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wrong thing, classic (kmg; pt 2)

pairing: college au (sigma tau president/student council president!mingyu x kappa alpha theta president/dean's advising board president!reader) wc: 19.3K warnings: oral (m&f receiving; squirting??; p in v sex; raw sex... (do not tap if not wrapped); some heavy makeout seshes (seshs? but he pushes u up against the wall idk); orgasm control if u squint; multiple orgasms; mingyu pretending hes in control; mingyu being pussydrunk; big dick!mingyu (hes mean w it); arguing; possessive natures; that should be it but tbh u know me i probs forgot smth a/n: ok guys thanks so much for the love for this story esp bc i havent written in a while i think... anyways theres more to this (like maybe 5 k more??? idek) but if u want it, i can post it as an epilogue thingy but if u dont thats fine the story still ends well so!! also im taking requests now, so send in requests if you have any and also !!!! i love to chat/listen to ur thots/yap so if u want my asks are open!! yay!! ok now u can read <3

masterlist | part 1 | epilogue

part 2

mingyu; 9:29 AM

The morning light creeps through the blinds, painting strips of gold across the rumpled sheets, across the pillow still dented from her head. Mingyu stirs, his body aching in the best way, his lips still swollen from kisses, his skin still tingling where your fingers had traced him like he was something precious. He reaches out without opening his eyes, his hand searching for you—for the warmth of your body, the sound of your breath, the way you mumbled in your sleep.

Cold sheets.

His eyes fly open.

Empty.

No Y/n. No tangle of hair spread across his pillow. No soft rise and fall of your chest beside him. No faint scent of your perfume—citrus and something sweet—lingering in the air. Just the faint hint of sex and his own pounding heartbeat in his ears.

What the fuck?

He bolts upright, his chest tight, his gaze darting around the room like you might be hiding in the corners. His zip-up—the one you said you liked during one of the planning meetings—is gone from the back of the chair he had thrown it on. Your heels, your bag—all gone. Just his rumpled bed and the ghost of your laugh still echoing in his head.

You left.

After everything. After you told him you’d stay.

Without a word.

His stomach twists, a sick, hollow feeling spreading through his chest. He scrubs a hand over his face, his fingers trembling. Last night—fuck, last night—had been—he doesn’t even have words for it. The way you touched him, the way you looked at him like he was the only thing you had ever wanted. The way you whispered his name like a prayer.

He thought—fuck, he thought—maybe this was it. Maybe this was the start of something. Friends with benefits, at least. Maybe more, if he was lucky. If he played his cards right.

But you left.

Like it meant nothing.

Like he meant nothing.

His hands clench into fists in the sheets. He should text you. He should—fuck—he should call you. Demand an explanation. Demand something.

But what if you don’t answer?

What if you—

The door creaks open.

Mingyu whips his head around, his heart stuttering, hoping, but it’s just Wonwoo, leaning against the doorframe with a pity-grin, a cup of coffee in hand.

"Dude," Wonwoo says, raising an eyebrow. "You look like someone died."

Mingyu doesn’t answer. He can’t. His throat is too tight, his chest too heavy.

Wonwoo sighs, pushing off the doorframe and walking in. "She actually left, huh?"

Mingyu glances up, his jaw clenched. "How did you—"

"Saw her sneak out this morning." Wonwoo shrugs, taking a sip of his coffee. "Gave her my slippers. She looked, I dunno. Panicked?"

Mingyu’s stomach drops.

Panicked.

Like you regretted it.

Like you never wanted to be here in the first place.

"She say anything?" His voice is rough, barely more than a rasp.

Wonwoo shakes his head. "Nah. Just, you know, embarrassed or some shit.

Mingyu looks away, his hands shaking. Embarrassed. Of him? Of what you did? Of—

"Look," Wonwoo says, his voice softer now. "She’s, well, you know how she is. Overthinks everything. Probably just freaked herself out. Nothin’ against you or whatever you guys did.”

Mingyu doesn’t answer. He can’t. Because if he opens his mouth, he might break. And he won’t—he can’t—not over this. Not over you.

Not again.

Wonwoo sighs, clapping him on the shoulder. "C’mon. Get dressed. We’ll get breakfast. You look like shit."

Mingyu doesn’t move. He just stares at the empty pillow, at the cold spot where you should be.

You left.

y/n; 8:27AM

The first thing you register is the light, harsh and unforgiving this early in the morning, streaming through the crack in the curtains, cutting across your face like a knife. Which in itself is weird because your room doesn’t usually get sunlight early in the morning because it’s west facing. You groan, pushing that thought away and rolling over to bury your face in the pillow–

And freeze.

Because oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Your eyes fly open, threaten to pop out of their sockets, locking onto the broad expanse of Mingyu’s back, the rise and fall of his calm breathing, the way his dark hair spills across his face. If it weren’t for the memories of last night that flood back, he would have looked almost Adonis-like in the morning sunlight, his golden tan gleaming under the sun. But all you can think about iare his hands, his mouth, the way he whispered things you weren’t supposed to hear, and panic all but explodes in your chest.

What the hell did you do?

You bolt upright, heart pounding so hard you’re sure Mingyu’s going to wake up from it alone. The sheets pool around your waist and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you’re naked. Entirely. Entirely fucking naked, oh god, you’re naked in Mingyu’s bed.

No. No, no, no.

Your gaze darts around the room, landed on your dress, crumpled in a heap by the bed, and Mingyu’s oversized Stussy zip-up draped over the back of a chair. You lunge for them, yanking the dress over your head and down your naked body with shaky hands. The fabric clings to your sweat-damp skin. The zip-up follows, swallowing you whole, drowning you in his scent: musk, sea salt, and something uniquely him. It makes your stomach flip but you’re a little too busy with other things to linger on that sensation.

Your phone—where the hell is your phone?

There. On the nightstand, half-buried under a crumpled tissue.

You snatch it up, screen flaring to life—8:30 AM. Shit. Shit, shit, shit—

You scoop up your heels in one hand, phone clutched in the other, and tiptoe toward the door. Every creak of the floorboards feels like a gunshot, but Mingyu doesn’t stir. Thank god. Thank fucking god— The door clicks shut behind you, and you don’t breathe until you’re halfway down the hallway, your bare feet silent against the hardwood. The house is quiet, still—no sign of witnesses to your walk of shame. You burst into the frat lounge, chest heaving, hair a mess, Mingyu’s oversized hoodie swallowing you whole. The room is empty and for a second, you let yourself believe you’ve escaped unseen.

Then the door creaks open.

Wonwoo steps out, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, hair sticking up in every direction. He blinks at you, slow and unfazed, like finding you sneaking out of Mingyu’s room at 8:30 AM in last night’s dress and his hyung’s hoodie is the most normal thing in the world.

Then his lips curl into a grinning, knowing smirk.

"Morning," he drawls, leaning against the doorframe like he doesn’t have a care in the world. His gaze drops to your bare feet—heels dangling uselessly from your fingers—and back up to your face. "Need shoes for your walk of shame, or you good?"

Your face burns. "I—" What do you even say to that? "Shut up."

Wonwoo laughs, low and amused, pushing off the wall and strolling toward you. "Relax. Mingyu’s not gonna be awake for another hour, probably. Your secret’s safe." He tilts his head, eyeing the hoodie you’re drowning in. "Though I don’t think he’s gonna let you keep that if you walk out on him. Sentimental value and all."

You flip him off, but your hands are shaking, and he notices. His grinning fades just enough to sober up.

"Hey." His voice is softer now. "You okay?"

You swallow, clutching your heels tighter. You try to calm the thudding of your heart and the tears that suddenly feel too close to your waterline. "Yeah. Just—embarrassed." Of what, you weren’t too sure. Sneaking out after quite possibly the greatest fuck of your lifetime? Leaving Mingyu’s side cold and barefoot while donning his zip-up like some girlfriend? Just coming to the frat house when you knew what you were getting yourself into? Letting that guy slobber all over you just to get Mingyu jealous to test out a theory? Your head pounds.

Wonwoo shrugs, reaching back into his room and tossing you a pair of black slippers. "Here. Least I can do." He grins. "Unless you wanna borrow my socks too?"

You snatch the slippers, shoving your feet into them before he can change his mind. "You’re the worst," you grumble.

"Nah," he says, grinning again. "I’m the best. Ask anyone."

You roll your eyes, but the tension in your chest eases just enough to let you breathe. "Thanks. For, you know."

Wonwoo waves a hand, already turning back toward the kitchen. "Yeah, yeah. Now get outta here before Seungcheol wakes up and starts asking questions." He pauses, glancing back at you. "And y/n? Next time, maybe don’t sneak out like a criminal. Own that shit." He lets out an airy laugh. “You could at least do that if you’re breaking a man’s heart all over again.”

You don’t have a comeback. What is someone supposed to say to that anyways? Wonwoo’s words echo back Mingyu’s tiny confession from last night, and it repeats and repeats until the three words bang against your skull like some dark magic mallet.

But as you slip out the front door, slippers too big on your feet and Mingyu’s scent still cling to you, you realize something.

You don’t regret a thing. Even amidst the panic and the embarrassment and the pure disappointment in yourself, you don’t regret a single thing.

8 days later; 6:42 PM ; kappa alpha theta

For two weeks, you avoid Mingyu like he’s the plague.

The dining hall? You take the long way around, even if it means walking an extra ten minutes in the cold. See him walking toward you on campus? You duck into the nearest building—even if it’s the wrong class, even if it’s a janitor’s closet, even if it’s the middle of a lecture you don’t belong in. His name pops up on your phone? You silence it before the first ring even finishes, your thumb hovering over the screen like it’s a live grenade.

You don’t answer. You don’t reply. You don’t breathe when you see him.

You’re curled up on your bed, your laptop open but ignored, your notes scattered around you like the wreckage of a ship you don’t know how to fix. Chaewon lies beside you, her dark hair fanned out on your pillow, her fingers tapping idly on her phone. The room is dim, lit only by the glow of your respective screens and the flickering light of the TV playing some mindless reality show in the background.

"You’re being ridiculous," she says, not looking up from her phone. "He’s texted me, you know. Asking if you’re okay."

You don’t look at her. You can’t. Because if you do, she’ll see the way your hands are shaking, the way your throat is tightening, the way your chest feels like it’s caving in.

"What did you say?" Your voice is too sharp, too defensive, like a blade drawn in self-defense.

Chaewon finally looks up, her dark eyes locking onto yours. She doesn’t flinch. She never does. "Told him you were alive. That’s it."

You swallow hard. "That’s it?"

"That’s it." She tilts her head, studying you. "Unless you wanted me to tell him you’re dying of heartbreak? That you cry into your pillow every night? That you—"

"Chaewon," you warn, your voice cracking.

She sighs, sitting up. "I’m just saying. You’re acting like he murdered your family. He just slept with you. And yeah, maybe it was messy, maybe he didn’t meet your standards, maybe he didn’t fuck you like,” you glare at her, “okay fine, maybe he did meet your standards and fuck you good, but—"

"It wasn’t just that," you mutter, staring at your hands. There is ink smeared across your fingers, a dark, ugly stain. "It was—" Everything. The way he looked at you. The way he held you. The way he whispered things you weren’t ready to hear. The way you left.

Chaewon reaches over, prying the pen out of your grip. "Then talk to him."

"I can’t."

"Why not?"

Because I’m scared. Because if I see him, I’ll remember how good it felt. Because if I hear his voice, I’ll remember how much I wanted it. Because if I let him in again, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to walk away.

You don’t say any of that.

Instead, you shake your head and reach for your phone, scrolling mindlessly through your socials, pretending the weight in your chest isn’t there.

Chaewon exhales sharply but doesn’t push. She knows better than anyone when you’re drowning.

9:38 PM

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Again.

You ignore it, just like you’ve ignored the last twelve calls from him. The texts are worse—apologies, jokes, pleas—all left on read. You don’t have the heart to delete them. You don’t have the heart to do anything but pretend they don’t exist.

Chaewon’s phone chimes with a message. She glances at it, then at you. "He’s texting me again."

Your stomach twists. "What does he want?"

"To know if you’re okay." She turns her screen toward you. "See?"

You don’t look.

"He’s pathetic," you mutter, but your voice lacks conviction.

Chaewon snorts. "He’s in love."

"He’s annoying," you correct, but the words taste like a lie.

She doesn’t argue. Instead, she tosses her phone aside and grabs the remote, turning up the volume on the TV like that can drown out the noise in your head.

It doesn’t.

The TV is drowned out by the noise in your head, ringing over and over and over again. The echoing is so loud that when your phone rings, for a second, you think you’re imagining it.

“Are you gonna get that??” Chaewon says, cutting into your space out.

You blink, glancing at your phone screen.

Unknown number.

You ignore it, assuming it’s spam. “It’s probably a spam call.”

But then it rings again. And again.

Chaewon picks it up on the third ring, rolling her eyes. "If this is another scam call about my car’s extended warranty, I swear to god—"

"Y/n?"

Mingyu’s voice cuts through the speaker like a knife.

Your entire body locks up.

Chaewon’s eyes snap to yours, wide and horrified. "Oh shit—"

"Y/n, are you there? Just—just listen to me, please."

Your breath catches. Your hands shake. Chaewon stares at you, her jaw dropped, her thumb hovering over the END CALL button. But she doesn’t press it. Not yet.

"I know you’re mad," Mingyu’s voice cracks. "I know I fucked up. But please—just let me explain. You don’t have to say anything. Just—fuck—just listen."

A tear slips down your cheek.

Chaewon’s gaze softens, her eyes flicking between you and the phone. "Y/n—" she mouths, but you shake your head, your throat too tight to speak.

"I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean for it to happen like that," Mingyu’s voice cracks through the speaker, raw and desperate. His breath is shaky, like he’s been running, like he’s been holding this in for weeks. "But I don’t regret it, Y/n. I don’t regret any of it. Not for a second. Not the way you looked at me, not the way you—" He swallows hard, the sound audible even through the phone. "Not any of it."

Your breath hitches. Chaewon’s eyes are locked on you, wide and unblinking, like she’s watching you shatter in real time.

"I know I fucked up," he continues, his voice breaking. "I know I should’ve—fuck, I don’t know, waited? Asked? Something. But I don’t—" Another shaky breath. "I don’t regret it. And I know that makes me an asshole. But it’s the truth."

You press your lips together so hard they hurt.

"You don’t need to like me back," he says, quieter now, like he’s admitting something he’s never said out loud. "I know I’m—fuck, I’m a lot. And I get it if you don’t want this. If you don’t want me. But I just—" His voice cracks again. "I just need you to know that was the best night of my life. And if you never want to see me again, I’ll forget everything. I’ll do whatever you want. Just—please—don’t shut me out like this."

A tear slips down your cheek. Then another.

"I’m sorry," he whispers. "I’m so sorry, Y/n. For everything. For pushing you. For not—fuck—for not being enough. For being too much. For whatever I did to make you leave like that. Just—" His voice is barely a whisper now. "Tell me what to do. Tell me how to fix this. Because I can’t—I can’t lose you like this."

The silence that follows is suffocating. Chaewon’s hand finds yours, squeezing tight, like she’s trying to anchor you to the present. But you’re drowning. You’re drowning in the sound of his voice, in the memory of his hands, in the way he said "the best night of my life" like it wasn’t just sex, like it meant something.

Like you meant something.

And that’s what breaks you.

With a trembling hand, you snatch the phone from Chaewon and end the call. The screen goes dark, but the weight of his words lingers, heavy and unbearable.

The second the call cuts off, your chest caves in.

You press your hands to your face, your shoulders shaking as the first sob tears out of you. It’s ugly, broken, the kind of sound you don’t want anyone to hear. Chaewon doesn’t let go. She pulls you against her, her arms wrapping around you like a shield.

"Why can’t he just forget it," you whisper, your voice breaking. "Just, why can’t he just forget about it?”

To that, Chaewon stays silent, before whispering, “Because he cares about you, y/n.”

"I hate him," you hiccup, your voice muffled against your palms. "I hate him so much."

"I know," Chaewon murmurs, her hand rubbing slow circles on your back. "I know."

But you don’t.

Because the truth is, you don’t hate him.

You hate yourself.

For leaving. For wanting. For loving him when you know—you know—it’ll only hurt more in the end.

And you can’t tell her that.

So you let the tears come, hot and endless, soaking into your hands, your sleeves, the fabric of Chaewon’s shirt. You cry until your throat is raw, until your head pounds, until the only sound in the room is the ragged rhythm of your breathing.

Chaewon doesn’t say anything else.

She just holds you.

And you let her.

Because you know—

You were the one who left.

You were the one who broke this.

And you don’t know how to fix it either.

2 days later; 12:00 PM

The door to the Interior Modeling studio swings shut behind you, the hum of conversation and the clatter of chairs fading as you step into the hallway. You exhale, rubbing your temple with the back of your hand, your mind still racing with the critique you just got on your latest project. You don’t notice him at first—not until you turn to walk toward the exit and find Mingyu leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, his gaze locked on you like he’s been waiting for hours.

Your eyes go wide.

Fuck.

You whirl around, ready to bolt—but his hand darts out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist before you can take a step. "Not so fast."

"Let go of me," you hiss, yanking your arm back—but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he pulls you aside, into the alcove by the emergency exit, where no one can see you. The door clicks shut behind you, the sudden quiet making your heart pound even harder.

"You gonna keep ignoring me forever?"

His voice is low, rough, like gravel underfoot—like he’s been holding this in for weeks, like he’s one wrong word away from shattering. The hallway feels too small, the air too thick, and you can’t breathe. His fingers are still wrapped around your wrist, his grip firm but not cruel, like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear entirely.

"I’m not ignoring you," you lie, your voice sharper than you mean it to be. It’s a reflex, a defense, something to keep the cracks in your chest from splitting wide open.

"You’re not?" He laughs—a short, bitter sound that doesn’t reach his eyes. "Then why aren’t you answering my calls? My texts? Y/n," his voice drops, raw and desperate, "you won’t even fucking look at me."

Your throat tightens. "I’ve never looked at you," you snap, but the words taste like ash. You know it’s a lie. You’ve always looked at him. Too much. Too long. Too like he was something you could never have.

"We both know that’s a fuckin’ lie," he huffs, stepping closer. The heat of him radiates against you, familiar and infuriating. His free hand comes up, hovering like he wants to touch you but doesn’t dare. "So why are you ignoring me?"

"I don’t know, Mingyu," you say, but your voice cracks, betraying you. The truth is a knot in your chest, tangled and painful. You do know. You’re just too scared to say it.

"Why, Y/n?" His fingers tighten just a little on your wrist—not enough to hurt, but enough to make you look at him. His dark eyes are searching, desperate. "Why are you ignoring me? What did I do?" His voice breaks. "If you just tell me, I can—I can fix it. I can—" He cuts himself off, swallowing hard. "I can do better."

The rawness in his voice undoes you.

"For fuck’s sake, Mingyu," you explode, yanking your arm free. The motion is sharp, angry, but it doesn’t shake him. "You told me you loved me while you were fucking me!" Your voice rises, echoing down the empty hallway. "Who tells someone that they love them mid-fuck?! What was I supposed to do with that, Mingyu? Sit back, relax, and take it as it is?"

His jaw clenches so hard you can see the muscle tick. "I meant it," he snaps, his voice low and dangerous, but his eyes—his eyes are pleading. "I meant every fucking word. But I guess that’s worse, huh? That I actually meant it?"

"You don’t get to do this," you fire back, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. The nails dig into your palms, grounding you. "You don’t get to drop that on me and then act like I’m the crazy one for not knowing what to do with it!"

"I never said you were crazy," he retorts, stepping even closer. The space between you is charged, electric. "I said I love you."

The hallway silences—or maybe it’s just your mind going blank, your heart pounding so loud it drowns out everything else. His words hang between you, heavy and irreversible. You open your mouth, but the words come out in a rush, a mess of everything you’ve been holding in for weeks.

"This is moving too quickly, Mingyu!" Your voice cracks, the tears you’ve been holding back burning your eyes. "That night—it was a mistake. You don’t mean it. You can’t. People don’t just—" You gesture wildly between you, your chest heaving. "You don’t just say that and expect everything to be fine!"

"Why not?" His voice is quieter now, but no less intense. "Why can’t I mean it? Why can’t I love you?"

"Because!" The word tears out of you, raw and ugly. "Because it’s too much, Mingyu! Because I—I can’t—" You press your palms to your eyes, trying to stop the tears, but they come anyway, hot and relentless. "I can’t do this. I can’t be what you want me to be."

"You don’t get to decide that for me," he says, his voice softer now, but firm. "I’m not asking you to be anything, Y/n. I’m just telling you how I feel."

"Well, don’t!" you snap, your voice breaking. "Don’t say things like that when you know—I can’t—" You shake your head, your vision blurring. "We should just—we should both just forget any of this ever happened."

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you, his expression a mix of frustration and something softer, something that makes your chest ache.

Then, quietly, he says, "I can’t."

"Mingyu—"

"I can’t forget it," he repeats, stepping closer again. His hand reaches up, his thumb brushing away a tear from your cheek. "I can’t forget the way you looked at me. The way you felt. The way you—" His voice cracks. "The way you sounded when you—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. "I can’t forget any of it. And I don’t want to."

You open your mouth to say something—what, you don’t know. To tell him he’s wrong. To tell him you can’t do this. To tell him something. But the words won’t come.

Instead, you turn away, your shoulders shaking, and walk out of the alcove—leaving him standing there.

Three Days Before the Gala

Your phone buzzes on your desk, the screen lighting up with a notification. You glance at it, expecting another reminder from the caterers or a panicked message from one of the event coordinators. Instead, it’s an email.

Subject: Urgent: Cancellation of Reservation for Shuastar Charity Gala

Your stomach drops.

No.

No, no, no—

You click it before you can stop yourself, your fingers trembling as you scan the words. Double-booked. Unforeseen circumstances. Sincere apologies. The usual corporate bullshit. But the meaning is clear:

No venue.

No gala.

Your phone buzzes again.

DO NOT ANSWER !!! hey we need to fix this meet me at the cafe

You stare at the screen, your chest tightening. The café. His café. The one you’ve avoided for weeks, the one where you used to meet before everything got so complicated. Before he got so complicated.

Before you ruined everything.

You don’t want to go.

God, you don’t want to go.

But you have to.

Because if you don’t, the gala is over. Months of work, gone. All the planning, the late nights, the stress—gone. And it’s not just about you. It’s about the charity, the donors, the people counting on this event. It’s about him, too, even if you don’t want to admit it.

You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. Your phone is still in your hand, the screen glowing with Mingyu’s message. Without thinking, you scroll up.

And there they are.

All of them. Plus one voice note.

Some crazy part of your brain pulls your thumb to click on the voice note.

Static crackles and there’s a rustling of fabric, a quiet murmur of faint voices, before Mingyu’s tired voice comes through.

"Y/n… hey. It’s me. Again.

He pauses, clearing his throat.

I don’t even know if you’re listening to these anymore, but I had to try. It’s been two days. Two days, and I still don’t know what I did wrong. I know I fucked up. I know I said too much, and I know it was too fast, and I know you probably think I’m some desperate idiot now, but–

His voice cracks.

–but I need you to talk to me. Even if it’s just to tell me to fuck off. Even if it’s just to say you never want to see me again. I just…

A sigh.

– I need to hear your voice.

You can hear the end of a shaky exhale.

Look, I’ll take it back. Okay? I’ll pretend I never said it. I’ll pretend it was just- just the heat of the moment, or some stupid drunk confession, or fuck, I don’t know. Just text me back. Please. We can go back to how we were. We can be friends. I just… I can’t lose you like this. Not when I don’t even know why.

There’s a long pause.

…I miss you. A lot. Call me. Or don’t. But please just… let me know you’re okay.

His next words are so quiet the phone barely captures it.

…I love you. Fuck. I still love you. Even if you hate me for it."

The voice note stops.

You swallow, your throat closing up as your thumb hovers over the screen, scrolling through the messages again, each one a knife twisting deeper. The words blur as your vision burns, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Because somewhere between the anger and the pride and the stubborn refusal to admit how much this hurts, there’s a part of you that needs to see the proof that he felt it too.

That it wasn’t just you.

That you weren’t fucking crazy.

DO NOT ANSWER !!! 4 days ago; 20:39 I know youre mad y/n i dont know how to fix this if you dont tell me anything I miss you

Your chest aches, a dull, persistent throb behind your ribs. You press a hand there, as if that could somehow ease the pressure, but it doesn’t. Nothing does.

The way he begged you to talk to him with some crazy notion that you were the only person in the world who could make this right. Like he couldn’t breathe without your answer.

He fucking apologized. For existing. For loving you. Like it was a crime. For missing you.

And the worst part?

You missed him, too.

You exhale sharply, the sound shaky, uneven. Your phone feels heavy in your hand, like it’s burning through your skin. With a sudden, violent motion, you toss it onto the bed, watching as it bounces once before settling against the rumpled sheets. It’s like throwing away a grenade, like if you don’t put distance between yourself and those messages, they’ll detonate and leave you in pieces.

You don’t want to feel this.

You don’t want to care.

But you do.

You sink onto the edge of your bed, your hands trembling as you press them to your face. The tears come before you can stop them, hot and fast, slipping through your fingers. You hate this—the way your body betrays you, the way your heart still aches for him even after everything. Even after you left. Even after you tried to forget.

You tried so hard.

And it still wasn’t enough.

Chaewon finds you like this.

She doesn’t knock. She never does. The door creaks open, and her footsteps are soft as she crosses the room, sitting beside you without a word. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong. She already knows.

"He texted you again, didn’t he?" Her voice is quiet, gentle.

You don’t answer. You don’t have to.

She sighs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against her. "You’re allowed to miss him, you know."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

"I don’t want to," you whisper, your voice breaking.

"I know," she murmurs. "But you do."

And that’s the worst part.

Because she’s right.

You cry until your throat is raw, until your chest hurts from the force of it. Chaewon doesn’t let go. She just holds you, her hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, her presence a quiet anchor in the storm.

"It’s okay," she says, over and over, like a mantra. "It’s okay to feel this."

But it doesn’t feel okay.

Eventually, the tears slow. You wipe your face with the back of your hand, your breath hitching as you try to steady yourself. Chaewon reaches over, grabbing a tissue from your nightstand and pressing it into your palm.

"You gonna be okay?" she asks, her dark eyes searching yours.

You don’t know how to answer that.

So you don’t.

Instead, you take a shaky breath and nod, even though it’s a lie.

Chaewon studies you for a long moment, then sighs. "You’re a terrible liar."

You manage a weak, watery laugh. "I know."

She doesn’t push.

But as you sit there, the weight of everything pressing down on you, you know one thing for certain:

You can’t keep running forever.

And that, more than anything (even the desperate text messages and the voicemails Mingyu’s left you), terrifies you.

4:05 PM

You walk in, the bell above the door chiming softly. The scent of coffee and baked goods wraps around you, familiar and comforting. Your eyes scan the room, and there he is.

Mingyu.

He’s already there, sitting at the same table you used to share, his laptop open in front of him. He’s wearing a black sweater, the one you always liked, the one that makes his shoulders look broader, his arms more defined. His dark hair is slightly messy, like he’s been running his hands through it, and his glasses are perched on the bridge of his nose as he stares at the screen.

He looks up.

And then he sees you.

For a second, neither of you moves. The air between you is thick, charged, like the moment before a storm. His expression is unreadable—relief, maybe, or frustration, or something else entirely.

You don’t know what to say.

You just walk over, pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down. The wood is cold beneath your palms, grounding you.

Mingyu doesn’t speak at first. He just looks at you, his gaze searching, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face.

Then, quietly, he says, "You came."

You swallow hard. "We have a gala to save."

He exhales, a shaky breath, like he’s been holding it for weeks. "Yeah," he murmurs. "We do."

Silence stretches between you, heavy and uncomfortable. You can feel the weight of everything unsaid, every text, every call, every moment you’ve spent avoiding this.

Avoiding him.

Finally, you look down at your hands, your fingers twisting together in your lap. "I saw your texts," you admit quietly.

Mingyu doesn’t respond right away. When he does, his voice is rough. "Which ones?"

"All of them."

Another pause. Then, softer, "And?"

You don’t really have an answer for that.

Instead, you pull out your laptop, opening it with more force than necessary. "We should figure out the venue situation," you say, your voice clipped, professional. "The Grand Hyatt has an opening, but it’s double the price."

Mingyu watches you for a long moment before nodding, turning back to his own screen. "We’re not paying double," he says, his tone firm. "I’ll call the Ritz. See if they can give us a deal."

You hum out a quiet “Okay.”

The café hums around you, the low murmur of conversation and the clink of cups filling the silence between you and Mingyu. You sit across from each other, the table a battleground of unspoken words and lingering tension. Your laptop is open, the glow from the screen casting shadows on your face as you scroll through the email from the Ritz. Mingyu’s fingers tap restlessly against his coffee cup, his gaze flickering between you and his own laptop.

You don’t want to be here.

Really.

5:12 PM

"So," you say, your voice carefully neutral as you pull up the venue details. "The Ritz can accommodate us, but we’d have to adjust the seating chart. Again."

Mingyu exhales, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I saw that." He leans forward slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours for the first time since you sat down. "We can make it work."

You nod, your fingers flying over the keyboard as you pull up the guest list. "We’ll have to cut at least twenty people."

"I’ll handle it," he says, his voice firm. "I’ll call the donors, explain the situation."

You glance up at him, surprised. "You’d do that?"

He shrugs, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "I’m the one who fucked up the venue. Least I can do is clean up the mess."

You don’t argue. Even though it’s not really his fault. None of this is, actually.

Instead, you turn back to your screen, but there’s something lighter in your chest now, something that almost feels like the way things used to be between you. Before everything got so complicated. Almost.

The minutes tick by, the two of you falling into an old rhythm. You throw out ideas, he counters with his own, and before you know it, you’re laughing – actually laughing – when he suggests moving the dessert table to the center of the room "for maximum sugar accessibility."

"That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard," you say, grinning despite yourself.

"No, it’s genius," he argues, a smirk playing on his lips. "People get cranky when they’re hungry. We keep the sugar flowing, we keep the donors happy."

You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling. "You’re impossible."

"You’ll miss me if I leave though," he teases, his voice softer now, almost tentative.

Your smile falters for a second, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. But then he grins and something in you shifts. For a moment, just a moment, you forget.

You forget the texts. You forget the calls. You forget the way you left.

You forget everything.

You’re leaning over your laptop, typing out a response to the Ritz, when you say the first thing on your mind.

"You know, I’ve never really gone to frat parties."

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, the words slipping out before you can stop them. The café’s ambient noise fades into the background as Mingyu’s head snaps up, his dark eyebrows lifting in surprise.

Oh shit.

"You came to mine," he says, his voice low, like he’s pointing out the obvious.

"Well, yeah," you admit, your fingers freezing mid-type. Heat creeps up your neck, flooding your cheeks. "But that was because I wanted to see y—" You cut yourself off, biting your lip, eyes wide. Fuck. You weren’t supposed to say that.

Mingyu’s smile is instant, slow and knowing, like he’s just won a game you didn’t realize you were playing. "Because you wanted to…?" he prompts, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. His dark eyes lock onto yours, teasing but tender, like he’s afraid to push too hard.

You exhale sharply, your gaze dropping to your laptop screen. "I wanted to see you," you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper. You’re not sure what compelled you to say that.

Mingyu’s grin widens, triumphant and bright, like the sun breaking through storm clouds. "What?" he asks, even though he heard you perfectly.

"What?" you snap, your face burning. You glare at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. "I didn’t say anything."

"You did," he counters, his voice light, playful. "You absolutely did."

"No, I didn’t," you insist, but your voice wavers, and you can feel your cheeks flaming.

"Yes, you did," he repeats, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You wanted to see me."

"Mingyu, drop it," you warn, but there’s no real bite to your words. Your heart is pounding, your fingers twisting together in your lap.

"Y/n—" he starts, his voice softer now, almost gentle.

"—I don’t like you," you blurt out, desperate to shut this down, to put distance between you and the way your chest is tightening, the way your stomach is flipping.

Mingyu doesn’t even flinch. If anything, his grin widens, like he knows he’s won or something. Like he’s successfully proved you wrong. "I never said that you did," he says, his voice even, like he’s humoring you.

"You implied it," you argue, your chest tightening. "You said—"

"I didn’t imply anything," he interrupts, his voice gentle, almost amused. "I just said you wanted to see me. Which you did."

"That’s…not the point," you stammer, your face still burning. "The point is—"

"-The point is," he cuts in, leaning back in his chair, his gaze never leaving yours, "you came to see me."

You open your mouth to argue, but the words die on your lips. Because he’s right. And you hate that he’s right.

"...Whatever," you grumble, turning back to your laptop, your fingers flying over the keys with more force than necessary. "I’m not the one who told someone I love you mid—" You cut yourself off, your face flaming as the words hang in the air between you. You can’t believe you just said that.

That makes Mingyu’s smile wobble. He goes still, before whispering, "I meant it."

Your breath catches.

You don’t look at him. You can’t. Because if you do, you’ll see the sincerity in his eyes, the raw honesty, and it’ll undo you. Instead, you stare at your laptop screen, your vision blurring as your fingers hover over the keys.

"Mingyu—" you start, but your voice cracks.

"Y/n," he says, his voice gentle, almost pleading. "Can we stop pretending it never happened? Just…talk to me. Please."

You swallow hard, your fingers curling into fists in your lap. "I don’t—" Your voice breaks again. "I don’t know what to say."

"Say anything," he murmurs. "Say you hate me. Say you miss me. Say you wish you’d never met me. Just– just say something."

Your breath hitches. "I can’t—"

"You can," he interrupts, his voice soft but firm. "You can talk to me, Y/n. Even if it’s just to yell at me. Even if it’s just to tell me to fuck off. I’ll take it. I’ll take anything. Anything you give me, I’ll take it."

You exhale shakily, your hands dropping to your lap. "You don’t—" You stop, pressing your lips together. "You don’t get to do this, Mingyu. You don’t get to just say things and expect me to—" You gesture wildly between the two of you. "To just pretend like everything’s fine."

"I’m not expecting anything," he says, his voice low, earnest. "I’m just asking. For one conversation. That’s all."

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you look down at your laptop, at the half-written email to the Ritz, at the way your fingers are trembling over the keys. "This isn’t—" You stop, swallowing hard. "This cannot be a conversation, Mingyu. This is us working."

"It can be both," he says, his voice gentle. "We can work and talk. We can fix the gala and fix—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. "We can just talk, Y/n. That’s all I’m asking for."

You don’t look at him. You can’t. Because if you do, you’ll see the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the only thing that matters. And that scares you.

"I don’t—" Your voice is barely a whisper. "I don’t like you, Mingyu."

His smile returns, tighter and sadder now. "So you’ve said."

“That was one night.” You exhale sharply. "You can’t just say things like that during a– a– a hookup and expect me to—" You gesture helplessly between the two of you. "To just pretend like it’s nothing."

"I’m not asking you to pretend," he says, his voice quiet but steady. "I’m just asking you to talk to me. To let me—" He stops, running a hand through his hair. "To let me be here. Even if it’s just as your friend."

"Mingyu," Your voice cracks. "You told me that you loved me! You said you loved me while I moaned under you like some fucking prostitute! You can’t just say that and expect me to—" You stop, swallowing hard, wiping at your eyes, "to just act like it’s nothing."

"I’m not expecting you to act like it’s nothing," he says, his voice low, earnest, completely ignoring the first part of what you said. "I’m just telling you how I feel."

“...I know.”

“Do you?”

“I do.”

The silence stretches between you, heavy and fragile. You can feel his gaze on you, warm and steady, but you don’t look up. Instead, you turn back to your laptop, your fingers resuming their frantic typing.

"We should get back to work," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mingyu doesn’t push. He just nods, turning back to his own screen. But the air between you has shifted, charged with something new.

6:20 PM

The café is nearly empty by the time you finally close your laptop, the hum of the espresso machine and the quiet clink of dishes being cleared away filling the space between you and Mingyu. The gala preparations are actually finished—somehow, miraculously, despite the chaos of the last few hours. You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples as you push your chair back and stand, stretching your arms over your head. Your back cracks, the tension of the last few weeks—hell, the last few months—finally easing just a little.

Mingyu stands too, his chair scraping against the floor. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you as you gather your things, his dark eyes unreadable. Then, without a word, he reaches for your tote bag, slinging it over his shoulder before you can protest. You open your mouth to argue, but the words die on your lips. Instead, you just watch as he adjusts the strap, his fingers brushing against the fabric like it’s second nature.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice quiet.

You nod, even though you’re not sure you are.

When you walk out, the night air is cool, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the café. You pull your jacket tighter around yourself as you step outside, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. Mingyu falls into step beside you, his shoulder brushing yours just lightly, accidentally, maybe, or maybe not. You don’t pull away.

You notice, almost immediately, the way he positions himself. On the road side between you and the traffic, like he’s some kind of human shield. You’ve seen him do it before, with his friends, with his frat brothers, but on the receiving end now, it feels different now. Intentional. Like he’s making sure you’re safe, even from something as simple as a car splashing water from a puddle.

You don’t say anything about it.

The walk back to your sorority house is quiet at first, the only sounds are the distant hum of traffic and the occasional laugh from a group of students heading the opposite way. You keep your hands stuffed in your pockets, your gaze fixed on the sidewalk ahead of you. Mingyu doesn’t speak either, but you can feel his presence beside you, solid and warm, like a promise.

Then, without warning, his hand is on your arm, pulling you sharply and suddenly against him. Your breath catches as a scooter zips past, far too close to you to be safe, the rider weaving unsteadily. Mingyu’s grip is firm, protective, his other hand coming up to brace against your back like he’s afraid you’ll stumble. You collide with his chest, your heart pounding, and for a second, you’re surrounded by him—the scent of his cologne, the warmth of his body, the steady thud of his heartbeat under your ear.

"Fucking idiot," he mutters under his breath, his voice rough. His hand lingers on your back, just for a second, before he pulls away, but not all the way. His fingers brush yours as you step back, and you swallow hard, your skin tingling where he touched you.

"You okay?"* he asks, his voice low, his eyes searching yours in the dim light as he looks down.

You nod, even though your pulse is still racing. "Yeah."

He doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not right away.

Not until you start walking again.

You keep walking, but now there’s a shift between you, something lighter, something warmer. Your fingers brush against his as you move, and neither of you pulls away. It’s stupid, really—just the barest touch, the lightest connection—but it feels like everything. Like a thread pulling taut between you, something fragile and precious.

"You always walk road-side,” you say suddenly, your voice quiet.

Mingyu glances down at you, his eyebrows lifting slightly. "Yeah."

"Why?"

He shrugs, like it’s obvious. Like you should know by now. "So if some idiot asshole driver loses control, they hit me first." He grins afterwards, like it makes perfect, total sense.

Your breath catches. Your heart thuds in your chest. What a stupid, idiotic, heartfelt, sweet thing to say. "That’s—Mingyu, that’s—"

"Stupid?" He supplements.

“No, fucking absurd,” you retort, arms crossing.

His lips quirk up at your words, as if he enjoys this. "Maybe. But I’d rather it be me than you."

You don’t know what to say to that.

He’s been catching you off guard a lot more recently.

Instead, you let your fingers linger against his, just for a second, before you pull your hand back into your pocket, kick stray rocks down the path, lump in your throat.

The closer you get to your sorority house, the more the tension between you shifts—less like a wall, more like a bridge. You find yourself relaxing, your shoulders loosening, your steps slowing just a little so you’re in sync with his. The silence isn’t awkward anymore. It’s comfortable. Familiar.

"You remember that time we got caught in the rain last spring after the charity dinner rehearsal?" Mingyu asks suddenly, his voice warm.

You blink, surprised by the change in topic. "The one where we were under that old gas station awning for like an hour?"

"Yeah," he chuckles, the sound low and rich. "You were so mad because your shoes were ruined."

"I was planning on wearing it for the actual charity dinner," you protest, but you’re smiling now, the memory flooding back. "And you laughed at me."

"Because you looked like a drowned rat," he teases, nudging your shoulder lightly with his. "But a really cute drowned rat."

You shove him half-heartedly, but you’re still grinning. "Shut the fuck up," you grumble

"Hey, come on now," he says, his voice softer now. “I’m the best you’ve got."

You roll your eyes, but your chest feels lighter than it has in weeks.

Slowly, your sorority house comes into view, the warm glow of the porch light spilling onto the sidewalk. You slow to a stop at the bottom of the steps, turning to face Mingyu. He’s watching you, his expression unreadable, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"Thanks," you say quietly, "for walking me back."

His gaze softens. "Of course." Like it’s mandatory. Like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing. It eats at you.

You hesitate, your fingers twisting together. There’s so much you want to say. So much you should say. But the words stick in your throat, tangled and messy.

Instead, you just look at him.

And for a second, he looks back at you—really looks at you—like he’s memorizing the way the porch light catches in your hair, the way your lips part just slightly when you’re thinking, the way your eyes reflect the stars.

Then, quietly, he says, "I miss this."

Your breath catches.

"Miss what?" you whisper. You’re scared of the answer.

"You," he says simply. "Talking to me. Laughing with me. Being with me."

You don’t answer.

You can’t. Your weird friendship-enemyship-situationship that existed before he put his dick in you – even that never realy felt like this. Whatever this is. Whatever you having sex with him did to you, to him, to unlock a part of him that you didn’t really know existed. A part of him that was so hung up on you, on your absence, that said ballsy shit like I miss you and I love you without expecting the same back.

Instead, you take a shaky breath and nod, your throat tight.

Mingyu doesn’t push. He just smiles, softly, sadly, and reaches out, his fingers brushing yours one last time as he hands you your tote back. Your murmur a small thank you.

"Goodnight, Y/n," he murmurs.

"Goodnight," you whisper back.

And as you watch him walk away, his hands in his pockets, his silhouette disappearing into the night, you realize something:

You miss it too.

God, you miss it too.

gala night; 8:35 PM

The gala is in full swing, the grand ballroom of the Ritz bathed in soft golden light, the hum of conversation and the clink of glasses filling the air. You stand by the drink bar, a flute of champagne in hand, laughing at something Chaewon just said about the new poke place that opened downtown. The dress—this dress—hugs your body like it was made for you, the deep navy satin cascading to the floor in a river of elegance. The off-the-shoulder neckline and delicate chain straps make you feel like some kind of modern-day goddess, and for the first time in weeks, you feel confident. Beautiful.

Unshakable.

Chaewon grins, nudging your shoulder with hers. "Okay, but if we go, you’re not allowed to judge me when I get the spiciest option and then cry."

"I would never," you say, mock-offended, taking a sip of your champagne.

She’s about to say something when her expression shifts, her eyes flickering over your shoulder before she leans in, her voice dropping to a low whisper. "Not sure if you wanna hear this, but iloveyoumidfuck has been staring at you for the past 15 minutes."

Your stomach drops.

"What?" you say, too quickly, your fingers tightening around the stem of your glass.

Chaewon huffs out a laugh, leaning back again and taking a sip of her own drink. "Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t know. You know exactly who I’m talking about."\

You don’t turn around. You won’t turn around. But you can feel it—the weight of his gaze on you, like a physical touch. It sends a shiver down your spine, heat pooling in your chest.

"He’s probably just making sure I don’t mess anything up," you mutter, but your voice lacks conviction.

Chaewon snorts. "Yeah, because that’s totally why he’s practically undressing and eye-fucking you."

You elbow her lightly, but your heart is pounding. "Shut up."

She laughs, shaking her head. "You two are ridiculous. Just talk to him already."

"There’s nothing to talk about," you say, but the words taste like a lie.

Chaewon opens her mouth to argue, but then her eyes flick over your shoulder again, and her expression softens. "I’m gonna bet that he doesn’t feel the same."

Before you can ask what she means, a familiar voice cuts through the noise of the gala.

"Y/n."

You freeze.

Then, slowly, you turn.

Mingyu stands there, dressed in a tailored black tuxedo that fits him like it was made for him. His dark hair is styled neatly, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and his eyes—god, his eyes—are locked onto yours, dark and intense and hungry.

For a second, neither of you speaks.

The noise of the gala fades into the background, the world narrowing down to just the two of you.

"You look—" His voice cracks. "You look incredible."

Your breath catches.

And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself really look at him.

Let yourself feel it.

The way your heart races when he’s near. The way your skin tingles where his gaze touches you. The way, despite everything, you miss him.

Your lips part, the words you were about to say hanging between you like a tantalizing dessert, before the Dean of Student Affairs appears at Mingyu’s side, clapping him on the shoulder with a booming laugh.

Fucking Dean Hastings.

"Kim! There’s the man of the hour!" Dean Hastings grins, oblivious to the tension crackling between you two. "This gala is a masterpiece. Absolutely flawless. You two really outdid yourselves."

Mingyu doesn’t miss a beat. "It wasn’t just me," he corrects, his voice warm with that effortless charm of his. "Was probably all Y/n. I was just the muscle, you know, reaching up high for decorations ‘n everything." He shoots you a sideways glance, his eyes softening into something almost tender. "She’s the one who made the magic happen."

Dean Hastings turns to you, beaming. "Ah, yes! Ms. Hong, of course. We’ve heard wonderful things." His eyes flick between the two of you, and for a second, your heart thuds because you swear he sees it: the way Mingyu’s shoulder brushes yours, the way his fingers twitch like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you. "Well,” Dean H says, clearing his throat, giving Mingyu another clap on the shoulder, “keep up the good work, you two. This is exactly the kind of initiative Dean Park loves to see!"

Mingyu nods, his hand accidentally brushing against yours as he shifts closer. Then, slowly, his fingers find yours, squeezing once, quick and reassuring, before he pulls away. But that single touch sends a jolt through you, your breath catching in your throat. You want to punch him. You want to kick him in the shin, you want to rip out his fingers. You don’t dare look at him.

Because if you do, you’ll cry.

You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve him. Not after the way you ignored him, the way you pushed him away, the way you acted like his feelings were some kind of burden instead of the gift they are. And yet here he is, standing beside you, deflecting praise, making sure you get the credit, his hand finding yours in the dark like he can’t help himself.

The dean keeps talking, something about donor engagement and future collaborations, but the words blur together. All you can focus on is the heat of Mingyu’s presence beside you, the way his pinky lingers near yours like he’s waiting for an excuse to touch you again.

Then, just as suddenly as they appeared, the deans excuse themselves, shaking your hands before moving on to schmooze with someone else.

Mingyu exhales, running a hand through his hair, and turns to you, his mouth already open, something soft and unguarded in his eyes. "Y/n, I—" He’s promptly cut off by Chaewon’s voice interrupting, sharp through the tension like a knife.

"Y/N!"

You both jump, turning to see her barreling toward you, her expression apologetic but urgent.

"Oh my god, I’m sooo sorry, but we have to deal with the caterer. Right now. They messed up the vegetarian options, and if we don’t fix it, half the donors are gonna riot."

Mingyu blinks, the spell broken. "Uh. Yeah. Go." He shoves his hands in his pockets, his smile tight. "I’ll—uh—handle the DJ or something."

You hesitate, your chest aching. "Mingyu—"

"Go," he says, softer this time. "We’ll talk later."

Chaewon grabs your arm, already dragging you away. "Sorry, sorry, but this is urgent!" she hisses, shooting an apologetic glance over her shoulder at Mingyu.

You let yourself be pulled away, but not before glancing back at him one last time. He’s watching you, his hands still in his pockets, his expression unreadable.

And for the first time all night, you let yourself wonder.

What if I just… let myself have this?

9:41 PM

The gala hums around you—laughter, clinking glasses, the low thrum of the string quartet in the corner. You’re standing in a loose circle with Chaewon, a few sorority sisters, and a couple of guys from your marketing class when Dylan appears at your side.

Dylan.

He’s all easy smiles and expensive cologne that all but attacks your nose, his arm slipping around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

"Damn, Y/n," he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you and Chaewon hear. "You clean up good." His fingers twirl a loose strand of your hair, his thumb brushing the back of your neck just once. It’s too familiar, too possessive. As if just because you hooked up with him a couple times your junior year that gives him consent to twirl you around like a doll.

But you don’t pull away.

Because the group is watching, because Chaewon’s eyes are begging you not to make a scene, because you’ve spent the last two weeks pretending you don’t still feel like you’re drowning every time Mingyu’s name crosses your mind.

So you laugh, light and practiced, like Dylan’s touch doesn’t make your skin crawl. "Flattery won’t get you an extra slice of cake, Dylan."

"Worth a shot," he grins, his grip tightening just a fraction before he finally lets his hand drop.

Chaewon exhales beside you, shooting you a look that says what the hell was that? but you just shake your head, taking a long sip of your champagne.

Across the room, Mingyu stands with Wonwoo and Seungcheol, his back to you as they laugh about something. Probably some stupid frat story, the kind that starts with "Bro, so this chick is like hot, right?" but then Wonwoo says something, nudging Seungcheol, and Mingyu turns.

Just in time to see Dylan’s fingers in your hair.

His laughter dies mid-breath.

Wonwoo follows his gaze, his eyebrows scrunching when he sees Dylan’s arm around you. He claps a hand on Mingyu’s shoulder, leaning in to mutter something. Mingyu doesn’t really hear him.

His entire body goes still, like a predator locking onto its target. His fingers flex at his sides, his jaw tightening just enough that you can see it even from here. The smile he forces is sharp, all teeth, no warmth. "You good, man?" Seungcheol asks, his voice low, but Mingyu doesn’t answer.

He just watches. Watches Dylan lean in, whisper something in your ear that makes you laugh—fake, fake, fake—watches you play along because what else are you supposed to do? You’re not his. You made that clear. You left. You ignored him. You acted like his feelings were some kind of mistake.

And now here you are, letting Dylan touch you like he has any right.

Wonwoo says something else, his grip on Mingyu’s shoulder tightening, but Mingyu shakes him off, his eyes never leaving you.

Chaewon notices.

"Y/n," she hisses, elbowing you in the ribs. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What?" you snap, too quickly, your voice too bright. "Nothing. It’s fine."

"It’s not fine," she mutters, her eyes flicking over your shoulder. "He’s two seconds away from committing a felony."

You don’t have to ask who he is.

You can feel the weight of his gaze burn into the side of your face, but you refuse to look. Refuse to acknowledge the way your chest tightens, the way your stomach twists with something ugly and guilty.

Dylan, oblivious, grins and raises his glass. "To the most beautiful woman at the gala," he toasts, winking at you.

The group laughs, clinking glasses, but all you hear is the roar of blood in your ears.

"That’s enough." Mingyu’s voice cuts through the noise like a blade.

The group falls silent.

Dylan turns, his smirk faltering when he sees Mingyu standing there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his dark eyes burning. "Kim," Dylan says, too smooth, too fake. "What’s up, man?"

Mingyu doesn’t look at him.

He looks at you.

"We need to talk," he says, his voice low, dangerous.

Chaewon grabs your wrist. "Y/n—"

"Now," Mingyu adds, ignoring her.

Dylan’s arm is still around your waist, his fingers digging in just a little, like he’s staking a claim. "She’s busy," he says, his voice dripping with false cheer.

Mingyu’s gaze drops to Dylan’s hand.

Then he smiles.

It’s not a nice smile.

"Get your fucking hand off her," he says, quiet. Too quiet.

The group goes still.

Dylan’s grip tightens. "Or what?"

Mingyu takes a step forward.

Wonwoo and Seungcheol move with him, arms dangling uselessly by their sides, eyes flitting over from you to him to Dylan, as if they’re unsure of what exactly to do.

Chaewon’s nails dig into your skin. "Y/n," she whispers, "do something."

But you can’t.=

Because Mingyu’s eyes are locked onto yours, and the look in them—hurt, anger, betrayal—makes your throat close up.

"Mingyu—" you start, your voice breaking.

"Outside," he says, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Now."

Dylan finally drops his arm, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Chill, man. We’re just talking."

Mingyu doesn’t even glance at him.

He just waits.

For you.

Chaewon lets go of your wrist, her expression torn between worry and relief. "Go," she murmurs. "Before this gets worse."

You swallow hard, your hands shaking.

Then you follow him out of the ballroom, your heart pounding so loud you’re sure everyone can hear it.

The heavy ballroom doors swing shut behind you with a soft, final click, muffling the hum of the gala—the laughter, the clinking glasses, the string quartet playing some elegant, meaningless melody. The hallway is dimly lit, the air cooler here, away from the crush of bodies inside. Mingyu stands a few feet away, his back to you, his shoulders tense under the crisp black fabric of his tuxedo. He doesn’t turn around right away. Maybe he’s giving you a second to breathe. Maybe he’s giving himself one.

"What the fuck was that?" he demands, his voice raw.

"You don’t get to do this," you retort, your voice sharper than you intended. It echoes off the marble floors, bouncing back at you like an accusation.

Mingyu turns slowly, his dark eyes locking onto yours. There’s something raw in his expression — something wounded and furious all at once. "Do what, Y/n?" His voice is low, controlled, but you can hear the crack in it. "Call out the guy who had his hands all over you after you’ve spent weeks pretending I don’t exist?"

"That’s not fair," you snap, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. "You don’t get to act like you have some claim over me just because we—" You cut yourself off, your face burning. "Just because one thing happened."

"One thing?" He lets out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Is that what you’re calling it now? We’ve changed from a one night stand to a mistake to one thing?"

"It was once," you say, lifting your chin to try to hide the way his words cut you.

The words hang between you, heavy and ugly.

Mingyu’s expression darkens. "A mistake."

"You know what I mean," you mutter, looking away.

"No," he says, stepping closer. "I don’t. Because if it was a mistake, then why does it feel like you’ve been punishing me for it ever since?"

Your breath catches. "I haven’t—"

"You have," he cuts in, his voice rising. "You ignored me. You avoided me. You acted like I was some kind of monster for telling you how I felt—"

"Because it was too much!" The words tear out of you before you can stop them. "You don’t just—you don’t just say that to someone in the middle of—of that and expect them to know what to do with it!"

Mingyu goes still, his chest rising and falling too fast. "So what was I supposed to do, Y/n?" His voice is quieter now, but no less intense. "Wait? Pretend I didn’t mean it? Act like it was just sex when we both know it wasn’t?"

You press your lips together, your eyes burning. "It doesn’t matter. Because we’re not together. You don’t get to dictate who I talk to, who I let touch me—"

"I’m not dictating anything!" he snaps, his hands clenching at his sides. "I’m asking you to talk to me! Look at me! Stop acting like I’m the villain here when all I’ve ever done is care about you!"

"You don’t get to demand that!" you fire back, your voice shaking. "You don’t get to pull me out of a conversation in the middle of the gala and act like I owe you something!"

"You owe me nothing," he says, his voice breaking, “but honesty! You owe me the truth about why you’ve been terrified to even look at me for weeks!"

The words hit you like a physical blow.

You take a step back, your heel catching on the hem of your dress. "I am not terrified," you lie, but your voice wavers.

Mingyu exhales sharply, like he’s trying to rein himself in. "Then what is it, Y/n?" His voice is softer now, pleading. "What in God’s fuckin’ name are you so afraid of?"

You don’t answer.

Because the truth?

You’re afraid of this—of the way your chest aches when he looks at you, of the way your hands shake when he’s near, of the way you want to reach for him even though you know you don’t deserve him. You’re afraid that you’ll let him in and he’ll leave you. You’re afraid that you’ll get attached and then all of the promises he had whispered in your ears will come crashing down. You’re afraid to give someone so much love, to somehow match their intensity. You’re afraid of how much it hurts to love someone who sees you so clearly. You’re afraid that you’ll, one day, hurt this person more than you have right now.

"I can’t do this right now," you say instead, your voice hollow. "The gala’s not over. I have work to do."

Mingyu’s jaw tightens. "So that’s it? You’re just gonna walk away again?"

"I’m not walking away," you say, even though you know it’s a lie. "I’m working. And if you’re gonna be childish about this, then you can wait until it’s over."

"Childish?" His voice is dangerously quiet.

"Yes," you say, lifting your chin. "Childish. You don’t get to drag me out here and demand things from me when we’re not even together."

Mingyu stares at you, his dark eyes searching yours like he’s trying to find something, anything, that will make this make sense. "You’re right," he says finally, his voice flat. "We’re not together. So I don’t get to demand anything from you."

The words sting more than they should.

"Good," you say, but it comes out weaker than you intended.

Mingyu doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stands there, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you.

You should walk away.

You should.

But you don’t.

Instead, you stand there, your heart pounding, your throat tight, waiting for him to say something that will make this easier.

He doesn’t.

So you turn on your heel and walk back into the gala, the doors swinging shut behind you with a finality that feels like a punch to the gut.

And for the rest of the night, you avoid him.

11:11 PM

The ballroom is a ghost of what it was.

The string quartet packed up hours ago. The donors, the deans, the laughing groups of students—all gone. The only remnants of the gala are the scattered champagne flutes, the abandoned name cards, the half-crushed programs left on chairs. The lights are dimmed, the chandeliers casting long, wavering shadows across the floor.

You and Mingyu are the last ones left.

You’ve been cleaning in silence, the kind that isn’t uncomfortable, but heavy—like the air before a storm. Your heels are long gone, kicked under a table somewhere. Your hair, once perfectly styled, is coming loose in soft waves around your shoulders. Mingyu’s tie is undone, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his usually neat hair mussed from running his hands through it too many times.

You’re both exhausted.

But neither of you has said it’s time to leave.

You’re folding the last of the tablecloths when Mingyu speaks.

"We make a good team."

His voice is quiet, but it still makes you jump. You glance up at him, your fingers pausing in their work. He’s watching you, his dark eyes unreadable in the dim light.

"Professionally," you say, because you have to. Because if you don’t, you’ll break.

Mingyu exhales, a soft, humorless laugh. "You sure?"

He steps closer.

Your breath catches.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, but your voice is too quiet, too weak.

"It means," he says, his voice low, "that we’re good at more than just planning galas."

Your heart pounds so hard you’re sure he can hear it. "Mingyu—"

"No," he cuts in, shaking his head. "Let me say this. Please."

You swallow hard, but you don’t stop him.

He takes another step closer, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of his cologne—cedar and something warm, something him. "I’m crazy about you, Y/n," he says, his voice rough. "I’ve been crazy about you since freshman year. That night wasn’t just a hookup. It was literally the best night of my life, and I’m sorry I threw a love confession on you, but I don’t regret it. I don’t regret it at all."

Your chest tightens.

"Because I am in love with you," he continues, his voice breaking just a little. "I’m in love with you so much that I’d rather you hate me and acknowledge me than ignore me completely. I am in love with you, and you consume me—mind, body, and soul, every single day."

He’s close enough to touch you now.

But he doesn’t.

"And you don’t need to agree with me," he says, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. "At all, actually. I’m not asking for your love back. Hell, I’m not even asking for the tiniest fucking slice of love back." He lets out a shaky breath, his hands flexing at his sides. "I’m just asking for a chance. One chance."

The silence that follows is deafening.

You don’t know what to say.

Because the truth is, you feel it too.

You’ve always felt it.

But you’ve been too scared to admit it. You’re still scared to admit it.

The air between you is thick, charged with everything he just said—every confession, every raw, unfiltered truth. Your chest aches, your hands tremble at your sides. You stare at him, then at your feet, then back at him again, like if you look away too long, this moment will dissolve into nothing.

Mingyu doesn’t move.

And then, finally, you look up.

Your voice is shaky, barely above a whisper. "Are you serious?"

Mingyu’s expression doesn’t waver. "Y/n," he says, like it’s the only answer he’s ever needed to give, a huff of bitter laughter escaping him. "I’ve never not been serious about you."

Your breath hitches.

"I—"

"If you’re not going to," he cuts in, his voice rough, "just tell me. But don’t tell me that that night didn’t mean anything—"

"—Yes."

The word slips out before you can stop it. Before you can overthink it. Before you can convince yourself this is a bad idea.

Mingyu freezes.

"—no, just let me fin— wait. Wait, what?"

"Yes, Mingyu."

"Wait, wait, wait—yes, yes you’ll give me a chance or like yes you’re gonna let me down because—"

"—Yes, I like you too," you blurt out, your face burning, your heart pounding so hard you’re sure he can see it. "So just—"

Mingyu doesn’t let you finish.

One second, he’s standing there, stunned.

The next, he’s on you.

His hands cup your face, his fingers tangling in your hair as he leans down, his breath warm against your lips. "Ohmygod," he whispers, like he can’t believe this is real.

And then he kisses you.

It’s not soft. Not gentle. It’s desperate, like he’s been starving for this, for you, for this moment. His lips crash against yours, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. You gasp into his mouth, your fingers clutching at his shirt, your body melting into his like it was always meant to.

Mingyu groans, his hands tightening on your hips before he lifts you up, spinning you around like you weigh nothing. You break the kiss with a breathless laugh, your hands flying to his shoulders as he sets you down, his forehead resting against yours.

"Say it again," he demands, his voice rough.

You grin, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. "Yes, Mingyu."

He kisses you again, softer this time, his lips brushing against yours like he’s memorizing the shape of them. Then he pulls back just enough to press his forehead to yours, his breath coming fast. "I love you," he murmurs, softer this time, like he needs to hear himself say it to believe it’s real.

Your breath catches.

You want to say it back.

God, you want to.

But the words stick in your throat, tangled in fear and doubt and the weight of everything that’s happened between you.

Mingyu must see it—the hesitation in your eyes, the way your lips part but no sound comes out—because his expression softens, his hands sliding down to your shoulders, then your waist, pulling you closer. "You don’t need to say anything," he murmurs, his voice rough. "Fuck, Y/n, I just—" He exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against yours. "I missed you. Fucking—fucking hell – I—"

His voice breaks.

He kisses you again, starving, like he’s been drowning and you’re the only thing that can save him. His lips crash against yours, his hands gripping your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. You gasp into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

Mingyu groans, his hands sliding down to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. Your legs wrap around his waist on instinct, your dress riding up as he stumbles over and presses you against the nearest wall, his body pinning you there. His mouth never leaves yours, his kisses deep and hungry, like he’s trying to pour every unsaid word into you.

"I’ll prove it to you," he murmurs against your lips, his voice ragged. "I’ll literally do anything you want. Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, god."

You whimper as his hands roam your body, one sliding up your inner thigh, his fingers brushing against the sensitive skin there, sending sparks through your veins. The other hand cups your breast, his thumb rubbing slow, teasing circles over the fabric of your dress, making you arch into his touch. Your breath comes in short, sharp gasps, your nails digging into his shoulders as he kisses down your jaw, your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver.

"Mingyu—" you choke out, your voice breathy, needy.

"Tell me to stop," he growls against your throat, his hand sliding higher, his fingers brushing dangerously close to where you ache for him. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

You don’t.

You can’t.

Instead, you tilt your head back, giving him better access, your hips rocking against his without thought. "Don’t—don’t stop," you whisper, your voice trembling.

Mingyu groans, his fingers tightening on your thigh. "Fuck, Y/n," he breathes, his lips crashing back onto yours. His kiss is deeper now, more desperate, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he’s claiming you. His hand slides higher, his thumb pressing against the damp fabric between your legs, and you moan into his mouth, your body trembling.

"You’re killing me," he murmurs, his voice rough with need. His fingers tease you through the thin barrier of your underwear, his touch light but maddening. "Tell me what you want."

You whimper, your hips jerking against his hand. "You," you gasp. "I just—I just want you."

Mingyu’s breath hitches, his forehead pressing against yours as his fingers finally slip beneath the fabric, his touch direct, sure. You cry out, your back arching off the wall as he strokes you, his thumb circling your clit in slow, torturous motions. "Like this?" he murmurs, his voice dark, teasing. "Is this what you want?"

"Y-yes—" you stammer, your fingers clutching at his shoulders. "God, yes—"

Mingyu kisses you again, swallowing your moans as his fingers work you, his touch relentless, perfect. His other hand slides up your body, cupping your breast again, his thumb brushing over your nipple through the fabric of your dress. The dual sensations send you spiraling, your body trembling, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with awe. "So fucking perfect."

You can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but feel—his hands on you, his body pressed against yours, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. Your dress is rumpled, your hair is a mess, and you’ve never felt more alive.

"Mingyu—" you gasp, your body tightening around his fingers. "I’m— I’m close—"

"I know," he murmurs, his voice dark, satisfied. "I’ve got you."

And you do.

You shatter, your body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, your cries muffled against his shoulder as he holds you through it, his fingers slowing but not stopping, drawing out every last tremor.

When you finally come back to yourself, Mingyu is watching you, his dark eyes soft, his expression reverent. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips, his hands sliding up to cup your face. "I love you," he whispers again, his voice steady, sure.

You melt into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pull him close, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of what just happened. Your lips brush against the corner of his mouth, soft and lingering, before you press a firmer kiss there, your heart swelling with something warm and real.

"Wanna come to my room?" you murmur against his skin, your voice still breathy. "It’s down two blocks."

Mingyu’s arms tighten around you, his chest rumbling with a low, satisfied sound. "Fuck, yeah."

Then he pauses, his grip loosening just enough to pull back and look at you, his dark eyes searching yours. "But I’m not just saying that to—to fuck you, you know that, right?" His voice is softer now, almost hesitant. "I just—"

"—Mingyu," you cut in, smiling despite the flush still burning in your cheeks. "I get it."

He exhales, a shaky laugh escaping him as he presses his forehead to yours. "Okay. Good. Because I really want to fuck you, but also—"

"—You wanna be with me?" you finish for him, grinning.

"Yeah," he admits, his voice rough. "That too."

You laugh, the sound light and easy, and it feels like the first real breath you’ve taken in weeks. Then you wiggle in his arms, your dress still bunched around your hips, and wince. "Ugh, I just ruined my underwear."

Mingyu’s grin turns wicked as he lowers you to the ground, his hands lingering on your waist. "You could give it to me," he teases, his voice dropping to a low purr.

You slap his chest, laughing. "Absolutely not."

He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm before lacing his fingers through yours. "Worth a shot."

You roll your eyes, but you’re still smiling as you grab your bag and shoes from where they’d been abandoned near the drink table. Mingyu drapes his jacket over your shoulders without a word, the fabric warm from his body, smelling like him—cedar and something uniquely Mingyu. You slip your arms into the sleeves, the fabric swallowing you whole, and he tugs you close again, his arm slung around your waist as he guides you toward the exit.

The night air is cool against your flushed skin as you step outside, the quiet hum of the city wrapping around you. You wince as your bare feet hit the pavement, the cold seeping into your soles.

Mingyu notices immediately.

He stops, turning to face you, his expression softening. "You’re really okay with no shoes?" His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, his voice laced with concern. "I can carry you back."

You smirk, squeezing his hand. "Tempting. But I think I can manage."

He studies you for a second, like he’s trying to decide if you’re lying, before nodding, his grip tightening around your fingers. "If you change your mind, just say the word."

You lean into him, your shoulder brushing his. "I won’t."

11:59 PM

The two blocks to your sorority house pass in a blur of laughter and stolen kisses, your fingers tangled together, Mingyu’s jacket draped over your shoulders like a shield against the night. The cold pavement stings your bare feet, but you barely notice—every brush of his thumb against your knuckles, every time he pulls you closer to press a kiss to your temple, sends warmth flooding through you.

By the time you reach your door, you’re breathless, giddy, your heart pounding in a way that has nothing to do with the walk and everything to do with him.

You fumble with your keys, your hands shaking just enough that Mingyu chuckles, his breath warm against your neck. "Need help?"

"Shut up," you mutter, but you’re smiling as you finally get the door open.

The second it swings shut behind you, Mingyu’s hands are on your waist, spinning you around and pressing you back against the wood. His jacket slips from your shoulders, pooling on the floor as his mouth finds yours, his kiss hungry, desperate. You giggle against his lips, your fingers tangling in his hair as he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist.

"Fuck, I’ve missed this," he murmurs between kisses, his hands sliding under your thighs to hold you up.

"Missed what?" you tease, nipping at his bottom lip.

"You," he whispers, before turning around with you in his arms.

Your room is exactly as you left it—soft, lived-in, you. The fairy lights strung along your headboard cast a warm, golden glow, the faint hum of your salt lamp filling the silence. A pile of textbooks sits on your desk, half-finished sketches of interior designs scattered across the surface. The scent of your vanilla candle lingers in the air, mixing with the faint musk of Mingyu’s cologne.

He pauses as he sets you down, his eyes scanning the room before landing back on you. "This is very you," he murmurs, his voice low, almost reverent.

You laugh, kicking off your shoes before they can hit the floor. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"It means," he says, stepping closer, his hands sliding up your arms, "it’s warm. Soft. Like you could curl up in here and never leave."

Your breath catches.

Mingyu’s gaze darkens as he takes you in, his fingers brushing against the strap of your dress. "You look gorgeous in this light," he murmurs, his voice rough. "Like you’re glowing."

You swallow hard, your hands finding their way to his chest. "You’re just saying that."

"Uh-uh," he says, shaking his head. "I’m not."

And then he’s kissing you again, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you flush against him. You moan into his mouth, your fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

Mingyu walks you backward until your legs hit the edge of your bed, his hands never leaving your body. He lowers you onto the mattress gently, like you’re something precious, his weight settling over you as he kisses you deeper, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he’s memorizing the taste of you.

His hands roam your thighs, his touch firm, possessive, sending sparks skittering across your skin. "Can I take your dress off?" he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with need.

"Please," you breathe, your hands already sliding under his shirt, pushing the fabric off his shoulders.

Mingyu sits back just enough to unzip the side of your dress, the sound loud in the quiet room. The fabric loosens, and he peels it away from your body slowly, his breath catching as he takes you in. "Fuck," he curses under his breath, his eyes darkening. "You’re perfect."

You laugh, breathless, as you help him pull the dress over your head, tossing it aside. "You’re overdressed," you tease, your fingers already working on the buttons of his shirt.

Mingyu grins, shrugging the shirt off before reaching for his belt, his eyes never leaving yours. "Better?"

"Much," you murmur, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin, the steady beat of his heart under your palm.

He kisses you again, his hands sliding up your thighs, his touch sending shivers through you. "You’re so beautiful," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough. "I can’t—"

You cut him off with another kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer. His belt clatters to the floor, forgotten, as his hands slide higher, his thumbs brushing against the damp fabric of your panties.

"Fuck, Y/n," he groans, his breath hot against your skin. "You’re soaked."

You whimper as his thumb presses against your clit, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure through you. "Mingyu—"

"I’ve got you," he murmurs, his voice dark, promising. His thumb circles you slowly, teasingly, his eyes locked onto yours as he watches your reaction.

You arch into his touch, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "Please—"

Mingyu’s grin is wicked as he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Please what?"

Mingyu’s thumb circles your clit through the thin fabric of your panties, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every gasp, every shudder that ripples through you. His mouth crashes back onto yours, swallowing your whimpers as his touch grows firmer, more insistent. The heat of his body presses you into the mattress, his weight a delicious pressure, grounding you as pleasure coils tight in your stomach.

"Fuck—" you breathe against his lips, your hips rocking up instinctively, chasing the friction of his thumb. "Mingyu, please—"

He smirks against your mouth, his free hand sliding up your ribs, his fingers brushing the underside of your breast. "Please what?" he murmurs, his voice rough, teasing. "Tell me what you want."

You whine, your nails digging into his shoulders. "You know what I want."

"Say it," he growls, his thumb pressing harder, making you gasp. "I want to hear you say it."

"I want—" Your voice breaks as his fingers finally slip beneath the fabric of your panties, his touch direct, electric. "I want you."

Mingyu groans, his forehead pressing against yours as his fingers tease you, his thumb circling your clit in slow, maddening strokes. "You’re so wet," he murmurs, his voice thick with awe. "Fuck, Y/n, you’re dripping for me."

You whimper, your hips jerking against his hand. "Mingyu—"

"Shh," he soothes, his lips brushing against yours. "I’ve got you."

His fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance before finally—finally—pushing inside you. You cry out, your back arching off the bed as he curls them just right, his thumb never stopping its relentless rhythm on your clit.

"That’s it," he murmurs, his voice dark, satisfied. "Let me hear you."

You can’t help it—the sounds spill out of you, breathy and desperate, your fingers tangling in his hair as he works you over, his touch perfect, relentless. His mouth finds your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver.

"Mingyu—" you gasp, your body tightening around his fingers. "I’m— I’m close—"

"I know," he murmurs, his voice a dark promise. "Come for me, Y/n. Let me taste you."

Before you can process his words, his fingers are gone, his hands gripping your hips as he slides down your body, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach. He pauses at your navel, his tongue dipping into the dip before he continues lower, his breath hot against your skin.

You whine, your hands flying to his hair. "Mingyu—"

"Patience," he murmurs, his fingers hooking into the sides of your panties. He pulls them down slowly, his eyes locked onto yours as he drags the fabric over your thighs, your knees, your ankles. And then—

He pockets them.

Your eyes widen. "Did you just—"

"Mine now," he says, his voice smug, his grin wicked.

You open your mouth to protest, but then his hands are on your thighs, spreading you open, and all coherent thought flees your mind.

Mingyu’s breath is hot against your center, his gaze dark as he takes you in. "Fuck, you’re gorgeous," he murmurs, his voice rough. "So perfect."

And then his mouth is on you.

You cry out, your back arching off the bed as his tongue drags slow, deliberate circles around your clit. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open as he licks you like he’s starving, like he’s been waiting for this moment for years.

"Mingyu—" you gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Oh god—"

He groans against you, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. His tongue flicks over your clit, teasing, before sliding lower, tracing the length of your slit. You whine, your hips rocking up instinctively, chasing his mouth.

"More," you beg, your voice breaking. "Please, more—"

Mingyu doesn’t make you wait.

His tongue returns to your clit, his lips sealing around it as he sucks gently, his fingers sliding back inside you. You cry out, your body trembling as he works you over, his touch relentless, perfect.

"That’s it," he murmurs against your skin, his voice dark, encouraging. "Let me hear you, Y/n. Fuck—you taste so good."

You whimper, your hips jerking against his mouth as pleasure coils tighter and tighter in your stomach. "Mingyu—I’m— I’m gonna—"

"Come for me," he growls, his fingers curling inside you, his tongue flicking over your clit in fast, merciless strokes. "Let me feel you."

And you do.

You shatter, your body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, your cries filling the room as Mingyu holds you through it, his mouth never leaving you, his fingers drawing out every last tremor.

When you finally come back to yourself, Mingyu is pressing soft, lingering kisses to your inner thighs, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your skin. "Fuck, Y/n," he murmurs, his voice rough. "You’re incredible."

You laugh breathlessly, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him up to kiss you. "You’re not so bad yourself," you murmur against his lips.

Mingyu grins, his hands sliding up your body to cup your breasts. "Oh, we’re just getting started."

“I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Mingyu hovers over you, his arms trembling with restraint, his dark eyes burning into yours like he’s committing this moment to memory. His chest rises and falls in sharp, uneven breaths, his skin slick with sweat, his muscles coiled tight. You can see the effort it takes for him to stay still, to let you set the pace.

And you love it.

You reach for him, your fingers brushing against the hard line of his cock through his boxers before you hook your thumbs into the waistband and pull them down. His breath hisses between his teeth as you free him, your hand wrapping around his length, stroking him slow and firm.

"Fuck—" he groans, his hips jerking into your touch.

You smirk, leaning in to press a kiss to his jaw, your lips brushing against his ear as you whisper, "Will you let me ride you?"

Mingyu’s entire body goes rigid.

For a second, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

Then his hands are on your hips, his fingers digging in as he flips you both over in one smooth motion, settling you on top of him. His cock presses against your thigh, hot and heavy, already twitching with need.

"You’re killing me," he growls, his voice rough.

You laugh, breathless, your hands sliding up his chest as you sit up, straddling him. Your dress is long gone, your bra unhooked and discarded somewhere on the floor, your skin flushed and sensitive under his gaze. You can feel how wet you are, how ready, your thighs slick as you rock against him, teasing him with the heat of your pussy.

Mingyu’s hands tighten on your hips, his breath coming in sharp gasps. "Condom—"

You cut him off with a kiss, your lips crashing against his as you reach between you, guiding the head of his cock to your entrance. "I have an IUD," you murmur against his mouth.

Mingyu freezes.

"Raw?" His voice is barely more than a whisper, like he’s afraid to hope.

"Yeah," you breathe, your nails digging into his shoulders. "If you’re okay with it."

"Fuck—" His hands slide up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. "Raw, Y/n?" His voice is rough, disbelieving. "God, what—you’re—yes. Okay. Fuck."

You don’t give him time to overthink it.

You lower yourself onto him slowly, so slowly, your breath hitching as his cock stretches you open, inch by inch. Mingyu’s hands fly to your hips, his fingers digging in as he fights the urge to buck up into you, his entire body trembling with restraint.

"Fuck—" he groans, his head pressing back into the pillow. "Y/n—fuck—"

You whimper, your head falling back as you take him deeper, your body adjusting to the fullness of him. He feels bigger like this, hotter, the sensation of skin on skin sending sparks skittering across your nerves. "Mingyu—" you gasp, your hands sliding up to your own breasts, teasing your nipples as you rock your hips. "You feel so good—"

Mingyu’s eyes darken as he watches you, his hands sliding up your thighs, his thumbs brushing against your clit. "You’re taking me so well," he murmurs, his voice rough with awe. "Fuck, Y/n—you’re perfect."

You moan, your hips rolling as you take him deeper, your body trembling with the effort to go slow. "Mingyu—" you whimper, your nails digging into his chest. "I can’t— I need—"

"I know," he growls, his hands tightening on your hips. "I’ve got you."

You’re a vision above him—your hair wild, your lips swollen, your skin flushed and glistening with sweat. Mingyu’s hands grip your hips like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go, his fingers digging into your flesh as you finally, finally sink all the way down onto his cock.

"Fuck—" His voice is a broken rasp, his eyes locked onto where you’re stretched tight around him. "Y/n—fuck—you feel—" He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "You feel unreal."

You whimper, your nails scraping down his chest as you adjust to the fullness of him, your body trembling. He’s thick, hot, filling you in a way that makes your toes curl, your breath hitching as you rock your hips experimentally.

"God—" Mingyu’s head presses back into the pillow, his jaw clenched tight. "You’re killing me."

You grin, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips, your hips rolling in slow, teasing circles. "You like it?" you murmur against his mouth.

"Fuck yes I like it," he groans, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. "I love it. I love the way you take me. The way you milk me. Fuck—" His breath hitches as you clench around him, your body already fluttering with need. "You’re so tight. So wet. So fucking perfect."

You moan, your hips rocking faster, your clit grinding against the base of his cock with every movement. "Mingyu—" you gasp, your hands sliding up to tangle in your own hair. "You feel so good—"

"Yeah?" His voice is rough, his eyes dark as he watches you. "Tell me how good."

"So good," you whimper, your hips rolling in deep, slow circles. "So big—so deep—" Your breath catches as he hits that perfect spot inside you, your body trembling. "Right there—"

Mingyu groans, his hands tightening on your hips as he fights the urge to buck up into you. "Fuck, Y/n—you’re dripping on me. Fuck—" His thumb brushes over your clit, making you gasp. "You love this, don’t you? Love riding my cock. Love the way I fill you up."

"Yes—" you moan, your head falling back. "God, yes—"

"That’s it," he growls, his hips twitching up, meeting your movements. "Take what you want. Fuck—you’re so greedy for it."

You whimper, your hands sliding down to brace against his chest as you ride him harder, your hips snapping down onto his cock. Mingyu’s breath comes in sharp gasps, his eyes locked onto where you’re joined, his cock glistening with your arousal.

"Fuck—" he groans, his hands sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs teasing your nipples. "You’re so beautiful like this. So fucking mine."

You moan, your body trembling as pleasure coils tight in your stomach. "Mingyu—" you gasp, your nails digging into his chest. "I’m close—"

"I know," he murmurs, his voice dark, promising. "I can feel you. You’re clenching around me. Fuck—you’re so close."

His words send a jolt of pleasure through you, your hips rocking faster, your body trembling. "Mingyu—" you whimper, your head falling back. "Please—"

"Come for me," he growls, his hands tightening on your hips. "Let me feel you come on my cock. Fuck—I want to feel you."

And you do.

You cry out, your body trembling as pleasure crashes over you, your pussy clenching around him as you ride out your orgasm.

You’re still riding him, slow and deep, your body trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm, your pussy fluttering around his cock like it never wants to let go. Mingyu’s hands are on your hips, his fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Fuck—Y/n—" His voice is strained, his muscles coiled tight. "I should— I should pull out—"

You shake your head, your nails scraping down his chest as you roll your hips, taking him even deeper. "No," you whisper, your voice breathless. "It’s okay. I want you to come inside me."

Mingyu’s eyes darken, his grip tightening. "You—you’re sure?"

"Yes," you murmur, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. "I’m sure."

That’s all it takes.

With a broken groan, Mingyu’s hips jerk up, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he comes. His entire body shakes, his breath hitching as he spills into you, his hands slamming down onto your hips to hold you still. "Fuck—fuck—fuck—" His voice is a raw, desperate rasp, his eyes squeezed shut as he rides out the waves of his orgasm.

You whimper, your body trembling as you feel him filling you, the heat of his release sending another jolt of pleasure through you. "Mingyu—" you gasp, your hips rocking slowly, drawing out his orgasm. "God, you feel so good—"

Mingyu’s hands fly up to your face, cupping your cheeks, pulling you down for a searing kiss. You whine into his mouth, collapsing onto Mingyu’s chest, your body boneless, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. His arms wrap around you instantly, pulling you close as he presses soft, lingering kisses to your cheek, your temple, your jaw. His lips move against your skin, his voice a low, rough murmur.

"Fuck, Y/n… you’re perfect… so fucking perfect… I love you… love you so much…"

You whine, burying your face in the crook of his neck, your thighs trembling. "Mingyu—" Your voice is muffled, embarrassed. "I can feel it… your cum… it’s dripping down my thigh…"

Mingyu freezes.

His cock twitches inside you.

You feel it immediately.

A sharp, surprised laugh bursts out of you, your hips shifting just enough to make him groan. "Oh my god," you giggle, nipping at his earlobe. "Are you serious right now?"

Mingyu’s hands tighten on your waist, his breath hitching. "Fuck—" His voice is rough, disbelieving. "You’re kidding me—"

"Nope," you tease, rolling your hips just a little, feeling him grow inside you. "You’re getting hard again."

Mingyu groans, his head pressing back into the pillow. "Y/n—fuck—you can’t do that—"

"Do what?" You smirk, rocking your hips again, your body already responding to the fullness of him. "This?"

"Fuck—" Mingyu’s hands slide down to grip your ass, his fingers digging in. "You’re killing me—"

You laugh, breathless, your lips brushing against his ear. "Wanna go again?"

Mingyu’s breath catches, his cock pulsing inside you. "You think you’re ready for it again?"

You bite your lip, your hips rolling in slow, teasing circles. "I dunno," you murmur, your voice dripping with false innocence. "Are you?"

Mingyu doesn’t answer with words.

Instead, he kisses you—deep, hungry, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he’s claiming you all over again. His hands slide up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he rolls you onto your back, his body settling between your thighs.

You gasp as he sinks deeper, his cock thickening inside you, stretching you all over again. "Mingyu—" you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Oh fuck—"

Mingyu groans, his forehead pressing against yours as he pulls back just enough to look down between you. His breath hitches as he watches his cum—your cum, mixed—spill out of you, dripping down your thighs. "Fuck—" His voice is a broken rasp. "Look at you… fuck…"

You whine, your hips rocking up, your body already craving more. "Mingyu—" you gasp, your legs wrapping around his waist. "Please—"

Mingyu doesn’t make you wait.

His hips snap forward, his cock sliding deep inside you, filling you in one smooth motion. You cry out, your back arching off the bed as pleasure crashes over you, your body trembling with the overwhelming sensation of him.

"Fuck—" Mingyu groans, his hands sliding under your ass, lifting you just enough to angle himself deeper. "You feel so good—so fucking tight—"

You whimper, your nails scraping down his back as he sets a slow, deep rhythm, his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you. "Mingyu—" you gasp, your hips rocking up to meet his. "Harder—"

Mingyu groans, his hips snapping forward, his cock pounding into you with deep, relentless strokes. "Like this?" he huffs, his voice rough. "You want it harder?"

"Yes—" you moan, your head falling back. "God, yes—"

Mingyu’s hands tighten on your hips, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he fucks you deeper, harder, his cock stretching you open with every thrust. "Fuck—Y/n—you’re taking me so well—" His voice is wrecked, his eyes locked onto where you’re joined, his cum dripping out of you with every movement.

Mingyu’s hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your thighs, tangling in your hair—as he fucks you with deep, relentless strokes. You’re already so close, your body trembling, your breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps.

Then, without warning, Mingyu stops.

You whine in protest, your hips rocking up instinctively, chasing his cock. "Mingyu—" you gasp, your nails digging into his arms. "Don’t stop—"

Mingyu grins, his dark eyes burning into yours. "Be patient," he murmurs, his voice rough.

Before you can protest again, he slides a hand under your hips, shoving a pillow beneath you in one smooth motion. The new angle makes you gasp. He hits deeper, harder, the head of it dragging against that perfect spot inside you.

"Oh fuck—" You arch off the bed, your back bowing as pleasure jolts through you. "Mingyu—fuck—"

Mingyu groans, his hands tightening on your hips as he pulls back just enough to watch his cock slide back into you. "Fuck—" His voice is a broken rasp. "Look at you… taking me so well…"

You whimper, your hands flying to the headboard, your fingers clutching the wood as he sets a slow, deep rhythm, his cock stretching you open with every thrust. The new angle makes every movement electric, your body trembling with the effort to hold back.

"Mingyu—" you gasp, your nails scraping down his arms. "I’m— I’m close—"

Mingyu’s hands slide up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he kisses you—deep, hungry, his tongue sweeping into your mouth like he’s trying to devour you. His hips snap forward, his cock pounding into you with deep, relentless strokes, his pelvis grinding against your clit with every movement.

You moan into his mouth, your body trembling as pleasure coils tight in your stomach. "Mingyu—" you whimper, your hips rocking up to meet his. "Please—"

Mingyu groans, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, his fingers digging in as he fucks you harder, faster. "You’re so close," he growls, his voice rough. "I can feel you."

You whimper, your head falling back as your body trembles on the edge. "Mingyu—" you gasp, your nails digging into his arms. "I’m gonna—"

Mingyu’s hand slides between you, his thumb pressing against your clit in slow, firm circles. "Come for me, Y/n," he murmurs, his voice dark, promising. "Let me feel you."

And you do.

You shatter, your body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you, your pussy clenching around him as you ride out your orgasm. Mingyu groans, his hips jerking forward, his cock pulsing deep inside you.

"Fuck—Y/n—" His voice is a broken rasp, his breath coming in sharp gasps. "Can I—can I cum inside you?"

You whimper, your body still trembling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. "Yes—" you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Cum inside me, Mingyu—please—"

Mingyu groans, his hands tightening on your hips as he fucks you through your orgasm, his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you. "Fuck—" His voice is wrecked, his eyes locked onto where you’re joined. "You’re so tight—so wet—"

your back arches off the bed, your thighs shaking, your pussy clenching so tight around Mingyu’s cock that he groans, his rhythm stuttering for just a second before he recovers, his hips snapping forward again, dragging his cock against that perfect spot inside you.

"F-Fuck—!" You gasp, your nails digging into the headboard so hard your knuckles turn white. Your vision whites out for a second, your body trembling as pleasure crashes over you in waves. "M-Mingyu—! I c-can’t—!"

Mingyu doesn’t stop.

He never stops.

His hands slide up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears already welling in your eyes. "You can," he groans, his voice rough, feral. "You’re not done yet, Y/n. Not even close."

You whimper, your body already oversensitive, every drag of his cock against your walls sending sparks skittering across your nerves. "N-No—!" You shake your head, your hips twitching away from him instinctively. "It’s too much—!"

Mingyu’s grip tightens, his hips rolling in slow, deep circles, his cock hitting that spot inside you just right. "You’re so wet," he murmurs, his voice dark, hungry. "So tight. Fuck—you’re dripping on me, Y/n. Dripping for me."

You moan, your body betraying you as your hips rock up to meet his, your pussy clenching around him again. "M-Mingyu—!" Your voice breaks, your breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. "I c-can’t— I c-can’t breathe—!"

"Yes, you can," he growls, his hand sliding between you, his thumb pressing against your clit. "Breathe for me, Y/n. Fuck—breathe and take my cock."

You cry out, your back arching off the bed as pleasure coils tight in your stomach again, the sensation too much, too intense. "M-Mingyu—!" Your nails scrape down his arms, leaving red marks in their wake. "I’m gonna— I’m gonna—!"

"That’s it," he murmurs, his hips snapping forward, his cock pounding into you with deep, relentless strokes. "Come for me again, Y/n. Let me feel you."

You whimper, your body trembling as pleasure crashes over you again, your pussy clenching around him as you ride out your second orgasm. "M-Mingyu—!" Your voice is a broken sob, your body overwhelmed, overstimulated. "I f-feel weird—!"

Mingyu groans, his hips jerking forward, his cock pulsing deep inside you. "Fuck—what’s wrong?"

"M-My tummy—!" You gasp, your hands flying to your stomach, your fingers pressing against the bulge his cock creates inside you. "I d-dunno— I’m gonna cum again—fuck— I dunno, Mingyu—fuck!"

Mingyu’s eyes darken, his breath hitching. "Fuck—" His voice is rough, desperate. "Are you gonna squirt for me?"

You whimper, your body trembling as the sensation builds, intense, overwhelming. "I-I dunno— I’ve n-never—!"

"Fucking cum for me," Mingyu growls, his hands sliding down to press against your stomach, feeling the way his cock stretches you, fills you. "Let me feel you, Y/n. Fuck—let me see you."

Your body shudders, your back arching off the bed as pleasure crashes over you in a wave, your pussy clenching around him as you soak the sheets beneath you. "M-Mingyu—!" You sob, your body trembling, your vision blurring as pleasure overwhelms you. "I-I c-can’t— I c-can’t stop—!"

Mingyu groans, his hips jerking forward, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he follows you over the edge. "Fuck—Y/n—!" His voice is a broken rasp, his hands tightening on your hips as he fills you up, his cum mixing with yours as he empties himself inside you.

You can feel it—thick, hot, so much—his cum spilling out of you as he pulls back, only to thrust forward again, his cock dragging against your oversensitive walls. "F-Fuck—!" You whimper, your body trembling as pleasure overwhelms you again. "M-Mingyu— I c-can’t—!"

"You can," he groans, his hips snapping forward, his cock pounding into you with deep, relentless strokes. "Take it, Y/n. Fuck—take all of it."

You sob, your body trembling as pleasure crashes over you again, your pussy clenching around him as you ride out the aftershocks of your orgasm. Mingyu groans, his hips jerking forward, his cock pulsing deep inside you as he empties himself completely, his cum filling you up, lugging you full.

Mingyu pants from above you, his arms shaking as he holds himself up just enough not to crush you. His breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps, his chest heaving against yours. You can feel his heart pounding, matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

Your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him closer, your fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair. "Kiss?" you murmur, your voice soft, almost shy.

Mingyu exhales, a shaky laugh escaping him as he gently lowers himself down, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His lips find yours in a soft, lingering kiss—gentle, tender, a stark contrast to the feral intensity of just moments before. "You’re incredible," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with awe. "So fucking perfect."

You hum, burying your face in the crook of his neck, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "I can’t believe I just did that."

Mingyu chuckles, his arms tightening around you as he presses a kiss to your hair. "It was so fucking hot," he murmurs, his voice warm. "I thought I ascended for a second."

You groan, slapping his shoulder lightly. "Shut up," you mutter, your voice muffled against his skin. "It was weird and now my sheets are wet. It’s like I peed myself or something."

Mingyu laughs, the sound rich and warm, vibrating against your chest. "No," he says, his voice firm. "You squirted, and it was fucking hot. I’ll wash your sheets."

You peek up at him, your eyes wide with surprise. "...Really?"

"Yeah," he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "You’re so perfect, Y/n. Every inch of you."

You sigh, melting into his embrace, your body finally starting to relax. "You’re just saying that."

Mingyu pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression soft, sincere. "I’m not," he says, his voice gentle. "I mean it. Every word."

You bite your lip, your heart swelling with emotion. "...Thank you," you whisper.

Mingyu smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "No, thank you," he murmurs. "For trusting me. For letting me see you like that."

You hum, snuggling closer to him, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his back. "You’re ridiculous," you murmur, but there’s no heat in your words.

Mingyu chuckles, his arms tightening around you. "And yet."

You laugh, the sound light and easy. "And yet I let you spear me with your stupid big dick.”

Mingyu presses another kiss to your hair, his breath warm against your skin as he giggles and blushes. "Didn’t hear you complaining about my dick when I was–”

“-Gah! Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!” You groan, hands covering your face as Mingyu laughs.

It’s quiet between you two before Mingyu exhales slowly, his breath warm and steady against the damp skin of your neck, his lips pressing one last soft kiss to your shoulder before he begins to pull away.

“Sorry,” he mumbles when he sees you flinch.

The sensation of him leaving you is intimate in a way that makes your breath catch—the slow, deliberate drag of his cock as it slips from your body, the way his cum spills out of you in a warm, thick rush, the way his breath hitches at the sight of it. You whimper, your thighs trembling, your body still humming with oversensitivity, every nerve ending alight.

"Shh," he murmurs, his voice rough but gentle, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "I’ve got you." His touch is careful, grounding, as if he knows exactly how overwhelmed you feel right now. He presses another kiss to your temple, his lips lingering for just a second longer than necessary, before he reaches over to your bedside table.

The crinkle of Kleenex being pulled from the box fills the quiet room, and then his hands are between your thighs, his touch so gentle it makes your chest tighten. He cleans you up with slow, deliberate strokes, his fingers brushing against your skin like he’s handling something precious. You watch him, your heart swelling, your cheeks still flushed with the aftermath of what just happened—embarrassment, yes, but also something warmer, something softer.

"There," he murmurs, tossing the used tissues into the trash before turning back to you. His dark eyes meet yours, and there’s something in them—something tender, something proud. "All better."

You bite your lip, your fingers twisting in the sheets beneath you. "Mingyu—" Your voice is small, uncertain. You don’t even know what you want to say. Thank you feels too small. I love you feels too big. So you just let his name hang in the air between you, heavy with everything unsaid.

He doesn’t let you finish.

Instead, he scoops you up into his arms like you weigh nothing, lifting you effortlessly off the bed. You squeal in surprise, your arms flying around his neck on instinct, your laughter bubbling up before you can stop it. "Mingyu! Put me down!"

"Nope," he says, grinning down at you, his eyes bright with amusement. "You’re mine now. Gotta take care of you." His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of something deeper—something that makes your stomach flutter.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, your heart pounding in your chest. "You’re ridiculous."

"Thought you liked my ridiculousness," he teases, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he carries you toward the bathroom.

You groan, burying your face in the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of him—cedar and sweat and Mingyu. "Unfortunately," you mutter, but your arms tighten around him just a little.

Mingyu laughs, the sound warm and rich, vibrating against your skin. "Unfortunately for you, maybe," he says, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "But I think it’s pretty fortunate."

You don’t answer. You just let him carry you, your body relaxing into his as he sets you down on the edge of the sink. The cool porcelain is a shock against your heated skin, but it feels good. Grounding. Mingyu steps back just enough to turn on the shower, his fingers testing the water temperature before adjusting it. Steam begins to fill the small bathroom, the sound of the spray filling the silence between you.

"Too hot?" he asks, glancing back at you.

You shake your head, your fingers tracing idle patterns on the edge of the sink. "No, it’s perfect."

Mingyu nods, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to your lips before disappearing back into your room. You hear the rustle of sheets being stripped, the soft thud of them hitting the floor, and then his voice calling out, "Where do you keep spare sheets?"

"Top shelf of the closet," you answer back, your voice echoing in the small bathroom.

A moment later, he reappears in the doorway, his arms full of fresh pink linens, his hair slightly mussed from running his hands through it. His pants from the gala are back on, zipped but unbuttoned, low-slung on his hips. "Got ‘em," he says, grinning. You can’t help but admire how he looks with the dimmed backlight of your room haloing him. "Now, get in the shower. I’ll join you in a sec."

You raise an eyebrow, a smile playing at your lips. "Oh?"

Mingyu’s grin turns wicked, his eyes darkening. "Mhm," he hums, his voice dropping to a low purr. "Start showering."

You laugh, shaking your head as you slide off the sink and step into the warm spray.

The water cascades over you in warm, steady streams, washing away the sweat, the cum, the lingering tension from what just happened. You tilt your head back, letting the spray soak your hair, your fingers trailing through the wet strands as you close your eyes. The steam curls around you, thick and comforting, the sound of the shower filling the small bathroom with a quiet, rhythmic hum.

Your body still thrums with the aftershocks of what just happened—every nerve ending alight, every muscle loose and languid. You press a hand to your stomach, feeling the way your skin still tingles, the way your thighs tremble just a little. God. You can’t believe you just did that. You can’t believe how good it felt. How right.

The glass shower room door suddenly opens, and you open your eyes just in time to see Mingyu step in behind you. He’s lost his pants, cheeks flushed with a dusty pink as he grins down at you, hair pushed back. His eyes find yours, soft and warm, his lips quirking into a small smile.

He looks like a dork, you think. A stupid, overeager, wondrously loving dork that makes you wonder how you held out for so long.

"Hey," he murmurs, his voice low, rough from everything that just happened. He reaches towards you and curls a lock of hair around his finger before tucking is behind your ear.

"Hey," you whisper back, your fingers brushing against the curve of his bicep. You swallow.

God, you’re not strong enough for this man.

Mingyu steps closer, his hands finding your waist, pulling you flush against him. The water sluices over both of you, his skin warm and slick against yours. "You okay?" he asks, his thumbs brushing slow circles against your hips. His fingers slowly massage your hips, waist, up your ribs, shoulders, then back down to your hips, kneading the aching muscles. You stare up at him, eyelids fluttering in exhaustion.

You nod, your fingers tracing the droplets of water on his chest. "Yeah. Just... processing."

Mingyu hums, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Me too," he murmurs. "But I’ve got nowhere to be. Take your time," he giggles, a big hand coming to rest on the side of your face.

You sigh, leaning into him, your forehead resting against his shoulder, his hand going to smooth down your wet hair. The water beats down on your back, the steam wrapping around you both like a cocoon. "You made the bed?" you murmur, your voice muffled against his skin.

"Yeah," he says, his hands sliding up and down your back. "Figured you’d want fresh sheets after..." He trails off, his fingers brushing against the small of your back.

You groan softly, your cheeks warming, mumbling into his chest, "After I squirted all over them?"

Mingyu groans, his hands tightening on your waist, pulling you closer. "Fuck, Y/n, don’t say it like that."

"Like what?" you tease, tilting your head back to look at him.

"Like- like- ugh I don’t know. Just don’t say it like that," he grumbles, his voice dropping to a pouty whine.

You bite your lip, your fingers tangling in his hair. "It was embarrassing," you admit, your voice soft.

Mingyu shakes his head, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "It was hot," he corrects, his hands sliding down to cup your ass.

You hum, your heart swelling in your chest. "You’re biased."

"Damn right I am," he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours. "But I’m also right."

You laugh, the sound light and easy, and Mingyu captures your mouth in a slow, deep kiss. The water pours over you both, the steam curling around you, the world outside this shower fading away until there’s nothing but the two of you.

Mingyu pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your lips. "You sure you’re okay?" he asks, his voice soft.

You nod, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Yeah," you whisper. "I’m good."

Mingyu smiles, pressing one last kiss to your lips before stepping back just enough to let the water wash over you both. "Good," he murmurs. Mingyu’s hands linger on your waist for just a second longer than necessary before he reaches for the bottle of shampoo on the small ledge. His fingers brush against yours as he takes it, and you don’t pull away. Instead, you let your hand rest against his wrist, your thumb tracing a slow circle against his pulse.

He glances at you, his dark eyes soft in the dim light of the bathroom. "Turn around," he murmurs, his voice low.

You do as he says, turning so your back is to him, your hair heavy and wet against your skin. Mingyu’s fingers slide into your hair, his touch gentle as he begins to massage the shampoo into your scalp. You let out a soft, involuntary sound—a sigh, a hum, something between pleasure and relief—as his fingers work in slow, firm circles.

"God, that feels good," you murmur, your eyes fluttering shut.

Mingyu chuckles, the sound warm and rich, vibrating against your back. "Yeah?" His fingers press a little deeper, his thumbs rubbing against your temples. "You like that?"

"Mm-hmm," you hum, leaning into his touch. "Don’t stop."

"Wouldn’t dream of it," he murmurs, his voice teasing but sincere.

The water continues to pour over you both, the sound of it filling the quiet space between you. Mingyu’s fingers move with deliberate slowness, working the shampoo through your hair, his touch careful, almost reverent. You can feel the tension in your shoulders melting away, the last remnants of the night’s intensity dissolving under his hands.

"You’re good at this," you murmur, your voice lazy.

"Practice," he says, his fingers stilling for just a second before he continues. "Had to learn how to wash my own hair at some point."

You laugh, the sound light and easy. "Smartass."

Mingyu grins, his fingers resuming their slow massage. "You love it."

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence stretch between you, comfortable and warm. "Yeah," you say finally, your voice soft. "I do."

Mingyu’s hands still for just a second, his breath catching. Then he presses a kiss to the top of your head, his fingers resuming their work. "Good," he murmurs. "Because I love you."

You hum, your heart swelling in your chest. "You better."

Mingyu chuckles, his hands sliding down to your shoulders, his thumbs pressing into the knots there. "Oh?" he teases. "Or what?"

You tilt your head back, your eyes meeting his. "Or I’m not actually gonna be your girlfriend until you ask me out with flowers."

Mingyu freezes.

For a second, his hands go still, his eyes widening in panic. "Wait, what?"

You burst out laughing, turning to face him, your hands pressing against his chest. "Oh my god, your face."

Mingyu blinks, his expression shifting from horror to realization. "You’re kidding."

"Yeah," you grin, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "I’m kidding."

Mingyu exhales sharply, his hands sliding back into your hair. "You little—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head, his lips quirking into a smile. "I almost had a heart attack."

You laugh, leaning into him, your forehead resting against his chest. "You should’ve seen your face."

Mingyu groans, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close. "You’re evil."

"And yet, you love me," you tease, your voice muffled against his skin.

Mingyu hums, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Unfortunately."

You pinch his side, and he laughs, his hands sliding down to your waist. "Hey!"

"Unfortunately for you," you correct, grinning up at him.

Mingyu smiles, his dark eyes warm as he looks down at you. "Yeah," he murmurs. "Unfortunately for me."

You sigh, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you’re stuck with me," he murmurs, his voice soft.

You hum, your heart full. "Yeah," you whisper. "I am."

Mingyu presses another kiss to your forehead, his hands sliding up to cup your face. "Good," he murmurs. "Because I’m not letting you go."

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch, the water pouring over you both. "Promise?"

Mingyu’s lips brush against yours, soft and sweet. "Promise."

The water runs clear now, the last of the shampoo swirling down the drain as Mingyu tilts your head back under the spray. His fingers comb through your hair, gentle but thorough, making sure every strand is rinsed clean. You close your eyes, letting the warmth seep into your scalp, your shoulders, your bones. The steam wraps around you both like a blanket, thick and comforting.

When he’s done, he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for just a second. "Your turn," you murmur, already reaching for the shampoo bottle.

Mingyu hesitates, his hands still tangled in your wet hair. "Uh," he says, glancing at the showerhead, then down at himself. "I’m a little… tall for this."

You raise an eyebrow, a grin playing at your lips. "So? "

"I need a solution," he says, mock-offended.

You laugh, nudging him toward the tiled bench built into the shower. "Sit."

Mingyu obeys, sinking down onto the cool tile with a dramatic sigh, his long legs folding up against his chest. He looks ridiculous. This tall, broad-shouldered guy crammed into the corner of your tiny shower, his knees nearly touching his chin. You can’t help but giggle as you step behind him, grabbing the shampoo bottle.

"This is undignified," he mutters, but there’s no real complaint in his voice.

"Shut up and let me wash your hair," you tease, squeezing a dollop of shampoo into your palm.

Mingyu tilts his head back, his eyes fluttering shut as your fingers slide into his hair. He lets out a low, contented sound, his shoulders relaxing almost instantly. "You’re really good at this."

"Not really. Maybe you’re just easy," you murmur, massaging his scalp in slow circles.

"Hm, maybe. But probably just for you," he says, his voice soft.

You roll your eyes, but your chest warms at the words. Your fingers work through his hair, the dark strands slipping between your fingers like silk. Mingyu lets out a happy sigh, his hands resting on your hips, his thumbs brushing absent circles against your skin.

"I take it back. You’re terrible at this," he mumbles after a minute, his voice muffled by the water.

"Excuse me?" you say, pausing.

"You’re supposed to be washing my hair, not just playing with it," he teases, cracking one eye open to look at you.

You pinch his side, and he laughs, squirming under your touch. "I am washing it!"

"Mhm," he hums, clearly unconvinced. "Sure you are."

You huff, but you resume your work, your fingers rubbing shampoo into his scalp with more purpose. Mingyu groans, his head tilting back further. "Okay, okay, that’s better."

"Thought so," you mutter, but you’re smiling.

The water runs over his hair, rinsing away the suds, and Mingyu lets out a long, slow breath. "You know," he says, his voice lazy, "I had this matcha latte a few weeks ago."

You pause, your fingers stilling in his hair. "Oh?"

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Oat milk, two pumps of hazelnut syrup. Just how you like it."

Your chest tightens. You remember that order. It’s your order.

Mingyu must feel the shift in you because he opens his eyes, his dark gaze meeting yours. "I was ignoring my coffee because I was too busy staring at my phone, waiting for you to text me back. And then the barista handed me the matcha, and I just… stared at it. Because it reminded me of you."

You swallow hard, your fingers trembling just a little against his scalp. "Mingyu—"

"It’s stupid," he says quickly, shaking his head. "I know. But I kept thinking about how you’d laugh if you saw me holding it. How you’d roll your eyes and say something like, ‘Of course you ordered that, you giant dork.’"

You let out a shaky laugh, but your eyes are burning. "I would have said that."

Mingyu smiles, soft and a little sad. "I know."

You bite your lip, your heart aching. "I’m sorry," you whisper. "For ignoring you. For making you feel like—"

"Hey," he cuts in, his hands sliding up to cup your face. "It’s okay. You don’t have to apologize."

"But I do," you say, your voice breaking. "I was an idiot. I was scared."

Mingyu’s thumbs brush away the tears spilling down your cheeks. "I know," he murmurs. "But you’re here now. That’s all that matters."

You nod, leaning into his touch. "Yeah," you whisper. "I’m here."

Mingyu’s smile brightens, his eyes warm. "Good," he says. "Because I have a brilliant idea."

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Next week," he says, his voice light, excited. "We go to that café. Together. And we order matcha lattes. And you can make fun of me for ordering yours. And then we’ll get something else because I don’t actually like hazelnut syrup, but I’ll drink it anyway because it’s yours."

You laugh, the sound watery but genuine. "You hate hazelnut syrup."

"I know," he groans, dramatic. "But for you? I’ll suffer."

You shake your head, your fingers resuming their work in his hair. "You’re ridiculous."

"And you love me," he teases.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you lean down and press a soft, slow kiss to his lips. Mingyu hums, his hands sliding back to your hips, pulling you closer.

When you pull away, he’s grinning. "So?" he asks. "Next week? Matcha date?"

You smile, your heart full. "Yeah," you whisper. "Next week."

Mingyu’s grin widens, his eyes bright. "Good," he murmurs. "Because I missed you."

You press another kiss to his forehead, your fingers tangling in his wet hair. "I missed you too."

: ̗̀➛ wrong thing, classic

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