지아

jia — ‘04

[rikidaze]

@RIKIDAZE just added to their story!

welcome to my blog, have a look around! i’m jia! blasian, 04-liner, enhypen + new jeans ult!

do not interact if; you are not a decent human (aka racist, homophobic, transphobic, colorist, featurist, sexist, etc).

DIRECT MESSAGES | reccs, directory

NOTIFICATIONS!

@ENHYPEN started following you.

@NEWJEANS liked your photo.

@NI-KI tagged you in a story.

@HANNI commented “🐺🎀”

all rights reserved to @rikidaze

[404sheepnotfound]

Baby, That's Mine - Yang Jungwon

PART II

୨ৎ Summary : Two people. One bar. One really, really bad night to be alone. Y/n just caught her fiancé of two years in bed with her best friend. Jungwon just found out his girlfriend of six years has been cheating for god knows how long. Neither of them planned on ending up in a hotel room with a stranger — they just both really, really didn't want to be alone that night. No names. No numbers. Just two broken people borrowing comfort from each other for one night, then going their separate ways like it never happened. Except a month later, y/n's staring at two pink lines on a bathroom floor, and there's only one person it could possibly be. She makes her choice fast, she's keeping the baby, and she's doing it alone. no ring, no husband, no one's permission required. So she books her first prenatal appointment at some random clinic near campus, ready to start this chapter solo like she planned—and her doctor walks in. It's him. Yang Jungwon.

୨ৎ Pairing : obgyn! Jungwon x college lecturer! reader

୨ৎ Wordcount : 10k

୨ৎ Warning : ANGST (i warned you) , aged-up Jungwon (he's 28 here), stranger to.... (still figuring out but there's something promising chat), one night stand, unprotected sex, cheating (not Jungwon or y/n), unprotected sex (BIG NO NO, PLEASE WRAP YOUR WILLY), pregnancy.

୨ৎ Song : Maroon 5 - MAPS

PART I

So, I'm following the map that leads to you

You’d both silently decided the bar didn’t count. It belonged to some emergency exit version of yourself, the one who shows up when everything falls apart and then sensibly disappears by morning. Two strangers, one terrible night, and then back to real life, like it never happened. That was supposed to be the whole story.

For weeks you’d told yourself he didn’t exist. No last name, no number, just a blurry memory getting less real by the day. And then there he was. Not imaginary, not gone, just three feet away in a room that smelled like antiseptic instead of whisky, looking at you like he was doing the same impossible math you were.

It still didn’t add up.

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. The chart in his hand had gone slack, like whatever clinical purpose it once held had dissolved the second recognition hit his face. You watched him swallow. Watched his jaw work, like he was searching for some professional footing and coming up with nothing.

You weren’t doing any better. Your pulse was in your throat, your fingertips, that strange hollow drop in your stomach that had nothing to do with the pregnancy and everything to do with him. A month of telling yourself this was impossible, and here it was anyway, undoing every careful assumption you’d built your new life on.

When he finally spoke, the composure was gone from his voice. He took a slow breath, like he needed it just to stay upright.

“Is the baby mine?”

This time it was quieter. Just him, stripped back down to the same person who’d sat beside you in that bar a month ago, asking a question he already knew the answer to but needed to hear anyway, like saying it out loud might keep the ground steady under him.

You closed your eyes for a moment. “Yes,” you said. The word barely made it past your throat, smaller than you meant it to be.

He didn’t say anything right away. When you opened your eyes, he was still watching you, something delicate moving behind his expression. Not quite fear, not quite relief, but some confused tangle of both, like a man standing at the edge of a life he hadn’t planned for and couldn’t make himself walk away from.

“Okay,” he said, so quietly the hum of the lights above almost swallowed it.

You recognised that it was precisely the same word you had muttered to your bathroom mirror a month prior. You both had no idea how much that one tiny syllable was going to demand of you.

For a brief moment, his hands just hovered in the space where the chart had been, uncertain, as if every professional instinct he had spent years honing had suddenly stopped responding. He set the chart down hard enough that it slid slightly across the counter.

“I can’t examine you.” What remained sounded jagged and unsteady. 

“What?” 

“Conflict of interest.” He said it like the words hurt on the way out.

You went very still. You already knew. You’d known before he said it, really, but hearing it made it land differently.

He ran a hand through his hair, and for the first time, you saw his composure completely crumble. It was not the cautious, contained way it had earlier cracked, but rather clearly and painfully, as if he were witnessing the disintegration of every assurance he had relied upon throughout his adult life.

"I don't know what to do," he said in a rough voice.

You just stared at him for a second. Then something inside you quietly folded in on itself. 

Sure. 

Why did you expect anything else?

You’d told yourself you didn’t need to know the father. You’d cried over the impossibility of it before it was even real, before there was anything to be impossible about. You’d accepted that you’d raise this child alone, because that was just how it was going to be. Strangers didn’t become families. One extraordinary night didn’t rewrite an ordinary life

You'd come to terms with it. Or at least you thought you did. But here he stood now, and he saw the doubt in his face, and that studied acceptance began to crack. Not because he actually rejected you, but because your heart already decided what his hesitation meant.

"Right," you said, speaking in a more flattering tone than you meant to, and you were already grabbing the armour you had developed over the previous month. "There is nothing for you to figure out. I told you that I had nothing to ask of you.”

He scowled.

"What?"

"I said there's nothing for you to figure out."

You could no longer bring yourself to look at him. Rather, you occupied yourself with smoothing out imperceptible wrinkles on the paper that was spread out on your lap.

"I wasn't looking for you." You took a swallow. "I wasn't trying to find you."

The words had a false flavour. Everything was different. Saying it out loud hurt more than you expected. You hated that some part of you had already filed Jungwon under the same heading, hated how quickly and completely your body had braced for the same ending, as though you had never once been given a reason to expect anything else from anyone.

Jungwon was watching you. He'd seen patients recoil before. The woman who had stopped crying because she had made up her mind it was no good. The overly polite husband after receiving a terminal diagnosis. The parents who resorted to talking about parking validation because to face reality would destroy them. Some people didn't fall apart loudly. Sometimes they were unbearably controlled. That's what you were doing.

“You think I’m trying to go?"

The sentence slipped out before he'd fully decided to say it. Your fingers paused. For the first time since you'd looked away, you met his eyes.

The words hit home visibly. You saw something flicker behind his eyes, not defensiveness, something more like recognition, as though he knew precisely which wound he'd just stepped on without meaning to. You didn't expect that from him. This wasn't something he had asked for. Even if he wanted nothing to do with you or the baby, you told yourself that made sense. 

The bar surfaced again, whether you wanted it to or not. That ring around your glass. The way you’d kept twisting it on your finger instead of just taking it off, because taking it off would have made it final in a way you weren’t ready for. You remembered what you’d said that night, loose enough with drink to be honest, past caring who might overhear.

"I think he stopped choosing me long before he ever said it out loud.”

You looked away first this time, blinking hard at the poster on the wall, the one you'd deliberately avoided studying earlier. Your throat had gone tight enough that breathing normally took actual effort. You pressed your lips together, willing yourself to hold it. 

That did not work.

One single tear escaped before you could stop it. Hot and humiliating, sliding down your cheek at the worst possible moment, in front of the worst possible person. You wiped it away quickly, angry at your body for betraying you in this way.

“I have to go,” you said, your voice cracking halfway through the sentence. You slid off the exam table too quickly, the paper crinkling loudly in the small room, and reached for the door before you could change your mind, before you could let yourself fall apart any further in front of him.

You didn’t get far. His fingers wrapped loosely around your wrist, warm, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he had any right to hold on but couldn’t quite make himself let go either. Just enough to stop you. You went cold.

“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Please. Don’t walk out like this.”

“I—” Your voice gave out completely, and the tears came without permission.

His hand hovered between the chart, the exam table, and finally settled against his own chest.

"You don't have to say anything," you continued, quieter now, the bitterness folding into something more tired than sharp. "I wasn't going to ask you for anything. I didn't come here looking for you." 

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Whatever he'd been about to say didn't survive that.

"I'll get someone else to take my file," you said, before he could. "You don't have to be involved in any of it. Really. It'll be easier that way. For both of us."

"That's not what I want," he said quietly.

"You don't know what you want yet," you said, not unkindly, just certain. "That's okay. You don't have to. I stopped expecting anyone to figure that out on my timeline a long time ago."

You picked up your bag from the chair, not looking at him now, because looking at him made it harder to keep the walls up, and the walls were the only thing keeping you standing.

"I can manage this myself," you said, quieter. "I've been managing everything myself. This isn't any different."

He didn't say anything as you walked past him, though you felt his eyes on you the whole way to the door, uncertain and unresolved in a way that you told yourself, firmly, was not your problem to fix.

The hallway outside the exam room felt longer than it had on the way in.

You kept your eyes forward, one foot in front of the other, the way you'd taught yourself to walk out of rooms that had just quietly ended something. It would've been easier if he'd been cruel about it. If he'd looked at you the way you'd braced yourself for. 

But he hadn't been cruel. He'd looked lost. Standing there in his white coat with a stethoscope around his neck and no idea what to do with his own hands. And somehow that was worse. Because lost meant he hadn't decided yet. Lost meant there was still a version of this where he tried, and failed, and you had to watch it happen up close instead of guessing at it from a distance. 

You couldn't do that again. You didn't have it in you to hope for something and then watch it quietly dissolve a second time in the same year. So you'd decided for him before he could make it for himself. It felt almost merciful, in a strange, aching way. If you didn't let yourself need him, there was nothing left for him to take away. 

You didn't need him. You'd meant that.

But walking away from a room where someone had, for one brief second, looked like he might actually want to stay. That took more out of you than you let yourself admit. Because some small, foolish part of you, had wanted to be wrong about him. Just once, for someone to prove your worst assumptions weren't the safest bet.

You got in your car, hands steady on the wheel the way they'd been steady the night everything else fell apart, and you didn't cry until you were three streets away, safely out of sight of anyone who might feel obligated to ask if you were alright. 

.

.

.

Jungwon didn't move for a long moment after the door clicked shut.

The room felt too quiet without you in it. He was still holding a pen he didn't remember picking up, and when he looked down at his own hand, it took a second longer than it should have for the object to register as familiar.

A baby.

The word sat in his chest like something he'd swallowed wrong, lodged and unmoving. He'd delivered dozens of them. He knew what the next nine months would look like on a chart. He did not know what it meant that one of them might have his name attached to it.

He sat down heavily on the stool you'd left empty, the vinyl still faintly warm, and stared at the door like it might open again and make the last ten minutes make sense. It didn't.

He realised, that he didn't even know your first name. Not really, he'd seen it on the chart, glanced at it in that first frozen second before recognition hit, but it hadn't stuck, buried under everything else crashing through him at once. He didn't know where you lived. What you did for a living, though, something about you had felt like you spent your days around people who needed patience. He remembered that much from the bar, vaguely, the way you remember the shape of a feeling more than the words that caused it. He didn't know if you had family nearby. Friends. Anyone who'd sit with you through this the way he clearly wasn't being let anywhere near it.

He didn't know a single real thing about the woman who had just told him, flatly, that she was carrying his child and didn't expect anything from him because of it. That last part kept snagging on something in his chest, sharp and unpleasant, like a wire he kept running his thumb over without meaning to.

He didn't know what that meant, not exactly, but he knew enough to recognize the shape of it. The practiced ease of someone who'd said some version of that sentence before, to someone else, about something else. You hadn't sounded angry when you said it. That was the part that unsettled him most. Angry, he could have argued with. Anger gave him something to push against. But you'd sounded certain, the way people sound when they've simply stopped being surprised by disappointment, when they've built their whole footing around expecting less so the ground never has anywhere lower left to drop.

A knock at the door pulled him upright before he could sit with it any longer. Nurse Park leaned her head in, brow raised at the empty room, the abandoned chart, him sitting there like he'd forgotten how exam rooms worked.

"Dr. Yang? Your two o'clock is—"

"I need you to reassign a patient," he said, before she could finish. His voice came out steadier than he felt, which surprised him almost as much as everything else today had. "Transfer her file to Dr. Kim. Today, if you can."

Nurse Park's brow rose further, curiosity plain on her face, but she didn't ask. That was one mercy, at least. "Sure. Everything okay?"

"Fine," he said, too quickly. "Just a conflict of interest."

She left it at that, ducking back out, and he was alone again with the abandoned chart and the too quiet room and the sound of his own pulse suddenly very loud in his ears.

He didn't go find you. He told himself it was because you'd asked him not to, because chasing you down the hallway would have looked exactly like the kind of scene neither of you needed in a hospital full of patients. He told himself a lot of things in the next several minutes, none of which made the unease in his chest sit any easier.

He didn't know you. You'd made that painfully, deliberately clear, like it was a wall you needed built between the two of you before either of you said something you couldn't walk back. But you were going to have his child. And he was going to spend the rest of the day, and probably several after it, turning over the unbearable fact that a woman whose last name he'd only just learned had already decided, quietly and completely, that he wasn't someone worth hoping for.

He picked the pen back up. Set it back down.

Somewhere down the hall, his next patient was waiting, and he had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to walk in there and be anyone's calm, steady doctor when his own life had just come apart at a seam he hadn't known was there.

.

.

.

.

Three days.

That was all it had been since you walked out of that exam room, and already your body seemed determined to make you regret every ounce of composure you'd held onto in front of him. It was as if some cruel switch had been flipped the moment you'd said the word yes out loud, made it real to someone other than yourself. Like your body had been waiting for a witness.

You woke Wednesday morning already nauseous, the ceiling swimming faintly overhead before you'd even tried to sit up. You'd read that morning sickness typically started later, that this was early even by the worst case scenario timelines, but apparently your pregnancy hadn't read the same pamphlets you had.

By the time you managed to get upright, the room tilted sharply enough that you had to grip the headboard and breathe through it, slow and deliberate, before attempting the short, treacherous walk to the bathroom.

You didn't make it in time to feel dignified about it. Afterward, you sat on the bathroom floor with your back against the cold tub, forehead damp, waiting for your stomach to stop staging its rebellion. This was becoming routine faster than you wanted to admit. Not once, but twice already this week you'd called your department to push back your morning lecture, voice pitched carefully steady, blaming a stomach bug going around campus. You'd never missed lectures before. Not once. It unsettled you more than you let yourself dwell on.

The apartment was silent except for the tap still running in the sink. No one to hand you water. No one to notice you'd barely eaten since yesterday, that the crackers on your nightstand had gone untouched because even the smell of them turned your stomach some hours. You'd gotten good at being invisible to everyone, including yourself.

You didn't know if this was normal. You didn't know if you should be worried, if this level of sick warranted a call to whoever your new doctor was going to be, or if this was simply what your body intended to do to you for the better part of the coming months. You had no one to ask. No one who'd sit on the edge of your bed and tell you this part was supposed to be hard, that it would pass, that you weren't failing at this before it had even really begun.

You  pulled yourself back onto your feet using the edge of the sink, rinsed your mouth, and studied your reflection for a moment. Pale, hollow around the eyes, nothing like the woman who used to stand in front of a lecture hall like she had her whole life figured out.

"You're fine," you told her, quietly, the way you'd told yourself countless small lies over the past month that had somehow, collectively, kept you upright. "You've done harder than this alone."

You believed it most days. Today, curled back into bed twenty minutes later with a bucket close enough to reach without standing, the blanket pulled up to your chin against a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room, you weren't entirely sure you believed it at all.

But there was no one there to notice the difference. So you closed your eyes, and let the silence hold you instead, and waited, the way you always did, for the worst of it to pass on its own.

You should have called in sick. You knew that the moment you stepped out of the car, the parking lot tilting faintly at the edges in a way that had nothing to do with the morning sun.

But you'd already missed two lectures this week, and a third would mean questions you didn't have answers for, sympathetic looks from your department head that you didn't think you could survive without your composure cracking down the middle. So you'd taken two crackers and a sip of ginger tea you couldn't taste, told yourself you'd manage, and gone in anyway.

You almost did.

The lecture hall was half full, forty some students scattered across the tiered seats, laptops open, the low hum of a Thursday morning. You'd made it through the attendance. Through the first ten minutes on developmental milestones in early childhood, your voice steady even as your stomach had begun its slow, familiar climb somewhere around slide four.

You kept going. 

"—and by eighteen months, most children can typically identify two to three body parts when asked, which becomes important later when we discuss—"

The room tilted.

The front row of desks sliding sideways in your vision like the whole hall had been picked up and set back down at a slight angle. You gripped the edge of the podium, hard, waiting for it to right itself the way it usually did if you just breathed through it, counted to ten, kept your face neutral.

It didn't right itself. Cold sweat prickled along your hairline. Your vision narrowed at the edges, the way it did right before things went dark, a sensation you recognized now with a distant, clinical horror even as your body refused to respond to anything you told it to do. You heard your own voice trail off mid sentence. You saw, as if from very far away, several students look up from their laptops.

"Professor?"

You tried to say I'm fine. Give me a second. The words didn't make it out. The podium seemed to tilt away from your hand, or your hand slid off it, you couldn't tell which, and the last clear thought you had was a strange, absurd flicker of worry that you were about to fall in front of forty students and there'd be no graceful way to explain any of this afterward.

Then the floor came up to meet you, and everything went white, then gray, then nothing at all.

You came back to fluorescent light and unfamiliar voices, the particular antiseptic smell that your body had apparently decided to associate with catastrophe now. Someone's hand was wrapped around your wrist, fingers pressed lightly, counting.

"Ma'am? Can you hear me?"

You blinked, the ceiling swimming into slow focus, a stranger's face hovering above you, kind and unfamiliar. Not him. You didn't know why some small, useless part of you had braced for it to be him.

"You fainted," the nurse said gently, once she saw your eyes track her properly. "You're in the ER. One of your students called it in. You went down pretty hard in the middle of a lecture."

Fainted. In front of your entire class. You closed your eyes again, mortification arriving even before you'd fully processed the rest of it, a hot wave of embarrassment layering itself over the nausea that hadn't actually gone anywhere.

"I'm fine," you said, or tried to. Your voice came out cracked, thinner than you meant it to. "I just need to go home. I have another class at—"

"You're not teaching anything today," the nurse said, not unkindly, but with the particular firmness of someone who dealt with stubborn patients for a living. "You're pregnant and dehydrated and you haven't been keeping food down. We're keeping you a few hours at least, getting fluids into you."

There was someone whose opinion mattered now, whether you liked it or not, and he worked three floors up in this exact building. 

A resident you didn't recognize came by twenty minutes later to check your IV line, young, unfamiliar, entirely uninterested in anything beyond your vitals and your chart. You almost laughed at the relief that gave you. 

By the time they discharged you late that afternoon, an IV bruise blooming faintly on the inside of your elbow, a stack of printed pamphlets about hyperemesis gravidarum tucked under your arm.  You called a cab instead of your own car, since you didn't trust your hands on a wheel yet, and sat in the back seat with your forehead against the cool window, watching the hospital shrink behind you. 

You told yourself that was fine. You told yourself that a lot, lately. It didn't make the ride home feel any less quiet.

The cab dropped you off just as the sky was starting to dim, and by the time you'd climbed the two flights of stairs to your apartment. The elevator was broken again, of course it was. Your legs were shaking badly enough that you had to stop twice, palm flat against the wall, waiting for the stairwell to stop tilting.

You made it inside. You didn't make it much further than that. The pamphlets slid out of your grip and scattered across the entryway floor as your knees gave out, not dramatically, just a slow, graceless folding, your back sliding down the front door until you were sitting on the cold tile with your knees drawn up and your whole body trembling like something had come loose inside it.

The nausea came back within the hour, worse than it had been that morning, worse than it had been at all this week. It didn't announce itself gently. It arrived in one violent lurch that had you crawling toward the bathroom, not trusting your legs to carry you upright.

You didn't make it to the toilet in time. You barely made it to the bathroom at all, retching over the edge of the tub instead, your whole body seizing with the force of it long after there was anything left to bring up, dry, wrenching heaves that left your ribs aching and your throat raw and scraped, tears streaming down your face less from sadness than from the sheer physical violence of it.

You stayed like that for a long time, forehead pressed against the cool porcelain, saliva and bile stringing from your lips, your hands braced shaking against the tub's edge. Your stomach cramped hard, a deep muscular ache that radiated up into your ribs and down into your pelvis, and for one sharp, terrified second you pressed a hand low against your abdomen, holding your breath, waiting to feel something wrong.

Nothing. No blood. No new pain beyond the exhaustion of your body trying to turn itself inside out. You allowed yourself a single shuddering breath of relief before the next wave hit and you were retching again, nothing left to give it, just your body insisting anyway.

By the time it finally, mercifully passed, you were slumped sideways against the bathtub, cheek against cold tile, drenched in a cold sweat that had soaked through your shirt. Your pulse fluttered too fast and too thin at your wrist when you pressed two fingers there, checking, the way you'd learned to over the past week. Your mouth tasted of bile and copper. Your lips had gone dry and cracked at the corners.

You should call someone. The thought arrived distantly, muted, the way thoughts did when your body had spent everything it had. You'd just been hospitalized for exactly this, hours ago, and here you were on your bathroom floor doing it again, alone, with no one so much as aware it was happening.

Your hand found your phone in your pocket, more out of habit than intention. The screen lit the dim bathroom, too bright, and you had to squint against it. You didn't call anyone. You didn't have the strength to hold the phone to your ear, let alone explain, let alone hear the worry in someone's voice and have to manage that too, on top of everything else.

You set the phone down on the tile beside you instead, and simply lay there, curled loosely on your side, waiting for enough strength to return to your limbs that you could drag yourself the six feet to your own bed.

It took nearly twenty minutes. You slept in your clothes that night, on top of the covers instead of under them, too exhausted to manage even that small effort, a glass of water you couldn't bring yourself to drink from sitting untouched on the nightstand, condensation sliding slowly down its side in the dark, and no one in the world aware that you'd spent your evening on a bathroom floor, alone, quietly and privately falling apart.

.

.

.

.

Karina almost didn't come by that morning.

She'd meant to call first, the way she usually did, but you hadn't answered your last two texts, and something about the silence. Three days of it now, uncharacteristic even for you at your most withdrawn, had sat wrong in her chest all week. She'd told herself she was being paranoid. She came anyway.

She still had the spare key, back when you'd both lived two buildings apart and traded keys the way close friends did. She let herself in calling your name, expecting to find you buried in lesson planning, embarrassed to have worried.

She found you on the bedroom floor instead, half collapsed beside the bed like you'd tried to stand and simply hadn't made it, your skin gray pale, lips cracked, one hand still curled weakly against the carpet like you'd been reaching for something.

"Oh my god— hey. Hey!" Karina dropped to her knees beside you, hands shaking as she checked for breath, for pulse, for anything. You stirred faintly at her voice, eyes fluttering half open, unfocused. "Stay with me, okay? I'm calling an ambulance."

"I'm fine," you managed, barely a whisper, the words slurring together. "Just need—"

"You are not fine." Her voice cracked, fear bleeding through the command in it as she fumbled her phone out of her pocket, thumb shaking too hard to hit the numbers cleanly the first time. "You look like you're about to die on your bedroom floor, so don't you dare tell me you're fine."

She got the address out between breaths she didn't remember taking, one hand still gripping yours the entire time, too tight, like letting go might mean losing you to whatever this was.

She rode in the ambulance with you, refusing to be left behind when a paramedic suggested she follow in her own car. She sat in the hospital waiting room for forty five minutes that felt like four hours, knee bouncing, phone clutched uselessly in her lap because she didn't know who else to call, didn't know if there was anyone else to call, and that realization alone made something in her chest ache almost as much as the fear did.

When a nurse finally came to update her, Karina was on her feet before the woman had finished her sentence.

"Family?" the nurse asked, glancing at her chart.

"Might as well be," Karina said, voice tight. "She doesn't have anyone else listed, does she."

The nurse's hesitation was answer enough.

"She's stable," the nurse said instead, gently. "Severe dehydration, malnutrition. She's been dealing with hyperemesis, it looks like, and it seems like she's been managing it alone for weeks. We're keeping her a few days to get her properly stabilized."

Karina pressed a hand over her mouth, equal parts relief and fury rising in her chest. Relief that you were breathing, steady, alive, and fury that you'd let it get this bad without telling a single soul, without telling her, after everything the two of you had been through together.

She sat by your bed for the rest of that afternoon, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, IV fluid dripping steadily into the back of your hand, and made a silent, furious promise that the moment you were lucid enough to argue with her, she was going to give you an earful about doing this alone.

You stirred sometime near evening, eyes fluttering open slowly, disoriented, focusing first on the ceiling and then, gradually, on her.

"Karina?" Your voice came out cracked, confused.

"Yeah." She leaned forward, gripping your hand, blinking back tears she refused to let fall in front of you. "Yeah, it's me. You scared the absolute hell out of me."

You blinked at her, at the IV in your hand, at the hospital room slowly coming into focus around you, and something in your face crumpled, the exhausted collapse of someone who'd been holding a wall up for too long and had finally, involuntarily, let it fall.

"I didn't want to bother anyone," you whispered.

"You're pregnant and you were dying on your bedroom floor," Karina said, voice thick, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. "I don't care how much you didn't want to bother me. You're stuck with me now. No more doing this by yourself."

You didn't have the strength to argue. For once, some small, exhausted part of you was almost grateful you didn't have to.

.

.

.

.

Jungwon told himself it would fade. That was the whole premise he'd been operating on for two and a half weeks now. That time would do what time was supposed to do, sand the edges off something sharp until it became just another fact of his life instead of the thing that occupied every quiet moment he wasn't actively filling with something else.

It hadn't worked. He caught himself doing it again during a lull between patients, staring at a blank spot on the wall of the break room, coffee going cold in his hand, his mind somewhere else entirely. 

He'd requested her file be transferred to Dr. Kim, exactly as he'd promised. He hadn't looked at it since. He told himself that was the responsible thing to do. He told himself that every time his hand hovered a half second too long over the patient database before he made himself close it, unopened.

He didn't know if she'd made it to her next appointment, if the nausea she'd looked faintly gray with even standing in that exam room had gotten better or worse, if she was eating, sleeping, managing any of it the way she'd insisted, with such brittle certainty, that she would.

He hated that he thought about it as much as he did. Hated it, and couldn't stop. 

“You've been doing it for weeks." Sunoo took a sip, watching him over the rim of the cup. "Still thinking about the peach dream? Told you it meant something."

"It's nothing," Jungwon said, too quickly, and made himself take a sip of his own coffee just to have something to do with his mouth besides say anything further. "Just tired. Long week."

"It's been a long week for three weeks running, then." Sunoo didn't look convinced, but he let it sit for a moment, watching him with the kind of patience that usually meant he was waiting for a crack to widen on its own rather than trying to force one. "You'd tell me if something was actually going on, right?"

"There's nothing going on." The lie came easier than Jungwon expected it to, flat and practiced, though it sat wrong in his chest the second it left his mouth. "I'm fine."

Sunoo studied him a beat longer, clearly unconvinced, but he shrugged eventually and let it go, the way he usually did when Jungwon's tone made it clear a door had been shut. "Alright. Suit yourself."

The conversation moved on to something else and he was grateful for it, grateful that Sunoo hadn't pushed harder, because he didn't know what he would have said if he had. There wasn't a version of the truth he could hand over that didn't sound absurd out loud. 

He didn't know how to explain that he'd meant to let it go, and instead had spent nearly three weeks failing to stop thinking about a woman whose last name he'd had to read off a chart to remember, whose entire life outside of that one night and that one appointment remained a complete blank to him.

He didn't know how to explain, least of all to himself, why some part of him refused to accept that blank as permanent. He finished his coffee in silence, and when his pager went off a few minutes later, he was almost relieved for the excuse to leave the thought behind, if only for the length of his next shift.

.

.

.

.

The consult request landed in his queue a little after four. It was one of a dozen routine notifications that came through on any given shift. He almost skimmed past it. He didn't work in obstetrics anymore, not since he'd handed his own patient list over to Dr. Kim weeks ago. He'd made an effort to stop looking at those cases.

But this one came through internal medicine, not OB. It was flagged as severe dehydration and malnutrition, possible hyperemesis. They wanted a second opinion on fluid management before admitting the patient properly.

He opened the summary out of habit more than curiosity.

Female, thirty two years old. About eleven weeks pregnant. She'd been found unconscious by a friend. Severe dehydration. She'd lost eight percent of her body weight in two weeks. Her heart rate had been dangerously high on admission. There was no record of any follow-up appointment since her first OB visit three weeks earlier.

He frowned at that last part. Three weeks was a long time to go without monitoring, especially with symptoms this severe. Someone had fallen through the cracks. It bothered him, the same way it always did when a patient's file showed the system failing someone who should have been caught sooner.

He looked for the name of the doctor overseeing her care. He found only Dr. Kim listed, with no other notes attached besides an old transfer memo from a few weeks back. He didn't think twice about that memo. He'd written it himself, but his mind was somewhere else, moving through the facts the way he always did, quickly and clinically.

The patient's name was cut off in the quick view screen, an old glitch in the hospital's software that had annoyed him for years. He never thought to be grateful for it before.

He typed up his recommendation. Slow rehydration. Anti nausea medication. Closer monitoring, given the gap in her care. He added a note asking social work to check in, since it looked like she didn't have much support. It was clinical and short, the way he wrote every consult note, and he sent it back through the system without a second thought.

Something caught at the back of his mind for a moment. Eleven weeks. The number surfaced, then sank again before he could think about why it mattered. There was another patient waiting.

He didn't open her full chart. There was no reason to. It wasn't his case anymore, and nothing in the short summary gave him any reason to connect this exhausted, malnourished woman to the one who still, somehow, took up more space in his thoughts than she had any right to.

He moved on to the next consult. But the uneasy feeling stayed with him for the rest of his shift, quiet and shapeless, like a name he almost remembered but couldn't quite reach.

.

.

.

.

Jungwon didn't remember falling asleep. He remembered lying in the dark for a long time, staring at his ceiling, exhaustion finally pulling him under sometime past midnight.

And then he was dreaming.

The garden came back to him, the same one from weeks ago, though he knew almost immediately that something about it was wrong.

The trees were still there, heavy branched, familiar in shape. But the leaves had gone brittle at the edges, curling inward like paper too close to a flame. Some had already fallen, scattered thin and brown across ground that should have been soft with grass and instead felt dry and cracked underfoot, like it hadn't seen rain in a long time.

He walked through it the way he had before, searching without knowing exactly what he was searching for. The fruit trees that had once bent low with ripeness now held branches that looked stripped and empty, a few withered pieces of fruit still clinging on that looked more rotten than ripe.

The woman was there again. He still couldn't see her face clearly, the way dreams sometimes blurred the details that should have mattered most, but he recognized her outline, the same as before, standing beneath the same tree where she'd once handed him a peach warm with sunlight.

This time she wasn't holding anything out to him. She was kneeling at the base of the tree instead, one hand pressed against the trunk like she needed it to stay upright. Her shoulders looked thin. Her head was bowed low enough that he couldn't see any of her expression, only the slow, careful way she was breathing, like even that took effort.

"Wait," he said, or tried to. His voice didn't seem to carry the way it should have.

He moved toward her, and the ground beneath his feet seemed to stretch further with every step, the way distances do in dreams, refusing to close no matter how fast he moved. The leaves kept falling around them, one after another, drifting down slow and silent, until the branches above her were bare.

He reached her at last, or thought he did, and knelt down in front of her, and reached out to touch her shoulder. She looked up at him then. He still couldn't make out her face. But he could feel, somehow, in the strange logic dreams operated by, that she was exhausted. Depleted. Something in her had been quietly draining away, day after day, and no one had noticed in time to stop it.

She simply closed her eyes again, her hand still pressed to the trunk of the dying tree, and the last of the leaves let go overhead, falling around both of them like something quietly ending.

He woke with a start, heart pounding, sheets damp beneath him, the ceiling of his own bedroom swimming slowly into focus in the dark.

It took him a long moment to remember where he was. Longer still to shake the feeling that had settled deep in his chest, heavy and wrong, like his body understood something his mind hadn't caught up to yet.

He sat up, pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, and told himself it was only a dream. Stress, probably, or guilt finding a strange shape to wear while he slept. But he didn't fall back asleep for a long time after that. He lay in the dark instead, staring at the ceiling, turning the image over and over, the garden gone bare, her kneeling beneath it, exhausted in a way that had felt far too real to belong only to a dream.

He was distracted the whole next day, in a way that didn't sit well with him at all.

It started small. He mixed up the order of two consults, something he never did, and had to double back and apologize to a nurse who'd been waiting on him. He found himself staring too long at a patient's chart during rounds, words on the page not quite registering, his mind circling back again and again to a garden that didn't exist and a woman whose face he couldn't see.

He told himself it was just a dream. He'd told himself that all morning, on repeat, like saying it enough times might finally make it true. It didn't help. The image kept surfacing anyway, uninvited, in the quiet spaces between tasks. The leaves falling. Her shoulders, thin and bowed. The way she hadn't answered him.

And underneath the dream, tangled up with it so tightly he couldn't separate the two anymore, was her. The real her. The woman from the exam room, weeks ago now, sitting there in a paper gown telling him flatly that she didn't need anything from him.

He hadn't seen her since. He didn't know if she was alright. That fact, which he'd been quietly carrying around for weeks, suddenly felt heavier today, pressing somewhere behind his ribs in a way he couldn't explain and didn't like.

He caught himself, twice, opening the hospital directory with every intention of searching her name, only to close it again before he could type more than a letter or two. He had no reason to look. No professional reason, and telling himself there might be a personal one felt like admitting to something he wasn't ready to say out loud, not even to himself.

His chest felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with his own health. It was an uncomfortable, restless feeling, like something was wrong and he didn't have enough information to know what, or where, or how to fix it. He hated not knowing. He'd built his whole career around being someone who found answers, who didn't let uncertainty sit for long before chasing it down. And here he was, useless, sitting with a feeling he couldn't name and no way to act on it.

By the time his shift ended, he'd barely eaten, his coffee long since gone cold and forgotten on his desk. He sat in his car in the hospital parking lot for a while before starting the engine, hands resting on the wheel, staring out at nothing in particular.

"It's just a dream," he said out loud, to the empty car, like hearing it might finally settle something.

It didn't. If anything, saying it out loud only made the discomfort in his chest more obvious, more real, refusing to be reasoned away just because he didn't have a name to put to it, or a face, or any real claim to worrying about her at all.

He drove home in silence, the radio off, the same restless unease sitting with him the whole way, quiet and persistent, like it had no intention of leaving until he did something about it.

He got as far as his apartment door before he stopped fighting it.

He stood there for a moment, keys still in hand, and then, almost against his own better judgment, pulled out his phone instead of going inside. He told himself it was just to check. Just to see that she was fine, that the dream had been nothing, that the tight feeling behind his ribs was simply exhaustion wearing a strange shape. Just this once, and then he'd stop.

He let himself back into his own hallway, sat down heavily on the bottom step of the stairwell instead of climbing them, and opened the hospital's internal system on his phone. His thumb hovered over the search bar longer than it should have. He typed her name.

The system took a second to load, longer than he wanted, his knee bouncing while he waited, and then a list of results filled the screen. Not many. It was an uncommon enough name that there was really only one match that mattered.

He tapped it before he could talk himself out of it. The file loaded slowly, and for a moment his eyes just skimmed without absorbing anything, too much information arriving too fast. Then it started to land, piece by piece, and his stomach dropped further with each line.

Admitted three weeks ago. Severe dehydration and malnutrition. Discharged same day, no documented follow up. Readmitted two days ago. Hyperemesis gravidarum, ketones present, found unconscious by a third party.

Found unconscious. He read it twice, like the words might rearrange themselves into something less alarming the second time. They didn't. He scrolled further, hands not quite steady now, and found the consult note attached to the more recent admission. His own name was on it. His own handwriting, in a sense, typed out clinically weeks ago, recommending fluid management for a patient he hadn't realized was her, flagging her case for social work because something in the chart had told him, even then, that no one was checking in on her.

He'd been right there. He'd read her chart and not known it was her. He'd written notes about her condition and closed the file without a second thought, because the software had cut off her name and he hadn't looked hard enough to notice.

Eleven weeks. The number that had been surfacing in his mind for days finally made sense, horribly, completely, and he felt something in his chest cave in around it.

She'd been sick. Really sick. Alone in an apartment somewhere, collapsing, hospitalized twice, and he hadn't known. He'd been having dreams about dying gardens while she was on a bathroom floor somewhere, or worse, and he'd told himself it was nothing, told himself it wasn't his place to look.

He was on his feet before he'd fully decided to move, keys still in his other hand, phone still lit with her chart, his pulse loud enough in his ears that it drowned out every reasonable argument his own mind tried to raise about boundaries, about what she'd asked for, about whether he had any right at all to show up.

None of it mattered right now. He needed to see her. He needed to know, with his own eyes, that she was alright. He was already moving toward the door before he'd let himself think through what he'd even say when he got there.

.

.

.

.

The room had gone dim sometime after the nurses' evening rounds, the overhead lights dimmed low, the machines beside your bed humming their steady, indifferent rhythm into the quiet. Karina had left an hour ago, only after you'd insisted, only after you'd promised you'd call if you needed anything, a promise you both knew you probably wouldn't keep.

You lay there now, IV taped to the back of your hand, the thin blanket pulled up to your chest, and let yourself, finally, stop pretending you were fine.

It came slowly at first. A tightness in your throat you tried to swallow down out of habit. Then your eyes stinging, then blurring, until the ceiling above you dissolved into a soft, watery smear of white. You pressed the back of your free hand against your mouth, an old reflex, quiet, don't let anyone hear.

There was no one to hear. That was the whole problem, wasn't it.

You thought about the last two weeks. About crawling to the bathroom in the dark. About lying on your own bedroom floor, alone, until your body simply gave out and someone else had to find you before it was too late. You thought about how close that had actually been, closer than you'd let yourself admit even to Karina, who'd cried in the waiting room while you were unconscious and hadn't fully stopped being afraid since.

You thought about the tiny, stubborn thing growing inside you that you hadn't even properly begun to plan for, that you were supposed to be strong enough to carry through all of this alone, and some exhausted, honest part of you finally admitted, in the dark, in the quiet, that you didn't know if you could.

"I don't know if I can do this," you whispered, to no one, to the empty room, your voice cracking apart on the last word.

The admission scared you more than anything else had in weeks. You'd built your whole life, especially these last two months, around the belief that you could handle anything alone if you just gritted your teeth hard enough. You'd told Jungwon that, practically to his face. You'd told yourself that every single day since. And here you were, hooked to fluids in a hospital bed for the second time in a month, and the belief was cracking right down the center, and you didn't know how to hold it together anymore.

The tears came harder after that, silent at first, then not silent at all, your shoulders shaking with the effort of trying to keep it quiet even though there was no one there to disturb. You curled onto your side as much as the IV line would allow, one hand drifting to rest low against your stomach, the way it always did now without your permission.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, to the tiny life you couldn't see or feel yet, only imagine. "I'm trying. I promise I'm trying."

It didn't answer, of course. There was only the quiet hum of the machines, and the faint hallway light bleeding in under the door, and the terrible, hollow ache of being so completely alone with something this big.

You cried until you didn't have much left to cry with, until your eyes burned and your chest ached and exhaustion finally started pulling you down toward sleep despite everything. You didn't wipe your face before you let your eyes close. There was no one there to see it anyway.

That was what you told yourself, right up until the moment sleep finally took you under, and you never heard the soft, hesitant knock that came at your door several minutes later, too tentative to wake you, from someone who'd been standing in the hallway for a long moment before he found the nerve to lift his hand at all.

Somewhere between the crying and the exhaustion pulling you under, one thought kept circling back, quiet and unanswerable.

Is it supposed to be this hard?

You didn't know. That was the worst part of it, in a strange way. You'd spent years around children, around the after of pregnancy, the finished product of it, toddlers with sticky hands and easy laughter, and never once had you stopped to ask their mothers what the nine months before had actually cost them. You'd assumed, vaguely, the way people assume things they've never had to live through, that it was hard but survivable, uncomfortable but manageable, something women simply got through with the right amount of patience and ginger tea.

You hadn't expected this. The bathroom floors. The fainting. Two hospital admissions in less than a month, your body seeming to fight the thing growing inside you rather than simply carry it. You wondered, in the dim, half formed way exhaustion allowed for, whether other women went through this too, quietly, alone, and never talked about it because talking about it felt like admitting they weren't handling something that was supposed to come naturally.

You thought of your own mother, briefly, the offhand thing she used to say. Hardest thing I ever did alone. You'd always assumed that meant the raising, the late nights, the years after. You were starting to wonder if she'd meant this part too, the very beginning, the part nobody warned you about because by the time you were far enough along to tell anyone, you were already too deep in it to turn back.

You didn't know if this was normal. You didn't know if other women lay awake at night wondering if their body had simply chosen the wrong person to do this to, someone without the reserves for it, someone already worn thin from everything that came before. You didn't have anyone to ask. Not really. Karina had been wonderful, had sat by your bed for hours, but Karina didn't know what this felt like from the inside, the particular loneliness of a body doing something enormous while the rest of your life went on expecting you to be fine.

You pressed a hand lightly against your stomach again, feeling nothing yet, no movement, no proof beyond the exhaustion and the IV and the doctor's clipped, worried tone from earlier that day. Just an idea of a person, still. A hope, and a fear, tangled together so tightly you couldn't separate them anymore.

Is it supposed to be this hard?

You didn't have an answer. You only had the ache in your chest, and the too-quiet room, and the slow pull of sleep finally dragging your thoughts apart before you could find one.

.

.

.

.

Jungwon didn't remember most of the walk from the parking garage. He remembered running at some point, badge bouncing against his chest, breath tearing ragged in his throat by the time he hit the stairwell instead of waiting for the elevator, two steps at a time, his pulse louder in his ears than anything else around him.

He found your room number on the floor directory and moved toward it without slowing, weaving past a cart, muttering an apology to a nurse he nearly collided with. He didn't bother knocking. He pushed the door open, chest still heaving, and froze.

You were still awake.

You'd curled onto your side, one hand pressed against your mouth, shoulders shaking with the effort of crying quietly in a room that had no reason to expect anyone would walk in on it. Your eyes were red, your cheeks wet, the IV line taped awkwardly to the back of your free hand. You looked up at the sound of the door, startled, and every part of you went rigid.

Disbelief bleeding through the exhaustion. You pushed yourself up slightly against the pillows, swiping a hand roughly across your face, some old reflex to hide what he'd just walked in on, even though it was far too late for that. "What are you— how did you—"

He didn't answer right away. He was too busy staring at you, chest still rising and falling too fast, his own shock plain on his face. He hadn't let himself picture this, not really, not the reality of it. How small you looked. How hollowed out. How clearly you'd been crying alone for a while before he arrived.

"I read your chart," he admitted, voice rough, still catching his breath. "I didn't know it was you until an hour ago."

"You shouldn't be here," you said, though it came out weaker than you meant it to, your voice still thick with tears.

"I know." He didn't move toward you yet, like he was afraid of doing the wrong thing, afraid of taking up space you hadn't offered him. "I know I shouldn't. You told me you didn't need me. I heard you. I've been trying to respect that for weeks, and I have no right to walk in here and undo it just because I'm scared."

"Then why did you come?" Your voice broke on the question, quieter than you meant it, more honest than you meant it too.

He took a step closer, slow, like he was asking permission with every inch. "Because I've been dreaming about you for weeks and I didn't even understand what I was dreaming about," he said, voice unsteady now, none of his usual composure left in it. "Because I read a chart today and didn't know it was yours until it was almost too late to know at all. Because the thought of you lying somewhere alone, going through this by yourself, is unbearable to me. I can't explain why. I've tried to talk myself out of caring this much about someone I barely know, and I can't do it. I've tried for weeks."

You stared at him, tears still slipping down your face, unable to find any words to answer that with.

"I'm not asking you to let me fix this," he went on, quieter now, closer, close enough that you could see how badly his hands were shaking at his sides. "I'm not asking you to trust me, or to need me, or to believe I'll be different from whoever taught you to expect nothing. I know I haven't earned any of that yet." His voice cracked, raw and unguarded in a way you'd never heard from him. "I'm just asking you to let me sit here. Just for tonight. Please. I don't want you to be alone in this room anymore."

You pressed the back of your hand against your mouth, a fresh wave of tears rising, not entirely sure anymore if they were from exhaustion or grief or something dangerously close to relief.

"I don't know… I… ," you admitted, voice cracking apart. 

"One night. That's all I'm asking for right now. Just let me stay."

He reached out, slow and hesitant, and rested his hand near yours on the blanket, not quite touching, close enough that you could close the distance if you wanted to. You did. Your fingers curled weakly around his, and for the first time in weeks, neither of you were entirely, completely alone.

Taglist : @daysweetdreams @ritaevan @lostgirlysstufff @riksterki @jungw0nluvrr @daysweetdreams @bryxwdz @yeahhemmings- @nyawon @inspiredchaos @nikkicy @dasoms-world @itsmeafellowengene @blackheels-jpg @eeevanlr @rizz00 @ambi01 @sunoosunghoon @justhornylol @cherryluvssss @imtiredofthisbsstuff @m0shim0shi @kitteaasstuff @evansramen @nocturnal-lanturn @sugarbunny1221 @natmagaesp @sunnywithwon @peachsunnie1009 @emotionalsweaters2 @ameliaayjw @veemegatron @simsdoll @jeonjieun17 @8naqvg @zoe1love @sunsoomi @gordazepam @yjwswifey @chaconnehoon02 @camilleinyourheart @performativefembo1 @anflowers11 @jinniebabee @jwnieluvrr @gglanaa @raspberriui @enhxlvr @fouldiplomatpapershark @pretty-little-things-are-real @ot7archives @binnniemoonroa @blackcadet @rayofsunshineeee @nnhypenn @loveyvw @evanzgirl @b1scuitwxngss @geonatzz @moont0kki @worthilygrimlocket @kikizzz0 @letwiiparkjay @sunoospinkpickle @sunniee1009 @ryujinsgf26 @synamon @qlorin @ihoowuc @skzenhalove @jungwonsdimpl3 @hamseungssi @queenshibihh @oiosoobin @ootoebn @hannahlovesenhypen @yangvitta @fzowers @graythecoffeebean @yethoughts @pumpitup-jungwonssi @yangw0ni3 @perolaprincess123 @ririnaps @in-somnias-world @goosemantheweeb @nmurark05 @smnguyen @itsmeafellowengene @coerareyou @bananamilkforjk @jakeyyyjakexoxo @aeinthe-void @yuudaiinhs @heesroses @esz13 @jungwonisme @hevxan @simjaeyunlvrclub @mercielouv @ynnii @lawjakesim @mailovesreading @love4yubin @sievenderz @en-muse @rskwon @hhoneyhan @shhth @angelshedevils @aresverlac @xsooahx

[kissued]

END OF THE LINE ✦ 박성훈 PARK SUNGHOON [ PART 02 ]

if you're gonna break me in two ⋆ masterpost ⋆ do what you gotta do GENRE + PAIRING ⋮ college au. ice hockey player!fratboy!sunghoon x fem!reader ⋮ PART 02 WC 31.4k

SYNOPSIS ⋮ you’ve been crushing on lee heeseung for most of your college life — long enough that you were beginning to crack. one blessed night, when a girl at a party slips you his number, it feels like fate finally taking pity on you. what follows is a slow, intoxicating unraveling — late-night calls, perfect pick-ups, subtle flirts you’d expect from a charming guy like him. so why is it that when you finally wave at him on campus, he looks genuinely confused?

CONTENT WARNINGS ⋮ explicit themes INCLUDES SMUT so +18 ONLY. themes of mental illness sex as a coping mechanism self esteem issues angst with happy ending miscommunication skinship physical intimacy inferiority complex featuring enhypen + yeonjun of txt slowburn pining NSFW TAGS ⋮ dom!sunghoon, condescending remarks, piv, dumbification, creampie, unprotected sex (don't), degradation, spanking, praise, dry humping, fingering, edging, sunghoon puts reader into a mating press halfway, breeding kink, sunghoon says i love you while in it, reader is so down Bad save her.

AUTHOR'S NOTE ⋮ heeelloo i'm back again less than a week later TT up until this point i've had a huge draft to work from, but i wrote this part mostlyyy recently (like in the past 2-3weeks). i can't wait to see what everyone thinks of the fic as a whole and i'll be lurking in ur blogs... watching... also stream dwygd by the band camino the song sparked me back into finishing this fic and it's where the titles r taken from :7 ENJOY !!!! #hoonynforever

REBLOGS APPRECIATED ⋆ THANK YOU FOR READING

you know this version of yourself very well. it’s the one that immediately starts accounting for error before drawing conclusions, and the one that treats uncertainty as concrete evidence you’ve got everything wrong. by the time you reach your car, you couldn’t even pull your stupid phone out of your stupidly tight jeans, because the pocket seemed vacuum sealed to your thighs once you sat down.

the drive home is full of revision. memories, mostly, on the phone: did you dream all of lee heeseung up? who the hell started those conversations? who called you last night?

was this all one-sided?

every turn at every corner feels excruciating. the green lights are too slow and every second that passes makes you want to reach for your phone, call him immediately, and ask just what the fuck that was. your palms stick against the steering wheel and the thought of hearing his response makes your stomach twist unpleasantly.

it just can’t be possible. there is just no way that you’re this unlucky.

the rest of the journey is blank. you didn’t even turn on the radio, nor did you bother to plug in the carplay. it’s almost pathetic how fast you slide out of the leather seat, how hard you slam the door to the driver’s, and how desperately you punch in the code to your apartment. you mess it up once, which earns a small cuss under your breath, but none of it overshadows the confusion.

you can’t possibly text him like this. ringing him would only lead to something even worse. you might say something you don’t mean, or fuck things up in that signature way of yours.

so, you settle for the same routine as always: shower, lunch, nap, and try not to lose your mind throughout the day. at some point, you think it cannot possibly be this serious—you’ve never met the man like this, never spoken to him in person, and not once have you heard his voice utter your name in real life. it is absolutely ridiculous that your knees almost buckle in the shower, at the mere thought that this truly might have meant nothing. just nothing.

there is an attempt to move through the day without acknowledging the hundred pound weight on your shoulders. perhaps it’s because you’ve spent weeks with your brain at full power that it’s starting to swirl with all kinds of things now.

you’re dragging your feet against the floorboards as you make your way to the kitchen. caffeine might help, maybe. there’s no logic or sound reasoning behind the decision, but you reach for your favourite mug and position it under the coffee machine anyway. your bottom lip is swollen from biting down on it, a habit you never really got around to unlearning from middle school, and for a fleeting, pathetic moment, you think that this is your fate.

your knuckles almost go white, grip tightening on the edge of the marble island, like it’ll help regulate your feelings any better. an annoying chime plays from the coffee machine a few seconds later—hot ribbons of steam curling into the air—but you don’t even feel like drinking it at all, really.

half-heartedly, you take the mug and head straight for your bedroom. your hair is still damp against your neck, the apartment smells like your shampoo, and for a moment, you catch a whiff of cigarette smoke from the neighbour above your unit. your things are still in a mess from last night—from when you were still on the phone with him, falling asleep with a sour mood and paper notes crumpled at the foot of your bed, books still flipped open to important pages that you conveniently wiped from your memory an hour ago.

and, your phone. face down, on your night stand, plugged into the wall and far too quiet for your comfort, as if lee heeseung could sense what was wrong with you from miles away.

“hello?”

you end up calling.

you’re sitting on the edge of your bed, shoulders slouched and back hunched over like it’ll do anything to ease the emptiness in your stomach. a screen is pressed up to your cheek, and you swear your nails might snap off if you hold your phone any tighter than you are now; the phone’s been ringing for a while, and now that he’s finally picked up, every thought decides to somersault out of the fucking window—straight down and plummeting into the concrete pavement outside.

“hey, y/n.” he says. “i’m… fuck—sorry. i’m with some friends right now. are you okay?”

he’s out of breath.

yelling in the background. plastic on plastic, some whistling, someone else calling yeonjun’s name.

you swallow thickly, but it gets caught in your throat halfway. your voice comes out more defeated than you intended. “why did you look at me like that?”

silence. you can hear his heavy breathing through the speaker, and all it does is make you pick at the skin around your nails. ears picking up everything, there’s voices layered over each other, the sound of something sharp cutting against snow, or ice. it stops momentarily when he finally understands the question, soft, but loud enough for your heart to pound.

“what?”

“like you didn’t know me,” you almost fucking whimper, and all you can think is: god, how much more humiliating can this get? “why?”

your free hand comes up to rub at the bridge of your nose, until little bursts of pressure bloom behind your eyes. all of this is giving you a headache, and there’s a split second where you think you should just hang up and save yourself the trouble. this is just how it is. your luck. your fingers knead, and knead, and knead—but it’s no use. all you can hear is him.

“y/n,” he mumbles. “can we meet? tonight?”

“you can’t just do that,” you breathe shakily. “tell me why. please.”

time has been moving wrong all day. everything feels delayed and stretched and slow in this awful, unbearable way. five seconds between responses starts feeling like whole afternoons, and minutes feel like centuries. you spent weeks getting used to talking to him whenever something happened—sending him stupid pictures and complaining about classes and saying things before thinking because there was always tomorrow, and that’s exactly what you did last night.

but now that tomorrow is here… shit, it doesn’t even matter anymore.

“y/n,” his voice breaks just a little—not very sure if it’s the horrible connection on campus, if he’s even still there. you imagine, just for the sake of your sanity, that he’s running his hands through his hair, breathing wrong, panicking. anything like those movies where the guy realises he’s going to lose it all. “i know it doesn’t make any sense—”

“what do you think, huh? do you think any of it does?”

“i know—shit, i know.”

your fingers keep kneading at your skin because the headache’s spreading now, radiating into your temples in slow pulses. you keep pressing harder like pain somewhere else will make this one smaller. it doesn’t work.

“i think we should meet in person,” he answers, calm again, like it’s how he’s always been. somehow, it pisses you off even more, when you know he can hear the shake in your voice. “i gotta go. i’m sorry.”

he’s never apologised to you before. not even for missing your calls.

“what the fuck are you sorry for, heeseung?”

you hear him breathe in, then out. he sounds exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with sleep.

“i’m just…” his voice catches faintly, before smoothing back out. “i’m sorry.”

the line goes dead.

you stay, just for a while, phone still pressed against your ear like the warmth of your skin might coax him back and force an explanation out of him. your shoulders fold further into themselves until your spine starts to ache, but moving would mean admitting the call is over, and you’re not quite ready to do that yet.

your eyes remain fixed on nothing in particular—the opposite wall, maybe, where the late afternoon light stretches unevenly across the paint and catches the tiny imperfections in the plaster that you’ve somehow never noticed despite living here for months.

your stomach really hurts. sour and hollow, underneath your ribcage, compelling you to lower your phone and lock your screen before you can over-analyse the messages from last night.

you draw a deep breath through your nose, falling back against the mattress until your shoulder blades scratch against your duvet.

you are not crying over a man you’ve technically never even met.

this is absolutely fucking ridiculous, you mutter under your breath, but you still wipe under your eyes and try to blink all the salt out of your eyes anyway. your phone dies eventually because you forget to plug it back in, and now, all that’s left is you, the tear-stained sheets and meaningless pieces of paper.

─────────────────────────

two weeks ago, park sunghoon was on the brink of losing his shit.

it was purely emotional. probably more emotion than anyone on the team has ever seen him display, and lord, was it utterly humiliating. he wonders if anyone on the team still thinks about it, given how the locker room goes dead silent every time he steps in—and it’s literally like he just got named captain all over again.

practice ended badly. not disastrously, because no one broke anything, and maki didn’t start a petty argument between the goalkeeper and him. yeonjun barely screamed at the little freshmen, and only one of them cried post-cool down—so by all technical definitions, it had been productive enough.

and still, he was irritated.

it had been building for days now, in that same slow, ugly way tension knots all your muscles before becoming pain. finals always fucked everyone over, but not enough to stop them from showing up—mentally, though, they’re elsewhere. sunghoon had been there, before he had decided he was tired of making shitty excuses for his terrible performance.

shortcuts irritate him. he’s watching people cut corners before his very eyes because they assume he’s as tired as them—well, he is, but that’s besides the point.

he hated it.

metal lockers slammed shut one after another while conversations overlapped in every direction. someone was laughing too loudly, and sunghoon was almost certain the obnoxiously loud carly rae jepsen echoing through the room belonged to maki’s fucked up speakers again. the locker room was humid in that unpleasant post-practice way—the air thick with damp towels, deodorant and sweat drying into fabric, hot enough that stepping in after the rink always felt vaguely suffocating.

sunghoon walks further into the space and, while it isn’t the most obvious thing in the world, conversations shift around him in tiny ways he’s learnt to recognize over the years. a few voices lower, someone moves their legs in so he can pass. one of the freshmen instinctively straightens up halfway through pulling his shirt over his head.

his duffel hangs off one shoulder. sweat drips slowly from his temples, sliding down the side of his neck before disappearing into the dark collar of his shirt. his whole body feels heavy today, and not even in the satisfying way—just fucking heavy. his shoulders ache in that deep, irritating way that suggests recovery isn’t catching up anymore, and lately sleep hasn’t been doing much except making him conscious again.

it’s fine. everything had been feeling vaguely wrong for a while now, anyway.

yeonjun’s already on his way out when he brushes past him, shoulder bumping his with enough force to be annoying but not enough to start anything. “have a wonderfully peaceful night,” he mutters with that unbearably cocky, punchable grin.

any other day, sunghoon might’ve shoved him into a locker.

instead, he dropped his bag beside the end of the bench, and listened to the wood creak underneath his weight. the freshmen lingering nearby begin moving almost immediately. one shifts two lockers down, and another grabs his things and suddenly remembers he has somewhere else to be. by the time sunghoon looks up from his phone properly, half of them have disappeared entirely.

he watches one hesitate after accidentally making eye contact. the kid immediately looks away, picks up his shit, and leaves.

sunghoon looks back down. god, his shoulders hurt.

the muscles between his shoulder blades have been tightening more lately. sleep’s been shit. practice feels slower. finals are making everyone stupid. nobody can pass properly anymore, or communicate once they’re on the ice. everything seems held together by routine and whatever miscroscopic amount of discipline he can force onto everyone else.

whatever. it’s manageable, he thinks. everything always is, if you’re strong and willing and miserable enough. eat properly, sleep properly, train properly, study properly. repeat until wanting anything else becomes inefficient or a distraction, until it’s ordinary and until enough days pass that discomfort isn’t discomfort anymore, and simply morphs into the default.

maybe that’s why the past few weeks have felt stranger than anything else—nothing has gotten easier. his schedule has been become even more hellish than before, his muscles still ache and everyone expects more from him; but there’s been this stupid, absurd sense of anticipation stitched quietly into the gaps of his day.

he’s excited for something. for someone.

he checks his phone when he has nothing to do. sleeps later, thinks about conversations while stretching or when someone says something that you mentioned in passing. none of it means anything, at least individually, but it feels so a embarrassingly noticeable once he becomes aware of it together.

“…i’m serious, though.”

his thumb stills over his lockscreen. sunghoon doesn’t look up immediately, because the sentence barely reaches his ears at first. locker room noise tends to sound a lot like static after practice, but then your name slips, and suddenly every other sound becomes painfully irrelevant.

there’s a burst of laughter from somewhere to his left.

“y/n? yeah, i know. she’s prettier than i thought.”

sunghoon’s hand had been unlocking his phone without thought, thumb dragging upward automatically before freezing halfway. his forearm rests against his thigh, veins standing out faintly beneath skin flushed warm from practice, and he only notices after a second that his wrist has gone rigid enough to make the tendons ache.

the fabric of his jersey sticks unpleasantly against the centre of his back, where it hasn’t dried yet.

“fuck, i still remember that dress.”

“she’s fine as fuck, seriously,” someone snorts. “wonder if she’d let me tap. you think?”

“don’t be a fucking asshole,” sunghoon hears, the laughter echoing and bouncing off the walls suggesting that nobody is really bothered by this except him. “you’re not in her league, man.”

more laughter. sunghoon doesn’t think he’s ever been this pissed off before, truly, because now his fist is balled so tight that his knuckles are starting to pale. his ears are beginning to ring, and all his body decides to do is amplify the voices of his teammates who decided you’d be the centre of their attention tonight.

someone tosses their towel onto the bench he’s on. maki’s finally out, he notices, quieter now that he’s packing his things up.

“who knows if she’s desperate… might have a chance.”

“shut the fuck up!”

sunghoon rolls one shoulder once and immediately regrets it. something pulls underneath his shoulder blade where he took a hit earlier. his body feels strangely swollen after practice—muscles tight and full and unpleasantly warm under skin that suddenly feels too small to sit comfortably in. his thighs ache where they press against the edge of the bench, palms still feeling vaguely raw from his gloves.

the conversation goes on, and he tries not to listen. realistically, these men would never get anywhere near you. he wouldn’t let them, but that’s besides the point. willingly giving this his attention would only lead to something he can’t take back, and he knows it.

“you got her number?”

“think i do. we were in the same freshie group.”

wonderful.

his tongue is pressing against the inside of his cheek, and his jaw is ticking. he swears if he bites down any harder that a tooth might shatter, but sunghoon does his best to keep his eyes trained on the screen in his hands.

someone says something else, but he doesn’t even remember what. he only remembers the feeling of his jaw hurting, the edge of his phone case digging into his palm, and the slow, annoying feeling of anger coursing through his veins.

it’s hot in here. sunghoon feels it all—anger, resentment, the guilt and embarrassment, too, because he really wants it to stop. he really, really needs it to. there’s something deeply unpleasant in having to listen to a group of people talk about you like this is all you are, that your face and body, no matter how gorgeous it may be, is your most interesting feature.

do these people know you the way he does?

they don’t. they never could.

park sunghoon’s throat suddenly feels dry in a way water won’t, can’t fix. his shoulders stay tense while his gaze drags over your messages and something inside him twists. it’s obvious that this was never supposed to become anything, and that a relationship built on a lie would crumble before he could begin enjoying it.

it’s just… one late-night call becomes another, then another, and another. somewhere between protein shakes and assignments and practice schedules, he moves everything aside for you, and realises he wants you more than anything he’s ever wanted in his life.

“could you guys just shut the fuck up?”

the words leave his mouth before he gets the chance to think about them. the social repercussions don’t even matter anymore, nor were they even factored in to begin with. his voice doesn’t come out loud, which somehow makes it worse—it stays low and level and entirely lacking in visible irritation, like he’s asking somebody to pass him a bottle instead of telling half the room to stop talking.

the effect is immediate, anyway.

conversations taper off unevenly until the entire room is quiet. somebody lets out a laugh that cuts itself short halfway through, and somewhere behind him, a locker closes gently.

sunghoon only realises he’s spoken after the silence reaches him, and suddenly, his own breathing sounds louder than before. his shoulders ease by a fraction and his fingers loosen around his phone, just enough for him to feel the imprint left across the centre of his palm from holding it too tightly.

nobody says a thing. sunghoon doesn’t even know who was speaking anymore. that detail doesn’t seem important now—not compared to the things that were said, and definitely not compared to what had slipped out of his own mouth immediately after.

park sunghoon sits in the locker room with sweat cooling against his skin, realising something he spent the next two weeks trying very hard to negotiate with.

he wants you.

slowly, surely, quietly, he wants you.

at some point, it felt easier not to think about; topped with all the things he already has to deal with, accepting this fact is not particularly beneficial for him.

fourteen days after that—today—he’s done with practice again, same old, same old; walking into locker rooms that are hyperaware of his existence, everyone treading on egg shells until he gets out of the place and into his car.

he knows people noticed. yeonjun had asked if he was alright on the walk over to the parking lot and tried unusually hard not to sound like he was asking. no grin nor stupid comment attached, it’s plain, awkward concern delivered badly enough that sunghoon knew it was real.

“you good?”

what the fuck is he supposed to say to that?

that he’d heard your voice three hours ago, spent the entire session replaying the shake in your voice, and wanted to rip his heart out of his chest?

that the only time he was so sure of someone, he’s already fucked it up?

it’s his fault that he couldn’t answer and instead settled on walking away. park sunghoon heard you on the phone three hours ago and knew he’d be thinking about it the entire session—but now that he’s actually getting into his car, on the way to see you, his heart is beginning to pound harder.

his shoes scrape quietly against the asphalt of the parking lot as he walks. his duffel drags his shoulder lower on one side, dark blue hoodie sleeves rolled up to his elbows—sunghoon’s hand reaches into his pocket automatically and wraps around his keys before he even gets to the car.

You: where are you? 20:08

Y/n: [Shared a location] 20:08

─────────────────────────

the text came at 7 in the evening. you spent the previous 3 hours wondering where it went wrong, recalling every word exchanged, every misunderstood conversation that you dismissed in the moment. it’s incredibly easy to move past things in the heat of the things, you realise—it just seems silly now, almost childish, that you let those things slip past you.

you left the house in a random zip-up, shorts riding up your thighs with every forward step you took. there’s an annoying little hill you need to climb to get to this park, obscured by dark green trees and stray cats that rub against your legs if you stand still for too long, and you’ll usually start panting by the 2 minute mark.

once you finally reach the top, it’s unmistakable. an old playground swing, a plastic slide, and a bench that sat directly behind the big, interactive structure modelled after a sunflower. your feet feel heavy as you move, slippers scratching against the concrete, and you accidentally kick a few pebbles as you walk.

this feels like a waste of your time. heeseung messaged around thirty minutes ago, and he’s still nowhere in sight—eventually, you’re hunched over the park bench table, hands in your hair, trying to get this nausea to alleviate itself.

so what if lee heeseung decided he wanted nothing to do with you? the magnitude at which this is affecting you is starting to seem ridiculous. you keep telling yourself that a boy shouldn’t matter this much, that talking means nothing, and that modern love is nothing but a cruel endeavour that you’re constantly gambling on. so what if you lose, you think, but the feeling of your heart spilling out of your ribs is pressing so deep into your heart that it’s killing you.

your fingers are pressing into the bridge of your nose again. the streetlamps feel warm over your head, slipping through your fingers when you run them over your face. you think you must look horrible right now, but so does everyone else—never mind that the occasional parkgoer jogs past and stares you down: that is what you choose to tell yourself.

some kid walks by with her mom, pointing at the slide, and it almost makes you laugh when she hesitates before saying ‘no’.

just as the thoughts begin to tone down, swirling less and less, you catch a familiar figure in your peripheral: tall, broad, sleeves bunched at the elbows and dark brown hair falling over his eyebrows, looking as tired and miserable as the day you saw him a week ago.

this can’t be real.

the yellow light washes over his face and bathes him in a warm, almost greenish light. the moment he steps into focus, you’re already on your way up—standing next to the bench, hands shaking like you can’t quite believe this is actually happening.

“y/n—”

three steps later, you’re already on your way out.

what follows is immediate: park sunghoon, tired, red eyes, lounging a big ass bag on his shoulder, jogging towards you with a stride so big that it almost scares you. you can’t bear to look at him like this, like he’s actually hurt over what he’s done, even if you don’t specifically know what it is yet.

everything’s blurry as you move. you can’t feel your stomach, and it took you more than a reasonable amount of effort just to turn away and start walking. you can hear him, faintly—sunghoon calling out your name, as familiar as every night before this one, as sweet and genuine as it had always been—but has it really, though?

“is this some fucking joke to you?”

your voice cracks on the very last word, embarrassingly enough. as if the tears running down your cheeks wasn’t enough shame to carry around, sunghoon has to hear you like this. vulnerable and hurt and wanting answers.

“y/n, please. just stop walking away from me,” he pleads, out of breath from how far he’s been trailing you. the downhill slope isn’t that far away from here, and you can see a few couples taking a night stroll—as if the universe insists on rubbing it in your tear-stained face. “let me explain.”

“what is there to explain?”

you weren’t stupid. it feels like a cruel insult that sunghoon thinks you even need an explanation; he was heeseung. you’d been calling, texting, falling for someone completely different, and the worst part is that it doesn’t even fucking matter in the way he thinks it does.

“i wanted to tell you,” sunghoon blurts out, and the moment it leaves his lips, your feet suddenly stop working. it’s like your heels are anchored to the ground by something invisible, urging you to turn around—everything in his voice screams for you to do just that, to face him, to see how hurt he is by the lie he chose to tell. “y/n, please.”

you can’t. you just can’t.

it’s incredibly corny. this whole scene just seems like a big fuck-you from the universe, dragged straight out of a drama, because god knows you were never deserving of something so beautiful and easy. love had to strangle it’s way out of your hands, somehow. it’s to a point where there’s people staring, whispering as they pass you two.

“you know what? i wouldn’t even have fucking cared, anyway.” you sighed, blinking to get your vision to clear up. “you didn’t even have to lie to me.”

sunghoon is stunned at that. his whole body feels cold, locked in place, and his heart’s pounding so hard that he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. by the time you eventually do turn around, his throat is already constricting, dry and tight, looking down at you—hand running through your hair, glassy eyes staring into his. the guilt weighs heavier now, sinking it’s claws into his neck, so deep that he can feel it nick his heart.

“what?”

he needs to rip it out.

sunghoon genuinely feels like his guts are going to spill out. your eyelashes are wet with tears and he can tell you’re trying your best not to burst into tears, and he hates himself for being the reason for it; he has to dig his fingers into his palms just so he can stop himself from reaching out for you.

selfishly, for a second, he lets himself memorise your face. he thinks it’ll be the last time he sees it. there’s something about you—even when your cheeks are red and your eyes are swollen with hurt, that he wants to see it all.

sunghoon wishes he could undo everything. perhaps, if he had just went up to you that friday night, underneath the stairs with his best smile and most polite greeting, he’d been able to hate himself a little less, and possibly not hurt you at all.

this is what he gets, isn’t it?

it’s a shame.

“i really liked you.” you sniffle. your eyes are deliberately avoiding his. sunghoon’s never leave your face. “heeseung or not, doesn’t even matter now, does it?”

for a second, sunghoon genuinely thinks he misheard you.

the streetlights blur, morphing into bright lines in your vision, and somebody laughs somewhere downhill. a bicycle rolls past, a dog barks behind you, and it is just unbearable how you have to focus on all these sounds just so you can distract yourself from the uneven breaths of your own body.

“i liked you too, y/n.”

sunghoon genuinely forgets how to breathe. his chest expands automatically, but the air never seems to reach his lungs, caught somewhere between his ribs and throat where everything suddenly feels too tight.

all this time, he thought he knew exactly how tonight would go. you’d tell him to fuck off, to stop following you, and he thought he would. it started off like that: the walking part, the not-being-able-to-look-at-him-without-crying. he prepared for it, every night, leading up to this one: imagined you laughing in his face, telling him to leave, to never call again, but this barely fits the mould.

every time he convinced himself that honesty could wait one more day because he needed more time, needed the timing to be better, needed to figure himself out first—all of it feels rotten, so useless and meaningless now.

you stand there with tears drying on your cheeks, eyes swollen and exhausted, and all he can think about is how much easier this could have been for you if he’d just been honest from the beginning. he should’ve never answered, nor should he have went with it when you started getting a little bolder. he should’ve never gone this far to feed his own selfishness.

park sunghoon doesn’t deserve to stand here and watch you cry over him.

“you could’ve told me.”

his fingers curl against his palms until his nails bite crescents into skin. he barely feels the sting. somehow, hearing you say it doesn’t feel relieving at all—not in the way he imagined it would, during all those nights where he let himself think about impossible things before forcing himself to sleep. he thought this moment, if it ever existed, would feel warm. he thought—maybe—there’d be this stupid sense of vindication buried underneath the guilt, a ugly selfish satisfaction that would prove he wasn’t completely insane for wanting you.

all he finds is more guilt, painted by a crystal clear picture of what could’ve been.

the image arrives all at once and it’s unbearable in how ordinary it is. walking up to you that first night instead of watching from a distance. introducing himself properly, and a few weeks later, he’s sitting across from you at some stupid coffee place after class. he’d be seeing his contact under his actual name and listening to you complain through his speakers without feeling his stomach drop every time you said “heeseung.” such painfully normal things that people do every day without thinking, and somehow they feel impossibly far away now, like he’d reached out and ruined them before they even had the chance to become memories.

his hand comes up to his face and presses hard against his mouth. you’re sniffling so much that your nose is beginning to redden. he notices the cuts on your lips, probably from biting down on them, and all he can see is you in the library, far away and out of reach.

“i should have told you,” he acknowledges. it doesn’t do anything to alleviate the pounding headache you have. “i thought that if you didn’t know—fuck, i don’t know. i thought you would’ve liked me better like that… if you didn’t know.”

“how the fuck does that make any fucking sense?”

for the first time today, you’re looking at him. his eyes are red around the edges, the skin underneath them looking darker than normal and his lashes look damp under the streetlights. there’s something almost unbearable about it, the way he looks more exhausted than guilty, like he’s been carrying this around for weeks and would be the one bearing most of the pain.

still, despite it all, you want to wipe the tears away.

“i wasn’t lying,” his lip trembles slightly, “when i said that everyone’s scared of me. that night—fuck, i saw you, y/n. i knew you wouldn’t look at me—”

“what the fuck? really, what the fuck?” you cut him off, voice tapering off into that high, disbelieving tone. “how—just how? how did you think this would turn out, sunghoon? did you think we’d live happily ever after when i—when we spent months talking like that?”

you’re breathing wrong. everything feels so wrong. all of this feels so impossibly fucking wrong. you need to go home.

he flinches at your response. your eyes burn with all the movement in your peripheral, and your chest tightens with every passing second. you laugh, and it sounds horrible—small, breathless, like the sight in front of you is simply too baffling to process properly.

sunghoon’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. you stare at him, expecting something, anything, but the words refuse to make it past his throat.

“what the fuck is wrong with you, sunghoon?”

there is something painfully tragic about walking away from a good thing. honestly, if you tried hard enough, you could probably forgive him. you could pretend he never lied to you, and that everything he said after that first lie wasn’t a lie, either. you could pretend he was honest and truthful and all those good things, but the thing about pushing it down is that it always bubble back up eventually.

both things can be true: that it’ll always come back, and you’ll always believe that sunghoon could’ve been it.

“y/n—”

“don’t. just don’t fucking—don’t. don’t call me, don’t do anything. i can’t, i just can’t right now.”

you never really knew heeseung at all, now that you think about it. you remember being a freshman and watching him shoot hoops by the cafeteria one sunny tuesday morning—jiwon mentioned how cute he looked, and perhaps as some act of politeness between two newly introduced friends, said that the two of you would look good together. even now, you think that if heeseung had ended up being exactly like sunghoon, you still would’ve fallen.

but that would mean you never fell for heeseung at all, doesn’t it?

with sunghoon here, standing in front of you, all you see is the hardworking, ambitious, weirdly terrified boy you got to know. you see him in front of his computer thinking too hard, and you see him looking surprised that you smiled at him. it feels strangely dissonant that this will be the last time you get to stand this close to him, or that it’ll be the final time you hear his voice.

“you’re such a coward.”

you don’t know what he says after that, because you turn and walk away so quick that anything he mumbles next falls a step too short behind you. the words feel so bitter on your tongue, and you still taste it even as you walk past that one broken street lamp around fifteen feet away, lingering by the time you step into your apartment.

when you walk into your bedroom, you stay by the door a little longer, shoulder pressed against the wooden frame.

ironically enough, you left your phone behind. face down, still plugged to the wall.

then, almost as a final act in this depressing film, you slump over and slide to the floor, crying over something that shouldn’t matter as much as it does.

it takes you a while to crawl into bed.

you blame the exams. that’s definitely why you’re too exhausted to speak to jiwon, despite the multiple texts from three hours ago detailing your predicament. now that she’s practically begging for you to pick up, three hours later, you just can’t.

instead, you scroll. scroll and scroll and scroll, through chats and messages that have nothing to do with heeseung, now that you know the truth—and as you do, a message pops up at the bottom.

lee heeseung: Get home safely, Y/n. 21:09

lee heeseung: I’m sorry for everything 21:10

─────────────────────────

the sun rises another day. it spills into sunghoon’s room in familiar strips of gold, slipping through the blinds and cutting across the walls in uneven slants that make the dust visible. tiny particles drift through the light lazily, suspended in the air and blinding enough that he has to lift a hand over his eyes instinctively, staring through the gaps between his fingers and pretending, stupidly, that if he stays still long enough, he’ll somehow fall back asleep.

he doesn’t.

his shirt is still where he threw it last night, half across the room and gathering dust in the middle of the floor. his once-superbly-clean desk is a mess, in the same way his room is lately—never dirty enough to clean, yet tidy enough not to notice.

his notes are spread all over. he’s pretty sure he should’ve stapled and organized them a long, long time ago, but he honestly could not care anymore. there’s that charger hanging halfway off the edge of his bedside table, a half-empty glass collecting warmth from the morning air, and his hockey bag remains unopened by the door from last night’s practice. he finds it amazing that he still manages to attend—just spectacular that nobody can tell how terrible he’s feeling, and even more so, miraculous that he’s able to do his job the same.

and, his curtains. left open for september’s autumn, long after that quiet summer when he still had you to call.

park sunghoon spends a little longer staring at the window once his eyes stop hurting from the brightness. the sunlight shifts slowly over his sheets as the minutes go by, reaching his hands where they rest against his stomach, and warm enough that it still reminds him of you.

the first thought he has is that he’s being selfish.

it’s embarrassing, honestly, how little he’s done in a month and how exhausting it all still feels. all he does is wake up, lie here, go to practice, come back, and sleep. heeseung’s always got someone new over, jake and jay are physically incapable of doing anything quietly, and sunoo, jungwon, and riki are too afraid to ask why he never speaks at dinner anymore—not that he did much of that to begin with, anyway. he chooses not to believe them when they say he seemed happier when the sun stayed out longer.

a month is barely enough time to break a habit, but it’s long enough that nobody asks anymore. there were those few weeks back in july where he’d let a laugh slip in front of his brothers and didn’t feel immediately disgusted by the sound of it afterwards. he supposes you brought out that side of him—the one that doesn’t need to act all perfect and gorgeous and saintful. at some point, he even let himself eat a tub of ice cream because riki asked nicely enough for him to stay and watch a movie. it didn’t feel difficult then, of course.

yeonjun stopped trying to irritate him after a while, probably realising it wasn’t possible. now, he just avoids it out of pity instead, and sunghoon knows it. nobody says it out loud, but they all look at him differently these days; like he’s become quieter in a way they can’t quite fix, and they don’t know whether to drag him out of it or leave him there in this pit he’s chosen to bury himself in.

he shuts his eyes, and it doesn’t help. all sunghoon sees is that fucking library, and you, standing between metal shelving under the evening sun—squinting and pouting, warm cheeks and messy hair from running your fingers through it all day, and back then, sunghoon wanted nothing but to do the same. that stupid expression you made, pretending like your eyes weren’t watering from all the dusty books and the harsh light hitting your irises, too.

he sees himself telling you to sit on his side, your smile, and how he almost froze up then and there.

all the brains in the world and none of it did anything for him then, and even less now. he spent years believing everything had a formula—that if he worked hard enough, controlled enough, became enough, things would eventually make sense and fall into place. but there was nothing logical about wanting to sit in uncomfortable, sticky heat because it touched your skin first, or remembering the exact way your eyebrows moved when you were confused, or missing somebody so intensely that even morning light starts feeling like fate; there was nothing sensible in falling for someone that makes him act so unpredictably.

“listen, dude. you gotta get the fuck up.”

sunghoon doesn’t realise how badly his neck aches until he turns away from the window. the movement pulls uncomfortably down his shoulders, stiff from sleeping wrong and doing absolutely nothing for days that didn’t involve practice. to his right stands lee heeseung, leaning against the doorframe with one eyebrow raised, looking mildly offended by the fact that somebody could sleep until ten in the morning.

“this is pathetic, do you realise that?” he sighs, pushing himself off the frame and strolling into sunghoon’s room with that same easy, unaffected energy he’s always had. carefree in a way that feels irritating today, and familiar in a way that reminds him too much of you. for a brief second, sunghoon sees it—the appeal. why you looked at him first, and why it was easy to do so. “man. you don’t even run in the morning anymore.”

“get out,” sunghoon mumbles, rolling over onto his side. his skin is cold where it leaves the sunlight and the sheets feel warmer than they should, sending a brief chill down his spine. “i am not in the mood to deal with you.”

“deal with me?” heeseung lets out this dramatic breath of disbelief and sunghoon hears the familiar squeak of his desk chair protesting under sudden weight. wheels scrape softly against the floor before rolling closer and closer until heeseung’s annoyingly charismatic face enters his peripheral. “everyone’s been dealing with your moping, hoon. it gets obvious when it’s six instead of seven after, like, two days—”

“okay.”

“okay?” heeseung repeats immediately, eyebrows lifting. his elbow lands on the arm rest and his chin settles into his hand. “okay.”

sunghoon shuts his eyes. the silence feels like summer all over again.

“do you wanna tell me why the fuck you’re being all weird?”

heeseung’s voice softens slightly. not enough to make a big thing out of it, because god knows how bad sunghoon would freak out and punch him in the mouth for that—but it’s enough to show the concern building up over the past few weeks.

sunghoon opens his eyes again, and somehow, seeing and hearing it for himself only annoys him more. sure, he knows it’s ridiculous and childish and just unfair, but he can’t help himself.

heeseung shouldn’t be worried. nothing happened to him. he didn’t stand in the park and watch you walk away, and he didn’t spend a month replaying every conversation, trying to figure out which version of him you liked more—and he did not ruin anything.

he swallows and stares at the windows again, drifting away from heeseung’s face.

the sunlight’s moved further away.

“i’m fine,” sunghoon says—his voice comes out flatter than intended. regardless, he does nothing to make himself sound any more convincing, and even if he did, he knows heeseung would see right through it.

the chair squeaks again as his friend leans further back, an unconvincing scoff being the only thing that leaves his lips. a soft thud as the backrest hits the wall, sunghoon would’ve glared at him any other day—but now, he can’t seem to find the energy.

“y’know, for someone who spent years acting all emotionless,” heeseung mumbles under his breath, “you’re shit at pretending like you don’t have them.”

it’s a decibel too loud to be accidental. sunghoon can’t even get angry now, because he knows better. after all this time, he really does—he knows better than to get angry at anyone else but himself.

he doesn’t answer. heeseung watches him for a little longer, head tilting slightly as his eyes drift over sunghoon’s face, lingering around the redness in his eyes and the exhaustion dragging down his expression. there’s a brief moment where he looks like he wants to say something and thinks better of it.

“…you know, i still think what you did was insane. i still don’t get why you didn’t just tell her.”

sunghoon closes his eyes. he’s not trying to avoid it, believe him—he’s spent majority of his days holding the guilt against himself, on his shoulders, feeling it weigh down on his chest for days a time. he doesn’t necessarily disagree.

“you talked to someone for months, pretending to be somebody else, and expected that to work?”

sunghoon’s jaw almost shatters from how hard he’s clenching it. he imagined you saying those same words to him, at some point. your gentle smile behind his eyelids seem to be one of many things preventing him from beating the shit out of the guy.

lee heeseung notices it, and can’t help but sigh. “you looked happier, hoon. really.”

sunghoon wishes he just went back to sleep. he doesn’t know what good this is doing him, really—he’s aware of it. it’s lying everywhere, the proof scattered around like meaningless scraps: his reduced sleep, terrible appetite and unwillingness to see any girl that isn’t you.

he knows better than anyone how happy he was.

“didn’t know what it was at first,” he says. “thought you made it to the olympic lineup or something. shit’s no joke.”

he’s not even looking at sunghoon anymore. “i know it when i see it. checking your phone every five minutes, laughing more. then you came home looking like someone fucking died.”

heeseung scratches at the back of his neck, but sunghoon looks away before he can utter the last word.

“do i know her?”

“no.”

sunghoon’s answer is immediate. too quick not to raise his other eyebrow, apparently. heeseung notices, and sunghoon notices that heeseung notices—but both never look each other in the eye.

“…okay.” heeseung mutters. his eyes drift around the room instead, trying to keep themselves occupied, if only for the sake of not looking too long at his miserable, bed-ridden friend’s face. his fingers tap idly against the armrest once, twice, before stopping altogether.

“you’re making this way worse for me, heeseung,” sunghoon deadpans, hand coming up to rub at his eyes. the scene feels oddly intimate for someone who still doesn’t know half of what sunghoon’s done. “it’s getting on my nerves.”

“good.”

sunghoon shoots him a look. heeseung just smiles, soft and underpainted with concern that hurts him to even acknowledge. for all the effort sunghoon’s spent making himself difficult to read—for all the years of swallowing things whole and convincing himself that if nobody saw him, then nothing could really touch him—he’s still shocked that people notice when things go bad.

after a few, quiet minutes of sunghoon wishing for heeseung to vanish into thin air and heeseung’s incessant staring, he speaks again.

“…you going to sunoo’s thing this weekend?”

he completely forgot about that. sunghoon blinks slowly, the memories coming back to him now—he remembers, vividly, your voice on the phone, rambling about the stupid thing for five minutes.

you sounded ridiculously excited. obvious now why that was, it still feels just as bitter as it did back then. “what?”

he knows what. he doesn’t know why he’s acting like he doesn’t have a clue what heeseung’s saying.

“sunoo was freaking out yesterday,” he laughs to himself, head tipping back slightly as the chair rocks under him. one foot drags absentmindedly against the floor while his fingers hook around the edge of the armrest. “said he only needs two more people before he reaches the donation limit. i wonder how long the queue’s gonna be.”

sunghoon can vaguely predict where this conversation is going. his eyes narrow a little, and thinks he’ll genuinely kill lee heeseung if he even suggests going to that ridiculous event. if anybody came up and asked him for donations, he’d give it. fine. whatever. just not while publicly exchanging his dignity for it—

“you should go.”

of course.

sunghoon stares at him, blank-eyed with lips pressed together so tightly they almost disappear.

heeseung looks back for exactly half a second before exhaling through his nose, rolling himself backwards in the chair, spinning once and pushing himself off the wall with one foot.

“okay—listen. you need it, man. you’re acting like the love of your life just died, and shit, sitting around and waiting to stop missing her isn’t gonna fix anything.”

sunghoon lets out a quiet laugh through his nose. humourless, if anything. his hand drags slowly down his face, pressing hard enough over his eyes that little bursts of colour bloom behind his eyelids, like he could wipe the exhaustion—or the irritation—straight off his skin. “you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ah-ah,” heeseung immediately lifts a hand and wiggles his weirdly long index finger right in sunghoon’s face. nothing productive is going to come out of this conversation, sunghoon realises, so he just decides on shutting up for the rest of the conversation. “i know you keep acting like she already decided on hating you. it’s fine, y’know, if she does.”

heeseung sighs before slapping his palms against his thighs. he gets up in one, swift motion. “don’t you think she has every right to, sunghoon?”

his throat tightens.

“i—”

“shut up,” heeseung cuts him off instantly. “you’re such a control freak, it weirds me out. how did sooha even deal with all that?”

sunghoon is already pushing himself up from the bed. he will hang lee heeseung out to dry—upside down, in nothing but his boxers on this cold, dry autumn day.

though, by the time sunghoon actually manages to sit upright, heeseung’s already halfway out the door. with his hand still clasped around the metal doorknob:

“if she hates you, you should probably let her say that herself.”

the door shuts before sunghoon gets the final word.

he sits there, just for a moment. blanket pooled at the waist, room quiet except for a heater that doesn’t work very well. outside, there’s leaves scraping against the roof and sunghoon just stares at the closed door like it might open up again, with a completely different approach or words that won’t scare him the way heeseung’s did.

it does not.

─────────────────────────

you spent most of your summer waiting.

there’s something cruel about time. unstoppable, immovable, and somehow always aware of when you want it to move faster. it stretches itself thin when you need relief and collapses in on itself when you want more.

summer had always felt like that—golden and lazy and unbearably alive through the heat—but this year, it moved strangely, like someone had pulled all the warmth out and left only an afterglow.

your routine had gone to shit.

you slept at four in the morning, most days, and woke up at around eleven. lunch only happened when there was enough to get by in the fridge, and if your air-fryer was clean enough from the night before—jiwon often had to drag you by the ear to make that happen. half your laundry stays unfolded, because god knows where you disappear to in the middle of folding it, and the books from a month ago still stay.

there are hours spent doing nothing, and yet, the exhaustion lingers. stays in your bones, fusing with you, and refusing to leave.

the worst part isn’t even that you miss park sunghoon, either. it’s how often you reached for him, that being without him feels as significant as loss.

how ironic, considering you never had him to begin with.

you’re curled up on your couch, cheek squished up against the fabric and your knees tucked to your chest. oh jiwon is somewhere in this apartment with you—you’re not exactly sure where, but the soft banging of pots is enough to make a guesstimate.

“what’re you doing?” you yell, half-heartedly because you’re still aware enough to acknowlege your neighbours. “jiwon?”

she doesn’t respond. probably something about dinner, you think. the show on tv is loud enough for her voice to fade into the background, anyhow.

summer break ended some time ago—and with it went the warmth and heat and fuzziness that came with the man on the other end of the line. autumn arrives eventually, cruel in the way all inevitable things are, forcing you and everyone else to spend a little longer indoors because of the increasing cold. september is especially vicious; the air is sharper now, thinner, and you stop walking through that park altogether because every bench and every couple under those stupid yellow streetlamps reminds you too much of him.

for a guy that claimed to be so mundane, he sure takes up an absurd amount of your headspace—even now, even after more than a month of waiting and leaving and forcing yourself not to say things you wouldn’t be able to take back, he still lingers.

your hand still hovers over your phone after seeing something stupid online. you still walk past cute cafés and think he’d probably hate this place. you still watch movies and mentally bookmark scenes because you think he’d have too much fun analysing them with you and somehow, make the whole experience annoyingly enjoyable at the same time.

you still doubt yourself, and you still hear his voice afterwards—steady, certain, monotonous and so lovingly boring—pulling you back up before you spiral too far.

the silence fills your room like a slow-moving plague, settling into corners and underneath your blankets and against your walls until eventually, you start relying on old conversations to fall asleep.

you remember his laugh before his face, and you loved him before you saw his eyes. there’s something pathetic in that, you think, almost gullible—that after everything, after all the anger and humiliation and crying and weeks spent convincing yourself that this should not matter as much as it does—you still soften at the thought of him.

you hate that. you hate that he lied to you, and somehow, still ended up becoming so woven into parts of your life—enough for it to feel impossible to pull apart.

you hate it all, but never him.

“heeello?”

you blink before seeing jiwon’s legs standing right in your line of vision. blocking the subtitles, more like it.

she stares down at you from above with one eyebrow raised, afternoon light shining behind her head, casting her face into shadow in a way that feels unnecessarily threatening for someone holding an empty pot.

“what are you doing? get out of the way.” you squint, shifting ever so slightly—and completely uselessly—to get a full view of the text on screen. your head tilts one way, then the other, as though changing the angle will somehow let you see through her body.

she narrows her eyes and tilts her head, hair falling over her shoulder fluidly. she does that motion where she’s about to hit you with the pan, but you flinch hard enough for her to laugh and lower it down. “welcome back! have fun spacing out? i’ve been asking what you want for dinner, for like, five minutes.”

jiwon follows your line of sight and twists around, just enough to get a proper look at the tv, rolling her eyes before her mouth pulls strangely to one side.

“…you know you watched this last night, right?”

of course she knows that. cons of sharing a netflix account with your best friend, and co-habiting with her for the past month.

your eyes drift back to the screen and the episode progress bar, sitting near the end and there’s already that stupid little preview box hovering in the corner asking whether you want to continue to the next episode. you don’t remember a single thing that happened, and can’t find the energy to recall.

you let out a long sigh and prop yourself up properly against the sofa, blanket bunching around your waist. jiwon’s folding her arms now, a slight frown on her face, and you dislike it immensely.

“…what?”

she stares at you for another second before walking over and dropping onto the other side of the couch, pulling one leg up beneath herself.

“…okay,” she says slowly, looking at you in that way people do when they already know the answer. “are we gonna keep pretending you’re okay or am i finally allowed to ask? will you blow up on me again, or—”

“jiwon—”

“it’s fine, y’know,” she babbles on, immediately waving the hand holding the ladle, before circling around the coffee table. she drops down right next to you with enough force to make the cushions dip. pulling one leg underneath herself, she points dramatically to the apartment around her. “i can just stay here forever, cook forever, and clean forever. it’s alright!”

you stare at her, then glance at the pot, and finally, at the folded laundry sitting on the armchair.

you pinch at the bridge of your nose.

“…i didn’t ask you to do all that,” you mutter under your breath, eyes dropping back to the paused show. your fingers knead at the skin there once, twice, before your hand drops into your lap. you let out another sigh and lean your head back against the sofa. “i’m fine by myself—”

jiwon turns immediately. her eyebrows pull together, and her jaw almost goes rigid. “i do it because i care about you. don’t make me regret it.”

she’s already looking away afterwards, fiddling with the sleeve of her hoodie, and reaching over to adjust the blanket pooled around your legs.

your head hurts. the room is too quiet, again, without that show playing, or the music blasting on the home speakers.

how is it that the missing piece in your life is shaped exactly like park sunghoon?

summer. so useless, and yet, you were so alive.

“listen.” jiwon’s voice cuts through your thoughts. you turn, and she’s twisted sideways now, one leg tucked under herself and chin resting against her palm while her other hand reaches over to steal the remote. she clicks it twice before deciding against turning anything on again.

“about that thing this weekend—”

your jaw hangs. “are you kidding?”

jiwon’s eyes widen immediately. she sighs, both hands dragging down the sides of her face before slapping against the backrest of the couch.

“okay, i know we agreed to go together to the charity event, and all the different booths and shit like that, but my dad’s finally in town again, and i just—”

you wave your hand quickly, once before she can finish, eyes not leaving the screen as your fingers start picking at the seam of the blanket. “oh, yeah, no. i’ll just skip. it’s all good.”

jiwon turns properly this time. her forehead creases. “…what? what about the money?”

you shrug one shoulder and scratch absentmindedly at a loose thread near your knee. “it comes back. it’s all good. if it’s that big of a deal to you, ask your dad to apple pay me.”

jiwon stares at you for a second too long before setting the remote down, scooting across the couch in one smooth movement until her knee bumps against yours. she squints slightly, head tilting as she searches your face. “okay,” she says slowly, one hand reaching over to pinch the fabric over your thigh. “not funny.”

you squeal, and she just grumbles.

then, she nudges your knee with hers again. “but seriously,” she says, shoulders relaxing as she turns more towards you and props her elbow against the backrest, “you need to get the fuck outside.”

you let out a quiet laugh. “you’ve been stuck with me this entire time. we need to go outside.”

jiwon shakes her head immediately and sits up straighter, her fingers slipping off the blanket and flat against your forearm instead. “no,” she says. “that’s not what i mean.”

you look away, and she notices. of course, she notices.

her thumb taps once against your skin before she lets her hand drop.

“…i know you’re avoiding seeing him,” she mutters, eyes drifting briefly around the apartment—the dishes, the curtains that haven’t been opened properly all week, the same hoodie you’ve worn thrice in a row—before settling back on you. she presses her lips together and reaches over to smooth the blanket over your knee again. “but you’re throwing everything away for that.”

you don’t say a thing. you feel like a coward. you feel like a liar. you feel like a lot of things, but jiwon’s looking at you like you’re not.

“…you’ve been talking about that stupid fundraiser since february,” she continues. “you made me pay thirty dollars to get matched with strangers…. among other things. you’ll pay me for that, right?”

she realises, a second too late, that you’re not laughing.

you look away, eyes locked on something outside the window. you can’t really tell with how your vision begins to blur. she waits for a response, but when it becomes clear she isn’t getting one:

“you wanted to go.”

your hand comes up and presses against your mouth.

you remember sitting in the library during finals with your laptop open, and your notes everywhere and thinking about it between lectures. your brain would drift whenever revision got unbearable, and suddenly, you’d be imagining what you’d wear and whether heeseung would actually come, and if he’d be as nice as everybody said he was.

it felt harmless then. stupid and harmless. a little reward waiting at the end.

you remember texting jiwon about it. making jokes, pretending not to care.

but now, you remember another thing.

you remember sitting in the exact same library with someone only two feet away. you remember somebody asking if you’d eaten, and somebody telling you to stop being perfect. somebody remembering your schedule better than you did. somebody finding you in that secluded corner, where the world didn’t exist beyond it, if only for a few hours.

you remember leaving that library and not thinking about lee heeseung at all.

your thumb presses harder against your lip. you’ve been biting at a piece of dead skin on your cuticle unconsciously. “that’s embarrassing.”

jiwon frowns.

“…i don’t think i actually wanted him.”

she doesn’t interrupt.

you keep staring at the television instead, eyes tracing shapes that stopped moving minutes ago. your fingers keep smoothing over the blanket stretched across your lap, flattening the same crease over and over until the friction starts irritating your palms. eventually, your thumb catches on loose thread and you pick at it absentmindedly, winding it once around your finger before letting it snap back. “…i think i just liked wanting something. he was hot, yeah, and people liked him.”

“thought maybe…” you bite down on your bottom lip. “i don’t know. maybe if somebody like that liked me back, then that would mean something.”

everyone’s always told you that you had terrible luck.

you remember teachers saying things like that’s unfortunate and friends joking that your life always sounded a little too dramatic to be accidental. wrong place, wrong time—missing buses. getting sick before things you cared about, liking people that didn’t like you back. liking people too late. liking people wrong. liking people at all.

“proving that i’m not all that unlikeable...” you mumble. “but i’m just as unlucky as everyone says.”

it was never that serious to complain about. it mostly served it’s purpose as comedic relief in other people’s lives, but as one knows, after the age of sixteen—everything just seems self-deprecating instead of humorous.

“you like him.”

jiwon’s voice is slightly too quiet for it to be a declaration. she says it softly enough that you could pretend you didn’t hear, or so that you could roll your eyes and say obviously not and she’d just let you.

you try to think about all the reasons why you don’t, and why you can’t. you think about lying, about the trust, about the humiliation and about standing in the middle of the park, crying like that in front of someone who played you like a puppet.

and still, you do not say a thing.

“i think…” she starts quietly, eyes dropping to where your hands meet before lifting back to your face. “it doesn’t actually change anything. the one you like is still sunghoon, y/n. no amount of this—whatever this is that you’re doing—is going to change that.”

“you fell for who he was. the name was irrelevant, wasn’t it?”

jiwon watches you for a while after that, shoulders sinking further into the couch. she studies your face, one hand disappearing into the sleeve of her hoodie while the other stays resting over the blanket draped across your legs, fingers absentmindedly playing with yours.

she glances at the television once—the paused menu, your reflection sitting small and folded into yourself against all that dead blue light—and exhales quietly through her nose before shifting closer to you.

“can i say something else that might piss you off?”

you keep your eyes forward, rubbing your thumb over the edge of the blanket. “what?”

jiwon squints at you for a second before nodding once, slowly, like she’s 99% sure you will get pissed off anyway at the statement she’s going to make.

“okay. i think you’re being unfair—not to him, though. just yourself,” she says. “i’ve been watching you do this thing for a month now. you keep saying he’s bad for you.”

you look down. she notices, of course.

“maybe he is. probably. whatever,” jiwon mutters under her breath, trying to remember what point she was trying to make. “but i don’t think that’s why you’re cancelling on m—”

“you cancelled, by the way.”

“still. you’re just scared that all those feelings will come back, or that they’ll be completely gone, and it’s scary.” she’s looking forward now, too. she finds it harder to be serious when she’s looking at you in the eye. “it was real, right? everything?”

right.

you hum in acknowledgement, low and partially absent, eyes still fixed somewhere near the bottom corner of the television where the subtitles would usually sit. jiwon watches your face for another second too long, before taking it as permission to continue. honestly, she’s a little surprised you haven’t mauled her yet. a month ago, she would’ve gotten a cushion launched at her head by now.

“the more like you pretend he isn’t real, the more it’ll hurt,” she sighs. “you can forgive him, or don’t, i’m not gonna tell you what to do like we’re fifteen again. oh, that was a really bad time for both of us—ow!”

your fingers dart out before you can stop yourself, pinching the soft skin above her knee hard enough for her whole body to jolt sideways with a startled squeal. she swats uselessly at your hand, rubbing furiously at the spot through her sweatpants before shooting you the most deeply offended look she can manage.

“could you just listen to me for once?” she groans, collapsing dramatically into the couch cushions. “i’m trying really hard to be wise here.”

you roll your eyes, but the corner of your mouth betrays you anyway.

“there it is,” jiwon points immediately, grinning so wide it almost irritates you. “see? you’re capable of experiencing joy!”

“i’m about to experience violence.”

“that’s my girl!”

she laughs to herself before the smile gradually slips away again, replaced by something more serious. her fingers fold together in her lap, thumbs rubbing absentmindedly against each other as she stares down at them for a moment, gathering whatever was left of her courage. when she looks back up, there’s none of that usual teasing left on her face.

“look,” she sighs. “i’m not trying to convince you that what he did wasn’t awful, because it was. i wanted to punch him just from hearing about it, and i still kinda do.”

she wrinkles her nose. “but i also watched you spend almost your entire summer waiting for him to call. you kept pretending you were watching movies when you were really staring at your phone, and you even stopped walking through that park because every bench reminded you of him.”

your throat tightens.

“you don't have to forgive him,” she continues, shaking her head slowly, reaching over to brush a strand of hair away from your face. “honestly, maybe you never will. maybe you shouldn't. but i don't think hiding from the world is the same thing as moving on, y/n.”

you keep your eyes fixed on the ceiling, on the little crack running along the corner where the paint has started to peel. “what if i see him,” you mumble, barely louder than the hum of the fridge from the kitchen, “and i still want him?”

jiwon's expression doesn't change. she takes a moment before her mouth parts slightly, just enough to answer. “then you'll know.”

"and if i don't?"

she shrugs gently, her hand lingering over yours for another second, thumb brushing your knuckle once before it falls back into her lap. she looks almost sad when she says it. "then you'll know that, too."

the apartment falls quiet again. somewhere outside, a car door slams, and a few birds chirp before scattering into the clouds. someone's drilling something in the apartment above you. someone's yelling something in the street. the world keeps going, indifferent and loud, the way it always does when you seem to be

“okay.”

jiwon watches you for a second longer, like she's checking the word for cracks. she must not have found any, or perhaps a few too many to name, because she just lets it go.

─────────────────────────

by the time you reach campus, the fundraiser is already in full swing.

the entire quad has transformed overnight into something almost unrecognisable. white canopy tents stretch across the lawn in neat, uneven rows, their fabric flapping in the wind whenever the cold september breeze decides to pass through.

handmade banners hang crookedly above each stall, painted with far too much enthusiasm and not nearly enough artistic ability—bright acrylic letters bleeding into one another, beneath glitter and shiny lettering that catches the afternoon sun every time somebody walks past.

“come visit booth 6!” “free drinks at booth 52!” “stand a chance to win—”

somewhere off to your left, somebody is aggressively advertising homemade brownies through a megaphone that crackles every other sentence, while another group has somehow convinced the jazz society to play live beside the engineering department’s robotics display. the music overlaps with laughter, conversations, applause and the occasional groan from somebody losing money at one of the carnival games, until it all melts together into any introvert’s worst nightmare.

jiwon, as foretold, is busy smiling, shaking hands and pretending to enjoy the company of the stepfather she’s complained about for the better part of four years, leaving you to fend for yourself amongst a sea of strangers. you’re beginning to wonder if any of this was even worth not paying her the thirty dollars for bailing. you could’ve been at home instead, cocooned underneath your duvet with instant noodles balanced precariously on your stomach while you binged that stupid show she keeps interrupting halfway through every episode—but apparently you did not need to be “sixty dollars broker,” and allegedly, according to her, “exposure builds character.”

students drift through the walkways in slow, uneven currents, weaving around one another with paper cups warming their hands and tote bags slipping from tired shoulders. autumn has only just begun settling over campus, leaving enough warmth in the afternoon sun to coax everyone outside while the breeze nips at exposed skin, carrying with it the smell of caramel popcorn, burnt coffee, fried food and fresh paint that still hasn't completely dried on half the handmade signs.

every few steps, someone brushes your shoulder without meaning to, and another laughs so loudly it echoes between the buildings. the quad feels impossibly alive, like the entire student body had been holding its breath for weeks and finally remembered how to exhale.

you've just realised how long it'd been since you'd seen campus like this.

exam season had stripped everything bare. the library became the centre of everybody's universe, swallowing entire afternoons until the only sounds left were pages turning, keyboards clacking and chairs scraping softly against carpet. everyone looked permanently exhausted beneath fluorescent lighting, surviving almost exclusively on caffeine and blind optimism, and now they're outside again.

clubs are recruiting first-years with embarrassingly enthusiastic chants, and the fourth-year students are pretending they aren't equally interested in the free tote bags.

autumn seems to bring something different into the air. meanwhile, summer, as you've known it, was spent mostly indoors or at the corner store fifteen minutes from campus, where you'd stand in front of the instant noodle shelf for far longer than necessary before carrying the same cup outside to eat on the outdoor seating. there were a handful of evenings where you'd glance up every time a dark-haired guy walked past, stomach flipping before common sense caught up with you. there were even more where you caught yourself wondering whether park sunghoon had ever been here before, whether he'd ever stood in front of the same vending machine deciding between two drinks, whether he'd look out for you the same way you did.

every single time, you wanted to walk straight into incoming traffic for even entertaining the thought. it's ridiculous. he literally lives on campus.

you spend quite a bit of time walking around the place. the sun isn’t too brutal at this time of day, and for once, you don’t dread seeing a bunch of people you know—there’s moments where you make eye contact with an old friend, a new acquaintance or someone who’s friends with someone you know, and they wave like they’ve known you for years. your feet begin to hurt by the end of the hour, and when you look down, you realise you’re holding an overpriced sea salt latte, a bag of homemade cookies, and a doodle of you a second-year student made for $5.

there’s a few flyers in your bag, too. you don’t even remember being interested in crocheting, but alright. somewhere along the way, you’ve lost the map that some student union members handed you when you first walked in, and for fifteen blissful minutes, you convinced yourself that you’ve never been to this part of the quad before.

it works. for a while.

you’re patting your jeans down. perhaps you folded it or crumpled it together with receipts or other useless junk from the day, but it’s literally vanished. nevertheless, your feet are carrying you to unknown places, through thickening crowds and high-pitched laughter that feels impossible to distinguish which direction it originates from.

somebody almost knocks your latte out of your hand. you almost cuss him out, before he whispers a ‘sorry!’ and joins a snaking queue, spilling onto the footpath.

“my god.”

you’re back at sunoo’s booth. pastel pink, covered in ikea string lights that are certainly not suited for outdoor use, the banner above spelling exactly what you signed up for: soul searching.

it sways gently overhead, now slightly lopsided after surviving what looked like several hours of relentless traffic. whoever had decorated the booth this morning had given up on maintaining any sort of order—heart-shaped balloons floated at uneven heights, paper cupid arrows had started peeling away from the tent poles, and one of the volunteers was hurriedly taping another handwritten sign across the front of the table.

queue full! please scan the qr code to join the line! we'll text you when it's your turn ♡

"honestly," somebody behind you mutters as they walk by. "this is way better. nobody’s standing for two hours.”

“right? i’m hoping they move me to the front,” their friend responds. “i bought the early ones too… i feel so fucking desperate. at least we’re in the line at all.”

you glance towards the front, almost absentmindedly. they weren’t wrong—the line that had wrapped halfway around the quad earlier had disappeared entirely, replaced instead by clusters of students with phones in hand. they’re hopping around and comparing wait times while volunteers hurried between the very few tables available, trying to answer stupid questions before the next wave arrived.

you did pay for this. your latte’s gone warm, anyway, and the condensation is starting to drip down onto your sleeves. might as well find out whether your ticket's even still valid.

the qr code sits laminated against the edge of the registration table, surrounded by little hand-drawn hearts and stars that look suspiciously like sunoo's work. you fish your phone out of your tote, thumb hovering over the camera app for just a second before lifting it. you step closer to get a clearer view, tongue poking at your cheek—

"hold on.”

you glance up, blinking slowly until sunoo comes into focus. he’s dressed in all sorts of shades of pink, from hot to muted to pastel, and his cheeks have hearts face-painted onto them.

“y/n! you actually came!”

he breaks into a wide grin, so wide that it almost scares you. for a brief moment, you wonder if this is even the kim sunoo you know, considering he was never too worried for your attendance when the fundraiser was first brought up.

before you can even say hello, he's already leaning across the table, volunteer lanyard swinging forward as he peeks at the ticket confirmation on your screen. you hadn’t realised it’s already loaded, displaying the ‘early-bird’ status right at the top. in bold, like it wasn’t humiliating enough just being here.

“i paid, so…”

he circles around the table.

“exactly!” his finger points at your phone. “early bird. you’re lucky!”

you nod slowly, like you understand where this conversation’s about to go. truth be told, you don’t, so in order to hide the confusion, your eyes dart around to avoid his.

"…early-bird participants get priority once they join the queue.”

strange. the other laminated sign your eyes land on, which is pasted right behind sunoo’s head, conveniently says otherwise.

early-bird = guaranteed queue number! ♡ NO PRIORITY sorry!!! :( ♡

“i’m pretty sure that’s not how it works—”

“it literally is.” sunoo declares, with such effortless confidence that you might’ve believed him if not for the piece of paper taped up behind him. he still wears that smile, his cheeks rounding in a way that makes it dangerously easy to nod along, right until one of the volunteers at the registration table slowly lifts his head and looks over.

he deadpans. “sunoo.”

“what?”

“…since when?”

kim sunoo doesn’t even bother turning around to answer his fellow volunteer. you suppose being the organiser has its perks, because he simply says, “since today! operational changes are needed, aren’t they?”

all the guy can do is sigh and rub at his temples.

“great!” sunoo beams, already uncapping a marker with his teeth before flicking the cap into his palm. he hunches over the clipboard, the tip squeaking furiously across the paper in quick, decisive strokes, barely pausing to breathe before thrusting it back against his chest. “congratulations, y/n!”

you narrow your eyes. “on what?”

“you’re next!” he tears a small ticket from the pad with a sharp riiiip, stamps it against the clipboard with far more force than necessary, then slides it into your hand like he’s finalising an important legal transaction.

“sunoo, there’s literally people waiting behind me.”

sunoo merely raises an eyebrow. he tilts his head, peering past your shoulder with enough curiosity that, against your better judgment, you glance back too.

you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

a queue of complete strangers is, in fact, staring directly at the two of you. some look mildly confused, others openly entertained, but most are just pissed off. one guy even checks his phone, like he’s trying to figure out whether he’s somehow joined the wrong line, and how he, too, could join ‘priority-access’.

“huh."

when you turn back around, sunoo’s already smiling again, not a shred of shame anywhere on his face. “you’re making this up, aren’t y—”

“prove it.”

“okay, then.”

─────────────────────────

a volunteer pulls the canvas flap aside for you with an overly enthusiastic smile, hair sticking to his forehead from the (presumably) constant back and forth sunoo’s making him do. for such a small booth team, the place is surprisingly put-together, and the online queue isn’t glitching out the way other booth’s are. you had to admit that you were somewhat glad you came.

“good luck,” he whispers, to which you reply with a confused expression before walking in.

the noise disappears almost immediately.

the bustle outside dulls into a soft, muffled hum behind layers of canvas, leaving the tiny booth wrapped in an unexpected sort of quiet. sunlight filters through the cream-coloured fabric overhead, warming the little space in soft patches until everything inside glows honey-gold.

it smells faintly of vanilla and paper, with the lingering sweetness of somebody’s perfume clinging stubbornly to the air from the last pairing. you wonder where they went to after their five minutes of alone time—did they go to grab coffee? did he say something to piss her off, and she stormed out early? is that why sunoo’s giving you priority?

you stop just after the entrance.

“oh.”

it’s… actually kind of nice.

someone had gone through an embarrassing amount of effort decorating the place. ivy vines wind around the tent poles alongside more tiny string lights, and battery-powered candles flicker lazily in the centre of a small round table dressed with a cream linen cloth.

a little glass jar is overflowing with folded paper stars. it sits between two untouched bottles of water, and it almost makes you wonder how much money they poured into this thing, before you remember that they probably went over the donation limit a long, long time ago.

somebody had even scattered fake rose petals across the tabletop, though several had already drifted onto the flimsy plywood beneath the chairs.

there’s only two seats. complimentary seat cushion, too, also pink and plaid. you sigh, seeing how it was already squished flat from all the people sitting on it before you, but you make your way regardless. the amount of walking you’ve put yourself through has done no justice to your feet, anyway.

the first thing you notice is that whoever’s sitting across from you is going to bump your knees, unless he happens to be significantly shorter.

you don’t really mind it. the tent is only so big, and god knows how they even managed to squeeze a table through that narrow entrance. still, it’s enough to make you silently hope he isn’t particularly tall, either.

you let out a quiet breath through your nose.

beside the battery-operated candle sits a neat stack of laminated cards bound together by a stainless steel ring, each one printed with colourful lettering and tiny doodles tucked into the corners.

♡ conversation starters ♡

you already know this is going to be terrible. who the hell pitched this?

#5 what’s your most irrational fear?

too intimate.

your fingers flip through the stack, anyway. there’s an identical set resting on the opposite side of the table, presumably waiting for whoever draws the short straw across from you.

#8 if you could relive one day of your life, which would you choose?

too deep. nobody thought these through. you keep flipping, snorting under your breath every few cards.

#10 what’s your biggest regret?

#11 when did you last cry?

#12 do you fall for looks, or personality?

your smile fades before you realise it had even appeared at all. another prank by the universe, you suppose.

the cards settle back onto the table with a soft tap. your hands find their way to the armrests, tapping against the wood, anything to stop thinking about the guy you’re not supposed to be thinking about.

outside, somebody cheers loud enough for it to seep through the canvas walls, followed by another chorus of laughter that slowly dissolves back into the fundraiser’s usual chatter. you glance instinctively toward the entrance, expecting the fabric to move.

nothing. the chair opposite you remains empty, and no one’s walking through that tarp.

you check your phone. it’s been three minutes.

you’re drumming your fingers lightly against the edge of the table now, watching the fake candle flicker. the tiny plastic flame sways with every movement of the air-conditioning fan someone had hidden near the ceiling of the tent, convincing enough that you almost forget it isn’t real.

the things you do in pursuit of love, you think.

it’s almost funny, now that you’re sitting here.

you remember signing up for this thing with only one person in mind—someone you barely knew, someone you had no right to like because of all the missing pieces your imagination had so generously filled in. back then, this booth felt like a shortcut. maybe you’d sit across from lee heeseung, maybe he’d smile at you, maybe the universe would finally decide to do you one favour in this unlucky life of yours.

there was a point where you thought you knew your type. the kind of guy that seemed so easy to trip and fall on your face for. maybe it was that new year’s party, when you caught him standing at the front of the house with a cigarette between his fingers, the street light catching against his jaw while everyone else laughed somewhere behind you. maybe it was those tuesday mornings outside the cafeteria. maybe it was the words of everyone around you, but either way, you never really heard his voice, or stood close enough to know how he laughed, what he sounded like when he was tired, or whether he was a better listener than talker.

distance has a funny way of disguising itself as depth. you mistake wondering for understanding, admiration for affection, until one day you’ve built an entire person out of scattered glances and second-hand stories. maybe that was all the crush had ever been—a collection of assumptions, stitched together by not knowing enough.

perhaps, it was never about lee heeseung at all.

park sunghoon is a fucking headache. he lingers in every inconvenient corner of your life, occupying your thoughts long after he shattered your heart and broke your trust that summer night. it’s almost cruel how thoroughly he’s rooted himself into your memory—his voice still finds you before your own thoughts do, his quiet laugh still sneaks into your head whenever something stupid happens. you remember the thoughtful pauses before he’d answer your questions, the accidental sincerity he always seemed embarrassed by, and the unwavering certainty with which he’d tell you that you were capable of things you never believed you could do yourself.

despite the lies, the betrayal, despite everything. despite the way he looked at you that night, like he couldn’t bear to lose you, and still let you walk away—you realise that there isn’t a single part of you that wishes it had been lee heeseung from the beginning.

the canvas shifts.

at first, it’s nothing more than a shadow moving across the pale canvas, followed by the dull scrape of shoes against packed grass outside. somebody murmurs something—a volunteer, probably—and another voice answers too quietly for you to make out.

your heart’s beating out of your chest. the last time you felt like this, it was january first, and also three in the morning.

the flap rustles once before stilling again, as though whoever’s on the other side already regrets doing this. you let out a quiet laugh through your nose, watching the silhouette hesitate in the narrow entrance where the fading warmth of september collides with the dry chill of the portable air-conditioner humming somewhere overhead.

the afternoon sun outlines him first. he’s tall, broad, holding a bouquet of flowers in his right hand. he turns halfway around to mumble something behind him, and through the gap in the canvas, you catch a glimpse of someone suspiciously resembling sunoo. whatever he says earns him a sharp slap between the shoulder blades and an exaggerated shove forward, the bouquet wobbling dangerously in his grip before he manages to catch it against his chest.

your fingers are still tracing the laminated edge of one of the conversation cards when the canvas finally parts. he stumbles through the entrance, muttering what sounds like an embarrassed complaint under his breath, one hand instinctively reaching back to steady the flap before it swings shut behind him.

you only realise who he is when he looks up.

the sleeves are shoved up to his elbows like they always are, but he looks better than the last time you saw him—cleaner, less wrecked, like he’s actually been sleeping well now that you’re not around. his hair has grown out just enough to fall over his eyebrows, and despite everything, despite the month that’s wedged itself between the two of you, you remember every single feature on his face, and just how much you missed it.

that’s when you realise that a month and a half is nearly not enough time to forget.

for one impossible second, relief blooms before your brain catches up to your body.

the world seems like it’s flipping upside down, now. park sunghoon freezes, like he wasn’t expecting either; your pulse is slamming against your ribs so violently that you swear he must be able to hear it. you can hear your blood rushing in your ears by the time you stand up—chair screeching violently against the plywood as you shove yourself backwards, the legs offering some resistance before jerking free with your force.

your knees collide with the underside of the table hard enough to send the fake candle wobbling between the two of you. it’s tiny, plastic flame is flickering, almost mocking.

every instinct you have screams the same thing: leave.

sunghoon notices (of course he does), and something inside his expression crumbles just enough for you to feel like you’ve been stabbed in the heart.

his shoulder sinks by barely an inch, the hand which holds the bouquet to his stomach now dropping to his side. he doesn’t move any closer, too afraid to even breathe audibly, just standing by the entrance with the afternoon light outlining his familiar silhouette.

his eyes are soft, a gentle smile painted across his face, as though he’s trying to show you how much it hurts not seeing you for so long.

you’re just like how he remembers. golden light on your face, diffused now from the tent’s shade, bright eyes looking up at him the same way it did in the summer. perhaps it’s because of his dreams that this doesn’t feel as shocking as he’d thought it’d be—that one evening in the library between bookshelves replays like a highlight reel behind his eyelids, and in a way, he thinks it’s helped with his what little sleep he's managed to get recently.

and, in the same vein, he looks everything like the boy you've spent the last month trying to forget.

“…you.”

your voice is barely a whisper. sunghoon swallows, and his lips part once before closing again. you want to scream at him, maybe even punch him in the face. with that sad look on his face, you think he might even let you.

“y/n.”

you don’t hesitate. the moment sunghoon sees you grabbing your things, ready to turn around and leave—he speaks again, rushed with a tinge of desperation.

“please. five minutes, it’s all i need.”

what could he possibly say that would undo all of this?

park sunghoon bites down on his bottom lip, trying to stop it from trembling. you’re staring at him with glassy eyes, hands shaking from either anger or just pure despair, waiting for an answer that might not even fix anything at all.

your shoulders stay angled towards the exit, eyes not meeting his. you’re afraid that if you look at him properly, you'll remember everything all over again.

“i'm sorry, y/n.”

you should’ve left as soon as you saw that frame in the sun—as soon as your heart sank and your mind briefly flashed to sunghoon.

silence stretches between the two of you. you’re somewhat thankful for the loud noise outside that helps dampen it. the laughter sounds impossibly far away from where you stand.

“not because i got caught lying to you.” his fingers tighten around the bouquet, knuckles paling beneath flushed skin. “i think about it every day. it never leaves.”

your molars grind together until your temples start to pulse. the muscles in your jaw ache from holding back everything that wants to come spilling out, and you realise, belatedly, that you're digging your fingernails so deeply into the canvas strap of your tote that the fabric has started to wrinkle beneath your grip. you’re blinking the salt away, too, trying not to let it drip down your cheeks. “why did you do that to me, sunghoon?”

your voice comes out quieter than you intended. it’s nothing short of humiliating. sunghoon stares at you for a little while longer, and it really does feel like his heart’s being ripped out of his ribcage all over again. there’s nothing nice about seeing someone you love in tears, much less because of you.

“i didn't think it’d go far.” his voice is barely above a whisper now. “that’s not an excuse. i know it isn’t. i realised that really early on.”

his thumb catches on the edge of the brown paper wrapped around the flowers, smoothing the same crease over and over until it begins to tear.

“i just...” he laughs quietly through his nose, and it breaks somewhere in the middle. “i was terrified, y/n.”

your breath catches. you just can’t understand. every word from him feels like relief and a new betrayal all over again, and for a moment, you wonder how you’re still standing here. there’s half of you that feels glad that he cares enough to show up again—and another that never wants to see his pretty face again.

“the only lie i ever told you,” he continues, finally forcing himself to meet your eyes, “was that i was lee heeseung. everything else was real. all the calls, conversations, every second i spent listening to your voice.”

sunghoon says it like a confession. like an intimate secret he’s yet to admit to anyone else but you, because truly, he hasn’t. it’s stupid how long he’s allowed this to suffocate him.

“i was scared of how much i wanted you, and i let it go on, because it was the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i didn’t want to lose you, and i acted selfishly because of that.”

“you could’ve told me from the beginning.” your hand comes up instinctively, thumb dragging beneath your waterline before another tear has the chance to fall. you sniffle once, sharp and involuntary, and sunghoon feels it somewhere behind his ribs. “you could have. do you have any idea how humiliating that was?”

the words roll off your tongue before you can think twice. “i made myself look like a fucking idiot in front of you.”

sunghoon's breathing falters. his grip tightens around the bouquet until the brown paper crumples loudly in the silence, stems bending awkwardly beneath his fingers. he can't bring himself to look away from your face—not when your eyelashes are clumped together with tears, not when the skin beneath them has gone raw from how hard you're rubbing at it.

“i know.”

his voice barely survives the distance between you.

“every time i think about you,” he swallows hard, the muscles in his throat straining around the words. “i think about everything you trusted me with, and all i can remember is that i stood there and let you keep believing me.” his eyes fall to the floor for the briefest moment before finding yours again, impossibly guilty. “you deserved better than that.”

“i put you through so much,” park sunghoon adds, his voice so quiet you're forced to listen for it. “i was selfish. i convinced myself that if i told you the truth, i’d lose you, even if i deserved to.”

his thumb smooths absently over another crease in the bouquet's wrapping paper. “every day i waited after that, for the right time, for when it was easiest for me—it just got harder, and then it got impossible.”

he exhales shakily. “there was never going to be a good time. i knew that.”

you stare at him, at the bouquet he'd probably spent too long choosing. you imagine how out of place he must've looked picking those out, asking the store owner which ones would be good, knowing nothing about flowers, buying whatever was recommended to him without a second thought.

and then you're looking at the circles beneath his eyes—better now than they were before, but still there, still belonging to a boy who somehow looks exactly like the person you spent all summer missing, and the person who broke your heart in the very same breath.

“you could’ve told me,” you whisper again, the words catching somewhere behind your teeth. your fingers curl helplessly around the strap of your tote until the rough canvas digs into your palm. “you could’ve walked up to me that first night. i would’ve—”

another tear slips free before you can force the last word out. your breath catches violently in your chest, chin dropping toward your collarbone as a broken sob tears through you before you have the chance to swallow it back.

sunghoon moves before he thinks. the bouquet lands forgotten against the table with a muffled rustle, baby's breath spilling over the edge of the table as he closes the distance between you in two hurried strides. his hand comes up instinctively—halfway to your face, halfway to your shoulder, he doesn't even know anymore—before stopping inches from your face.

"...y/n."

sunghoon freezes. fingers trembling, not knowing if he's allowed to be this close to you again, not knowing if he gets to touch you just because you're crying. nevertheless, his hand curls slowly into a fist before falling uselessly back to his side.

your shoulders shake harder.

you clap a hand over your mouth as if that'll somehow muffle the sound, but it only turns each breath into something more desperate and more painful. tears slip between your fingers anyway, dripping onto the backs of your knuckles before disappearing into the sleeves of your top.

sunghoon feels sick. everything is telling him to touch you, to hold you, to do everything he can to rid you of the tears staining your face. wiping your tears away with his thumb and all, like how he’s imagined doing a hundred selfish times over the phone—to tell you it’s okay.

something’s siphoning all the air out of his lungs. "...i'm sorry," sunghoon whispers again, voice splintering under the weight of the words. "i’m sorry, y/n. please, don’t cry, please.”

there’s a tiny part of you that wants to lean into him. instead, you let out something between a laugh and another sob. you drag the heel of your palm beneath your eyes, every tear replaced by another before you can finish catching your breath. vision blurry as you stare down at sunghoon’s shoes, he shuts his eyes.

“i didn’t care,” you sigh. “i wouldn’t have cared.”

your ears don't catch the quiet sniffle that escapes sunghoon. his own vision has long since blurred, tears gathering stubbornly along his waterline until the fairy lights overhead fracture into soft, indistinct halos. he doesn't bother wiping them away, not when you're crying like this—not when every broken breath that leaves you sounds like something he's carved into your chest with his own hands.

“i fell for you, hoon.” you look up at him then, your eyes swollen and shining beneath the warm fairy lights strung across the ceiling of the booth. tears cling to your lashes, catching the light every time you blink. “you could’ve told me.” your voice cracks again, almost pleading. “you could have.”

the words seem to find every hollow place inside him.

his shoulders, already drawn painfully tight beneath the navy hoodie, sink another inch, the tension draining from them so suddenly he almost folds into himself. his hand, still hovering uncertainly between the two of you, curls instinctively before slowly uncurling again. this time, he doesn't stop.

fuck it.

park sunghoon’s touch brushes your cheek so lightly you barely feel them at first. gentle, like he doesn’t know quite how to handle you—warm and careful and everything you’ve ever needed.

his palm settles against the side of your face, thumb sweeping gently beneath your eye to catch the tear before it slips past your jaw. your skin burns beneath the touch, not because it hurts, but because you've missed it without ever knowing what it felt like—it's unbearably familiar for something entirely new.

you don’t mean to lean into him, but your body does it anyway.

for the smallest moment, your cheek rests against his palm, and the breath sunghoon lets out is so quiet that it almost disappears beneath the hum of the air-conditioner overhead. a sigh escapes him, almost as if he can’t believe how much he’s hurt you—and before you break into a sob again, you speak.

“maybe...” you whisper, voice shrinking beneath the weight of the thought—of park sunghoon and you, of that stupid new year's party, of library afternoons and late-night phone calls and every version of the future that never got the chance to exist. “maybe we’d be fine. maybe we’d be happy, if that’s what you even wanted—”

“it is.”

there isn’t a trace of hesitation.

sunghoon's thumb stills against your cheek as fresh tears spill over his own, his forehead dipping just enough that he's looking at you from beneath damp strands of dark hair.

“it’s all i’ve ever wanted,” he mutters. “you are all i’ve ever wanted.”

park sunghoon has never been a decisive person.

it sounds contradictory when you consider everything he's responsible for, but those decisions were never really decisions at all. hockey is straightforward once you've watched enough game tape, drilled the same movement until your muscles remember it better than your brain does, or spent enough hours on the ice for instinct to replace hesitation. there is always a coach standing behind the glass with a whistle around his neck, always someone older, better, more experienced to tell you where your feet should be and how to fix what you've done wrong. school isn't much different. people call him gifted, but sunghoon knows discipline has always done more for him than talent ever could. if you study enough, if you sacrifice enough sleep, if you repeat something often enough, eventually the answer reveals itself.

life has always rewarded certainty. show up, work harder, do better—and there is comfort in that. an almost mechanical predictability to it all, completely untouched by human emotion.

but you have never worked like that. this, whatever this is—it has never operated on that principle.

sunghoon has known he loves you for longer than he's been willing to admit it aloud. what he hasn't known—not for a single day since you walked away from him beneath that streetlamp—is whether seeing you again would heal the wound or rip it open all over. every version of the future he imagined ended differently: maybe you'd scream at him, maybe you'd ignore him. maybe you'd look at him with the same quiet disappointment that had followed him into every waking hour for the past month. there was no correct answer to memorize, no strategy to rehearse, and no amount of discipline capable of guaranteeing that he wouldn't lose you all over again.

he even tried searching for it.

three in the morning, phone balanced against his chest, he'd typed every variation of lied about my identity and fell in love that he could think of into reddit, reading through strangers' catastrophes until the sun came up. none of them sounded quite like his, and none of them ended with an answer worth believing. he’s pretty sure 75% are engagement bait.

there wasn't a guidebook for getting back the only girl he'd ever loved. there was, however, an annoyingly persistent lee heeseung.

his friend spent the better part of yesterday refusing to let him back out, talking over every pathetic excuse sunghoon came up with until there were none left to hide behind. sunoo only agreed to squeeze him into today's schedule after extracting the promise of unlimited access to his card for food deliveries over the next month, grinning so hard throughout the negotiation that sunghoon briefly considered leaving on principle alone. jake had sat through the entire story for the first time without interrupting once, only burying his face in his hands whenever the second-hand embarrassment became physically unbearable. jay, jungwon and riki had been considerably less diplomatic.

yes, he'd fucked up. spectacularly.

yes, there was every possibility you'd never want to look at him again.

no, none of them blamed you for it.

they still told him to come anyway. because if you were going to reject him, then he deserved to hear it from you—not from the version of you he'd spent the last month inventing inside his own head. park sunghoon is not every sure if he’ll ever move on from it, from you, though he sincerely hopes he doesn’t have to.

“i can’t—i can’t hate you, hoon. i tried so hard, and it never worked, so what do i do now?”

the words seems to knock the air from his lungs.

sunghoon's thumb stills against your cheek. even now, even after hearing the words, he can't let himself believe them immediately. his thick eyebrows draw together in quiet disbelief, lashes still damp, mouth parted around a breath that never quite leaves him.

“i think about you so much it hurts.” a laugh escapes you, exhausted more than amused, and you shake your head as tears gather at your chin. when you look up at him, the expression in your eyes drives something sharp straight through his chest. “i just don't know what to do.”

your fingers find his wrist without thinking, curling around it lightly. beneath your touch, his pulse stutters wildly, and sunghoon has the absurd, terrifying thought that if you hold him there any longer, you'll feel exactly how badly he's falling apart.

“i still want you,” you whisper. “so tell me, what do i do?”

sunghoon’s face crumples with relief, so sudden that it almost looks like pain. his shoulders shake before he even realises he's crying again. he presses his lips together, turning away for a second as a breathless, disbelieving laugh slips through his nose, and when he looks back at you, his eyes are wet and helpless and impossibly soft.

every sleepless night and every terrible decision has led park sunghoon here, standing in front of you and bracing for an ending that was never truly his to decide. you are the only thing he has ever looked at and thought, i might not get this back if i lose it, and that realization terrifies him more than failure ever could.

everything else feels survivable. the carefully constructed life he's spent years maintaining—he could lose all of it and eventually claw his way toward something new. he knows himself well enough to believe that, and well enough to know that you are different.

the mere thought of you turning around and walking away again is enough to hollow him out from the inside. it followed him into quiet rooms and sleepless mornings, into practices and lectures and every place he tries to forget you. for the first time in his life, there is something he cannot outwork, outthink, or outrun.

and still, even now, that something is standing here with tears on her face and her hand wrapped around his wrist, asking him what to do.

sunghoon’s wiping uselessly at his eyes. “i don't know,” he admits. “i don’t know what you’re supposed to do.”

your chest immediately drops. there’s that churning feeling again. you pick up on every movement of his, from the way his eyes never leave yours to how he can’t seem to speak up.

“i spent months trying to decide that for you, and look how that turned out,” another shaky breath leaves him, and his shoulders shudder with it. “if you want to yell at me, do it. if you want time, take it. if you wake up tomorrow and realize listening to me was a mistake, i’ll understand.”

sunghoon looks into your eyes. somewhere between the apologies and confessions, the distance between you has disappeared without either of you noticing. your knees almost brush, breaths mingling in the tiny booth, warm enough to fog the already close air between you. the fake candle flickers quietly in your peripheral, behind the abandoned bouquet and scattered conversation cards.

he blinks, just once, watching your eyes soften as they stare back at his. they never leave him, and they’re not searching for answers anymore.

“but if you're asking me what i want,” sunghoon mutters, taking a deep breath in. “i want you. i want you to let me stay, and i want it to be your decision.”

“you hurt me.” you swallow. “forgiving you doesn't magically make all of that disappear—but i’m tired. i’m really tired of being scared.”

“so this is my decision,” you step closer until the space between you disappears entirely. “stay.”

oh, park sunghoon is certain, now.

certainly, for the first time, he cares about someone other than himself, more than his stupid hockey games and ridiculous quizzes that he’d ace regardless if he studied or not—

certainly, the girl he loves is here, in front of him. her heart is in his hands and he’s trying not to crush it, because hurting her means hurting himself. she’s uncomplicated, and she’s beautiful, even in this kind of light, even with tears running down her face—looking at him like he’s all she’s ever asked for, despite everything he’s done.

certainly, he loves you.

all of you.

your arms find sunghoon’s waist with a familiarity that steals what little breath he has left. the movement is so instinctive neither of you seem to think too much about it. sunghoon's hand remains against your cheek for one lingering heartbeat, before his other joins it, cradling your face with impossible care, thumbs brushing absently beneath skin still warm from tears.

the space between you disappears altogether.

your arms slide further around his back, bunching the fabric of his hoodie between your fingers, the last of the tension leaves his body in one long, shaking breath. sunghoon’s own limbs slip around your shoulders, drawing you against his chest so gently it almost hurts, his chin resting lightly atop your head as though he’s afraid that if he lets go now, you’ll disappear all over again.

“i love you, y/n.”

the confession comes easier than he expected—true, almost painfully so, for far too long.

you tighten your hold around him, your cheek pressed against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“i love you, too, hoon.”

for a second, park sunghoon forgets how to breathe.

all those nights spent lying awake, replaying every conversation until sunrise—every version of this moment he'd imagined, every argument he'd had with himself, every impossible outcome he'd tried to prepare for—they dissolve so quietly that he almost doesn't notice them leaving.

the questions that had followed him for weeks no longer demand answers. the guilt is still there, the hurt is still there, and he knows neither of them will disappear overnight, of course—but for the first time in months, park sunghoon knows one thing for sure:

he does not care, and he will keep loving you despite it all.

─────────────────────────

the fundraiser slowly forgets about the two of you.

by the time you step out of the little booth, there’s an insanely long queue that won’t stop staring at you and sunghoon—a bouquet sits in the crease of your elbow, and the man by your side is smiling so wide that it’s borderline embarrassing. he might as well put a sign on your head.

the sun’s begun sinking lower behind the engineering building, bathing the pathways in that familiar honey-gold light that always seems to arrive when you and sunghoon are together. conversations swell around you as students drift from stall to stall with paper bags hanging from their wrists and half-melted ice cream in their hands. somewhere behind you, sunoo lets out an aggressively theatrical cheer before somebody—jungwon, if you remembered correctly—smacks him hard enough to shut him up.

neither of you acknowledge it.

park sunghoon’s hand finds yours instinctually. he’s not even looking at you to see if you’re fine with it, but it doesn’t matter anyway. your fingers intertwine with his, warm and steady and weirdly tight—you glance down and feel the heat rushing up your cheeks.

“…you know,” you mumble, watching your joined hands swing gently between you as you walk down the wide path. “i think this is technically our first date.”

sunghoon blinks. date? you? you and him? on a date?

the crowd has thinned out considerably, but when you glance back towards the familiar pink tent, the queue is somehow still moving. students continue drifting in and out of the little canvas booths, phones in hand as volunteers wave them forward one pair at a time. sunoo catches your eye from behind the registration table, arms folded dramatically across his chest as if he's personally responsible for the greatest love story in university history. you can't help but to smile, and sunoo notices immediately. with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, he flicks his wrist in a half-hearted shooing motion before waving the two of you away.

you laugh under your breath.

ahead of you, the fundraiser is slowly settling into the evening. a handful of student union members balance precariously on folding ladders, looping warm string lights from one streetlamp to the next until little pockets of golden light begin blooming across the walkways. conversations soften as the afternoon crowd disperses, replaced by the quieter rhythm of people lingering instead of rushing somewhere else. somebody nearby is packing away handmade jewellery while another stall is still desperately trying to sell the last of their brownies to anyone willing to make eye contact.

your hand is still in sunghoon's. neither of you talk.

“oh.”

you glance sideways. he’s staring ahead, eyebrows pinched together in the sort of concentration that seems excessive for something this simple.

you snort. “that’s all you have to say?”

“i'm thinking,” sunghoon murmurs, finally allowing himself a quiet chuckle. his thumb absently brushes against the back of your hand before he looks over at you. “does this mean i have to pretend i don't already know everything about you?”

“i wouldn't say everything...” you mumble, nudging his shoulder with yours before looking away a little too quickly. you don't have to see his face to know he's smiling. you can feel it somehow, in the way his gaze lingers a second too long, in the quiet that stretches between you while he leans ever so slightly closer, just enough that the warmth radiating from his hoodie brushes your arm.

“you blush really easily.”

“i do not!” your eyes widen, yet, still refusing to meet his.

“you're so pretty, y/n,” sunghoon says before he has the chance to psyche himself out of it. the compliment leaves him with such effortless certainty that it almost catches him off guard. “so cute when you're shy. blushing like that in front of me...” he continues, the corners of his mouth lifting into the smallest grin. “i don't think i've ever seen anything prettier.”

you squeeze his hand so hard he almost laughs again.

“god,” you mutter, finally daring a glance at him before immediately looking away again, cheeks burning beneath the string lights overhead. “you're still so annoying!”

the fundraiser eventually disappears behind you. after sunghoon’s insistence on sharing an overly-sweet milkshake, his hands are full with paper bags, filled to the brim with overpriced homemade desserts and a few too many keychains. neither of you remember who suggested leaving first—at some point, the booths become smaller in the distance, and the chatter fades into little more than background noise.

there isn’t really a destination. there doesn’t have to be, you both know that—but it helps with the conversation. it flows easier than any of you expect, familiar, curious and gentle in the same way it’s always been.

you stop by a convenience store because sunghoon insists you’re hungry. allegedly, your stomach rumbled on the walk here, so he rushes into the store so fast that there isn’t enough time to protest. the high-school part-timer stares at him weirdly as he wordlessly pays for both ramyeon cups, spending the next five minutes pretending not to hear you complaining about it.

you eat, anyway. sunghoon can’t help but take a picture, too. you almost hit him on the head for that.

an hour later, the walk to your apartment is slower than it needs to be. autumn has finally settled over the city, the breeze cool enough to make you tug your sleeves over your hands every few minutes. leaves skitter across the pavement whenever the wind picks up, collecting around your shoes before scattering around them again, and somewhere overhead the sky melts from gold into a dark, deep blue.

you pass through that same park—cyclists pass every now and then, bells chiming politely before disappearing further down the winding path, elderly couples taking a night stroll with plastic bags hooked around their fingers. the atmosphere is completely different now, though nothing tangible has really changed.

the two of you keep walking. sunghoon feels like he's going to explode from the amount of dessert you'd somehow convinced him to share with you, but the weight tugging at his shoulders feels lighter now. maybe it's because your hand is folded so naturally into his that neither of you have thought about letting go—or the fact that you managed to get rid of all those bags, thanks to him.

“it's nice to talk to you,” you murmur after a while, your gaze lingering on the river instead of him. the city stretches across the water in ribbons of gold and white, every reflection trembling with the movement of the current. “without the phone. easier to hear you.”

another breeze rolls against the river, cool enough to send little ripples across the water and lift loose strands of your hair across your face.

“uuuuhuh, i’m sure.” sunghoon smiles at you, easy-going and so reassuring it makes your pulse race. “keep pretending like we didn’t meet how we did.”

“the hell?”

you glance at him. all he does is squeeze your hand once—then, the corners of his mouth lift into that small, effortless smile.

your heart gives an embarrassingly obvious thump. you let out a laugh before you can stop yourself, ducking your head almost immediately as warmth rushes into your cheeks. “don’t look at me like that—”

“like what?”

sunghoon stops walking. your footsteps falter a beat too late.

your hands are still joined, the sudden halt tugging you backwards before you can catch yourself. you stumble lightly into his chest, the front of his hoodie brushing against your sleeves as his fingers tighten instinctively around yours to steady you. your free hand lands against the warmth of his ribs, and for one, disorienting moment, all you can hear is the wind behind you and the quiet hitch in his breathing.

sunghoon looks down. you're close enough now that the warm lights stretching across this dim path catch in his eyes, turning the dark brown almost amber beneath the glow. a strand of your hair has fallen across your cheek again, flowing in the breeze—and sunghoon, stupidly, reaches up without thinking.

his knuckles brush your skin first—then his fingertips. they slip carefully beneath the loose strand, tucking it behind your ear with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. it lingers for a moment longer than necessary, five seconds too much just to move a strand of hair away, and his thumb rests lightly against your temple as though he’s trying to memorise the shape of your face underneath his touch.

oh. you can’t tear your eyes off of him.

park sunghoon looks like someone you could know forever. a gaze so gentle that you’d think he’s known whoever he’s looking at for a thousand years—a touch so tender that it’s unbelievable that he’s never loved anyone else.

the smile tugging at the corners of his lips dissolves into something almost disbelieving. sunghoon’s forehead dips, just enough so that your face comes into full focus, and the space between you disappears disappears so gradually that neither of you seem to notice how your noses almost brush.

his breath ghosts over your lips. warm, nothing like the cold air that’s enveloping you both. sunghoon hesitates for a moment—even now, he wonders just what he’s done to deserve this. he wants you to choose, and you do.

closing the distance, your lips find his with all the gentleness of someone coming home after being gone for too long.

for one impossible, weightless moment, the whole world seems to narrow until it is nothing more than the warmth of your mouth against his. the quiet rush of wind rolling off your skin, your hand tightening ever so slightly around the fabric gathered at his chest—every sleepless night, every apology, every version of this moment he'd rehearsed alone in his room dissolves the instant you kiss him back.

park sunghoon's convinced nothing has ever felt this right.

you're soft against him, kissing him with the same quiet hesitation you've carried all evening, as though you're still afraid that pressing yourself any closer might shatter whatever fragile thing the two of you have only just managed to rebuild. meanwhile, sunghoon melts into it like he's been starving—he holds himself back for only a heartbeat before months of missed chances quietly unravel between you, his hand sliding around your waist with a tenderness so instinctive it almost startles him. he gathers you closer, careful enough to let you pull away whenever you want. you do not.

instead, your fingers slip from the front of his hoodie to the back of his neck, threading into the soft hair resting there. the movement draws the smallest, almost inaudible breath from him, and before he realises he's doing it, he's smiling into the kiss.

it’s contagious. you’re smiling now, too.

your lips part around a tiny, breathless laugh, and the sound is enough to make a smile form on his face. sunghoon leans in again without thinking, chasing another kiss, only for the movement to catch you off guard. you stumble back half a step, dragging him with you by the collar of his hoodie until the both of you have to force yourselves to stand properly.

your foreheads bump together as his arm tightens instinctively around your waist, trying to stop you from losing your balance.

“do you kiss all your girlfriends like this, sunghoon?”

“don’t piss me off,” his arm loosens from your waist for half a second, just enough for you to stumble before he catches you immediately, pulling you back against his chest with an annoyed sigh. “i don’t kiss anyone else.”

“i could’ve died right here. do you even care about me? should i just die right now?”

“i’m not even going to answer that, y/n.”

─────────────────────────

“who gave you my number?”

by the time the two of you find yourselves right outside your apartment building, the streets have grown quieter. most of the shops have already pulled their shutters halfway down, leaving only convenience stores and late-night cafés spilling warm light onto the pavement. the walk here had taken nearly an hour—your car is still parked at campus, but sunghoon promised to pay the overnight fee anyway. neither of you remember deciding to take the longer route back to your place, but every turn just seemed like another excuse to keep talking.

you stop right in front of your building. the path is uneven here, the road tilted upward; the automatic doors slide shut behind somebody leaving, and the chime hums softly before settling into silence again.

“sooha,” you smile. the blush that infects sunghoon’s face spreads like a wildfire—you’re the one teasing now, after an entire day of his antics. “you had a thing with her, i’m guessing?”

“well, i wouldn’t call it a thing,” sunghoon sighs, thumb rubbing against the back of yours. he swallows before looking at you again. “i’ll be honest with you—we were hooking up.”

he watches your expression carefully for a shift. anything that'll tell him you were upset, or livid—anything at all. he swore he wouldn't blame himself if you were. how would he have known that the love of his life would waltz right in thirty minutes after sooha's exit?

sunghoon adds on a little too quickly. “it was before you.”

“how long?” you ask, tilting your head. curiosity, it seems, but these are dangerous waters that sunghoon’s treading. based on past experiences, his partners (can he even call them that?) never took to well to a previous acquiantance.

sunghoon almost considers lying, just to make himself sound better, before deciding against it. he's never been too good at that anyway. “on and off. a few months, maybe. nothing that meant anything.”

he exhales through his nose, something between a laugh and a wince. “i know. i wasn't—i didn't handle it well. i never called it anything, and i never made her think it was anything, but i also never stopped it when i probably should have.” he pauses, “that’s my fault.”

it's such a sunghoon answer. blunt and completely unflattering to himself, a lack of an attempt to soften it into something easier to hear. you almost want to laugh at how little effort he puts into making himself look good, like it hasn't occurred to him that he could, and you’d never be able to prove otherwise.

you nod, trying to hold your laugh in at the sight of his face. he looks like he's just seen a ghost, no matter how much he tries to hide it—lips pursed together instinctively, eyes wide and scanning yours for any hint of anger. “okay. good to know.”

you give his hand a small squeeze before beginning to loosen your fingers from his, only enough to shift your grip more comfortably. “i appreciate the honesty.”

sunghoon keeps staring. “that's it?”

“were you expecting more questions, hoon?” you can't help but smile now, your free hand covering your mouth in an attempt to hide how adorable you find him. “i didn't know you back then. you were still staring at me weird from the stairs.”

“i was not staring,” sunghoon shakes his head, a stray strand of hair falling loose over his brow with the motion. “you were staring. i’m surprised heeseung didn't notice.”

your jaw drops, mouth falling open in mock offense. "excuse me?"

“whatever. it’s over now, right?” sunghoon sighs, dragging a hand down his face in dramatic disapproval, fingers pausing briefly over his eyes like he's shielding himself from the sight of your face. "not really trying to share you with him."

“you're so annoying!” you shove at his shoulder, and he barely rocks with it, solid where he's standing, biting back a grin like he's trying—badly—to look unaffected.

sunghoon's mouth curls into a smile that reaches his eyes—dark in this dim light. he's still taller than you despite standing a few steps higher, your face now level with his, close enough that you can count the individual strands of hair falling loose over his forehead.

his hair is still a mess from the wind, and from your fingers ruffling through the strands earlier—sticking up at odd angles he clearly hasn't bothered to fix, like it hadn't even occurred to him. his cheeks are still faintly red, yet to fully fade since you first touched his skin, and his ears are airbrushed with a soft pink he probably has no idea is visible.

you hope no one else has ever gotten to see it on him before.

it's quiet. no dogs this time, for some reason. it’s just the low hum of the streetlight above you, buzzing faintly, flickering once before steadying again. an occasional cricket announces its presence somewhere in the bushes lining the building, and beneath that, nothing. though, there’s just your own heartbeat, loud and unreasonable in your ears, and the sound of sunghoon breathing, slow and careful like he's trying not to disturb whatever this is.

sunghoon’s hand is still loosely wrapped around yours, thumb tracing an invisible circle over your knuckles—it’s not quite a habit yet, but close to being one, you can tell. you can feel the calluses along his palm, rough from what you assume is hockey, a strange and grounding kind of proof that this is real, that he's real, standing this close to you at almost midnight with his heart clearly in his throat.

and then, there’s you. even in this horrible, fluorescent lighting—the kind that makes everyone look a little sick—you look undeniably beautiful to him. almost glowing, or maybe he's just sleep-deprived enough that his eyes are playing tricks on him. either way, he thinks, quietly and with helplessness, that he has never wanted to kiss someone this badly in his entire life.

his gaze drops, just briefly, to your mouth. then back up, like he's asking permission before he's even said anything at all.

“can i kiss you, y/n?”

the question is so earnest it hurts. his voice is breathy, needy, everything that you could possibly ever need in a man right in front of you. you feel like if you fall for it—answer him right now, that your life ends here, because this is a trap, or a dream, or all of it at once.

you’re already leaning into him, tilting your head until your noses are brushing each other’s. sunghoon’s breathing so heavily that you feel it against your bottom lip, teasing, just asking for that final push.

one of his large hands settle at your waist. waiting. always waiting.

the kiss is slower than the last one. a little more desperate, maybe—you feel sunghoon’s large arms wrap around you again, tighter now, tongue swiping against your bottom lip, moving you as he pleases just so he can get the most of you.

you taste like him.

the thought’s driving him crazy. you've already confessed everything worth confessing tonight; now, there is only the quiet luxury of learning each other properly, without distance, without static, without the countdown of a call timer reminding either of you that morning would eventually come.

it’s messy in the way that two people are when they’re starving for each other. borderline greedy, too much tongue and then not enough at all, your hands running along the upper part of his back as you keep him anchored to you. sunghoon’s lips feel so perfect when they’re against yours, he genuinely believes that this is what he’s been chasing for all twenty-four years of his life.

every time one of you pulls back to breathe, the other closes the distance again without thinking, as though separating has become something your bodies no longer understand. your fingers wander instinctively over the broad line of his shoulders before settling against the back of his neck, keeping him close without ever needing to ask.

sunghoon’s hands remain anchored at your waist, warm through the fabric of your clothes, thumbs tracing absent little movements that make your pulse flutter for reasons you can't quite explain.

“not here, hoon—” you mumble against his lips before he pulls you right back in. so annoying. sunghoon’s lips crash into yours again, still just as curious, palm flat against the small of your back.

“hm?” the sound vibrates softly between you before he finally relents, resting his forehead against yours instead. one of his hands slides carefully along the curve of your side until it settles once more at the small of your back, holding you as though he'd forgotten any other way to stand. “...tell me where, then.”

you shake your head once, trying very unsuccessfully to compose yourself before meeting his eyes again.

you’re huffing, trying to catch your breath when your hands fall to his chest. the guy is looking at you with the most feverish smile, eyes narrowing because he knows he’s got you flustered.

“upstairs,” you murmur, barely louder than the evening breeze slipping between the apartment buildings. your fingers fist at his hoodie. “come upstairs.”

─────────────────────────

park sunghoon likes to think that he’s good at sex.

there’s nothing complicated about it, really. he knows he’s good at most things.

his body—he knows it’s the kind most people would kill for, the kind other men spend half their lives trying to build. of that, he’s well aware. hockey, school, laundry, cooking, smiling and talking as if nothing’s ever the matter. he’s reduced it to a science: technique, precision, mastery, painstakingly perfected.

the data is there. they scream, they cry out of sheer pleasure, they moan like no one else exists but him, but park sunghoon. he predicts it in the same way he knows he’ll get that perfect score, and make that one ‘lucky’ shot—it’s calculation in it’s most unsurprising form.

human bodies are scientific. their anatomy is roughly similar, so he knows if he moves just like this, whispers just like that, she’ll fold. she’ll crumble underneath him like it’s her first time ever sleeping with a man, clinging onto sunghoon like what he’s doing is some lost art among the modern male.

there’s significant amounts of advice online to tell him how to please a woman. it’s not rocket science applying these concepts in practice, as he’s done—and sure, it’s done himself favours. there were nights where sunghoon couldn’t believe that he’d ever quit hook ups, but soon realised that that’s just how his brain works: that that’s just what the dopamine rush whispers into your ears as you cum for the third consecutive time.

there is a nice predictability in sex. it’s instinct, and where there is instinct, there is nature and nature is almost always studied—even if it’s an utter waste of time, stress relief aside.

though, when he finds himself stumbling into your apartment, kicking off his shoes and slide his hoodie off his back while simultaneously trying to keep his lips on yours, he finds himself wanting time to slow itself down.

just something about you, he thinks. that look on your cute face, staring at him like you didn’t know what to do with the heat pooling between your legs; you stumble against him a few times while you both try to find your way to your bedroom, shoulders nudging against light switches and shoving a few chairs out of place. your laundry is still on the couch from this morning, you note—but when sunghoon puts his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look at him—the reminder fades completely.

“what am i going to do with you?” sunghoon grins, letting his ass fall to the edge of the bed. sitting up, his hoodie’s discarded somewhere by the entryway, and the only article of clothing left being his jeans. his hands roam your body—up and down, before looping around your waist and pulling you between his spread legs. “so pretty.”

you whimper when his hands begin sliding underneath your top. “can i, baby?”

it’s almost pathetic how fast you nod. your hands rest on his shoulders, eyes locked on the way he leans closer to your belly. sunghoon’s slender fingers move up your warm skin, now burning hot under his touch, and eventually, he lifts your shirt completely.

“you sure about this, y/n?” sunghoon looks up, pupils blown with his cheek resting against your bare stomach. “we can stop. whatever you wanna do—”

“n-no,” you sigh, watching sunghoon’s eyes blink up at you, so dazed. “i want you, hoon.”

he hums at your response, turning his head so his lips touch the skin of your belly. they’re still wet from your earlier kisses, pressing nice and slow until he reaches from your belly button to your ribcage. truthfully, sunghoon’s mind has already gone to mush at the mere scent of you: the sweat from the day and your perfume blending into one, the heat from your body, that he just can’t help but to start leaving hickeys along the exposed area.

“i’ll make you feel so good, y/n,” he mumbles against your skin. “but you gotta be good for me. you can do that, can’t you?”

oh. he’s that kind of guy.

something’s flipping in your stomach—simmering low, intense, nothing like you’ve ever felt before. you stare down at him, face visibly flushed from the way he’s touching you; your knees almost buckle upon hearing his voice, and sunghoon can’t help but let a chuckle out at that in between kisses.

“can’t hear you. speak up for me.”

you swallow, feeling sunghoon’s hands exploring further—until his thumbs are right on your nipples, bypassing your annoying bra, rubbing gentle circles, smiling up at you like he’s done nothing too crazy.

“y-yeah, i can,” your voice comes out a tad too soft for his liking, evidently, because his little grin fades into something more displeased.

sunghoon stands up instead, large hands hooking around the hem of your shirt and helping to pull it off of you. your arms point to the ceiling, naturally, letting the fabric part from you with a gasp—the cold air hits your skin, and the wet imprints of kisses on your stomach feel even icier now.

he moves back to your stomach, taking in your scent; it’s even more potent now when you’re bare like this. curiosity gets the better of him once his nose bumps against your bra, his hair nuzzling against your chest as one of his hands move to unclasp it. effortless.

“sunghoon, stop teasing,” you whine, watching him lean back. sunghoon pulls your bra off of you on one swift motion. it’s an understatement to say that you were pretty—just gorgeous when you’re naked in front of him like this.

he ignores you. asshole.

sunghoon’s fingers hook around your skirt next—not quite pulling it down just yet. then, almost as if you’ve done something wrong, he stands up.

you forget how huge he is for a second. when the dim warmth of your lamp hits him, you lose your breath completely. every muscle is highlighted in orange, the definition outlined by shadows that leave you wanting, and it’s like air is caught in your throat from how unfairly good he looks.

“i’ll ask again,” sunghoon mutters, hands back down to your waist, and then your hips, and then he’s flipping you over onto the mattress. “you’ll be good for me, won’t you?”

whatever. fuck it.

all sense of reasoning leaves your body at once. sunghoon cages you between his arms, staring into your eyes, and the look in them sends pure electricity through your veins. he looks hungry, thirsty, like he needed you right now or he’d die.

and still, he waits for an answer.

“i’ll be s-so good, hoonie, i promise.”

the nickname doesn’t leave a bad taste in his mouth anymore. it’s been a while since he’s heard it—but when it comes from you, god, it sounds like it’s dripping in honey and coaxing him into whatever trap you laid out for him.

“gonna fucking kill me,” he rasps, pulling away before pressing a kiss to your cheek, down to your jaw, then to the patch of skin underneath your earlobe. the feeling of his warm tongue sliding against your skin makes you shudder—combined with his fingers pressing into your back, feeling every inch of skin, savouring the feeling of you;

when sunghoon first walked in, he noticed how unbearably you your room was. decorated in posters of your favourite bands, little trinkets here and there that he has no clue how you keep organized. his eyes glazed over your desk, your laptop, your lamp, and everything that you chose to keep that would now remind him of you—right now, your legs are wrapped around his hips, heels digging into his ass while he grinds nice and slow against the warmth of your pussy—feeling right through your panties, skirt tossed somewhere in the corner of the room.

what was most interesting about your room was that mirror in the corner—perhaps he was a pervert for wondering, only for a moment, if you had ever touched yourself in front of that very reflection. he could imagine your legs spread in desperation, knuckles deep in yourself as you chased whatever high you terribly wanted.

did you think of anyone? did you get off to the sound of his voice? though, most importantly, would you let him ruin you in front of that little mirror of yours?

“can i take this off?” he whispers into your ear, hands roaming down from your neck and to the lace around your panties—you nod again, and the chuckle that escapes his lips only sends shivers down your spine.

your legs fall to the side of his thighs, leaving you bare and spread in front of his eyes. “what about you?”

sunghoon literally laughs in your face. “be patient, baby. haven’t even gotten you nice ‘n loose yet.”

your breath hitches at his vulgarity. the image pops up behind your eyelids: sunghoon’s long, pretty fingers buried somewhere deep in you, curled at the perfect angle and prodding at that one spot that makes you sees stars—how long would it take for him to get there? would he even know how to?

famous last words, as they say. it takes four minutes for sunghoon to have your thighs pinned to the mattress, three to have the tip of his index and middle fingers inside of you and two to get you whimpering like a hot, pathetic mess.

maybe just one to get you soaking his wrists.

“what’s wrong, baby?” sunghoon pouts. his eyes are glimmering in the dark, the tiny light left outside reflecting off his irises. in this atmosphere it just seems like a mockery. “too much for my pretty girl? she can’t seem to get enough, though.”

and then his eyes flick down to where you suck him in—glistening, disgustingly sloppy and wet where you take every inch like it was always meant to be yours. it’s times like these where you truly believe fate is real; because there’s just no way you were this close to going your entire life without this—without sunghoon’s fingers buried knuckle deep into you.

“h-hoon, ugh—fuck!” you squeal when he curls his fingers just right, and he just watches, an eyebrow raised like you were some intriguing specimen. just a body underneath his touch, poking and prodding and spreading you as wide as he can, as best as he can. everything he does seems to illicit some reaction from you, too amusing for him to stop. “please, gonna cum, i’m gonna cum, ngh—”

“so quick?” sunghoon sighs, kissing his teeth. “god, you’re so cute. must be too much, then?”

and then, he slows down. ripping your delicious orgasm right from your useless fingers.

“n-noooo,” you drawl, nails clawing into sunghoon’s veiny forearms as he nods slowly, expecting a coherent answer. what a mistake, as if you could even think straight right now. “it’s not—it’s not, fuck, i can take it.”

sunghoon chuckles, head tilting up just enough to get your pretty face in full view. “reaaally? need my permission to cum, too?”

your stomach flips at the way he says it—low and sultry and teasing, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. rearranging your guts with his hands alone, whispering these ridiculous things to you, expecting zero reactions. is he stupid? has he lost it?

“you trying to snap my fingers off? relax, baby. can’t have that.”

the humiliation washes over you rather quickly, but disappears just as fast when you feel every muscle in your body beginning to lock up. the words can’t even find themselves, too lost in your mushy brain—everything narrows down to the man with his hands between your legs, pumping his stupidly long fingers in n’ out, watching you lose every piece of sanity you have left.

“who’d have known. such a sensitive girl,” and his thumb brushes against your swollen clit with just enough pressure to have you twitching, but never to cross that final, potentially fatal line. “do you always cum this fast?”

sunghoon sighs dramatically. if you couldn’t see his face, you’d have assumed that he was irritated with you—but your eyes haven’t left his, nor the red in his cheeks and his slightly parted lips, groaning whenever you buck your hips against his palm, feeling the friction of your clit against his skin. they occasionally glance down at the tent in his pants, fighting against tight cloth to be freed, twitching and already forming a dark, wet patch where his tip would be.

“oh my god,” you moan, gripping tight around his wrists. there’s a part of you that just wants to sit up and grind against his hand yourself, but that’d be much too embarrassing to live with. “can’t—can’t, i j-jus… can’t, please, hoonie—”

the words ring a bell that he can’t quite recall, is what he would say if his memory was absolutely terrible. the man remembers exactly when and where you said those terrible, terrible things, under a streetlamp and in a park he had never seen before; so sure that he’d never see you again, and now, here you are, losing your mind and at his mercy.

“oh.” sunghoon grins. cocky little bastard. “you close? gonna make a mess on hoonie? c’mon, soak me. won’t stop ‘till you do.”

there’s something utterly perverted about him tonight. hoonie was never an exclusive nickname, of course—generic by all means. sooha had taken great pleasure moaning and whimpering that exact term a hundred-something nights ago, and sunghoon swears that he must’ve been in a completely different body then. wonders how he ever let the name reach his ears without gritting his teeth, but now that you’re here… it’s like a completely different world has opened before his eyes, and his cock has never, ever been harder.

how could he have fucked anyone else when you existed? how could you have slept with other people when he was right there? the selfish thought invades his sick brain as fast as he feels his cock swell up.

never-mind that. this is way more important—there comes a point during sex where all the pleasure folds in on itself and magnifies by tenfold, becoming it’s own force, taking over your nervous system—nothing matters. sunghoon doesn’t matter. your pride definitely does not matter.

so it’s not really your fault, is it? couldn’t possibly be, even if you’re sitting yourself up (with an unreasonable amount of effort) and grinding your hips against his large, calloused hands, and whining like a bitch in heat against his mouth. even less so now that sunghoon’s letting you—his breath is taken from him when your tongue slides against his, wet and soft and everything he needs to get that pretty cunt fluttering around his digits.

“my filthy girl,” he moans between kisses, his warm breath ghosting against your glossy lips. your arms are running up and down his shoulders and finding a place to stay anchored, and when they finally do, sunghoon doesn’t wince one bit when your nails dig in, out, and in again. “just look at you, fucking yourself stupid on my fingers.”

you don’t hear him. genuinely. it’s all buzzing and static and you feel yourself starting to shake from the hip up. you shudder when he flexes his fingers, and it’s like everything you’ve ever done has led to tonight, every choice, every mistake.

“h-hoonie, ‘m sorry—fuck, need more of you,” you press a searing kiss to his bottom lip, almost missing completely and letting your mouth fall open against his anyway. your breath feel like fire against his skin, and sunghoon can only groan when he feels your walls spasming around his slender fingers. “please, i’ll be so good.”

sunghoon does that same, amused grin on his face, just watching you pant underneath him. the expression only reminds you of that night: you in the kitchen, and him, watching you from the front door on new years eve.

the corner of his lips turn upwards and it’s nothing short of pure perversion—tongue poking at the inside of his cheek, face red with heat crawling up his neck, and an eyebrow cocked up. “are you actually begging me right now? while you’re riding my hand like this?”

you nod your head, frantic. of course you’re fucking begging. it’s been an entire lifetime of teasing and sunghoon’s still dangling the idea of fucking you in your face, just revelling in your visceral and absolutely humiliating reactions.

your mind’s going blank. every thought diverges into park sunghoon and every desire has his stupidly handsome face plastered onto it. your stomach’s so tense that it’s starting to hurt, and you feel lightheaded from how often your breath gets taken right from you—so close, and yet, still so far.

“yes, pleasepleaseplease, i—”

“god, you’re greedy,” sunghoon mumbles under his breath, using his free hand to push you backwards. your spine hits the mattress with a recoil, and the springs creak just enough to muffle the pathetic whine that slips off your lips. “just an ungrateful girl. fine, then.”

and then, there’s nothing. just that mind-numbing feeling of having your body be sent to heaven, only to be denied at the pearly gates.

your heart’s pounding at the sight of him: warm, glistening skin under the dimness of your lamp, chest heaving as he pulls his fingers out from your slick entrance—it feels increasingly, unbearably empty as he retracts his ridiculously long digits. sunghoon does nothing but enjoy the view, eyes glazing over the way your body twists and turns at his cruel punishment.

“come on. again.”

who does he think he is, really? you kiss and make up, and in the same day, he makes you beg for a little gratification? does he have any idea what he put you through? to be truthful, you could go on and on about how he doesn’t deserve any sort of control over you—

“please, hoonie. i’ll take everything—fuck, just fuck me already.”

fuck it. you don’t care. it doesn’t matter that park sunghoon is toying with you. you need him, you need all of him, you need every inch of skin that he’s willing to give and every word he’ll spit at you.

park sunghoon isn’t exactly inexperienced with sex. he knows that intimacy is one of man’s greatest discoveries, and it’s only natural that he participates in it. as one does. what’s not normal is that he’s never felt this before: this insatiable, lustful heat simmering in his core, making his cock twitch before it’s even been touched.

god, you look so perfect—spread bare beneath him with inner thighs soaked in your own juices, whining and pleading and begging for a taste of him, as if he wasn’t holding himself back already. you’re truly the greediest, just taking and taking even if he tries to take his time.

there’s blood lingering in his mouth and the metal feels sharp on his tongue, and still, he continues biting on his lip. sunghoon’s eyes never leave yours, hands coming down to unbuckle his belt with a single hand—the other pins your knees open, and while you squirm under the pressure, you never quite gain the courage to defy.

when sunghoon finally leans forward, the scent of him is enough to overwhelm your nervous system; he grunts when your arms wrap around his neck, and your nose nuzzles against his neck like it has nowhere else to go. a deep breath in and it’s like you’ve never felt more alive than now.

“this enough for you?”

he picks up on everything. from the way your eyes never stay on his for too long, to the way you twitch when he presses his briefs right against your cunt—your breathy moans in his ear as he leans in close, and how quickly you stain the spandex with your slick, mixing with his sticky pre.

“this should be fine, right? my girl can cum juuust like this.” sunghoon’s voice is the only thing cutting through the fog in your head. it’s spinning so much that gripping onto him is serving as the only anchor to your consciousness. your nails drag along this trapezius, sinking into the superficial skin, waiting for a reaction that never comes—instead, all he can offer is a mocking smile, fangs bare and taunting.

his hips are teasing. he moves them slow, taking his time with every drag of up and down, the fabric sliding between your pretty folds and swollen clit; there’s a brief second where he feels the tip of his cock slide into you through the barrier of clothing, only to slip free when he slides up again.

“so perfect,” sunghoon whispers into the conch of your ear—you don’t realise what he’s said until you feel his sharp teeth gliding against your helix, before he finally nips at it. “you’re so perfect, baby. made for me, aren’t you? can’t believe i almost let you go.”

sunghoon thinks about how ridiculous he must look right now—humping your poor cunt like he’s in heat, holding himself back for reasons beyond him, whispering these obscenely intimate things in your ears like he doesn’t want to fuck you right this second. the strain on his cock is getting too much; blood’s rushing down, he’s aching, and he doesn’t know how much longer he has left before he flips you over and has your ass slapping against his skin.

“hoon, fuck, i’m gonna cum,” you say, bucking your hips up just once. wrong move. “please, don’t fucking stop—it feels so good.” sunghoon’s head turns in your direction, nose brushing against your cheek before his mouth meets yours again. he doesn’t care that they don’t latch properly, nor that he’s practically drinking in your saliva, or that he’s gonna cum just from feeling the friction between your bodies. all sunghoon truly cares about is that you’re holding him like he’s all you truly need in this world.

“yeah? just from this?” sunghoon’s hand comes up to grip at your jaw, thumb and index pressing deep into the flesh of your cheeks. his body feels heavy on top of you, quick little movements doing the most to get you both over the edge—and though he still seems a little more composed than you, it all goes to shit when your fingers graze the sides of his ribs. “fuck—do it. cum for me, please, y/n—”

his hands run up your arms until his fingers are tracing your palms, slithering between your own, before finally interlacing. sunghoon’s pressing sweet kisses to your jawline as you moan into thin autumn air, feeling the vibrations of his groans against your throat; he moves at a frenzied pace, chasing friction that won’t ever compare to being buried tip to cervix, but it’s all he can get right now.

“i’m fucking cumming, hoon, oh my god—”

twenty seconds. twenty seconds is all he needs to have you gushing all over the spandex of his briefs, and twenty-five is all you need to chase his lips because you know you’ll scream if you don’t. perhaps around thirty for him to stop feeling like the room is spinning, and him along with it—your tongues meet and circle on another’s again, moans clashing between desperate attempts to slow down, and it’s only sixty for him to finally hook his thumbs around his boxers and shove them down his thighs.

thwap.

sunghoon’s heavy in a way you can’t say out loud. words get caught in your throat, with nothing but a pathetic hitch in your breath being audible. he’s so unbelievably pretty, flushed a deep red from the relentless teasing he’s put you through, serving as confirmation that he’s wanted this as much as you have.

he stares for a minute, catching his breath, before his hand reaches for you—spreading your folds wide between his fingers, watching it glisten under the orange light, almost sparkling if he could look close enough. the sheets below are soaked with you—a large, wet patch that’s darker compared to the rest of the pink duvet.

“thought about this pretty pussy for weeks,” sunghoon lets his saliva collect in the well of his tongue, before spitting a thick glob riiight onto your entrance. “and now you’re aaaall mine. aren’t you, baby?”

sunghoon looks up just as the name rolls off his tongue. you look absolutely wrecked, hair tangled in places where you didn’t even know it could get tangled—tear stains running down your face and highlighting the flush on your cheeks so well. your eyes are wide, caught between staring at his leaking cock and his expectant eyes, shifting between the two every now and then;

a reverent sigh leaves you when sunghoon begins pumping himself, nice and slow using his hand, spreading the pre all over his hardened length. sounds of wet slick echo through the room as he strokes, just enough to get himself wet, before his knees shift forward and he’s finally, finally letting himself touch you without a stupid barrier.

“gonna stuff this pussy full,” sunghoon hisses through his teeth. “pump you full of my cum, fuck, i can’t hold back anymore—” his right hand wraps around the base of his cock, the back of your knees brushing against his thighs as he pulls you flush against him. you’re still heaving by the time he taps his mushroom tip against your folds, running it along the wetness of it, once or twice before aligning himself with you.

“you’re so… annoying,” you huff, eyebrows pinched together, watching his jaw go slack at how warm you feel even from the outside. sunghoon’s stomach is in knots, anticipating the moment he finally sheathes himself all the way, how you’d probably claw at his skin from the sheer stretch—

and that’s exactly what you do.

“f-fuuuuck, hoon! it’s too—you’re too—”

park sunghoon is thick. so undeniably heavy and dizzying, pushing past your walls, and as much as you clench and squirm around him, they offer no real resistance. your pussy takes him in like it needs him—squelching when he bottoms out at last, big arms caging your relatively smaller head between them—all the air in your lungs feels like it’s being siphoned out.

who the fuck is this big? when was the last time you’ve had something this huge inside of you?

“o-oh my fucking god,” his eyes screw shut for one, weightless second, before they shoot back open. he stares down at where you two finally meet, your velvet walls fluttering around him so warmly, a desperate whimper clawing it’s way out of his throat that’s interrupted by a messy kiss.

“so perfect, baby, you’re so perfect,” he mumbles against your swollen lips, hips at a standstill because he plain refuses to move—convinced that he’ll cum as soon if he so much as shifts his weight. “wish you could see your face. so pretty when you’re taking me.”

“you’re… fucking… crazy,” you whisper against his mouth before your hands tangle in his hair; they bunch around the dark locks, pushing his lips against yours again, and he laughs between the sloppy attempts to lock your lips together—noses bump and his forehead thuds against yours. “just fuck me, please, hoon.”

“look at what you do to me,” he sighs, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. borderline addictive the way you wriggle underneath his touch, like you know his size would knock you out cold, but you still beg through small movements. “all your fault, isn’t it? and you keep asking for more. just a needy little slut for me, huh?”

and then his hips retract—pulling out halfway, your cunt still weeping from the reduced contact. he looks back down, hair falling over his forehead, marvelling at the way his cock glistens with you. so utterly filthy.

you whimper when you feel the emptiness. his veins slide against your gummy walls as he pulls out agonizingly slow. “don’t wanna hear you complaining tomorrow morning, then.”

sunghoon’s pace is slow at first. gentle, sweet thrusts that still manage to make you see stars—he’s too afraid to hurt you, too busy savouring in the sweet moans that sprinkle in his name every once in a while. he feels hot, every bone in his body begging for him to hurry and stuff you full of his cock—but how could he? you’re taking him so well just like this, and all he wants is to drag every second out longer, until he dies blissfully happy in this pussy of yours.

“fuck, mmngh—” and the man slams his lips against yours as his fingers find yours again. you wonder just how many times you’ve managed to kiss tonight, but the thought immediately wipes itself clean when he angles his hips so deliciously right that you feel him all the way in your throat.

“shit, i can’t—you’re too fucking big,” the sound of your breath shakes, too much for his brain to compute, and something primal claws at his sick brain until all he’s thinking about is folding your knees up and bullying your cunt ‘till it’s red. you moan into nothing, hands running over every hard-earned muscle in his back, eyes screwing shut because looking at him feels like a perverted form of self-torture. “fuck, you feel so good, hoonie.”

“yeah?” and sunghoon literally feels every thread of sanity snap when you say his name again. “fuck, look at me then—wanna see your pretty face.” your thighs shake with every slap of wet skin, his heavy body shifting the bed closer to the wall as he pounds and pounds and pounds. his hands move the damp strands of hair out of your eyes, ensuring the perfect, unobstructed view.

you mewl, all sweet and so coaxing when he presses an innocent kiss to your cheek. it’s wet and salty on his tongue, but sunghoon’s smiling so wide that you think he must’ve truly fucking lost it completely.

“want you harder, hoon—not enough, please,” you whisper against his mole. there’s just something in the way you’re batting your eyelashes at him that he thinks is sending his nervous system into overdrive, but it’s irrelevant now. your pleas sound like honey to his ears, but the one singular thought that keeps circling his mind is if you’ll be able to take him like that.

his hands slide back down, stopping right where your tits are—his thumb grazes the hardened bud before he begins to palm at the mound of flesh. “f-fuck—”

“god, can’t hold myself back anymore,” sunghoon’s nose nuzzles against your neck and he takes his time breathing in your scent. the smell of your shampoo lingers, now masked mostly by sweat and fading perfume, and it faintly reminds him of a familiar library where all he could focus on was you, you, you.

you, beautiful you. you who’s underneath him now, pleading with him to give you what you want—still so naive, still so unaware, asking for things you have no idea what to do with—you, who bats her eyelashes with a curiosity he doesn’t know how to address, not without showing you.

he licks a long stripe along your jaw, rutting into you a little faster now. sunghoon’s hands find their way to the sides of your head; rationality has long left him, and his brain’s all foggy with visions of you. he wonders if he could take you just as well on the counter, on the desk, or by the window, and he just gets needier.

he’s getting sloppy and his brain’s all fuzzy. he’s not even sure what the rush is; when there’s someone else in his bed, he almost always finds it easier to take his time. teasing, foreplay, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it—he realised that the reactions he got were much more visceral.

but now—god, he needs you to cum around his cock as soon as possible.

“f-fuck, ngh—pussy was made just for me,” he mutters under his breath, pushing himself up—he towers over you like this, lowlights bathing his skin in warmth all over again as his arms wander down to your waist, then your hips, and then to the back of your knees. “w-what’s wrong, hm? gotta speak up, baby. let me hear you. all that talking was just for show, huh?”

“f-fuuuuh—hoon, please, t-too much—”

“ah-ah, take it like the good girl you are,” his eyebrows knit together in focus, and a bead of sweat rolls down his face, down his chin and drips right onto the valley of your breasts. “y-yeaaah, see? just like that.”

you’re choking on a sob by the time he folds your knees up—brutal, to say the least. your tits get squished by your thighs as he pins your legs up, sunghoon’s rough fingers wound tight around the soft flesh, bullying his way into your poor cunt.

the sounds echoing through the room might as well be featured in a porno. your moans mix until it’s an amalgamation of yeses, gentle sobs, and sunghoon’s relentless teasing. every thrust knocks the wind out of you, your hands clawing at his wrists and leaving red streaks—but the pain barely even reaches him—the only thing on sunghoon’s mind is how gorgeous you look underneath him, taking every inch like it’s what you were born to do, moaning the name he spent so long hating;

“f-fuck, i love you, love fucking this pussy so much—” he hisses through his teeth, eyes zeroed on the way your eyes roll every time he buries himself to the hilt. your head tilts back, throat bobbing as you swallow back embarrassing moan after embarrassing moan—sunghoon’s making it difficult with the way he presses against your belly with one hand, the other holding your left thigh up. “shit, baby, you can be louder than that, can’t you?”

oh, fuck park sunghoon. fuck this stupidly huge cock drilling it’s way through you, and fuck this ridiculously gorgeous man who has you biting back screams, fuck everything, fuck how good you feel—your vision is clouding, stars exploding behind your eyelids every time you shut them, and all you can do is just sit and take it. “s-sunghoon, a-ah—slow down, i’m gonna fucking cum again—”

he kisses his teeth, now resorting to grinding his hips against yours. the angle is new, almost beautiful in it’s discovery. his hands are too curious, before settling on the fat of your ass, palming and fondling and treating it like his personal stress-toy until—

smack.

the moan you let out on contact is nothing short of humiliating. his palm smooths over the handprint, now blooming red right before his eyes, and your brain actually short-circuits for a second.

“fuck,” sunghoon laughs, mocking, rude and mean all in one. “you into that shit?”

the sting sends electricity through your body. sunghoon pulls his hips back just enough, before sliding back between your pretty folds so slow that it actually makes you gasp. every single time he pushes himself back in, it’s like you have to get used to it all over again—the stretch never becomes familiar, always melting your brain and forcing every coherent thought you have to mere nonsense.

“god, you’re such a fucking slut,” sunghoon’s head tilts back momentarily, his hair falling with the gravity and sending little drops of sweat down his neck and onto his back. his heart’s beating all wild now, cock aching for more friction, more force, more of you; so greedy and full of desire, bringing his hand up to land another harsh blow to your ass.

“a-ah—hoon!” you hiss, but you never really try to stop it. you squirm, hips jerking with every slap he decides to give you, but sunghoon knows your cunt tells a different tale: your pussy clenches around him so tight that it’s suffocating him, just begging for his load, and it’s driving him insane. “t-too rough, i can’t—slow down, fuck, you’re gonna break the bed in half—”

it’s true. the frame’s creaking upon each thrust, headboard slamming against the walls, but why would sunghoon care? fuck, he’ll buy you a whole new bedroom if he has to, so long as you just let him have you like this for a little longer.

“don’t give a shit, haa—i’ll buy you a new one, mm? fuck you again ‘till we break that one too. bet you’d want that, wouldn’t you?” he grins, and the corner of his lips turn up sharply when he sees how utterly fucked out you look. there’s this familiar expression he’s seen on other girls—when sunghoon proves to be too much for them to handle, and they end up tapping out—but it’s none of that on you. no matter how much you cry that you can’t take it, you cling onto him like the only thing you know, want, and need is him.

“answer me.”

and the coil in your stomach begins to tighten almost instantly—you don’t even realise that his hands have made it’s way up to your jaw, thumb and index pressing into the bone. a small squeal escapes your throat, and there it is again; that innocent look written all over your face, making sunghoon’s stomach do somersaults. his grip gets firmer with each passing second, before you finally manage to speak:

“y-yes, fuck, need it—i want it, pleasepleasepolease, sunghoon!”

it’s times like these were sunghoon really is convinced he’ll never quit sex. not when there’s a woman like you, with a pussy like this, with a voice so sweet that it makes his chest ache and his cock drip pre. it’s quite a confusing matter, actually, considering he’s never been one to talk too much during the act—that shit just leads nowhere, and feelings get confused by the time he comes down from his high, but god, he doesn’t think his mouth can stop at this rate, not when it’s you he’s buried in.

“yeaaah? gonna cream all over me, baby? make a mess all over this cock, come on.” sunghoon nods feverishly, both hands pinned to the undersides of your knees now, pushing you deeper and deeper into the mattress. your mind tries to catch up, but the pace at which he moves is too relentless for any real thought to form.

his hair falls over his face when he leans forward, just enough to press his full weight down on you. sunghoon’s washboard abs tense every time your nails claw at his chest and just thinking felt weirdly impossible now. your mind’s reduced to slush, ears ringing with wet smacks and constant grunts from the man above you. there’s an occasional moan that slips from him, to which he realises, far too quickly, turns you on more than you’d (probably) ever be willing to admit. mental note for the next time he decides to rearrange your guts, he supposes.

sunghoon glances down again. just for a moment. in the past twenty seconds that’ve passed, you both don’t realise how close you’ve got, damp foreheads pressed against each other in something sweet in the midst of all the roughness. his grunts have transformed into something else completely—now laced with need and breathy pleas, begging.

“there we go, yeah—cum on my cock, please, baby. i’m so fucking close—”

“i love you.”

the words almost kill him.

something seems to have snapped almost instantaneously. park sunghoon’s lips crash into yours with newfound fervor, and every muscle in his body seems to be operating on the sole purpose of getting you to come undone. he’s so fucking tired, truly—but the pain fades and all the soreness in his muscles from yesterday’s practice is irrelevant now.

“yeah? you love me?” his pussydrunk face is the only thing in view, a small gasp slipping when he feels you clench down on him. his hips begin to stutter, jerk, pace faltering. his eyes stare into yours through the gaps in his damp hair, waiting for an answer. “fuck, say it again—please.”

“i love you, sunghoon,” you whisper, almost sultry, your voice barely reaching his ears but ghosting against his lips anyway. “i-i love you—”

a starving man he proves to be. his lips lock with yours again, and this time, they never really leave. his tongue swirls around yours, drinking up every sound that you have to offer, still rutting into your cunt like he needs to fuck a whole new generation into you. your core tenses up so much that you think you’re gonna pass out from the impending orgasm—all sunghoon does is moan into your mouth, fingers intertwining with yours as he abuses your pussy with ruthless strokes.

“i love you, y/n,” the words are so sweet it makes your head spin. it doesn’t correlate at all with the obscene view beneath you, his soaked pelvis and your thighs pressed up against your stomach—your hole squelches with every roll, now much messier and haphazard, and the high is so close that you can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. “that’s it, baby. let it out for me, just like that.”

so cruel.

“c-cumming, fuck, i’m gonna cum, hoon—”

a revelation comes to sunghoon as soon as your walls begin spasming around his length—sunghoon has never had sex this good. you get impossibly tighter, and your moans are broken up by your lungs trying to take in more air. you sob when it hits, almost blinding in it’s entirety as sunghoon continues fucking you through it, feeling how you soak him from the inside and how it gets disgustingly easy to pound into you when you’re this wet.

“fuuuck, o-oh my god,” a guttural sound claws it’s way out of his throat. his forehead dips again, lips still glossy and tasting just like you, entranced by the way your pretty lips part in a silent scream that ends as a loud gasp. “you’re so fucking tight when you cum, shit—”

sunghoon is gone. just chasing his own release, sloppy thrusts making your juices splurt everywhere; your moans amplify and you’re barely holding your sanity together by the time you come back from whatever plane of reality you decided to visit. his thumb digs into the dip behind your knees, still trying to push his cock deeper into you, tip grazing your cervix every now and then—god, it’s pure filth. you’re half convinced that you might have to take the stairs tomorrow if you want to avoid your upstairs neighbour.

humans are truly just animals. sunghoon proves just as much with how frantic he is to spill himself inside of you. truthfully, the thought is stirring him on more than he’d like to admit—which is kind of scary, if he thinks too long about it. it’s a shame that he’s incapable of that right now, because all he manages to babble is:

“please, y/n, can i? let me cum inside of you, please, please—shit, need to fill you up, wanna see it dripping out of you all fucking night, please.”

and you, as drunk on him as he is on you, nods like it’s all you’ve ever needed in life.

sunghoon’s hips snap against your ass, eyebrows knit in frustration and lips parted to let an animalistic groan out. you take it, all of it, from the way he kisses you like he wants to eat you up, to the way he thumbs at your clit because he just needs you to unravel with him again. selfish as he is, he can’t have this alone—not when you look so beautiful breaking.

it takes ten seconds for you to cum for the second time, and him, eleven. it’s all heat and lust and pure hunger condensing into one, singular moment, where he buries himself to the hilt and spills months worth of holding back.

your walls pulse around him. your clit throbs unapologetically under his restless thumb, still circling nice ‘n slow as if you weren’t already gasping for air as it is. his dick almost feels like it’s getting bigger, twitching as it shoots load after load, hot and thick as it paints every crevice.

god, what the fuck. sunghoon’s panting when he finally collapses on top of you, the soreness from yesterday creeping up on him—though he has reason to believe it may be more of your doing. his face buries itself into your neck, not before his hands finally let your thighs loose, dropping right next to his, and for a minute, the two of you simply lay there.

sunghoon breathes you in again, slow enough that the scent of you settles somewhere deep in his chest. your arms slip around his neck without hesitation, fingers disappearing into the soft hair at the nape of it while your lips find his forehead in small, absent kisses that feel less like affection and more like habit. he lets out a quiet sigh against your shoulder, eyes falling shut as warmth spreads through him in steady waves.

“you smell good today.”

he lets himself believe, just for now, that it can stay this way, though it is probably foolish. if he were being honest, every sensible part of him should still be waiting for the other shoe to drop, for you to wake up and realise you've chosen the wrong person, for the guilt he's carried around for months to finally become heavier than whatever it is you've found in him. even after all of it, all you’ve dragged each other through—you’re still here, trusting him with your body.

confusing, he thinks. you’re so confusing.

“hoon,” you mumble against his skin. he hums in response. “you’re being weird—oh my god. stop sniffing me, i’m getting ticklish.”

he hums against your skin before taking another deep breath in. “don’t care.”

before you, none of this would have unsettled him. there had been other people, other nights, other attempts at filling the empty spaces—and it had been good. he had learned very early that casual was easy to survive because it demanded so little of him—he could leave before morning and return to his life unchanged, carrying nothing home except the faint smell of someone else’s perfume and the relief of having avoided being known. it never bothered him. if anything, he preferred it that way.

“can we wait a little longer?”

“didn’t know you were into cockwarming. you’re sick in the head.” you sigh dramatically, earning a groan from sunghoon—he shifts his weight slightly, hissing when he feels you squeeze around him again.

“just give me a minute,” he answers. “need to remember my first with you. should we take a selfie?”

you fist at his hair and sunghoon winces. “fuck, i was just kidding.”

four in the morning.

the clock on your nightstand blinks the numbers back at you in soft, white light, stubborn and familiar. nine months ago, that hour belonged to a stranger's voice crackling through your speaker and a crush that felt enormous simply because it was all imagination.

you remember lying awake with your phone pressed against your cheek, convinced the boy on the other end of the line was someone else entirely, and now the room is quiet enough to hear the city breathing beyond the windows.

sunghoon shifts against you, cheek warm where it's pressed to your chest, his hair a soft mess beneath your fingers. when he tilts his head up, tiredness still clings to him around the edges of his eyes, but they find yours immediately, like they've learned the route by heart. there is something almost unfair about it—that the boy who once hid behind another person's name now looks at you with such terrifying honesty.

“can you get off of me now?”

sunghoon lifts his head just enough to look at you, cheek still resting against your chest, dark hair falling messily across his forehead. he considers the question with suspicious seriousness before leaning over to press another lazy kiss against your collarbone. “no.”

luck and fate. such intangible concepts, but the feeling creeps up on you regardless. the universe seems unusually generous now, which scares you—after everything that’s happened, after all the ways the two of you managed to hurt each other before finding your way back, it feels dangerous to believe that happiness could be this simple.

and still—something tells you that this feeling might be yours to keep, anyway, so long as you keep choosing for it to.

sunghoon shifts closer, his voice rough with impending sleep as he presses his face into the warmth beneath your jaw. “i love you, y/n.”

when your eyes flutter open the next morning, the blinds are only half-shut, thin ribbons of sunlight slipping through the gaps and painting pale gold across the floor. there's a t-shirt bunched around your waist that definitely wasn't there when you went to sleep, and your hair is sticking to your cheek in a way that immediately informs you that you’ve slept in way too long.

you stretch with a quiet groan, arms reaching above your head until your shoulders pop pleasantly, then roll onto your left side in search of the cooler side of the bed—but instead, you’re greeted by more warmth.

for a brief, sleepy second, you wonder if autumn has somehow changed its mind overnight. is it summer again?

but then, you see him.

park sunghoon is sprawled face-down across your mattress like somebody dropped him there and forgot to pick him back up. one arm is flung over the edge of the bed, the other trapped beneath your pillow, and his dark hair sticks out in every possible direction. sometime during the night, he'd apparently migrated until three-quarters of his body occupied your side of the bed while you clung to the remaining sliver.

his bare back is outlined by faint shadows of the morning, still unfairly sculpted while knocked out cold. it annoys you, just a little, but enough that you briefly consider stealing the blanket back out of spite.

instead, you stay where you are and watch him.

you watch the slow rise and fall of his ribs beneath your fingertips, the tiny hitch in his breathing every few breaths, and the way one hand twitches occasionally against the mattress as though he's still reaching for you in his sleep.

you lean forward until your lips brush the warmth of his shoulder—but the words you whisper there are too soft for him to hear.

“i love you too, park sunghoon.”

he sleeps through your confession, completely unaware of the smile that finds your face as you settle next to him again. your heart slows just a fraction, calming when your breathing unconsciously matches the rhythm of the man beside you.

time seems to slow itself down. the morning birds are quieter than usual, the grandmother across the street has spared the neighborhood her daily yelling, and when you look over at your calendar, there is nothing waiting for you there.

for a love this gentle, the universe has chosen to be unusually generous.

lucky you!

─────────────────────────

hoonie <3: [Attachment] 20:28

hoonie <3: I’ll be over after practice 20:28

hoonie <3: Yeonjun and Maki keep asking about you it’s starting to piss me off 20:29

hoonie <3: Also did you change my contact? 20:34

y/n: yes heeseung 20:40

y/n: oops i meant Park Sunghoon. my favourite boyfriend out of 10 20:40

hoonie <3: I’m going to walk into traffic 21:12

y/n: ????? ur so dramatic Hello 21:15

© kissued 2026 — do not repost, edit, redistribute or translate my work without prior permission and credit. all my work is strictly fictional and not an accurate representation of these people in real life.

taglist 1/2 @h7llow @janeluvwonuuuu @fancypeacepersona @iamnibbsi @12e45 @iiunique @tearsforyrsins @areikii @rikisblog @lawjakesim @omlhyck @nxzz-skz @minjiblue @fouldiplomatpapershark @tessa365 @sm0kinhghotvirgn @alondra6011 @hunbunki @yngjwnz @vissnipherwifeey @faust-pda @honestlyatomicpanda @jaystardust @dazedhooniexx @punchbug9-blog @kitteaasstuff @sievenderz @veemegatron @dmstoyangyang @joohyunrene @glitterywonderlandtimemachine @sailorinthesie @suramini @zohaaz @arminswife12 @sparkleslightsworld @nanilis @iluvblackk @felixthemrow @d4zedndc0nfused @hoonlovesun @lxneraven @acolytees @blooqz @songbyeonkim @angelhyuka @nosungluv @seongiewon @jellykitti

[jungwonslover]

| 4POISON.2 ft. YJW

You return to Hogwarts expecting everything to feel the same — especially him. Yang Jungwon, your best friend of four years. Your constant. Until a love potion changes everything.

pairing: gryffindor!jungwon 𝓍 slytherin!femreader word count: 28k+ — series ★⋆ content: fluff ⋆ angst ⋆ eventual smut hogwarts au, love potions, jealousy, yearning, possessive!won. avoidant!reader. miscommunication. jungwon is lowk pathetic but..in a hot way. secret relationship. they're disgustingly cute. ⦸ kissing. tongue sucking. spit play. dry humping. switch!jungwon, switch!reader. dirty talk. big dick won. premature ejaculation. tit play. petnames(baby, princess, babygirl). fingerfucking. finger sucking. overstimulation. kinda condescending. oral (m+f). cum eating (f+m). face fucking? (m receiving). pussy drunk won. slight size kink. multiple rounds. light choking. bulge kink. loss of virginity (m+f). unprotected sex. creampie.

| PLAYLIST | LIBRARY | PART 1

V𓄧 helloooo!! it's the end of an era. i hope the wait was worth it❤️‍🩹and thank you soo much to miss @kissued for proof-reading!! your input was truly so helpful babygirl!

You started your morning the same way you always did, routine first, thinking later. Preferably never if you could help it. Pull the robes on, adjust your hair multiple times and mess it up again because trying too hard felt embarrassing in your current state of mind. Pause in front of the mirror longer than usual and then immediately regret it, because there’s something behind your eyes you don’t want to unpack right now.

So you looked away before you could start spiralling into one of those cruel little internal monologues about how unnatural you looked, opting to grab your things and leave instead.

But there was this dull ache sitting in your chest, quiet but persistent, like it was waiting for you to acknowledge it — and you don’t because if you don’t name it, it doesn’t get to be real. That was the system, a deeply flawed system, apparently, because despite your best efforts the ache stayed exactly where it was, tucked somewhere beneath your ribs and growing increasingly difficult to pretend wasn’t there.

The air felt heavier, like the space isn’t as easy to exist in anymore. Even the idea of sitting with your friends this morning felt strangely exhausting, and you hated that more than anything. Hated that something so normal had become something you had to think about first.

The room was already loud with morning chatter when you stepped inside, sunlight pouring through the enchanted ceiling in pale gold streaks while students crowded around long tables — balancing unfinished homework and toast. Your friends were already there, they looked up almost immediately when you approached, conversations faltering just slightly as their attention shifted toward you.

There was tension sitting there beneath everything, thin enough that nobody else would notice it, but obvious to you in the way all uncomfortable things became obvious once you were already hurting. It settled awkwardly between all of you like a conversation waiting to happen and you suddenly understood, with painful clarity, how easy it would be for someone to ask the wrong question this morning and ruin you completely.

"Morning, Y/n," a few of them said, their eyes lingering just a second too long. "Morning," you replied evenly, your voice smooth enough to pass for normal. You reached for a piece of toast, eyes flicking briefly across the table before you turned slightly like you planned on leaving immediately.

Jake frowned first, "—You're not gonna sit?" he asked. Jake knows you, he knows your way of handling things that actually hurt is by avoiding it, but he didn't know how bad it was going to get. You paused for half a second before shrugging lightly.

"No, It's a nice day," Which was objectively true, also completely irrelevant. The silence after your answer stretched just long enough to feel deliberate. You turned and started toward the entrance hall again, already feeling the weight in your chest ease slightly at the thought of escaping.

Unfortunately, the universe had apparently decided suffering built character, you made it halfway across the entrance hall before you had to slow your pace hearing footsteps. "Hey—" Jungwon stood a few feet away, slightly out of breath like he’d hurried after you without fully meaning to. His blonde hair still looked messy from sleep, collar crooked in that careless way nobody else seemed capable of making look good, and his eyes, they were already fixed on you in that open way that always made your resolve feel embarrassingly fragile.

"Hi," you said, narrowly avoiding his eyes.

"You’re not eating with us?" he asked, and there was the faintest pout pulling at his lips out of habit, so natural he probably didn’t even realize he was doing it. You glanced away, settling on the floating candles somewhere behind him instead.

"No," you answered, forcing a small smile onto your face before pressing your lips together quickly like you regretted it immediately. "I’m going for a walk." A poor attempt really, Jungwon’s brows pulled together slightly, like he noticed you were already off, despite you barely exchanging a few sentences.

"I’ll see you guys later." You added quickly, pre-emptively, before he could ask to come.

"Oh," he said softly. "Okay… bye." the words trailing as you turned and you didn’t look back. Because one glance would’ve ruined whatever pathetic amount of self-control you still had left. You would’ve seen that familiar look before he caught himself too late, and suddenly all this distance you were trying so hard to create wouldn’t make sense anymore.

So you kept walking, even when every part of you wanted to stop. You wanted to turn around, grab his sleeve like you’ve done a hundred times before, mumble something sarcastic about fresh air and have him follow without question. You wanted him next to you, matching your pace, letting the silence speak for him like he always does.

You wanted things to feel normal again and maybe that was the problem, because you’d spent so long putting other people’s feelings before your own that hurting quietly had become second nature to you. You always swallowed your emotions down before they became inconvenient. Always convinced yourself you could handle it because seeing other people uncomfortable somehow felt worse than carrying the hurt yourself. That was still true, but right now it felt too big to push down.

Behind you, Jungwon stayed standing there for another second longer than necessary. He watched as you left, there was something in his chest, something off — he didn’t reach for it. Didn’t question it, just frowned faintly as he headed inside with his mind stuck on you. He greeted the others automatically, barely registering their responses and his attention kept drifting elsewhere despite himself, replaying your expression over and over trying to figure out why something about it unsettled him so much.

He dropped his gaze to the table. People filtered out slowly after breakfast, one by one, until it was just the three of them. Jake cleared his throat loudly, "So.." Heeseung started, already watching the blonde. "Did you tell her?" Jake cut in, blunt and straight to the point.

"Dude—" Heeseung shot a look at the younger, who only shrugged. Jungwon didn’t react right away, his finger traced the rim of his glass, slowly, distracted. "No," he said finally. "I didn’t."

"Why?" they asked in unison, he exhaled, shoulders tensing slightly.

"She didn’t care," he said, eyes fixed downward on the glass. Jake leans back in his chair, staring at Jungwon like he’s just said something objectively stupid.

"You cannot actually be this stupid," he muttered, Jungwon frowned slightly.

"She told me to tell her," he says, quieter now. "You don’t tell someone to confess to someone else if you—"

"If you what?" Jake cuts in. "If you like them? Yeah, you do. All the time. It’s called being a masochist."

"That’s not—" Jungwon stops, frustrated, dragging his hand down his face. "You didn’t see her," he muttered. "She was fine." The boys looked to each-other and then back at him.

"Jungwon she clearly-" Heeseung started.

"No." The word came quick, defensive in a way he doesn’t usually get. He shook his head, sitting up slightly. "No I need to stop doing this" he let out a breath, sharper this time.

"Doing what?"

"Convincing myself that she'd feel the same." The honesty in his voice made the table fall silent, immediately he let out another sharp breath before leaning back again — exhausted already by thoughts he clearly hadn’t wanted to say out loud.

Jungwon had considered it, yes, maybe you were a little bit of a masochist and he'd seen you downplay your feelings enough times. But how the fuck could he know what's real or not anymore. For years he’d survived almost entirely on implication and hope. Now he had a choice, he could keep doing this to himself, keep taking every small thing you did and stretching meaning into it until it hurt, or he could finally accept that maybe he’d just wanted you too much to think clearly. He could finally start reading between the lines but even then, some pathetic part of him had still tried replaying your expression over and over searching for something hidden underneath it. Regret. Jealousy. Anything. Because wanting you had long since stopped feeling rational.

"I’m not bringing it up again." he said firmly. Then Heeseung glanced toward Jake briefly before speaking carefully. "Jungwon.. she doesn't even know you were under Amortentia," Heeseung said carefully.

"I know." He said quieter now, tired. "Please don’t tell her." That made them both pause because now it’s not just pride, it’s fear and if you find out, everything changes.

Heeseung studied him for a moment, something conflicted in his expression. "…We won’t," he said finally. "But only because she should hear it from you." Jake nodded once in agreement. Jungwon didn't respond, he just stared at the table, like if he stayed still enough, he wouldn’t have to choose between fixing it or losing you completely.

That first day, you avoided people, not in a dramatic way and definitely not enough for anyone to call attention to it. You still showed up where you were supposed to, still answered questions when professors called on you, still sat beside your friends during class when there weren’t enough excuses left to disappear entirely.

After breakfast, you walked instead of going straight to class. You took the longer routes through the castle automatically, choosing quieter corridors and empty staircases, slipping around crowds before they formed properly. Every decision became calculated in this quiet subconscious way you hated noticing. You’d pause briefly at intersections listening for familiar voices before turning elsewhere. Not because you were hiding, at least that’s what you kept telling yourself. You just didn’t trust your ability to look at him normally right now.

Everything continued moving with the same rhythm it always had, and there was something strangely isolating about that. The world should’ve at least paused for a second out of respect for your emotional humiliation because fuck, everything is so loud.

You ended up in the library for a while, tucked into a corner table no one really used. A book open in front of you, something dense and complicated enough that it required just enough concentration to occupy your hands if not your thoughts. Your eyes moved over the words, sure, but you absorbed absolutely none of it. Your mind kept drifting, kept replaying that moment over and over like your brain was trying to fact check it.

"I think I love her." The memory hit differently every time it replayed, sometimes sharp enough to feel like a stab, other times quieter, almost numb, like your brain was trying to dull the edges for self-preservation. You blinked, forcing your attention back to the page. Right, don't think just read, you lasted maybe twenty minutes before closing the book.

You skipped lunch, not intentionally. It just, happened — you told yourself you weren’t hungry, which was half true, the other half was that you didn’t feel like sitting across from him and pretending you hadn’t heard what you heard. You kept picturing him smiling, talking about her and every single time it felt like something folding painfully inward inside your chest. Pathetic.

You’d spent years carefully avoiding this exact situation. Years making sure your feelings for him stayed manageable enough to survive if things ever went wrong. You never pushed too hard, never let yourself fully believe anything between you meant more than friendship because you knew how dangerous hope became once it rooted itself properly. So why did this hurt like you hadn’t been?

By late afternoon, you found yourself back in the Room of Requirement almost without realizing you’d gone there. The door appeared quietly against the stone wall after your third pass, opening into something emptier than before, something quieter. A curved window stretched across one side of the room overlooking distant hills washed gold beneath the late afternoon sun. There was a wooden desk nearby, shelves lined with books you wouldn’t read and a sofa tucked into the corner beneath dim lantern light.

The room felt less like comfort today and more like permission to exist somewhere without being perceived for a while. You sat by the window eventually, knees pulled slightly toward your chest as your gaze drifted absently across the landscape outside. You tried thinking about it logically instead because logic had always been easier than emotions. People fall for other people literally every day, entire populations survive this experience regularly. He likes someone else, it's fine, that’s normal and you’ll get over it… Who were you fooling.

That persistent ache that had sat there all day had only grown heavier, spreading slowly through you in ways that made concentrating impossible. You pressed your lips together tightly before dragging a hand over your face with a quiet exhale. This is so fucking stupid.

You’re not the kind of person who spirals over things like this. You didn't build entire fantasies in your head just to mourn them afterwards. You kept yourself guarded specifically to avoid ending up here — sitting alone in a magical room feeling devastated over something that technically was never yours to lose in the first place. You’d imagined it all. Had to have because otherwise none of this made sense. You let out a breath and stood, not giving yourself more time to sit in it.

The Great Hall was loud, plates clinking, chatter. Someone a few seats down was laughing entirely too hard at something that objectively could not have been that funny. Everything felt alive in that messy, ordinary way Hogwarts always did at the end of the day. You hated how disconnected from it you felt. You slipped into the empty seat beside Jake, movements automatic, almost rehearsed at this point. He glanced at you the second you sat down, concern flickering across his face before he tried covering it with something lighter. "Hey," he said, nudging your shoulder gently with his own.

"Hi," You gave him a small smile in return, quick enough to miss if someone wasn’t paying attention.

"You okay?" he asked, head tilting like he was about to run diagnostics on you.

"Mm." you nodded, your attention shifted elsewhere, fingers wrapping around your glass of water mostly just to avoid looking directly at him. You could feel the weight of observation today, everyone glancing too carefully around you like they were trying not to step on something fragile.

You lifted the glass to your lips slowly, eyes drifting absently across the room over the rim until they caught on Jungwon almost by accident. He was already looking at you, not subtly either, there was something behind his eyes that looked like it ached. You didn’t acknowledge it and just started eating. Around you, conversation moved naturally enough, your gaze eventually wandering again until it landed somewhere across the hall.

Penelope, she was watching Jungwon. Not the way people usually watched attractive boys from across rooms at parties or meals or gatherings, there was hesitation in it, like she was actively debating whether to walk over to him right now, whether to cross that space between them. You could see it, that slight shift forward, that pause. Your chest lurched uncomfortably, so you stood a few seconds later and muttered your goodbyes, barely waiting for a response as you walked.

"I’m gonna go," you muttered quickly, barely hearing Jake call after you as you turned away from the table, because suddenly you could picture it too clearly. Her walking over, him smiling with that same smile you thought was yours. You left faster than you meant to, like if you don’t, something would catch up to you, a voice, a hand on your wrist — your own stupid instinct to stay.

The corridors blurred slightly as you walked, your pace quick and uneven while the noise of the Great Hall faded further behind you. Cold air drifted through open archways as the evening settled outside the castle windows, painting the stone floors in dim blue grey light.

You found yourself at that same abandoned classroom and sat on the stone steps despite the cold, exhaling slowly. There’s something in your heart that just won’t settle, worse now — like it’s pressing against you it, asking to be acknowledged. Footsteps echoed softly behind you not long after and you had to physically suppress a sigh.

"Hey, Y/n." Beomgyu said gently. You glanced toward him briefly as he approached before sitting beside you carefully, leaving enough space between you that it didn’t feel suffocating.

"Hi," you replied quietly. He paused, studying your face, "Are you alright," The question came carefully, like he already knew the answer and was asking anyway just in case you wanted to be honest.

"I’m fine," you said, too quickly but he didn’t call you out on it. Instead he leaned back slightly against the wall beside you and nodded once.

"We don’t have to talk about it," he said instead. It made something loosen, just slightly because he didn’t push or probe, where they immediately started trying to solve it or force it open like your feelings were some sort of problem needing repair.

You breathed in slowly, though the inhale caught unevenly halfway through. Was it really that obvious?

Silence settled between you not an awkward silence, just the kind that didn’t ask anything from you but unfortunately, quiet left too much room to think.

The way Jungwon looked at her, not the way he looked at you when he was teasing you softly or trying to figure out what you were thinking without asking outright. This had been different, it was certain as though he knew without hesitation that it was her.

With you, there was always something just under the surface. Something unsaid, but there. You felt it. You know you did, you didn’t imagine that. Right? Your fingers curl slightly into your sleeves. You could handle jealousy, honestly, you could — it was ugly and humiliating, but manageable. It was the other part, the part where something in you rearranges itself around the idea that maybe you misunderstood everything.

Jungwon, on the other hand, was losing his mind. He didn’t know what to do. All day, you’d been just out of reach, not gone but not there either and it didn’t make sense. In four years, you had barely left each other’s sides. It had never been something either of you questioned, it was just how things were, until now. Now every hallway felt too empty whenever you weren’t in it and the more distance you put between yourself and him, the more aware he became of how much space you actually occupied in his life.

By evening, the restlessness inside him had sharpened into something unbearable. He needed to talk to you, he needed to explain — even if he didn’t fully know how. Because somewhere between the potion wearing off and watching you avoid him all day, Jungwon had started realizing something terrifyingly simple. Losing you felt worse than embarrassing himself ever could. But even if he walked into it telling himself he wouldn’t say it, he knew it wouldn't last, because the truth was if you looked at him the way you always did, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. So when he saw you again later that evening, he stopped walking immediately.

You were sitting with Beomgyu. Not close, not leaning in, you weren’t laughing or touching his arm or doing anything that would make people question it. There was space between you, intentional — noticeable if you knew what to look for. It was wasn't anything anyone else would look twice at but to him, it was loud, because you didn’t let people sit like that with you. Not in that quiet, unguarded way. Beomgyu wasn’t filling the silence nervously or trying to pull reactions out of you. He was just sitting there beside you while you stared ahead quietly and you were letting him.

That kind of stillness, that kind of ease was something you reserved. Something he thought, stupidly, had always been his. He stood there in the hall for way longer than he should have, watching something small and quiet and completely non-dramatic feel like it was tearing something open inside him and the realization settled in. You weren’t just pulling away. You were letting someone else in.

It didn’t fix itself the next day, or the day after that. If anything, it settled — into something quieter, more permanent. It sat behind every conversation, every glance across the room, every moment your brain instinctively searched for him before remembering why it shouldn’t.

You kept moving through your days exactly the way you always had because if you stopped long enough to properly examine what was happening to you, you might actually have to admit how badly this affected you, and frankly you refused to become the kind of person who unravelled over a boy. Especially not in a castle full of emotionally observant adults with absolutely nothing better to do than romanticize other people’s suffering.

You arrive just late enough that there’s no space beside him anymore, slipping into whatever seat is open without comment. If there is space, you take it — never close enough for your shoulders to brush, never the easy proximity you used to fall into without thinking and the second conversations started thinning out, the second things became quieter and more intimate and dangerous, you left first.

"Anyway, I’ve got something to do," becomes your exit line, like it means nothing, like he means nothing. Which is almost funny, because you’ve built your entire day around not being alone with him.

Kenny doesn’t bring it up right away. She had this deeply concerning habit of collecting emotional evidence silently before confronting people with it like some sort of terrifyingly perceptive prosecutor. You almost made it through dinner, and then.. "Hey," she says, stepping into your path just enough that you have to stop.

"Walk with me." It’s not really a question. You hesitate, just for a second like maybe if you wait long enough, this won’t happen. "..Okay."

She walks beside you in silence for a while, matching your pace easily, hands tucked into the sleeves of her jumper. It’s usually comfortable, the kind of quiet you don’t have to work for but today, it feels almost watched. "You’re doing that thing again," she says finally, you don’t look at her. "What thing?"

"The pretending nothing’s wrong thing." You let out a small breath, almost amused.

"I’m not pretending." Kenny hums, unconvinced. "Right." A few steps pass.

"You know you’re allowed to be upset," she adds, softer this time.

"I’m not upset," you say, automatically.

"You are," she replies just as quickly. "You’re just… being weird about it." That makes you glance at her, a slight frown pulling at your brows.

"I’m not being weird."

"You left breakfast, lunch, and dinner early yesterday," she lists. "You’ve been dodging eye contact like it’s going to kill you, and you literally turned around and walked the other way when Jungwon came down the corridor earlier."

"…I had somewhere to be." Even you don’t believe that, Kenny stops walking and you take two more steps before realizing and turning back, sighing slightly. "What?" She just looks at you.

"We established you like him," she says plainly. It twists your stomach more than it should and you look away almost immediately, shaking your head.

"It doesn’t matter."

"That’s not what I said."

"It’s the same thing,” you mutter.

"No, it’s not," she pushes. "You can like someone and still admit it sucks when they like someone else." You cross your arms loosely, more to have something to do than anything else.

"He doesn’t like someone else," you say, quieter now. "He’s in love with her." you add, like it costs you nothing.

"Did he actually say that?" You don’t answer, because yeah he did and worse — you heard it, and saw it.

"I just don’t get it," she says after a moment. "Everything was fine. You two were—" she gestures vaguely between you, searching for words that apparently didn’t exist. "Whatever that is."

"Friends," you say quickly, Kenny gives you a look so unimpressed it almost made you laugh. "Friends don’t look at each other like that." A humourless breath escaped you. "Apparently they do."

She nudges your shoulder lightly. "You’re allowed to be a little dramatic about this, you know."

"I don’t think I’d survive being dramatic right now."

"Fair." She pauses, "But you also don’t get to pretend it didn’t hurt,"

"I’m not pretending," you say. "I just— don’t want to make it a bigger thing than it already is."

Kenny tilts her head. "It already is a big thing, you just won’t look at it." You swallow and look away, at the brick, the portraits, anything else, she watches you for a moment longer, then sighs quietly.

"Just… don’t shut him out completely," she says. "Whatever happened, he’s still him."

That almost makes you laugh because that’s the problem, he's still the person you default to. Still the one your brain looks for in every room before you can stop it. "Yeah," you say finally, voice quieter than before.

Your eyes dropped briefly to the floor, "That’s exactly why I have to."

Jungwon saw it, obviously, not immediately or all at once, but in fragments. The way your replies have gotten shorter. The way you don’t reach for him anymore, not even absentmindedly, the way your attention no longer defaults to him.

You used to reach for him constantly without thinking about it. Tugging lightly on his sleeve when you wanted his attention while pretending you didn’t care whether he looked at you or not. Brushing past him in crowded corridors without hesitation. Shoulders knocking together casually like his space belonged to you as much as your own did. Leaning closer during conversations until your knee pressed against his under tables.

Now every movement around him feels considered first and somehow that hurts more than if you’d just started avoiding him outright. Because he catches the almosts. The split second moments where your body moves automatically before your brain catches up. When your hand lifts slightly toward his sleeve before stopping midway and dropping back to your side instead or when you start stepping closer to him while talking before correcting yourself subtly, shifting your weight away at the last second like you suddenly remembered something important.

You’re aware of your closeness to him in a way you never used to be before, and maybe worse than the distance itself is the fact that he can tell you’re thinking about it too.

Not to mention the silence. God, the silence. It used to be his favourite thing — sitting beside you without needing to speak, knowing you were there, that it was enough. But now if silence did settle between you both for too long, you leave before it can fully form, like being alone with him in stillness has become dangerous somehow. Maybe it has, he doesn’t know anymore.

By the third day, it’s unbearable. In a constant, gnawing that doesn’t let him focus on anything else. He catches himself looking for you automatically before remembering you’ve started making sure he can’t reach you properly anymore.

He tells himself to leave it. That if you wanted to talk, you would’ve and that maybe you just need space, and pushing you will only make it worse. He repeats it enough times it should start sounding logical, but not enough to settle the panic growing in his chest every time you avoid looking at him directly.

After class that afternoon, the group settled into one of the common areas near the courtyard, conversations messy in the familiar way they always become when everyone’s exhausted and avoiding assignments together. You’re already there by the time Jungwon arrives, tucked casually into a seat beside Kenny while Jake and Ni-ki argue loudly about some Quidditch match like they’re discussing a professional league.

You tilt your head like you’re listening, drop in a quiet, "That’s not even how that works," and it lands, Jake laughs, Ni-ki protests, it’s easy. You smile, and it looks real enough that no one calls it out. Which is almost funny, because you’re not here at all.

You’re hovering somewhere just outside yourself, aware of everything except what’s being said, because what you are aware of is him. The way Jungwon hasn’t stopped looking at you, not in passing but staring, like he’s trying to figure you out all over again.

He leans forward slightly every time you speak, like your voice still pulls him in automatically, like he’s waiting for something more, something you’re not giving him anymore. You pick at the edge of your sleeve, thumb rubbing over the fabric again and again, grounding yourself in something small, repetitive. "…Y/n?" Kenny nudges you lightly.

You blink, "Hm?"

"We’re talking about whether Ni-ki would survive playing against professionals," she says slowly, like she’s checking if you’re actually present.

"Oh," you nod, forcing yourself to engage. "No, he’d get destroyed."

"Oi—" Ni-ki starts immediately, he starts complaining while the group laughs around him, and you huff out a quiet laugh too, automatic and just believable enough to blend in with everyone else.

Across from you, Jungwon’s jaw tightens just slightly, subtle enough that no one else would clock it, but you know him, and even without looking properly you can feel it.

From where he’s sitting, it doesn’t look like you’re hurt, it looks like you don’t care. Like whatever you heard, whatever you think you know about him and Penelope, it didn’t matter enough to actually affect you and that stings more than he expected, because if you cared even a little, wouldn’t you react differently?

Instead you just left, over and over again — as if he’s easy to walk away from. Before he fully decides to, he leans forward again, elbows resting against his knees as his eyes settle directly on you, fixed on you in a way that makes it impossible to ignore. "Y/n."

You hate that you look up before you can stop yourself and the second your eyes meet his, it hits harder than you expect because he doesn’t look indifferent, he looks frustrated and confused, a little hurt and underneath it holds that same softness that’s always been there when he looks at you. "Yeah?" you say.

Jungwon holds your gaze for a second longer than necessary before speaking again. "…Can I talk to you for a second?" The question sounds casual on the surface, but there’s too much weight underneath it to mistake this for something meaningless. Your stomach drops anyway, because this is it, this is the conversation you’ve been dodging, the one where he says something you don’t want to hear. Where maybe he says her name again and you have to stand there and take it like it doesn’t ruin you a little.

You feel Kenny shift beside you, feel the way the table quiets just slightly. Jake stops moving entirely, Heeseung leans back slightly with the exhausted expression of someone realizing a disaster he predicted has finally arrived. And Ni-ki? That guys lost. Not a clue in the world.

"About?" you ask instead. It throws him and you saw it, the way he blinks for half a second because you’ve never made him work this hard just to talk to you.

"Just.. to talk," he says quieter this time, and something about the sincerity in his voice almost weakens your resolve completely. You tilt your head slightly like you’re considering it carefully, forcing your expression into something neutral enough to survive this. Like this isn't killing you.

"Yeah, later," you say, a soft no dressed up as a maybe. Then before he can respond, before you can lose your nerve and agree just because he’s looking at you like that, you stand and grab your things. "Anyway, I’ve got something to do." There it is again. Jungwon’s jaw tightens visibly this time as he watches you move away from the table.

You don’t look at him, not once. "See you guys." And then you’re gone, disappearing down the corridor before anyone can stop you, leaving Jungwon sitting there with the same awful question looping endlessly through his head for the third day straight. Why does it feel like you don’t care at all?

The silence you leave behind is deafening. The kind that settles over a group slowly enough for everyone to notice at different times, conversations dying unevenly until all that’s left is the sound of chairs shifting and someone tapping their fingers awkwardly against the table. For a second, nobody says anything, Ni-ki’s the first one to break, his eyes flick between the corridor and Jungwon before his brows pull together slightly. "Did you piss her off or something?"

Kenny's staring straight at Jungwon now, eyes sharp, assessing, because she’s been watching this build for days. She’s been filling in the blanks with the only version she has, that he told you he’s in love with someone else, and that's only explanation she’s been working with this entire time.

Heeseung stays quiet beside him, arms folded loosely across his chest, but his attention is fixed on Jungwon in a way that feels far too deliberate to be casual, Jake notices it too immediately. The two of them exchange a look that lasts barely half a second, but it’s enough and now they’re watching the consequences unfold in real time, knowing exactly where it went wrong. 

And Jungwon doesn’t answer straight away. He’s still looking at the door, like if he stares long enough you might walk back through it and undo the last thirty seconds. Something restless and frustrated bubbled under his skin, because nothing about this is lining up the way it should.

"…I didn’t do anything," he mutters finally, but it’s hollow, even to his own ears.

Jake lets out a short breath through his nose. "Yeah, that’s kind of the problem."

Kenny’s head snaps toward him. "What does that mean?"

Heeseung glances at Jake once, a silent warning, but Jake doesn’t look away from Jungwon. He hesitates, just for a second, then leans back — rubbing the back of his neck. "It means doing nothing is also doing something."

Jungwon drags a hand down his face, frustration starting to bleed through properly now because everyone in this room keeps acting like he missed something obvious, like there’s a conversation happening around him that he somehow wasn’t invited to.

"That makes literally zero sense," Ni-ki cuts in, frowning. "Can someone speak in normal sentences?"

Kenny ignores him, eyes still locked on Jungwon. "You told her something," she says flatly. Jungwon finally looks at her, something defensive flickering in his expression. "I didn’t—"

"She told me you said you’re in love with Penelope" she cuts in immediately, Ni-ki’s brows shoot up. "Wait— what?"

Jungwon’s expression hardens instantly, frustration flashing sharp now. "That’s not—"

"Then why would she think that?" Kenny presses without backing down. There’s something protective underneath her voice now, something simmering with irritation on your behalf. "She wouldn't just make that up."

Jake exhales slowly, glancing at Heeseung again. This is the point where either they explain or this keeps spiralling until everyone ends up miserable, Heeseung tilts his head once in silent agreement. Jake looks back at Kenny, voice dropping just enough to shift the tone. "Because what she heard wasn’t real." Kenny frowns immediately, "What does that mean?"

Jake hesitates for half a second longer before finally saying it. "Penelope slipped him Amortentia at the party." They sit there, hanging, like the room needs a second to catch up.

Ni-ki blinks, "She what?"

Kenny doesn’t react immediately — her expression goes completely still, like her brain is rejecting the information before it can fully settle. "That’s not funny."

"It’s not a joke," Heeseung says quietly.

Kenny’s gaze shifts back to Jungwon, slower now, recalculating everything she thought she knew. "So when you said—”

"I wasn’t in my right mind," Jungwon cuts in, sharper than he means to. His hands drag through his hair again, restless. "I didn’t even know what I was saying."

Ni-ki lets out a disbelieving noise, "That’s actually insane."

Jake huffs, "Yeah, tell me about it."

Kenny’s still looking at Jungwon, but now there’s something else in it, not just suspicion, something closer to realization. "She doesn’t know that, does she?"

Jungwon doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. She exhales softly, something almost sympathetic flickering through her expression now. "She thinks it was real," Kenny says, quieter now. "She thinks you meant it."

Jungwon’s jaw tightens again, because yeah. Jake leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "And from her side? You said it, clear as day and you couldn't correct it after. And you didn't explain, so what was she supposed to think?"

Jungwon’s frustration spikes. "I tried to talk to her."

"No," Heeseung says calmly, "you waited for her to come to you." That shuts him up.

Jungwon goes quiet, leaning back, staring at the ceiling like it might give him a better answer than anyone in this room. His chest feels tight in a way he doesn’t like, because now it’s not just confusion, it’s clarity.

You heard him say he loved someone else and instead of fighting him on it, instead of demanding answers or getting angry or making him explain himself, you just quietly stepped away from him piece by piece. Like he wasn't worth the argument.

"Why didn’t she say anything?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "If it mattered, why didn’t she just—"

"Because that’s not how she works," Kenny cuts in, softer now but firm. "She doesn’t fight for people she thinks she’s already lost."

He drags a hand over his face, slower this time. "If it actually mattered," he mutters, voice quieter now, "she would’ve said something. She would’ve— I don’t know been upset, or angry. Anything."

Jake’s head tilts slightly, watching him carefully. Heeseung’s expression shifts too, something almost pitying flashing across his face for a second, because that’s where Jungwon’s wrong. "She doesn’t care," Jungwon adds, more to himself than anyone else, like he’s trying to settle on it, trying to make it make sense. Kenny’s brows pull together immediately. "You actually think that?"

Jake looked like he wanted to say something else, probably something annoyingly insightful that Jungwon absolutely did not have the emotional capacity for right now, but Jungwon was already pushing himself up from the sofa before anyone could stop him.

"Where are you going?" Jake asked immediately.

Jungwon hesitated near the doorway for the briefest second. "I don’t know."

But apparently his body did because less than twenty minutes later, Jungwon caught sight of you just outside the courtyard near the covered archways leading toward the Astronomy Tower, where the stone path narrowed enough that avoiding him would take effort obvious enough to feel cruel. It isn’t planned, not really.. at least that’s what he tells himself.

"Y/n." You stop immediately because pretending not to hear him now would say too much. The corridor is quieter here, evening light filtering weakly through the tall windows and stretching long shadows across the stone floor. Somewhere further outside, rain taps softly against the courtyard fountains.

"Yeah?" you ask, and the casualness of it irritates him instantly because he knows you too well to believe it’s genuine.

"I—" he starts, then falters, something unfamiliar catching in his chest. "Can we just talk?" Your expression doesn’t change but there’s something in your eyes, something distant. Your eyes flicker over him, then settle somewhere just past his shoulder. "About what?" you ask.

That question should not be difficult to answer, instead it completely derails him. Because there’s too many versions of this conversation rotting in his head at once, and none of them feel safe enough to say aloud. The truth feels messy and unfinished and dangerously fragile, like if he explains it wrong he’ll lose whatever still exists between you permanently.

Just… us," he settles on. Your gaze flickers at that, just slightly,

"There’s nothing to talk about," you say and you mean it, or at least, you’re trying to.

"Yes, there is," he insists, taking a step closer. "You’ve been weird with me this whole week."

"I've been acting weird?" The response comes sharp and immediate, slipping out before you can soften it, and the silence afterwards lands hard between you both.

Jungwon stares at you, searching your face almost desperately now for something familiar, something that tells him this hasn’t become as bad as it feels. "I didn’t mean—" he starts.

"You did," you cut in.

"I don’t even know what happened," he says, frustration bleeding through now because none of this feels fixable anymore and he doesn’t understand why exactly everything between you changed. "You barely look at me anymore."

"Seriously?" you scoff, looking up to the archway as though it can save you.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" he asks.

"It means you don’t get to act confused now," you say, your composure slipping slightly. "Not after the shit you said."

Jungwon drags a hand through his hair roughly, agitation building under his skin because every version of this conversation keeps collapsing before he can explain himself properly. "I didn’t—" he stops again, "I don’t even know if I meant it." The second it leaves his mouth, he regrets it.

Your laugh comes out quiet and edged enough to sting. "That’s worse."

His expression tightens. "How is that worse?"

"Because at least if you meant it, it would’ve been real," you say, finally looking at him fully. And fuck, he wishes you hadn’t because now he can see it, — the hurt sitting under everything else. "—But now it’s just… what? Something you’re unsure about? Something you can backtrack because it got awkward afterwards?"

"That’s not what I'm doing—"

"You told me you were in love with her," you interrupt, steadier than you feel. "You looked me dead in the face and said it like it was obvious. Like you’d known for ages and I was just the last person catching up"

"I thought I was sure," he says, quieter now.

"Great," you nod, another silence drops between you both, sharper this time. You fold your arms tighter across yourself, trying desperately to hold onto the control slipping through your fingers because this conversation is going exactly where you didn’t want it to.

Jungwon exhales hard through his nose, pacing half a step before turning back toward you again, "You told me tell her." he says.

You nod once, and exhale "Yeah."

"No, listen to me," he shakes his head, stepping closer again, urgency creeping in. "That’s what you told me I should do."

"Because you like her," you say, your voice finally tightening. "What was I supposed to do? Stop you?"

"Maybe," The word comes out before he can filter it. Your stomach drops so suddenly it almost makes you angry and he sees it, the way your eyes widen just slightly before something else replaces it. "Maybe I wanted you to," he adds quietly. Rain taps steadily against the windows somewhere behind you while your brain scrambles desperately for solid ground because no part of this conversation is safe anymore. You stared at him for a second too long, and in that time it feels like something might finally open between you. But then you shake your head, taking a small step back.

"You don’t get to say that now."

"Why not?" his voice lifts, frustration breaking through. "Why can’t I?" he furrows his brows, looking between your eyes.

"Because you didn’t say it then!" you snap, control slipping hard enough that your voice echoes slightly down the corridor. "You said you loved her. You don’t get to come back now and act like I got it wrong when you spent days letting me think you meant every word."

"I was messed up," he says, the words coming out harsher than intended.

"Messed up?" you repeat. He hesitates, just for a second but it’s enough. Your expression shifts — something closing off completely. "Right," you say, nodding slowly. "Of course."

"That’s not what I meant—"

"No, it is," you cut him off, your voice flattening. "You didn’t mean it. You were confused, it doesn't count"

"That’s not—"

"Then what is it?" you ask, finally looking at him again, something raw breaking through. "Because from where I’m standing, you said something you can’t take back and now you’re upset I believed you." He opens his mouth but nothing comes out, because the real explanation sits lodged somewhere behind his teeth alongside every other thing he’s spent years not saying to you. Things dangerous enough that once he says them aloud, there’s no pretending anymore — and the terrifying part is he still has absolutely no idea whether you’d feel the same way or just stare at him politely before destroying him completely.

So instead, he reaches for the only thing he can. "You heard one thing and disappeared," he says, stepping closer again despite the tension radiating off you now. "You didn’t ask me anything. Didn’t even give me a chance to explain properly."

"A chance to explain what exactly?" you ask quietly. "That I somehow hallucinated the conversation?"

"That’s not what I said." he says glancing away for a moment.

"Oh, sorry," you laugh bitterly. "Did I misinterpret the part where you said you were in love with her?"

The anger in Jungwon finally breaks through. "You don’t get it," Jungwon says finally, dragging frustrated hands through his hair again. "You’ve been acting like I’m some random guy you accidentally shared a table with for the past week and it’s doing my fucking head in." he snaps, voice roughening. "You won’t even look at me anymore."

Your throat tightens painfully because the worst part is he’s right. Every horrible inch of distance between you. For a second both of you just stand there breathing too hard in the narrow corridor, years of almosts and swallowed words sitting heavily between you while rain crashes endlessly outside.

"I was trying to make this easier."

"Well it’s not." he replies instantly. You stare at him, then look away first, eyes drifting toward the water beyond the arches because suddenly the pressure in your chest feels unbearable.

"I don’t know what you want from me," you say quietly.

Jungwon huffs once under his breath, frustrated and exhausted all at once. "That’s the problem, isn’t it?" he mutters. "You never even considered there might’ve been something worth asking me about."

Your head snaps back toward him immediately. "You don’t get to do that," you say immediately, anger flaring hot now because it feels like he’s rewriting this entire situation in front of you. "You do not get to stand there acting like I’m the one who handled this badly when you’re the person who said all of that in the first place."

"I wasn't thinking straight."

"And I was supposed to magically know that?" The words crack out of you harder than intended and Jungwon falls silent immediately. "You don’t get to blame me,"you continue, voice unsteady despite your efforts to control it. "You spent days watching me pull away and didn’t say a word."

"I tried talking to you."

You cut in instantly. "No, you waited for me to come to you first." That one has him exhaling, shakily — because he knows you’re right. Outside distant thunder rolls low somewhere beyond the grounds while the corridor fills with the sound of both of your harsh breathing.

"I’m trying to—"

"I don’t need you to fix it," you say, quieter now. "I’ve already adjusted." He falters, like the words physically knock something out of him. Adjusted, like what you had is something you’ve already started letting go of.

You freeze for a second too, glancing away like it hurt you just as much to say it and the worst part is you didn’t even mean to sound cruel. You just needed him to understand that he doesn’t get to ask for you back now, after spending days pulling yourself apart trying to move around this.

"You don’t mean that," he says, but there’s less certainty in it now. You don’t answer right away and somehow that silence hurts him more than if you had.

"I have to go," you say finally.

Of course you do. You always do but this time when you step around him, he doesn’t stop you. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because for the first time, he’s not sure you’d stay even if he tried. And you don’t look back, because if you do, you’ll see it — the way he’s looking at you like he’s losing something he doesn’t understand.

Behind you, Jungwon stands frozen beneath the archway, jaw tight enough to hurt while thoughts crash violently through his head all at once. I should've told her. About how wrong everything felt that night. About why he even asked you to go out there in the first place. What he was actually going to say.

Now he’s left standing there with every important thing still trapped inside him, watching your figure disappear slowly down the corridor.

It settles for long enough that the distance between you to feel more permanent than either of you want to admit. It follows him around for hours like a headache sitting behind his eyes, dull at first and then suddenly sharp whenever his brain replays your face in that corridor, the look you gave him right before you left, exhausted and angry and so fucking done with him.

The corridor outside the Potions classroom sat mostly empty now, quieter than usual with students already filtering toward dinner. Torchlight flickered against the stone walls, shadows stretching long across the floor while rain hammered softly against the high windows near the staircase. Jungwon stood with his back against the wall beside Jake and Heeseung, jaw tight enough to ache, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat because if they weren’t there, he’d probably start pacing.

Heeseung looked calm in the way people do when they’re trying very hard not to lose their temper. Jake wasn’t bothering to hide his irritation at all, arms folded tightly while his foot tapped against the floor in uneven bursts. None of them were speaking anymore because everything worth saying had already been said three times over. Then Penelope turned the corner.

She slowed the second she saw them standing there waiting, though she recovered quickly enough to fake confidence again, expression smoothing over as she approached with that same polished composure that suddenly made Jungwon feel vaguely sick. "Well," she said lightly, glancing between the three of them, "this looks cheerful."

No one smiled back, Jungwon pushed himself off the wall before he really thought about it, eyes fixed on her in a way that immediately made her smile falter. "You drugged me." There wasn’t even anger in his voice at first which somehow made it worse. Just blunt, exhausted certainty dropped between them hard enough that the corridor seemed to narrow around it.

Penelope blinked once, then laughed under her breath like she genuinely couldn’t believe he was serious. "Right," she said slowly, crossing her arms, "and you came to that conclusion on your own?"

"You used the Amortentia from class," Heeseung cut in before Jungwon could answer, voice level and controlled. "Snuck some from the batch."

Penelope didn’t look at him immediately. She kept her eyes on Jungwon, as if she could manipulate the situation with her eyes. Her eyes flicked toward him briefly before returning to Jungwon again, calculating now, trying to figure out exactly how much they knew. "That doesn’t mean I poisoned anyone."

Jake let out a sharp humourless laugh. "You’re actually gonna stand there and call it poisoning like that somehow sounds less mental?"

"Nothing happened that wouldn’t have happened eventually." That got Jungwon moving before either of the others could react.

One step forward, close enough now that the air between them turned tense immediately. "Don’t," he said quietly, anger finally starting to seep through. "Don’t do that thing where you try to make this sound normal."

Penelope lifted her chin defensively. "You were happy."

"No, I wasn’t." he retorted immediately,

"You seemed pretty convinced at the party."

"That wasn’t me." Her expression shifted then, irritation replacing whatever performance she’d been attempting before. "Oh, please," she snapped. "You can’t blame every stupid thing you said on a potion just because it embarrassed you afterwards."

Jake swore under his breath while Heeseung’s posture stiffened beside him, but Jungwon barely reacted. If anything, he just looked more tired. "You don’t get it," he said flatly. "You don’t even understand what you actually did."

Penelope scoffed quietly, though there was something less certain underneath it now. "I didn’t force words into your mouth."

"No," Jungwon replied immediately, "you just messed with my head enough that I couldn’t tell what was real." Silence cracked briefly between them before she looked away first and there was a tiny flicker of guilt she couldn’t quite hide quickly enough.

Jungwon saw it immediately and something inside him finally snapped properly into anger, because suddenly all he could think about was you standing there on that balcony, listening to him say things he never should’ve said, watching you in real time while he stood there too far gone to realise what was happening.

"You dragged her into it," he said, voice rougher now. "You knew exactly what you were doing." Penelope’s eyes narrowed. "I didn’t do anything to her."

"Except let her think I meant all of it." he snaps.

"She heard one conversation," Penelope shot back defensively. "If your relationship falls apart that easily, maybe it wasn’t that solid to begin with."

Jake stepped forward at that, furious now, "Careful."

"You’re all acting like I committed murder because he fancied someone else for five minutes." she continued, anger spilling over now that she realised nobody here was buying the innocent act anymore.

"I didn’t fancy you. I don't even like you as a person," Jungwon said immediately, the speed of it landed harder than shouting would have.

Penelope went completely still, something genuinely angry flashed across her face then. Hurt too, buried underneath it. "Right," she laughed bitterly. "And let me guess, this is all because of Y/n." He didn’t answer quickly enough.

"Oh my god," she breathed, looking at him like she’d finally solved something. "You’re actually pathetic."

Jake swore again while Heeseung muttered, "Penelope—"

"No, seriously,” she interrupted sharply, looking back at Jungwon now with open disbelief. “You spent years following her around like some lovesick idiot and she still didn’t want you, so now suddenly this is all my fault?"

Jungwon’s expression darkened instantly. "Don’t talk about her."

"Why?" she snapped. "She’s clearly not interested. She heard you say you liked someone else and walked away without even fighting for you." That was the part still sitting under his ribs making him feel half sick all week.

"You don’t know a fucking thing about her," he said, quieter now, though somehow angrier for it.

Penelope scoffed softly. "Please. If she actually wanted you, she would’ve done something." Something cold flashed across his face then.

Jungwon stared at her for a second too long then laughed softly under his breath, "Yeah?" he said flatly. "Well at least she didn’t need to spike my drink to get me to pay attention to her."

Penelope opened her mouth again but footsteps echoed sharply down the corridor before she could answer. The kind that immediately changes the atmosphere of a room. Everyone looked up. A professor stood at the far end of the hall flanked by two Ministry officials, unreadable beneath the torchlight. Penelope’s face drained almost instantly.

"Miss Clearwater," Professor Park said calmly. "You’ll come with us." Her composure cracked properly then. "Are you serious?" she demanded, looking between them all. "You reported me?"

"It’s done," Heeseung said simply, shrugging.

"You can’t be serious," she said, her voice tightening. "It was one potion, one mistake—"

"It was manipulation," Jake snapped back. "What part of that isn’t clicking for you?"

"This is insane," she said, voice rising now as panic finally started replacing anger. "Nothing even happened." By the time Penelope was led away down the corridor, protesting angrily the entire time, Jungwon was barely paying attention. He just stood there staring at the floor, chest tight with the awful realisation that the hardest part of this was never going to be the potion. It was you believing him.

By the time evening rolled around, the argument had calcified into something heavier than frustration. It wasn’t just about what happened anymore. It was the fact that neither of you had managed to fix it. Every conversation somehow made things worse, like the two of you had spent years learning each other perfectly only to suddenly start speaking completely different languages.

Jungwon found you after that and this time it wasn’t accidental. The Room of Requirement gave him away the second the door opened, warm light spilling out into the corridor. Bookshelves climbed all the way to the ceiling, candles flickering low between stacked piles of parchment and half-open novels, the entire place carrying that quiet stillness it only ever seemed to have when you were in it. It looked exactly the same as it always had, painfully familiar.

And there you were, curled into the corner of the sofa with a book in your lap like none of it had happened. You didn’t look up when he came in, just turned a page slowly and said, quiet but flat, "I thought I told you I didn’t want to talk."

"I know," he said, shutting the door anyway. He stayed where he was for a moment, shoulders tense, clearly trying to hold onto whatever speech he’d planned before it completely fell apart on him. The silence between you wasn’t familiar anymore. It felt stiff now, crowded with too much pride and too many things neither of you had said when you should’ve.

Eventually he exhaled hard through his nose and looked at you properly. "I need you to actually listen to me this time Y/n." You let out a breath, eyes still on your book.

"I mean it."

That finally made you glance up properly and the irritation sitting on your tongue faltered slightly because he looked awful. His blonde hair was tussled in the way that it is when he's stressed, his habit of ruffling the front of his hair showing. He looked worn-down in that way people got when they were running entirely on nerves. You sighed, folding the corner of your page over before setting the book aside. "Alright," you muttered, "Talk."

He crossed the room slowly, cautious in a way you’d never seen from him before. "What I said that night…" He stopped halfway through, jaw clenching. "It wasn’t real."

Your face barely moved. "If this is your attempt at damage control, you're a bit late."

"I was drugged." The rain outside started hitting harder against the windows and for a second all you could hear was that. You stared at him for a second, waiting for the backtrack, the part where he admitted he was exaggerating because surely he didn’t actually mean— "Amortentia," he said quietly, and the way he said it made it impossible to dismiss.

Your face went still in that dangerous sort of way where he couldn’t tell what you were thinking anymore. "What?"

"She slipped it into my drink at the party." His voice dipped, "Heeseung and Jake figured it out after.. they reported her earlier" You looked away from him then because your brain suddenly felt too full, the last week rearranging itself in ugly sharp pieces. "What— Why didn’t you tell me straight away?"

"I tried." he shot back immediately, "Every time I saw you, you were halfway out the door." He dragged a hand through his hair before exhaling through his nose. "And then I saw you with Beomgyu and I just—" He stopped, eyes shutting for a second like the memory physically pressed down on him. "I felt so fucking angry."

Beomgyu?" confusion cut clean through the exhaustion in your voice. "The way he was sitting with you," Jungwon muttered, frustration bleeding back into his voice now that he’d started. "The way you looked comfortable with him."

"Jungwon. Nothing’s happening with Beomgyu." you said, still entirely lost on why this matters.

"I know that now." he said it immediately, but there was still irritation buried underneath it, stubborn and lingering.

"No, you clearly don't because you’re still saying it like he committed some sort of crime by existing near me." He huffed through his nose before he nodded once.

"Alright. Maybe I lost my head a bit."

"A bit?"

"And that doesn’t mean I enjoyed watching him sit where I used to."

The words came out before he could soften them and your stomach turned despite yourself. "You don’t get to say things like that after everything that happened."

"I know." he spoke, barely above a whisper. "I know it doesn’t suddenly fix anything. I’m not pretending it does."

"Then why are you here?" you asked, finally looking at him properly again. "Why tell me now?"

His eyes met yours instantly. "Because you think I chose someone else. For a moment you could barely process the words, because he couldn't mean it like that. God, hope needs to die.

"..And you didn’t?" you finally replied, voice unwontedly soft.

"No." he says immediately, certain in a way he hadn’t sounded once this entire week. "I never liked her. Not before that night, not after. Whatever you heard, it wasn’t me," You watched him carefully, searching his face for the part where he might pull back, make it less direct. He didn’t.

"And me?" you asked before you could fight it. That was a question he didn't expect, he suddenly looked exhausted — like he'd spent days fighting himself. "You’ve always been different."

You rolled your eyes immediately, leaning back into the sofa. "That is such a shit answer."

A quiet breath escaped him, almost humourless. "I didn’t say anything because I thought you didn’t care." His gaze dropped briefly before finding yours again. "You literally told me to go tell someone else how I felt, Y/n. What exactly was I supposed to take from that?"

You laughed once under your breath, bitter and disbelieving. "What was I meant to do? You stood there talking about being in love with her."

"I thought you didn’t care." he repeated.

"I cared too much, actually." Both of you froze. Your jaw clenched, "Don’t," you started immediately, shaking your head a fraction.

"No." He stepped closer again, something desperate creeping into his voice now. "Please, don’t take that back, that’s the first real thing either of us has said in days," You looked away quickly, pulse suddenly too loud in your ears.

"You really thought I didn't care?" you asked eventually.

"You stopped looking at me." He breathed, "You pulled away like it was easy. Like I was embarrassing you."

Your face twisted immediately, "Easy?" you repeated sharply. "You think that was easy?" You stood up too fast, anger finally cracking through properly.

"I spent the entire week avoiding you because every time I looked at you I heard you saying her name again, and I couldn’t stand there pretending it didn’t bother me."

"Y/n—"

"No, seriously, do you know how humiliating that felt?" Your voice shook despite your best efforts. "You told me that she lived in your head," You scrunched your nose slightly, expression tightening like the words physically pained you to say, "I can't—"

For a second neither of you spoke, the room suddenly felt too small for the amount of tension sitting between you both. Then he stepped close enough that you instinctively sat back down and lowered himself in front of you, kneeling while he looked up at you properly.

"Look at me," he said gently, and you didn’t, not straight away anyway. Your eyes stayed fixed on your hands, stubbornly avoiding him. Eventually, against your better judgement, you lifted your face to his and there it was again. That look. Warm and steady and devastatingly familiar, like no matter how badly the two of you had handled this, he would still look at you like you were the first thing he searched for in every room. And that was the worst part really, not the argument, not her. It was this, the way your body still reacted to him before your pride could catch up.

He searched your face, "The things I said that night, about someone living in my head all the time?"

"None of that was fake."

And then just as that familiar pain was about to settle, "I just had the wrong name in my mouth." And for a moment your eyes bored into each of his as it settled. Jungwon watched the realization move across your face carefully.

"I was so confused after," he admitted, voice low. "Because the feelings were real. They were always real.. I just didn’t understand why saying her name felt so wrong."

The irritation you’d been clinging to was barely holding together, unravelling thread by thread underneath something dangerous. He was still kneeling in front of you as though hadn’t even noticed, eyes fixed up on your face with this unbearable amount of care written all over him, like your reaction mattered more than his own embarrassment, more than his pride.

Jungwon was now fully ignoring the fact his knees had probably gone numb, too focused on you despite the fact your entire face was practically screaming what the fuck is happening right now.

"The stupidest part is I genuinely thought none of it mattered to you." he continued. "We’d sit practically on top of each other for hours and then you’d casually call me your best friend like that wasn’t completely destroying my ability to think straight." He glanced away briefly, words coming easier now that he’d started. "You’d play with my rings when you were tired, steal my jumpers, look for me first in every room and somehow I still convinced myself I’d imagined all of it."

"Do you know what actually messed me up?" he said eyes not leaving yours for a second. "Even after all this, after the argument and all the avoiding and how angry you were with me, the only thing I could think the entire time was that I just wanted you back beside me again." Jungwon shifts slightly closer without fully standing, still grounded in front of you, then hesitates like he’s debating something, before finally lifting a hand slowly, stopping just short of your face, waiting for any sign you’d move away. Your eyes flickered to it instinctively and your stomach twisted painfully at how careful he was being with you now.

You don’t move away and that seems to decide it for him more than anything else. His palm settles carefully against your cheek, warm and steady. Your lips parted a little, leaning into his touch — barely, but he felt it. His hand shifts, the other coming up too now, gently cupping your face properly this time, both hands holding you now.

"I’m not good at this," he mutters, almost like he’s talking to himself now more than you, "I’ve spent years not saying anything because I thought if I did, it would ruin whatever this was, whatever we are, and I thought I could live with that."

He leans in a fraction more, not enough to touch your forehead, not quite, but close enough that your breathing stills because suddenly there’s no pretending there’s distance left. His eyes studied your face, slower now, more deliberate, you could feel the warmth from his face.

"But I can’t," he says, just something raw and undeniable sitting underneath every word.

"I can’t do it anymore because I’m completely in love with you, and I have been for ages."

For a second he just looks at you like he’s bracing for impact, like he’s expecting you to step away, to laugh, to tell him he’s completely misread everything the same way you’ve both been misreading everything for years but you don’t move, you can't. Your eyes stay fixed on his almost helplessly, searching his face for something that looks uncertain or unsure, some indication that he doesn’t fully mean it. But there's nothing, just him — completely terrifying in his sincerity.

"And I know that probably changes everything," he adds, "but I couldn’t keep pretending it didn’t exist, not after almost losing you." His forehead finally rests against yours then, just barely, and the contact is so gentle. His gaze drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes almost immediately, like he couldn't help it. Yang Jungwon — who moves through most things with quiet confidence, who always seemed so composed, so certain.. looks so genuinely scared right now.

"Say something," he whispers, not demanding, or pushing, just honest in the way that hurts. Your fingers twitch once in your lap before you finally lift one hand, not pushing him off, just catching his wrist lightly, grounding yourself in something solid because your head won’t stop spinning properly.

"Jungwon…" you start, then stop, your voice catching before you can force the rest out, like your thoughts can’t decide which one of them to turn into words first.

Jungwon doesn’t move back. If anything, he leans in more, eyes searching yours carefully now as though was already preparing himself for rejection anyway — despite not pushing him away. "I’m not expecting anything," he says quietly "I just needed you to know."

Your thumb brushes lightly against his wrist. "You’re an idiot," you say, and it comes out shakier than you mean it to, his brows pull together slightly, confused, already pulling back a fraction like he’s misread you again, "Right, yeah, I thought that might—"

"I’m in love with you," you cut in, quieter this time. He stays locked on you, unblinking, as though he’s waiting for you to finish the sentence properly. His hands are just hovering in place like he’s suddenly unsure if he’s allowed to keep holding you at all.

"What?" he says, but it barely makes it out of him, more breath than voice.

"I said—" your voice wavers, softer this time but steadier in its honesty, "I’m in love with you." you catch his hands and guide them properly against your cheeks instead of letting them hover uncertainly. There’s a pause where disbelief breaks through into his face, then something underneath it that looks almost helpless.

Then he leans in — careful, almost hesitant and his forehead finally presses against yours properly. "Fuck," he mutters, but there’s no conviction in it — just awe, like he’s overwhelmed by how real you are. A laugh slips out of you, because he sounds so completely undone it almost feels unfair.

"You’re actually going to ruin me." His hands finally shift, holding you comfortably now.

"You’re so dramatic," you whisper, but there’s no bite to it. His eyes open again at that, still too close, still pressed to yours in a way that makes the rest of the world felt like it's been turned down to nothing.

"Yeah," he murmurs, "But you still look at me like that anyway." Your brows pull together slightly, instinctively defensive, but it doesn’t really land because your hand is now curled in his shirt and you’re still not moving away.

"Like what?" you ask, quieter — pretending you don't know exactly what he's talking about.

"Like you notice things," he says, softer. "Even when you don’t say them out loud." That hits something uncomfortably accurate. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you murmur, which is a lie, and you both know it. He hums faintly like he doesn’t believe you, but there’s no pressure in it, just affection spilling over the edges of him in a way he’s not even trying to hide anymore.

"I love the way you go quiet when you’re thinking too much," he continues, "And I love the way you always act like you don’t care," he adds, a quiet exhale slipping through his words like he’s smiling a little at the memory of it. "Like you’re completely unaffected by everything, but then you’ll sit there for five minutes staring at something like it’s the most important thing in the world."

His thumb brushes lightly against your wrist where he’s still holding you, slow and absentminded. "And I love the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching."

Your lips part slightly, like you mean to respond, like you mean to deflect it the way you usually would, turn it into something smaller, something safer but nothing comes out cleanly enough to save you.

So it just breaks, "I love you so fucking much." It spills out of you before your brain can negotiate with it, far too honest to take back. His eyes glaze over and then he shifts forward on his knees, barely even thinking about it, like the distance between you has become physically unbearable.

His thumb presses into your jaw and then he pulls you in. His lips press against yours and it's consuming, with an urgency that had you feeling weak. Your fingers tighten in his shirt and that’s all it takes. "I love you. So much" he breathes between kisses. There’s something almost pathetic in how desperately relieved he feels.

"Mm," You tilt your head and the kiss deepens. He exhales into it and the sound of it makes your grip shift, a hand sliding into his hair. A small, broken sound slips out of him, almost stunned, he leans into you anyway, forehead dipping slightly — like he’s trying to be closer than is physically reasonable.

"Fucking hell," he breathes against your lips, your stomach flips violently at the sound.

"You have no idea," he murmurs softly between kisses, almost dazed, "what you do to me."

You smile into the kiss and when you both finally pull back just enough to inhale properly, neither of you really lets go. Your foreheads rest together, noses brushing slightly, his hands still holding you. And then you do it again — soft, quick kisses against his lips. It was careless in a way that feels completely unlike how careful everything has been between you until now. He actually freezes for a second, then laughs, so familiar it made your chest ache.

"You’re so…" he starts, trailing off with another disbelieving laugh as you kiss him again before he can finish properly. "So what?" you murmur against his lips. "Mine," he says softly. You can’t help the quiet laugh that escapes you, despite the raging tricks your stomach was playing.

Then, after a second, quieter now, "Can I sit with you?.. My knees are actually killing me."

You laughed despite yourself, "You’re unbelievable."

"Yeah, yeah." he grins, you shift on the sofa, making space.

"Get up here before you pass out or something." He doesn’t need to be told twice and moves fast for someone who just complained about his knees, sliding up beside you. The second he sits, his shoulder bumps yours gently — accidental or not, neither of you acknowledges it.

"There," he says quietly. His leg is pressed lightly against yours, warm and solid, and it’s embarrassing how quickly your body relaxes around him now that you’re finally letting it. There’s a beat of silence before his hand shifted slightly against the sofa cushion between you. Then his pinky brushed yours, you looked down at it once and thread your fingers through his properly.

You couldn’t help but think, god I’d go through all of that again, as long as I end up here. Jungwon seemed to realize it at the exact same time because the second you settled beside him properly, he exhaled through his nose like he’d finally stopped bracing for something.

You then let your head fall onto his shoulder, the movement slow and unceremonious "You're not let off completely though," you muttered, voice muffled slightly against him.

"I know." he says, his own head resting on top of yours.

"And I’m still angry."

"You should be," he said without hesitation, just quiet acceptance as his shoulder shifted slightly under you to get more comfortable with you, adjusting himself to make sure you stayed there.

"And you might suffer for a while." you add, quieter now. Fully aware he probably wouldn't.

"Okay." he said simply. You lifted your head just enough to look at him properly, narrowing your eyes in suspicion.

"That was a bit too easy."

He huffed a small laugh through his nose, the corner of his mouth tugging upward as he glanced at you like you were the most predictable thing in the world. "I’m choosing my battles carefully." That made you smile properly and Jungwon looked genuinely relieved by it.

The rain ran down the window behind you as Jungwon turned to you — his hand came up, landing on the base of your shoulder. "Hi," he said as you turned to face him properly, catching the glimmer of something playful.

"What now?" you huff, attempting to look annoyed, it clearly wasn't convincing judging by his lips curving in retaliation. His hand slides up, below your jaw now.

"Can I kiss you..again," he asked, grinning now. You pressed your lips together, pretending to think about it. "Hmm."

A dramatic groan left him immediately, his forehead falling against yours. "You’re evil."

You laughed softly under your breath and before he could complain again, you nudged his head forward slightly, pressing your lips to his yourself. The kiss barely lasted a second before he smiled into it, warm and helplessly fond.

"Right," he murmurs against your mouth, "that’s definitely up there with my favourite answers you’ve given tonight."

You hum against his lips, smiling when he immediately kisses you deeper like he’s been waiting for the smallest bit of encouragement. One of his hands stays warm against your jaw while the other settles carefully at your waist, hesitant for all of half a second and then pulling you closer against him.

The sound he makes when you shift halfway onto his lap is somewhere between surprise and relief, and it nearly makes you laugh again. "Don’t laugh at me," he mumbles instantly.

"You make it pretty easy."

"Yeah?" The curve of his nose brushes yours briefly before he kisses you again, slower this time. Your fingers slide into his hair at that and he exhales sharply into your mouth, grip tightening at your waist. The reaction goes straight to your head. "Jungwon," you whisper, mostly because you like what it does to him.

His eyes flicker open for a second at the sound of his name "You're doing that on purpose," you tilt your head in response. Every touch feels careful and greedy at the same time. The rain was still tapping softly against the windows somewhere in the background, but it all felt far away compared to the warmth of him pressed against you.

His thumb strokes absentmindedly against your side beneath the fabric of your top. The kiss deepens naturally after that, unhurried and messy in the way kisses that have been delayed for years usually are. Every time you pull back for air he chases instinctively.

You laugh softly, breathless, but the sound cuts off when his lips find your jaw instead. The shift is slower this time, deliberate. Your breath catches almost instantly when he kisses just below your ear, warm and lingering enough to make your fingers tighten in his hair. "There," he says quietly against your skin, "That one got you."

"Shut up," you whisper, though there’s no real bite to it when you pull him back up by the collar to kiss him again. You tilted your head, letting your tongue graze the seam of his lips. You swallowed a high needy noise, opening up immediately. He pulled you into his lap fully now — lips still attached as you settled against him properly, arms steadying themselves against his shoulders and sliding around his neck.

Your tongue slid against his messily and then he pulled back, breathing hard. "Still okay?" he whispers. You respond with a nod taking in Jungwon's eyes, which were blackened with desire

"Words Y/n," he grins tilting your chin up, you couldn't help the heat that flood into your stomach, "Yeah— yes I'm okay,"

His grin widened as though he knew what was going through your mind and then he chased your lips again, catching you in an open mouthed kiss — trying to memorise your mouth in a way he couldn't before. His hand creeped into your hair, fingers curling in. He bobbed his head forward, capturing your tongue and sucking on it with a low groan. You gasped, eyes scrunching together as a involuntary moan slipped out of you. Jungwon's breath hitched hard, panting now, "God I've fucking dreamt of how you'd sound," He pushed his head into the crook of your neck, "This is so much better."

"Better be," you managed, fingers running through his hair slowly.

"Let me stay here," he starts pressing kisses to your neck, taking in your scent — your taste.

"Mmm tempting Won," you said tilting your head back.

"I missed that so fucking much," he groans. You tried to respond, you did, but you couldn't because his lips were dragging up your neck, wet and desperate. "Shit," you breathed, shivering.

You lay your hands flat on his chest and push him back against the sofa. He lets himself fall back against the sofa without resistance, like he trusts you completely to take the lead, his hands instinctively tightening at your sides as you follow him down. Chest to chest.

You falter for a second as if you’re both realizing, at the same time, how far this has gone. His blackened eyes flick between your now swollen lips, and your eyes. He breathed out, harsh — revelling in the fact that he's the reason your lips are flushed and shiny with spit.

Then an almost frightening thought slipped into his head, sudden enough that it made him hesitate halfway through speaking. "Have you ever…" he started, then stopped abruptly, like he already regretted asking. You looked at him for a second, brows pulling together slightly as you tried to place where his brain had just gone.

"What?" you asked. His eyes flickered away briefly before returning to yours again, visibly trying to decide whether to commit to the question or bury himself alive instead.

"Have you ever—" he stopped again, jaw tightening faintly. "Like… with anyone…"

"Fucked anyone or kissed anyone?" you asked flatly, fingers tracing his jaw. Jungwon nearly choked on his own breath, but you were completely calm despite the way his entire face shifted into instant embarrassment.

A disbelieving laugh escaped him despite himself, one hand dragging down his face briefly before he looked at you again, visibly trying to recover. "You know what, never mind."

"No," you said immediately, sitting up on him slightly, now that you’d caught onto the fact he was genuinely nervous. "You asked. Commit."

"I just—" he stopped again, visibly frustrated with himself now. "I don’t know, I started thinking about it and then I realized I actually have no idea if there’s been someone else."

The honesty of it knocked some of the teasing right out of your face. Fuck, Jungwon looked unfairly sincere when he was jealous. "I mean, obviously there could’ve been," he continued quickly, words speeding up now. "You’re—you, and I wasn’t exactly doing anything, so it’s not like you owed me—"

"There wasn’t," you interrupted softly, cupping his jaw now.

"There… wasn’t?" he repeated carefully. You shook your head once and his shoulders visibly loosened. The relief that crossed his face was so immediate and unfiltered it. "Thank fuck," he breathed before he could stop himself. You stared at him, eyebrows lifting. "You don’t understand," he said immediately, catching your stare. He sat up slightly, pulling you up with him like this was extremely serious now. "I was about thirty seconds away from ruining my own night imagining some random guy kissing you, or even touching you." You let out a quiet scoff through your nose, but your face warmed anyway.

"If I'm honest," you started, already regretting the vulnerability halfway through it, "I felt sick thinking about whether or not you'd end up in her room," your voice got quieter near the end, eyes fixed somewhere near his shoulder instead of his face despite how close he was sitting. You missed the way his whole face changed, he genuinely looked wounded by the thought of you sitting with that alone.

"Y/n," he said almost pained. You shrugged one shoulder slightly, pretending it didn’t matter nearly as much as it did. "It’s embarrassing now, actually."

"No," he said immediately, firm enough to make you look at him again. "No, don’t do that. I need you to understand something," he says, serious in a way that steadies the entire room around you.

"There was never going to be another person for me once I met you."

You blink at him slowly. "That— is a crazy thing to say to someone." by now the butterflies erupting in your belly were normal.

"It’s true." He actually smiles then, hopelessly, like even your avoidance is something he treasures.

"You’re cute when you’re overwhelmed," he murmurs, your eyes narrow instantly.

"Don’t piss me off again."

His smile widened immediately, completely unafraid now. "See? Cute."

"Jungwon you’re about five seconds away from being shoved off this sofa."

"You wouldn’t do that," he said easily, leaning closer anyway. You opened your mouth to argue but he kissed you before you could, arms wrapping around your waist. "So fucking annoying," you mumble against his lips,

"Mhmm, yeah?" he grins.

A loud crack of thunder suddenly echoed somewhere outside the castle walls, the sound rattling faintly through the windows of the common room a second before rain started hammering hard against the glass. You glanced toward it instinctively. "It’s pouring." Jungwon barely looked up, still half-sprawled into your space. "Mm," he murmured, completely unbothered, thumb absentmindedly tracing slow circles against your knuckles.

Another rumble of thunder followed, louder this time. You exhaled through your nose, leaning back slightly against the sofa cushions as your gaze flicked toward the clock mounted near the fireplace.

"It’s late," you muttered. "Everyone's probably asleep already" Jungwon's mood immediately soured.

"You’re joking." You shook your head a little, starting to shift your weight as if to stand. "I’m serious."

"No, you’re not," he said instantly, tightening his grip on your hand when you shifted slightly like you might stand.

"Jungwon—" A laugh escaped you. "No," he whined quietly, forehead falling against your shoulder dramatically. "I don’t wanna move yet."

"You’re acting like I’m not gonna exist tomorrow."

"I'll miss you" he mumbled into your shoulder immediately, completely shameless about it. You rolled your eyes, though your fingers automatically slipped into his hair again. He visibly relaxed at the feeling. "I just got you back," he continued, voice quieter now, almost pouty despite how ridiculous he sounded. "Can’t we stay here for like… another hour."

"Won, it’s nearly midnight."

"So?" he said instantly. You laughed under your breath and tilted your head enough to look at him properly.

"You're clingy."

Another crack of thunder echoed outside and Jungwon sighed before finally lifting his head. "…Fine," he muttered unhappily.

He stands up with you still in his arms, the sudden movement making you instinctively tighten your hold around his neck. "Jungwonn—" you huff into his shoulder. He just giggles, the sound soft and breathy, pulling his head back to look at you properly. There’s something bright in his eyes, something you wished you could see every time you opened your eyes.

Without much thought, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the side of your head, still a little dazed. "What?" he murmurs, far too innocent for the way his hands are still holding you close. You narrow your eyes, "Put me down."

"Don’t wanna," he shrugs lightly.

You let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. "You’re so annoying."

He just laughs again, clearly pleased with himself, before finally lowering you back onto your feet. You both pause and glance at each other and then you both laugh. Quiet at first, then a little louder, the kind of laugh that spills out when something feels almost unreal.

"We don’t have to rush anything," he says after a moment, searching your face, "but I’m not… pretending that didn’t happen either."

"Good," you say, barely above a breath. That earns you the smallest smile — not smug, not teasing. His fingers curl a little into yours.

"What do we do about them?" you asked, more to yourself than him, something almost bashful tugged at the corners of Jungwon's mouth despite the way he was still holding you close.

"I don’t really want to share you yet," he admits quietly, the faintest pout appearing like he was slightly embarrassed.

"Then let’s keep it to ourselves for now," you say. The relief on his face was immediate, the idea of this being something private between the two of you mattered more to him than he expected.

His arms snaked around you slightly before he leaned in again, stealing another kiss like he genuinely couldn’t go more than thirty seconds without one now. "You realise," you mumbled against his lips, trying and failing to sound unaffected, "everyone’s going to figure it out eventually."

"Mhm." He kissed you again, entirely unbothered. "Future problem."

"You’re very relaxed for someone who just said he didn’t wanna share."

"I don’t," he said immediately, pulling back just enough to look at you properly again. "But hiding you and keeping you close aren’t the same thing" Your heartbeat betrayed you immediately and, judging by the tiny smile tugging at his mouth afterwards, he knew it.

"C'mon," you said pulling him towards the door. It’s reluctant. His hand slips from your waist slower than it should, fingers brushing yours one last time before letting go.

By the time you finally left the Room of Requirement, your lips still felt warm. Which was a problem, a massive one, actually, because Jungwon looked even worse. His hair was a mess from your hands, mouth pink and slightly swollen, melted in a way that would immediately get him interrogated if anyone saw him. Every so often the corridor would flicker with distant lightning, briefly carving both of your shadows into sharper versions of yourselves before letting them soften again.

As you reached your dorms he stopped you, a gentle hand on your wrist "Don’t take forever," he said, though it lacked any real bite.

You gave him a look that tried for annoyance and failed somewhere halfway. "Get inside."

"I am getting inside," he grinned, but he still didn’t move right away. That earned him a quiet exhale from you, something almost like a laugh, before you finally stepped back and slipped inside, the door closing softly behind you.

You immediately bee-lined for the mirror, "Shit." you definitely looked kissed. You pressed cold hands to your cheeks, trying to ignore how warm your skin still felt. Your hair looked equally suspicious, slightly mussed from his hands, and there was absolutely no hiding whatever was settling over your face.

Outside, you could faintly hear the distant hum of the castle settling into sleep. But underneath all of it, there was still him — lingering at the edge of your thoughts the same way he had been all evening, like he hadn’t quite stopped being near you just because a door had closed between you.

When you finally pulled on something a bit more comfortable, you rested your hands briefly at the edge of your desk, exhaling a little more slowly than before. Within the last day you’d gone from moping, avoiding your best friend, to confessing, to kissing him, and now you were standing in your room trying to make your face look normal enough to walk into a his dorm like nothing had happened. The worst part was that your body still felt like it hadn’t caught up with your decisions yet.

By the time you made your way down the corridor, you were actively rehearsing neutrality. Their dorm door already had voices spilling through it before you even opened it properly. Jake’s laugh came first, loud and unfiltered, followed by Heeseung saying something that sounded like he was trying to sound serious but failing halfway through. Ni-ki’s voice cut in after that, flatter and more observant. Of course they were awake.

It all felt so normal for a second it almost made you forget you were about to walk in carrying something that felt like it had weight. You adjusted your expression once more, like that would somehow make you harder to read, and pushed the door open. It smelled faintly like coffee and whatever food Jake had apparently forced everyone into eating at midnight again.

Jungwon was sitting on the arm of the sofa like he always did, one arm draped lazily over the back. Something shifted in his face before he smoothed it away — a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, he was fighting a smile he absolutely should not be having in front of people, and then he looked away again, too casually, like nothing at all had just passed between you. You, on the other hand, made a point of not looking at him too long at all.

You forced your face into that something neutral you'd been rehearsing and walked in further, closing the door behind you with a soft click that felt way too loud. All of them looked up almost at once and there was a half-second of silence that did not feel accidental.

"Oh, Y/n," Jake said first, squinting slightly with a grin. "You’re up?" You nodded once, carefully closing the door behind you.

"Yeah. Couldn’t sleep."

Heeseung hummed softly from where he was stretched across the other end of the sofa, one eyebrow lifting just slightly as he looked between you and Jungwon with a level of perception that felt actively threatening to your well-being. You suddenly became hyper aware of the fact Jungwon had gone unnaturally silent.

Ni-ki was lying half upside-down across the rug, but he glanced up briefly. "Thought you were still mad at him." he said as you settled down between Jungwon and Jake.

You shrugged one shoulder, forcing yourself getting comfortable, like your pulse wasn’t suddenly trying to kill you. "I’m capable of being civil."

At that, Jungwon coughed suddenly into his fist, poorly disguising what was very obviously the beginning of a smile. Jake’s eyes narrowed immediately, he didn’t say anything yet, but you physically watched suspicion enter his body. Heeseung looked between the two of you slowly. "You guys are weird," he said casually, you took this as a sign he was letting it go, the relief that flood through you was almost embarrassing.

"Thank you," Jungwon replied dryly before you could. You turned toward him automatically, already prepared to glare at him for making this harder than it needed to be, but the second his eyes met yours, something in him melted before he could hide it, it was so genuine that your stomach dropped straight through the floor.

And the worst part was that he realised it too. His gaze flicked downward almost instantly afterwards, jaw tightening faintly as he reached for the drink sitting beside him like suddenly becoming very interested in literally anything else might save him but Jake was looking between you both again.

“…Okay,” Jake said after a beat, suspicious in a way that made your skin prickle.

"What?" you replied flatly, crossing one leg over the other.

He pointed vaguely between the two of you like he was trying to physically grab hold of a thought before it escaped him. "Something happened."

"Nothing happened," you said immediately. At the exact same time Jungwon said, "What are you talking about?" The silence afterwards was catastrophic, it had Ni-ki actually sitting up — Jake’s mouth fell open in genuine disbelief as he looked between the two of you again.

"That was bad,"

You closed your eyes briefly, beside you, Heeseung let out a quiet breath through his nose, not quite laughing yet but visibly close to it. "You two used to lie better than this."

"We’re not lying," Jungwon said quickly, finally looking up again, though the slight tension in his shoulders completely ruined the effect. Jake pointed at him immediately. "Why do you sound nervous?"

"I don’t sound nervous." Ni-ki was openly staring now, gaze moving slowly between you both with growing fascination. "Wait, are you guys secretly fine again?"

Jake’s expression softened first. "You guys actually talked?" he said, slower. Your eyes flicked briefly toward Jungwon before you could stop yourself.

"Yeah," you admitted finally, voice calmer now. "We did." The room quieted properly after that, Heeseung leaned back slightly against the arm of the sofa, studying both of you carefully now, and you knew instantly what he was really asking. Whether the damage sitting underneath all of this had finally been dragged out into the open instead of festering quietly the way it had been the last few days.

Jake looked between you both again before exhaling dramatically, shoulders dropping in visible relief. "Thank god," he muttered. "You two were making everyone deeply uncomfortable."

"That sounds like a you problem," you replied with the fainest hint of a grin, "It was bad." Ni-ki cut in, now fully invested. "Every time someone mentioned you he’d go all quiet and weird for like ten minutes after."

Across the room, Jungwon groaned immediately. "Can we not."

Jake ignored him completely. "And you were terrifying."

"I was keeping to myself." You said flatly. "Exactly," Jake said, like that proved his point perfectly. "That’s how we knew it was serious." Still, you could feel Jungwon relaxing now that the interrogation had mostly passed, though every so often your eyes would accidentally meet again and you’d have to look away immediately before Jake started screaming.

At one point, while Heeseung was distracted arguing with Ni-ki about something stupid, Jungwon glanced toward you again over the rim of his drink. This time, he smiled properly, it was small — a dimple barely peeking through and then, like he physically couldn’t help himself, his foot nudged lightly against yours underneath the coffee table. You didn’t react outwardly but your heartbeat immediately lost all structural integrity anyway.

The first couple days felt strangely unreal, the two of you had slipped sideways into a version of your lives that looked exactly the same from the outside while quietly changing everything underneath it. You learned very quickly that Jungwon had absolutely no concept of subtlety when it came to you, and it wasn't even intentional — that was the problem.

He reached for you without thinking and he'd smile before he could stop himself whenever you walked into a room, like his body had developed some involuntary response to your existence. The first morning after everything, you’d barely made it halfway into Potions before catching him already looking at you from across the table with this annoyingly cute grin that had you wanting to pull him close and kiss his stupid face off.

But instead you kicked his shin under the desk and the blonde looked genuinely confused for a full three seconds before realisation hit him all at once, followed immediately by the smallest, guiltiest smile imaginable.

After that, it became pattern… for a few days. Late-night walks through quieter corridors after everyone else had gone to sleep. Jungwon appearing beside you in the library like he’d "accidentally" ended up there despite very obviously following you. Your fingers brushing under tables during study sessions when nobody was looking. Sitting slightly too close whenever you thought you could get away with it and then immediately shifting apart whenever Jake narrowed his eyes in suspicion. The secrecy itself should’ve been exhausting, instead, it became something strangely addictive.

There was something dangerously intimate about it, about the constant awareness of him even in crowded rooms, the tiny hidden smiles exchanged over everyone else’s heads, the feeling of his hand briefly finding yours behind the cover of someone else’s conversation. You started understanding very quickly why people lost their minds over this kind of thing.

It also didn’t help that Jungwon was completely gone for you in a way that was becoming increasingly difficult to manage privately.

By the second night, you were in his dorm after a lot of whining from Jungwon about how unbearable the boys had been the night before. Thankfully, the dorm was quieter this time. Most of the lights in the corridor had already dimmed, and when you slipped down the hallway there were no muffled voices behind the doors, no laughter, no sign that anyone else was still awake. You barely even had time to raise your hand before Jungwon opened the door immediately, like he’d been standing there waiting for the sound of your footsteps specifically.

"Hi," you whispered, already smiling despite yourself. His answering smile was smaller, almost disbelieving in that way he still got around you now, "Hi," he murmured back, and then his hand caught yours before you’d even stepped fully inside. The door had barely clicked shut behind you when he pulled you toward him properly.

Jungwon’s hands slid immediately to your waist, guiding you backwards until your shoulders touched lightly against the door, and then he pulled you into him. The force of it startled a quiet breath out of you, because he shoved his head into your neck. His hands tightening slightly against your sides when you hugged him back instantly, and the reaction he had was a soft sound escaping him as he leaned closer, like he genuinely couldn’t help it.

"Missed me?" you whispered, lips curling against his head.

He pulled back to look at you properly. "Bad," his hair was still slightly damp from showering earlier, soft under your fingers when your hand slid into it automatically, and he reacted to that too. His forehead pressed briefly against yours as he exhaled shakily through his nose. It was honestly ridiculous how responsive he was to you now that he’d stopped pretending not to be.

"You have no idea what today was like," he muttered quietly, breathe warm against your lips. "Jake kept asking me why I looked happy."

A laugh slipped out of you. "And?"

"And I almost told him to mind his business." His hands slid slightly higher against your waist, "I hated not being able to touch you." he added. You felt your face warm immediately, which unfortunately only seemed to encourage him further. "There it is again," he murmured, visibly delighted.

"Shut up." He grinned properly at that, leaning in just enough to press a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth, and then resting his forehead against yours. For a second he just stayed there, forehead still pressed to yours, eyes flicking down to your mouth and then back up again like he was weighing something quietly in his head.

Then he kissed you properly this time. It wasn’t rushed, it was slow enough that it felt deliberate, like he was checking what was allowed and what wasn’t yet. His hand slid up slightly at your back, steadying you more out of habit than urgency, and he paused for a split second like he was waiting to see if you’d pull away. You only leaned further into him, so he kissed you again, a little easier this time. When he finally pulled back, it was only by a fraction, his lips ghosting yours and his thumb brushing absentmindedly over your side like he’d forgotten he was even doing it.

The room around you stayed dim and warm, lit only by the small lamp near his desk, rain still tapping faintly against the windows outside. Jungwon looked at you for another long moment before something softer crossed his face, almost sleepy.

"Come here," he muttered.

You barely had time to react before he was already pulling you away from the door, fingers still hooked loosely around your wrist as he pulled you toward his bed. He sat first and pulled you down with him without much ceremony, one arm sliding automatically around your waist like it had already memorised the shape of you there. A laugh escaped you at the sheer determination of it, but it dissolved quickly when he looked up at you again. Jungwon leaned back properly against the pillows, his arm tightening slightly around your middle once you finally gave in and tucked yourself against him fully. The moment you did, something in him visibly changed, tension he’d been carrying all day finally loosening as he exhaled slowly. "You’ve been like that all day," he said after a moment, voice softer now, almost accusing in the gentlest way.

"Like what?"

"Distant," he continues, like the word annoyed him. "Acting like I don't exist."

"Won, we're literally hiding."

"I know," he replied, but his hand tightened slightly at your waist anyway, because he didn’t care how reasonable that sounded. "Make it up to me?" he said again, quieter this time, but the grin on his face gave him away completely as his eyes flicked down to your lips like that was the only answer he was actually interested in.

"How?" you asked tilting your head.

"Don’t act like you don’t know," he murmured, and there was something almost amused in it.

"I don’t," coming out weaker than you intended. It's quieter in a way that betrays you, even in the dim light. "Liar," he mutters — even then, there was no real accusation in it.

You didn’t bother to argue with him. In the short, insignificant seconds that followed, your hands are ran up Jungwon’s chest with urgency — leaning in close, and kissing him. His breath caught instantly against your mouth, a small involuntary sound slipping out of him, like he hadn’t expected you to actually give in that easily. When you pulled back just enough to speak, your lips still brushing his, you murmured, "Maybe."

He hummed chasing your lips, deepening it almost immediately, lips parting yours with an ease he didn't have yesterday. His tongue licked into your mouth slowly, hands settling at your hips as his fingers pressed just enough to keep you closer without being rough, yours slid up into the nape of his neck, tugging lightly at his hair. He let out a low sound against your mouth, somewhere between relief and frustration and it had your thighs squeezing together, because fuck this was chipping away at your self control, and barely anything had happened.

Jungwon's restraint however, was hanging on by a thread because the moment he felt your thighs close he felt his brain begin to melt. "Y/n I can't—" he breathed, hands cupping your jaw, if only to keep you glued to his lips.

"What—" you started, but then Jungwon whined. Actually fucking whined dragging his face to your cheek. His body jerked forward, just a little. He had been impossibly hard for a while now, despite swearing he hadn't thought about anything crazy — but somewhere between your hands in his hair and your tongue..

The sound startled a quiet laugh out of you before you could stop it, completely unaware of what had happened. He groaned embarrassed at that, one arm wrapping around your waist. It only made you more aware of him pressed against you now, warm and solid and very obviously stiff in a way that had heat flooding between your legs.

That's also when you realised that he had just cum in his pants, untouched. "Oh," you breathed before you could stop yourself. Jungwon immediately buried his face deeper into your neck.

"I'm—sorry, fuck. I didn't mean to—you're just so fucking—hot," he mumbled, almost attempting to move back, but you kept him there.

"Look at me." you said, running a soothing hand over the back of his head. He hesitated and pressed deeper for a moment, and then pulled his head back. His cheeks were flushed, hair messed up in a way only he could pull off. His glassy eyes found yours after a moment, so afraid of what he'd find.

"You're not mad?" he mumbled. He looked so fucking cute and worried and for a moment you couldn't help kissing him, "No Won," you said between kisses, "I'm not mad." And despite already cumming, he was still hard and throbbing.

"This is me making it up to you, for today." you said, voice almost a whisper — as you flicked between his eyes. His lips parted almost in confusion and he just blinked for a moment, breathing hard — then he looked up to you with those big wet eyes, "We don't have to do anything."

You bit the inside of your cheek, "I know," you kissed him again, slower, pressing against him. At some point while you were making out, you shifted onto his lap with your tongues still twisted and, he gasped as he felt your tits press against his chest. His brows were pulled together, lips parted in something you could barely call a kiss at this point and Jungwon was so entirely overwhelmed that all you could hear was his sharp gasps as your lips trailed down to his jaw.

He was trying his absolute best not to move — then he felt your tongue, licking his ear-lobe, sucking softly. "Fuuuck," Jungwon exhaled, eyes fluttering closed, his hips bucked up at the feeling uncontrollably, his hardened length rocked against your clothed pussy and then — you moaned into his ear. Jungwon was barely there at this point, he could barely touch you back he was so dazed. He panted hard, feeling your hands guiding his to your hips, teasing as they brushed up your waist, and pressing them to your chest. He swallowed hard at your tits under his palms, by now his eyes were blown wide with desire, his chest was rising and falling harshly — cock twitching beneath his already soiled pants.

His long fingers brushed against your chest, twitching in your hold. "Can I?" he breathed, so mesmerised by how you looked on him.

"Mhm yeah," he pulled your top up, over your head — letting it fall somewhere.

You watched as his eyes dragged down, his tongue poked into his cheek, almost like he was hungry "So, so fucking pretty baby," he groaned, finally finding it in himself to move. You were slowly dragging your hips together in short tiny bursts, while his hands palmed your tits — you gasped shakily. "You like that?" he whispered, voice completely wrecked.

"Fuck yeah, take it off," you huffed, fingers tugging at the fabric. As he pulled off his shirt you undid your bra letting it fall away, the second his eyes locked onto your bare tits he could barely breathe. He glanced away for a moment as a poor attempt to compose himself. But your nipples were hard, and he couldn't help but let out a strained noise at the sight, "You're beautiful baby," his hands came up and cupped your tits, fingers brushing over them.

"Ah— fuck Won—" His head tipped back at your words, as if your words and pleasure were affecting him just as much. A shiver ran through you, your hips stopping the motions for a moment as your fingers trailed down his chest. Even in the dimmed light he looked gorgeous in a way you couldn't describe. "Pretty."

He then flipped you over, lips finding your jaw, tongue trailing down your collarbone. He kept going as your hand threaded through his hair again, pressing him closer into your chest, Jungwon made a muffled noise against you, stupidly drunk on your tits. He lolled his tongue out, flattening it and licking over your nipple — your back arched instantly, a drawn out gasp bursting out as your legs wrapped around his waist, because it was all too much. Too good. He drunk up all your reactions, hips rolling against you. His tongue found your sensitive spots and a thumb rubbed over once — then he flicked his tongue over your hard bud and sucked. "Mmmph," you moaned attempting to suppress your sounds.

"Mm—don't hide," Jungwon's eyebrows furrowed — displeased and in retaliation he sucked harder, teeth grazing your skin as he tried to take as much as he could into his mouth. You moaned close-mouthed and the sound vibrated against him, he only buried his face deeper with his own high whines.

"Fucking dreamt—of touching—you baby," he mumbles in-between sucks, "Came twice in the—shower," he rambled. That did something indescribable to your panties, especially when you could feel rigid his cock so blatantly rutting against your thigh.

"Shit—what'd you think about?" you managed to breathe out.

"Your taste—your tongue—those pretty lips."

You pulled him back up to your lips with urgency, ignoring the way your tits were now slick and swollen with his spit. His wet lips parted in a choked whine as your palm found his clothed cock, "Ah—fuck baby—" he hissed, fingers tracing against the waistband of your sleep shorts. You lifted your hips and he immediately pulled it down with one hand as your palm worked against him, his shaky breaths only grew louder, even as his fingers traced over the lace of your panties.

He cupped your pussy fully, feeling the heat and you were so fucking wet that your arousal was leaking through, Jungwon couldn't take it anymore, this entire time he'd been holding himself back, not because he didn't think you could handle him, but because he didn't think he could. "You're so fucking wet for me hm?" he tilted his head, wide eyes boring into yours as you instinctively arched into his hard, pathetically desperate for his touch now.

"All for you baby—please," your eyebrows furrowed and pleading.

He could hardly comprehend it. You were submitting for him. For half a second he didn't even move, just looked over your expression and tried to etch it into his brain — stamp it onto his forehead if he could. And then he pulled your panties to the side, not even bothering to pull them off and pressed two fingers to your slit, eyes on your every movement. But just as the contact came, it was gone, because his fingers were in his mouth, licking your slick off of one finger, eyes almost rolling back at the taste.

You lips were already parted watching, Jungwon took advantage of that and pressed his fingers to your lips but he didn't even have to speak. You took both into your mouth, sucking off his spit mixed with your cum. "So—fucking hot," he watched half-lidded, his free hand found your slit again as he gently thrust them up and down your tongue.

He then eased the tip of his finger into your entrance, your jaw loosened around his fingers — a sharp gasp leaving you. "God so fucking tight," he whispered, he hadn't stopped watching you once, not even as he sank further into your pussy. Broken breathes vibrated around him and then Jungwon finally removed his fingers from your slack mouth, a string of your spit connecting you — he wasted none of it and sucked it off, "You want my fingers baby?"

"Yeah—more, please," you barely managed.

"More?" he repeated, already starting to push in and out, slowly curling against the walls of your insides.

"—Shut—up," A breathy laugh bubbled through him in response and he pushed himself up to kiss into your mouth, which was hung open. Because he'd now added his middle finger into the mix, enamoured with the way your slicked cunt let him pump in and out effortlessly. And the noises were fucking filthy, the squelching wet sounds had heat crawling up to your ears.

His fingertips then brushed against that spongy bundle of nerves — he swallowed your high sounds with small kisses to your lips, "I knoww baby you're doing so good yeah?" he whispered against your lips, he trailed down and took your nipple into his mouth again, fingers working on your pussy — keeping that same devastating pace.

"Mm—fuckfuckfuuuck," you barely even registered what you were saying anymore.

The pressure built fast, a coil tightening — he felt your moans and babbling pick up and tensed his tongue, flicking your nipple over and over and over until your pussy was grinding against his hand, bucking into him desperately. "You like it when I fuck my fingers into you?"

"Fuck yeah I love it so much—fuck-please i'm—ah" you cried, head now tilted back lax against his pillow, your hand was raked through his hair, gripping it for dear life.

"Cum for me baby, give it to me." he spoke looking up at you. His thumb then found your clit and he rubbed harsh circles, neither of were even aware of how loud you were being at this point. Because you came hard, shaking — head spinning, and Jungwon didn't stop.

Jungwon scrambled down as you came and replaced his thumb with his lips — his arms were now hooking under your thighs, locking you in place as he sloppily licked and sucked on your nub like he'd never tasted anything better. He was also moaning and huffing into you, because he had cum just from touching you. "Won—can't," you whined tugging on his hair at the overstimulation.

"One more baby—" he breathed low into your folds, mewling at your tugging. Your legs wrapped around his head, practically using his face and he was beyond delighted to be your personal fuck-toy. He then shoved his tongue impossibly deep into your pussy, fucking into you as far as he could reach and you were simultaneously grinding your clit against the curve of his nose. Your second orgasm was practically ripped out of you and somewhere between his tongue and fingers taking turns on your shattered cunt, your milky arousal leaked straight onto his tongue.

He clamped his mouth around you and kept going, kept suckling and licking, not letting a single drop go to waste. "Taste so fucking good baby, you did so so good," he finally said, against your thighs, pressing small kisses along your soft skin. You made a small acknowledging whine in response tugging his hair again weakly, legs finally going limp against him. Jungwon kissed his way back up, up your stomach, chest, neck, jaw, finally your lips. He cupped your jaw "You're so perfect princess," he rubbed your side —soothing, a contrast to the pussy drunk blonde from a few minutes ago.

You grinned against his skin, fingers scratching lightly through his hair as he kept pressing absentminded kisses across your face, "I love you," you murmured. His lips curled against your jaw, a dimple peeking through,

"I love you too baby," he whispered back and there was still something almost disbelieving in the way he said it, like he'd been reminded this is something you both say now. Jungwon’s hands wandered slowly over your half-bare skin with obvious distraction, fingertips tracing along your waist and back while you kissed your way down the side of his neck. You took your time there deliberately, mouth brushing across warm skin before lingering at his shoulder again, because frankly, his shoulders were becoming an actual problem in your life.

"How the hell did you know how to do that?" you asked after a moment, you pulled back just enough to look at him properly, fingers still tangled loosely in his hair. For half a second Jungwon looked unbearably pleased with himself, but also somehow embarrassed too. His mouth twitched like he was debating lying, before he finally exhaled through his nose. "I did research," he admitted, trying very hard to sound casual and failing almost immediately when your expression shifted into open disbelief.

"You…studied how to give head?"

"Yes," he defended instantly, already laughing now because of the way you were staring at him. "I wanted make you feel good."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it, your forehead falling briefly against his shoulder. "That might be the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me."

Jungwon made a quiet, flustered noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh before hiding his face immediately against the side of your neck again. "Please don’t say that."

You were about to ask why, but the answer was pressed against your thigh. And even after having the breath knocked out of you. Twice. You couldn't help the renewed urge to make him feel just as good as he'd made you feel. "Why baby?" you hummed knowingly, coaxing him out of the comfort of your neck — your lips found his again, hands slowly making their way down to his waistband.

"Because I can't get enough of you," he breathed against you, cupping your jaw as the kiss deepened into something slow and so filthy it had your heads spinning.

"Take it off." you gasped into his mouth. It was funny actually, you'd both cum multiple times and you still hadn't even seen his dick yet. His hands impatiently ripped down his pants, as you freed him his cock recoiled against his stomach and you couldn't help the way your lips parted in shock. He was longer than he was thick, curved inwards and slick with cum. And he was fucking massive. Like, how the fuck had you never noticed kind of big.

"Baby, you don't have to," Jungwon mistook your shock for something else entirely. You answered by wrapping your hand around the base of his cock and it shut him up — immediately. So sensitive from cumming twice before, he breathed out shakily just at the contact. "God, your hand alone is gonna—" he couldn't even finish his sentence because you'd pushed him back and shuffled down to face him properly.

You flattened your tongue and licked up from the base to the tip of his dick, you could feel each ridge and vein along with the warm earthy taste of him. Jungwon's length had twitched at the first contact, his head falling back, hands eagerly pushing your hair back to watch you properly. "Goddd fuck babygirl," he groaned under his breathe, shaking slightly from overstimulation. You took his flushed tip into your mouth and hummed in response, the vibrations had him shuddering, and the thought that had him already biting his lip — fighting to last. Was that this was the first time you had a dick in your mouth and it was his. He would never have known with the way you took as much of him into your mouth as you could, spit gathering in the corners of your mouth.

"So pretty with my cock in your mouth princess fuuuck," he babbled. Jungwon was battling with everything he had, his eyes were knit shut, jaw was hung open — broken whines and whimpers along with rambles shaking through into the air. And then he made the mistake of opening his eyes — to you moving off him to catch your breath, spit connecting you and you took him fully into your mouth this time, cheeks hollowing as you bobbed your head. "Shit— wait—"with a buck to his hips and a drawn out moan his cum flooded into your mouth. His entire body jerked, head falling back as you swallowed, finally releasing him with a pop. "Holy fuck.." Jungwon breathed, completely wrecked, fingers pushing shakily through your hair "Baby, where did you learn to do that?"

"Research," you said against his thigh, lips curling when his head jolted upward so fast it almost looked painful. A grin spread across your face then, as you wiped the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand. "What? I wanted to make you feel good too."

For a second he just stared at you like his brain had completely stalled trying to process. Then his head tipped back slightly with a disbelieving laugh, one hand dragging down over his face, before returning immediately to you again, fingers brushing along your jaw. You grinned. "Why are you acting shocked? You literally admitted it first."

"That was different."

"How?"

"Because.. I’m me," he replied instantly, like that explained everything. You rolled your eyes immediately and Jungwon laughed in response, pulling you up properly against his chest until your legs tangled together beneath the blankets. The sound faded softer after a second, his hand moving slowly up and down your back absentmindedly while the room settled back into quiet around you. Rain still tapped faintly against the windows, gentler now, and the moonlight spilling through the curtains painted everything in silver that made Jungwon look unfairly pretty this close. His hair was messy from your hands, lips slightly swollen.

Eventually, after a long stretch of lazy conversation and kissing that kept dissolving halfway into quiet laughter, Jungwon forced himself to sit up with visible reluctance. "Shower?" he muttered, though he sounded deeply upset by the idea of moving at all. You let out a small breath of a laugh, pushing yourself upright too slowly — still half-tangled in the sheets, eyes barely open.

"We probably should." He lingered for a second longer, fingers loosely hooked around your wrist like he was testing whether he could reasonably convince you to ignore basic hygiene and stay exactly where you were, but eventually he stood anyway, pulling you up with him in the same motion

The walk to the bathroom was half-hearted at best, both of you still half-dazed, Jungwon bumping his shoulder lightly into yours in that absent, familiar way he always did when he was too tired to behave properly. The shower itself passed in a blur of sleepy warmth and quiet teasing, more soft touches than anything else, both of you too wrung out now to be anything except gentle. Jungwon then changed the sheets as you changed into some loose clothes and by the time you both finally made it back to the bed, Jungwon looked about two seconds away from falling asleep where he stood. Still, he waited until you were under the covers first before he climbed in beside you again, immediately pulling you closer. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you firmly into his chest until there was no space left to negotiate with, his hand resting at your back in slow, absent circle.

"Stay here," he murmured. "I’m not going anywhere," you replied softly, adjusting slightly so your head rested properly against him. You felt him relax fully a moment later, the tension finally leaving his body completely as sleep started to take him properly. His breathing slowed, his grip on you never loosening even as he drifted.

You woke up gradually in pieces rather than all at once, warm and disoriented, the kind of slow return to consciousness that didn’t immediately remind you where you were, until you shifted slightly and felt Jungwon’s arm tighten instinctively around you — like even in sleep he didn’t want to let distance happen. He was already awake, you realised a moment later, watching you with that quiet, half-lidded expression he always had when he was still caught between sleep and awareness, hair slightly messed, face softer than it ever was when anyone else was around.

"Morning baby," he murmured, voice rough and low, you blinked up at him, still too warm to think properly, and for a second you just stared at him like your brain hadn’t caught up with the fact that this was now your life, sneaking into his dorm, waking up in his arms, him calling you baby so easily. You shifted closer on instinct, burying your face briefly against his chest like you could delay existing for a few more seconds, and he made a quiet, pleased sound under his breath as his hand immediately slid up your back again.

"You’re too awake," you muttered against him, voice muffled. "I’ve been awake for a while," he admitted quietly, "I was just… not moving, because you looked comfortable."

That made something in your chest perk up immediately, you leaned up slightly and kissed him, slow and unhurried, the kind of morning kiss that didn’t feel like anything complicated. Jungwon responded instantly, hand sliding up to your cheek, and for a few seconds there was nothing else in the world except the quiet, the warmth, and the fact that neither of you seemed in any rush. "We should probably get up," you murmured, though you made no move to actually do it.

"Mm," he agreed instantly, not moving either, pressing a kiss to your forehead like that solved the problem. "In a minute."

"A minute turns into an hour with you."

"That’s fine," he said easily, pulling you closer again. "We have time."

You let out a quiet laugh, which he clearly took as encouragement because he kissed you again like that was a perfectly reasonable way to start the morning.

"Last night was…" you started, pausing as you tried to find a word that didn’t immediately set your brain on fire. Jungwon raised an eyebrow slightly, clearly already knowing where this was going, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over your knuckles.

"Good?" he offered, far too calm.

You let out a small laugh, hiding your face for half a second before looking back at him. "So good,"

That earned you a quiet, satisfied hum from him, like he’d been waiting for you to say it out loud. He shifted closer again, forehead briefly resting against yours. "Yeah," he agreed, voice softer now, "I liked taking care of you."

You rolled your eyes fondly, nudging his shoulder with yours. "Research paid off then?"

"Don’t start," he muttered, but he was smiling anyway, pulling you back in by your waist, "I just wanted you to feel good."

"I did feel good," you admitted, voice dropping a little, more honest now as your fingers traced absentmindedly along his sleeve. "Really good and I wasn’t nervous with you. I thought I would be, but I wasn’t."

"Me neither," he confessed. "I mean I was nervous about everything except you." After a beat he added, "Next time, we don’t have to stop there if you don’t want to.”

"Okay then... let's not stop," you whispered against his lips. Jungwon's brain physically lagged for a moment, "You— right now?" he swallowed softly. You nodded once and for a moment he just stared at you, "You're—"

"Yes baby I'm sure." you cut him off which only had him cheesing. His hand slipped into your hair, gently pulling you back just enough to kiss you, and you rolled your eyes even as you leaned into it willingly. His free hand drifted lazily down your side, to squeeze the plush flesh of your ass and finally settling on your thigh. You hummed into his mouth at the touch pulling him closer instinctively.

Jungwon pulled back first, just enough to look at you properly. There was still a trace of sleep in his eyes, but there was something else there too. His eyes were almost black, just from kissing and that almost made you laugh. "What?" Jungwon grinned catching your lips curl.

"Just how needy you get from a little kissing," you said rubbing absentminded circles on his biceps.

"You just told me you want me to fuck you," he deadpanned, which only had you exhaling a laugh at his blunt words.

"Besides," he starts, hand splaying against your thigh, guiding and resting it over his hip. "you seemed pretty needy last night." You glanced away heat crawling up your neck, "Aw, don't get shy on me now baby." he whispered as his hand cupped your jaw guiding you to face him again.

"Won—" it came out barely above a breath, cheek now burning against his hand.

"Yeah?" he tilts his head "tell me what you need princess."

You bit the inside of your lip, you weren't planning on giving in but unfortunately you already had, 5 minutes ago. "You know what I need." you said, eyebrows pulling together.

"Mm, want to hear you say it," his eyes flit between your features, lips stretched subtly in an almost grin.

You leaned in pressing a kiss to his jaw and then licked over his pulse point, "Need your cock, inside me."

Jungwon inhaled sharply, he pulled you onto his lap properly by your thighs — lips attacking the soft flesh on your neck because he couldn't tease you anymore, not when he was throbbing beneath you. You adjusted onto him pressing your core against his stiff length.

Jungwon's hands ran up and down your body, pulling you impossibly closer like distance wasn't allowed. His tongue found yours and he slipped his hands around to your lower-back, under the fabric of your loose shorts and squeezed. You swallowed his content groan as he pulled your clothes off, starting with those shorts.

You both stripped each other between wet filthy kisses, slick sounds and your shared pleasure vibrated between your mouths. He didn't bother taking his boxers off, too caught up in his fingers finding your pussy, he groaned low into your mouth once he did "I did this to you?" he breathed against your lips.

"Mhm, you make me so fucking wet," you gasped, one hand loose on his neck, the other gripping his bicep.

He practically moaned at your words pulling you up so your core was directly on the curve of his cock. You just watched as his hands drifted to your hips, he gripped gently and jolted you forward. Your breath hitched at the first contact, a shaky moan ripping out of you as he guided you back and forth over him.

His head fell back against the headboard as he continued grinding you back and forth, hips bucking uncontrollably. "Shit, I'm gonna cum just from this," he breathed, and between the slick of both your pre-cum and the feeling of your bare pussy on his barely covered cock, you both found yourselves becoming increasingly desperate.

At some point his length under the fabric of his boxers rubbed over your clit in a perfect rhythm, heat flooded through your stomach. "God, baby," you mewled, your hand on his neck tightened just a little.

"Ah- baby I'm—" Jungwon moaned high and filthy. He had no idea something as simple as your fingers around his neck could turn him on so much.

As his hips bucked and warmth spread through his boxers your own high crashed into you with a whine. "Holy fuck," Jungwon breathed after a moment, beads of sweat forming along his hairline, "..think you're ready?" he added after a moment, you exhaled a laugh leaning forward into his neck.

He grinned flipping you over, somewhere between messy kisses and wandering hands he threw his boxers off and of course he was still fucking hard. You hooked your legs around his waist as he reached down guiding himself to your slick entrance. Your foreheads rested together, eyes on your connecting bodies. "Tell me if anything feels off," he said looking between your eyes, stern despite the desire deep in his sockets.

"I will," you whisper back, he nodded and then rubbed his tip over your slit slowly, teasing you both into shudders. His eyes snapped back up to your face, taking in every tiny twitch as he gradually pushed in, inch by inch. His lips parted in a guttural moan and your eyes threatened to roll back just at the feeling of his thickness stretching you out.

"Good?" he gasped softly, barely halfway in. A noise from the back of your mouth spilled out, half moan half whine — which almost had him spilling right there. He knit his eyes shut in concentration, breath warm against your cheek.

After a moment of composing himself the best he could he continued pushing in. Your grip on his bicep only tightened as your back slowly arched with each inch. As he bottomed out you both gasped together, Jungwon traced the curve of your lower-back holding you there, letting you adjust. "It's like you were fucking made for me," he said almost under his breath.

"Feel so—so full Won," you managed, his parted mouth curled up just slightly and then he pulled out just a little, just to push right back in — every thrust creating a spark of friction, bursting low in your belly.

Your legs around his waist tightened instinctively, pulling him impossibly closer as his hand moved from your hip to the back of your head, threading through your hair. Every sound spilling from your lips had him speeding up, "Sound so—pretty— for me."

You clenched around him at his praise, and Jungwon's hips stuttered, "Ah— you're squeezing me princess—" he breathed.

Your arms wrapped around his neck pulling his mouth onto yours, he whined low into your mouth in response. For a moment you barely responded, because the added traction of your nipples against his chest had your mouth going slack and Jungwon just stared, taking in your dazed expression and then — faster than you could comprehend he pulled your leg from his hip to his shoulder, the new position allowing his cock to reach even deeper. He watched as your face contorted in pleasure — his pace only quickened, grinding as far as he could reach. "Won-fuck-fuck-fuck—baby," you babbled between breaths.

His blonde hair was tousled in that sweaty sexy way and his tongue was lolled out how it would be when he was concentrating. His gaze instinctively dropped to your stomach, "—Oh, fuck— look at how deep I am babygirl," he gaped, eyes on the clear bulge in your tummy. Your whimpers picked up as the pressure built, thrusts deepening, "Baby— I want you to cum on my cock" he breathed leaning down, "can you do that for me?"

"Yeah—yes, fuck," you whined, he started ploughing into you, a hand reaching down to rub fast circles on your clit — you clenched hard in response a chorus of babbling and whines echoing between you.

"Want you to cum in me." you gasped as you felt that familiar chord about to snap,

"— Ah my fuuck—," his hips snapped in response a content noise spilling out of him. Your orgasm crashed over you in waves, walls convulsing around his thick length and Jungwon groaned low into your neck fucking you through it, his own release following in thick spurts deep in your pussy.

You both panted as your movements stilled, Jungwon rolled over next to you pulling you into his arms, your face in his neck as his hand raked through your hair. "You're so perfect," he whispered breathy against your hair, you made an acknowledging noise "So are you."

He pulled you back just to peck little kisses all over your face, "Baby—" you started but the words quickly dissolved into giggles. "I love you," he grinned, finally pulling back.

"I love you," you responded tracing his jaw, glancing back up at his big eyes — which were softened and dazed all for you.

"Was that okay?" he said after a moment, eyebrows pulled in a nervous furrow for a moment.

You nodded automatically, "More than okay baby," you murmured, pressing a few reassuring kisses to his pink lips. Jungwon seemed more than satisfied with your answer, a sheepish grin stretching across his face before he dropped his forehead against yours with a relieved laugh.

The two of you stayed there for another minute, tangled together beneath the blankets, neither making any real effort to move. The room was warm, the early morning light spilling lazily through the curtains, and every time you shifted closer Jungwon's arms tightened around you automatically.

Eventually reality won. Jungwon let out an exaggerated sigh before forcing himself upright, earning an immediate groan from you as the warmth disappeared. "Come on," he said, reaching down to smooth a hand through your hair. "Let's get cleaned up before we accidentally sleep until dinner."

You made a dramatic sound of protest but followed him anyway, both of you moving slower than usual, still sleepy and content in a way that made everything feel softer around the edges.

You moved through the motions of cleaning up and getting yourselves sorted out while exchanging tired smiles every few minutes. Neither of you seemed capable of being more than three feet apart without immediately drifting back together again.

The rush from earlier had faded completely, leaving only the comfortable familiarity that had always existed between you. You stole one of his hoodies without asking, and Jungwon didn't even pretend to object when you climbed back onto the bed wearing it.

"That was mine," he pointed out weakly.

"Was." You smiled and opened your arms. Jungwon immediately gave up the argument and climbed back beside you. For a while he simply held you there, arms secure around your middle, the morning sunlight spilling across the room around you. You rested against his chest while he absentmindedly played with your fingers, occasionally pressing lazy kisses into your hair whenever he thought you weren't paying attention.

Then he pressed his face into your hair and mumbled, "Can we stay like this for another ten minutes?"

"Baby later, I've gotta go before the others wake up," you said, already laughing as his grip tightened immediately in protest. Jungwon groaned dramatically into your shoulder as though you had just delivered devastating news.

"You'll survive."

He lifted his head just enough to give you a deeply unimpressed look, which only made you laugh harder. The sight seemed to completely ruin whatever argument he was trying to make because a second later he was smiling too, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. He leaned forward and stole one last kiss before you could continue arguing, smiling against your lips when you made an offended noise. "There," he said, satisfied with himself. "Now you can go."

"Thank you for the permission."

"You're welcome, baby."

You rolled your eyes, but your chest felt warm anyway. You pressed a final kiss to his lips even as he made another half-hearted sound of protest, and only then did you manage to actually sit up properly. It took several more minutes than it should have to leave because Jungwon kept finding reasons to pull you back for one more hug, one more kiss, one more excuse to keep you there.

The castle was still half asleep by the time you finally slipped out of Jungwon’s room, the corridor dim and quiet enough that your footsteps sounded louder than they actually were. Behind you, Jungwon's door clicked shut softly. You were already smiling to yourself, and that should have been your first warning that the universe was about to humble you.

The sleeves of his hoodie hanging too long over your hands as you padded toward the kitchen with the vague hope of grabbing water before attempting the walk back to your own dorm unnoticed.

You were halfway through convincing yourself everyone was asleep when you stepped into the kitchen and nearly had a heart attack. Jake was already there, sitting at the counter with a mug in one hand like he’d been awake long enough to enter a different stage of consciousness. He looked up the second you walked in and visibly froze mid-sip.

You froze too and for a long second, neither of you spoke. Jake’s eyes dragged slowly over your appearance, your wet hair, the oversized hoodie, the fact it was very obviously Jungwon’s, the way you looked suspiciously rumpled for someone supposedly just passing through at sunrise. Then his eyebrows lifted so high they practically disappeared into his hairline.

"…No fucking way," he said finally, you immediately sighed,

"Don’t."

Jake leaned back in his chair. "Oh my god," he breathed, grinning now.

"I didn’t mean to fall asleep," you said far too quickly. Jake just stared at you, then his eyes dropped to your neck, then back at you again. "…Uh huh," he said flatly, heat crawled violently into your face.

"Jake." Before he could answer, another set of footsteps shuffled into the kitchen behind you and Jungwon appeared looking equally exhausted, hair still wet, shirt wrinkled beyond saving. He stopped the second he saw Jake’s expression and immediately knew, eyes closing briefly.

"Fuck."

Jake pointed between the two of you with genuine outrage. "You two are fucking monsters." You covered your face instantly but Jungwon, instead of denying it like a normal person, looked genuinely stricken for a completely different reason.

"I knew we were being too loud."

You whipped around fast. "Shut the fuck up."

Jake doubled over laughing immediately while Jungwon dragged a hand through his hair. "I’m just saying, I had a feeling."

"A feeling?" Jake repeated, wheezing. "Bro, the entire floor had a feeling." Jungwon looked deeply ashamed for maybe half a second before moving behind you and immediately hiding his face in your shoulder. His arms slid loosely around your waist without thinking, all warm and unfairly comfortable despite the situation. Which only made Jake point harder. "Two days since you 'made' up. TWO."

"We were going to tell you," Jungwon muttered weakly. Jake only stared at him. "After what?"

You groaned covering your face with both hands now. "Shut up." you said muffled.

Jake, unfortunately, was enjoying himself far too much now. "Do you understand how traumatic it is," he continued, "to wake up at like three in the morning thinking somebody is getting brutally murdered and then realizing no, it’s just Jungwon losing his virginity." Jungwon made a strangled noise into your neck. "Stop talking." he mumbled not even bothering correcting him.

"No, because I almost came in to check if—"

"Jake." He held both hands up immediately, still laughing. "Alright, okay, I’m done." He clearly was not done. The grin stayed permanently stuck on his face as he looked between you both again, softer this time beneath all the teasing.

"Seriously though," he said, shaking his head. "About fucking time." You felt your embarrassment ease just slightly at that but Jake ruined it immediately by narrowing his eyes at Jungwon "But I swear to god, if I hear even one suspicious sound again, I’m knocking on the wall like an old man."

Jungwon finally lifted his head just enough to mumble, "Can you keep your voice down before the others wake up?"

Jake gasped dramatically. "Oh, now we care about volume."

You scoffed turning your head to Jungwon, while he started laughing into you, shoulders shaking. "This is your fault," you told him immediately.

"My fault?” he repeated, offended now despite the grin tugging at his mouth. “You were the one making—”

"Finish that sentence and I’ll kill you." Jake nearly folded in half laughing again while Jungwon wisely shut his mouth, though the smug look on his face made it very clear he absolutely could finish that sentence.The kitchen settled after that into quieter laughter, the kind that came easier after the initial humiliation burned off and light conversation. Jake took another sip of coffee, still occasionally looking at the two of you with disbelief written all over his face, while Jungwon stayed tucked against your shoulder without an ounce of shame left in him anymore.

"We lasted barely two days," you said, turning to look at Jungwon again. He groaned into your neck, arms tightening around your waist. "I thought we’d at least make it a week," he said. "Yeah, no chance," you laughed.

"Worth it," Jungwon whispered, breath warm against your ear. You rolled your eyes automatically, though the smile pulling at your mouth ruined any attempt at annoyance. Behind you, Jake made a deeply offended sound into his coffee mug.

"I hate both of you."

Eventually, after Jake threatened violence if either of you stayed in the kitchen any longer, you finally escaped back to your dorm. The walk across the hall felt strangely light, maybe because the secret was already starting to slip out of your hands anyway. Your dorm was quiet when you slipped inside, still half asleep as morning light spilled weakly through the windows. You changed quickly, washing your face in freezing water in a failed attempt to wake yourself up properly.

By the time you finally made your way down to breakfast, the castle had properly woken up around you. Voices echoed through the corridors, footsteps overlapping against stone floors, the usual morning chaos settling back into place. Breakfast passed in a blur of pointed looks and carefully neutral behaviour, the kind where you and Jungwon sat just far enough apart to be technically innocent but close enough that Jake kept smirking into his drink.

The afternoon found you all together again, sprawled in a common lounge space near the library where people usually ended up when they had nowhere else to be. Ni-ki had claimed an armchair, Heeseung was half lying across the sofa scrolling on his phone, Kenny was arguing about something unimportant, and Jake was sitting on the floor leaning against the couch in a way that made it look like he was physically restraining himself from commenting on anything.

You ended up beside Jungwon without thinking, like it was muscle memory rather than choice. He didn’t say anything about it either, just shifted slightly to make space for you, his shoulder brushing yours in a way that felt entirely too natural for something you were supposedly hiding. It was almost working, until someone else walked in.

It was one of the older Slytherin students you vaguely recognised, confident enough in the way he carried himself to immediately head in your direction with an easy smile. You only realised he was speaking to you when he stopped directly in front of the sofa, asking your name with the kind of casual interest that didn’t quite match the way his eyes stayed on your face. "Hey," he said again, like repeating it made it smoother, "I’ve seen you around, I just wanted to say hi properly."

You answered politely, confused more than anything, and that was apparently enough encouragement for him to keep talking. Jungwon didn’t move at first, which was almost impressive, but the change in him was immediate anyway. You felt it, the shift in posture beside you, the way his leg tensed slightly where it was stretched out near yours, the subtle lean forward like he was suddenly very aware of the space between you and the stranger.

The guy laughed at something you said, just a little too familiar, and Jungwon finally looked up. "Can I help you?" Jungwon asked, voice calm in a way that didn’t match the look in his eyes at all.

The guy blinked, slightly thrown by the tone more than the words. "Oh, I was just talking to her—"

"I know," he said lightly, still smiling. "I heard." There was a beat of silence that felt like it stretched too long for comfort. Heeseung slowly lowered his phone. Ni-ki straightened in his chair. Kenny stopped talking mid-sentence. Jake covered his mouth with his hand, shoulders already shaking like he was physically fighting laughter.

The guy looked between you and Jungwon now, the confusion starting to shift into something more cautious. "Are you her boyfriend or something?"

Jungwon didn’t even hesitate. "No," he said easily, still smiling. Then he glanced at you for half a second, softer in a way only you caught, like the answer wasn’t meant for anyone else in the room.

"Not yet."

The room absolutely lost it in the most restrained way possible, like everyone was trying not to make it worse but failing miserably. Jake made a sound that suspiciously turned into a cough halfway through. Kenny’s eyes went wide. Ni-ki leaned forward, elbows on knees. Even Heeseung looked like he was trying very hard to understand if this was a joke or a confession.

The guy cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh… I’ll leave you to it then." He left faster than he arrived.

"Jungwon," you said under your breath, he finally looked at you properly now, expression completely unreadable for half a second before it softened again, like he couldn’t help himself.

"What? I was polite." he said quietly, too calm to be innocent.

"That was not polite," you laughed in disbelief, leaning into his shoulder without thinking, like your body had decided this was just normal again, completely forgetting for a second that everyone else in the room was currently reconstructing reality around you both. It only took you half a second to realise they had gone quiet in that very specific way that meant people were talking without actually speaking.

Jungwon didn’t even flinch at the contact, just shifted slightly so you fit against him more naturally. "It was," he insisted, still annoyingly calm about it, eyes flicking briefly down to you like he was more focused on you than the entire audience pretending not to exist

It wasn’t loud at first, more like a collective pause. The kind where nobody speaks because everyone is trying to decide who breaks first. Then Kenny finally leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowed like she was assembling a case in real time. "So," she said carefully, "just to clarify what I’m watching right now.”

Heeseung exhaled through his nose, already looking tired of being right about everything. "Don’t say ‘just to clarify’ like you’re not about to interrogate them."

"I am," Kenny replied immediately, not even looking away from you two. Ni-ki tilted his head, openly curious now. "So like.. you're together?"

Jungwon didn’t answer straight away. Not because he was hiding anything, but because he looked mildly amused by the fact that they were only just catching up. His hand stayed resting casually near your knee like it belonged there, thumb brushing once against your leg. Kenny didn’t even look up properly, just pointed vaguely at you both. "I knew it. I literally said it. No one listens to me in this house."

Jungwon finally sat up a little, still calm but noticeably less playful now that he could feel the full attention on him. "It’s not new," he said simply, like that answered anything.

That made Jake let out a quiet laugh from the floor. "That is the most unhelpful sentence you could’ve chosen."

Jungwon hummed quietly at that, glancing at you for half a second like he was sharing the joke only with you. "We didn’t plan for it to be… announced," he said, which made Jake snort again.

"Oh, it got announced,” Jake said. "Loudly. Multiple times."

You covered your face briefly, heat creeping up your neck. "Please stop talking."

Kenny looked between you and Jake now, fully locking in on something she wasn’t ready to let go of. "He knew??"

"Unfortunately," Jake mumbled, clearly enjoying your embarrassment far too much, leaning back into the sofa. "I’ve been carrying this knowledge alone."

Heeseung let out a quiet breath through his nose, shaking his head a little. "That explains a lot, actually."

Jungwon shifted slightly beside you, still calm but now visibly more amused, like the whole thing had officially crossed into ridiculous territory he no longer felt the need to resist. "He’s been unbearable since this morning," he added.

"Excuse you,” Jake said instantly. “I have been supportive."

"You threatened to knock on the wall." you reminded him.

"I was setting boundaries," Jake replied without missing a beat.

Kenny pointed between all of you again, narrowing her eyes. "Okay, no, I’m still not done with you two."

"We feel like we are," you said.

"You’re not," she replied, and she wasn’t lying. The next twenty minutes somehow turned into a slow, ongoing series of questions that weren’t even really questions anymore, just observations disguised as curiosity. Heeseung quietly checking if you were both "Okay okay" after everything, Ni-ki asking far too many casual "So like when did you realise" questions, Kenny refusing to let any detail pass unexamined, and Jungwon answering everything with infuriating calmness like this was a group project he had already finished. You eventually stopped trying to defend anything and just leaned fully into him again, which only made them look more satisfied and by the time they finally let it go, it wasn’t because they were out of questions. It was because they were exhausted.

Jake was the first one to fully give up, getting up and stretching like he had just survived a long-haul flight, then walked over and flopped directly down between you both on the sofa like personal space was an outdated concept. "Alright," he announced, already reaching an arm around your shoulders and the other around Jungwon. "I approve of this relationship."

You made a sound of protest, half-laughing as his weight pushed you both closer together. "You don’t get to approve anything."

"I do," Jake said, completely unbothered, settling in like he was comfortable there for the rest of the day. "I suffered through the years of denial."

Jungwon leaned slightly into the chaos without complaint, glancing down at Jake’s arm like it was mildly inconvenient but acceptable. "You’re heavy," he said and Jake squeezed tighter just to be annoying.

"And you’re welcome."

Ni-ki was still watching like he was trying to decide if this counted as normal behaviour now. Kenny had her chin propped in her hand, looking way too pleased with how this had all resolved itself. Heeseung, as usual, looked like he’d already accepted the situation ten steps before everyone else caught up.

Then Kenny exhaled, a small smile tugging at her mouth. "No, seriously though," she said, eyes flicking between you and Jungwon, "I’m happy for you both." Ni-ki nodded immediately like that was the only logical conclusion. "Yeah. About time, honestly." Heeseung hummed in agreement, calm as ever.

Jake tilted his head back against the sofa, still wrapped around both of you like a human barricade. "Yeah," he added, quieter but sincere underneath all the noise, "I’m happy for you guys. It’s been… a lot watching you finally get here." That landed in a way that made your chest feel a little warm and too tight at the same time. Jungwon didn’t say anything straight away, just pat Jake's shoulder.

"Yeah," he said finally, softer than usual, "it was worth it."

Jake, of course, ruined the softness immediately by squeezing you both again. "Don’t get emotional," he said. "I will make it weird again if I have to."

Later that night, long after the teasing had finally died down and everyone had gone their separate ways, Jungwon appeared outside your dorm looking suspicious in a way that immediately made you narrow your eyes at him. The corridor was quiet, lit only by the warm dim glow from the wall sconces, and he stood there with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket like he was attempting innocence he absolutely did not possess.

"You look guilty," you informed him as you stepped out into the corridor, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself against the cold stone air. Jungwon’s mouth twitched immediately, blonde hair falling messily across his forehead from where he’d clearly been dragging his hands through it for a while now.

"I’m literally just standing here," he said, though the defensive edge to it only made you more suspicious. Before you could continue interrogating him, he reached for your hand, fingers slipping easily between yours with effortless familiarity. "Come with me," he added, thumb brushing absentmindedly across your knuckles. "I’m not doing anything illegal. Probably."

"That is not reassuring."

"It should be slightly reassuring," he corrected, already tugging you along the corridor. You let him pull you through the castle despite the growing certainty that he absolutely was planning something. The higher the staircases became, the more sceptical you got, until eventually you slowed to a stop halfway up another winding staircase and looked at him properly. "Jungwon," you said carefully, already trying not to laugh, "Why are we climbing seventy flights of stairs at midnight."

He laughed under his breath at that, squeezing your hand gently. "Can you trust me for five minutes, baby? Just five. I’m asking for very little here." he replied, tugging lightly on your hand until you started moving again. The pet name distracted you just enough that he managed to get you all the way to the top before you could continue questioning him. There was something annoying in his expression already, like he knew you were going to like whatever this was and was trying not to ruin it too early.

The second the tower door swung open, night air rushed around you, carrying the distant sound of wind through the castle grounds below and then your eyes landed on the setup waiting near the far side of the tower. Blankets and pillows looking ridiculously comfortable, spread across the stone floor beneath the stars, complete with snacks shoved into one corner and what looked suspiciously like one of the softer blankets stolen from the boys dorm. You stopped dead in the doorway staring at it while Jungwon immediately looked away like he physically couldn’t handle your reaction yet.

"Baby," you breathed.

"It gets cold up here," he says quickly, though the slight pinkness creeping into his face completely ruined any attempt at nonchalance. "And carrying all of this up here was genuinely horrible. I almost gave up halfway through and just invited you to the couch downstairs."

That startled a laugh out of you, warm enough that some of the tension visibly left his shoulders at the sound. You’d started noticing that recently too — how much he relaxed whenever you laughed now, like some deeply anxious part of him was still adjusting to the fact that he no longer had to wonder if you wanted him around.

"C’mere," he murmured after a second, reaching for you again. He pulled your jacket off for you before shrugging his own off and tossing both onto the blankets carelessly. You let him guide you over before dropping down beside him, both of you dissolving into quiet laughter when one of the pillows immediately slid out from underneath you and nearly sent you sideways. Jungwon caught you automatically, one arm wrapping around your waist as he pulled you securely against him, and the smug little smile that appeared afterwards made you grin immediately.

"Who knew you'd be such a sap."

“Baby I worked hard,” he replied, attempting to sound serious about it. “Do you know how difficult it is to sneak this many pillows through the castle without people asking questions. Jake watched me walk past and just went, ‘If you’re not proposing up there don't tell me about it after.’"

You exhaled a laugh. "That sounds like him."

The wind moved softly around the tower after that, the blankets warm beneath you while Jungwon shifted until you were tucked comfortably against his chest, his arm draped around your waist beneath the layers of fabric. For a while neither of you spoke. You just sat there together watching the dark grounds stretch below the tower while his fingers traced lazy patterns against your side through your top. Eventually though, Jungwon let out a quiet breath, the kind that gave him away instantly.

You tilted your head back slightly to look at him. "What’s going on in that brain right now."

Jungwon groaned softly before dropping his head back against the stone wall behind him. "I had this planned better in my head," he admitted.

A laugh escaped you immediately. "That's not an answer."

His fingers tightened around yours beneath the blanket before he looked back down at you again, expression slowly melting into something quieter. "I just keep thinking about how everyone already calls you mine, and you are. And I know that sounds stupid, because everything is already obvious, but it’s been bothering me all day,"

You blinked at him once, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. "After wanting this for so long, I don’t want to do any of it halfway with you. I don’t wanna look back later and realize I skipped over asking because I assumed you already knew."

You squeezed his hand, smiling into his shoulder. Jungwon looked down at you then, fully this time, all soft and nervous honesty under the dim lantern light.

"So," he said carefully, "Baby, can I be your boyfriend, properly."

Something about the way he asked nearly ruined you on the spot. That after years of almosts and misunderstandings and loving each other so quietly it physically hurt, you had somehow ended up here instead.

"You’re ridiculous."

"That's not a no," he said immediately, grinning way too much for someone trying to act calm. You kissed him, laughter dissolving against his mouth when he melted into it instantly, one hand sliding up to cup your cheek while his relieved smile pressed warm against your lips.

"Yes," you whispered once you pulled back enough to breathe. "Obviously yes."

He exhaled hard through his nose before pulling you impossibly closer into him, forehead pressing against yours while he laughed quietly under his breath. "Okay good," he murmured. "Because I’ve actually been stressed about asking you for, like, six hours."

"You did not think I was going to say no," you teased, brushing your nose lightly against his.

"Mmm. I considered the possibility," he replied with a tiny shrug that immediately ruined the seriousness of the moment. You swatted at his shoulder and he laughed properly this time, catching your hand before you could do it again and pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles.

"Boyfriend," he said suddenly, testing the word out loud, and unfortunately your face betrayed you immediately.

"Oh," his eyes widened, and then he laughed softly.

"Jungwon."

His grin only widened as he wrapped both arms around your waist and pulled you against him properly. "My girlfriend," he whispered, sounding entirely too pleased with himself now. You groaned and buried your face in his shoulder, which only made him laugh harder, his chin resting lightly on top of your head.

For a second you just held his eyes, looking into the same boy who used to love you silently from across rooms, from hidden glances and overthought conversations and years of wanting without knowing what to do with it.

The story had never been about falling in love. It had been about realising you already were. Jungwon tilted his head slightly when he noticed you staring.

"What?"

You smiled and leaned forward and kissed him again beneath the stars, beneath the endless sky that had watched every version of you both become this one.

And when you finally pulled away, the future didn't feel frightening anymore. It felt familiar. It looked like stolen hoodies and sleepy mornings, like a boy with messy blonde hair looking at you as though he'd never quite believe his luck.

And beneath a sky full of stars, surrounded by the quiet magic of a world that had brought you together long before either of you understood why, you stayed there a little longer.

Just two people who had spent four years finding their way home.

V 𓄧 wowowowow. i'd already written 17k words when i posted 4poison1 so i was like, yo this is not gonna take me long at all......... a month later. . .imsorry ok i hope this makes up for it AND JS KNOW i will NAUT be writing long ass fics for a while omg this took me from FEBRUARY TO JUNE. i love you x

PERM TAGS ـــــــــــــــــﮩ٨ـ @xionvlog @clearlyhoonie @endoll @voucearse @chyukiz @angelshedevil @firstclassjaylee @shouldergangsterrj @multistanerrrrr @kristynaaah @mailovesreading @justpassingdontworry @wonkiipiilled @imsojuliaaaaaa @sugadaddymyg @cralessia @hauntsoul @ot7archives

TAGS ـــــــــــــــــ٨ @heedimples @aesprn @fabulousarepo4 @chyukiz s @nctubatu @lovelycassy @cumtrov3rsy @l33binx @jakeenhabias @ywoniewon @peonywon @asaapjwons @miauumin @chloexyi @idonthatefruits @foreveronez @enhalxvr @heruuux @gthae @starfallia @sipnonsense @jungwonsdimpl3 @heewonnie @shhth @babygguk98 @jwonie10 @geonatzz @hyyhwriter @areikii @sehynblur @jungwonisme @thewonnie23 @wonieberryworld @fancypeacepersona @aesaliaaa1 @iilyri @breakinmheart @moonlitmemorabilia @literallynpbody @ikeuheartz @2lyjwonn @bingka @enhaholicfan @yenienha @chanchamm @synamon @raevyl @cami17 @veemegatron @splzq

𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𓇬 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃!!

[angelyuns]

DO THAT AGAIN

PAIRING . frat boy riki x fem reader

FEAT . enhypen members, soobin, chaewon, yunjin, park jisung, gyuvin, and more

ABOUT . smau, enemies to lovers, ex childhood friends to lovers ( sorta ), frenemies, university au, enhypen as soccer players, enhypen as frat brothers (TKE princesses) , yn is really into DJs and festivals, freq mentions of soccer teams/players, riki and y/n at each others neck 24/7, niki is soccer captain, and soccer is the main sport at hype for plot reasons (think of it as like college football moment.)

WARNINGS . suggestive themes, suggestive scenes, sexual innuendos, profanity, mentions of drug usage (it's college I fear), excessive alcohol drinking, and that should be it (will update as it progresses)

SYNOPSIS . y/n was the quintessential "teacher's pet" in high school, attending the same school as riki and his friends. after an incident between the two in 10th grade, they developed a mutual hatred that lasted throughout the rest of their high school years. following graduation, y/n chose to attend a different university than her friends, hoping to leave her past self behind and start over. college became exactly that, a fresh start. away from the iron clad reputation she'd built for herself, she opened up, growing into a completely different person. but a year later, she makes her way to hybe, only to discover she's been dropped right back into her old shoes. surrounded once again by riki and her closest friends, she's forced to relive the past she tried so hard to leave behind.

AUTHORS NOTE . FINALLY. this has been in the works for sososososo long now and im very very excited to finally get started and put this out. I love a realistic university au so I tried my best to deliver that :p. hopefully you guys love it just as much as I do. updates may be slow! so stick with me pls. love u

. TEASER

. PROFILES 1 | PROFILES 2

. one - we are sooooo back

. two - crank it

. three - TKE princess

. four - ???

. five - ???

. six - ???

more to come…

-

last updated 6/9/26

[ikeuzito]

── TEACHER'S PET

(박성훈) college au. professor!sunghoon × student!reader

“You’re mine now. . . My perfect little pet.”

synopsis: you are a university student completely obsessed with your professor, Park Sunghoon. From the very first lecture, you begin craving his rare words of praise. Soon you’re wearing tighter and shorter outfits just to catch his eye, all while secretly writing your most filthy and forbidden fantasies about him in your private notebook. Until one day, you accidentally leave that notebook behind and he finds it. Now Professor Park knows exactly how desperate you are for him — and he’s done holding back.

warnings: explicit sexual content (mdni), daddy kink, unprotected sex, multiple creampies, rough sex, fingering, oral (f. receiving), deepthroat/face fucking, riding, mirror sex, standing sex, bondage, spanking, hair pulling, choking/suffocation, spitting in mouth, nipple play, manhandling, size kink, stomach bulge, squirting, breeding kink, praise kink, degradation, possessiveness, jealousy, public teasing, diary fantasies.

— wc: 7.4k

a/n: heyy!! this is my first post here, so I'm a bit nervous, but I hope you all like it. any feedback is welcome, I'd really appreciate it <3 happy reading.

You walk into the lecture hall on your first day of the semester and choose a seat near the exit because you’re not expecting anything special from an Advanced Ethics class—until the door opens and Professor Park walks in.

He looks almost too young to be a professor, yet he carries an intriguing air of authority. The moment he begins to speak, introducing the course in a low, calm voice, you’re instantly hooked. Something deep in your stomach twists with sudden heat.

You spend the entire class staring at him, barely able to take any notes. He doesn’t smile once during the introductory lecture, and there’s something magnetic about it. He doesn’t seem to care about being liked by his students—he’s simply there, doing his job with strict discipline.

You’ve never been attracted to a professor before, but there’s something about him that captivates you instantly. Maybe it’s the way his biceps flex when he gestures while explaining something, or the fact that he seems almost too cold and professional.

By the end of the class, you feel an intense wave of jealousy over the measured praise he gave to other students. You want him to praise you. You want him to notice you. You want to be his favorite student.

Later that same day, back in your dorm, you make your first diary entry about Professor Park:

"Today I met Professor Park and my God, he’s so attractive. The way his thick eyebrows furrow when he’s explaining something… it honestly got me a little wet. I’m going to try to get his attention in the next classes."

You start sitting in the front row from that day forward, taking real notes and listening attentively to everything Professor Park says.

Throughout the week, you write more entries in your diary:

"God, the way his voice drops when he’s explaining something… I keep imagining him using that same low tone while he tells me exactly what to do on my knees. His hands look so big, with those long fingers. I wonder how they would feel gripping my hips or squeezing my thighs…"

"I want him to bend me over the desk after everyone leaves, lift my skirt, and fuck me hard. I’d stay so quiet for him… or maybe he’d fuck me even harder if I moaned his name out loud? Either way, I just want his cock to stretch me open."

By the end of the first week, he already knows your name because you answer a question correctly in class, where he simply replies with a neutral "Correct," but it’s enough to make your stomach flip.

Still, you want more. Knowing your name isn’t enough — you need all of his attention. So you decide to try something new in the second week.

────────

You wake up earlier to put extra effort into your makeup and outfit. For your first attempt, you go for something natural — soft mascara, a light blush, and a touch of lip gloss. You pair it with a blouse with a subtle neckline and a medium-length skirt that falls just at your knees.

Sitting in the front row, you raise your hand several times, making intelligent and well-thought-out comments because you actually studied for it. When you do, you receive a "Good point" from him, accompanied by a small approving smile. It’s enough to make your heart race.

In the next class, you try a bolder look — eyeliner, a proper lipstick instead of gloss, and a bit of contouring. He glances at you during the lecture, but he doesn’t compliment you. His expression remains neutral. When you make another smart comment, he simply nods. The conclusion is clear: he prefers the natural look, so that’s what you stick with.

Now it’s time to experiment with clothing. The following day, you wear a revealing outfit — a blouse cut low enough to show your collarbones and a shorter skirt that reveals your thighs. Professor Park’s eyes linger a little longer on your cleavage and bare thighs. It’s not obvious, but you notice. Cleavage and shorter skirts seem to work better, so you start leaning into that.

You keep pushing yourself — spending hours studying, pouring everything into every assignment, arriving early to class in hopes of catching a moment alone with him, craving his praise like it’s oxygen. With each passing class, your blouses get tighter and your skirts get shorter, exactly the way he seems to like.

Your efforts are paying off. His compliments come more frequently now — "Well argued" and "You captured the theme perfectly" — making you press your thighs together under the desk.

During one lecture, you participate actively, offering solid arguments and sharp answers, earning even more praise from Professor Park. When the class ends, he stops beside your seat. His gaze drops to your breasts for half a second before returning to your face.

"You’re showing great improvement," he says.

It’s enough to leave you soaked.

That night, your diary entry is filled with need:

"He looked at my tits today. He really looked. God, I want him to praise me while he wraps his arms around me and squeezes me so tight I can barely breathe. I’d call him Daddy so easily — actually, that’s what I’m calling him from now on. I want to be Daddy’s favorite. I’d let him fuck my ass if that’s what it takes to be his good girl."

────────

After your morning class, you’re walking down the corridor when you spot him near the faculty offices, carrying a tall stack of papers and wearing glasses. Now you have a new fantasy — getting fucked by him while he’s wearing those frames.

You quicken your pace, pretending to be focused on something on your phone, and then "accidentally" drop your notebook right in front of him. "Oh no…"

You quickly drop to your knees, letting your short skirt ride up even higher. The view you give him is perfect: you on your knees, looking up with a submissive gaze, lips slightly parted, your breasts nearly spilling out of your low-cut blouse.

His crotch is right in front of your face. The fabric of his pants stretches tightly over the heavy outline of his bulge, the thickness clearly visible. This is exactly what you would see if you were sucking his cock. The fantasy of pulling that thick cock out and taking him down your throat while looking up at him with innocent eyes makes you shiver.

Professor Park makes no effort to help you up. He towers over you, his thick eyebrows furrowed in a rare expression of surprise on his usually neutral face. "Are you alright?" he asks.

Your eyes travel from the bulge right in front of you up to his face. You pick up the notebook and look up again from that perfect blowjob angle, whispering softly, "Yes, Professor. I’m just so clumsy sometimes."

For half a second, his gaze drops — taking in your glossy lips so close to his groin, the way your skirt has ridden up, and how your breasts look even more prominent from this angle. He clears his throat and forces his attention back to your face. "Be more careful next time."

You smile sweetly and finally stand up, tugging your skirt down even though it barely covers anything. "Thank you, Professor Park."

Your panties are soaked and your mouth is watering, the image of his bulge so close to your lips still burned into your mind.

He gives you one last lingering look before walking past you. If he had stayed even a second longer, you might have noticed the growing, hardening bulge in his pants.

That afternoon, you write in your diary:

"Holy fuck, I was literally on my knees right in front of him, exactly like I would be if I were sucking his cock. I wanted him to pull it out, grab my hair, and make me take every inch of that heavy length down my throat. I’m so wet just remembering how tall he looked standing over me. Please, Daddy… notice how desperate your good girl is."

────────

As the students begin to leave when the class ends, you deliberately take your time packing your things, hoping for another interaction with Professor Park. It works. He starts walking toward your seat and stops beside it.

"Miss, stay after for a moment," he says.

"Yes, sir," you reply. Your mind immediately wanders — imagining him locking the door, bending you over the desk, his strong arms pinning you down while his cock finally stretches you open as he calls you his "good girl."

Once the last students are gone, you walk up to him on shaky legs, your panties soaked and your nipples hard, clearly visible through the thin fabric of your tank top.

"Yes, Professor?" Your voice is soft and innocent, but your heart is pounding as hard as your clit. Please, touch me. Fuck me right here. I’ve been such a good girl for you, Daddy. The words echo loudly in your head.

His eyes meet yours before slowly drifting down, scanning you from head to toe. "I’ve noticed how much you’ve improved this semester, so I was wondering if you’d be willing to help one of the students who’s struggling. Sharing notes or a few short tutoring sessions would help a lot."

The disappointment hits you like a punch. You’re standing here dressed for him, dripping wet and trembling with need, and he’s asking you for academic favors. No locked door. No biceps wrapped around your throat while he fucks you hard. Just tutoring another student. "Of course, Professor Park. I’d be happy to help."

He gives a small nod. "Thank you. I’ll email you the details. Keep up the excellent work."

You linger for a few more seconds, hoping he’ll say something else, but he simply turns his attention back to the papers on his desk — clearly dismissing you.

While waiting for the email he mentioned, you write in your diary:

"He asked me to stay after class and I swore this was finally going to happen — that he was going to fuck me mercilessly on his desk, choking me between his biceps and calling me his good little girl, his desperate pet. But nothing happened and fuck, it’s driving me insane. I’m dressing like a slut for him and he still stays so cold and professional. Luckily, I don’t give up easily."

────────

You arrive early and take your usual seat in the front row. As soon as the lecture begins, you pull a cherry lollipop from your bag, unwrap it slowly, and bring it to your mouth. At first it looks innocent — but you make sure it’s anything but.

You suck on it gently at first, your tongue swirling around the shiny red head, then take it deeper, hollowing your cheeks slightly. Your eyes stay locked on him the entire time — watching the way his muscular arms move as he explains the material, the serious tone of his voice, and the way his thick eyebrows furrow in concentration.

Every time he turns toward your direction, you push the lollipop in and out between your lips in slow, suggestive movements, imagining it’s his cock instead. He pauses mid-sentence for half a second as his gaze fixes on your mouth, then smiles — flashing those sharp canines. Holy fuck. Your pussy throbs at the sight.

Feeling bold, you don’t stop. You lick the lollipop from base to tip with long, wet strokes of your tongue. Every time his eyes meet yours, you suck it deep while keeping eye contact.

When the lecture ends and most students leave, he looks straight at you while you’re still sucking on the lollipop and packing your things. "Miss, a word, please."

You stand up quickly and walk over to him, pulling the lollipop out slowly with a wet pop as you reach his desk. Your lips are glossy and shiny as you smile sweetly. "Yes, Professor?" You slip the lollipop back into your mouth while you wait for him to speak.

This time he doesn’t even try to hide it. His gaze drops to your glistening lips, then to your breasts — your hard nipples clearly visible through the thin tank top, no bra as usual. "Your latest essay was…" His eyes finally return to yours, a small mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Incredible."

"Thank you, Professor," you reply softly, matching his mischievous smile. "I’ve been working really hard to be your best student."

He nods. "Good. Keep it up and you’ll certainly become my favorite."

You give the lollipop one final slow lick while looking him straight in the eyes, then turn to leave, swaying your hips in those tiny shorts. You can feel his gaze burning into you the entire way out.

That night, you write in your diary:

"Fuck, the way he stared at my mouth while I was sucking that lollipop… I bet he was imagining how my lips would look wrapped around his cock. I wanted him to grab my hair and shove himself down my throat right there in front of everyone. Daddy looked so tense today, but he still praised my academic effort again. I feel like I’m getting so close to finally making him snap."

────────

The class starts as usual, with you sitting in the front row, paying close attention to Professor Park’s lecture as he discusses the topics in that controlled, precise tone.

In the middle of the lecture, Ni-ki — the guy you’ve been tutoring — leans over from the seat next to you and whispers in your ear, "Hey, are we meeting again today?"

You smile at him and nod, leaning in closer on purpose because you know Professor Park is watching. "Yeah, already missing me, Nishimura?"

Ni-ki stays close, chatting quietly with you while the class continues. You smile widely and laugh at everything he says — he’s so funny and goofy. "We can review that part after class if you want," you say sweetly, loud enough for Professor Park to hear.

Sunghoon’s reaction is subtle but noticeable. His jaw clenches, one thick eyebrow lifting for half a second as he watches the two of you. He pauses mid-sentence when he catches Ni-ki staring at your breasts, then continues with a noticeably deeper, colder voice. When his eyes meet yours again, there’s something different in them. Jealousy.

"Concentrate, please," he says to the entire class, but his gaze is locked directly on you.

After class, when most students have left, you stay behind, pretending to organize your notes. Professor Park walks over to your seat and stops right beside you, towering over you with his arms crossed over his chest. His biceps strain against the sleeves of his shirt.

"Miss… I appreciate you helping Ni-ki, but I’d prefer if tutoring sessions stayed professional and outside of my lecture time."

You look up at him with feigned innocence, biting your lower lip. "I’m sorry, Professor. I was just trying to help like you asked… I really want to be useful to you."

Those words make his cock twitch inside his pants.

"That’s fine, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your performance," he replies. "You’re one of my best students. I’d hate to see that change." He lingers for a second longer, staring at you, before stepping back.

"One of." That’s not enough. You want to be his favorite. The only one.

That day, you write:

"He was jealous today, it was so obvious. Daddy didn’t like me giving attention to another guy and fuck, that’s so hot — it left me soaked. I wanted him to snap right there, drag me to his office, put me on all fours and fuck me stupid. I need him to claim me, ruin me, remind me who I belong to. Please, Professor Park."

────────

Another class ends. This time, you don’t wait for everyone to leave so you can have a brief moment alone with Professor Park. In a rush to meet your friends at a nearby café, you end up forgetting your notebook on the desk — the one filled with all your filthy thoughts about him.

Professor Park is packing up his things when he notices the forgotten notebook on the seat where you sat during class. He picks it up, planning to return it to you next lecture, but decides to open it first to check for a name — just to make sure it’s yours. His eyes scan the first page, then the next, and the next.

"Today I met Professor Park and my God, he’s so attractive…"

"I want him to bend me over the desk after everyone leaves, lift my skirt, and fuck me hard."

"I want to be Daddy’s favorite. I’d let him fuck my ass if that’s what it takes to be his good girl."

"I wanted him to grab my hair and shove himself down my throat right there in front of everyone."

He freezes, jaw clenched tight, every muscle in his body tense as he keeps reading. Page after page of your explicit fantasies — the way you teased him with the lollipop, dropped to your knees in front of him, wore shorter and shorter skirts with tighter blouses, all of it deliberately done to provoke him.

With every new entry, his cock grows harder, throbbing painfully against the confines of his pants.

You only realize you forgot the notebook when you’re already halfway across campus. Panic floods through you instantly — every filthy thought, every "Daddy," every explicit fantasy is written in there. Your stomach twists at the thought of someone finding it and reading everything. You run back to the lecture hall as fast as you can.

When you arrive, the door is slightly ajar. Peeking inside, you see that Professor Park is still there.

Breathless, you push the door open. His eyes lock onto yours the second you step inside. The air feels thick, heavier than ever. His gaze is different now — darker, more intense, hungry. In that same instant, you know you’re fucked.

"You forgot this," he says in a low, serious voice. A cruel smile plays on his lips as he holds the notebook out toward you, but he doesn’t let go when you try to take it.

"Interesting reading…" He flips through the pages again and reads one of the entries out loud. "Please, Daddy… notice how desperate your good girl is." Then he lets out a low, mocking laugh — clearly amused by how desperate you sounded in those notes.

Your face burns with shame. The words get stuck in your throat. What excuse could you possibly give when everything is written so explicitly? "Professor… I—"

He closes the notebook with a sharp snap and pins you with a piercing stare that makes your entire body shiver. "We’ll discuss this later. In private."

He finally releases the notebook. The moment it’s in your hands, you turn and flee as fast as your trembling legs can carry you.

The rest of the day is pure torture. You can barely sleep that night, your mind racing with every possible consequence — and every possible thing he might do to you.

Later that evening, your phone vibrates with an email from him.

My office. Thursday, 4:30 PM. We need to discuss the contents of your notebook.

— Sunghoon Park.

On Thursday, you spend the entire day getting ready. You wear the tightest tank top you own — thin enough that your hard, needy nipples are clearly visible — paired with the shortest skirt you’ve ever worn, one that barely covers the curve of your ass.

At exactly 4:30 PM, you knock on his office door, your heart pounding so hard you feel dizzy.

"Come in," he says from inside.

You open the door slowly. There he is, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed over his broad chest, jaw clenched, a malicious smile on his lips and a hungry look in his eyes as they rake over your body from head to toe. The cold, professional mask he always wore in class is gone, replaced by something much darker.

"Lock the door and sit down," he orders, leaving no room for argument.

You obey with trembling hands, locking the door before sitting down, pressing your thighs together. You can already feel your panties getting wet. For a few long seconds, he just stares at you, his gaze lingering on your hard nipples straining against the thin fabric.

When his eyes finally meet yours, he speaks. "You wrote about wanting me to bend you over this desk. About my arms suffocating you. About calling me Daddy. About dressing like a desperate little slut just to get my attention."

You feel exposed, vulnerable, and shamefully aroused, your pussy throbbing.

"I didn’t… I mean, I—" The words die in your throat as he steps closer, towering over you.

"Do you have any idea how difficult it’s been to stay professional?" he growls. "Watching you in class every day in those tiny skirts and tight tops. Reading how badly you want me to claim you."

Before you can respond, he grabs your waist and lifts you effortlessly onto his desk. His hands grip your thighs, spreading them so he can step between them.

"Professor Park…" you whimper, your voice trembling with need and nervousness.

He kneels in front of you, eyes locked on yours as he pushes your skirt up and pulls your panties to the side, exposing your needy, dripping wet pussy. The first touch of his hot tongue against your folds makes you gasp sharply.

"Oh God—" you moan, gripping the edge of the desk.

Sunghoon eats you out like a starving man — with long, slow licks from your entrance to your clit, then sucking hard on the swollen bundle of nerves. Two long fingers slide deep inside you, curling perfectly to stroke that sensitive spot while his tongue works relentlessly.

"Sunghoon, fuck— that feels so good," you whimper, tangling your fingers in his hair. "I’ve waited so long for this…"

He growls against your pussy when he hears you moan his name so casually. The vibration sends shivers through your entire body. His fingers pump faster and deeper as he sucks your clit into his mouth. The pressure builds quickly until you cum hard, thighs trembling around his head, loud moans ripping from your throat as you soak his chin and the desk beneath you.

When he finally stands up, his lips are glistening with your juices. He’s breathing heavily, the massive bulge in his pants straining painfully against the fabric.

"Please, Daddy…" You spread your legs even wider, eyes glassy with tears of frustration and pleasure. "I need your cock. Please, fuck me."

Sunghoon steps forward, pressing his clothed erection firmly against your soaked entrance and rubbing slowly. You moan softly, rolling your hips against him desperately, chasing more friction, but he pulls away again.

"I’m not reckless enough to fuck you in my office," he groans, clearly fighting for control. "No matter how badly I want to bury myself inside this needy little pussy."

You let out a pathetic whine, eyes pleading. He leans in close, gripping your jaw firmly with one hand.

"Tonight. My apartment. 8 PM. If you want me to fuck you properly." He pauses, his voice low and dark. "I’ll send you an email with the address."

────────

You arrive at his building exactly at 8 PM, wearing the sluttiest outfit you own. Your pussy is already dripping down your thighs by the time you knock on the door.

Sunghoon opens the door dressed differently from usual — a simple black shirt and gray sweatpants that do nothing to hide the thick, heavy outline of his hard cock.

"Come in," He orders and you obey, the door closing behind you with a heavy click.

The second you step inside, his reserved professor mask finally shatters and he snaps.

He grabs you by the waist and slams you against the wall, his grip so strong it will definitely leave bruises. "You have no fucking idea what you’ve done to me," he growls, pressing his erection hard against your stomach. "Reading page after page of you begging to be my little whore. Calling me Daddy while thinking about my cock."

You moan, arching into him desperately. "Please… I need it. I’ve needed your cock for so long."

He spins you around and bends you roughly over the back of the couch. Your tiny skirt rides up, exposing your bare, dripping pussy — you didn’t even bother wearing panties. His large hand comes down hard on your ass, making you cry out.

"Look at this desperate little cunt," he says, stroking the spot he just spanked. "Dripping all over my floor." Two thick fingers slide through your folds and push deep inside you without warning. You scream, pushing back against his hand as he fingers you hard, curling his fingers against that sweet spot while his thumb circles your swollen clit.

"You’re tighter than I imagined," he groans, pumping faster. "All those weeks teasing me in those tiny skirts and tight tops… you’re going to take every inch of Daddy’s cock tonight."

You’re already a sobbing, dripping mess. "Yes, Daddy, please fuck me."

He pulls his fingers out, yanks your top up to free your breasts, and spins you around to face him. Before you can say anything, his mouth crashes against yours in a hungry, demanding, almost desperate kiss — his tongue pushing past your lips to claim you completely.

You melt into him, moaning into his mouth while grinding against his hard cock. When he finally pulls back, your lips are swollen and you’re panting.

He walks you backward toward the bedroom, still kissing you between steps, until the back of your knees hit the bed. Sunghoon throws you onto your back, pulls off his shirt, and shoves down his sweatpants — finally freeing his cock that springs out, thick and rock hard with pulsing veins along the shaft. Your mouth waters at the sight.

He climbs on top of you, grabs your thighs and spreads them wide. Without any ceremony, he lines up and thrusts deep inside you in one brutal stroke, burying himself to the hilt in your soaked pussy. "Fuck, you’re so goddamn tight."

Then he starts fucking you hard — deep, merciless thrusts that make the bed creak and his heavy balls slap against your ass with every stroke.

You’re completely lost in it, moaning like a whore because he’s so big and the stretch is overwhelming. "Your cock is so big… you’re stretching me so good."

He leans down and kisses you again, swallowing your moans as he pounds into you. His muscular body pins you to the mattress, his heat and weight dominating you the best way possible.

"You’re mine now," he growls against your lips. "My perfect little pet. This pussy belongs to me now."

Sunghoon presses one hand firmly on your lower belly and starts fucking you with slow but incredibly deep strokes. His cock is so long and buried so deep that you can clearly see the bulge moving under your skin with every thrust.

"I can literally see my cock bulging your tiny stomach. Feel that?" He thrusts harder, pressing down so you can feel the head of his cock pushing against his hand through your body.

You nod, sobbing with pleasure, tears streaming down your cheeks. "Yes, I feel it. You’re ruining my pussy, Daddy. I’m so full."

"My cock is bigger than your little womb can handle… but you’re still taking every inch like a good girl," he groans, almost hypnotized.

"Please, don’t stop," you beg desperately, voice breaking. He fucks you even deeper, one hand still pressing on the bulge in your stomach while the other pins your wrists above your head.

The pressure becomes unbearable until you can’t hold back anymore. You cum hard, screaming as your pussy clenches violently around his cock, squirting while he keeps fucking you through it. The sight and feeling push him over the edge too. He buries himself as deep as your body allows and fills you with thick, hot ropes of cum, groaning loudly as he empties himself inside you.

He slowly pulls out of you, his cock glistening with the mixture of both your cum. You’re panting, legs still trembling from the intense orgasm, when suddenly he flips you onto your stomach without warning. He grabs your hips and pulls your ass up, putting you on all fours.

"Arch your back," he orders. "I want to fuck you like the desperate little pet you are."

You obey immediately, arching your back deeply and presenting your wet, swollen pussy to him. This position leaves you completely at his mercy as his tall, muscular frame towers behind you.

He leans over you, one hand sliding down your spine until he grabs the back of your neck, pulling you up so your back is pressed against his chest. With the other hand, he turns your head to the side and kisses you deeply. His tongue invades your mouth, claiming every inch while his thick cock teases between your ass cheeks.

You moan into the kiss, melting under him. "Daddy… fuck me harder," you beg breathlessly against his lips.

He kisses you even more aggressively, biting your lower lip before pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "Open your mouth."

You obey without hesitation, sliding your tongue out slightly. Sunghoon leans over you and spits directly into your open mouth — a thick string of saliva landing on your tongue.

You moan pathetically and swallow it all. "Thank you, Daddy…"

"Good girl," he praises with a wide smile, then spits into your mouth again. "Now take my cock."

He pushes you back down onto the mattress, grips your hips with both large hands, and thrusts into you with one brutal stroke. The new angle lets him bury every thick inch even deeper, stretching your tight pussy to its limit.

"Fuck!" you cry out, fingers gripping the sheets. "You’re so deep like this… Oh my God."

Sunghoon starts fucking you hard, his hips slamming against your ass with loud, wet slaps that push your body forward with every thrust. His thick cock rubs against your cervix and every sensitive spot inside you — the obscene sound of your soaked pussy getting fucked filling the room.

He keeps one hand on the back of your neck, pressing your face into the mattress while the other spanks your ass hard in time with his thrusts, leaving red marks on your skin. "Take it," he groans. "This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be fucked like a bitch in heat by your professor."

"Yes, yes, Daddy." you moan loudly, pushing your hips back desperately to meet his rhythm. "Fuck me harder… I love being your little slut."

He leans over you again, chest pressed against your back, and continues pounding into you mercilessly. Every thrust makes your ass ripple and your tits bounce beneath you.

Sunghoon reaches around and grabs one of your breasts roughly, pinching your nipple without slowing his punishing pace — his heavy balls slapping against your clit with every stroke.

"You’re so fucking tight like this," he growls against your ear, biting your shoulder. "This tiny pussy was made for my cock."

You’re sobbing with pleasure, completely lost in how deep and hard his huge cock is fucking you. "I’m gonna cum. Sunghoon, please... can I cum?" you beg, voice breaking.

He slaps your ass hard again, making you squirm under him. "Cum on my cock like a good girl."

You scream into the mattress as your inner walls clench violently around him, the orgasm hitting you violently. He doesn’t slow down — he fucks you straight through it, chasing his own release.

Until he buries himself to the hilt and fills you with another huge load, pumping rope after thick rope of hot cum deep inside your pussy in heavy spasms.

You’re still trembling and leaking his cum when he pulls out and suddenly flips you onto your back so he can look at your ruined body and flushed, wrecked expression. "On your knees," he commands, his voice low and rough.

You obey instantly, like you always do. Sunghoon reaches over to the nightstand where he keeps his satin ties and grabs a couple. "Hands behind your back, pet." He ties your wrists securely behind you and then binds your ankles, leaving you completely helpless on the bed.

The silk bites into your skin just tight enough to make you fully at his mercy. When you test the restraints and realize you can’t escape, a needy moan escapes you.

"Look at you…" he says, slowly stroking his cock, which is already rock hard again. "All tied up and dripping for me. Exactly how a desperate little slut should be.:

You whimper, your pussy clenching around nothing. "Daddy, please..."

He lets out a cruel laugh, then grabs you by the hair and drags you off the bed to the large full-length mirror on the bedroom wall. He positions you on your knees right in front of it, facing your own reflection. "Eyes open," he whispers into your ear. "Watch what I do to you."

You stare at the obscene image in the mirror: your wrists and ankles bound, your skirt bunched uselessly around your waist, tits exposed, and your face flushed with lust.

Sunghoon kneels behind you, his muscular body making yours look tiny. He yanks your head back by the hair and thrusts into you with one brutal stroke, burying his cock to the hilt.

He starts fucking you hard, deep and punishing thrusts that jolt your bound body forward. His biceps flex as he grips your hips, pulling you back onto his cock with every stroke. The mirror shows everything — your tits bouncing, your face twisted in pleasure, and his body dominating you from behind.

"Fuck, look how well your tight little pussy takes me," he groans. One hand wraps around your throat while the other arm snakes around your upper body. He pulls you back against his chest, smothering you between those massive biceps while he keeps thrusting. Your vision starts to blur from the overwhelming pleasure as you gasp for air, forced to watch yourself being destroyed in the mirror.

Sunghoon unties your ankles and in one smooth motion stands up, lifting your body like you weigh nothing. He presses you against the mirror, your tits and cheek smashing against the cold glass as he enters you from behind again.

The mirror fogs up with your hot breath while he fucks you relentlessly. "You teased me for weeks," he growls in your ear, one hand still gripping your throat. "Now you get to watch yourself get fucked like the whore you are." His hips slam against your ass with loud, wet smacks, his cock driving incredibly deep in this standing position.

You cum hard, screaming as your pussy squirts around his cock and your legs shake violently, but he doesn’t stop. He pulls out, spins you around, and lifts you onto his cock, impaling you completely again. His strong arms do all the work, bouncing your bound body up and down on his thick shaft.

"Beg for it," he demands.

"Please, Daddy, cum inside me again," you sob desperately. "Fill your good girl up… I need it so bad."

He buries himself to the hilt one final time and floods your pussy with another massive load, pumping rope after thick rope of hot cum until it overflows around his cock and drips down your ass.

Still buried deep inside you, he carries you back to the bed and sits you up on the edge of it, standing in front of you. "Open that pretty mouth. Time to clean Daddy’s cock and get your throat fucked."

He doesn’t wait for you to do it. He simply grabs your hair and slaps his cum-covered cock against your tongue a few times before shoving it straight down your throat. You gag hard, your eyes watering instantly as he forces his thick length past your gag reflex.

"That’s it, swallow it all, you filthy little cocksucker," he groans, starting to thrust deep and steady.

You gag and drool uncontrollably, thick strings of saliva running down your chin and dripping onto your tits and thighs. Glk- glk- glk. The obscene sounds fill the room as he fucks your face mercilessly.

You pull against the restraints around your wrists, trying to escape while moaning around his cock. When he pulls out briefly to let you breathe, you gasp desperately. "I’m your dirty little whore, Daddy."

He groans and thrusts back in, fucking your throat harder and faster while holding you in place. Tears stream down your face, but you keep looking up at him submissively. Finally, with a deep groan, he buries himself to the hilt and cums straight down your throat. You swallow every drop like the good girl you are, coughing and gasping for air when he finally pulls out.

Sunghoon releases the restraints from your wrists and sits on the edge of the bed, his cock still hard and glistening, slapping against his stomach. He pulls you onto his lap, gripping your hips possessively. "Get on top, baby," he says, his voice low and rough. "I want to watch you ride Daddy’s cock."

Even though you’re trembling and completely wrecked, you obey. You straddle him, align his cock with your soaked entrance, and sink down slowly, moaning loudly as he stretches you open again. "Fuck… Daddy, you’re so deep like this," you moan, bottoming out with a shaky breath.

Sunghoon leans back slightly, supporting himself on his hands, his thick dark eyebrows furrowed as he watches you. One large hand immediately slides up to your breast, squeezing it hard while his thumb brushes over your sensitive nipple. "Ride me. Show me how badly you wanted this."

You start moving, rolling your hips and bouncing on his cock. He slaps your ass hard. SMACK. the sharp sound echoing as your flesh jiggles. "Faster," he demands, slapping the other cheek even harder. "Don’t be shy. Fuck yourself on me like you wrote in that dirty little notebook."

You ride him harder, your tits bouncing wildly in front of his face. He leans forward and catches one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard while his other hand keeps spanking and groping your ass, occasionally spreading your cheeks so he can feel how tightly you’re stretched around him.

"Oh my God, Sunghoon!" you moan loudly, head falling back. "Your cock feels so good… I love your cock. Please, spank my ass harder!"

His big hand comes down again and again, turning your ass red while his other hand kneads and pinches your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers. The mix of pain and pleasure makes your pussy clench around him.

"Look at you… bouncing on your professor’s cock like a whore. These pretty tits are mine." He squeezes them together, burying his face between them, biting and sucking marks into your soft skin.

You’re losing control, riding him relentlessly while grinding your clit against his pelvis with every bounce. "I’m gonna cum, please. Can I cum?" you beg.

He slaps your ass one more time, hard enough to make you scream, then grips your hips tightly and starts thrusting up to meet you. "Cum," he growls against your chest. "Cream all over Daddy’s cock."

You scream loudly, your body shaking violently as your pussy clenches and squirts around his thick shaft. Sunghoon doesn’t stop — he keeps fucking you through your orgasm, spanking your ass and playing with your bouncing tits until he groans deeply and buries himself inside you, pumping another thick load into your already overflowing pussy.

Sunghoon gently rubs your wrists and ankles before lifting your trembling body along with his and carrying you in his arms to the bathroom.

Under the hot streams of water, he presses your body against the tiles, pinning you there. "Can you take one more? Just one more for me, hm? I know you can, baby…"

You nod quickly. "I can."

He lifts one of your legs, lines himself up, and slides back into your sore, dripping pussy. The water cascades over both of you as he fucks you deep and steady, one thick arm wrapped loosely around your throat from behind while his other hand gropes your breasts and rubs your clit.

"You’re such a messy little whore, but so good for me," he whispers in your ear, thrusting harder. "Still leaking my cum down your thighs."

"Yes, I’m yours," you whimper, pushing back against him. "Fill me again, please. Breed me. I want to be yours forever, Daddy."

He pins you harder against the wall until you cum again, moaning his name. With one final deep thrust, he groans and releases inside you once more, making the mixture of cum and water run down your legs.

Sunghoon turns off the water, dries you carefully, and kisses every mark he left on your body. He carries you back to the bed and pulls you into his arms, cuddling you against his chest.

"You were incredible tonight," he murmurs softly, stroking your hair. "Such a good girl for Daddy. You took everything so well."

You nuzzle into him, your voice low and exhausted. "Thank you, Daddy… I loved every second. I’m yours now."

He massages your sore wrists, thighs, and neck with gentle, careful hands, then brings you water and holds the glass while you drink. He cleans between your legs again with a warm cloth, kissing your forehead the whole time.

"Stay here with me," he whispers, wrapping you in those strong arms. "Rest, baby."

You fall asleep feeling safe and warm in his arms, completely owned, satisfied, and already dreaming about the next time.

────────

You wake up slowly, your body sore and marked — your thighs sticky with dried cum, your throat still a little raw. You smile to yourself like a lovestruck idiot, then slip out of bed wearing one of his dress shirts that you stole from the chair in the room.

You walk toward the kitchen, following the smell of fresh coffee. He’s standing at the counter, so you quietly approach from behind and wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his back.

"Good morning…" you murmur, kissing his back softly. "Thank you for last night. I can still feel you everywhere."

Sunghoon doesn’t turn around immediately. He stays still for a moment, then lets out a low, cold laugh that makes your stomach twist.

He finally turns, wearing that same reserved, stern expression he used during lectures as he looks at you like you’re something both pathetic and mildly amusing.

"You’re already acting clingy?" he says, his voice low and cruel. "One night of getting your holes ruined and you think you can play housewife?"

Your cheeks burn, but you still try to be sweet, pressing your body against his and rubbing your hard nipples against his chest.

"Sorry… I just feel so close to you right now," you whisper softly, looking up at him with big, adoring eyes. "I love being your good girl."

He reaches out and grabs your chin roughly, forcing your head back with a firm, almost painful grip. "Look at you," he says mockingly. "So desperate and sweet in the morning. You were screaming like a whore last night, begging Daddy to fill your insides with cum… and now you’re cuddling up to me like a lost puppy?"

Before you can respond, he releases your chin and turns back to the counter as if you don’t even deserve his attention. But you keep trying, stepping forward again and wrapping your arms around him from behind. "Please, Sunghoon… I really like you. It’s not just the sex—"

"Enough," he interrupts sharply. He turns again, grabs you by the waist, and easily lifts you onto the kitchen counter, spreading your legs. The shirt rides up, exposing your bare, still-swollen pussy. "You’re not going to play sweet and domestic after writing page after page about wanting to be my personal cum dump."

"But… I want to make you happy," you say softly, your voice trembling.

He leans in close, trapping you on the counter. "Then stay quiet and keep that little cunt ready for whenever I want it," he says coldly. "Sweetness doesn’t suit a desperate pet like you. Now spread your legs wider and stop pretending you’re anything more than my dirty little secret."

He delivers a hard, cruel slap directly to your clit, making you gasp. Then he steps back, leaving you sitting there exposed, dripping, and aching on the counter while he casually drinks his coffee.

──────── thank you for reading.

[lac4ygal]

✦ ݁˖ ᴛᴀʟᴋɪɴ’ ᴄʜᴇᴀᴘ. sim jaeyun

You thought the worst thing that could happen after your breakup was running into your cheating ex. Then you got pregnant by JAKE SIM. Captain of the Caldwell Wolves, campus golden boy and the most notorious heartbreaker on campus. He’s the last person you’d ever trust. Unfortunately for you, he’s also the father of your baby.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 19.4k

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: college au, unexpected pregnancy, slow burn, enemies-to-lovers adjacent, angst, fluff, smut

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: fingering, oral sex, cum eating, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, praise kink, dom!jake, breast/nipple play, dirty talk, riding, bump worship, penetrative sex, accidental injury, unexpected pregnancy, morning sickness, cheating (backstory), past relationship trauma, physical altercation, toxic male behaviour, jealousy, emotional manipulation, brief mention of abortion, alcohol consumption

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: Delicate - Taylor Swift // Kiss Me Right - keshi // Sugar Talking - Sabrina Carpenter // It Ain’t Over ‘Till It’s Over - Lenny Kravitz // Please - BTS // striptease - carwash

𝐋’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐞: i genuinely had the best time writing this fic and getting way too emotionally attached to these characters! please feel free to leave a comment, scream or simply stare into the void thinking about these idiots (i know i will be). your support means more than you know and every notification makes me kick my feet like a Victorian lady seeing an ankle. i hope this fic made you experience at least one completely unnecessary emotion. thank you for ready and PLEASE enjoy!

The party is Mina’s idea. It always is. You’ve stopped pretending otherwise — stopped doing the thing where you spend twenty minutes debating whether you’re really feeling it before Mina gives you the look and you both know you’re going regardless.

It’s a Friday in late September, the air outside finally tipping from warm to something with a bite in it, and you’ve been in your dorm room since two in the afternoon staring at the same paragraph of Middlemarch without absorbing a single word.

“You need to get out of this room,” Mina says from your bed, where she’s been watching you not read for the past hour. She’s already dressed — black top, dark jeans, the gold hoops she only wears when she’s decided the night is going to be worth the effort. She decided before she came over. The last hour has been a courtesy. “You’ve been staring at that book like it cheated on you.”

The word lands between you, briefly. Mina’s face doesn’t change “George Eliot is a menace,” you say.

“You love George Eliot.”

“I love George Eliot when I’m not trying to produce fifteen hundred words on her narrative voice by Monday morning.” You close the book. It’s not like you’re reading it anyway.

The thing about Delta Kappa parties is that they are, by any objective measure, too much. Too loud, too hot, the bass sitting somewhere in your sternum, red cups and bodies everywhere you look. Mina thrives. You tolerate it with the specific resignation of someone who knows they’re going to have a good time despite themselves and finds this faintly irritating.

You’re on your second drink when you see Sunghoon. He’s across the room near the kitchen doorway, mid-conversation with someone you don’t recognise, laughing at something. Head tipped back the way he always did — that particular way, unhurried and a little private, like whatever amused him was his alone. You used to love that about him. You watch it for maybe three seconds before you look away, which feels like a victory of some kind.

Four months. Four months since you’d found out, since you’d sat on your dorm room floor and read a conversation thread you were never supposed to see, since everything you thought you’d built with him had turned out to be built on something rotten underneath.

Two years of your life. Your first real relationship. You’d thought it would last.

You look away. You drain the rest of your cup.

“He’s here,” Mina says, appearing at your elbow with the precision of someone who has been watching.

“I know.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“No.” You mean it. “I’m not leaving a party because of Sunghoon Park.”

She studies you for a moment with that particular look — the one that measures the difference between actually fine and performing fine with uncomfortable accuracy. Whatever she finds seems to satisfy her, because she clinks her cup against yours and says, “Then let’s get another drink.”

You’re at the makeshift bar — someone’s kitchen counter pressed into service — when you become aware of someone standing beside you. Not waiting for the bottle. Something else. A specific quality of attention that you register before you’ve consciously clocked it. You look up. Jake Sim looks back.

You know who he is the way you know most things about the people who exist in Caldwell’s uppermost stratum — passively, through cultural osmosis, without ever having chosen to learn. Captain of the Wolves. Dean’s son. The name that comes up in a specific tone of voice, like a warning dressed as gossip.

Up close he is, unfortunately, exactly as good-looking as that reputation implies. Tall, built through the shoulders and chest in the way that years of hockey builds — not showy, just solid, like his body was designed to take up space and does so without apology. Dark eyes. A jaw that should probably be illegal. A mouth curved at the corner like he’s already three steps ahead of the conversation and finds this mildly entertaining.

“You’re doing maths,” he says.

You blink. “What?”

“Your face.” He nods at you, vaguely. “Very intense for someone just standing at a bar.”

“I’m making a drink.”

“You’ve been staring at that vodka for forty-five seconds.”

“I didn’t realise I was being timed.”

“You weren’t.” He reaches past you for the bottle — close enough that you catch something clean and faintly expensive — pours his own cup, sets it back.

“I’m Jake.”

“I know who you are.” Something moves through his expression. Amusement, maybe, or the specific satisfaction of a fact confirmed.

“Most people do,” he says, and there’s no arrogance in it, just a statement of observable reality, which is somehow worse. “And you’re—”

“Also a person,” you say.

That gets a real smile. Brief, but actual. “Fair enough.”

You should find Mina. You’re aware of this the way you’re aware of the coursework due Monday and the fact that it’s past midnight — true, noted, irrelevant. Instead you stay where you are and let the conversation go where it goes, and it goes somewhere you didn’t expect.

He’s good at this. That’s the thing you clock first and keep clocking — the way he makes conversation feel like it has momentum, like you’re building toward something together, the timing of his humour landing slightly off-beat in a way that catches you. He asks questions and actually listens to the answers. You know it’s a formula. You know it has worked on an uncountable number of girls at an uncountable number of parties exactly like this one, and knowing that should make you immune to it, and it doesn’t.

Mina finds you at some point, clocks the situation in under a second, raises her eyebrows precisely two millimetres — a full paragraph in two millimetres — and disappears back into the crowd.

At some point his hand finds the small of your back. Light. Questioning. You don’t move away from it. At some point, close enough that you feel the words more than hear them, he says: “We could get out of here.”

You think about Middlemarch, which you’re not going to read tonight regardless. You think about the two years you spent being someone’s person and the four months since that have felt like learning to walk in a body that’s been subtly rearranged. You think about Sunghoon somewhere in this house with his head tipped back, laughing.

“Okay,” you say.

His room is in the east block upperclassmen housing — a single, because of course, because Jake Sim has probably never had to negotiate space with anyone in his life. It’s tidier than you’d have guessed. You file this away without meaning to, the way you’re still filing things even now, even when you’ve told yourself you’re not doing that anymore.

He closes the door and you’re already turning toward him and then his mouth is on yours and it’s nothing like how he acted downstairs — no charm, no ease, just heat and intent, his hands gripping your face and kissing you like he’s already decided exactly how this goes.

You grab his shirt and walk him backwards and he turns you instead, smooth and immediate, your back hitting the wall beside the door hard enough to knock the breath out of you and you don’t care, you’re already pulling at his shirt and he’s already got your top halfway up your body.

He strips it off you and his mouth drops straight to your throat, open and hot, and then your bra is unclasped and gone before you’ve fully registered his hands at the back of it.

Then his mouth is on your tits and he makes a sound low in his chest like the sight of them was specifically designed to ruin him. His hands cup them, squeezing, thumbs dragging slow over your nipples and watching your face while he does it. You feel your cheeks go hot because his expression is entirely too focused, too attentive, like he’s cataloguing your reactions and filing it away for later use.

He bends his head and takes one nipple into his mouth, tongue working in slow wet circles. Your head drops back against the wall on a moan you didn’t mean to let out that loud.

“Yeah,” he says against your skin, rough and pleased, “get loud,” and bites down lightly you gasp and your nails find his shoulders through his shirt.

He marks you up like he has all the time in the world — mouth dragging from your tits to your throat to your collarbone and back again, teeth and tongue, leaving his work on your skin with a thoroughness that should feel like too much and instead just makes you want more.

His hips grind into yours against the wall, the hard line of his cock pressed against your core through clothing, slow and deliberate, the friction makes you roll up into it and he does it again to which you make a sound that’s honestly embarrassing.

“Bed,” you manage, and he pulls back just enough to look at you — mouth-bitten, dark-eyed, satisfied with himself in a way you don’t have the capacity to be annoyed about right now — and walks you to it.

You land on the mattress and he’s over you immediately, his mouth back on your tits before you’ve stopped bouncing on the mattress, you’re pulling at his shirt until he lets you get it off him and then his jeans are gone and yours are gone and he’s settled between your thighs in just his boxers and the weight of him is — a lot, in the best way, solid and warm and pressing you into the mattress, his hips grind down slow as his cock drags against your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties, you grab his shoulders to hold onto something.

He does it again. Slower.

His mouth is still at your nipple, tongue working it stiff while his hips keep that maddening rhythm, grinding into you with enough friction to make your thighs clench around him but not enough to give you anything real, you can hear how wet you are, can feel it and judging by the way his jaw tightens he can too.

“Jake,” you say, and it comes out more desperate than you intend.

“I know,” he says, like that’s an answer, and then he’s moving down your body.

He hooks your underwear off, throws it somewhere and finally puts his mouth on your pussy. Your back comes off the mattress.

He licks into your folds slowly, taking his time, his tongue dragging from your entrance up to your clit in one long stroke and then doing it again, his hands are spread flat on your inner thighs holding you open and still and there is nothing to do but take it.

He’s good — infuriatingly good — like he’s genuinely interested in making you cum, like this is something he wants to do rather than something he’s doing to get to the next thing. You’ve got one fist in the sheets and one pressed to your own mouth to which he pulls your hand away from your face without looking up. “Don’t,” he says against your cunt, and goes back to work.

His tongue finds your clit and stays there, tight focused circles, two fingers then press at your entrance and push in slow, curling immediately, finding the spot that makes your hips jolt and working it with patience that feels almost cruel.

The sounds coming out of you are loud and continuous and undignified and he hums against you like he approves, the vibration travelling straight up your spine, and you can feel yourself getting close embarrassingly fast, your walls clenching tight around his fingers, your whole body chasing it.

“Don’t stop,” you manage, “don’t — please —“ and he doesn’t, his tongue relentless on your clit and his fingers curling deep, and you cum on his mouth with your thighs shaking, his name coming out broken and too loud for the room.

He works you through every second of it, tongue gentling, fingers slowing until you’re twitching and oversensitive and pulling at his hair to get him off you, he comes back up your body looking composed in a way that feels like a personal attack. There’s something dark and satisfied in his expression as he looks down at you and kisses you before you can say anything, slow, and you taste yourself on his tongue.

His cock is hard against your hip, straining against his boxers, you reach between you and wrap your hand around him and feel him shudder. He’s thick and heavy in your palm, already slick at the tip and when you stroke him his composure cracks — hips pushing into your grip, jaw tightening and a low rough sound forming against your mouth.

You work him slow and watch his face and feel something warm and powerful settle in your chest. “Condom,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says and reaches for the nightstand.

He pushes in slow and you feel every single inch. The stretch of him opening you up, thick and relentless, your walls giving way around his cock, you dig your nails into his back and breathe through it until he’s fully seated. You’re so full it sits somewhere between pleasure and pain and then he rolls his hips and it tips firmly into the first one.

He starts slow — deep, grinding strokes, his cock dragging against every nerve of you, the weight of his hips pinning yours into the mattress and his mouth finds your tits again immediately, like he can’t help it, tongue working your nipple while his hips keep their deep rhythm and you stop being capable of thoughts that go anywhere.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he says against your breast, low and rough, and bites down on the swell of it and soothes it with his tongue and does it again somewhere else.

“Jake—”

“I know,” he says, his thumb finds your clit. The added pressure makes you gasp and your hips jolt up to meet his and he makes a sound that isn’t quite a groan and picks up the pace.

The slow grind gives way to something sharper. His hips snap against yours and the headboard knocks the wall and the wet sounds of it fill the room. You have completely stopped caring about anything except the way his cock fills you on every stroke, deep and thick, the drag of him pulling back and driving in again setting off a chain reaction of sensation that climbs fast.

He shifts your leg up higher over his hip and the angle changes, deeper, and the sound you make at that is genuinely obscene. “Yeah?” he says, doing it again, deliberate. “There?”

“Yes,” you manage, “there, don’t stop, please—”

“Dirty when you want something,” he says, low and pleased, and fucks you harder.

His thumb circles your clit without stopping, his cock drives into your cunt again and again and his mouth marks your throat. The build crests too fast to catch — you cum for the second time harder, walls clenching rhythmically around him, his name coming out wrecked and he follows you over with his hips buried deep and his face pressed to your throat, low broken sounds against your skin as he cums.

The room goes quiet. You stare at the ceiling. Your body has been taken apart and put back together slightly differently and everything feels warm and loose and heavy.

That, you think distantly, was either the best or worst decision you’ve made in months.

Possibly both.

Jake disposes of the condom, comes back, drops onto the bed beside you. The quiet settles. It’s almost comfortable — the dark, the warmth, both of you just breathing. And then…

“You can go whenever,” he says. Flat. Casual. Already looking at the ceiling like you’re no longer the most interesting thing in the room. Like you’ve been downgraded, in the last thirty seconds, from a person to an inconvenience that’s resolved itself.

You blink. You can go whenever. Not you don’t have to rush, not do you want some water, not even basic human decency. Just — you can go. Door’s there. Thanks for coming.

Something cold moves cleanly through the warmth in your chest and extinguishes it. You sit up. “Right,” you say. Your voice comes out level. You’re proud of that.

He says nothing. He is staring at the ceiling with his arms folded behind his head like a man with absolutely no awareness that he’s just been profoundly rude, or perhaps perfect awareness and total indifference, which is worse.

You find your clothes in the dark with quiet methodical efficiency — jeans, top, shoes, bra shoved into your bag because life is short. You do not look at him while you dress and he does not look at you. At the door you pause, and you genuinely don’t know why, some reflex kicking in from a life spent being polite to people who haven’t earned it.

“Bye, then,” you say.

“Mm,” says Jake Sim, at the ceiling not even at you. You want to scoff in his stupidly hot face.

You close the door behind you.

The walk back across campus takes twelve minutes and you spend all twelve of them with the cold night air doing its best against the heat in your face. Not embarrassment — or not only that. Something sharper. The specific anger of someone who knew exactly what they were walking into and walked into it anyway and is now annoyed at themselves for being annoyed.

I knew, you think, with each step. I knew what he was. Everyone knows what he is. I just—

You’d let the hour at the bar do its work. You’d let the conversation and the hand at the small of your back and the dark eyes and the unfair jaw do their work, and you’d told yourself it was fine because you were going in clear-eyed, and the sex had been — god, the sex had been amazing — but then he’d opened his mouth and reminded you exactly who he was and now here you are, at one forty in the morning, crossing the quad with your bra in your bag.

You text Mina. still up?

The reply is immediate. obviously. how was it?

You stare at your phone for a moment. come to mine, you type back.

Mina is sitting up in your bed when you get back, laptop open, a bowl of cereal balanced on her knee that she definitely made while waiting. She takes one look at your face as you come through the door and sets it on the nightstand. “Tell me.”

You drop your bag, toe off your shoes, and sit on the end of the bed. You press your fingers to your eyes for a moment. “The sex,” you say carefully, “was genuinely incredible. Like — top three of my life, Mina. Easily. Potentially top two.”

“Okay—”

“And then, the moment it was over, he looked at the ceiling and told me I could go whenever.” You drop your hands. “In the tone of someone dismissing a tradesman. Like I’d come to fix his boiler.”

Mina’s expression moves through several stages. “He did not.”

“He absolutely did.”

“What did you say?”

“I said bye then and closed the door.”

“Bye then?”

“I panicked and defaulted to manners.” You flop backwards onto the duvet. “I knew. That’s the thing. I knew exactly what he was before I ever spoke to him and I did it anyway because—” You gesture at the ceiling. “I don’t know. Because I’m tired of being careful. Because Sunghoon was across the room being beautiful and I wanted to feel something that wasn’t about him.”

Mina is quiet for a moment. Then: “Was it, at least something that wasn’t about Sunghoon.”

You consider this with the ceiling. “Yes,” you admit. “Annoyingly, yes. Right up until he opened his mouth.”

“He really is the worst,” Mina says, with the conviction of someone delivering a verdict.

“He really, genuinely is.” You stare upward. “He’s got such a good cock though, Mina. Like. I’m annoyed about it. I’m actively annoyed.”

Mina puts her face in her hands. You watch her shoulders shake. “It’s not funny,” you tell her, and then you’re laughing too, and the tight mean thing in your chest loosens by a fraction, and outside the window Caldwell goes on being loud and indifferent and fully lit up, and you are fine.

You’re fine. You’re completely fine.

The week after the party you are, by any reasonable measure, completely fine.

You turn in the Middlemarch essay on Monday morning — fifteen hundred words on narrative voice, mostly written Sunday afternoon in a single focused stretch that you attribute to having gotten something out of your system.

You go to your Tuesday seminar and your Wednesday lecture and you have coffee with Mina on Thursday at the place near the English building where they do the good almond croissants, and you do not think about Jake Sim.

Or you think about him the normal amount. The amount that is appropriate for a person you slept with once at a party and will probably never speak to again, which is to say occasionally and without weight, the way you might think about a film you watched on a plane — enjoyable in the moment, not something you’d seek out again, largely irrelevant to your actual life.

This is what you tell yourself. Mina does not challenge it, which means she’s either convinced or she’s decided to let you have it, and knowing Mina it’s the second one.

Sunghoon texts you on Wednesday. Just — hey, saw you at Delta Kappa Friday. you looked good. You stare at it for a long time. You don’t reply.

You see Jake on Monday. You’re crossing the main quad, coffee in hand, bag over one shoulder, running approximately four minutes late for your seminar, and he’s coming the other direction with Jay Park and someone you don’t recognise, all three of them in Wolves gear, clearly post-practice.

He’s laughing at something Jay said, head tilted back, and he looks — easy, and loose, and completely unbothered by anything in the known universe, which you knew, which is exactly what you expected, and yet something about seeing it in person at ten forty-three on a Monday morning makes your jaw tighten anyway.

He doesn’t see you. Or he does and gives no indication of it, which amounts to the same thing. You look straight ahead and keep walking and do not think about it for the rest of the morning.

You think about it a little bit in the afternoon. By evening you’ve filed it away under irrelevant and moved on, which is the correct and mature response and you’re proud of yourself.

The sickness starts on Wednesday morning. You wake up with your stomach doing something wrong — not dramatic, not the sharp unmistakable rebellion of food poisoning, just a low persistent nausea that sits behind your sternum like it’s made itself at home. You lie still for a moment, waiting for it to pass.

It doesn’t.

You get up, make it to the bathroom, sit on the edge of the tub for ten minutes breathing carefully, and then it eases enough that you can brush your teeth and get dressed and tell yourself you’re fine.

You’re not fine by Thursday morning.

The nausea is worse — still not acute, still this low insidious wrongness, but it’s there when you wake up and it doesn’t fully lift, and your coffee tastes like something burnt and metallic and you push it away after two sips which Mina clocks immediately from across the table at the place near the English building.

“You’re not drinking your coffee.”

“I’m not feeling it today.”

Mina looks at the cup. Looks at you. “You have never in three years of knowing you not felt like coffee.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” She watches you for a moment with that look. You look back at your laptop and don’t say anything else.

By Saturday you feel actively, genuinely terrible.

Not sick-sick — no fever, no aches, nothing you can point to as a specific illness — just this relentless creeping nausea that is worst in the morning and fades by afternoon and makes the idea of eating before eleven o’clock an abstract and unpleasant concept.

You cancel your Saturday morning coffee with Mina, which you have never done, and she’s at your door by noon with a container of crackers and a forensic expression. “Talk,” she says.

“I think I’m coming down with something.”

“What kind of something.”

“I don’t know, Mina, a virus. A bug. Something that’s going around.”

She sits down on your bed and opens the crackers and holds them out to you and you take one because the sight of them is, somehow, the most appealing thing you’ve encountered all week. You eat it slowly. Your stomach does not immediately rebel. You take another one. “How long?” Mina asks.

“Since Wednesday morning.”

“And it’s worst in the morning.”

“Yes.”

“And you can’t drink coffee.”

“It tastes wrong.” Mina is quiet for a moment. You eat another cracker and look at the wall. “I’m sure it’s just a bug,” you say.

“Yeah,” Mina says, in a tone that means something else entirely. “Probably.”

The conspiracy theories start that evening, though. It’s the two of you on your bed with Mina’s laptop open and a bag of pretzels between you, and it begins reasonably enough — you googling nausea worse in morning possible causes and working through the list with the detached efficiency of someone who is definitely not spiralling. Stress. Acid reflux. Inner ear issues. Viral gastroenteritis. Dietary changes.

“Have you eaten anything different lately?” Mina asks.

“No.”

“Stressed about something?”

“When am I not stressed about something.”

“Fair.” She scrolls. “It says here inner ear problems can cause—”

“I don’t have inner ear problems, Mina.”

Mina scrolls further. You eat a pretzel and watch her face and wait for it. You know it’s coming. You’ve known since Saturday morning, if you’re being honest, since she’d sat on your bed with that specific expression and said probably in that specific tone, and you’ve been not-thinking about it with considerable effort for the past several hours.

“Okay,” Mina says, carefully, still looking at the screen. “What if.”

“No.”

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“You don’t have to.” You pull the laptop toward you and close the tab. “It’s been less than two weeks. It’s too early for that. It’s a bug.”

“You used a condom?”

“Obviously.”

“They’re not a hundred percent.”

“It’s a bug,” you say. “It’s a completely normal bug that normal people get and it has nothing to do with — it’s a bug.”

Mina looks at you with the expression of someone who has several more things to say and has made a strategic decision to not say them yet. “Okay,” she says. “Bug.”

By Sunday you can’t keep breakfast down. You sit on your bathroom floor at eight in the morning with your back against the tub and your forehead against your knees and you think about the party, and Jake’s room, and the nightstand, and the condom, and you think no very firmly and repeatedly and it doesn’t help at all.

You text Mina. can you come over

She’s there in seven minutes. She doesn’t say anything when you open the door, just looks at your face, and you nod back at her.

The Caldwell campus drugstore is a five minute walk from your building and has, blessedly, a single-occupancy bathroom at the back that Mina sweet-talks the Saturday cashier into letting you use on the grounds that you’re not feeling well, which is at least entirely true. It’s a very small bathroom.

The two of you fill it completely — you on the closed toilet lid, Mina with her back against the sink, the test sitting on the edge of it between you with three minutes on Mina’s phone timer counting down. Nobody says anything.

The tile is white. There’s a motivational poster on the back of the door — you’ve got this! in yellow letters — that you stare at with a feeling you can’t fully name.

Two minutes.

“It’s probably negative,” you say.

“Probably,” Mina says.

“The condom—”

“Yeah.” “And it’s been less than two weeks. Like. The timing—”

“The timing is actually about right,” Mina says, gently, “for symptoms to—”

“Stop,” you say.

One minute.

You watch the timer. The timer watches back. Your hands are completely still in your lap which surprises you — you’d have expected them to shake, but instead you feel very calm in the specific way that you get sometimes when something is about to happen and your body has decided that panic is a resource to be conserved.

The timer goes off.

Neither of you moves for a second. Then Mina picks up the test and looks at it. Her face does something — a flicker, fast and controlled, there and gone — and she hands it to you without speaking.

Two lines.

You look at it for a long time.

“Okay,” you say, finally.

“Yeah,” Mina says.

The motivational poster on the wall says you’ve got this! in yellow letters and you stare at it and think about Jake Sim telling the ceiling you can go whenever and feel something move through you that is too big and too complicated to have a name yet.

“Okay,” you say again. Like if you keep saying it, it’ll start meaning something useful.

—

You don’t go to him straight away. That feels important somehow — that you don’t just spiral out of that drugstore bathroom and make a beeline for the Hargrove Center in a panic, that you go back to your dorm first and sit with it for a while like a person with some degree of self-possession.

You and Mina order food you mostly don’t eat and sit on your bed with the test face-down on the nightstand like if you can’t see it it’s less real, and you talk around it for a while before you talk about it directly, which is its own kind of processing.

“You don’t have to decide anything today,” Mina says.

“I know.”

“You don’t have to tell him today either.”

“I know.” You pull your sleeves over your hands. “But I feel like — I don’t know. He should know. Like in or not he’s — it’s his. He should know.”

Mina is quiet for a moment. “Okay,” she says. “But eat something first.”

You eat half a portion of noodles. It’s the most you’ve managed in days and your stomach accepts it cautiously, like it’s making no promises. Then you change your top, put your shoes on, and look at Mina.

“Don’t come with me,” you say.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were absolutely going to.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. “Text me the second you’re out.”

The Hargrove Center is a twenty minute walk across campus and you use all twenty minutes to rehearse what you’re going to say, which turns out to be a complete waste of time because the moment you push through the side door and the cold air of the rink hits you — that particular sharp smell of ice and equipment — your prepared sentences evaporate entirely.

Practice is just wrapping up. You can see them from the entrance, the Wolves coming off the ice in clusters, helmets off, sticks in hand. Jay Park says something that makes Riki Nishimura laugh. Jungwon Yang is already halfway to the boards.

And Jake is — there, centre ice, still, talking to one of the assistant coaches with his helmet under his arm and his hair pushed back from his face, and even from here he looks like someone who has never had an uncontrollable variable in his life.

You wait.

You’re good at waiting. You’ve spent the last two weeks being good at things you didn’t choose to be good at.

He sees you when he comes off the ice — clocks you in the way that people clock something unexpected in a familiar space, a brief recalibration. Something moves across his face, too fast to read. Then it’s gone and he’s walking toward you with the easy unhurried stride of someone who has decided to be unbothered and you stand your ground and wait for him to reach you.

“Hey,” he says. Like you’re an acquaintance. Like he’s mildly surprised to see you and finds it mildly unremarkable.

“I need to talk to you,” you say. Something shifts.

The easy expression doesn’t disappear exactly but it adjusts, becomes more guarded. He glances around — Jay is watching from the boards with open curiosity, Riki less subtly — and then jerks his head toward the corridor off the main rink.

You follow him into it. It’s quieter here, the noise of the rink muffled, the overhead lights slightly too bright. He turns and faces you with his arms crossed and his weight back, and waits. You had sentences. You had very good sentences, all the way across campus.

“I’m pregnant,” you say.

The corridor goes very quiet. Jake looks at you. His expression does several things in quick succession that he doesn’t quite manage to keep off his face — shock, and something that might be fear, and then a shuttering, a closing, something careful dropping down over all of it.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” you repeat.

“That’s — okay. How far—”

“I just found out today. So.” You fold your arms across your chest. “Not far.”

He nods slowly. His jaw is working. He looks at the floor for a moment and then back at you and the careful expression is fully in place now, composed and unreadable, and you don’t know whether to be relieved or furious about it.

“Are you sure it’s mine,” he says.

The corridor goes even quieter somehow.

You look at him. “What did you just say.”

“I’m just—” He shifts his weight. “We don’t know each other. I don’t know who else you’ve been—”

“Are you calling me a slut.” It comes out flat. Not a question.

“I’m not calling you anything, I’m just saying I don’t know—”

“You’re the only person I’ve slept with in four months.” Your voice is very level. “I was in a relationship. It ended. I haven’t — there’s been no one else. There’s only been you.” You look at him. “And I can’t believe I’m standing here explaining that to you.”

“I’m not trying to—”

“You literally just implied I could have slept with someone else.” The level voice is beginning to fray at the edges. “You literally said that. To my face.”

“Look, I just—”

You slap him.

You don’t plan it. Your hand moves before the decision has fully formed, the sharp crack of it landing across his cheek, and then there’s a ringing silence and your palm is stinging and Jake’s head has turned with the force of it and he’s looking at you now with an expression you haven’t seen on him before. Not angry. Something more complicated than angry.

“Don’t ever,” you say, quietly, “imply something like that to me again.”

He says nothing. His hand has come up to his cheek, not pressing, just — there. His jaw is tight.

“I thought you should know,” you say. “That’s all. I thought you deserved to know because it’s yours and you deserved to know. I haven’t decided anything yet and I’m not asking you for anything.” You pull your bag higher on your shoulder. “Okay?”

“Okay,” he says. Low. You walk back out into the cold. You text Mina out and she sends back seventeen question marks which is fair.

You tell her you’ll explain when you get back and spend the walk home feeling the particular hollow exhaustion of someone who has done the thing they needed to do and now has no idea what comes next.

You’re back in your building, one flight up, when you hear him behind you. “Hey—”

You turn. Jake is in the stairwell, still in his practice gear, slightly out of breath like he walked fast to get here, and you have absolutely no idea how he found out which dorm you’re in and you’re going to have questions about that later.

“How did you—“

“Jay knew,” he says, which explains nothing and everything.

He comes up the last few steps and stops on your landing and runs a hand through his hair and looks like someone who has been having a very difficult internal conversation at speed. “Can I—”

“No,” you say.

“Two minutes.” You look at him. He looks back. The mark from your hand has faded from his cheek but his expression is still doing that thing — complicated, unreadable, something working behind it.

“Two minutes,” you say, and unlock your door. Your room is small and suddenly smaller with him in it. He stands just inside the door like he’s not sure he’s allowed further in, which is the most uncertain you’ve seen him, and you sit on the end of your bed and look at him and wait.

He reaches into his jacket. He puts a stack of bills on your desk. You look at the money. You look at him. “Jake.”

“It’s enough to cover — whatever you decide.” He’s not quite meeting your eyes. “I’m not — look. I don’t want a kid. I’m not in a place for that. We don’t know each other. But I’m not going to just—” He stops. Starts again. “Take it. Whatever you need it for.”

You stare at the money for a long moment. “Are you going to want to be involved,” you ask. “If I decide to keep it.”

Something crosses his face. “I don’t — I haven’t—” He exhales. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” you say. “That’s honest at least.”

“Are you going to keep it,” he asks. Quietly. Like he’s not sure he has the right to ask.

You look at the money on your desk. You look at him — standing in your doorway in his practice gear, jaw tight, trying very hard to look like someone who has this handled and not quite managing it — and you think that this is the first time he’s looked like a person to you. Not the reputation, not the corridor composure, not the ceiling of his bedroom. Just a person who is as blindsided as you are and coping with it badly.

“I don’t know yet,” you say. “I’ll let you know when I do.”

He nods. He looks at you for a moment longer than necessary. Then he picks up the money from your desk and puts it on your nightstand instead, like the desk was somehow wrong, like the four feet of distance makes a difference, and you don’t say anything about it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, at the door. “For what I said. At the rink.”

You look at him. “Which part.”

“All of it.”

He closes the door behind him and you sit on your bed in the quiet of your room for a long time, the money on your nightstand and the weight of everything pressing down, and then you pick up your phone and call your sister.

She picks up on the third ring. “Hey, you.” Hannah’s voice is warm and slightly distracted in the way it always is — you can hear one of the kids in the background, the particular high-pitched negotiation of a five year old who wants something and has decided now is the time. “Give me two seconds.”

Then, away from the phone: “Lily, baby, I said after dinner. After. Yes. Because I said so, that’s why.” A door closing.

Then: “Okay. Hi. Sorry. What’s up?”

You open your mouth. You’ve been sitting on your bed for forty minutes since Jake left, the money on your nightstand and your phone in your hand, and you’ve composed this conversation approximately thirty times in your head and all thirty versions started more coherently than what actually comes out, which is: “I did something kind of stupid.”

“How stupid.”

“Significantly.”

A beat. Hannah has always been good at letting silence do its work, at not rushing in to fill it with the wrong thing. It’s one of the things you’ve always loved about her. “Okay,” she says. “Tell me.”

So you tell her. All of it — the party and Jake and the test and the corridor and the slap and him in your room with the money — and Hannah listens through all of it without interrupting, which is its own kind of gift, and when you’re done there’s a moment of quiet that feels like her sorting through it.

“Okay,” she says again. “First question. Are you physically okay?”

“Yes.”

“Second question. Do you have someone with you?”

“Mina’s coming over in an hour.”

“Good.” You can hear her moving around, the soft sounds of her kitchen. “Third question, and I want you to actually think about it before you answer — not what you think you should say, not what’s practical, not what he wants or what anyone else wants. Just you.”

She pauses. “Do you want to keep it?”

You look at the money on your nightstand.

You think about the question the way she asked it — stripped of everything else, just you, just the truth of it underneath all the noise.

The thing is, you already know. You’ve known since the bathroom floor this morning, since you sat with your back against the tub and your forehead on your knees. It’s why the knowing has been so terrifying — not because you’re uncertain but because you’re not, and being not uncertain makes it real in a way that uncertainty would have postponed.

“Yeah,” you say. Quietly. “I do. I just — I don’t want it to be his. I don’t want to be tied to someone who—” You stop. “I don’t want the situation. I just want—”

“The baby,” Hannah says. “Yeah.” She’s quiet for a moment. “Those are two separate things,” she says. “The situation and the baby. They feel like the same thing right now but they’re not.”

You hear her sit down somewhere. “Marcus and I — when I had Lily, things with us were not good. You remember. We were not in a good place. And I thought about it the same way — I want her, I just don’t want this. And it was hard. It was genuinely really hard. But she’s five now and she’s the most annoying, amazing person I’ve ever met and I can’t — I can’t imagine.”

You press the back of your hand to your mouth.

“I’m not telling you what to do,” Hannah says quickly. “I promise I’m not. Whatever you decide I’m with you. I just — you asked.”

“I know,” you manage. “I know you’re not.”

“Is he terrible?” she asks. “This Jake person.”

You think about the corridor. The money. I’m sorry. For what I said. All of it. “I don’t know yet,” you say. “He’s — I don’t know what he is.”

“Okay.” Hannah’s voice is careful and warm. “You don’t have to know yet. You don’t have to know anything yet except what you want. Everything else gets figured out.”

You sit with that for a moment. “I’m keeping it,” you say. Out loud, to another person, for the first time. It lands differently than it did in your head — more solid, more real, like something that has been decided rather than something being considered.

“Okay,” Hannah says, and she says it the way Mina says it — not okay as in fine but okay as in I’ve got you. “Then we figure out the rest.”

You tell Mina when she comes over and she holds your hand and doesn’t say anything for a long moment and then says “okay, what do we need to do” in the tone of someone rolling up their sleeves, which is exactly right, which is why she’s your person.

You tell Jake two days later.

You find him after morning practice on a Wednesday, same side entrance to the Hargrove Center, and this time he sees you coming and something in his posture adjusts — not quite bracing, just becoming more careful, more deliberate, the way he gets when he’s paying attention. “Hey,” he says.

“I’m keeping it,” you say.

He goes very still. You watch him process it — the stillness and then the almost imperceptible movement of his jaw, the way his eyes go somewhere internal for a second before coming back to you. He looks like someone doing rapid and complicated mathematics. “Okay,” he says finally.

“You don’t have to be involved. I meant that when I said it. I’m not — I’m not asking you for anything except to know. You deserved to know and now you know and whatever you decide to do with that is up to you.”

“I said I’d provide,” he says. “I meant that.”

“Money isn’t the same as involved.”

“I know.” He shifts his weight. His hands are in his pockets and he’s looking at you with that careful expression, the one you can’t fully read. “I don’t — I’m not going to be the guy who just throws money at it and disappears. That’s not—” He stops. “I don’t know what I am yet. But I’m not that.”

You look at him for a long moment. There is, underneath the practice gear and the careful composure and the history of the last two weeks, something that might be decency in there. It’s buried. It’s inconsistent. You’ve seen it appear and disappear enough times already to know better than to trust it yet. But it’s there. “Okay,” you say. “Then figure out what you are and let me know.”

You turn to go. “Can I—” He stops. You look back. “Can I have your number,” he says. “Properly. So we can — so it’s easier to—”

“To what.”

He looks, briefly, like someone who hasn’t thought this far ahead. “Talk,” he says. “If we need to.”

You look at him for a moment. Then you take out your phone and hold it out. He puts his number in and hands it back and you save it under Jake Sim (do not text unless necessary) which you do not show him. “I’ll be in touch,” you say.

Jake doesn’t mean to tell his friend— or he does, but not like this, not in the locker room with his gear half off and Riki eating a protein bar on the bench across from him and Jay taping his wrist in the corner and Jungwon doing something on his phone. It comes out the way things come out when you’ve been holding them too long and the effort of holding them finally exceeds the effort of saying them.

“I got someone pregnant,” he says.

The locker room goes quiet. Riki stops chewing. Jay puts down the tape. Jungwon looks up from his phone. “I’m sorry,” Jay says, with the careful enunciation of someone who wants to make sure they’ve heard correctly. “You what?”

“You heard me.”

“I heard you, I just want to make sure I—” Jay sets down the tape fully and turns to face him. “Who.”

“Girl from Delta Kappa. Three weeks ago.” Another silence. Jay is looking at him with an expression that Jake doesn’t particularly enjoy — something between concern and the specific look of someone doing the maths on how this could have happened and arriving at several uncomfortable conclusions about Jake’s general life choices.

“Are you—” Jungwon starts.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s not what I was going to ask.”

“Then what.”

Jungwon looks at him steadily. “Is she okay.”

Jake opens his mouth. Closes it. Thinks about you in the corridor at the rink and your voice going flat and your hand cracking across his face, and then you in your dorm room — calm and certain and telling him you weren’t asking him for anything, which was somehow the part that landed hardest. “I think so,” he says. “She’s — yeah.”

“Do you like her?” Riki asks, with the bluntness of someone who has not yet learned that some questions require more runway.

“I don’t know her,” Jake says.

“That’s not what I asked.” Jay shoots Riki a look. Riki shrugs and takes another bite of his protein bar.

“What are you going to do?” Jay asks, turning back to Jake.

Jake leans his elbows on his knees and looks at the floor. The locker room smells like it always does — ice and rubber and effort — and it’s familiar in a way that is almost destabilising right now, how normal everything around him is when nothing feels particularly normal. “I don’t know yet,” he says. “Be there, I think. As much as she’ll let me.”

“As much as she’ll let you,” Jay repeats. Something in his tone.

“She’s not — she’s not soft.” Jake looks up. “She’s not going to make it easy.”

“Should she?”

Jake looks at him. Jay looks back, steady and unhurried. “No,” Jake says, after a moment. “Probably not.”

Jay nods once. Picks the tape back up. “Then figure it out,” he says, like it’s simple, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Jake sits with that in the familiar smell of the locker room and thinks that he probably needs to.

—

The truce, when it forms, is not announced. It happens gradually over the following week — a text from him checking if you need anything, which you respond to with I’m fine thanks and nothing else. A text from you three days later telling him your first appointment is booked for the following week, which he responds to with do you want me there and you respond with not yet and he responds with okay and that’s it, that’s the whole exchange, and somehow it’s the most civil conversation you’ve had.

He doesn’t push. You note this without letting it mean too much. You’re not friends. You’re not anything with a name. You’re two people who made a mistake that turned into something neither of you planned for, and you’re figuring out how to exist in the same orbit without either of you combusting, and most days it feels manageable and some days it feels impossible and on the days it feels impossible you call Hannah, who answers on the third ring and lets the silence do its work.

It’s something, you think. It’s not much but it’s something. For now, that has to be enough.

The thing about Caldwell though, is that it’s a big campus until it isn’t.

Thirty thousand students, four faculties, two libraries, a quad the size of a small park — and yet somehow the people you most want to avoid have an unerring instinct for occupying the same coffee shop, the same corridor, the same stretch of pavement at the same time.

You’ve been navigating this for four months with Sunghoon and you’ve gotten good at it. You know his schedule well enough to avoid it without meaning to, the way you learn the shape of someone after two years and can’t quite unlearn it.

Which is why it catches you off guard when he’s just — there. The library café, a Tuesday afternoon, three weeks after the test. You’re at a corner table with your laptop and a cup of tea you’ve been nursing for an hour because coffee is still wrong and probably will be for the foreseeable future, and you’re halfway through a close reading of Middlemarch chapter forty-two when someone pulls out the chair across from you and sits down and you look up and it’s Sunghoon.

He looks, as he always looks, like something assembled with unreasonable care. Dark hair, clean jawline, the particular quality of stillness he has that used to make you feel calm and now just makes you feel tired.

“Hey,” he says.

You look at him. Then at the chair he’s sitting in. Then back at him. “I didn’t say you could sit.”

“I know.” He doesn’t move. “I just wanted to talk.”

“Sunghoon.”

“Five minutes.”

You close your laptop. Not because you’re agreeing, but because whatever he’s about to say you want to be looking at him when he says it. “Five minutes,” you say. “And then you’re going to go away.”

Something moves through his expression — not quite hurt, but adjacent. He folds his hands on the table. He has nice hands. You spent two years noticing his hands. “I saw you at Delta Kappa,” he says.

“I know. You texted me.”

“You didn’t reply.” He looks at you steadily. “You were talking to Jake Sim.”

There it is.

You keep your face very neutral. “I was at a party. I talked to a lot of people.”

“Jake Sim isn’t a lot of people.” Something in his voice shifts — not quite possessive, not quite jealous, threading that needle with the precision of someone who knows he doesn’t have the right to either and is trying to disguise it as concern. “He’s not a good person to get involved with.”

“Thank you for that,” you say. “I’ll bear it in mind.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” You look at him. “Sunghoon. You don’t get to come sit at my table and tell me who I should and shouldn’t talk to. You gave that up.”

His jaw tightens. “I know I did.”

“Then why are you here?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Outside the café windows the quad is grey and overcast, students moving across it with their heads down against the wind, and Sunghoon is looking at you with an expression you know — you’ve catalogued it, the way you’ve catalogued everything about him, two years of accumulated knowledge you can’t seem to put down. It’s the expression he gets when he wants to say something and is choosing his words with care.

“I miss you,” he says.

You look at him for a long time. The honest answer is that you miss him too — or you miss the version of things you thought you had, which isn’t exactly the same as missing him but lives close enough to it that the distinction is hard to maintain on a grey Tuesday afternoon with him sitting across from you looking like that.

You miss having a person. You miss the shape of your life before it got complicated in every possible direction.

But you also know what he did.

You know it with the specific clarity of something you’ve gone over enough times that it’s stopped being sharp and started being just — true. A fact about him. A fact about what he chose. “I know,” you say. Carefully. “But that’s not my problem to fix.”

He nods. Slow. Like he expected it and it still costs him something. He stands up, pushes the chair back in, and then pauses with his hands on the back of it. “Are you okay?” he asks. “Actually? You look—” He stops.

“I look what.”

“Tired,” he says. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine,” you say.

He looks at you for a moment longer. Then he goes, and you open your laptop, and you stare at Middlemarch chapter forty-two for a while without reading any of it.

You don’t tell Jake about Sunghoon.

There’s no reason to.

You and Jake are not — whatever you are, it doesn’t include telling each other things. It includes occasional texts, one appointment you went to alone where a doctor confirmed what you already knew and gave you a due date that made it real in a new and specific way, and a strange careful politeness that exists between you like a temporary structure neither of you fully trusts.

He texts you on a Friday evening. how are you feeling

You look at it for a while. Fine. Less sick this week.

that’s good

A pause. Then: do you need anything?

You think about your sister’s voice. You don’t have to know anything yet except what you want. You think about Jake in your dorm room, the money on your nightstand, I’m not going to be the guy who just throws money at it. You think about how many times in the past three weeks he’s almost been decent and then done something to complicate it.

I’m okay, you send back. Thanks.

He sends a thumbs up and you put your phone face down and tell yourself this is fine, this arrangement is fine, and mostly you believe it.

You find out about the girl on a Saturday night.

You’re not looking for it — you’re not the kind of person who goes searching for things they don’t want to find, you learned that lesson with Sunghoon — but Caldwell is a big campus until it isn’t, and Mina’s friend group overlaps with the hockey crowd in the specific way that happens at schools where athletes are their own ecosystem but not a fully separate one.

It’s Mina who tells you, with the careful expression of someone who has been sitting on information and decided you’d rather hear it from her. “I heard Jake hooked up with someone last weekend,” she says. Not leading with it, not burying it either. Just: here is a thing that is true.

You look at your coffee. You’ve graduated back to coffee this week, weak and milky, which feels like a victory. “Okay,” you say.

“You’re allowed to have feelings about that.”

“We’re not together, Mina.”

“I know.”

“He can do whatever he wants. We’re not — there’s nothing between us. We’re just—” You move your hand in a vague gesture that encompasses the entire situation. “This.”

“I know,” Mina says again, in the tone that means she has more to say and is choosing not to. You continue to drink your coffee.

The thing is — and this is the part you don’t say out loud, the part you turn over privately in the quiet of your own head — the thing is that you know she’s right.

You are allowed to have feelings about it.

You do have feelings about it, somewhere underneath the very reasonable and correct observation that Jake Sim owes you nothing beyond basic decency and whatever co-parenting arrangement you eventually figure out.

You have feelings about it the way you have feelings about a lot of things lately — in the muffled, at-a-distance way, like they’re happening to someone slightly removed from you and you’re watching through glass.

You’re pregnant with his baby and he’s sleeping with someone else and you’re not together and you have no claim on him and all of that is true simultaneously and you’re not sure what to do with the fact that it still sits in your chest like something uncomfortable.

“I don’t care,” you tell Mina. She looks at you with the expression that means I know you and I know that’s not entirely true but I love you so I’ll let you have it.

“Okay,” she says.

—

Jake texts you on Sunday.

heard you’ve been doing better. that’s good

You stare at the message for a long time. Yeah, you type back. Thanks.

A pause. Then: can I take you to your next appointment?

You put the phone down. Pick it up. Put it down again.

The question sits there, simple and direct, and the thing about it is that it isn’t nothing. It’s not the gesture of someone who is just throwing money at a situation. It’s — something. Small and tentative and probably not enough and something nonetheless.

It’s in two weeks, you send back. I’ll let you know.

okay, he says. no pressure.

You put the phone down and look at the ceiling and think about a girl you don’t know and a Saturday night you weren’t part of and the specific stupidity of having feelings about either, and then you think about your next appointment and the due date the doctor gave you and the small impossible reality of all of it, and you decide that you are going to take a nap and deal with every single one of these things later.

Later, you think. All of it later.

He comes to the appointment, in the end you let him. You texted him the details the night before — time, building, room number — and he’s there when you arrive, standing outside the health centre with his hands in his jacket pockets and his breath fogging in the cold, and he looks up when he sees you coming and something in his expression does that thing, that complicated unreadable thing, and he falls into step beside you without saying anything.

Inside, in the waiting room, you sit next to each other in plastic chairs with a magazine between you that neither of you reads. A couple across the room are holding hands. You and Jake sit with six inches of space between you like a demilitarised zone.

“You okay?” he asks, quietly.

“Fine,” you say. “You?”

“Fine,” he says.

The nurse calls your name and you both stand up and Jake follows you in and stands slightly to the side while the doctor talks and asks questions and pulls up the scan on the screen, and you look at it — the small impossible blur of it, the heartbeat a flickering certainty on the monitor — and you feel the thing in your chest that you’ve been keeping at distance move closer without permission.

Beside you Jake goes very still.

You don’t look at him. You look at the screen.

“Everything looks perfect,” the doctor says.

You nod. You don’t trust your voice.

In the corridor after, walking back out into the cold, Jake is quiet for a long time. Longer than usual even for him.

You’re almost at the path that splits — his way, your way — when he says, without looking at you: “That was—”

“Yeah,” you say.

He nods. Puts his hands back in his pockets. “I’ll walk you back,” he says.

You think about the girl he slept with. You think about Sunghoon in the library café. You think about the scan on the monitor and the heartbeat that is real and certain and not theoretical anymore.

“Okay,” you say.

He walks you back. You don’t talk much. It’s not uncomfortable exactly — it’s something more complicated than that, something neither of you has a name for yet, and when you reach your building he stops at the bottom of the steps and looks at you and opens his mouth and then closes it again.

“What,” you say.

“Nothing,” he says. “Just — take care of yourself.” You look at him for a moment.

“You too,” you say, and go inside.

—

Sunghoon doesn’t give up. You’d half expected him to — one conversation in the library café, you’d said your piece, he’d said his, and you’d thought that would be the end of it. Sunghoon has always been precise about things, economical, not the type to repeat himself unnecessarily. You’d thought he’d take the answer and file it and move on.

Instead he texts you on a Wednesday. Just — how are you doing. No punctuation, which for Sunghoon is practically shouting.

You don’t reply.

He texts again on Friday. can we get coffee sometime? just to talk?

You stare at it for a long time.

You show it to Mina, who makes a face. “Don’t,” she says.

“I’m not going to,” you say.

He finds you on campus on Monday — the English building, your own territory, which feels deliberate. He’s waiting near the entrance when you come out of your seminar and you see him before he sees you and for one uncharitable second you think about turning around and going back inside.

You don’t. You keep walking. “Hey,” he says, falling into step beside you.

“Sunghoon.”

“I just want to walk with you.”

“I didn’t say you could.”

“I know.” He walks with you anyway, hands in his coat pockets, quiet for a moment in the way that used to feel comfortable and now just feels like pressure. “How are you feeling?”

You glance at him. “Fine.”

“You look better than last time I saw you. Less tired.”

“Thanks,” you say, flatly.

He’s quiet again. The path curves toward the quad and you keep walking and he keeps pace and you’re aware — acutely, uncomfortably aware — that you’re starting to show. Not dramatically, not in a way that’s obvious under your coat, but enough that you know. Enough that it’s a matter of time.

“I meant what I said,” Sunghoon says. “In the library.”

“I know you did.”

“I’m not trying to pressure you.”

“You’re walking next to me uninvited,” you say. “What would you call that?”

He stops. You stop too, half a beat later, and turn to look at him. He’s standing in the middle of the path with that precise, careful expression and something underneath it that isn’t quite what he’s performing, and you know him well enough to know the difference and wish you didn’t.

“I made a mistake,” he says. “I know I did. I know what I did and I know it was—” He stops. Starts again. “I just want a chance to—”

“Sunghoon.” You keep your voice even. “I can’t do this right now. I genuinely cannot — there is too much happening in my life right now for me to also be doing this. Okay? Please.”

He looks at you. Something in his expression shifts — a question forming, something he’s noticed that he can’t quite place. “What’s happening?” he asks. Carefully.

“Nothing that’s your business,” you say. “Please just — let me go.”

And he lets you go.

But the problem is that Caldwell is a big campus until it isn’t.

The problem is that two weeks later you’re at a party you didn’t particularly want to attend — a smaller thing, a friend of Mina’s, an apartment off campus — and both of them are there. Jake and Sunghoon.

You don’t notice Jake first. You notice Sunghoon, across the room with his circle, and you note it and move on, you’re good at that now. You get a drink — water, the specific reality of being the only sober person at a party hitting — and find Mina and settle into the corner and decide you’ll stay an hour and then leave.

You notice Jake about twenty minutes in.

He’s near the kitchen with Jay, and there’s a girl — tall, dark-haired, laughing at something he’s said with her hand on his arm and her body angled toward him in the specific way that means something. You see him lean in to say something close to her ear. You see her laugh again. You look away.

You look back to Mina, who is mid-conversation with someone and hasn’t clocked it, and you drink your water and you are fine, you are completely fine, this is exactly what you knew was happening and seeing it in person doesn’t change anything and you are fine.

You last another twenty minutes before you decide you’re going to get some air.

The problem is that getting air requires passing the kitchen. Jake sees you at the same moment you see him and something in his expression shifts — that recalibration, that adjustment — and the girl’s hand is still on his arm and you keep walking, eyes forward, almost past— “Hey.”

His voice.

You stop. You turn. He’s stepped slightly away from the girl, who is watching with a politely curious expression. “Hey,” you say.

“You’re here,” he says, which is not his most articulate moment.

“Briefly,” you say. “Don’t mind me.” Something moves across his face.

“You okay?”

“Fine.” You smile at him — pleasant, neutral, the smile of someone who is absolutely fine. “Enjoy your night.” You keep walking.

The air outside is cold and you stand on the small concrete step outside the apartment and breathe it and tell yourself the tightness in your chest is just the stuffiness of the party and not anything else.

You hear the door behind you. “Hey—”

You turn, expecting Jake, and it’s Sunghoon. Of course it’s Sunghoon.

He’s in his coat, hands in his pockets, and he looks at you with that careful expression and says “I saw you come out” like that explains what he’s doing here, which it does, which doesn’t make it better.

“I needed air,” you say.

“I know.” He comes to stand beside you. Close, but not touching. “You looked upset.”

“I’m not upset.”

“You have a face,” he says, gently, and you hate that he’s right, hate that after four months and everything that happened he can still read you like that. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

“Is it Sim?” Something in his voice changes — not quite hard, not quite angry, threading the needle. “Are you involved with him?”

“That’s not your business.”

“I’m asking because I’m worried about you, not because—”

“Sunghoon.” You turn to face him. “Please stop. Please just—”

The door opens behind you. Jake comes out. He takes in the scene — you and Sunghoon, close, Sunghoon’s expression, yours — in about half a second and his jaw tightens in a way you’ve learned to read as something being suppressed.

“Everything okay?” he asks. Looking at you, not at Sunghoon.

“Fine,” you say, for what feels like the hundredth time tonight.

“She said she’s fine,” Sunghoon says. His voice is even. “So you can go back inside.” Jake looks at him. Something passes between them that has nothing to do with you — some older, unnamed thing.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Jake says.

“Then walk away.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Jake.” Your voice is sharper than you intend. “It’s fine. Go inside.”

He doesn’t go inside.

He stays where he is with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on Sunghoon, and Sunghoon stays where he is with that precise stillness, and the cold air between all three of you is doing a lot of work.

“You’re the one she’s been seeing,” Sunghoon says, to Jake. Not a question.

“That’s not your business,” Jake says.

“It is when you’re—” Sunghoon stops. Something has crossed his face — he’s looking at you, at your coat, and the realisation moves through his expression slowly and then all at once.

His eyes find yours. “Are you—”

“Don’t,” you say.

“Are you pregnant?”

The step goes very quiet.

Jake goes very still.

You look at Sunghoon and there is a specific kind of exhaustion that moves through you — the exhaustion of someone who has been managing too many things for too long and has just watched one of them slip out of their hands.

“That,” you say, carefully, “is none of your business.”

“It’s his, isn’t it.” Not looking at Jake. Looking at you. Something in his voice that you don’t have a name for — not anger, not hurt, something more complicated and less clean than either. “You hooked up with Jake Sim at a party and now you’re—”

“Sunghoon—”

“What were you thinking?” And there it is — the composure cracking, the precision slipping, something rawer underneath. “What were you actually — with him, of all people—”

“Hey.” Jake’s voice is hard. “Watch yourself.”

“You stay out of it—”

“She told you it’s none of your business—”

“I’m talking to her—”

“Then talk to her with some respect—”

“Oh that’s rich, coming from you.” Sunghoon turns to Jake fully now and the precise stillness has sharpened into something else. “Everyone knows what you are. Everyone knows how you treat—”

“And everyone knows what you did,” Jake says, low and flat. “So don’t stand here and act like you’ve got the moral—”

“Stop.” Your voice cuts through both of them. They both look at you. “Both of you. Stop.”

A beat. “I’m going home,” you say. “This is—” You gesture at the three of you, at the step, at all of it. “I’m not doing this.”

“I’ll walk you—” Both of them, simultaneously.

“Neither of you will walk me anywhere.” You pull your coat around you. “I want to go by myself and I want both of you to leave me alone tonight. Okay?”

Sunghoon opens his mouth.

And then — later, when you try to reconstruct the exact sequence, it’s hard to isolate the moment it tips — he reaches for your arm, a gesture, just trying to stop you leaving, and Jake moves at the same time, stepping forward, his hand coming out to push Sunghoon back, and Sunghoon turns, and the angles are all wrong, and Jake’s elbow catches you across the side of your face.

It’s not hard. It’s not a real blow — it’s the edge of the motion, glancing, the kind of thing that in any other circumstance would be an accidental knock in a crowded corridor that you’d shake off and keep walking.

But you make a sound and stumble back.

Jake turns and sees your face and goes completely white. “Fuck—” He reaches for you.

“Don’t touch me.”

Your hand comes up. Your voice has gone very quiet. The side of your face is throbbing, low and dull, and underneath it everything else — the tiredness, the party, Sunghoon’s face when he realised, the girl’s hand on Jake’s arm — all of it presses in at once and you are so, so tired.

“I didn’t — it was an accident, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know it was an accident,” you say. Still quiet. Still very controlled. “I know that.”

“Are you okay? The baby—”

“I’m fine. It was my face, not—” You stop. Press your fingers briefly to your temple. “I’m fine.”

Jake is looking at you with an expression you haven’t seen on him before — something undone about it, all the composure gone, something almost desperate. “Let me take you home—”

“No.”

You look at him. Then at Sunghoon, who has gone very still and very pale. “I’m going to get Mina. I’m going to go home. And I don’t want either of you to contact me tonight.”

You take out your phone. You text Mina. You wait on the step with your back to both of them until she comes out, takes one look at your face, takes your arm, and walks you away without saying a word.

Behind you, you don’t look back.

Jake texts at midnight. I’m so sorry. please tell me you’re okay

You look at it for a long time. I’m fine, you send back. Goodnight Jake.

He sends: I’m sorry again

Those two words, and you put your phone face down and stare at the ceiling of your dorm room and Mina is asleep in your desk chair with a blanket over her because she refused to go home and you love her for it, and the small dull ache in your temple has faded to almost nothing, and the baby is fine, you’re fine, everything is fine.

You don’t text him back.

He tries on Sunday.

A text at nine in the morning — can we talk please? — that you look at and put face down without replying.

Then at eleven: I know you’re angry. you have every right to be. I just want to talk.

Then at two in the afternoon, which shows either impressive persistence or a complete inability to read a room: I’m going to keep texting until you tell me to stop.

You text back: stop.

He texts back: okay. I’m sorry.

You put the phone in your drawer.

He doesn’t stop.

Well, he stops texting — he respects that, or he tries to, mostly — but he finds other ways. There’s a bag outside your dorm room door on Monday morning: crackers, the specific brand you’d been eating in the early weeks, ginger tea, a punnet of the green grapes that you’d mentioned once in passing to him that you’d been craving. No note. Just the bag.

You stand in your doorway looking at it for a long time.

You bring it inside. You eat the grapes. You do not text him to say thank you and you do not text him to say stop and the not-texting feels like its own kind of answer that you’re not ready to examine yet.

On Tuesday he’s outside your building.

Not lurking — he’s sitting on the low wall by the entrance with his hands between his knees and his jacket on against the cold, and he stands up when he sees you come out and he doesn’t move toward you, just — stands there, and waits, and lets you decide.

You stop on the steps. “Jake.”

“Five minutes,” he says. “I know I don’t deserve them. Five minutes and then I’ll go and I won’t — I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want.”

You look at him. He looks back. He has, you note, the specific appearance of someone who hasn’t been sleeping well — not dramatic, just a tightness around his eyes, a quality of having been somewhere difficult in his own head for the past two days.

Good, says a part of you.

The other part steps down off the steps and stands in front of him and crosses her arms and says: “Five minutes.”

He exhales. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For Friday night. For — all of it, the whole night, but specifically for—” He stops. His jaw works. “I should never have let it get to that point. I should have walked away from him the second it started and I didn’t and you got hurt and you’re — the baby could have—” He stops again. Something in his face that isn’t composure. “I will never forgive myself for that. I need you to know that. It keeps me up.”

You look at him. “It was an accident.”

“It was an accident that happened because I couldn’t keep my head.” His voice is flat with self-assessment. “Same difference.”

“It’s not the same difference.”

“It’s close enough.” He looks at you steadily. “I’m also sorry for the girl at the party. I know you saw. I know we’re not — I know you don’t have any claim on me and I don’t have any claim on you and technically I didn’t do anything wrong but I’m still sorry because I saw your face and I knew and I did it anyway and that’s—” He stops. “That’s not who I want to be. With this. With you.”

The wall by the entrance is cold and grey and a girl from your floor passes you both with her earphones in and doesn’t look up and the world keeps moving indifferently around this conversation.

“You hurt me,” you say. Not the elbow. The other thing. The girl at the party and the ceiling of his bedroom and the weeks of almost-decency that kept getting complicated. “Not — not physically. You just keep—” You stop. “Every time I think maybe you’re a person you do something that reminds me why I shouldn’t think that.”

He takes that. Doesn’t deflect, doesn’t explain, just takes it. “I know,” he says.

“I need you to be consistent,” you say. “I can’t — I’m going to have your baby, Jake. We’re going to be in each other’s lives for a very long time. I need you to be someone I can rely on or I need you to be completely absent because the in-between is—” Your voice doesn’t shake. You’re proud of that. “It’s too hard. I can’t do the in-between.”

He’s quiet for a moment. The wind moves across the quad and he looks at you with that expression — the undone one, the one without composure — and says: “I don’t want to be absent.”

“Then be consistent.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it? Okay?”

“What else do you want me to say?” He’s not defensive — it’s a real question, earnest in a way that sits oddly on him, like a piece of vocabulary he hasn’t used much. “Tell me what you need and I’ll do it. Specifically. I’m not good at—” He moves his hand. “Guessing. Feelings. Whatever this is. But if you tell me what it looks like I’ll do it.”

You look at him for a long moment.

“No more girls,” you say. “Not while we’re — not while this is what it is. I know I have no right to ask that but I’m asking.”

Something shifts in his expression. “Done,” he says. No hesitation.

“And show up. When you say you’re going to show up, show up.”

“Done.”

“And don’t fight people on my behalf. I can handle my own situations.”

His jaw tightens slightly. “That one’s harder.”

“Jake.”

“Done,” he says. “Okay. Done.”

You look at him. He looks back. The five minutes has long since passed and neither of you has moved and the cold is starting to get into your fingers.

“The grapes were good,” you say finally.

Something in his expression — brief, warm, gone almost immediately. “I’ll get more,” he says.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” He says it simply. No performance in it.

You nod. You pull your coat tighter. “I have a seminar,” you say.

“I know. Go.” He steps back, hands in his pockets. “Thank you. For the five minutes.”

You go.

He tells his father that evening.

He doesn’t plan to. He goes to his dad’s office on the east side of the admin building for what is ostensibly a standing weekly dinner that they do on Tuesday evenings — a thing they’ve done since Jake’s freshman year, his dad’s attempt at maintaining something normal in the specific abnormality of being the dean’s son at your own father’s university. They go to the Italian place two blocks off campus. They talk about the team, the season, coursework, the usual rotation.

Except tonight Jake sits down across from his father and picks up the menu and puts it down again and his dad looks at him over his own menu with the steady, unhurried attention that has always been the most disarming thing about him — the way he looks at you like he has all the time in the world and means it — and says:

“What’s going on.” Not a question. His dad has never really needed to make them questions.

Jake puts his menu down. He looks at the table. He thinks about you on the steps this morning saying every time I think maybe you’re a person and the specific accuracy of it, the way it had landed not like an attack but like a diagnosis.

“I got someone pregnant,” he says.

The restaurant is quiet around them — mid-evening, not full yet, the soft noise of other people’s conversations providing cover. His dad sets his menu down with the deliberate care of someone who is choosing his response carefully.

“How far along,” he says.

“About eight weeks.”

His dad nods slowly. He’s a big man — Jake has his build, the same broad shoulders, though his dad carries more grey now at his temples and something steadier in his face, something earned. He looks at Jake with the expression that Jake has never been able to fully decode — not anger, not disappointment exactly, something more complicated and more patient than either.

“Tell me about her,” he says.

Jake blinks. Of all the things he’d expected — “What?”

“The woman. Tell me about her.”

Jake opens his mouth. Closes it. He thinks about you — the flat voice in the corridor at the rink, your hand cracking across his face, I can’t do the in-between. The grapes. The way you’d said the grapes were good like it cost you something to admit it.

“She’s—” He stops. Tries again. “She’s a third year. English lit. She’s sharp. Like — she doesn’t let me get away with anything, she just looks at me and calls it and moves on. She’s not—” He shifts. “She didn’t want this to be mine. She told me that. She wants the baby, she just didn’t want it to be complicated, and I’ve made it complicated.”

“How.”

Jake looks at the table. Lists it. The slap he deserved, the money that was clumsy, the girl at the party, Friday night and the elbow and her face and the specific look she’d had, controlled and exhausted and done.

His dad listens to all of it without interrupting. When Jake finishes there’s a pause — his dad picks up his water glass, drinks, sets it back down.

“Do you like her?” he asks.

Jake looks up.

“It’s a simple question,” his dad says.

“We don’t — I don’t know her. Not really.”

“That’s not what I asked, son.”

Jake is quiet for a moment. He thinks about you outside your building this morning, arms crossed, giving him five minutes you didn’t have to give. The way you’d said I need you to be someone I can rely on like it was the most reasonable thing in the world, like you weren’t asking for anything extraordinary, just — consistency. Basic human consistency. The thing he has never had to be for anyone.

“Yeah,” he says. Quiet. “I think so.”

His dad nods. Like that’s the piece he needed. Like everything else was context and that was the information.

“Then be someone worth liking,” he says. Simply. Like it’s obvious. Like it’s the only thing that matters and everything else is just logistics.

Jake looks at him.

“You’ve never had to work for anything,” his dad says, and it’s not unkind — it’s just true, delivered with the directness of someone who has been watching this coming for a long time. “Not really. Not the things that count. You’re talented and you’re smart and things have always — moved for you. And that’s partly my fault.” He meets Jake’s eyes. “But she’s right. You can’t be the in-between. You’re going to be someone’s father. That’s not a thing you can be inconsistent about.”

Jake absorbs this.

“I know,” he says.

“Do you?”

“I’m trying to.”

His dad looks at him for a long moment. Then he picks his menu back up. “Good,” he says. “That’s the right answer.” He glances over the top of it. “Order something. You look like you haven’t eaten good in a while.”

Jake looks at the menu.

“Dad,” he says.

“Mm.”

“I really—” He stops. “I’ve really made a mess of this.”

His dad lowers the menu slightly. Looks at him with that steady, unhurried attention. “Yes,” he says. “But messes can be cleaned up.” He raises the menu again. “The carbonara is good tonight.”

Jake picks up his menu.

He end up ordering the carbonara.

—

The thing about consistency is that it’s quiet.

It doesn’t announce itself. It doesn’t arrive with a gesture or a speech or a moment you can point to and say — there, that’s when things changed. It just accumulates, slowly, in the background of your ordinary life, until one day you look up and realise the weight you’ve been carrying has shifted without you noticing.

Jake shows up.

That’s the only way to describe it. He shows up in the small ways, the unglamorous ways, the ways that don’t make for a good story but add up to something anyway. He texts when he says he will. He’s outside your building on Wednesday mornings because you have a seminar and the walk takes you past the science quad where the wind is brutal and he started walking with you three weeks ago without asking and has not stopped. He brings food — not always the crackers and ginger tea, sometimes just the grapes, sometimes something from the good Thai place near the rink that you’d mentioned once you were craving and didn’t expect him to remember.

He remembers things.

This is, you find, the most disarming thing about him. More than the jaw and the shoulders and the specific quality of his attention when he’s fully in a conversation.

He remembers that you take your tea with one sugar and that you’re writing your dissertation on George Eliot and that your sister’s youngest is called Lily and that you cannot watch medical dramas right now because they make you anxious in a way you can’t fully explain. He files things away and uses them with a quietness that suggests he’s not doing it to impress you — he’s just paying attention.

And god, it’s harder to be angry at someone who pays attention. You’re still trying.

Your bump begins appearing at eleven weeks.

Not dramatically — not one morning you wake up transformed, just a gradual undeniable softening of the line of your stomach that means your jeans sit differently and your favourite hoodie, the oversized one you’ve worn for three years, suddenly doesn’t hang quite right. You stand in front of your mirror on a Thursday morning and put your hand flat against it and stay there for a moment with the strange doubled feeling that has been following you for weeks now — the unreality of it and the complete reality of it, existing simultaneously, refusing to resolve.

Mina notices before you say anything. She’s been noticing for two weeks, you suspect, and has been waiting for you to bring it up, which is one of the reasons she’s your person.

“You’re showing,” she says, on Friday afternoon, without preamble.

“A little,” you say.

“How do you feel about that?”

You think about it genuinely. “Weird,” you say. “Good weird. Mostly good weird.”

Mina nods. “Have you told Jake?”

“He’ll notice,” you say. “We’re — we’ve been spending time together. He’ll see.”

Mina looks at you with the expression that means she has registered the significance of we’ve been spending time together and is choosing, for now, not to make anything of it. “Okay,” she says.

“Don’t,” you say.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“I really wasn’t,” she says, in the tone that means she absolutely was.

He notices on Saturday.

You’re at this Thai place — his suggestion, your agreement, the two of you in a corner booth with menus neither of you needs because you’ve been here enough times now that you already know — and you’ve taken your coat off because the restaurant is warm and you’re wearing a fitted top and when you reach across the table for the soy sauce you catch him looking.

Not rudely. Not in a way that makes you want to cover yourself. Just — looking, with that attentive expression, taking in information.

“Don’t,” you say.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You have a face.”

“I have a face,” he says, which is almost a smile. “You’re showing.”

“I know.”

“You look—” He stops. Considers his word choice with unusual care. “Good,” he says finally. “You look good.”

You look at him across the table. “That was very diplomatic.”

“I meant it.”

“Jake.”

“I genuinely meant it.” He meets your eyes. “You look good. You’ve looked good for a while. I just—” He stops again. “Didn’t say it. You looks beautiful actually.”

The restaurant is warm and smells like lemongrass and the couple at the next table are arguing quietly about something and the ordinary world is going on all around you and Jake Sim is sitting across from you saying you look good with an expression that has nothing performative in it, no angle, no formula.

You pick up your menu that you don’t need and look at it. “Thank you,” you say, at the laminated page.

He goes back to his menu too. Neither of you says anything else about it. But the air between you has shifted by some small degree and you both know it and neither of you is ready to name it yet and that, you think, is okay.

For now that’s okay.

The not-naming becomes its own kind of language eventually.

He walks you to your seminar on Wednesday and waits fifteen minutes in the wrong direction from the rink to do it, which you know because you’ve looked at the campus map, which you will not be telling him. You bring him coffee one morning — just once, without explanation, the specific order you’ve heard him give three times now — and he takes it without making anything of it which is exactly right. You text him a photo of a onesie Mina finds online that says future hockey player as a joke and he sends back a voice note that is mostly him laughing, genuine and unguarded, and you listen to it twice.

You do not examine why you listen to it twice.

Sunghoon texts once more — I hope you’re okay. I mean that.

You look at it for a long time. You think about the library café and the step outside the party and the way his face had looked when he realised. You think about two years and what they were and what they turned out to be underneath.

I’m okay, you send back. Take care of yourself.

He sends a single: you too.

And that, you think, is the end of that chapter. It doesn’t feel like closure exactly — closure implies a clean line, and there is no clean line, just a gradual and mutual putting down of something that had gotten too heavy to carry. But it feels like something finished. Something that needed to be done.

You feel lighter, after.

Jake finds out about the dissertation.

Not in a dramatic way — you’re in the library one afternoon, the two of you at adjacent tables because you’d both ended up there independently and moving would have been more pointed than staying, and he leans over at some point and looks at your screen and reads two sentences and says: “You write like this normally?”

“Like what.”

“Like—” He gestures at the screen. “Like that. Like it means something.”

You look at him. “It’s an academic paper.”

“I know what it is.” He looks faintly annoyed, the way he gets when he’s trying to say something and the words aren’t cooperating. “I’m saying it’s good. It sounds like you.”

You turn back to your screen. You are not going to make anything of this. You are a reasonable and self-possessed adult and you are not going to sit in the library and catch feelings because Jake Sim said your writing sounds like you.

“Thanks,” you say, at your laptop.

“I’m serious. It’s—” He picks up his pen. “Good.”

“You said that.”

“Because I mean it.”

You look at him. He looks back, pen between his fingers, entirely unaware that he’s just done something dangerous, and you look back at your dissertation and breathe carefully and remind yourself of all the reasons this is complicated.

There are many reasons. They are good reasons. You know them all.

The night it almost becomes something, it’s late November and it’s cold enough that your breath fogs and Jake has walked you back from the library and you’re standing at the bottom of your building’s steps in the dark and neither of you is moving.

“I should go in,” you say.

“Yeah,” he says.

Neither of you moves.

You’ve been doing this — the standing, the not-moving, the conversations that go slightly longer than they need to — for three weeks now. It has a shape, this thing between you, even if it doesn’t have a name. It has weight. You’re both aware of it and both moving around it with the particular carefulness of people who have been burned recently and are not in a hurry to be burned again.

“Jake,” you say.

“I know,” he says. Like he already knows what you’re going to say. Like he’s been having the same conversation in his own head.

“I just need it to stay—” You gesture between you. “Like this. For now. Okay? I need it to stay manageable.”

He looks at you. “Is it not?”

You look back. “Less and less,” you admit.

Something moves through his expression. Warm and complicated and controlled. “Okay,” he says. “We’ll keep it manageable.”

“Okay.”

“I just need you to know—” He stops. Starts again. “I’m not going anywhere. Whatever this is, whatever speed it goes. I’m not going anywhere.”

The cold is sharp and the steps are lit by the yellow glow of the entrance light and you are eleven weeks pregnant and standing in the dark with the father of your baby who is looking at you like you’re something worth staying for, and you think about all the reasons this is complicated and you think about your sister’s voice — those are two separate things — and you think that maybe, maybe, the situation and the feeling don’t have to be the same thing.

“Goodnight, Jake,” you say.

“Goodnight,” he says. You go inside.

At the top of the first flight of stairs you take out your phone.

You open his name — Jake Sim (do not text unless necessary) — and you look at it for a long moment.

You change it to Jake.

Just Jake. Nothing else.

You put your phone in your pocket and go to bed.

—

He asks you out on a Tuesday.

Not dramatically — not with any of the ceremony you might have expected from someone who has spent the better part of four months being alternately infuriating and disarming. He just falls into step beside you on the Wednesday morning walk to your seminar and says, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes forward: “Let me take you to dinner. A real one. Not Thai because we’ve done that.”

You look at him. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“Yes.”

“Just like that.”

“Did you want me to make it complicated?”

You look back at the path ahead. The quad is grey and cold and a girl on a bike nearly takes out a first year near the fountain and life goes on all around you, indifferent and ordinary. “No,” you say. “I didn’t want it complicated.”

“Friday,” he says. “Seven. I’ll pick you up.”

“I know where the restaurants are, Jake. I go here too.”

“I know you do.” He glances at you sideways. “Let me pick you up though.”

You look at him. That expression — patient, certain, not performing anything. Just asking.

“Friday,” you say. “Seven.”

He nods. Looks back at the path. The corner of his mouth does something that isn’t quite a smile and is better than one.

The restaurant he takes you to is small and Italian and not the kind of place you’d have expected from him, which you’re finding is a theme — Jake Sim consistently failing to be what you expect in the specific ways that make him hardest to keep at distance. It’s candlelit without being try-hard about it, the kind of place where the pasta is made that morning and the wine list is handwritten and the tables are close enough that you’re aware of his knee near yours under the table for the entirety of dinner.

You talk. That’s the thing — you just talk, the way you have been talking for weeks now on walks and in the library and over Thai food, except tonight there’s no pretence of it being anything other than what it is. He asks about your dissertation and actually listens to the answer. You ask about the season and he tells you about the conference standings with genuine animation, hands moving, and you watch him and think about the ceiling of his bedroom in September and the corridor at the rink and the bag outside your dorm door and all the distance between those things.

“What,” he says, catching you looking.

“Nothing,” you say. “You’re different.”

“From what?” He laughs.

“From who you were in September.”

He’s quiet for a moment. He turns his wine glass slowly on the table. “Yeah,” he says. “I think I am.”

“Is that — do you mind that? Being different?”

He looks at you. “No,” he says. Simply. “I don’t mind it at all.”

You look back at your pasta.

Under the table his knee settles against yours and stays there and you don’t move away from it and neither does he and you eat your dinner in the warm candlelit ordinary of it and let yourself be there, fully, without managing it from a distance.

Outside afterward the cold hits and you’re pulling your coat around you when his hand finds yours. Not reaching, not making a thing of it — just his hand finding yours in the dark like it already knows the way, fingers threading through, warm and certain.

You let him.

You walk back across campus like that, not talking much, and when you reach your building you stop at the bottom of the steps and he turns to face you and you look at him in the yellow entrance light and you think about goodnight, about all the goodnights, about the careful distance you’ve been keeping.

“Come up,” you say.

His expression does that thing — complicated and warm and something that isn’t quite controlled anymore. “You sure?”

“I just asked, didn’t I?”

He follows you up.

Your room is warm and small and familiar and he’s been in it before but not like this — not with the door closed and the lights low and both of you knowing exactly what this is. He stands just inside the door and looks at you and you cross the room and kiss him.

It’s different from September.

September was heat and momentum and two people who didn’t know each other doing something that felt like a decision.

This is — slower. His hands come up to your face the way they did at the party but gentler, more deliberate, like he’s paying attention to something he nearly missed before. He kisses you like he has something to say and this is the only language that fits, and you feel it move through you differently than anything has moved through you in a long time.

“Hey,” he says, against your mouth.

“Hi,” you say back.

He pulls back just enough to look at you — really look, the way he does now, the full attentive weight of it — and his thumb traces your cheekbone and he says, quietly: “You’re so beautiful. Do you know that?”

“Jake—”

“I mean it.” You can tell he means it. It’s in his face, unguarded and certain. “I’ve been — I should have said it a long time ago.”

You look at him for a moment. Then you pull him back down.

He undresses you slowly, which is new — September was efficient, purposeful, barely stopping. Now he takes his time like he’s making up for it, his mouth following the line of your throat, your collarbone, his hands sliding your top off with a care that makes your breath catch. When he gets to the soft curve of your stomach he stops.

He goes to his knees.

You look down at him, breath held, and he puts both hands flat and warm against your bump and just — holds them there. His forehead drops forward to rest against you. The room is quiet. You put your hand in his hair without thinking about it.

“Hey,” he says softly. Not to you.

Your throat tightens.

He turns his head and presses his lips to the curve of your stomach, gentle, then again, then moves his hands slowly like he’s learning the shape of it, and you feel something in your chest come undone quietly and without ceremony.

“Jake,” you say, and your voice is not entirely steady.

He looks up at you. His eyes are dark and very serious. “Okay?” he asks.

“More than okay,” you manage.

He stands back up and kisses you again and walks you back to the bed.

He lays you down and settles over you and his mouth goes back to your tits immediately — you’d forgotten, or you’d tried to forget, the specific focused obsession of it — his hands cupping them, heavier now, thumbs dragging slow over your nipples until you’re arching up into his mouth.

“Perfect,” he murmurs against your skin, “you’re so perfect,” and the praise lands warm and low in your stomach and you pull at his shirt until he lets you get it off.

He’s as good-looking as you remembered, which is annoying.

His mouth works down your body and his hands slide your underwear off and then he looks up at you from between your thighs with an expression that makes your brain go briefly offline. “Okay?” he says again.

“If you don’t—” you start.

He puts his mouth on your pussy and the rest of that sentence evaporates.

He goes slower than September. That’s the difference — the same precision, the same devastating accuracy with his tongue on your clit and his fingers curling deep into your walls, but slower, like he wants to take you apart carefully this time, like he’s paying attention to every sound you make and adjusting accordingly.

Your hands find his hair. Your hips roll up. He holds them down with one forearm across your hips and doesn’t stop, doesn’t change pace, just keeps that steady merciless rhythm until you’re shaking and pleading and your walls are clenching around his fingers and you cum on his tongue with his name coming out wrecked and too loud for the room.

He comes back up your body looking — different than September. Still composed, still that infuriating ease, but underneath it something open. Something that wasn’t there before.

He reaches for his jacket on the floor. Finds his wallet to grab a condom.

You start laughing.

He looks at you confused. “What.”

“Jake.” You press your lips together. “We don’t — I’m already pregnant.

He looks at the condom in his hand. Looks at you. Something crosses his face and then he laughs too — real and unguarded, the laugh from the voice note, the one you listened to twice — drops it back on the floor and comes back to you.

“Fair point,” he says, against your mouth.

“Incredible,” you tell him. “You’re incredible.”

“Shut up,” he says, warmly, and kisses you.

He flips you over.

Not roughly — carefully, one hand at your hip and one at your shoulder, mindful, and you end up straddling him and looking down at him and his hands settle on your hips and he looks up at you like you’re the best thing he’s seen.

“You good?” he asks.

“Very,” you say, and sink down onto him.

The sound he makes is low and immediate and deeply satisfying. You feel every inch of him filling you, your walls stretching around his cock, and you go slow — partly because of the bump, partly because you want to, partly because watching his face as you take him is something you want to draw out. His jaw is tight. His hands on your hips are firm but not directing, just — there, holding on.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You feel—”

“I know,” you say, and roll your hips.

His head drops back.

You find your rhythm — slow, deep, the grind of your hips meeting his, and his hands tighten and his hips push up to meet you and his mouth falls open and he is, you think, the best-looking thing you’ve ever seen like this, undone and flushed and completely present, all the composure stripped away.

“Perfect,” he says, rough and low, watching you move. “You’re so perfect, look at you—”

The praise moves through you like heat and you move faster, his thumb finds your clit and you gasp and his other hand spreads warm and careful over your bump and the gesture — the gentleness of it, the instinct of it — tips something over in your chest that you’re not going to examine right now because you’re busy, but you feel it, you feel it clearly.

You cum the second time with his cock buried inside you and his thumb on your clit, his hand on your stomach and his eyes on your face. He follows you not long after with his hips driving up and your name in his mouth, said like it means something, said like he’s been saving it.

Afterward you lie tangled together in your narrow dorm bed, which is not really built for two people but is managing. His hand is resting on your stomach with a naturalness that would have been impossible three months ago and you’re staring at the ceiling and feeling the particular peace of someone who has been braced for a long time and has just, finally, put it down.

“Come to my game next week,” he says.

You turn your head to look at him. “What?”

“Home game. Friday.” He’s looking at the ceiling too. Casual. Except you know him well enough now to know when the casual is covering something. “Come watch.”

You look back at the ceiling. “Okay,” you say.

He turns his head. “Actually?”

“Don’t make it weird,” you say. “Yes. I’ll come to your game.”

The corner of his mouth. That almost-smile that’s better than a real one. “Okay,” he says, and looks back at the ceiling, and his hand stays where it is, warm and certain.

—

The following week is small moments.

Tuesday he brings you the grapes and stays to help you outline your next dissertation chapter, sitting on your floor with his back against your bed and your notes spread between you, and he asks better questions than you expect and you don’t tell him that.

Wednesday the walk to your seminar, his shoulder bumping yours, the coffee he brings without asking — your order, exact, without you saying anything.

Thursday a voice note at eleven at night: just wanted to check you were okay. don’t reply if you’re asleep.

You reply and end up talking for forty minutes.

Friday morning he’s at your door.

In one hand, coffee. In the other, folded fabric — dark blue, the Caldwell Wolves crest on the chest, white lettering across the back. SIM. 9.

He holds it out. “You don’t have to,” he says, before you can say anything. “It’s not — I’m not trying to make it a thing. I just thought—”

You take it from him.

You pull it over your head immediately. It’s enormous on you — falls to mid-thigh, swamps your shoulders, the fabric soft from washing. You look down at it and then up at him. His expression is something you don’t have a word for.

You reach up and pull him down by his jacket lapel and kiss him, there in your doorway, in the yellow morning light, slow and certain.

When you pull back he looks — stunned, almost. Like he didn’t expect it even after everything.

“What was that for,” he says with a big grin.

“The jersey,” you say. “Come on. We’ll be late.”

The Hargrove Center is loud in a way that is different when you’re in the stands rather than the corridor — a living, moving noise, four thousand people and the echo of the ice and the announcer’s voice bouncing off the rafters. Mina is beside you, which you’d insisted on, and she’s wearing a Wolves scarf she definitely did not own before today and is eating a pretzel with the focus of someone who has decided to enjoy this.

Someone sits down on your other side.

You look over. He’s older — Jake’s build, the same broad shoulders, grey at his temples, a Wolves cap and a measured, unhurried expression.

“You must be—” he starts while smiling at you with the same grin Jake gave you not long ago.

“Dean Sim,” you say. “Hi.”

He looks at you for a moment with that steady attention that is so recognisably Jake’s that it almost makes you laugh. He’s smileing — warm, real. “He talks about you,” he says. “Quite a lot.”

“Good things, I hope.”

“Mostly.” He settles back in his seat. “He told me about the grapes.”

You look at him. He looks back with an expression of someone who finds this mildly amusing and is being polite about it.

“He remembered I was craving them,” you say.

“I know,” Dean Sim says. “That’s why he told me.” He looks out at the ice where the Wolves are warming up, Jake moving with that particular ease that is the same on ice as off it, unhurried and certain.

“He’s better than he knows how to show yet,” his dad says, quietly. Not performing it. Just — true. “But he’s getting there.”

You watch Jake on the ice.

“Yeah,” you say. “I know.”

The Wolves win.

Not narrowly — convincingly, the way they do when Jake is in the kind of form he’s been in lately, sharp and present, the kind of player who makes everyone around him better just by being fully there. You find yourself on your feet twice without meaning to be and Mina is absolutely losing her mind beside you in a way that suggests she has been quietly wanting to attend a hockey game for some time and has simply been waiting for the invitation.

After the final buzzer the arena stays loud, the celebration on the ice spilling into the stands, and Dean Sim shakes your hand and says it was lovely to meet you with a warmth that is entirely genuine, and you watch him go and think that Jake got the best of him, underneath everything.

And then the jumbo screen above the ice lights up.

You see it before you process it — your name, in big white letters, and then: JAKE SIM WANTS TO KNOW — WILL YOU BE HIS GIRLFRIEND?

The arena does not go quiet because four thousand people do not go quiet, but there is a definite shift — a ripple, a collective awareness, people turning and pointing and the noise changing character. Mina grabs your arm. You stare at the screen.

“Oh my god,” Mina says.

“Oh my god,” you say.

“Are you — are you going to—”

And then he’s there.

Full hockey gear, skates and all, somehow having gotten from the ice to the stands in the time it took you to register what the screen said, and he’s standing at the end of your row with his helmet under his arm and his hair damp and his face doing that thing — the unguarded thing, the thing without composure — and four thousand people are watching and Mina has both hands over her mouth.

“Well?” he says. Over the noise. Just to you.

You look at him. You look at the screen. You look back at him.

“You’re insane,” you say.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Is that a yes?”

You laugh — real and helpless, the kind that comes from somewhere you haven’t accessed in a while — and you step over Mina’s knees and go to him and he meets you halfway and you kiss him in the Hargrove Center in front of four thousand people and full hockey gear and the crowd does what crowds do when they witness something and the noise is enormous but you don’t hear any of it.

When you pull back his forehead drops to yours.

“Yes,” you tell him. “Obviously yes.”

He exhales — slow, like something released. His hand comes up to your face. His thumb at your cheekbone, the way it always is. “Good,” he says.

“Good,” you say back.

Behind you Mina is making a noise that suggests she is going to be telling this story for the rest of her natural life.

—

Three weeks later you are officially four months pregnant and the bump is undeniable now, round and real, and you’re sitting on Jake’s bed in his room — tidier than September, same room, different everything — with your legs across his lap while he reads something for class and his hand rests on your stomach with the absent certainty of someone who has stopped thinking about it and started just doing it.

The Wolves won again last night. His jersey, what you wore last night and have been to every game, is on the back of his chair.

Outside the window Caldwell goes on being large and indifferent and fully lit up, and in here it is warm and quiet and ordinary in a way that is — everything, actually. The whole thing. The specific ordinary of someone else’s presence that you’ve been missing without knowing how to name it.

“Hey,” Jake says, without looking up from his page.

“Hey,” you say.

“You good?”

You look at him — at the line of his jaw and the hand on your stomach and the room that used to be just a room and is now something else, something yours — and you think about September, about the corridor and the money and the slap you don’t regret. You think about Mina in the drugstore bathroom and Hannah on the third ring and the heartbeat on the monitor that made everything real.

You think about how none of this was the plan and how a plan was never the point.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m good.”

He turns a page. His hand stays where it is. Outside, Caldwell. Inside, this.

Good, you think. I’m more than good.

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @kristynaaah @yuudaiinhs @urlocalengene @woninlove @n4n4files @jimineepaboya @grdientlips @hooniluhv @afanok @seungiesdoll @rinforu @isa942572 @ride-a-nishimura @florarua @baedreamverse @softblaqn @rikisloverrr @kittyvalr @ellushic @dimples264493 @kimmm02 @kiwicup @jakebitez @mystgene @baek-some-cake @betagalactose @kookiesnkim @honeyvelvetinez @violetteaismyfavourite @meowza1 @imminentcodexcore @mlink64 @k4y-sh @rubadubdubinthetub @jungwno @k3nza @simjakeyjake @heeseungdada @bbrianawhatt @onlyifusayyesxx @mintchocoddeonut @sillycactus143 @heexyzy @wonkiipiilled @sugarcwtie @alleiraa @firstclassjaylee

[cristaliesm]

박성훈ㅤ:ㅤ 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝗍𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅𝗌ㅤ♡︎ㅤ✉️.

박성훈 ♡ F!READERㅤㅤ🎐 

𝖻𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗎𝗉𝗉𝗈𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗒, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗍 𝖼𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗂𝗑 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗍𝗁𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗋𝖺𝗐 𝗌𝗂𝗅𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖼𝖾𝖿𝗎𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗇𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝖽

𝗀𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾𝗌: 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗀𝖾 𝖺𝗎, 𝖾𝗑𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅𝗆𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖺𝗎, 𝗋𝖾𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖺𝗎, 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗎, 𝗉𝖺𝗌𝗍 𝗅𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 with happy ending, 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖾𝗑𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍, 𝖽𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 | wc. 27,3k

⚠️ㅤㅤ·ㅤㅤminors dni, explicit sexual content, edging, overstimulation, unprotected sex (pls don’t), nipple play, dirty talk, rough handling / mild domination, crying, depictions of character death and mutual suicide (joseon era), hospital/coma trauma, sunghoon being a jerk, jay is a hot grim reaper:), giselle is a tarot expert, yunjin is the ultimate hype-girl...

ivy ♡ : HAPPY READING EVERYONE!!! finally 😭😭 there's still one more part because i ended up writing way too much 😭😭 also, i'll be update the jay smau too lol. this is literally my second time writing something like this, so if it flops... i'm deleting it LMAOO 😭✌🏻 reblogs are greatly appreciated and the taglist is still open as always! thank you so much ♡__♡

EVERYONE ON CAMPUS KNEW PARK SUNGHOON. IT WAS HONESTLY EXHAUSTING HOW PREDICTABLE IT WAS

the guy walked into a lecture hall and half the girls in the room suddenly forgot how to breathe. he carried himself with this effortless, arrogant tilt of the head, completely aware of the eyes tracking his every move, his ego fed daily by whispered compliments and lingering stares. he was the university’s golden boy, untouchable, sharp, and brutally handsome

but to everyone's collective heartbreak, he belonged to you

​and god, you loved him so much it made your chest ache. you were the textbook definition of "girlier than most" you loved soft pastel cardigans, spent too long matching your ribbons to your tote bags. you were smart, a straight-A student doing a grueling dual-degree track, but you wore your emotions completely on your sleeve. a total crybaby, sunghoon used to tease, back when he used to press kisses into your hair to dry your tears

you’ve been together for two years. two whole years of being that couple. he had chased you first, pursuing you with a fierce, quiet intensity until you finally gave in. for twenty-four months, you were his world, and he was yours

​except, lately, the air between you had gone cold

​it started out small, a text left on read for six hours. the way he didn’t hold your hand in the car anymore because his fingers were glued to his screen, smiling at notifications he’d quickly lock away if you leaned in too close. you tried to tell yourself you were just being paranoid, that engineering was just getting stressful for him. but you weren't stupid, you could feel the space widening between you, a silent chasm growing larger with every passing day

​which brought you here. a chilly tuesday night, walking side by side through the campus park

the streetlamps threw long, warped shadows across the concrete. you shivered slightly, pulling your knit cardigan tighter around your shoulders, waiting for him to notice. usually, he’d grumble about you not wearing a proper coat and drape his oversized leather jacket over you. tonight, sunghoon just stared straight ahead, his hands shoved deep into his own pockets, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek

​"sunghoon," you said softly, your voice barely a breath in the cool night air. "are you okay? you've been really quiet tonight."

​he didn't stop walking, he didn't even look at you. "i'm fine, y/n. just thinking."

​you reached out, your fingers lightly brushing the sleeve of his jacket, desperate for any shred of the warmth you used to take for granted. "thinking about what?" you whispered

​finally, he stopped. they were right under the dim, buzzing glow of a streetlamp. when he turned to face you, there was no affection in his eyes. just a chilling, detached emptiness that made you want to turn around and run

​"we need to stop doing this," sunghoon said, his voice didn’t even shake. it was completely steady, cutting through the quiet night air like a blade

​you froze, your hand dropping from his sleeve. the cold air hit your bare skin instantly, but it was nothing compared to the ice suddenly flooding your veins. "stop doing what?" you asked

​sunghoon let out a short, sighing breath, tilting his head back to look at the dark sky before bringing his gaze right back to you. there wasn't a hint of hesitation in his eyes. "this, us. i’m tired of pretending, y/n."

​"pretending?" your voice cracked

"i like someone else," he said flatly. the world felt like it tilted on its axis

you stared at him, your chest heaving as the first tear spilled over, tracking down your cheek. "what... what do you mean? who?"

​"her name is sooha," he said, and for the first time all night, his expression shifted but it wasn't out of guilt. a tiny, almost imperceptible soften occurred around his eyes when he muttered her name, and it felt like a physical slap to your face. "we've been seeing each other for about two months now."

​two months, eight weeks and sixty days of him coming over to your apartment, kissing your forehead, letting you cook for him, all while he was coming from or going to someone else. the betrayal hit you like a physical blow, leaving you completely breathless. your knees felt weak, you couldn't stand straight

​you were sobbing now, big, quiet, trembling tears that shook your entire frame. you looked up at him through a wet blur, expecting to see a flicker of the boy who used to panic whenever you cried

​sunghoon just stood there, looking down at you and as he watched you fall apart, his posture actually straightened. seeing you completely wrecked over him didn't make him feel guilty, it fed his monstrous ego. he looked at your tears as proof of his power, a testament to how deeply he could affect someone

​"so that's it," he said, crossing his arms. "i'm not gonna lie to you anymore, it's over."

​"no," you gasped out, the word slipping past your trembling lips before you could stop it. you hated how desperate you sounded, but you were desperate. "no, sunghoon, please. just... give me one month."

​he frowned, his eyebrows snapping together in annoyance. "are you serious right now? y/n, i literally just told you i don't love you anymore. i’m with sooha."

​"i know!" you cried, burying your face in your hands for a second before looking back up, your eyes red and pleading. "i know. just... one month. don't break up with me until next month, please. after that, you can leave. you can do whatever you want, just give me thirty days."

​sunghoon scoffed, turning his face away in disgust. "this is pathetic. why would i do that? i want to be with her openly."

​"please, sunghoon," you begged, taking a step closer, your hands trembling by your sides

you didn't tell him why, you didn't tell him that in exactly thirty days, your flight out of the country was booked. you didn't remind him about the dual-degree program in Europe you'd gotten into. the one you'd excitedly babbled about two years ago when you first met, back when he actually listened to you. he obviously didn't remember it now

​he stared at you for a long, agonizing moment, weighing his options. "fine," he finally spat out, a harsh, arrogant smirk pulling at the corner of his lips

"one month. but let's get something straight, y/n. don't go demanding my time, don't text me asking where i am, and don't expect me to act like your perfect boyfriend. my affection is split now, and honestly? most of it is going to her. you don't get to protest, and you don't get to complain. take it or leave it."

​you swallowed the lump in your throat, wiped your wet cheeks with the sleeve of your pastel cardigan, and nodded. "okay," you whispered. "okay."

by the third day of the first week, any lingering hope you had left was completely dead

​the reality of the one month deal was so much uglier than you had anticipated. sunghoon didn't just split his affection, he completely turned it off. you were treated like an annoying ghost he couldn't wait to exorcise from his life

​it was a thursday afternoon when you saw a post on your feed about that new bakery cafe that just opened near the arts building, the one with the pastel blue storefront and the fluffy cloud pastries you’d been talking about wanting to try for months

normally, if you showed sunghoon a place like that, he’d roll his eyes, call it "too pink," but then immediately grab his car keys and pull his shoes on because he secretly loved indulging you​. so, swallowing your pride, you typed out a quick message

you: hey, do you want to check out that new cafe today? my classes finish at three

​hoon 🤍: can't. sooha wanted to go to that new pasta place downtown

​your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, a hot, familiar wave of frustration rushing up your throat. you wanted to throw your phone. you wanted to scream at him, to scream that you were still his girlfriend, that he promised you thirty days, that it wasn't fair

​but then you caught your reflection in the dark screen of your laptop. you saw your own tired eyes, and you remembered. thirty days. you only had to endure this for twenty-seven more days, and then you’d be on a flight across the world, leaving him behind forever. you couldn't ruin the plan

the next day: day four, started out weirdly different. you were sitting in your afternoon lecture, staring blankly at a slide about international trade laws, when your phone buzzed against your thigh. you figured it was yunjin asking what they should get for dinner, but when you unlocked it, your heart did a stupid, pathetic little flip

​hoon 🤍: i'll pick you up after your class. meet me by the outdoor basketball courts at 4:30

​it was the first time in a week he had texted you first. you hadn't even had to double-text him. a tiny, foolish part of you wondered if maybe he missed you, if maybe spending time with sooha made him realize what he was throwing away

​the only issue was the location. the outdoor basketball courts were on the complete opposite side of the campus, a massive trek from the humanities building. you’d have to walk down three long, winding corridors, and cut straight through the open park

​by the time the professor dismissed the class, it wasn't just raining it was pouring, a heavy, aggressive downpour that blurred the campus windows into gray sheets. you stood at the exit of the building, looking down at your canvas tote bag and your thin cardigan. you didn't have an umbrella. you’d forgotten it in the dorm

​but sunghoon was waiting, he was actually coming to get you

​so, taking a deep breath, you tucked your phone securely into the inner pocket of your cardigan and ran out into the rain

​the walk was brutal. within seconds, the freezing water soaked through your pastel clothes, making the fabric stick heavily to your skin. the wind was sharp, cutting right through you as you hurried down the empty walkways, the cold rain stinging your face and blurring your eyes. by the time you finally reached the outdoor basketball courts, you were completely drenched. your hair was matted to your neck, and your sneakers squelched miserably with every step

​the courts were completely empty, looking bleak and miserable under the heavy gray sky. there was a small metal bench under a half-broken plastic awning that barely did anything to block the wind

​you sat down, shivering violently, your teeth literally chattering as you pulled your knees to your chest to keep warm. you checked your phone. 4:35 PM

​you: i'm here!

you texted, your fingers shaking so badly you could barely hit the right letters​. you waited,ten minutes became thirty. thirty minutes became an hour. the sky started to turn a dark, bruised purple as the sun went down, the campus streetlamps flickering to life

the rain didn't slow down it just got colder, the damp chill seeping straight into your bones until you couldn't even feel your toes anymore

​by 6:00 PM, you had been sitting on that freezing metal bench for almost two full hours. your skin was pale, your lips felt blue, and a sharp, throbbing ache had started to form right behind your eyes. the tears that finally slipped down your face were warm against your freezing cheeks, but they were quickly washed away by the relentless rain

​you finally stood up, your legs shaking so badly you almost tripped over your own feet, and began the long, agonizing walk back to the dorms alone in the dark

the minute you walked through the door, giselle gasped, immediately dropping her laptop and rushing to the closet to pull out the thickest, most oversized blankets she could find. yunjin steered you straight into the bathroom, turning the shower on to a steaming, scalding hot temperature

​"get in there right now," yunjin ordered, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and fury. "don't come out until you can feel your skin again."

​it took an hour under the hot water just to stop shaking. when you finally crawled out, dressed in yunjin’s thickest sweatpants and wrapped in three blankets, your phone buzzed on the nightstand

​your throat felt raw, a harsh cough tearing through your chest as you reached out a trembling hand to pick it up

​hoon 🤍: shit, y/n, i forgot. sooha called me right after i texted you

hoon 🤍: she needed someone to drive her to that nail art place across town because it was raining

hoon 🤍: sorry, hope you didn't wait too long

​a harsh, bitter laugh escaped your lips, turning immediately into another painful cough. hope you didn't wait too long. two hours in the freezing rain, while he was sitting in a warm car, waiting for another girl to get her nails done

by the second day of the second week, your fever had finally broken, leaving you with nothing but a lingering cough and an incredibly heavy heart. you were sitting at the edge of your desk, mindlessly staring at the rain-streaked window, when your phone buzzed

​hoon 🤍: i’m outside, let’s go to campus together

​you stared at the screen for a full minute. your ego told you to ignore it, to walk to class in the damp air just to prove a point. but the truth was, you were just so tired. the anger from the basketball court had faded into a dull, numb acceptance. you missed him. you missed the routine of him. so, swallowing down the bitter taste of pride, you grabbed your tote bag and headed downstairs

​his sleek, expensive car was idling by the curb, the engine a low, wealthy hum against the morning quiet. you walked up to the passenger door, a tiny, fragile sense of normalcy settling into your chest. you reached for the handle, pulling it open with a soft, practiced smile

​"hey—"

​"don't sit there." the words were cold, cutting you off before you could even fully open the door. sunghoon didn't look at you. his hands were resting casually on the steering wheel, his eyes fixed forward

​you froze, the door halfway open, the cool morning breeze hitting your face. "what?" you whispered, your voice catching in your throat

​"go sit in the back," he said, his tone entirely casual, like he was asking you to pass the salt. "sooha’s joining us. she’s getting picked up down the street, and she likes the front seat."

​it felt like a physical punch to the stomach. the sheer humiliation of it settled deep under your skin, hot and prickly. you stood there on the pavement, the door handle still in your hand, your eyes stinging instantly

​with a trembling lip and a heavy, robotic movement, you gently clicked the passenger door shut. you walked to the rear, opened the back door, and slid onto the leather seat. sitting in the back of your own boyfriend's car felt like the ultimate demotion

​two minutes later, the car pulled up to the corner of the humanities building and there she was

​sooha looked perfect. her hair was done in soft, effortless waves, her lip gloss catching the gray morning light as she practically bounced toward the car. she pulled open the passenger door and slid in, completely filling the vehicle with the sweet, suffocating scent of a floral perfume that wasn't yours

​"hi, baby," she purred, leaning over the center console

​and right there, right in front of you in the rearview mirror, sunghoon did something he hadn't done for you in months. a soft, genuine smile broke across his face, the kind of smile that used to belong entirely to you. he leaned in, meeting her halfway, and pressed a soft, lingering kiss right against her lips. it was so natural, so domestic, that it looked like they had been doing it for years

​you choked on your own breath, quickly turning your face toward the side window, staring blindly at the passing campus buildings. your chest was heaving, a tight, suffocating sob building up in your throat, but you forced it down until your throat literally burned

​for the entire fifteen-minute drive, you didn't exist. they talked about their weekend plans, laughed at inside jokes you didn't understand, and sunghoon’s left hand rested firmly on her thigh the entire time. you just stared out at the gray concrete, a ghost trapped in the backseat of your own life

by the sixth day of that same week, the silence was driving you crazy. you needed to know if there was even a single piece of the old sunghoon left inside that arrogant shell. so, you decided to push

​you: can we do dinner tonight? just to talk

​you expected a rejection, or worse, to be completely ignored. but to your utter surprise, his bubble popped up almost instantly

​hoon 🤍: fine, i made a reservation at that Italian place near the square. 7:30 PM. don't be late

​a reservation, he actually made a reservation. for a split second, your naive, bleeding heart let out a breath of relief. maybe he wanted to apologize properly. maybe the guilt had finally caught up to him

​you spent two hours getting ready. you wore a soft, cream-colored dress he used to love, painstakingly styled your hair, and did your makeup with extra care to hide the dark circles under your eyes from all the sleepless nights. you wanted him to see you

​you arrived at the restaurant at 7:15 PM. the place was beautiful, dimly lit, warm, filled with the soft clink of wine glasses and the murmur of couples laughing. the hostess led you to a small, intimate booth in the corner

​"just waiting on one more," you told her with a small, hopeful smile.

​7:30 PM. you texted him

you: i'm here! table 14.

​8:00 PM. the waiter came by for the third time, offering a polite but pitying smile. "can I get you a starter while you wait, miss?"

"no, thank you," you murmured, your fingers tightly gripping your glass of water. "he should be here soon. he’s probably just caught in traffic."

​9:30 PM. the restaurant was starting to empty out. the warm, romantic atmosphere now felt like a mocking theater stage, and you were the main joke. your phone sat on the white tablecloth, dark and completely silent. you hadn't even gotten a read receipt

​by 11:15 PM, the staff was starting to flip the chairs onto the neighboring tables. the waiter came back, his expression entirely sympathetic. "i'm sorry, miss, but we're closing up the kitchen."

​you paid for the untouched bottle of water, stood up on trembling legs, and walked out into the cool night air. but this time, the sadness didn't come. for the first time in two weeks, the crushing weight in your chest didn't turn into soft, pitiful tears. it turned into hot, blinding, volatile rage

​you didn't go back to your dorm. instead, your feet marched blindly toward the boys' upperclassmen residence. toward sunghoon’s apartment

​you didn't even knock. you knew the keycode, he’d never bothered to change it. you punched the numbers in with an aggressive, shaking hand and yanked the heavy wooden door open

​the living room was quiet, lit only by a single desk lamp. sitting at the kitchen island was jake, sunghoon’s roommate. he was the textbook definition of a quiet genius, glasses perched on his nose, surrounded by thick textbooks, always a bit stiff and awkward around people, though he’d always been perfectly polite to you

​the second the door slammed against the wall, jake jumped, his pen slipping from his hand. his eyes went wide behind his lenses as he took in your appearance, the fancy dress, the smudged makeup, the absolute aura of fury radiating off you

​"y/n?" jake stammered, half-rising from his stool. "hey... what's going on? are you okay?"

​you didn't even answer him. you didn't have the breath for it. without a word, you stormed right past him, your heels clicking loudly against the hardwood floor as you marched straight toward the closed door of sunghoon’s bedroom.

​"y/n, wait—" jake called out, his voice sharp with warning, but it was too late. you threw the bedroom door open

​the sight inside made the blood in your veins instantly boil. sunghoon was sitting on his bed, his laptop open on his lap, and curled up right next to him, her head resting lazily on his shoulder, was sooha. they were watching a movie, a bag of popcorn sitting between them, looking like the picture-perfect image of a cozy, happy couple

​both of them snapped their heads up. sooha gasped, instantly pulling away from him, her eyes wide with manufactured innocence

​sunghoon’s expression didn't even soften into guilt. instead, his eyebrows snapped together, his arrogant features hardening into pure, unadulterated annoyance. "what the hell do you think you're doing, y/n? do you know how to knock?"

​"four hours," you choked out, your voice shaking violently, the rage finally cracking to let the agony leak through. "i sat in that restaurant for four hours, sunghoon! you made the reservation! you told me to be there!"

​sunghoon let out a harsh, mocking scoff, closing his laptop with a loud snap. he stood up from the bed, towering over you, his ego flaring up at the confrontation. "and? something came up. sooha needed help with her study guide. are you seriously throwing a tantrum right now?"

​"something came up?!" you screamed, the tears finally bursting past your eyelids, hot and furious. "you left me there! you didn't even text me! i looked like a fucking idiot in front of the entire restaurant!"

​"then don't look like an idiot!" sunghoon shot back, his voice rising, completely unapologetic. he took a step closer, looking down at you with total disdain. "this is exactly what i told you, y/n. this is the risk you chose to take. you’re the one who begged for this stupid month. you’re the one who wouldn't just let me go! no one is forcing you to stay with me, if you can't handle how things are now, then leave! you look completely ridiculous right now."

​the cruelty of his words felt like a physical slap. he was standing there, defending his cheating, turning the blame entirely on you because you had loved him enough to ask for time

​you stared at him through your wet blur of vision. you looked at sooha, who was sitting quietly on the bed, watching the drama unfold with a tiny, satisfied smirk hidden behind her fingers

​"i hate you," you whispered, your voice cracking into a broken, jagged sound. "i actually hate you."

​you turned on your heel and bolted out of the room. jake was standing there, looking incredibly uncomfortable but deeply concerned. he stepped into your path, his hands slightly raised. "hey... y/n, wait. it's really late, let me drive you back to your dorm you shouldn't walk alone like this."

​"no!" you sobbed out, pushing past his shoulder, completely unable to accept kindness from anyone associated with sunghoon right now

ever since that massive fight between you and sunghoon, his phone has been a ghost town. you used to be the first person he texted when he woke up, the one he’d spam with random memes or complain to about his day. now? absolute silence not a single typing bubble, no read receipts

​because sunghoon completely checked out. he packed up all his attention, his time, and his energy, and handed it over to sooha

​today isn't any different. it’s a random afternoon, and his lock screen lights up with a message from her

sooha: hey, can we go out today? i really want to clear my mind

and just like that, sunghoon is already grabbing his keys. there’s no hesitation, no second thoughts about how he left things completely broken with you. he’s entirely focused on being sooha's knight in shining armor

​the air in his car smells faintly of his expensive cologne mixed with the stale warmth of the afternoon sun. he turns the ignition, the engine humming to life as he hooks his phone to the dashboard and sets the GPS for sooha’s apartment

​at first, everything is fine. it’s just a typical, mundane drive. the radio is playing some low, ambient indie track that he isn't really listening to

then, the traffic slows to a painful, agonizing crawl​. sunghoon sighs, drumming his fingers against the leather wheel. he glances at the clock on the dashboard. rolling down the window a crack, he lets the humid city air fill the car, hoping it’ll snap him out of his annoyed mood

​finally, the lane moves. the car in front of him advances, and sunghoon presses his foot onto the gas pedal, moving forward into the intersection

​he doesn't even have time to blink

​from the peripheral vision of his right eye, a blinding flash of silver streaks through the intersection. a car is speeding way too fast, completely ignoring the red light, barreling straight toward him from the side street

​the sound of tires screeching violently against asphalt echoes for a split second, tearing through the quiet afternoon. sunghoon’s instincts kick in too late. his hands jerk the steering wheel to the left, his heart dropping into his stomach, a cold wave of pure terror freezing the blood in his veins

​CRASH

​the impact is deafening. it’s a sickening, metallic crunch that shatters the windows instantly, raining thousands of tiny glass diamonds into the air. the sheer force of the collision sends sunghoon's car flying, spinning like a useless toy through the air before it slams violently onto the hard pavement, flipping onto its side

​inside the wreckage, everything happens in horrifying slow motion. sunghoon’s body is thrown violently against the door, his head cracking hard against the frame. the airbag deploys with a loud pop, but it does little to stop the devastating momentum

​and then, silence

​sunghoon is slumped over the shattered steering wheel, completely covered in dark, warm blood that drips down his forehead, matting his dark hair and pooling on the cracked dashboard. his breathing is shallow, ragged, and weak. within seconds, the overwhelming pain numbs into nothingness as his vision fades to pitch black. he loses consciousness entirely

​outside, the world erupts into absolute chaos

​"oh my god! someone call 911!"

"is he alive?! look at the car!"

"hey, can you hear me?! stay with us!"

​bystanders run over in a panic, shouting, waving their arms, hands trembling as they dial emergency numbers. the scene is a total nightmare smoke rising from the crushed hood, the smell of burnt rubber and gasoline filling the air

​then, a weird sensation washes over him​. sunghoon opens his eyes. the blinding headache is gone, the agonizing pressure in his chest vanished. he blinks, looking around, feeling strangely light. he looks down at his hands, they’re completely clean, no blood, no scratches

​"ugh... what the hell happened?" he mutters, groaning in sheer annoyance as he pushes himself up from the ground. he ruffles his hair, thoroughly pissed off that his drive got interrupted by some idiot driver

​he looks around to see a crowd of people huddled around a overturned, wrecked car

​"hey!" sunghoon calls out, stepping toward a guy who is frantically talking on his phone. "hey, man, did someone hit me? what’s going on?"

​the man doesn't even blink. he keeps talking into his phone, his voice shaking. "yes, an ambulance, quickly! there's a guy trapped inside, he's bleeding out really bad!"

​sunghoon frowns, confusion clouding his features. "dude? i'm right here, walkie-talkie guy, look at me!" he steps right into the man's line of sight, waving a hand directly in front of his eyes

​nothing. the man walks straight through sunghoon's shoulder to get a better look at the wreck​

sunghoon freezes. a cold shiver runs down his spine. he turns around slowly, his chest heaving with a panic he can’t quite explain. he approaches a woman who is crying, stepping right up to her face, mere inches away. "excuse me? can you hear me? look at me, please!"

​she looks right through him, her eyes fixed on the car. sunghoon slowly follows her gaze. he looks through the shattered windshield of the flipped vehicle

​and his heart stops

​there, trapped in the driver's seat, covered in blood and looking completely lifeless, is him, his own body

​"no... no, no, no, this is a joke," sunghoon whispers, stumbling backward. his hands grip his own hair, his breathing turns erratic. his soul, his actual spirit had completely detached from his physical body. he's dead or dying. he’s a ghost. "this can't be happening, this is insane!"

"wow, now that was an absolute cinema-level crash. pure epicness." a sharp, drippingly sarcastic voice cuts through sunghoon's spiraling panic

​sunghoon snaps his head around. a guy is leaning against a nearby lamppost, completely unfazed by the horrific scene. he looks around sunghoon’s age, rocking a look that screams effortless arrogance. his skin has a flawless, warm honey glow, and his jawline is so sharp it could genuinely cut glass. he’s wearing an outfit that feels a bit too sharp for a casual tuesday, and his lips are curled into a highly amused, thoroughly punchable smirk

​sunghoon stares at him, dumbfounded. "you... you're talking to me?"

​"obviously. unless you see another floating soul having a mid-life crisis right now," the guy scoffs, rolling his eyes

​"who the hell are you?" sunghoon demands, his temper flaring despite the terrifying situation. "and why can you see me when nobody else can?"

​the guy stands up straight, brushing an imaginary speck of dust off his jacket. he walks over to sunghoon with a slow, swaggering gait that matches sunghoon’s own usual arrogance. "i'm jongseong but you can call me jay and as for why i can see you..." jay flashes a sharp, knowing grin, his eyes gleaming with something ancient and dark. "i'm a grim reaper."

​sunghoon lets out a loud, mocking laugh, though it sounds a bit hollow. "a grim reaper? are you out of your mind? you're freaking delusional, dude. stop watching so many dramas."

​"oh, a skeptic. love to see it," jay chuckles, completely unbothered

​"i'm not dead," sunghoon snaps, turning his back on jay. "i just need to... i just need to get back in there. it’s a glitch, i'm going back."

sunghoon charges toward the wrecked car, determined to shove his spirit back into his bloody body. he lunges forward, trying to force himself through the shattered window, trying to merge back with his flesh and bones

​but he just passes right through it like smoke, stumbling out the other side of the car, landing awkwardly on the pavement. he tries again, more aggressively this time, grabbing at his own bloody shoulder, but his ghostly hands slide through his own skin like water

​from behind him, a loud, echoing burst of laughter breaks the air. jay is literally clutching his stomach, laughing so hard his eyes crinkle. "oh my god, please keep doing that. that is hilarious, you look like a bird flying straight into a glass window over and over again."

​"shut up!" sunghoon yells, spinning around, his face flushed with embarrassment and rage. "how do i get back in?! tell me!"

​jay wipes a tear of laughter from his eye, his expression suddenly shifting into something more professional, though the smug aura never truly leaves him. "look, buddy, here’s the deal. if that ambulance over there doesn't show up in time? i'm officially cutting your soul's silver cord and taking you upstairs or downstairs wherever you're headed."

​sunghoon’s face goes pale. "you're going to kill me?"

​"hey, don't blame the messenger," jay says, raising his hands in defense. "but lucky for you, your official death notice hasn't popped up on my phone yet. meaning, you're technically not scheduled to die today"

​sunghoon lets out a breath he doesn't even need to take, feeling a tiny sliver of hope. "okay, fine. then let me back in i need to go back to my life. i have things to do, i have to see sooha. i have to..." his voice trails off, his mind suddenly flashing to a memory of you, standing in the rain, crying during your fight

​"i want to go back," sunghoon insists, stepping closer to jay, his eyes dead serious. "make it happen."

​jay stops smirking. his eyes narrow into a sharp, piercing stare that makes sunghoon feel completely naked under his gaze. jay steps closer, tilted his head slightly, his tone dropping into something incredibly chilling

​"make it happen? wow, you really are an arrogant piece of work, aren't you?" jay whispers, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips, but it’s entirely devoid of warmth. "you want to go back so badly... but you're conveniently forgetting something pretty major, park sunghoon."

​sunghoon blinks, a sudden wave of confusion washing over him. "forgetting what?"

​jay takes one more step forward, his shadow casting over sunghoon's spiritual form. "did you seriously forget? you forgot about the promise you made, didn't you?"

​sunghoon stands completely frozen, his mind racing as he stares into jay’s intense, unreadable eyes. a promise? what promise? he tries to rack his brain, searching through every memory, every corner of his mind, but nothing comes up. yet, looking at jay’s deadly serious face, a creeping sense of dread whispers that whatever he forgot. it was going to cost him everything

meanwhile, on the exact opposite side of the city,

​BANG

​the violent sound of your bedroom door slamming against the wall forcefully yanks you out of your deep slumber. your heart instantly leaps into your throat, your eyes flying open as you gasp for air, completely disoriented.

​"Y/N! WAKE UP! y/n, please, get up right now!" yunjin bursts into the room like a hurricane, her face completely pale, eyes wide with sheer, unadulterated panic

right behind her is giselle, who isn't even looking at you, she’s frantically scanning your room, grabbing your black denim jacket from the chair and throwing your wallet and phone into a canvas tote bag

​"w-what... what's happening?" you stammer, your voice thick and raspy from sleep. you try to sit up, but your brain is still foggy, sluggishly trying to process why your roommates look like the world is ending. "yunjin, you're scaring me, what—"

​"y/n, look at me. focus on me," yunjin interrupts, her voice trembling violently. she lunges onto the bed, her hands coming up to pat your cheeks with frantic, stinging slaps to force the sleep out of your system. "wake up, seriously, we need to go now."

​"yunjin, stop! why are you slapping me?!" you yell, pulling your head back, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird

​"it's sunghoon," yunjin says, the words tearing out of her throat in a broken sob. "he was in a car accident, y/n. a really, really bad one. he’s at the city hospital right now, we have to go."

​it feels like all the oxygen is suddenly sucked out of the room. the name sunghoon echoes in your mind, followed by accident, but your brain flat-out refuses to connect the two words. sunghoon? your sunghoon?

​"no," you whisper, your voice suddenly sounding miles away. "no, he’s... he’s fine. he’s with sooha. he—"

​"y/n, please, just put the jacket on!" giselle begs from the doorway, her voice cracking as she shoves the denim sleeves into your trembling hands

​the panic hits you all at once, a brutal, freezing wave that completely shatters your numbness

​the hospital smell hits you first, your sneakers squeak loudly against the polished white floors as you, yunjin, and giselle sprint toward the emergency waiting room. your eyes wild, scanning the rows of plastic chairs until you spot two familiar figures standing near the glass doors of the ICU

​it’s jake and heeseung. sunghoon's best friends look completely unrecognizable. jake is pacing a small strip of the floor, his skin a sickly, translucent white. his hands are shoved deep into his pockets, but you can see his entire frame shaking. he’s chewing on his bottom lip so hard it’s practically bleeding, his eyes staring blankly at the floor as he fights a losing battle against his own tears

next to him, heeseung is leaning heavily against the wall, his head tilted back, eyes tightly shut. his jaw is clenched so hard the muscles are jumping, his arms crossed over his chest like he’s trying to hold himself together

​the moment jake hears your frantic footsteps, he looks up. the absolute, raw devastation in his eyes tells you everything you never wanted to know.

​"y/n," jake chokes out, his voice dropping an octave, completely broken

​the tears you’ve been holding back for three weeks. the tears you swore you wouldn't cry today come crashing down like a collapsed dam. a loud, pathetic sob tears out of your throat, and your knees instantly give out. if it weren't for giselle catching you by your armpits, you would have collapsed right there on the dirty hospital floor

​"hey, hey, i’ve got you. breathe, y/n, please just breathe," giselle whispers frantically, wrapping her arms tightly around your shaking shoulders, pulling you into a plastic chair

but you can’t breathe. your chest is heaving, your vision completely blurred by a endless stream of hot, burning tears. you bury your face in your hands, your whole body convulsing with agonizing grief

​and then, through the blur of your tears, you see her. sooha is sitting just a few chairs down

​she’s completely neat, not a single hair out of place. her face is pale, and yeah, she looks kind of sad, maybe a little stressed by the sterile atmosphere but there isn't a single tear on her face. her eyes are completely dry. she’s just sitting there, hands neatly folded in her lap, watching the chaos

​yunjin marches straight up to sooha, her eyes blazing with pure fury. "what the hell are you even doing here?" she spits, her voice a lethal, venomous whisper that cuts through the waiting room. "he was on his way to you, this is your fault! get the hell out of here, you don't belong here."

​sooha shrinks back slightly, her bottom lip quivering in a perfectly practiced display of innocence. "i... i just wanted to make sure he was—"

​"i said leave!" yunjin barks, stepping closer, her hands curling into fists

​"yunjin, stop! don't do this here," giselle hissed, quickly letting go of you for a second to grab yunjin’s arm, physically pulling her back before a full-blown fistfight could break out in front of the nurses' station. "not right now."

​what none of them know is that they aren't alone

standing literally three inches away from jake, staring frantically into his pale face, is the spirit of park sunghoon

​"jake! jake, look at me, bro, i'm right here!" sunghoon yells, waving his hands wildly in front of his best friend’s face. "stop pacing, you're making me nervous! i'm fine! look at me!"

​jake just walks straight through sunghoon's chest to grab a paper cup of water from heeseung. sunghoon shudders as the cold sensation of jake’s physical body passes through his soul, leaving him feeling emptier than before

he spins around, looking at heeseung. "heeseung! please, tell me you can hear me. i'm not dead, okay? the doctors are tripping."

​heeseung just sighs, rubbing his tired eyes, completely ignoring the ghost screaming in his face

​"whew, rough crowd," jay's smooth, mocking voice floats from the corner of the room. the grim reaper is currently sitting casually on top of a vending machine, swinging his legs back and forth, holding a glowing digital ledger that looks like a sleek black smartphone. "told you, buddy. you're a radio station with no frequency right now they can't hear your broadcast."

​"shut up, jay!" sunghoon snaps, his frustration peaking

​just then, yunjin starts screaming at sooha. sunghoon’s eyes widen as he sees yunjin invading sooha’s personal space. a protective surge of anger flares in his chest. he charges over, throwing himself between them, trying to shove yunjin away

​"hey! back off her, you psycho!" sunghoon roars at yunjin, his face contorted with rage. "don't you dare touch her! she didn't do anything wrong! yunjin, i swear to god, if you don't get your hands off her—" his ghostly hands pass harmlessly through yunjin’s shoulders, leaving him panting with useless fury

​he turns to sooha, his voice softening into frantic desperation. "sooha, look at me. i'm right here. don't listen to her, okay? i'm fine." but sooha’s blank, tearless eyes are fixed entirely on the floor, not even glancing in his direction

​and then, sunghoon's gaze shifts. he looks over at the plastic chairs. he hears your broken, jagged breaths, sees the way your fingers are clutching your jacket like it’s a lifeline

​sunghoon lets out a heavy, irritated scoff, rolling his eyes so hard it looks painful.

​"oh, for god's sake, y/n," sunghoon grumbles, his voice dripping with an incredibly harsh, dismissive edge. "stop overreacting. seriously, you're making a whole scene for absolutely no reason. we aren't even speaking, why are you crying like someone died? it’s so dramatic, just go home."

​up on the vending machine, jay’s amused expression instantly vanishes. his eyebrows furrow as he looks down at sunghoon, slowly shaking his head in utter disbelief

​"wow," jay mutters under his breath, his sharp jaw tightening. "you really are a piece of work, aren't you? a complete and utter idiot."

hours bleed into one another. the sky outside the hospital windows turns from a hazy twilight to a deep, pitch-black night

​the red surgery light finally clicks off, and a tired doctor steps out, informing the group that sunghoon is stable. the impact was severe, but he managed to survive the worst of it. they’ve moved his physical body into a regular, private recovery room to monitor his comatose state

​the relief in the hallway is palpable, but the exhaustion is heavier. one by one, the group starts to thin out. sooha leaves first, offering a quiet, polite excuse about her ride being outside, which yunjin handles with a lethal glare

heeseung and jake stay for another hour, staring at sunghoon’s pale, machine-hooked body through the window before heeseung gently pats jake's shoulder, whispering that they need to get some rest and come back in the morning

​finally, it’s just you, yunjin, and giselle standing outside the quiet room.

​"y/n, come on. let’s go home," yunjin says softly, her voice completely spent from the day's anger. she places a gentle hand on your arm. "the doctor said he’s stable. he’s not going to wake up tonight. you need to sleep, you’re pale as a ghost."

​"yeah, let us take you back," giselle chimes in, her eyes pleading. "you've been crying for six hours straight, y/n. your body can't take this."

​you look through the glass pane of the door. sunghoon looks so small in that massive hospital bed, surrounded by beeping monitors and clear plastic tubes. the sight of him like that makes a fresh wave of quiet ache bloom in your chest

​you slowly pull your arm away from yunjin's grip, shaking your head. "no," you whisper, your voice barely audible, but completely unyielding. "i'm not leaving."

​"y/n, please don't be stubborn—" yunjin starts, but you cut her off, looking up with raw, sleep-deprived, swollen eyes

​"i'm staying, yunjin. please," you beg, your lower lip trembling. "just... let me stay with him, i can't leave him alone."

​yunjin and giselle exchange a long, heartbroken look. they know that tone. there is absolutely no changing your mind. with a heavy sigh, giselle hands you the tote bag with your wallet and phone

​"we'll come back first thing in the morning, okay? call us if anything changes. literally anything," giselle whispers, giving your shoulder a tight squeeze. yunjin gives you a sad, lingering look before the two of them turn around, their footsteps echoing down the long, empty corridor until the double doors click shut

days melt into each other until they completely lose all meaning

​you’ve basically moved into this sterile, cramped hospital room, transforming the hard plastic chair next to sunghoon’s bed into your temporary home. the heavy scent of antiseptic and bleach doesn't even make you gag anymore

​most of the time, you just sit there. you stare at his pale, unmoving face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the soft curve of his eyelids with your eyes, wishing with everything inside you that they would just flutter open. and then, without even realizing it, the hot tears start spilling over again, blurring your vision until you have to look away, wiping your face with the damp sleeve of your oversized hoodie

​when the guilt and the ache get too heavy to carry, you try to distract yourself. you pull out your laptop, spreading your college textbooks across the tiny rolling tray table, attempting to type out essays for classes you haven't attended in days. but your brain is completely fried. you’ll read the same sentence five times, blink, and realize you haven't absorbed a single word. eventually, exhaustion wins. your head drops onto the hard edge of his mattress, your fingers loosely curling near his cold, unmoving hand, and you drift into a light, uncomfortable sleep, woken up every hour by the rhythmic, taunting beep of the heart monitor

​and the entire time, sunghoon’s spirit is right there. he stands on the other side of the bed, crossing his arms, watching you throw your life away for him. it completely bewilders him

he watches you type, watches you cry, watches you slump over in deep exhaustion. why is she still here? he thinks, his chest tightening with a weird, suffocating mixture of irritation and something he refuses to acknowledge as guilt

we literally ended things on the worst possible terms. she should hate me, she should be at home, sleeping in her own bed, totally glad that i’m out of her hair. why doesn’t she just get bored and leave?

​by the time the fourth day rolls around, something shifts in you. the crying spells have finally run dry, leaving you with a strange, hollow sort of energy

​you pull your chair closer to his bed, resting your chin on the palm of your hand. you look at his quiet face, and for the first time in days, a tiny, sad smile touches your lips

​"you're missing so much, you know," you whisper, your voice a little raspy from the dry hospital air

​and then, you just start yapping. you talk because the silence in the room is too loud, and if you don't fill it with the sound of your own voice, you feel like you'll lose your mind

​"class was honestly so miserable today, sunghoon. professor lee was going on and on about the midterm, and honestly, i think even he was bored of his own lecture. yunjin literally fell asleep right next to me and started snoring. it was so embarrassing, i had to keep coughing to cover it up."

​you let out a soft, breathy chuckle, your eyes crinkling at the memory. sunghoon’s ghost stands right beside you, his head tilted as he stares down at you, completely transfixed by the sound of your voice.

​"oh, and after class, i went to that little cafe down the street," you continue, your fingers absentmindedly smoothing out a crease in his hospital blanket. "the one with the really good iced americanos? yeah, i went there by myself. it felt super weird ordering just one cup. the barista asked where my 'tall, grumpy shadow' was, and i didn't even know what to say. i just told her you were taking a very long nap."

​sunghoon's breath hitches. a tall, grumpy shadow. that's what the cafe staff used to call him because he'd always stand right behind you, looking thoroughly annoyed with the world until you handed him his drink

​"afterward, me and giselle found this super sketchy tarot reading app," you say, a genuine smile breaking through your exhausted face. "we played around with it for hours, doing all these ridiculous future predictions. it told giselle she was going to marry a billionaire, which, honestly? totally tracks for her. it was so fun, sunghoon. we laughed so much."

​your voice suddenly drops, the playful energy evaporating into thin air as you look at his closed eyes. your fingers twitch, desperately wanting to hold his hand, but you keep them to yourself

​"but... the entire time, i just kept thinking about you," you whisper, your throat tightening up again. "the app said my future was full of 'waiting.' and it's right, i'm just waiting for you. please, sunghoon. just wake up already."

​your eyelids grow incredibly heavy, the weight of the four-day burnout finally catching up to you. within minutes, your voice peters out, your head dropping onto your arms beside his hip, your breathing evening out into a deep, heavy slumber

​sunghoon stares down at your sleeping form. his physical ears couldn't hear a single syllable, but his soul heard every single word, every little shift in your tone, every quiet breath. his chest aches. it’s a phantom pain, but it hurts so bad he has to take a step back

​unable to handle the suffocating atmosphere of the room anymore, and still entirely too stubborn to let himself soften up, sunghoon turns around and walks straight through the hospital wall

​he wanders out into the empty, moonlit courtyard of the hospital, the cold night air doing nothing to his ghostly body. he storms over to a stone bench and stands there, thoroughly frustrated

​"jay!" sunghoon shouts into the dark, empty air. "hey! grim reaper guy! get out here right now!"

​with a soft, shimmering ripple in the air, jay materializes, sitting cross-legged on the top of the courtyard brick wall. he’s holding an apple, tossing it casually in the air and catching it. "jeez, turn down the volume, will you? i was in the middle of a really good nap. what’s burning your soul today, kid?"

​"the promise," sunghoon demands, stepping closer, his knuckles white as he fisted his hands. "you said i forgot a promise. what promise? who did i make it to? tell me!"

​jay stops tossing the apple. he looks down at sunghoon, his dark eyes entirely unreadable, a cool, indifferent expression on his handsome face. he bites into the fruit with a crisp, loud crunch. "can't do that, buddy. cosmic rules and all that. if i just hand you the cheat sheet, it defeats the whole purpose of your little soul-searching journey."

​"i don't care about the cosmic rules!" sunghoon roars, his anger flaring. "i’m trapped in a body that won't wake up, my friends think i'm dying, and i'm losing my mind! just tell me!"

​jay doesn't say a word. he just chews slowly, giving sunghoon a look full of pity and mild annoyance

​frustrated beyond belief, sunghoon kicks a loose pebble on the ground, his foot passing straight through it. "fine, whatever. you’re useless," he grumbles, turning his back on the reaper. "i need to get out of here. i need a change of scenery before i go completely insane."

​"oh? going for a stroll?" jay asks, hopping down from the wall with effortless grace, landing silently on his feet. "where to?"

​"i want to see sooha," sunghoon says, his voice tightening. the thought of her suddenly blooms in his mind. "she hasn't been back to the hospital since the first day. she’s probably a total wreck, she's probably crying her eyes out at home, waiting for news. i need to check on her."

​jay lets out a low, amused hum, a dangerous smirk slowly creeping back onto his sharp lips. "sooha, huh? well, you can certainly try to go see her. you're technically tethered to the city right now, basically anywhere within the radius of your accident or where your physical body is. sooha's apartment is well within the boundary. lead the way, lover boy."

"sooha? i'm here," he calls out automatically, even though he knows she can't hear him. he doesn't even bother knocking, he just steel himself and walks straight through the heavy wooden door

​the words freeze completely in his throat. his entire ghostly form goes rigid, a cold, sickening shock rippling through his soul

​there, on the plush velvet sofa, is sooha. but she isn't crying, she isn't a wreck. she isn't looking through old photos of them or praying for his recovery. she’s wrapped tightly in the arms of some random guy sunghoon has never seen before in his life

the guy’s jacket is thrown carelessly on the floor, and sooha’s hands are buried deep in his hair, her lips pressed against his in a deep, frantic, incredibly enthusiastic make-out session. she giggles between kisses, a soft, breathy sound that sunghoon recognizes all too well, except it was never meant for someone else

​"mnh, stop," sooha whispers playfully, pulling back just an inch, a flush on her cheeks. "what if someone calls from the hospital?"

​"who cares?" the guy scoffs, leaning back in, tracing his hands down her waist. "the guy’s in a literal coma, sooha. he's not checking his phone anytime soon. let’s just enjoy the quiet."

​sooha hums in agreement, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him back down into another breathless kiss

​sunghoon feels like he’s been hit by a semi-truck all over again. his breath hitches, his eyes wide with horror and absolute betrayal. his chest feels like it’s being ripped open by bare hands

​"no... no, this isn't real," sunghoon whispers, stepping backward, his hands trembling violently. "sooha... how could you?"

​from the doorway, a loud, roaring burst of laughter shatters the heavy silence. jay is literally leaning against the doorframe, clutching his stomach, laughing so hard his shoulders are shaking violently. "oh my god! an absolute classic! 'he's in a literal coma, sooha!' whew, that is cold-blooded! pure cinema!"

​"shut up! shut the hell up!" sunghoon screams, spinning around, his face completely distorted with a mixture of raw heartbreak and humiliating fury. he can't stand to look at the couch for even another second. the sight of them makes him want to vomit

​without another word, sunghoon flees. he sprints out of the apartment, tearing through the walls, running as fast as his spiritual form can carry him, desperate to erase the image of sooha's betrayal from his mind

​he doesn't stop running until he’s back in the quiet, dark hospital courtyard, collapsing onto the grass, panting heavily even though his lungs don't need air. his chest is heaving, his heart or where his heart used to be throbbing with a brutal, burning frustration

​jay materializes beside him, finally wiping a tear of laughter from his eye, though his expression tones down into something a bit more mocking. "well, that was educational, wasn't it? turns out your little princess didn't even need a tissue."

​"i said shut up!" sunghoon yells, grabbing his own hair, his ego completely shattered into a million sharp, painful pieces

​he was such a fool. a complete, arrogant idiot. he had pushed everyone away, he had pushed you away for a girl who didn't even care if he lived or died

​while sooha was making out with another guy, you were sitting in a cramped, sterile room, starving yourself, crying until your eyes swelled shut, yapping about your day just to keep his lifeless body company. you were the one who stayed

​a sudden, violent surge of desperation hits sunghoon’s core. the frustration boils over, turning into a frantic, burning need. he doesn't want to be a ghost anymore, he doesn't want to watch from the sidelines. he wants his life back, he wants to fix the absolute mess he made

​"i need to wake up," sunghoon whispers, his voice cracking as he looks up at jay, his eyes wide with a manic, unyielding determination. "jay, i don't care what it takes. i don't care about the promise right now. i need to get back into my body. i have to wake up, now!"

before you know it, day 28 hits. it’s a heavy, suffocating number because it means you and sunghoon only have exactly two days left as a couple. twenty-eight days ago, before the shouting matches and the radio silence, you guys had made a stupid, desperate thirty-day agreement

​you haven’t abandoned him once, you’ve practically lived in this tiny, sterile hospital room. the only times you ever leave are when you absolutely have to run to a morning lecture or dash back to your apartment to grab a fresh change of clothes. the rest of your life, your studying, your meals, your quiet breakdowns happens right here in the plastic chair by his bedside

​tonight feels different, though. the air in the room is thick, almost grieving. sunghoon’s spirit is leaning against the wall, his eyes tracking you as you move around the space. he freezes when he notices the corner of the room

your heavy backpack is fully zipped. your favorite oversized hoodie, the one you usually leave draped over the sofa, is neatly folded on top of a canvas tote bag. everything you own is packed up

​wait, what is she doing? sunghoon thinks, panic instantly flaring in his ghostly chest. why is she packing? is she leaving me? is she finally giving up because i’m not waking up?

​you walk over to his bed, your sneakers squeaking softly on the linoleum floors. you sit down, dragging the chair closer until your knees are brushing the edge of his mattress. you look so small, so entirely spent, with dark circles bruising the skin under your eyes

​"hey," you whisper, your voice cracking slightly before you clear your throat. you try to force a casual, effortless smile, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes

​and then, you just start yapping again. you talk about random stuff at first, trying to keep the mood light, but sunghoon can hear the underlying tremor in your words. his soul stands right over you, desperately listening, his heart dropping lower and lower with every sentence

​"so, um... i'm actually leaving in two days, sunghoon," you say softly, staring down at your own intertwined fingers. "i’m flying out to europe to finish my degree."

​"do you... do you even remember?" you let out a dry, bittersweet little chuckle, finally looking up at his pale, unconscious face. "back when we first met, during our very first coffee date, i told you about the dual degree program i applied for. i was so nervous, and you told me i’d be stupid not to take it if i got in. well... the paperwork finally went through, i have to go."

​"no," sunghoon blurts out, his voice echoing uselessly in the empty spaces of the room. "no, no, no. y/n, look at me! you can’t go to europe. you can’t leave me here like this!"

​he lunges forward, completely throwing his pride out the window. he drops to his knees right next to your chair, his transparent hands flying out to grab your shoulders. "y/n! look at me, please!" he roars, trying to shake you, trying to force your eyes to meet his but his hands just glide straight through your denim jacket, feeling nothing but a freezing, empty void.

​he doesn't stop. he gets frantic, his chest heaving with a manic desperation. he starts tapping your shoulders, waving his hands violently in front of your face, screaming your name until his throat burns. "i’m right here! i’m right next to you! don’t go, y/n, please, i’m sorry, i’m so sorry—"

​but you don't look up. you can't feel the ghost who is begging for your forgiveness on his knees. instead, you take a deep, shaky breath, fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill over

you lean forward, your shadow falling over his pale face. slowly, gently, you press a soft, lingering kiss right onto sunghoon’s cold forehead

​sunghoon freezes, his spiritual form trembling as a phantom warmth blooms where your lips touch his skin​. you pull back just an inch, your hands carefully resting on his unmoving chest

"thank you," you whisper, a single, stray tear finally escaping and tracking down your cheek. "thank you for everything, sunghoon. even the messy parts, our thirty days are basically up anyway... so, you're free now. you're completely free from me, you don't have to feel guilty anymore."

​you wipe your face quickly with the back of your hand, swallowing down the massive lump in your throat. "i hope you wake up soon, really. the world is way too quiet without you."

​you stand up, your chair scraping loudly against the floor. you give his peaceful, comatose body one last, long, heartbreaking look, engraving every detail of his face into your memory. then, you turn around, grab your packed bags, and walk out the door, shutting it softly behind you

the moment the door clicks shut, sunghoon snaps

​"JAY!" he screams, spinning around in the empty, silent room, his face twisted in pure, unadulterated rage. "JAY, GET OUT HERE RIGHT NOW! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!"

​with a lazy, irritated sigh, jay materializes near the window, his arms crossed over his chest. he looks completely annoyed, his sharp jaw tight. "dude, turn it down! seriously, you are the loudest, most obnoxious soul i have ever had to babysit. what is your problem?"

​"she's leaving!" sunghoon yells, marching straight up to the grim reaper, his eyes wild. "she's going to europe in two days! i need to get back into my body right now, jay! push me in, do whatever magic grim reaper stuff you do! i don't care anymore, just let me wake up!"

​jay doesn't even blink. he just pulls out his glowing digital ledger, completely ignoring sunghoon’s screaming, acting like he’s checking his schedule

​"are you listening to me?!" sunghoon roars, trying to grab jay’s jacket, but his hands pass through. "fine, you know what? whatever, ignore me."

​suddenly, a manic, hysterical laugh bubbles up in sunghoon’s chest. he stops pacing, a twisted, relieved smile spreading across his face. "wait. why am i even panicking? i’m a spirit, i don’t need a plane ticket, i don’t need a visa, i can just follow her. i’ll get on that plane with y/n, go to europe, and stay right by her side until my body wakes up. yeah... yeah, that works perfectly." sunghoon starts chuckling, feeling incredibly smug about his genius loophole

​jay stops scrolling on his device. he slowly lowers his hand, looking at sunghoon, and then, a dark, mocking laugh tears out of the reaper’s throat. it’s a cold, echoing sound that makes the hairs on sunghoon’s arms stand up

​"you? go to europe?" jay scoffs, shaking his head with an expression full of dark amusement. "oh, man. you really don't get how any of this works, do you?"

​sunghoon's laughter dies out. "what do you mean?"

​"you're a tethered spirit, sunghoon. and a incredibly weak one at that," jay explains, his voice dropping into a chillingly serious tone as he steps closer. "you can barely handle walking across the city without feeling exhausted. you think you can cross an entire ocean? the moment you try to follow her past the city limits, especially over open water, your soul will start to fray. it’ll literally dissolve, particle by particle, into nothingness."

​sunghoon’s face drains of what little color it has. "dissolve...?"

​"yeah," jay says, his eyes boring into sunghoon's. "and if your soul dissolves? you don't get a neat little funeral. you don't get to go to the afterlife. your consciousness is just wiped out completely and that physical body lying on the bed over there? its heart will just stop beating. total, permanent brain death. you’ll be gone forever, park sunghoon. you can't follow her."

​the reality of the situation hits sunghoon like a concrete wall. the sheer, brutal weight of his helplessness crushes his remaining ego into dust. he can't leave, he can't follow you, and he can't wake up. he’s completely, utterly stuck

​frustration, grief, and a massive wave of bitter regret boil up inside him. his shoulders slump, his head dropping into his hands as a shaky breath hitches in his throat

​jay watches him, the mocking smirk finally fading from his face, replaced by a quiet, grounded sigh

​"there you go," jay says softly, crossing his arms as he leans against the bed frame. "let it set in, drown in that regret for a little bit. you need to actually feel the weight of what you threw away."

​sunghoon looks up through phantom, blurry eyes, his voice completely broken. "please, jay... just tell me what to do. tell me how to fix this."

​jay looks down at his glowing device one last time, a small, mysterious glint in his eyes. "fine. look at me, sunghoon. you want to know how to fix this? then it’s time you finally remember that promise you made."

another whole week drags by like molasses, and the hospital room feels completely hollow now

​you’re gone. you actually left for europe. the space where your plastic chair used to be is empty, now, the only people taking turns sitting in that cramped room are jake and heeseung. they split the shifts evenly, looking exhausted but refusing to let sunghoon be entirely alone. as for sooha? she hasn't shown her face a single time since that first afternoon

​sunghoon’s spirit has spent the last seven days throwing a massive, pathetic tantrum. he’s been totally sulking, refusing to even look at jay. mostly, he just mopes around the edges of his hospital room, occasionally throwing himself at his comatose physical body in a desperate, angry attempt to force his way back in. but every single time, he just slips straight through the mattress, landing on the floor like smoke

​finally, on the seventh night, the frustration gets too heavy to carry. sunghoon swallows his pride and drifts back out to the moonlit hospital park, looking for the only person who can actually hear him

​he finds jay sitting cross-legged on a concrete picnic table, glaring intently at his glowing smartphone screen. a tiny, tinny engine roar echoes from the speakers

​"go on, pass him! inside line, you idiot!" jay mutters aggressively to the screen, completely locked in

​sunghoon blinks, staring at him. "are you... are you watching formula 1 right now?"

​"shh! it’s the final lap of the monaco gp, do not ruin this for me," jay snaps, not even looking up. he’s easily the most bizarre, chronically online grim reaper to ever exist. he’s wearing a modern streetwear hoodie, tapping his foot to the rhythm of the race car engines

​sunghoon doesn't care about the race. his soul feels like it's literally fraying at the edges from pure desperation. he walks right up to the edge of the table, his shoulders dropping, all the usual arrogance completely drained from his posture

​"jay, please," sunghoon whispers, his voice cracking

​jay sighs heavily, hitting pause on his phone and locking it with a click. he looks up, his sharp eyes narrowing at the pathetic sight of sunghoon. "jeez. what happened to the arrogant prince? you look like a drowned cat."

​"i'm begging you," sunghoon says, and he actually means it. he drops his head, hands clenched into fists at his sides. "i will do literally anything. i'll go to whatever afterlife you want. i'll accept any punishment just... please tell me what the promise was, i need to know how to get back to her. i can't let her leave like this."

​jay looks genuinely grossed out by the sudden display of vulnerability. he makes a face, shuddering dramatically. "ew, stop. the begging is honestly giving me the ick. it’s so weird seeing you act like a decent human being. stand up straight, you're embarrassing both of us."

​sunghoon doesn't move. he just stares at jay with wild, pleading eyes

​jay groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose in sheer defeat. "fine. alright! stop looking at me with those puppy-dog eyes, it’s ruining my vibe. you want to remember so badly? fine. blink twice."

​sunghoon doesn't hesitate. he closes his eyes, opens them, and snaps them shut a second time

​the world doesn't just shift, it completely dissolves. the sterile scent of hospital bleach and the distant hum of city traffic vanish in a split second

instead, the sharp, metallic tang of copper and rust hits sunghoon’s nose, mixed with the damp, earthy smell of a dense, ancient forest. the air is thick and freezing cold

​sunghoon opens his eyes and gasps. they aren't in the park anymore. giant, ancient oak trees tower over them, their thick canopy blocking out most of the gray, overcast sky. everything looks muted, heavy, and old

​"where... where are we?" sunghoon stammers, his voice sounding entirely different in this strange air

​"keep your eyes open and follow me," jay says coldly

​as sunghoon steps past a thick patch of brambles, his breath catches in his throat. the forest floor is absolute chaos. swords, shattered wooden shields, and broken arrows are scattered across the mud. and worse, there are bodies. men clad in heavy, blood-stained iron armor are strewn everywhere, lifeless eyes staring blankly up at the gray sky

​"is this... the middle ages?" sunghoon whispers, a cold sweat breaking out across his spiritual form

​"look over there," jay instructs, pointing a gloved finger toward a massive, moss-covered boulder near a clearing

​sunghoon slowly walks closer, his heart hammering against his ribs. leaning heavily against the stone is a young man. his face is completely caked in dirt, grime, and dark, sticky blood. he’s clutching his stomach, his fingers desperately trying to hold together a massive, jagged sword wound that is leaking crimson onto the grass. his breathing is a ragged, wet wheeze

​sunghoon takes a sharp breath. the dying man has his exact face

​standing right in front of the dying soldier is another figure. it’s jay, but this version of jay looks entirely ancient, his eyes glowing with a terrifying, absolute authority, holding a long, dark scythe that seems to absorb the very light around it

​"this is where we first met," the modern jay whispers, standing right next to sunghoon’s spirit as they both watch the past unfold. "you were a captain in a war that didn't even matter and your time was up."

​the dying sunghoon looks up at the medieval reaper, his vision clearly failing, but his grip on jay’s coat is fierce.

​"my girl... y/n. where... where is she going?" the dying soldier gasps out, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips

​"y/n? you mean the girl they fed to the flames?" the past jay asks, his voice echoing with an eerie, detached calm. "not your concern anymore, she’s got her own destination. you go to your afterlife, she goes to hers. that’s how the system works."

​"no... wait," the soldier begs, his voice cracking with an intense, agonizing passion. "listen to me, reaper. whatever you are. i don't care about my soul... i don't care about heaven. in the next life... and the life after that... in every single universe... please, let me be with her. let me find y/n again. we only had a few years in this wretched life, but i love her... i love her more than my own breath."

​the past jay tilts his head, intrigued. "you would bargain with a reaper? what are you willing to pay for a loop of fate like that?"

​"anything," the dying sunghoon chokes out, tears cutting clean tracks through the blood on his cheeks. "take my soul to the deepest pits of hell when it's over... erase my existence entirely. let me dissolve into nothingness, i don't care... just give me another chance to love her. i promise i'll hold onto her next time... i promise."

​the past jay stares at him for a long, heavy moment before lowering his dark blade. "a promise of eternal devotion, sealed with the threat of absolute erasure. very well, captain. your next life will be tied to hers. but remember... if you break her heart, if you fail to hold onto her, the contract voids and your soul belongs to the void."

​with a swift, clean motion, the past jay touches the soldier’s forehead. the dying sunghoon’s eyes roll back, his head slumping forward as his final breath leaves his body.

​"blink twice, kid." sunghoon snaps his eyes shut, his entire soul shaking violently as the memory burns itself into the very fabric of his consciousness. he blinks again

​snap

​the cold forest air is gone. the smell of blood vanishes. sunghoon is back in the hospital park, the neon city lights reflecting off the wet pavement

​he stands there, completely frozen, his chest heaving as the sheer weight of his own forgotten words crashes down on him

​“i promise i’ll hold onto her next time... i promise.”

​he had bartered his entire eternal existence just for a chance to stand next to you again. he had loved you across lifetimes and in this life, he had completely forgotten. he had taken your presence for granted, treated you like an annoyance, fought with you, and let you walk away for a girl who didn't even care enough to visit him in the hospital. he had literally signed his own soul's death warrant because of his own stupid, blinding ego

​sunghoon slowly looks up.

​jay is standing on the picnic table, looking down at him with that same familiar, incredibly arrogant, and smug smirk playing on his lips. he twirls his phone in his hand, his eyes gleaming with a sharp, knowing satisfaction

​"so," jay says, his tone dripping with a cool, mocking confidence. "now you remember. i get to collect your soul for the void. any last words before the clock runs out?"

sunghoon drops straight to his knees on the damp grass, the cold from the ground cutting right through his spiritual form, though he barely even registers it. his mind is a complete, chaotic mess of your tear-stained face, a bloody medieval battlefield, and the terrifying realization that he has voluntarily walked himself right to the edge of eternal erasure

​"jay, please," sunghoon chokes out, staring at the polished leather boots of the grim reaper standing on the picnic table above him. all the pride, all the high and mighty attitude he carried like armor for the past three weeks completely gone. shashed into pieces. "one more chance, just give me one single shot to fix this. i can't let it end like this, i can't let her leave."

​jay lets out a long, theatrical groan, looking up at the night sky like he’s asking the universe why he got stuck with the dramatic ones. "dude, seriously? i just told you the contract is practically voided. you messed up, you broke the terms. i don't do extensions."

​"i'll do anything," sunghoon insists, his voice desperate, trembling as he reaches up to grasp at the hem of jay’s jacket, his fingers passing right through the dark fabric like mist. "i don't care what it is. i’ll be whatever you want. a servant, a ghost, a punching bag, literally anything. just give me a chance to bridge the gap before the thirty days run out completely."

​jay pauses. he lowers his gaze, staring down at sunghoon with a sharp, calculating glint in his dark eyes. the silence stretches between them, heavy and suffocating, punctuated only by the distant, muffled sounds of the city

​"anything, huh?" jay murmurs, a slow, dangerous smile creeping back onto his face. it isn't the playful, sarcastic smirk from before, this one is calculating. "well... it just so happens i've been drowning in paperwork lately, and the higher ups are breathing down my neck about efficiency. you want a chance? fine. you’re going to work for it. congratulations, kid. you're my new intern."

​sunghoon blinks, completely caught off guard. "your... what?"

​"my assistant," jay says, hopping down from the table and dusting off his jeans. "you're going to help me harvest. let's see if you actually have what it takes to appreciate a soul, since you threw yours around like trash."

every time jay tosses a casual, heartless comment over his shoulder, sunghoon feels a sick twist in his chest, realizing oh my god that was me. he is forced to swallow a bitter dose of his own medicine every single hour of the day, watching his own worst personality traits play out through an all powerful deity who loves to make his life miserable

​the first time sunghoon accompanies jay on a call, the casual, rock listening, formula 1 watching reaper completely vanishes. the air in the room drops down to a freezing, bone-chilling temperature. sunghoon watches from the corner of a dimly lit hospital room as an elderly man takes his final, rattling breath

​suddenly, a massive, terrifying energy fills the space. out of thin air, a colossal scythe materializes in jay’s hands. the blade is made of a dark, obsidian metal that seems to actively swallow the light around it, looking impossibly sharp and heavy. jay’s eyes completely change, they turn cold, ancient, and completely devoid of human emotion. with one swift, silent swing, jay cuts the silver thread of life, his expression completely blank, like an executioner doing a routine job

​sunghoon’s soul shivers violently, terror pinning him to the spot. this isn't the funny guy from the park, this is death itself

​"don't just stand there gaping like an idiot, park," jay’s voice cuts through the freezing room, snapping sunghoon out of his trance. jay’s tone is sharp, commanding, and totally professional. "log it, now."

​sunghoon’s hands shake as he pulls out jay’s glowing digital ledger. his official duty as an assistant is incredibly grim. he has to type in the exact timestamp of the death, verify the soul’s legal identity, and press the glowing "confirm departure to afterlife" button to officially close out the case

​for two excruciating weeks, this is sunghoon’s reality. two weeks of watching families scream in agony, two weeks of witnessing the abrupt end of human lives, and two weeks of logging souls into a cold, black screen. it feels like his own personal hell

every single confirmation he hits feels like a weight being added to his own soul, dragging him closer to the realization of just how fragile existence really is and every night, he thinks of you, wondering if his own name is about to pop up on that screen next

​by the fourteenth day, sunghoon is completely broken down, his spiritual form feeling heavy and exhausted from the emotional toll of the job

​their final call of the night takes them to a quiet, winding suburban street where a terrible car crash has just occurred. it’s a horrific echo of sunghoon's own accident. an elderly husband and wife are trapped inside the vehicle, their pulses fading rapidly as the sirens wail in the distance

​jay steps forward, the massive scythe appearing in his grip with a terrifying, familiar hum. sunghoon prepares himself, pulling out the ledger, his eyes fixed on the couple

​but as jay steps closer, sunghoon notices something he hasn't seen on any other soul before

​stretching between the husband and the wife, glowing with a soft, ethereal light, is a thick silver thread. it doesn't look like the fragile, thin life cords jay cuts. this one is intricately woven, pulsing with a gentle, warm energy, binding their two chests together so tightly that even as their breathing slows, the light between them remains completely solid

​jay raises his scythe, cutting their life threads with two clean strokes. the couple’s spirits gently rise from their bodies, immediately reaching out to hold each other’s hands, their expressions peaceful, completely unfazed by the death around them because they are still together. the silver thread between them remains perfectly intact, pulling them closer as they float upward

​sunghoon stares at it, completely mesmerized. "jay... what is that? why didn't that thread break when you cut their life?"

​jay lets the scythe dissolve into smoke, his expression softening back into his usual, casual demeanor as he shoves his hands into his pockets. he watches the elderly couple fade into the night sky

​"that’s a soul bond, sunghoon," jay says softly, his tone completely lacking its usual sarcastic edge. "it’s a connection born from lifetime after lifetime of choosing each other. it’s the strongest magic in the universe. it ensures that no matter where they go, or what life they live, they will always find their way back to each other."

​sunghoon’s chest tightens with a sudden, suffocating ache. "do... do me and y/n have that?"

​jay turns around slowly, his sharp eyes fixed on sunghoon’s face. the pity is back, heavy and unyielding

​"you did," jay whispers. "in fact, yours was one of the thickest, brightest silver bonds i’ve ever seen. you two have been weaving it since the middle ages, sunghoon. it survived wars, plagues, and centuries of separation."

​sunghoon feels a spark of hope flare up in his chest, but jay’s next words completely douse it in ice water.

​"but a soul bond isn't indestructible," jay continues, his voice dropping into a chillingly serious register. "it requires both sides to feed it. and for the past month, you’ve been actively hacking away at it with your ego. when you broke your promise, when you chose someone else.. you started fraying the cord."

​jay steps closer, pointing directly at sunghoon’s chest. sunghoon looks down, and his heart stops

​there, protruding from his chest, is a tiny, pathetic wisp of silver light. it’s incredibly thin, practically translucent, and the edges are fraying violently, looking like a piece of thread that is about to snap under the slightest bit of tension

​"it’s almost gone," jay says bluntly. "and let me make one thing completely clear to you, park sunghoon. if that final strand snaps... it’s over, completely over. you won't just lose her in this life. you will never cross paths with y/n again. not in the next life, not in the afterlife, not in any universe. you will become complete strangers across eternity."

​sunghoon stares at the fraying thread, a cold, suffocating wave of pure panic crashing over him. three weeks have passed, you’re in europe. the thirty days are officially over. the bond is snapping right in front of his eyes, and he is still trapped as a ghost, totally helpless

the loud, frantic roar of racing engines echoes from jay’s phone screen, cutting through the heavy midnight air of the park

​sunghoon is sitting on the edge of the stone bench right next to him, his knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes completely glassy. jay is totally locked in, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, occasionally shouting at the tiny cars on the screen

sunghoon doesn't understand a single thing about formula 1. the bright flashes of red and silver cars taking tight corners mean absolutely nothing to him right now. to him, it’s just background noise to the absolute chaos screaming inside his own head

​his mind is entirely stuck on that fraying, pathetic silver thread in his chest. it’s a constant, phantom itch, a terrifying visual reminder that he is actively slipping out of your universe

​after what feels like hours of agonizing silence, sunghoon clears his raspy throat. "i want to fix it," he says, his voice barely a whisper, completely catching jay off guard

​jay doesn't hit pause this time, but he slowly lowers the phone, his sharp eyes cutting over to sunghoon through the dark. "fix what?"

​"the thread. my bond with y/n," sunghoon says, turning his head to look directly into the reaper's eyes

all the fake bravado, the stubborn pride, the ego, it’s all been completely burned away. there’s only raw, desperate determination left. "i want to make it whole again, i don't care what it takes."

​jay lets out a low, breathy sigh, locking his phone and shoving it into his hoodie pocket. the playful demeanor is gone instantly. "it's not that simple, sunghoon. fixing a broken soul bond isn't like taping a ripped piece of paper back together. it’s incredibly hard. it takes an agonizing amount of time, and honestly? the mental toll is brutal."

​"i don't care," sunghoon snaps instantly, his voice cracking but firm. "i genuinely don't care if it takes a hundred years, jay. as long as i get to come back to her. as long as that thread is perfect again. i'll do whatever you tell me to do."

​jay stares at him for a long, heavy moment, trying to see if the kid is bluffing. but sunghoon’s gaze doesn't waver once.

​"you're really serious about this, huh?" jay murmurs, a faint, almost respectful glint appearing in his dark eyes. he leans back against the picnic table, crossing his arms. "alright, let me lay out the actual reality for you. you and y/n? you guys aren't just a casual, one-time thing. you’ve actually managed to successfully end up together in five different lifetimes before this one. five times you found each other, loved each other, and closed the loop perfectly."

​sunghoon’s breath hitches. five lifetimes.

​"but because you completely wrecked the contract in this life," jay continues, pointing a sharp finger at sunghoon’s chest, "saving that thread is going to take a long time. half a year, to be exact. six months in human time."

​sunghoon frowns, his mind instantly racing back to his physical body. "wait... six months? but what about my body in the hospital? am i just going to be a vegetable for half a year?"

​jay lets out a dry, slightly mocking chuckle. "honestly, your physical injuries from the crash weren't even that bad. you should’ve woken up from that coma like, two weeks ago. the doctors are completely baffled because medically, your brain is fine. but the catch is... you’re currently tied up in grim reaper business. because your soul is entangled with me and the ledger, your spirit is physically locked out of your own body. you can't go back until this contract is either fulfilled or permanently cancelled."

​sunghoon looks down at his transparent hands, a heavy wave of guilt washing over him. six months of making his friends worry, six months of being a ghost, six months of you being all the way across the world in europe, thinking he’s either dead or completely moved on

​"it's fine," sunghoon whispers, closing his eyes tightly before looking back up at jay. "if half a year is what it takes to make sure i don't lose her forever, then i'll take it just tell me how to fix the thread."

​"well, since you’re so eager to sign your life away again... let me tell you a little secret. that medieval battlefield i showed you? that wasn't even the beginning. you and y/n actually started weaving your very first connection all the way back in ancient greece."

​sunghoon’s eyes widen. "ancient greece?"

​"yeah. you guys were just kids back then, standing inside this beautiful, crumbling stone temple," jay says, his voice drifting off like he’s reading a historical text from his mind. "you didn't make an official contract with a reaper back then, so there was no magic binding you but the sheer weight of your feelings for each other in that temple was so intense that it planted the seed for every single life that followed. you’ve literally been running after her for thousands of years."

​the image of a sun-drenched stone temple flashes faintly in sunghoon’s mind, giving him a strange, warm sensation in his chest but the warmth is immediately crushed by the reality of his current situation

​"so... how do i fix it now?" sunghoon asks frantically. "what do i have to do with those past lives?"

​jay straightens up, his tone turning completely serious, the weight of a deity settling over his shoulders. "to repair a frayed bond, you have to heal the roots. i’m going to send your spirit back through time. you’re going to visit every single one of those past lives where you two existed. and your only job? you have to find her in each era, look her in the eyes, and genuinely ask for her forgiveness. you have to apologize for the arrogance, the broken promises, and the pain you caused her in this current life. every time you successfully heal a past version of your connection, a piece of that silver thread will knit itself back together."

​jay steps closer, his shadow looming over sunghoon. "but let me warn you, park sunghoon. it is not going to be an easy walk in the park. you’re going to experience the pain, the heartbreak, and the tragedies of those eras all over again. if you fail to make amends in even one of those timelines, the thread snaps instantly, and you’re gone. the risks are absolute."

​sunghoon stands up slowly, his spiritual form suddenly glowing a little brighter with pure, unyielding resolve. he looks at jay, his jaw clenched, his eyes completely steady

​"i don't care about the risks," sunghoon says, his voice echoing with absolute certainty. "send me back, jay. i'll bear every single consequence, just let me fix what i broke."

instead of the whole double-blink routine, jay just casually reaches out and slaps a hand onto sunghoon’s shoulder

​thud

​the sound doesn't even make sense because they’re both spirits, but the moment jay's palm connects, the world violently glitches. the modern glass buildings of the hospital, the plastic benches, and the soft neon glow of the city streets completely unravel like loose threads on a sweater

right before sunghoon’s eyes, giant, towering white marble pillars shoot up into a sky so blindingly blue it actually hurts to look at. the air instantly transitions from the heavy, damp smell of car exhaust and city rain to something incredibly crisp salty sea breeze, blooming jasmine, and the faint, earthy scent of sun baked stone

​they’re still ghosts, completely invisible to the world, but sunghoon is entirely paralyzed by the sheer gravity of what just happened. his jaw drops as he looks around the bustling, sun-drenched center of an ancient greek city. people are walking past them dressed in flowing linen tunics, carrying clay pots and shouting out prices for fresh olives and figs at a nearby market

​"holy crap," sunghoon breathes, his eyes wide as he looks down at his own outfit. he and jay are literally the only people wearing modern streetwear, sticking out like neon signs in a black-and-white movie. "jay, this is... you did this with a single tap? your powers are actually insane."

​jay just lets out a bored, dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes as he grabs the back of sunghoon’s hoodie and yanks him forward. "yeah, yeah, i'm a god, we get it. stop gaping like a tourist and move your legs, park. we aren't here to sightsee."

​jay drags him through the narrow, stone-paved alleys, steering him away from the busy market square until they stop in front of a modest, whitewashed courtyard house. sunghoon is about to ask what they're waiting for when the heavy wooden door bursts open

​a little boy, probably around seven years old, comes barreling out into the street, giggling like a maniac. he’s wearing a simple white tunic, his dark hair a messy, windblown nest. close behind him, an older woman steps into the doorway, wiping her hands on an apron as she yells exasperatedly down the street, calling out his name

​sunghoon's heart does a violent flip in his chest. that's me

​"he looks so quiet and calm, but man, that kid was a menace," sunghoon mutters, watching his past self dodge a stray cart with effortless agility

​the little boy sprints all the way down to a quiet, grassy cliffside park overlooking the deep blue sea. sitting on a smooth stone near the edge is a little girl, her small feet swinging back and forth. the moment she hears his footsteps, she turns around, a massive, bright smile breaking across her face

​sunghoon feels a sharp, emotional ache bloom right in the center of his chest. you look so familiar, even as a child, with those same bright, expressive eyes. the two kids immediately dive into a game of tag, laughing hysterically as they run around the ancient trees, completely oblivious to the two time traveling ghosts watching them from the shadows

​"see? told you," jay says quietly, his voice unusually soft as he leans against a stone wall, arms crossed. "you two have been joined at the hip since the very beginning. you didn't just meet in a college lecture hall, sunghoon. you've been practicing loving her for centuries."

​before sunghoon can even fully process the sight of their childhood, jay grabs his shoulder again, pulling him backward into the shadow of a grand marble building

​the world blurs into a dizzying streak of light and shadow. sunghoon watches the stones beneath his feet weather and crack, while the pillars of the nearby temple grow more solid, majestic, and weathered by time. jay is fast forwarding through the years like a video clip

​when the spinning finally stops, the sun is setting, casting a warm, golden-purple hue over the cliffside. standing right under the grand archway of the temple are two teenagers. they look about eighteen now

​sunghoon completely loses his breath. you are standing there, dressed in a soft, elegant palla that drapes beautifully over your shoulders. your hair is pinned back, and you look so breathtakingly beautiful that the modern sunghoon can’t even take his eyes off you. your past self is holding hands with the eighteen year old version of sunghoon, your fingers tightly laced together

​the young couple walks into the quiet, candle lit temple. they kneel together before a smooth marble altar, their heads bowed

​"please," your past voice echoes softly through the sacred space, sweet and filled with an intense, desperate sincerity. "if our time in this life is ever cut short... please let us find each other again. in the next life, in the world after that. don't let me forget him."

​the teenage sunghoon presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand, his eyes filled with a fierce, unwavering devotion. "i won't ever forget you, y/n. i'll find you, i swear it."

​watching this, the ghostly sunghoon feels a burning wave of shame wash over him. he broke that oath. he forgot, he treated that sacred, centuries old devotion like a minor inconvenience in the modern world

​"no time to cry yet, captain," jay’s voice cuts through his spiral

​with another quick flick of jay’s wrist, the scenery shifts one last time, the atmosphere instantly turning incredibly heavy, tense, and suffocating. the peaceful sunset is replaced by a gloomy, gray afternoon

​they are standing outside the barracks. the eighteen year old sunghoon is now wearing heavy bronze armor, a polished helmet resting under his arm. his face is hardened, but his eyes are breaking as he stares down at you

​you are crying. your shoulders are shaking violently as you clutch the edges of his bronze chestplate, your tears dripping onto the cold metal. you’re an absolute crybaby in this life too, your heart completely on your sleeve

​"you have to come back," you sob, your voice cracking with an agonizing fear. "please, you promised me. you can't leave me here alone."

​"i will come back to you, y/n. i swear on my life, i will return," the young soldier promises, though his own voice is trembling with the terrifying knowledge that he might be marching straight to his death

​"alright, intern, this is your cue," jay says, his sharp voice dropping all the sarcastic weight. he steps up right behind sunghoon, pushing him forward toward the armored soldier. "go on. step into his skin, you have exactly one minute to make amends before the timeline locks. do not mess this up."

​sunghoon swallows the massive lump in his throat. his hands are shaking as he takes a hesitant step forward, aligning his spiritual form with the back of the young captain. with a strange, magnetic pull, his consciousness is violently slammed into the physical weight of the bronze armor.

​suddenly, he can feel everything. the heavy, suffocating weight of the breastplate, the cold sweat dripping down his neck, and the raw, heartbreaking warmth of your small hands clutching his chest

​he looks down. you are looking up at him through a thick veil of tears, your eyes full of a desperate, terrifying love. seeing you look at him like that without the anger, without the bitterness of their modern thirty day breakup completely shatters him. he misses you so deeply it physically hurts his chest

​without a second thought, sunghoon lunges forward, throwing his armored arms around your waist and pulling you flush against him. he buries his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet, familiar scent of your hair

​"sunghoon...?" you gasp softly, caught off guard by the sheer, sudden desperation in his hold

​"i'm sorry," sunghoon chokes out, his voice thick with raw emotion. he doesn't mention the modern world, he doesn't mention the grim reaper, or the fact that he’s from a future where he completely broke your heart. he just grips you tighter, as if he could physically hold your souls together. "y/n, i am so, so sorry for everything, for every time i'm going to make you cry, for being an arrogant idiot, for taking you for granted. please... please forgive me. i’m so sorry."

​you blink through your tears, completely confused by his strange, overwhelming apology, but the pure sincerity in his voice melts any fear away. you wrap your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder

​"i forgive you," you whisper softly against his skin, a tear rolling down onto his armor. "i will always forgive you, sunghoon. just come back to me."

​the moment the words i forgive you leave your lips, a sudden, blinding jolt of electricity shoots straight through sunghoon's chest. he feels a strange warmth ignite in his core, and with a violent gasp, his spirit is forcibly ejected from the physical body, flying backward through the air

gasp

​sunghoon’s eyes fly open

​the ancient marble temples are gone. the heavy bronze armor is gone. he’s sitting flat on his ass on the damp grass of the modern hospital park, the familiar, annoying hum of city traffic filling his ears

​he touches his chest frantically. there, glowing just a tiny bit brighter than before, the frayed silver thread has knit a tiny section of itself back together. it’s still incredibly thin and fragile, but it’s no longer unraveling

​but instead of feeling happy, an overwhelming wave of pure sadness and grief crashes over him. his eyes burn, and a heavy, painful breath hitches in his throat as he stares blankly at the grass. he feels so entirely spent, his chest aching with the residual heartbreak of a lifetime that wasn't even his own.

​"jeez. look at you, already sulking," jay’s smooth, mocking voice floats down from above

​sunghoon looks up through blurry eyes. jay is standing on the stone picnic table, hands shoved casually in his hoodie pockets, staring down at him with an incredibly arrogant, unbothered smirk

​"that was... that was so heavy, jay," sunghoon whispers, his voice trembling. "she was crying so hard... i hate seeing her cry like that."

​jay let out a dry, clicking sound with his tongue, slowly shaking his head as his smirk turns a bit colder. "man, you really are weak, aren't you? you’re crying over that? let me tell you something, assistant... that era was a walk in the park. you guys actually loved each other there. the real tragedies haven't even started yet. get your act together, because the next timeline is going to absolutely destroy you."

sunghoon takes a deep, ragged breath, trying to blink away the residual warmth of that ancient greek sunset. he forces himself to stand up on his shaky, translucent legs, wiping a hand across his face. his chest still feels bruised from the sheer emotional weight of your past self's tears, but looking at the glowing silver thread just a fraction more secure than it was five minutes ago he knows he can’t stop

​"i'm ready," sunghoon says, his jaw tightening as he looks up at the grim reaper. "take me to the next one, jay. whatever it is, let's just get it over with."

​jay doesn't say a word this time. the teasing smirk is entirely gone, replaced by a cool, unreadable expression. he raises his hand, his thumb and middle finger aligning perfectly

click

​the sharp sound echoes through the quiet hospital park, and the world folds in on itself instantly. the concrete pavement beneath sunghoon’s feet melts into highly polished, deep mahogany wood. the cool night breeze is instantly replaced by the heavy, suffocating scent of burning beeswax candles, aged parchment, and expensive lavender oil

​sunghoon blinks, completely disoriented. he isn't outside anymore. he’s standing in the middle of a massive, breathtaking corridor. towering arched windows stretch up toward a ceiling covered in intricate, gold leaf frescoes depicting mythical creatures and royal battles. huge, velvet drapes in royal navy hang from the walls, catching the soft, flickering light of a dozen iron chandeliers

​"woah," sunghoon mutters, completely losing his train of thought as he turns around in a circle, staring blankly at the sheer luxury of the place. "this is... insane. what kind of palace is this?"

​smack

​"ow!" sunghoon yelps, rubbing the back of his shoulder where jay had just hard palmed him.

​"stop daydreaming, tourist," jay groans, rolling his eyes as he starts walking down the long hallway, his boots making absolutely no sound on the pristine floor. "we aren't architectural critics. keep your eyes open. we’re looking for you, remember?"

​sunghoon quickly scrambles to catch up, his modern sweatpants and hoodie looking hilariously out of place against the medieval luxury. they wander through a maze of winding corridors, passing silent guards standing at attention who don't even blink as the two ghosts glide right past them

​finally, at the end of a secluded wing of the castle, they spot a tall figure walking with a heavy, commanding stride

​sunghoon freezes. the man is wearing a structured, deep charcoal uniform trimmed with silver embroidery, a heavy steel sword sheathed at his hip. his hair is pushed back neatly, exposing a sharp, unyielding jawline. he carries himself with an terrifying amount of authority. the kind of presence that makes people move out of the way without him saying a single word

​"the grand commander of the royal guard," jay whispers from behind sunghoon, his tone casual but informative. "rumored to be the strongest, most ruthless warrior of this entire kingdom. nobody dared to cross his path. well... nobody except one person."

​the past sunghoon stops in front of a pair of massive, towering oak doors. he pushes them open quietly, stepping inside what looks like a grand, multi level royal library. sunghoon and jay follow closely behind, slipping through the closing doors like smoke

​the library is warm, lit by the golden glow of a massive fireplace. and there, sitting at a long wooden table buried under a literal mountain of thick leather-bound books and scrolls, is you

​the moment your past self hears the heavy click of his boots, you look up. a brilliant, radiant smile breaks across your face, erasing all the stress of your studying. you slide out of your chair so fast you almost knock over an inkwell, running straight into the past sunghoon’s arms. you wrap your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face in his silver trimmed collar

​he catches you effortlessly, his arms winding around your waist, pulling you so close there’s absolutely no space left between you. the ruthless commander completely melts, his face softening into an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration

​"i missed you," your past self murmurs, your voice muffled against his shoulder. "you were gone for three whole days, my love."

​"i know, princess. i’m sorry. the northern border took longer than expected," the past sunghoon whispers back, his voice dropping into a deep, gentle register that the modern sunghoon recognizes all too well

​standing in the shadows, the modern sunghoon’s spirit flinches. they were already together. they were deeply, hopelessly in love

​"she was the daughter of one of the castle's kitchen maids," jay explains quietly, watching the couple sway slightly in the firelight. "grew up in the servants' quarters, but she had a brilliant mind. she practically lived in this library, teaching herself languages, history, and science. she was easily the smartest girl in the entire kingdom. that’s why you fell for her."

​sunghoon stares at your past self, a bittersweet ache tightening his chest. she's exactly the same, he thinks. even in the modern world, y/n was always the smart one. you were always the one staying up late to study for midterms, the one who tried to help him with his essays, the one whose brain he always admired, even when his stubborn ego refused to admit it out loud. some things never change across lifetimes

​"alright, dynamic duo, time to move," jay says, breaking the spell.

​he grabs sunghoon’s wrist, dragging him backward through the solid stone wall of the library. the scenery violently blurs again, the golden firelight stretching into long lines of light before snapping into total darkness

​when the world solidifies, the heavy castle walls are gone. instead, the air smells like woodsmoke, pine trees, and fresh dew. the sky above is a brilliant canvas of thousands of stars, completely unpolluted by city lights

​they are in the middle of a secluded forest clearing. a small, crackling campfire throws dancing orange shadows over a small canvas tent. sitting on a thick woolen blanket right by the fire are the past sunghoon and you. he’s wrapped a heavy fur cloak around your shoulders, and you’re leaning back against his chest, animatedly talking about a passage in a book you had just finished reading, your hands gesturing wildly in the air

​the past sunghoon isn't even looking at the fire. he’s just staring down at your face, completely transfixed by the way your eyes light up when you're passionate about something. he reaches up, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear

​"i mean it, sunghoon," your past self says softly, turning your head slightly to look up at him, your expression turning serious under the starlight. "no matter what happens... promise me we stay together. promise me you won't let the court politics pull you away."

​"i promise, my love," the commander says fiercely, pressing a firm, desperate kiss to the crown of your head. "i will never leave your side. i’d burn the whole kingdom to the ground before i let them take you from me."

​the modern sunghoon lets out a shaky breath, covering his mouth with his hand. another promise. another sacred oath he ended up breaking in the future

​"turn around," jay’s voice drops all the warmth, turning completely flat and freezing cold. "the fast forward is over."

​sunghoon turns around slowly, his heart sinking into his stomach. the beautiful forest clearing dissolves into a dark, damp, terrifying space. the smell of pine is replaced by the sickening, suffocating stench of rotting straw, mold, and rusted iron

​they are standing in the subterranean dungeons beneath the palace. and there, locked inside a cramped, filthy iron cage, is you

​sunghoon’s soul violently shudders. your beautiful dress is torn and stained with dirt. your hair is a matted mess, and your eyes are completely swollen and bloodshot from hours of crying. you look so incredibly frail, shivering against the cold stone floor, curling yourself into a tight ball

​outside the cell, the past version of sunghoon is standing there, his hands gripping the iron bars so tightly his knuckles are completely white, bleeding from where the rusted metal cuts into his skin. tears are streaming openly down his face, his ruthless commander facade completely shattered

​"why?" the ghost of sunghoon whispers, his voice trembling with a terrifying panic. "jay, what happened? what did they do to her?!"

​"the royal council," jay says bluntly, his eyes fixed on the heartbreaking scene. "they found out about her intelligence. a servant girl who knew more about science and medicine than the court doctors? they called it heresy. they accused her of practicing witchcraft, claiming she used dark magic to bewitch the grand commander. they’re going to execute her, sunghoon."

​"no... no, she was just studying books! she didn't do anything wrong!" sunghoon roars, trying to lunge toward the cell, but jay grabs his shoulder, his grip tightening like a vise

​"the guards are coming down the corridor in exactly two minutes to take her to the gallows," jay barks, his tone dead serious as he shoves sunghoon toward the crying commander. "this is your only shot, get in there and make it right before she dies."

​sunghoon doesn't even hesitate. he throws his spirit forward, slamming violently into the physical body of his past self

​the transition is agonizing. suddenly, the phantom pain in his chest turns into a real, suffocating heartbreak. his throat burns with the metallic taste of his own tears, and the cold iron bars feel freezing against his palms

​he looks through the bars. you look up at the sound of his ragged breathing, your swollen eyes filling with a fresh wave of tears when you see him

​"sunghoon..." you sob, crawling toward the bars on your hands and knees, your weak fingers reaching through the gaps. "i'm scared. please... i didn't do anything. i swear i didn't use black magic. i just wanted to learn..."

​the modern sunghoon feels his soul literally breaking into a million pieces. he has never felt so utterly powerless in his entire existence. he’s the strongest commander in the kingdom, but he can't even unlock a stupid iron door to save the girl he loves

​he reaches his large, calloused hands through the iron bars, gently cupping your dirty, tear-stained face. his thumbs softly wipe away the fresh tears spilling over your cheeks, ignoring the way the cold iron bruises his wrists.

​"i know, i know, princess," sunghoon chokes out, his voice a broken, desperate sob as he leans his forehead against the freezing bars, staring into your eyes. "i’m so sorry. y/n, i am so incredibly sorry. i couldn't protect you... i failed you. please... please forgive me for being so useless. for every piece of pain i’ve ever caused you, in this life and every life after... i'm sorry."

​you lean into the warmth of his palms, closing your eyes as more tears spill over his fingers. even in the face of your own execution, you don't hold a single ounce of bitterness toward him

​"i forgive you," you whisper, your voice a fragile, beautiful thread in the dark dungeon. "i will always forgive you, sunghoon. don't look at me with such sad eyes... we promised, remember? under the stars. we will find each other again. i'll wait for you in the next life."

​"i'll find you," sunghoon promises, his heart breaking entirely as the loud, echoing sound of guards' boots starts to rumble down the stone corridor. "i swear on my soul, y/n, i will find you and i will hold onto you next time."

the violent jolt of electricity rips through his entire being, but strangely, this time sunghoon’s spirit doesn't get violently ejected from the body. he doesn't fly backward into a vortex of comfortable darkness

​he is still firmly locked inside the heavy, suffocating skin of the grandcommander

​the heavy iron latch of the dungeon doors rattles open, the sound echoing ominously down the damp stone corridor. sunghoon’s past body stands there, frozen, his hands still gripping the cold bars of your cell. a younger soldier, pale faced and trembling under the weight of his armor, steps into the dim torchlight, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor

​"commander," the soldier whispers, his voice shaking. "everything... everything is ready. the king and queen have ordered the procession. it’s time."

​sunghoon’s mind is spinning in pure, unadulterated panic. why am i still in here? jay! jay, get me out of here! he screams internally, trying to force his consciousness to detach, but nothing happens. his physical mouth, acting on a lifetime of rigid military discipline, simply lets out a low, hollow sound. "understood."

​the cell doors are unlocked, and two heavy handed guards drag your past self out into the corridor. you don't fight them, you're too weak, your frail frame shivering as the dirty linen of your white dress drags across the filthy stone floor. but as they pull you past him, your swollen, tear-filled eyes lock onto his face one last time

the transition from the dark, quiet bowels of the castle to the blinding light of the palace square happens too fast

​the air is thick, suffocatingly hot, and vibrating with the deafening, monstrous roar of a bloodthirsty crowd. hundreds of angry citizens are packed into the stone plaza, throwing rotten vegetables and rocks, their faces contorted into ugly, twisted masks of hatred. up on the high royal balcony, the king and queen sit on their lavish velvet thrones, looking down with cold, indifferent eyes

​"burn the witch!"

"she brought the plague upon our cattle!"

"spawn of the devil!"

​the screams tear through sunghoon’s ears like physical knives. his past body is forced to march forward, taking its place at the very front of the royal guard, directly facing the massive wooden stake constructed in the center of the square

​he watches in absolute, paralyzed horror as the guards roughly lift your small body up, binding your wrists and ankles to the heavy timber frames. you look so incredibly small against the massive wood. you look out into the crowd, your terrified gaze desperately searching until you find him standing there in his silver trimmed armor

​and then, a torch is dropped into the dry straw at your feet

​whoosh

​the flames erupt instantly, a roaring wall of bright orange and choking black smoke devouring the wooden stake

​sunghoon feels a physical sensation like a massive, clawed hand wrapping around his actual heart and squeezing it until it bursts. the sheer, unyielding agony of watching you, the girl he loved across centuries, the girl who just wanted to read books and hold his hand under the stars being consumed by fire is too much for his mind to handle. a silent, broken scream tears through his throat, but his past body remains frozen at attention, forced to watch the execution

​his knees buckle. the armor feels like it weighs a million pounds. his vision starts to fray at the edges, spinning into a dizzying kaleidoscope of fire and smoke until the entire world finally collapses into pitch blackness

gasp

​sunghoon’s eyes fly open, his chest heaving violently as he sucks in a massive breath of modern, humid city air

​the smell of burning wood and smoke is gone, instantly replaced by the familiar, synthetic scent of hospital bleach. he’s back. he’s sitting flat on his ass on the damp grass of the modern park, his hands trembling so violently he can barely press them against the ground to keep himself steady

​hot, heavy tears are streaming openly down his face, dripping off his sharp jawline and soaking into his modern black hoodie. he doesn't even care about his pride anymore. he buries his face in his hands, letting out a jagged, pathetic sob that echoes through the quiet midnight park

​"man, you really are a total crybaby," a smooth, completely unbothered voice floats down from above

​sunghoon pulls his hands away from his face, his vision blurry with tears. jay is sitting casually on top of the concrete picnic table, his legs swinging back and forth. he’s holding a little strawberry milk carton, sipping lazily from a tiny plastic straw while watching sunghoon like he’s an entertaining movie

​"she... they burned her, jay," sunghoon chokes out, aggressively wiping his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, though the tears just keep coming. "i had to watch it, i had to feel it. i couldn't do anything, i was the grand commander and i couldn't even save her."

​jay takes a slow sip of his milk, letting out a soft, clicking sound with his tongue as he shakes his head. "yeah, well, history is messy like that. and honestly? you’re being completely dramatic. that was just lifetime number two. human history isn't a fairy tale, kid."

​sunghoon stands up on shaky legs, his head spinning from the residual emotional trauma of the dungeon. "i can't," he whispers, his voice cracking entirely as he stares at the glowing silver thread in his chest, which has only knit itself a tiny bit more. "jay, i don't think i can handle seeing her die again. i don't want to see her hurt it’s ripping my soul apart. i want to stop, let me just end it."

​jay stops swinging his legs. he lowers the milk carton, his sharp, dark eyes narrowing as a cold, dangerous aura instantly replaces his casual demeanor. the mocking smirk vanishes

​"you want to quit?" jay asks, his voice dropping into a lethal, low whisper that makes the air around them freeze. "sure, go ahead. the portal to your body is right there. i’ll just cancel the contract right now but let’s be entirely clear about what that means, park sunghoon."

​jay hops down from the table, landing silently in front of sunghoon, his shadow swallowing him whole

​"the second i delete this file, that wisp of silver thread in your chest snaps permanently. you will never see y/n again. she will finish her degree in europe, she will meet someone else, she will live her life, and when you both die, your souls will pass each other in the ether like complete strangers. you will erase thousands of years of devotion because you can't handle a little bit of pain. so go ahead, walk away."

​sunghoon stands frozen, the words hitting him like physical blows

​strangers across eternity

​the thought of you forgetting him, the thought of never seeing your smile, never hearing your voice, never having the right to hold your hand in any universe ever again hurts infinitely worse than the fire in the palace square. it’s a cold, hollow, terrifying kind of pain that shakes him to his very core

​he looks down at his hands, then closes them into tight fists. the frustration, the grief, and the fear melt down into a hard, unyielding desperation. he took you for granted in this life. he broke your heart for a girl who didn't even care about him. he deserved this torment. he needed to pay the price

​sunghoon raises his head, looking directly into the grim reaper’s ancient eyes. the tears are still wet on his cheeks, but his gaze is completely steady

​"no," sunghoon says, his voice losing its tremor, hardening with pure resolve. "i'm not giving up."

​jay tilts his head, a faint, slow smirk creeping back onto his lips. "oh? changed your mind already?"

​"send me to the next one," sunghoon demands, stepping closer, his ghostly form radiating a frantic, manic energy. "i don't care if it’s worse, i don't care if it destroys me. i'll watch whatever i have to watch, and i'll take whatever punishment you have. just send me back i'm going to fix our thread."

​jay lets out a low, amused chuckle, throwing the empty milk carton into a nearby trash can with perfect accuracy.

"the next one is going to be way more interesting, honestly," jay says, a little glint of amusement in his eyes as he plays with the stray strings of his hoodie. "not quite as terrifying as getting torched in a public square. well... maybe. depends on how you look at it."

​sunghoon just lets out a heavy, exhausted sigh, dropping his chin to his chest. his whole body feels drained, the phantom smell of smoke still clinging to the edges of his mind. he shuts his eyes tight, trying to brace himself for the impact of another world, another heartbreak

when he tilts his head back up, the humid night air of the hospital park is completely gone

​there’s no violent jolt this time. the transition is smooth, almost elegant, like a watercolor painting bleeding into a new canvas. sunghoon blinks, realizing he’s standing inside a massive, sun-drenched bedroom. the architecture screams the height of the renaissance era. intricate wooden carvings on a giant four poster bed, thick velvet curtains in rich burgundy blocking out the midday sun, and beautiful, fresh oil paintings drying on easels in the corner. everything feels deeply tied to art and beauty, the whole atmosphere dripping with wealth and culture

​"looks like we spawned in your old room," jay murmurs, casually leaning his back against a massive marble fireplace, looking completely unbothered by the sudden shift in centuries. "not a bad setup, honestly. you were loaded."

​before sunghoon can even take a step to examine the room, the heavy muffled sound of angry shouting drifts up through the floorboards. it’s coming from the grand parlor downstairs

​jay tilts his head toward the door, a faint smirk returning to his face. "sounds like a family meeting. let’s go eavesdrop."

​the two spirits glide through the solid wooden door and descend the sweeping marble staircase. down in the parlor, a young version of sunghoon is standing stiffly in the center of the room, dressed in tailored, expensive renaissance garments. his expression is completely frozen, his jaw clenched as an older, aristocratic man and a woman draped in silk pace around him, their voices dripping with absolute fury

​sunghoon and jay stand in the corner, blending into the shadows as they listen to the argument

​"you have a duty to this family, sunghoon!" his past father roars, slamming a heavy ringed hand onto a mahogany table. "she is the daughter of a duke! the alliance is perfect! you cannot keep turning these offers down!"

​"i don't care about the alliance," the past sunghoon says, his voice quiet but incredibly stubborn, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. "i will not marry someone i do not love."

​standing in the shadows, the ghostly sunghoon watches his past self with a strange mix of pride and frustration. jay lets out a soft, mocking chuckle right next to his ear, crossing his arms. "man, the you in this life was kind of an idiot, wasn't he? that’s literally the third arrangement he’s turned down. total hopeless romantic. he was actively ruining his family name for a girl he hadn't even met properly yet."

​before the argument downstairs can escalate any further, jay casually claps his hands together once

​crack

​the sound echoes like a gunshot through the room, and the angry voices of his parents instantly melt away. the dark parlor expands, exploding into a blinding sea of golden light, classical violin music, and the low, elegant chatter of hundreds of wealthy guests

​they are suddenly standing right in the middle of a lavish, decadent wedding reception. crystal chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, and tables are overflowing with expensive wine and exotic fruits

​and right in front of them, standing at the center of the ballroom, are the past sunghoon and y/n

​sunghoon completely loses his breath, his eyes locking onto you. you are wearing a breathtaking, cream colored satin gown embroidered with delicate silver threads that catch the candlelight every time you move. your hair is intricately braided, and you look so completely radiant, so stunningly beautiful, that the ghostly sunghoon entirely freezes in his tracks. his mind goes totally blank. he just stares, his chest aching with a sudden, overwhelming surge of love and longing

​he’s completely stuck, entirely hypnotized by the sight of you laughing at something his past self whispered in your ear

​"hey, space cadet, stop drooling," jay grunts, reaching out and roughly yanking sunghoon backward by the arm before he can try to touch you. "we don't have time for you to stare. let's move it."

​with that harsh tug, the bustling wedding ballroom blurs into a streak of gold and white. the loud music fades, replaced by the gentle chirping of cicadas and the soft, cool breeze of a late evening

​when the world settles, they are standing in a manicured, private garden attached to a massive villa. the past sunghoon and you are sitting together on a stone bench under a canopy of blooming white roses. you’re leaning your head against his shoulder, your fingers intertwined with his. the atmosphere is peaceful, dripping with an domestic warmth that sunghoon hasn't felt in a very long time

​"i still can't believe your father finally gave in," you murmur softly, a gentle smile playing on your lips as you look out over the dark garden

​"he didn't have a choice," the past sunghoon replies, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. "i told him i’d leave the estate completely if i couldn't have you. i just want a quiet life, y/n. a happy, harmonious family with you. that’s all i’ve ever wanted."

​watching them, the ghostly sunghoon feels a sudden ray of hope flare up in his chest. a huge, relieved smile spreads across his face. there's no tragedy here, he thinks frantically, his heart beating fast. we actually made it. we got married, we’re happy, there are no executioners or wars.

"jay, look!" sunghoon whispers excitedly, turning to the reaper. "there's no test here! we're actually fine in this one!"

​jay just lets out a low, dark chuckle, a look of profound pity crossing his sharp features. "man, you really are naive, aren't you?" jay raises a single finger, pointing toward a smaller, dark structure at the edge of the estate. "you forgot who i am, assistant. death always collects."

​jay flicks his wrist, and the beautiful, moonlit rose garden instantly rots away. the sweet smell of flowers transitions into the sharp, sickeningly familiar scent of herbal medicines, damp sheets, and cold sweat

​they are back in the massive bedroom from before, but the sun is completely gone, replaced by a single, flickering candle on the nightstand

​lying in the center of the giant bed is the past sunghoon but he looks completely unrecognizable. the broad-shouldered, strong young man from the garden has shrunk, his body frail, gaunt, and completely drained of life. his skin is a sickly, pale gray, his breathing coming out in shallow, rattling gasps. an epidemic had swept through the city, and his wealth couldn't save him

​kneeling right by the bedside, clutching his cold, trembling hand against her cheek, is you. you are sobbing uncontrollably, your shoulders shaking as your tears soak into the linen sheets

​"you can't leave me," you weep, your voice a broken, desperate mess. "sunghoon, please... we were supposed to grow old here. you promised me a quiet life, please don't go."

​"i'll... i'll find you again," the dying sunghoon gasps out, his voice incredibly weak, his eyes struggling to stay open as he stares at your face. "i promise... i'll look for you in the next world..."

​"he’s flatlining, intern," jay’s voice cuts through the heartbreaking room, sharp and urgent. "get in there before his soul detaches, you have less than a minute."

​sunghoon doesn't even think. the pure agony of seeing you cry over his dying body pushes him forward, and he throws his spirit straight into the frail, cold physical form on the bed

​the moment his consciousness hooks into the body, a suffocating, crushing weight slams into his chest. he can barely breathe. every single gasp feels like inhaling liquid fire, his lungs completely failing him. his throat feels tight, dry, and absolutely paralyzed

​but looking at you kneeling there, your face completely ruined by grief, he forces his weak, trembling fingers to squeeze yours back

​"y/n..." sunghoon chokes out, his voice a raspy, breathless whisper

​you gasp, looking up through your thick veil of tears, locking eyes with him. "sunghoon? oh my god, sunghoon, stay with me, please—"

​"i'm sorry," he interrupts, his voice breaking as the suffocating pressure in his chest tightens, stealing his oxygen. he can feel his life slipping away by the second, the coldness creeping up his limbs. "y/n... i am so sorry for everything... for breaking my promises... for leaving you alone like this. please... please forgive me."

​you shake your head frantically, pressing his weak hand against your lips, kissing his knuckles as your tears stream down his skin. "there's nothing to forgive! i love you, i will always love you! please just don't close your eyes!"

​"i'm sorry..." sunghoon whispers one last time, a tear finally escaping his own eye, rolling down his pale cheek.

​with that final apology, the last bit of air leaves his lungs. his heart gives one final, weak shudder before completely stopping.

​the moment his physical eyes glaze over, you let out a blood-curdling, agonizing scream of pure grief, a sound so loud and full of despair that it vibrates through the entire room

​boom

​the sheer force of your heartbreak, combined with the sudden death of the body, violently rejects sunghoon’s spirit. he is forcibly slammed backward, ripped right out of the physical flesh with a terrifying velocity. the bedroom, the candles, and your heartbreaking screams instantly dissolve into a roaring vortex of wind, spinning him around in total darkness until his feet violently connect with something solid

​gasp

​sunghoon hits the ground hard, tumbling onto the damp grass of the modern hospital park. his chest is heaving as he frantically sucks in the clean night air, his hands clutching at his shirt right over his heart. the agonizing suffocation of the sickness is gone, but his soul feels completely shattered, his mind still echoing with that final, devastating scream you let out over his corpse

"the next one is officially the worst," jay says, his voice losing every single ounce of its usual sarcastic bite. he lets out a low, heavy breath, looking at sunghoon with a level of dead seriousness that makes the cold air in the park feel even more suffocating. "it's the most tragic out of all of them, honestly. you need to actually pull yourself together for this one, park. if your mental state fractures, we're done."

​sunghoon takes a ragged breath, pressing the palms of his hands against his knees to stop the violent shaking. his soul still feels entirely bruised from hearing that final, echoing scream in the renaissance bedroom, but he forces his jaw to clench. "i'm fine. i can handle it, just send me."

​jay stares at him for a long, quiet beat, checking for any signs of bluffing. finally, he sighs and gestures to the empty space on the concrete bench right next to him. "just calm down for a second. relax your shoulders. sit down."

​sunghoon reluctantly slides onto the cold stone bench, his chest heaving. "now what?"

​"now, close your eyes," jay instructs softly.

​the second sunghoon’s eyelids flutter shut, the distant sound of city traffic completely dies out

​when he opens his eyes a fraction of a second later, the transition is incredibly jarring. the hard concrete bench is gone. instead, he’s sitting on a rough, weathered wooden bench right at the edge of a bustling, dusty dirt road. the air instantly hits his nose, the sharp, pungent scent of fermented radishes, dried fish, fresh straw, and the smoky haze of wood burning stoves

​everywhere he looks, people are moving around in traditional, vibrant hanboks. heavy wooden carts pulled by oxen are rattling past, and merchants are loudly shouting out their prices for silk fabrics and clay pots

​"joseon era," sunghoon mutters, blinking rapidly as his modern sneakers rest in the dirt. he looks down at his own casual clothes, then looks around the busy marketplace. "wait... am i like, a poor peasant or something in this life? why are we spawning near a crowded market?"

​jay, who is casually leaning against a nearby wooden pillar with his arms crossed, lets out a dry, mocking laugh. "peasant? you wish. look over there across the square. see that incredibly annoying guy surrounded by a literal horde of women?"

​sunghoon blinks, shifting his gaze toward a large silk merchant's stall

​standing in the center of a giggling, blushing crowd of young noblewomen is a young man dressed in an incredibly expensive, pristine royal blue banyongpo. he’s holding a hand painted paper fan, tilting his head with an effortlessly smooth, devastatingly handsome smirk as he delivers a smooth comment to a girl who looks like she’s about to faint

sunghoon’s jaw drops. it’s him

​and just like that, despite the absolute trauma of the last three timelines, sunghoon’s massive, modern day ego instantly flares back to life. a smug, satisfied smirk crawls onto his face. "well... can you really blame them? i mean, look at me. even in ancient history, the face card never declines. i was a total visual."

​jay looks like he wants to violently throw himself into the nearest river. he rolls his eyes so hard it looks painful, letting out a heavy, disgusted groan. "oh my god, shut up. this is exactly why the universe punished you. you were famously known for being breathtakingly handsome in this era, yes, but you were also a certified, arrogant prick. you walked around like you owned the entire peninsula."

​jay grabs sunghoon’s shoulder, dragging his spirit away from the crowded market square and leading him down a quieter, winding alleyway lined with beautiful, weeping willow trees. they stop right in front of a grand, multi-storied building decorated with bright silk lanterns and beautiful wooden screens. the faint, elegant sound of a gayageum plucking a slow melody drifts through the air

​"a courtesan house?" sunghoon asks, raising an eyebrow

​"just watch," jay murmurs, pointing through the open wooden shatters of a private upper room

​sitting on a silk cushion, pouring hot tea into a delicate porcelain cup, is a woman. her back is turned to them, her long, glossy dark hair braided perfectly down her back with a rich crimson ribbon. even just from the silhouette of her shoulders and the elegant, graceful slope of her neck, she looks stunning

​then, she turns her head slightly to order a servant away

​sunghoon’s heart stops

​you look absolutely ethereal in a pale pink chima and a white jeogori, your sharp, expressive eyes piercing right through the room

​"she was the most famous woman in the district," jay explains quietly, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "incredibly beautiful, but notoriously fierce and sharp-tongued. she absolutely detested arrogant, smooth-talking noblemen, and she had zero patience for men who lacked substance. basically... she was your worst nightmare, which made you completely obsessed with her."

​sunghoon feels a sudden, intense wave of curiosity washing over him. "how did we even start talking? jay, fast forward it. i want to see how i managed to win her over if she hated me so much."

​"fine, but don't blink," jay says.

​suddenly, a sharp gust of wind sweeps through the courtyard, sending a stray, crisp green willow leaf flying straight toward sunghoon’s face. he instinctively raises his hand, brushing the leaf away from his eyes

​by the time his hand drops, the scenery has completely shifted. the bright daylight has faded into a deep, hazy twilight

​they are now inside a secluded, private pavilion surrounded by blooming lotus ponds. and right there, leaning against the wooden railing, are the past sunghoon and you but you aren't fighting. in fact, the past sunghoon is leaning in incredibly close, his fingers gently brushing against your jawline, his eyes dripping with a smooth, heavy flirtatiousness

​you’re smirking back, your eyes locked onto his lips, delivering a sharp, witty comeback that makes him let out a low, breathy laugh. and before the modern sunghoon can even process the dialogue, his past self lunges forward, pulling you flush against his chest and burying his lips into yours in a deep, intensely passionate kiss. your hands instantly tangle into the fabric of his expensive robes, pulling him closer

​standing a few feet away, jay’s face immediately contorts into total disgust. "okay, nope. we are moving past this. i am not watching this."

​"wait, wait! jay, don't!" sunghoon yells frantically, his eyes wide as he tries to swat jay's hand away from the portal. "don't fast-forward yet! let me watch for a second! i haven't seen her like this, let me just look at her—"

​smack

​"ow!" sunghoon yelps, clutching the back of his head where jay had just delivered a firm, unbothered slap

​"you are a literal pervert, park," jay groans, his expression completely judging him. "we are here to save your soul bond, not watch your past self's romance tape. move your head."

​when sunghoon looks back up, rubbing his sore skull, the lotus pond is gone

​now, they are standing in a hidden, quiet courtyard behind a massive estate. the sun is shining brightly, and the air is filled with the sharp, rhythmic clack-clack of wooden practice swords hitting each other

​the past sunghoon is standing right behind you, his large hands wrapped securely over yours as he guides your grip on a wooden sword. he’s adjusting your stance, his chest pressed against your back, a massive, soft, genuinely happy smile on his face

you’re laughing hysterically every time you mess up a form, turning around to playfully poke him in the ribs with the blunt tip of the weapon. they look so incredibly light. so completely, hopelessly happy

​"enjoy it while it lasts," jay’s voice suddenly drops into that freezing, dark tone, cutting through the beautiful laughter like ice water. "because the tragedy is officially here."

​"no, wait, can't we just stay here for a minute?" sunghoon begs, his chest instantly tightening with an anxious, suffocating panic. "just let me watch us be happy for a little bit longer, jay, please—"

​smack

​jay slaps the back of his head one more time, completely ignoring his pleas. "open your eyes, assistant. look at what you actually did."

​the beautiful, sunny courtyard instantly dissolves into a suffocating, heavy gloom. the happy laughter is cut short, replaced by the sound of raw, agonizing, breathless sobbing

​sunghoon looks around, his heart sinking right into his stomach. they are inside a dark, secluded library room. standing in the corner, clutching you tightly against his chest like he’s trying to merge your bodies together, is the past sunghoon

​you are crying so hard you can barely draw a full breath, your small hands tightly bunching up the blue silk of his robes, your face buried in his shoulder as your whole body shivers with grief

​"i'm sorry... y/n, i am so sorry," the past sunghoon whispers, his own voice cracking completely, tears tracking down his handsome face. "the king... my father... he officially announced it to the court today. the royal decree has been signed. i am being forced into an arranged marriage with the princess of the neighboring province. the wedding is next week."

​standing in the shadows, the modern sunghoon’s spirit instantly erupts into pure, frantic rage. he turns around to jay, his face red, his fists clenched tight as he storms up to the reaper

​"are you kidding me?!" sunghoon roars, gesturing wildly at the crying couple. "why does this keep happening?! a princess?! how beautiful could this stupid princess even be that my parents are completely ruining our lives for her?! i don't want to marry her! why am i doing this?!"

​jay just stands there, completely bewildered, raising his eyebrows at sunghoon’s sudden outburst. "bro, why the hell are you yelling at me? i didn't arrange the marriage. blame your ancient joseon parents, not the grim reaper. also, she's a princess, it’s about land and power, not a beauty pageant. stop shouting."

​sunghoon’s chest is heaving with anger and heartbreak, his eyes darting back to your sobbing form. the reality of the tragedy is setting in, and he can feel the heavy, magnetic pull of the timeline demanding him to step into the body

"this is where it gets really ugly," jay says, his voice losing every single ounce of its usual detached composure. he actually sighs, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks down at the dusty floorboards of the library. "even for a grim reaper... this part of your history is hard to watch. you need to brace yourself, park. seriously."

​sunghoon’s anger evaporates instantly, replaced by a cold, sickening dread that pools right in his stomach. he looks at your past self, still clinging to his robes, sobbing like her world is ending. he just nods numbly, swallowing the dry lump in his throat. "i told you. i'm not backing down."

​jay doesn't waste another second. he raises his hand

​click

​the dark, quiet library fractures instantly. the smooth smell of old books and your sweet floral scent are violently ripped away, replaced by the suffocating, metallic stench of fresh copper, wet mud, and the terrifying, heavy atmosphere of an execution ground

​sunghoon’s spirit stumbles as the world solidifies. they are standing in the massive stone courtyard of the royal palace under a dark, weeping gray sky. hundreds of soldiers in heavy iron armor form a tight, impenetrable wall around the perimeter, their spears held high. at the far end, sitting on elevated wooden thrones, the king and queen look down with expressions of absolute, chilling disgust

​and right there, in the dead center of the cold stone floor, you are on your knees

​sunghoon’s soul goes into a frantic, chaotic panic. your hands are tied tightly behind your back with thick hemp rope, your beautiful pink chima torn, dragged through the mud, and stained with dark crimson streaks. you look so fragile, so completely stripped of your usual fierce, sharp tongued energy

"jay! what is this?! what happened?!" sunghoon screams, his voice cracking as he tries to lunge toward you, but his ghostly hands pass right through the air. "we were just in the library! why is she on the floor?!"

​jay steps up beside him, his sharp eyes dark and unusually heavy with grim pity. "you two tried to run," he explains quietly, the wind whipping his modern black hoodie around his frame. "the night before the royal wedding, you abandoned your title, stole two horses, and tried to smuggle her out of the province. but the king’s scouts tracked you down at the border. and because you’re the beloved prince, the royal court couldn't execute you. so they put the entire blame on her. they claimed she was a seductress who bewitched the royal bloodline."

​before sunghoon can even digest the horror of jay's words, the booming, heartless voice of the king echoes across the courtyard, cutting through the heavy silence

​"prove your loyalty to this kingdom, prince sunghoon," the king commands, pointing a cold finger down at your kneeling form. "dispel the witch’s curse. do it now."

​sunghoon’s ghostly head whips around. walking slowly out from the ranks of the soldiers is his past self. the handsome face that sunghoon had been bragging about five minutes ago is completely dead, pale as a corpse, his eyes entirely blank and hollow. in his right hand, he is dragging a long, heavy steel sword, the tip of the blade scraping against the stone floor with a horrific, screeching sound

​screeech

​"no... no, no, no," sunghoon whispers, the past sunghoon closes the distance, his heavy boots thudding against the stone tiles. but instead of standing behind you like a heartless executioner, he suddenly drops his weight, his knees hitting the damp earth with a loud, desperate thud right in front of you

​you gasp, your eyes flying open as you look up through your tangled hair

​the past sunghoon is looking right into your eyes, his face completely pale and breaking into a million pieces. he’s crying, thick, heavy tears cutting through the grime on his cheeks. he repositions his hands on the hilt of the heavy steel sword, reverse-gripping it so the sharp tip is pointed directly at your chest, while the pommel aligns perfectly with his own abdomen

​the entire crowd of citizens and soldiers gasps in collective, paralyzed shock. the king stands up from his throne, screaming in fury

​blood instantly floods the stone floor, pouring from both of their bodies. his past self had chosen a double suicide. if the kingdom wouldn't let them live together, he was going to make sure they died together

​"intern, go! now!" jay’s voice barks like thunder, shattering the shock. "enter the body before her consciousness fades! do it!"

​sunghoon doesn't even feel the transition. he just hurls his spirit forward, slamming directly into the physical flesh of his past self

​gasp

​the absolute, unimaginable agony hits him like a physical tidal wave. sunghoon’s vision violently flashes red. it feels like a white-hot iron rod has been driven directly through his gut, his nerve endings screaming in pure, unadulterated torture. the taste of warm, thick copper immediately floods his mouth, choking him

​the long steel sword drives forward, piercing straight through the center of your chest, tearing through your heart, and bursting out from your back. but the momentum doesn't stop there. because he’s holding you so close, the remaining length of the steel blade drives straight backward, ripping through the past sunghoon's own stomach, skewering you both together in a brutal, tragic embrace

​your foreheads rest against each other, your blood mixing on the cold metal between you as the life rapidly drains from both of your eyes. they are face-to-face, locked together in death, refusing to let the timeline separate them

​his past self’s arms are losing strength rapidly, but with the very last ounce of his fading life, he leans forward. he presses his bloody lips against yours in a soft, desperate, lingering final kiss

​"i love you," the past sunghoon’s voice whispers inside his mind, a final, fading thought before the modern sunghoon takes full control of the vocal cords

​"y/n..." sunghoon chokes out, his voice a wet, ragged wheeze as blood spills over his lower lip. he tightens his grip on you, his tears mixing with the blood on your shoulder. "i'm sorry... i am so, so sorry. i couldn't get us out... i caused this. please... forgive me..."

​and through the absolute agony of death, a soft, incredibly sweet smile breaks across your bloody lips. it looks so beautiful it completely shatters his soul. you look as if you don't even feel the pain, as if being in his arms makes the execution entirely irrelevant

​"i forgive you..." you whisper, your voice a fragile, breathy sigh that fades into the howling wind. "always... sunghoon..."

​your eyes gently flutter shut, the moment your soul leaves, the final, crushing weight of the sword wound takes him too. his vision goes entirely black, his heart giving one final, agonizing thud against the steel blade before his spirit is violently repelled from the flesh

​gasp

​sunghoon’s eyes snap open

​the dark gray sky of joseon is gone. the smell of mud and blood is gone. he’s lying flat on his back on the damp grass of the modern hospital park, the bright neon lights of the city blurring into long, dizzying streaks above him

​he immediately rolls onto his side, curling into a tight, defensive fetal position, his hands clutching his stomach frantically. the physical wound isn't there, but the phantom pain of that steel blade feels completely real, a lingering, burning ache in his gut that makes him choke on his own breath

​sunghoon buries his face directly into the grass, letting out a loud, raw, unhinged sob. he cries so hard his entire body shakes violently, his fingers clawing at the dirt. the image of your sweet, bloody smile right before you died is burned into the back of his eyelids, torturing his mind

​"i told you it was going to be bad," jay’s quiet, serious voice floats down

​sunghoon pushes himself up onto his knees, his face entirely ruined by tears, his chest heaving in absolute desperation. he looks up at jay, who is standing quietly by the bench, his usual arrogant demeanor completely replaced by a solemn silence

​"jay, please," sunghoon begs, his voice cracking into a pathetic, broken whisper as he reaches out toward the reaper. "i can't do this anymore without seeing her. i need to see her, the real her. the modern y/n. please, just let me see her for one second, i'm begging you. i can't keep watching her die over and over again, it's killing me."

​jay lets out a long, slow breath, looking down at the glowing silver thread in sunghoon’s chest. it has knit itself together significantly now, pulsing with a much stronger, brighter light, though it's still missing the final pieces

​"dude, seriously, calm down and be patient," jay says, his tone softening just a fraction, a hint of his casual peer voice returning as he steps closer. "we are actively working on it right now. every single time you survive one of these timelines and get her forgiveness, you're literally stitching her back into your destiny. you think i’m doing this to torture you? we're halfway there, park. if you break down now, that sword through the chest was for absolutely nothing. so take a breath, we still have one more to fix."

"you want to keep going or what?" jay asks, shoving his hands deep into his hoodie pockets. he watches sunghoon drag himself up from the damp grass, looking like an absolute shell of a human being

​sunghoon crosses his arms, letting out a sharp, petulant huff as he fixes the reaper with a heavy glare. "no. i'm sick of this, jay. i don't want to see another tragedy. i just want to see her, the real her. let me just go to europe, let me look at her from a distance, literally anything but this."

​jay rolls his eyes, entirely unbothered by the little tantrum. "dude, trust me on this one. if you go to the next lifetime, you're definitely not gonna regret it. it's a change of pace, i promise."

​"yeah, right," sunghoon mutters, giving jay a massive, dramatic eye roll

​he shuts his eyes tight for a fraction of a second, expecting the usual dizzying vortex or the violent pull of time travel. but when his eyelids flutter open a moment later, there's no wind, there's no crash

​instead, he’s instantly hit by the overwhelming warmth of a crackling fireplace and the rich, expensive scent of polished mahogany, old money, and sweet vanilla. sunghoon blinks, looking down at his hands. they aren't see-through. he isn't a floating spirit this time, he’s completely locked into his past body from the get-go, feeling the physical weight of his own limbs. but when he glances toward the heavy velvet curtains by the window, jay is sitting right there on a leather armchair, blending into the shadows like a total creep

​sunghoon looks around the room, his jaw dropping a little. the house is absolutely massive, dripping in pure, unadulterated luxury. high ceilings, intricate gold molding, and plush patterned rugs that swallow his footsteps

​before he can even ask jay what era this is, two soft arms suddenly wrap securely around his waist from behind

​a tiny, contented sigh presses right into the middle of his back, the warmth of another body radiating straight through his clothes. sunghoon completely freezes, his heart doing a violent, chaotic flip in his chest. he slowly turns around in the embrace, and the breath is completely knocked right out of his lungs

​it’s you

​you are standing right there in a flowing, silk and lace nightgown that hits the floor perfectly. an absolute, breathtakingly beautiful sin of a sight. your hair is soft, cascading over your shoulders, and your skin glows under the warm candlelight. seeing you like this, looking so domestic and ethereal, hits sunghoon like a physical truck. it makes his soul ache with a desperate, burning longing for the modern y/n, the girl he left crying in a hospital room

​he glances down at himself, realizing he's wearing a perfectly tailored, incredibly expensive three piece suit. his coat is slightly unbuttoned, his tie loosened just a fraction. he feels exhausted, his shoulders heavy, like he just walked through the front door after a brutal, fourteen-hour workday

​"you're home late," you murmur softly, your sweet voice cutting through his internal monologue as you look up at him with pure affection. "have you eaten yet? i can have the servants warm up some dinner for you."

​sunghoon swallows hard, his eyes completely locked onto your face, trying to commit every single detail to his memory. "no... no, i don't want to eat. i just... i want to rest."

​"okay," you say gently, giving him a knowing, sympathetic smile as your hands slip from his waist. "you've been working so hard lately."

​sunghoon instinctively reaches out, his arms longing to pull you back into his chest, to just hold you and never let you go but he stops dead in his tracks

​waaaah

​the sudden, loud sound of a baby crying echoes sharply through the heavy wooden doors down the hall. your head instantly whips toward the noise, your motherly instincts kicking in immediately

​"oh, she's crying," you say quickly, a tiny hint of exhaustion bleeding into your beautiful features. "i'll be right back, honey. let me go check on her."

​you turn and quickly hurry out of the room, leaving sunghoon completely frozen in the middle of the massive parlor, his hands still hovering uselessly in the empty air.

​"welcome to the victorian era, intern," jay’s smooth voice floats over from the dark corner. the reaper stands up, brushing invisible dust off his jeans. "you're currently one of the most successful, filthy rich shipping magnates in the entire country. and if i remember the file correctly, you fell for her the absolute second you saw her. textbook love at first sight."

​jay walks over to a grand mahogany side table, pointing his pale finger at a heavy silver picture frame. sunghoon steps closer, his heart pounding against his ribs

​inside the frame is a beautiful wedding portrait of the two of them, looking unbelievably happy. right next to it is a painted family portrait. there's past sunghoon, you looking radiant in velvet, a little boy about four years old sitting proudly on a stool, and a tiny baby girl wrapped in lace blankets

​children. they had a family. a real, whole, beautiful life together

​before jay can even finish explaining the family tree, the heavy door clicks open again. you walk back into the room, smoothing down your silk nightgown, but you stop when you notice sunghoon staring intensely at the empty space next to the table.

​you blink, looking around the quiet room. "sunghoon? who were you just talking to?"

​sunghoon quickly glances to the side, but jay has already dissolved into thin air, leaving no trace behind. sunghoon clears his raspy throat, trying to play it cool. "oh... no one, darling. i just... i thought the telephone rang."

​he can't take the distance anymore. the sheer sight of you after three timelines of absolute horror is making his head spin. sunghoon takes two large steps forward, grabbing your waist and pulling you flush against him before dropping heavily onto the plush velvet sofa. he yanks you right down into his lap, winding his arms around you so tightly it’s like he’s trying to anchor his entire existence to your skin

​you let out a soft, surprised giggle, but you don't fight it. you just settle comfortably against his chest, looping one arm around his neck as you start casually yapping about your day. you talk about how the nanny struggled with the kids, how your son managed to paint all over the library floor, and how much you missed him while he was at the office

​sunghoon doesn't interrupt you once. he just listens to the sweet, rhythmic cadence of your voice, closing his eyes as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. he leans up, pressing his lips against yours in a deep, lingering, and completely desperate kiss. it feels so real. the warmth, the softness, the electric sparks shooting straight to his core. it feels exactly like kissing the modern y/n in his own timeline

​"alright, lovebirds, wrap it up," jay’s annoyed, disembodied voice groans loudly right next to his ear. "i'm literally gonna throw up. stop enjoying yourself and hit your cue, park. i'm sick of watching this."

​sunghoon flinches slightly, pulling back from the kiss just enough to look into your beautiful, clear eyes. the overwhelming guilt from his modern life rushes back into his chest, choking him

​"my love," sunghoon whispers, his voice thick with a sudden, heavy wave of emotion. "i'm sorry."

​you blink, a amused, slightly confused smile breaking across your lips. "sorry? for what, sunghoon? for coming home late? it's fine, you were at a business meeting—"

​"no, for everything," he cuts you off, his grip tightening around your waist as he stares at you with pure, raw sincerity. "for every single thing i've ever done wrong. for taking you for granted, for making you feel lonely, for every promise i ever messed up. i am so, so sorry. please forgive me."

​you let out a soft, airy laugh, reaching up to gently run your fingers through his dark hair, entirely amused by his sudden, random burst of dramatic emotion. "you're so silly tonight. of course i forgive you, even though you haven't done anything wrong. you're the best husband and the most wonderful father in the world, sunghoon. there's absolutely nothing to forgive."

​hearing those words, hearing that he was actually a good man to you in this life makes a warm, brilliant light explode right inside his chest. the relief is so intense he can barely breathe. he lets out a shaky laugh, wrapping his arms around you even tighter, burying his face in your hair as he shuts his eyes tight, wanting to just stay in this perfect, warm moment forever

"dude, get the hell off me! what is wrong with you?!"

​flick!

​a sharp, painful sting zaps right across sunghoon’s forehead, instantly shattering the beautiful victorian parlor

​sunghoon’s eyes snap open, and his stomach instantly drops. the velvet sofa is gone, the warm fireplace is gone. he is currently sitting on the grass in the modern hospital park, but his arms are wrapped completely around jay’s waist, his face pressed directly into the side of the reaper's black hoodie

​jay looks absolutely disgusted, using two fingers to aggressively push sunghoon’s head away as he dusts off his jacket like he just touched a biohazard. "get off! that is literally so foul. i don't do hugs, especially not from my interns."

​sunghoon scrambles backward into the dirt, rubbing his throbbing forehead, totally embarrassed but still buzzing from the sheer joy of the last life. a massive, desperate grin breaks across his face. "jay! did you see that?! we had kids! we were happy! please, just send me back to that one. let me do it again, i want to go back right now!"

​jay lets out a long, deeply exhausted groan, sliding off the concrete picnic table and rubbing his templates. "absolutely not. i am completely wiped out. do you even have any idea what time it is, park?"

​sunghoon blinks, looking around the dark park, then down at his hands. "what do you mean? it's still midnight, isn't it?"

​"human time? yeah, it's midnight," jay says, holding up his glowing digital ledger. "your little history tour just took a solid six months, assistant. we’ve been jumping through centuries for half a year."

​"six months?!" sunghoon screams, his jaw dropping in pure shock. six months. his body had been laying in that hospital bed for half a year. you had been in europe for half a year, thinking he was a lost cause. the realization hits him like a bucket of ice water

​"relax," jay says, a small, highly arrogant smirk creeping back onto his sharp face as he flips the screen of the ledger toward sunghoon. "look at the upside."

​sunghoon lowers his gaze to his own chest, and his breath instantly hitches

​the tiny, frayed, pathetic little wisp of silver thread is completely gone. in its place, a thick, beautifully woven, and brilliantly radiant silver cord is pulsing right over his heart. the light is incredibly blinding, solid, and perfectly knit together, humming with a powerful, ancient energy. the bond is completely restored

​"it's perfect," sunghoon whispers, his eyes tearing up again, but this time out of pure, unadulterated relief. "it's completely fixed."

​"yeah, yeah, congratulations, you're not single across eternity anymore," jay rolls his eyes, though there’s a faint hint of pride in his dark eyes. "your destiny with y/n is officially locked back in but don't celebrate just yet... because now comes the hardest part of the entire contract."

TO BE CONTINUED...

[vmpiricou]

﹕﹒★﹒  CASE CLOSE, OPEN HEART.   박성훈

synopsis: You always believed that Park Sunghoon will be a constant presence in your life. He's your childhood friend, your safe place and the one person who knew you better than anyone else. Until he left without a warning. Years later, after acheving your dream of becoming a lawyer, your world was flipped upside down when you find yourself working under him. Gone was the boy you once knew. Sunghoon is distant and unrecognizable, treating you nothing more than an employee. But as old memories resurface beneath your relationship, it became clear that some bonds and feelings were truly never left behind.

pairing: legal associate! park sunghoon x trainee solicitor! fem! reader.

content: childhood friends to lovers, lawyer au, office romance, resolved sexual tension, miscommunications, family issues, emotionally constipated +yearner sunghoon, jealousy, it gets hella worse before it gets slightly better, major angst with comfort, explicit mature content, belly bulge, mild breeding kink, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving), inappropriate usage of tie, hair-pulling, pussy eating+fingering.

word count: 26.4k.

from author: finally done with this bad boy. this is dedicated to my other twin, my other half and the yin to my yang @lolliloopsy for wanting lawyer sunghoon. this is by far my favorite fic to and it got me listening to sabrina claudio nonstop too. the smut is actually unreadable im so sorry.

mini playlist: freak - doja cat, truth is - sabrina claudio, did we lose our minds - sabrina claudio, tell me what you want - sasha keable, sex with me - rihanna.

taglist: @lolliloopsy, @jaylaxies, @dollhoonki, @byshens, @st4rg1rlies, @bunnyhoon, @tia-08, @heesroses, @betagalactose, @ellushic, @yeonyeonbun, @blueluvies, @lawjakesim, @bitemhoon, @wonscrchy, @engeneheree, @fancypeacepersona, @yenienha, @cumtrov3rsy, @wintyher, @areikii, @f0xinyy, @marigold55, @ming1luvr, @stwryun, @cloud-lyy.

You remembered that fateful, memorable day like it had just happened recently. It was summer and during the brief three months break before classes resumed. Looking back at it, you should have known things weren't as what they seemed on the surface. You should have seen the obvious signs. All because you didn't look properly, even though he was beside you.

You were eighteen back then while your childhood friend was already nineteen. He's no longer a child but rather, a freshly new, pure young adult. Something he wasn't afraid of shoving it into your face the moment it was midnight. Park Sunghoon was nothing but filled with arrogance that never failed to make you wished you could knocked him down a few pegs.

"There you are! I've been looking everywhere!"

You looked up to see Sunghoon stopping before you. His expression faltered at the sight of your red, swollen and watery eyes along with your loud sniffling sounds and how you're biting on your bottom lip to stifle your cries. He sighed, stepping closer to sit on your right on the bench you're seated on. The boy wasted no time in pulling you close to him, allowing you to bury your head in his chest.

He lets you cried and sobbed like a newborn baby, not caring how you're soaking and staining his shirt with your fresh, salty tears. Sunghoon remained silent the entire time, patting your back with one hand while whispering comforting words into your ear. It took you about thirty minutes or so to calm down. When you did, you awkwardly pulled back and he withdrew his hand, resting it on his lap with his eyes scanning your face, searching for any sign of discomfort or lingering sadness.

"What happened?" He asked.

You stubbornly shook your head, keeping your lips sealed shut. Sunghoon sighed, reaching out to rest his hand on your left shoulder to give it an reassuring squeeze. An action that spoke volume.

"Come on, you know you can tell me anything," he gently coaxed you.

You sniffled, raising your hands but the boy was faster. He placed his right hand over yours, gingerly wiping the tears threatening to slip from your eyes. The way he does it was so gentle, loving and caring, like he's afraid of harming you. It's not what friends will do but that's a topic for another time. Perhaps when both of you are fully-grown adults then the elephant in the room will be addressed.

"..Do you think I'm ugly?" You managed to croak out, not having the courage to look him in the eyes.

Silence.

At the stretched silence, you raised your head, ready to change the topic, only for you to pause. You made eye contact with Sunghoon but what caught your attention was the way he looked at you. There was a mixture of emotions—disbelief, pain and anger. Disbelief that you dared to utter those words out, right in front of him. Pain and anger because you chose to believe in someone's words.

Someone that's not him, who will do anything to turn that frown upside down.

"No, gods no," he quickly replied, now cupping your face in his hands.

His thumbs rested on the skin underneath your eyes. It took all of his self-restraint to not do something stupid that could potentially ruined your friendship. After all, Park Sunghoon is nothing but a hopeless fool who is head over heels for you. For a girl who had seen the worst and best of him. For a girl who had became a staple, permanent presence in his life.

He cleared his throat before speaking, features softening—a habit he does whenever he's with you without him knowing.

"I don't know who's been telling you these lies, but they are wrong. They don't know how kind you are to the people around you. They don't know how you're selfless, always putting other people first rather than your own needs. They don't know how strong, sweet and loving you are."

Your eyes widened, lips parting slightly as he starts to ramble, letting out the pent-up feelings that were locked deep in his chest, imprinted in the back of his mind for a long, long time. You stared at him, rendered speechless.

"Sunghoon, I…"

Your voice trailed off, ears and cheeks turning a light shade of red.

"I don't know what to say but thank you," you finished, flashing him a smile, a smile he returned without hesitation.

"Of course, angel. That's what friends are for."

You hummed. "We'll be friends forever, right?"

Sunghoon paused briefly, something unreadable flickered across his face but you didn't see it, too caught up in your own thoughts and the current moment. It was gone when he blinked and he smiled, pretending nothing happened while ignoring the lingering guilt residing in his stomach.

"Yeah, we'll be friends forever. You're my ride and die."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

◟‿୨୧‿◞

"Hello? Earth to (Name)? Anyone home?"

"Ow!"

You yelped when someone whacked your head, snapping you back to reality. You scowled when it's none other than your friend who's also your co-worker at the same time—Choi Beomgyu. He held a rolled-up document in his right hand, looking down at you with his signature, infuriating smug grin that stretches across his face. Your left eyelid twitched, resisting the urge to leap across the table and strangle him to death.

"Jeez, stop glaring at me like that, lover girl. Just because you're working under Sung—"

Beomgyu didn't get to finish his sentence, not when someone purposely and roughly bumped his shoulder against him. You snorted at how he let out a startled yelp, body tilting to the left with his limbs flailing about, like a wild, frantic chicken. Thankfully, he didn't fall and managed to regain his balance, spinning on the spot to throw a traitorous glare to the third person, who slipped in soundlessly.

"Hey! What was that for!? You could've hurt this gorgeous face of mine!" He exclaimed, pointing at his own face and you groaned, making a fake gagging noise in the background and Beomgyu flipped you off without looking at you.

Lee Heeseung—another close friend of yours, merely rolled his eyes and flashed the older man a flat, unimpressed look. "Shut up and get back to work, Gyu. Unless you want to work overtime again."

Both of you snickered in unison at the offended look Beomgyu threw at him, but he knew Heeseung was right. Which was why he turned, muttering a string of curses under his breath as he returned to his desk. Heeseung rolled his eyes before turning to you, with his signature smile now plastered on his face, the kind of smile used to impress his colleagues around him. Also the kind of smile used on simple-minded, hopeless women.

Not you though. Not when a certain someone had captured your heart a long time ago.

"Here's the documents you needed for your case," he said, raising his left hand over the wall of your cubicle, revealing a stack of papers, earning a groan from you.

"Ugh, shooting me with a gun would've hurt less," you complained, accepting them nonetheless as you placed it at the corner of your messy desk.

Heeseung clicked his tongue, shifting to rest both of his arms on the edge of the cubicle, looking down at you from where he stood. Amusement flickered across his doe-like eyes at your reaction. It's obvious he's having the time of his life watching you suffer, much to your annoyance. You would have said or do something, like to flip him off but you felt it before he even entered.

The temperature in the room dropped a notch. Even though the air conditioner was set at a tolerable twenty-four degrees, it felt like it was lowered to nineteen. The previous rounds of hushed murmurs and chatter vanished the moment he stepped into everyone's visions. To say he's a sight to behold would be the biggest understatement of the century.

Park Sunghoon walked in with measured steps, each one unhurried and controlled. His presence alone demanded for space and the room willingly gave it to him. It was either utter obedience or receiving his signature, cold and piercing gaze. A gaze that can sent even the most fearless man running with his invisible tail between his legs.

He's dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit that fitted him well to the core, like it was made for no one else but just him alone. The sharp lines of his midnight blue blazer further accentuated his broad, firm and his oh so reliable shoulders. Shoulders that had been carrying the firm ever since his first day. The crisp white shirt beneath deeply contrasted against the dark tones. Not a single crease or a strand of hair seen or misplaced.

Everything was purely calculated and all according to plan.

His expression remained neutral. Either he was unaware or chose to ignore the effect he has on people. How conversations died mid-sentence. How the sound of fingers flying across keyboards came to an abrupt halt and how even the faint rustling of papers seemed to disappear into thin air. Everyone's eyes were immediately on him, whether they knew it or not.

Seeing him—your childhood friend, the very same boy who never failed to make you feel at ease, to bring a smile on your face, to make you laughed until you were shedding tears, now replaced with someone who you barely knew anymore, did something to you. You felt like you were stabbed in the chest.

He felt familiar and unfamiliar at the same time and you didn't like that at all.

Sunghoon didn't stop walking, not sparing anyone his attention—not that any of them were worthy of his attention in the first place. Heeseung had long scrambled back to his own desk, like the true traitor he is as he left you alone to fend for yourself—

Until he stopped right in front of your desk.

It took all of you to not visibly flinched, to not show any ounce of reaction. Up close, he felt even colder and more unreachable, a feat you didn't think was possible in the first place. For a brief moment, he said nothing. His gaze settled on you, steady and unreadable, like he had became an expert in hiding his feelings.

"See me in my office."

His voice was low, even and authoritative. It's clear he didn't tell you to wait for your reaction. It's clear it wasn't a request. But rather, a demand. A command that you should obeyed, unless you're asking to get fired on the spot. Before you could processed it, he had turned away and walked off, like summoning you was nothing more than another mere, simple task on his to-do list.

It was only when his figure was out of sight was when everyone loosened up, heaving a sigh of relief in unison. Heeseung wasted no time in sliding his chair over to you. His cubicle was only situated on your right, allowing him to move over without any difficulties.

"Oh, you're definitely fucked," he muttered, clearly entertained with him absentmindedly spinning a pen with his left index and middle fingers.

You shot him a look. "Not helping."

"I wasn't trying to help though."

"Fuck you."

"No thank you. Bet you'd love to fuck Sung—"

"Heeseung!"

◟‿୨୧‿◞

After mentally preparing yourself for five minutes along with Heeseung being the helpful friend he is, by laughing at your predicament, you grabbed your trusty notebook that had been stained with tears and caffeine it's a miracle you were still able to use and your pen before leaving. You chose to ignore the "Good luck and don't die!" words Beomgyu shouted at your retreating figure.

Sunghoon's office was located on the other end of the thirty-fifth floor. Yes, the law firm you worked in has multiple floors with a total of seventy-five floors. You remembered you were stunned on your first day, openly gaping at everything around you as you entered, nearly making a fool of yourself by tripping over your feet more than three times in a single day.

You barely recalled nodding your head in acknowledgment at the series of greetings thrown your way from both men and women as they walked past you. You were too caught up in your own mind, many thoughts running through your mind at the speed of light until you sworn you were starting to feel light-headed.

Eventually, you arrived at a particular closed, opaque glass door with matte covering the bottom half and a sign hanging on it. The words stared back at you, like it was mocking you already, as if it knew the reason why you were summoned.

Park Sunghoon's Office.

"It'd be better if it's renamed as Satan's Hellhole instead," you muttered to yourself, wary enough to keep your voice down. You raised your right hand, now curled into a fist and knocked twice on it to announce your arrival.

Knock knock.

Sunghoon's eyes flicked up from his desktop screen, hands going stilled as he was in the middle of typing. One look at you made him nod his head and you entered once you were granted permission, gently closing the door behind him. It's pure instinct for you to clutch your notebook close to your chest in a vice-like grip until the edges crumped up due to your strength, like you want to blend into it, using it as a shield for whatever he had in store for you.

You chewed on your bottom lip, absentmindedly brushing your fingers against the edge of your notebook, unaware of how the man's eyes darkened a shade behind the rimless lenses of his rectangular-shaped glasses that rested perfectly on the bridge of his sharp, elegant nose. Gods, you never expected to see your childhood friend went from a easygoing, scrawny young teenager to… whatever he is now.

That's a man right there, your brain unhelpfully chimed in before adding another sentence, a very fine man, to be exact.

To make yourself feel better, you visualized yourself beating the living lights out of your superior. The very same superior who is seated in front of you, known for being the most cold-hearted, unforgivable and someone who doesn't have any tolerance for anything. When one says anything, they really meant it.

An prime example would be when a poor young woman used to be in your position, only to be fired on her first day when she failed to follow-up with one of Sunghoon's clients. You didn't know much of the details, other than the very obvious fact that he was pissed. One thing about him is that he never raised his voice, which proved to make him all the more intimidating than he already was. He would have lost the trial if he didn't come up with something on the spot but despite his success, he was still enraged and ended up firing the woman.

Nothing more and nothing less.

Ahem.

You snapped back to reality, dryly and loudly swallowing when you noticed Sunghoon had been staring at you the entire time while you were busy imagining punching him, treating him like a punching bag and an outlet to release your pent-up stress and frustrations.

"Are you done daydreaming? If you are, then sit down," he said, voice firm and cold.

Your left eyebrow twitched, resisting the urge to snap, to yell or even better, to throw something at his face as you obliged, sitting on the opposite chair and placed your notebook and hands on your lap, hiding it from his sharp, observant and piercing gaze that never fails to send shivers down your spine.

"Why did you summon me?" You asked, surprisingly able to keep your voice even and steady despite how your fingers were already trembling.

Sunghoon arched his signature thick left eyebrow, like he was impressed by your audacity or stupidity. Or maybe it was both. Whatever it was, it seemed like you had made a wrong approach, with the way he leaned back into his seat, his eyes never leaving your face, catching every micro-expression you made.

"Simple. Because you screwed up."

You flinched—a subtle motion that should go unnoticed by everyone. But not Sunghoon, not when it comes to you. You swallowed, clenching and unclenching your fingers, feeling your palms growing sweaty as every second passed. You didn't say anything and the man pressed on, using his words to push his knife deeper into your chest.

"Judging from the look on your face, you're clueless, aren't you? Fine, let me indulge you."

He paused, reaching for a file situated on the left corner of his desk. He flipped it opened with practiced ease before sliding it towards you. You leaned forward a little to get a clearer look, immediately finding the paragraphs familiar to you.

"Page twelve," he said.

Your hands moved before you knew it, your fingers brushing against the folder as you pulled it closer to you. You scanned the page, eyes darting over lines of text until they stopped. Your stomach dropped, feeling a pail of cold, freezing water being dumped over you from above.

"The clause is outdated. It contradicts the revised terms submitted last week. Terms you copied, if I recall correctly," he went on, observing you closely, like you're his prey that was hopelessly cornered with nowhere to run.

Your lips parted but you couldn't find your voice.

"I—" You startled, faltering for a split second before you forced yourself to speak. "I must've overlooked—"

"You must've?" He echoed, voice and eyes hardening and yet, that same infuriating calmness of his never left his face. "You must've overlooked a critical amendment in a case file I asked you to review?"

You tightened your grip on the paper, teeth grinding down on one another.

"It was a minor section," you protested, despite how you knew he was right. He always was. "The overall argument still stands and make sense. It's not enough to—"

"Not enough?" He cuts you off for the second time, voice cold and firm, just enough to make you and your words feel insignificant. "Are you even hearing yourself?"

Silence.

Sunghoon leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his gaze locked onto yours with terrifying, chilling precision.

"In this firm, there's no such thing as minor. All it takes to dismantle an entire case is one oversight. One mistake is enough to question credibility. Or, do you think you're an exception?"

You narrowed your eyes, borderline scrunching the piece of paper in your hands. Sunghoon's eyes flicked down to the paper before meeting you again, his expression unreadable as always.

"I don't. But it's not like I intentionally—"

"That doesn't matter," he interrupted.

As the saying goes, three times the charm. That was the third time he had cut you off and that too, was the final straw.

"I'm still new. Mistakes happen. It's not unreasonable to expect—"

"What? To be excused?" He smoothly finished for you.

You paused, unable to further defend yourself. Because that wasn't what you meant but in the end, it was exactly how it sounds like. Whether you liked it or not. Sunghoon lets his words lingered in the air, giving you both the chance and room to speak, to say something better, to fix the damage.

But you didn't. Or maybe, you simply couldn't.

"…No, but I can fix it," you finally said, in a quieter voice but there was still a hint of defiance.

Something flickered in his expression but it was gone when he blinked. Sunghoon eyed you before leaning back into his chair, removing his elbows from the desk in the process.

"You will. You'll revise the entire section, cross-check every document and have it back on my desk before the end of the day."

Your eyes widened. "That's—"

"(Name)."

The way he said your name, like it's a threat, a warning along with the utter firmness in his voice was enough to silence you. You clamped your lips shut, knowing there was no way for you to make him change his mind. You nodded, shoulders slumping and Sunghoon nodded, raising his hand to push his glasses up his nose.

"Good, you're dismissed. If I don't see it on my desk, you're fired," he finished, no longer giving you his attention as he returned to looking at his desktop.

You gritted your teeth, shooting up from your seat as you stomped out of his office. Manners and respect be dammed at this point. You needed to get out of there or you would've lost your temper, which could potentially cost you your job and the amount of blood, sweat and tears you've used to get to where you are today.

Baam!

You slammed his door shut with a loud, heavy force on the way out, not caring that it came off as rude or how you were gathering stares following you as you returned to your desk. You threw your notebook, pen and the folder onto the desk, not caring that the pen rolled off, falling onto the floor with a series of clattering sounds.

"Fuck," you cursed at the all-too familiar feeling of something warm and damp stinging your eyes, blurring your vision. The last thing you wanted was to have a breakdown at your desk, where anyone can walked in on you resisting the urge to cry right there and then.

You were so deep in your own thoughts that you didn't sense Heeseung's presence, who wheeled himself to your side, eyebrows furrowed with concern written all over his face.

"Hey, what happened?" He asked softly, reaching out to rest a hand on your left shoulder, watching as you shrink, avoiding looking at him.

You shook your head, teeth sinking into the meat of your bottom lip. "..Nothing, it's fine," you croaked out, your voice slightly hoarse and scratchy as you sniffled.

Your friend sighed, having known you long enough to be able to tell whether you're lying or not. "What did he say this time?"

You choked out a watery and broken laugh despite yourself, raising a hand to rub at your eyes, ignoring how you'd come to regret your decision later. "What did he not say this time? It's a miracle he didn't tell me off in front of everyone."

Heeseung frowned, lips pursed in a thin line. "(Name), maybe you should tell the management."

"And what? What do I tell them?" You retorted. "Tell them that oh hi, I want to make a report that working under Park Sunghoon, who was my childhood friend, is giving me lots of stress and because of him, I'm unable to perform well."

"Yes, but—"

"No, Heeseung. You don't get it, it's not as easy as you think. What do you think will happen after I tell them? You and I both know the management isn't gonna do shit. To them, Park Sunghoon is this fucking god and life savior for saving the firm when it was on the verges of collapsing," you continued, cutting him off.

The man stayed silent, mostly because of two things. Firstly, you are right and secondly, there wasn't much he can say to convince you. Not when you had made up your mind. But that doesn't mean he's not allowed to speak freely.

"Then just tell me this and I want you to answer me honestly: do you still like him?"

Silence.

"I don't," you started, the words coming out too quickly and too obvious. "I mean—why would I? After everything he did, after the way he—"

Your voice faltered. The knowing, pitiful look Heeseung gave only made you felt even worse. Because deep down, the both of you knew you were lying and you weren't telling the truth. A bitter, humorless laugh slipped from your lips, running a hand through your hair with your eyes turning glossy under the overhead lights.

"I hate him," you confessed, your gaze dropping to the floor or your shoes. "I hate the way he acts like I'm nothing. Like we're nothing. I hate how he left without a word, like I wasn't even worth a goodbye."

Your chest tightened, something sharp stabbing right through your heart, feeling the heavy weight settling on your shoulders the more you spoke.

"But most importantly, I hate how he looks at me now… like I'm just another person in the firm."

You paused for a few seconds, plucking up the remains of your non-existent courage, despite the fact both Heeseung and you already knew what you were planning to say. What kind of words that was ready to leave the tip of your tongue.

"But despite all of that, I still love him. I really do."

You let out a shaky exhale, shaking your head like you're able to deny it. If only it was that easy.

"I don't know why. It's been years. He's not the same person anymore. Anyone with eyes can see that. He's… not the Sunghoon I knew and maybe that's the problem. Maybe I'm the problem, for wanting the old him to come back to me. And a part of me is still stuck in the past, still loving someone who doesn't exist anymore."

A pause.

Heeseung sighed, the sound itself speaks volume, speaking more than what his words could possibly carry.

"He doesn't deserve you, you know that? You're too good for him."

You weakly nodded, eyes getting unfocused. "I know, but I can't stop thinking about him."

◟‿୨୧‿◞

You chose to skip lunch—much to your two friends' disappointment as they wished you luck to which you waved it off but was internally grateful and spent the rest of the day slaving away on just one document. The one document that cost you your sanity and draining lifespan.

You pulled out the long list of references you used beforehand, cross-checking all of it more than three times. It's a miracle your eyes didn't get stuck in one place with how often you kept looking between two different pieces of papers. You type, delete, type and only for you to delete again. This cycle kept repeating itself as the hours dragged on.

You weren't even aware of your surroundings—of how more and more people were packing up as they get ready to leave, of how the lights of their desks were turned off, leaving yours still on and how the silence was getting louder and louder until it's loud enough to drown out your thoughts. You found yourself entering the zone, now able to rework on it with full confidence—a huge contrast to how you were a few hours ago.

When you were finally done, you leaned back into your chair and stretched your arms above your head, letting out a long, heavy groan as you cracked your fingers. The sound echoed loudly in the office and it was only when you bothered to check the time, was when you realized you had worked overtime.

Again. Not like it's anything new or shocking, considering the nature of your job.

You got up, groaning at your back pain—a sign of your old age, even though you're still in your twenties. Swiping the folder off your messy, clustered desk, you wasted no time in making a beeline to Sunghoon's office. With how late it was, you were the final person to leave.

At least, that's what you thought.

You came to a stop when you noticed the lights in his office was still on from a far. At first, you assumed he must have forgotten to turn it off in his haste of leaving but it was gone when you now stood before his door. You didn't knock and he didn't see you yet, giving you a chance to see (or admire, like the closeted freak you are.) him in his current state.

His tie and blazer was gone with the top two black buttons of his now wrinkled white dress shirt unbuttoned, revealing his pale skin. You briefly remembered how there were baseless rumors when he first joined, with people wondering if he was a vampire in disguise, due to how pale he was. Sunghoon rested his chin on the palm of his left hand, his long and slender fingers curled over his mouth as he absentmindedly tapped his nose.

Whatever he was looking at has him deep in thought. His eyebrows were furrowed, eyes slightly narrowed with him reading whatever was reflected on the screen. His usual neat and tidy hair was slightly messed up, with random strands poking out in different directions. Some even fell forward, hanging over his eyes, acting like a shield.

The sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing a delicious pair of arms that can make anyone drooled like a nasty dog. You swallowed, ripping your eyes away and looked up, nearly flinching on the spot when you made direct eye contact with him. For a moment, none of you looked away, seemingly entering a staring contest with you standing outside of his office and him seated by his desk.

Sunghoon raised an eyebrow and you took that as your cue to enter, pushing the door open while clutching the folder in your left hand. You stepped in, your footsteps muffled against the carpeted floor and you stopped before his desk. Your superior torn his gaze away from his desktop screen, looking at you with an unreadable, impassive look on his face.

"I assume you've finished it?" He asked, jumping straight to the point without beating around the bush.

You nodded, wordlessly handing the folder over to him. Sunghoon took it from your hand and flipped it open to read. The next few seconds of tense, thick silence felt like eternity. You shuffled your heels on the spot, curling and uncurling your fingers with your hands resting by your sides. You observed him the entire time, trying to read him but it was easier said than done. You had considered yourself as someone good in reading people via their body languages but when it comes to Sunghoon?

You got nothing.

After what felt like centuries when a solid seven minutes passed, he finally spoke up. He held the folder in his right hand, arms crossed across his chest. Every time he shifted or readjusted his position, it caused his muscles to move as well—something you noticed almost immediately, much to your utter frustration.

"This is more acceptable than your previous work," he said, not praising nor insulting you. Just stating a fact, as simple as that.

Normally, you would retort with something snarky of your own but with how late it was, you were too exhausted to argue with him. You simply nodded, turning and was ready to leave when it's clear he wasn't going to say anything else. Only for him to call out your name, stopping you.

"Wait, I'll drive you home."

What?

"…What?" You turned to him, eyes widening and mouth dropping slightly, dumbfounded, like you couldn't believed your own ears.

But Sunghoon was already moving. He shut down his desktop, slipped his glasses off in one fluid motion as he rose to his feet. He swiped his loose tie and blazer off the stand he hung them on, folding them over his left arm and grabbed his bag placed near his chair.

"I'm not taking no for an answer, (Name). It's already late and there isn't anymore buses or trains left. It'd be faster and safer if I just drive you," he pointed out.

You sighed, hating how he was right and obliged. You stepped out of his office, returning to your own desk. You quickly shut down your desktop, shoving your things into your bag and rushed over to regroup with Sunghoon, who was already waiting for one of the lifts to arrive.

There was some distance between you and him—roughly around fifteen centimeters. You busied yourself in checking your phone, catching up on the messages and notifications you didn't managed to read, not when you were busy typing like your life depended on it.

Ding!

The lift in front of you announced its arrival with a soft 'ding!' sound and the doors opened. The two of you entered with Sunghoon pressing on the B2 button before it closed. Faint classical, jazz music started playing, acting as white noise. You had unconsciously moved to stand in the right corner of the small, cramped space, wanting to be as far away as him from possible.

The silence thickened further as the lift came to a stop, doors opening to reveal the car park located at the second basement of the company. You followed Sunghoon as the man walked over to where his car was parked—a sleek, obsidian-black Mercedes Benz S-Class sat under the dim lights. Its polished surface reflects the cold white glow from above.

He unlocked the car with a soft click, walking straight to the driver's seat without sparing you a glance. You hesitated for a second before moving to the passenger side, the door handle cool under your fingertips. The interior was just as pristine as the exterior—black leather, faint traces of a clean, subtle cologne lingering in the air.

All it took was a simple, gentle press of a button for the car to spring to life. The engine purred to life smoothly, barely making a sound as he pulled out of the lot. The city lights and everything else turned into a blur as he drove, slowly stepping down on the gas with the figure gradually increasing until he's driving at ninety kilometers per hour.

Music was playing from the radio as you looked out of the window, not wanting to look him in the eyes. It didn't help that Sunghoon knew your address by heart—something the younger him have very much proudly boasting at the top of his lungs. You dug your short, clean nails into your face, not caring by the fact that you're leaving indents behind.

You should say something. But what can you possibly say in such a tense, awkward situation? There were so many things you wanted to ask but whenever you opened your mouth, it was like your voice chose that moment to give up on you. There were many, many thoughts swirling around in your mind whenever you think back to the past.

How you could have had it all instead of what you're facing now.

Why did you leave without telling me? Am I not worth a text or a simple farewell? Why did you came back as a completely new person? Who are you now? What happened when you moved abroad?

Instead of asking any of those questions—the very same questions that had been lingering in the back of your mind for the past twenty plus years, the only word you managed to utter out was:

"Why?"

Sunghoon didn't react immediately nor did he even spared a glance, like you weren't worth his attention. You furrowed your eyebrows, now turning your head to him. You observed his side profile—his sharp jawline that can make your fingers bleed if you were to trace it, his slightly cracked and dry lips that were pursed in a thin line with his eyes fixated on the highway road ahead of him.

His silence added more fuel to the growing fire residing deep in you and you pushed on, unable to hold it back anymore.

"Why did you leave without telling me?"

A few seconds of silence passed. For a moment, you thought he would ignore you again, how he will pretend he didn't hear you. But you caught the way his grip tightened on the steering wheel. A subtle action that if it was anyone else, they would have missed it.

But not you. You weren't anyone else.

"You're asking questions about something that has already happened," he said in a flat tone, like he was stating a simple, obvious fact.

You stared at him, rendered speechless before huffing out a incredulous laugh. Sunghoon made a turn to his right, exiting the highway as he entered a street you were familiar with—you were reaching home.

"So that's it? You just leave, go off the grid for years and then come back like nothing happened? Is it wrong for me to care about you?"

His jaw muscles twitched faintly and as per always, he remained silent. And gods, his silence is starting to infuriate you further.

"You wouldn't understand," he replied after a beat, now in quieter and more distant tone.

You narrowed your eyes, fingers twitching with the urge to reach out and slapped him. "Then tell me! You can't expect me to understand when you refuse to say anything!"

The car came to a stop at a red light, the glow casting faint shadows across his face. And finally, he turned to look at you and you wished he didn't. Because there was nothing there. No warmth, no familiarity and gone was the boy you once knew by heart, soul and mind.

"I don't have to explain everything to you," he said, the words sharp and deliberate. Sharp enough for you to feel like you were slapped in the face, leaving a stinging, lingering pain behind.

You couldn't speak, staring at him. Your throat tightened, stomach curling and twisting into itself as he turned back to the road, stepping down on the gas when the light turned green. It's crystal clear the conversation has came to an end and you decided to drop it, not wanting to waste any more of your drained energy to argue with him.

The moment the car came to a stop outside your house, you were quick to jump out of the passenger side, unable to tolerate breathing in the same air as him. You grabbed your bag, slammed the door shut on purpose and stomped your way to your house with your house keys held in your left hand.

The door closed behind you and you tossed your bag onto the floor, not caring whether the content inside was damaged or not. You lowered yourself until you were in a squatting position, arms resting on your knees as you cried. You wept like a fresh new widow who lost her husband to the war when that was far from the truth.

You wept for someone who doesn't deserve your tears, time and attention. You wept for someone who no chose to move on from the past, facing the future with a brand new mindset. You wept for someone who could care less about you.

And if you spent the rest of the night sobbing your eyes out, then that's only for you to know and a secret to keep.

◟‿୨୧‿◞

"Welcome home, sir. Your brother and parents are waiting for you in the dining room," the head butler informed him, in lieu of a greeting, bowing at a sharp ninety-degrees with his gloved hands placed in front of him.

Sunghoon scowled, not bothering to conceal his dissatisfaction as he handed his blazer and tie to the butler, who promptly took it from his outstretched hand. He never liked coming back to a home occupied by his parents. It was always something to do with their long, rich heritage of the Park family in the business industry and how they are practically the backbone of most of the companies.

The man turned, heading to the flight of stairs that will lead to the second floor, having no intentions of meeting them, only to stop when someone called out his name, making him froze.

"Sunghoon."

Resisting the urge to outwardly roll his eyes, he turned to face his older brother—Park Jongseong. He felt like he got shot right in the chest, something ugly curling itself around his heart at how the other man wasn't alone. There was another woman standing close to him, a woman with a very familiar face and someone who he knew for a while now.

He stiffly nodded his head to the woman, who returned it with a warm, polite smile as she bowed slightly, one hand on her chest.

"Sunghoon, it's been a while. How have you been?" She asked.

He sighed, moving to descend the flight of stairs until he's in front of the couple with some distance between them. Sunghoon's eyes darted down to the matching rings they worn before flicking up, swallowing the bile threatening to rise up his throat. His features softened slightly—a rare side that only a selected percentage of people were able to see.

"I'm fine, just busy with work. You know how it is, Areum," he answered.

Areum nodded, her lips covered in a thin, glowing layer of lipgloss curled up in a faint smile. "I understand. I heard you've successfully closed a difficult case. Well done, as expected of Park Sunghoon."

Normally, if it was anyone else who uttered those words, they would've received a cold, piercing glare from him. But Areum was different. She's like the older sister Sunghoon never knew he needed. Someone reliable, mature and clear-headed. Well, there is his brother but between Jay and Areum, he often gravitated to the woman instead, mostly because she was much easier to talk to, as compared to the other, who never fails to take the chance to tease him endlessly.

He let out a light, soft and genuine chuckle. "Thanks, Areum. But it's not something worthy of praise."

And Jay being Jay, snorted from where he stood. "Damn, just take her compliment, would you? It's weird watching you acting all polite."

"Jay!"

Areum scolded her husband, reaching out to deliver a light but stinging smack to his shoulder, drawing a pained hiss from him. Sunghoon snickered, all smug and since he's younger than Jay, he playfully stuck his tongue out—acting like how they were when they were young. His brother resorted to scowling from where he stood while resisting the tempting urge to throw hands with his younger sibling.

Ahem.

Their brief playful moment was rudely interrupted by someone pointedly clearing their throat. The three turned to see it was none other than their father. The very same man who owns the estate they are currently standing in and the very same man who built an industry from nothing. People couldn't believed when they find out he's already in his early sixties due to his still youthful look. Unlike the usual man who's seen shaking hands with shareholders, wearing a warm and professional smile on his face, the man standing before his two sons is the real him.

His eyes jumped from one face to another before landing on Sunghoon's, who didn't flinch nor did he backed down from the sudden eye contact. Just like the younger man, his father had perfectly aced the art of mastering and concealing his emotions, not allowing anyone else to decipher how he truly feels.

"All of you, stop fooling around. You're not children anymore," he started, his voice deep, low and slightly rough around the edges and his gaze lingered longer than usual on Sunghoon.

Sunghoon sworn he saw something akin to frustration behind those pupils but it was gone when he blinked. Without waiting for their response, their father turned and headed to the dining room. The three of them took that as their cue to follow him, not wanting to further worsen his mood.

But then again, the man was always in a bad mood. Which gets even worse when he's around his family.

They eventually arrived at the dining room, which was just as imposing as the rest of the estate—spacious, pristine and formal. A long, polished rectangular-shaped table stretched across the center, its glossy surface reflecting the warm glow of the lights hanging from above. High-backed chairs were arranged with perfect symmetry, each one as uncomfortable as the other.

Everything was meticulously set. Fine porcelain plates, neatly folded linen napkins and silver cutlery aligned with exact precision—untouched, like it's for display purposes rather than anything else. The air felt still, heavy with an unspoken tension that no amount of luxury could softened.

Their mother sat on one of the chairs, allowing her to face the doorway as they entered, moving to take their respective seats without hesitation. Jay sat with Areum, occupying the two vacant chairs opposite of his mother while Sunghoon sat beside the older woman. The final chair that was placed at the head of the table belonged to none other than his father.

No one spoke a word for a few seconds before his father broke it, directing his focus and attention to Sunghoon.

"Sunghoon, you'll be getting married in four months."

The words landed without warning, like a bomb was dropped on him out of nowhere. There was no greetings or no small talks before they dived into the main dish. Sunghoon didn't react immediately, going as still as a statue. The only form of reaction he exerted was his fingers tightening against the table.

Beside him, his mother remained perfectly composed and unfazed, delicately lifting her glass of white wine, like they were discussing something as minor as the weather itself. His brother and wife, on the other hand, had the same reactions as Sunghoon. The couple shared a bewildered look and Jay shot Sunghoon a worried look, but the younger man didn't see it, staring at a random spot of the table.

His father continued, not caring about the storm of conflict happening in his mind. "The arrangements have been finalized. Her family are major shareholders of the company and it will be beneficial to both parties."

Sunghoon slowly exhaled through his nose, finally lifting his gaze to meet his father's. "I'm not interested."

The temperature in the room dropped, the air thickening further. His father's expression darkened, jaw tightening as he leaned back into his chair.

"You don't get to decide that."

"I'm not agreeing to this," his son replied calmly but firmly.

For a brief moment, something flickered in his father's eyes. It wasn't surprise but rather, it was irritation.

"No, you lost the right to make decisions for yourself the moment you strayed away from your responsibilities."

Sunghoon frowned but remained silent, knowing what his father was referring to.

"And we let it happened. Your mother and I were lenient, even when you've embarrassed this family, even when you refused to take over the company, forcing Jongseong to do it instead while you flew to another country. And all for what? To pursue something as trivial as law itself," the man went on, his voice sharpening the longer he spoke.

"We gave you years to correct. To redeem yourself. But it's clear you mistook that for freedom."

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes, clutching onto the utensils so tight until his knuckles turned white. It's a sheer miracle on its own that he didn't snap it into half with how strong his grip was.

"This marriage is the consequence of your actions. You will marry her and you will start acting in the best interest of this family. No more defiance and no more selfish decisions," his father finally ended, each word deliberate and as sharp as a knife.

It's clear the conversation has ended, with the finalized tone his father used—the kind of tone he used when he's standing in front of a board of directors in those meetings he kept attending. Sunghoon lowered his head, his bangs falling forward to shield his eyes as their private bulters and maids started serving them their food.

The previous tense dining room was now filled with the occasional clink-clanking of utensils against porcelain plates and bowls. Everyone ate while chatting among themselves. Everyone but Sunghoon. He has no appetite to eat, not after what he was just told. He hated how his mind constantly drifted back to a certain someone, how every time he looked at her, a part of him was tempted to apologize, to tell her how he felt nothing but utter remorse about everything.

About the way he treated her, brushing her and the rich-filled history they had aside, like it was nothing but mere memories. About how he didn't have a choice in the first place. About how he was forced to do this. It was either flying to another country or risked having his parents controlled his life, leaving him under the mercy of them.

And most importantly, about how he was scared to ruin everything if he were to confess the feelings he had been harboring for a long, long time.

◟‿୨୧‿◞

The weekend passed in a blink of an eye, much to every working adult's disappointment and it was Monday again. You paid your surroundings no mind, holding a cup of warm coffee you ordered from the cafe located opposite of the law firm as you entered the lift, getting squeezed to a corner with more and more people entering. You managed to alight at your designated floor but you barely managed to take more than ten steps before someone threw themself onto you.

"What the-!?" You exclaimed, nearly dropping your precious cup of coffee as you staggered, managing to catch your balance.

"(Name), you need to see this!"

Beomgyu said, ignoring the annoyed glare you threw his way. Before you could say anything, he had dragged you to his desk and Heeseung was already there, scrolling through his phone while eating his breakfast.

"What's up with him?" You asked, pointing at your other friend, who threw himself into his seat, opening the Internet browser and started typing something at rapid speed.

"I don't know, he texted me at six in the morning, telling me how I needs to see this as soon as possible. Dude didn't even bother answering my other questions," Heeseung replied after swallowing his mouthful of food.

You chuckled and took a slow sip of your hot coffee. Beomgyu took that moment to finally show you and Heeseung what was reflected on the screen. You moved closer, reading it over his shoulder. What you you didn't expect was to read the bold and large headline reflected on his desktop's screen, staring back at you, mocking and laughing at you.

The color drained from your face. You tuned out your surroundings until they were reduced to nothing but white noise—the murmurs of the people around you, the sound of footsteps back and forth, the sound of fingers flying across keyboards and the rustling of papers. The cup of coffee slipped from your loose grip, landing on the floor with a loud noise and the fragrant, brown liquid splattered everywhere.

Thankfully, your clothes were out of harm's way but the same couldn't be applied to your heels as some had landed on it. You hissed in pain when the hot liquid landed on your bare skin. Your friends were quick to jump into action. Beomgyu was quick to swipe the tissue box off his desk and handed it to you. You grabbed a few pieces, lifting your right leg to clean the coffee stains, watching as the pristine white tissues turned brown as it soaked up the liquid.

You did the same with your other leg while Heeseung picked up your now empty cup, disappearing to the pantry to toss it away before returning shortly with a mop and bucket that he had filled up with water. You were about to take the mop from him but the man shook his head.

"It's fine, I can do it," he waved you off before you could say a word.

Beomgyu rose to his feet, flashing you an apologetic look. "Shit, I'm sorry, (Name). Maybe I shouldn't have showed it to you."

You shook your head, flashing what you hoped was an reassuring smile to your friend. "You don't have to apologize, Gyu. I'll find out about it sooner or later so thanks for the heads-up."

The two men shared a quick glance. Beomgyu was about to say something when an unfamiliar, polite and unsure voice spoke up, gaining everyone's attention.

"Uh, hello? I'm looking for Park Sunghoon."

Who is she and why is she looking for him?

When you saw her, the first impression that came to your mind was how out of place she looked. Not in a bad way that makes her stood out like a sore thumb. It's different from the usual sharp, intimidating presence that fills the firm. There was a softness to her, something almost hesitant in the way she portrayed herself.

Her hair fell neatly past her shoulders in loose waves, a natural shade that framed her delicate features. Her eyes were sharp but right now, they were wide with uncertain and confusion, obviously lost while trying to locate her designated destination. She worn a cream-colored blouse tucked into a high-waisted skirt that fell just below her knees. The outfit was paired with modest heels, simple and refined.

But most importantly, it whispered quiet wealth rather than loudly announcing it to the world.

Before you could say anything or react, one of your colleagues had approached her. He was kind enough to show her the way, bringing her over to your superior's office. Your eyes tracked her movement until she was out of your sight, unaware of how you had even stopped breathing until Heeseung tapped your shoulder, a worried look on his face.

"You good?" He asked.

"Fine," you answered almost immediately, feeling your world tilting as you returned to your desk in a daze, ignoring how Heeseung called out your name.

You sat down, staring at your desktop and before you knew it, your limbs moved before your mind could processed it. You opened a tab on your Internet browser, typing something and tapped the enter button on your keyboard. You clicked on the first link you see, bringing you to an article—the very same article that Beomgyu showed earlier on.

The headline remained the same. The longer you stared at it, the more tempted you were to grab the nearest thing and throw it at the screen, as if that can magically wiped the article away from the Internet.

'Legal Prodigy Park Sunghoon Announces Engagement to Han Seo-yeon, Heiress to Major Shareholder Family—A Strategic Union That Shakes the Industry.'

You've never felt this much pain in your life where every time you inhaled, a part of your heart shattered. Where every time you think about him, tears welled up in your eyes and you have to swallow it down, the motion itself stiff, awkward and painful.

It's times like this where you get reminded that you may still be stuck in the past, replaying the memories over and over, like a broken cycle. But for Sunghoon, on the other hand, he had moved on, choosing to focus on the present and the future. Even if that meant getting engaged to a stranger with no intentions of telling you.

◟‿୨୧‿◞

Knock knock.

"Who is it?" Sunghoon asked, not lifting his gaze to the door as he continued reading the document laid out before him—the very same document that you had gave it to him last Friday.

"A woman is here to look for you, sir. She said she's Seoyeon," his personal assistant informed him through the internal lines.

He paused when he heard her name. "Let her in."

"As you wish, sir."

Shortly after, the woman—Soyeon entered with a warm, friendly smile on her face. Sunghoon sighed, leaning back into his seat as she stood on opposite of him, with his desk acting as a barrier between them.

"What are you doing here? I thought we agreed for no public appearances unless it's necessary," he asked in a deflated tone.

The woman lightheartedly rolled her eyes as she sat down, elegantly crossing one leg over the other while placing her bag on her lap. "I know, but your father was very persistent in forcing me to make a surprise visit to your office. So, here I am."

He scoffed at the mention of his father, tapping his fingers on the polished surface of his desk. "Did you see the article?"

Soyeon nodded, pursing her lips covered in a shiny layer of lip-gloss, in a thin line. "Yeah, my parents must've been the ones to tell the press so they can release it without telling either of us. I'm sorry about that."

Sunghoon ran a hand through his fluffy, black hair as he let out a long, heavy sigh. Faint exhaustion can be seen in his eyes and across his face.

"It's not like they're willing to inform us beforehand."

The woman eyed him with an unreadable look before asking a question that made his blood ran cold. "I saw her just now. She's very pretty."

The man froze for a second, clearing his throat in an attempt to look composed. "Who are you talking about?"

She lets out a light laugh. "You know who, Sunghoon. I'm talking about (Name). I saw her earlier and it's not hard to notice her. She has that charm that draws you to her without you knowing. I think she saw the article too, judging from the horrified look on her face when she saw me."

Sunghoon tongued the inside of his left cheek and his jaw tightened. "Why are you telling me this?"

Soyeon sighed, her tone switching to a rather motherly tone, like he's her son who's still learning about the world. "Because it's obvious you like her. Anyone with eyes can see that."

He flinched, very much like a cat that got splashed with cold, freezing water. "You're imagining things."

"Right, and I'm the president of Seoul," she dryly retorted.

For the rare, few times in his life, the legal associate didn't know how to react nor what to say. He resorted to narrowing his eyes, scowling and sulking like a child. Soyeon chuckled and rose from her seat, now holding her bag in her right hand.

"Anyway, would you like to join me for lunch?" She proposed, looking at him with an eyebrow raised.

"I suppose, as long as it's not French cuisine again," he joked, rising to his full height while removing the glasses he worn, leaving it on the table as he grabbed his keys, phone and wallet from where the drawer underneath it.

Soyeon scoffed but the glimmer of amusement in her eyes said otherwise. "It's not my fault you're a man with no taste."

Sunghoon shot her an incredulous look, moving to open the door for her, allowing her to step out before he followed suit. "No taste? I'd like you to know I've dined in more than ten Michelin-Stars rated restaurants."

"Oh, is that so? Forgive me, my lord, for I must've struck a nerve," she sarcastically replied and Sunghoon chuckled.

Remembering something, Soyeon quickly slipped her hand into Sunghoon's right hand to intertwine their fingers together. The sudden contact and action made him glance at her from the corners of his eyes.

She flashed him a sympathetic, apologetic smile. "We're in public, so we have to sell it."

Something unreadable flickered across his face but it was gone when he blinked. He didn't like this—the arranged marriage they were put up with, how he's practically a pawn in whatever game both families are playing, being used like a tool. The two walked to the lift lobby together, hand in hand and his eyes automatically moved across the sea of people, searching for someone.

And he locked eyes with you.

You were at your desk, fingers poised over your keyboard while you were working on something that probably needs his attention whenever you're done. What made his heart tightened was how your eyes widened momentarily before returning to its usual size, how your eyes darted between his and Soyeon's face. He can practically imagined the loading logo floating on top of your head as you eventually connect the dots.

You were the first to break eye contact, snapping your head back to look at your screen, like you couldn't handle looking at him. Sunghoon dryly swallowed, allowing himself to be dragged by Soyeon as they entered the elevator that arrived at their floor.

If he has the ability to turn back time, he'd do it without hesitation. He'd do it to apologize, to amend the soon-to-be broken bridge between the two of you. And most importantly, to not be the reason for the amount of tears you've shed, especially when it's all because of him.

◟‿୨୧‿◞

"…llo? Earth to lover girl? Anyone home?"

You blinked, snapping back to reality. "What?"

Beomgyu sighed, waving his chopsticks around in a circular motion, speaking after he swallowed his mouthful of food.

"You weren't listening, were you? Lemme guess, you were too busy thinking about that uptight superior of yours. Seriously, I don't get what you see in him. Sure, he's handsome but compare to this," he paused to gesture at his own face with a cocky, arrogant grin that made you and Heeseung rolled your eyes, "that's nothing."

Beside him was Heeseung, who rubbed the space between his eyes as he muttered a string of words under his breath, no doubt saying his prayers. The three of you were currently having lunch at a famous ramen restaurant near your firm. You wanted to turn down the offer at first but your friends were persistent.

They (more like Beomgyu) kept begging and begging until you gave in, having to shush them (Beomgyu) when they let out a triumphant shriek, which brought you to your current situation. You let out a sigh, stirring the noodles in your bowl. You didn't have an appetite and every time your mind went back to seeing the woman and Sunghoon, you felt the urge to vomit right there and then.

Heat crept up the back of your neck with your ears turning red and warm.

"I wasn't thinking about him," you weakly defended yourself but the looks both men sent you said otherwise.

"Right, and I'm the future president. You looked like you were about to faint when you saw her," Beomgyu (un)helpfully pointed out, letting out a pained yelp when Heeseung roughly elbowed him from the side, nearly sending him toppling out of his seat.

You placed your chopsticks down after forcing yourself to take another bite, swallowing it before answering him.

"What am I supposed to think? I didn't expect he'd do this," you confessed, like you were admitting to a sin you committed.

Beomgyu shared a quick glance with Heeseung before speaking up. Unlike before, his voice no longer carries the casual joking and teasing tone. But rather, he sounds serious—an rare occurence that he only used when the time and situation called for it.

"(Name), I'm telling you this as a friend who's been with you for three years: you need to move on."

You visibly flinched, feeling like you were slapped right on your right cheek and getting an arrow directly shot into your chest. You looked down, staring at a random spot of the table as you avoided eye contact. Someone sighed—Heeseung. He reached out, placed his hand above yours and gave it a light, assuring squeeze. You lifted your head up at the action, meeting his doe-like eyes.

"Beomgyu's right. We've seen the effect Sunghoon has on you and we say this out of the goodness of our hearts, if you continue to live like this—choosing to stay in the past, trying to convince yourself or trying to defend him, then it'd only do you more harm than good," he explained in a soft tone, the kind of tone specially reserved when he's oh so gently giving advice to his colleagues.

"I—I wasn't defending him. I'm fine, I really am," you instinctively replied, trying to defend yourself.

The lie sounds hollow even to your own ears. Heeseung raised an eyebrow, never breaking eye contact as he tightened his grip on your hand.

"No, you're not."

Even though he's being gentle, it doesn't soften the blow at all. You furrowed your eyebrows, feeling a flicker of frustration breaking through your facade.

"You don't get to decide that for me."

"I'm not. I'm telling you what I see."

You stubbornly shook your head, withdrawing your hand, the contact feeling too much with his heat lingering behind. "Both of you are overthinking. He's my boss now. Of course things are gonna feel and be weird. That's all there is to it."

"You know that's not the truth," Beomgyu cut in, his tone still serious and unwavering from Heeseung's left side.

You made a frustrated sound, head snapping to him. "Alright, why are both of you acting like I'm some kind of mess? I'm doing my job just fine, aren't I?"

"That's not the point," Heeseung softly pointed out but there was something else behind it. Something heavier and something you didn't want to acknowledge.

"You can function. You show up, do your work, act like everything's normal," he paused for a second before he continued and honestly, what he said next made you felt like you were punched right in the stomach, "but the moment his name comes up, you fall apart."

You parted your lips, opening and closing but you couldn't say a thing. Not when he's right. Not when he's speaking the truth. Not when he has caught you red-handed.

Heeseung pressed on at your silence. "I'm not saying this to hurt you. I'm saying this because I'm tired of watching you hurt yourself over someone who clearly doesn't care the way you do anymore."

"That's not—"

"Then what is it? Because from where we're standing, it looks like you're still holding onto someone who already let you go," he directly asked, not beating around the bush.

Your chest tightened, something twisting into itself painfully as you dropped your gaze to the table, defeated without knowing what else you can possibly say in a situation like this.

"I just…" You trailed off. "It's not that easy, alright? I'm trying. I really am."

"Nothing about love is ever easy," Beomgyu said, his voice softening now, nearly matching Heeseung's.

"We're not asking you to forget and get over him overnight. But you have to try. Really try. You have to stop giving him so much power over you," he continued and what he said next made your breath caught.

"You deserve someone better than him."

Your throat tightened, vision turning blurry around the corners. You rapidly blinked your eyes, trying to keep yourself together, trying not to burst out into tears, at a restaurant during lunchbreak with your friends sitting opposite of you. As much as you wanted to argue and to defend him, another part of you had finally gotten the closure you needed.

That they were right and maybe, just maybe, it is finally time for you to face the future with a brighter and clearer mind.

When lunch was over with you managing to finish your bowl of noodles, leaving the restaurant feeling lighter with your friends walking on both sides of you. Thankfully, no one bat an eye to your red, swollen and puffy eyes as you shrink into yourself, not wanting to gather any unwanted and unnecessary attention.

You returned to the firm, heading to your desk to grab a small pouch that holds your makeup and other necessities as you headed to the ladies to freshen up. What you didn't expect was for you to bump into someone that made you came to an abrupt halt, standing at the doorway. The woman stood before one of the mirrors, fixing her appearance when her eyes drifted to you, making eye contact via the mirror's surface.

"You must be (Name)," the woman said, her voice gentle and warm, eyes glimmering with something unreadable as she screwed the lid of her lipstick back on with an audible 'click' sound that echoed throughout the space.

You slowly nodded your head. "..Yeah, and you're Soyeon."

Sunghoon's fiance.

She—Soyeon, made a sound of acknowledgment, turning around on the spot to face you. She crossed her arms, the nail polish on her nails seem to glow under the lights from above. You caught the way she scanned you from head toe, like she's searching for something. Maybe it's your weakness. Maybe it's the way you're dressed or how you carried yourself.

Whatever it was, she seemed pleased and satisfied, like she had found something she was looking for.

"Yes I am. I've heard a lot about you and it's a great pleasure to finally meet you," she said, pushing herself off the counter she was leaning on, approaching you with her right hand stretched out.

You accepted the unspoken offer of a handshake, out of politeness and nothing else. You pointedly ignored how you were able to feel the smooth, cool surface of the ring pressed against your fingers during the brief handshake, being the first to drop your hand while clutching onto your pouch, like it has some sort of ability to defend you from her.

"Only good things I hope," you replied, the words all awkward and stiff, like you've forgotten how to speak.

The other woman chuckled, cocking her head to the side. The movement caused her earrings to sway side to side. "Of course, Sunghoon couldn't stop talking about you."

That sentence caught you off-guard. You owlishly blinked your eyes, looking at her like she had spoken in a different language or she had grown another head.

"S-Sunghoon talks about me?" You squeaked out, your voice unnaturally rising an octave, your ears and cheeks turning red, feeling unusually warm.

This time, she couldn't hold back her laughter. She bent forward, hands clutching her sides as she laughed—the sound was light, airy, full of joy and whimsical at its finest. You could only stare at her, not quite believing the woman standing right before you is the very same woman who's the daughter of a famous couple—couple who are none other than the law firm's key shareholders.

Eventually, Soyeon calmed down, straightening herself as she wiped the tears away from her eyes.

"Whew, you should've seen the look on your face. That was funny, but yes. Believe it or not, he does talk about you. Although, talking would be an understatement," she said, something mischievous glinted in her eyes.

You were confused, wanting to ask her what she meant by that but the sound of approaching footsteps and hushed voices caught your attention. Hearing this, Soyeon steeled herself and flashed you a warm, friendly smile.

"I'll see you around, (Name). And trust me when I say this: you should talk to him."

And just like that, she walked out without waiting for your response, leaving you standing there, mind reeling from the conversation you just had. The only things you gained from her was more confusion and of course, more questions than before.

◟‿୨୧‿◞

Days stretched to weeks with everyone being busy and swamped away by their never-ending workload. It's one of the peak periods, which meant more time spent slaving away at their respective desks, more time staring at screens until a migraine starts forming. For a certain legal associate who goes by the name of Park Sunghoon, that meant dealing with more cases, ranging from solving easy, simple cases to encountering the most mind-blowing and baffling cases he had seen in his entire life.

Being a legal associate is hard work and it's also a position Sunghoon took pride in. However, the same couldn't be applied to his family. Or more specifically, his parents. He remembered the day it happened—the very same day where he made up his mind to toss everything aside. His family's reputation, his time spent studying something he clearly has no interest in and the amount of money poured into him, shaping him to be the next successor of the company.

The whole thing happened when Sunghoon was nineteen. Not too young to be considered a child but not too old to be considered a fully-grown, mature adult yet. The thought had been lingering in the back of his mind for a few days now. He hasn't told anyone yet, not even his own flesh and blood. He didn't know when was the appropriate time for him to tell his parents.

What he does know however, is they will definitely be against it. Against his sudden, abrupt decision. He can already foresee it in his mind—their stupefied expressions followed by a mixture of feelings—betrayal, horror and disbelief. Betrayal at the fact that he dared to turn his back against his family. Horror at the bold, unexpected move he pulled. Disbelief as they couldn't fathomed the thought of their very own son, daring to go against the long history of a Park refusing to take over the family's business.

Sunghoon had long packed his things, putting his clothes, things and everything else into his luggage and carry-on. He had booked the tickets behind his parents back, using his own money and will be flying off tomorrow, first thing in the morning. The boy stood at the foot of his bed, staring at his opened luggage with an unreadable look on his face. All that left was to tell his parents and—

"Sunghoon? What are you doing?"

His shoulders tensed at the sound of his older brother's voice. He looked over his shoulder, noting the bewildered look on his face, his wide eyes rapidly darting between the opened luggage and Sunghoon. He caught the moment Jay connected the dots, eyes widening further with his lips parting.

Jay closed the distance in no more than five large strides, invading his brother's invisible personal space. He gripped onto the front of Sunghoon's shirt in a vice-like grip, wrinkling the fabric in the process.

"Can you oh so kindly tell me why there's a luggage on your floor and why does it look like you're about to do something reckless?" Jay demanded, his voice low and serious with him barely able to hold himself back from doing something reckless.

Sunghoon remained silent, eyes averted to the side, having no intention of wanting to face his brother. Jay clenched his jaw at the other's prolonged silence, further brunching his shirt between his fingers.

"Park Sunghoon, you better give me a damn good reason why you're doing this or I'm punching you in the face," he warned him.

Sunghoon sighed, reluctantly turning to face Jay. "I'm flying to Australia tomorrow morning, to study law."

Silence.

Jay stared at him, blinking his eyes once. Twice and thrice before his words fully sank in. The grip on his shirt loosened, his hands dropping and returned to his sides.

"..You're leaving? Is it forever?" He asked.

Sunghoon shook his head. "No, it's just for five years and I'll come back once I graduated. I've already booked the flight tickets and managed to get a dorm to stay on campus. Don't worry about me, Jay-ah."

Jay barked out a loud, incredulous laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Don't worry about you? How can you expect me to stay calm when you didn't tell me until now? Why didn't you say a thing? I'm your older brother!"

Sunghoon scoffed and crossed his arms defensively. "And what about it? Not once have you stood up for me when Father kept forcing me to learn about business. You knew I have no interest in it! You knew my heart was never there in the first place!"

Every sentence he spoke, his voice grew louder and louder until he was hollering at the top of his lungs. It's clear as day that he had been harboring these feelings for a long, long time—how he truly felt as the second son of the esteemed Park Family. Jay, on the other hand, stood rooted to the ground, speechless and startled by his outburst. Sunghoon took his silence as the green light to keep going, the lid long removed.

"Every time we bumped into each other in college, you pretend to not see me. It's like I'm some sort of embarrassment to you! What's so embarrassing about wanting something different from someone else? Whenever Father kept pressuring me, telling me that I need to study hard to be as smart as you, I wanted to tell him, to hell with your stupid company! You only cared about your own futures while forcing your son to work away, like he's a tool."

Jay's eyes widened. This is his first time witnessing Sunghoon's pure, raw and unfiltered fury. "Sunghoon, I—"

"No, you listen to me, hyung. I've tolerated him for eight years. Eight. Years. Eight years of listening to that man forcing me to do this and that, without caring what I truly wanted. Eight years of having to obey his words. It's either that or get disowned from the family."

He paused, letting out a humorless and shaky laugh. It's the kind of laughter that one does when they have lost all forms of hope and when they were being forced into a corner.

"So I decided to leave. I don't care if they are against it. I don't fucking care if they want to disown me. Let them do what they want. Nothing they say or do will stop me from pursuing my dreams," he ended his speech, voice firm and filled with firmness. The firmness of someone who had clearly made up his mind.

Silence.

Jay lets out a long, heavy sigh. His shoulders slumped in defeat with resignation written all over his face.

"…You're right, I've been a horrible brother to you. I wasn't there when you needed me, too caught up in my own world. I should've stepped in the moment I saw Father's persistent attempts to mold you into the son he wants. The type of leader he wants. But Sunghoon, for what it's worth, I'm proud of you."

The second son frowned, confused. "About what?"

Jay's features softened, stepping closer to pull him into a bone-crushing hug. He rested his chin on Sunghoon's right shoulder with his arms tightly wrapped around the other boy's figure.

"For having the courage to throw everything aside and to chase after your dreams. I'm sure you'd succeed and just know that I'll always be proud to call you my brother."

To put it shortly, their parents didn't take his decision well to heart—which wasn't surprising in the slightest. The two of them—Sunghoon and his father, argued like their lives depended on it. Hurtful words and creative insults were thrown at one another without hesitation. His father had the last word. What he said made the younger boy nearly see red.

"Fine. You can go but I want you to remember this for the rest of your life—whatever you do next is not your own decision. It will be decided by me and you have no say in this."

It took all of Sunghoon's self-restraint to hold himself back from saying things he couldn't take back, simply turning to stomp out of the room, slamming the door shut on his way out. He didn't sleep that night, spending the rest of the hours tossing and turning while angrily shedding tears, staining his pillow.

Since his flight bounded to Australia is at seven in the morning, he needs to be at the airport by five latest. He left at three thirty, not wanting to spend another second or minute being under the same roof as his father. The entire house was fast asleep—the way he wanted it to be when he leaves for his flight.

He managed to book an Uber and left for the airport with his house getting smaller and smaller until it was out of his sight. And from that day onward, Sunghoon's Father never viewed him with pride anymore. But rather, it was with disappointment and frustration.

"Huh, never thought I'd see you here."

Sunghoon snapped back to reality, pulled away from his train of thoughts when a familiar voice spoke to him. He straightened himself, looked over his shoulder to see someone standing behind him. Someone who he never thought he'd see again. Not when their last interaction was in Australia.

"Jake? What are you doing here?" He breathed out, confused to see his friend standing right before him in the flesh.

The two were assigned as roommates during their five years spent at law school. They clicked immediately. They are the same age, have lots of common interests and it was also thanks to Jake's help that Sunghoon was able to read, write and speak English fluently. Living in a country that's English-only does that to a foreigner. They also made jokes about how they were fated and meant to be, due to how close they grew.

"I'm on vacation and decided to fly to Seoul. Didn't expect to bump into you though."

Jake smiled, his face brightening up along with as he plopped down into the high stool on Sunghoon's right, turning it to face him with one elbow resting on the countertop. The two men are in a bar. There was a live performance happening right now, with a live band playing—the jazz music they were playing does more than enough to set the mood.

The sounds of people chatting with one another, with the occasional glasses clinking and the sound of cutlery scrapping against the plates echoed in the air, making the bar sounds lively. Sunghoon is a frequent customer of this specific bar, to the point where the staff recognized him and already knew what his orders is with one look at his face.

It was close to nine when he entered the bar, mind lagging with his body starting to shut down after working overtime by spending hours reviewing documents followed by him preparing for a trial tomorrow. A trial for a very serious case, to be exact. Sunghoon sighed and Jake heard it, despite how their surroundings were loud.

"What's wrong man? You looked like you got dumped. I saw the news too," he said, pausing to wave the bartender over, placing his order in fluent Korean with a hint of Australian accent before continuing his sentence, "I didn't take you as the type to move on that quickly."

"It's not real," Sunghoon replied without missing a beat, staring at a random spot of the bar counter. He further elaborated when he felt Jake's inquistive gaze.

"What's not real? The marriage?"

He nods his head.

Jake remained silent as the bartender slide him his order, taking a sip from it before placing it back down on.

"What really happened, Sunghoon-ah? You know you can tell me anything," he asked in a softer tone, like he's talking to a stray, frightened cat he stumbled upon on the streets.

Sunghoon sighed, running a hand through his hair. He absentmindedly caressed the sides of his shotglass.

"I didn't want to be like them, working in the business world and taking over my family's company. That's not what I want but my father refused to see it from my shoes. He didn't want my brother to take over, even though he has passion and interest in it. I, on the other hand, preferred to live in the world of law. I ended up going behind my parents' back, booking plane tickets and enrolling into a law school to fulfill my dreams of becoming a lawyer."

He paused, taking another swing of his alcohol, able to sense his friend's unwavering eyes on him the entire time. Sunghoon placed the now empty glass down, waving one of the staff over to refill it again. Jake noticed this, furrowing his eyebrows with faint disapproval written all over his face but he made no move to stop him. Not when it's clear the younger man needed this.

Once his shotglass was full, he wasted no time in downing it in one go for the second time, barely blinking against the strong taste of liquor going down his throat.

"I didn't tell anyone about my choice. Jay found out by accident and we argued. But he knew no matter what he says, he couldn't convinced me to rethink my decision. I ended up telling my parents and obviously it didn't went well. He ended up letting me go, as the tickets were booked. And then…"

His voice trailed off, starting to zone out with brief memories of the fateful dinner playing in his mind. Jake reached out, resting a hand on his friend's shoulder. The mere contact was enough to snap him out of his trance and he continued, shooting Jake a grateful look.

"And then, my father told me he had set me up for an arranged marriage. Her parents are major shareholders to the company, so the marriage will be helpful to everyone. Everyone except me," he sneered, the final word dripping with disdain that he didn't bother concealing.

Jake clicked his tongue. "Damn, that sucks. Thank god I'm not born into some uptight families." He paused when something hit him and his eyes widened slightly.

"Wait, if you're getting married soon, then what about her?" He questioned and Sunghoon knew who he's referring to, even without saying her name.

"There's nothing I can do anymore. She's just my trainee solicitor. Nothing more and nothing less," he retorted, words borderline slurring with his shotglass being refilled for the third time, to which he gulped it down without second thoughts.

"Yikes, that's harsh but is that what you want? To remain as her superior?" Jake pushed further.

Sunghoon side eyed him, the shotglass now being held in his left hand. "What are you trying to say?"

The previous, usual easygoing expression he had was gone, now replaced with something serious—a rare sight for someone like Jake.

"I'm saying, you're being an idiot."

Silence.

Sunghoon scoffed, snapping his head forward. The abrupt motion made his mind spins and he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut while fighting against the sudden dizziness before reopening them again.

"Watch your mouth."

"No, you shut up and listen to me," his friend fired back, voice growing firmer now. "I may not work in the same firm as you but I know you, Sunghoon. I know what you're doing—you kept shutting her down, acting like she's just another employee, like she means nothing when she means everything to you."

He tightened his grip on his shotglass.

"I'm trying to protect her," he replied, but deep down, he knew that was nothing more than a pathetic lie and a weak, feeble excuse.

"Bullshit."

That one, singular word came out as sharp as a knife. Sunghoon glanced at him from the corner of his eyes but didn't say a thing.

Jake exhaled. "You can keep telling yourself that all you want but it doesn't change anything. Not for you and definitely not for her. What you're doing is a fucking coward move."

That got a reaction from him. Sunghoon's jaw muscle twitched, now gripping onto the shotglass while fighting against the urge to throw it at the wall.

"Sim Jaeyun, I'd watch my mouth if I were you," he warned him in a low tone.

"Why? Because I'm right? Because I struck a nerve?" Jake retorted, unfazed and showing no signs of backing down.

"You don't get to treat her like that just because things didn't go your way. She didn't do anything wrong, Sunghoon. If anything, she's the one who got screwed over when you left without a word, only to become someone she barely knew anymore, like you're nothing more than a stranger."

He remained silent, lips sealed shut but his silence was louder than any response. Jake softened, just a little though.

"Look, if you really don't feel anything towards her anymore, fine. Then act like a decent human being with some manners and give her the closure she needs. Talk to her. Tell her the truth."

Sunghoon looked away, choosing to look out of the windows instead. After all, that was easier said than done. If anything, he'd rather take the truth with him, even when he's on his deathbed.

"Don't just pretend she's nothing to you. Because whether you like it or not, she was something. And from the way you talked about her to that look in your eyes, something tells me you feel something towards her."

Jake paused, letting his words sink in before he speaks up again.

"You're getting married. Married. That's a lifelong bond you'll have and it's not with her. Do you think you can survive watching as she moved on, fall in love with someone else who isn't you?"

Sunghoon didn't respond, not wanting to think about that. The thought of you walking hand-in-hand with someone else, someone that's not him, looking at him with your smile—the same fucking smile that never failed to make his heart melt while giving them that soft, tender and loving gaze, was enough for bile to rise in his throat.

He didn't respond, mostly because he couldn't find the words in him to describe the amount of frustration, insecurity and the huge conflict he had been holding for the past few years. But the way he downed the next shot—faster than the rest, said more than enough.

◟‿୨୧‿◞

You were in the comfort of your couch while slurping instant noodles from a pot as you were catching up on one of your favorite shows when someone knocked on your door. It was faint, barely audible if not for the low volume of the show currently playing on the television. You froze, mouth opened, fork hanging in the air as you were about to take another bite of your noodles.

For a moment, you thought you were hearing things. You didn't move an inch and when it's quiet again, you shrugged it off and continued eating—

Knock knock.

Only for it to happen again. This time, it's louder than before. You sighed, placing your pot on the low coffee table before you as you got up, groaning at the numbness in your toes. You headed to the door, making the mistake of not checking through the peephole, unlocked and opened it. Out of everyone you expected, you didn't expect it to be him.

But he's not alone.

"You don't know me but I know you-Wait, that sounds creepy," the man who's clearly struggling to keep Sunghoon standing upright spoke up, only to mumble to himself under his breath.

You were able to detect the faint Aussie accent in his voice and how he strangely resemblances a dog. Or more specifically, a golden retriever. You stood by the doorway, one hand on the doorknob with your eyes jumping from the two men's faces.

"What happened to him?"

You asked, pointing at Sunghoon whose obviously not alright, considering the evident Asian flush he has, his half-lidded, glossed over eyes and how he's half-leaning and half-stumbling on the spot while trying not to fall face-flat into the hard, solid ground or knocked his head against the doorframe. Although, you would pay good money to see that happen.

Not that you'd wished that on your superior. (Spoiler alert: you definitely would.)

The man had a sheepish look on his face. "He didn't want to listen to me and got drunk."

"I can see that. But why did you bring him here?" You deadpanned.

"Because he kept saying your name."

Silence.

Your breath caught, left fingers curling in on itself as it rested by your side. You stared at Sunghoon, watching as his usual cool, composed and collected demeanor was torn down, now replaced with him drunk, body swaying side to side on the spot. This wasn't the superior you're used to seeing at work, the man who kept pushing you away and never failed to remind you of your position.

No, this is just Park Sunghoon in all of his glory. The raw, unfiltered version of him that you've never seen before.

"..I think you got the wrong person," you ended up saying, grabbing onto any last hopes to push him away. Heeseung and Beomgyu's words echoed in your mind—a reminder and a gentle push to the direction you're supposed to go.

The man arched an eyebrow, pulling out a phone—Sunghoon's phone, from his own pocket and turned the screen around, showing the lockscreen—Sunghoon's lockscreen. What you saw made the air left your lungs, like you were punched right in the guts.

It was you.

Not the current you, now employed and working in the law firm. But rather, the you eighteen years ago. The picture of you was taken with you mid-laughing, head slightly tilted back with your eyes crinkled in a way that made them disappeared completely. Sunlight hits your face at just the right angle, all soft and warm. It even managed to catch the stray, loose strands of your hair.

It wasn't a posed picture nor were you looking at the camera. Heck, you didn't even know it was taken.

"…He took this," You whispered, more to yourself than anyone else.

Your fingers twitched at the side. A strange, unfamiliar feeling settled itself in the depths of your stomach as you stared at the screen. You vividly remembered the day crystal clear. It was an ordinary, regular day, just like any other day there is in the year. You spent the entire day with Sunghoon—from chasing one another, to going to playgrounds or parks to walking home together at the end of the day.

But the same couldn't be applied to him. Just because it was ordinary to you, it wasn't to him. The man observed your expression and reaction carefully, something sharp glimmered in his eyes.

"Yeah. He did."

You remained silent, mind spinning with what you just seen. None of this make sense. The man you once knew—the one who looked at you like you were nothing, who spoke to you with tight politeness, drawing the lines between the two of you and occasionally being unreasonably harsh towards you, doesn't match this.

"Still think you're the wrong person?" The man asked in a gentle, knowing tone.

You parted your lips but couldn't find it in yourself to say a single word. Instead, you opened the door wider, moving to the side to give them space.

"..Come in."

The man—who goes by Jake, left after he set Sunghoon down on the couch. His annoyingly long legs nearly knocked your pot of noodles down to the floor if you didn't move it out of the way in the nick of time. And now, here you are—at eleven on what was supposed to be a peaceful Friday night for you to wind down from work, resulted in you getting an unexpected guest.

The guest being none other than Park Sunghoon himself.

It's clear he passed out the moment his head touched the cushion of the couch, falling asleep right there and then while remaining blissfully unaware of his surroundings or the fact that he wasn't in his own house. You stood by the foot of the couch, your show long forgotten as you looked down at the man in pure exasperation.

"Great, what do I do now?" You muttered under your breath, running a hand through your hair, your brain struggling to think of your next move.

You left the living room, shortly returning afterwards with a damp towel held in your hands and a stack of neatly-folded oversize clothes. You moved closer, now standing closer to him as you bend over from your hips, reaching out to gently dap the towel on his face—an attempt to clean him up. He didn't stir much, allowing you to do as you pleased—much to your relief.

However, the relief didn't last long. When you moved the towel down to his neck, the fabric grazing against his sharp, precise jawline, he reacted. One moment you were on your knees. The next moment, you were being pulled upward. You let out a startled yelp, your vision turning sideways as the towel fell from your grip.

You let out a strangled "oof" when your face was awkwardly squashed into his neck with his arms securely wrapped around your figure, locking you in place as he hugged you, like a koala bear clinging onto its mother. Your hands were poised awkwardly in the air, like you're uncertain if you're allowed to touch him or not despite how Sunghoon is literally hugging you like there's no tomorrow.

Your mind blanked out when he pulled you closer, if that's even possible in the first place as he groaned, furrowing his eyebrows, like he's having a nightmare. You moved your head away as you placed one hand on the armrest of the couch while the other on the back, pushing yourself up with your knees on both sides of his thighs.

Your face was bright red when realization hits you at the rather… scandalous position you're in. It's almost like you're about to ri—

"No, this is fucking stupid. Get a grip of yourself," you muttered, wildly shaking your head side to side to get rid of any unwanted, distracting thoughts in your mind.

You picked up the towel, ready to walk away when Sunghoon's hand shot out to grab your wrist. Your shoulders tensed at the mere contact, freezing on the spot. You didn't dare to look at him, not wanting to see him wide awake and looking at you. And despite that, you decided to risk it and sneak a quick peak over your shoulder, only for you to heave a sigh of relief when you're greeted with the sight of Sunghoon sleeping peacefully with his eyes closed.

You reached out with your free, clean and dry hand, ready to pry his hand away from your wrist when you saw his lips moved, almost like he was saying something. Curiosity getting the better of you, you inched closer, bending forward a little to hear him better and then—

"…Don't go…"

The words were barely audible, all slurred, fragile and weak, like they will shattered with just one simple push. You went as still as a statue, breath hitching and your heart did a somersault when his grip on your wrist tightened, just slightly, like he's afraid you might slipped away from him, even when he's asleep.

"…Just… stay… a little longer…"

What?

Your heart stuttered. It stopped beating for a moment when you fully registered the words he whispered. You knew he was merely talking in his sleep—something anyone can do. And besides, he's drunk. But as the saying goes, 'drunk words are sober thoughts', you hated how a small part of you felt hopeful—something you haven't felt for a long time.

"I…I didn't mean to…" He murmured, furrowing his thick eyebrows slightly, too deep into whatever dream he was having. "I thought… it'd be easier for you if I just…"

His voice and words trailed off, uncertainty seeping into them. You hated how you were waiting with bated breath, anticipation pumping through your veins, dying to know what he was planning to say next.

"..I still miss you…"

The silence that followed afterwards was heavy, thick and deafening. You couldn't hear anything else, other than your own loud, rapid beating of your heart that seems to echo throughout the four walls of your living room.

And just like that, everything you tried so hard to bury, to ignore and to convince yourself that the past doesn't matter anymore. Especially when you were about to embark on a journey, to start the slow, long-term process of moving on. All of it was washed down the drain and you've never been this conflicted in your entire life.

◟‿୨୧‿◞

What the? Where am I?

Sunghoon woke up to find himself laying on a couch that was too small for him. He looked around, noting the unfamiliar but familiar walls. The man pushed himself up, only to hiss when his head spins, causing him to stop as he clutched the side of his head, only shifting when the giddiness stopped. He sat up, groaning at the lingering backache from the uncomfortable position he slept in and it then hit him.

He's in your house.

"What the fuck happened?"

He murmured to himself, trying to recall the series of events leading to this but he came up empty. No matter how much he tried to think back, all he got was a blank space, hitting the dead end. Sunghoon clicked his tongue, annoyed at the wide gap in his memory. Before he could ponder over it, he heard the sound of soft footsteps coming from his right.

His muscles tensed up, already knowing who it was without looking back.

"Oh, you're up. How are you feeling?" You asked, acting like everything's perfectly fine and dandy when it's far from normal.

Sunghoon swallowed, clearing his throat as he pointedly faced the front, staring at the outline of his figure reflected on the blank television screen before him. "Better now, still have a slight hangover but I'd get over it. I should get going."

He hurriedly said the last sentence, not wanting to make you anymore uncomfortable. Or maybe, just maybe, he didn't want to give you the wrong idea. The wrong idea that there's something between the two of you. If he listened closely, he can imagine Jake going off at him again, probably telling him off about how stupid he is but he quickly shoved his friend out of the window.

You stopped, now entering his sights and you slowly turned on the spot to face him. His eyes flicked to your direction, only for him to do a double-take when he realized you had dressed up more than usual. Even more than you during working hours. Sunghoon couldn't helped with the way he scanned you from head to toe with his eyes, taking in your figure, forgoing the thought of being subtle.

You worn a soft, form-fitting dress in a muted pastel shade that complemented your figure perfectly, the fabric hugging your waist before elegantly falling to just above your knees. The neckline was modest but the way it framed your collarbones along with a silver necklace resting just above, drew attention without trying.

A light cardigan loosely hung off your shoulders, sleeves pushed up to your arms, giving you a soft and almost effortless look. Your heels were simple, not too high or low but enough to add a hint of confidence from where you stood. Your hair wasn't how it was at work and one look was enough to tell him that you had styled it, with soft waves framing your face, catching the light whenever you moved.

It makes you looked…

Sunghoon swallowed for the second time.

Stunning.

There was no other word for it and he hated how the thought immediately came to him. He's so caught-up in his mini staring game that he wasn't aware you had noticed it. Noticed how his gaze lingered longer than usual. Noticed how his eyes kept flicking down to your lips. Lips that were covered in a noticeable, glossy shade of lip-gloss. Lips that looked kissable.

To be more specific, lips that he wants to kiss.

You frowned at the prolonged silence and how he kept staring at you. "Is there something wrong?"

No. Yes. You look beautiful. Stay here with me. I'm sorry for how I've treated you. Please come back to me.

Instead of saying any of those sentences, he asked a question instead, with the words slipping from his mouth before his still half-asleep brain could processed it.

"Where are you going?"

Silence.

Sunghoon internally cursed at himself the moment it slipped. You paused, body already angled towards the door, only to freeze when his voice pierced through the silence. You looked over your shoulder, confusion written all over your face. And gods, he desperately wished he can just get up, closed the distance and kissed you until you're gasping for air, until you're begging for him and until you didn't want to leave anymore.

But he held himself back, which proved to be a difficult task for someone who always keep his cool. Not when it comes to you though.

"Uh, I'm going out. Why?"

"With who?"

Not when you're dressed like that. Dressed like you're the main character and how you're gonna draw attention from everyone. Everyone who's not me.

He saw the way you narrowed your eyes and how you ran your thumb over your knuckles—something you do when you managed to pick up something about him. Up to now, it felt like you have some sort of hidden, secret ability to read his thoughts. Like you're a mind-reader and honestly, if you truly were, it will make his life so much easier—not that he'd dare to say it out loud.

"Why are you asking?" You fired back with a question of your own.

Sunghoon stubbornly remained silent—his signature move and you scoffed, making a show of rolling your eyes.

"I'm going out with Heeseung. We're gonna have lunch."

The moment those words left your mouth, something in the air shifted. It was small but it was unmistakable. The air thickened, so thick that one can sliced it apart with a mere butter knife. His eyes darkened a shade, now resting his elbows on his thighs with his legs spread slightly. He intertwined his fingers together—to prevent himself from doing something as reckless as kissing you right there and then.

He exhaled through his nose and looked to the side. "Right. Of course."

Even though he muttered it under his breath, you caught it. Of course you did. You swallowed the sudden rise of irritation that shot up when you heard his words. You crossed your arms, tapping your fingers on your arms while boring holes into his head. If looks could kill, he would've died on the spot.

"What's that supposed to mean?" You asked, sounding defensive but you couldn't help it.

"Nothing," he snapped, his tone cold and harsh—exactly how he sounds like in the office.

In a poor, feeble attempt to distract himself, Sunghoon stood up and ran a hand through his messy hair. He looked everywhere but you, like it's painful for him for his eyes to land on you. And to him, it is painful. Painful that you actually put in effort to meet someone. Most importantly, it's another man. He knows you and Heeseung are close, often seeing the two of you hanging out together whenever Beomgyu was too busy with work.

He remembered watching from wherever he was with a tight jaw, a vice-like grip until his knuckles were turning white, as you conversed with Heeseung. Sunghoon couldn't do anything but to watch, like a bystander, as someone made you laughed until you were shedding tears, until you were gasping and wheezing for breath, until your entire face lits up the entire room—

"I wasn't aware you have plans," he added after a moment, his tone forced into something neutral but the tightness in his voice gave it away.

You didn't catch it, too busy trying not to lose your mind at how weird he's acting. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know I'm supposed to report my schedule outside of work to you."

It's clear you were being sarcastic and honestly, you weren't in the wrong. Sunghoon looked out of the window, noting how blue the sky looks today. He hated how his heart tightened with ache at your bluntess, at how you didn't hesitate to stand your ground. But that was one of the many things he loved about you.

"..Right."

He said quietly and he should stop there. Should let you get going but there was another part of him. Another small, selfish part that wants to keep you here, in the same room as him, as long as possible. Forget Heeseung.

"And you dressed up for that?"

A wave of regret hits him immediately after that. He should say something but it was too late. The damage was already done. You gawked at him, mouth wide open with a mixture of emotions written all over your face—anger, frustration and most importantly, disbelief.

Sunghoon sank his teeth into his bottom lip, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants to hide how he had curled them into tight fists, actively restraining himself.

"What the fuck are you trying to say? God forbid me from wanting to dress up. It's not like we're going on a date," you retorted, shoulders trembling in rage with the flames gradually rising.

Sunghoon glanced at you from the corner of his eyes and looked away. "..Whatever, it's none of my business. Go on. I won't hold you back any longer. I can see myself out."

You stared at him, rendered speechless with his rude, cold behavior.

"Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you!? You should be grateful that I even let you into my house in the first place. If not for Jake, you would've been lying on the streets. But since you don't care about anything other than work and that fiance of yours, what else do I really have to say?"

You sneered, pausing for a second to let the words sink in before you continued, practically spatting them out, like the words are nothing but toxic venom. And Sunghoon can feel your hatred just from those words alone.

"This is the last time we'd be seeing one another out of work. Never ever try and talk to me again. Good fucking bye, Park Sunghoon. You're a fucking asshole and I hope you know that."

You didn't wait for his response, spinning to stomp out of your house, aggressively slamming the door shut with a loud, ferocious force that it's a miracle it's still attached to the hinges. Once you were gone, Sunghoon collapsed into the couch. He covered his face with his hands and groaned, the sound muffled and full of nothing but pure agony.

"What have I done?"

◟‿୨୧‿◞

You started avoiding Sunghoon ever since then but it was easier said than done. The fact that you're working in the same firm is one thing. But the other fact that you directly report to him is another different thing. However, you weren't blind to notice the small but gradual changes about him.

One good example will be when you were pulling another all-nighter, trying to read through the countless and seemingly never-ending case files spread out before your desk. Sunghoon had accepted a case but unlike any other cases, this was probably the most baffling case you laid your eyes on in your entire life.

At first glance, it was simple—just another hit-and-run case. But that was just the tip of the iceberg. It was thanks to Sunghoon who discovered something was amiss when he read through the report, constantly replaying the CCTV footage he managed to get a hold on, again and again like a broken cycle and that's when it hits him.

"Your report is missing something," he spoke up out of the blue.

After sitting in silence for the past few hours or so in Sunghoon's office, you jerked in your seat when he said that sentence, horribly catching you off-guard. It didn't help that you were exhausted as well, fighting the urge to fall asleep right there and then.

"What is?" You asked, confused.

"The accident was reported at 11.42pm but she passed the intersection at 11.39pm."

You blinked, still not following along. You watched as Sunghoon grabbed a pen and flipped the document to the other end, writing down the timestamps in neat, precise strokes. You had to wheel your chair towards his desk to get a closer look.

"There's a three minutes difference. That's barely enough time for impact, panic and escape, especially on a road with traffic lights and cameras."

Your eyes widened when you started to connect the dots. "…Unless she didn't stop."

"She would've had to slow down at the junction, no matter what," he pointed out.

"So the timeline is off," you concluded.

Sunghoon nodded in agreement, locking eyes with you. "Yes, and that it's done by someone else."

For some reason, you didn't look away from him, like you were having your own moment—just like those moments shared between the two leads in a Kdrama. Time seemed to slow down with everything coming to a stop. You caught the way his eyes flicked down to your parted lips. For a split second, you thought he was about to do something reckless but instead, he broke eye contact and pointedly cleared his throat.

"Let's stop here for today. I'll drop you off since it's late," he said, voice tense.

You mutely nodded, moving to pack your things while replaying the brief moment you had in your mind. You weren't sure why but maybe it was the way he looked at you. Maybe it was that certain look in his eyes. Whatever the actual reason was, you couldn't put a finger on it and you shrugged it off, not wanting to think twice about it.

What you didn't know however, was that was just the start. The start of Sunghoon attempting to redeem himself.

◟‿୨୧‿◞

Another example happened one week later, after the trial was successful in Sunghoon's favor. The client—a woman, was on cloud nine, profusely thanking him and you for saving her life. You had to swallow the sudden surge of irritation when the woman boldly embraced him while shedding happy tears. You knew the gesture doesn't mean anything and how she did it out of pure gratitude.

But that doesn't mean you were blind to how something ugly made itself known as it curled around your heart before sinking its claws in. Something painfully similar to jealousy.

You're being stupid. Why are you getting jealous? It's not like you're his fucking girlfriend.

You shook your head to clear your mind of the distracting thoughts, not wanting it to further ruin or dampen your mood. You felt something sharp being lodged deep in your heart when she rested her hand on his arm, fingers spread out, like she wants to touch more of him. The last straw comes in the form of her stepping closer, invading his invisible personal space and how he stiffened—a subtle move that didn't went unnoticed by you, made you stepped forward.

"Excuse me, Mam, we have somewhere else to be, so if you could excuse us," you loudly said, gathering the attention of the people around you as they looked at you with matching curious stares.

You smoothly inserted yourself in between the woman and Sunghoon. To anyone else, it would be an amusing sight—for you're shorter than your superior and compared to him—someone who often goes to the gym twice per week, he gives off the appearance of someone who knows how to handle himself. You didn't turn around to face him, already able to visualize his surprise with how you rescued him.

The woman was stunned, owlishly blinking her eyes a few times, evidently flustered. She then lets out a strangled, forced laughter, pretending everything was fine when it's not.

"Oh, right, sorry about that. If that's the case, then I won't keep you waiting," she said, bowing slightly before excusing herself, walking away with her face bright red in shame.

You spun around, glaring at Sunghoon and scoffed when you made eye contact. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

Like the way you used to, back when we were kids.

Your lips remained sealed shut, not wanting nor having the courage to utter those words out loud.

"..Forget it, let's go. We have another case on our hands," you muttered, walking past him with him easily matching your pace. Even when you refused to glance at him, you can feel the intensity of his firm, unwavering gaze.

Maybe it was the trick of the light or maybe your vision is starting to deteriorate but you sworn you saw something akin to softness when you risked a glance at him as both of you walked side by side. If Sunghoon stepped closer until the fabric of your blazers brushed against one another and how you didn't step away, then that was your secret to keep.

◟‿୨୧‿◞

The last and final example took place at a company dinner that took place at a five-stars hotel. Your jaw practically dropped to the floor when you arrived with Heeseung and Beomgyu, unable to believe what you were looking at. Beomgyu was the first to react as the three of you entered the lobby, following the directions provided to one of the major event rooms where the dinner will be taking place.

"Jeez, I know the company's rich but not this rich!" He hissed under his breath, eyes wildly darting left and right, trying to take in the grand and majestic hallways he's in.

Heeseung nodded along. "Yeah, but didn't the email stated the purpose of the company dinner was to thank everyone for their hard work?"

You couldn't help but scoffed, looping your hands through both Heeseung and Beomgyu's arms as you dragged the two men to the designated room, with the guards letting you in.

"Alright gentlemen, let's not talk about work after hours. Let's just eat and enjoy the moment, shall we? Free food is food," you said.

One look around was enough to know whoever was in-charge of the decorations, they had gone over the top. The hall was breathtaking—high ceilings draped with cascading chandeliers that covered the entire room in a warm, golden glow. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined on one side, revealing the city skyline as it glittered like a sea of stars.

Round tables occupied the floor in pristine white linen with each centerpiece adorned with different kinds of fresh flowers and delicate glass ornaments that caught the light here and there. Along the far end was where your destination was, waiting for you—the long spread of food that seems to stretch almost endlessly.

It has everything—from gourmet canapes to full-course dishes plated like pieces of art. Soft classical music instrument played in the background from a live band, perfectly setting the mood and it was loud enough to fill the silence without countering the chatters. Everyone put on their best outfits for tonight's dinner—tailored suits, elegant dresses and polished shoes that clicked against the marbled, polished floor.

Laughter came here and there as people mingled among themselves, talking about everything and anything at the same time. Unlike the usual stiff, tense and fast-paced atmosphere everyone was used to, this was more softer, relaxed and lighter. It felt like a much-needed break to everyone, considering how hard they had worked.

"I don't think insane is enough to describe all of this," Beomgyu continued, grabbing a plate for himself as he greedily helped himself to the wide selection of food, filling his plate up in no time.

You snorted as you grabbed a plate for yourself, walking behind him with Heeseung behind you. "Told you so. Less thinking and more eating. We gotta eat our salaries' worth."

Heeseung laughed, the most relaxed as compared to the two of you as he grabbed some food here and there. "I swear, both of you are unbelievable."

Beomgyu was about to retort with something when a group of colleagues standing nearby shouted his name. He turned to them before back to you and Heeseung, looking conflicted, like he doesn't want to leave the two of you alone. You made the choice for him, shooing him away, like he's some sort of pest.

"Go on, we'll be fine. Just find us whenever you're done," you said.

Beomgyu dramatically gasped, placing his free hand over his chest. "You traitor!"

He exclaimed as he was being dragged towards the group of colleagues who had been eagerly waiting for him, excitedly slapping him on the back. You and Heeseung watched from the sidelines as he effortlessly fall into their conversation within seconds, blending in with them, like the true social butterfly he is.

Heeseung sighed, shaking his head while taking a bite of his food. "Poor guy. Let's hope he's still sober by the time it's over."

You let out a sudden, loud laugh, startling the people around you and slapped a hand over your mouth. "I don't know about that. I think he'd be gone before it ended."

At that, the two of you walked around the room while chatting with other people, exchanging small talks or catching up with colleagues from different departments. It's easy like this—allowing you to temporarily escaped from reality as you chatted about anything but work. It's the kind of conversations that comes naturally, without the weight you had been carrying for the past few days.

Eventually, Heeseung oh so kindly led you to one of the tables for you to sit down, take a breather and relaxed your legs. You practically heaved a sigh of relief the moment you sat down, leaning over to rub at your slightly swollen feet.

"Maybe it was a bad choice for me to wear heels," you complained, straightening yourself as you leaned back into the chair, holding your plate with your left finger while trying to finish the remains on your plate.

Your friend chuckled, diagonally sitting on your left with one leg crossed over the other. "You could've worn sneakers and no one would've bat an eye."

You gasped, shooting him an incredulous look. "That would ruin my outfit!" You gestured to yourself. Just like the other ladies, you were dressed in a dress that fits the guidelines of the company dinner.

It's a sleeveless black dress with the hem reaching just above your knees. The length itself is modest enough but the way it hugged your body in the right areas was enough to gather stares with some daring to look longer than usual. You may not have noticed it—the effect you have but the same doesn't apply to a certain someone.

Someone who had been watching you the entire time, right from the moment you stepped into the room. Sunghoon nearly dropped his glass of half drank white wine when you entered, feeling his breath leaving his lungs. His mind blanked out at how stunning you looked, easily drawing everyone's eyes onto your approaching figure, whether they knew it or not.

That's another thing Sunghoon loved about you—how you're able to capture the entire room's attention without lifting a finger. He watched with a tight jaw, hands nearly snapping the glass into half in his vice-like grip as you were deeply engrossed in a conversation with Heeseung. From where he stood, he was able to get a clear view of how you leaned in slightly to say something into the man's ear, followed by you laughing as you covered your mouth with your hand after he made a joke.

Seriously, is he really that funny?

Sunghoon sulked, downing the rest of the wine in one go, not even flinching when someone threw an arm around his shoulders. He didn't have to turn to know who it was, for there was only one person who dares to lay a hand on him.

"Damn, you're beyond whipped, lover boy. Stop glaring and do something already. Did you remember what I told you?" Jake snickered, earning a nasty, signature side eye from the pale man.

"I know, I tried to make up for it by starting small," he replied, recounting the small, little but precise moments that happened with you to Jake—how he drove you home, how he stood up for you and how he didn't raise his voice at you, point out your mistakes and the list goes on.

His friend whistled, impressed once he was done. "Damn, didn't know the Park Sunghoon is capable of putting in effort in something that's not related to work."

He groaned. "Jake."

"Right, my bad man. So, when are you gonna man up and talk to her?"

Sunghoon went silent, eyes automatically and unconsciously drifting towards you, watching as you were now telling Heeseung something while wildly flailing your arms about like a wild, frantic chicken as you were retelling what seemed to be a thrilling story, judging from the starry look in your eyes and how they were practically glowing.

When was the last time you looked at him like that?

Sunghoon sighed, robotically facing the front while swiping off another glass of white wine from a tray of a passing waiter. He swirled the glass, watching as the colorless liquid sloshed around before taking a slow, deliberate sip.

"…Not yet, Jake. I don't want to mess this up."

Jake rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. "Really? That sounds like an excuse than anything else. You know what it sounds like? It sounds like you're scared. And that you're a fucking coward."

"You've already said it before at the bar."

"Yeah, but it's clear nothing has changed. Which is why I'm repeating what I said before. Park Sunghoon, get your fucking shit together before you lose her. Forever. Once you're married, you can't go back anymore."

"I know that!" Sunghoon snapped. His sudden outburst drew the attention of the people around him but they didn't think twice, returning to their respective conversations.

"I know I'm a coward but what am I supposed to do, huh!? Tell me! How does one even tell someone he truly love and cherish with his entire heart that they are sorry for the things they have done and said? Do you know how painful it was for me to get through every day, when she's so fucking close but so far from me!?"

Jake's eyes widened, cursing under his breath as he looked around, to see more and more people were now looking in their direction.

"Uh Sunghoon, you might wanna lower do—"

"Do you have any idea how much I want to apologize to her, wishing I could turn back time, go back to the past where everything was fine, just like the way it used to be? How I didn't want any of these? How I didn't want anything else but just (Name) by my side? That's all that I care about!"

"Sun—"

"Then tell me, why the fuck am I still standing here doing nothing!?" His voice cracked at the end, louder than he intended—whether he knew it or not.

Silence.

"Sunghoon."

Your voice cut through everything, as sharp as a dagger but it's clear and unmistakably yours. His breath hitched in his throat, fully turning around and there you were, standing just a few feet away from him with an unreadable look on your face. He couldn't helped but wondered if this was how you felt while trying to decipher his feelings but the thought was kicked out of his mind when you approached him, closing the distance in no more than six large strides.

Your hand shot out, grabbed his wrist. The sudden contact made him flinched, startled and his eyes snapped down.

"Come with me."

It wasn't a request but rather, it was a demand—giving him a sense of deja vu. But Sunghoon didn't resist or say anything. He allowed himself to be pulled through the gathered crowd, turning a blind eye to the multiple, curious stares and the whispers following you like a shadow. Jake remained silent, watching from where he stood. He can only prayed that whatever happens next won't end up on the news.

◟‿୨୧‿◞

You didn't stop walking until you reached a secluded corner of the long hallway, until you were far enough that the noise from the dinner event was reduced to nothing but a distant hum. You came to a stop, dropping his hand and sharply turned to face him. Your chest rose and fall, the emotions you had buried for so long were clawing their way back to the surface, threatening to break free.

"Park Sunghoon, what the hell was that all about?" You demanded, your voice low but borderline shaking.

The man—your childhood friend didn't respond. He simply stared at you, like he hasn't seen you in years, like you were something he wasn't sure he was allowed to look at, like you were nothing more than a figment of his imagination. And that whatever was happening right now, is nothing more than a dream.

You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms hard enough to leave indents behind. "I asked you a question. Answer. Me."

He swallowed. "…You weren't supposed to hear that."

You stared at him and let out a disbelief laugh, the sound wreck, sharp and fragile. "Oh, I'm sorry. Should I have covered my ears and let you yell your feelings out in the middle of a company dinner?"

"That's not—" He stopped himself mid-sentence, exhaling in frustration. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what is it? I don't know about you but it sounds pretty clear to me," you shot back, stepping closer now. Your eyes were glowing with flames of anger, like you're desperately trying to rip the truth out of him.

Silence.

It stretched until you were about to walk away when—

"I'm sorry."

The words were quiet, barely above a whisper. And yet, they hit you harder than any of his previous cold, ruthless words. You froze, heart nearly stopped beating in your chest when you heard it. You thought your ears were playing tricks on you and that you were mishearing things.

"…What?"

"I'm sorry. For everything," he repeated, his voice much steadier this time but it's still packed with the same amount of rawness.

You narrowed your eyes, your fight mode instinctively kicking in. It was one, last and final attempt to distance yourself before you dug a deeper grave for yourself.

"No. No, you don't get to do that now," you said, frantically shaking your head as you took a small step back.

"(Name), I know I don't deser—"

"Don't say my name or anything else. You don't get to just fucking stand there and say sorry like it fixes anything," you interrupted him.

"I know it doesn't fix anything."

"Then why not!? Why now, Sunghoon? After everything you've done. After the way you treated me, you suddenly what? Feel gulity? You think your pathetic apology can mend everything? Can it bring back the past!?"

Your voice cracked, leaving you to shriek and scream at the top of your lungs in the hallway. You no longer cared about maintaining professionalism, not when you're in front of the man who had seen you at your worst and best. Not in front of the man who you came to love with your entire soul, only for him to toss you aside, like you were nothing. Like you weren't worthy.

He flinched—such a small movement but you saw it.

"You're right, I apologize because I felt gulity," he admitted, his voice low and defeated.

Your breath caught.

"And because Jake's right. If I don't do something now, I'll lose you forever. And honestly? That fucking terrifies me," he continued, running a hand through his hair in frustration, messing it up in the process.

The pure, raw and unfiltered honesty made your heart skipped a beat and your breath stuttered in your throat. But you didn't let it show, refusing to show him the effect he still has on you, much to your disappointment.

"You didn't seem scared when you treated me like I meant nothing. Or when I was just another employee," you pointed out, each word deliberate, like you had taken great care to choose them out of the entire dictonary.

"I was a coward."

You blinked, not expecting the sudden confession. "Yeah, you are one. Why did you do that? Why did you pushed me away, looked at me like I'm nothing? Like I'm just another employee?"

The man lets out a shaky breath, the sound itself so painful and raw it made you want to step closer to hug him. But you held yourself back.

"I thought if I do that, you'd be able to find someone better. Someone who deserves your love, your smile, your kindness, your attention and everything about you. I.. I don't deserve you."

You let out a bitter, broken laugh as you felt something warm and salty stinging your eyes, blurring your vision slightly. Sunghoon faltered at the sight of your face and he stepped forward, slow and careful. When it's clear you're letting him move closer, he took another step, one move at a time.

"Who do you think you are?" You croaked out.

The man stilled, looking like a deer caught in headlights. "I—"

"No, shut up and listen. Who do you think you are, thinking that I don't deserve you? What makes you think that way, huh? Did God told you all of those and you decided to went along with it? Willingly? You don't get to make my choices on my behalf," you started, closing the distance to forcefully jab your finger into his chest as you hissed at him.

Sunghoon's expression broke. "(Name)—"

"You don't know what I've been through because of you. I couldn't stopped crying every night after work. I kept asking myself: just when did everything go wrong? Was I the one at fault? What can I do to make up for it? What can I do to make him look at me again, just like the way he used to? No matter how much I think, I couldn't think of anything! You left without telling me and came back, looking like a completely different person."

You paused, letting your words sink in before you continued.

"My friends told me to move on."

This time, it was his turn for his breath to stutter. "..What?"

You weakly nodded your head, tears now freely rolling down your cheeks. Sunghoon's hands twitched, tempted to reach out to wipe them away but he restrained himself. Not yet.

"They said I don't deserve you, that I deserve someone better."

He looked away, jaw tight and clenched. "They're right."

You made a sound of frustration, reaching out to grab his face, turning him so he can see you. "I don't care what anyone has to say! I've already made up my choice!"

"Your choice? Wait, you mean—"

"Yes! For fuck's sake, you're the only person I want! I don't want anyone else but you!" You exclaimed, heaving to catch your breath after you quite and literally, confessed your feelings in a hallway.

Sunghoon stared at you, lips parted, dumbfounded and rendered speechless. "I—You love me? For my personality?"

You rolled your eyes. "Ye—!"

You weren't given a chance to finish your sentence, barely getting the word out when he cut you off by crashing his lips against yours. Sunghoon expertly moved his hands—one hand supporting the back of your neck while the other pulled you in by your waist, until you're directly pressed chest-to-chest.

Your mind blanked out with you stilling in his arms, only for your eyelids to flutter shut as you returned the kiss, sighing into his mouth. He greedily swallowed the sound, shuddering when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders. The kiss was slow and languid, like you're trying to convey your true feelings to one another.

I'm sorry. I really am.

Thank you for choosing me.

Despite everything, it's still you. It will always be you.

I love you. I really do.

You ended up breaking the kiss but you didn't pull away completely, resting your forehead against his with your noses grazing against one another. You opened your eyes, to see he was already looking at you. Unlike before, when his gaze was cold, blank and emotionless, this was full of nothing but pure love and adoration. It's enough for your heart to soar, spreading its invisible wings.

"Really? Did you really mean what you say?" He murmured, eyes darting between your eyes and your parted lips.

You chuckled. "Yeah, I mean it. I love you, Sunghoon."

He groaned, the sound low and dangerous. Hearing it does something to you, making heat pooled in your stomach. You attempted to rub your thighs together but he was faster. Without wasting time, he carried you bridal-style in his arms. You squeaked, throwing your arms around him as he walked with purpose, heading to where the elevators are.

"What are you doing!? Put me down!" You hissed, looking around and thankfully, there wasn't anyone around to see you in such a humiliating state.

He paid you no mind, jamming his finger into the Up button. The lift in front of him opened and he wasted no time in entering. Sunghoon pressed one of the many floors of the hotel. He didn't even wait for the doors to close, already crowding you against the wall to kiss you again. His firm, tall and strong body easily held you upright as he steals your breath away.

"W-Wait-hngh-s-stop-hah," you wetly and openly panted against his mouth. Your hands rested on his chest, fingers straining as you tried to push him away but it's futile, with his strength completely overwhelming yours.

He blindly grabbed both of your hands and pinned them above your head with one hand, holding you in place. None of you cared that you're in an elevator, a semi-public place or how the camera was able to capture every heated moment shared by the two of you. Sunghoon sworn under his breath, his free hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your dress up in the process.

His touch made your skin warm, leaving nothing but a tingling sensation and goosebumps behind in his wake. You gasped into his mouth when he toyed with the hem of your nude stockings, tugging on the thin fabric before letting it go. The fabric snapped against your skin, causing you to jolt on the spot. You sworn you felt him smirked against your lips at your reaction.

Ding!

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. Fortunately for you, no one was standing on the other end or they would have gotten the jumpscare of their lives. The two of you tumbled out of the elevator in a mess of limbs, struggling to walk with Sunghoon leading the way. Although, it was easier said than done when he kept kissing you, like he couldn't get enough of how sweet and soft your lips taste.

Eventually, he broke the kiss with a feat of amazing self-restraint, pulling out what looked like a keycard to a room as he stopped before a door. You watched as he pressed the card against the door and a green light lit up. The moment the door was opened, you were yanked into the room, only to be shoved into the door, closing it in the process and he's on you again.

Unlike before, the kiss was more intense, frantic and desperate. His hands were everywhere—greedily touching you in places he wasn't allowed to. Just like before, Sunghoon pushed your black dress up, revealing the stockings you worn underneath it. He boldly cupped you through your underwear, chuckling into your mouth at how you're already wet.

"Look at you, already dripping for me. All from what? Just a kiss? It's all for me, isn't it?"

He hummed, lightly pressing his thumb down on your cunt through the fabric, savoring the choked out whine you let out at the light, fleeting contact. You canted your hips forward, craving more friction but to your utter frustration, he dropped his hand. He pried your lips apart with his skillful tongue, exploring every inch of your warm mouth, ensuring nothing was left untouched.

Your legs buckled, threatening to give way when he gave a harsh suck on your tongue, the sound seemingly loud and lewd in the quiet hotel room. It made your ears turned red. Sunghoon easily lifted you up, maneuvering you to the bed. He placed you down on the pristine white, soft linen sheets with utter care and gentlness that it made your heart stuttered.

You whined, blindly tugging on the blazer of his suit as he hovered over you, careful to not crush you with his weight.

"Off. Take it off," you pleaded.

He chuckled. "Since you asked so nicely."

He withdrew from you, long and slender fingers making quick work of the buttons of his blazer. You pushed yourself up, aiding him in it while ignoring how your hands were borderline trembling. Thankfully, he didn't comment on it. Once the final button was unbuttoned, Sunghoon carelessly chucked it aside. He unknot the tie, ready to throw it to the floor when he paused, an invisible lightbulb going off in his mind.

"Mind if I try something?" He asked, holding the now long, black fabric in his left hand.

You nodded, granting him permission. He scooted closer, grabbed your wrists, telling you to hold them together and you obeyed. Your breath caught when he tied the black fabric around your wrists, binding them together. Once he's done, he observed your face, trying to search for any signs of discomfort.

"Is it too tight?" He questioned, genuinely concerned.

"No, it's perfect."

He nodded. "Let me know if anything hurts, alright? Green's to continue and red's to stop."

"Got it."

The moment those words left your mouth, the switch was instant. His eyes darkened a shade as he pushed you back until you were lying flat on your back. You watched, unable to look away as he unbuttoned the buttons of his white dress shirt at a slow, teasing pace. You squirmed about on the sheets. Now that your wrists were tied together, you couldn't do anything, only able to helplessly watched while you're dripping nonstop.

Sunghoon chuckled, the sound low, mean and degrading at how your reactions. "Aw, what's wrong, princess? Need something?"

You let out a pathetic keen—barely able to recognize your own voice. "P-Please."

"Please what? C'mon, use your words and tell me, baby. I'm not a mind reader," he drawled, finally unbuttoning the last button and shedded the dress shirt, leaving him shirtless.

Your eyes moved, shamelessly oogling him in all of his glory, drinking in his toned chest and the very solid abs he got—results from his hard work at the gym. Sunghoon caught you eye-fucking him. Of course he did. He didn't say anything but the way he smirked was enough. He made quick work of the rest of his pants and boxers, leaving him completely bare while you were still fully clothed, unable to lay your hands on him.

You instinctively looked down, nervously swallowing when you saw his cock. And wow, it's huge. You never knew your childhood friend can be packing down there, hiding and growing a third leg but you can only assumed puberty must have hit him like a truck. The mushroomy tip had already turned a ferocious shade of red due to the lack of attention and neglection. Heck, there was even a bead of precum on the tip that glistened under the dim lights.

You attempted to close your legs but Sunghoon moved. His large hands grabbed both of your thighs, his fingers touching as he held you down, forcing you to spread and present yourself before him. Even though you still have your clothes on, you couldn't helped but feel small under his intense, unwavering gaze.

"P-Please touch me," you whimpered and who was he to deny you?

Sunghoon groaned, wasting no time in removing your clothes from your body, tossing all of them to the floor—ending up in the same fate as his own clothes. Although, the same couldn't be applied to your stockings as he ripped them into shreds instead, too impatient to roll them off your legs. Now that you were completely bare, he had to pause to drink in the sight, almost wishing he can imprint this gorgeous scene into his mind.

Your lipstick was already smudged and nearly wiped off due to the intense make-out session you had. Your hair was spread out like a halo on the pillow, making you looked like an angel. Your lips was swollen and bruised, eyes dazed and slightly glossy as you stared at him, wanting him to do something already.

"Fuck, you're so gorgeous. I can't believe you're mine now," he breathed out, sounding in awe and somehow, that made your breath caught.

He didn't give you time to recover, shifting down until he's on his stomach and dived in. Sunghoon started with a flat stripe up your dripping, aching cunt. The first contact has your mind spinning, nearly making you see the white pearly gates of heaven. You cried out, the sound raw and was ripped from the depth of your throat.

He licked you open with his tongue. Each swipe was slow, deliberate and full of purpose. Your thighs trembled in his grip as you jerked your hips forward, pushing yourself into his mouth. He groaned in appreciation, face buried deep in your leaking pussy. The vibration traveled through your body, drawing a loud and shameless moan from you.

He continued working you open, eventually pushing his tongue inside you. The sudden intrustion of the wet, slimey and slippery muscle made stars explode in your vision. Your back arched off the back, creating an amazing arch that could put even the crescent moon to shame. Your tied wrists were hanging over your head, leaving you helpless and vulnerable to his assault.

"Oh fuck. Hngh, d-don't stop-" You moaned, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he slides two of his long, slender fingers in, moving them in a scissors-like motion, spreading you open and preparing you for what's to come.

"Shit, you taste divine, baby. Could stay here forever and eat this pussy for every meal. Forget food when I can have a five-stars meal here," he growled, his voice vibrating through you.

You've never heard him like this—all pent-up as he gets drunk on your slick, sounds and body. The thought of that was enough to make you rocked your hips against his mouth and Sunghoon lets you do it, letting you ride his tongue. He continued to finger you while fucking you with his tongue.

The double pentration drew a series of angelic, sinful sounds from you. Sounds that you never thought you were capable of making. You can feel your climax coming, with how the pressure kept building as it coiled tighter and tighter in your stomach, like a rubberband being stretched to its limit—

Only for him to pull out, both fingers and tongue.

"Wha—"

"Can't have you cumming on my fingers and mouth. I'd rather have you cum on my cock instead."

Maybe it's the way he said it without hesitation. Maybe it's how firm he is, knowing the effect he has on you. Maybe it's the determined and desired look in his eyes. Whatever it was, it drew an soft, involuntary and needy whine from you. Sunghoon situated himself in between your legs. He aligned himself against your entrance and slowly pushes in.

You felt his mushroomy tip breaching past your folds, sinking deeper and deeper until he eventually bottomed out, buried to the hilt. Your mouth dropped open, forming an "O" shape. You felt impossibly full, like you were being split apart on his cock. Heck, you sworn you could feel him hitting the back of your throat, with how deep he is inside you.

Sunghoon fisted the sheets, twisting them between his fingers while resisting the tempting urge to just pound you six ways into heaven. He doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable and gods, if anything happen to you, he wouldn't know how to continue living after that.

"C-Can't-" You choked out, your pussy being stretched obscenly wide to accomdate to the huge grith of his cock.

He was quick to reassure you. "Shh, it's okay, princess. Just take a deep breath for me, alright? And then breathe out."

You copied him, managing to calm down. Sunghoon took that as his cue to move, pulling out until only the tip was still inside you before sheathing himself back in.

"Fuck!"

You moaned, wrists evidently straining against the temporary bondage as he repeats the movement, setting an even pace. He thrusted into you whole holding himself upright with just his hands. Sunghoon gritted his teeth at how you kept sucking him in, how there was close to no resistance at every thrust.

The hotel room was filled with the lewd, obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, his balls slapping against your inner thighs along with your pleasured moans that gradually get higher and higher. Until he had to duck his head, muffling it by kissing you while swallowing it down his own throat, treating it like an offering from the Gods themselves.

With your lips still interlocked, Sunghoon slung your legs around his waist as he bends you forward, putting you in a mating press. The new position allowed him to hit deeper. You sworn you can feel his tip constantly kissing the entrance to your womb. You couldn't keep up with the kiss, simply moaning and babbling incoherent words that sounded a lot like "more", "please" and "Sunghoon".

Whatever it was, it seemed to do the trick on him. Your bodies were covered in a layer of sweat with salty droplets rolling down his back. Some even landed on the sheets as they trickled down his face. He glanced down, his thrusts faltering mid-motion when he saw a bump on your stomach. A bump made by him, due to how big he is.

He moved his left hand and pressed down on it.

His action elicited a high-pitched keen from you which to him, it was the most delicious sound he has ever heard from you. Sunghoon's mind spins, starting to spiral as he began to wonder: how will you look when you carry his children in the future? How will you treat them?

The thoughts kept flooding his mind and with the newfound vigor, he ruthlessly pounded into you like a madman. You whimpered at the sudden change of speed, body going limp against the sheets as you struggled.

"Gonna make you carry my kids. Pump this pretty little pussy full of my cum," he snarled, seemingly lost in his own world and thoughts.

You moaned, instinctively clenching down on him at his words. Sunghoon cursed, hand snaking down to rub at your clit, timing it with his thrust.

"Yeah? You'd like that, don't you? Walking around in the office with everyone not knowing you're carrying my children," he cooed, voice lowering an octave.

You frantically nodded your head, too far gone and intoxicated on the feeling of his cock constantly hitting that one spongy spot hidden between your gummy walls.

"Mhm! Please, m-more-hah."

Sunghoon continued fucking into you at a faster pace, if that was even possible. The bed creaked at every movement with the bedframe slamming against the wall. He knows he'll be getting a complaint from the hotel staff tomorrow but that's for future him to handle. Now, he has a more important issue to settle. The issue that comes in the form of impregnating you.

It took a few more long and timed thrusts for you to feel your climax reaching.

"G-Gonna cum-pleasepleaseplease," you babbled, too cockdrunk to think straight.

Sunghoon took pity on you. "Yeah? You wanna cum, pretty girl? Then cum for me."

He delivered one final thrust, burying himself to the hilt and you cum while chanting his name like a sacred prayer. Your walls violently convulsed around him, milking him dry as body-length shudders traveled through your body. Sunghoon was quick to follow suit. He spilled thick and hot cum inside you, painting your gummy walls in the shade of his cum.

You grimanced at the uncomfortable feeling of being pumped full, able to feel how bloated your stomach felt afterwards. Sunghoon didn't pull out. Instead, he collapsed onto you with an "oof" and you made a disgusted sound, reaching out to weakly smacked the back of his head.

"Ow!"

"Get off of me. You're gonna crush me to death," you retorted.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes but obliged. He pulled out first, drawing a hiss from you and he laid beside you. None of you said a word, laying on the same bed, bodies covered in sweat and body fluids as you stared at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath. You ended up breaking the silence, wanting to address the invisible elephant in the room.

"…So, what does this make us now?" You asked, not daring to look at him.

"What do you want us to be?" He countered.

"You're not supposed to answer my question with your own," you retorted.

He chuckled, reaching out to place his hand above yours. When you didn't push him away, he took that as a green light to intertwine your fingers together.

"I'd like us to be partners. Romantically."

You snorted. "No one says that, Hoon. It's actually boyfriend and girlfriend."

He furrowed his signature, thick eyebrows. "What's the difference? They still mean the same."

You let out a long, heavy sigh. "Never mind, forget it. But sure, let's be partners. Romantically."

Sunghoon narrowed his eyes at you. "..You're mocking me, aren't you?"

You gave him an innocent look but the glimmer of mischief in your eyes said otherwise. "Me? I would never!"

He didn't budge an inch before pounching on you, fingers ruthlessly tickling your sides without a care in the world. You squealed, trying to push him away and shielding yourself but your efforts was futile. You can only make yourself small while he continued, your laughter and pleas of mercy bounces among the four walls of the room.

"S-Stop-pft-m-mercy-HAHAHA!" You exclaimed, gasping and heaving for breath with tears prickling your eyes.

Sunghoon stopped his tickling attack, only for him to lean forward with his hands now on both sides of your head, caging you against the bed. You stilled, locking eyes with him. He swallowed, eyes flicking down to your lips.

"There's something I need to tell you," he started.

"Well, that doesn't sound good," you teased—a poor attempt to lighten the atompshere."

He didn't react to your words.

"It's about the marriage the articles posted. I want you to know it's not real," he continued. Your heart dropped when you heard that. But despite it all, a part of you felt relieved.

"Oh."

He nodded, eyes searching for something in you. "Yeah, the marriage was set up by both of our families. They believed it's beneficial to both parties if the marriage goes through, in terms of business wise. My father also wants to use it to tie me down, so I won't do it again."

You frowned. "Do what?"

Sunghoon sighed, lowering his head before lifting them up again. "…The reason why I left without telling you was because I didn't know how to. The Parks—my family, is a line of business people. But I'm not like them. I wasn't interested in business. I was interested in law and that's something my parents refused to accept or acknowledge. No matter how hard they kept teaching me, I refused to accept it. It was torture, trying to learn something you didn't want to learn."

Your heart shattered at how small his voice became. You wordlessly reached out, cupped his face with your hands and he leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut.

"So I decided to risk it all, book a plane ticket to Australia and enrol myself in one of the law schools there. I didn't know how to tell you. It was out of a sudden. My brother found out about it and he supports me. My father, on the other hand, harshly rejected the idea. We fought before I left and he told me he'd let me go but in the future, whatever major decisions regarding my life is in his hands now."

Your eyes widened. "..And one of it was the marriage. It's to bind you to the Parks."

He glumly nodded.

"Oh, Hoon…" You sighed, craning your neck up to brush your lips against his in an almost-like kiss. He shivered at how heavenly the nickname sounds from you. The very same nickname he kept close to his heart since young.

"Your father's an asshole. It's your life, whether he likes it or not. He doesn't have a say in what you want to do," you continued.

"I know, which is why I'd be telling him to cancel the marriage tomorrow," he replied, determined.

You paused. "Uh, are you sure that's even possible? What about that fiance of yours? Will she be mad and upset?"

"Huh? No, why would she? She's just like me. Both of us didn't want the marriage in the first place," he pointed out.

"…Oh, okay," you mumbled, face turning as red as a tomato as you looked away.

It took him a few seconds to realize why and when he did connect the dots, he smirked teasingly. "Don't tell me you were jealous."

"I'm not!" You defended yourself, replying without hesitation.

"Mhm, sure. And I'm the president of Seoul," he answered with sarcasm seeping into his voice.

You shot him an annoyed glare, ready to shove him off the bed when he stopped you, grabbing both of your hands, causing you to stop.

"I love you," he confessed.

The words were raw and it's a deadly combination with the utmost sincerity in his voice. So deadly that it made you teared up. Seeing this, Sunghoon's features softened. He ducked his head so he can pressed his forehead against yours.

"Jeez, I guess you're still a crybaby huh," he teased.

"Yeah, but I'm your crybaby now," you fired back, voice cracking at the end.

Sunghoon blinked once. Twice before a wide smile stretched across his face from ear to ear.

"Yeah, you're mine. Forever and ever."

[demiurqe]

FUCK THE MAYOR.ᐟ sim jaeyun

PART ONE ─── you run a hate account against mayor!jake, but in real life? you’re his one and only favorite journalist that he has a big fat crush on. he’ll also do anything to get you to interview him again and again (๑°o°๑)

pairing downbad/mayor!jake x manhater/journalist!fem reader: you’re jake’s #1 hater, while jake is your no 1 fan 𔘓 genre romcom crack smau, let’s not idolize politicians, same universe as my hoon smau ✶ warnings profanity, use of y/n, very chaotic lol𓂃˖ ࣪⊹

( ℰ🪽 ) —— after husband!hoon, we have mayor!jake (as i teased in my hoon smau) <3 i had to delete some tweets bcuz the limit is till 30 only arghh T__T users hotgirlssupremacy & angelkisses r reader's acc! likes, comments, & reblogs r always appreciated <3 mwahh

════════════════════════════════════

( ℰ🪽 ) —— no divider again bcuz of the pic limit LMFAOO i didnt realize i went over 30 :'(( so for part 2, i'll add those parts that didnt make the cut ! ALSO after i post this, im making the hoon smau part 3 !

perm taglist / my loves ( ´ ∀ `)ノ～ ♡ @kienhawon @evangelicai @hyuneskkami @mailovesreading @vikeuchu @coergene @ilofflee @bhunlit

© mwaeom. all rights reserved. please do not repost, claim as your own, or copy. thanksies ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ -

[taetebebe]

⌗ MASTERLINE: all fics ⌗

Everything here is a work of fiction. Though characters and events are inspired by real idols and people, there is no connection, association, or an accurate representation of them :)

PS - there are fics here that are reposts from my old blog. Anything unlinked is yet to be reposted.

BELOW THE SKIN [18+]

Pairing: jungwon x f!reader Genre: Reincarnation AU • Soft Smut ? (NOT explicit) • Soulmate AU • mentions of death ⟡ They say moles are where your lover kissed you in a past life. If that’s true, Jungwon’s been searching for your skin for centuries. WC: 2.2k

NEVER BACK DOWN, NEVER WHAT?

Pairing: bsf!Jungwon x f!Reader Genre: Friends -> Lover AU • Jealousy ⟡ Turns out, jealousy sounds a lot like jealousy WC: 920

FAIRY LIGHTS & HARDWOOD FLOORS

Pairing: bf!Jungwon x f!Reader Genre: Domestic fluff • Soft romance • Slice of life • Established relationship ⟡ A minor fall, a major decision to stay. WC: 1.3k

THE MEASURE OF YOU

Pairing: Jungwon x f!Reader Genre: Longing • Quiet Devotion • Unspoken Love • Mutual Pining • Soft Angst ⟡ A weight unnoticed, until it was all she had WC: 1.3k

ALL FOR MY PRINCESS

Pairing: bf!Jungwon x f!Reader Genre: fluff • Soft romance • Slice of life • Established relationship • Birthday • Comfort • Acts of service • Princess treatment • Domestic AU ⟡ He deserves to be adored too WC: 8.05k

I LIKE ME BETTER WHEN IM WITH YOU

Pairing: bsf!Jungwon x f!reader Genre: slice-of-life • romantic comedy • fluff • drunk confession AU • best friends -> lovers TW: Drinking ⟡ You picked him up. That was yor first mistake WC: 3k

STUDY, STRESS, AND JUNGWON (IN THAT ORDER...UNFORTUNATELY)

Pairing: bf!Jungwon x f!reader - est. relationship Genre: Slice-of-life • soft romance • hurt/comfort • fluff • college au TW: Panic attacks • Academic burnout • Anxiety • Hyperventilating • Sleep deprivation • Stress-induced breakdown • Mentions of self-neglect (forgetting to eat/sleep) • Crying ⟡ Panic attacks, sleep deprivation, and a dangerously attentive boyfriend WC: 1.9k

EIGHT HOURS PLS

Pairing: bf!Jungwon x f!reader - est. relationship Genre: Slice-of-life • soft romance • hurt/comfort • fluff • Angst • Late-Night Argument • Insomnia ⟡ One thing about Jungwon? He will make you go to bed. WC: 1.64k

HALF COHERENT

Pairing: bf!Jungwon x f!reader - est. relationship Genre: Fluff • Slice of Life • Established relationship TW: drinking ⟡ You won't remember the night. Just him, taking care of you anyway WC: 1.5k

NOT YET, THEN YES

Pairing: idol!Jungwon x afab-fan!reader Genre: Slow-Burn Romance • Slice of Life • Idol AU • strangers -> friends -> lover ⟡ They met by chance one, twice and thrice — no promises, just folded notes and quiet moments that lingered — until ‘not yet’ became forever. WC: 2.8k

TOO CLOSE (DANGEROUSLY SO)

Pairing: vampire!Jungwon x f!reader Genre: Vampire AU • Angst? • Forbidden Love ? • Friends -> lovers • Hunger/Restraint Themes ⟡ The closer they get, the harder it becomes to hide the truth - and resist the hunger that could destroy them both. WC: 1.2k

INFERNO VEIN INC.

Pairing: team-leaderJungwon x f!reader (feat. Enhypen) Genre: Sci-fi/mystery • found family • memory loss • slow burn Disclaimer: memory loss, identity fragmentation, psychological collapse, self-sacrifice, near-death states, emotional trauma, dissociation, claustrophobic environments, non-graphic medical procedures, and kissing ⟡ You were never just the key. You were the memory it refused to forget WC: ~ 10.7k

IN GOOD HANDS [18+]

Pairing: bf!Jungwon x gf!reader Genre: Established Relationship • Explicit Smut • Domestic Intimacy ⟡ Warning: boyfriends with nice arms may become furniture…or rides. WC: 639

JEALOUS EYES [18+]

Pairing: bsf!Jungwon x f!reader Genre: Friends -> Lovers • Explicit Smut • Jealousy/Posessiveness • Mutual Pining Payoff • Domestic Intimacy • Public Tension → Private Release • “We Shouldn’t But We Do” Energy ⟡ Everything they’ve been avoiding finally catches fire WC: ~2.6k

LINE OF SIGHT

Pairing: bf!Jungwon x afab!reader Genre: Established Relationship • Eye contact • Teasing/Flirtation • "Takes off his glasses to kiss you" trope ⟡ There’s something sinful in the way he holds eye contact—and even more in the way he doesn’t. WC: 1.7k

FIT TO YOU

Pairing: model!Jungwon x fashion-student!reader Genre: Fluff • Light Comedy • Fashion AU ⟡ Shoulder appreciation with fluff and a bit of fun :) WC: 761

TIPSY HEARTS AND TIGHTER HUGS

Pairing: non-idol!Jungwon x Reader - established relationship Genre: Drunk Confession/Clingy Boyfriend Energy • Domestic Intimacy • Fluff • Humor/Crack Undertones • “I Missed You Too Much” Energy ⟡ One drink too many, a clingy heart, and you—his favourite place to fall apart. WC: 1.3k

REFLECTIONS OF YOU [18+]

Pairing: dancer!bf!Jungwon x f!reader Genre: Teasing • Dance studio AU ⟡ It didn't feel like practice anymore WC: ~2.5k

SUPER MODEL - REFLECTIONS OF YOU PART 2 [18+]

Pairing: dancer!bf!Jungwon x f!reader Genre: SMUT ⟡ Thank God your bf is a dancer WC: 1.2k

POSTCARDS FROM AMSTERDAM

Pairing: non-idol!Jungwon x f!reader Genre: Second Chance Romance • Travel AU • Slow Burn • Intimate Moments • Rainy City Vibes • Heartfelt Reunion • Soft, Emotional Fluff • Light Teasing & Playful Banter ⟡ Im acting like this because I like you ⟡ I know I shouldn't ⟡ But I like you, I like you ⟡ Because you're my woman ⟡ Because you're my woman Because I'm crazy about you, oh WC: 5.2k

PRETTIEST RUINED [18+]

Pairing: bf!Jungwon x f!reader Genre: SMUT ⟡ Your prettiest state is the one he never lets end (No plot whatsoever) WC: 1.5k

-> DRABBLES & SUCH <-

Hyper-fem!reader x starved!sub!jungwon [18+]

Jungwon x curly-haired!reader

Too Much To Hold (Random thoughts)

Purrfect (your bf might be a cat)

Black or White (tension between idol!won and staff!reader)

All the small things (your bday with jungwon)

BUILT TO SHIP [Mini Series]

Pairing: brother's best friend!Heeseung x childhood friend!f!Reader Genre: Childhood friend -> Enemies -> Lover AU • Brother's Best Friend AU • Small Town • Holiday AU • Slow Burn • Romantic Comedy • Forced Proximity ⟡ You swore that ship had sailed — until Jungwon's wedding set it back to sea Chapters: 3+1 Total WC: 24.5k Status: COMPLETE

SOUNDTRACK OF US

Pairing: student!Heeseung x student!reader Genre: Slow-Burn Romance • Student AU • Music & Mixtape Confessions • Secret Admirer • Gentle Obsessed Love • Found Notes & Hidden Messages • Café & Library Settings • Slice-of-Life ⟡ Every song was a message. Every Tuesday, a confession. WC: 2.7k

-> DRABBLES & SUCH <-

In That Moment

HEED THE WARNING

Pairing: bf!Jay x gn!reader - est. relationship Genre: Angst • Hurt/Comfort • Romance • Domestic • Fluff TW: fainting (kinda) • exhaustion/burnout • overwork • self-neglect ⟡ You really should have listened WC: 1.64k

SUMMER OF POLAROIDS

Pairing: photographer!Jay x f!reader Genre: Slow-Burn Romance • Contemporary Romance • Slice of Life • Light Angst ? • strangers -> lover ⟡ This story is like a Polaroid - slow to develop but filled with little details that make it worth the wait. WC: 1.5k

FAKE IT TIL' WE DIE

Pairing: rich!Jay x f!reader Genre: Contemporary Romance • Slow-Burn Romance • Angst • Enemies -> Lovers ? • Fake Relationship ⟡ First came lies. Then came rings. Now comes emotional damage. WC: 5.6k ---EPILOGUE

SAY IT AGAIN

Pairing: bsf!Jake x f!Reader Genre: Contemporary Romance • Friends-to-Lovers • Mutual Pining ⟡ Some things are said long before they are admitted WC: 800

HOLD ON, HOLD ON

Pairing: bf!Jake x f!reader - est. relationship Genre: Hurt/comfort • contemporary romance • domestic • long-distance ⟡ Some nights don’t break you all at once—they unravel you quietly, until the only thing keeping you together is a voice on the other end. WC: 1.6k

SLEEP TIGHT

Pairing: non-idol!Jake x f!Reader (est. relationship) Genre: slice of life • domestic intimacy • comfort • fluff • soft romance ⟡ Baby, come and lay with me tonight WC: 2.7k

CRISSCROSS APPLESAUCE

Pairing: non-idol!Jake x kindergarten teacher!reader Genre: Fluffy Romance • Workplace AU • Teacher x Non-Teacher • Kindergarten Chaos • Cute Fake Dating → Real Feelings • Lighthearted Comedy • Wholesome Slice-of-Life ⟡ Who needs a teaching degree when you’ve got juice boxes and a smile? WC: 1.7k

UNDER THE SCALPEL [Series]

Pairing: Dr Jake Sim (Cardiothoracic Surgeon) × Dr Y/N (Trauma Surgeon) - [feat. ENHYPEN & Others] Genre: Slow-burn • Medical AU • Enemies -> Lovers • Angst & Comfort • Emotional Mess • Found family ⟡ You doesn’t believe in second chances. Not after the hospital you loved turned on you. In a hospital built on precision, you'll have to learn to trust each other. Or lose everything again. Chapters: 6 Total WC: 11.7k Status: COMPLETE

WATERMELON SUGAR

Pairing: non-idol!Jake x f!reader Genre: Summer Romance • Small Town AU • Beach Vibes • Flirty Tension • Sweet & Sensual Moments • Slice-of-Life • Soft Angst • "Summer Memories & First Kisses" Vibes ⟡ Some summers melt on your tongue. Others stay on your lips forever. 🍉 WC: 1.5k

-> DRABBLES & SUCH <-

bsf!Jake x f!reader - staring at each other at a party

Birthday Candles Burn Backwards

BIRTHDAY WISH

Pairing: friend!Sunghoon x f!Reader Genre: quiet yearning ⟡ The ones he never said aloud were the ones that mattered the most. WC: 1.7k

GRIP [18+]

Pairing: non-idol!Sunghoon x f!Reader (established relationship) Genre: SMUT ⟡ You opened your mouth. He used his hands. WC: 738

DOZING ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

Pairing: bf!Sunoo x f!reader - est. relationship Genre: Slice-of-life • soft romance • comfort • fluff ⟡ Half your day is missing. He's there for all of it. WC: 1.36k

STAGE HEAT [18+]

Pairing: idol!Sunoo x gf!reader Genre / TW: Idol AU • Post-Performance Tension • Mature themes/SMUT • Strong sexual tension • Power imbalance • Explicit language • Physical dominance • Consensual but intense scenario • Few mentions of mpreg (trust me it's not weird) • Semi-public sex • unprotected sex (wrap it up folks) ⟡ The stage ends. The adrenaline doesn’t. WC: 3.1K

NAMES

Pairing: non-idol!Sunoo x afab!reader Genre: Slow-Burn Romance • Strangers -> Lovers • Quiet & Intimate Connection • Mailbox AU / Letter Exchange • Unnamed / Mystery Lovers ⟡ Two strangers, a mailbox mistake, never sharing names - only thoughts, confessions, and quiet longings. WC: 2.1k

AFTER THE ENCORE

Pairing: idol!Sunoo x fan!reader Genre: Slow-Burn • Idol x Fan • Slice-of-Life Intimacy • Quiet Connection / Safe Space AU • Angst & Comfort • Found Family / Chosen Moments ⟡ He had the whole world watching. Still, he looked for you. WC: ~3.3k

-> DRABBLES & SUCH <-

WHEN THE CANDLE'S OUT

Pairing: friend!Riki x f!Reader Genre: Light Romantic Comedy ⟡ Some wishes don't need to be said aloud WC: 1.2k

DRIVER'S EDGE

Pairing: non-idol!Riki x f!reader Genre: Slice-of-Life • Coming-of-Age • Subtle Chemistry • Non-Idol AU • Neighbor / Classmate AU ⟡ He said he’d teach you how to drive—not how to crash headfirst into feelings WC: ~2k

KNIFE ▬ι𓆃 [series]: [18+]

Pairing: OT7!ENHYPEN x f!reader Genre/TW: Psychological Thriller • Dark Fantasy • Mystery • Action / Suspense • Supernatural • Slow-Burn Tension • Moral Ambiguity • Obsession • Survival • stalking • Violence • Death • Weapons (knives) • Psychological manipulation • Moral coercion • Threats and intimidation • Pursuit / being hunted • Loss of autonomy • Mentions of blood ⟡ The Vanish Order does not make mistakes. It issues names, not explanations. Its Reapers collect what they’re owed—quietly, efficiently, without mercy. They move like a syndicate, bound by rules older than loyalty, marked by a knife that signals the end. She is on the list. She runs. And for the first time, the Reapers fail. What follows isn’t mercy—it’s disruption. Obsession fractures discipline. Desire complicates duty. And in a world ruled by silence, hierarchy, and blood-deep allegiance, survival may mean choosing between the Order…or becoming part of it. Parts: 3/? Total WC: — Status: ONGOING

THE LAW [series]:

Pairing: OT7 ENHYPEN (individual) x F!Reader Genre: Soulmate AU • Magical Realism • Angst • Slow Burn • Romantic Drama ⟡ In this world, soulmates aren’t bound by a single thread — but by Pairing Laws. Rare. Dangerous. Unrepeatable. To be chosen is sacred. To be separated is fatal. Installments: 1/7 Total WC: — Status: ONGOING

HEADCANNONS

How they show love without saying it

How they love to be loved in the queitest ways

Eye Contact

Using their biceps as pillows

First secret photo they took of you

What gets them flustered the fastest

Where they like getting scratched [18+]

DRABBLES

Riling them up without doing anything

Putting stickers on them

𓂃 signal pending: WIPs ✧

© taetebebe 2026

[taetebebe]

I LIKE ME BETTER WHEN IM WITH YOU

Pairing: bsf!Jungwon x f!reader

You picked him up. That was your first mistake.

Genre: slice-of-life • romantic comedy • fluff • drunk confession AU • best friends -> lovers

TW: Drinking

WC: 3k ✦ Requests: CLOSED ✦

— from the operator. wrote this the night that video came out...there's also a reference to one of his recent lives lol. Im such a simp for this guy i need help. how is he even cuter when tipsy ughhh

: ⌗ masterline: all fics ⌗ : ⌗ directory: taglist ⌗ : ⌗ directory: rules ⌗

The first message you open is from Jay:

[Jay]: please come collect your dude

The second is from Riki:

[Riki]: he tried to pay for his drink with his library card

And the third, from Jake, simply says:

[Jakey]: he keeps talking about you bro im crying

You stare at your phone for a full five seconds.

Then it buzzes again.

This time, it’s Jungwon himself.

[Won >.<]: com ouside pls

Another text arrives immediately after.

[Won >.<]: i am sitting on the pavement hehe

You snort so hard you nearly choke.

By the time you make it there, the first thing you see is Jungwon sitting cross-legged on the curb outside the bar with his coat half slipping off one shoulder, blinking at a tiny white dog passing by like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever witnessed.

The dog barks at him.

Jungwon gasps.

“It spoke to me.”

You stop walking, already laughing.

“Oh my god.”

His head whips around so fast he nearly loses balance.

The second he sees you, his entire face lights up.

Actually lights up.

Like someone plugged the moon directly into his chest.

“There you are,” he says, relieved, as if he’s been stranded in the wilderness for years instead of outside a barbecue restaurant for maybe twelve minutes.

Behind him, Jay looks exhausted.

“Please take him,” Jay says immediately. “He tried to fight a coat rack because he thought it was staring at him.”

“It was staring at me,” Jungwon mutters.

“It was a coat.”

“It knew what it did.”

Jake is bent over laughing already while Riki records Jungwon on his phone like he’s documenting wildlife.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you tell them.

“Oh absolutely,” Jake says. “Do you know he spent twenty minutes explaining why you’d survive a zombie apocalypse?”

You blink. “What?”

Jungwon points at you proudly from the pavement.

“You have survival instincts.”

“You don’t even know what that means.”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don’t.”

“You look like you’d bite someone.”

You stare at him.

Jake actually wheezes.

“That was supposed to be a compliment,” Jungwon says earnestly.

You laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

And Jungwon just watches you. Dazed.

Like your laughter is genuinely the best thing he’s heard all night.

Then suddenly he lifts both arms toward you.

You blink. “What are you doing?”

“Come here.”

“What?”

“I missed you.”

“You saw me yesterday.”

“A tragedy.”

Jay physically recoils.

“I’m leaving,” he announces immediately. “Good luck.”

The rest of them scatter suspiciously fast after that, abandoning Jungwon with the energy of people escaping a hostage situation.

And then it’s just you and him beneath the warm glow of the streetlights.

“Jungwon.”

No response.

“Jungwon.”

“Hm?”

“Why are you looking at the lamp like that?”

He blinks slowly.

Then points at it.

“It’s glowing.”

“…”

“It’s trying really hard.”

You stare at him.

He stares at the lamp.

Then suddenly his eyes widen.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“It has a friend.”

You follow his finger.

There’s another street lamp twenty metres away.

“Oh my god.”

“Do you think they’re dating?”

You sigh.

He grins.

The grin immediately makes you regret agreeing to come collect him.

Because tipsy Jungwon is not loud.

He’s not messy.

He’s not even particularly difficult.

He’s just…

Annoying.

Cute.

Dangerously cute.

The kind of cute that makes you want to throw him into a river because he won’t stop talking.

“I think that one likes this one more.”

“Jungwon.”

“The feelings aren’t balanced.”

“Jungwon.”

“What if they break up?”

You grab his sleeve.

“We’re leaving, Won.”

He immediately abandons the street lamps.

“Oh. Okay.”

Then he latches onto your arm immediately like a koala. You nearly stumble.

“JUNGWON.”

“What?”

“Walk properly.”

“I am.”

“You are hanging off me.”

“I’m conserving energy.”

“You literally have two functioning legs.”

He considers this.

“That’s true.”

You feel relief.

Then he nods seriously.

“But why use mine when you have yours?”

“Oh my god.”

He starts giggling. Tiny hiccuping giggles.

Within minutes tho he’s trying to balance on a painted line in the middle of the footpath. And failing.

Spectacularly.

“Watch this.”

“No.”

“I’m gonna do it.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

He steps onto the line.

Takes two successful steps.

Then immediately loses balance.

His arms start windmilling.

“WHOA.”

You grab his jacket before he falls into a bush.

He gasps dramatically.

“You saved me.”

“Yeah.”

“You’d survive a zombie apocalypse.”

“Thank you?”

“No seriously.”

He cups your face.

Your face.

With both hands.

And squishes your cheeks together.

“You’d be the final girl.”

“Jungwon.”

“You’d have a baseball bat.”

“Jungwon.”

“You’d kill all the zombies.”

People walk past.

You can feel your soul leaving your body.

“Please let go.”

He squints at you.

Then smiles.

“No.”

“Oh my god.”

“Your face is cute.”

Your eye twitches.

His smile somehow gets bigger.

“Look.”

“Stop looking.”

“No.”

He pokes your cheek.

“Squishy.”

“Jungwon.”

“Squishy.”

You swat his hand away.

He looks genuinely delighted.

Like you’ve just rewarded him.

“Oh. Violence. Keep going.”

“I hate you.”

His grin widens.

“No you don’t.”

Unfortunately.

He’s correct.

His hair is fluffy from the wind, falling over his forehead messily, and he keeps blinking too slowly like he’s fighting gravity itself.

It’s kind of devastatingly cute. 

You’re trying not to stare when he abruptly stops walking again.

“What now?”

Jungwon points at a convenience store across the street with the intensity of a man discovering religion.

“Ramyeon.”

“You just ate. I was informed!”

Five minutes later, he’s inside the convenience store carrying the world’s tiniest shopping basket over his arm like a handbag while debating snacks with deadly seriousness.

Then, without warning, he places the basket on his head.

You stare.

Jungwon stares back from underneath it.

“…Helmet.”

“Safety first, I guess”,  you say while laughing.

Meanwhile Jungwon wanders through the aisles with complete sincerity while wearing a plastic basket as protective headgear.

“You need to help me,” he announces.

“With what?”

“I can’t decide if I want gummy worms or chocolate.”

“You’re acting like this is life or death.”

“It is.”

“You’re so dramatic tonight.”

He squints at you. “Why are you being mean to me when I’m delicate?”

“You are not delicate.”

Jungwon immediately clutches his chest and stumbles sideways into the ramen shelf.

“Oh my god,” you laugh, grabbing his sleeve before he takes the entire display down. “Careful!”

He just giggles.

Not his usual embarrassed little laugh — a full soft airy giggle that makes his eyes disappear into crescents.

You freeze.

Jungwon notices instantly.

“What?”

“You’re giggling.”

“No I’m not.”

“You literally are.”

He giggles again immediately after denying it, and you clap a hand over your mouth because the cuteness aggression hits you so hard you almost need medical attention.

Then he gasps loudly.

“Oh my god.”

“What now?”

He holds up a packet of gummy bears with genuine emotion.

“They’re tiny.”

“…That’s usually how gummy bears work.”

“But LOOK at them.”

He thrusts them toward your face like he’s presenting a newborn child.

Something about the combination of his flushed cheeks, messy hair, and complete wonder at tiny candy nearly kills you on the spot.

“You’re adorable,” you mutter before you can stop yourself.

Jungwon freezes.

Slowly lowers the gummy bears.

Then points at himself.

“Me?”

You immediately regret speaking.

“No one said anything.”

“You called me adorable.”

“You hallucinated it.”

“I have witnesses.”

“There are no witnesses.”

He squints around the convenience store until his eyes land on an elderly cashier stocking drinks.

Then, with complete sincerity:

“She called me adorable, right?!”

The cashier blinks once.

Then smiles tiredly. “Very much so.”

You collapse against a shelf in humiliation while Jungwon looks unbearably smug.

“I win,” he whispers.

“You’re recruiting civilians now?!”

“They support me.”

“You’re impossible,” you mumble.

“And yet,” he says proudly, leaning toward you with wobbly balance, “you hang out with me anyway.”

You bought him water.

You bought him snacks.

You bought yourself patience.

Unfortunately they didn’t sell enough.

The thing about tipsy Jungwon is that his face becomes incapable of hiding anything.

Sober Jungwon? Annoyingly unreadable.

Tipsy Jungwon?

Every thought gets a full theatrical production, its own facial expression.

And every sentence comes with gestures.

You are currently experiencing all of them.

“Drink your water.”

Jungwon looks down at the bottle.

Then up at you.

Then down at the bottle again.

Then up at you.

Slowly.

Suspiciously.

“…Why?”

You stare.

“Because you’re dehydrated.”

He narrows his eyes.

The kind of dramatic narrowing usually reserved for movie villains.

“Or.”

“Oh no.”

“Or.”

“Jungwon.”

“What if you’re trying to make me pee?”

You blink.

“What.”

“What if this is all part of your plan?”

“My plan?”

“To inconvenience me.”

You actually watch him construct this conspiracy theory in real time.

His eyebrows furrow.

His lips purse.

Then suddenly his eyes widen.

Like he’s discovered evidence.

“OH MY GOD.”

“What.”

“You bought the water.”

“Yes.”

“You WANT me to pee.”

You bury your face in your hands.

Across from you, Jungwon looks incredibly pleased with himself.

Like he’s cracked an international criminal case.

At one point he becomes obsessed with making you laugh.

Not in a smooth way.

In a deeply irritating way.

The kind where he keeps making stupid faces every time you look at him.

You glance over. 😗 Duck face.

You immediately look away.

Three seconds later you glance back. 🙄 He’s rolling his eyes so dramatically you’re genuinely concerned he’ll get stuck like that.

“What are you doing?”

He shrugs.

Then crosses his eyes.

You choke.

His face immediately lights up.

“I GOT ONE.”

“You look ridiculous.”

“Thank you.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“I choose to hear compliments only.”

Then there’s the exaggerated reactions.

Everything becomes the biggest deal imaginable.

You hand him a packet of chips.

His jaw drops.

Actually drops.

“FOR ME?”

“Yes.”

His hand flies to his chest.

“That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever done.”

“It’s a dollar-fifty bag of chips.”

His eyes become suspiciously shiny.

“Some people wait their whole lives for this.”

You snatch them back.

“Never mind.”

“NO.”

The sadness that crosses his face is so immediate and dramatic that you almost laugh.

He reaches out with both hands.

“Please.”

“No.”

“I’ve changed.”

“You haven’t.”

“I can!”

The worst part is when he discovers reflections.

Any reflection.

Store windows.

Car windows.

Phone screens.

Anything.

You keep finding him he’s staring into the dark convenience store window.

Making faces.

One after another.

😮

😐

🤨

😏

😗

😮 again.

“What are you doing now?”

He jumps.

Then immediately points at his reflection.

“He’s copying me.”

You physically turn away because if you look at him for another second you’re going to start laughing.

“You are so gone”

“No, I haven’t!”

“Sure.”

The confidence.

The smugness.

The little self-satisfied smile.

You want to throw him into traffic.

“You’re so pretty, YN”

The fluorescent convenience store lights buzz softly above you while Jungwon looks at you with this unbearably open expression — tipsy enough that all his usual restraint has melted away now.

Close enough that you can smell his cologne underneath the sweetness of alcohol and instant noodles.

Close enough that your brain completely stops functioning.

“You’re gonna regret saying all this tomorrow.”

“Nope.”

“Yes you are.”

“Nope,” he repeats stubbornly, though his words slur together slightly. “I’ve actually been wanting to say it for, like…” He squints upward. “A stupid amount of time.”

Your stomach flips.

Jungwon blinks at you slowly, still too close.

Then, very seriously:

“You know you’re my favourite person, right?”

The softness of it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

You try to joke your way out of it because that’s safer.

“Is this alcohol talking?”

He thinks about it for a moment.

Then shakes his head.

“The alcohol is just making me bad at hiding it.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your face burns instantly.

Jungwon is currently staring at his reflection in the convenience store window.

“Huh.”

You don’t look up.

“Huh.”

Still don’t look up.

“HUH.”

“What is it?”

Jungwon is staring at his reflection in his phone camera.

Mouth hanging open.

Eyes wide.

“Huh.”

“Use your words, Won.”

“My lips.”

“What about them?”

“They’re red.”

You glance over.

Immediately regret it.

Because now he’s pouting at himself.

Examining every angle.

Tilting his head left.

Tilting it right.

Pushing his lips together. Biting…

Then—

He gasps.

Actually gasps.

“What.”

He slowly turns the phone around.

Showing you.

As if you’ve never seen lips before.

“Look.”

“They’re lips.”

“They’re RED lips.”

“Congratulations.”

“Why are my lips so red?”

The strawberry drink he’d been obsessively drinking all evening has stained them slightly.

His lips are bright pink.

He keeps staring.Then his eyes slowly drift towards you.

“Oh.”

“No.”

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“You were about to.”

He grins.

Slowly.

Like a menace.

“Wanna match me?”

You nearly choke on your drink.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“You could drink strawberry too.”

“Oh.”

His shoulders slump dramatically.

“You thought I meant—”

“JUNGWON.”

He starts laughing so hard he nearly falls off the bench.

People probably think you’re babysitting him.

And honestly?

They’re not entirely wrong.

He eventually calms down enough to drink some water.

By the time you’re walking him home, he’s become even clingier.

Not emotionally.

Physically.

He keeps drifting towards you.

Like gravity has decided he’s yours now.

Every few steps he accidentally bumps your shoulder.

Then smiles.

Then does it again.

On purpose.

“Stop.”

“Sorry.”

Bump.

“Jungwon.”

“Sorry.”

Bump.

“Jungwon.”

“I’m testing something.”

“What.”

“You smell nice.”

You stop walking.

“What?”

He shrugs.

“You smell nice.”

Then continues walking like he hasn’t just casually launched your soul into orbit.

“Okay.”

“Like clean laundry.”

“Okay.”

“And home.”

You nearly trip.

This time you’re the one who loses balance.

Jungwon catches your arm.

Then blinks.

Then immediately starts laughing.

“You almost fell.”

“Because of you.”

He continues laughing.

And suddenly you realise something.

He’s looking at you.

Not around you.

Not through you.

At you.

Like you’re the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

Like you’re his favourite thing to look at.

The thought makes your chest feel strangely warm.

Eventually you reach his apartment building.

You expect him to say goodbye (not that you’re gonna leave him like this).

Maybe thank you.

Maybe apologise for being a nuisance.

Instead he just stands there.

Looking at you.

Quiet.

For the first time all evening.

The silence feels strange.

Jungwon rubs the back of his neck.

“Oh.”

“What?”

His ears are red.

Very red.

“I forgot something.”

“What?”

He looks suddenly nervous.

Actually nervous.

Which is bizarre because he’d spent the last hour hours confidently discussing street lamp romance.

“What did you forget?”

He stares at his shoes.

Then at you.

Then away again.

And somehow that makes your heart pound harder than anything else tonight.

Because Jungwon never gets shy.

Not like this.

Not around you.

“Oh.”

He laughs awkwardly.

“I don’t know how to say it.”

You blink.

“Say what?”

He groans.

Actually groans.

Then covers his face.

“This was easier in my head.”

“Jungwon.”

“I had a speech.”

“You had a speech?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened to it?”

He points at the sky.

“The moon stole it.”

You laugh.

You can’t help it.

His eyes immediately soften.

Like hearing you laugh was worth embarrassing himself.

Jungwon smiles.

“I like you.”

The words come out so simply.

So gently.

Like he’s been carrying them forever.

“I think I’ve liked you for a really long time. Oh God, I wasn’t gonna tell you tonight.”

“No?”

“No.”

“What was the plan?”

“Probably suffer.”

You snort while staring at him for a bit.

“I like you too.”

For a second, Jungwon just blinks.

Then blinks again.

Then—

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Actually?”

You laugh.

“Actually.”

His mouth falls open.

Then closes.

Then opens again.

“Actually actually?”

“Oh my god.”

“Actually actually ACTUALLY?”

“Yes.”

His hands immediately fly to his head.

“NO WAY.”

You burst out laughing.

He starts pacing.

Three steps forward.

Two steps back.

One confused little spin.

“NO WAY.”

“Jungwon.”

“YOU LIKE ME?”

“Lower your voice.”

“You LIKE me?”

“Yes.”

“Like.”

“Yes.”

“Like like?”

You groan.

He doubles over laughing.

Then suddenly grabs your shoulders.

“You have terrible taste.”

“What?”

“You chose me.”

“You literally like me too.”

“Yeah but I knew I had terrible taste already.”

You smack his arm.

Then his grin softens.

Just a little.

And he leans forward slightly.

“So.”

“So?”

“We can do couple stuff now.”

You narrow your eyes.

“What does that mean?”

He thinks.

For a concerning amount of time.

Then points dramatically.

“Matching keychains.”

“…”

“And sharing fries.”

“…”

“And I get to sit really close to you.”

“You already do that.”

“Oh.”

He brightens.

“Then nothing changes.”

You laugh again.

And Jungwon just stares.

Like he’s mesmerised.

Like he’s still trying to process the fact that this is real.

Then—

His eyes widen. Alarmingly.

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“Oh no.”

“What?”

“I need to pee.”

You blink.

“What?”

“I NEED TO PEE.”

The silence that follows is incredible.

You stare.

He stares.

Then—

“WHY DIDN’T YOU GO EARLIER?”

“I WAS BUSY CONFESSING.”

“THAT WAS TEN MINUTES AGO.”

“I KNOW.”

“JUNGWON.”

“IT WAS EMOTIONAL.”

He immediately takes off toward the apartment entrance.

Then almost slips.

“WHOA.”

His arms start windmilling.

You grab the back of his shirt.

“CAREFUL.”

“I’M TRYING.”

He stumbles forward.

Regains balance.

Loses it again.

“OH THIS IS BAD.”

“You walk like a baby deer.”

“I WALK LIKE A MAJESTIC STALLION.”

By now you’re laughing so hard your stomach hurts.

Meanwhile Jungwon is speed-waddling toward the elevator with the urgency of a man fighting for his life.

He stumbles to open the door to his place.

He practically throws himself inside.

Then immediately turns around.

Points at you.

“WAIT.”

“What?”

His face lights up.

The biggest smile you’ve ever seen.

“You’re my girlfriend.”

The words seem to surprise him all over again.

Like he forgot.

Like he’s rediscovering it every thirty seconds.

A delighted gasp escapes him.

“YOU’RE MY GIRLFRIEND.”

“Oh my god.”

“WAIT.”

Another gasp.

“YOU LIKE ME.”

“GO PEE.”

“RIGHT.”

Then—

“WAIT.”

You groan.

“What now?”

Jungwon pokes his head out of the bathroom door.

His lips are still ridiculously pink.

His hair is a mess.

His eyes are sparkling.

And somehow he’s still smiling.

“Wanna match me?”

You immediately know what he’s referring to.

The stupid red lips conversation from earlier.

Your face heats up.

“JUNGWON.”

His laughter echoes through the hallway.

The doors finally close.

And right before they shut completely—

You hear him yell:

“I’M GONNA PEE SO FAST.”

© taetebebe 2026

𖤘𖤘 always on the line ⌗ @stormlit-pages @ddeonuswife @ikeucakeu @wontechno @Rhejeh @staarflowerr @kienhawon @cripplinghooman @ddeondalandan @deluluscenarios @Ragnazrael @addictedtohobi @laylasbunbunny @kristynaaah @julsforjulieni

𖤘𖤘 listeners on this line ⌗ @jdvouge @starsunoo @wonluvvy @charlatted

[honey4hoonie]

Jealousy Jealousy

|fake dating! Jungwon x f!reader|

|warnings: porn with plot! Smut! Mdni! Unprotected sex, oral sex, mentions of drinking, jealous!won, rough sex, kind of switch Jungwon but not really, overstimulation, munch!won|

|synopsis: in which you ask your roommate to be your fake boyfriend to get some coworkers off your back, only for him to get real jealous when a certain coworker won’t leave you alone.|

|word count: 12k|

Asking your roommate to pretend to be your boyfriend for a work holiday party definitely wasn’t the most awkward conversation on record for you, but it was up there. If there was a ranking it would easily make the top ten with the way Jungwon’s eyes bulge out of his head at your proposal. Proposal was generous, really you were begging him to agree after boasting about your nonexistent loving boyfriend in front of nosy coworkers. 

Truthfully it wasn’t meant to go this far, subtly mentioning you had a boyfriend was your way of getting one of your coworkers, Jay, to tone down the flirting. Jay was a nice guy, incredibly attractive, and a gentleman above all else. He had shown an interest in you for quite some time but you could never see him that way. You tried to dismiss him without being rude but he never did quite get the hint. Until today, that is, when the words, “I have a boyfriend” slipped past your lips without considering the repercussions for a statement such as that. 

By lunch your entire department knew of this boyfriend and you were being questioned to no end. Your coworkers didn’t mean any harm, not really, your office building could get so boring and mundane on a Tuesday afternoon, what else is there to do but gossip? You managed to avoid certain questions until they practically begged you to bring him to the annual holiday party. 

The entire drive home you considered every possible way out of this, you considered not going to the party altogether, feigning sickness or telling them your boyfriend was to spend the holidays with his family back home. Whilst believable, you knew the nosy older ladies in your office would only ask for pictures and more details afterward. 

It wasn’t until you got home, finding Jungwon sitting on the couch already in his pjs watching some old action movie, the kind that had cartoon-like sound effects and funny studio lighting, that the idea popped into your head. Anything after that was pure word vomit of this master plan that could possibly end up messier than it was worth. 

“Please, Jungwon, you’re my only hope! My only other close guy friends are Jake and Sunghoon. Jake works in the same office as me, everyone in our office has seen us together and no one is going to believe we’re dating. It’ll just be messier in the long run! And Sunghoon has a girlfriend!” You clasped your hands to your chest, pouting slightly to express the distress in your tone. 

“Why can’t you just tell them your boyfriend can’t make it?” He shook his head, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees as if in deep thought. 

“They’ll only ask for pictures after, if I bring someone to the party with me that’ll be proof enough. They can meet you, ask whatever they want to ask. We just have to lie for one night and it will all die down after that. Please?” 

Jungwon looked up at you, his eyes studied your own and you can sense the hesitation in them. The two of you were not only roommates, you’ve been very close friends for years. Your best friend from college, Sunoo, introduced you once you were looking to move into the city. You were searching for a place to stay and Sunoo knew his friend, Jungwon, was looking for a roommate. Everything worked out pretty well after that, you moved in and now here you were nearly three years later. 

“I don’t know y/n this could get complicated.” His eyebrows knitted together in that unfairly attractive way they always did when he was deep in thought. A characteristic you had hidden in that little folder in the back of your mind along with other things about Jungwon that you pretend not to notice. 

“Come on, you have literally nothing to lose. You will never have to see these people again, if anyone has to deal with the consequences it’s me at work.” 

Jungwon looked over you again, noting the way your lips pushed outwards in an annoyingly adorable pout, he wished he could say no to you. 

“Fine, just one dumb holiday party.” 

The night of the party came by a lot faster than you were prepared for. With you being swamped at work and Jungwon constantly in and out of the studio, the two of you barely had any time to work out how you would go about this. 

It seemed simple enough but you knew you had to at least come up with one solid storyline for this to be believable. Which is how you found yourself sitting in the passenger seat of Jungwon's car as he drove to the party, fingers tugging at the hem of your festive patterned sweater, asking the most ridiculous questions for the sake of preparing yourself for tonight. 

“I don’t think they’re gonna ask us which side of the bed we sleep on, y/n.” He chuckled, gripping the steering wheel with his right hand as his left forearm rests on the door. 

“You don’t know that! You are seriously underestimating how nosy some of my coworkers can be.” 

Jungwon shook his head, not bothering to hide the amused grin playing at his lips. “Okay, let’s just keep it simple, hmm? We met through a mutual friend, started off as roommates then friends and about let’s say…four months ago we started dating. If they ask why you haven’t mentioned me before, just say you didn’t want to say anything until you were sure we were serious. We’re already best friends so we know a lot about each other, just stick as close to the truth as possible. Oh and I sleep on the right side of the bed, the one closest to the door. Always.” 

You couldn’t help but stare at him in awe, he seemed so calm about this as if it was normal to pretend to be in a relationship with your best friend. Maybe you were over complicating things, surely this wouldn’t be too different from your normal life, you and Jungwon were already very close, talking about him and acting comfortable around him is second nature to you. 

“Okay, lets keep the pda to a minimum though, I’ll stand by your side, maybe you can place your hand on my back or hold my hand occasionally, we shouldn’t over do it.” You added, nodding to yourself. 

Jungwon raised an eyebrow in your direction, turning to face you momentarily before looking back onto the road. Without hesitation he switches the hand on the wheel, his left hand taking over and his now free right hand travels down to hold your own two hands that were still pulling at loose threads of your sweater. The sudden contact made you flinch, your eyes darting up to his in search of an explanation. 

The corner of his lips lift upward into another amused smirk, “No one is going to believe we’re boyfriend and girlfriend if you flinch every time I touch you.” He says matter-of-factly. 

“I won't, I just wasn’t expecting it.” You try to defend yourself. He squeezes your hand once.

“That’s the point, baby.” He replies, the grin on his lips never faltering. 

“Baby?” Your eyes widen again in shock although your mind is still very much aware of his hand still on yours. 

“Sorry, do you prefer princess? Maybe sweetheart? My love?” Jungwon laughs this time, slightly throwing his head back as he enters the parking garage for your building. 

“Very funny.” You shove his hand off of you, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Come on, we’ve got a long night to get through.” He pats your knee once as he parks into a spot. He’s quick to get out of the car, walking over to your side to open your door and extend a hand out for you to take. 

“You ready, darling?” He winks as he throws another pet name at you just as you grab his hand. “Be good, Jungwon.” 

“That’s Wonie to you.” He smiles again, turning to walk beside you with his hand placed comfortably on the small of your back as you walk into the building together. 

The two of you make your way into the building, heading for the large conference room that was turned into a makeshift party room for the night. The team at HR helped decorate the room to make it feel as lively and inviting as four white walls and a bland carpeted floor could muster. 

All eyes were on you the second you walked in. Well, really, they were on the man standing behind you. Jungwon was the kind of man to demand attention in any room he entered, regardless of who his real or pretend girlfriend was at the time. 

You lasted all but fifteen seconds before the group of ladies standing around the refreshments table circled around you. “There you are! y/n, this must be your boyfriend, introduce us!” 

Jungwon only smiles as you introduce him to the older women, his hand finds its way around your waist in an almost possessive manner. 

“It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about all of you.” Which is true, after countless nights coming home from work just to rant over a glass of wine with a very tired Jungwon, he didn’t have to lie regarding that. 

“We haven’t heard nearly enough about you! Tell us, how long have you been together?” Then came the flood of questions and comments,

“Do you two live together?” 

“Who asked who out first?” 

“You’re such an attractive couple!”

“The flowers you sent her last week were beautiful!” 

Jungwon's eyebrows perk up at the last comment, sparing a glance down to you in question. You had forgotten all about that, those flowers were one of the main reasons you found yourself in this mess. The beautiful array of roses had been an early Christmas gift from Jay, as printed on the small card placed neatly against the bouquet. No one had seen who they were from so you threw out the card, left your office to reject his affections once again in the nicest way possible just as you had several times before. Only this time you found yourself saying you had a boyfriend. 

Jay was more than surprised, you had never even shown signs of having a partner before that day. You kept the flowers at your desk, not really knowing what to do with them and somehow that led to the entire office assuming you had a boyfriend as well. 

One of the ladies from the front desk smiled, “Yes, those roses were gorgeous, I saw when they got delivered. They got to her office before she did in the morning.” 

Jungwon grinned but slowly shook his head, “I’m sure they were but I’m afraid I can’t take credit for those. I wasn’t the one to send her those flowers, if I was I would’ve known to send her hydrangeas, those are her favorite.” He squeezes at your waist, pulling you closer as a sign of affection in front of the others. 

The ladies swooned momentarily, as did you before you caught yourself. Your eyes widened, right hand coming up to rest against his chest as you smiled up at him adoringly. You had mentioned it in passing surely, living together for almost three years there’s a lot he probably knows about you that you don’t realize and vice versa. Still, the casual mention of your favorite flower along with his nearly imperceptible possessive tone is enough to make your breath hitch. 

“Well, if that wasn't you then who was it?” 

You shrug, “Not sure, they were beautiful though. But Jungwon’s right, he’s always gotten me hydrangeas, I instantly knew they weren’t from him.” The lie spills past your lips all too easily just as you notice Jay walking up to you, a drink in one hand as his other rests in his pocket. 

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, I’m Jay.” He holds his hand out before Jungwon, plastering an award winning grin on his face. You had given Jungwon the run down on Jay and his flirtations so he was more than prepared for this interaction. 

“Nice to meet you man, I’m Jungwon.” He shakes his hand, matching his smile without ever letting go of your waist. Some of the ladies had dispersed now, making small talk conversation around you whilst still being within earshot. 

“Hey, I hope you don’t mind me keeping your girl late some nights, that Taiwan proposal was very demanding, I wouldn’t have been able to do it without her.” Jay’s expression is charming but his tone is striking, you hadn’t expected him to play it like this. Jay had always been a gentleman toward you, sure a bit insistent with this flirting but he had never crossed a line as broadly as this before. 

Jungwon doesn’t seem phased, almost like he was expecting this from the start, his grin only widens. 

“Don’t worry about it, my girl is the best at what she does. I don't blame you for asking for her help.” He smirks at him, you can feel the way Jungwon’s fingers flex against your hip. “And besides, it worked out perfect on nights I’d get back late from the studio. Usually I get home way later than her so on those rare chances we get home at the same time, we definitely take advantage to spend more time together before bed. I should be thanking you, really.” The innuendo isn’t missed on either of you, the smirk on Jungwon’s face says it all. 

You have to hold back a laugh as Jay’s jaw clenches, his grip on his glass tightens. In contrast, Jungwon looks the picture of calm. “You want a drink, baby?” He turns to look at you but your eyes are already on him. He waits for you to nod before turning back to Jay, “If you’ll excuse us.”

The two of you manage to find a table after grabbing some wine, taking a seat next to each other. You cross your legs, turning to face Jungwon just as his hand casually  comes to rest over your legs, holding you in place. This proximity and casual touching was becoming more and more normal as time went on.

“That was perfect.” You whispered to him with a smile. You turned, expecting him to be smiling with you but instead his jaw was set, eyes focused on one corner of the room. You follow his eyes, finding Jay conversing with another associate from a different department. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“That’s the asshole that won’t leave you alone?” His voice is quiet but stern. 

“He’s not all bad, really. He’s usually more composed than that, I really don’t know where that came from.” It’s true, Jay's sudden change of character upon seeing you with Jungwon was unexpected. He had always been so kind and proper you wouldn’t have guessed he’d be the type of guy to subtly challenge someone's boyfriend. 

“Looks pretty bad from where I’m sitting. He ever make you feel uncomfortable?” His eyes turn to you then, all serious and protective you almost let yourself fall into the immersive role of him being the jealous boyfriend. 

You shake your head, “Nothing like that, he gets flirty but it’s never inappropriate. I’ve tried shutting him down before but it’s my fault for not being as stern as I should’ve been. That’s why I told him I had a boyfriend, I thought he would surely back off then.” 

“Any respectable guy can tell when a woman isn’t into him, if he was as kind as you say he would’ve taken the first hint and it wouldn’t have had to go this far. Now he’s threatening me, knowing I’m your boyfriend.” He takes a sip of his wine then, his sharp jawline poking out as he swallows down the scarlet liquid. 

Boyfriend. Not fake boyfriend, just boyfriend. He said it so definitively, you couldn’t bring yourself to correct him. 

“He crossed a line, let’s just hope he gets the hint now, yeah?” Jungwon nods in agreement, hand squeezing your knee softly in reassurance. 

The night seems to go by pretty quickly after that, you converse with some coworkers, Jungwon constantly at your side while you do, occasionally jumping into the conversation whenever prompted to. 

It was about an hour before midnight, most people had gone home by then, you and Jungwon found yourselves talking to Jake about some mutual friends you have when Jungwon received a phone call. 

“One second, baby, it’s Heeseung from the studio. I'll be right back.” He informs, pressing a fleeting kiss to the side of your head before walking out into the hallway. You almost freeze at the contact, despite him having his arm around you all night, the kiss was unexpected. You recovered quickly though as Jake continued the conversation as though everything was normal, though you guess for him it was. 

The silence of the hallway provided Jungwon a moment to speak with Heeseung, he called about an upcoming meeting and new deadlines for a client. A new artist they’re working with requested a change in their sound, this would set back their work by at least a week. Jungwon ran a hand through his hair, groaning at the news. “Yeah, yeah, that’s fine I’ll stay late tomorrow if I have to. We’ll scrap what we got. Cool, thanks.” 

The call ends and just as Jungwon is about to turn back into the conference room he finds Jay leaning against the wall with a glass of some dark liquor in his hand.

“Hey man, look I don’t like getting involved in stuff but I just wanted to let you know man to man,” Jungwon raised an eyebrow in question at the man, who clearly looked like he had one drink too many, “Your girl has been flirting with me for a while, I mean she’s clearly into me. She only told me she had a boyfriend a couple days ago. Just looking out man, who knows what would’ve happened between us if she had never mentioned you.” The smirk on the man's face tells Jungwon exactly what he thinks would have happened. 

An ugly, angry, feeling stems deep in Jungwon’s chest, he feels his jaw clench. If only Jay knew how you would have never allowed that, how he would never allow that. 

“Is that so? Because what I heard is that you have continued to bother my girlfriend despite her telling you over and over again that she’s not interested. She didn’t tell you about me because it’s none of your business, she only chose to tell you hoping you’d finally get the hint but it seems you still don’t get it, huh?” Jungwon stares him down, eyeing the drink in his hand and how Jay clutches the glass. 

“If you’ll excuse me I have to get back to my girlfriend, I would appreciate it if you left her alone from now on but hey, thanks for looking out.” Jungwon walks past him with a grin, patting his shoulder as he does. 

Back inside the room, he returns to your side instantly, jumping right back into the conversation between you and Jake like he never left.

Another half hour or so passes before you squeeze Jungwon's arm, deciding to call it a night. “We should go, Jungwon’s got work tomorrow and I’m getting pretty tired, right, love?” You look up at him with pleading eyes and Jungwon only smiles warmly in return, nodding. 

“Yeah we should head home. Jake, man, it was really great to meet you, I’ve heard great things, we should meet again.” He goes to shake his hand which your coworker happily takes, “Likewise, we should all get drinks one night, I’ll introduce you to my friend Riki. I think you two would really get along.” Jungwon nods happily and you bid your goodbyes to the rest of them. 

Jungwon doesn’t let go of you the entire walk to his car, opening the door for you and only letting go once you sit down. 

“I don’t like that Jay guy, you’ll let me know if he bothers you again, yeah?” He says after a few moments of silence on the drive home. 

“I don’t think he will but yes I promise I will let you know if he does. Is everything okay, did he say something else to you?” You study him, the way he grips the steering wheel with both hands he clearly looks bothered by something. 

He hesitates, you can pinpoint the exact moment his body slightly tense and his jaw clenches. “It’s not important, I think he finally got the hint but if he says anything or makes you feel uncomfortable just let me know.” You nod along, knowing better than to argue with Jungwon when he gets like this. 

When his voice drops an octave or two and his eyebrows strain together in a focused gaze, he was so stern like this and it’s very rare he used that tone on you so you weren’t about to push your luck. 

“I’ll tell you, I promise.” You reach over the center console to softly squeeze his arm in assurance. Jungwon tenses under your touch, feeling the ugly feeling from earlier return deep in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure what to call it yet and he was still trying to decide whether he liked it or not.

The following weeks after the holiday party were shadowed by a tense cloud that seemed to hover over your shared apartment with Jungwon. He’s been working day in and day out thanks to changes with their client and the label. You barely saw him at all, sometimes you’d cook dinner and leave him a sticky note on the fridge, if you were lucky you’d wake up to a missing tupperware and a response on the same note stating, “thank you.” 

You weren’t much better off either, you were tasked to work on another proposal with Jay for an international deal that was currently putting you through the ringer. If the stress of the workload wasn’t enough, working with Jay now was no walk in the park. He was less flirty than before but even now you continue to catch him staring at you with dark eyes. It’s a bit unsettling, the other day you hadn’t realized your skirt had ridden up slightly until you felt the burn on his gaze onto your skin. 

He also continues to ask about your reservation for the company gala coming up, surely wanting to know if Jungwon will be there. Each time he asks, you avoid the question, you haven’t mentioned the gala to Jungwon and you don’t intend to. He’s been so busy with work there’s no way you would bother him with your nonsense right now, you were sure to survive one night without him. 

With the gala just over a week away work was piling and deadlines were nearing. Thankfully you had somehow managed to leave the office at a reasonable time today, slipping into the elevator before Jay could keep you later under the guise of unnecessary modifications for your proposal. It was only 6:30pm by the time you got home, the earliest you’ve returned all week. 

You hadn’t expected to find Jungwon in the kitchen, serving himself some pizza he happened to buy from your favorite place. 

“Whoa, hey, you’re back early. Good you can eat while it’s still hot.” He greets you with a smile, despite barely seeing each other since the party there was no awkward tension between you. Things may have gotten quiet around you but never awkward, Jungwon wouldn’t let that happen. 

The smell of the fresh pizza was enough to have you drooling before you finished taking off your shoes. Jungwon was already serving you a plate along with a soda. He set your plates down on the dining table, waiting for you before taking a bite of his slice. 

“How was work?” He breaks the silence first. “Exhausting, I’m all over the place recently.” You sigh, biting into the pizza. 

“Is that why you forgot to mention the gala your company is hosting?” He raises an eyebrow at you, smirking slightly due to the look of surprise on your face. 

“How did you know about that?” 

“I bumped into Jake yesterday, he mentioned the gala and said you’ve been so busy with your project that you haven’t submitted your rsvp so he just marked you down for a plus one, he said he expected to see me there.” The look on his face tells you he’s not at all bothered by this information but still you find yourself wanting to apologize. 

“Jungwon, I am so sorry I dragged you into this, I’ll come up with some excuse, I’ll say you got sick or had to go into work.” You’re already shaking your head, coming up with a dozen different believable excuses so Jungwon won’t have to be involved again. You had promised this ruse would only be for one night, that was all he agreed to.

But Jungwon was already shaking his head before you could finish your sentence, “Why would you do that? Your boyfriend should attend this gala, I hear you might get an award.” 

Boyfriend, once again missing the ‘fake’ in front of it. And once again you don’t find yourself correcting him.

“Jake really told you everything, huh?” You scoffed to which Jungwon only nodded, “Yup, wish it would’ve come from you though. Were you not planning on inviting me?” 

“Jungwon, our agreement was that you pretended to be my boyfriend for the holiday party, remember? I don’t think we need to continue, they know you exist, they saw you once, that’s enough.” 

The brunette across from you hums, “Is that Jay guy still bothering you?” 

You hesitate, teeth pressing down on your lower lip before you speak, “Not really.” 

“That’s a yes, I’m going. My job clearly isn’t done if that guy still thinks he has a chance with you.” 

It was decided then, Jungwon left no room to argue. The following week passed and before you knew it you were slipping into a beautiful dark floor length gown. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, trying to zip up the rest of your dress but not being able to reach on your own. Your hair and makeup were already set, jewelry highlighting your soft skin. 

Jungwon was waiting for you in the living room, he had been ready for at least thirty minutes now but he knew better than to rush you. 

Accepting defeat you huff, holding the dress in place before calling out his name in the quiet of your apartment. Almost instantly, three soft knocks are heard at your bedroom door. 

“Come in, I can’t zip this up, could you help me?” You ask just as the door creaks open. Jungwon all but freezes at your doorway, eyes sliding down the length of your body and your exposed back. You felt a heat wash over yourself under the heavy weight of his gaze. 

“Jungwon?” Your tone was breathless, not wanting to disturb whatever hovered in the distance between you. Jungwon cleared his throat, taking soft hesitant steps toward you before standing behind you. Your eyes meet his through the reflection of your full body mirror. He doesn’t say a word as his fingers trail down the length of your back, tracing the zipper until they grasp the end. His eyes follow the zipper as he closes it, watching the pieces of fabric connect to cover your soft skin. Once it’s fully closed you adjust your hair back, letting it drape down your back. 

“Thank you.” Your voice is shaky, you’re sure he catches it too but he doesn’t say anything about it. “You look beautiful.” As if compelled to do so, Jungwon presses a soft kiss to your bare shoulder, surprising himself just as much as you. 

“Thank you, you look handsome tonight.” Jungwon was an attractive man, so attractive that you almost refused the offer to move in with him because you knew you wouldn’t be able to put that aside. It’s very rare that he dresses up like this though, suit and tie with his hair styled neatly in a way that exposes his forehead. His lips curved into a shy smile at your complement, hand coming down to squeeze your waist before taking a step back. The newfound distance provides you with room to breathe. 

“Ready to go?” You nod along and soon thereafter the two of you find yourself in an extravagant ballroom. Your company hosts this gala every year to honor its associates and partners. This year in particular you and Jay were nominated for an award for your work on the Taiwan deal. It was a high honor and whilst you were incredibly grateful, you weren’t prepared to share a table with Jay because of it. 

The seating charts had you and Jungwon in a large round table along with Jay, Jake, and Sunghoon with his girlfriend. Sunghoon didn’t directly work for your company but he was a representative for a loyal partnering company. You have worked together so often at this point you consider him a friend just as you did Jake. You have met his girlfriend, Sooha, a couple times too so seeing her was always a plus. 

“Jungwon, y/n! Nice to see you guys.” Jake smiled, standing up from his seat to greet you. Jungwon keeps one hand on the small of your back, the other shakes Jake's hand. “Great to see you again, Jake.” 

“Sunghoon, Sooha, this is my boyfriend, Jungwon. Jungwon, this is Sunghoon and his girlfriend.” You introduce them, greeting the two kindly. Sooha smiles at you and gives you a brief hug as the men shake hands. 

“Hello, Jay, you know Jungwon.” You force your lips into a tight smile. Jay nods, lifting his glass in greeting. The six of you find your seats again, Sunghoon starting a conversation instantly about some new project his company is starting but the work talk only lasts a couple minutes before Sooha leans closer to you, tilting her lips up in a smirk. 

“You look gorgeous tonight, you two make an attractive couple.” Sooha smiles at you. A warmth colors your cheeks, “Thank you, that’s kind of you. I’m glad I could finally introduce him to you guys.” 

Sunghoon turns to look at you then, “Me too, I can’t lie I was a little surprised, I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.” Sooha nods in agreement, “Yeah me neither, I had no idea.” 

“Oh you weren’t the only one.” Jay adds, his tone is bitter as he lifts his glass to his lips, eyes elsewhere. You can feel Jungwon tense beside you, out of reflex your hand rests over his own on the table. 

“Oh come on, I wasn’t surprised. With all due respect, y/n is stunning. I knew there was no way she was single, respectfully of course.” Jake shares, his eyes travel to Jungwon’s as if showing he meant no harm, to which Jungwon chuckles. “It’s alright, I know she’s gorgeous, I got lucky, I know I’m not the first one to try and I won’t be the last but I’m the one that’s lucky enough to be with her so.” The table erupts into light laughter, all but Jay who forces his lips into a tight smile. 

“Well said.” Sooha compliments, taking a sip of her wine. Sunghoon nods, placing his arm around the back of Sooha’s chair. The conversation flows easy after that for everyone but Jay who seems to observe more than partake in the topic of discussion. His eyes find their way back to you or to Jungwon's hands on you. 

After some time you spot an associate across the room that you had been meaning to talk to, you excuse yourself and invite Jungwon along with you to introduce him. Jungwon follows behind you with no hesitation, reaching the associate and greeting her with a smile. You jump into conversation with her, asking her something about her daughter's recital but Jungwon could not look away from the bar where Jay had travelled to. Jay was shamelessly checking you out, eyes trailing down the length of your body and Jungwon hated it. 

He took a step closer to you, wrapping an arm around your waist, careful not to disturb your conversation. Jay doesn’t look away which only fuels Jungwon's annoyance. He hated this, the ugly feeling he felt during the holiday party was returning in the pit of his stomach. His jaw clenched and his fingers flexed against your dress. 

This felt almost like a challenge of sorts, like Jay was pushing Jungwon to see how far he could go, how much he could get away with. It angered Jungwon to no end, he knew he was the possessive type, the feeling of jealousy was one he was familiar with when in love. He has always been like this in past relationships but of course it was never a feeling he experienced towards you. 

This was new and uncharted territory for him. When your associate excused herself, leaving just the two of you standing there, Jungwon didn’t hesitate before leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder, then another one to your temple. You feel your cheeks blush as the contact, “Jungwon?” 

“He hasn’t stopped looking at you, not since we walked in.” He whispered softly into your ear, to anyone else it would paint the scene of two lovers sharing a sweet moment. But his tone took you by surprise, he didn’t sound like a friend looking out for you, he truly sounded like a jealous boyfriend who was just seconds away from claiming what’s his.

“Is he looking now?” You whisper back, not daring to look up on your own. Jungwon nods, “Mhm.” 

With that you turn around in his hold to face him, “Dance with me?” You lead him into the dance floor where other couples danced slowly together. Jungwon was quick to place his hands around your waist, pulling you close so you had no choice but to wrap your arms around his neck. 

“This is new.” You tease in a whisper. Jungwon laughs, “Very. But I like it.” You nod in agreement, letting Jungwon guide you in a slow dance. “I don’t like the way he looks at you.” He confesses softly into the air between you, holding his breath after as if he had just admitted his darkest secret. 

You let his words sink in for a moment, considering all the different meanings if only influenced by a different context. If only this weren’t a facade meant to fool everyone around you. If only Jungwon wasn’t pretending to be your jealous boyfriend. If only this were real. 

“I don’t like it either, but I’m not thinking about that right now.” Your breath hitches at your own words, eyes lifting up to meet his. Jungwon studies you for a moment, eyes dropping to your lips for just a second. “What are you thinking about?” The tone of his voice is heavy with some kind of emotion you have never heard from him before, there is something heated lying just beneath the surface but before you can dive into it, the music lowers as an announcer comes up to a podium asking everyone to return to their seats for the award ceremony. 

Jungwon has to bite back a groan, offering his hand to you to guide you back to your table where your coworkers had already returned to. Sitting next to you in silence after your moment in the dancefloor was slowly killing him inside, he needed to hear what you were gonna say to him, he needed to know how you felt right now. 

All the while awards are being handed out, Jungwon can’t help but feel his entire world spin on its axis, he feels as though everything is on the brink of falling apart. 

You weren’t much better, your nerves should be targeted for your nomination, you should be thinking about what you’re going to say if you win, who will you thank. But instead you’re thinking about how Jungwon looked at you, how his jaw clenched when Jay looked at you. You can still feel his touch on your skin despite him not touching you since you sat down. 

The beating of your heart is all you can hear, your thoughts are screaming at you to pull Jungwon aside and talk to him, to settle whatever is changing between the two of you. Perhaps it’s the atmosphere, the drinks, the fake relationship you’re currently showing off to everyone in your company. All of these things could be getting to you, making you see things that aren’t there, feel things you shouldn't feel. 

Your own pulse inside your ears is so loud you almost miss them calling your name for the award. Jungwon recovers faster than you, clapping and smiling at you like the proud boyfriend he’s pretending to be. Sunghoon and Sooha along with everyone else in the room cheer for you and Jay as the two of you get up to claim your award at the podium. 

Jay offers his hand to help you up the steps in your heels, you take it hesitantly even as your eyes instantly find Jungwons, almost as if you were asking for permission. Everything about tonight is so strange, since when do you look to Jungwon for approval for anything? 

Jay takes the award and steps up to the microphone, “Thank you so much, I could not have done it without my beautiful partner here. All those long nights really paid off, it was all worth it for the success of the company and for this, thank you.” He steps back, allowing you to take his place. 

Just as you were about to speak, you feel Jay place his hand on the small of your back. The podium and your bodies hide the action from the audience but Jungwon doesn’t miss the way your eyes slightly widen and how your body tenses under the lights. 

You quickly take a step forward, “Thank you for this award, we are very grateful and honored. I want to thank our team and everyone that assisted us with this project, thank you to Jay for being a reliable business partner. And I want to thank my boyfriend, Jungwon, for keeping me sane when work was driving me up a wall and for waiting for me at home after all those long nights.” Laughter erupts in the hall, coworkers and partners alike are all amused with your speech but your eyes are only on Jungwon. 

You chose your words carefully, making it clear to everyone, but mainly Jay, that once again you were not interested in anyone other than the brunette sitting at your table next to Jake. Jungwon smiles at you though his shoulders are straight and his eyes are attentive, laced with a possessiveness that pours out of him the longer he has to watch Jay stand next to you. 

Jay attempted to guide you back to your table with his hand hovering at your back but you walk fast enough to stay just ahead of him so he wouldn’t touch you. Jungwon catches on quickly, standing from his seat to take your hand and pressing a loving kiss to your temple, your table claps at the display of affection. 

“Congratulations.” He whispers to you, smiling as he helps you take your seat again. 

“Did he touch you?” He leaned in close to whisper the question in a volume only you could hear, to others it appeared as those he was simply whispering sweet nothings to his lover, but you felt the seriousness of his tone. Your eyes met his and you gave him an almost imperceptible nod. 

Jungwon's eyes flared and his jaw clenched, you were half convinced he would stand up and punch Jay right then and there. But Jungwon wasn’t a violent person, he was possessive and stern but never violent. So he just takes a deep breath through his nose, hand resting over your own on the table. 

You leaned in, breath fanning his ear sending goosebumps down his body, “Night’s almost over.” Realistically he knew your words were meant to calm him, but he couldn’t help but feel anxious like there was still much to unfold. Deep down he knew the night was far from over. 

Surely enough, he was right. Dinner and more drinks were served throughout the ballroom. You and Jungwon had done your rounds talking to your coworkers and business partners around the room. Jungwon had made it his mission to keep you as far away from Jay as physically possible when away from the table. 

The event was coming to a close when your CEO called for everyone's attention for a closing speech. Back at your table with the others it was hard to ignore Jay's eyes on you, you could feel the way his glance travelled down the length of your exposed skin. Clearly having had one too many drinks on him he was failing to conceal his attention on you. This only fueled the man sitting next to you, his anger rising by the second. 

Surely this was past the point of a concerned friend or a pretend jealous boyfriend. Jungwon's jealousy seemed real, more real than you were willing to admit because that realization caused a completely different one to spur from the pit of your stomach. You liked it. You liked that he was jealous, liked the way his hold on you tightened whenever he felt Jay looking your way, relished in the way his jaw clenched in frustration as a way to hold back whatever he truly wanted to say in the moment. 

A thrill went up your spine as it dawned on you, you liked seeing Jungwon get possessive with you. Without realizing it, your eyes trained on his jaw, watching as it clenched and unclenched before drifting down to his tense shoulders and calculated breathing. Almost immediately you found yourself crossing your legs and squeezing your thighs together to subside the sudden ache between your thighs. You never thought jealousy could look so attractive on a person. Although it’s not just any person, it’s Jungwon, your Jungwon. As an already extremely attractive man, seeing him with his jealous eyes and tense posture just made him down right devastating. Enough to soak your panties through if you didn’t know any better. 

And apparently you didn't. 

The crowd applauded as your CEO wished everyone a good night and thanked them for coming. Sunghoon and Sooha were the first to say their goodbyes at your table. 

“Jungwon, it was good to finally meet you. We should meet up again soon, the four of us should grab dinner.” He smiled, his arm wrapped lovingly over Soohas shoulder. Jungwon smiled and nodded, hand at the small of your back. “Absolutely, we’ll plan something soon.” 

“Excluding me already, I met you first.” Jake fake pouts at Jungwon who only chuckles whilst shaking his head. “Up to you if you want to third wheel a double date.” The group laughs, promising to make plans for the future, Sunghoon and Sooha are the first to walk away with Jake following not far behind. 

You send a small nod towards Jay and you’re just about to turn to walk away when Jungwon stops you, “Hold on, wait right here.” He grins before turning back to Jay. You watch as he shakes his hand and steps closer to him, saying something that you can’t quite make out. You watch as Jay’s face drops, eyes dropping to the ground and Jungwon steps back with that same easy grin on his face. Within moments he’s back beside you.

“What was that?” He only shakes his head at you, “Don’t worry about it, he shouldn’t be bothering you anymore.” You’re not sure what he means by that but at this moment you don’t think you want to find out. 

Jungwon has his arm wrapped around you, not even bothering to look in Jays direction before turning to you. “Ready to go home?” The way he says it sends a shock right to your core, the heat that was building in between your thighs all night suddenly becoming unbearable. 

“Let’s go home.” Jungwon stares down at you as you say it, a warmth spread through his chest, he nearly has to hold back a grunt at the way you look up at him so innocently as if you have no idea what you’re doing to him. He nods in response, tightening his hold around you before leading you back to his car. 

The drive back home reminded you of the night of the Holiday party. The air around you was tense and slightly awkward but tonight there was also a hint of something else. It was hot, regardless of the AC being on, you were feeling more and more frustrated with every red light. You just needed to get home, to do what exactly? You weren’t sure, maybe a cold shower was enough to remind you that this was all fake and however you were seeing Jungwon at this moment isn’t real. 

The silence is suffocating and Jungwon could practically feel the heat radiating off your body. It was killing him to focus on the road when all he wanted to do was admire you sitting there in his car, in that stunning dress, all while trying to discreetly press your thighs together even though Jungwon had caught it the first time you did it back at the table. It took everything in him to not react, it was even more trying now with him gripping onto the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. 

You were in his car, in that dress, and turned on and it was killing him to not be able to touch you. He needed some form of a distraction, he would take anything at this point if it meant he would be able to stop thinking about your pretty thighs squeezing together for him underneath your dress. 

“I’m sorry about Jay, I guess I downplayed it more than I realized.” You spoke first. Jungwon wasn’t really wanting to think about that either, it raised another kind of emotion in him that he was still getting used to with you. A lot of things were changing tonight evidently. 

“Yeah, a lot more. I don’t like him.” Jungwon's response is short and calculated, he didn’t want to say anything too forward while his thoughts were still elsewhere. 

You laughed at that, shaking your head which brought his gaze over to you for just a moment. The stress lining the space above his eyebrows eases at the sight of your smile, he can’t help but smile softly in return. 

“Oh really? I couldn’t tell. You were staring at him all night like you wanted to kill him, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you were-” You stop yourself, realizing if you finished that sentence the light hearted conversation would go right back to the tense atmosphere you were just in. But it was too late for that, Jungwon wasn’t about to let that go unnoticed. 

“If you didn’t know any better what? Finish that.” His voice is stern now but still kind, he still used that soft tone he reserved for you but his words convinced you that he was not playing around anymore.

You look at him, studying his side profile as he makes it a point to stare straight ahead, not daring to turn away from the road for even a second. You were almost home, what were the chances you could stall until he pulled into your apartment building? 

A moment passed, you were getting closer and closer to your apartment but Jungwon didn’t push further. He didn’t ask again like he knew you would answer the first time. 

“If I didn’t know any better I would say you were actually jealous tonight.” You responded just as he pulled into your building parking garage. You hear Jungwon let out a breath, his grip tightens on the while but he doesn’t say anything until he fully parks the car, turning the engine off and granting the two of you just a moment of silence. 

“And if I was?” Your breath nearly gets caught in your throat. You weren’t fully expecting that, sure there was that tiny hopeful voice in your head that believed he might be even just slightly as affected as you have been all night but you didn’t actually believe it to be true. 

“I mean, I would have no reason to be, right? Because this is fake?” He asks aloud before you can respond to his first statement. The question sets you back, you blink at him without knowing what to say. Jungwon doesn’t give you a second to dwell on it, he opens the door and gets out of the car, already fishing into his pockets for the apartment keys and waiting for you. 

Without Jungwon in the car you allow your confusion to display on your face for just a moment before following him. Jungwon is waiting for you but clearly keeping a distance between the two of you as you begin to walk towards the elevators. Being in this enclosed space with him now was nervewracking, you didn’t know what to say to that. Technically he was right, there was no reason for him to get jealous because this was all pretend, you two weren’t actually dating. But then again, that hasn’t stopped you from swooning over him since the holiday party. 

You’re practically holding your breath the entire elevator ride, looking down at your heels. All that could be heard was that awkward elevator music and surely the pounding of your heart. Jungwon barely waits for the doors to fully open before he’s walking out the doors, he already has his keys in his hand. 

To his credit, he looks back to make sure you’re still behind him before he opens the door and steps inside, holding it for you as well. You step inside your apartment, watching as Jungwon silently locks the door before slipping out of his shoes with ease. You lean against the entryway wall to fiddle with the strap of your heels. The shakiness of your hands isn’t helping you at this moment, sighing with a huff as the strap keeps slipping from your hold. 

Jungwon, who was already in the kitchen with a cold bottle of water in hand, turns to look at you with an almost wounded expression. He watches you fight with your heel strap for another moment before silently walking over to you and kneeling before you. With the gentlest touch you’ve ever felt, Jungwon slowly lifts your foot to rest on his knee and carefully undoes the strap before switching to the other one. 

You watch in shock and awe, holding your breath as you watch him remove your heel, placing it softly on the ground but still not letting go of your ankle. You watch him, unblinking, as he turns his head back to your foot. His eyes trail the length of your leg, peeking at the bit of exposed thigh under your dress, up your hips and waist until his eyes finally meet yours. Without looking away from your eyes, Jungwon leans down to press a kiss to the inside of your ankle, rubbing the area softly before setting your foot back on the ground. 

All the air in your lungs was surely knocked out of you after that, your heart rate is now a concerning speed but you can’t bring yourself to look away from him. 

“I was jealous and possessive, in a way I probably shouldn’t have been. I’m sorry.” He whispered, still kneeling on the ground in front of you. His left hand softly caressed the side of your knee over your dress, sighing quietly. This was unexpected in a way that sent a wave of pure heat straight down to your core. You reached a hand down to run your fingers through his hair, holding onto his jaw to tilt his head up. 

“It’s ok, won, it felt real to me too.” You smiled once he leans into your touch, closing his eyes gently as if he was taking advantage of this moment, not wanting to forget it. You gently guide him back up to stand in front of you, Jungwon doesn’t dare look away from you right now. “I liked being with you like that, I liked having your arm around me and dancing with you. It was nice.” You admit into the quiet of your shared apartment. Jungwon smiles as he looks down for a moment, nodding in agreement. 

“Me too. I noticed it the first night, during the holiday party but I ignored it. I don’t want to ignore it anymore, baby.” His confession has your heart skipping a beat in the most cliche way possible. You smile up at him, “Me neither.” 

Jungwon gives himself a moment to admire your features, admire the way you’re looking at him right now with a look in your eyes he had never seen before. He smiles, taking a step closer before cupping your jaw with his hands and leaning forward to press a soft but meaningful kiss to your lips. Your lips mold together perfectly like they were always meant to tangle together as they are now. 

In nearly three years of living with Jungwon, you’d be lying if you said you never considered what it would be like to kiss him. You thought about it many times actually, more times than you would ever admit out loud. But none of those daydreams or fantasies could ever compare to the real thing. You were starting to understand that Jungwon was a very possessive person in every aspect of his life, including when it came to kissing you. His kiss wasn’t just loving or passionate, it was claiming. His hands had travelled to round your waist, one hand sliding up your back which sends goosebumps down your spine. 

He tilted his head to kiss you deeper, his tongue slipping past your soft lips to claim the inside of your mouth. You had never been kissed like this, it was breathtaking and earth shattering. It was that type of kiss you thought only existed in the movies or those romantic books you read and tell everyone they’re just fantasy. 

After a couple more breathless moments the two of you slowly pull away to take a breath, Jungwon studies your reaction, admiring the blush on your cheeks and the eyes your eyes seem like they’re struggling to focus. 

“That was-” 

“Yeah.” 

The two of you smile before chuckling together, Jungwon takes a step back, looking you up and down before speaking again. “Just so we’re clear, this means something to me, I want to take you out on an official date and I want to try this with you…but I also want to take you back to my room right now and take care of you.” 

You smile at his words and let out a breathless sigh before nodding, “I want that too.” He smiles at you with that warm smile that never fails to make you swoon. “Good.” He nods once before he’s pulling you in again by the waist, crashing his lips to your this time with more urgency than before. He starts walking you backwards without pulling his lips from yours, guiding you back towards his bedroom without ever breaking the kiss. 

One clumsy turn has him backing into a wall, groaning softly against your mouth. You gasp and then stifle your giggle with your hand, pulling away to make sure he was okay. He shakes his head, masking his embarrassment by muttering a quick, “Fuck it” under his breath and scoopping you into his arms. He picks you up bridal style, walking quickly over to his room and kicking the door closed behind him as he sets you back down on the floor.

He turns you around swiftly, having you face the wall with your hands coming up to brace yourself at the feeling of his touch wandering the length or your back and waist. 

“You look so beautiful, baby. Tell me I can take this off of you..” He whispers against your skin, leaving kisses down the back of your shoulder. His fingers toy with the zipper of your dress, the same one he helped close earlier in the night. 

“Please.” You whimper, pressing your forehead against the wall to try to calm your breathing. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip with a sigh once you feel Jungwon's fingers pull the zipper down at a tortuously slow pace. Jungwon has to hold his breath the more skin he reveals with his actions, he tries not to groan at the sight of your matching bra and underwear set, a striking color against your skin that has him drooling before he can even really get his hands on you. He carefully pushes the straps of the dress off your shoulders until the material drops and pools at your feet. 

He curses under his breath at the sight of your nearly naked body, his left hand comes down to slide past your waist onto your ass, groaning at the feeling of your soft skin. The curve of your ass attracts him to no end but before he could drop to his knees to worship you how he knows you deserve, you turn around to face him. Instantly his eyes come up to your cleavage before dropping down to the front of your panties, biting back a groan. 

“Fuck, baby. You’re stunning.” He compliments, eyes trailing back up to meet yours with no rush at all. You smile, pushing down a blush that you know is already painting your cheeks. Without saying another word, Jungwon watches in awe as you sink to your knees before him. Hands sitting pretty across your lap as you look up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours. Jungwon holds back another curse at the sight of you on your knees. 

“Is this ok, wonie?” The question is followed with your touch sliding up his thighs, playing with the clasp of his belt. Jungwon nods, already unbuttoning the top of his shirt and pulling his sleeves up to his elbows. You smile at the sight before bringing your hand down to squeeze at his covered bulge. Jungwon clenches his jaw at that, biting back another groan. 

“Don’t tease, baby.” You smile at that but ultimately do as you're told. Within seconds you’re pulling his pants and underwear down to reveal his entire length. The corners of your lips curve upwards when you hear him suck in a breath through his teeth once your fingers wrap around the base of him. 

With your eyes looking up at him you spit seductively onto his length, using your hand to stroke him until your spit has coated him entirely. “Haah” He sighs, he’s holding his shirt up with one hand, the other was clenched into a fist by his side. The second you actually wrap your pretty lips around the tip of his already leaking cock Jungwon actually tilts forward, having to hold his hand out against the wall behind you to keep himself upright. 

The feeling of your warm mouth taking him so prettily was enough to have his knees nearly buckling on their own accord. He would almost feel embarrassed if he wasn’t so incredibly turned on right now. Your mouth works quickly on him, you suck in your cheeks and slide your tongue along the underside of his cock. Your hand strokes what can’t fit in your mouth in time with your movements. A sense of pride washes over you and you look up and visibly see Jungwon struggling to keep it together. 

“Fuck, your mouth is so warm-s’tight. Shit, just like that, baby.” He grunts through clenched teeth. His hand drops to hold your hair out of the way, holding it in a makeshift ponytail. You suck his length harder and faster, ignoring the ache in your jaw once you feel Jungwon's grip tighten on your hair. He was getting close and you needed his release like you needed air. You pushed yourself even farther down his length, taking him as deep as you could before your throat constrict around him. You gag around him once but Jungwon only curses at the sound, feeling himself growing closer to his release. 

“Shit, right there baby, I’m so close.” He curses under his breath, trying to silence his grunts but the attempt is laughable. He’s so loud and whiny you can feel yourself growing wetter just from the sound. His sounds only get louder, at this point you’re clenching around nothing to just feel some kind of release. You have never seen someone look or sound so attractive in a state like this, all you can think about is how badly you want to do this again and again. 

His hand on your hair grips you tightly, forcing you deeper as he releases right down your throat, cursing out loud with your name on his lips. You swallow his release instantly, humming at the taste with his dick still inside you. You give him another moment to catch his breath before pulling back with a pop. Your hand caresses his thigh softly, allowing him a moment to come back down from his high. 

He blinks down at you, breathing hard. His hands help you up, instantly crashing his lips against yours. He could still taste himself on your lips and it only makes him groan. The ache between your thighs was becoming unbearable and you were positive you have never been this turned on in your life. 

“Get on the bed, baby.” He whispered against your lips, pressing one more swift kiss there before stepping back. His eyes never leave your body as you walk toward the bed, leaning your body over before laying down to give him the best view of your ass. Jungwon lets out another groan, already feeling himself growing hard again. His hands work fast to remove his clothing before meeting you at the foot of the bed. 

A gasp slips past your lips unintentionally with Jungwon pulling you by your ankles to the edge of the bed, he smirks. For the second time tonight, you watch in awe as Jungwon gracefully kneels to the ground, only this time it’s between your open thighs. He pushes your legs open softly and has to visibly hold back a groan upon seeing a wet patch right at the center of your underwear. 

He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss right at the inside of your thigh, trailing his lips closer and closer to where you need him most. A soft hum sounds from your throat, your eyes falling closed at the feeling. You can help but lift yourself on your elbows to watch him pull your underwear down, you didn’t want to miss a second of this. 

“Fuck, you’re just pretty everywhere, aren’t you, doll?” He compliments with his eyes never leaving your now bare pussy. He practically drools over the sight of your soaked folds, automatically leaning forward to press another kiss on the skin right above your cunt. 

You watch him lean back again only to spit slowly onto your folds just to watch it slide down your center. Your body jolts at the feeling to which Jungwon grins, he was going to enjoy the hell out of himself by teasing you like this. 

“Jungwon-” You’re about to start begging but he silences you with his index fingers coming up to slide through your folds, collecting your arousal and swirling it all the way up to your clit. A silent gasp shoots through you. He uses his thumb now to circle your clit once, twice, studying the way your body reacts to being played with like this. 

“You’re so wet, dripping all over my hand and I haven’t even started yet.” You’re not sure if he’s even talking to you anymore, his eyes are focused on your pussy, mesmerized with every twitch and pulse of your walls. His fingers circle your entrance, teasing your leaking hole with a delicious pace before finally sinking both inside you in one go. 

The moan that escapes you has Jungwon's dick twitching at attention, he watches his fingers pump inside you, pulling more of your juices out with each stroke. “Wonie..” Your moans and whines are fucking music to the brunettes ears, he decides right here and now that is his new favorite sound. His eyes travel upwards to watch your face, the picture of pure bliss and pleasure displayed all over your features. Without hesitating, Jungwon leans down to drag his tongue up the length of your folds, fingers still pulsing inside you. His tongue comes up to your clit, sucking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue until your legs try to close around his head. 

“Jungwon! Wait-” You’re cut off by another moan that pushes through you. His speed picks up and his tongue moves harsher to match his pace. He shakes his head against your wet folds, “Tastes s’good, tastes like mine.” He groans, his voice sending another level of vibrations up your core. Your hands find their way to his hair to pull at and run through as you feel yourself growing closer to that pinnacle release. Another moan in the shape of his name slips past your lips in a breathless haze. 

Then he curls his fingers in a certain way that nudges that little spongy part inside of you so perfectly it has you seeing stars, that along with the way his tongue never moves away from your clit has your thighs tightening around his head and fingers pulling his hair to keep him exactly where he is. If that wasn’t evidence enough of your upcoming orgasm, the way you arched your back completely off the bed and the loud moan that shot through you was enough to have Jungwon press forward until he felt your walls squeeze his fingers. Your orgasm doesn’t just wash over you like you’re used to, this one shoots through you with the power of at least three orgasms in one. 

You cry out his name, twitching in his hold despite him pulling away softly to allow you a moment to catch your breath just as you did for him before. He admires the way your body reacts to his touch now, your cunt is damn near pulsing, crying for more. His hand caresses your thigh before crawling upwards to hover above you. 

“You’re so beautiful when you come, will you show me again?” He whispers against your lips, pressing a soft kiss there once and then twice. You nod, eyes struggling to fully stay open thanks to the earth shattering orgasm from before. “Please..please fuck me, wonie.” He groans at that, dropping his face into your neck and kissing your skin. 

“Fuck, you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.” 

You can only watch with anticipation as Jungwon slides his hardened dick through your slick folds, the tip catches onto your overstimulated clit making your gasp aloud. “So responsive for me.” He smiles then slides his tip back down to your entrance, teasingly slipping just the tip inside of you until you moan for him and then pulling back out. 

“Jungwon, please,” he does it again, sliding his tip in only to pull out and repeat it a couple more times until you’re practically crying, “you’re being so mean.” Your pout is what catches his attention, he grins at you before kissing your pouty lips. 

“Mean? That’s not mean baby, this is mean.” He slams his entire length into you in one go, a loud moan bordering on scream rips through your throat as your entire body jolts upwards on the bed at the sudden intrusion. The pain is quick to subside to pleasure as Jungwon mercilessly pounds into you right from the start. He doesn’t give you any time to adjust, instead opting for fucking into you fast and rough. His hands drag your legs over his shoulders, nearly folding you in half in order to thrust deeper into you. 

He was pounding you into the mattress so good you were already struggling to keep your eyes open. Jungwon admired the way your back arched and your head tilted back. He was absolutely captivated with your body, loving the way your hands alternated from holding onto the bedsheets and his own arms. 

Your walls molded around his cock, making you his perfect little cock sleeve much to Jungwon's pleasure. “So tight around me, you’re soaked through, baby. Shit, so wet, so warm, your pretty pussy's gonna make me come.” 

You can already feel your second orgasm of the night approaching, your walls tighten around him and you can barely give him a warning before you feel yourself falling apart. “That’s it, baby. So sexy coming around my dick like that.” He fucks into you as you come, never stoppping his movements. He lowers your legs from his shoulder, wrapping them around his waist instead in order to get closer to you. 

Now chest to chest, Jungwons trusts slow down as he kisses you lovingly, a stark contrast to the way he was just fucking you. 

“So good for me, you’ll give me another one right?” He’s asking but he doesn’t wait for an answer. Before you could protest with cries of overstimulation, Jungwon is already turning you onto your stomach, forcing you onto your knees with one hand pressing your head against the pillows. 

“You can take it, fuck.” His movements pick up again, slamming into you from behind. His eyes are trained on the way your ass jiggles with every thrust, his left hand comes down to grope and squeeze your ass and hips and his other still holds your head down. 

“Fuck, all mine. You’re all mine, no other motherfucker will ever have you like this again.” His thrusts are punishing now, almost like he was taking his anger out on you and you were starting to realize exactly why. 

“The asshole thinks he can touch you, you were mine before he even met you, I’ll make sure he remembers that, yeah?” The jealousy was pouring out of him with every word and thrust of his hips. You were moaning and crying into the pillows, your body already twitching with overstimulation and exhaustion. You would’ve never expected Jungwon to fuck you within an inch of your life, even worse you never expected it to feel so good. 

“I'm so close- need you to come with me. Fuck I need to feel you baby, please.” His groans have turned into whines now, thrusts growing sloppier but his hand comes around to rub at your clit in time with his movements. A sharp cry rips from your lips just as your third orgasm crashes through your body. Jungwon feels your walls constrict around him and suddenly he watches as your juices squirt out of you soaking his entire lower body and his bed below him. The sight alone is enough to bring Jungwon over the edge too, he grips the base of his cock once just before spilling all over your ass and lower back. 

Your body collapses onto the bed, legs feeling weak and shaking. Your brain was still catching up with your body, not even realizing you squirted for the first time until Jungwon flips you again over onto your back. 

“You’re such a pretty squirter, baby.” His tongue is already sticking out past his lips, eyes focused on your soaking pussy.

“Think you can do that again on my tongue?” 

[tiramisuucakeee]

SUNFLOWER, yang jungwon

IN WHICH: yang jungwon, the friendly neighborhood spider-man, saves y/n and beats up delinquents, but somehow, doesn’t have the courage to express his feelings for her.

INFO: female reader, inspired in spider verse.

PART I:

1. SAVED BY A SPIDER.

2. SPIDEY SENSE.

3. THE AMAZING JUNGWON.

4. LOSING MY MIND.

5. PERFECT OPPORTUNITY.

6. SLOW DANCING.

7. I’M YOUR HERO.

8. A LEAP OF FAITH.

…. and many more

[swiftjay23]

𝐈𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐃? -> fuckboy jungwon’s favourite!

HE'S USED TO GIRLS CRUMBLING. Tears, trembling legs, desperate little begs while he spits filth and breaks them apart with every brutal thrust. But you? You moan softly, laugh breathily, and throw his own dirty talk right back in his pretty face like it’s a game. And maybe? It is. Game on, pretty boy. You just met your match.

pairing: fuckboy!jungwon x reader !

warnings: strong language alcohol power imbalance toxic relationship one night stand porn with little plot

warnings (smut): jungwon's a dick he's exactly what men shouldn't be. Power imbalance degradation dirty talk humiliation manipulation mindfuck toxicness toxic masculinity unprotected sex (no!) semi-public sex risk of getting caught creampie choking doggy style no romance no feelings one night stand meandom!jungwon harddom!jungwon rough sex

playlist: Often by The Weeknd [] Into It by Chase Atlantic [] Starboy (feat. daft punk) by The Weeknd [] Nine Inch Nails by Closer []

likes and reblogs for a cookie!

☆ WORD COUNT: 2K !

(Masterlist)

Yang Jungwon is the kind of fuckboy who makes a girl regret wanting him the second he’s done with her.

He’s got that angelic face, soft doe eyes, pretty lips, dimples that appear when he smirks like he already knows he’s about to ruin you. But the moment the door closes and clothes hit the floor, the mask drops. Jungwon fucks like he hates you. Brutal, mean, and terrifyingly good at it.

He doesn’t do slow or sweet. He pins you down with one hand around your throat, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, and pounds into you like he’s trying to break something inside. Deep, punishing strokes that make your eyes water and your voice crack. He’ll pull your hair, slap your ass, spit in your mouth, and call you the filthiest names while he’s buried balls-deep, laughing low and cruel when you sob his name like a prayer.

He always makes you cum, multiple times, actually, because he gets off on watching you fall apart for him. But the second he finishes (usually down your throat or painted across your face), the switch flips.

He pulls out, wipes himself off like you’re nothing, and tosses you your clothes.

“Get dressed.”

If you try to linger, if you even breathe the word “again” or “stay,” his expression goes ice-cold. Those pretty eyes turn dead.

“I told you before we started, this is it. One time. I don’t do seconds. I don’t date. I don’t cuddle. I don’t give a fuck about your feelings.”

And if you cry? If you beg or ask why he’s so cruel?

He just laughs, low and mocking, while he lights a cigarette or checks his phone.

“Crying already? Pathetic. You knew what this was. You spread your legs for me anyway. Now stop embarrassing yourself and get the fuck out. Don’t ever text me again thinking I’ll wet my dick with the same pussy twice. What’s done is done.”

He’s merciless. No soft aftercare. No fake promises. Just the brutal truth: you were a hole for the night, and now you’re disposable.

The girls always leave in tears, mascara running, thighs still shaking, heart shattered, because Jungwon doesn’t just fuck your body. He fucks with your head too, making you feel like the most desired girl in the world for thirty minutes and then like absolute garbage the moment he’s finished.

And the worst part? He never feels bad about it. Not even a little. Because Yang Jungwon doesn’t catch feelings.

He only catches new pussy.

And the moment Jungwon lays his eyes on you during Heeseung’s party? You know you’re in for something good tonight. 

The bathroom door is barely locked, the bass from the party still thumping through the walls like a second heartbeat. Jungwon has you folded in half on the marble counter, your back pressed against the cold mirror, knees pushed all the way to your chest, ankles hooked over his shoulders. Your dress is bunched uselessly around your waist, panties ripped and dangling from one ankle.

He’s pounding into you with brutal, deep strokes, hips snapping hard enough that the sound of skin slapping skin echoes louder than the music outside. His cock is thick, veiny, stretching you open with every punishing thrust, the head dragging against that spot that makes your toes curl.

Jungwon’s hand is wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your vision blur at the edges. His pretty face is twisted into that signature smirk, sweat dripping from his dark hair onto your tits.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he growls, slamming in particularly hard, watching your pussy swallow every inch. “Such a dirty little slut, letting me bend you like this in someone else’s bathroom. Bet you let anyone who looks at you twice wreck this cunt, huh?”

He expects the usual, whimpering, begging, tears already forming because he’s being so mean, so rough.

But you only let out a soft, breathy “Ah—fuck…” when he angles his hips just right and grinds against your clit with every thrust. Your eyes stay half-lidded, lips parted, but there’s no sobbing. No pleading.

Instead, when he calls you a slut again, you bite back with a sharp little laugh that turns into a moan.

“Slut? Says the guy who dragged a stranger into the bathroom because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants for thirty minutes,” you shoot back, voice surprisingly steady despite how deep he’s buried. Your walls flutter around him on purpose, clenching tight just to watch his smirk falter for half a second. “If I’m such a slut, why’s your cock twitching like it’s never felt a pussy this good before?”

Jungwon’s eyes narrow. That wasn’t the reaction he wanted. He pulls almost all the way out and slams back in with vicious force, the counter creaking under you. His grip on your throat tightens as he leans in closer, lips brushing your ear.

“Keep talking shit and I’ll fuck that attitude right out of you,” he hisses, picking up the pace, brutally drilling into you so your body jolts with every thrust. “You’re supposed to be crying by now, begging me not to stop like every other pathetic girl. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Another sharp thrust. Another soft, sweet “Ahh…” from you when he hits that perfect angle again, nothing more.

You tilt your head back against the mirror, eyes locking with his, a teasing smirk of your own playing on your lips even as your pussy drips around his cock.

“Wrong with me?” you gasp between thrusts, still sounding far too composed. “Nothing. I just don’t cry for boys who think being an asshole makes them special. Now shut up and fuck me properly if you can, Jungwon. Or are you all bite no bark?”

His jaw clenches. The pretty fuckboy who always makes girls break is suddenly the one thrown off. He doesn’t like it.

And he definitely doesn’t like how much his cock throbs harder at your sharp tongue.

Jungwon pulls out suddenly, flips you around like you weigh nothing, and bends you over the sink instead, face pressed to the mirror, ass up, back arched deep. He kicks your legs wider and drives back into you in one brutal thrust, one hand fisting your hair, the other slapping your ass hard enough to leave a mark.

“Fine,” he snarls, voice low and dangerous as he starts railing you even harder from behind. “Let’s see how long that pretty mouth stays smart when I’m done with you.”

Your only response is another soft, pleased “Ah…” as he hits even deeper, followed by a breathy, defiant little chuckle.

Game on, Yang Jungwon. 

The slap of skin on skin is filthy and loud in the small bathroom, almost drowning out the muffled party music outside.

Jungwon has you bent over the sink now, one hand fisted tight in your hair, the other gripping your hip so hard his fingers are going to leave bruises. He’s fucking you with vicious, deep strokes, fast, mean, relentless. Every time he bottoms out, the head of his cock bullies against that spot that makes your pussy flutter and drip.

You’ve been taking it like it’s nothing. Soft little “ah”s and sharp comments. No tears. No begging. Until suddenly your walls clamp down hard around him.

A low, shaky moan slips from your lips as you cream all over his cock, warm, slick, pulsing, your pussy gushing and squeezing him in tight, rhythmic waves. The feeling is so fucking good it rips a guttural groan out of Jungwon’s throat before he can stop it.

“Fuck—shit—”

He can’t hold back. His hips stutter once, twice, then he buries himself to the hilt and cums hard inside you. Thick, hot ropes of cum flood your pussy in smooth, pulsing spurts, painting your walls white while your own orgasm milks every last drop out of him.

For a few seconds the only sounds are heavy breathing and the wet, obscene sound of his cock still twitching inside your cunt.

Then, just like always, the switch flips.

Jungwon pulls out in one quick motion, his cum already starting to leak down your thighs. He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t look at you. Just turns, grabs his pants from the floor, and starts pulling them on like you’re already forgotten.

He’s waiting for it. The usual pathetic whimpering.

The “my legs don’t work…”  

The teary “can you help me get dressed?”  

The last girl literally begged him to carry her out of the bathroom like some princess.

He’s ready to laugh in your face and tell you to crawl if you have to. But you don’t.

You straighten up slowly, legs steady, thighs glistening with his cum and your own mess. Without a single wobble you reach for your dress, pull it back down, and smooth it over your hips like nothing happened. You even bend over casually to fix your heels, ass still out, his cum dripping down your leg, and you don’t even flinch.

Then you turn to the mirror, fix your hair with quick fingers, and wipe a smudge of lipstick from the corner of your mouth.

Jungwon freezes mid-zip, staring at you. You’re walking perfectly fine. No shaking legs. No clinging to the counter for support. No teary eyes or whiny voice asking for help.

You just look… unbothered. Satisfied, even. Like he was just a decent workout and nothing more. His blood boils instantly.

The man who always leaves girls ruined and crying is suddenly the one whose jaw is tight, eyes dark with irritation.

He steps closer, voice low and sharp. “…The fuck is this?”  

He gestures at you, standing there steady on your own two feet, already looking put-together while his cum is still leaking out of you. “You’re not even limping? Not gonna cry and beg me to carry your useless ass out of here like the last pathetic bitch?”

You glance at him through the mirror, one eyebrow raised, a small, amused smirk tugging at your lips.

“Why would I?” you say lightly, voice still a little breathy but perfectly calm. “It was a good fuck, Jungwon. Not life-changing. My legs work just fine.”

You turn to face him fully, adjusting the strap of your dress like you’re getting ready to walk back into the party.

“Besides… you’re the one who said ‘what’s done is done,’ right? So I’m done. Thanks for the dick.” You reach for the door handle.

Jungwon’s hand slams against the door before you can open it, trapping you there. His chest is almost pressed to your back, breath hot against your ear. He looks pissed. Actually pissed.

“You’re really just gonna walk out like that?” His voice is dangerously quiet. “Acting like I didn’t just fuck you stupid and fill you up?”

You tilt your head slightly, still calm, still unfazed. “Yeah. I am.”  A soft chuckle leaves you. “What, did I bruise your precious ego because I’m not on the floor crying for you? Poor baby.”

His grip on the door tightens, knuckles white. He hates how much he suddenly wants to bend you over again and fuck you until you can’t walk straight for a week.

He really, really hates it. Your hand gently pushes his arm away from the door.

“Move. I have a party to get back to.” Jungwon doesn’t move right away. His eyes are burning into you, something dark and new flickering behind that usual cold smirk.

For the first time in a long time…  Yang Jungwon doesn’t know what the fuck to do with a girl who just walked away from him like he was average. And it’s making him furious. You wink at him one last time as you push the door open, pressing a featherlight kiss to his cheek, mocking. Had it been anyone else, he’d have pushed them off of himself and wiped his face in disgust, but he didn’t to you, he couldn’t.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist”

perm taglist:

@hellomynameis-jessica @svvtvenom @saeivra @chaebbys @wonswrl @rianzysworld @bxldak @liloaeu @seungsoftly @enstarzzi @slut4heespam @freakseung2001 @strawberrykkkl @hoonsocks @rikifishh @onlynkfans @gardenwonn @saccharinezennie @yjwpout @kpopishgirlie @minamores @chario1397 @astronomicalastro-blog1

[wonscrchy]

.ᐟ DIRTY LITTLE SECRET — Y.JW

⤷ To every girl who likes dark romance or who like villains instead of heroes—lay back down and take it like a good girl.

⸝⸝ Jungwon was off limit, your brother’s best friend, the one person you were never supposed to want. But four years of stolen glances turned into smth worse. One night alone was all it took to blur the line between you. You call it friends with benefits, pretend it’s just physical, But what Jungwon feels for you isn’t simple desire. It’s darker than love. Colder than obsession. And the worst part? You’re already too deep to run. ⸝⸝

༘⋆ Pairings : Brother’s bestfrnd!jungwon x reader.

WC : 22k+

༘⋆ Warnings : Dark themes! Strong language, explicit smut, violence, consumption of alcohol and cigarettes, slow burn(?), Dacryphilia, Mutual obsession, Jungwon & reader are down bad, Heeseung as your brother, Stalking, smoking, fwbs, Unsettling topics, Angst, heartbreak, fluff, mention of bloods, Featuring eunchae, all enhypen members, porn with plot. lmk if i missed smth!

༘⋆ Smut warnings : Porn with plot, p in v(both protected and unprotected) Dom!jungwon, sub!reader, fingering, unprotected!sex(wrap it up), orgasm denial, multiple rounds, multiple orgasms, humiliation, degradation kink, spitting kink, praise kink, filthy sex, jungwon picks up ur brother’s call between it, power dynamics, manhandling, overstimulation, sub!won but only for his girl, riding, cock slapping, cock warming, grinding, dry humping, masturbation, dirty talk, name calling, begging, breast play, oral(both), pussy slapping, spanking, standing doggy, multiple sex scenes, public sex(parking lot), cum eating(sorry), gagging, mirror sex(oops), belly bulge, squirting, impregnation kink!

A/N : guys i’m finally DONE with this holy shit 😭 i did NOT expect it to get this long. at some point my hands were literally just typing on their own. jungwon is actually insane in this one… like the obsession?? yeah. i’ve got two more wips sitting in my drafts right now so those will probably be posted here soon too. i really hope you guys enjoy this one. thank you for reading and supporting me <3 reposts are always appreciated.

You knew Jungwon was off limits.

When your brother, Heeseung, first introduced you to him when you were, like, sixteen, you fucking knew it. And it's common knowledge that the age of sixteen is when the slightest attention causes your brain to go nutty. Crushes are like life or death. Your hormones are out of control, and you believe that every lingering look is a cosmic sign. You fell for it. Of course you did. But you had to choose him out of everyone you could have fallen in love with.

You did, of course. Because Jungwon wasn't just a random schoolboy.

The golden rule: don’t even fucking look at your brother’s friends like that. Before you had a chance to dream about it, it was off limits and off the damn market.

So you told yourself it was temporary. Just some hormonal, dramatic, dumbass teenage phase. You’d grow out of it. You’d wake up one day and he’d just be… normal. Not the guy who made your stomach flip like you were on a broken rollercoaster. Not the guy whose voice alone made your chest tighten.

Except you never grew out of it.

The day he introduced himself is still fresh in your mind. There was something guarded in his dark eyes, something carefully concealed behind a soft yet unreadable expression. He barely blinked, simply watching you as though he were committing your face to memory. At first, he wore a polite smile—gentle, almost too damned beautiful to be true. Being that attractive while standing in your own living room ought to have been prohibited.

Your heart nearly pounded out of your chest when you shook his hand. His palm was warm against yours, steady and firm. He held your gaze without wavering, and he didn’t let go immediately. The only thing that shifted was his smile—it faded slowly, as if he had caught himself revealing too much. The slightest smirk appeared before he withdrew, and you swear, you fucking swear you saw it.

Two years older. That was it. Only two. However, that felt enormous, mature, and dangerous at sixteen. You finally understand what "raw and older" actually means now that you're twenty. After four years of pretending you don't think about him in ways you really shouldn't, the phrase has a different impact.

It would remain a fantasy, you assured yourself. Finally, your desire to fuck him would only ever exist in your imagination. Every time he visited, you would push that filthy little thought to the back of your mind, that you would eventually find it funny. Fall in love with someone safer and easier. However, you are now twenty years old, still figuring things out, Still broke bruh. And still a total idiot when it comes to Jungwon.

Both of you grew up. His shoulders grew wider, his jaw sharpened, and his confidence became quieter. You also changed; you were no longer a child, and you no longer hid behind big hoodies and awkward silences.

What didn’t change? Your feelings.

They didn’t just stick around. They Deepened, got worse, man, way fucking worse. They grew up with you. Less teenage crush and more slow-burning obsession that crawls under your skin and refuses to leave.

It was driving you insane. He was driving you insane.

Because how the hell are you supposed to get over someone who looks at you like that?

The way his eyes stay on you for a second too long when you're wearing shorts. You notice even though it's not clear enough for others to notice. You're always aware. When you pass him on your way to the kitchen, his eyes follow the curve of your ass and hips. His clenched jaw gives the impression that he is physically stopping himself from fucking you on the kitchen counter.

He occasionally clenches his fists, too. As if he's preventing himself from snatching you and destroying everything else that stands between you both.

And the worst fucking part? Because what if it’s not just you? What if he feels it too? The tension in the air whenever you’re alone is thick enough to choke on. Every eye contact makes you lose your sanity.

You hate it. You crave it. You’re back to that hopeless stage of wanting a taste.

A nip. A lick. Anything.

You’ll take anything he allows you to have. Even if small, You’ll fucking gobble it all down and store it in that nook inside you that's disturbingly filled with him.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯—

It’s Friday night, and your brother’s friends are over again. At first, the house felt alive in that chaotic, boyish way—controllers clicking, loud debates over nothing, and the occasional shove that almost turned into wrestling. They were playing games, yelling over each other, arguing about scores like five years old. For a while, it was almost entertaining.

But now the energy has curdled. The pizza boxes lie open and forgotten on the coffee table, No one’s really talking anymore—just half-finished sentences and exaggerated sighs. The vibe has completely died.

Heeseung’s friends are a bunch of fucking weirdos—no surprise, considering your brother is one too. They’re loud, and somehow always sticky. They argue over the dumbest things, laugh like hyenas at jokes that barely qualify as humour and treat your house like it’s their personal headquarters. Half the time you swear they share one collective brain cell.

Still… you’re glad they’re around.

As irritating as it gets having them over 24/7—shouting down hallways, blasting music at ungodly volumes, at least your life isn’t painfully boring. There’s always something happening. Someone getting pranked. Someone fake-fighting. Someone dramatically announcing they’re “never coming back” only to show up again the next day. They’ve blurred into something more than just your brother’s friends. They’re like extended family now—annoying, invasive, loud family, but family nonetheless.

Except one person. Jungwon.

He doesn’t quite fit into the “extended family” category. Not in the way the others do. While they sprawl across the couch and treat you like a younger sibling they can tease, Jungwon keeps a certain distance. He’s there, but never fully tangled in the noise. He doesn’t look at you the way the others do.

He looks at you differently.

Jake bursts into the living room with a football tucked under his arm. “We’re going to the turf. Night match. Loser buys food.” Sunghoon is already halfway to the door. “Jungwon, you coming?”

Jungwon is sprawled back on the couch, hoodie on, head tilted against the cushion looking as if he hasn’t slept in days. He rubs the back of his neck. “I’ve had practice all week. I’m dead. I’ll pass.” Heeseung pauses, eyeing him. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll just chill.” Heeseung shrugs, then looks at you. “Y/n, I’ll probably come late. Maybe morning. Lock the doors. And Jungwon—” his tone shifts, protective big-brother mode kicking in, “keep an eye on her.”

You roll your eyes dramatically. “I’m not a kid, you know.” Jake whistles low. “You kind of are, though.” You glare at him. “Shut the fuck up, dickface.” Jake gasps like you’ve stabbed him. “I raised you better than this.”

“You absolutely did not.” Laughter fills the hallway as they grab their shoes and head out. The front door shuts. Then the gate clicks.

And now there’s silence. Not the awkward kind, the heavy kind. The house is big, spacious enough to swallow sound, but it suddenly feels smaller. Tighter. Especially when you remember it’s just the two of you here.

That thought alone makes your thighs press together before you can stop yourself. And then the unfiltered thoughts start pouring in. Not new, Definitely not the first time.

This doesn’t usually happen. Well—maybe once. But your mom had been home that time, moving around in the kitchen, the clatter of dishes acting as some thin thread of restraint. This time, though? Your parents are out of town, celebrating Valentine’s Day somewhere by the beach. So romantic. So annoyingly wholesome.

Which leaves you here, Alone. With Jungwon.

He’s still on the couch, scrolling through his phone like nothing’s changed. Like the air hasn’t shifted. Like you’re not standing down the hallway fighting the urge to do something reckless.

That annoys the hell out of you.

You lean against the wall for a second, watching him. He looks calm, relaxed, completely fucking unaffected.

And you hate that. So you plan to change it.

This is it. If there’s ever going to be a moment where you figure out whether he feels the same way as you do, it’s now.

You walk off casually and change. You slip on a two-piece nightwear set. The top is a black tank top with thin straps. The bottom is a pair of black shorts with a drawstring waist and a white stripe around the hem that cling to your hips and ass and the curve around your thighs—no bra underneath. Innocent. Deadly.

When you walk back into the living room, he doesn’t look up at first. You sit on the opposite end of the couch. He scrolls. You shift slightly, tucking one leg under you. Nothing, This asshole.

You stretch your legs out slowly, crossing them at the knee. The fabric rides up just enough. He glances up.

And for a split second, Jungwon freezes—just long enough for you to catch it. It’s subtle, but you see it. His jaw tightens. His breath stutters. His eyes flick down to your bare legs, then snap back up like he’s just touched smth that burned him.

Your pretty legs out on display only for him to notice, he doesn’t know that though. He wants nothing more than to wrap those legs around his shoulders and fucking devour you.

And suddenly he can feel his jeans tightening, fabric going unforgiving in all the wrong ways.

Some people would think it’s fucking stupid to react to something so simple. Bare skin. A pair of shorts. An absentminded stretch. But they don’t understand. They don’t realize the effect you have on him. You don’t even try, and that’s the worst part.

Jungwon has always prided himself on control. On not wanting what he can’t have—she’s off-limits, she’s your friend’s sister, this is a bad fucking idea, don’t even go there. Anything other than reality feels like a sin.

But you mess with his head in ways he hates admitting.

You make him want to punch walls, To flip tables, To smoke more than he should just to dull the edge of whatever the hell this is. You make him clench his fists so hard his knuckles ache. You make him lose his cool, and he never loses his cool. Not over anything, Not over anyone.

And the worst, most terrifying part?

He has this sick, gut-twisting feeling that if you ever looked up at him, tilted your head just right, and said please—soft and sweet and unaware of what it’d do to him, he’d be fucked. Completely and utterly fucked.

He’d give you anything. Every damn thing.

Then he looks back down at his phone like nothing happened, always so fucking controlled. You almost smile at that.

You lean further into the couch, arm draped casually over the backrest, fingers brushing the fabric like you’ve got all the time in the world. “So you’re really that tired?”

“Yeah,” Jungwon says, still not looking at you. “Exhausted.”

“Mhm.” Silence settles again, You shift slightly, crossing one leg over the other. Very slowly, veryyyyy practiced. The hem of your shorts rides up, His scrolling falters for half a second. You tilt your head. “You don’t look tired.” He replies almost immediately, “I am.” He clears his throat.

It’s hot, watching him hold himself together like that. If you really wanted to, you could ruin it in seconds. You could stand up, close the distance, and straddle his lap. You could feel the way he’d tense under you, hands hovering in air, unsure whether to touch or push you away—Okay no.

“Is it hot in here?” you ask lightly. “No.”

“Feels warm.”

“It’s normal.” You hum, then lean forward slightly, reaching for the remote. The shirt shifts, revealing your waistline, Jungwon exhales slowly through his nose, setting his phone face down beside him. His gaze doesn’t leave you this time.

“You’re very bored,” he says. You smile, “Maybe.”

“So you’re going to annoy me?” You tilt your head. “Annoy you? I’m just sitting.” His gaze moves down to your thighs, slow, taking in the shorts. The way you’re sitting. The way you’re watching him watch you.

He leans back, eyes finally settling on your face—and fuck, you’re so fucking pretty it almost annoys him. There have been nights, too many, where he’s found some quiet corner of his house, door locked, jerking off at the thought of how you’d look between his legs.

“Jungwon..” How every muscle tightens at the whisper of his name. It sounds so sweet coming from your mouth, like it was the sound of salvation instead of ruin.

You were the only person who’d ever said his name like that. His hands curled. The icy blast of water pommeled his skin but did nothing to quell the desire raging inside him. The smell of honey and your perfume swirled in the shower.

You had seared so deep into his consciousness that you were all he could smell. All he could feel. And, even when he closed his eyes, all he could see.

The need in his groin pulsed harder, goddamit. He bit out a low curse before he reached and fisted his cock, It was hard and swollen and already dripping with pre-cum. His movements were rough, almost angry as he worked himself towards a much needed release.

All these years, he could’ve kissed you if he wanted. He could’ve fisted your hair and branded you with his mouth until he proved that there was nothing wrong about the dark fire that burned between you both.

The only thing that'd held him back was a fine thread of self-control, woven from fuck ass logic and the faintest shreds of his long-destroyed conscience. He was well aware of the fact that, should either of you break, Jungwon would be condemning not only himself but you to hell.

He would touch you with bloodied hands and kiss you with a deceiver's mouth and you, without realizing it—would crawl willingly into bed beside a monster.

Part of him wanted you so badly he didn’t give a damn what it cost. The other part, the one that still resembled something human, wanted to hide you somewhere far away. Somewhere even he couldn’t reach you. Because he knew himself too well. If he ever lost control—if he ever came looking—there wouldn’t be a place, a person, or a god capable of stopping him.

He would tear the world apart piece by piece just to get you back.

It was a paradox, as were all things in his life that related to you. But if the thread had snapped…like now. Jungwon closed his eyes, his grip tight and his breath hardened. You could’ve been beneath him now, your nails clawing his back and his name a moan in your mouth….

He swallowed, shaking the memory off before it got out of hand. He didn’t know if this was right, or when the right time would come to make a move, but if you kept testing him like this, he’d just show you because once he claimed you as his, he would do it so fucking thoroughly there wouldn’t be a shred of doubt in either of your minds as to who you belonged to…or who he belonged to in return.

“You think I don’t see what you’re doing?” Jungwon says, voice low, but there’s tension in it now. “But I’m not doing anything.”

“You changed.”

“I’m in my own house.”

“That’s not the point.” You uncross your legs slowly. “Then what is?”

He's leaning forward now, bent elbows propped against his thighs, hands clasped in front of his chin. There's nothing bored or stony about him right now.

No, he's in pure heat and restrained hunger, and you love that You’re the person who's put that look in his eyes.

His jaw tightens slightly. “You’re testing my patience,” he says.

You don’t deny it because that’s exactly what you’re doing. Jungwon’s always been a persistent bastard. Impossible to read. He never shows what he truly feels, never lets anything slip, and maybe that’s why your heart’s been stuck on him for so long. Maybe that’s why he never leaves your fucking mind.

It’s been four goddamn years. Four years of glances that linger too long, of tension that never breaks, of teasing comments here and there, of almosts.

He doesn’t blink and somehow that only makes the heat in your lower stomach burn hotter. “You think because no one’s home you can just… push?” He said in a perpetually tired voice, “Push what?” you ask softly, tilting your head. His nostrils flare slightly.

Jungwon stands up so suddenly the couch dips from the shift in weight. He walks around the coffee table and stops directly in front of you. The movement alone makes you straighten without thinking.

“Don’t play dumb,” he says quietly. You have to tilt your chin up to keep eye contact. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“That’s what you think?” You stretch back against the cushions, feigning boredom, though every inch of you is hyperaware of him. He’s so close you can feel the heat rolling off him, and it’s driving you insane. “Sounds like a you problem.”

“You changed on purpose,” he says quietly. You shrug one shoulder. “I wanted to be comfortable.”

“You weren’t wearing that earlier.”

“And?” He exhales sharply through his nose. You can see the restraint wearing thinner by the second. You shift again, just slightly, drawing one knee up onto the couch so you’re angled toward him. Your gaze drifts over his body slowly before returning to his eyes.

Jungwon was aware that your eyes wasn’t sexual—or maybe it was. His groin continued to tighten in spite of that. It was straining his pants so badly, it hurt.

You say softly, "If it bothers you, I can go change." You don't get up to stand. He presses his hand to the couch's back. "Stop," he commands. "Stop what?"

“Talking like that."

“Like what?"

“Like you don't know what you do to me.” The words are heavier than you anticipate. They are no longer teasing. Not sarcastic. Simply put, honesty. "Then tell me," you say softly, maintaining eye contact without breaking first. "What do i do to you?" That's it. His expression changes, He looks at you for a long moment, as if he's considering every potential result and consequences that could come later.

You open your mouth to press once more, to say something else that will make him snap. He cuts you off.

“Fuck it."

Low and final, the words escape him in a breath. Then he moves, His firm yet cautious hand moves from the back of the couch to your jaw harshly, forcing your face up, There’s no hesitation in his moments—You can tell, he’s been waiting for this to happen.

Jungwon slams his lips onto yours. You answered by meeting his kiss with a firmer one of your own. He felt your fingers curling into his hair, fingernails scraping along his scalp and everything inside jungwon relaxed and the nervousness uncoiled from his gut. A warm buzz of energy sunk through his flesh down to the very core of his soul. This was right. This was always where he needed to be.

He places his hands around your waist as he pulls you closer, goosebumps swarming every part of your body he touches. You throw your arm around his neck as jungwon pulls you up, Fingertips pressing under your top, drawing gentle circles against that small stripe of bare skin that makes you break the kiss with a gasp.

He claimed your lips in a punishing kiss again. Your blood burned at the onslaught, and when his tongue forced into your mouth, you yanked a fistful of his hair in retaliation until he hissed out a pained growl.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. “Jump.” Jungwon orders, rough and impatient.

And you do. Of course you do. Because you’ve waited too long to second-guess it now—years of longing, years of pretending, years of convincing yourself you didn’t love him. It was always him.

Love? You… loved him?

He catches you easily, like he knew you would leap. His hands drag down your back, slow and possessive, fingers spreading as they settle low on your waist. When your legs lock around him, He squeezes your ass, his grip tightens, spinning you once, holding you up like you belong there.

You make a soft, helpless noise when he pulls you closer, grinding into you while keeping you lifted. He walks you to your room without pulling away, breathing heavy through the kiss. He fumbles with the lock, pushes the door open, and once it clicks shut behind you, he pins you against it. The impact steals your breath, your gasp swallowed by his mouth.

Jungwon let out a low groan at the sound that slipped from you, the noise going straight to his head. Your gasping moan is all he needs to hear to devour you like he’s starving and your his Michelin-rated meal.

He cages you in with both arms, hands flat against the surface behind you, his body sealing you in. Then he moves closer, easing his thigh between yours, forcing them apart without breaking eye contact.

He leans in but stops halfway, like something invisible pulls him back. Maybe it’s the weight of what this is. Maybe it’s the way the world would look at the two of you and call it wrong. And maybe it is wrong.

But it feels right. Painfully right.

Jungwon exhales shakily, the breath uneven against your skin. His forehead brushes yours as he closes his eyes for a second, “We can’t… I can’t,” he says, voice strained. “Don’t you understand what this means? I can’t show you… I can’t want you.” The words sound like they hurt him to say.

Then lifts his hand to tilt your chin up with his thumb, forcing you to look at him. His eyes aren’t cold or controlled anymore—they’re conflicted, raw. “This can’t happen, y/n.”

“I know,” you whisper, your voice barely there. “But I don’t care what comes next.”

Jungwon’s eyes darken at your words as his hand comes up to grip your jaw. “God, you drive me so fucking crazy I can barely breathe sometimes.” His thumb drags down slowly, tugging at your bottom lip. “What I’d give to be the only man you ever looked at like this,” he rasps, fingers threading through your hair as he tilts your head back, exposing your neck like a goddamn offering.

He doesn’t kiss you this time. Instead, he leans in slowly, dragging his nose slowly up the soft curve of your neck, burying himself in the scent of your skin. “I terrify you?” he murmurs against your throat. You nod, small and shaky, and he breathes you in deeper, like that answer only fuels something inside him. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Your fingers curl into his shirt. Your pulse is everywhere. “Tell me,” you whisper. His hand tightens slightly in your hair, keeping your head tilted back, his mouth hovering just above your skin. His breathing is uneven now, rough at the edges.

"I had so many chances, so many nights I should've said fuck it and taken what I wanted, and I blew every single one." His grip tightens in your hair as his forehead drops to yours and he breathes you in once more, like a dying man getting his last taste of heaven. "And now..."

Your lips parted, eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head when you felt his cock perfectly aligned against your wet core. “Now i’m gonna take exactly what i’ve been walking away from.” with that, his mouth is on yours—No softness, all teeth. It’s sloppy, messy, and so fucking hot.

You slip your hands down his body, feeling him, reaching exactly where you wanted to. His hard cock was straining against his briefs, and you stroked your hands along his length against the fabric. He felt so thick — the thought of him forcing that monster inside you, alone made you whimper. He leaned down, kissing you deeply as you continued to stroke him.

"Tell me what you want," Jungwon murmurs into the hollow of your throat, hands on your hips to urge you on, to grind your dripping cunt down harder against the muscle of his thigh. “argh, jungwon—” A broken cry leaves your lips as your back arches off the door as he slings your leg around his waist, thrusting up in process.

He pull back slightly so he can look into your eyes. When you don’t say anything, He shifts his hips again and demand, "Answer me, what do you want?” You moan and then says, “God please—fuck me—oh my god, Jungwon!” You whined, "Shit, i love the idea of being your god.” he groaned, pushing his hips forward.

You panted when his thumb pressed between your legs, brushing against fabric that was already dark and wet. You exhaled in a rush until there was no air left, embarrassment washing over you at the thought that now he must know exactly how much you wanted this.

“So fucking wet for me.” He says under his breath, hooking his fingers and dragging them along your clothed pussy. The slow, undulating thrust of his hips made you feel like you’re caught in a snare.

“Tell me what you want, y/n, come on, be a good girl.” He asked making you glare up at him slightly, “Why don’t you fuck me and we can find out?” You scrunched your nose.

Jungwon chuckles low under his breath before scooping you up again, and you yelp in surprise at the sudden movement. He carries you the few steps to the bed and tosses you onto it with more force than necessary, your body bouncing slightly from the impact. You glare up at him, hair a mess, heart racing.

Rude.

"Take off your underwear." He said, you blink, once, twice, then you slipped your hand into the waistband of your panties and shimmied them down until they pooled on the floor as you threw them. Heat rose to your cheek, because he could see how wet you really were.

Your panties completely drenched, Your thighs slick with your juices. Still, You were turned on enough to brush past your embarrassment.

He leaned over you, arms braced on either side of your head and for a second, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just this—his shadow, his heat, his steady gaze on your cunt.

His eyes ravenous as he soaked you in. Between his hungry stare and your current position, you felt so small. “Spread your legs wider, let me see that pretty pussy dripping for me.”

Heat rose up your cheeks at his words but you did what he asked. Spreading your thighs wider, He didn’t take his eyes off your face until you looked away, blushing. Only then did he allow his gaze to fall slide down to your cunt.

Wet, pulsing, throbbing, waiting to be filled. His cock strained even harder, snarling him to take you and make you his until it was clear to every single person who you belonged to. Me. Jungwon thought.

You shudder under his gaze because he was looking at you so intensely without doing anything. You closed your legs slightly, covering yourself but he stopped you with a grip on your wrist. “You don’t need to cover yourself infront of me.”

“I don’t…I’m not…” You sighed, your throat moved again with a visible swallow. “It’s been a while since someone saw me like this.” Possessiveness burned in his gut, ofc he knew you must’ve been naked infront of others men before—just as he knew he wanted to do nothing more than peeling their skin off and leave them to rot under the sun for daring to lay their eyes on you.

No one would ever be worthy of you.

“Define a while.” He said, “Years.” Jungwon tsked, he wanted to press further, demand the name of every fucking man who’d touched you so that he could pay them a follow-up visit.

Jungwon finally had you in his hands, and he wasn’t going to rush any stop along the way. “You’re fucking drenched, doll.” Lust rendered his voice and he dipped his hand under your thighs, spreading your legs wider before slipping his fingers through your wet folds.

Your head fell back and a moan slipped from you when he lazily played with your clit, circling and rubbing the swollen bud until your juices slicked his fingers.

Your moan is his new favorite melody as your orgasm floods your body, the taste of your energy tingling along his tongue like the sweetest sparkling wine. It nearly brings him to his knees, and he hasn’t even touched you yet, not properly.

Suddenly desperate for more friction, You grab Jungwon’s face and pull him into you, kissing him harder. You hear him groan, feeling him harden against your belly. "Jungwon," You whined, the last half of his name coming out with a shiver as he began to kiss your neck. Your hands dug into his hair, pulling him closer. "Stop toying with me."

"As you wish, pretty girl," He whispered into your ear as he slid his finger lower and into you. You were so damn hot and wet and perfect.

"Tell me this is all for me, Y/n.” He pleaded, stroking you while his palm grinded against your clit. Now that he could feel you, actually feel you, he needed to feel you come around his fingers as soon as possible.

“Tell me, y/n.” He growled, pressing a firm thumb to your clit, his touch as brutal as his command. “Yes—yes, Yours—It’s always been you.” The words exploded out of you, shaky, raw, filtered, followed by a needy moan when jungwon rubbed his thumb over you.

Jungwon smiled at that, dangerously beautiful before his mouth crashed over you, swallowing your gasp and ensuing moan when he fisted your hair hard enough to make your eyes water.

Jungwon pulled back enough so you could see him, and you watched as he shed his clothes, Broad shoulders, perfectly sculpted muscles, abs one could grate cheese on. Absolute masculine perfection. Your core pulsed as your eyes ate him up, biceps you’d like to bite on, a deep V-cut that led down his….Holy fuck.

Jungwon’s body could serve as the mold for greek god statue, his body was even more perfect up closer….and a long thick cock that looked like it could wreck you with little effort.

Fuck. Your mouth dried at the sight of it, thick, hard, with a bead of pre-cum glistening at its tip. The throbbing between your legs intensified until it was the only thing you could feel, hear. Jungwon moves to peck your lips, His grip on your hips tightens and he presses down, grinding his cock against your folds, rolling it in circles until your both gasping into each other's mouths.

“Y/n would be the death of me.” He thought, he’d had known it the moment he set his eyes on you and his prediction was playing in real life as he devoured you.

Four years of watching and waiting and wishing, None of that mattered when he tasted how sweet you were or felt how perfectly your curves fit in his palms, like you was tailor-made for him. It had all came down to this and it was better than he’d imagined.

Your arms wrapped around his neck, You tasted like honey and sugar, and at that moment, it became his favourite taste in the world. It wasn't a sweet kiss. It was hard, demanding, borne out of years of pent-up frustration and tension, but you matched him inch for inch.

“Fuck, look at you.” He says, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip before trailing it down to the end of your shirt. Ripppp! Fabric gives way with a sharp, brutal sound, and you can only blink at him as he lets the ruined shirt fall from his hands.

“Before i take you, i need you to know one thing,” His one hand reached around and parted your thighs, slipping his fingers past your slippery folds. The other closed around your throat, He squeezed hard enough to cut off your breath for several beats before he loosened his grip. You gasped in a lungful of air.

Then he yanks you closer by your hair, a cry of pain leaving you until you felt his lips next to your ear, “Every inch of you…will be mine after i’m done with you.” Your cunt clenched around his fingers, “Yes.” You whisper.

You wanted to fill every inch of your soul with this man.

“Say it, who do you belong to?”

“You.” You moan out, “I belong to you.”

"That's right" Jungwon slipped his fingers out of your pussy and thrust them into your mouth. You could already taste yourself, the tension thick on your tongue. He hummed in approval when you licked your juices off without hesitation.

"I love how much you like your own juices. Maybe you'll lick them off my dick when we're done. Would you like that? Do you want to suck your come off my cock?

He could come just by watching this. There was a good chance he would say, “I want to worship you." You shuddered. And then he did, starting with your toes and working his way up your calves to your thighs.

Your fingers moved to his hair as he neared, and he stopped long enough to flick his tongue through the wetness there. You roll your eyes back so hard you almost see white.

Jungwon was taking his time—slow, painfully slow. You wanted him, Now. You wanted him inside you.

Without any warning, He slides two fingers over your clit, and then in one motion, he pushes one finger deep inside your pussy. Your back arches off the mattress and a strangled scream falls right out of you.

You try to close your eyes, but he grips your jaw harshly, angling your face so you have no choice but to look at him. “Eyes on me. Want to see you fall apart, want you to watch me finally fucking worship this cunt.” Jungwon pushed his fingers to the hilt and with-drew it slowly, yanking a loudest moan from you yet.

“Please…” You whimper, “I need….i need—” He pushed a second finger inside you, dragging them in and out. Enough to bring you to the edge but not enough to tip you over. “What do you need?” “I need to come—please, Won—”

You moaned, jungwon stilled. “What did you call me?” He lifted his head and you stared back at him, “Won…” You repeated in a whisper. Fuck. He exhaled a sharp breath before you dip your head back as he drags his fingers out and rubbed a lazy circle on your clit with his thumb before he slammed them back. You jolt, crying out. You hold the sheets while the other fisted his hair hard enough to sting.

“So hot and so fucking good for me.” You chase the building pressure. Rocking into his fingers and riding his hands with wild force until he pauses, leaving you breathless.

The wet, filthy sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of you told him what he needed to know. “That’s my girl, look how fucking good you’re taking me. Goddamn im proud of you.” He growled, looking down at the way his fingers disappear into your perfect cunt. “Come for me doll, Make a mess on my fingers, soak my hand.” You don’t hear him, because you feel like you could take his entire fist by now, that’s how wet you were.

And when jungwon curled his fingers just right—You clench around him hard, body tensed up as you go to close your legs but Jungwon’s other hand finds your thighs and prevents you from closing them. He slows down the pace of his thrusts and you physically wince when he pulls them out—You were so close.

He chuckles, and spreads your legs as open as he can get. He trails his wet fingers up your body before leaning down and spitting—right on your clit. Making everything slicker and dirtier, “Ask. Ask me to make you come. Beg for it.”

Then he gives you no time, no warning, again. And slams two—no maybe three fucking fingers inside you and starts pumping in and out, curling the tips upward, meeting every inch you alone couldn’t. “Oh—Please—gonna come.”

Jungwon’s mouth drops to your ears. “You’re gonna come for me, doll? I want to feel it. I want every second of your pleasure to belong to me. Say it. Tell me it’s mine.”

Your inner walls stretched around every delicious thick inch of his fingers. Your back arched off the bed, a moan spilling past your lips. Jungwon pulled out before shoving inside again, with the same maddening slow pace. His lips quirked with a smile as you lost all sense of everything around you, spreading for him, wide and eager. "Yeah, open those beautiful thighs. I want to see your pink cunt dripping for me. That's my girl."

Your breath hitched as he began kissing your inner thighs like they were your mouth, swirling his tongue, nuzzling his nose, making you open your legs wider. You grabbed one the pillows and moaned into it loudly. A hand reached from between your legs, grabbing the pillow and tossing it on the floor. “Look at me when i’m fucking your pretty pussy, doll.”

He increases the pace of his pumps while he lowers his head and sucks your nipple into his mouth. Jungwon groaned. You tasted even better than he’d imagined. He licked and sucked on your nipples while he savagely fucked in and out of your tight, clenching pussy. “No—please.” You beg, shaking your head, he’s been at it for god knows how long and you still hadn’t came a single time.

He grazed his teeth over your nipple. "You need to come? Hmm?" You whisper, "Y-yes." It came out as a half plea, half moan. You were wrecked. Hair a mess, your face streaked with tears, your skin slick with sweat and hot with arousal. His tongue, hot and wet, comes out and swirls around the pebbled flesh of your nipple, teasing you, and his fingers dig into your skin as he goes back for more, nibbling the whole breast.

Then he lifts his head and dragged his mouth on your neck until he reached your ear where he whispered, “Come for me like the slut you are.” Jungwon pinched your nipples and fucked his fingers into you with the hardest thrust yet, and you exploded, your mouth falling open in a soundless scream while your cunt strangled his fingers. Pulling him in more, he winced.

“Fuck—Cunt’s gripping me so tight like you don’t want me to let go. Yeah? Fuck, doll.” He watches as you shudder under him, your release slipping down your thighs and onto the mattress.

He didn’t give you any time to recover before he lowered his head again and gently scraped his teeth over your clit before he sucked on it. Between that and the finger fucking, You were dripping all down your thighs, and he lapped every drop up like a man starved. So fucking delicious.

Air fled your lungs when his tongue delved inside your slick heat as his head twisted, dragging a cry of pleasure from you as one fang grazed your sensitive nub of flesh. The strokes of his tongue were firm and determined.

He licked and sucked. “Shit, look at this, off-limits yet still dripping for me.” Then he feasted, feeding from you as desperately as he had at your throat. You were lost. Your body tried to follow, but the hands at your hips held you in place.

“Stay still. Let me eat, this is a twelve course meal—I won’t stop until i’m satisfied.”

Jungwon grabs your ass as he licks a stripe down from your hole, spreading them open with his tongue to find your clit. He rolls it between his lips, and finally finds a spot that had you bucking your face into his mouth. He pulls back just enough to say—“Want you dripping for me, soaked in every fucking drop.”

You whine loudly, “Gonna devour you, gonna kneel infront of you and eat you out until you can’t fucking remember how to breathe.” He growls into you, yanking your hips down onto the mattress with his strength, leaving you nowhere to go, all you can do is just lay there like a good girl and take what he gives you.

You screamed as white-hot pleasure blazed through you once more, Every thought and memory incinerated, leaving only mind-numbing pleasure in their wake. You come in a toe-shuddering state on his tongue, and jungwon wastes no time gulping it all down till his chin and nose is shoving into your hole, like he’s the one getting off of this. He pulls back to breathe, and gasps against your cunt so much you think he might actually suffocate. “Fuckfuckfuck, so fucking good—shit, baby.” Then goes back to dip his face into your pussy, enveloping all he can get with his mouth, You bet his chin is covered by your essence because he’s literally nuzzling his face into you. And your screaming so loud that you think you know your throat would be sore tomorrow.

You didn't get a chance to catch your breath before Jungwon draped your legs over his shoulders, went back to sucking hard on your clit, and you yelped at the overload of sensation. It was too much. You tried to pull away, but his hands clamped around your thighs like iron bands, forcing you to hold still until your body convulsed and came apart. "I said, eyes on me. All you need to do is watch me eat this beautiful fucking cunt until you understand just how much I want you—have wanted you." Jungwon growled.

All you could feel was how he was sucking on your pussy and thrusting his tongue inside you until your vision went hazy. You writhed and whimpered, sliding halfway off the bed—almost, until your legs on his shoulders and his crushing grip on your ass were the only things keeping you from falling apart.

You cry out—his name, you think and he groans against you like he needs this as badly as you do. He takes his time. Alternates teasing and giving. One finger inside you, Then two, Curled just right. His tongue never stops, never lets up. You’re shaking, begging, on fire. Your thighs tremble around his head.

As his tongue works you in destructive, tormenting circles, you feel his voice in your mind. “Am obsessed with this pretty cunt—Can’t—can’t stop, fuck—” Jungwon moans against you, drunk on you, the sound vibrating all over your body. He pumps his fingers with rhythm to his mouth, You’re close again—what the fuck—you don’t even know if your orgasm even stopped.

After another three orgasms courtesy of his mouth, You lose count, and even when you think you can't possibly come again, he wrenches even more from you.

"No more," You sob, unable to even prop yourself up on your arms to look down at him. Instead, you pull at his hair until he finally wraps his hands near your inner thighs, looking up at you, "But I felt you squeeze my tongue as you came, like you were milking it. My cock is jealous." He licks up the fluid on your thighs and groans. "Don't you want to feel me deep inside you? How hard and thick I am, stretching you, making you full?" Jungwon says, sucking your clit in a gentle suckle, and you cry out when you feel his teeth tugging your entrance, flicking and rubbing one last time before he pulls off of you with a wet pop after hollowing his cheeks around it at last.

Jungwon pulls back, finally releasing his hold on you, and the sudden absence of his touch makes your body feel weak. Drained. Like everything in you has been wrung out. You’re trembling slightly, breath uneven—from all the previous orgasms.

He shifts onto one knee above you, steady and composed in contrast to how wrecked you feel. Your vision is blurred with tears, lashes damp, the aftershocks of how good he fucked you still making it hard to focus. You can’t quite look at him properly.

“Eyes up here, doll.” Jungwon smiles wickedly, his stare burning into you and you meet his gaze. With one hand, he skims his thick tip, letting his hand slide over his cheft. He doesn't let you look away once as he works himself over. “Touch yourself, show me how you do it.” He smirks and licks your wetness off his fingers slowly.

You gulp and your fingers reach to your swollen pussy, you wince, You were so wet that your fingers were slipping. Then you slowly rub them in circles, the sound of your fingers working you open hits him first, then your scent—Fuck me. That smell—He can taste you in the air like he’s already inside you.

Your stomach ripples when he takes your panties from the floor, Jungwon grunts as he picks up the pace, angling his wrist and sliding the bunched-up panties up and down his shaft. “Tell me.” He grunted, “Who do you think of when your fingers fucking your tight cunt?” You shuddered as your head tilted back and your eyes fluttered close. “You.”

You hear jungwon moaning, the sound of his hands stroking his length up and down echoes in the room with your sound of whimpering. “What am i doing to you?” You moaned even louder, you don’t know when Jungwon closed the distance between you both and griped your chin in one hand, forcing your lips to part. “What. am. I. doing. to. you?” His voice only lowered further, “Fucking me.” you gasped. He was now close enough to smell your arousal and hear the slick sounds of your fingers sliding in and out of your pussy. “While I'm bent over the table and I can see you behind me in the mirror. Pulling my hair. Taking me from behind. Filling me with your cock."

You admit it, because it’s the truth. Every time Jungwon looked at you longer than he should, something inside you snapped tight. It made you want to cross the room and crash your mouth against his, reckless and unthinking, just to feel something real. That’s how far gone you were—crazy over him, crazy over this, crazy over whatever the hell he did to you without actually touching you.

It was humiliating. And intoxicating.

You never thought he’d drag it out of you like this, force the confession from your lips in such a raw, stripped-down way—but fuck, it was hot. The way he watched you unravel.

You didn’t care anymore. Not about pride. Not about consequences. You only knew that you wanted more. And more. And more. And fuck he wasn’t even inside you yet.

“You’ve got such a filthy mouth, maybe i should do something about it hmm?” Jungwon gripped your wrist, stopping your moments, forcing you still. “Get on your knees, now.” You did, who are you to disobey? You almost limp when you get and sink down the floor. Jungwon’s cock throbbed at the sight under him. You, kneeling on the floor with your legs tucked underneath you. Knees together, body upright. You looked so beautiful it made his chest hurt. God, he didn’t deserve you.

“I’m going to fuck you exactly how you need to be fucked.” He fisted your hair and tugged it back until you were staring up at him. “Tap my thigh if it’s too rough.” You nodded to which he said, “Open your mouth.” Jungwon slipped the tip of his cock inside your mouth, until he buried himself all the way down your throat.

“Fuckkkk.” His moan was rough, echoing through the room, Probably the whole damn house. He didn't care. The entire world centered on the feel of your mouth, the slide of your tongue as you kept moving your head, working him with artful perfection. But he kept myself still. he didn't tug on your hair. He didn't fuck your mouth. Not yet.

You blinked up at him, eyes watering at his size, he was so big you gagged with only half of his dick in your mouth. You trap him inside your mouth, flicking your tongue over the ridges of his digits, started licking and sucking—slowly at first, but quickly building up to a rhythm that had you bobbing your head up and down his dick. “That’s it, suck that cock like a good little whore.” He fisted your hair and used it as a leverage to yank you down on his length more causing you to gag as you hallow your mouth around his digits.

Slowly, he started thrusting himself into you, faster and faster until the only sounds were his ragged breath mixed with you chocked-gurgling. “That’s a good slut, good fucking girl—just there—shit.” He withdrew until just the tip remained and plunged down in one sharp thrust. You gagged again, new puddle of tears falling down your cheeks, the heat in your belly stoking hotter.

“Everytime i’m not with you, i want you to think about this.” He groaned, “You on your knees, gagging on every inch of my cock while i ruin your tight little throat.” You whimpered, your nipples and pussy were so sensitive and he started fucking your mouth so mercilessly, all you could do was try suck in breaths through your nose before jungwon bottomed out again. “Fuck doll, let me hear you struggle.”

You squirmed and tried to ease the ache in your jaw, but he was so big. Eventually, however, when your throat opened up, and he was able to slide even deeper into your mouth.

“That's it.” Jungwon rasped, “Every inch, just like that, i knew you could take it.” You moaned at the praise, You couldn't see properly through the tears clouding your vision, but the buzz between your legs had grown too loud for you to ignore. But you couldn’t as he slammed his hips forward so hard, your whole body jerked back at the impact.

You claw at his thighs, finally rolls his hips once, twice— and then, with one last powerful thrust, he lets go, coming inside your mouth. You choke, swallowing hard as his hips tremble against your face. “Good fucking girl.” Jungwon yanked himself out of your mouth.

"Your mouth looks so pretty full of my cum." He squats down, swiping two fingers across your tongue, dragging them over your chin and throat. He continues the descent down your chest, circling each one of your. nipples, leaving a glistening trail of moisture in his wake. "Bet your tight little cunt would look even better filled up."

He lifted you up and threw you on the bed, and pushed your legs wider with his knee. His hands come down to touch your aching, overstimulated pussy, and you jolt. Even the slightest touch of him is way too fucking much right now. You grip his biceps, “Please…” Jungwon laughs, low and vicious, “You want to serve me, doll? you want me to fuck you?” You barely nod, you catch a glint of smth dark in his eyes, as jungwon rubbed his thumb over your entrance, He smirked before his palm landed where his thumb had been. Delivering a sharp slap right to the centre of your aching core.

Your whole body jerked and you spiked with pain-pleasure so hard you instinctively tried to scoot away from his hold, but Jungwon yanked you to him by your ankles, glaring. “You’re so wet, baby. Did sucking my cock make you this wet? You filthy, filthy girl.” Jungwon removed his hand, “Who does your pussy belong to?” He asked, snd you whispered “You..” While griping the sheets so hard your knuckles turned white. “Say it again.” Jungwon said, and your voice broke out in a sob before he delivered another slap to your clit.

“Hmm yeah, That’s right, me.” Slap! “This is for all the times you ignored me.” Slap! “Fuck, you’re so wet, doll.” Slap! “All for me, yeah?” Slap! You were shaking, completely sobbing as razor sharp sensation spiked through you. “And this…” The hardest one of them all, the one which made you arch your back off the bed, Slap! “Is for driving me fucking crazy.”

A pleading sob fell out of your mouth when Jungwon yanked your head so that his mouth hovered near your ear “Tell me why i can’t stop thinking about you, hmm? What the fuck do you do to me, doll?” You shake your head, unable to form a response or make sense of the pain and pleasure ricocheting you.

“You’re mine, been mine since i saw you.” Slap! “You live in my head all the fucking time, even if i don’t want you to…And god, i want to punish you for driving me so damn insane. Every. Single. Day.” Jungwon’s low snarl rumbled down your spine and made your toes curl. You heard the faint tear of a foil wrapper, You didn’t say anything nor did you say a word when he positioned you over his cock.

You blink, looking down, your mouth sliding agape, gaze held where his cock is covering almost your entire stomach. “What the fuck…” You whisper, “Don’t worry, it’ll fit.” He gives himself a few long pumps, “Your tight pussy will take and love every second of it.”

He says then leans down to kiss your neck, “So, how much do you want, baby?” His lips brush past the corner of your mouth, “Seven inches, eight, or all nine?” He pushes inside slowly, the care and smugness in his voice sends a shiver through you. “All of it.” You say, your voice trembling with need. He slides in what feels like another inch, the stretch is so much it makes your head fall back.

“I can feel how wet you are, already soaking my cock with this perfect pussy.” He let you adjust first because Jungwon was so fucking big, it was literally painful. “Hold the sheets.” That was the last warning he gave you before thrusted inside, driving so deep and hard into your pussy with each upward thrust. You were so wet he slid in almost frictionlessly. He could feel your pussy stretching and struggling to take his size.

You cried out, Your mind emptying of any thoughts except the sensation of his cock pounding into you and the slide of his skin against yours. He captured your cry when he pulled you down and thrusted up. Your eyes snapped open, and your breath caught at the sudden stretch, pleasure.

The headboard of the bed banged against the wall with each thrust. Your eyes fluttered close from the sheer overload of sensation, “Gonna fuck you over and over until you’re so full of my cum, you can’t think about anything but me stretching you open.”

Your eyes flew open when jungwon gave your hair another sharp tug, “Open your eyes, Y/n.” His other hand gripped your throat harder. It felt horrifyingly right, like you were made to wear his fingers around your neck.

You were prepped enough yes, but nothing could've prepared you for what happened. He struck as fast as a viper, sinking his fangs deep into your throat at the same moment he thrust into you. The twisting shock of pain and pleasure stole your breath and fixed your wide eyes on the ceiling—his eyes burned through yours as he resumed his thrust, feeding his cock into you inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt.

He moved from your neck and tugged gently at yours earlobe with his teeth, “Whose cock, doll?” He asks, “Yours.” You whimpered and managed to say it , but even that faded into a string of moans when Jungwon picked up the pace and settled into a punishing rhythm. “Knew you’d take me beautifully, baby. You were made for this cock.” You’re close; He can tell by the way your writhing below him, by the way your breath hitches when the end of his cock brushes against your G-spot, by the way your face twists with ecstasy when he gets deeper.

He removed the hand cradling your head and slips it between you, thumb rubbing against your swollen bundle of nerves until your whole body is arching and your jaw drops. “Scream for me, sweetheart.” The wet and filthy sounds of his dick pumping into you was enough to let him know you were super close. But he wanted to hear you longer.

The volume of your moans grew louder, but you held back. “Come for me, doll.” His mouth grazed your lips, “And when i tell you to scream, I want you to fucking scream. Or i’ll bend you over and spank your ass raw until you beg me to let you scream.” A wicked smile replaces his expression when he feels you clench around his cock.

"You're such a greedy stut. Pushing me past my limits, making me fuck this cunt harder than I want to. You love this, don't you? Are you going to come all over my cock, Doll?” Jungwon snarls, You moan at the feeling of fullness, a small bulge visible on your lower stomach, poking out, Jungwon reaches and presses against it so hard, you cry out in pain. “Shit—look, so fucking full, stuffed full of my cock, you like this, don’t you?”

Your entire body tightens as you cry his name into his shoulders, nail sinking into his back so deep he’d be surprised if you hadn’t drawn blood. “Gonna fill you with so much of my cum it leaks out of your body—Fuck, you’re going to feel me tomorrow.” Jungwon pounded you into the mattress, his thrusts so rough the bedsprings squeaked.

A tingling sensation blossomed at the base of your spine. You reached up to play with your nipples, your breaths coming out in short pants. You were close. So close. You were going to—

Ring ring ring!

The ring of a incoming call stopped the both of you followed by a Jungwon’s voice. "Hello?" Your eyes flew open. You gaped at Jungwon, who stared down at you with a calm expression as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the call. “Yeah, what’s up? Yeah, No, she’s not here.” Your mouth falls open as realisation hits you—It was heeseung, your freaking brother and Jungwon was still inside you. On the other end, Heeseung’s voice is loud even through the speaker. “Why did it take you so long to answer?”

Jungwon runs a hand through his hair, forcing his voice to stay normal. “Was in the kitchen. Didn’t hear it.” This was wrong, so fucking god in so many levels but fuck you could feel every hard inch of him buried between your thighs. You opened your mouth to tell him to cut the call but he shot you a warning look and pressed the fingers of his free hand into your hip, silencing you.

“You guys good?” Heeseung asks. “She locked the doors?” Jungwon glances at you for a split second. “Yeah. All good.”

“And y/n?” Your stomach drops. Jungwon doesn’t even hesitate. “She’s asleep.” Your eyes widen instantly, and unintentionally you grinded your hips up, desperate for more friction. This was so wrong but you cursed your brother for calling at the wrong time, You were about to come. His eyes flared and his grip tightened before he slid out of you slowly. He muted his end of the call and hauled you off the bed with one arm while he carried his phone in the other.

"What are you doing?" You wrapped your legs around his waist while heeseung, on the other end of the line kept talking, Jungwon put you next to the couch. "Bend over and spread your legs.” Oh my god, why was this turning you on even more? You trembled but obeyed, placing your hands on the armrest, arching your back, and spreading your legs until every inch of you was backed up on him.

Satisfaction curled in your stomach when you heard his sharp intake of breath. There’s shuffling on the other end. “Already? It’s not even that late.”

“She was tired,” Jungwon replies smoothly. “Knocked out like twenty minutes ago.” Another pause, You could see your reflection in the large glass window opposite the couch, Face flushed, Your breasts hanging heavy and full, the bite mark he gave you, Behind you, jungwon stood, he tilted his head and gave your ass a squeeze.

Your soft moan turned into a squeal when he slammed into you hard enough that the couch scraped forward an inch. “Don’t make a sound.” He warned. Heeseung starts speaking again, “Alright. I’ll probably be late. Maybe morning. Make sure everything’s locked.” There was smth about this that was turning you on so much, maybe knowing that your brother had no idea what was happening on the other side of the call.

Jungwon’s thrusts picked up his pace until you were no longer gripping the armrest, your face buried in the cushions, your rock hard nipples and swollen clit rubbing against the fabric as he fucked you so viciously your feet lifted off the ground. All the while, he continued his call, taking it off mute only when he had to speak. “Yeah. Got it.”

You had no clue what they were another talking about anymore, too lost in a fog of lust to make sense of anything. An unbidden yelp erupted from your throat when he hit a spot that caused your back to bow. Jungwon fisted your hair and tugged your head back until you were half-upright again, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes while his other hand closed around your throat. A warning and a reminder rolled into one. Don't make a sound.

“And Jungwon?” You could hear heeseung’s voice, “Yeah?” You were trying your best to stay quiet, you really were. Another sob of pleasure, one that had Jungwon releasing your hair so he could cover your mouth and muffle your whines.

So wrong. This was so wrong, but you couldn't bring yourself to care as Jungwon grabbed your shoulder and arched your spine backwards, bending you nearly in half. “Mmhph pffh!” You moaned against his mouth before you hear your brother speaking again.

“If anything happens, call me.” A beat. “Nothing’s happening,” Jungwon says looking at the reflection of you in the mirror, Your cry of release drenched the air, but muffled by his hands as you came in a shuddering, toe-curling orgasm that vibrated against his body.

Heeseung hums suspiciously. “Okay. Night.”

“Night.” The call ends. The second the screen goes dark, he releases your mouth, “That’s the good girl, didn’t i tell you to not make a noise?” Jungwon fucked you harder, deeper, the couch screaming with protest—it had slid halfway across the floor by now, “Or did you want your brother to hear how good im fucking you.” When you couldn’t respond, he chuckled, “That’s right, i’m the only one who gets to hear how much you love my cock in this tight pussy.” Another louder whimper. Your cunt clamped around him even tighter than the first time, and a building orgasm ripped through him with such sudden, unexpected force it rendered him speechless for a moment.

“I’m the only one who gets to see you like this.” His voice turned harsh, “You.” Thrust! “belong.” Thrust! “to.” Thrust! “Me.” Thrust! He whispers low, You were on fire, skin blazing, tears and drool pooling on the couch beneath you, but it all burned so nicely you never wanted to stop and Jungwon didn’t, instead he kept fucking into you until your next orgasm rolled in. He feels so damn good, all hard and full and gliding in and out in confident thrusts that make you keen. Slower, then building up, up, up until it crashed over you.

“Such a good little slut, ass out, pussy filled just the way i liked it—damnit.” And when Jungwon finished with you, You’d come so hard so many times you were a boneless wreck at this point. You slumped forward on the couch, collapsing.

You both lay there, breaths heavy in the sudden quiet, before he pushed himself off you and tossed his condom in the nearby trashcan.

You watched him in silence, the whatever the fuck you did hitting you. You’d had sex with Yang Jungwon, Your brother’s best friend, your ultimate crush. Not just any sex, Hard, toe curling, brain-melting sex. Sex where you begged for more and more and still feel it in the after effects.

Oh my god. Your stomach dropped. What have i done?

The room is quiet in a different way now.

“She’s asleep?” you whisper harshly. He looks at you, then at the phone, then back at you. “What was I supposed to say?” he mutters. “That i’m buried balls deep inside your sister?” You shove his shoulder. “Yah!” He exhales slowly, tension creeping back in. “Exactly,” he says quietly. And suddenly the room feels ten times more dangerous.

After minutes of silence, The air feels different. The kind of silence where both of you are replaying what just happened, frame by frame.

You’re lying side by side, staring at the ceiling. Your fingers are loosely intertwined, almost absentmindedly, like neither of you consciously decided to hold hands. You clear your throat first. “So.” He huffs softly beside you. “So.”

You turn your head slightly to look at him. His hair’s messy, eyes still adjusting to the dim light, expression unreadable. “Do you regret it?” you ask, softer than you intended. He doesn’t answer immediately. Then he turns to face you fully. “No,” he says simply.

You study his face for signs of doubt. There aren’t any. “Do you?” he asks back. You shake your head. The silence that follows next is comfortable, surprisingly. Just two people lying too close, pretending their hearts aren’t beating a little louder than usual.

After a while, he nudges your shoulder lightly. “We’re still alive. That’s good.” You snort. “Barely.”He smiles faintly at that, and the tension eases.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯—

Morning comes too quickly and it’s worse. Not because you woke up alone. Wait. Alone? Was it a dream? Did you imagine the whole thing? What the fuck? Your eyes snap to the digital clock on the nightstand. 9:03. Shit. You’ve been out for too long.

You push the sheets off and sit up, moving slowly. You climb out of bed and head to the bathroom to wash your face, cold water helping you wake up. When you straighten and take a step, you immediately regret it. Because no—it wasn’t a dream.

The dull, aching soreness in your lower half answers that question for you. You try walking normally, but your legs feel weak, unsteady, so you end up limping slightly, putting more weight on the one that hurts less. Every step reminds you of last night.

Then you hear it—the faint clatter of dishes downstairs. And something smells good. Really good. You follow the sound and the scent, moving carefully down the stairs.

And there he is. Jungwon. In your kitchen. Shirtless. Cooking. Like he belongs there. You stop at the bottom of the stairs and just stare. Holy fuck.

Something shifts inside you—sudden. Like you’ve just unlocked a kink you didn’t even know you had. Because you can’t think of a single thing sexier than a man standing in your kitchen, bare chested, moving like he owns the fucking place. The slow roll of his shoulders, the flex in his back when he reaches for something—it does something filthy to your brain.

And it’s not just any man. It’s Jungwon. Which makes it ten times worse. Ten times hotter. Ten times more dangerous.

You shouldn’t be looking at him like this. Shouldn’t be imagining the heat of his skin under your hands while he stands there so casually, like he isn’t ruining you just by existing.

But fuck. He looks sinful.

The sculpted muscles of his back flexed as he reached for the salt beside the stove, every movement slow and deliberate without him even trying. His hair was more tousled than usual, soft strands falling over his forehead like he’d just rolled out of bed and decided to ruin you for the rest of the day. Sunlight streamed through the windows, washing over his skin and turning it into something warmer—bronzed, almost glowing.

A strip of black sweats sat low on his hips, just visible enough to be distracting. The fabric clung in all the wrong-right ways, riding low enough to make your imagination spiral straight into dangerous, very X-rated territory.

You watched him in silence, caught off guard by the quiet ease in the way he moved. There was nothing rushed about him—every motion smooth, almost effortless. You’d always imagined he survived on pizza and beer the way he did back in school, careless and lazy about anything domestic.

But this? This was different.

It was attractive. So fucking attractive. He was attractive. The kind that made it hard to look away, even when you knew you probably should.

Shamelessly, You ogled at his body, watching as the muscles worked beneath the skin. At least, it was shameless until he turned around and caught you staring.

He tilted his head when he caught you and let out a low chuckle. “Morning, doll.” Heat rushed straight to your face. “M-morning,” you managed, hating the way your voice betrayed you. Fuck my life.

His smile only widened at that—Slow. He raised a brow, eyes dragging over you in a way that made your stomach flip. “You look a little flushed, doll. You sick?” A pause. Then, softer—teasing. “Or was last night too much for you?”

The smirk that followed was downright criminal. God. This ridiculously hot, cocky, infuriating bastard. “Shut up,” you shot back, way too fast. “My vibrator does a better job on its lowest setting than you.” The words leave your mouth before your brain can catch them. Oh no.

Too much. Way too much information. And definitely too rude. Jungwon’s eyes blazed hotter, something sharp flashing behind them. “Oh yeah?” he says quietly.

He closes the distance in a few steps, stopping right in front of you. He looks down, fingers coming up to grip your chin, forcing your gaze to stay on him. “That so?” His voice dips lower. “Funny. I remember someone begging me let her come.”

Your eyes widen. Heat floods your face again as you swat his hand away and quickly move past him, hopping up onto the kitchen counter instead. You cross your arms like that’ll do anything to save your dignity. Jungwon just smiles. Not a big smile. Just that satisfied curve of his lips that clearly says, I win. God, he’s such a jerk.

He goes back to the stove like nothing happened, plates the food, and sets one in front of you before taking the seat across from you. The two of you eat in silence. He’s still shirtless. And you’re painfully, incredibly aware of it.

“So..” You start, breaking the silence. Heart beating too loud. “So,” he echoes. “That happened….” Jungwon snorts at that.

“Yeah.” You rub your face with your hands. “Okay, we need to talk.” His shoulders tense slightly. “About what?” He questions, placing his spoon down. “About the fact that you’re my brother’s best friend.” He winces. “Ah. That.”

“Yes, that.” He turns to face you fully. “I’m aware.”You gulp, “If he finds out, he will actually bury you somewhere.”

“Probably.” You nod seriously. “So we need… structure.” He blinks. “Structure.” You repeat, “Yes.”

“Are we starting a company?”

“Shut up.” You fidget with your fingers, trying to organize your thoughts, which are not cooperating. Because here’s the problem: You’re not pretending it didn’t mean anything. It did, obviously. And you’re far too gone to act like you can just go back to normal.

Because if this was what it took—if this was the price for him standing closer, talking to you like this, looking at you like you were something he wanted—then you’d take it. You’d take all of it. Even if it meant sneaking around. Even if it meant doing things you swore you’d never do. Even if it meant this could shatter you later.

You don’t care. Not when it’s Jungwon.

He’s been your crush for years, and somewhere along the way that harmless, stupid little crush twisted into something darker. Something heavier. You weren’t just into him—you were fucking obsessed. Obsessed with the way he made your stomach drop just by saying your name. Obsessed with the way his eyes lingered a second too long. Obsessed with the way he could ruin your entire mood—or fix it—with one look.

It screamed bad idea. It screamed don’t do this. It screamed you’re going to regret it. But you craved it anyway.

When did you get this far gone? When did wanting him turn into needing him? When did you start justifying every reckless thought with a quiet, desperate it’s worth it? Fuck. This is such a bad idea.

And the worst part? You’re the one that started this.

You finally turn back to him. “We should set rules.” He stares at you like you’ve just proposed a legally binding contract. “Rules,” he repeats slowly. “Yes.” He crosses his arms. “This sounds dangerous.”

Hey, don’t look at me like that. Yes, it was stupid. Obviously it was stupid. But “rules” after sex? That could only mean one thing, and you knew it. You knew it the second the word even formed in your head.

The only reason you were spiraling like this was because you didn’t want it to be a one-time thing. You didn’t want to wake up and have it reduced to a mistake. You wanted more. More of him. More of the way he looked at you like you were something he’d been holding back from touching for years. More of the way he made you feel wanted—like you weren’t just the annoying little sister in the background.

And the way he fucked you yesterday? That alone was enough to make your body crave him all over again. It wasn’t just physical. It was the intensity. The way he said your name. The way he lost control. That doesn’t feel like something casual. It can’t be.

But you can’t just walk up to him and ask him to be your boyfriend. God, you don’t even know if he actually likes you like that. Maybe it was just heat. Maybe it was just tension snapping after years of pretending it wasn’t there.

And then there’s the biggest problem of all. He’s your brother’s best friend. That fact alone should’ve been enough to stop you. Enough to make you back off, put distance between you, pretend nothing happened.

Instead, here you are, hoping these aren’t “rules.” Hoping he doesn’t tell you this can’t happen again. Because if he does? You don’t know how you’re supposed to go back to pretending you don’t want him.

You finally snap out of thought and reply back, “It’s practical.” He raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never been practical in your life.” You scoff, “Excuse me?” You raise your eyebrows, “You told Jake to shut the fuck up yesterday.”

“He deserved it.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Fine. What are these rules?” You hold up a finger. “One. Only sex. Nothing else.” He studies you carefully at that. Just looking. “Okay,” he says after a beat.

“Two,” you continue, pretending your heart isn’t beating slightly faster, “no catching feelings.” That one lingers. Jungwon tilts his head slightly, then lets out a quiet laugh.

“You’d end up falling for me before I ever do, doll.”You narrow your eyes immediately. “In your dreams.” He steps closer, just enough to make it irritating. “You’re already halfway there.”

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re defensive.” You push his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.” He grins, but there’s something careful in his expression now. Because you both know the truth. This isn’t casual. It never was. You didn’t fight this hard for “nothing.” You didn’t spend weeks pushing and pulling just to treat it like a random accident.

Suddenly you blink at Jungwon and hold out your hand. “Pass me the pen and paper.” He frowns instantly. “What? Where did that even—why?”

You roll your eyes and click your tongue. “Just give it to me.” He reaches across the table and slides the pen and notepad over to you. His brows stay slightly furrowed as he leans back in his chair, arms folding over his chest while he watches you.

You don’t explain. You just start writing. Jungwon tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he tries to read it upside down. “What are you doing?” You ignore him, focused, lips pressed together in concentration as the pen moves across the page.

He exhales through his nose, half amused, half concerned. “Why do I feel like I should be worried?”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯—

Friends With Benefits Rules (According to Two People Who Are Already in Too Deep)

1. It’s just physical.

(No lingering looks. No remembering the exact way he says “doll.” Strictly physical. Obviously. Sure.)

2. No catching feelings.

(They both caught feelings years ago. This rule is decorative.)

3. No jealousy.

(If Jungwon talks to another girl, y/n does not care. If y/n laughs at another guy’s joke, Jungwon absolutely does not glare.)

(They both will fail this immediately.)

4. No sleepovers.

Unless it’s “too late.”

5. No talking about the future.

No “what are we?” No “what if someone finds out?”

(Denial is key)

6. No bringing up the brother.

That topic does not exist. The word “Heeseung” is banned within a 5km radius.

7. No acting like a couple in public.

No subtle touches. Just here and there sometimes…..is fine.

8. Most important rule:

If either of them says, “This was a mistake,” The other one is allowed to kiss them mid-sentence.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯—

Jungwon stares at the list like it has personally offended him. His eyes scan each line slowly, jaw tightening for a second before he suddenly lets out a laugh—head thrown back, shoulders shaking. A real one. Not the smug little huffs he usually gives you. A genuine, unguarded laugh.

And even though you’ve heard it before, it still melts something inside you every single time.

It’s beautiful.

He looks back at you, eyes still bright from laughing. “God,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face, “this is going to be fun.” The way he says it makes you bite your lips.

Jungwon pushes his chair back and stands. You track every movement without meaning to—every step he takes until he’s right in front of you again. Too close.

Before you can react, his hand comes up and grips your jaw, rough, tilting your face up toward him. He leans down slowly, until his lips hover near your ear. The warmth of his breath sends a sharp shiver down your spine.

“Then let me add one more,” he murmurs. His grip tightens slightly, possessive. “No other man than me is allowed to touch you.” His voice drops lower. Darker. “Let alone even fucking look at you.”

You’re two people standing in front of something that’s already too big to pretend it doesn’t exist.

“I swear to God, doll, if I find out you’ve let some man touch you, I will deliver his hands to you in a box.” His voice doesn’t rise. It drops colder.

“And I do not. Fucking. Bluff.” He means it.

There’s no playful edge to it, no teasing smirk softening the threat. The kind that settles heavy in your chest. Jungwon wasn’t the type to make empty promises. If anything, he undersold what he was capable of.

He was crazy over you—crazy enough to rip the eyes out of anyone who dared look too long, or who had the privileges to even look at you. You were his. You had been from the moment he first saw you standing in your own living room, too young to realize the weight of the way he stared.

From that day on, something in him decided and you never even noticed.

You didn’t know that he kept track of you. Not in an obvious way. Not in a way that would set off alarms. But he knew things, things like your schedule, your friends or the names of people you talked to. He knew about your past relationship—every detail of it. And when he found out your ex had put his hands on you the wrong way? Something in him snapped.

He had wanted to kill him, actually kill him.

Jungwon was obsessed. Far more than you ever were. What you felt was infatuation, craving, heat. What he felt was possession. It wasn’t just obsession. It was maddening.

You didn’t know there were eyes tracking your movements, memorizing your patterns, noting who stood too close. They were his. Always his. And in his mind, none of this was twisted instead he called it romantic because he cared. Because he protected what was his.

Jungwon was a very, very dangerous man. You just had no idea.

You tilt your head slightly, forcing a small smirk onto your face despite the way your pulse stutters. “Jealous?” you murmur. “I’m pretty sure I wrote a rule that said ‘no jealousy.’” You look up at him, challenging.

God, you have no idea what you’re stepping into. This is going exactly how he wants it to.

Jungwon bites his lower lip slowly, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he studies you. There’s something calculating in his gaze now. Darker.

“No one is allowed to touch what I’ll be touching,” he says quietly. “I don’t share.” Your stomach drops at the certainty in his tone.

“Mmh?” you hum, forcing lightness you don’t fully feel. “And how exactly would you know who’s touching me?” His lips curl. “I have my ways.”

You raise a brow, scoffing softly. “What are you, a stalker?” He steps closer. Too close. His shadow swallowing you whole. “I’m worse, y/n.” Jungwon replies, There’s no smile this time. Just truth. His grip on your chin tightens, enough to hurt.

“Till then,” he murmurs, voice low and steady, “you’ll be my dirty little secret.”

His thumb drags slowly along your lower lip, eyes locked onto yours like he’s memorizing the way your breathing changes, the way your pupils dilate. There’s something possessive in the way he looks at you—like he’s already decided your place and is just waiting for you to realize it too.

“A secret,” he repeats softly, almost to himself. “Hidden where no one can see. No one can touch.” His jaw tightens slightly. “They don’t get to have you,” he says, quieter now. “They don’t even get to know.” The air feels heavier.

“And when I’m ready,” he adds, leaning closer, his forehead almost brushing yours, “I’ll decide what you are to me.”

He presses a quick kiss to your forehead—soft, almost tender. Then another to your lips. And just like that, he pulls away, leaving you there, breath uneven, head spinning. What the fuck was that?

You’re still trying to process it when his voice cuts through your thoughts. “Oh,” he says casually, already halfway across the room. “Your brother will be here soon.” Your heart stutters.

He glances back over his shoulder, eyes glinting with something dangerous. “Wouldn’t want him knowing what I did to you, right?” His gaze drops pointedly to your neck. You follow it. And your breath catches.

Your skin is a mess of marks—dark, blooming bruises scattered across your throat and trailing downward. Some are deep purple, almost black at the center, fingerprints of his mouth pressed into you. Others are red and raw, teeth-shaped crescents that overlap and blend into flushed skin. Faint smudges of pink and angry crimson trace along your collarbone, disappearing beneath the neckline of your shirt.

They aren’t subtle. They’re possessive. Proof.

Your fingers hover over one of the darker bruises, and even the light touch makes your skin throb. The marks continue lower, scattered across the curve of your chest, layered like he couldn’t decide where to claim you first.

Jungwon watches your reaction with quiet satisfaction. “I look good on you,” he murmurs.

Then he turns away again, leaving you standing there with your pulse racing and his imprint burned into your skin.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯—

By afternoon, the house feels different. It’s 4:30 in the afternoon. The sun hangs low. Light stretches across the living room floor in long rectangles, catching dust in the air and turning it soft. The sun beginning to dip. Evening inching closer.

You’ve both freshened up—covered what needed to be covered, fixed your hair. The marks on your neck are hidden under a hoodie now, though you’re hyper-aware of them, like they’re still glowing beneath the fabric.

When the door swings open and Heeseung walks in with his friends, their noise fills the house quickly. Laughter, them kicking their shoes off. Familiar chaos.

You’re seated on the couch by then, legs tucked under you, time to act normal. Jungwon sits at the other end, relaxed, scrolling on his phone like he hasn’t ruined you less than twelve hours ago.

Heeseung drops onto the armchair. Jay and the others spread out—some on the floor, some leaning against the wall. The conversation flows easily. You join in, teasing, arguing.

It feels almost normal. Almost. Jay notices it first.

The way Jungwon’s eyes keep drifting toward you, glance when you laugh, then a slow look when you shift positions, faint tightening of his jaw when you lean too close to one of the guys to hear them better. Jay catches it.

And then he catches you doing the same thing.

The way your eyes flicker to Jungwon when he speaks, the way your posture straightens when he moves, the way there’s a split second too much eye contact whenever your gazes meet.

It’s subtle but not to him. It’s obvious to Jay. Probably obvious to everyone in the room except you and Heeseung. Jay leans back into the couch, eyes narrowing slightly as he studies Jungwon.

“Hey,” he says casually, cutting into whatever story Heeseung was telling. “Jungwon.” Jungwon doesn’t look away from you immediately. That’s the first mistake.

Then Jungwon blinks and shifts his gaze to Jay. “What?” Jay tilts his head. “You good?” Jungwon frowns faintly. “Yeah. Why?” Jay shrugs. “You look distracted.” There’s a beat of silence.

Sunghoon snorts. “He’s always distracted.” Jay doesn’t laugh though, His eyes stay on Jungwon. “Not like this,” he says lightly. Jungwon’s expression doesn’t change, but something in his posture tightens. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jay’s lips twitch. “Means you’ve been staring at the same spot for the past twenty minutes.” Your heart skips. Heeseung looks between them, confused. “What are you even talking about?”

“Nothing,” Jungwon answers smoothly. Jay hums. “Yeah. Nothing.” There’s a challenge in his tone. Jungwon meets his gaze, a look which means stop it.

Jay raises a brow slightly, lowering his voice just enough that it feels private, even in a crowded room. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?” Jungwon’s jaw shifts. “Nothing’s going on,” he repeats.

Jay studies him for another second, then leans in a little closer. “Right,” he says quietly. “Because the way you’re looking at y/n is totally friendly.” Jungwon’s expression hardens just a fraction. “Careful.” Jay smiles faintly. Not scared. Never scared of him. “That’s what I’m saying,” Jay replies. “You should be.” He leans back again, satisfied, but his eyes don’t leave Jungwon’s face.

Jay was a royal pain in Jungwon’s ass. Not just because he wasn’t afraid to push him—but because he was observant as fuck. He read people too well. And he knew Jungwon better than anyone in this room.

Better than you. And right now? Jay knows something’s changed. I mean, come on.

Jay had spent years around the both of you. Years of late nights, shared houses, random hangouts, He wasn’t stupid. He knew when something changed. And something had definitely changed.

He’d known for a long time that Jungwon had a thing for you, never obviously tho but it was there—in the way he’d go quiet when you entered a room, in the way his mood shifted depending on yours, in the way he watched more than he spoke.

Jay never asked him why, never asked him how it started, never even confronted him about it. He didn’t need to cause he saw it.

And, lowkey? He’d wanted it to happen. Wanted the two of you to just stop pretending and get together already. It made sense in his head. The tension had always been there, simmering under the surface. But wanting it and it being possible were two very different things.

Heeseung was a persistent bastard. Protective to a fault. A good brother—too good. The kind who would smile and joke around but would lose his mind if he thought someone crossed a line with his sister, you.

And if he found out what was happening between you and Jungwon? God. Jay genuinely didn’t know how that would go. Heeseung might surprise them. He might try to understand or he might not. It could swing either way.

And that uncertainty? That’s what made this whole thing dangerous.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯—

Two Years Earlier — 5:40 PM

The café was warm, The soft hum of conversations and the hiss of the espresso machine filled the background. You sat across from Eunchae— Your bestfriend, your ride or die, your unpaid therapist, your brutally honest voice of reason. She was sharp-tongued but soft-hearted, the kind of girl who would drag you for your bad decisions and then hold your hand while you fixed them.

Eunchae watched you over the rim of her drink, “So,” she sang lightly, dragging the word out. “How’s your undying, embarrassingly persistent crush on Jungwon doing these days?” You shot her a glare. “Eunchae. My boyfriend is literally about to get here. Please shut up.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically and took another sip. “Girl. We both know you don’t love him for shit.” You exhaled slowly, staring down into your cup.

That wasn’t fair…but it also wasn’t wrong.

Your boyfriend—Soobin was perfect. Four years older, mature, handsome in that soft, comforting way. Polite to everyone, the kind of guy parents adored and the kind of guy girls envied you for having. Hey, you did like him. You did.

He was sweet, you know, remembered small details, held doors open, texted good morning every single day without fail. So why did your chest feel so heavy?

“Don’t say that,” you muttered. “I do like him.” Eunchae leaned forward. “Like isn’t love.” You swallowed.

The truth sat ugly in your throat. You felt pathetic. Truly pathetic. Because if you were honest with yourself, you hadn’t started dating Soobin because you were head over heels.

You started dating him because you were desperate, desperate to kill whatever you felt for Jungwon.

You thought maybe if you had someone else—someone good, someone safe—your stupid, reckless crush would finally die.

But it didn’t. It never did.

Jungwon still lingered in your mind at the worst times like a reminder, his stupid comments replaying in your head and every time you saw him, that spark never faded. Now you were stuck.

Stuck lying to Soobin, stuck lying to yourself. Playing the role of a good girlfriend while your heart was somewhere else entirely.

“I’m telling him today,” you said quietly. Eunchae blinked. “You’re breaking up with him?” You nodded once. She studied your face carefully. “Because you don’t love him?”

“Yes.” A pause. “…Or because you love someone else?” Your throat tightened. You didn’t answer.

Eunchae sighed softly. “You’re not a terrible person for feeling things. But you are if you keep stringing him along.”

“I know,” you whispered. “That’s why I have to end it. He deserves someone who actually loves him. Not someone who’s using him as a distraction.” The bell above the café door chimed.

You both turned. Soobin stepped inside, scanning the room until his eyes found you. His face immediately softened into a smile and the guilt hit you like a punch to the ribs.

Eunchae squeezed your hand under the table once. “Do it clean,” she murmured. “No half-truths.” You nodded, heart pounding as Soobin walked toward you. This was going to hurt him but dragging it out would hurt him more.

You couldn’t do it in there. Not with the café buzzing around you. Not with cups clinking and people laughing and Eunchae staring holes into the side of your head like she was trying to telepathically force you to grow a spine.

You sighed and shot her a look. Will you stop? She raised her brows innocently. I’m not doing anything. Just two best friends sharing the same dysfunctional brain cell. But this wasn’t something you could say with an audience.

So you stood up, forcing a small smile at Soobin. “Can we… talk outside?” He blinked, confused but agreeable. “Yeah, of course.”

You didn’t notice the two dark eyes watching you from across the street, didn’t notice the way they followed every step you took as you led Soobin out of the café and into the narrow alley beside it.

You stopped near a stained brick wall, the noise from the café muffled now. Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

You didn’t ease into it. You couldn’t. “Let’s break up, Bin.” The words landed heavy between you. Soobin frowned immediately. “What?” He let out a small laugh of disbelief. “Wha—why? What happened? Did I do something?”

Questions spilled out of him fast. You shook your head quickly. “No. You didn’t do anything. I just… I don’t love you anymore. And I don’t think this is right for me.” Silence.

You stared at the ground because you couldn’t look at him. You couldn’t bear to see the hurt. The disappointment. Then you heard it. A laugh.

Low, sharp, wrong, making your head snap up. He was laughing. “What the fuck is so funny?” you asked, confusion twisting into unease.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You fucking bitch,” he muttered, the word landing like a slap. “Who said you get to break up with me, hm?”

Your stomach dropped. This wasn’t him. “What—” You didn’t get to finish. His hand shoved you back hard enough that your shoulders hit the brick wall. The impact knocked the air from your lungs. Before you could react, he planted both hands beside your head, caging you in.

“You don’t get to walk away like this,” he said, jaw tight. “After everything I’ve done for you?” Your pulse spiked. “Soobin, stop. You’re hurting me.”

“Oh, now I’m hurting you?” he scoffed. “After you’ve been playing me this whole time?” You grip his wrist, “I didn’t play you,” you shot back, panic rising. “I’m trying to be honest.”

“Honest?” His grip tightened around your arm. “Who is it?” Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“Who the fuck is it?” he demanded, leaning closer. “There’s someone else, right? That’s why.”

“There isn’t—” He cut you off by grabbing your jaw roughly, forcing your face to the side. His mouth pressed against your neck—not soft, not loving. His teeth sank into your skin hard enough to make you gasp.“Stop!” You shoved against his chest, but he was stronger.

Across the street, hidden in the shadow of a lamppost— Jungwon saw red. Literally.

His jaw clenched so tight it ached. His hands were fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms hard enough to break skin. Every muscle in his body locked.

He watched Soobin’s mouth on your neck. Watched the way you struggled. His breathing turned slow. “You don’t get to mark what’s mine.” Jungwon said in a whisper. The word mine didn’t even feel wrong in his head.

Don’t go. Not yet.

He repeated it in his head like a mantra.

Don’t go. Not yet.

He had been following you. Stalking you like a fucking predator. He told himself it was protection. That it was because he didn’t trust Soobin…. but standing there now, watching another man put his hands on you— He didn’t recognize himself.

You brought this out of him. This violent, possessive, unhinged part. You drove him crazy. He wanted to walk over there and drag Soobin off you, wanted to slam his face into the brick wall until his teeth shattered until no one could recognize him. And he would. Just not yet. Because he needed to see. Needed to know how far it would go.

Jungwon pulled a cigarette from his pocket with steady fingers and placed it between his lips. His eyes never left you.

He lit it. The flame flickered briefly in his dark eyes. He inhaled, once. Smoke curled from his mouth slowly as you finally managed to shove Soobin back with all your strength.

“Get the fuck off me!” you yelled, chest heaving. Soobin stumbled a step but didn’t fall. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wild.

“You think you’re better than me?” he spat. “You think someone else is going to want you?” Jungwon took another drag. Two. His gaze was no longer just angry, It was cold. His hands flexed at his sides when you stepped back.

“Oh baby… you’re gonna be mine soon.” The thought slid through his head slowly. He watched the way you tried to stay calm, the way you swallowed your fear and still chose honesty. God you looked beautiful.

“I’ll treat you so much better than he ever could”, he said darkly, eyes narrowing as Soobin’s hand grabbed your jaw. “Come to me, doll.”

He’d waited years. Watched you grow into yourself, watched how boys circled you like they had any right, watched you settle for someone safe when what you really needed was someone who would burn the world down for you.

Someone like him.

His gaze dragged over you like a claim already staked. “He doesn’t deserve to touch you. He doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

‘I’ll give you everything’ he promised silently from across the street. ‘Everything you don’t even know you want. I’ll protect you. I’ll ruin anyone who tries to hurt you.’

Soobin stepped forward again, but this time you shoved him harder, panic giving you strength. “I said it’s over!” you snapped, voice shaking but loud. Across the street, Jungwon exhaled smoke slowly.

His eyes darkened further. That was enough. And finally—He started walking toward where you were.

Jungwon moves before he can think himself out of it. He pulls his hood up as he steps off the curb, the fabric shadowing his face. Halfway across the street, he slips a black mask over his mouth and nose, fingers steady despite the storm raging in his chest. You can’t know it’s him, not like this.

He takes one last drag from the cigarette, smoke burning down his throat, then flicks it away. It hits the pavement and dies out. That was the last clean second of his plan.

By the time he reaches the alley, Soobin’s hand is still gripping your arm. Jungwon doesn’t speak first. He grabs Soobin by the hair and yanks him back hard making you gasp.

Soobin stumbles, dragged off you so violently he nearly loses his footing. Before he can even process what’s happening, Jungwon’s fist connects with his jaw. The crack of it echoes against brick.

“Why are you harassing a girl?” Jungwon’s voice is distorted under the mask—lower, not recognisable. “Did your mom not teach you anything else?” Another punch.

Soobin’s head snaps to the side, blood already blooming at the corner of his lip. You’re frozen.

You don’t know who this man is. He has his hoodie up and mask on. He slaps Soobin once. Twice. Three times—sharp, humiliating, each one louder than the last.

Soobin lashes out blindly, kicking at his leg. “What the fuck—who are you?!” he shouts, panic breaking into his voice. The masked man chuckles darkly, “Your worst nightmare.”

The words drip with something that makes your stomach twist. For a brief second, his eyes lift, landing on you.

You can’t see them clearly under the shadow of his hood, but something about them makes you visibly tremble. There’s no softness there.

Just rage, His hand lifts again like he’s about to strike Soobin harder— And then it freezes mid-air. Because you’re looking at him. Not grateful but terrified.

His hand slowly lowers to his side. Inside his chest, something drops. Heavy.

You avert your gaze first, heart racing too fast, breath shallow. You don’t know why your body reacted that way. You don’t know why those eyes felt familiar. Jungwon stands there, fists clenched.

You are aware that you’re the only person in the world I’d never hurt, right?

The thought burns through him. He could ruin Soobin. He could break every bone in his face and feel nothing. But you? Your looking at him like he’s a monster.

And for the first time since he stepped into that alley— Jungwon wonders if maybe he is.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯—

The room smells like smoke and rust. Soobin is tied to a chair, wrists bound tight behind him, ankles secured to the legs. His head lolls slightly before he jerks awake again, struggling against the restraints, panic finally settling in his bones.

Jungwon stands a few feet away, back turned. He pulls out another cigarette with slow, deliberate movements. Taps it against the box once then twice. Jungwon slips the cigarette between his lips.

Thumb flicking the lighter until a small flame blooms. He leans in, the tip igniting orange, and takes a slow drag. His chest rises quietly, shoulders barely moving as he lets the smoke fill his lungs. He inhales deeply, eyes closing as the smoke fills his lungs. He exhales through his nose, smoke spilling out in thin streams that curl around his face before fading into the air.

Then the chair scrapes loudly against the floor. “What the fuck do you want from me?!” Soobin shouts, voice cracking. Jungwon’s eyes snap open.

He exhales slowly through his nose, wincing at the volume. “Lower your voice,” he mutters. “You’re giving me a headache.” Soobin thrashes again. “You’re insane! Do you know who I am?!”

Jungwon lets out a quiet tsk, turning around at last. He walks forward unhurriedly, cigarette balanced between his fingers, smoke trailing behind him like it does in movies.

“You touched what was mine.” The words are soft. Soobin freezes. “What—what are you talking about? She’s not yours!” Jungwon stops directly in front of him and tilts his head, the movement is almost curious.

“How dare you kiss her in front of me?” he asks, as if genuinely confused by the audacity. Soobin’s breathing quickens. “I didn’t even know you were there—”

“Exactly.” Jungwon crouches down so they’re eye level. He grips Soobin’s jaw suddenly, fingers digging into his skin hard enough to make him wince. The cigarette hovers dangerously close to his face.

“You didn’t even know I was there,” Jungwon repeats quietly. The lit tip presses lightly against Soobin’s cheek—just enough to sting, to sear heat into skin without fully burning. Soobin jerks back with a strangled sound. “You’re fucking crazy!” he gasps. Jungwon’s lips twitch faintly. “I know.”

He stands again, dragging Soobin up by the hair this time. “I swore to myself,” Jungwon murmurs, leaning down close to his ear, “that I’d wipe out anyone who misbehaves with her.”

His grip tightens. “No one deserves her.” His voice drops lower. “Other than me.” Soobin looks up at him—and finally sees it. The madness in his eyes, If looks could kill, he’d already be dead. Soobin’s eyes tremble. Jungwon studies the fear for a moment and mesmerises it.

Then, without warning, he yanks Soobin forward by the hair and drives his knee hard into his face. The crack echoes in the room as soobin goes limp.

Jungwon releases him, letting his body slump against the restraints. Finally, he breathes out, closing his eyes. And there you are, In his mind. Smiling, laughing, looking up at him with that expression you don’t even realize you wear around him.

Jungwon could literally feel his cock hardening at the thought of you, he drags a hand down his face. Fuck, Even now, Even here. Holy mother of lord, He needed help.

Any sane person would’ve looked at him and said it outright—get therapy, get distance, get a grip. But not even professionals would be able carve you out of him. You weren’t just a thought he could untangle or a habit he could break. You were too deep. Too deep in his bones.

You didn’t knock before entering; you made yourself at home, fucked him from the inside out. And fuck—he never once complained. If anything, he welcomed it.

He wanted to kneel at your feet and kiss the very ground you walked on, like a worshipper at the altar of something holy and destructive all at once. You weren’t just a girl to him. You were his religion, his obsession, salvation dressed as temptation.

You were his and not just his in the way boys say it when they’re jealous. His in the way blood knows blood.

In the way a pulse answers another pulse without hesitation. It wasn’t possession born from ego—it was something darker, older, carved into him like a birthmark he never asked for but would never remove. Jungwon didn’t want you beside him. He wanted you intertwined with him, breathing the same air, thinking the same thoughts.

And the worst part? He didn’t feel guilty. He felt certain. Because from the moment you stepped into his life— You were already under his skin and my bro Jungwon had no intention of letting you go. His control slips when it comes to you. He hates that, he loves that.

“You could never be anyone else’s,” he mutters under his breath. In his world, it’s already decided.

You were claimed long before you ever noticed. Claimed by the devil standing quietly in the shadows, watching, waiting. And one day— You’ll understand. You’ll thank him. Because he knows the way your eyes look at him. He knows the silent I want you that lingers there. And it’s torture, absolute torture to stand there and do nothing.

Jungwon opens his eyes again, jaw tightening as he looks down at the unconscious boy tied to the chair. He flicks the cigarette to the ground and crushes it slowly under his shoe.

“Stay away from her,” he says quietly to the still body.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯—

Present — 7:02 P.m

You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, back pressed against the wall, fingers nervously twisting the hem of your oversized tee. Eunchae is sprawled across your carpet like she pays rent here, chin propped up on her hands, staring at you with wide, impatient eyes.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “You said you had tea. And not normal tea. Not ‘I tripped in the hallway’ tea. So speak.” You inhale. And then you tell her everything that happened in the past week.

Jungwon. The sex. The morning after. The stupid rules you wrote like it was some contractual agreement. The way he looked at you. The way he—Eunchae screams. “FINALLY.” You flinch. “Shut up!”

“No!” She bolts upright, pointing at you like you just confessed to a crime she’s been waiting years to solve. “I have BEEN waiting for this day. Do you know how long I’ve suffered listening to you pine over this man?” You bury your face in your hands. “It was not pining.”

“It was pathetic yearning,” she corrects. “With dramatic sighing.” You throw a pillow at her which she dodges it easily. “And wait—wait.” She squints at you. “You had sex. With him. And then you made… rules?” You groan. “It made sense at the time.”

“Oh my God.” She falls back onto the bed beside you. “You slept with your brother’s best friend and your first instinct was to draft a constitution?”

“It’s called emotional damage control!”

“It’s called you being insane.” You glare at her. “You’re supposed to be on my side.” You argue, “I am on your side!” she says, grabbing your shoulders. “I’m just saying this was inevitable. The sexual tension between you two could power a small country.” You try not to smile.

She studies you more closely now, expression softening. “Okay. Jokes aside.” Her voice lowers. “Are you okay?” You hesitate before answering, “…I don’t know.” She tilts her head. “Do you regret it?”

“No.” The answer comes too fast. Then she flicks your forehead lightly. “Okay first of all, if he hurts you, I will personally ruin his life. Second—” she narrows her eyes, “—does he like you?” Your stomach flips. “I don’t know.”

“Does he act like he likes you?” He does, yes. “…Yes.”

“Then congratulations,” she deadpans. “You are in a situationship with unresolved feelings and sexual chemistry. Welcome to hell.” You laugh despite yourself. She bumps her shoulder against yours. “Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Don’t lose yourself trying to win him.” That makes you pause. Eunchae’s expression is serious now, protective in the way only someone who’s known every version of you can be. “You liked him first,” she says quietly. “Don’t let him make you feel small just because he finally caught up.” Your throat tightens.

“…You really think this could be something?” Oh, you had no idea. She smiles, softer this time. “I think it already is.” Then she grins again. “But also? If he fumbles you after all this buildup, I will expose him spiritually.” You shove her. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you,” she says, pointing at you again, “are finally living your Wattpad dreams.” You both burst into laughter.

Your phone buzzes against the table, the vibration loud in the quiet of the room. It skids slightly against the wood before settling, screen lighting up. You don’t even have to look properly to know who it is. You unlock your phone, Jungwon’s name sits at the top of your notifications, Eunchae leans closer, practically vibrating with curiosity. “Well?” she whispers loudly. You shake your head, chuckling under your breath as you open the message.

Jungwon : Tonight, my place. Midnight.

You’d agreed to keep your communications short, to the point, and vague enough that if anyone saw them, You could explain them away with a creative excuse. His text met all three criteria, but still. What bappened to a good old-fashioned hey, how are you first?

You : Can't. I'm busy.

It was true, You were with Eunchae after all, you can’t just leave her alone here.

Jungwon : Too busy for an orgasm?

You : Your fragile ego

can’t take a no?

Jungwon : love how you keep running your pretty mouth, you know what i’d do if i was there.

You bite back a smile the second you read it. Your tongue presses against the inside of your cheek as you reread it, heat creeping up your neck. Eunchae watches your expression change, her grin widening instantly.

Jungwon : Tomorrow, 10 pm. My place.

Jungwon : PS. Your gonna pay for the fragile ego comment .

Then you see it, your phone lit up a new notification, your brows pulled together when you read the message.

Unknown : Hey y/n.

The area code indicated a Seoul phone number. No, it can’t be.

You : Who is this?

Hope, a bit of fear, and anticipation curled in your stomach. Maybe it’s an old friend. An eternity passed in the next ten seconds for the next reply to pop up, and it nearly made you drop your phone.

Unknown : It's Soobin.

Soobin. Your ex-boyfriend. How did he get your number? Why was he contacting you now after almost three years of radio silence? You never saw him after that incident in the alley.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯—

You shouldn’t have agreed to this. That’s the only thought looping in your head as you sit at the small corner table of the café down the street from campus. Your fingers wrap around a cup of coffee that’s long gone cold, condensation dampening the cardboard sleeve. You check your phone again. Three years. Three years of silence, and then suddenly— Can we meet? Just once.

You don’t know what he wants. Closure? Apology? The bell above the café door chimes and your mouth goes dry as you watch Soobin stepping inside. He looks… older, obviously. Broader shoulders, sharper jaw, his hair is styled differently than you remember, longer in the front. He scans the room, and when his eyes land on you, something unreadable flickers across his face before he walks over.

You force yourself not to shrink. “Hey,” he says, pulling out the chair across from you. “Hey.” Awkward silence stretches between you both, “You look good,” he says finally. “So do you.”Another pause, “How’ve you been?” he asks, leaning back slightly. “Fine,” you answer too quickly. “Busy, collage and life…you know, the usual.” He nods. “Yeah. Same.”

He studies your face in a way that makes your skin itch. “So,” he says slowly, fingers tapping the table, “heard you’ve been… around different company lately.” That makes you tilt your head, where did this come from? why does he care? “What does that mean?”

He tilts his head too. “Just heard you’ve been spending time with someone.” You stiffen. “That’s not really your business.”

A faint smirk touches his lips. “Just saying. Be careful who you trust. Some guys don’t show their real face until it’s too late.” Now he was getting under your nerves, surely he didn’t call you here to say this bullshit now, did he? Your nails dig into your palm under the table. “And you would know?” you ask quietly. His jaw tightens at that.

Before he can respond, the bell above the café door chimes again. You don’t look at first, bad idea, but then you feel it. You glance toward the entrance—And your breath catches.

Heeseung walks in first, laughing at something Jay says. Behind them—Jungwon. Jungwon finds your eyes meet instantly. They always do.

For a split second, his expression is soft, the expression he always gives you. Like he didn’t expect to find you here but isn’t unhappy about it.

Then—His gaze drops. To the man sitting across from you. Soobin’s back is to him so Jungwon can’t see his face but he sees enough. You’re with someone else, someone else.

You watch it happen in real time—the soft look drains from his eyes and smth darker replaces it, you watch as his jaw sets.

Your pulse starts pounding in your ears for no reason. “Soobin,” you say suddenly. “Yeah?” He blinks, “You need to go.” He frowns. “What? Why—”

“Just go,” you whisper urgently, standing up slightly. “Please. And don’t look back.” He stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. “What the hell is wrong with—” You shove his shoulder, harder this time. “Just go.” Your eyes flick past him.

Heeseung is scanning the café but Jungwon isn’t cause he’s busy staring at Soobin’s back like he could burn a hole straight through it. Soobin finally exhales in frustration and stands. “You’re unbelievable,” he mutters. “Go,” you repeat.

There’s another exit near the back of the café. Thank God. He hesitates for half a second—Then turns and heads toward it. And he doesn’t look back. You sag in relief, cause if Jungwon had seen his face—more importantly if Heeseung had seen his face—You know exactly what would’ve happened.

Heeseung would drag him down the street without thinking twice. Punch first, ask questions later and Jungwon? You don’t even want to imagine it.

You turn back toward the entrance just as they fully step inside. Jungwon’s eyes lift to yours again. Dark. Possessive, it reminds you of what he said that day. ‘I don’t share.’ You were supposed to meet him today anyway. Just not like this.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯—

You barely get a foot inside his house before Jungwon’s hands are on your waist, immediate, pulling you fully in as he shuts the door behind you. A small yelp leaves you, cut short when your back meets the door with a dull thud as the click of the lock follows. His body cages you in, one knee sliding between your thighs, spreading your legs apart with quiet insistence as he keeps you pinned there.

Jungwon buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling slowly, His breath is warm against your skin. Then his hand slides up, fingers wrapping around your throat, rough as they tilt your head back slightly, then he squeezes it, Your breath catches, lashes fluttering as the pressure builds for a second.

“Who was that guy, doll?” Jungwon asks quietly, His eyes catch the dim light, Your lungs burn just enough to make it thrilling, and when he finally loosens his grip, you pull in a shaky breath. Adrenaline rushing through your veins. This is exactly what you wanted.

You swallow, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes, feigning innocence even though you’re already falling apart under his touch. “What guy?” you ask lightly, provoking on purpose. Jungwon chuckled quietly and slid his hand down your body, feeling every curve. He's not doing anything yet, and you're already drenched.

"I'm not in the mood to play right now, doll," he said in your ear before gently biting your earlobe. Your eyes sparkled with amusement as you teased, "Jealous much?" However, your playful tone turned into a soft whine as you felt Jungwon's clothed hard-on pressing against you, causing you to instinctively lean back against the wall. His hands held your hips in place as he lifted your leg, positioning you so that you were practically grinding against him, unable to contain the moans escaping your lips.

"Yeah, I'm jealous, fucking hell, I've told you before — you're mine. No one is allowed to even look at your beautiful face," Jungwon said, pulling you close and deepening the kiss. Both of you moaned as he nibbled on your bottom lip. "This face belongs to me. It's mine to admire.” he said, moving his hips against you with each word. Thrust! “mine to kiss.” Thrust! “mine to fuck.” Thrust! “Mine to make a goddamn mess of anytime.” Thrust! "Mine to love and protect." You would’ve asked him what he meant by ‘love’ if you weren’t so soaked up in the moment of his hips as they quickened, bringing you both closer to the edge, you gasped, "Jungwon, please..." the friction of his cock pressing up against you feels so fucking good, feeling a mix of pleasure and punishment, he pinched your clothed nipples, intensifying the sensation.

"Every curve of you is made to fit into my hands. My hands and my hands only.” He lowered his mouth to your shoulder, trailed moist lips to the nape of your neck. "Don't worry," he whispered. "I'm made for your hands, too."

Jungwon then puts both of his hands firmly around your waist, his nails digging into your flesh so painfully that you know you will feel it the next day. He then quickly swings you around, slams your face against the wall, and his whole body is pressed on your back. You could feel him massaging your inner thighs with his cock. He was so damned hard, my god. There is nowhere more excited than the spot between your legs that's freaking pulsing. A small cry escapes your mouth due to the sudden jerk in your head as his hands grabs your hair and pulls you back.

“I should fuck you right here against the wall. Everyone thinks you like it nice but i know better. You’d rather have me tear you apart with my cock.” Jungwon’s voice is raw as he grinds into you. “That’s exactly what you fucking deserve. Maybe then, everyone would know it’s mine.”

He rasps, picks you up, pressing you even harshly into the wall. And this position…..his hands are hooked securely beneath your thighs, lifting you with steady strength. You’re pressed against the wall as your feet leave the ground, and your palms flatten against the surface for balance. You cling to it, fingers splayed, because the only thing holding you up is him — and the wall, which, you’re almost kissing by now.

After that, you feel him harden even more on your ass as he pulls you down on him. You let out a moan. "This shit is turning you on, huh?" He tosses you over his shoulders before you can even react. “Get on the fucking bed, your pussy’s been neglected for too long.” He drops you against the pillows, the impact knocking the air from your lungs slightly, then follows, bracing himself above you, gaze locked on yours.

Without wasting any more time, With quick hands, You find his belt and undo it, throwing it to the ground. He lifts your hips to tug your jeans and panties down your thighs.

He grabbed the back of your neck, pulled you close, and crushed his lips to yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your body warm and pliant against his as he plundered your mouth. Jungwon’s heart was a loud drum in his chest, beating in time with the throbbing in his cock. The smell of your perfume and the sounds of your little whimpers filled the room as you clung to him like you both were drowning and he was your last lifeline.

He parted your thighs with his knee, reached between your legs and hummed in approval when he found you slick and wet for him. Jungwon frowned the second you caught his wrist, stopping him mid-motion.

Then you moved, pushing yourself up slowly, pressing a hand flat against his bare chest and forcing him back onto the bed. He let himself fall, more surprised but went with it, eyes tracking you the entire time. You swung a leg over him and settled on his stomach, straddling him, your weight and your juices soaking his hips.

Jungwon blinked, not expecting it. A low, dark laugh slipped out of him, rough around the edges. “Shit,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face before letting it fall beside him. His eyes trailed up your body, slow and shameless. “You drive me so fucking crazy, doll.” You held his gaze.

There was something about him like this — laid back against the sheets, looking up at you instead of towering over you — that hit different. His jaw tight, eyes darker than usual, lips parted just slightly. You can tell he’s controlling from fucking you so bad right now. But tonight, you wanted to be in control.

You tilted your head slightly, fingers brushing down his chest in a slow line, testing him, Jungwon swallowed. “Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warned quietly. You smiled down at him, all innocence and sweet composure. Jungwon’s head tilted slightly against the pillow, eyes narrowing in quiet amusement as a slow smirk pulled at his mouth. He didn’t say anything.

Instead, his hand slid down, settling on your ass. His fingers spread, warm and possessive, before giving it a slow, squeeze and—Spank! His palm landed on your ass with such harsh slap it made your whole body jerk upward, your tits bouncing.

"My dirty angel," he said gruffly. "Created to please and torture me. My heaven on earth." Spank! This one made your pulsating pussy throb even harder. “Look how pretty your ass is all rosy from my hand.” Spank! Jungwon said while looking at your reflection in the mirror placed infront of the bed.

Then his free hand slid down to your ankles, fingers wrapping around them before he gave a sudden tug. You let out a small yelp, your balance tipping as you nearly fell backward, but he was quicker—his hands moving to your back, steadying you before you could slip. In one smooth motion, jungwon adjusted his grip and lifted you, holding you securely as your body hovered above his.

You’re flushed a deep crimson, your pulse drumming in your throat as you realize there’s nowhere left to hide; because now he could see how fucking wet you were, Your legs shake, barely holding your weight, as your hair spills over your shoulders.

You look down, hair falling and you swear you just came right there on sight. Jungwon’s gaze is fixated on your dripping cunt like a man starving, like your his fucking meal. He looks hungry, lips already parted, tongue darting out to lick his lips before holding your legs, “Sit on my face, Y/n.”

He says licking your thighs, you whimper, “Sit that sweet pussy down on my mouth. Wrap those pretty thighs around my head and fuck my face, come on doll.” He growls,his breath gently caressing your bare cunt, you slowly lower yourself giving him time but jungwon holds your hips and yanks you down on him. And suddenly his mouth is everywhere— tongue pressing flat against your dripping slit, licking a stripe up and then down your clit, slurping in your pussy, sending your head back, whining.

He licks into you, tongue fucking you deep as he groans, You swear ur seeing stars. Your body tenses and melts and fucking bursts into flames because it feels so goddamn good, you don't even know what you’re feeling. But you’re feeling good, too good. Jungwon's tongue circles around your cunt, his grip on your ass tightening.

You were so close already. He slowed the thrusts of his mouth so he could reach and stroke your clit with his hand. You could feel his smile because his mouth was still buried in you, when your head fell back and your lips parted at the touch.

You were shaking, Completely sobbing as razor-sharp sensation spiked through you. "Who does your pussy belong to?" Jungwon removed his fingers from your pussy and squeezed your thighs. "You," You gasped, clutching the headboard so hard your knuckles turned white.

"Say it again." He said, Demanding. "You! My pussy belongs to you." Your voice broke in a sob as he delivered a stinging slap to your clit. "That's right. It belongs to me, and don't you ever forget it." Slap! He pulls back just enough to breathe, mouth shiny and swollen with your juices. He kept the pressure of his thumb against your clit and slid a finger inside your tight, wet heat.

Your mouth turned into a scream as his tongue licked against your aching center, from your entrance up to your clit, his mouth slowly engulfing your bud, sucking hard before slowing down again. "Did this pussy miss my mouth, baby?" You exhaled roughly. Jungwon flattened his tongue and licked you in a slow swipe.

You can't take it. The pleasure rolls through you; a pleased grumble vibrates in his throat as his tongue pierces you, sending you tumbling over the edge, crying his name. Jungwon’s breathes in you, “Can feel how wet you are for me. Such a pathetic little whore, wanting me to fuck you again. Was last time too gentle for you?" He flicked on your clit—"Jungwon—im gonna—" You cry out, arching your back as much as you’re able to, nearly pulling yourself forward out of the other Jungwon’s grip. “Come on my face, baby. Let go.”

Your mouth opens but no sound comes out but a silent cry. Every single muscle in your body is tensed up, like a metal coil getting wound up way past its breaking point—and your coming—squirting all over him—gushing down on his face as Jungwon growns and moans, nuzzling his nose in your clit. “That’s the girl, that’s my good fucking girl.” Jungwon coos proudly, his voice muffled as he drinks and laps every fucking drop.

Jungwon smiled against your wetness, his hot tongue twisting and circling over your pussy as he took a moment to catch a breath, moving his mouth from you to lick his lips. But jungwon? He doesn't stop, dips his head back into your pussy, your orgasm soaking his nose and chin, but he doesn't care.

Another lightning strike shoots right through you, as jungwon keeps fucking you through your orgasm with his tongue. Your cunt is fluttering around his mouth, still releasing your juices, as he slurps up all the liquid till half of his face is covered in your essence. His tongue moves with more intensity now, flicking over your clit in rapid, circular strokes before sliding down to your folds, his tongue pressing gently against your entrance, You shake your head, it was way too much.

“No—wonnie—too much.” Slap! Jungwon’s hand touched your heat in a smack again. “You take what i give you, you fucking bitch.” You let out a ringing wail, trying to scramble away and push back harder against him at the same time. You couldn't focus on anything, you only knew that you were dripping and burning and every inch of your nipples against the wooden board sent another jolt of heat straight to your throbbing clit.

"You taste so fucking good." Jungwon growled, You choked back a moan, still entirely too sensitive from your previous orgasm, Jungwon let out a string of curses as his teeth pulled on your cunt, “fuck fuck fuck, all mine—Can’t—so good—” Jungwon whimpers, actually whimpers. The overstimulation was finally starting to kick in and tears formed at the corners of your eyes as you cried out Jungwon’s name over and over, too dumb on his mouth on you to say anything else. When your words turned to silent screams and your pussy fluttered around Jungwon’s mouth, You look down at him, panting, trembling, his lips and chin are shiny with your orgasm and he brings his fingers to rub aggressively over your overstimulated clit.

He ran his finger through your folds a couple of times, thrusting against your clit and laughing at how your whole body jolted from the sensitivity. “Come for me, baby—” You flew forward with a startled yelp, coming so hard your whole body went numb. “Shit baby shit, so good, so beautiful. That’s it.” He praised, literally speaking while lapping up every drop. You’re full on sobbing now, but you can't hold back the way your hips twitch up and chase every filthy flick of his warm tongue.

“Yeah baby, grind on my face like a slut, ruin my mouth, doll—oh my—” Jungwon’s voice turns muffled when you sink yourself on his mouth all the way down to the point his nose and whole face is covered in you. He grips your ass, whimpering. “Fuck, y/n—Please—” jungwon whines while you ride your high again on his face, leaving him gasping for air and wanting for more because you’re both greedy and ruined.

Till the time you’re done, he’s fucked out. Breath uneven, eyes rolled back, tears at the corner of his eyes, mouth covered in your essence. He looks beautiful. You lift yourself slowly, legs shaking, your back arching as you lean down toward him. Your lips meet his in a slow kiss, and the faint taste of you lingering there makes heat rise through you all over again. Jungwon whimpers in your mouth—he’s ruined and so entirely yours.

You let your fingers wander over his chest, tracing idle patterns against warm skin before dragging them lower, over the firm lines of his abs. You stay seated on his stomach, legs hooked on either side of his thighs, keeping him exactly where you want him.

His hands come up quickly, gripping your hips like he’s about to take control again, fingers pressing into your skin. You catch his wrist mid-motion and slap his throbbing cock. Jungwon freezes for half a second — then a long, helpless whine leaves him, low and frustrated, his head falling back against the pillow. “Fuck,” he breathes, jaw tightening as he looks up at you. “What’s the hurry, baby?” You ask, a hard strike from your hand came in contact with his aching cock which bobbed at the impact, making him groan.

“Shit—please, doll.” Another slap to his member. A silent moan left his lips as jungwon started to grind his cock in your hand, the base of his erection rubbing on the bridge of your palms. Jungwon’s orgasm was approaching quickly. “Shit, baby—need to be inside you—doll.” You noticed the tell tale signs, with jungwon’s heavy breathing, his mouth hung open as he whimpered and whined, and how his cock twitched often.

“You wanna come inside me, hmm?” Your hands speed up your moments, he gasps, trying so hard to move away from your hands as you relentlessly stroked his cock, grabbing your wrist but having no strength to push you away entirely. "Fuck, doll—What are you doing to me?" You mock, "Making you work for it." He twitches at your touch, head rolling to his side.

“Tell me—wha—what I can do" you don't stop your strokes, "You can be a good boy and beg for me." He looks up with half-lidded eyes, “I want it. Need to be inside you so fucking bad. Need to feel how wet you are for me. Want to—shit want to see how you look when you come. And I swear to God, if you don't let me see those perfect fucking tits, I'm going to lose my mind." Your hairs were covering your breasts, you raise your eyebrows, “You didn’t say the magic word.”

Jungwon groans, “Fuck—i-i’m gonna cum, baby, please—” he rushed out to warn you. You smile wickedly, Something about him like this — under you, actually melting beneath your touch was turning you the fuck on in a way you hadn’t expected. He was usually the one in control. But right now? He looked wrecked, following every small movement of your hands.

The fact that you could make him lose it like this — make him whine, make him curse under his breath, make him grip the sheets instead of you sent heat straight to your cunt. You dragged your fingers lower on his tip just to see his reaction. The power shift was intoxicating. “Need to be in-inside—you, ffuckkk.” He chokes out a long whimper, “Say it like you mean it, wonnie.” You teased, hands wrapped tight around his dick to stop hin from coming. His voice cracks and he whimpers, eyes pleading.

“Need you—baby right now….need to make you come over and over again. Need you to ride me until I'm a fueking mess beneath you. Lemme feel how tight you are, how wet your cunt is—please” He chokes up, his cock clenching around your hands, milking him again with a loud, broken sob. “Let me taste you until you're shaking and screaming. Let me fuck you until I'm so deep inside you that we both forget who we are. Use me. Let me ruin you—or just ruin me. I don't fucking care. Just let me in."

“You can do more better, pretty boy.” Jungwon cries out, fucking cries out—a raw, guttural sound ripped straight from his chest, as his knot swells and locks him in place. “Please—please let me inside you please please—miss—please, i can’t ffuck—” You moan softly at his begging, his whines sending you to subspace. “Please please pleaseeee—wan-wanna cum inside you. Need you in me, d-doll please.” He sobs out between ragged breaths. “Fuck me, you’re gonna fuck me so well, doll—please—aren’t you?” Getting too impatient yourself, your tight pussy finally sinks down onto his cock in one powerful thrust.

Jungwon screams, stars shooting behind his eyes at the raw feeling of his dick inside your cunt. It was so good. You moan softly at the feeling of fullness, “Umm—wonnie—” You say, sitting up and arching your back to give him the view of a lifetime. Then slowly, you pull yourself up, he watches the way his dick spills out of your sweet cunt and you slam down in one thrust, your breasts flying up cus of the impact. “Shi—yes, Ride my dick baby.” He says with half parted lips, hands holding your hips while you start bouncing on his cock. Up. down. up. down.

Jungwon was so big and filled up your tight hole so well, your hands balanced themselves perfectly on his toned chest as you quicken your pace. Your mouth finds his chest, sucking and nibbling at his nipples, ripping the most pathetic whine you have ever heard out of him. His hips thrust upwards, looking for friction when you slow down. He looks up, eyes watering. You reached for his hand, resting it on the bulge on your stomach as you moved on him, the sight was driving him closer to his release, “Fuckk—look at those pretty tits bouncing for me—wanna breed you baby, pleaseee.” Jungwon lets out a low groan, nails digging into your hips so he can keep you there.

You roll your hips like a pro, thrusts get sloppier, moans louder, and when your mouth crashes into his, you slow down, shuddering and cursing as he throbs inside of you as Jungwon comes in thick spurts of cum inside you, his feet and legs shaky from his release. “Wonnie—!” You mouth opens in a whine as he holds your hips up and drags you down on him again and again and again until your seconds away from coming all over once, until your arousal was splattering over Jungwon’s stomach.

“Shit—yeah gonna breed this pussy—doll.” He moans as his lips latch on one of your nipples, sucks on it for god knows how long and lets go with a wet pop. You lifted your hips until you were halfway up his cock slowly, body shaking the entire way. Jungwon thrusted upwards so he was fully inside you again.

At the same time, he straightens abruptly, one arm wrapping behind your back as he turns you over in a single fluid shift, reversing your positions, flipping the balance of control effortlessly. He shoves your head down onto the mattress, yanks your ass up in air only to push your knees forward, bending you in half. Jungwon watch you from behind, fucking mesmerized.

“Such a tight little pussy this is, Y/n. All for me.” He pants near your ear, sliding back until the tip remains and plunged back in, Sweat beaded his skin, falling on your back. Your pussy clenched around him involuntarily, still pulsing from your release, He set a brutal pace. His hips pistoned forward relentlessly, the bed creaks under you both, along with banging of the headboard—thud, thud, thud. “Did you like me begging for you, hmm? You think you can get under my skin, huh?” You clutch the sheets, “hngh-oh my-God, please—Jungwon.”

The sound of skin slapping echoes the room, “Please what? want me to go harder? want me to breed this cunt? want me to fuck you so deep you feel me in your fucking throat?” He rasps, pounding into you as each thrust of his hips makes your body go up, up, and up. Jungwon leans down, his weight pressing you deeper into the mattress, as he reaches around to rub your clit.

“Going around meeting other guys, do you think i don’t know what game you’re playing?” You shake your head before you could form a coherent response his cock drags along your g-spot, making both of you moan out. You were in such euphoria that all of the pleasure almost hurt. Your hips bucked wildly on their own towards jungwon.

“It's my cock you come all over. Even when you wanna meet other guy’s. It's my name you fucking scream.” Every word makes you grip his hands behind tighter, the angle, the frustration, the control, he's destroying you. “And don’t let me find out who he was in the wrong way, doll. You won’t like what that’ll turn me into.” Jungwon growled. His hips never faltered, pistoning forward with that relentless force, thick shaft dragging along your inner walls.

Every withdrawal pulled a whine from you, your pussy clenching greedily around the retreating length, only to be slammed back full when he buried himself to the hilt. “Would fuck you anywhere in this house. Every room, even your brother’s…You’d probably enjoy that, wouldn’t you?” his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, “Answer me, doll.”

“Yes—Jung—wo-won, please…wanna c—cum, cum inside me, wanna be full.” Jungwon’s expression turns feral, God he loves you so much. “Yeah? can’t even talk properly, so cock hungry on my dick, you forgot how to speak huh? Fucking slut.” You nod, and when he hits your g-spot again, you both come at the same time, his seed spilling inside you, dripping down your thighs as he pulls back then says, “All mine.” before shoving his cum back inside you till he’s satisfied you’ve taken all of it.

Jungwon pulls out, the sudden loss of him making your body tip forward. Your arms give out as you drop onto the bed, sheets twisting beneath you while his grip slips from your skin. The mattress dips as he shifts back, leaving you sprawled there, breath uneven, warmth lingering where he’d just been.

Jungwon waits until your breathing steadies, the he gets up from the bed, He disappears briefly, returning with something warm and damp, kneeling beside you on the bed. His touch is careful as he cleans you up. He doesn’t say much, just a quiet “Hold on,” when you shift.

The contrast almost makes you laugh because minutes ago, he was rough, fucking you like a beast now he’s gentle. That’s why you love him.

No matter how he is with everyone else, how rough around the edges whether it’s the way he talks, or the way he takes over when he wants something — he’s never careless with you when it matters.

There’s a difference, with everyone else, he’s confident….almost intimidating you could say. But with you, in the normal moments — the in-between ones, he’s careful, he checks in. Jungwon has always payed attention to small things. He adjusts without you asking.

God. You love this man and he doesn’t even know it. Not yet.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯—

This went on for days. Then weeks and within a blink of an eye, a month had passed. A whole month of Jungwon.

A month of tangled sheets, late nights, rushed kisses against closed doors. A month of him fucking you like he’d memorized every inch of your body. A month of sex that didn’t just feel good in the moment, it stayed in the aftereffects, in the way you walked the next day.

Everything felt right but wrong in a way you couldn’t fucking explain. It was good, duh, obviously it was good. Yet something underneath it all felt off. Jungwon wasn’t distant exactly.

He still replied when you texted. Still showed up when you asked him to come over. Still met you halfway when you both decided to sneak out for late drives or stupid midnight convenience store runs but he never texted first anymore, not once.

At first, you told yourself you were overthinking it. Maybe he was busy, maybe smth was stressing him out or maybe he just wasn’t the texting type. But a week passed, then another. No random “what are you doing?” No teasing messages. No late-night “come over.”

Almost like a ghost and that’s when it started crawling under your skin. Did he get bored already? No. That couldn’t be it.

You refused to let your brain settle on that explanation cus hey….you knew what you had. You felt it every time he touched you, every time he pulled you close and muttered “good girl” against your ear, everytime he whispered that you were his, that you belonged to him. People don’t say shit like that and just… get bored. Right?

You still felt him sometimes, phantom touches, his hands on your waist, the weight of him behind you. The feel of his length hitting every spot inside you that curled your toes, the sound of his voice low in your ear.

Fucking bastard, all those promises said in the dark, just to pull back like this? No. He didn’t disappear. He’s just busy. You repeated it so often it started sounding believable. Your brother, on the other hand, wasn’t buying any of it.

Heeseung had been watching you sensed it when he looked between the two of you more now, or the way he’d go quiet mid-conversation if the two of you stood too close.

Fuck he even confronted yoy about it one evening when you were sprawled across the couch scrolling while your mom moved around the kitchen, the smell of dinner filling the house. Heeseung dropped down on the armrest beside you, crossing his arms.

“So,” he started casually. You didn’t look up. “So what?” You said, “What’s going on between you and Jungwon?” Your head snapped up so fast you nearly choked on air. “Wh—what? Nothing’s going on.” He stared at you, unimpressed. “Yeah,” he scoffed. “Sure. And I’m a ballerina.”

“You’re actually insane.” You rolled your eyes, trying to look offended instead of exposed. “Am I?” he shot back. “Because you two look at each other like you’re hiding a body somewhere.”

Your stomach dropped. God please don’t catch on. “That’s dramatic,” you muttered. He leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough so your mom wouldn’t hear. “If he’s fucking around with you, I swear to God—”

“Relax,” you cut him off quickly, heart pounding for a completely different reason now. “Nothing’s happening.” He studied your face, “Don’t forget that you grew up infront of me, y/n. We both know you can’t lie for shit.” He said flatly making you force a laugh. “You’re paranoid.”

But when he finally stood up and walked away, the room didn’t feel normal anymore. Because if Heeseung was noticing? Then something had definitely changed. And you had no fucking clue whether Jungwon was pulling away… or preparing to walk…away??

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯—

On the other side of this mess, Jungwon wasn’t handling it any better. If anything, he was spiraling. The silence he forced on himself felt like withdrawal. His mind wouldn’t shut the fuck up. Every quiet second was filled with you — the absence of your touch, the absence of your laugh, the absence of the way you’d look at him like he was something worth choosing.

He hadn’t realized how used to you he’d gotten. Used to you sitting too close, used to your hands on him, used to your voice softening whenever you moaned his name, used to the way your eyes would blink up at him — beautiful in a way that made his chest tighten.

He was starving, starving to see you, starving to hear your voice, starving in ways that had nothing to do with sex — though God knew he missed that too, missing being inside you, missed the way you’d fall apart under him, the way you’d cling to him like he was the only solid thing in the room but it wasn’t just physical.

It was you and that was the fucking problem. He knew the second he crossed that line with you — really crossed it — that there was no heaven waiting for him, not after the things he thought about when it came to you, not after the way he wanted to keep you, posses you, mark you as his in ways that went far beyond logic.

If he was going to hell, fine, as long as you ruled beside him. That was the sick part. But this feeling growing in his chest now? It wasn’t just lust or anything nor was it ego. It was something heavier.

He realized it when Jay said it out loud. “Bro, I think you should stop meeting y/n.” The words hit harder than expected. Jungwon had told Jay everything, not the details but enough. Enough to admit he liked you, that it wasn’t just messing around. That it had gone too far. Jay didn’t judge him. If anything, he looked almost serious.

“You need to tell her,” Jay had said. “Before it turns into something ugly. If you love her, say it.” Love damn the word stuck…and then Heeseung made it worse cause Heeseung didn’t yell or threaten. That would’ve been easier. He just looked at him.

“Stay away from my sister.” How the fuck was he supposed to ignore that? Heeseung wasn’t just your brother, He was his hyung, his friend, the person who had trusted him enough to bring him into his house, into his family.

“Y/n is too good for you,” Heeseung said quietly. “Too innocent for this world. You know she’s different than us.” Jungwon’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “Yes, hyung.”

He saw it then — the way hope drained from his own reflection in Heeseung’s eyes, the way something darker replaced it. Heeseung sighed, running a hand through his hair. “As much as I hate admitting it… she’s never been as happy as she is with you. Do you get what that means?”

He did. He understood the second you told him you trusted him with everything, the second you fell asleep against him without hesitation, the second you looked at him like he wasn’t dangerous.

“Jungwon,” Heeseung continued, softer now. “I’m not trying to tear you apart. But she’s too real for this world. Too sensitive.”

Jungwon nodded. He knew. That was exactly why he was stepping back. Because you weren’t built for half-love. You weren’t built for secrecy and control and the darkness that followed him around like a shadow. You were made to be loved—and he did, honestly. But jungwon was dangerous.

He was selfish, Obsessive, possessive in ways that scared even him. He closed his eyes and there you were again. Always there, in every fucking thought, in every quiet moment, in every decision he tried to make without you.

How was he supposed to stop? How do you stop loving someone after four years of watching them grow? After memorizing their habits? After noticing the way they frown when they’re concentrating or the way they laugh when they’re actually happy?

There was no going back from a girl like you.

Jungwon was dangerous. He knew that. He carried darkness comfortably throughout his entire life that he could live with it.

You, on the other hand, felt like smth untouched. Not weak, but genuine. Soft in the ways that mattered, honest in ways he had forgotten how to be.

Two worlds that were never meant to collide. And yet you did like fate didn’t give a damn. You walked into his life and ruined him without even trying.

Now he was stuck between two choices: Let you go and feel like he was tearing his own skin off. Or keep you and risk destroying something pure with his own hands. The worst part? He didn’t know which option was more selfish cause no matter how much he tried to convince himself he was protecting you… Every night, he still reached for his phone, still typed your name only to erase it before hitting send.

And tonight, Jungwon was going to confront you. He was going to stand in front of you and finally say every fucked-up, buried, aching thing he’d been swallowing for years. He was going to tell you how you ruined him in the best and worst ways, how loving you felt like setting himself on fire just to keep you warm and then he was going to walk away from your life… probably.

Probably. Because even as he rehearsed the goodbye in his head, he knew he was a liar.

Walking away didn’t mean disappearing. It didn’t mean not knowing where you were, who you were with, whether you were smiling or crying. He’d still keep track of you, quietly, from a distance. Making sure you were safe, making sure no one ever hurt you. He’d never stop watching over you — even if he had to do it in silence.

He told himself it was for your own good. That you deserved something softer. Someone who wouldn’t drag you into the dark with him.

But God, the thought of you moving on — of you laughing with someone else, letting someone else hold you made something feral twist inside his chest.

Tonight he’d confess, tonight he’d break both your hearts. And tomorrow… he’d pretend he could survive it.

It had been raining since evening.

The news had predicted it in the morning, so you stayed in all day, curled up in your room while the sky turned darker by the hour. By midnight the rain hadn’t slowed. It poured even more, tapping against your windows, sliding down the glass in restless streams. The whole house smelled like wet soil drifting in through the cracks — your favorite smell in the world. Earthy.

Heeseung was out, probably yelling at his screen while playing his shitty Valorant with his friends. It was almost 12:30. You yawned, rubbing your eyes, staring out at the streetlights blurring under the rain. For a second, you wondered what Jungwon was doing.

And then the doorbell rang making you frown, “Who the hell…?” You didn’t think much of it. Probably Heeseung, forgetting his keys like always. You walked downstairs slowly, the house dim and quiet. You unlocked the door and pulled it open.

You blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. Your mouth fell open, there he was—Jungwon stood there.

Soaked, his hair plastered to his forehead, his shirt clinging to his skin. Rain dripping from his jaw. His chest rising slowly, heavily but it was his eyes that made your stomach tighten. Dark under the rain.

“Jungwon—” Before you could finish, his hand wrapped around your wrist and he pulled you outside. The door shut behind you with a sharp click. The rain swallowed the world.

You stood there, breath caught, as his hands slid to your waist. Like if he loosened his grip for even a second, you’d disappear. Rain soaked through your clothes instantly. You didn’t move, didn’t protest. You missed him, you missed him so goddamn much.

His fingers traced up your arms slowly,sending shivers down your spine. Even through the cold rain, his touch burned. Jungwon pressed his forehead to yours, his breath ghosting your lips.

He inhaled deeply, like he could still smell you through the storm. “Tried…” he muttered. You swallowed, gripping his wrists. “Jungwon, we need to get inside—” His hand tightened around your wrist just enough to make you hiss. “Tried so fucking hard to stay away from you.”

The rain fell harder, as if the sky wanted to drown the moment. You both stood there like a tragic love story with no ending written. His heart pounded so loud you could feel it through his chest. He looked at you like he was memorizing you — like this was the last time.

“Then why are you avoiding me?!” you demanded, voice shaking. He let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh, bitter, broken. “Because I can’t have you,” he said. “I’m forcing myself to keep away. Starving myself of you because I’m not good enough. Even though all I want— all I need— is for you to run into my arms… I have to keep my distance.”

Your chest cracked open, you looked at him in his eyes, the ones you found beautiful and fell in love with shimmered with tears before they hardened—and your hope died.

“You’re selfish.” The word hit you harder than the rain. “What?” you whispered, where did this even come from? “You’re selfish,” he repeated, eyes burning. “Because you look at me like I’m something worth saving and you keep choosing me when you deserve better and how you’d follow me straight to hell if I asked you to. That’s selfish. You don’t get to throw your life away on someone like me.”

What the fuck was he saying? After weeks of no contact, this was the first shit that came out of his mouth? That was his grand return? Not an apology, or an explanation, not even a simple “I missed you.” Just this cryptic, self-sacrificing bullshit that didn’t even make sense.

You stare at him like he’d lost his damn mind. He disappears, leaves you checking your phone like an idiot, leaves you replaying every touch, every word, every “you’re mine” he whispered against your skin and now he stands in front of you acting like he’s some tragic hero trying to save you from himself? Save you from what? From loving him? From choosing him?

You felt your chest tighten, anger mixing with hurt until you couldn’t tell which one was stronger.

“Me? Selfish?” you shouted, tears mixing with rain. “I choose you. I always choose you. I’m still choosing YOU! I gave up everything for you — because of you! and you’re calling me selfish?!”

“I didn’t tell you to,” Jungwon snapped. Silence crashed down between you….His words made you laugh— a broken, disbelieving sound. if he was going to walk away, fine. At least have the guts to say it straight. Don’t act like you’re doing this for me when you’re the one who pulled me into this mess in the first place.

After everything — after the way he held you like you were the only thing keeping him sane, this was what you got?

Jungwon stood in front of you, still holding your hands in his. His heart pounded so violently it felt like a drum echoing through the storm, and for a second he swore he could hear yours too — matching it, beat for beat. Maybe you were the same rhythm, maybe you were the same damn heart split into two bodies, forced to stand on opposite sides of a line neither of you drew.

Well at least he knew you were the beat to his heart. You were in his blood, beating in his fucking chest like you owned it. The only way you’d ever leave was when that heart stopped. You were his gravity, his entire fucking planet, the force that kept him from drifting into the dark. Without you, he wasn’t just lost — he was nothing.

His thumb pressed into the curve of your hip, His wet hair clung to his forehead, messy, making his eyes look even more unreadable. But his touch betrayed him. His hand on your waist trembled — barely.

Rain streamed down his face, but he didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. His hands trembled where they slid from your fingers to your waist, gripping you.

You could feel the heat of him even through the cold. Water ran down your face, over your lips, down your neck, but he didn’t look away, didn’t blink. He simply stared at you, stared your lips, your eyes, took in every detail of yours like this is the last time he’d be meeting you.

His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him until there was no space left. Until you felt him on your inner thigh, you gasp but swallowed when both of your lips grazed eachother—electric. A whisper of a touch that sent heat rushing through you both. His hand on your waist tightened instinctively. Your noses nudged again as you adjusted, forehead touching.

Then his lips pressed to yours properly, moving against yours slower, this wasn’t rushed like you both do when you’re having sex. It had a deeper meaning, his tongue nibbled at your bottom lip making you whimper, memorizing the shape of your mouth.

Your noses brushed again, rainwater slipping between your cheeks, but neither of you pulled away. His thumb traced against your side while his other hand kept yours locked with his, fingers tightening whenever you moaned into his mouth. When you parted your lips slightly, he exhaled into you, shaky, breath before kissing you deeper.

When he finally pulled back, a string of saliva connecting you both. His forehead rested against yours, lips still brushing yours as his chest rose up and down.

“This is a sin,” he whispered, voice barely audible over the storm.

“Then drop to your knees and worship me,” you shot back automatically, aching desperation cause you would follow Jungwon anywhere. To the edge of the world, to the fiery gates of hell. You’d burn beside him if he just reached for your hand and asked.

Your breathing faltered when jungwon let loose of your waist, your heart sinking down as you realised what this meant. You bit your lips, finally shooting out the words you thought you’d never say to him.

“Jungwon… go home,” you said softly. “As you said, this is over. Go home. We’re done.” Your vision blurred, you wanted to cry, Though not like this, not with him standing infront of you, staring. But you couldn’t, as you’d never really been able to hide who you truly were from Jungwon.

His eyebrows pulled together like you’d stabbed him. “Home?” he repeated.

“You’re my home.”

Two people standing in the rain, hearts beating the same rhythm, pretending they could survive apart.

Another week passed. No Jungwon. No texts. No No “are you okay?” Nothing, lol, silly you. What’d you even expect?

At first you told yourself you wouldn’t cry over him again, how can you not? That man was your everything. You cried in the shower so no one would hear, you cried into your pillow at 2 a.m, you cried quietly while staring at your phone, hating yourself for still hoping it would light up with his name.

By the end of the week, the tears weren’t dramatic anymore, they became exhausting. Your lungs felt heavy. You weren’t heartbroken in a loud way , you were hollowed out. A walking, blinking fucking zombie.

Heeseung noticed, of course he did. He always notices Your mom tried cooking your favorite food. Your dad awkwardly suggested a movie night, Heeseung even brought his friends over, hoping the noise and chaos would pull you out of your head for a bit. Laughter filled the living room, loud teasing — all of it deliberately exaggerated just to get a reaction out of you.

And he was there too. The second you heard Jungwon’s voice in the room,smth inside you snapped.

“Y/n! Come on, why is our princess so sad? What for?” Sunoo called sweetly from the couch, trying to make you smile. You stepped into the hallway just in time to see Jungwon walk through the door behind the others, hands in his pockets, like he hadn’t ripped your heart out and left it bleeding for seven fucking days.

Your vision blurred, this fucking bastard. You hated the way he still made your heart race. So, you stood up so abruptly your chair scraped harshly against the floor. No one even had time to react before you were walking away up the stairs, into your room, slamming the door shut hard enough to shake the walls.

A minute later there was a knock. “Y/n,” with Heeseung’s voice following it. “Why are you like this? Talk to me.”

You yanked the door open, eyes red, chest heaving. “Not like you’d fucking understand, Heeseung. Get the fuck out of my room.”

The words came out sharper than you intended venomous, even but you were drowning and he was the closest thing to blame. You saw it immediately. The way your brother’s expression cracked.

Heeseung had never hurt you, never let anyone hurt you. He’d always been your shield. But this time… he knew. He knew what he’d said to Jungwon, knew the conversation that had happened behind his back and watching you fall apart because of it was eating him alive.

“Y/n, if this is about—” he started, You grabbed the nearest cushion and threw it at him. “Get. The. Fuck. Out.” Your voice broke on the last word.

For a second, he just stood there. Guilt pressing into his lungs, wishing he could rewind time and take back the warning, take back the brotherly protectiveness that might’ve cost you your happiness.

He swallowed, nodded once, and stepped out, heading downstairs, the atmosphere shifted the second he returned . His friends looked at him expectantly.

“What’d she say?” Sunghoon asked. Heeseung let out a humorless breath. “Told me to get the fuck out.” Ni-ki clicked his tongue. “Oh. Damn.”

There was an uncomfortable silence before Jake leaned forward, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hyung… there’s a party the day after tomorrow. You know, at Minjae’s place? Bring her. Maybe she just needs a distraction. A change of scene.”

Heeseung hesitated, he didn’t want to push you. But he also couldn’t stand watching you fade like this. “…Yeah,” he finally muttered, nodding slowly. “Maybe.”

Upstairs, you sat on the floor with your back against the door, listening to the muffled sounds of laughter below and hating yourself because even now, even after everything, the only thing you wanted was to hear Jungwon come upstairs and knock.

The day of the party rolled in faster. You had said no to your brother. But Heeseung had the persistence of a mosquito.

“Please,” he had groaned for the tenth time, leaning against your door. “You’ve been rotting in here for a week. Just come. If you hate it, we’ll leave.”

“I do hate it,” you muttered from your bed.

“Y/n.”

“What.”

“Don’t make me beg.”

“You’re already begging.” Eventually, purely out of annoyance and not because you wanted to go, you agreed just so he’d shut up.

You texted Eunchae. Now she was in your room like a stylist, aggressively flipping through your closet. “Nope. Too sad. Too ‘I still cry at night.’ Absolutely not.”

“Eunchae—” You voice cuts in, “Nuh uh,” she cut you off, gasping as she yanked out a dress. “We need something hot. Like revenge-hot. Make-him-regret-everything hot.” She held it up like it was a sacred artifact, the dress was Black, tight, Halter neck, backless, high slit on the side.

You’re insane.” You said while staring at the dress, she narrowed her eyes. “Exactly.” Ten minutes later, you were in it. The fabric hugged every curve. The slit showed just enough leg. Your heels clicked sharply against the floor as you stepped out. Eunchae froze mid-sentence. “…Oh.” You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

She placed a hand over her heart. “If I wasn’t straight, this would be my villain origin story.” You snorted and then you laughed which startled even you. Eunchae exhaled dramatically, shoulders sagging in relief. “There she is. That’s my best friend. You look so pretty when you smile, you idiot.” You rolled your eyes but your chest felt lighter than it had all week. When you walked downstairs, Heeseung looked up from his phone — and visibly melted. “That’s it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You should smile more.”

“Shut up,” you said, but you were smiling. He patted Eunchae’s shoulder. “Take care of my sister.” Eunchae flashed him her middle finger. “I always do.”

The party was loud, Music vibrating through your ribs. Heeseung’s friends immediately hyped you up. “Okay, who is she?” Jay said as he saw you walking towards their gang. “Y/n?? Since when do you look like that?” Jake clutch his heart, “You trying to kill someone tonight?” Sunghoon said while passing you a drink. You laughed, brushed it off, accepted the drink. For a while, you forgot.

Until your eyes did what they’d been trained to do, you look for him across the room, then you found him.

Jungwon. Across the room. With a girl. She was laughing at something he said, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Your stomach dropped so fast it felt like freefall. Wow. It’s been a week and he already replaced you?

You scoffed, grabbed the nearest drink, and downed half of it. Eunchae followed your line of sight. “…Oh wow. What a fucking asshole.”

“I don’t care,” you said flatly, rolling your tongue. She looked at you. “Yeah, sureeee.”

“I literally don’t.” You finished your cup. “He can do whatever he wants.” Eunchae nods, “Mmhm.”

“He’s irrelevant.”

“Right.”

“He’s looking at you, by the way.” Your hand paused mid-reach for another drink. “What?” You questioned, Eunchae smirked before replying. “Glanced at you like five times already.” You didn’t turn but as soon as she said it, you felt his stare burning into your back.

The alcohol started to warm your veins. Each gulp grew easier, the noise of the party soon blurring at the edges, bass vibrating through your heels, through your bones. Your fingers tightened around the plastic cup as condensation dripped down onto your knuckles.

Fine. If he could move on in a week, so could you. You let a guy pull you into the crowd. He was decent-looking, smelled like cologne and bad decisions. You danced with him, swaying yours with his. He moved behind you, hands resting on your waist. At first, it was fine. Then his hands slid lower to your hips till they settled behind and squeezed your ass. You stiffened. “Hey— don’t.”He leaned closer, breath hot near your ear. “Relax. I know you’re enjoying this.”

“I said don’t.” You tried to move forward, but his grip tightened. From the corner of your eye, you saw Jungwon, but he was alone, the girl was gone. He was leaned back against the wall, cigarette rested between his fingers, the tip glowing orange every time he inhaled. Smoke curled slowly from his lips, dissolving into the air. His gaze never left you.

Not once. He dragged in another slow inhale, cheeks hollowing lightly, eyes dark. The smoke left his mouth in a steady stream as he tilted his head, watching you dance with another man.

The guy’s hand squeezed your ass again, you shoved harder. “Let go.” You glared, “Don’t act shy now—” Suddenly his body jerked backward.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you fucking dickface?” Jungwon’s voice cut through the music like a blade. The guy stumbled, regaining his balance. “Bro, chill. She was dancing with me.” He clarified. “Touch her again,” Jungwon said low, terrifyingly calm, “and I’ll break your fucking hands.”

“Who even are you?” the guy snapped, trying to shove him, wrong move. Jungwon shoved him back harder. “The one telling you to keep your filthy hands off her.” Then the other guy swings his arm first, big mistake lol. They crashed into a table. Their body falling down with a loud thud as music faltered. Jungwon moved — fist connecting with the guy’s jaw.

The guy staggered, cursing, swinging once more but Jungwon ducked, drove his shoulder into him, forcing him against the wall. His cigarette dropped from his fingers but he caught it again between two knuckles, still lit. The guy cursed. “She was dancing with me!”

“And she told you to stop,” Jungwon growled. Then in a horrifying second, Jungwon pressed the burning tip of his cigarette to the guy’s cheek.

“She’s mine,” he muttered, voice dark. “Get your filthy fucking hands off her.” He pulled the cigarette away and punched him again, this time harder. The guy collapsed to the floor, clutching his face. People were shouting now…Someone tried to grab Jungwon’s shoulder but he shrugged them off. He stood over the guy, chest rising slowly, knuckles smeared red, smoke still curling from the cigarette between his fingers.

“Stop it, will you?” Your voice wasn’t dramatic, not yelling the way girls did in movies. Jungwon’s eyes lifted and locked on you. Your eyes were blank almost emotionless.

Heeseung pushed through the crowd. “What happened?” Then he saw Jungwon’s knuckles. Blood smeared across them. “…Okay, what the fuck?” Heeseung breathed. Eunchae appeared beside you. “Oh my god.”

“I’ll take her home,” Jungwon said, not taking his eyes off you. You frowned. “The fuck?”

“I’m not going home,” you snapped. “Who said I want to go home? Especially not with you.”

“She’s tired,” Jungwon cut in smoothly. “I’m taking her.” He looked at Heeseung. There was smth in his expression which was probably why heeseung said yes. “O-okay,” Heeseung muttered. “Yeah. Take her home.” Your head whipped toward him. “The fuck? I’m not going home!”

Jungwon looked at you and glared as his voice dropped lower. “You’re not staying here.” Who is he to decide that? “And you don’t get to decide that.” His jaw tightened. “He touched you.”

“So? I handled it.”

“No, you didn’t.” Your eyes flashed the second Jungwon’s fingers wrapped around your wrist. His grip was tight— firm enough to make you wince as he pulled you forward without asking, The warmth from the fight was still radiating off him, knuckles raw, jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked beneath his skin. “Jungwon—” you tried, digging your heels slightly into the floor.

This asshole didn’t stop, dragged you through the crowd, bodies parting instinctively at the look on his face. Music thumped, people whispered, but none of it mattered. His hand stayed locked around your wrist. You tried to twist free once. It was useless and soon gave up as you were no match for jungwon. Not when adrenaline was still pumping through his veins.

His grip tightened again when you resisted, warning you. Behind you, Heeseung blinked slowly, rubbing a hand down his face as he watched you both push toward the exit. “…Here goes nothing,” he muttered under his breath, already bracing himself for whatever might happen.

“Arghh, let me go! Jungwon—” you hissed, trying to dig your heels into the pavement as he dragged you across the parking lot. The cold night air hit your flushed skin, His grip never loosened. If anything, it tightened every time you resisted.

His car was parked all the way at the end of the lot, away from the lights and all people. When you reached the passenger side, he finally stopped only to push you lightly towards the door, angling his head at it. “Get in the car.” You stared at him in disbelief, chest heaving. “The fuck did you just say?” His jaw flexed. “Get. In.”

You scoffed, almost laughing. “Are you insane? You’re the one who told me to stay away from you. You disappear for a week. A whole fucking week. And now you think you can just— what? Drag me out here and order me around?”

You could feel the rain from that night still lingering in the air, the asphalt smelling faintly wet. “A full week of crying over you,” you continued, voice cracking despite yourself. “A full week of feeling like I wasn’t enough and….and now you want me to listen to you? Just because you snap your fingers?”

Your heart was racing, not just from anger but eve from him, from the way his voice had dropped inside ur head when he said she’s mine. The words echoed in your head whether you liked it or not. She’s mine. It hurt.

Because he didn’t act like you were his when he walked away, instead he decide to be a coward, didn’t act like you mattered when he ignored you. Didn’t act like you were “his” when you were alone in your room crying into your pillow. And yet— The way he looked at you. The way he couldn’t take his eyes off you in that dress. Your chest tightened painfully.

“I’m not something you can pick up when it suits you,” you said more quietly now. “You don’t get to disappear and then show up acting possessive.” He stepped closer. His hands braced against the car door on either side of you, caging you in. "You don't own me," you said staring into his eyes. He lowered his voice, almost reverently. "No... but you own every part of me." His breathing was still uneven from the fight, knuckles scraped and smeared faintly with blood.

“You think I wanted to stay away?” he asked, voice low. “Then why did you?” You said, looking up and saw the way his eyes looked at you as if you were everything. “That’s exactly why you’re getting in the car.”

And for a second — you hated how your heart betrayed you by racing harder at the thought of being alone with him. “No. I’m not getting in the car—” Your voice came out steady at first, but it broke at the end from Jungwon’s fingers closed around your throat, pulling you closer to him by your neck, thumb resting just beneath your jaw as his grip tilted your face up toward him.

“Get inside or i’m fucking you out here in the parking lot.” Your breath hitched and your insides throbbed at his words. How dare he? how dare he say that—You moaned when jungwon pressed his knee to your pulsating center, already soaked. He kept the pressure of his knee, rubbing it until you were gasping near his ear. "If I want to, I could fuck you right now, and you'd walk into your house with my cum dripping down your leg and a goddamn smile on your perfect little face. You got me?"

His lips crashed into yours, rough and desperate, his mouth moving against yours. His hand slid up to the side of your face, fingers tight in your hair as he pulled you closer.

“Fuck…” he breathed against your mouth, barely pulling away before kissing you again. “Tried so hard— tried so fucking hard to stay away from you.” The words came out broken between kisses, His forehead knocked against yours for a second, breath warm against your lips, eyes completely wrecked. “But I couldn’t,” he muttered, voice rough. “Could never stay away from you.”

You barely had time to breathe before he kissed you again, tongue slipping inside your mouth as he claimed you for the hundredth time, biting down on your lower lip, drawing a small sound out of you. His grip on you tightened instantly.

“I love you, y/n,” he said suddenly, the confession spilling out of him like it had been trapped there for years. “I can’t fucking pretend anymore… can’t stand there and watch anyone else touch you.” Your chest felt tight, too full, like your heart had nowhere to go with all the relief and disbelief crashing through you at once.

Jungwon let out a shaky breath and pressed his forehead to yours again, hands still holding you. “I should’ve said it a long time ago,” he murmured. “But I’m saying it now and I’m not taking it back.” His thumb brushed along your jaw before he leaned in again, “I love you, doll… baby, fuck,” he said softly against your lips. “The rest of the world can go to hell.”

Jungwon leaned down, pressing his mouth against your neck, leaving a trail of wet, messy kisses along your skin. His lips dragged slowly over the spot beneath your ear before he sucked at it, breath warm and uneven against you. “Shit—” he muttered under his breath, voice rough, almost impatient. “Say something, baby…” he whined—actually whined in ur neck, pressing another kiss there. “Say it back.”

"Do you love me, baby?” he asked.

"You...you love me?" You asked, still unsure."You doubt this?" He put your hand over his heart dramatically. "I have loved you since the moment I first saw you. You looked at me and you smiled." He grins. “But it was a smile that promised you would gut me if I crossed you. That was when I knew my heart was no longer mine."

The never-ending ache of love and sorrow, “So do you love me baby? cus i do. if I could buy you the stars, I would. If I could pull the moon down for you, l wouldn't hesitate. If I could give you a million suns, I would do it in a heartbeat." He smiles sheepishly at you. "But I can't do any of that….yet, so I'm asking if I could give you my heart instead."

Perhaps in some other life you could have refused, could have torn your hair and screamed, and made him face his choice alone. But not in this one. Jungwon would go and walk in the fire and you’d follow, even into death. "Yes," you whispered. "Yes….yes, god. Yes, i love you, you jerk." Relief broke in his face, and he reached to kiss you.

You smiled at him when he pulled back and watching you smile made his heart feel oddly warm and... glowy. Like he could stand here and soak up your happiness forever.

That sounded a little bit like heaven.

“You’re my heaven and i’m your hell.” your lips curved in a quiet laugh, the sound melting his heart in such a way he thought he’d fucking drown. "You're impossible." He nods, "Impossible not to want you.” Jungwon says as he holds your waist and kisses down your collar bone. You whimper when you feel his teeth bit down on the area above your chest, “Jungwon—we should go—” your whisper turned into a soft moan when he licks up the bite mark, “Go here?” He kisses your shoulders, glancing up at your reaction. “Or here?” then slides his hands down and touches you exactly where you needed him to.

“Hmm—” You shake your head. This was crazy, you weren’t about to have sex in public place, nah that’d be—“Look at you, already shaking at my touch.” He says, rubbing fingers in circulation motion at your dripping pussy,

“Won—oh my—we need to go—we can’t do it here.” You say between ragged breaths, jungwon chuckles, "What do you want me to do baby? You wear that little dress that shows off your legs, making me fucking crazy and jealous and then you look at me like you want me to fuck your pretty little cunt. Like you want me to fill you up. That would be crazy, though, because then you'd be sitting through the whole ride with me dripping out of you."

He leans over to kiss you, harder this time. “You taste like cigarettes.” You pant, he looks into your eyes, “I’ll quit.” He says like its smth easy to do, keeping his body hovering above yours till you feel his clothed hard-on rub you. You moan into each other’s mouth.

“You danced with another man just to make me fuck you like this, didn’t you? you dirty girl.” He hummed, “Been a bad girl, haven’t you? making me jealous….bad girls get punished and there’s nothing more than i love punishing.” his hands find your hips, lifting you up so fast you half scream. Before you could even protest, he had you lifted—Your back met the hood of his car a second later, the metal shockingly cold against your skin, stealing the air from your lungs as you dropped flat against it. The night air only made it worse, the chill of the steel pressing through the thin fabric while the warmth of his body hovered over you.

Your hands instinctively grabbed onto him as your legs came up around his waist. Thank god no one was around. The parking lot was almost completely dark, the few distant streetlights barely reaching this far, leaving the two of you tucked away in shadows.

"Jungwon—” Your voice was half-breathless surprise, hands flying to his shoulders for balance. He didn’t reply, just slipped his hands under your dress, cursing at how wet you were for him. You gripped onto him for dear life. His hands were now pressing against you in deliberate pressure which only made you grow wetter second by second. “Hmm—please.” You pleaded, hips bucking into his hands for more friction.

Jungwon cursed, “fuck, look at you. Bent over the hood of my car and dripping for me. This looks like my teenage dream.” In a second, jungwon lifted up your dress, pulled your panties down to your ankles, revealing the perfect pink flesh to his eyes as a groan followed. His fingers work to spread your pussy lips open, and out of nowhere, he pushes a finger inside your dripping cunt. You moaned at the sudden stretch, you close your eyes so hard it hurt. The way his fingers slipped so easily inside cause of how wet you were, you bet it's dripping by ur thighs by now.

Your back arches off the hood and Jungwon pins you down in place, you can't do anything but take it. "Keep those legs apart for me." he whispers, curling his fingers just right, each one of them hitting the spot that makes you cry out. “Do you like this? Being spread open and finger fucked where anyone could see you?” No one would, and if they did, jungwon would kill them first before they even walk away after seeing you like this, you were only his.

You clench tightly around his fingers and he grunts, "Jesus, fuck, baby. You know how to make a man lose his mind." He blows out a sharp exhale against your swollen lips. You fist his hair tighter. "Not just any man. You." You whimper out, “Not just any man," he repeats with a blinding possessiveness. "Me. Only fucking me.” You nod, and roll your eyes back when his fingers are pumping in and out of you at a torturous pace.

"Say you're mine," he orders and it's such a low blow when he's trapped in the cloud of lust. “Yours.” You choke out in a heartbeat, his thumb pressed on your clit, and another finger slipped inside. The extra pressure sent you over the cliff. Your vision blurred, while you caught your breath and he didn't pull his hand away until he wrung the last pulse from you. Both of his fingers start to work inside your mesh walls, finding your g- spot so quickly.

“You like that, don't you? You're sweet, and light, and good." He breathes into your ear. Before you can say anything, he leans down and spits right onto your cunt, then slides it in between your folds with his fingers and slams them in—making everything thicker and dirty as you whine you loudly. “But you like the darkness. You need it, crave it. And I'm going to give it to you."

You gripped at his hair, unable to do anything but rock your hips against his hand to stroke the fire. "Are you gonna come for me, doll?" His skilled fingers lift you higher, the orgasm curling low in your stomach. You barely nod, Jungwon smiles.

You tightened your arms around his neck and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw that made his heart twist in the strangest way.

Then again, nothing about his life had been normal since you came into it.

His lips press deep kisses on your neck, sucking and biting as his fingers don’t slow down their pace. “Soak my fingers like a good girl, doll.” He says, "Jungwon--fuckk-" You whine out his name, You finally let go, screaming his name out like it's the only thing you ever know, soaking his hands completely. Your legs are shaking so violently over his waist that you're glad he's holding you still.

And suddenly his mouth is on you—tongue flat, licking and sucking a stripe you as jungwon drapes your legs over his shoulders. He gasps as your liquid falls down on his face, and he holds you by the hips and pulls you down onto his face more. “Fuckfuckfucck—missed this pussy so much.” Lapping and gulping down all he can manage to. Moving his tongue up and down, tasting the mess you've made, and when his teeth tugs on your sensitive bud with his mouth—you try to get off, "No—” You shake, and try to get off. “Wonnie—baby, you’re—fuck, you’re making me feel so good.” You mange to say it out loud.

God, this woman. He thought, You had no idea the things he would do for you.

He sucked hard on your clit, your breathing grew choppier. His hands gripped your hips tighter, holding you in place as he feasted on you. He was lost in it, completely pussy-drunk. “So sweet—hmm—mine, this cunt is only mine to fuck.” He pulled away to breathe before eating you out again.

His lips sealing around your clit as he sucked hard then releasing with a wet pop only to lap your juices coating his tongue, tasting every inch, every drop of slick on his tongue. His lips moved against you, his tongue inside you—fucking you with it in slow, deep thrusts and pulling back to circle your clit, hollowing his cheeks around your flesh, flicking up and down and the sharp graze of his teeth scraped the bundle of nerves. The sensation echoed in the healed bite mark on your neck. It was too much. you screamed as you shattered into his mouth—only for him to gulp down every single drop of your come.

“Shit—you always taste so fucking good.”

Again, you barely made it through his door before Jungwon grabbed you, hauling you up over his shoulder, the room spun for a second as he carried you across it. A moment later he dropped you back onto the bed.

The sheets rustled beneath you while he loomed over the edge of the bed, the air in the room suddenly feeling tighter.

Impatiently, you rushed to pull your dress over your head, fingers fumbling in your hurry. Jungwon stopped you before you could get it off completely, his hand closing around your waist, he was already naked, his shirt and pants and boxers pooled at the floor. Your mouth watered when your gaze flicked down to his cock—already hard, flat up against his stomach.

“You don’t take this off.” He said it while tugging your dress back down your body, the fabric sliding back into place. At the same time, Jungwon bent to grab one of the heels you’d kicked off earlier. The other was still hanging from your foot, barely on, and he caught the loose one from the floor before straightening.

He carefully lifted your leg up, one hand steady under your ankle as he just held it there before leaning down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your skin. Then he slid the heel back onto your foot, guiding it into place.

“You wanted to make me jealous in this? then i’ll fuck you in it.” Jungwon muttered out, your heart jumped at his words and you bite back a smile.

His hands came down to part your legs apart, no underwear this time, he told you to sit through the entire ride home with your come dripping down your legs and you did. His gave his dick a few pumps up and down, eyes never leaving yours as he settled between your legs, dragging his tip against your bare, slick folds with every forward motion. Both of you moaned, jungwon was taking this too slow and you were dying to have him inside you. It’s been too long.

The friction was maddening; intentional pressure guiding over your clit in desperate need, head nudging right where you ached most without pushing inside. “Please—want you inside.” His only response back was a guttural moan when he felt you grind into him, chasing the pressure. Already shaking, hands fisted at the sheets.

Jungwon yanked your dress a bit up till your stomach, groaning each time you pulsed around his leaking tip. He was humping you like a desperate dog in heat but not thrusting inside yet. “You want me inside you? want me to breed your pretty pussy until you can’t walk? until your whole stomach is filled with my load, hmm?” He gripped your jaw, forcing your gaze on him. “Don’t worry, doll. Gonna fuck you. Gonna be inside you—” Jungwon grabbed both of your wrists and had them pinned above your head. His other hand rested at your hips as he pulled your body down on him, leaning down and pressed his forehead to yours.

“Need to feel you’re mine but I need it to mean something. No more running. No more disappearing. I want you to take me, knowing it's us. That we don't break again." Precum mixed with your slick in thick, sticky ropes as he rocked his hips forward again, the tip of his dick going inside before pulling back. This was just pure torture.

“Want to fuck you with those heels digging into my back.” After—what felt like half an hour of grinding and teasing and torturing, Jungwon finally pushed inside you in one thrust, sinking to the hilt in a shuddering motion. You screamed, and he moaned your name, “That's my girl, you take what i give you and you like it."

My girl. Heaven was a place and it was yang jungwon’s bed.

You can't even get words out anymore—just broken and desperate moans, screams. You shake your head, sniffling, half sobbing. "Gonna bury my cock in so deep you won't be able to sit tomorrow without wincing." His hands tightened digging into your flesh, urging you to take what you wanted.

Your walls fluttered and clenched around him as he pulled out slowly, letting you feel every thick inch dragging out of you with torturous friction. “Your pussy always grips me so tight like it doesn’t want me to let go, fuck—gonna breed you, gonna fill myself so deep in you and you’ll take it like a good girl. Yeah? Fuck…i love you.”

He said, patting your cheek with his free hand. Your head goes blank under it, every thought stripped away until all that's left is the way his dick is poking the most sensitive parts of you. “Oh my—goddddd—jungwon.” He scoffed like he expected it, “Just me, doll, just me.” The feeling of him inside you is addicting, having jungwon fill you up so good, like every inch of his cock was made for your cunt, and your cunt only.

His hips snapped forward so hard, your body shoved higher up the mattress. The wet, filthy slap of skin on skin rang out louder than anything else in the room—other than your moans and his groans. Jungwon caressed the bare curves of your ass before spanking you.

Jungwon drives himself hard now, fingers digging into your thighs as he thruts himself so deep inside you that you fear you'll explode with the perfection of it. "Fuck," He says, eyes on you, "Look at you. Look at how perfect you are under me." he moved his thumb to press down on your clit, rubbing and rolling on it. "uunngh—” you moaned softly, teething at the double pleasure you were receiving.

He holds your right leg and pulls it over his shoulders, withdrawing to the tip only to slam it back in, The position splayed you open wider, changing the angle just enough to sink even deeper. You arched off the mattress, he could feel everything; slick walls clinging to him, your insides clenching around his hard cock trying to keep him inside.

Your heels dug into his back, the sharp tips pressing into his skin, dragging as they scratched against him with every thrust. You close your eyes, tears threatening to fall because of the overwhelming pressure of his cock poking your every inch. You were close. “Scream for me, tell me how much you love my cock in you.” he growls against you, voice thick with hunger, the vibration dragging another cry from your throat.

Obliterated in the way he stretches you open, In the way he groans as another wave of slickness coats his fingertips when he grazes his thumb over your overstimulated cit, giving you just enough pressure to bring you closer to the edge. Jungwon finally pulls your dress over your head, tossing it to the side.

Revealing your perfect round breasts he’d been dying to see before leaning down and sucking one of your nipples into his lips, whining at the taste of you. He keeps sucking, rolling your nipple in his mouth as his other hand fondles with your other boob, then he bites down on the swell of your breast so hard you scream as he pounded into you so mercilessly it would've been painful had it not felt so good.

"Oh, God, I..." You sniffle. “I-I can’t—” You said as exhaustion burned through you, "You've taken worse than this. You can handle me, y/n." Your pussy fluttered wildly around jungwon’s cock and his harsh thrusts that he refused to soften. You felt like putty in his arms, fully moldable for him, and he knew it—that was the worst part. He grunted with effort, his balls slapping wetly against your ass on every plunge. Spank! Your body jolted at the sudden sharp sensation, “That was for making me jealous.” More tears fell down your cheeks as you felt his cock throb inside of you.

Jungwon lifted you again, your legs wrapping instinctively around his back as he held you up and pulled out before slamming your body down on his shaft all that while walking. In a few quick steps he carried you to the nearby window and pressed you back against it, the glass cool behind you as your body hit it with a soft thud. His grip tightened to keep you in place.

His hands clamped firmly against your back, holding you up off the ground while he adjusted his grip. In one rough motion he pulled your legs higher, wrapping them around his neck. For this fucking angle felt insane, like the both of you might crash down if his hold slipped even a little. You were completely suspended on him, trusting his strength to keep you there.

Jungwon kissed you then, harder, his mouth claiming you and his hands mapping your most sensitive zones as he fucked you towards your orgasm on the window. "I'm sure we look like a sweet couple, just enjoying the view...but they can't see your gorgeous cunt dripping pretty cum down the inside of your thighs the way I can, and they can't hear the sweet sounds you make when till you up, hmm—fuck.”

You clung to him, legs on his shoulders as he thrusted into you, hitting every part of yours as you could do nothing but moan against him and take him as deep as he can go. "For two fucking weeks, I have been losing my mind." He pulled out, “I have not held you in my arms, I have not seen you, touched you, heard your voice….god, you have no idea what you do to me, doll.” He chuckles because obsession is weird, at first you just want a glance, a touch, taste. Then greed takes over and you can’t get enough.

Your reply turned into a hoarse scream when he slid his hands on your wet folds and pinched your clit, his arm moved from where it was and ran along your breasts and up your throat to grab your chin in a vice grip. Jungwon pulled your mouth open before sliding two fingers down your tongue slowly, “Suck.” He demanded, and you exploded without warning, hard, sudden, long, ears buzzing, knees buckling, as he didn’t slow down, kept fucking you towards another orgasm.

“Scream all you can, doll. Gonna make you so sore you won't know if it's from the screaming or the fucking.” He works you with his cock, his hands gripping your hips to hold you steady, and you have to bite down on his biceps from crying out loud.

Jungwon runs his palm across your stomach, his gaze fixed where his cock is disappearing in and out of you, your come dripping down your thighs falling to the floor making his dick glisten under the light. “Hmmm—too much.” He doesn’t look up, instead, he presses his palm flat on your stomach. The pressure is so much it makes you arch your back off the window. One hand comes up to grip your jaw and force your gaze down on his dick,

“Look, look how perfect you take me, goddamnit, you’re made for me, doll.” Your vision whited out for a second as he pressed down harder, caressing the bulge of his cock poking out. “Fuck, gonna breed you—wanna put a baby in you. Shitttt, you’d look so beautiful…stomach round with my kids.” He choked out, throbbing inside your cunt, Jungwon’s hips rose to meet yours and you nearly blacked out from how good he felt inside you.

“Yeah? you want that? want me to breed you so deep you forget your own name? Want me to fill you with my kids, hmm?” Your hips jolted towards jungwon and a whine left your lips. “Yess—please.” his hand moving from your hip so he could rub circles in your swollen clit with his thumb. “Fuck, so drunk on my cock you don’t even know what you’re asking for—fuckkfuckkk.” You thought that you were all stretched out already, but Jungwon always managed to prove you wrong.

“You’d look so beautiful—belly getting round, shit i’d take care of you—both of you. Fuck, let me breed you baby, You’re all mine now, yeah?” He whined, legit. Jungwon pulled you to him so you were chest to chest, your tits meeting his bare chest, He leaned down so his lips were at your ear, his thumb at your clit not stopping its mission to help overstimulate you more. “would kiss your bump everyday….shitshit, baby, please—I love you, love you so much, please—” He moaned.

Jungwon didn’t even know what exactly he was begging for anymore. The words kept leaving his mouth before he could think them through. All he knew was the feeling clawing inside his chest — If you asked for anything, he’d give it. Anything you looked at for more than two seconds would somehow end up yours. He’d tear the world apart before letting anything make you cry.

His mind was running faster than he could control, thoughts messy. The image hit him out of nowhere, of you laughing somewhere in a kitchen, sunlight on your face, your stomach round with his child. You’d look so fucking beautiful like that, glowing, complaining about cravings while he hovered around you like a lunatic.

He could almost picture the way your hands would rest there absentmindedly, rubbing the curve. Your body would change and he knew it would drive him insane in a completely different way. Your tits would become heavier, spilling against soft fabric, the weight of it obvious when you moved. The faint lines along your stomach, the stretch marks spreading across your skin like proof of something the two of you made together.

He imagined standing behind you, hands spread over that stomach, feeling movement under his palms.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, almost angry at himself for thinking that far ahead, his hand just got tighter around your throat, squeezing at just the right places that made you feel extra cloudy and like you were floating.

Your hips bucked wildly on their own towards jungwon’s hand and that motion nearly made you black out with his cock pistoning into you, your back hitting the window behind with a thud everytime he thrusted inside. He moaned when your pussy tried its hardest to completely suck in his cock.

Now it was worse. Now he couldn’t imagine a version of his life where you weren’t tangled in it. He couldn’t stop now moreover he wouldn’t stop. Not until you were tied to him in a way that no one else could touch, not until every part of you knew you belonged with him and nowhere else.

Till death did you both apart.

Your hips still bucked, trying to get as much stimulation as possible despite it already being entirely too much. You needed more of him, needed his cock pounding into you harder. Jungwon laughed in your ear, “Fuck, gonna catch you fucking pregnant, doll. You want me to? Tell me you do, shit baby, answer me—please.” He pleaded, “Yes, won—please, fill me up—” That was enough for him to slam forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he came violently inside you, cock pulsing as thick ropes of come filled your insides, flooding you rope after rope of his cum. “Fuckkkkkk—baby, shit.” His whole body jerked forward with each spurt, hips shoving his seed deep inside your stomach.

You came right after him, walls fluttering and clenching around his entire length that was buried in you, a broken cry leaving your lips as he kissed your neck. Jungwon kept fucking you again and again and again until you were a real life worn out doll, your one leg now wrapped around his waist as he did what he promised he will.

Now you were both lying there, the tension from earlier finally settling. Your legs were tangled together under the sheets, Jungwon had one arm tucked beneath your head, his other hand tracing slow lines over your bare hip. His fingertips moved back and forth, memorizing the shape of you.

Back in his arms again.

Somehow you always ended up here. It didn’t matter how angry you got, how dramatic things became. You always found your way back to Jungwon, like some stupid gravitational pull neither of you could escape.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a second longer than necessary. When he pulled back, he was smiling—an actual relaxed smile, not the cocky one he usually wore.

You looked up at him. “I love you.”

Jungwon tilted his head slightly, needing to make sure he heard that right. He let out a slow breath through his nose. “Say that again.” he needed to hear those three words again that he’s been dying to hear all these years.

You leaned up and kissed him slowly first, dragging it out on purpose before murmuring against his lips, “I love you, Yang Jungwon.”

The second time it hit him harder. For a moment he just stared at you. If Jungwon had a little less control over himself he probably would’ve burst into tears. “I love you too, doll,” he said quietly, brushing his thumb along your side. “So fucking much.”

He paused, searching your face, wanting you to understand exactly what he meant. “Because what I feel…” he continued, voice rougher now, “it’s more than love. It’s obsession. It’s every thought dragging me back to you no matter how hard I try to walk away. Every sleepless night. Every damn heartbeat.” His mouth twitched faintly. “And that kind of thing doesn’t just disappear, baby, That lasts forever.”

Your heart sped up at his words, heat creeping into your face. “You’re insane,” you said, shaking your head while a laugh slipped out of you.

That small sound made something in his expression soften instantly. “And you’re mine,” he replied, grinning now. “So what does that make you?” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile pulling at your mouth.

Looking at you like this—eyes bright under the dim light, hair a mess, still smiling at him—Jungwon felt something dangerously close to peace.

Then your expression shifted slightly, becoming serious. You grabbed both his hands suddenly. “Promise me something.” His brows lifted. “What?” He asked, “That I don’t have to worry about you leaving again.” The question sat between you for a second.

Jungwon’s thumb brushed over your knuckles before he answered. “I promise.” You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Do you promise that you promise?” He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ.” Then he squeezed your hands. “I promise that I promise.”

The grin that spread across your face was ridiculous. Your cheeks started hurting from it but you didn’t care. You pointed a finger at him dramatically. “If you ever pull that disappearing bullshit again I swear to fuck I will lock you in a room with me and throw away the key.”

Jungwon didn’t even hesitate as a slow smirk spread across his face. “Too bad, doll,” he said. “I’d probably enjoy that.”

You groaned and shoved his shoulder, but he pulled you closer to him, tickling your sides. You laughed, breathless.

All his dreams came true tonight.

And for a while the rest of the world stopped existing.

Epilogue

Five months with Jungwon—the absolute love of your life. Five months since that night where every line that used to exist between you both snapped. The very next day he proposed properly, right in front of your brother. Jungwon standing there like he had nothing to lose, holding your hands. Heeseung’s jaw literally hit the floor as he just stared infront of him, blinking like his brain had short-circuited. Then he scoffed, ran a hand through his hair and started laughing.

“Are you serious right now?” he said. “You two are fucking insane.” Jungwon didn’t even flinch. “Yeah,” he replied calmly, squeezing your fingers. “But she’s still saying yes.” You were blushing so hard your face hurt, swatting Jungwon’s arm while Heeseung groaned dramatically.

“I knew something weird was going on, Niki muttered. “The tension was disgusting.”

Your brother was glaring but still pulled Jungwon into a hug right after, clapping his back. “Take care of her or I swear to god—”

“I will,” Jungwon said, serious in a way that shut the joke down instantly and….that was that.

When you told your parents later, it somehow turned into an even bigger mess. Your mom screamed the second the words left your mouth.

“I KNEW IT!” she shouted, pointing at you, “You couldn’t stop staring at him every time he came over!”

“Mom!” you groaned, hiding your face while Jungwon tried not to laugh beside you. “Oh my sweet babies,” she continued dramatically, grabbing both of your hands. “You have my deepest condolences.” Your dad just leaned against the counter, shaking his head with a smile.

“Honestly, good for you, honey,” he said, kissing your forehead. “Jungwon’s a good man. He’ll keep you happy.” You remember looking down shyly then, heart doing that stupid fast thing it always did around him.

Because he already was your happiness.

Now here you are months later, lying beside him in the quiet grass with nothing but the night sky above you. Thousands of stars scattered across black. The air is cool, and Jungwon’s arm is tucked behind your head while your legs are tangled together. His thumb traces lazy circles over your arm.

Jungwon quit smoking the night he promised you he would right there against your lips. That was how stupidly, hopelessly in love he was with you. Nothing in this world was allowed to hurt you, not even something as small as the smell of smoke on him.

His hyungs didn’t believe it at first.

Sunoo practically gasped when Jungwon waved off a cigarette one evening. “Wait—don’t tell me you actually quit smoking for her?” he said, staring at him, though the grin on his face gave him away.

Jungwon just laughed, smug, patting Sunoo on the shoulder. “Trust me,” he said, shaking his head lightly.

“You can only handle one addiction at a time.”

Back to present, “You’re staring again,” he murmurs. “At what?”

“Me.” You scoff softly. “Shut the fuck up.” He laughs under his breath, the sound low and warm in his chest. “You totally are.” You turn your head toward him anyway. His eyes reflect the starlight and for a second you swear your heart trips over itself.

“Maybe I am,” you mumble. “What about it?” Jungwon watches you, Your fingers drift up to his hoodie strings, playing with them. Twisting them around your fingers. “You’re cute,” he says. You groan instantly. “Don’t start.”

“What? can’t i appreciate my beautiful girlfriend?” You chuckle, “Yeah, sure.”

He leans closer suddenly and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. You shove his shoulder lightly. “Dude.” He frowns at the nickname, “What?”

“You’re annoying.” He hums, not believing you at all. His hand slides a little higher on your back, pulling you closer against him until your chin is resting on his chest.

Above you, a shooting star streaks quickly across the sky. Your eyes widen. “Holy shit—did you see that?”

“Yeah.” He says, his eyes never leaving yours. “Make a wish.” He replies immediately, “You first.” You close your eyes, squeezing them shut, hoping that’ll somehow make it work better. Jungwon watches you with the dumbest smile.

“What’d you wish for?” he asks. “I’m not telling you or it won’t come true.” You scrunch your nose up at him. “Liar. You definitely just wished for food.” You gasp. “Fuck you.” He smirks, “Now or later?” You slap his arms, He laughs again, and leans down to press a slow kiss to your forehead.

Your heart does that stupid fast thing again. “You’re staring,” you mumble. “Yeah,” he says easily. You lift your head slightly. “Why?” He shrugs a little, because come on, the answer is obvious.

“Because you’re mine.” You roll your eyes but you can’t stop smiling. “That’s cocky as hell.”

“Am I wrong?” He asks, “…unfortunately no.” He grins, victorious, and tilts your chin up with his fingers before kissing you properly this time. Slow, soft, the kind of kiss that makes your stomach flip even though you’ve kissed him a thousand times already.

When he pulls back, your noses brush. “I’m gonna marry you one day,” he says. You blink, heat rushing straight to your face. “Yeah?” you whisper, smiling.

“Yeah, doll.” He kisses you once more, this time, sealing the promise into the quiet night. Your fingers slide into his hair while you rest your forehead against his.

Above you the stars keep shining like nothing in the world could ever go wrong and right now, it honestly fucking feels like it won’t.

THE END

[wonscrchy]

still one of my best works

[elix8r]

Pink Whitney (psh) 

PAIRING: park sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRES: smut, fluff, crack, college au, friends to lovers au, brother’s best friend au, frat au 

WARNINGS: profanity, alcohol, mentions of birth control and Plan B, niki and jungwon causing chaos, one night stands, american college experience, unprotected sex (pls be safe!), mentions of pregnancy, drunk sex, frat parties, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, face-fucking, facial, and overall cuteness :)))))

SUMMARY: You had always trusted the beautiful bottle of Pink Whitney to deliver crazy fun nights with little to no hangovers in the morning. It was almost a sacred bond between you and your go-to drink. But that trust was shattered after a night that should have been like any other. Instead, you found yourself waking up in bed with your younger brother’s frat bro, and worse, narrowly avoiding pregnancy. Now, as you navigate the awkward aftermath of it all, you feel betrayed by Pink Whitney, the drink that had never let you down before. But even as you mourn the loss of that trust, you find yourself more worked up over the boy who shattered it. 

Fuck Park Sunghoon for ruining Pink Whitney for you or better yet fuck Pink Whitney for making you fall in love with Park Sunghoon.

WORD COUNT: 19k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this is definitely the fastest i’ve ever written but it’s because i had literally so much fun writing this! So many moments in this story are inspired by real life events and i have loads more of insane college stories that i will definitely be adding on to my upcoming series set in this same universe: The Frat Diaries! I really really hope you guys enjoy reading this and i love hearing feedback so feel free to send them my way! thanks for all the love so far and i’ll see you soon! 

GLOSSARY LINK  

THE FRAT DIARIES MASTERLIST

Keep reading