chris @simjyyyn - Tumblr Blog

OF GLASS SHARDS & HEART ROT

{s} Sim Jaeyun will always love you—an unshakable truth, as certain and inevitable as the moment he first met you. So when your body is discovered two weeks after you vanish, his world careens off its axis. By some cosmic mercy—or cruelty—Jake is granted a single chance to go back in time, to either alter the course of your fate or uncover what truly happened. But what he finds is far closer and far more complicated than he ever imagined… and the truth behind your death is an entanglement you intended to take to the grave. inspired by work song—hozier. [WC: 37k!..] unedited.

THEME SONGS: lover, you should come over—jeff buckley & (no, no) i’m losing you by aretha franklin. i highly recommend listening to these songs for the story! now playing —> playlist here. GENRE !: dark smut, time-travel, angst, tragedy. fantasy undertones. love triangle, infidelity. old money au, semi-non-linear storytelling. melodrama, oneshot. PAIRINGS !: husband! jake x wife! reader x sunghoon

WARNINGS ! : death, murder, toxic relationships and dynamics, this shit is genuinely so messy, infidelity, very morally distraught and grey characters (u might hate all of them at some point), threesome, mxm action, service top! hoon, manipulative reader (switch, sub leaning), hard top! jake, double penetration, oral (f & m receiving), obsessive behaviors, eventual polyamory, anal, rimming, squirting, fingering/finger sucking, spit, slapping, marking, degradation, they get particularly rough with reader, reader gets their cookie ate by the two of them at the SAME time, and cumshots. oh, and most importantly—emotional damage. lmao. don’t be deceived by the initial sweetness. The story is told in snippets rather than an active, steady flow. It also jumps between readers, jake’s, and sunghoon’s pov. Time travel + smut starts in the later half of the story!

—>BONUS.

taglist: @seraph-fae @etherealcherrie @kristynaaah @baedreamverse @filmnings @yeeunlvr @viahjgd @hhoneyhan @h0efortheneos @justpassingdontworry @tsukheeshima @heejakeyy07whtv @ikeugirly @lxvesicck

crazy to say this but this is my favorite (and messiest) oneshot i’ve written thus far.

PART I. THE BEGINNING & WHAT CAN’T BE BURNED FROM MEMORY.

[IN THE HEAT OF THAT FIRST SUMMER, 16 YEARS OLD—GOLDEN AND CURIOUS.]

“—What are you reading?” His voice comes suddenly, breaking the strange suspension that had formed between you. Your ears prick once you register the sweet, boyish lilt in it.

You stare at him, answering only with a questioning hum. It was a silent exchange: like recognition between strangers.

Mom’s humming drifted through the open bay windows, slipping through the screen and riding the wind beyond the house. Vivid flora and thick grass bordered the entryway garden, framing the yard in lush colors, while sunflowers bow and lift toward the sun. Summer had only just begun, and time stretched with a dull ache.

The lakeside chateau your parents had moved into sat in a seasonal enclave favored by the bourgeoisie and old families with gilded lineages. Your parents, new to the country, filtered into this world and drew notice simply by arriving. Here, the elite tended to circulate within the same narrow orbit, crossing paths again and again.

You were languidly draped across the grass in your mother’s garden, a book balanced in your hand. The sun was warm—gentle enough to coax sleep, but not quite hot enough to scorch. You ignored the soft crunch of footsteps at first, and the thoughtful creak of the garden gate as he pushed it open. A mop of wolfish, untamed brown hair greeted you, but then his gaze found yours—wide, puppy-eyed—peeking at you through the rose bushes and strands of sunlight bouncing off the wind chimes.

You don’t know how long he’d been there. You didn’t think about asking.

“I said—“ he shuffles a little, leaning in and lazily hanging his arms over your garden fence “what are you reading?”

“Last words from Montmartre.” You blink, your thumb digs into the inner portion of the books spine to keep it in place.

“…never heard of it.”

“You don’t strike me as the type to read.” It slips out of you without thinking and your hand lifts the book to smack it against your lips. You’ve only ever seen him from a distance—wild, rambunctious, and charmingly riotous when playing soccer with his friends in the clearing. Even from your bedroom window: the fire in his eyes, the shine of his grin, and glimpses of his damp abdomen—taut and unintentional as he wiped his face with his shirt—intrigued you. Your lifestyle was quiet. Hidden. Beautiful the way all small things could be.

He watches you for a few beats, then breaks into a rough, unexpected laugh. “You got me. The only reading I do is strictly porn mags—and it’s definitely not for the plot.” He pauses, gaze lingering as something thoughtful crosses his face.

“Well—something tells me we’ll get along just fine. Don’t know why. Just feel confident about it.” A crooked smile tugs at his mouth. “My name’s Sim Jaeyun. Don’t forget it.”

Your breath catches the moment sunlight flickers off his bright eyes before he takes a few steps back, eyes still trained onto you. “Don’t tell me your name. You oughta say it next time.” And then he leaves.

You couldn’t have known it then—that a little over a decade later, the same bright-eyed boy with the crooked smile would be your husband.

The moment felt strangely borrowed, like wandering into someone else’s tale—somehow soft and bigger than you. You couldn’t have known it then, but the wheels of your ending began turning the instant Jaeyun saw you. Something simmered, soft and rotten, like fruit decaying in an already pried open mouth. Waiting. Hungry.

Yet even in that first meeting, fate had already begun to turn her relentless wheel, damning and binding the three of you together.

[THE SEVENTEENTH SUMMER, BLUES INTRO.]

“You always say sorry but you never fucking mean it!” You bellow, sobbing through your words.

“And you never listen to what I’m actually saying! No matter what I do, you still get fucking pissed!” Jaeyun clutches at his hair, pulling at the tufts in frustration.

The heavy door slams, followed by your hurried footsteps—palms swiping against your eyes as you wipe your tears with a rough hand.

It was a cool summer evening, steeped in the deep blue of the setting sun. You fled Jaeyun’s château with your heart pounding, your mind splintered by fragments of the argument, indignation burning hot in your chest.

Jaeyun was the only person capable of getting a rise out of you, of cracking the cool veneer you wore with a single, well-aimed sentence. He had a talent for dressing sharp accusations in syrupy sweetness. This time, you’d commented on his spoiled habits after he’d casually shrugged off a tower of celebratory gifts sent from everywhere for his acceptance into university. He’d fired back immediately, offering a neat little analysis of why this was really you projecting your feelings about your family onto him. Safe to say, the conversation soured quickly.

It’d always been that way with Jake—an unlabeled dynamic that came too early, too young for something so intense. The intensity that swam between you two was as profound as it was ugly: spats that hit soft spots with deadly accuracy, yet no one else could soothe your wounds the way you both did for each other. Jake loved you. You knew this.

He loved you in ways you knew you’d never experience again through someone else, even if neither of you guys solidified what you were by name. But he was erratic. Spoiled, loved, and beautiful in all the right ways.

You try to shake off the hurt. In the distance, small sails billow in the wind, and you stride toward the first glimpse of blue water lined by heavily wooded areas. Your fingers clutch at your cardigan, tightening it across your chest, before you slip off your sandals to dig your feet into the earth. The faint sound of boats boeing against the small waves rafting on the surface of the lake called you further in.

In the distance, a boy sat with his back towards you—raven black hair, wind-swept as he dipped his legs into the water, staring at his reflection. The details were submerged in the water, unclear from where you stood far behind him. You gazed at his broad back, apprehensive. That’d been your spot all summer—it’d been your space to sit away from the rest of the world. And it struck you, for whatever reason, to see the curved back of a stranger in that same spot. When you sat there, did you look like that too?

The wind threaded its hands through your hair, surprisingly cold despite the warm forecast. Strands clung to the balm on your flushed lips, to the faint indentations left by Jaeyun’s teeth—marks from where he’d bitten into you mid-argument, his palm splayed at the back of your neck as he shoved his mouth against yours, frustrated about fighting you again.

You stared for a couple moments. The air was full of something it dared not name. Like a premonition. Like an omen. Fate sung her tune, the gears turning once more.

And it was then that you’d first met Park Sunghoon when you were seventeen—painted in blue light at the far edge of the boat dock, alone and beautiful.

[WINTER, 28 YEARS OLD]

The river’s frozen—as ominously still as your body. You were graceful even in death, facial expression gentle, as if sleeping. But the deep, carnelian shade gashed onto your temple interrupted the false peace of your body laid out on a bed of snow, just above the river bank.

The stone in his clenched, gloved hand sheds bits of dried blood, it’s jagged edges would slot into your wound like a puzzle piece. It’s a perfect crime: position the body so it’d look like you fell and hit your head, slipping on the ice, bleeding out and the biting cold sealed the deal.

He doesn’t know how long he’s stood there, frost bitten—face numb, nose red. He couldn’t look away—couldn’t leave you there. But he made a promise—a promise he can’t afford to break. Not anymore. Not after what he’d done.

And so, he finally turns around—marching slow through the onslaught of snow. He only turns around once, but he could’ve sworn he’d seen a smile slide eerily onto your face, before the figment vanished.

[THE DAY YOU WERE FOUND AND NEVER RETURNING HOME, 28 YEARS OLD.]

Jake had never been one for rules and cosmic constrictions. His life had no god. He was a libertine drunk on affluence and good times. He’d never known a sure thing in his life up until he’d met you. When he met you, the prettiest girl he’d ever seen— Jake was struck with an intimate knowing that he’d love you someday. And Jake was right.

He loved you after prom—after every exhausting, half-empty argument on days you bickered far more than anyone should, and even when you forgot to buy the milk despite it being the only reason you went to the store. He loved you through the days his emotions hollowed him out, when he could’ve sat numb in a burning world without blinking. But you—oh, you. You were the only good thing Jake had ever managed to do right.

When Jake receives the call, the silence between the officer’s cautious words tells him everything before the sentence lands. You were found—yes. But you weren’t coming back.

Jake loved you. It was inevitable as breathing—the singular thing he’d been destined to do. And then you were gone four years into your marriage, at the age of 28. Dead by the river, deep into the woods, with a grotesque gash on your head.

He knelt for the first time the night your body was found. Prayed to God—and maybe to you—for just one more good thing in his life to happen. He promised he’d be good for the rest of his days: donate money, take a job that might actually change the world for the better, and believe in God, truly believe, if it meant he could have you again.

The only thing he wanted was you. Tapered candles and small pieces of fruit lined the edges of his nightstand, forming a clumsy altar that felt more like a question than a plea. Jake clutched an heirloom rosary he dug up from the attic until the beads left glossy indents in his palms, refusing to acknowledge the soft click of his bedroom door—or the slow, cautious footsteps that followed.

Sunghoon’s eyes burned, unreadable and bloodshot as he stared at the back of Jake’s kneeling figure. He waited in silence, letting the hours bleed together as the shadows in the room shifted and stretched, reshaping themselves with every change in the sun.

“Jake… you need to get up.” Sunghoon took two measured steps forward, bending to brace Jake by the shoulders—only for Jake to shrug him off with a weak, mechanical shake of his head.

“I can’t. If I move, I’ll break—” His hand tightens around Sunghoon’s bicep, eyes filling with a grief so deep Sunghoon has to shut his own. “If I get up, then I have to accept it. That she’s gone. That my pretty girl isn’t coming back.” He swallows, waiting a couple of beats with a sharp sentence puncturing his throat, deciding whether or not to unravel.

“She must’ve been cold. She hates the cold.” He mentions absentmindedly. His lips move, eyes darting around an imaginary memory. The blue hour settles, darkening the room until the two men—one kneeling, the other standing—become silhouettes in the grief painted room. It’s silent. Still in the ways Jake knows his life will never move again after your vanishing.

He shakes Sunghoon’s arm, pleading. “Hoon—tell me she wasn’t afraid. That it was over before she could feel anything. That she didn’t cry for me somewhere I couldn’t hear her.”

Sunghoon gazes down at him, unreadable and torn.“…it’s all over with now. Whatever she may have felt—it’s gone now.” He leans forward and gently slides Jake’s arm over his shoulders and heaves him upright. “But however it happened, she wouldn’t have wanted to see you like this. Try to sleep.” Is all he says before leading him back to that old room.

Jake’s bloodshot eyes sting as he speaks to the walls of the room you’d shared—the room where you loved each other, no page left unturned.

“Baby… were you scared?” The words scrape out of him, raw and acrid. “What happened to you? What do you want me to do? Tell me what I can do.” His voice collapses as he buries his face in your pillow, curling into the center of the bed like he’s trying to fold himself into whatever’s left of you.

Jake would do anything. Anything to get it right.

And he swears he could hear your voice hush and lull him to sleep as you always did. An amalgamation of sounds and sighs that were all yours but formed to mean nothing in particular at all.

Fortune takes pity on him

and moves a delicate finger to shakily push back at a clock hand.

Tick.

[SOMETIME, HALFWAY INTO YOUR 17TH SUMMER. BLUE VELVET—YOUNG, CLUMSY LUST.]

It wasn’t supposed to happen. But meeting Park Sunghoon—the man Jaeyun always spoke so highly of—unsettled you in ways you rarely cared to admit.

There was something melancholic about him—so terribly set in his ways to close himself off from the rest of the world. It was obvious in how he held himself: a cold stare, long, lean arms resting their elbows on his knees—body language closing in himself with no room left for argument or hope.

If Jaeyun was all sun and summer splender, Sunghoon was his foil. Dark, void-like moons and saturn’s rings—cold like the deep sea at midnight. But somehow, it worked well. They gravitated and rotated around each other’s axis since young, and it became muscle memory to coexist. Jaeyun was an only child—spoiled rotten and affluent, beloved by all who crossed his path. Sunghoon was destined for a greatness he never asked for, raised in heavy silences, expectation, and historic generational wealth.

Sunghoon was lonely in a way only you could understand. You assume that he saw himself in you, the way you did him.

You were quiet. Unassuming. Brilliant—the youngest daughter of your countries largest pharmaceutical company, overshadowed by your older sister’s accomplishments. But you weren’t bitter and chose to spend your days quietly—playing the violin and indulging in art of all sorts. You were a calm, stable presence that only grinned in that mysterious way of yours at Jake’s antics.

Without intending to, the summers of your youth were colored by Jake and Sunghoon’s presence— a dark red thread stretching and knotting between you three as the years went on. Those marbled days spent lounging, playing cards in sun rooms, and hide and go seek in labyrinths—chasing after each others young laughter through the greenery—were the happiest days of your life.

You remember one of them clearly. Jake lay sprawled across a chaise, limp with boredom and trying—unsuccessfully—to force himself to nap. His loafers clicked restlessly as he bounced his leg against the ornate marble floors of his grandparents’ summer chateau.

Sunghoon sat nearby, reading quietly by a towering window that rose from a small corner nook all the way to the ceiling, its glass divided by thin, elegant panels.

You stood, basking under a stream of sunlight as you played Sibelius on your violin. The melody stretched and your strings keened under the familiar weight of your resin stained fingers before Jake bolted upright with a curse.

“—for fucks sake, we’re not eighty. I feel like I’m waiting to die in here. Aren’t you guys restless?” He says incredulously.

Sunghoon almost smiles, dog earring his book. “Not in particular. But between the three of us, you’re the one that enjoys activities that end in near death experiences.”

You tilt your head, gazing at Jake in silent amusement—not quite smiling, but your eyes glimmer.

Jake turns to you, eyes softening in a moment of adoration before his gaze turns mischievous. The sharp ends of his incisors shine under the light. “Well, I have a great idea.”

Sunghoon shoots you a pleading glance, hoping you’ll shut the idea down. His hope dies the second he sees your face break into a rare, bright smile.

He supposes that why the two of you worked—you were surprisingly daring and adapted well to Jake’s constant shifts. Sunghoon sighs.

“Let’s get it over with.”

Moments later the three of you stand at the edge of the dock, stripped to your undergarments, watching the deep blue water sway below. Jake grins. “First time skinny dipping?”

For a moment it’s silent, save for the sound of water licking at the dock. The boys jolt a little when you admit lightly.

“Nope.”

An awkward pause.

Finally registering it, Jake whips towards you, intrigued. “When the hell did you—“

But he’s interrupted by the soft click of your bra unclasping and the rustle of your legs slipping out of your underwear, just before you plunge into the lake without a second thought. Jake laughs incredulously—stripping himself bare and diving after you with a loud whoop.

The two of you resurface, slicking your hair back. Jake glances over at Sunghoon, lifting his chin.

“Are you gonna freeze your nuts off out there, or in here?” he asks, flashing his best friend that familiar, charming grin—equal parts teasing and challenge.

A slight breeze disrupts the water, chilling the air, and threading through Sunghoon’s dark strands of hair. He shakes his head slightly and slowly unties his shorts with a sigh. Jake laughs, heart on his sleeve—pure joy personified.

Your breath stills, eyes locking onto the defined muscles of his abdomen and the slow sliding of his shorts before you take a deep breath and submerge your face beneath the water.

The splash of Sunghoon’s body hitting the lake is muffled—strands of his hair drifting around his pale skin as he sinks deeper. Slowly, he parts his arms and pushes upward, almost breaking the surface before meeting your gaze underwater. Without realizing it, he takes in your form for the first time.

Sunghoon would never forget that moment—the first time he saw you suspended beneath the water, bathed in blue light, your pale breasts rising and falling with the coolness of the lake—swelling and somehow dangerously pure.

The moment is broken by the burning of your lungs and you emerge with a gasp, heart thumping erratically. You felt his eyes. No other boy has seen your body except Jaeyun and your face heats.

When you rise to get out of the water, Sunghoon’s dark eyes trace the droplets of water streaking your skin. For a moment, he envies the lake for its touch on your bare skin.

And then he envies Jake—for a fraction of a moment—for meeting you first.

[THE SWEETNESS OF YOUR 18TH SUMMER]

[soundtrack] NOW PLAYING—> LOVER, YOU SHOULD COME OVER BY JEFF BUCKLEY

Jaeyun’s hair is lake-dried, falling in soft curls over his tired face. He tumbles onto your bedroom linen like it were his—bathing himself with the vanilla and lace-trimmed satin of the room. It’s intimate enough for him to lay in the quiet—to dim under the hush of it because a crowd won’t breathe down his neck here. That suffocating lifestyle can’t slip through the magic of your open windows that let none of the blue in, only lavender light.

There’s only peace and the sound of you showering, mid hum. The breeze flutters in, carrying the scent of a distant campfire and faint sound of boats swaying in otherwise vacant water. Even the garden is sleeping—the maze in his grandparents neighboring land to the left—crackles into that gentle, good night, with leaves swaying into its mysteries. The house is empty and gleaming with silent grace once your parents leave to dance the night away at some bar off in the city, craving large crowds after being cooped up in the hidden summer sanctuaries they’ve created.

He smiles to himself, boyish and soft, like the sun flickering off after a long, arduous day, and sighs—content when taking in the almost liminal beauty of a moment that felt dredged in nostalgia.

The bathroom door clicks open. Your feet pads across the floor, leaving delicate, damp footprints in their wake. You hover him once you get to the bed, knowing that even though his eyes were shut, Jaeyun wasn’t sleeping. With a soft familiarity, your silken hand threads into his brown curls. “Do you want to spend the day in bed?”

It’s innocent in a way that makes his heart hurt from the want to be near you always, etched into each other’s seams like God stitched it that way.

“I want to spend it with you.” He starts, lips curling up softly. “What my favorite girl wants, she’ll get. Even if it means getting out of bed.”

His face turns out from the pillow he’s hugging, laying out on his stomach, legs hanging a little off of the bed, since he only made it a little more than half way onto it before the tiredness eased his joints. His eyes squint, face scrunching to beat off his shutting eyelids.

Before you climb into bed, you unlace his shoes, tugging them off with an almost reverent, tired grace. You unbutton his jeans without intention, pulling them off second so his body could comfortably tuck itself next to you once you slipped under the sheets. Your hands find his naturally, clasping your palm around his above the pillow as you curl and face him.

“Let’s take a nap.”

He bats his lashes, taking you in with tired eyes. The love in his bones feels bigger than him—bigger than eighteen and maybe even a lifetime. He wonders if all boys feel like this when they first fall in love, but something in him knows that you’re endgame— the girl who’ll haunt his dreams if you somehow weren’t. He kisses your temple, keeping his hold on your hand, and pulls you toward his chest. “Your wish is my command.” Then, he drifts off—following the path into dreams by your side.

You fall asleep at seven and wake up at midnight: and suddenly he’s spinning you in his arms in the middle of your childhood kitchen, brownie mix drying on his left hand. Cocoa, cinnamon, and powdered sugar fill the air. He kisses you mid-laugh, lips catching the surface of your teeth, breathing in your exhaled glee. You’ve never danced with a boy like this. You think you’ll never want to again, if it isn’t him.

The intro harmonics of Jeff Buckley’s—Lover, you should come over, makes your stomach curl—the moment’s already so beautiful and sentimental. Somehow, so innocent. Simple. Warm. He’s still laughing against your mouth, pressing a kiss to the corner, a little off center when the lyrics stroll in.

“Looking out the door, I see the rain fall upon funeral mourners. Parading in a wake of sad relations, as their shoes fill up with water. Maybe I’m too young to keep love from going wrong, but tonight you’re on my mind. Sometimes, a man gets carried away when it feels like he should be having his fun, much too blind to see the damage he’s done. Sometimes, a man must wake to find that really he has no one—so I’ll wait for you, love and I’ll burn.

Will I ever see your sweet return?”

The brownies are golden, molten chocolate squeezing teasingly through small brittle cracks at its surface—it’s perfect. If you leave it in the oven any longer, it’ll burn.

But then Jaeyun mouths I love you against your lips—and you spend the rest of that dark night kissing him on your marbled kitchen floor, flour in your hair, all the love in the world condensed into this one heart achingly warm space.

You both laugh. Try to eat around the burnt corners, and fall asleep seated on the floor next to each other, backs pressed against the cabinet, head on his shoulder.

Your parents laugh when they find you there at four AM—the muted clicks of heels trailing in with a faint scent of perfume and cold air as your mother stifles a scream of surprise when she finds you both—rolling her eyes at your dad, exasperated but happy.

They know he’s the one for you. Anyone with eyes does.

[THE DRIVE BACK, THAT GOLDEN SUMMER, 19 YEARS OLD]

[soundtrack] NOW PLAYING—>ANYTHING BY ADRIENNE LENKER

The road stretches, golden rays peeling into the open windows of Jaeyun’s car. You don’t want the drive to ever end, and at the prime age of nineteen— the precipice of a shifting decade—you want nothing more than an eternal summer.

Some song blares loudly enough to carve itself into memory, but not enough to cut into the softness of this moment. It’s warm. Even with your eyes shut, everything bleeds yellow, blooming like sunflowers behind your lids. Jaeyun chatters about something—maybe the maintenance he needs to do on his dad’s car, or something Sunghoon did that made him laugh for thirty minutes straight.

You lean your head over the center console, wrapping your arms around the taut muscle of Jaeyun’s arm. When his hand isn’t on the shift, he combs his fingers into your hair, humming lyrics as his fingers drummed against the steering wheel.

You love him.

You love Jaeyun and how he drives more carefully whenever you’re in his passenger seat, and how he looks most like himself when the sun hits him at 4 PM. His hands smell like the oranges he peeled for you two hours ago, on a bench outside the nearest market.

The winding roads border a clear view of the coast, vibrant hues of blue, gold, and green color the way home. Dense forestry line the left side of the highway, and you fall into the comforting purgatory of sleep and the feeling of his skin. Even there, you’re aware of him.

“You alright, baby?” He grins over the music, quickly glancing at you, then fixes his eyes on the road.

You hum. “Perfect.”

“I agree.”

A smile smooths over your face. “Where are we going?” The way home is different, as Jaeyun takes a sudden detour, eyes trained on the path, hands spinning the wheel.

“I don’t really know yet. All I know is, I want to keep going.” He shrugs, eyes bright, crooked smile etched in his face like it never intended on leaving.

His hair has lightened over the course of summer, strands soaking up every inch of sunlight and brightening his shade of chestnut brown. It’s grown longer, curving along his jaw, curling cherubically. You want to take a picture of this exact moment: of his set jaw, espresso eyes curving into little moons, skin painted by a veil of clementine and lemon as the sun settled into the water.

“Y/N.”

“Mhm?”

“I think you’re my favorite girl in the world. I know that’ll probably never change.” He confesses, eyes on the road. It’s almost casual. Would’ve been were it not for the weight of his words

The car swerves a little when you suddenly grab his face and kiss him, not giving a single damn about crashing his daddy’s car—he laughs hard against your mouth, grinning when you pepper kisses on his cheekbone, and trail them down his neck. You don’t recognize your own laugh when it leaves you, a small, playful shriek tumbling out of you when he jerks the car back on track.

“That’s the way it should be.” You press your nose onto his jaw, peering hard at him.

He laughs again, heart caught in his throat. “I know, baby. I know.”

[WHEN JAEYUN WAKES UP, 23 AGAIN. THE PHENOMENON]

Everything hurts. It felt wrong, somehow, to be in his own body: younger, more energetic, boyish. Jaeyun couldn’t help the scream that left him when he caught his reflection. His bare feet padded hastily to the nearest mirror, before he pulled and tugged at his skin like it were a mask. “Holy fuck, why do I look—“

And then he hears your humming. Somewhere distant enough for him to question he’s hearing it at all. He slams every bedroom door open, noting the old layout—a distant memory of what your home had looked like only six months after the two of you bought it. The home didn’t look as lived in. Your books didn’t litter the halls, your bralettes weren’t thrown around the bedroom haphazardly as they usually would be (you were always confident he’d pick it up, and it became your little game), the old, velvet couch you begged him to keep in the study wasn’t there (which he couldn’t help but be happy about for a very brief moment)

His body is cold—heart and head throbbing. He remembers falling asleep alone, or maybe with Sunghoon somewhere in the distance—but he knew this wasn’t the home he slept in. Not yet. He hears you sing that song—the one he never bothered remembering the title of, because he only wanted to hear you sing it and never anyone else.

Then Jaeyun runs, because it didn’t matter if this was a dream if it meant seeing you again.

He chokes on an emotion he’d probably never be able to name the moment he catches the silhouette of your small back, hands calmly rinsing an old mug of his in the kitchen. The sun sifts through your hair, illuminating the strands with morning light. You smile. He almost falls onto his knees.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

[SUNGHOON, 20 YEARS OLD]

You feel his hand curl around the bare skin of your waist by pure accident, slipping beneath the fabric of your top as he steadies you from falling. Jake’s voice carries from somewhere down the hall, laughter spilling as he talks with one of the neighbor boys. In the study, a bookcase obscures your silhouettes just enough from the doorway. Something catches in your throat—thick with denial. All it took was a near fall, a single misstep, for everything to surface.

“Careful there,” he mutters. His hand pulls away as if the contact burned, a sharp exhale following before he turns and walks off.

Everything about Sunghoon was electric. He never did it on purpose.

His back had broadened over the years, his jawline filling in, sharpening. The simple, beautiful reservation he once carried was gone, replaced by the quiet dawn of something no longer boyish—something undeniably alluring. A depth had crept into his blue, coating it in velvet. Everything that left his mouth felt half-finished, as if he were always biting back his words. Even now, he was difficult to know.

That faraway look in his eyes—the one that let his thick lashes fall just right, shadowing the hollows beneath them, the one that made him regard the world with a half-lidded allure—did more than he ever intended.

Still, you never knew if that look belonged to everyone—

or just you.

[HALFWAY THROUGH SOPHOMORE YEAR, 20 YEARS OLD]

When Sunghoon transferred to your university, the three of you were indefinitely glued together. Since your families were neighbors, the entanglement only settled on thicker—and when it came to people with backgrounds like you three, rumors were quick to spread.

You were quickly coined the term ‘throuple’. If you weren’t with Jaeyun, you were with Sunghoon, and the same could’ve been said all across the board for the two boys. Jaeyun had a more extensive list of friends, true to fashion—even the reclusive Sunghoon took to socializing with a couple of boys from your universities secret society he didn’t initially plan on joining. Despite his background, Sunghoon didn’t like being an heir—didn’t fully enjoy or exercise his privileges.

Tonight was the biggest game of the season and your eyes trained on Jaeyun’s moppy head of hair as he darted across the field. Rugby fans (and fans of Jaeyun) shouted excitedly as he tackled a boy from the opposing team. Sunghoon’s voice steals your attention for a moment.

“Look at him go.” He whistled dryly. “God, he’s such an attention hog.” His smile gives away his pride for his best friend.

“He might as well enjoy it. He’s always in the spotlight anyway.” You counter, eyes shutting to take a deep breath of the upcoming autumn air. It was still warm outside—a little humid, but a cool breeze carrying the heavy scent of grass arrived once the sun began to set. The sky—originally painted shades of clementine and violet—darkens until the bright white lights of the playing field shut on.

“I don’t know how he doesn’t get tired of it.” He admits, eyes growing pensive, still shimmering with small joy.

“He does.” You reply, eyes still trained on the boy you loved. “He just accepts it nonetheless.”

When a sudden roar overwhelms the crowd, you watch as Jaeyun’s hauled over a teammates shoulders—hooting as they cheered for his final goal. You both think to yourselves: yea, Jaeyun was born to win—joining the cheers, screaming until your chests ached and vocals threatened to tear.

Sunghoon quiets shortly after—dimming in the tight light of the crowd. You understand Jaeyun in ways no one else ever could. Jaeyun was…complicated. Deceivingly open but not when it mattered the most. If anything, Sunghoon thought he shined violently, just so the light was blinding enough so no one could truly see him.

Still—facing the intimacy that existed between you and Jaeyun, ached in ways he wished he didn’t. Not out of envy, but out of starvation: knowing full well that some of the silences between you and him were too packed to mean nothing. But neither of you can tread that line. Not ever.

Not when you look at Jaeyun like he’s your own private, little god—responsible for everything bright and grass splendor in the world.

And Sunghoon. Oh, Sunghoon—was so faithfully loyal to his best friend that he was right there with you, worshipping him in his own little way.

—

The hours spent celebrating spin by you, and by the time you were two bottles of sweet red too deep, Jake playfully interrogates you.

“Come on—I won’t get mad. Who else have you gotten with?” He peers at you curiously. You were twenty by then.

Jake had officially asked you out when you both turned nineteen, after that night spent touching each other under slips of moonlight and the obsidian obscurities of that angelic maze. Still, you remained full of surprises—exactly the kind of person someone could only really understand if they knew what questions to ask.

Sunghoon reaches into the center of your makeshift circle on the floor, grabs the bottle of Ménage à Trois wine, and takes a swig. He shakes his hair out of his face, blinking at the two of you.

You go quiet, flushing under the dim light—admitting for the first time. “No one. I’ve never been with anyone else.”

Jake gapes at you before skittering over to you in surprise on his hands and knees. “Wait, what you’re saying is—“

“You were my first everything.” You finish.

“Everything?” A breathless question, bubbling out him, equal parts anticipatory overlayed by a thin film of guilt.

“Everything.”

“Even kiss—“He gawks.

“Everything.” You finalize.

His eyes soften, slowly growing more distraught. “But your first time was…”

You never told him. You were never comfortable with your inexperience and didn’t want to be coddled through the pain of losing your virginity. “I didn’t want you to be soft.” You admit, your palm reaching over to tighten over his. “I don’t regret it and I’m not sad about it.”

Sunghoon nods slowly. “I get it. Virginity is also, like, a social concept. Fuck it.”

Jake scoffs but agrees.

“And what about you, hm?” He freezes at your question, mid swig after tearing the bottle away from Sunghoon’s grasp.

“What about me?”

“Who else have you been with?” You question lightly. There was nothing in you that felt particularly antsy the way you usually would’ve—maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s just the way the night felt.

He pursed his lips, contemplating his reply. “In all honesty, it’s hard to tell. I lost my virginity when I was fifteen to a girl I’d barely met at a charity gala. Everyone else kind of blends together, sadly.” He winced—pausing before glancing at you thoughtfully.

“Do you really not feel curious…about what it’s like with other people?” His face is flushed, unreadable eyes glazed from the wine.

“Not really. Plus, I’m with you. I don’t need other people.” You quirk a brow.

He eyes the sloshing red wine from the mouth of the bottle pensively, before raising his head. “Well, why don’t you do it just once? To say that you did. I won’t feel like a sure thing if I’m the only thing you’ve ever known.”

Your eyes widen. “What are you talking about—“

“Kiss Sunghoon.” He glances at Sunghoon, who jolts and whips his head to stare at him incredulously.

Something burns hot and heavy in the silence. Sunghoon snatches the bottle with a shake of his head. “Dude, you’re fucking sloshed. Sober up.”

Jaeyun was too stubborn for the suggestion to make sense. Not when he usually simmered with a dark thrum of jealousy when it came to anyone else being around you. But maybe it was different, because even if you did touch someone else in front of him—it’s because he gave you permission. It was about thinly veiled control, curiosity, and the two people he trusted with his life.

Jaeyun glances at the two of you curiously. “Listen—“ he starts, leaning his weight back on his palms. “I’m secure. Trying things is valuable and I’d rather have you try it out now in this setting than have the curiosity find you on a day I’m not around. Plus, it’s Sunghoon. Half the campus thinks we’re a throuple, anyways. I’ve learned to live and laugh with it. It’s nothing serious.”

You swallow hard and glance up to find Sunghoon’s eyes already trained on you. “You didn’t ask Sunghoon if he wanted to, Yun.”

“Well, do you?” He lazily turns to eye Sunghoon, hair brushing over his glazed expression.

An old analog clock ticks somewhere in the backdrop. The faint grind of palms against carpet, a hesitant leaning, and a choked breath later— Sunghoon kisses you with nothing else in his mouth but a quiet intensity that shook you to your core. It was shocking—the way his lips didn’t feel like the hesitation you half-expected to press against you. And you knew you were doomed. Because the moment your lips met, Fate knew you’d die for him.

THE DAY JAEYUN REALIZED HE WANTED TO MARRY YOU, 23 YEARS OLD.

You couldn’t imagine a life without Jake. Some nights it was hard to breathe—your conflicted heart struggling to make space for both him and Sunghoon to exist at once.

Jake was the love of your life, but sometimes it felt like Sunghoon was your soulmate. He understood you in silence—always watching, always ready.

but Jake and his lazy grins—his spontaneity and ferocious way of loving—you couldn’t let go of that warmth. Even if you left, you’d end up searching for him in Sunghoon or some unfortunate stranger you’d marry for the sake of settling down on paper. Yet, letting go of Sunghoon felt like tearing an extension of yourself: a limb or a nerve hot wired into your brain.

Goosebumps rise along your skin, baby hairs lifting as a draft sweeps in through the open bay windows. Even the night time seemed golden with him. Jaeyun’s skin clings to yours, a sheen of drying sweat still warm between your bare bodies as he rests his head on your stomach.

“Baby, did you turn the kitchen lights off?” He mumbles tiredly, breath brushing against your navel.

Your hand runs through his long hair. “I don’t remember.”

“Okay.” Your lips quirk up a little.

“Okay.” He replies. Stalling for a moment “…please don’t make me get up to do it.”

“I won’t.” You quip.

“We can afford the electric bill.” He raises a brow and nods to himself, as if trying to negotiate. His hair curls in loose waves in your skin where his ear pressed against your womb.

“That’s horrible for the environment. If the world burns, you’ll partially be at fault.” You dryly reply, smiling because you know your tactic’s working—again. Like the last time one of you forgot to turn the lights off.

“Ay—that’s not fair. You’re not moving either.” He whines, chuckling tiredly before reaching to stroke at the skin of your stomach. It’s silent. Calm. Comfortable in a way that almost lulls you to sleep despite the cold.

“Baby?” The word leaves his mouth casual—questioning.

You only have enough energy to hum.

“I want to marry you,” he admits. The words aren’t demanding—they’re final. Certain. It feels less like a confession and more like a truth he’s barely realized and cemented in his heart—something he needed to say aloud. As if he’s always known it had to be you. It could only ever be you.

And then the world narrows down to your shared bedroom with Jaeyun—your home that still had the lights on somewhere in the kitchen, the bathroom sink with streaks of toothpaste on the faucet, and a foggy mirror still misty from the shower you’d taken with him just an hour ago.

—and so you say yes—quietly, but not hesitantly. Because the way you loved Jaeyun didn’t beckon hesitation, however complicated everything else became.

You say yes, because Jaeyun was endgame. He always was—he always will be.

But before you rest, the image of Sunghoon’s silhouette from a far off memory—blue and beautiful—pushes against the dark of your eyelids, branding itself there, unwilling to forget. And you think of the girl you used to be—young and adored—summer days promising a slice of life shared between the three of you, and you yearn for the simplicity of that time. Of that life.

When you wake up the next morning, you find Jaeyun staring at you—aghast. Haunted. Reaching forward to graze at your arm like he feared you’d be an apparition. A foreign pale casted over his handsome features—somehow making him older. Afraid. So different from the brave, unapologetic, and rambunctious Jaeyun you knew.

He breathed out your name like an apology that hurt to finally leave him and kissed you with an open mouth. Jaeyun has seen your body grow and shift throughout the years: after girlhood and the early bloom of becoming a woman, and he’s mapped your body enough to know it blind…but the way his mouth rested on yours felt like years of memorization. More than what you’d remember building in the last six.

You felt different upon waking: delirious, head pounding with dull, asynchronous throbs.

He cried, but you didn’t ask him why. Only held him to your chest, shushing and curling him into the slope of your perfumed neck. “Everything will be alright, baby.” you utter calmly.

He dreamt of snow: a frigid, lonely winter day. A storm, flakes whizzing past him as he ran through the snow, tumbling clumsily every two steps—only thinking of you, you, you. Then, a haunting amount of blood, the shrill sound of grief stained crying—

You swear you hear him say I’ll protect you this time—but you’re not sure from what. You tell him whatever’s wrong can’t enter this room—that whatever nightmare he may’ve had was just a nightmare.

And you were right—Jaeyun had lived through the unimaginable reality of losing you. And it haunted him, even after his miraculous return.

[SOMETIME DURING YOUR 19TH SUMMER.]

You think it’s a dream. Or something like a far, far memory—stretching thin into the recesses of a time you’re afraid to touch too often. The dark green labyrinth, overcast sky, and haunting white chiffon billowing in the wind, laughter breezing in from just beyond the garden. You remember that place—the summer chateau with its majestic white balconies held by pillars reminiscent of Parisian architecture. Overlooking a large garden, sprawling across acres that seeped deep into the woods b—but the garden was your favorite sanctuary beyond the lake. It was where the three of you would retreat, away from the endless stream of high-society events your parents hosted, surrounded by the most pretentious guests your country had to offer.

You’re breathless, dress billowing around you as you ran. Jaeyun tugs your arm, rushing further into the labyrinth with a breathy laugh. “Don’t let Sunghoon see you.”

He tosses his suit jacket haphazardly into the thick greenery, loosening his tie, not caring that his white button up wrinkled on his way to the maze.

A lone, marbled angel sits at the center of the labyrinth, its gaze cast down upon you. Jaeyun presses you against it, his temple resting softly against yours. "I want to be alone with you. He can keep the chamber of commerce busy for another thirty minutes."

"Alone with me?" You raise an eyebrow, your tone playful. "The president’s daughter seemed more than happy to keep you company." Your eyes glint with something darker beneath the teasing spark.

"Ah, yes. How could I forget?" Jaeyun rolls his eyes, lips curling into a smirk. His hair’s undone from the tugging of your fingers—the sleek, slick back from earlier on in the evening unraveling—strands prodding his eyes.

“I could ask the same thing, Sim."

"Oh, we’re using last names now?" He replies, a challenge in his voice.

His hand slides up your stomach, warm fingers resting against your waist. "And what about the Yang’s youngest son? Didn’t know you were into such an old clan. I can only imagine how someone would be treated, marrying into that dynasty." He trails off, his breath hot against your lips. His gaze locks with yours, daring. "But then again, I suppose you’ve always been a bit of a masochist, if I recall correctly."

You feel the tension rise as he sucks in a breath, barely holding back a smile. The air between you crackles, charged, electric, alive.

Your tongue slides out, licking up his bottom lip playfully. “Should I remind you?”

He doesn’t wait. He never does—only takes without question.

Jaeyun kisses you with the heat of a forest fire: his warm body pressing flush against yours, the cool marble of the wall a sharp contrast at your back. His hand slides up, quickly lifting your dress, fingers trailing a smooth path between your legs—only letting up to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeve and roll the taut white fabric to his elbows. Small moans tumble out of your mouth as he kisses up the slope of your neck with a breathless chuckle. “I don’t think I quite remember—kiss me again?” He pleads sweetly, trying to catch his breath.

He slides his thick fingers against your slick, lining them up against your entrance before prodding in until he’s knuckle deep. He keeps his eyes trained onto your face as he pistols two fingers in and out of you, watching how his progressive force jostles your body. “You’re not doing a great job at reminding me.” He snickers, sliding his other hand up and slinking three other fingers into your mouth. Your throat tightens around the digits mid-gag, before he pulls them away after counting to ten, his veins straining against the surface of his skin.

Your body feels like it’s on fire—overheating, damp, pressed beneath his weight. All you hear is the teasing lilt in his voice, and all you can smell is the sharp scent of fresh-cut grass, mingling with the smoothness of his cologne. Everything around you is drenched in him, colored by Jaeyun.

Jaeyun, Jaeyun, Jaeyun. ‘I love you—you’re mine.’

You crane your neck, arching your back so your chest presses against his. "Look at what you do to me. Ruining me—is it not your favorite pastime, Jaeyun?" You kiss him with an open mouth, tongues clashing in a heated war as you breathe him in. "What else do I need to do?"

“Cum until you cry.” He immediately replies, a sharp smile dancing across his face. Your stomach clenches, slick sliding down your inner thighs and coating his hands. He slides out for a moment, rolling his tongue over his fingers—and slides back in.

He leans in to capture your mouth with his, but a sharp snap freezes him mid-motion. He jerks back, his neck craning as he catches sight of Sunghoon strolling toward you both—unbothered, hands casually tucked into his trousers. “So much for friendship. Left me to rot with the chamber for a quickie?”

Jaeyun rolls his eyes, pulling his hand away and shifting to shield your body with his. Thankfully, Sunghoon doesn’t have a clear view of you from where he stands. To your mortification, Jaeyun still slides his ring finger into his mouth—tasting it with a satisfied pop.

“God forbid a man prioritizes making sweet love to the woman of the hour instead of chatting with sleazy old fucks” He shakes his head in mock derision.

Sunghoon sighs, eyes trailing over your fevered form quickly before turning away. “You’re a wonderful man, throwing your best friend to the dogs like that.”

He turns around, strolling down the path he just came from. “Hurry up and get it over with. Your pop’s looking for you.”

“You’ve already interrupted, might as well go together—“

Sunghoon interrupts. “Didn’t know the almighty Sim Jaeyun would walk away without making her cum. With how she’s looking? If you don’t do it, somebody else will.” He waves a hand goodbye; still facing forward with the other in his pocket.

Jaeyun laughs incredulously. “Fuck you, Park Sunghoon!”

“I’m not the one you should be fucking, dumbass!” He hollers back, flicking his middle finger up in the air.

You laugh until your stomach gives out—until Jaeyun’s lips finds yours again.

The two of you return an hour and a half later; red faced, hair tousled, raw lipped, and guilty. Sunghoon almost spits out his wine when he sees you waltz in, turning away to stop himself from laughing.

For once, Jaeyun doesn’t get away with being late—but later on that night, he climbs up your bedroom window to ask you to be his girlfriend. It was a formality, at most. He’d been yours since the day he met you: a truly swooning boy, puppy-eyed and persistent.

You replied by sleepily pulling him to bed, saying “You already know the answer to that.”

You were nineteen then—nineteen and in love with Sim Jaeyun. Park Sunghoon was best friends with you both and life felt promising. Kind, even.

Yet at nineteen, Sunghoon was somehow better at swallowing his feelings than he would be at twenty-one—when Jaeyun leaves you two to look after one another while he goes abroad.

THROUGHOUT YOUR 20TH YEAR

Jaeyun forgets. Hazing rituals take his time, away games, and boyish conundrums seem to fill his days more than you do.

He promises to pick you up every Tuesday from class. It’s a ritual you’ve had since high school, when you’d attended the all girls school down the block from his private academy, where he’d wait there by the gates, hands in his pockets. Even when you moved away from the homes you grew up in that were saddled right next to each other, and into new apartments or fraternity houses upon entering university—Jaeyun never broke it. Not without letting you know ahead of time.

He was especially adamant on doing it on days like this—when the weather was too extreme for his pretty girl to be alone. It never mattered if it was a Tuesday or not, never even mattered if practice was still going and coach would drill him for skipping out or being late, because he was the epicenter of the team. Too irresponsible to be captain, but central to their group dynamics.

It’s raining—a soft drizzle easing into an overwhelming downpour. The autumn makes it so that the cold isn’t unforgiving, but biting enough for you to curl into yourself. You don’t know why you stand outside—why you wait out here instead of rushing into a nearby building to defrost. Your eyes are downcast, expression blank, before a shadow hovers you. The first thing you see is a pale hand, clutching at a navy blue umbrella, angling it above you and exposing the shoulders of its jacket to the elements by doing so. The person ducks under the fabric, gazing at you—straight, feathery, raven hair framing his face. Sunghoon.

Your breath catches. The blue overcast day made his skin look like marble, stark against his dark hair—but what makes you still is the way the usual furrow in his brow melted into something that looked like concern. Maybe something more.

“Why are you out here?” His voice is direct with softened edges. To anyone else, it would’ve sounded like he was scolding you, but you knew him. And you knew this meant he was frustrated for you.

“It’s Tuesday and raining.” You reply, a graceful smile still painted onto your lips: patient, immaculate, porcelain—even when your face was damp, strands of hair sticking to your cheeks. Sunghoon knows what that means.

His eyes widen. “He forgot?”

You keep the smile on, opting to say a quiet yea, like it’s simple. Like it’s no big deal.

He says nothing. Sunghoon knows when not to push—only taking a step closer to stand over you with his umbrella, extending his hand out as if waiting to grab something. You look at him, confused.

“Phone.” Is all he says, eyes gazing calmly back at you.

You don’t question it—not verbally at least, and hand over your phone. He shuts it off immediately with a sharp smile. “Now, we wait for him to realize and lose his fucking head. Come.”

He holds out an arm, and you smile, curling yours around his bicep out of pure etiquette. A soft smile crosses his face—a rare sight to anyone who only ever saw him in passing. Moments like these remind you that Sunghoon’s your only best friend besides Jaeyun.

After a brief pause, he gently untangles your arms, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders. When he reaches for your arm again to pull it back around his, a sharp jolt of static snaps between you, the sudden spark lingering in the air. You tuck your head down, plastering a small smile on your face to cover the hitch of your breath.

You don’t question where he’s taking you— you’d follow Sunghoon anywhere, blindly. A small gazebo tucked away on the outskirts of campus comes into view, beside a quiet pond where water lilies sit damp and heavy from the rain. Evergreen overgrowth curls around the metallic fixtures, its colors somehow glowing in the misty air. He pats a seat next to him, plopping down on a cold bench hidden under the hair-like branches of a weeping willow.

You don’t know how long the two of you sit there in silence, watching the lilies drift across the water, your phone resting cold in his pocket. When you lean your head against his shoulder and loop your arms around his bicep, he says nothing. After a moment, he swallows, the movement subtle enough you might miss it.

“Don’t focus so much on him,” he says quietly. “Next time you’re out in the rain, just call me.” There’s a dryness to it, almost a reprimand, but you smile anyway.

“Okay.”

Your eyes slip closed, sleep finding you before you realize it. He lets you rest there until the light thins and the sun edges lower, waking you only when it has to be done.

—

Much later, alone in the quiet of the night, Sunghoon pauses as he pulls the shirt over his head. Your perfume—Vanilla, amber, with traces of Jaeyun’s cologne in the backdrop—lingered at the seams of its collar. He hesitates, breath catching for just a second, before pressing his face against the fabric—inhaling.

Disgust crawls up his throat the moment the images flood in: Not just you—never just you—but the space Jaeyun occupies around you, the way his presence lingers even here, even now. It isn’t the intimacy that turns Sunghoon’s stomach so much as how vividly Jaeyun exists within it, inseparable, intrusive, impossible to push out of frame. The image of Jaeyun filling you—pressing his face against your upturned neck, tracing the curve with his lips, tasting the perfume lingering on your skin—is a heated haunt. His breath coming hot and urgent, sinful and insatiable as you rolled around in Jaeyun’s black satin sheets.

Before he could think better of it, he becomes a voyeur in his own fantasy, settling down in his chair, neck bent, glossy eyes trained into the ceiling. He flattens his hand over his own taut abdomen, rolling his shirt up, and lifting to bite the fabric to keep it from falling back down. He tells himself it’s shame tightening his ribs, tells himself it’s revulsion—but his body remains still, listening.

It’s embarrassing—the fact he’s about to get off on imagining Jaeyun fucking you. His large hand slides down his trousers, gripping the base of his cock, hesitantly twitching in his hand, as his hips jolt instinctively.

He sees it so clearly in his head:

Jaeyun’s hair falling into your open mouth, your legs widening for him to press his body down onto yours.

He jerks faster, sliding a thumb over his tip. “F-fuck.” Stifling a moan, reddened. Ashamed.

Your cunt stretching to accommodate his fit—almost vulgar, a little too daring. It hurts. Yet he knows you’d ask for more.

The muscles dancing along his forearm contract. His fist bangs against the soft slope of his pelvis, precum dripping over his pretty, pale fingers.

The fat on your ass slapping against the golden muscles of Jaeyun’s thighs as you ride him desperately, slick squelching between your bodies.

He tries to imagine what Jaeyun would say to you when his hand clasps around your throat, while the other cinches around the meat of your left thigh to keep you still as he fucked up into you.

But he cums before the words could invent themselves.

Drenched in sweat, boxers only half way off, his T-shirt damp from his drool collecting on it as he bit down on it—dick tired and softening in his hand like a question mark. He wanted you. But no matter what, Jaeyun would be an extension of you.

That night, Sunghoon began calling what he felt shame, unaware that the word he was really searching for was desire.

—

The day felt a little less lonely when Sunghoon was around. He didn’t like talking to other people—a grimace crossing his face whenever anyone approached, before he’d drift back toward you or Jaeyun. Because of that, he was always nearby somehow.

Candlelight flickered. Incense and other faint scents filled your room as Sunghoon read on the recliner while you hung your head off the edge of the bed, counting seconds, waiting for the blood to rush just because you liked it. Music played softly, a low hum settling. It was always like this with him: a loose coexistence that asked for nothing. Some nights, you stayed up until the sun rose, laughing about everything and nothing.

Jaeyun didn’t show up—not like he used to. It happened more and more often, him getting caught up with rugby and a social presence that demanded everything from him. You hated him a little more each time it happened—but still, every other night, he’d pull the spare key from under your mat and waltz right in, kissing you dizzy. It never mattered that he’d slipped away from some buzzing party. The moment his thoughts drifted to you, he’d end up at your doorstep.

It wasn’t that he didn’t spend time with the both of you…it was just different now. This year was Jaeyun’s golden era, and he savored it. But time does what it always does—slowly, surely, Jaeyun changed. It wasn’t that he’d grown unkind…just less apologetic about the advantages that came with the power he held over people. Younger boys, starry-eyed and eager, willingly carried his books to and from class, even fetching him water between breaks at practice. Jaeyun never asked—but he never said no either.

It was a regular spectacle pristine girls would giggle at, something you’d seen from under the marbled arches of your university as you’d drifted past.

You never entertained it. But from a place deep inside you, you felt…pity. You didn’t know if it was for Jaeyun or the young, aimless boys trailing him.

Tonight was the biggest party of the year—one Jaeyun decided to go to alone, especially after one of his frat brothers tried to make a move on you. You’d always been pretty, but lately you were blooming, and weren’t even aware of it. The realization unsettled him for reasons he hadn’t picked apart yet, and on a whim, he told you not to come. However gentle he said it—it still stung.

Which is how you end up here—jolting upright too fast, head spinning as blood rushes to it. “Let’s go out.”

Sunghoon lifts an eyebrow. “Absolutely not. I could’ve sworn I willingly skipped my own frat’s party ’cause I would’ve thrown myself out a window eventually.”

“Fair,” you hum, eyes fixed on the wall. “But I also don’t want to just… stay here because he said so.”

You fold your hands in your lap, voice casual despite the weight of it. “He’s been a real shitty boyfriend the last two terms.”

Sunghoon grunts in agreement. It’s not that Jaeyun didn’t love you anymore: he was just young, he guessed—prone to making mistakes and slipping up because you had your own lives to live. It doesn’t change the fact that his negligence bruised you, and still didn’t change the fact that he loved you to the moon, and somehow still hit below the bar.

“And tell me, exactly, how going out will make him a less shitty boyfriend?” He sighs, rubbing a palm over his face. It’s already his loss. He can feel it.

“It won’t. But if I do the right things, it’ll make me a shitty girlfriend.” You smile widely, and he swears he feels his heart jump to his throat. It bobs, as he tries to push it back down to his chest. And Sunghoon can’t swoon. He shouldn’t.

“Christ.” He groans, flopping back down onto the chair. “Well—get done up. But the most I’ll subject myself to is some grody dive bar if we’re feeling naughty. Absolutely no fucking clubs.”

You nod enthusiastically. “Took the words right out my mouth!” Without much thinking, you throw your arms over his shoulders, and plant a kiss on his left cheekbone. When you scurry into your walk in closet, Sunghoon finally releases his breath.

You’d be the death of him, and never know a single damn thing about it.

—

Sunghoon stops himself short from laughing at how much you stood out at the hole in the wall bar you found on some “niche” Reddit thread. The moment you hesitantly walked in—sharp baby doll heels clicking against the old wood floors—heads turned without shame or apology. He’d bet that the music would cut if it wasn’t a jukebox playing a tune.

“So, what do we do now?”

You look like a deer in the headlights, grasping at straws for guidance. Sunghoon indulges in moments like these, when your cool facade thawed out—even if it was from anxiety.

“You tell me?” He replies, eyebrow raising. “You’re the one who dragged me here while I was on the third book of the Percy Jackson series???”

Sighing, his hand presses against the center of your back, guiding you to the bar. It’s warm—surprisingly calloused and worn. You swallow, blinking hard: all light hearted, comfortable banter fading off into the backdrop the moment his skin touched yours. All this because you’d been reckless enough to pull out that backless dress you’d shoved into the back of your closet.

That strange, deliberate tension wires itself between you carrying a weight you’re too young to understand the gravity of. The reverie breaks once a shot glass is slammed onto the bar.

“Tequila—that’s what we do next.” Is all Sunghoon says before tipping his shot glass at you in a mock salute.

You wonder if he feels it too: that tension, that sudden darkness breaking through the light, sinking everything into his unique shade of blue. When the glass slides down the bar and lands in your hand, liquid sloshing over the edge, you tilt your head back, letting the burn in your throat push back every bit of want that’s ever existed in your body.

Two hours in, you taste like lime and something top shelf. You thought about trying something sweeter. Playful. Something that defied the very image of the usual you—serious and quiet, but thought against it in favor of not mixing your liquids.

Sunghoon hangs his head, muttering incoherently, face rosy in a way that bled to the tips of his ears. “Hoon—“ you tap his shoulder “I’m gonna go piss. Stay alive.”

You almost stumble off your seat at the bar, laughing quietly to yourself, already feeling how stupid you must look even through the drunken haze. You slide your body against the hallway wall, heading for the bathroom.

A whistle slices through the delirium, forcing a wince from you. “Whew. Girls like you really shouldn’t be out in this part of town.”

The first offense? He was bald. About 6'3", mid-thirties, with a pale line running along his square jaw.

The second? Bald—and no charisma to warm the cool skin on his head. Even drunk-you knew exactly where this was going.

You squint, ignoring him as you begin the slow, wobbly journey to the bathroom. But the hall stretches, distorts, as your stomach churns under the weight of the liquor in your bloodstream.

He grabs your wrist, his calloused hand digging into your soft skin. “Seems like rich girls don’t have the decency to listen when they’re spoken to.”

You snap, shaking his hand off with what little strength you have left—your hair slipping into your mouth as you slump against the wall. “Are you fucking slow? I wouldn’t talk to you even if I didn’t have a single dime in my pocket.”

Leaning in, he opens his mouth, warm breath brushing your cheekbone—then, suddenly, his head crashes against the wall. A flash of black fills your vision as Sunghoon grabs the man’s patchwork jacket, lands a punch to his left eye, and tosses him across the hall—away from you.

The victory, however, doesn’t last long. Despite the swelling skin on his brow, the man rises, grabs Sunghoon’s collar, and lands two quick punches. From the corner, you hear the bartender shouting at security, a flurry of clattering glasses and fists crashing into meaty flesh and bone filling the air.

A sudden surge of bravery hits you. You reach forward, grabbing Sunghoon’s leather jacket with both fists, yanking him out of the chaos.

“Fuck—Hoon. We need to go.” If the media caught wind of this, both of you were dead.

Everything is water colored as you run past strangers staring wide eyed at you. It’s a mixture of the remnants of your debauchery—making everything seem almost slow, lucid, and dream-like. The colors of street lamps, road signs, and crosswalks bleed together—smearing across your vision as your legs pump to keep up with Sunghoon’s steps.

You find yourselves turning a corner before slamming back against the damp brick walls of an alleyway, four blocks away, tilting your heads back, panting. "Holy shit—what was that?"

You ask, because you’ve never seen Sunghoon fight like that before. Normally, he'd just raise an eyebrow or freeze someone with a glare that promised more than a fist ever could—but this? This was rowdy. You don’t know why the sudden urge to laugh was so hard to fight off, as you stared at him incredulously.

It’s silent. Suspended for a couple beats.

The urge fades when you see his glassy eyes staring up at the sky, a rawness in his next words so unexpected it sends a chill down your spine.

A gust of wind carries the shift in, feathering your hair.

“I just don’t like seeing other people touch you.” He admits, blinking. “I really, really fucking hate it, actually.”

You close your mouth, alarms blaring inside you, syncing with the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat. You want to tell him to stop, because you’re afraid you already know exactly what he means.

He’s supposed to be the safest guy for you, outside of Yun. Tonight was supposed to be a night with two best friends, one tagging along in support of the other—watching your back with the simplicity of platonic trust and occasional exasperation.

But the truth is—Sunghoon looked after you. Not just because you were his best friend. Not just because you were, without a doubt, the love of his other best friend’s life. On the surface, maybe that was all it was—but he knew. You knew. Sunghoon always held two sentences back every time he let one slip. He pushed the dry humor to mask his yearning, his concern—that maybe, just maybe, he really needed to be around you. That he’d take the scraps as they come, and he’d be yours when he could be.

So you don’t reply. Not even when he tilts his head to the side to gaze at you for a gap of time—beautiful and tired. His hair hides his gaze, but you can still see the glimmer in his eyes, reflecting the streetlight off their surface. His voice is soft—almost too soft, when he pushes through the last of his buzz.

“Pretend you don’t remember this by tomorrow, alright?”

Silence, and then—

“Alright.” You breathe out softly, heart stuttering.

Your hand reaches out with a mind of its own, brushing the hair away from his face to get a good look at him. “Alright.” You repeat.

He leans his cheek into your palm, his eyes slowly closing as he nods. Then, he straightens up, his gaze returning to that delicate veil of nonchalance. With a quiet purpose, he wraps his hand around your wrist, but deliberately avoids your skin, his fingers resting lightly on the fabric of your jacket.

“Let’s go home.”

When you wake up, Sunghoon’s already gone. His book, however, laid dog-eared and thrown onto your vanity.

You know he left it as a way of saying ‘I’m okay. We’re okay. I’ll come back to get it later, see?’

Yeah. Nothing’s changed. Everything’s alright…right?

—

Heeseung winces the moment he sees Sunghoon’s face—the usual marbled tone painted purple at the edges of his swelling eye. He slams his book closed with a question once Sunghoon throws his bag down on the couch with a sigh. “The fuck happened to your face?”

Sunghoon blankly stares at the ceiling. “Some bald dude at a dive bar.” He says dryly. “Anyways—how’s the house this clean already?”

“Jay didn’t sleep after the party. Someone hurled on the wall and he lost it.”

“Not surprised in the slightest.”

The stairs creak as Jaeyun descends, red robe trailing carelessly behind him, hissing. “Fucking hell, my head hurts.”

His hair curls messily around his face and jawline, pouring over his forehead boyishly because the pomade had long worn off. Jaeyun makes a beeline to the kitchen before he skids to a stop, taking three steps back, staring directly at his best friend. “What the fuck is that?” He squints, eying Sunghoon with concern.

“…just got socked, that’s all.” Sunghoon muttered, diverting his gaze.

“Yeah, clearly. Why? Where? I thought you were at Y/N’s place?”

“I was, but we went out last night. Some dude cornered her on the way to the bathroom, and—yeah.”

“The two of you went out? But you guys hate shit like that—“

“Maybe she doesn’t anymore. She wanted to go, so we went.” Sunghoon furrows his brow. for whatever reason, Jaeyun’s hungover concern, was frustrating

Jaeyun stares at him. “Is she mad at me?”

“You should ask her that. Not me.”

“I have to pick her apart for her to admit that sort of thing, for fucks sake” He groans. Sunghoon’s eye twitches—uncharacteristically, he bites out “it’s not like you’re around half the time for her to even feel like she could talk to you about that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, you haven’t been around, Yun. You even left her out in the fucking rain last week.”

The two stare at each other in silence. Jaeyun whips the robe off and grabs his car keys, muttering a quiet shit, before storming off to you.

Sunghoon exhales and sinks back into his seat the moment the door slams.

Heeseung blinks, staring at Sunghoon with knowing eyes. “You care about her too much—It’s time to let go.”

Sunghoon tilts his head and smiles. “Would’ve done it ages ago if I could.” That’s the most he could admit out loud.

THE YEAR JAEYUN LEAVES, 21 YEARS OLD.

Neither of the boys had ever seen you cry in public before. The shell shocked look on Jaeyun’s face—stunned that you’d cry just because he was leaving abroad for a year—made it clear the possibility had never even crossed his mind. He and Sunghoon blink at you, slightly wide-eyed, as you sniffle and furrow your brows, suddenly self-conscious for breaking down in front of them.

Jaeyun’s big arms wrap around your head, pulling you into his chest. “Pretty girl, I’ll fly to you whenever. All you need to do is ask. I’ll be home in no time.”

The Sim Conglomerate had its hands everywhere, and while Jaeyun’s father allowed him to attend university locally, he wouldn’t budge unless Jaeyun agreed to complete an internship abroad. Some massive tech company in the U.K. snapped him up instantly, and within a month, he’d secured a year-long placement.

He promised to call every day, to send photos of meals and new friends. But Jaeyun had a habit of living large, and you were both young—still learning, still imperfect.

The plane leaves, floating into a backdrop of color. Its hum fades into a faint squeezing, lining the sky like a daytime comet. Sunghoon stands with you in silence, hands tucked into his coat pockets as you both stare out the floor to ceiling high windows of the airport. You don’t know how long you stand there for. All you know is Sunghoon didn’t ask questions and waited without complaint.

[soundtrack] NOW PLAYING—> AVA BY FAMY

Jaeyun was adored everywhere he went—quickly becoming a head-boy equivalent at his exchange university and the standout of his internship program, spearheading new tech developments and pitching innovative business modules to major companies.

He made friends, went to parties, got wasted, and called you giggly and affectionate from thousands of miles away.

But it was lonely. Waiting by your phone, juggling time zones and competing schedules—then your own unmet desire simmering beneath it all. Resentment built quietly in the spaces where your messages didn’t go. And Jake never realized how far away you got, because he was always chasing after the next adventure, the next dream.

You said nothing. Stopped texting first, stopped calling—letting silence masquerade as independence. You never chastised him when he forgot to call or rain checked off of facetime. You just shrugged, made a dry joke to shift the conversation. Jaeyun never pushed; it fit the persona you’d crafted. Cool. Mysterious. Hard to read. Enticing in the way you pulled back just enough to keep someone like him wrapped around your finger.

Jake thought you were strong to a point of detriment. You were not, by any means, the most open or honest girl.

Sunghoon sat on the other side of your bed, laptop perched on his legs as you stared blankly at the ceiling, fingers fidgeting with your sleeves.

“Still haven’t heard from ‘Jake’?” he asked, typing as he lifted his hands just long enough to mimic quotation marks, chuckling.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a pillow and shoving it over your face with a groan. “Please don’t call him that.”

It was his English name—a recent development, a sort of baptism into his new circle of friends. “But no. Nothing in the last three days.”

“You should say something, you know?” Sunghoon lifted a brow, tone flat.

Your reply came out softer than you meant it to—fragile enough that it froze his fingers mid-typing. He finally turned to look at you. “It wouldn’t change anything if I did.”

Silence settled between you, broken only by the quiet electric hum of his laptop’s ventilation.

“Your laptop’s breathing—” you started, lifting a finger to make a joke, but he cut you off.

“Do you love him?”

“I do.” The answer was immediate, leaving no room for doubt.

“Do you like that you love him?”

You stilled. Swallowed. Of course Sunghoon would be the first to notice your facade cracking—your practiced coolness melting under the weight of feeling unwanted and left behind.

He set his laptop aside, body relaxing into something unreadable.

Something swells in the air—the very feeling you got the first time you’d seen him. In his own way, Sunghoon was as inevitable as Jaeyun.

It’s silent for several beats until he suddenly hovers over you, bracing one outstretched arm beside your neck, caging you in without touching. Your expressions didn’t shift—both of you deceptively calm, collected, unreadable. Passive. You lay flat on your back, hands clasped loosely together on your stomach as you stared up at him through your lashes.

Discreetly, his thigh slides between your legs—not quite touching, but the small gap between your skin and his affects you more than if it did.

The tension stretched between you like a rubber band on the verge of snapping. He stared down at you, leaning in just enough that you felt his dark hair brush your temple. Sunghoon was crossing a dangerous line—one you’d both silently agreed never to touch. His eyes don’t leave you when you finally let yourself speak.

“I hate that I do. But I know I’ll never be the version of myself who didn’t love him even if I leave him.” You confess, voice soft. It’s honest. Maybe even uncomfortable to hear, but Sunghoon understands. He knows what it’s like to love Sim Jaeyun and the heaviness that came with it, even if it wasn’t romantically. Ambiguously, almost.

“I feel lonely, Hoon. When he leaves, it feels like something’s missing, but I can’t be the girl of his dreams if I try and keep him to myself the way I want to.” You continue, almost absentmindedly. Your hand lifts slowly—almost questioningly, to graze the short hair on the nape of his neck.

You’d always gazed—chased after the mystery of Sunghoon’s back since the very first day you’d seen him at the dock—and touching him like this…felt like easing an old ache: a question you’ve never admitted you wanted to ask. Does he feel it too? The confusing pull—the distress from the taboo want of it all?

Yet, the want to have Sim Jaeyun yearn for you, miss you, crave to have and possess you—ate you from the inside out. But he wouldn’t love your darkness, your possession—anything keening under the surface of your cool facade. You’ve always shared him with the rest of the world—the world you never really wanted in the picture, because you’d rather build a universe around the two of you. A part of you admits that the only exception to that has always been Sunghoon.

Your arm finally slides into place, hooking loosely around his neck. When he finally replies, his voice is husky—worn. “Do I make you feel lonely? Does it really not make a difference…that I’m here with you?”

“Never. You’ve never made me feel lonely.” You pull him down softly—slowly, tilting your neck to the side to hover an inch away from his lips. “Do I make you feel lonely?” You ask, dark lashes fluttering—knowing.

“All the time.” He says it like it’s fine—that’d he take it without question.

“Would you let me ruin you?” You ask, a soft mystery simmering low in your expression.

“So long as you make it better every time you do.” It’s a harrowing confession, whispered into the intimate quiet.

And then you kiss him first, because although Sunghoon was hanging at the inevitable edge—hands already sliding down your waist—his loyalty to Jaeyun stopped him short from breaking down the last wall between you.

When he tastes the first moan he’s heard leave your mouth for him, he breaks open like a dam. It’s intense, hungry, chock full of a want that mimicked the same capable depth of your own. He’s eating you, jaw stretching, hands skimming the skin under your shirt and tracing the swell of your breasts. Your tongues tie, sliding against each other slick and hot—bodies already going clammy as you sit up to hastily throw off your shirt. He follows shortly, throwing off a black hoodie and sliding off his sweats before grabbing at the meat of your hips to swiftly pull you against him.

“Don’t pull away—not even for a second.” He breathes heavily against your lips, sliding his palms up your spine as you seat yourself on his lap. It shakes you to your core—a shiver racking through your body to hear Sunghoon sound like this. So full of emotion, of surrender to something he’d always felt coming and the reckoning’s finally arrived. He sounds miles away from his typical reservation—his eyebrows softening from their usual furrow, mouth slick with desire instead of the natural frown that usually decorated it.

He grinds you down on him, fully hardened, and your mouth drops open with a choked sound. “Tell me what feels good—teach me.” It almost sounds like he’s begging, and maybe he is—if this is the only way he could have you, he didn’t want to be second best and gaze at Jake’s back. He’s thick. Bigger than you could’ve imagined whenever the question would brush your thoughts.

You grab one of his hands, sliding his palm down your stomach and slotting it under your underwear. “Touch me everywhere. Don’t stop even if I beg you to—“ you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing open mouthed instructions onto him “ Eat me. Don’t hold back anymore. We’ve already committed the sin of betraying our little god.”

It’s damp—slimy from the clear wetness tacking your thighs together when they brush. You feel soft—smooth, reddened, and so warm he feels dizzy from the mere texture of you. He bites your neck, canines digging into the skin before sucking until it stains red, and his control slips. Jaeyun can’t see you—you’re in his arms, bruised from his mouth. A sick part of him wished he could witness it.

Your body looks like a crime scene by the time he raises you up and comes face to face with your chest. He unclasps your bra with one hand, tongue flattening on your under breast before stroking up. “I’ve wanted you for as long as I’ve known you—“ he starts with, one hand flattening on your spine while sliding his tongue over your nipple. He sees red the moment he hears your sharp inhale. The other tugs at your underwear until the material sandwiches itself between your lips and rubs against your clit rhythmically. “Had I met you first, you would’ve never been lonely.”

“But what the golden boy wants, the golden boy gets. I was happy that Jaeyun always got what he wanted, up until I met you.” Goosebumps rise on your skin at his husky voice—honeyed. Seductive. Is this what he sounded like in bed? Who else has heard this voice?

“Why is that?” You already know. Nonetheless, you ask—because you wanted to hear him say it to you in this secret form of his. A sharp moan leaves you—back arching, breasts shaking lightly from the slow drag of his fingers suddenly sliding into you, abruptly scissoring and widening the space inside.

One hand leaves your spine, dragging it to grab the meat of your ass firmly enough to bruise. The sound of his other hand slapping against you intensifies as the slick rolls down to his wrist. A soft spank, just enough to blush your skin—and then his thumb, pressing lightly against the rim of your ass. He keeps his mouth occupied with your chest: biting, sucking, marking.

“Jaeyun wants you in a way he has never and will never want someone else in his life— but he doesn’t know want the way I do.”

He rests his chin on the valley between your chest—cold, gleaming eyes staring up at you, gauging your expressions as his fingers pistol in and out of you. “Jaeyun’s a spoiled kid. We all are. But he’s never hungered for love a day in his life. I never needed it, never wanted it—not until I saw the little things you did.”

Your eyes roll back, all noise fading to the backdrop—only half-listening once your cunt starts to grip around him in asynchronous beats. He doesn’t blink when you instinctively try to shut your thighs and push him off once you feel a particular sort of sensitivity—but Sunghoon doesn’t let up, only slamming his hand up into you and gripping your thigh so you can’t move away. He stares hard at you, veins pressing against his forearm as he recalled a far memory of Jaeyun and you hiding away in the maze.

It’s intense—the way he stared at you almost made you want to shrink back.

He keeps chatting casually in that dry, curious tone of his. “Did you know that the first time I touched myself was when I focused too hard on how your fingers pressed against the strings while playing?” His thumb rolls around your clit, before sliding a third finger in. “—I was seventeen, but I’d never experienced genuine sexual desire until that happened. And then, at nineteen, I’d lost my virginity to an older woman that only looked like you in the dark. I have touched you in my head in every way, shape, and form.” He confesses. He massages your waist, pressing a kiss against your collarbone as he continued.

“In dreams, I’ve made a mess of you. I’ve spit on and worshipped you. I’ve fucked you until you threatened to split open. I’ve defiled and ruined every crevice on your body— I’ve loved you. Oh god—in every single thought, I have loved you.”

A dull ringing silences everything except the sound of your own heartbeat. You swear you hear yourself scream—you feel a shatter of wetness spilling from you and against his hand, before everything around you drowns out. In the middle of the haze, your body’s firmly pushed back as Sunghoon’s dark head of hair trails down your abdomen, following a path of wet kisses before disappearing between your thighs. Everything feels like it’s in slow motion—a blur of heat and sin flushing away any sentiment of guilt and morality.

He eats you like a starved man, pinning you down by wrapping his big arms around the meat of your thighs. His mouth widens, tongue flattening, dipping inside of you, before stroking up to flick at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Everything about it is messy: spit trailing along your bikini line, between your lips, and down your cheeks. Your cunt’s engorged—over sensitive and flushed, gleaming almost gelatinously under the low room light.

You don’t recognize your own voice, only having the capacity to feel Sunghoon glide his right hand up to lace his fingers with yours tightly, knuckles paling from his grip, his face still buried between your legs. It’s different from how Jaeyun touched you.

Jaeyun knew your body like the back of his hand. Everything he did was with sheer instinct and the knowing that he’s taught you everything you liked, that he’d built your nerves from the ground up, and conditioned you to only orgasm when he told you to. Jaeyun was all wildfire and cinnamon—warm, scorching—commanding in a way that left no room for escape.

Sunghoon was methodical. Years of watching you threaded into the details: all the times he’s endured catching you and Jaeyun in the middle of something (more often than he’d like—you and he fucked like bunnies), he’s committed to memory. Every flinch. Half-sigh, and subtle squeeze of your thighs in public—he’s jotted down in his brain.

Sunghoon felt like the tide at night, pulling you in with a force that’d suffocate you once you were inside him. He was watercolored and intense—and he touched you like he’s never thought of anyone or anything else in his entire life. It was just you.

You feel yourself throb, pushing out—squirting again. Sunghoon swears he’s never seen anything more erotic and doesn’t move a centimeter away from you—he eats. Licks calmly, as if to soften your shaking and stiff body. Your hand slides away and cusps the side of his face, as you take in the sight of his damp face. He licks the slick off his lips. “Make me feel better. Please.”

That night, you made him forget that you were ever someone elses. Body rolling against his, taking him to the brim, mouth parted as he fucked into you with a force you never imagined he’d summon.

And you never stopped caving to your wants even as the years rolled grotesquely passed. Jaeyun married you, painting you as the perfect, patient wife: the one who never complained whenever he went away, that was confident in herself enough to never feel lonely when he did. Jaeyun loved you more than he ever could find the words to admit. It’s not that he didn’t see you, for you. He was simply blind to the effect he truly had on you—including the weight of his ambition that promised the sort of absence neither of you liked.

His life was spent taking you for granted until the rug was pulled from under him.

You couldn’t leave him, spiraling in silence until you forgot to eat whenever you were alone. He never noticed all of the rotten produce in the fridge. You were blind to the ways he did show you love—but it was never enough. Something dark and ugly—so horribly possessive loomed overhead until resentment stewed.

You loved him to your detriment, and a sick part of you chose to die that night, just so you could finally haunt him the way he’s haunted you all this time.

SOMEWHERE IN THE U.K, WHILE JAEYUN WAS ABROAD, 22 YEARS OLD.

“You’ve never shown us your girlfriend, man.”

Jaeyun’s tech partner swivels in his chair. Jungwon had been one of the first friends Jaeyun made in the U.K.—all charmingly frizzed blond hair sticking out from beneath his welding goggles, eccentric and loudly extroverted. He’d shaken Jaeyun’s hand with a delighted screech, something like yes—someone else to suffer with, and never quite stopped orbiting him after that.

“I keep hearing about her left and right—don’t get me started on how many people you’ve rejected in the last week alone. I need to know about this special girl.” He turns his head slightly with a teasing grin, hands finicking with metallic parts and occasional flitting to type on his computer.

Jake turns his nose up with pride. “I’d rather not have a department of men drooling over my girlfriend, thank yew.” He pulls off his gloves with a smack, setting aside fragile tech equipment before rolling over to his phone on his chair. “If I did, you’d all fall in love with her. But if you insist…”

Jungwon rolls his eyes at Jake’s antics, watching his knee rise and fall with excitement as he struggled to pick his favorite photo out of your shared album. He accidentally peers too close over Jake’s shoulder, eyes widening when he sees the cover of a curated album on his phone. “50,000 PHOTOS??”

Jake shrugs “we’ve been together for like, several years. If I didn’t have these many photos, it’d be kind of sad…”

He lets out a small, abrupt aha! Flipping around his phone to showcase a photo of you mid laugh, hair fanned around you—so palpably beautiful in a way his friend immediately understands why people wanted to immortalize someone’s grin. His friend pauses, however, when he takes note of the other man laying beside you in the photo—smiling softly as the three of you lay in bed, sandwiched against each other on fluffy white pillows as you held the phone overhead. You leaned into each other like planets orbiting around gravity—unquestionably intimate.

“Who’s that?” He quirks a brow, a little thrown off.

“Our best friend, Sunghoon.” Jake says it like a fact that everyone should’ve known.

“Aren’t they…a little too close for comfort?”

Jake ponders for a second, head tilting up as he squinted at the ceiling but doesn’t quite look at it, but rather a thought.

“Nah. It’s simple, but hard to really explain. We practically grew up together—always around each other for years.” He admits, a little dry. Casual.

“Just a friendly word of advice—that sort of closeness…complicates things eventually. I can’t imagine that it’s as simple as you’d want it to be.” Jungwon squints an eye, trying to not be judgemental.

But Jake doesn’t worry. Not even for a second, unable to imagine really being betrayed. A far memory breaches the forefront of his brain: Sunghoon, his hand wrapped around himself, biting down on his shirt with a name suspiciously close to yours, tumbling from his lips. He didn’t hold it against him, not really. Not Sunghoon. He reasoned it was just the aftershocks of skinny dipping and the fever of summer heat.

He swallows and calls you for the first time in four days—not knowing Sunghoon’s already written his name on your neck with his lips—eating at the fruit that was rightfully Jaeyun’s.

—

SEOUL, SK, 3:23 AM

Sunghoon shuffles around, fisting at the sheets in his sleep. The fan whirs in the backdrop, a faucet drips slowly, and your overheating body tosses over to groggily stare at Sunghoon’s pale, sharp features as he slept. A different sort of fever woke you, and you reach over to squint at the date on your phone screen, a kind little reminder pinged onto your screen.

You’re ovulating.

Fuck.

It’s stronger than usual, the burn between your legs throbbing as you squeeze your thighs together. A broken whimper tears from you, heat flooding your cheeks as sweat gathers at your temple. Your shorts hitch higher, biting into warm flesh, offering no relief. You roll over restlessly, flinging an arm across Sunghoon’s chest, your leg dragging up over his as if proximity alone might steady the ache twisting through you. You feel stupid. Desperate.

“Hoon,” you whisper, wide-eyed and pleading. Even in sleep, he stirs at the sound of your voice, responding instinctively—though not enough to fully wake.

Without meaning to, you grind against his thigh—a wet patch already forming above his grey sweats. His arm unconsciously wraps around your waist, pulling you to his side, rubbing above the skin of your ribs. “What’s wrong baby?”

He doesn’t stop the endearment from leaving him the way he usually does, too heavy eyed from sleep.

You don’t respond, only roll your lips harder on him, moaning prettily against his chest. He registers the sound, his hand squeezing at your waist in acknowledgement. Oh.

You’re turned on?

He hooks an arm around the thigh draped over him, tugging you fully onto his body. Your cheek settles against his chest as his hand stays firm at your right thigh, the other spreading across your spine, pinning you there—cradled, comfortably pressed against him. He doesn’t wait to pull down your shorts just enough to expose your cunt to the air, and sighs when he moves to look behind you to see the string of slick sticking to your shorts as he tugged it off. Still blinking the sleep from his eyes, his fingers press flat against your folds.

You flinch, arching your back, pressing your ass against him with a whine “No—I want you inside. Hurry.”

He shakes his head “We ran out of condoms, you took a plan b earlier this week, and you still have a week left until the birth control kicks in.”

“But—“

“No buts.” His hand gropes your left thigh, smacking lightly before massaging. “I’ll take care of you with my fingers.”

“Why are you so needy at like,” he turns to stare at the clock on his nightstand “4 AM?”

“Ovulating” you deadpan, flushing in embarrassment.

He fucking laughs. “Yea, definitely can’t fuck you raw today.”

Your legs shake when his hand readjusts, parting your lips to press against your clit and roll it between his fingers.

“Holy fuck.” He spits out, eyes widening a little when he feels your slick flood down to his wrist. He can’t help the drowsy remnants in his voice, still fighting off sleep to piston his hand against your pussy, knuckles deep, palm slapping against your bundle of nerves.

He lathers small kisses on your shoulder as he brushes your hair away from your damp face to stop the strands from sticking to your mouth. Heart clenching when he takes in your red face—beautiful, flushed, and undone while curling into his chest. He holds you down with an arm wrapped around you.

“S’that good, princess?”

Your voice is pitched higher. You scrunch your face at the foreign sound, shy. To your best ability, you nod—panting against his throat. “Mhm.”

“You gonna cum around my fingers like a good girl?”

The skin of your ass ripples once he builds to a pace that moves your body up to hover his navel. Small whimpers leave you, pussy squelching from reacting to the huskiness of his tired voice.

He fixes you down against his chest, glossy eyed while staring at the intense, kittenish arch of your back as you fuck yourself back onto his hand. When his thumb reaches to rub itself against your clit in rhythm of his thrusts, you muffle a squeal against his throat.

He shushes you, easing your high nerves with an almost doting tone. “That’s my girl—let go.” Veins strain against his bicep, fucking his hand against you even as you sprayed your orgasm on the exposed skin of his abdomen.

You slump onto his chest, completely wet. Cheeks flushing again

“…please forget about that.” You felt girlish—too sweet in comparison to your usual femme fatal bedroom persona. Sunghoon pinches your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“Nah. Don’t wanna.” He flashes his incisors down at you, guffawing once you start slapping his arms. “It’s cute to see you like this.” He says, raising his hands to guard his face.

Sighing, you reach to bite his throat lightly. “What about you? It’s your turn—“

“Nope.” He pops the p before going on. “If I get started, neither of us is making it to morning lecture. And I’ll break you into this bed with every intention of—” He cuts himself off, jaw tight, as if the thought alone is dangerous. “So no.”

You slap him, groaning when it dawns on you. “Fuck— tomorrow’s Tuesday?”

“Today, darling. Today.” He cuts you a sidelong look, his eye twitching—not just from being dragged awake three hours before the hardest class of the week, but from the furious hardness straining uselessly against his sweats.

Rolling off of him, you stifle a scream. He slides off his soaked shirt, wiping his stomach down before chucking it across the room with a tired groan.

“I hate having a vagina.” You spit out bitterly.

Sunghoon laughs, pulling you back into his arms—lifting his head to watch the clock tick.

4:55 AM. You have to get up by 6:00, leave by latest 7:00, if you want to beat the morning traffic from your apartment to uni.

“Well, sweetheart—enjoy the hour of sleep while you can.”

He smiles sleepily against your hair, gasping a little when you playfully nibble on his bicep.

“Goodnight, baby.”

For a moment, he forgives himself for what he says.

The morning is quiet. Any sort of noise feels like disrupting that indigo colored universal peace you only feel while sleeping in Sunghoon’s arms. It hushes over your bodies like a wool blanket, twining your legs around one another to stay warm—smooth skin on smooth skin.

He watches you rise and strip yourself bare, the pale blue light of dawn dressing your body as you rolled on your socks and zipped up your skirt. Groaning, he stretches his body—padding to the bathroom, sweats hanging low, top exposed. The bathroom faucet runs, slowly warming his toothbrush. He leans his arm on the doorframe, brushing his teeth. You try not to stare at the water trailing down his taut abdomen, slipping underneath the band of his partially exposed boxers.

Watching you closely, he lifts an eyebrow. “Calm down, Hulk. I can hear your pussy from here.”

You throw a bra at him, hissing. “I abhor you.” He laughs, throwing on trousers and oversized sweater before grabbing his keys and twirling them around his finger.

“Sure, sure.” He replies, lifting his hands. “We’re gonna be late.”

No one questions the fact you’re wearing his infamous jacket when you get to class. They never have. Never had any reason to: It’s always been Sunghoon, you, and Jaeyun against the world. Once he leaves your private sanctuary together, Sunghoon quiets. Broods, once in the presence of other people. No one knew him like you did. Like Jake did. He sits by the window, chin in his palm, staring out.

Similarly, only one other person knew what it was like to fall asleep with in their arms—and he was returning from abroad in two months.

The end was coming soon,

and Sunghoon wasn’t ready. Not in the slightest.

JAEYUN’S RETURN, 22 YEARS OLD

It was hypocritical that Jaeyun hated sharing you with the world—something catching in his throat whenever you mentioned names of friends he didn’t know you made. Despite knowing you since you were both 16, Jaeyun still had to piece you together like a puzzle.

Jaeyun didn’t know love like that though, not until you. The kind that simmered under the surface, maintaining itself at a seemingly eternal boiling point. He wanted to peel the skin and sink into you—wanted to own and free you in the ways only he knew how.

The bar was the right amount of pretentious. Dim, golden chandeliers hung over obsidian backdrops—ornate decor and furniture flooded the sidelines like a secret hide out and treasure trove. It’s vintage, dark academic—Dorian Gray in all of its entirety. Upon touching down to the city, Jaeyun was already on the go, with Sunoo planning an impromptu welcome back party at Fitzgerald’s, their fraternities old stomping ground.

But now you stood in front of him, hair longer than it was when he last saw you. He left you a girl only to return home to a woman.

There was a distinct sharpness in your smile: a quirk to your lips that told him you finally realized you were capable of trapping the whole room with a single, lingering gaze.

Something methodical, beautifully wicked, and charismatic rooted itself inside you—leaving only a quiet remnant behind in your mystery. You laughed louder—threw your head back so that your dark hair fell back perfectly on your spine like a veil, held the eyes of strangers for longer periods of time while talking, and tilted your head when you smiled like you knew people would love you after.

They’d have no choice. You were ruthless with your power. And he didn’t see it happen.

He hadn’t expected it, and a part of him hated that it existed now. You had always been unfathomably desirable to him—but you were his, a well-kept treasure. A secret, guarded so fiercely that no one could even imagine taking you away. He flinches, pulled from his daze when you slip your hand onto his arm, and only halfway catches the thread of the conversation.

“—well, yea. It’s Yun we’re talking about. Of course he’d go AWOL.” You jest, eyes twinkling playfully as Sunoo stared at you appalled. He scoffs, good naturedly.

“You’re God’s strongest soldier—barely hearing from your man for over a year? The both of you looking like that? Maybe love isn’t dead.” He laughs, shaking his head.

In the corner, Sunghoon stares at the condensation frosting his glass. Jameson Honey glows under the bars dim lamplight, ice cubes clinking against each other hypnotically as he swigs. He tries to not think about how it felt to touch the spaces between your legs, or how your mouth would fall open when he did. No one questions his silence. Sunghoon rarely spoke, if ever, unless he had something disarmingly charming to say when it felt right. All sounds fizzled out under a gentle buzz. He was grateful for that.

He sits next to Ni-ki on the other side of the rounded booth. Top shelf bottles line its edges, gilded and shining. He tunes into the music—getting up after staring at the jukebox standing alone in the corner. Your eyes catch onto his broad shoulders, observing the worn leather of his favorite jacket.

Last week, you wore it when he drove you home at 5 AM, the morning indigo-laced air breezing through the car once you rolled down the windows. Just the night before, he fucked you in it, resulting in you being late to Ni-ki’s end of semester party, because he refused to leave without tasting you on his tongue once. One orgasm led to three. By the end of the night, you deserved an Oscar nominee for not letting your legs shake as you walked through the door.

The ending was quiet in a way that made it feel like a lie. Jaeyun was coming back. Sunghoon agreed it couldn’t go on anymore.

Still, he kissed you against the hood of his car for three hours after, dragging you into his back seat to clutch the meat of your thighs and pull your skirt up your waist. He didn’t leave marks this time. Sunghoon knew he couldn’t anymore.

Since then, you hadn’t met again until today. You both understood there was no being alone in rooms together. Not for a very long time. Now that your senior year was almost at a close, with graduation looming over your shoulders—no one questioned the invisible fissure between you. Time was all chaos, job applications, and ticking bombs. For Sunghoon, it meant youth was over now that he had to officially work under his father until his seat, became his.

The words slip out of you before you could catch them.

“Bet you a buck he plays some old, depressing song.” You try to mask the longing in your eyes. So you smile—sharp, playful—unrecognizable to Jaeyun who stares at you. He’s somewhere far away when he loosely replies.

“He’s sexy enough to forgive when he kills the vibe. Don’t you think so, dolly?” He replies, flashing an effortless grin, brown hair framing his face with freshly cut layers. Jaeyun’s gaze drifts to Sunghoon’s back for a couple beats, contemplating before confessing.

“I missed you guys.”

For a fracture of a moment, your gaze darkens—a sharp, deadly smile lifting the corners of your lips, cold as the condensation against the glass. “Did you? Hard to tell, honestly.”

He sighs. Should’ve known it was coming. “I’m not gonna argue with you about it in public.”

You bark a laugh, something fragile and hysteric enough to disguise itself as joy. Sunghoon registers the sound—muscle memory prodding through the deafening, drunken haze to turn his head, staring at you both.

“Classic. Gotta keep up the image, right?”

Jake shuts his eyes, grimacing with a tense jaw, a muscle on his neck juts out. “You know it’s not like that. Stop.”

No one’s noticed yet—only Sunghoon who exists as the omnipresent shadow over your relationship with Jaeyun.

You smile tightly, tipping your glass, sipping slow. “I don’t think I do, Jake.”

Jaeyun was only very patient with you. Everyone knew that. Tonight, however, carried something heavy. Hot. A little dangerous and bitter like the alcohol bleeding over your tongue. His patience wasn’t in the room with you. Slowly, his hand inched over to wrap around your wrist—pulling it along with your glass, tipping it into his mouth. “Are you mouthy today cause you’re hoping I’d stuff it with something worthwhile?”

Goosebumps raise on your skin. You were angry, yes—livid, even. But a part of you hoped he’d fuck it out of you, so you didn’t have to deal with the emotions yourself. He nods to himself, sucking on his teeth, leaning over to mouth against your ear discreetly.

“Go to the bathroom. Take off your underwear and get in position. You know which one.”

You don’t blink, your face unreadable as you stare straight ahead, wrist pulled back after draining the last of your glass. Without a word, you rise, moving down the hallway of the VIP lounge, each step measured, deliberate.

He waits a minute before following after you, sucking in a breath before clicking the door shut behind him with a bang. Eyes blazing with challenge, he slows his breathing—taking in your form with a terrifying cover of calm. You sat on the ledge of the sink, arms hooked under your knees to hold your legs to present yourself. Your underwear hangs off your left ankle.

“You didn’t fucking lock the door? Anybody could’ve seen you.”

The way you swing your legs is at once doll-like and catlike. “You’re impossible to please,” you reply, a smirk tugging at your lips. “I did exactly what you told me to, didn’t I?”

Jake stares at the slick already pooling between your legs, threatening to run down the marble. He feels your calculating gaze sweeping over him, noting how his body has firmed, broadened since the last time you saw him. Jake has grown older—a man now, in ways that demand notice. His confidence is quiet, solid, unquestionable. Every room held its breath for his arrival, shrinking down, and tunnel visioning at the mere sight of him.

Casually, he lifts his palm, and smacks your core. You wince, eyes widening with a gasp.

“Kneel.”

He doesn’t raise his voice, eyes glimmering darkly—all smoke a mirrors as he gazed at you with a deliberate air of command.

You keep your eyes trained on him as you slide off the sink and onto your knees, skin going red once it comes in contact with the frigid marbled floors. Mouth drawing open out of sheer muscle memory, unflinching when he spits directly onto your tongue before pressing the flat of his thumb down on it, and spreading it around.

Jaeyun unbuckles his belt calmly. Slowly. Predatory. The chimes of his belt clanking against the button of his jeans sliding off suffocates the tension in the bathroom, only accompanied by the sound of your heaving chest—body anticipating your reunion.

You try not to think about how complicated things are going to be, about how complicated things already are. Half of you lingered in the bathroom, while the other half perched itself beside a jukebox and Sunghoon, playing a song you’d bet was A Man’s, Man’s World by James Brown. You couldn’t reach for Jake without thinking of Sunghoon—of your sins, your love—and you couldn’t reach for Sunghoon without your heart remembering Jake’s mark on you.

It made you nauseous.

“Didn’t think you could get even mouthier than you already were, but here we are.” Is all he says, before tugging himself out—beet red, hard enough to slap against his stomach, cock drooling pre-cum. He slaps the tip on your tongue before sliding in smoothly. You feel the ridges of his veins, gummy and throbbing—fill your mouth, before forcing itself further down your throat.

Instantly, your eyes water—throat fighting for breath, squeezing instinctually in panic. Jaeyun hadn’t done this in a long, long while. He was irritated and you loved it. Your nose buries itself in his dense patch of pubic hair, pressing against the flat, hard path of his pelvis. Jaeyun pulls his hips back, sliding out just enough for you to inhale sharply—deliberately waiting for the suspense of that moment; before brutally fucking forward.

“Yea—can’t believe you forgot how to use your mouth. Properly.” He hissed, a crooked smile breaking through—something bright and dangerous flickering in his eyes. He thrusts the last inch further in, rolling back his eyes with a groan. “Cause you could be so fucking good if you knew when to shut up.”

Your eyes steel, teeth grazing the hot, soft skin of his cock threateningly. He flinches, pulling back a little with a raised brow. “Oh?” The question is a reply. A dare. An observation. “—got it.”

He fucks back in hard enough to bruise your throat. It’s sinful, really—the sounds of saliva getting fucked back into your mouth, escaping from the corners to run driblets down your throat. The mascara you painstakingly painted on with shaky hands smears at the corner of your watering, glassy eyes. You feel his cock push further in, wedging and curving into your throat until a bulge formed at the surface, and it feels like he’s already promised to break you. To remind you.

It’s like Jaeyun gets off to ruining you sometimes. There’s an intimacy—a high he chases whenever he’s in this sort of domain with you in this state: your tousled hair. Pretty eyes, puffy from crying because of him, for him. He can’t help himself from fucking you the way he does—it made everything feel right, even when it wasn’t. Jaeyun tried to fuck away every conflict, to seal off every wound with his scorch and some sweat until the reminder ached in a way intimacy couldn’t solve. Your head jostles from his force, face reddening, veins surfacing on your face as he hyper focuses on that look of yours. That expression. You don’t want to think about where you were, who you loved, or who loved you.

But this was Jaeyun—your Jaeyun. The boy you swore sunflowers turned to face and bloom just so he could see it happen, the boy who drove you on endless roads and kissed you at every stoplight, who made you cry the hardest, but could mend you in ways no one else could. The boy who’d been destined to love you the moment you met at sixteen, the boy you couldn’t leave no matter how much it burned you to stay and exist next to his light that blinded even him. Your eyes roll to the back of your head the moment you familiarize yourself again with jaeyun’s pace: mindless, soaked to the point you could feel thin, silken droplets plopping on to marbled floor.

He cradles your face, smoothing his hand down to feel over the bulging skin above where his cock nestled in your throat. “That’s my girl—“ he starts with, sliding out of your mouth before reaching down to lift and seat you onto the sink. “I’ll do everything you could imagine later. But, I just need this. Need you.” He mouths against your temple, then slides into you. You throw your head back with sharp moan at the feeling of him—of your body reshaping to fit around him after it learned Sunghoon’s shape for the last year. It burns in a different way: curved in a way that promised to hit a spot inside of you like he was made to do it. Pressing his temple to yours, his eyes burn into yours, sweat forming on his golden skin as his pelvis repetitively sticks to your thighs in stomach as he rams into you.

The marble of the sink is a shock of cold against your heated skin, but you barely register it. Jaeyun’s mouth is on yours, swallowing the gasp that escapes as he seats himself fully inside you. There’s no gentle adjustment, no moment to acclimate. It’s a claiming. A frantic, desperate homecoming.

His hands move from your hips to grip your jaw, forcing you to look at him. His thumbs swipe at the tears you didn't realize were still falling. "Look at me," he commands. "Only me." He’s trying to trap you in his gravity, to make his presence so overwhelming there's no room for guilt or memory. The physical intensity ramps up, becoming a frantic, almost punishing rhythm. He’s not just having sex with you; he’s trying to fuck a confession out of you that he doesn't even know he's looking for. Something’s wrong—he could feel it. The gap, the weight of your silence, but he’s swimming in dark water. And Jaeyun hated when he couldn’t read you, because more than anytbing—he wanted to know you best.

You understand in that moment that you will never be free. Not of Jaeyun, and not of the guilt. They’re two sides of the same coin. Leaving him would be like tearing off your own skin. Staying means this—this cycle of beautiful, painful destruction—is your life. This isn't just sex; it's a ritual. A bloody, messy homecoming.

His temple is pressed to yours, a sweaty, fevered point of contact that’s more intimate than the way he’s splitting you open. “Look at me,” he pants, the command ragged. His hips snap forward, a brutal rhythm that has the porcelain of the sink rattling against the wall. Each thrust drives the air from your lungs, forces you to take more of him, to remember his shape with a violence that borders on worship. Your bodies sway together, a frantic, uneven dance of need and punishment. His hands grip the underside of your thighs, pushing them wider, holding you open for the onslaught. He stares down between you—watching how you clench around him, at how your skin blushes from his pounding weight. “God—fuck. S-such a pretty pussy.” He leans his head down, squeezing his eyes to stop himself from cumming. The veins on his neck protrude—skin blooming red.

Your own hands are tangled in his hair, pulling, needing to anchor yourself to something as he fucks you with the singular focus of a man trying to erase a year of absence with every stroke. The only sounds are the slap of skin on skin, the desperate, broken moans he’s fucking out of your throat, and the guttural praise he growls against your lips—“mine, you’re mine, fuck, you’re still mine.”

You nod, exhaling a shaky breath. “Yours.” The light leaves your sight once you force yourself to shut your eyes. You want to look at him—you truly do. Tooth and nail, your eyes want to follow him like it was embedded in your nature, upon creation, to do so. But gazing at him made the guilt well in your throat. And once it did? You felt the resentment crawl back up to keep it company. You focus on the familiarity of him inside of you—the rocking, the yearning, even if he was right there in front of you. Inside you. A thought drifts past, and you wonder if Jaeyun and you were once one body—one entity, before being split into halves.

He sets an ungodly, bruising pace by stuffing the thickest part of his cock into you. He’s barely pulling away now, just grinding, deep and hard, his pelvis flush against yours as he works himself impossibly deeper. The pressure builds low in your belly, a tight, hot coil unraveling the way Jaeyun always gets you to. It’s too much. It’s exactly what you need. Your nails dig into the sweat-slick golden muscle of his shoulders, a sob tearing from your throat as the coil snaps.

Your vision whites out, your body arching off the cold marble as a powerful orgasm rips through you. It’s a violent, shattering thing, a wave of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. Your cunt clenches around him, a rhythmic, desperate milking that you have no control over.

“Fuck, yes,” he snarls, his rhythm faltering as he feels you pulse around him. The sight of you coming undone, the feel of your body surrendering so completely, is his undoing. He buries himself to the hilt one last time, a deep, guttural groan tearing from his chest as he spills himself into you. You feel the hot flood of his release, a final claiming—a sentence of him fooling himself that he still knows you.

For a long moment, he just collapses against you, his weight pinning you to the sink, both of you shaking and gasping for air in the sudden, ringing silence. His face is buried in the crook of your neck, his heart hammering against your ribs. He doesn’t move, and you don’t want him to. This is it. The quiet, broken aftermath. The peace you only ever find in the eye of his storm.

He cradles your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your temples as he leans in, resting his forehead against yours like a quiet plea. “Baby,” he whispers, unsteady, “why do you feel so far away?” Your breathing stalls.

He swallows, his breath trembling as it leaves him. “Talk to me. Yell at me—hit me, if you need to—but please…” His voice breaks, just slightly. “Please don’t disappear on me.” The certainty in his gaze fades, leaving only want and worry, bare and unguarded.

“It’s me and you, yeah?” His lip tremble against yours, breathing out the words. “Right?”

You swallow, shaking a little. And you say yes, because yea—it’s still you and Jake. But it’s not as simple as it was before he’d left. The guilt welling inside of you is so paralyzing, you almost confess what you’d done. You stare at him, wide-eyed. Bare.

He’s standing right in front of you, and you miss him.

“Jake—“ you start, but an abrupt knock on the door interrupts you.

“Give us a minute!” He turns back to you, expectantly. “—don’t worry about them. Keep talking, I’m listening.”

The doorknob rattles, muffled curses coming from behind the mahogany.

You shake your head. “Let’s…talk outside.”

Jaeyun leans his head back on the brick wall of an alley way near the bars hidden entrance, eyeing you silently.

You take a deep breath, shoving your hands deep into your pockets.

He breaks the quiet. “I’m sorry. For not being around. For…forgetting.” You lift your head, gazing at him through your lashes, and shrugged.

“I wasn’t right either, I stopped reaching out to you —“

“Don’t do that. Not right now. You stopped reaching out, because I stopped replying.” He cuts, eyes on the asphalt—accepting. You don’t respond.

He drew in a shaky breath, rolling his fingers together before twisting his neck and forcing himself straighter.

“I just—” His hand drifted to the back of his neck, thumb pressing into the nape as if he could anchor himself there. “It was all so new. So overwhelming. The time difference alone was hard to navigate. Every day, something else landed in my lap that needed dealing with, and then my dad—” He let out a breathy, humorless huff. “He was suddenly hell-bent on convincing me to stay. To finish everything out there.”

He paused, cracking his knuckles one by one before tilting his head back, eyes tracking the wide stretch of sky above them.

“It’s stupid, I know. In my head, I kept telling myself you didn’t need me. I know the smart thing would’ve been to end it the moment I knew I wasn’t going to be a good boyfriend or even fucking present” His jaw tightened. “But the truth is, I refused to let you go. Even if it gutted both of us in the process.”

You bark out a laugh. “You don’t get it.”

“Get what?” Jake’s eyebrows furrow, confused.

“You were gone before you even left. And I was too scared to lose you—too scared to say anything because I know you’d let me but things wouldn’t change anyway.” Your voice raises, and before you could stop yourself—your fists raise to bat at his chest.

You shake your head, slowly boiling over the inevitable. “I hate everything I love about you—how the world loves you, and how you love it back. I hate that you don’t need me the way I think I need you.”

But he doesn’t get it, and only stares at you in silence like he doesn’t quite recognize you anymore. “That’s not true. I want you—“

“You don’t know what it means to want something, Sim Jaeyun. Not really. Not when you started with everything. You want me because I’m beautiful, because I’m hard to read, because I can make you laugh when I try hard enough. I even let you fuck me however, whenever you want it. Because I make myself easy to have. I don’t ask for much. I don’t press. I don’t need. I’m strong. Low-maintenance. I’m the cool girl—the one who never costs you anything.

But I’ve been scared shitless for years of being seen by you. Terrified you might notice who I actually am beneath all of that. What I really want. How intensely I want it. I’ve kept it buried because it’s ugly. Because I’m ugly. I’m selfish. I’m bitter. I’m not good. I’m a greedy woman who wants too much, and I don’t know how to stop myself from wanting to hold on to you—knowing it might be the worst thing about me.” You breathe out shakily, eyes dilating.

Jaeyun steps closer slowly. Hesitantly. But he’s not afraid of the vulnerability he’s seeing: the rawness is unfamiliar, but not jarring. He grasps onto your shoulders, leaning down to peer at you. You furrow your brow, your gaze dropping to the pavement.

“Hey,” he says softly, his hands finding your shoulders, giving them a gentle shake. “Hey—look at me.”

He lifts your chin, just enough to meet his eyes. They’re steady. Unflinching. As if he’s already decided to love you through every mistake you haven’t yet forgiven yourself for.

“I get it,” he says. Then, after a beat, “Well—maybe I do, and maybe I don’t.” A quiet chuckle slips out, more nerves than humor. “But listen to me. And you have to look at me when I say this.”

His voice steadies. “I could move through every room, dance with every girl, every person, every possibility the world throws at me—and it would still come back to you. It’s always you.”

He lifts a hand and cups your face, his touch reverent, almost aching.

“And I mean it,” he says quietly. “You could be a horrible woman—truly horrible—and I still wouldn’t look away.”

His thumb stills against your cheek. “That’s what scares me. That I know I’d forgive you for doing the worst thing imaginable to me, and I’d do it without hesitation.”

You close your eyes, squeezing them shut. He has no idea how deeply his words echo inside you. “You constantly put me on the back burner, Jake. It doesn’t feel like you even want me around—let alone need.”

The sick part is, you’ve always wondered if he would be unfaithful. Most of the time, you didn’t want to know. Because you knew yourself well enough to understand this—you would stay. You would stay until he no longer wanted you. It was hypocritical, really.

You rarely allowed yourself to think about how tightly you and Jaeyun held on to each other. Through arguments that edged toward emotional violence, through time reshaping you both into unfamiliar versions, you were relentless in keeping one another.

No one knew Jaeyun the way you did. And no one ever would.

Jaeyun loves you, but he’s blind to your anxiety and you’re blind to the ways he shows his devotion. And that’s the real tragedy, because he could promise to try but there was no changing the way he existed with the world. His stance in the world’s already been decided—eclipsed by the fates and doomed to be loved a stifling amount.

Still, he promises again and again against your temple. Soft mummers blowing on your baby hairs. “It’s you, it’s you. You’re my favorite girl. I fucked up—I don’t want you to feel this way.”

But you wonder if Jake loved you more than he loved himself.

It’s unfair to want that. Unhealthy, even. The textbook answer would be that it’s healthy to prioritize oneself—but the way you loved him was with the dark thrums of an almost animalistic instinct.

Jake had his own darkness toward you, but you couldn’t see it from the pedestal you put him on.

—

Sunghoon stiffens the moment your perfume hits him, grip unconsciously tightening around his pen as he stared at his paper. Jaeyun slides into the seat next to him, laughing lightly at something you said before teasingly whispering into your ear. The hairs on the back of his neck stand: he can’t do this. Holy fuck—he can’t. There’s no way he could fight off the panic threatening to rise up his throat. No way that Jaeyun could meet his eyes and not notice the fear in them that practically spelled out, ‘Hey, I’ve been sleeping with your girlfriend! Super in love with her, by the way—sorry!’

He almost cries. It’s comical, the way he can’t help the groan squeezing from his throat as he digs his face into his palm. Jaeyun freezes mid sentence, Sunoo and Ni-ki whip their necks to peer quizzically at him from a row ahead of him. He was acting strange—and Jaeyun was catching on.

“…You doin’ alright there, Hoon?” Jake raises a brow, eyes wide. Sunghoon shakes his head, blinking hard. “Uh, yeah. Just tired.”

Jake nods, still staring at him with squinted eyes. “Told you that you’d hate psych. It’s a morning class too.” Sunghoon fakes a laugh, replying. “Touché, Yun. Touché.”

You force your gaze away, swallowing. Seeing Sunghoon still felt like an old wound—a craving, a phantom limb. The muscles in your hand tense, pale from wrapping around your wrists in an effort to stop yourself from reaching out to him out of habit. Jaeyun glances between you two, confused, but opts to say nothing.

It’s been over a month and a half of this strange…distance and tension between you. The moment he came back, it didn’t take long to notice. He chalks it up to an argument—and both you and Hoon were the type of people that rarely argued, but never really let it go the moment you did. So Jaeyun does what he does best—plays dumb.

“Alright. Bar tonight?” Sunoo and Ni-ki grin devilishly in response, the latter replying “Oh, i’m game.”

Jaeyun cuts Sunghoon off, already three steps ahead of some half formed excuse. “No buts or exceptions. Graduation is around the corner, and you can only run away from being daddy’s son until then.” He grins. Charming. Devastatingly handsome.

Sunghoon sighs. He’s screwed.

He should’ve known Jaeyun noticed that something was off between you two. The man paraded away, arms slung around Sunoo and Ni-ki’s shoulders as he sung with the roaring crowd, off key. Very briefly, he turned to throw Sunghoon back his car keys—the ones he’d stolen after saying Sunghoon was stuck here until he said so. There’s a bright look in his eyes when he nods in your direction, tilting his head at his best friend. “Be a doll and take her home for me, will you?” He claps Sunghoon’s shoulder, continuing. “I’m in the mood to sing all night, and she’s gonna hate me. Maybe even wait to suffocate me in my sleep so I’ll fear ever using my windpipes again, I suspect.”

Sunghoon swallows. “You really should stay with her—“ Jake cuts him off, eyes softening.

“Listen—I don’t know what’s going on. Just make it right.”

He can’t. There’s no taking back a life where he was good at pretending he didn’t love you. That he was totally fine with you being outrageously in love with his best friend and meeting you second.

When he approaches with only a swing to his keys and reluctant eyes, you rise from your seat calmly—observing Jaeyun from your peripheral as he watched you both expectantly. You hold back a sigh.

If only he knew. But Jaeyun was stubborn and you didn’t know what excuse to use if you said no.

The ride home is silent. Filled—a static black hole threatening to take everything once you stepped in. When the door shut, you both knew: there was no unknowing each other ever again. Sunghoon couldn’t fathom how he’d ever convinced himself there was ever a chance at outrunning you. He was brave to try.

You say nothing when he pulls off to the side of a desolate road, knuckles whitening from his grip on the steering wheel, head hanging low before pressing his temple against its leather cover. His right hand reaches to shift the car to park.

In the distance, lightning strikes. A storm rolls in gently. It’s silent—tense, an accompaniment of droplets littering the windshield, obscuring the two of you from the outside. He’s the first one to speak.

“Do I just give in? Do I have to do it first?” He doesn’t lift his head from the wheel, timid.

He squeezes his eyes, positively tortured the moment your hand reaches to cup his jaw so he’d look at you. You know it’s wrong—that you love Jaeyun a maddening, egregious amount—yet the magnetic pull between you both, made the distance physically ache. You were torn, as always, between the two boys. You lean in, elbow on the center console, ducking your head to peer at his glossy eyes. “I’ll take responsibility. But you have to tell me softly first, Park Sunghoon.”

“I love you. I love you so much it feels like dying.” He confesses, clutching over his heart, eyebrows caving in as he stared up at you. “A-and I don’t know how to pretend I don’t anymore—“

You kiss him the moment a tear falls from his left eye, holding his gaze as you flattened your tongue on his cheek to lick it away. You hate yourself—your greed finally dawning on you. You want him, you want Jaeyun. And so, you’ll have them.

You let yourself damn it all. At least for a moment. “Come here.” You beckoned, but you knew—there’s no going back. Sunghoon knows holding you like this meant he’d exist in your shadows. Meant he accepted dying as your well kept secret, because there was no life without Jaeyun in it for either of you. In some sick, twisted way, he was well aware the three of you were destined, one way or another.

He doesn’t wait, kissing you with a gasp that felt like it’s the first time he was able to breathe in a long while. Sunghoon reclines his seat, pulling you across the center console, seating you onto his lap. Hastily, pulling down your underwear, tugging hard and ripping it against your thigh.

“Rip my dress—“ you beg, continuing. “I want evidence. We can’t go back.” It’s rough, sharp, like a glass shard you willingly lay on. You want him so close, you’re willing to pierce through him with yourself.

Something rots inside of you: heated where parts of Jaeyun rest inside like an organ. Itching like Sunghoon was a fatal wound that will always refuse to heal. You pause, chest heaving. Heated, hands pressing against his shoulders to briefly hold him back. He still leans in, trying to push against your hands to kiss you, a small whine leaving his throat.

You firm your hold on him, gazing at him with acceptance. With resolve. “But this is our last chance, maybe. Claw at my skin. Threaten to scar me, if it means to let me go. Because this is evil, Sunghoon. This is wrong. Selfish. But I can’t choose between you two. I won’t. And I know that makes me a horrible, horrible person.”

His eyes flicker, beading with torment. Betrayal. Want, and maybe something tragically like love. “I want to take you home. I want to hold you in bed—“ he leans his head on your shoulder, hair brushing against the crook of your neck. “Please. I don’t care if you keep us both, I don’t care that you’re selfish. I love the worst parts of you too, you know?”

Silence. A beat. A knowing gaze. “—Take me home then.”

The car skids to a halt, tires burning against Sunghoon’s driveway before coming to an abrupt stop. You barely register the jolt, feeling only the searing heat of his hand gripping your skin as he drags you up the stairs. He pushes you onto the bed, diving in to kiss and bite at your neck. Propping his elbows to hold his weight, as he parts your legs, hoisting one up to slot himself firmly between them. His hands are everywhere: one wrapping around your throat, another sliding over your pussy to press his middle finger between your lips, the other tangled in your hair.

The only time he pulls away is to kiss your ankle, licking a trail up your leg—his tongue tracing a hot, wet trail up the inside of your leg. You watch him, breath hitching, seeing the raw hunger in his eyes as he drags his palm down your abdomen. He rests it just above your belly, his touch a brand of cold fire.

"If I were a worse man, I'd knock you up," he utters, the words mindless, transfixed on the expanse of your exposed skin as your dress bunches uselessly around your waist.

The veins in his forearms protrude as he grips the fabric of your dress and tears. The sound of ripping material is sharp in the quiet room, your breasts spilling into the cool air. He drags your bra down, not bothering with the clasp, and engulfs one nipple with his mouth. He sucks hard, a sharp, wet pull that shoots straight to your core, while his other hand roughly kneads the flesh of your other breast. His teeth scrape against the sensitive peak, and you arch into him, a ragged gasp torn from your throat.

There’s no rationality left in this room—only instinct. Only the weight of another word you dare not name, even when he was brave enough to say it out loud.

He doesn't give you a chance to breathe. A strong hand grips your hip, flipping you onto your stomach before you can process the movement. The mattress dips under his weight as he shoves his pants down, the heat of his bare chest pressing against your back, pinning you to the sheets. He lines himself up, the blunt head of his cock nudging your entrance, and then drives forward in one, devastating thrust that splits you open.

Your mouth falls open with a guttural scream, pussy stretching to the brim. Wet. Leaking. Body jolting and moving up the bed from the aggression of his thrusts. You think he’s crying into your neck, buried beneath sweat strands of hair, in pleasure, from pain, and simultaneously—relief. But the sounds bleed out from the corners of his breathy, broken groans. He’s stuffing you, carving his veiny cock so far into your stomach, you’re scared you’ll be broken open.

Your eyes roll back, mouth dropping from his progressively brutal pace. "Too much," you try to sob, but the words are garbled, slurring into nonsense as your eyes roll back. He just grips you tighter, ignoring the way your hands scramble weakly at his hands, your nails biting into his skin.

"Missed this. Missed you," he grunts against your neck, his voice ragged and uneven.

He punctuates the confession with a sharp snap of his hips that drives the air from your lungs. Your mouth drops open in a silent, broken scream, your tongue lolling out as your brain short-circuits from the sheer overload of pleasure-pain. You’re gone, fucked dumb and defenseless, forced to take every inch as he ruins you. He pulls out quickly to lay you on your back, muttering “I need to see your face.”

You can feel the heavy, prominent ridges of him dragging against your inner walls, every vein pulsing violently as he carves a path straight through your core.

You gasp, your gaze dipping down to where your bodies connect in a frantic, messy rhythm. Your stomach looks wrong—distorted and stretching outward, the outline of his blunt head carving a visible, terrifying bulge with every brutal thrust. It pushes against the skin from the inside. “Hoon—you’re breaking me.”

He only kisses at your tears. “Want me to stop?” But he knows you. Know that you liked breaking open like this.

You shake your head, throwing your arms around his shoulders, and his heart hurts from how cute you unintentionally were during these moments. He holds onto your wrists around his neck, thrusting forward before rolling his hips, stuffing you to the hilt slowly. Watching as his cock’s coated white—creamy as he worked you open. His abdomen tense and pale, dark hair matted against his cheekbones like a teenage dream.

You clamp down around him, walls fluttering and spasming uncontrollably while a broken cry tears from your throat. He doesn’t let up, riding you through your convulsions, his rhythm turning erratic and desperate.

With a guttural growl, he buries himself to the hilt one last time, his hips grinding flush against yours as he stills. You feel him pulse deep inside, the throb of his release matching the frantic beating of your heart. The bulge in your belly pushing out hard, before your body goes limp, overstimulated.

“I don’t care anymore” he pants against your neck, slumping onto your body. “Just don’t leave me behind.”

You lie staring at the ceiling, chest heaving, the weight of two hearts pressing into your own until it aches. It is here—right in this moment—that the rot takes hold

[23 YEARS OLD, A NEON SPRING NIGHT]

Jaeyun worked his magic, counting down the final week before graduation as if it were his grand premiere into life. You and Sunghoon wouldn’t normally be caught dead in a nightclub, but just this once—for the sake of saying you’d been there, done that—you went.

It was overwhelming: strobe lights washing over a sea of bodies, suggestive smiles pressing against your skin, hands everywhere, indistinguishable from one another. And yet, you couldn’t deny the electricity threading through the night—a charming thrum that sent adrenaline coursing through your veins. University was finally over, a relief as much as it was daunting.

In a week, you’d be tossing maroon caps into the air, turning both your tassels and your backs on the institution that had tormented you and shaped you in equal measure. After that, the three of you would have to face the world on your own terms—not as your fathers’ children, or your mothers’. Yours. Or at least, as much as that could be hoped for with families like yours.

You feel Jaeyun’s hand snake around your waist, his chest pressing into your back. “Hey, pretty. What’s your name?” he murmurs playfully, lips brushing your ear.

You turn just enough to catch him from the corner of your eye, tilting your head back to rest against his shoulder. “Take a guess,” you say. “That’ll be my name for the night.”

He laughs, eyes crinkling as he hums noncommittally. “Right. Cassandra?” You elbow him lightly in the gut, and he folds with an exaggerated oof!

“Wrong answer.” A smile slips onto your face, and he stares at you, momentarily stunned.

“But you said—”

You spin around, all teeth and wild hair. Jaeyun stills, heart hitching as if blindsided. He lets out a crooked smile. “That’s not fair,” he says softly. “Looking at me like that.”

He pulls you closer by the hips, fingers slipping into the loops of your jeans, his temple pressing to yours. For no reason at all, you remember the day you met him—the moment your life began to orbit his, drawn helplessly toward his light. You wouldn’t be here without him. And you were the only thing Jaeyun had ever loved back.

He spins you slowly, your hair fluttering around you like the dress you wore the day he held you in that labyrinth at nineteen. It feels like all those summers ago, wrapped into one singular, celebratory farewell gift. You can almost taste the citrus on his fingers again, smell the long road and midnight brownies, feel your bodies crowded together against the cupboards—everything folding into this one moment.

[SOUNDTRACK] NOW PLAYING—> WE ARE THE PEOPLE BY EMPIRE OF THE SUN

♪ I can't do well when I think you're gonna leave me, but I know I try—Are you gonna leave me now? I know everything about you, Know everything about me, Know everything about us ♪

The crowd jumps and it’s hard to know what everyone’s celebrating. Life, beginnings, endings—or just the throbbing heat of a crowd that would never try to remember you, only here to exist and not complicate it.

Jake sways, hands grabbing at your shoulders to get you to dance. “Baby, I know you can do better than that!” You shake your head.

“I’m not drunk enough for this shit.” Nonetheless, you throw your head back, laughing—moving along his wavelength. Bodies mash around you, forcing you to flatten against him. He gazes down at you with a soft mischief that reminded you of the boy you knew, only broadened by time and well deserved arrogance.

“You never need to be. I’ve seen you move through every room for years.” He replies, tone lowering, hips swaying and pressing against yours. “Always watching…following.”

Jake’s lips curl into something feline. “You know how to move—” his hand drifts to the meat of your waist, fingers tightening, “because I taught you how, sweetie.”

Your eyes glint: half memory, half elated instinct. “You might have to remind me.”

He laughs, hair falling into his eyes. “I’d get arrested for public indecency. You’re stunning—so you’ll get away with it after batting your lashes.”

And then, Jake looks at you like he could do it forever. Eyes searching your face like there was an answer there he wasn’t sure he was ready to see—because life was just starting, and he didn’t want to rush it.

Looking back at it now, he wish he’d said it. Caught your eye and faced it In the middle of that crowd, against your mouth, lips catching onto your smile through the opening of a kiss, allowing himself to realize that he wanted to marry you sooner, because time wasn’t, in fact, promised.

Five years later, you’d be dead.

You didn’t expect it—didn’t expect Sunghoon to actually find you both at the epicenter of the crowd, eyes dark. Unreadable.

His hair caressed his face, damp from the conjoined heat of the room, eyebrows furrowed. Conflicted. Jaeyun grabs his wrist the moment Bizarre love triangle by New Order plays—synth blaring as he shook his hair to the beat, ignoring his best friend’s stiff gait.

[SOUNDTRACK] NOW PLAYING—> BIZARRE LOVE TRIANGLE BY NEW ORDER

♪ Whenever I get this way, I just don't know what to say, Why can't we be ourselves like we were yesterday? I'm not sure what this could mean, I don't think you're what you seem. I do admit to myself that if I hurt someone else. Then I'll never see just what we're meant to be ♪

“Loosen up, Hoon,” Jake chides with a grin. Sunghoon drops his gaze, turning his head aside, visibly awkward.

“I’m not here to dance,” he says.

“Then, pray tell—what are you here for?” Jake replies.

Sunghoon lifts his chin, meeting the gaze of the two of you. Something heavy lingers between you all, overwhelming—like an open trap, jaws stretched wide, metaphorical teeth bare and metallic. “I don’t really know,” he admits softly. “I just wanted to be near you guys.”

“Guess what we’re doing? Dancing. So—“ He tugs at Sunghoon’s arm, pulling him in until the three of your bodies are pressed together, forced close by the swell of the crowd.

Like a struck match, something ignites—the energy smoldering into something alluring. What starts as a simple choreography of swaying arms and hips slowly melts into a languid, lucid, almost damp dance between the two boys. Jaeyun is behind you, his nose brushing the nape of your neck, face hidden beneath your hair. His hands trail down your stomach, firm against your back.

Sunghoon stands in front of you, close—though not close enough to alarm. He dips his head, eyes tracking your movements with quiet focus, breath hitching when you hook an arm around his neck and pull him down as you sway.

Your other arm reaches back, drawing Jaeyun closer, his presence warm against your neck. He doesn’t seem to mind the dance—the closeness. It fits like a glove, having Sunghoon there. Somewhere along the way, Jaeyun playfully tugs Sunghoon closer over your shoulder, pressing his temple to his and positively sandwiching you between them. The sight of the two so close—however unintentional—makes your stomach tighten and curl, a warmth blooming there until you felt your thighs tact together from your slick. Sunghoon reaches around you to laugh, grabbing a hold of Jaeyun’s bicep, unaware of the effect the two of them were having over you. Everything was hot—too close, too enticing—with no clear sense of where you end and they begin.

But then Jaeyun jumps—suddenly hyper as his favorite song blasts through the club—and slings his arms around yours and Sunghoon’s shoulders. The unintentional sensuality of the moment shatters, replaced by a rush of vibrant, infectious energy.

Sunghoon is laughing—really laughing. The kind that makes his gut ache, his nose crinkle, completely transforming his face. He’s bouncing in place, nodding his head off-beat, arms hooked around both of you as he tries—and fails—to keep up with the lyrics. Over the music, Jaeyun shouts, “Holy shit, we’re actually going to fucking graduate!”

In unison, the three of you scream in excitement, and everything feels right. The world narrowed down to your warm trifecta, slowing under a sludge of neon lights and raining confetti. It was the end of an era, but you knew you’d walk the way with them like you always did, all those summer dreams ago. That night, nothing was complicated. Just you. Just them. And that made everything alright, no matter how much began to rot under the surface.

BEFORE GRADUATION

Jake shakes his head, spinning the wheel as his crisp white button-up rustles, his hair pristine and slicked back.

“Yeah—I’m rock hard. Can’t go in there yet. Shouldn’t have shown me your grad dress before we left.”

He pulls off the main road, turning into an alleyway lined with large brick buildings, tucked beside a local noodle shop having a slow day. It’s risky—really fucking risky—but you can’t claim innocence. You’re the one who showed him the raunchy number you bought before slipping on your grad dress, abandoning the surprise just to catch the look on his face in the mirror as you did.

You really shouldn’t be here. If you were doing the right thing, you’d still be on the highway trying to beat traffic, so you’d make it to your graduation on time. Nonetheless, you wanted your back blown out—graduation or not. Alleyway be damned.

You’re already sliding your panties down your legs and hopping into the backseat. Jake loosens his tie, opens the door, and seamlessly slides in with unbreakable confidence. If anyone walked by, his casual demeanor wouldn't betray the fact that he was about to fuck the shit out of you on the cream leather of his dad’s favorite "collectible," as he’d call it.

"We gotta make it quick, baby." He kisses you, leaning in to pant lightly against your mouth as he slides his hands between your legs to feel you—checking how wet you are before pushing you down. He presses your thighs to your chest, lifting your lower half, and brings his mouth down to suck on your clit, wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you in place as you hang partially in the air. Your legs twitch—instinctively fighting against his hold, but it’s futile. After smacking his lips against you, mouth molding over the entire expanse of your cunt to suck rhythmically until you keened into his touch, and lapped at your folds—he quickly unbuckles his trousers, pushing them down just enough to free his cock.

He guides himself to your entrance, his gaze locked on yours as he sinks in with a deep, ragged groan. The first sharp slap of his hips against you makes your jaw drop, walls clamping around him with a vice grip. The car rocks slightly with the movement, the narrow alleyway outside silent save for the slap of skin and your shared, hurried breaths as he starts to move, determined to make you cum before the ceremony starts. He doesn’t hold back his force, pounding down into you hard enough to jostle your body up the seat until your head starts banging against the door handle. You curse, moans tumbling out of your body in stutters, because of his rhythm. Fuck, you’re crying your mascara off.

His thumbs wipes under your eyes, before cupping his hands around your head—using it to keep you still as he propelled himself into you. You know you’re yelling garbled nonsense, the sound muffled by the car windows, legs propped up by his shoulders swinging limply in the air. “Awe, you’re crying?” He says sweetly, almost cooing, like he wasn’t about to kiss your cervix with the tip of his cock, and that you weren’t scared you might end up pissing yourself in his dad’s favorite car.

He only drives down deeper—sharp, needy. Labored breaths leave him as his pelvis bangs against the fat of your ass. “Fuck—Jaeyun, wait—“ you try to utter a warning, your climax approaching like a tidal wave. You clamp around him, inhaling sharply, willing yourself to try your best to not ruin the seats. He shakes his head, grinning. “You’re cute when you’re trying not to piss yourself.” Plap. Plap. Plap.

If you were your younger self, you’d be horrified by the noises you were making. By how loud, sinful, and vulgar the squelching emanating from your pussy was, or how borderline…pornographic your own sounds were.

“Try your best, sweetie. Else we’re gonna have to explain something to my pops.” He grins, stuffing himself to the hilt before lightly slapping your clit. “Like how I made my sweet girlfriend piss herself with my dick, cause she couldn’t help herself. Do you really want me to get in trouble?”

“You’re fucking evil—“ you gasp out, raising your hips to fuck yourself against him, skin rippling from the aggression of your own movements.

He hissed, digging his fingers into your hips. "Fuck yea, just like that." He leaned back on his legs before pistoning his hips forward—slapping your tits, barely pulling out. You grabbed onto the seats to steady yourself against his punishing thrusts, the back of your head bruising slightly against the armrest bordering the door handle.

“Gonna piss on my cock? Huh?” He hits the side of your thigh with a deliberate hand, coaxing your orgasm forward. “S’that what you wanna do, baby?”

Your eyes roll back, completely empty when you squeeze hard enough to force him out of you, squirting rapidly in pulses. He stares at how your pussy contracts around nothing—raw, swollen, overstimulated—the image pushing him over the edge. He jerks himself with a tight fist, pointing his cock over your navel as he released in ropes over your skin. He’s wheezing at this point, sweat dripping from his temple onto you.

You glance at the clock on the dash, groaning. “We’re so fucked.” He giggles.

The two of you arrive only half-dry, still red from your love making—robes billowing in the wind. You take your seat a few rows ahead of him, glancing back briefly with wide eyes. Jaeyun stifles another laugh, a singular curl escaping to coil at his temple—already dismantled by you before the main event could even happen.

[GRADUATION, 23 YEARS OLD—GOODBYE, BOYHOOD.]

“Gimme a light.” Jaeyun skips over, shivering off the cold. He and Sunghoon stand off-center on the playing field, alone at midnight after sneaking away from their grad party for an impromptu night drive—somehow ending up back here. Tired and quiet, Sunghoon merely leans in, comfortably ducking to press the burning ember of his cigarette to Jaeyun’s unlit one.

Jaeyun inhales, jaw tilting up to hold it still in his mouth, his eyebrows creasing as he stares out into the dark once Sunghoon moves to the right of him. “It’s really over now, huh?”

Something soft—maybe even troubled—passes over Jake’s face. “Yeah. Guess so.”

Sunghoon replies bluntly, gazing at Jake from his peripheral. “Time to be the golden boy of your family. And time for me to suffocate under the weight of my father’s legacy.”

Jaeyun snorts. “Well, yeah. The inevitable’s at our doorstep, and everything’s changing—but it’s changing in the ways we were always told it would.” He starts, taking a long drag before shaking the cold off his body again, willing the heat to return before rushing out his next words. “But that’s the price we pay for being brats raised on escargot and limousine rides to school. We were born to maintain that wealth, to have our lives mapped out for us. The one thing we can’t afford? Simplicity.”

Sunghoon nods, neck craning to stare at heaven, finger flicking off the ashed end of his cigarette. “Congrats, Einstein. You’ve officially obtained enlightenment.”

Jaeyun light punches his shoulder, mumbling an exasperated “Jackass.” He takes a couple of seconds to stare at Sunghoon, face full of memory, heart heavy with the sort of nostalgia only a man was capable of. “I was only able to get through it, because you were around. And her, too.” He confesses.

Jaeyun shifts his feet, squaring his shoulders as he tucks one hand into his pocket. He stares ahead, taking another long drag from his cigarette; one eye squeezes shut, shielding itself from the smoke threatening to seep in. A charming smile curves across his face, and for a split moment—Sunghoon thinks he looks like a god.

Sunghoon shakes his head and lowers his gaze, his voice grainy beneath a thin veil of guilt. Jaeyun doesn’t notice. He never does. “Nah. I didn’t do anything. Don’t get soft on me—” he chokes out.

“You did. I know you did—” Jaeyun starts with a warm laugh, then continues. “Remember the first week of freshman year?” His eyes crinkle as laughter overtakes him, breath coming uneven. “I got sloshed. Passed out on the rooftop. Heeseung was up there with me, but he wasn’t helping—didn’t give a damn about anything, but the bottle. I remember opening my eyes and seeing you above me—stressed as hell after scrambling out the window frame—grabbing my arm just as I started to slide down the slope. Before I even realized what was happening. I was just laughing, because I knew you’d save me, even in the haze of it.”

“Or all the times you covered for me whenever I ditched some important event. You never caved under the weight of my father’s disappointed stare when he thought you were the one who dragged me away. You even—” He chuckles, exhaling, “joined a frat and some pretentious secret society because you knew I’d get myself into some shit—which I did. The dean would call you up to the office, with me, even when you didn’t do anything at all. And honestly, I think I might’ve died if you weren’t around, Park Sunghoon.” His gaze grows thoughtful, dimming a little.

“I want to confess something. I always….thought I was going to die young. Thought it’d make me legendary. Immortalize something, because I was scared to grow up. To leave this place and be who everyone thought I actually was. There’s so much pressure, and I hate admitting that. But life—it only ever felt bearable to imagine a future if you and her were in it. I disappeared. I was a jackass, a horrible friend, and boyfriend. Quite honestly, I was a fucking douche, but you never stopped caring for me in that gruff, awkward way of yours. It’s weird to say, but you were my knight in shining armor. I think you were hers too. Ours.”

Sunghoon’s breathing stills. The horror dawning on him, the way it’d always happened since everything really changed, like clockwork in the late hours of the night. Sometimes he clung to the fact that he knew Jaeyun’s flaws like the back of his hand, justifying that his actions were spurred by Jaeyun’s neglect when it got too sharp to swallow. But this? A cold, vivid reminder that he would’ve done it even if Jaeyun was the perfect man. All he could think of was his love for Jaeyun—how he wished it wasn’t you for him. He didn’t know if that meant he wished you weren’t Jaeyun’s or that Sunghoon, himself, never wanted you to begin with just to make it easier.

Yet, he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help the warmth that threatened to spread like a virus when he remembered the way you looked tonight dancing: hair falling out of your updo—lively, as you tossed your shoes off to take hold of your friend Betty’s hands to spin her around with you. He remembers you shouting something, but didn’t hold onto the sound of your words, only focusing on how your mouth looked when you formed them around your smile.

So he lets the shard rattle in the silence: translucent, already broken beyond repair, and smiles softly—tiredly—at Jaeyun. The dark circles, forming little moons under his dark eyes, going unnoticed. “I can’t live without either of you too.”

Then, the cigarette goes out.

[THE DAY YOU TOLD HIM YOU WERE MARRYING HIM, 23 YEARS OLD]

“Sunghoon, he asked me.” You’re still catching your breath, lying on your back, bare, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you stare up at the ceiling. The confession slips out of you, heavy as an iron shutter slamming closed. He’d felt it in the air the moment you touched him today—he was about to lose another part of you to him: To the man who was rightfully yours.

His breath hitches. He shouldn’t be surprised—this had been written in the narrative since the very beginning, from the moment you’d approached him on that dock, looking at him in that way of yours that you’re rarely conscious of. You’d be the girl who married Sim Jaeyun—the chosen one. The girl who Park Sunghoon loved and that being the worst thing he’s ever done. Still, he swallows and asks—“asked you what?”

For a prolonged minute, you lay stiff, training your gaze on the ceiling. “You already know. To marry him.”

He nudged his head towards you, eyebrow raising as he folded his hands over his chest, and lay on his back. “And you said yes.” He says like it’s a fact. Like it’s glaringly obvious.

You exhale shakily. “I did. I immediately did.”

“Do you still love me?” He asks. It’s almost casual, tone fit for conversations about the weather—not this.

“Always.”

“Then I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to hell with me though— “he replies, gasping dramatically when you slap his arm, aghast. “Congrats. Really.”

“You don’t have to pretend that it’s okay, Sunghoon.”

“I’m not. But I know what I signed up for. I may not be Sim Jaeyun, and I may not have loved you first—but in just this one thing, I want to be number one: that nothing will turn me away from you. I want to love you like this, because damning myself to a world where I can’t hold you is somehow worse than the crime I have to commit in order to stick around.”

“Would you really do anything for me?” You turn to look at him, threading your hand in his, almost sighing at the warmth from his body.

“Anything. I promise.” He breathes out, kissing your palm. “Just promise to be mine in the ways you can be. There’s no going back to what once was.”

Everything’s blue, indigo hour, and slow cycle laundry. Your lips are cold from the windows you left open, and Sunghoon tries to warm you with everything he has, but refuses to close the window just so he could hold you for a little bit longer.

PART II, “THE TIME JUMP”

It’s important to state that The Fate’s had loved Sim Jaeyun upon his first, striking breath into this world.

Each clumsy step—held upright by his doting mother, every gilded giggle, and boyish adventure—were witnessed, most ardently, by the three sisters. They loved him enough to count every lock of hair grown from his head. It’s irrelevant to try and find the source of why they adored him so much. If you’d ask them, they’d only share a glance, and shrug.

“He was born from light. Special. Rare. No true reason needs to exist or explain why we watch him—only that we are destined to.”

They weren’t supposed to touch time. But upon watching their beautiful boy crumble, unaware of the root of a tragedy that threatened to dim him irreparably, they spun the gear. Despite the anomaly—the turning of time itself felt destined. Yet as much as they loved Jaeyun, they pitied you and the slow descent that led to your untimely death.

[IT WAS JARRING WHEN JAEYUN WOKE UP IN THE BODY OF HIS 24 YEAR OLD SELF, FOUR YEARS BACK.]

The house felt hollow—strange and distorted—though Jake knew every moment he was re-experiencing was only a jarring copy-and-paste of your life before you died. You still liked your coffee the same way, in that same mug. Still took thirty minutes to perfect your mascara, still draped your favorite fur jackets on with care before any outing.

Before returning in time, Jaeyun spent most of his days holed up at work or out to lunch with old friends—ever the socialite. But now that he could see you again, he set everything aside, ignoring frantic work calls and half-hearted invitations. In doing so, he began to notice the minute details of your life he’d failed to see the first time around.

“Baby?” he called. The house was dark, curtains drawn tight, letting none of the warm afternoon light in. No reply.

He stepped inside slowly, keys jingling as he shut the door and hung his jacket on the old rack. When he entered the kitchen, his nose scrunched at the sight of rotting fruit, flies buzzing lazily around the bowl. He covered his mouth with the collar of his shirt, dumped the entire thing into the trash, and shut the lid quickly.

Something was wrong. Yet nothing had changed—and he couldn’t explain why everything felt so deeply uncanny, like an alarm blaring red in his face. Haunting.

He couldn’t clearly remember what should have happened on this particular day. Probably an insignificant shift at work. Another small victory siphoning hours away from you. It’d been days since he’d last come home. A faint clink upstairs caught his attention, his ears pricking. You might have been sleeping.

He opened the fridge, reaching for water, then recoiled in disgust. Everything inside was spoiled. When was the last time you’d eaten?

The stairs creaked beneath his weight as he moved carefully, mindful of the noise. He opened the bedroom door slowly—and stilled. You sat on the bed with your back to him, facing the wall. “Baby?” His voice softened. “You alright?”

You startled, gasping as you turned around, hurriedly patting your hair down. “Yun? You’re home already?”

He nodded, humming. “Yeah. I left early.” He stepped forward, pulling you into his arms and pressing a light kiss to your lips, hands rubbing up and down your arms. “I thought I’d been gone too long.”

“When was the last time you ate at home?” he asked gently. “I opened the fridge and—”

You cut him off, eyes wide and panicked. “Oh—I—I’ve been sick lately. Haven’t been able to keep anything down. I just… I didn’t get a chance to clean yet. I was going to before you came home—”

“Hey, hey.” He stopped you immediately, concern flooding his features. “It’s okay. I don’t care about the mess. I was just worried about you.”

Something’s wrong. You’re scaring him.

His gaze drifted to the nightstand. A prescription bottle.

You moved instantly, snatching it up, shoulders tense. “What is that?” His voice was firm as his large hand reached around you, easily plucking it from your grasp.

You ducked your head, avoiding his eyes.

“I’ve just been having trouble sleeping.” Sleeping pills. They were sleeping pills. How did he not know you’d been taking them?

Only now did he notice the dark circles beneath your eyes, the raw, bitten skin of your thumb. How small you looked—how small you carried yourself. He could tell you weren’t ready to talk.

Exhaling, you lean your temple on his chest shakily. “I missed you. I miss you so much.”

He wrapped an arm around your head, pulling you close. “I’m right here, my love. I’m sorry I left you alone for so long.” You didn’t see the troubled, distant look on his face.

Because Jaeyun didn’t understand. He didn’t know the severity of the illness that rattled you every time he walked out the door. The anxiety. The fear of abandonment. His unintentional neglect feeding a one-sided dependency.

For a long time, you hadn’t been well.

You barely slept. Barely ate—unless Sunghoon noticed you spiraling. And every time he did, he came running. Slacks and loafers still on as he barged into your room, sitting beside you and holding you in silence for hours. Because if he pulled away, the panic would rise—and the screaming would start

The loneliness ate at you. Art stopped being comforting a year back. No one else noticed you hadn’t played the violin for months.

“Why don’t we call Sunghoon? Get some coffee together. He probably needs to get out the office.” He suggests, voice muffled by strands of your hair as he hugged you. You nod slowly.

“I’d love that.”

Your two favorite boys, all in one room. You’d feel safe again. Less anxious and lonely. It’ll be like the old times.

When the three of you sat together for the first time at your favorite cafe since Jaeyun traveled back in time (without anyones knowledge) he noticed things he hadn’t before.

For example, he caught onto how Sunghoon’s hands twitched before you wanted to reach for something, like he knew what you needed before you realized it yourself. Sunghoon knew your coffee order down to the half pumps of syrup—knew your favorite color and what kind of jewelry Jaeyun should gift you for Christmas.

Jake’s smile hardens, his eyes steeling beneath the gentle facade—something sharp slipping into his features when Sunghoon murmurs something to you that draws that laugh from your lips. Later, when you excuse yourself to the bathroom, Sunghoon orders for you without thinking, cutting Jake off before he can speak.

“I got it from here, Hoon. Let me order for my wife.” He says lightly, but the weight delivers. Sunghoon knows him too well.

Sunghoon stills, blinking for a moment as he reads Jake’s face.

It was true that the three of you were so close the lines sometimes blurred—on certain nights you’d find yourselves orbiting one another beneath strobe lights, sweat-sheened skin leaving too much room for suggestion as your hips rolled together. Limbs tangled as you danced, so intertwined that it became impossible to tell whose hand was skimming your collarbone or tracing the curve of your waist, whether they were in front of you or behind.

And those nights were chock full of unopened almosts. Sunghoon would tear himself away with a half hearted excuse and the spell would shatter like porcelain. And Jaeyun would wake—a heated darkness taking hold over him, before he’d fuck you violently, full of possession the way you always liked it. In those moments, you felt his love most. Jaeyun was loved by everyone—so inherently enamoring that people gravitated to him by some cosmic force. He was kind, jovial—charming and silver-tongued, always knowing what to say. However, he was always only half yours, before being swept away by the legacy of his very being.

[SOUNDTRACK] NOW PLAYING—> NO, NO I’M LOSING YOU BY ARETHA FRANKLIN

But lately, he’d catch Sunghoon’s gaze—an unfamiliar heat brewing darkly, simmering and flickering with distaste before darting away. Whenever Jaeyun would come too close to you, Sunghoon would flinch. Force his head down and swallow. And it unsettled him the moment he saw Sunghoon’s hand trail down your spine reverently, discreetly when ushering you out the back of the car as he held the door open for you, your bare back exposed in the wine red satin dress you wore the night of a charity event—the largest one at the end of the year.

He held his smile, unblinking eyes trained onto Sunghoon’s hand. Stiff, possession threatening to take the forefront of his mind. Sunghoon freezes, flinching away from your skin once he takes note of Jake’s expression. It, however, doesn’t crack your cool facade—a graceful smile paints in your face, lashes casting shadows on your cheekbones as you gazed down, and held your gown up with two hands—breezing through the entryway.

And then, it clicked. He doesn’t know how he’d never seen it. Never noticed it. The look of adoration in Sunghoon’s eyes, how your body seemed to fall into a state of calm the moment Sunghoon stepped into a room, or how your gazes would meet every so often—like some sort of secret conversation were happening right under his nose.

Everything fades into a backdrop of white noise, the room narrowing down to you three. The show, alas, reaching the crescendo.

Jaeyun doesn’t register the flashing camera lights, doesn’t pose or tilt his head intentionally to sway the crowd.

He only looks at you. Finally—truly—he looks, and understands that he never noticed these things because he stopped watching when it mattered most. He only became aware of the blind spot once you were gone for good, your absence carving a permanent shape into his vision—always there, always fading. Somehow still taken for granted, until the rug was ripped under him. So self involved, he didn’t notice you slipping away, trying your hardest to drift back, even though he’d leave you to indulge in the limelight.

It gutted him, how much he failed to know you. How much he knew he loved you, but fell short.

[THE POINT OF NO RETURN AND THE SECRET THAT DIED WITH YOU. PRESENT, 28 YEARS OLD.]

The after party was a small dinner held at your home—one that you spearheaded hosting. The two men, however, slipped away, with Jaeyun discreetly grabbing onto Sunghoon and pushing him into the nearest room. Jaeyun shuts the bedroom door—mahogany wood clunking heavily, before he turns to Sunghoon.

Something sparks in the air: tumultuous, confused, risky. Sunghoon’s hair falls in his face, eyebrows furrowing—dark blue storms wading onto his face. Hesitant, as he takes a step back.

“You don’t get it—not the way I do. If this is what she wants, and if this is how not to lose her, so be it.” Jaeyun breathes on, chest heaving as he struggled to keep his volume low.

“What are you talking about?” Sunghoon tilts his head, stomach dropping.

Jaeyun steps forward, a mix of emotions painting his face as he tilted his chin up to roll his eyes over Sunghoon: pride, calculation, will—and a magnetism all to familiar to Sunghoon, but it’s never been pointed at him. Sudden seduction straightened his back—a sudden air of dominance emitting from him, despite being smaller than Sunghoon.

“She’d never marry you, you know?” He starts with, circling around Sunghoon and slowly pushing him into a corner of the room. “She loves you, yes. Maybe a tiny bit less than she loves me—but she does.”

Voice flippant. “And you don’t love her enough to give up that horrid possessiveness of yours. It’s under your skin, I can see it. You’d only done it for the sake of an affair under my nose for the last—god knows how long, actually— because deep down a part of you thought she’d have it in her to leave me eventually.”

“You don’t know the lengths I’d go to for that—” Jaeyun nods toward the door, where just outside you’re charming guests and hosting the long-awaited dinner party. “—woman in there. The difference between you and I, Hoon, is that you’ve never stood in the way of me being with her. I don’t give a single fuck about your affair. If she can’t choose between us, then fine. I’d give her the world, even if it meant sharing her.”

Sunghoon freezes, his chest rising and falling too fast, until his back meets the mahogany wall. This is new territory for him—for both of them—and he isn’t sure if he’s reading the moment right. Something primal, almost…sexual emanated from Jaeyun’s body as he stood in front of him. It was barbed anger, armored with sex appeal.

But then Jaeyun’s hand slides up to cup the back of his neck, guiding him down until their temples press together. “We shared everything as kids, remember? It’ll be just like old times at the lake—with her, too.” The spaces between them held its breath— suspense filling the air as his eyes glimmered faintly during the few beats of silence.

Something unreadable catches in Sunghoon’s eyes—something that almost looked like disgust, before it fades.

A sharp grin spreads across his face as he suddenly prods, “You jerked off after seeing her naked that first time, didn’t you? That day at the lake, when we went skinny-dipping. I walked into your room by accident, but you were too busy being balls deep in your own fist to notice me trying to grab a towel.”

All Sunghoon could do was sink into a deep well of confusion. Standing before him was his best friend—a man he might’ve called a brother, at least until he’d fallen in love with you. This was the boy he’d played rugby with, the boy he’d gotten stupidly drunk with for the first time on the rooftop of his parents’ estate while they were both still in private school uniforms. The boy he’d ditched private lessons with, joined the university’s sketchy secret society for, simply because he knew Jaeyun would get himself into too much trouble without him. This was the man he’d wronged to a point of no return.

Physically, this was the closest the two had been in a long, long while—but the furthest he’d ever felt from him. Jaeyun smiles darkly. “Cat got your tongue?”

There’s something sharp and acidic lodged in Sunghoon’s throat—before he gazes…questioningly at Jaeyun. Suspicious. Like a sudden realization that shakes his very foundation.

Jaeyun was different. Too different—too jaded and willing to bend than the man he knew and grew up with. ‘It can’t be..’

But his thoughts are interrupted when Jaeyun suddenly leans in and claims Sunghoon’s mouth,

there’s no love in it—no forgiveness either. Not for him, at least. He kisses him for you, as if trying to reclaim every piece of you that Sunghoon managed to slip through the cracks of your relationship, before it bleeds into the ambiguity of their own confusing connection.

The kiss turns heated—slick under the press of Jaeyun’s tongue. Sunghoon hisses when Jaeyun bites down hard enough to draw blood. Their lips clash, hips jolting without thought, and Sunghoon groans—conflicted, frustrated, defeated.

He’s struck with the memory of touching himself to the thought of you and Jaeyun fucking—of his incisors tracing the lines of your throat, his hips dragging along your thigh, gyrating and pressing deeply into the soft skin. He flinches when he feels Jaeyun’s warm hand shove down his trousers, wrapping around his girth before jerking experimentally. Sunghoon’s abdomen caves with a hiss.

He fists a handful of Jaeyun’s hair and yanks, forcing their mouths apart—a thin string of saliva still clinging between their lips. Their eyes meet, blazing, and for a split second Sunghoon sees betrayal flare in Jaeyun’s gaze before it’s gone. Jaeyun’s head tips back, neck taut under Sunghoon’s grip, before he spits out his next words.

“Understand this—no matter how much you want her, she’s been mine as much as I’ve been hers since the day we first met. Even better—the day we said our vows and you were my best man. This—“ he gestures at the space between them “is nothing. Fucking you or however way it happens means jackshit to me, because if this is what she wants, I’ll do it— and that’s why I’m her husband. Because I’ve done and am willing to do things for her your little mind can’t fathom.” He says it like he’s sure of himself, Like traveling back in fucking time for example, he thinks. but Sunghoon only eyes him with the closest thing Jaeyun could describe as pity.

The shift is palpable. Something predatory takes over Sunghoon’s stance. His eyes, sharp and calculating, rake over Jaeyun’s face.

Sunghoon finally speaks, shoving hard at his chest.“Who the fuck are you?”

“Spit it out. The Jaeyun I know would never dream of actually sharing her.” His breath hitches, his gut tightening. Is this what he thinks this is?

And for reasons Jaeyun can’t quite explain, he replies. “I’m Jaeyun.” But the words barely leave his mouth before his expression falls, the weight of a sudden, invisible conflict pulling at him.

Sunghoon stands rigid, the air between them thick and suffocating. Then, with an almost unbearable tension, he steps forward, as if to shatter the silence with a confession that will change everything.

“However fucked up our relationship is… I need to admit something I probably shouldn’t, because if I do, they’d lock me away in some white, padded room.” Sunghoon breathes shakily, his eyes piercing, fixed straight on Jaeyun. Hatred—raw and unfiltered—distorts his face.

“I remember things. Things that haven’t happened yet. Horrible things… and things you’ll regret doing. At first, I thought I was losing it, but everything’s unfolded just like I remembered. I don’t know how, but… I’ve traveled back in time.”

Jaeyun’s face drains of color. Sunghoon’s from the future too? The thought rattles him. But more unsettling is what Sunghoon means by things Jaeyun will regret.

“So tell me this,” Sunghoon presses, his voice cold, each word like a cut. “Are you the Sim Jaeyun I know, or the one still blind to the future he’s about to damn himself to?” His words hit with a brutal force that leaves Jaeyun reeling.

“Because I can’t stand by and watch anymore. I promised her I would protect you, no matter what the fuck you did.”

Jaeyun’s brows furrow in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?—”

Sunghoon cuts him off, his voice a mixture of pain and fury. “And like the coward you are—you forgot. But even the universe loved you enough to give you a second chance. And I still can’t find it in myself to abandon you, or betray either of you, like some damn dog.”

“Stop beating around the fucking bush. What do you mean by things I’ll regret, Hoon?” He feels sick to his stomach, something ominous brewing in the air, as his brain throbs.

“You really don’t remember what happened that night?” Despite everything, Sunghoon couldn’t kill the part of him that only knew how to be loyal to Jaeyun.

Jaeyun’s head spins, breath quickening—but Sunghoon couldn’t stop the words from leaving him.

“You argued with her that night. I never learned why. All I know is she showed up at my family’s old lake house while I was there grabbing a few things for my father—files, useless business logs. She was shaken to the core. Hysterical. Crying about how she loved you so fucking much, but hated how blind you were to her pain. To her loneliness.”

Sunghoon’s voice thins. “And then you found us—me halfway inside her, mouths together. There was no hiding it anymore. No excuse left in the world that could cover what had been going on for years.” He hesitates, jaw tightening.

“You… argued. The two of you were screaming—exactly how I thought it would go. But then… she grabbed onto you. She dropped to her knees, clinging to you. You were overwhelmed and… you pushed.” He swallows hard, gaze drifting to some distant point only he can see.

“She hit her head. Hard. Really fucking hard.” He swallows hard, fighting the urge to vomit at the gory recollection.

The words land heavy, and Sunghoon looks gutted—like he’s been forced to replay this moment a thousand times, the memory refusing to fade, sharpening with every revisit.

“The lights went out. The snow storm came in heavy—and like some sick twist of fate—my phone died. I couldn’t find hers. And you didn’t bring yours, not after chasing her in some desperate attempt to make things right. I couldn’t even fucking call for help.”

Sunghoon presses his back to the wall and slides down until he’s sitting, fingers threading through his hair before he pulls—hard, like he’s trying to ground himself in the pain.

“I was losing it. I loved only one woman my entire fucking life and it was her—even if she’d never been mine. First aid could only do so much to a gash in the head—not one like that.”

"Do you think it was easy, Jaeyun?" His voice cracks, breath shaky as he clenches his jaw. He rises to his feet, the weight of his words heavy in the air. "I loved you like my own blood. I didn’t want to betray you. You and she were the only things I’d ever loved—every mess you made, I cleaned up without a single word. Even the ones you didn’t know you’d gotten yourself into. We’ve done almost everything together."

He reaches out, gripping the collar of Jaeyun’s sweater, his head bowing until his hair falls in soft wisps over his eyes. He takes a breath before continuing.

“But like always… she was selfish. Cunning, even in her final moments. She told me she loved me. Apologized for what she was about to ask of me—as her last request.”

His voice breaks. Sunghoon clutches Jaeyun’s shoulders, sobs tearing through him as he unravels, words spilling out in a frantic rush.

“She made me promise to make sure you didn’t get caught. To take her body deep into the woods and leave her by the river, far enough away to give it time—just enough that no one could trace anything back to us. To protect you. And with our pedigree’s, no one could afford to question us more than they have. You ran out, calling out for help—hoping someone was nearby. The storm was unforgiving and no one came near the lake house during that season. You passed out when you saw her body.”

He laughs—bitter, broken. “Do you know what I had to fucking do? To make it look like she slipped and fell on the rocks? Use your imagination.”

“And like the selfish prick you were, you didn’t remember a damn thing when you woke up. Too shell-shocked, too deep in your denial, to even face what happened. Even now, I blame myself for everything. If I had just stayed away—been satisfied with living beside her instead of wanting her, or played the dutiful son and married some other pedigree-perfect woman to make my family smile—maybe she wouldn’t have died like that.” Sunghoon’s voice thins, brittle.

“Since I came back… I haven’t touched her. She thinks I don’t love her anymore.” His breath trembles, eyes burning. “But I do. I really, really fucking do. And I’m sorry, Jaeyun. I wish it hadn’t been her, but it was always her for me. It’ll always be. From the moment she approached me on the dock—alone, beautiful."

Jaeyun trembles, hands flying up to clutch at his head. “N–no… I wouldn’t have done that. I would’ve rather died.” He hisses, wincing as the throbbing spikes behind his eyes. His gaze lifts to Sunghoon—wide, boyish, heartbreakingly beautiful—glossed with tears. “Please, Sunghoon… tell me you’re lying, and I’ll forgive you for everything.”

Sunghoon shuts his eyes, pained. “I can’t do that, Yun. Not even for her.”

Jaeyun grits out, a scream squeezing out his throat, his cries desperate enough to stir whispers among the cautious partygoers. Murmurs ripple through the room, and your earrings sway, brushing lightly against the soft nape of your neck as you hurry forward. You offer a sheepish smile to the crowd, but something unreadable flickers in your eyes—sorrowful, yet oddly accepting. He remembers now.

You smile gracefully. "Friends, I’m afraid I have to cut things short today. Jaeyun… hasn’t been well. We lost a…close friend recently, and he’s taken it harder than we expected." A ripple of apologies and murmurs spreads across the room, whispers rising from every corner.

An older man, a member of Jaeyun’s father’s diplomatic team, nods sympathetically. "Of course. Please, let us know if you need anything at all, Mrs. Sim."

The light in your eyes dull a little the moment the last guest leaves, the house becoming an ominous shell, home to the recollection of a brutal, blood stained memory. The men freeze at the slow click of your heels approaching the door calmly before you’d waltzed in.

At the sight of you, Jaeyun’s legs give out, his words choking off in his throat. He doesn’t know how to explain any of it—the jump back in time, the realization that you’ve been having an affair (and how long it might have been going on), or how all of that paled in comparison to his overwhelming need to make things right. If what Sunghoon said was true, it gnawed at him rabidly, dragging him into a grotesque spiral.

The dreams. The nightmares of trudging through snow—the screams, the yelling. They were shards of glass, fractured pieces of what had happened that night.

There’s something ominously vacant in your gaze as you look down at his kneeling form. Slowly, you reach out, cupping his jaw as you lower yourself onto your knees, steadying your weight and gently forcing him to lift his chin through his sobs and look at you. Sunghoon observes you—he always does—but his eyes widen as realization dawns on him. “…You came from the past too, didn’t you?”

You ignore him at first, continuing to hush Jaeyun as you stroke his hair, your eyes fixed on him. Only then do you finally nod at Sunghoon. “Mhm. And I remembered it all pretty quickly. Still get nasty little headaches.”

Jake begins to rock, curling inward as his hands fist in his hair. When he starts clawing at his own skin, Sunghoon moves in quickly, struggling to pry Jaeyun’s hands away from himself. “Stop, Yun.” He panics.

Jaeyun flings his hands—and Sunghoon—away. “Look at what I fucking did to you!” he cries, eyes wide and red. He stares at you before rushing forward, hands cupping your face. “I killed you. I—I came back in time thinking I could change things. That I could fix it, figure it all out—only to realize I’m the one who’s been killing you this whole time. Long before that night at the lake house.” His voice breaks, hysteria spilling out with each word. “You were disintegrating for God knows how long, and somehow I didn’t even see it.” He sobs. “But you want to know the sick part? Even knowing all this, I still don’t want to leave. I still don’t want us to end. I know he’s—” he gestures toward Sunghoon, “good for you. And I don’t even know how long I haven’t been.”

You stare at him sadly, still calm like you recognize what he looked like, because you’d seen it in your own reflection for the last few years. Exhaling shakily, you shut your eyes before speaking: “I’m no good for you. For either of you.”

Sunghoon whips to look at you, urgent—feeling like you’re about to say, or do, something that’ll hurt him like never before. “Don’t speak for me.”

You crane your neck, staring back at him hard. “I’m not wrong, am I?” You reply, continuing. “Look at you: Patient. Beautiful. Unfathomably dedicated to your detriment. Jaeyun and I are lucky that you ever had it in you to love us, even when we dragged you into our mess and drowned you in it. Not once have you complained.”

You turn to look up at Jaeyun, your brows knitting in turmoil. “And look at what I made you do. What I made you become. What I did to myself by doing everything I’ve done.” Your voice trembles. “I don’t regret you—either of you. I couldn’t choose, and I love Sunghoon because he’s Sunghoon, not because you made me lonely. And the love I have for you has never changed. Not even a little.”

You swallow, shaking. “But my indecision—my selfishness—brought all of this on. I ruined you with all my rot.” Tears spill freely now. “Neither of you can leave me. I know that. I see it now.” You bite your lip, sobbing. “But I could try. I have to be the one to go.”

Something in Jake’s eyes clicks off. He catches Sunghoon’s gaze, and—thankfully, after all these years—they haven’t lost their ability to meet halfway in an unspoken, impromptu decision. An agreement’s made the moment they both conceit: neither of them are losing you tonight.

“Yeah—you’re not leaving.” He says, stepping an inch closer to you, looking at Sunghoon. “We’ve gone back in time. Together. I’m willing to do what I need to make things work.”

The air is thick. Like a finale, Like the blood red velvet of curtains drawing close, but the story’s only just begun. It’s almost hard to breathe, as they border you. Static. Fog. Smoke and mirrors.

Sunghoon circles you slowly, calmly leaning to brush his lips against your ear from behind you. “After all of this, you think I’d just let you run away?” The scent of cedar wafts off Jaeyun’s collar, mixing with the saltwater smell from Sunghoon’s wrist as the latter pinches your chin to tilt your head back and kisses you.

Jaeyun slides to his knees before you, staring up with cold reverence. He slips your skirt and underwear off, his fingers hooking through the gap between fabric and hip. He inhales deeply, licking your stomach and rubbing his cheek against the skin. You stifle a moan as he groans against you, slotting his mouth over your mound and prodding his tongue between your folds as you struggle to stay upright. He presses you closer by grabbing fistfuls of your ass, pushing you against his mouth.

“You know—“ he starts, glancing at Sunghoon with glazed eyes after smacking his mouth against your cunt, releasing his suction on your clit, loudly. “I’m surprised we’ve never done this before, despite it all.”

Sunghoon’s hair unravels, falling tousled over his forehead as he slots his face into your neck—biting, marking. He gazes down at Jaeyun with a dark fire in his eyes, finally letting the man see what he’d always wanted him to witness. "Yeah, well—here we are. All it took was one of us dying and all of us time traveling," he replies dryly. You twitch when his hand slips under your thin, sheer button-up to tweak your nipple, rolling the bud between his fingers. A small gasp tumbles out of you, knees drawing in as his other hand rolls down your stomach to rub your clit, just as Jaeyun’s tongue slides inside you.

Jaeyun pushes your legs wider apart, grabbing your inner thigh and lifting. “I can’t eat you out properly if you keep getting weak in the knees, baby.”

Sunghoon didn't give you a moment to recover; he gripped you under the arms, while Jaeyun acts on reflex to grab your legs. With effortless coordination, they hoisted you into the air, your body weightless between them.

"Bed," Sunghoon grunted, carrying you across the room. They didn't lower you gently. They tossed you onto the mattress, following you down like predators tracking prey. Before you could even scramble backward, they were on you.

Side by side, they laid on their stomachs—simultaneously lifting the shirts off their backs with one hand before sliding them off. Your legs are spread embarrassingly wide, but they each hook a leg over their shoulder to keep you pried open.

“What are you?—“ you question, but throw your head back the moment you feel—not one, but two—tongues go down on you.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight that greeted you once you lifted your head: Jaeyun and Sunghoon’s tongues glide against each other as they lapped, swirled, and dipped around every crevice of your cunt. Everything’s wet. And you’re so stimulated that you could feel yourself clenching around nothing, pouring directly over their tongues. They gaze up, making sure that you’re looking, before slotting their lips against each other—catching your clit in the middle of their tongues rubbing together.

Your thighs shake, face going red and flustered. The sight made you so sensitive, you might actually start crying. Their cheeks are wet with your arousal, as Jaeyun rises, crawling up to hover you. Sunghoon takes up the space he left, wrapping his arms around your thighs to hold you down as you cried out from the sudden intense ministrations of his tongue. He shoves his face against you until his nose practically fucks into you, sliding down until he rimmed the tight hole of your ass with his hot, drooling tongue.

“What a happy little slut.” Jaeyun grins, something rabidly whirling in his eyes. He gathers a wad of spit in his mouth, releasing it so that it lands hot and wet on your cheek. With a rough hand, he squeezes your cheeks together, and slaps. “Are you happy? Say it.”

He tugs out his cock, jerking it and slapping it against your cheek, thick and heavy. “Tell your husband how happy you are about taking two cocks at the same time. Greedy little fuck.”

“I-I’m happy—“ you stutter, nodding fast.

“That’s my girl~” He utters sweetly, nudging his cock into your mouth. He tilts his head quizzically.

“You know, I’ve wondered—how’s my wife been keeping up, Hoon? I know I haven’t been home and all, but we still fuck like bunnies. She still has energy for you when I’m gone?”

Sunghoon unlatches his mouth from you, his breathing labored. “She’s insatiable. Works me like a damn dog.”

Your tongue slides out to flick against Jaeyun’s tip, eyes deceivingly innocent. He laughs.

“Is that so?” He grins down at you with playfully veiled possession, trying his utmost best to fight the biting jealousy threatening to push out his mouth.

“Show me how you ride him.”

Sunghoon lays flat on his back, grabbing hold of your hand, watching as you slid down his cock—taking him all in with a pleasured grimace. Your hips sway, roll, and rock with a sigh.

But before you could find a rhythm, you felt Jaeyun’s hands on your back, pushing you down until your chest was flush against Sunghoon’s. His hands sift through the drawer—a cap clicking open before something cold coats your rim. You feel a thumb prod in slowly. Thankfully, anal wasn’t foreign to you.

"Don't move," Jaeyun warned. He smeared the excess wetness from your pussy back to your ass, using it as an additional lubricant for your tight ring. You felt the blunt pressure of his top against your entrance. Pushing in slowly, forcing your body to accept him.

The burn was intense, a sharp intrusion that had you sobbing into Sunghoon’s shoulder—trying to decide if you were overwhelmed with bliss or pain. Jaeyun didn't stop until he was buried to the hilt, his pelvis flush against your ass.

“Fuck," he hissed, gripping your hair and pulling your head back. "You're taking it so well. Such a greedy little slut, taking both of us at once."

“Bet you wanted me to fuck that tight little ass wide open—“ He drew back and slammed forward, the force knocking the breath out of you. “So fucking cock hungry.”

The double penetration was overwhelming, the friction of Sunghoon in your cunt and Jaeyun in your ass creating a devastating pressure that had stars pricking in your vision. They found a rhythm, alternating thrusts so you were always full, always being stimulated. Sunghoon moaned softly into your neck—every movement coated in yearning, overwhelmed by the sudden intense dynamic shared between you all.

Jaeyun reached around, grabbing your jaw and tilting your face toward him. He spat in your mouth, watching you swallow it dutifully before slapping your cheek.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be ruined by us?” Sunghoon gasped out the words, alluring and siren-like, his sharp eyes locked on you as he cupped your cheek with one hand while the other rocked your hips down onto him—damp strands of hair clung to his palm and brushed your cheekbone.

You dazedly stare back at him, eyes slightly crossing before leaning in to press your lips against his with a half open mouth.

Your body softens, going limp and twitching from their aggressive handling. Sunghoon slides an arm over your back, simultaneously coaxing you as he jackhammered up into you. His eyes train on your squelching pussy, and how beaten raw it got in the process. Your head falls, sheltering itself in the crook of his neck—pissing, crying, flinching as the two of them fucked into you as hard as they could—slamming up to the hilt,

“S-shit” Sunghoon stutters, trying to pull out. Jaeyun shoves him down, gritting his teeth as he came in you, pounding his hips into you two more times with a groan.

“Cum inside her. Mark her.”

Jaeyun leans over you, still plugging your ass, and bites your shoulder—leaving teeth marks in his wake. Then, he reaches over, gazing at Sunghoon meaningfully. A silent agreement is made the moment he slots his mouth over the curve of Sunghoon’s neck, dragging his tongue up the surface—marking him too. The latter twitches, cock swelling before cumming inside of you, teeth taking hold of your shoulder as he held you close.

Sunghoon tries to catch his breath, gaze dark and unreadable as he gazed up at Jaeyun—abdomen twitching as he held you to his chest.

The three of you move to turn on your backs, breathing hard, coated in all sorts of liquid you’re too tired to name. It’s…intense. Heavy. As if something has been knotted between you during the act—pulled tight into an irreversible promise. You died. And not only that—you lost each other, in one way or another, before being thrown back in time for a reason you’ll never fully know, because that wasn’t the point of this story. No matter what, it always ends with this. With the three of you bound together, all glimmering glass shards and rigid edges. Your rotting heart—too sweet, too full, gluttonous in its devotion, gifted at disguising what festers beneath the surface. Unable to let go of that gilded life, of every summer spent beneath the trees.

Jaeyun is the first to break the deliberate silence, tilting his head to the left to look at both of you.

“No matter what,” he says softly, “it’s us against the world, right? All of us.”

Sunghoon exhales shakily and nods before turning onto his side, draping an arm over your stomach and pulling you close. “Us,” he echoes.

Jaeyun mirrors him, resting his cheek against your breast while you stare up at the ceiling. A single tear slips from the corner of your eye.

“Always,” you whisper.

Because the three of you were carved from the same piece of wood—destined upon birth to utter one another’s names. Destined for your rot, destruction, and becoming.

PRESENT DAY, 29 YEARS OLD, BONUS SCENE.

“Mrs. Park!” Junseo, the doorman, called after her.

Hana paused. Tall and slim, graceful as a swan, she turned back with a charming smile. She adjusted her trench coat, brushing a few loose strands of chestnut brown hair from her face.

“I’m not Mrs. Park just yet,” she said lightly. “Call me Hana.”

Junseo smiled. “Understood, Hana. Mr. Park has already arrived.”

Her fingers tightened around the handle of the brown paper gift bag. “Thank you, Junseo.” She crossed quickly to the elevator, sliding a key into the slot beside the buttons before pressing floor 58. The doors closed with a soft chime. When the elevator opened, it revealed a set of large double doors, left slightly ajar.

Sunghoon’s apartment lay in darkness, save for the muted glow seeping from beneath his bedroom door, and light emitted from a floor to ceiling view of the city skyline. Sleek black furniture and minimalist lines filled the space, immaculate to the point of sterility. It didn’t look lived in—more like a staged display, an eerie shell of a home: no dust, sweaters, or cups left behind on the shelves.

The only sound was the soft click of her heels against the marble floor. The gift bag crinkled faintly as she moved down the hallway, then went still when she heard it—uneven breathing, the quiet rustle of sheets.

Her steps faltered. Hana crouched instinctively, peering through the narrow crack in the bedroom door. What she saw made her breath catch.

Sunghoon lays back against the bed, elbows braced beneath him, gaze fixed downward. His suit jacket had been discarded, his shirt unbuttoned, the careful precision he always carried undone. Dark hair fell loose across his forehead, no longer slicked back, and his chest rose and fell with each heavy breath—

Jake peers up at him, elusive and teasing all in one. “Happy birthday, Hoon.”

What truly stopped Hana, however, was the sight of you and Jaeyun licking a path down Sunghoon’s stomach, mouths working in tandem over the taut and twitching muscles. You move up to press him firmly against the headboard, slotting your lips over his heatedly. It’s all tongues, body heat, and sweat. Hana doesn’t blink. She can’t.

Even more, she can’t seem to register the way Jake’s teeth pin Sunghoon’s zipper before tugging slowly, nor how his mouth sucks over a wet spot on his boxers.

It’s the squelching of Sunghoon’s hand between your legs that snaps her out of it—foot twitching and hitting the door enough to open it slightly. Creak.

Jake stills, sunghoon’s fist still threaded through his brown hair as he slides his mouth off his cock—interrupted the moment he was able to deep throat him. You tilt your head back, staring at the entryway blankly. “Oh?” You smile dazedly”—Your cute little fiancé looks lost.”

Sunghoon barely lifts his gaze, bitingly dismissive, still panting heavily. “I swear to god, Jake—“ he grits, jaw ticking. “I don’t care. Don’t fucking stop.”

Nonetheless, Jaeyun slides off—hand clutching onto Sunghoon’s at the back of his head and pulling it off. “You’ve got no manners. Or patience.”

Shamelessly, you grind down on his hand. “Take your own advice, Hoon.”

Saliva glinted along Jaeyun’s jaw as he turned to face Hana, his loose, cream-colored trousers hanging low on his hips. She flushed beneath the weight of his attention—his expression gentle at first glance, yet threaded with a quiet, demeaning irritation he made no effort to hide. Firelight from Sunghoon’s hearth gilded his skin in warm gold, a faint sheen of sweat catching along his shoulders and the line of his abdomen.

“You should leave, little dove,” Jaeyun said at last, his voice perfectly sweet. “Unless you enjoy having your feelings hurt.”

You let out something between a half-moan, half-giggle. “She’s pretty. You don’t want your pretty little wife to play with us?” Sunghoon and Jaeyun groan in unison, rolling their eyes in exasperation. “There’s more than enough sharing between us.”

Hana fled the room with tears beading in her doe-like eyes. The doorway lingered empty in her wake as the three of you watched her go, grins slow and knowing, eyes sharp with mischief—devious, unmistakably up to no good. “Sorry, Hoonie,” one of you drawled, amusement lacing the words. “Looks like we scared another one away.”

He sighed, hands dragging down his face, the grin he tried to hide slipping through anyway. “I’d much rather stay a bachelor on paper,” he said. “Looks like I’m stuck with you guys for life.”

His hand threads through Jaeyun’s hair, gripping tightly and pushing him back down. Jaeyun’s eyes stay fixed onto his, defiant—dominant in his calm, despite being on his knees.

“Well, Yun. Make my life worthwhile, yeah?” He suggests dryly, quirking a brow before turning to you. You giggle when he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to his side with a kiss to your temple.

“Be happy it’s your stupid fucking birthday,” Jaeyun mutters darkly, sulking a little. A laugh spills from your mouth. You crawl toward him, cupping his face and pull him into a searing kiss. He sighs, grinning as his incisors graze your bottom lip, tugging you closer with a hand pressing flat against your back.

A sharp ring cuts through the playful ambiance—Sunghoon’s phone vibrating urgently. He stares at it, conflicted, dark eyes wrestling with indecision. His father’s calling.

With a quiet sigh, he flicks his wrist and grabs the phone, wincing as his father’s cold tone greets him. You can’t hear the words flooding through the call; you only watch him, worry tightening your chest. Jaeyun glances at you, and you hold onto each other, extending your legs so your skin still brushes Sunghoon’s.

His gaze flicks down to where you’re touching him, then back up again. For just a second, the tightness eases. “Yes,” Sunghoon says into the phone, voice steady but low. A pause. Then, quieter, “I understand.”

The call ends. He exhales through his nose, staring at the blank screen like it might say something kinder if he waits long enough. Then, shakes his head after squeezing his eyes—nerves settling down the more he stared at you two.

“Hana works fast, I’ll give her that.” He lets out a humorless breath. “Dada’s mad.” (LOL)

You spit out a laugh. “How angry would you be if I admitted that I did this on purpose?” Jaeyun rolls his eyes, leaning back onto one elbow, shooting you a sidelong look and sighs. He should’ve known you were up to something the moment he caught you talking to the bellman, overhearing Hana’s name slip from your mouth. She wasn’t supposed to come today. Sunghoon specifically set aside time for the three of you tonight. Therefore, you were (probably) the culprit behind her sudden invite.

Sunghoon only leans his head against the headboard, smirking slightly. “I expected it, actually” Turning abruptly, he pulls you onto his lap—kissing you hard, tongue easing in through your gasp. “You think I don’t know the woman I love?”

Jaeyun slides his abdomen over your back, kissing your neck. His hand comfortably rests on Sunghoon’s bare thigh, clutching to keep balance and ground his weight. “You’re cruel.” He says, smiling tenderly through his words.

Sunghoon groans, head resting on your shoulder. “Dad’s practically holding me at gunpoint to get married. Said he didn’t give a shit about who or how many people I’m fucking, but that I needed to choose. Stat.”

Jaeyun grasps Sunghoon’s cock again, gliding down to hold the already hardening flesh, licking up the shaft coquettishly. “Wanna cause a scene?”

You quirk a brow, running your fingers through his hair as he goes down on Sunghoon. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

“The gala.” Sunghoon answers knowingly through clenched teeth, hissing at the warmth of Jake’s mouth.

Jake smiles through the fullness stuffing him, before sliding his mouth off with a plop, and pulls you to hover Sunghoon’s lap. He holds Sunghoon’s cock upright and you take it as your queue to slide on—moaning at the sudden stretch.

“I can never get over how your pussy looks whenever you take his cock.” He groans, leaning over to get a closer view of how your cunt immediately reddened at the edges. Sunghoon’s hands shoot up to grab onto your waist, immediately pistoling up into you. Jaeyun sits back, chatting casually—your moans fade into the backdrop of his dialogue.

“Anyways, as I was saying, it’s probably a good idea to keep it hush-hush that we’re, you know—“ he gestures between you three, drawing swift circles “together. But I also think it’s a wonderful idea to rebel at our bright, grown age of 29. It keeps us young.”

Sunghoon pants, sweat beading at his temple. Your arms reach back to hold onto his thighs, tits jostling, ass landing on him with a resonating splat! The rabid force he’s propelling up and into you gets Jake to quirk his brow. Impressive.

“Let’s just show up.” Jake finalizes. You throw your head back with a breathy moan, halfway through a laugh—abdomen wet, taut, and glistening under the light. If Sunghoon could somehow stuff his balls into you too—he would. For now, he’s pounding away at you so violently you think you might actually bruise.

“Jaeyun—“ He gasps out, winded, a little whiny. “For the love of god, please shut the fuck up.”

“Aha.” That’s all Jake dryly replies with, leaning forward to tear you off Sunghoon and press you flat—tummy first—onto the bed. “I was being nice because you’re the birthday boy. Guess that won’t change the fact you’re a bitch.”

Sunghoon’s back arches, abs and jaw clenching when Jaeyun yanks you off—ripping a sudden, dry orgasm from him. He groans in frustration, tears beading in his eyes as he fucks up into empty air.

Jake only smiles victoriously, sliding into you in one brutal stroke—threading his hand into your hair before using the grip to slam you down. He’s vicious, treating you like a cocksleeve, his weight flattening you completely as you scream into the pillow. It’s hard to breathe, the delicious dizziness greeting you with pinpricks of black in your vision.

Sunghoon runs his hands on his face roughly. “Fuck you, Sim Jaeyun.” He spits through a groan, covering his face with his palms.

“It’s your birthday. I can arrange that.” He replies. “But first, I gotta make our girl cum.”

His words don’t register. Everything inside of you feels gummy—so hot it’s melting. You're mindless, not even realizing you're drooling and cumming in spurts as Jaeyun deliberately pulls out to slap his cock against your clit before driving back in, relentless. Brutal. His hands clasp around the back of your neck, pushing down with his weight. You’re crying. Somehow pushing through the overstimulation to try and fuck back against his thighs, despite the sensitivity. He coos at you.

“That’s my sweet girl~ you like that? You like it that much?” He laughs when your reply is muffled by the pillow.

“Lift her up. Need her mouth.” Sunghoon lightly slaps your thigh, signaling you to get up, hand instinctively smoothing over your back to comfort you as you groggily rise.

Your throat tightens immediately as Sunghoon pushes into your mouth, sliding all nine inches and brutal girth in until your lips are pressed against his skin. He doesn’t wait, still delirious and frustrated from Jaeyun’s interruption. Jaeyun doesn’t stop his thrusts, only fucking you harder so you’re forced to take Sunghoon even deeper. Sunghoon cups your cheeks, fucking your mouth until the sound of saliva sloshing around and your choking overwhelms everything else. He presses your nose flat against his patch of hair, and holds you there until you’re gurgling, crying, and gripping at his hands on your head. No other thought is present—only pure, unadulterated, carnal need.

Sunghoon’s hips blur as his orgasm peaks, Jaeyun following close behind. They both pull away from you—Jaeyun clutching your hair with a strong grip and dragging you to a kneeling position as he jerks himself with a groan. Your eyes are glassy as the pair ejaculate on your neck, mouth, and near your left eye. It’s a vulgar symphony: groans, whines, something that sounded dangerously close to a sob.

“Well, birthday boy—happy now?” Jaeyun breathes out.

The riot’s only just begun.

IMPORTANT FUN FACT: heart rot is in actual term used to describe a fungal disturbance in tree roots. Heart rot, caused by fungi, decays the tree's inner core (heartwood), making it structurally weak and prone to breakage, limb drop, or complete failure, especially in storms, though the tree can live for years with it, often appearing healthy until it's too late. It enters through wounds and creates hollows, but homeowners often don't notice until visible signs like conks (fungal growths) or major structural issues arise. ( this definition can be found online!) Heart rot is a representation of the reader…whilst the boys are glass shards—fragmented, translucent, and much more obvious with their damage in comparison to the reader who’s all smoke and mirrors.

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