luck get sucked out by the rest?

Jake stood at the entrance with a rigid stance, clasping his weapon—guarding the place as he usually does but his eyes followed your fidgety hands—as you form tight-knit friendships with other players. Too close, he thought, but he knows it's necessary for the next game.

Yet his jaw clenches—hard. It hits him that the last time this ever happened was long, long time ago—when he had lost a great sum of cash before his very eyes.

A loss.

Jake was looking for that perfect time to introduce himself to you but that perfect chance never seems to come around, that is, until just a few hours later when the lights are out—one player notoriously known for running her mouth with no care—were screaming at him for not providing her with basic human rights to the restroom, it wasn't particularly allowed by nighttime for some reasons and he completely intended to ignore the ruckus inside, until you appeared behind her, begging to be let into the restroom as well.

He couldn't just let this precious chance flee away.

It occured to him as his eyes cling to your frame, guiding you and the other player to the rest room—other guards had quite a wild fetish, necrophilia, that is. But insane as he might be, a dead flesh doesn't tickle his interest. However, strangely enough, your hair that you often let down are now tied up in a messy bun, giving him the sight of your neck—riles him up, just a little bit.

You were so close he could catch a whiff of your scent.

So, close, yet so far.

His ears caught ln the running water from behind the restroom.

Should he take the chance now? There wasn't a guarantee you might survive the next game as it goes against your biological nature, but who knows, you might.

It's a gamble, though.

Everything is.. a gamble, in hell.

You and your new friend somehow took an enormous time than needed inside the restroom, he immediately knew what's up but what's the fun in that? Here you are, your voices behind—panicking, dripping with white lies to cover up whatever the two of you were planning but time's up, he pushed in through—catching the scene just as he expected.

Your little friend was nowhere to be seen, and the tap water was left running endlessly down the sink. A pathetic, pointless cover-up.

"I s-swear, it's not me." You gasped—stuttering, raising your hands up instinctively to defend yourself, your eyes following the whims of the gun in his hand. Too cute, you were an exact opposite of what you try to portray in the game field.

Jake's eyes followed the trail up the ceiling—an evidence painfully sticking; a vent pulled open. There's only one answer for this; cheating—and what happens to players who cheat? For a game that promises equality to its players, it's only fair for the cheaters to be eliminated. The barrel clicks, raising it to your eye level now imbued with great dread.

You were swirling in desperation, descending into madness, blabbering as you dropped on your knees—praying for your life. That this wasn't it, this wasn't how you were supposed to meet your end. He thought the same, too, sympathetically.

"You badly wanted to live, huh?" The robotic voice adds to the vehemence to your rampant soul, you nodded—fueled with the enormous desire to live.

Despite the debt you've accrued towards the years, you are still left with hope that you'd be able to settle it all one day, no matter what. But why is it that you're burying yourself in debt again?

Haven't you learned your lesson?

"What can you offer me?"

Cheshire grin graces Jake's lips with the sight of your glossy eyes cutting through confusion. He repeats the same question once more, but a little different this time and strides closer to you with slow steps. You didn't budge one bit, he likes that.

But he needs to see more—pressing your chin up with his thumb, tilting his head ever so playfully.

"Why should I let you live? Tell me why, then I just might, spare your life." Says the guard, "Amuse me."

Amuse? How? You were no joker yourself, even at the times you had to appease someone's wrath—you'd always find yourself failing at it. Comedy was not your forte. Your breathing grew heavy, a weight pressed against your lungs, pressured by the guard's loose frame that was stiff, composed a while ago.

Leaning against the tiled wall, a behaviour unlike any other. Despite being covered up from head to toe, it was as if he was baring himself raw and exposed to you. You could taste his body language on the tip of your tongue—amidst the saltiness of your tears—its intensity beyond sanity.

The fluorescent light flickers in a timed interval, offering a deafening sound that ricochets off the restroom's walls. Your little friend sure is taking her precious time to maneuver around the route, not knowing the real deal is happening here.

You were filled with dread, unable to find answers, stuttering here and there—tight lipped. Panic eyes dart around for answers, for the key to your escape. Until, a distant clattering reverberated from the distance, like platters being ransacked—directly from the vent.

The guard looks up, and you swore you heard the pitch of a sinister tune behind those robotic voice. "Uh, oh."

You gulped down with the arrival of your new friend. Her face mirrored yours—pale and grim—and soon on her knees.

"I want to live."

You blurted out with desperation before she could defend herself—emphasizing each word—catching the guard's attention.

Jake didn't expect this side of you, but he was not at all disappointed—more like thrilled.

And that was all it took.

You clutched your trembling left arm, your hands icy cold as you exited the restroom—accompanied by another triangle pink guard. The door to the lobby opens up, and that was the moment when your shoulders flinched—at the sound of a gunshot beyond the hallway.

Now you're truly, in debt, for good.

Jake's pink suit takes on darker hues, blotted unevenly across his chest and a bit on his mask as he stood there as the circle guards carried the corpse away.

Too amused by the outcome, he'd have to admit. He didn't know you were capable of such trickery, hiding a desperate monster behind those depths of your eyes. He'd begun to wonder how far he can push you towards your edge, to the last bit of your sanity just like his.

"I'll let you live but with one condition."

And that is to bring your best play into this game. The image of your bloodshot eyes widening in inches was a sight to witness. Especially the way your face are decorated with your new friend’s blood.

You were hanging on a piece of thread while walking on eggshells. Whatever you choose, you’d die either way. But you persisted. The next game commenced; the classic tug of war. Yet you survive again, in a game dominated by males. He was almost sure you'd plummet to your eventual death but somehow, someway—that piece of luck seems to cling to your side quite stubbornly. And he wanted to have a part of it, just a bit, or even more—just like the greedy creature he had always been—insatiable, the hunger for more.

As you climbed down the stairs, he could see it—the way your eyes searched for approval, for reassurance that you've amused him well. You were so good, so obedient that he felt like he wanted to sugarcoat his words for you.

If you behave nice and sweet—maybe you’d be alive a little longer. Be obedient as you can, he's just trying to help you, that's all, he promised! Pinky promise? It's just really a very, very fair deal. Envision it—you won't get your head blown off dramatically if you obey him, it's all for your own good.

You nodded, he grinned.

“Good girl.”

He hushes for you to lean closer, and he says it, the golden rule: they.

They?

They're always watching, therefore you should keep yourself interesting as long as you can. Do whatever you think is interesting. Think of it as a comedy play, your goal is to make your audience laugh, right? Easy peasy! If you do it right, then they’ll be kind enough to keep you a little longer. After all, interesting things once a day keeps the dull moments away!

But wait! He caught your arm in his gloved hand—whatever you do, just don't get caught. And my, my! You did not disappoint. Jake felt so proud that he mentored you, fuck, he breathes out. A once pristine fork now soaked in metallic stench, but whose? Your choice of target was truly compelling, how you reached up to that point of decision was a marvel to him.

An old lady and her son.

Oh my god—he was never a believer to whatever deities are up there but you're surely, surely fucked up more than he is. He’d only spoken one word—kill, but alas you've earned it. He could taste the horror on their face from the pool of blood—it screeches as the pink guards placed the corpses on their respective gift boxes.

Then a word arises, planting doubts, feeding worry, and then panic, and as a result you get a crowd of uncivilized humans banging against the cage. And funny it was, all it took was one shot to calm them down. Hush, hush—quiet down.

The old good script came along; equality.

Equality? How hilarious! No matter how many times they went through the script, it's still baffling to see how the sea of faces calms down after that word—almost as if it was a promise. No, and it was a pity. Sure, getting good at the game decides how far you will go but that's not the final rule.

Boredom! Boredom! Do you even sit down for so long for a movie so inexplicably tedious, so boring? No, right? We don't root for a character that brings no interesting story on the table. First, we sigh. Second, we complain. Third, we criticize it. Lastly, we stand up—never again to pick it up. A play with no audience is basically nonexistent. No singer would sing without an audience. Nor an actor without someone to watch.

Does it mean our worth solely depends on how long we keep someone's interest in us? How fucking funny! The world is a comedy play indeed! And you did just that, piquing his interest for so long that he wanted to see more.

More.

Jake knew very well that he shouldn't be doing this. But resisting feels too futile—when he's now right at your bunk bed, at night when all the players have tucked themselves into bed—lulling themselves to sleep before one more game tomorrow.

His feet had dragged him by your side before he could even think twice. Though, he can now—with one step away. But he knows he can't, because one red light does nothing but arouses his desire to go against it.

Tempting.

Getting caught feels so toxic; he thought as he inches closer, his gloved hands brushing past your leg. You caught on so quickly with a tiny squirm, a subtle frown gracing between your eyebrows—he finds it amusing how it deepens with each closer stride his finger took—until you did notice.

The margins of your pupil withered by his presence, sharp edges of a triangle reflected on it. Thick leather covering his hand—now on your mouth at a swift speed. His big frame towering over yours, and you whipped your head to find everyone else deep in slumber.

"Relax," He chides in a pitchy melody. "Just thought you needed a little reminder that you aren't safe yet, from me."

The mask dives in, a dangerous proximity—where he suddenly brushes his free hand on his mask. You gulped down, a curiosity inkling closer.

"Close your eyes." You caught a glimpse of his red lips, "And don't look."

And it crushed against yours—it felt all too vivid and intense. Wet tongue swirling and knotting together. Colliding like stars melting into each other. Your face flushed upon remembering that you were doing this in a place where privacy is nonexistent.

An act of voyeurism.

What would they think of you—a player colluding with one of the guards? Would they think of you as someone conspiring to ruin the game as someone had suggested in the beginning? But it's so cruel, almost too harsh—the way his teeth sunk into your lip, a subtle desperation hiding in-between—as he commands you to return your utmost concentration to him.

You tried your best to suppress your growing desire to moan, the shuffling of the bed, and how your legs tense around from looping around his hips, and all the more—your eyes from parting, for he had warned you that if his face was to be seen—nothing would end well.

And so, you close your eyes harder—fighting against this monstrosity of a desire to see his face, curiosity so insatiable. Would his face be as delish as his lips? Mouthwatering as his tongue? Or as gripping as his hands on your waist. To know that his face would mark your doom brings a sinful thrill, a pernicious temptation.

But maybe, you were a little stubborn. Though, you shut it tight before he could notice. Or maybe, he did notice. You only caught a slight skin, a warm tone near his eyes.

Did he notice? Of course he did. You were never too good in following the rules anyway, he expected that much from you, and that was what he also terribly liked about you—a twist to this repetitive routine in his life. You always defy his expectations, each one better than the last. Perhaps this is what they call a plot twist.

And you were doing too good, too good—he’d afraid. Good thing, no one caught the sinful game you two were in—and was that a good thing? By his definition, no—people will never stop until they're caught. It only intensifies from then on, the stake rising higher and higher.

We're all, after all, an insatiable animals beneath this human flesh. And it comes back everytime the florescent light shuts off, dripping ink obscuring every sense of moral compass. This so-called society can fuck off. We are all too obvious, flickering like a bunch of traffic lights—encrypting a Morse code, praying for someone to notice us, save us.

These signals. We're so obvious but at the same we aren't.

And that's why he wondered why you sent him a signal to meet in the restroom. His question, though, was immediately answered the moment he stepped in.

Perhaps, Jake didn't see to it that far but maybe he did, for curiosity overtakes—of what kind of a cornered animal you would be. Because the saying always goes like this; a cornered animal are the most dangerous of them all.

A swift dash—and it clicks right at his head, and all Jake could muster was a devilish grin—ah, what is this? Are you tired of catching up to his whims now? His gun firmly clasped in your clammy hands, more than glad to help you—planting it just right on his forehead. An image flashed in his head right at that moment, you looked way too familiar—as if you were the notorious player who joined the game twice, dreaming to put an end to this cruel, cruel game. The only difference was that he was with a formidable team and you—alone.

“C'mon, do it." He mimics the doll's rhythm from the beginning, "Will you do it or will you not?”

He sang on like a serpent slithering against your ears. A temptation, or a dare wrapping itself around your neck, urging you, begging you to choose. If you kill him now, only God knows what’ll happen to you after but oh the laughter—it bursted out with the thought of them who were watching, of how their eyes would bulge out on the ground witnessing the scene of a feeble girl overpowering a guard, a male one at that—all by herself.

But you look so damn pretty, so fucking pretty looking all this determined with courage and rage.

Yet his thought process was cut short with a strong grip on his hood—yanking his body on the ground before he could react—and now you are on top of him, taking control and holding him hostage. And all he could say is what the fuck? Just what are you planning inside your pretty little head?

“Take off your mask.”

“That isn't part of our deal.” The triangle mask did no little to cover his body language, “You know I could easily overpower you—”

“Not with a gun to your head.”

“Are you sure you can—” A loud bang causes him to groan, you shot his arm, that is. A very light graze but enough to cause a deep wound. It tainted his pink jacket into a deeper shade—crimson. Right, you are not joking at all. Fuck, you're right—he looks down chuckling. You left him with no choice and so he complied, funny enough—you stopped him right before he could pull down his black mask. You put on his mask back but just enough for his nose and lips bare for you to see.

What exactly are you planning to do? He doesn't know but what you did next was never one of the things he anticipated. It took his breath away, literally—you sucking his lips in—huh? A kiss. It's a fucking kiss, he chanted on in his head, his eyes wide opened as you kept going on. Jake wanted to be the hunter but today it doesn't seem to appear that way. Overpowered with a gun on his head, and a girl one at that—on top of him

The fuck? Is he being assaulted in broad daylight? Shit. For the first time, Jake was dumbfounded by your peculiar actions. Just now, you were trying to murder him and now you're kissing him like he's a free piece of meat?

Your face—he observes intently as you molded his lips into your own; tightly shut, heated cheeks, loose fringe sticking on your forehead due to your sweat, or was it his? He's no virgin nor this was his first kiss. But why is his heart thumping like a goddamn virgin, then? Was it the fact that your lips were sloppy? Rough? Desperate? Needy? It was painfully obvious that was your very first time sucking someone’s lips.

You were painfully, painfully bad at it—evident by the leaking metallic taste on his lower lip. Abusive. But the throbbing pain tasted delicious, igniting something inside his body. Jake’s starting to think that he's a masochistic for relishing in this pain.

More, more, more!

You pulled away.

He groans, aching for more.

“Is it interesting enough?”

Those words caught him off guard, and apart from the fact that you look utterly breathtaking with your red swollen lips, he couldn't properly form a proper sentence with how you're firmly on him—straddling his hip.

"W-what do you mean?" He couldn't believe it that he just stuttered. Did that tongue of yours truly twisted his brain and mouth into an incoherent mess?

"Them." You gulped down.

And that was all it took for him to lose control. A snicker, turns to a chuckle, and then laughter reverberating against the tiles—forming an eerie echo.

Dear heavens, you've taken it on another level, way, way too much for him to resist anymore.

“You know you truly got me.”

With one blink, you found yourself in a pitch black room—dimly lit by a faint round light from the corner. Your back buried on the soft couch, catching you in his strong arms. No time wasted—his lips dive into yours, sucking and nibbling on every depth of your flesh like it was his meal to devour. His eyes commands you, a slave to his spell. Supple, thick skin trapped in-between his long digits..

Sheer excitement rushes in his body as he zips his pink jacket down, slowly but surely, teasing you just enough by stopping a few inches more. His triangle mask obscuring his identity all time finally follows with a whisk of his gloved hands—revealing a pair of intoxicating eyes, adorned with a roof of pretty lashes. His fluffy fringes covered bits of his eyes.

"Do you see me now?"

His true voice speaks for itself, no longer covered by the monotone robotic filter—but bare and raw. The timbre of his voice—too velvet for your ears. He felt human for the first time.

He places his chin on his black gloved hand, leaving only his eyes for you to see. Piercing gaze clinging into your soul as if telling you to run away with him right now, like a hopeless fairy tale. The only difference was this place are no castles for princesses.

Jake put his mask back on, but this time it was not the same—nowhere near the traces of the triangle shape, instead it held a black color, sculpture-like. As if the mask was intended specially for its owner, hugging the corners and depth of his visage. It was as if the mask owned him, not otherwise.

And you were right.

Unlike his predecessors, Jake isn’t that keen in going down the route of the friendly, amiable approach they often took—the role of being a friend to your targets. Make no mistakes, he doesn't bore a single drop of guilt. But in his eyes, it was more of an old cheap trick implemented by each and one of them, yet it never grew stale to the eyes of the VIPs. He couldn't blame them though, after all—the sunken eyes upon realising the weight of betrayal was all too fucking satisfying.

However Jake wanted to try something new; he preferred a different palette, different theme—a more direct approach—a hostile, dominant one where he could play the devil and his target—the sinner. Whatever suited his play style for the day, he'd do very well at it, and he’ll make sure of it.

And you happened to be one of his very long list of targets, he’d teach you and guide you along the ropes but dear heavens! You learned way, way too fast that he couldn't resist taking you for himself. You know, a little treat after all the hard work he’d done all these years. A hundred games—he had hosted hundreds of games for his VIPs and he took an inexplicable pride in them. Each time, the faces they morphed into behind those masks was a pleasure.

However this time, he wanted so bad to be the only one to witness all the things you could do. The only spectator to your play. All the things that play inside that little head of yours.

Jake had always wanted to go fast, but now he wants to go slow. Take his sweet, sweet time to uncover the depths of you. He wanted to see your expressions—the time it took to form those creases and lines.

A brush of his finger against your hair brings tingles to your neck, raising goosebumps across your body, a sensation that clouds your judgement. His body language remains playful, hovering his triangle mask on your face instead.

"I can bring you with me." He says, a light feathery hush at the last word. "All you have to do is say yes."

“Are you testing me?”

Jake leans forward, whispering to your ear. “No one's watching anymore. It's only us now.” He pulls away, "What do you think? The next game is far beyond your luck already, and it seems like I don't feel like pushing through this gamble anymore."

Your hand feels like a separate entity when it inches closer to his mask, digits curling to take the mask off—a growing desire to see those breathtaking eyes again.

But he stops you, gripping your wrist—not too strong, just enough. “Curious?”

You gulped down, nodding.

"If you take it off, there's no returning back." Said he, tint with nonchalance but with a lingering warning. Once you satisfy your curiosity to see the face of this voice, there's no returning back—but what does he exactly mean by that?

You repeated the word. "Are you killing me?"

The boy chuckles. "Silly, why would I? What I meant was—" He draws closer to your ear, but just enough for him to show you a little below his eyes. "Once you take this mask off; the you before me will no longer exist.”

His face may be very well hidden but his body language was all too animated, as if he's wearing his heart on his sleeve unlike his persona as a triangle guard.

It inches closer, this hand of yours—aching, itching to touch, to see, and you did—one whisk down and the image of a young boy emerges. Nothing you'd imagine but definitely did not regret. However you'd do very well to keep it mind; pretty faces aren't always angels.

However the day you submitted yourself to him was the day you've let yourself go. What else was there to be shame about? And God, you caught him off guard again. Eyes wide, hands hasty, bodies collide, fleshes bare—sparking with every contact.

Intoxicating. Madness. Addiction.

It's true what they say, some people never truly change—instead they worsen over time. Bit by bit, until there's no point of return.

© xiaoguozhii, 2025 MAY 5.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

My Captain (Pirate! Park Seonghwa)

Pairing: Pirate! Seonghwa (Ateez)× Pirate! Reader (Female)

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Pirate AU.

Summary: After taking victory over the most notorious beast to plague the seas, the ship's quartermaster wants to relish in the pleasure of claiming one of his crew members.

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: Soft to Hard Dom! Seonghwa, Sub! Reader, body worship, oral (female and male receiving), spanking, face fucking, multiple orgasms, Captain/power kink, unprotected sex (always use protection), breeding kink, degradation.

Taglist: @little-precious-baby @multidreams-and-desires @galaxteez @yunhofingers @yunhoiseyecandy @deja-vux @brie02 @couchpotatoaniki @daniblogs164 @a-soft-hornytiny

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The young woman exhaled deeply, her eyes trained on the hands which were currently unfastening the front lacings of her brown leather corset in a rather desperate and anxious manner.

"Before we get any further, I want your full and complete consent to what is about to happen."

Letting the article of clothing drop to the floor, the sailor in front of her took a step closer to her, his thumb pressing down across her bottom lip. His eyes became even more narrow as they looked at her mouth with hunger, wanting nothing more than to close the distance between them and press them against his own.

"Say no right now and I won't push the matter any further." He repeated himself, his Adam's apple moving abruptly from how hard he swallowed back a nervous lump of anxiousness and self restraint.

The young maiden took a deep breath and brushed her fingers across the white silk shirt the boat's quartermaster was wearing, the deep V neck allowing her a glimpse of his bare, tanned upper chest, the outline of his pectoral muscles peeking out. She hummed out an incomprehensible tune as she looked up at her superior.

"Does the Master Seonghwa need to make use of my body? Would he like to release his deepest passions on me?" She reached a hand up and caressed his cheek, half expecting him to swat her hand away since he was not known to be a gentle or affectionate lover, given the long list of women that have had the pleasure of being taken to bed by him. But unlike her expectation, the male actually let out a small and contents sigh, his face falling deeper into her touch, his hand reaching up to clasp it in his own before bringing it over to his lips where he placed a tender kiss on each of her fingertips. It confused the woman utterly to see the usually strict, ruthless and unmerciful pirate act so mellow, meek and warm, yet it also sent a flutter into her chest.

"What I want hardly matters right now, I can manage either way. But I need ... I must know if you're ok with this Y/N."

She widened her eyes when he called her by her name. On a daily basis, ever since she had been forced onto the life of piracy after they raided her village, he'd never addressed her with anything other than mean spirited and sometimes even cruel insults, as he did with those he deemed inferior to him. It shocked her greatly to think he even knew her name in the first place.

Taking a step away from him, Seonghwa's mouth parted in amazement when the crew member in front of him began to slide the sleeves of her dress off her shoulders, the fabric slowly sliding off her body until it pooled by her ankles, which she then swiftly kicked out of the way. His eyes beheld her nude figure, admiring from the top of her head all the way to her toes. She was simply mesmerizing, stunning, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in all his years of sailing across different continents.

"I'm perfectly content with anything my lord wishes to do. He may do with me as he pleases. Tonight..... he is my Captain."

Seonghwa's black trousers suddenly felt too tight, the title Y/N bestowed on him affecting him greatly. She gasped softly when one of his arms held her by her waist and pulled her against him.

"Your captain..." He muttered softly, his lips ghosting across her cheek until they came up to the corners of her lip where he then pressed them down harder onto her face.

"Yes- my captain-"

The rest of her words were muffled when Seonghwa's mouth enclosed over hers, his luscious lips parting and then closing over and over against her own. His hand cupped at her chin, keeping her head tilted up as he practically devoured her mouth. His tongue never poked out to intrude into her wet cavern, his teeth however had an utter fascination with nibbling onto her bottom lip, tugging and pulling at them. Y/N groaned in surprise when she lost her footing as Seonghwa backed her up into the bed, his arm clutching her tighter against his body to keep her from falling. Inhaling softly, she inclined her neck back to allow Seonghwa to plaster nibbling pecks along her skin, subtle red patches spreading around it.

His hands moved from her waist to caress her further down, his thumbs pressing down against her hip bones. Her satin like skin was practically inviting him to caress and admire every inch of her, and that was exactly what he planned to do. Starting in between her supple breasts, he slowly placed heartfelt and tender kisses that traveled from her sternum all the way to her abdomen, his knees slowly dropping so it would be easier for him. When he felt her pull slightly away, his hands pressed her further into his face, fingers digging into her thighs.

"Stay there." He told her as he dragged his tongue along one of her inner thighs, so near her core that Y/N held her breath when his nose neared her pubic bone.

"So pretty, and you smell so delicious." He mused out loud as his nose inhaled her arousal, tongue swiping across his lips.

Before he could even get to sample a bit of her juices, he was lifted off the ground by none other than the woman he was admiring, switching positions so now she was kneeling in front of him while he was standing.

"Y/N- what are you....?" He stood absolutely still, watching as she pulled his trousers down, freeing his painfully erect member that greeted her sight with tiny bursts of precum splashing onto the wooden floor underneath them.

"Tonight it's all about you, after all, you were brave today in taking down that vicious monster all by yourself. If it weren't for you, we'd all still be living in fear for the rest of our lives."

Gripping him at the base, she collected up some saliva in her mouth before spitting it around his length, wanting him to be properly lubricated before she started stroking him. His trembling hisses were music to her ears as she slowly pumped him, coating him even further, her eyes never looking away from his dazed look.

"It's only right you be rewarded as a captain deserves to be rewarded."

Seonghwa's mouth went agape, shuddered breaths coming out as he watched his cock disappear into Y/N's warm mouth. She didn't stop until she fit all of him inside, an impressive image to behold. She stilled for a few seconds before pulling him out, stopping when it was just his tip resting on her tongue and then proceeding to slide him right back in.

"Fuck- you're killing me beautiful." Seonghwa reached a hand up so his thumb could stroke one of her hollowed cheeks, full of his cock that she slurped on without hesitation. Y/N closed her eyes as she continued to savor Seonghwa's taste, long and slow strokes of her tongue making sure not one inch of him was left untouched or neglected. It swirled around the shaft before sucking onto him. Her hands came up to cup his balls, softly fondling them so that he may experiment the most pleasure possible. Seeing her look so calm, her mouth practically worshiping his cock, Seonghwa held back his urge to hold her head and slam his hips into her face. Instead he settled for running his fingers through her hair, brushing them up into a makeshift ponytail so that he may peer down at her with no distractions or anything intervening with the visual. During a particularly harsh suck she gave him, his hips had a mind of their own and pressed him back into her mouth, his tip reaching so far back that a muffled choke had her drooling slightly at the corners of her mouth.

"I'm sorry." He apologized when he saw her eyes shot open and she pulled him out of her mouth.

"Don't apologize my lord. As I said, do with me as you please. If you wish to fuck my face, then by all means, please do." She encouraged him as she pressed sloppy kisses along his head, tongue darting out to place kitten licks on his slit.

Taking hold of her jaw, Seonghwa positioned his tip at the entrance of her mouth, his face looking concerned, silently wondering if she was really ok with what he wanted to do. Nodding up at him, she opened her mouth as wide as she could and hummed in approval when he slid himself back into her mouth. She took a deep breath, readying herself for the coming assault upon her maw which came just as intense and fervent as she expected from him. Seonghwa rutted his hips up into her, using her hole to release most of the adrenaline that had been brewing in him ever since he went out in battle just a few hours prior.

"God! You have no idea how hot you look right now, letting me use your mouth like this. You're too good to me."

Hearing him suddenly praise her, a stark contrast to the daily criticism she only heard from him, had her getting more wet in between her legs. She moaned as she continued to lap at Seonghwa each time his cock forced itself back into her throat. Saliva ran down her chin from the force his body used to buck up into her mouth, his previously mannered thrusts now becoming less calculated and more spontaneous as his high was nearing.

"Fuck! I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna cum all over your-" His hands clasped her head and held it still as he roughly pumped his cum down her throat, which Y/N promptly swallowed fully. She was gasping for air when he pulled himself out of her, panting hard as she caught her breath. She wiped the slick that was glistening on her lips and chin.

"No woman has ever managed to make me cum with their mouth."

Y/N's head whipped up at Seonghwa's revelation. He was peering down at her with a curious yet smug smile.

"You're the first to do so. You really are too good to me." His index finger wiped off some leftover slick from her cupid's bow.

Y/N was practically purring at his words, reveling in his praise.

"My sweet and good girl, I think it's only fair if I pay you back." He chuckled heartily.

Swiping her off the ground, Seonghwa pulled back the covers of his bed and then layed Y/N down on it, her head falling back against one of the soft pillows. She could not protest when Seonghwa spread her legs, eagerly placing his face right above her wet core.

"You smell and look so delectable. I wonder how long it'll take for you to lose control."

With one hand pressing her down to the mattress, Seonghwa latched his lips to her sensitive clit, producing a loud whine out of his crewmate above him. He was bewitched by how amazing she tasted, his tongue relishing in her flavor. He couldn't contain himself as he lost himself in consuming her heat. Dipping his tongue into her hole had her spilling out more slick which he lapped at with great intensity. His lips smirked against her folds when he felt her try to buck up into his face, her whining sounding so needy for him.

"I could stay here forever." He murmured.

The hand that was keeping her down dropped down to grip one of her thighs while the other did the same thing. Lifting her hips slightly off the bed, Seonghwa became like a beast as he devoured the entirety of her sex. Y/N writhed underneath him. Before she was antsy about pushing herself closer to his lips, now she was squirming to draw away from him. But of course Seonghwa wasn't having that. He simply relished in working her up until she reached her peak, which seemed to be coming up very soon, his skilled tongue making sure of it. Y/N tossed her body about as much as she could, which wasn't much considering Seonghwa was holding tightly to her. He slurped at her as if his life depended on it, even his nose would rub against her mound from how hard he was burying himself in her.

"Seonghwa-" Y/N cried out when a sharp smack landed on her thigh.

"It's captain to you. Now go on, say it or else I'll stop right now and tie you to the bed." He ordered her, slowing down his movements just slightly.

"Oh my- captain! Please-"

Hearing her beg for him just riled Seonghwa even further, his ego boosting more as she whimpered and squirmed frantically, her juices pouring out from inside and collected by his tongue. His chest practically puffed up with pride as she continued to shudder even when her climax had passed and he was merely cleaning around her folds, not letting anything drip off onto the sheets since he wanted it all for himself.

Pulling back with an audible pop, he sat up and nearly ripped his shirt off his body, discarding it somewhere on the floor. Y/N marveled at the sight of his godly body making an appearance, her instincts making her reach out to touch him.

"Turn around, ass up and on all fours." He instructed her as he worked to take off the remainder of his clothes.

Rolling over on the soft bed, Y/N did as she was ordered to, making sure to push her ass as far as she could just for Seonghwa. He seemed to appreciate the gesture given his hand was now caressing one of her cheeks, starting off gentle and loving before pinching her flesh, which made Y/N groan.

"You're really begging me to fuck you." Seonghwa grunted as he brought his hand down to strike her ass.

Y/N clenched around nothing, shuddering at Seonghwa's harsh treatment.

"Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you? Want my cock to tear that pussy of yours?" He mercilessly teased as he glided his tip along her slit, slapping it against her nub.

"Y-yes! I want my captain to fuck me like one of his whores." Y/N exclaimed, unable to bear the wait any longer.

Seonghwa raised an amused eyebrow at her pleading.

"Oh? So you've heard some of the other sluts talk about me haven't you?" He said with a slight dark laugh that sent shivers down Y/N's spine, heightened more when Seonghwa plunged his cock into her, stilling when he was fully stuffed in her.

"Want to experience it firsthand then? Want to feel how good my cock will fuck your brains out?"

Y/N nodded frantically, wanting to slam herself onto Seonghwa's cock but restraining from doing so less it should result in him denying her what she wanted.

"Don't say you didn't ask for it."

A sharp cry was forced out of her mouth when Seonghwa pulled out with no warning only to slam himself back inside her. He set a rough pace, each deep stroke against her velvety flesh pulling out cry after cry out of her lips. It was sheer and painful bliss to have the ship's quartermaster tearing her insides apart, her heat pulsating against his length as it constricted around him. Seonghwa's tip plunged into the deepest part of her, slamming against the entrance of her womb as her plump ass rippled against each slam of his hips against them. Y/N's deafening moans were so loud she was sure the party above them could hear what was going on below them. She buried her face on the pillow underneath her, only laying there for less than a minute before a pair of hands harshly pulled her back up, a strangled gasp emanating from her throat.

"Don't you dare. I want everyone on board to listen to me destroy this little cunt of yours, I want them to hear you scream my name." He growled in a low and deep tone that her folds further clenching around him.

Y/N's face started to contort in ecstasy from all the pleasure burning through her body, her whiny pants and sobs flowing out endlessly from her lips. Seonghwa's pounding became more violent and brutal, losing himself in the mutual lust that was taking over both of their bodies, the heat and warmth of Y/N's slick filled walls throbbing against his shaft.

"You're close aren't you my little whore? You're gripping my dick impossibly tight." He snickered behind her, his hips continuing to jolt harshly into her.

"Yes captain! I'm so c-close." She responded loudly, her panting becoming more exhausted as her skin started to glow from the sheen of sweat that was stemming from their passionate affair.

"So am I, my cock is twitching to fill you up with my seed."

Y/N nearly drooled at the thought of having Seonghwa cum inside her hole, filling her up until she couldn't contain his cum anymore. She was snapped out of her fantasy by Seonghwa's hand that struck her ass.

"Beg me for it you wench. Beg me to fill your cunt with my cum." He commanded her.

"Please my lord! Fill me up with your cum! Want my captain's cum inside of me!" She pleaded, hands nearly tearing the pillow she was clutching so tightly.

Seonghwa's eyes were like a raging sea, his thrusts becoming more sporadic as he worked to bring the both of them over the edge.

"Shit! I'll fill this hole of yours up, I'll fuck it full until it drains me of all my cum. Wanna see your pussy stuffed with my seed."

With walls fluttering around him, Y/N was a frantic and screaming mess as an agonizingly hard and euphoric chord snapped in her, prompting her body to burst open as her essence poured out all over Seonghwa's cock. Seonghwa himself was hissing and grunting fiercely as a wave overtook him, drowning him in an abyss of pleasure while his release flooded into Y/N's cavern, her walls hardly able to contain all that he pumped into her that some of it trickled down her thighs. With curses befitting his status as a sailor, Seonghwa pulled himself out of her warmth and collapsed next to her, eyes wide open as his chest heaved up and down with labored breathing. The girl beside him was in no greater state as she felt an intense ache and burn when he slipped out of her, her thighs and legs still trembling after having her superior conquer her body.

Through clenched teeth, Y/N moved one foot to rest on the hard floor so it could help stabilize her as she tried to get up. Remembering all the stories Seonghwa's previous affairs recounted about him not liking to have them around after messing around with them, Y/N slowly began to sit up and show herself out before the quartermaster himself ordered her out his chamber.

"Where are you running off to?" He questioned, hand reaching out to clasp her own before she slipped out of the bed.

"I was just going to collect my clothes and withdraw to my own room Sir. If you'd like, I'll even take your clothes with me and return them clean to you in the morning." She offered, knowing he was an avid clean freak that hated even the slightest bit of dirt or dust around his space.

"Don't worry about the mess Y/N, we can sort that out tomorrow. Stay for tonight, I insist. It looks like it'll be a cold and rainy night as well and I know your quarters tend to leak."

Without even waiting for her response, he tugged her back by his side, covering them both up with the blankets. Y/N stared off in confusion when Seonghwa pressed his chest to her back, an arm slung protectively around her. She began to question so many things surrounding her quartermaster. Didn't he dislike her? Why was he still keeping her around when he's notorious for not liking affection? He discarded all his previous lovers as if they were used rags, so why was he not doing the same to her?

"Don't think too much about it, just go to sleep and rest up." He seemed to be reading her thoughts, his nose nestling against the crook of her neck as he hugged her tighter to him.

"Yes....thank you my lord."

Seonghwa whined tiredly at her response.

"Seonghwa. Just call me Seonghwa..... my love."

He must have really been so tired and out of it for him to blurt out that endearment to her. Y/N blushed, unable to contain the shy smile on her face.

"Yes Seonghwa."