β£ ΰ³ cw: explicit sexual content, exes to lovers, mutual masturbation , penetrative sex, creampie, crying during sex, pet anxiety, mentions of pregnancy, artist!hyunjin, mdni
notes: in which your situationship ex hyunjin from college asks you to watch his dog for the week--and things spiral from there.
You almost donβt answer.
Your phone buzzes across the table, skittering like a beetle over the wood, and you glance at the screen with the reflex of someone who doesnβt expect surprises anymore.
Hyunjin. The name glows up at you, unfamiliar only in the way it makes your stomach twistβlike a song you havenβt heard in years but still remember every lyric to.
Itβs been months since you last spoke. Maybe a year since you last saw him. A coffee meetup that turned into wandering aimlessly through the park, talking like nothing had ever gone wrong between you, except it had. That night ended with a long hug and a promise to keep in touch that neither of you kept.
And now heβs calling.
You stare at the screen for another ring. Then another.
Then you answer.
β...Hello?β
Thereβs a beat of silence, just long enough to make you wonder if he hung up, and then:
βHey,β he says, breathless like heβd been holding it. βSorryβsorry to call out of nowhere. I didnβt know who else to ask.β
His voice hasnβt changed. Still soft in a way that wraps around your ribs. Still threaded with that low, careful tension like heβs always thinking five things at once and only saying one.
You shift in your seat, heart suddenly too loud in your chest.
βOkay,β you say slowly, warily. βWhatβs going on?β
A soft rustle comes through the lineβmaybe the jingle of keys, maybe his bracelets sliding against his wrist. You picture him pacing his apartment, the same way he used to during finals week, lip caught between his teeth, hair tucked behind one ear.
βI wouldnβt call if it wasnβt important,β he says. βAnd I get that itβs weird. Us not talking, and thenβme dropping this on you.β
You glance toward the window, try not to let your voice shake. βWhat is this, exactly?β
He hesitates. βI have to leave the city. Itβs an art residency. Last-minute. Itβsβ¦ big.β
Your stomach twists again, but this time itβs sharper. Of course itβs big. Hyunjin was always meant for something more.
You lean back in your chair, eyes tracing the rain sliding down the windowpane like itβs trying to draw an answer for you. A part of you wants to ask where he's going, what the project is, if heβs excitedβbecause of course he is, he always was, always buzzing with vision and color and a kind of hunger you never could name. But that part of you lives behind a glass wall now. Youβre not sure youβre allowed to tap on it.
So you donβt ask. You swallow the words like coins dropped into a wellβsilent, swallowed, never coming back up.
βIβm happy for you,β you say instead, and itβs almost true. βYou deserve it.β
Hyunjin exhales, and for a second you wonder if heβs smiling. βThanks. That means more than you probably think.β
It shouldn't. But you donβt say that either.
βI wouldnβt call if I didnβt really need the help,β he adds, voice dipping a little lower now, like heβs bracing for the ask to land wrong. βItβs Kkami. My sitter canceled last minute, and everyone else is either busy or allergic. You were the only person I thought of who could handle him.β
You laugh softly, mostly out of disbelief. βHandle him? Hyun, your dog hates me.β
βHe doesnβt hate you,β Hyunjin says, though thereβs something too quick in his defense, too breathlessβlike maybe heβs trying to convince himself. βHeβs just... territorial.β
You huff a dry laugh. βYeah, I remember. He tried to piss on my jeans.β
βThat was one time.β
βTwice.β
βOkay, but in his defense, they smelled like me.β
You pause. The silence that follows is sharp and sudden, the kind that cuts deep and clean. Itβs the kind of silence that remembers.
Because those jeans had smelled like himβafter that night. The last one. The one where heβd backed you against the wall of your own bedroom with his fingers still wet from your mouth, where heβd said things he probably didnβt mean and kissed you like he hated how much he did.
The night you both decidedβwithout saying itβthat it was over. That whatever βthingβ had been pulsing between you wasnβt something either of you could hold without bleeding.
And yet. Here you are. Picking at it like a scab that never healed right.
Your throat works around the memory before your voice does. You donβt say anything at firstβjust sit there, hand wrapped too tightly around your phone, eyes fixed on some vague point on the wall like if you donβt move, it wonβt reach you. Like you canβt still feel him, breath hot against your neck, hands fisting in your sheets, mouth tracing every soft part of you like he was trying to memorize the map of a place he had no business returning to.
He clears his throat on the other end, and it sounds like guilt. Or maybe longing. Youβve always had trouble telling the difference when it came to him.
βLook,β Hyunjin says, quieter now. βI wouldnβt be asking if I had another option. Kkami doesnβt do well with new spaces, and I canβt board him. Heβs too anxious, and if heβs not with someone he knows, heβll make himself sick.β
You finally speak, though your voice is thin. βSo you want me to stay at yours.β
A beat. ThenββYeah.β
Just like that. No sugarcoating. No backpedaling. Just Hyunjin, honest and bare in the way he always was once he stopped pretending not to feel everything at once.
You run a hand down your face. βHyun, we havenβt talked in almost a year.β
βI know.β
βYou havenβt even seen me sinceββ
βI know.β
Heβs not angry, not defensive. Justβ¦ raw. Like the words are scraping him on the way out. You can hear the scrape.
βI didnβt think Iβd ever call you again,β he admits. βI thought that was the deal. But when they offered me this residency, and I realized I had to leave tonightβyouβre the only person I could trust. With him. With my home.β
You bite the inside of your cheek, hard enough to taste the coppery edge of restraint.
His home.
Itβs stupid, really. How easy it is to fall back into this rhythm. How even now, after all the months, all the distance, he can still lace your name with history. Youβd been friends once. Kind of. Youβd laughed a lot, touched a lot, fucked even moreβon couches, against doors, in the low hush of early morning when everything was tender and wrong. It was always supposed to be temporary. Temporary, but all-consuming.
But the feelings crept in like rot through the walls. And neither of you were brave enough to call it love, so you called it off instead.Β
βI donβt know if thatβs a good idea,β you say, but even you donβt sound convinced.
βIβll wash the sheets,β he jokes weakly.
You laugh, soft and involuntary, the sound catching somewhere in your throat. Itβs not really about the sheets.
It never was.
And the silence that followsβgod, it aches. Not sharp like the aftermath of a fight, but dull and lingering, like a bruise you donβt remember getting. Like a conversation left open on a table, gathering dust.
You clear your throat. βWhat timeβs your flight?β
βLate,β he says. βBut I still have to pack a few pieces and drop off the canvases. Itβll be tight.β
βDo you need help?β The words are out before you can catch them. You curse yourself immediately for the softness in your voice.
He hesitates. βNo. Itβs fine. Justβjust the dog. Thatβs all I need help with.β
Right. The dog.
You glance at your calendar. Clear. Of course itβs clear.
Of course the universe decided to leave space for this.
βAlright,β you murmur. βJust send me the code. Iβll stay at yours. Itβs fine.β
βYou donβt have to bring anything,β he rushes to say, and itβs like heβs trying to compensate for the ask with over-kindness. βI washed the old blanket. The one you used to crash under on the couch. Itβs still there.β
Your fingers tighten around your phone.
He doesnβt mention that the last time you slept under that blanket, you were still tangled in him. Half-dressed. Half-drunk on him. That he pulled it over your hips after, when you were too spent to move, and he kissed your shoulder like he wanted to stay but didnβt know how.
You donβt bring it up either.
Instead, you breathe out slow. βCool. Iβll head over in an hour or two.β
βOkay.β
Neither of you say I missed you.
Neither of you say This is weird.
Neither of you say Is this going to break us again?
Instead, Hyunjin adds quietly, βIβll leave a note.β
βFor the dog?β
βFor you.β
You close your eyes.
βOkay.β
He doesnβt say goodbye. Justβ¦ hangs up.
And you let the dial tone ring for a few seconds longer than you should, like maybe heβll change his mind. Like maybe you will.
But the silence stays.
And when you finally move, dragging out your overnight bag and stuffing it half-heartedly with essentials, you canβt stop thinking about the smell of his apartment. The way the floor creaks by the hallway. The coffee mugs he used to leave near the sink, rimmed with paint. The pictures he never hung. The sketchbook that held a drawing of you in fading graphiteβone he never knew you found.
You wonder if itβs still there.
You wonder what else of you is.
The building hasnβt changed.
You hate that you notice. Hate that your fingers still know the keycode before you even read the text. Hate that the elevator creaks on the same floor. That the hallway smells like turmeric and old wood and the trace of himβHyunjin, in incense and paint and something vaguely sweet.
His apartment door is unlocked, just like he promised. A sticky note is taped to the front, scrawled in the quick, crooked handwriting you used to recognize across lecture halls and grocery lists alike.
βCome in. Heβs dramatic, not dangerous. Donβt let him guilt trip you.β βH.
You roll your eyes and open the door.
It looks the same. Lived-in, messy in a way thatβs curated. An art book cracked open on the coffee table. Two mugs in the sink. One of his hoodies flung across the back of the couch like he wore it last night. And maybe he did.
You hear the growl before you see him.
Kkami stands in the middle of the living room, ears pinned back, hackles raised, tail stiff like an accusation. He looks you dead in the eye and lets out a snarl so pointed you actually step back.
βOh, fuck off,β you mutter, tugging your bag higher on your shoulder. βWeβve been over this.β
He growls again. Louder.
You raise your hands. βI come in peace.β
He barks.
You take a careful step inside, nudging the door shut behind you. Kkami follows your every move like youβre an intruder in a palace he was knighted to protect.Β
βIβm not stealing your shit,β you tell the dog. βIβm just crashing here. Ask your absentee father.β
Kkami doesnβt find it funny.
You inch toward the kitchen, where Hyunjinβs written schedule sits neatly beside two bowlsβone for food, one for water. Both full. Fresh.
You glance at the clock. Heβs probably already at the airport. Maybe already boarding. Maybe looking down at the city through a plane window, tapping his fingers against the glass like he always did when he was anxious. You wonder if he thought about calling you again. You wonder if heβs relieved you didnβt call him first.
Kkami lets out a soft, pitiful whine behind you. When you turn, heβs sitting but tense, eyes never leaving you. Suspicious. Wounded. Territorial, like Hyunjin said.
βJesus, youβre worse than him,β you sigh.
A folded slip of paper catches your eye. Itβs tucked under the magnet shaped like a paintbrush on the fridge. Your name is written across the front.
Your throat tightens.
You donβt open it. Not yet.
You drop your bag by the couch and finally take a seat, letting the quiet settle around you. The apartment hums with memory. You used to sit here wrapped in his hoodie, eating leftover tteokbokki at midnight, legs draped across his lap while he rubbed lazy circles into your shin. You used to kiss in this corner. Fuck in this corner. Sleep in the bed down the hall like it meant nothing, even when it meant too much.
Kkami barks onceβsharp and offendedβthen hops up onto the other end of the couch and curls into a tight, annoyed little donut.
βTruce?β you offer.
He sneezes. Well then.
You sigh and reach for your phone. Maybe you can FaceTime Hyunjin later. Let the dog see him. Hear him. Maybe thatβll help.
Or maybe itβll make everything worse.
You glance over at the folded blanket. The place where you used to lay your head.
And wonder how long itβll take for this place to feel empty without him in it.
You donβt sleep well that first night.
Kkami stays curled at the farthest edge of the bed like heβs punishing you, his little back turned, ears twitching at every shift you make beneath the sheets. He doesnβt bark, but he lets out these occasional, theatrical sighsβdeep, betrayed, bone-deep thingsβlike youβve committed the ultimate offense by existing where Hyunjin should be.
You get it.
You feel it too.
In the morning, you wake before the sun finishes rising. The air in the apartment is cold, the kind of cold that seeps into your joints, your thoughts, the hollow behind your ribs. You drag Hyunjinβs blanket from the couch and wrap yourself in it, settle on the floor near the window with a mug of instant coffee that tastes like cardboard and nostalgia.
Kkami watches you from the kitchen doorway, still suspicious.
βDo you have a schedule, or are we just winging it?β you ask him.
He sneezes and turns his head. No comment.
The hours pass slow. You walk himβtwice. He barks at a bus, growls at a stroller, and refuses to let you tie his leash to the bench while you grab a coffee from the corner place Hyunjin used to love. You wind up going without.
At noon, you wander the apartment, not touching anything but looking at everything. A half-finished canvas still rests on the easel in the corner. Itβs abstractβsomething celestial, maybe. Blue and smoke and gold bleeding together like bruises in motion. You donβt know if itβs new. You donβt ask.
You think about texting him. Just something simple. He misses you already. Or He hasnβt peed on anything today. But the words feel too light. Too personal. You settle for:
12:31 PM β [You]: he ate most of his food. drank a lot of water too. no accidents.
The read receipt comes instantly. His reply is a few minutes later:
12:36 PM β [Hyunjin]: thank you <3
The heart curls in your chest. You close the app.
You make pasta for dinner and Kkami doesnβt touch his kibble until you sit beside him on the floor and pretend to eat a piece. Then he snarfs it all down like heβs proving a point.
That night, he wonβt sleep again. He whines. He paces. He jumps down from the bed and runs to the door, then back again. Tail twitching. Eyes darting.
When you try to pet him, he flinches like heβs expecting a trick. You sit on the floor again, cross-legged in Hyunjinβs oversized hoodie (you told yourself you brought it by accident), and say softly, βHeβs not here. Itβs just me.β
He whines again. Low and pitiful.
βMe too,β you whisper.
You glance toward the kitchen. Toward the fridge. That little slip of paper still waits, untouched beneath the magnet shaped like a paintbrush. Your name in his handwriting. Like a bruise. Like a dare.
You havenβt opened it. Not yet.
You slept on the couch.
Not because the bed wasnβt madeβHyunjin had even tucked in the corners, left a glass of water on the nightstand like he thought about what youβd needβbut because you couldnβt bring yourself to crawl into the same sheets you used to wake up tangled in. Not when the scent of him still lived in the pillowcases. Not when the memory of his hands on your bare back still lingered in the seams of the duvet.
So you curled up under the old blanket instead, the one you used to steal during lazy afternoons and Netflix half-watched kisses and accepted the fact that your neck was going to ache in the morning. Kkami refused to join you. He spent most of the night pacing between the door and the hallway, growling at shadows.
The second night is worse.
Kkami is inconsolable. He wonβt eat. Wonβt lie down. Wonβt stop pacing between the front door and the window like heβs waiting for Hyunjin to materialize from thin air. At one point, he noses Hyunjinβs shoesβleft by the entrywayβand lets out a sound so hollow and pitiful it actually makes your eyes sting.
You try everything. Treats. Music. White noise. The blanket that still smells like Hyunjinβs shampoo. But nothing works. Itβs like something inside him is unraveling, the cord pulled too tight and fraying with every hour he doesnβt see the one person heβs built his little world around.
Same, you think bitterly, and feel stupid for it.
You end up sitting on the kitchen floor around midnight, your legs numb, your patience thinner than itβs been in weeks. Kkamiβs resting his chin on his paws but still letting out this tiny, high-pitched whine every few seconds, like heβs trying not to cry but canβt help it.
And that soundβgod, that sound shatters something in you.
You sigh, rub your face with both hands, and reach for your phone.
12:04 AM β [You]: he wonβt sleep. heβs been crying for an hour. wonβt eat either.
You donβt expect him to reply. Not at this hour, not while heβs halfway across the country doing Important Artist Things.
But your screen lights up with an incoming FaceTime call within seconds.
Your heart drops into your stomach.
You hesitate. Just for a second.
Then answer.
And for the first time in nearly a year, you see him.
Hyunjinβs face fills the screenβsoft-lit and sleepy, hoodie bunched around his neck like heβd just been getting ready for bed. But itβs not just the setting that throws you. Itβs him.
The long hair you used to run your fingers throughβgone. All of it. In its place: a buzzcut. Clean, close, severe in a way that shouldnβt suit him but somehow does. It makes his features sharper, more present. Like thereβs nothing to hide behind anymore.
You blink. You donβt mean to stare, but the shock is immediate, visceral.
βHi,β he says, quiet.
You swallow. βHi.β
He sits up straighter. βIs he okay?β
You shift the camera toward Kkami, who immediately perks up. His ears shoot up like radar, and he lets out a small, startled bark before beelining to your lapβbumping his snout into the phone like heβs trying to crawl through it.
Hyunjin laughs. Itβs breathless. Disbelieving.
βGod, heβs dramatic.β
βHe gets it from you,β you mutter.
Kkami presses against your chest like heβs trying to bury himself in your heart, finally calm now, finally still. You stroke a hand down his back and try not to think about the fact that it took Hyunjinβs voice to soothe him.
You glance at the screen again. Hyunjinβs watching you, not Kkami.
Thereβs a beat where neither of you speak. The only sound is Kkamiβs soft breathing and the low hum of the city outside the window.
Then, gently:
βI left you something,β he says.
You swallow. βI know.β
βI wasnβt sure if youβd find it.β
βI did.β
βYou gonna open it?β
You glance toward the fridge. The note still waits, tucked under the paintbrush magnet like a secret too fragile to touch.
βNot yet,β you say.
And he doesnβt push. Just nods. βOkay.β
Kkami shifts closer to your thigh and exhales, finally resting his chin on your knee. You pet him with one hand, still holding the phone in the other.
βHeβs sleeping now,β you whisper.
βSo are you.β
You blink. βWhat?β
βYour eyes,β he says. βThey do that thing. The little flutter when youβre about to crash.β
Youβre too tired to argue. Too tired to ask why he remembers that.
βIβll hang up,β he offers.
You donβt say no.
You just murmur, βGoodnight, Hyun.β
And you hear the softness in his voice as he says it back:
βGoodnight.β
You donβt sleep much better that night.
But Kkami doesnβt cry again.
The next few days fall into a strange kind of rhythmβquiet, off-kilter, but somehow soothing in the way old routines can be, even when theyβre made of things that werenβt meant to last.
Kkami still hates you by daylight.
He growls when you walk into the room. Barks when you open the fridge. Refuses to eat unless you pretend not to look. He doesnβt let you pet him unless heβs half-asleep or tricked by a treat, and he definitely doesnβt let you forget that this is his house, his couch, his missing person.
But at night, when Hyunjin calls, itβs like a switch flips.
Kkami leaps into your lap the moment the ringtone echoes through the apartment. He curls there, fast and warm and trembling just slightly, like heβs spent all day building tension he doesnβt know how to unspool without Hyunjinβs voice in the room.
You always answer on the couch, blanket pulled tight around your shoulders, phone propped up against a half-full glass of water. Hyunjin always looks a little tired, a little flushed from wherever heβs just come back fromβa gallery tour, a studio session, a walk through some city that doesnβt have your footprints on its sidewalks.
He tells you about the art residency. The gallery director who makes coffee that tastes like battery acid. The studio spaceβwide and cold and full of light. He tells you about a piece heβs working on: abstract, rough, loud in a way he hasnβt painted in years.
βYouβd hate it,β he laughs, voice crackling faintly through the call. βItβs all jagged lines. Chaos. I think itβs aboutβ¦ hunger. Or maybe grief. I donβt know.β
βI never hated your work,β you say.
Hyunjin quiets. Then, low:
βYou hated what it did to me.β
Your breath catches.
Because heβs right.
You did.
You hated the way he disappeared into itβinto himselfβthose long stretches of silence when he wouldnβt eat, wouldnβt sleep, wouldnβt touch you unless it was desperate and fleeting, like he was chasing the ghost of something he could never quite hold. You hated the way he used his own pain like paint thinner, diluted himself until all that was left was color on canvas and a shell of the boy you used to fall asleep beside.
But you donβt say that.
You just sit there, curled on his couch in his hoodie youβve stolen from his drawer, your phone glowing in the soft hush of midnight.
βI hated how much it hurt you,β you say instead. βThatβs not the same thing.β
Hyunjin nods slowly, his lips pressed into a line. βNo. Itβs not.β
Kkami shifts in your lap, stretching a little, his snout nudging your elbow before he sighs and drifts deeper into sleep. You stroke his fur absently, eyes still locked on the screen, on Hyunjinβs faceβthe new angles of it, the way the buzzcut makes him look older, sharper, like a wound that finally scabbed over.
He watches you for a while. Then murmurs, βI was scared to call you.β
You smile, tired and small. βI figured.β
βI thought youβd say no. That you wouldnβt even answer.β
βI almost didnβt.β
His throat bobs. βWhyβd you say yes?β
You donβt answer right away.
Because itβs not just about the dog. Not just about the key he left under the stairs or the food already stocked or the note still waiting on the fridge like a breath youβre not ready to exhale.
You look at him. Really look.
And when you speak, itβs quiet. Honest.
βBecause I missed you. Even when I hated missing you.β
The silence after is different this time.
He blinks. His mouth parts like heβs going to say something, but all that comes out is a whisper.
βFuck.β
You let out a laughβdry, breathless. βYeah.β
He shifts on the screen, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. βYou still sleep on the couch?β
βEvery night.β
βWhy?β
βBecause the bed remembers more than Iβm ready to.β
His eyes flicker. He nods once. Like he understands. Like he hasnβt been sleeping either.
Another pause. Thenβ
βI dream about you,β he says.
And itβs not a confession. Itβs a bruise. Something heβs been pressing on in the dark just to see if it still hurts.
You blink. βHyunββ
βNot just the sex,β he adds, voice hoarse. βThoughβ¦ yeah. That too. A lot, actually.β
You glance away, heat creeping up your neck. βYou donβt have to say that.β
βI want to,β he says. βI want you to know I stillββ
He cuts himself off. Breathes out hard. Shakes his head.
Kkami stirs in your lap, shifting slightly. The air feels too tight suddenly, the silence too loud.
You focus on Kkami. On the slow rise and fall of his small body, the way his paws twitch in sleep like heβs chasing something warm. It grounds youβbarely.
Hyunjin exhales on the other end of the line. You can hear it, soft and ragged, the kind of breath that holds everything he didnβt say. Everything he still might.
You donβt speak. Not yet. Because what could you say? I still touch myself to the thought of you? I still wear your hoodie like armor when I canβt sleep? I still think about that night on the floor when we couldnβt stop, even though we knew it was already over?
None of it would come out right.
So instead, you keep your voice even when you ask, βDo you paint me?β
The question slips out before you can stop it. You don't even know why you asked it. Maybe its because you're so sleepy you can't filter you're thoughts. Maybe because he mentioned it once, over soggy cereal over the golden morning light that filtered through the blinds, over the laughter you've never quite had again.
Hyunjin stills.
On the screen, he doesnβt look shocked. He looksβ¦ worn. Like someone whoβs been carrying the answer around for a while and doesnβt know where to put it.
βI try not to,β he says eventually. Quiet. Careful. βBut you always end up there.β
Your breath falters. You nod slowly, like thatβs an answer you expectedβbecause it is. Because you knew. Somehow, you always knew.
You shift the phone slightly, angle it so he can see the window behind you. The dark skyline. The reflection of the room, soft and gold and full of ghosts. Your voice is steadier than you feel when you say, βI havenβt opened it.β
βI know,β he replies, just as soft.
βI want to. Butβ¦β
βYou donβt have to explain.β
βI think I need more time.β
βTake it,β he murmurs. βI left it because I had to, not because I needed anything back.β
You nod. Not that he can see itβnot really. But somehow, you think he feels it anyway.
βOkay,β you say. It's the only thing you can manage that doesnβt crack under its own weight.
A pause stretches between you. Soft. Not cold. Just full. Like the breath before a confession. Like the second before a kiss.
Kkami snores lightly, curled deeper into your lap now, his whole body lax with trust. You glance down at him, stroke a thumb between his ears, then look back at the screen.
Hyunjinβs still watching you. Not the dog. Not the view.
Just you.
βYouβre wearing my hoodie,β he murmurs, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
You shrug, suddenly shy. βDidnβt pack enough layers.β
βI knew youβd steal something,β he says, teasing, but lowβlike he's remembering the way you used to steal everything from him. His clothes. His time. His breath.
βYou left the drawer cracked open on purpose.β
βMaybe.β
His smile softens into something quieter. More real.
βI used to love seeing you in my stuff,β he adds. βUsed to come home and hope youβd be there. Curled up in it. Pretending to wait for me.β
You swallow. Itβs harder than it should be. βI wasnβt pretending.β
Hyunjin blinks slowly. Like that hit him somewhere unexpected. Somewhere tender.
And then, quietly, almost afraid to hope: βAre you still?β
You could lie. You could deflect. But instead, you meet his eyes through the screen.
βI havenβt been with anyone else.β
His jaw works. βNeither have I.β
The words land between you like a markerβdrawing a line not to separate, but to measure distance. And maybe the distance isnβt as wide as you thought.
Your fingers curl a little tighter in Kkamiβs fur.
βI should go to bed,β you say. Your voice is quiet. A little raw.
βOkay,β Hyunjin whispers. βMe too.β
But neither of you move. The seconds tick by. You donβt even blink.
Eventually, he says, βTomorrow night. Can I call again?β
You let out a soft breath, not quite a laugh. βHyunβ¦ youβve been calling every night.β
His smile doesnβt fade, but it shiftsβtilts into something deeper. Less playful. More certain.
βI know,β he says. βBut that was for Kkami.β
You blink. βAnd tomorrow?β
His gaze doesnβt waver. Not once.
βThatβs for you.β
It knocks the wind out of you a little, the way he says it. Not romantic. Not dramatic. Just simple. True. Like heβs only just letting himself say it out loud, but heβs known it all along.
Your throat tightens. βOh.β
Hyunjin watches you carefully. βIs that okay?β
You nod once. βYeah. Itβsβ¦ more than okay.β
Something in his posture loosens then, like heβs been holding a breath he can finally let go of. His shoulders drop. His mouth twitches again, a smile fighting its way to the surface but not quite formingβlike heβs still afraid to want too much, to hope too fast.
You donβt know what tomorrow will bring. Not really.
But you know youβll answer.
And maybe this time youβll stop pretending itβs for the dog.
βYouβre on the bed.β
Hyunjin says it the moment the screen connects. No hello. No lead-up. Just those four words, soft and low and unmistakably aware.
You blink at him from where youβre sitting, back pressed to the headboard, knees pulled up beneath the comforter. His comforter.
You almost lie. Almost say you were just passing through. That the light was better in here. That Kkami stole the couch.
But Hyunjinβs already smilingβslow and knowing, like heβs been waiting for this.
You exhale through your nose. βKkamiβs on the couch.β
βMm,β he hums, a little amused. βSo itβs just you in my bed.β
Your fingers tighten around the phone, feeling a little flustered. βIs that going to be a problem?β
His eyes darken a shade, but the smile stays. βNot even a little.β
You roll onto your side, careful not to let the phone slip. The sheets are warm beneath you, still smelling faintly like cedar and fabric softener and something only he ever carried. His presence is everywhere in this room. On the walls. In the folded clothes. Under your skin.
Hyunjin shifts on his end of the callβheβs propped up on pillows, a fitted black tank clinging to his chest, the cut of it leaving little to the imagination. His toned arms are on full display, lean muscle catching the dim light, subtle and sculpted like something sketched in charcoal. His expression is unreadable, caught somewhere between reverence and restraint.
βI thought about you today,β he says after a beat.
You tuck your face into the pillow, just a little. βLike you usually do?β
βYeah,β he breathes. βBut this time I didnβt fight it.β
Your heart thuds against your ribs, slow and heavy. βWhat were you thinking?β
His gaze dips, like heβs shy all of a sudden. βThat I miss you. That I used to wake up to you in that bed.β
You swallow, voice thinner now. βItβs a little colder without you.β
βYeah?β
βYeah.β
The silence that follows is different from all the others before it. Itβs thick. Electric. It hums with all the things neither of you have said but havenβt stopped feeling. The kind of silence that shifts when the air gets warmer, when the breath starts catching, when the ache finally starts to slip through.
Hyunjin wets his lips. His voice is barely a whisper. βYou look good there.β
You bite the inside of your cheek. βI feel... restless.β
He shifts again, almost imperceptibly. βTell me.β
Your gaze flickers. βTell you what?β
βWhat youβre thinking. Right now.β
You hesitate.
But then, softly, deliberately: βI was thinking about your hands.β
Hyunjinβs mouth parts slightly.
βI was thinking about how you used to touch me here,β you say, dragging your fingers over the blanket, slow, just below your collarbone. βAnd here.β Down, lower now, to the place between your ribs.
His breath stutters through the speaker.
βAnd I was wonderingβ¦β you murmur, voice barely above a hum, βif you miss the way I used to say your name when you touched me like that.β
Hyunjin closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, theyβre dark, focused, hungry.
βI think about it all the time,β he says. βEvery fucking night.β
Your thighs press together under the blanket. You feel your pulse everywhereβbehind your knees, in your fingertips, between your legs. Itβs not even about the sex. Not yet. Itβs about the weight of being wanted by someone who remembers youβwho still remembers.
βI havenβt touched anyone else,β you say.
He swallows hard. βDonβt.β
βI donβt want to.β
Hyunjin nods slowly. βMe either.β
Then, quiet: βCan I stay on the call?β
You blink. βWhat do you mean?β
βI mean,β he says, voice rough now, βif I asked you to touch yourselfβ¦ would you let me watch?β
Your breath catches. Not from nerves. From need.
You donβt say yes. You just let the phone settle against the pillow beside you, angled toward your face, the way he used to tilt your chin when he wanted a better look at how undone you were.
The sheets shift as your hand moves lower.
Hyunjin watches. And when he speaks, itβs barely a whisper, like heβs already somewhere far beneath the surface with you.
βFuck. You always looked so pretty like this.β
You inhale shakily, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts, slow and careful, testing the heat already gathered there.
Hyunjinβs eyes drag down your body. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips. His voice is rough with memory.
βRemember that time on the floor? After your exam? You were so out of itβbarely undressed. I just shoved your panties to the side and made you come in, what, two minutes?β
You let out a quiet, choked sound at the back of your throat.
He smilesβcrooked, dark. βYeah. You clenched so hard around my fingers I thought Iβd lose them.β
You whimper softly. Your hand moves slow, wet, dragging through the mess of your own need, slick pooling beneath your fingertips like your body remembers him even better than your mind does.
βGod, that sound,β Hyunjin breathes. βThat little gasp when youβre just starting to touch yourself. Same one you made when I used to run my fingers down your stomachβreal slow, just to watch you twitch.β
You press harder against your clit, circles tightening, mouth falling open as your back arches into the memory. Heβs not even touching you, and stillβyour body bends like itβs learned him by muscle memory.
Hyunjin notices. Of course he does.
βLook at you,β he murmurs, voice gone low and ragged, the kind that scrapes the inside of your throat just hearing it. βAll spread out in my bed. Fucking yourself open with your hand like you want me to see everything. Like you know I used to make you feel better than anyone else ever could.β
You moan, breath catching, and Hyunjinβs smile sharpens.
βTouch your tits,β he says, not as a commandβbut a conjuring. Like he already knows youβre aching for it. βLift your shirt for me.β
You obey without a sound, pushing the hem up slowly, just enough to expose the curve of one breast, the soft point of your nipple hard and aching from the friction of your shirt.
He groans. βYou remember how obsessed I was with your tits? Couldnβt stop sucking on them. Couldnβt stop biting.β His jaw clenches. βYou used to beg me to be gentle. And then beg me not to stop.β
Your fingers slide down againβslippery, desperate. Your thighs shake under the weight of it. The rhythm is messier now, your hips chasing pressure. Hyunjin watches all of it, his hand dragging down his torso, disappearing beneath his waistband.
βTouching yourself in my bed,β he growls. βWearing my shirt. Letting me watch while you make yourself come for me.β
Heβs panting now, hand working slow, deliberate strokes beneath the screen. His tank top clings to his chest, sweat beading along his collarbones. His buzzed hair is messy, sticking slightly to his forehead, and his mouthβhis fucking mouthβis red and parted, like heβs still tasting you.
βYou remember the way I used to fuck you from behind?β he says. βPushed your face into the mattress, held your hips like youβd run from me if I let go?β
You whimperβyour fingers falter, then speed up.
βCould barely breathe, baby. Youβd just sob into the sheets. You loved it. Took every inch, crying like you couldnβt handle itβand still begged for more.β
Your body goes taut, heels digging into the mattress, orgasm hovering just out of reach.
Hyunjin's voice drops to a growl, breath quick and filthy. βBet your pussyβs fucking tight right now. Clenching like it forgot what itβs supposed to takeβlike itβs trying to remember the shape of my cock.β
He groans, low and wrecked. βDonβt worry, baby. Iβll teach it again. Iβll stretch you open so slow you feel it for days. Wonβt stop βtil youβre dripping all over my sheets, crying into the pillow, begging for more.β
You whimper his nameβhelpless. Shattered.
βYou want me to say it?β Hyunjin pants, fist working now, muscles flexing. βWant me to tell you how Iβd do it?β
You nod, frantic. Desperate.
His voice turns molten. Thick with lust, arrogance, something cruel and beautiful.
βIβd start slow. Tease you with just the tip. Let you feel the stretch, let you beg for the rest of it. Then Iβd give you all of it at onceβdeep, hard. Just to see you fucking cry.β
You do cry out. The tension in your body snaps tighter, hips lifting off the bed, toes curling. So close.
βIβd fuck you into the mattress,β he growls. βGrip your hips and slam into you so hard youβd lose your voice. You remember how Iβd do that? Say, βYouβre not done yet, baby. You can take it.β And you always fucking would.β
Youβre whimpering now, moaning into your own shoulder to muffle the sound, fingers moving in slippery, filthy rhythm. The orgasmβs closeβso closeβspooling at the base of your spine, hot and tight and relentless.
βOh, fuck, there it is,β he gasps, fucking into his fist now, stroking faster. βYouβre close. I can see itβhear it. Just like that, baby. Let go for me. Come for the boy who still dreams about the way you taste. Come for the fucking lunatic whoβd trade his last painting just to feel your pussy clench around his fingers one more time.β
That breaks you.
You moan his nameβsoft, ruined, high-pitchedβand you come with your hand buried between your thighs, eyes fluttering, back arching. The pleasure pulses through you in waves, soaked and frantic and unstoppable.
βGod, youβre still so fucking perfect,β he grits out. βI couldβve painted this. Youβlike that. Thatβs my favorite version of you.β
You whimper, still trembling.
He grins. Dark. Gleaming. βWanna see what you do to me?β
You nod, dizzy.
He shifts the phoneβjust enough for you to see the slick length of him in his hand. Red at the tip, dripping, veins thick under taut skin. His pace is ruthless now.
βI used to fuck your thighs just to tease you,β he pants. βNot even your pussy. Just that pretty space between them. Used to slide my cock right there and come all over your stomach.β
You let out a breathy sound of disbelief, hips twitching in aftershock. Your cunt flutters around nothing, empty and aching.
βFucking ruined me,β he snarls. βYou ruined me. No one else has even come close. No one sounds like you. No one feels like you.β
And then, through gritted teeth:
βIβm gonna come thinking about your mouth. That filthy little tongue. That sweet fucking smile you gave me while I fucked your throat.β
Your legs tremble again.
βFuck, babyβfuckfuckfuckββ
He comes with your name on his tongue, head thrown back, muscles tensed, body shuddering through it as his hips stutter beneath the blanket. His jaw slackens, hand squeezing out the last twitch of pleasure.
The silence after is sharp. Breathless.
Your own body still buzzes, skin flushed, sheets damp with sweat and want and memory.
Neither of you speak at first. Just breathing. Just staring.
Eventually, Hyunjin looks up again. His voice is hoarse, trembling at the edges.
βTell me this isnβt just sex.β
You donβt.
You just stare back.
And then you hang up.
You hang up, and your hand is still trembling. Your whole body is still trembling, wrecked in ways that have nothing to do with the orgasm.
It takes less than a minute for him to call back.
Then again.
And again.
You watch the screen light up with his nameβHyunβand each time, it makes your stomach twist so violently it feels like punishment. Like grief.
You donβt answer.
The fifth time, he stops calling. Thirty seconds later, your phone dings with a text.
[Hyunjin]: iβm sorry. please just tell me if that was too much. [Hyunjin]: i didnβt mean to push you. i didnβt mean to fuck everything up. [Hyunjin]: we donβt have to talk about it. we can pretend it didnβt happen if you want. iβll follow your lead. justβ¦ please say something.
You donβt respond to those either.
You just turn off read receipts and shove the phone under the pillow.
The next few days go by in a strange, slow blur.
You and Kkami settle into a rhythm. He doesnβt bark anymore when you walk past. Doesnβt flinch when you reach for his leash. He even curls up at your feet when youβre on the couch, sometimes nuzzling his nose into your ankle like heβs already decided you belong here.
It should feel comforting.
It doesnβt.
You stop sitting in Hyunjinβs bed. You stop wearing the hoodie. You wash it, fold it, and put it back exactly where you found it, like none of this ever happened.
You send him brief texts. Clipped. Neutral.
[You]: he ate all his dinner. no accidents. slept fine.
[You]: took him for a walk. he peed on someoneβs shoe.
[You]: whenβs your flight again?Β
You donβt tell him how it feels like the walls have closed in.
How youβve stopped sleeping in his bed againβeven if the couch hurts your back. Even if the couch doesnβt smell quite like him.Β
How Kkami curls up beside you now without growling, without guilt. You take him for long walks. Let him tug you through the park. Let him bark at pigeons and lick your knuckles and rest his chin on your thigh when you scroll through old texts you donβt send anymore.
You donβt cry. But your chest aches in a way that feels dangerously close.
You were never going to be able to leave without feeling like this.
But now itβs worse. Because you let yourself want again.
And itβs giving you vertigo.
[Hyunjin]: should be back around 5:30. just leave the key in the box. thank you again. for everything.
You stare at the message for a long time.
Not because of what it says.
But because of what it doesnβt.
And what you donβt know is this:
Hyunjinβs lying.
His flight lands at 3:10.
Heβs already halfway through the city when youβre zipping up your bag.
Heβs already in the elevator by the time youβre taking out the trash.
And heβs standing at the front doorβkey in hand, chest tight, hands shakingβwhen you reach for the handle to leave.
You open the door and nearly collide with him.
You freeze.
The air catches.
Time does something strange.
Hyunjinβs justβ¦ there.
Sweatshirt slung over his shoulder, suitcase by his side, curls of damp air clinging to the collar of his shirt from the humid sprint through the city. And his eyesβsharp, dark, wide with something between relief and devastationβlock onto yours like heβs forgotten how to blink.
For a second, neither of you speaks.
Thenβ
βHyunβ?β
Kkami barrels into view like a missile. He lets out a shrill bark of excitement and practically throws himself into Hyunjinβs legs, circling and jumping and whining like heβs just won the fucking lottery.
But Hyunjin doesnβt look down. Doesnβt move. Doesnβt even blink.
He just stares at you.
And says, low, quiet, steady:
βYou were really gonna leave.β
You clutch your bag a little tighter. βYou said youβd be back at five.β
βI lied.β
You swallow. βI figured that part out.β
His jaw clenches. His hands twitch by his sides, like he doesnβt know whether to reach for you or shove them into his pockets or bury them in your skin just to make sure youβre real.
Kkami lets out another bark, trying to wedge his head between you two like heβs the center of gravityβbut Hyunjin doesnβt even glance down. Not once.
All of him is focused on you.
βYou werenβt going to say goodbye.β
Itβs not a question. Itβs an accusation. A plea. A wound.
βI didnβt think you wanted me to.β
βBullshit.β
That makes you flinch. Just a little. He sees it. His expression softens, but only barely.
Hyunjin steps forward. Not fastβbut purposeful. Like if he stops now, youβll disappear all over again.
βIβm sorry,β he says, voice taut with something sharp. βIβm sorry I came on too strong. Iβm sorry I didnβt give you time. Iβm sorry I didnβt say what I shouldβve said months ago, years agoβfuck, the morning after. But donβt stand here and tell me I didnβt want you.β
You inhaleβtight, shallow. Like thereβs no room in your lungs for this.
For him.
βHyunββ
βNo,β he cuts in, but itβs not cruel. Just cracked. βYou donβt get to walk out and let me find the ghost of you in my bed again. Not after you let me see you like that. Not after Iββ
His voice breaks.
He swallows it down.
Kkami sits at his feet now, finally quiet, as if even he knows this part isnβt his.
βI meant it,β Hyunjin says, softer now. βThat night. Everything I said. Everything I remembered. It wasnβt just to get you off.β
Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag.
βYou said you missed me,β he goes on. βBut then you shut the door in my face. And I was willing to pretend I didnβt care. I was willing to take scraps just to be near you. But if youβre still standing in front of meβif you havenβt walked away yetβthen just fucking tell me.β
He looks at you like heβs trying to memorize you all over again.
You look at him. Really look. And you knowβheβs not going to let you run.
Not this time.
βGo get the note.β
His voice is soft, but firm. Like a command spoken through a kiss. Like an ache wrapped in velvet.
You blink. βWhat?β
βThe letter,β he repeats. βThe one I left you. On the fridge.β
You freeze.
βI know you havenβt opened it.β
You swallow. βI wasnβt ready.β
βI donβt care,β he says, and thereβs a flicker of something dark in his voiceβsomething possessive, guttural. βI want you to read it. Now.β
You hesitate.
βPlease,β he adds, and thatβs what breaks you.
You nodβbarelyβand turn without a word. Each step toward the kitchen feels thick, underwater.
You open it, andβ
Itβs not a letter.
Not really.
Itβs a patchwork of thoughts, of half-confessions. Scribbled lines, crossed-out phrases, uneven spacing. The ink changes color midwayβblack, then blue, then black again. Some words are written in cursive. Some in a rush. Some like they cost him something to write.
You glance up. He nods again.
βRead it,β he says. βOut loud.β
You hesitate. Then you read.
βYou once laughed in your sleep, and I didnβt sleep at all that night. I just watched you and hoped that whoever you were dreaming about looked like me.β
You swallow hard. Keep going.
The ink shifts color. From deep black to something fainter. Navy. A pen running dry, maybe.
Your voice wavers.
βThereβs a sweater you left. It doesnβt smell like you anymore. I hold it anyway.β
Hyunjinβs throat works. He doesnβt interrupt.
βI never painted your face. Couldnβt do it. Couldnβt get your eyes right. But I painted your hands. A hundred times. Because they always knew how to hold me better than I knew how to ask.β
Your chest twists. You canβt speak the words out loud anymore, but you read. You read and read and read until there is nothing left, until the space between you feels aliveβelectric.Β
He steps forward. Just one step. But itβs enough to close the distance.
βI lied,β Hyunjin says, voice low, rough. βThe sitter didnβt cancel.β
You blink. βWhat?β
βI had people,β he continues. βSo many people I couldβve called. People I trust. People who wouldβve said yes.β
His eyes are burning nowβdark, wet, glittering with something fragile and ferocious.
βBut I didnβt want them. I wanted you.β
You donβt say anything. Canβt. Your hands are trembling.
βI told myself it was about Kkami. About the timing. About convenience.β He huffs out a broken laugh. βBut it wasnβt. It was you. It was always you.β
Your breath falters.
βI missed you,β he says. βSo much it made me sick. I thought I could bury it. Paint over it. Work through it. But I couldnβt. I never did. Youβve always been underneath it allβunder the hunger, the silence, the mess I made of myself.β
He steps closer. Youβre breathing the same air now.
βI loved you then,β he says. βWhen we were tangled up in bedsheets and half-truths and pretending it didnβt mean anything. I loved you when you wore my hoodie and called me yours with your eyes. I loved you the second I saw you, and Iββ
His voice cracks.
βAnd I love you now.β
You don't remember moving. Donβt remember closing the gap, dropping your bag, reaching for him with hands that shouldβve known better.
All you know is this: one second, you're blinking back tears, and the next, you're kissing him like you're drowning.
Hyunjin catches you with both handsβone at your jaw, the other curling around your waist, steadying. The kiss is messy, open-mouthed, frantic. His lips part on a gasp when you press your body to his, and then he's devouring you like something starved.
Your back hits the wall. His teeth scrape your bottom lip. Fingers thread into his hairβshort now, prickling at the scalpβand he groans like itβs breaking him.
You drop your bag. You donβt even hear it hit the floor.
You donβt care.
His hands are everywhere. On your waist, your hips, the curve of your spine. He pulls you in so tight you feel the tremor in his arms, the sheer desperation coiled in his chest like a spring pulled too far.
βFuck,β he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. βIβve wanted thisβIβve wanted youββ
His voice breaks again, and then heβs back on you, lips trailing across your jaw, down the line of your neck. You tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut, mouth parting on a moan as he bites softly into your throatβjust enough to mark. Just enough to remember.
Your hands scrabble at the hem of his shirt, yanking it up, palms hungry on bare skin. He hisses as your nails drag over his stomach, muscles twitching beneath the heat of your touch.
βTake it off,β you breathe.
He does. In one motion, the tank top is goneβflung to the floor like it offended him. And you stare. You canβt help it.
Heβs still art. Still all sharp lines and soft skin and lean, desperate hunger. His chest heaves with every breath, sweat glinting in the hollow of his throat, and you think: I could die like this. I could burn for him and never want to be saved.
Hyunjin kisses you againβharder this time, hungrier. Like he heard it. Like he wants to go up in flames with you.
His hands slide under your thighs, lifting you without warning, and you gasp as your back hits the wall again, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. The air shifts. Your breath catches. His cock presses against you through his jeansβthick, hot, twitching with every grind of his hips.
βI canβt wait,β he pants against your mouth. βI need to be inside you. Right now.β
βThen do it,β you breathe, dragging your nails down his back. βHyuneβpleaseββ
Hyunjin breathes something that sounds like a curse, or maybe a prayer, and then heβs walkingβstumbling, reallyβhalf-guided by the desperate way youβre clinging to him, the press of your mouths, the sharp hitch of your breath when he grabs at your ass to hold you higher. You barely register the shift from wall to bedroom until your back hits the mattress, until the world becomes sheets and skin and the low rasp of his voice murmuring your name like itβs sacred.
The mattress gives beneath your weight, springs groaning under the tangle of limbs and heat and history. Hyunjin follows you down like gravity itself β hands sliding, mouth chasing, body already slotting between your thighs as if it never forgot where it belonged.
His shirt is gone. Yours joins it. He kisses you through every inch of skin he unveils, frantic and starved and reverent, like heβs not sure whether to worship you or ruin you.
You arch beneath him when his tongue traces the curve of your breast, the bite of his teeth following fast after β a soft sting that makes your breath catch, your fingers dig into his shoulders. He groans when your nails drag down his back, when your thighs fall open wider.
And then heβs there β rutting against your center, clothed still but so hard it aches through the friction, the weight of him pressing perfect and punishing between your legs.
You canβt think. Canβt breathe. Can only move β hips grinding up to meet every desperate push of his, your cunt soaked and aching with the need to be filled.
Hyunjinβs hand slips down, hooking your thigh over his hip. He grinds into you through the last barrier, jeans rough against your soaked underwear, and itβs filthy the way your body answersβalready arching, already clenching around nothing. You chase the friction shamelessly, trying to wring every ounce of pressure you can from the maddening drag of his cock pressed to your core.
He hisses against your throat, breath hot, teeth scraping the fragile skin there. Youβre drenched. Thereβs no mistaking itβthe way your panties cling, the way your slick seeps through them and stains his jeans, how he shudders just from the heat of you pulsing against the fabric.
The zipperβs down before you can even register the motion. He pushes his jeans low enough to free himselfβhard and heavy and flushed dark with want. Your mouth waters at the sight of it. He tears your panties off with a quiet growl, not cruel, just crazed with the need to feel skin on skin, no more layers, no more time.
When he lines up and pushes in, itβs one long, devastating strokeβhis cock thick and perfect and stretching you open like you were made for it.
You gaspβsharp, strangled. Your nails sink into his back.
Hyunjin goes still.
Buried to the hilt inside you, his entire body trembling with restraint, every muscle locked tight like heβs trying to keep himself from coming right then and there.
βFuck,β he breathes, voice wrecked. βYouβoh my godββ
His forehead drops to your shoulder. Heβs shaking. You feel it. In his arms, in his breath, in the way his cock pulses deep inside you without moving. The kind of overwhelmed that turns to worship. The kind of ruin that feels like coming home.
You tighten around him instinctivelyβhungry, pulsingβand he lets out a strangled moan against your skin.
βI swear to god,β he whispers, forehead pressing to yours. βIf I move, Iβm gonna come like a fucking teenager.β
Your nails dig deeper into his back, anchoring him there, as if you could stop time with the press of your fingertips. His cock twitches inside you, thick and throbbing, and it feels like too much and not enough all at once.
Hyunjin groansβlow, raw, like the sound is being dragged out of him by force.
βFuck, baby,β he pants. βYou feelβ¦ I forgotβfuck, I forgot how perfect you are.β
You whimper, breath caught in your throat. Youβre stretched so full it feels like splittingβblissfully unbearable. Like heβs carved to fit you, or maybe you were carved for him.
He doesnβt move. Canβt. His whole body is locked in place, every muscle drawn taut with the kind of restraint that hurts.
βIβm gonna embarrass myself,β he rasps. βYouβre so warm, IβI need a second.β
You nod, gasping. βOkay.β
But your body doesnβt care. Itβs greedy. Slick clings to your inner thighs, to the base of his cock. You pulse around him againβtight, hot, involuntaryβand he shudders, a curse breaking on his lips.
βYouβre doing that on purpose,β he whispers, biting your shoulder.
βIβm not,β you breathe, but your hips roll anyway, a tiny grind up into his stillness.
Hyunjin moansβloud, broken. βBaby, Iβm serious. You do that again and Iβll fuckingββ
You clench again, on purpose this time.
He snaps.
In one hard thrust, he pulls out halfway and slams back in. You cry outβsharp, wantonβas your body folds around his. The stretch. The impact. The sound of skin on skin.
βOh my god,β you gasp, your head tipping back, throat exposed.
Hyunjin watches the way your mouth parts, how your breasts bounce with every desperate snap of his hips. He groans then drops his mouth to your chest, sucking a bruise over your heart.
βThis mine?β he pants, dragging his cock out slow before plunging back in. βStill mine?β
You canβt speak. Can only nod, breath caught in your throat. He fucks you through the motion, slow and deep now, the grind of his cock so obscene you swear you can feel him everywhereβbehind your knees, in your throat, echoing in every part of you that remembers how he used to love you.
βNo, baby,β he murmurs, voice fraying, fingers sliding under your knee to push your thigh back, opening you wider. βSay it. Let me hear you say it.β
βItβsββ Your voice breaks on a moan when he thrusts deep again, dragging against that spot that makes your vision go white at the edges. βItβs yours, Hyunjin. Always.β
He groans into your chest like the words punched the air out of him. Then heβs fucking you harder, deeper, like heβs trying to anchor himself in the way you take him. The bed creaks, the headboard thuds against the wall, but you donβtHe moans into your chest like the words physically hit him, his thrusts growing messier, more frantic. His hand finds yours and pins it above your head, fingers lacing together tight, grounding him even as he loses himself in the slick, pulsing heat of you.
Youβre soaked, ruined, trembling under every thick slide of his cock. He hits so deep it borders on pain, and yet you arch into itβinto himβdragging him closer, clawing at his back like if you could just get closer, it might be enough.
βI missed this pussy,β he growls, the words slurred and broken against your throat. βI fucking dreamed about it. Thought about it every night with my cock in my handβnothing felt as good, nothingβfuckββ
You keen, high-pitched, overwhelmed. Your body pulses around him again, tight as a vice, and it makes him stutterβa half-thrust cut short by the shudder that runs through him.
He kisses you thenβdesperate, biting, tongue dragging into your mouth like he wants to consume you from the inside out.
Youβre moan is swallowed by his mouth when he hits that spotβdeep and relentlessβand your whole body jolts. Your back arches, your legs tighten around his waist, dragging him deeper.
βRight there?β he growls. βThat the spot, baby?β
You nod, frantic, mouth open but no words comingβjust breath, just heat, just the sound of him splitting you open again and again.
Hyunjin grins. It's crooked. Crooked and cocky and dizzy with something feral. Like heβs gone. Like youβve pulled him under with you.
βYeah,β he breathes, thrusting deeper, slower now, grinding his hips in a filthy circle that makes your eyes roll back. βI remember. Right there. Got you clenching like youβre about to cry.β
His voice breaks on a moan, guttural and reverent. βFuck, thatβs so prettyβso fucking pretty, babyβyour face when I fuck you like this.β
Heβs unraveling, you can feel itβhis rhythm fraying, pace faltering, every thrust a prayer half-remembered. He buries himself deep and stays there, hips pressed flush, cock pulsing inside you like a heartbeat. His forehead falls to yours again, and heβs breathing so hard it shakes both your bodies.
βYou gonna cry for me?β he whispers, voice all fray and silk. βWanna see it, wanna feel you fall apart. Iβll take care of itβIβll hold you through it, I promise.β
You donβt mean to. But itβs been too muchβhis mouth, his voice, the stretch of him splitting you open in perfect, deliberate ruin. Your eyes blur, your breath hitches, and before you can stop itβ
A tear slips down your cheek.
Hyunjin sees it. And something inside him shatters.
βOh my god,β he chokes, fingers trembling where they hold your thigh. βThatβs it, thatβsβfuckββ
He fucks you through it, slow and deep, every stroke angled to keep you on the edge. His free hand cradles your face, thumb brushing the wetness from your cheek. And heβs murmuring now, wrecked and ragged and sweet:
βYouβre so good for me. So perfect. I donβt deserve youβI donβtββ
You cry out again, back arching as your orgasm hitsβwave after wave of unbearable heat crashing through you. You seize around him, walls fluttering, hips stuttering beneath his weight.
Hyunjin groans like itβs killing him. Like the feel of you falling apart around his cock is undoing him thread by thread.
βCan Iβfuck, baby, where do you want it?β he gasps, teeth gritted, body coiled so tight you think he might break apart if you say no.
βInside,β you breathe, wrecked and shameless. βWant it insideβplease.β
That last word shreds him.
He thrusts onceβdeep, sharpβthen again, slower this time, drawn-out like heβs trying to memorize the way you feel. His eyes flutter shut. His mouth falls open. And then heβs comingβhard.
A low, desperate sound tears out of him as his cock jerks inside you, spilling warmth in thick, molten pulses. He buries himself as deep as he can go, arms trembling around you, breath stuttering in your ear. His whole body shakes with it, every muscle straining to stay rooted in you as pleasure rips through him like lightning.
He stays like thatβdeep inside you, trembling, breathlessβuntil the shudders fade to something softer. Something quieter.
The kind of silence that feels like safety.
His forehead rests against yours, damp hair brushing your temple, and you can feel the weight of him everywhereβhis chest pressed to yours, his arms wrapped around your waist, the steady thrum of his heart syncing with your own.
Neither of you speaks.
Thereβs nothing left to say.
Just breath. Just warmth. Just the slow, wet drag of him slipping out of you when his body finally yields, when your bodies finally remember theyβre separate things again. You wince a little, overstimulated, but heβs carefulβgentle hands guiding your hips as he settles beside you.
The bed is a mess. Youβre a mess. But in his arms, none of it matters.
He pulls you close, one hand curling behind your neck, the other splayed low across your spine. You fit against him like you were made toβlegs tangled, faces barely apart. His eyes find yours, dark and soft and unreadable. And thenβ
He kisses you.
Slow. Tender. Unhurried. Like heβs not trying to restart anythingβjust thank you, silently, for letting him fall apart in your arms.
Your fingers slip into his hair. His thumb draws circles at the base of your spine.
And in that quiet, breathless spaceβthere is no ache, no past, no noise.
The gallery hums with low conversation and champagne glasses clinking. Golden evening light filters through tall windows, casting Hyunjinβs paintings in soft amber and dust. He stands near one of his larger piecesβstark, aching, all deep reds and pale ivory brushstrokes layered like wounds healed overβspeaking to a small crowd of critics and curators, hands moving with slow confidence as he explains his process.
Itβs been years since heβs spoken like thisβwithout apology. Years since he let the world see him this raw and unguarded. Heβs dressed in black from head to toe, long hair tied back loosely, wedding band glinting when he gestures. He looks settled now, anchored. And you know what it took to get him there.
You werenβt supposed to come.
Heβd kissed your forehead this morning, hand warm and reverent on your swollen belly, and told you to rest. βYouβll just get exhausted,β heβd said, brushing your hair back, βand Iβll be distracted the whole time wondering if your ankles are swollen or if the babyβs doing backflips again.β
But now youβre here.
Standing just inside the gallery, framed by the door like something sacred. You wore the dress he lovesβthe one that drapes gently over the curve of your belly, soft and simple, glowing in the dusk light. One hand rests instinctively at your side, the other slipping under the swell of you. Thereβs a quiet smile on your lips, half proud, half bashful, and your eyes are locked on him.
Hyunjin doesnβt see you at first. Heβs mid-sentence, talking about brush technique and layered memory, about how grief isn't linear, how art can be a body trying to heal. His voice is steady. His hands are sure.
Then he glances up.
And freezes.
You watch it happen in real timeβthe shift. His mouth stutters around a word, vowels cut short, fingers faltering mid-gesture. And thenβgod. That smile. Unrehearsed, boyish, wide in a way that crinkles his eyes and ruins all pretense. A pure, delighted thing that belongs only to you.
A few people glance over their shoulders, curious. But Hyunjin barely notices.
He catches himself, coughs once, and somehow fumbles through the last few lines of his explanation. His voice is softer now. Almost sheepish. He wraps up quickly, answering a question with a vague nod, thanking the crowd with a half-bow.
And then heβs moving.
Straight through the gallery, long strides purposeful, eyes never leaving yours.
You open your mouthβmaybe to apologize, maybe just to greet himβbut heβs already cupping your face in his hands before you can speak. His fingers are cool from holding a champagne flute, but his palms are warm. Familiar. His touch gentle despite how frantically he reaches for you.
βYouβre unbelievable,β he says, kissing your forehead. βI told you not to come.β A kiss to your nose. βI specifically saidββ another to your cheek, ββthat Iβd worryββ your chin ββthat youβd get tired,β he murmurs against your skin, peppering kisses like punctuation. βThat your feet would swell. That youβdβfuck, baby, I said stay home.β
You smile, tilting your head just enough to meet his gazeβwarm and full of something playful. βI know, butββ
He kisses you.
Soft and certain, his mouth presses to yours before the words can even leave your lips. Itβs instinctive, almost impatient, like he couldnβt bear to hear the excuse when youβre standing right here, glowing and breathless and his. His hand curls at the back of your neck, thumb brushing the line of your jaw. You feel him smile into it, lips warm and reverent, like maybe heβs trying to convince himself heβs not dreaming.
You giggle against his mouth.
It bubbles out before you can stop itβlight, easy, surprised by your own happiness.
βHyunjin,β you laugh, gently pushing at his chest. βLet me speak.β
He leans back only a little, just enough to see you again. Thereβs a smudge of your lip gloss at the corner of his mouth, and you wipe it with your thumb, grinning.
βYouβre ridiculous,β you murmur.
Hyunjin pulls back just enough to look at youβreally look. His eyes trace every inch of your face like heβs memorizing you all over again. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone. βYou take my breath away,β he murmurs, like a confession. βEvery damn time.β
You want to say somethingβsomething light, something teasingβbut the way heβs looking at you leaves no room for irony. Just warmth. Just wonder.
And love. So much of it, it floods the space between you.
His hand slips down, resting over the swell of your stomach, and he sighs when he feels the smallest kick beneath his palm. βLittle traitor,β he whispers to your bump, grinning. βYou two planned this, didnβt you?β
You feign innocence. βI have no idea what youβre talking about.β
βMhm.β He leans in and kisses you againβsoft, slow, not quite chaste. Like thereβs no one else in the room, no critics still lingering, no gallery full of people pretending not to watch the artist come undone in the arms of his muse.
Eventually, he pulls backβjust a little. Just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
βStay?β he asks, almost shy. βI want to show you something. After everyone leaves.β
You nod.
You nod, and his smile deepensβboyish, brilliant, the kind that still makes your knees weak even now. He kisses you one last time, quick and giddy, before reluctantly pulling away with a soft groan, dragging his hand down your arm like heβs tethering himself to you.
βIβll be quick,β he promises, squeezing your fingers before turning back toward the crowd. βDonβt go into labor while Iβm gone.β
You roll your eyes fondly. βNo promises.β
He shoots you a look over his shoulderβmock-scandalized, lips twitching with laughterβand then heβs swept back into the flow of guests, nodding politely, shaking hands, answering a few last questions as people begin to drift toward the exit.
You watch from the side, sipping sparkling water from a plastic flute someone handed you, perched on the edge of a velvet bench like you belong in one of his paintings. A few guests glance your wayβsome with recognition, some with curiosityβbut none of them matter.
You only watch him.
And he watches you tooβbetween conversations, between thank-yous and signatures, his gaze keeps sliding backβlike a tether, like gravity, like a vow thatβs already been made a hundred times in silence.
You smile around the rim of your glass and press a hand to your belly, where the smallest flicker answers back. A quiet reminder of everything the two of you have built in the quiet spaces between the chaos. In the brushstrokes. In the breathing.
The gallery empties slowly, like a tide pulling away from shore. But you stay, bathed in golden light, watching the man you love exist in a room full of people who will never know him like you do. Who will never see the version of him that wakes up sleep-tousled and soft, who talks to your stomach like it already understands him, who paints love into everything he touches because heβs learned how to survive by making beauty out of ache.
