𝔇𝔢𝔩𝔣

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ skz enha & bnd

[skzdelf]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤજ⁀➴My masterlists.ᐟ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ Fluff (F) | Smut (S) | Angst (A) | Suggestive (G) | Confort (C)

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ The dividers I use in my stories are not mine!

⋆.˚ Stray Kids Masterlist

⋆.˚ Enhypen Masterlist

⋆.˚Boynextdoor Masterlist

[meowmeowjang]

And for all of you still thinking that it was “Heeseung’s decision” or that it’s okay and nothings wrong, THEY USED HEESEUNG AS A TEST. ENHYPEN ARE NOT HUMANS IN THE COMPANYS EYES.

We need to boycott, this is disgusting. I’m not going to continue to fund a company that pulls shit like this and mistreats the members.

[nimurita]

 ⠀⠀󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠⠀⠀⠀TENDENCIES ✶ 2 MUCH FOR A FAKE BOYFRIEND

⠀⠀󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠⠀󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠𝗇𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗅 𝗍𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗇𝖼𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉

 ⠀⠀󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠⠀⠀• ₍ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 ₎ ’ fake bf!enhypen x fake gf f!reader 𝟏𝟐𝐎𝐎𝑦 ♡ w. fluff kissing skinship petnames ✿ 𝑔𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑟𝑦.

玉珍 : this is my first work! feedback is much appreciated and i hope you enjoy it! sunghoon and niki’s part were my favorites!

 ⠀⠀󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠⠀⠀⠀⠀󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀´ ᵕ ` reblog for kisses!

HEESEUNG

• “you know, you don’t need to hold my hand outside of campus.” you scold him— yet his thumb continues tracing circles across your knuckles. heeseung laughs it off with a simple, “it’s for practice, y/n.” but you see how his ears and neck slowly turn pink.

• it’s a normal, ordinary day when someone tries to hit on you in the middle of the hallway. within seconds, he’s gripping you arm firmly, pulling you behind him. with his jaw tight, he says, “she’s taken.” heeseung says ‘taken’ with an intensity so strong the guy backs off instantly.

• each time you complain about his affection in public he mutters into your ear, “remember, we’re dating. have to make it real, yeah?”

• at a dance, your kiss felt anything but fake. with his arms wrapped around your waist, trying to pull you closer to himself. heeseung really thought you didn’t hear him whisper against your lips. “i love you.”

JONGSEONG

• jay insists on walking you home, saying something along the lines of, “it’s the least a boyfriend could do.”

• at times, you would catch him giving glares at anyone who got too close— muttering insults and sometimes even curses under his breath.

• before class, as he’s walking beside you, you whisper, “don’t forget, it’s just an act.” you don’t miss the way his hand grips your waist tighter at the word ‘act.’

• whenever you thank jay for protecting you from creeps or anything in general— his eyes soften and he seems to melt into your praise, but his eyes turn hard just as fast. “don’t mention it. it’s just what we have to do.” the lie he told you to your face made him sick.

• “i know that fake dating is suppose to end, y/n.” jay said one night, turning his head to look at you. “but i’m starting to hope whatever we have doesn’t.”

JAEYUN

• jake began with sending sweet good morning texts. he brushed it off by saying it was, “for the bit.”

• he carries your textbooks for you— allowing his hand to linger against yours every time. “carrying them isn’t that hard, jake.” you mumble, fixing the strap of your backpack. “so what? i can’t be a gentleman to my girl?”

• as jake reluctantly wipes away a fake lipstick smudge from his cheek, he says proudly, “we’re actually pretty good at this.” but you can see the slight pout in his eyes as he stares at the red stain on his hand. “hey, y/n.” “yeah?” he pauses before asking, “you should kiss me on the cheek for real next time. it could be more.. ya’ know.. convincing.”

• one day, jake’s tone suddenly became serious when walking you to your next class. “if anyone ever asks— you’re still taken by me until this ends.” the way he says the last part makes it sound like a question.

SUNGHOON

• when your fake relationship began, he treated it like some game. sunghoon teased you, leaned in closer only to pull away a second later just to make you angry. “can’t let you get too used to me.” he says with a cocky, infuriating smirk.

• yet when some rando tries to hand you his number on a paper, sunghoon snatches it before you could read anything. “guess he didn’t see me right behind you,” he mutters with a strained laugh. later, you caught him glaring at the crumped note in his hand. “imagine being mad at a piece of paper,” you say, plucking it from his hand and throwing it in the trash. you don’t miss the way he smiles in satisfaction.

• “you know, i’m starting to think you actually like me, park sunghoon.” you tell him on the roof of the school building. leaning against the railing, he replies, “hmph. and i’m starting to think you like our fake relationship more than you want to admit.” was he really wrong?

• the kiss that came the next day on campus feels almost natural. as if it wasn’t fake at all. and it scared the both of you.

SEONWOO

• sunoo is dramatic about everything— from calling you petnames in front of everyone or cling onto you. the second he sees you tired or in a bad mood, his playful demeanor fades.

• even though it wasn’t necessary at all, he took you on shopping dates. “sunoo, could you get me this?” you ask, pointing at a lipgloss on the shelf. he picks it up, comparing the shade next to your face. “hmm.. i don’t know.” he teases you. despite that, he slips it into the basket when you aren’t looking.

• sometimes, he’d tuck your hair behind your ear— the moment that was just suppose to be for show felt too real. you remind him sharply, “you do know that you’re suppose to pretend to care.” sunoo hums and whispers, “mhmm. pretend.”

• you and him only realize that the relationship was never truly fake when you had your first-year anniversary.

JUNGWON

• jungwon insists that it’s nothing serious. “it’s just for the fun, okay? nothing actually emotional.”

• in the middle of class, you catch the way he steals glances at you— lips parting when you lock eyes. “we should make the act reaaally convincing,” he’d mumble, pulling you for a hug that lasted a second too long.

• during a project, you and him pair up which causes you to complain playfully. but then someone asks you if you wanted to be their partner instead and jungwon’s smile and dimples drop instantly.

• he brags about you to his friends, talking about how you recently for a job and how you treat him so well. “you’re kinda pushing it, don’t you think?” you ask him. jungwon looks at you with a confused look. “i just want them to know how good you are to me, pretty.”

• when you ask to ‘break up,’ jungwon looks at you as if it’s the last thing he ever wanted to do. “it’s about time we end things.” you say, observing his face for his reaction. he stares back at you like you just told him to kill his entire family. “no.” jungwon says after about three minutes of standing still.

RIKI

• niki occasionally jokes that he’s the best fake boyfriend. but even when no one is looking when he comes to pick you up, his hoodie drapes over your shoulder. “can’t have you catching a cold on me,” he says, hands stuffed into the pockets of his deep-wash denim jeans. “or maybe you actually care about me?” you tease— in which he responds with an eye roll. yet he doesn’t exactly deny your claim.

• when you flirt with him back as part of the facade, his small smirk wavers just enough for you to see his flustered side. “you’re holding me as if i’m gonna leave you if you let go. and i think i like that.” niki flicks your forehead, pink tint on his cheeks. “shut up. you might end up actually falling for me.”

• the first kiss at some frat party was completely for show. but the second one wasn’t. and all the other ones throughout the party too. “it seems like you can’t get enough of me, y/n.” niki says, smiling. “you kissed me first, idiot.”

© nimurita 20260307

[jjwoned]

TO ALL ENGENES!

please do not scroll, this is a very important message that ALL ENGENES must do if we want heeseung back.

as most of you might know, heeseung has "decided" to leave the group to focus on his solo career. BUT, this is not true.

heeseung DID NOT decide to leave the group, he was forced to. he was apparently seen crying and "crashing out" in a hybe hallway which CLEARLY shows it was not his decision. to add on, just a few days ago he was speaking about the world tour coming up, and participating in activities and events LIKE NORMAL. it was be so weird just for him to leave like that.

ENGENE, we are a team. we can bring heeseung back. for example, MARK FROM NCT. he left the group exactly like this but came back due to the FANS PROTESTS. WE CAN DO THIS FOR HEESEUNG ASWELL! PLEASE DO THIS SO OUR HEE CAN COME BACK.

THIS IS NOT FAIR! OTHER ARTISTS LIKE: YEJI FROM ITZY, TWICE MEMBERS, TXT MEMBERS, BTS MEMBERS AND MANY MORE ARTISTS ARE ALLOWED TO PURSUE THEIR SOLO CAREER WHILE BEING IN A GROUP. BUT NOT HEESEUNG??

we all call for heeseung's return while ALLOWING HIM THE FREEDOM TO PURSUE HIS SOLO CAREER.

ENHYPEN WILL ALWAYS BE SEVEN!

SEVEN OR NOTHING!

please reblog to spread awareness!!

by @jjwoned 🤍

random tags to BOOST @wonsoire @ikeu05 @chrrific @nmurark05 @kittyhoon @miauumin @atashiboba @ningningiloveumarryme @jaysguitarstring @ki2rins @soona-huh @par4disee @mqytcha @jazz7gnab @gyuuchuuu @saturn-files @koiiq @teddybeartaetae @firstdivisiongirl @yufawnz @ohjjongstby @jcngwonz @wonirio @rikisloverrr @stars4kooo @iiunique @tokyomxnstr @zoe1love

[yesterdays-lemon-meringue]

Being a kpop stan is so crazy because they'll tell you on a random Tuesday that the guy the entire group was formed around is leaving out of nowhere

[hoondiaries]

SPRING CONFESSIONS MASTERPOST

DIARIES starting your spring semester, you were not expecting another new anonymous school confession page, or the boy that came with it ⋆˚࿔

⤷ LEE HEESEUNG ── ⌗ childhood bestfriend!heeseung x fem!reader ˎˊ˗ where a dm about your childhood best friend is the catalyst for a confession long overdue.

taglist (46/50) @archivojjong @rooomeo @octoberoflove @ikeulove @nailvr @iiunique @opwolfe @betagalactose @misolhee @nctubatu @ateez-atiny380 @nithxhoon @baskinginvellichor @getoxo @starfallia @hooniepits @mel-reads @shades0fco0ll @yeosin16 @lilscast @11sophiq @rayofsunshineeee @kalospia1 @cokewithcameron @bangtannienha @yv4nn @4ngelized @jellykitti @simjaeyunlvrclub @sievenderz @tzupolo @areikii @tessa365 @angelhyuka @tidbittygf @spideywon @berrymingki @giyuunation @i-peachesandstrawberries @letwiiparkjay @kkuroumi @bunyaya @guerrillias @nagisasugino @drunkhee @raven-unkind

[skzdelf]

me cague de risa, me alegro un poco el día de mierda que tuve

[hoondiaries]

SPRING CONFESSIONS MASTERPOST

DIARIES starting your spring semester, you were not expecting another new anonymous school confession page, or the boy that came with it ⋆˚࿔

⤷ LEE HEESEUNG ── ⌗ childhood bestfriend!heeseung x fem!reader ˎˊ˗ where a dm about your childhood best friend is the catalyst for a confession long overdue.

taglist (46/50) @archivojjong @rooomeo @octoberoflove @ikeulove @nailvr @iiunique @opwolfe @betagalactose @misolhee @nctubatu @ateez-atiny380 @nithxhoon @baskinginvellichor @getoxo @starfallia @hooniepits @mel-reads @shades0fco0ll @yeosin16 @lilscast @11sophiq @rayofsunshineeee @kalospia1 @cokewithcameron @bangtannienha @yv4nn @4ngelized @jellykitti @simjaeyunlvrclub @sievenderz @tzupolo @areikii @tessa365 @angelhyuka @tidbittygf @spideywon @berrymingki @giyuunation @i-peachesandstrawberries @letwiiparkjay @kkuroumi @bunyaya @guerrillias @nagisasugino @drunkhee @raven-unkind

[nobodyaskedeu]

BTS members making their solo career while being in the group. TXT members making their solo career while being in the group. And when it came to enhypen Heeseung has to leave?! The hell you mean Belift?!

[skzdelf]

BELIFT LA CONCHA DE TU REPUTA MADRE

HEESEUNG WITH ENHYPEN

#SevEN_ALWAYS

#ENHYPEN_HOME

#ENHYPENIS7

[itboyufan]

here's how you can support the ongoing protest against belift. let's please not stay silent about this.

how to mail belift/hybe

sign a petition on change.org

donation for protest trucks

please repost to spread we need your help

[skzdelf]

ENHYPEN IS 7!!!

Enhypen is 7 and it will always be, belift is not going to ruin my family, my safe place. This group and heeseung brings me levels of joy that i could never explain in words even if I tried. Waking up to this news has only made my whole day sadder. I really hope Heeseung can release music on his own even while being part of Enhypen. You can't spell "Enhypen" if a letter is missing.

I will give Heeseung my unconditional support in any project, whether or not he's part of Enhypen, but they will never make me believe that the decision to leave the group was his idea.

[velvetdolor]

adonis. ⸻ L.HS

{S} You’re a prolific photographer, renowned for your unconventional devotion to your craft. Enter Lee Heeseung—top model, golden boy, and muse extraordinaire. When you discover a leaked tabloid photo of him in bondage, you arrange a meeting and make your offer: become your muse, and in return, you’ll pave the way for his redemption after a career-shattering scandal. The unexpected follows—an intense entanglement and obsession to photograph your muse who serves every whim of yours, offering his unrelenting submission. Yet beneath Heeseung’s charismatic persona and dangerously alluring beauty lurks an unsettling darkness: a possessiveness with a taste for murder and destruction.

GENRE: psychological-horror, obsession, model au, yandere, dark smut, oneshot.

model! heeseung x photographer! reader,

WARNINGS: death, murder, violence, dark smut, power imbalance, blood, self-harm. switch! heeseung, switch!reader, mutual masterbation, manipulation, oral ( f receiving), some mentions of bondage, elements of dubcon, mentions of animal death. read at your own risk. wc: around 14k (currently unedited)

taglist: @ninistranaut @jkayy-prodian @yenienha @faerouzia @yukisroom97 @isagistar @seunglover @mheretoreadff @petulapetula @masochistcult @bunyaya @goldendwann @etherealcherrie @str4gguk @sosaphiee @ikeuwoniee @v1shwa-xo @engeneheree @raicecakes-and-buldak @01209r

You can’t look away. His back curves like an offering, shadow carving over muscle and bound arms. Silk cuts into flushed skin, a body wrapped and gagged, eyes glassy with something raw, something indecent.

The supermarket hums around you—wheels squeak, children whine—but none of it exists. Aisle seven has narrowed into a single frame: him.

Your fingers smear saliva on the glossy page as you turn it, still staring. The headline screams in cheap, tabloid font:

THE DOWNFALL OF LEE HEESEUNG? HIS AGENCY STAYS SILENT.

Silent. You almost laugh. The picture says everything.

Someone mutters for you to move. You don’t. Their cart wheels swerve, the sound grating like static—but all you hear is the click of a shutter that hasn’t been pressed yet.

Your hand trails down the laminated page, ripping it clean off of the magazine before placing it back onto the rack. Heads turn at the sound of your heels clicking against the linoleum floors, eyes cascading over the long leather trench you donned. Powerful. Moderately eccentric. The workers don't stop you from sipping the last of your iced coffee obnoxiously before you slide a bottle of wine forward onto the register.

You'd been pacing around the aisle for the last hour and a half, blankly staring at each bottle. None of them were perfect-nothing you really wanted but didn't want to leave empty handed.

But you know what you did want? Lee Heeseung— and his botched reputation arrived just on time.

You leave a wad of cash on the counter, three times worth the original amount while mumbling something along the lines of not wanting to count right now and telling the cashier to keep the rest of the cash for themselves.

The dial rings for half a beat before your manager picks up.

"Hello—“you interrupt Sunghoon.

"I want Lee Heeseung."

"Get in line." You imagine Sunghoon's perfectly plucked, raised eyebrow. Dry, to the point-busy. "No. I want Lee Heeseung. I refuse to photograph anyone or anything else until I get him." He hears the popping of a wine bottle from your end of the call.

Sunghoon pinches his nose bridge and sighs. "It's not good publicity. He's more than likely done for in the industry-what about Park Jongseong? Sim Jaeyun? You're supposed to be curating that collection—“

"I'm stuck. Haven't slept in three days since the photo was leaked. He's perfect and I want to photograph him. Sunghoon, pull some strings. Please?"

A quick swig, brown paper bag obscuring the bottle as you sat on a random park bench before lighting a slim cigarette. If Sunghoon were in front of you, the bags under your eyes would've sealed the deal.

"Fuckin' hell...'ll see what I can do. No promises." He's resigned in the wake of your stubbornness. You were his first big break as a manager, albeit the biggest pain in his ass thus far.

"I'll take you out to eat at that super pretentious restaurant you enjoy going to for whatever reason." You offer half heartedly, spacing out already, waiting for the call to end.

He snorts. "Fine." And the line goes dead.

You don't blink-hand curling around the ripped photo, tracing around his silhouette.

You want him, he’s perfect.

Heeseung digs his head into his pillow face first, hissing when Jungwon slides open his curtains with a loud clap-hollering. "Get up, asshole." Heeseung groans, shaking his head. "For the love of god—close the curtains."

"If you want to maintain your status as the Adonis of this industry, you'll get your perky ass up and take a shower. You reek of champagne and day-old strawberries." Heeseung blinks, squinting one eye as the other adjusts to the brightness of the room.

"And why would I need to do that, my dearest Jungwon?" All of his schedules should've been cleared off by now. He doesn't want to be sober or awake to see the messages about who else doesn't want to work with him now.

Jungwon rolls his eyes at the sweet sarcasm. "One of the most highly sought out and selective photographers of our generation's managers reached out. She wants to meet you."

Only now does Heeseung rise from bed, nonchalant and naked as he pulls the sheets off his body.

"Who?" Strange. Why would someone want to work with him at the height of his scandal?

"They work under the pseudonym, obscura. Their work is... interesting to say the least. Not much about them is known, but they're insanely gifted. Obsessive, l've heard—but every project they've done has done astronomically well." Jungwon twines his hands together, taking a seat on the plush velvet cream couch—resting his elbows on his knees as he stares into Heeseung's doe eyes. "You've got one shot. Get up. Get ready and don't fuck this up."

"Sure thing, Won." And all Jungwon sees is Heeseung's ass strutting to the bathroom—not a care in sight.

Heeseung's eyes drift across the room. Rolling over intricate photos all varying stylistically, all striking—profound. Some are even unsettling. Jungwon left him after saying he needed to meet with Obscura's manager, Sunghoon, to talk about the "boring stuff."

An array of nude photographs are arranged messily on the floor, piles of notes-unreadable because of all the strikes ripping through sentences of half formed thoughts immediately being rejected upon birth. He stops at a particular photograph of a woman—Venusian in form. Beautiful in the sort of way that can leave a life long imprint.

A pleasantly pitched voice interrupts him the moment he reaches down to pick up the photo curiously, interest peaking. "Glad to see you have an eye for these things too."

Slow clicks approach him as the woman from the photo breathes into life before him—only clothed this time, draped in a sleek black fabric. Long earrings compliment the length of your neck and he smells the allure of your perfume from where he stood. Before he catches the words, he breathes out an almost fascinated whisper of surprise. Beautiful.

You pause in front of him, eyes dragging from his polished shoes to the top of his head. Reaching a delicate hand out, you greet him. "Obscura on paper and to the public. But you have the option of calling me by my name." You pull your knees together and bend elegantly to pick up the photo. "—ah. I was wine drunk when I decided I wanted in on the project and took a half hearted self portrait. This is the only one I kept. The other fifty— I burned."

"Why did you burn them?" Heeseung tilts his head, silken hair lying over his eyes.

"Because they weren't perfect." You didn't miss a beat, eyes unwavering as you stare at him through your lashes, observing unabashedly.

You weren't trying to seduce him—not intentionally, however it may have looked. But your eyes draped over his form, imagining all the ways you wanted to contort it to your vision.

"Is imperfection so unsavory?" He asks. There was no judgement. Only professional intrigue with a dash of sexual attraction.

"Not always—but from the things I want? Yes." You admit.

"Why did you ask to meet me?" He takes a step closer. Not close enough to warrant a response or a step back, but enough for your head to tilt at the action.

You say it like it's simple. Obvious.

"Because I want you, Heeseung. And I want you to be mine."

His expression stays the same, doe eyes running over your eyes—something calculated under the surface of his saccharine features before it clicks back into place.

"And why would you want that?" For a moment, he thought you were another affluent woman inviting him into your bed—bold because you'd never been told no before in your life. But your gaze told him otherwise-that wanting to you was different from what wanting meant for others.

"You're striking and filthy. To be frank with you, I have no interest in your daytime persona: the one you've crafted into perfection with your company." Stepping forward, you smooth a small wrinkle forming near the collar of his suit. "I want to make you an offer—become my muse. My honest muse, the one I saw on that photo that you'd never intended on letting the outside world see, and I will make you a god."

Heeseung quickly learnt that he didn't have it in him to say no to you, godhood or not.

—

“Are you sure about this?” Heeseung catches the worry in Jungwon’s voice. Snorting, he tips his head, eyes sliding toward his manager at the wheel. “Funny. Thought you were the one who said—what was it?—‘don’t fuck this up.’”

“Yeah, but that was before I found out Obscura drives her muses past their limits—with no plan, no schedule, nothing.” Jungwon’s fists tighten around the wheel, eyes trained on the road.

Heeseung says nothing. He didn’t need to.

Jungwon doesn’t know the full weight of what this meant for him. Doesn’t know the candidness of conversation he found himself having with you.

Everything he wanted had landed in his lap—and he had no intention of letting it go. Not by a long shot.

The bathroom hums with the steady hiss of the shower, steam clinging to the checkered tiles that stretch in sharp black-and-white beneath his legs. Water runs lukewarm now, the heat bled out, but Heeseung doesn’t move to adjust it. He never does. Hotels blur together—unnamed, forgettable—rooms he slips into and out of as instructed, hiding from the weight of cameras and curious eyes. It’s a cycle as familiar as breathing, one he no longer bothers to resent.

Heeseung sits slumped on the marble floor of the stall, eyes glazed, expression unreadable. Blank. Bored. Empty. Droplets stream down the bridge of his nose, clinging until each slow blink lets them fall. His nails wander idly across his chest and down his ribs, scratching shallow lines at first, then deeper, until the skin blossoms in thin, stinging trails. Pink threads of blood dilute into the runoff, carried down the drain where it spirals and disappears—one more secret rinsed clean.

The shallow tears around his hipbone multiply, his scratching methodical now, as if testing how much of himself he can peel away. It feels liberating in its own quiet way—this freedom to ruin his own surface without correction, without polish. Once, he was alabaster. Porcelain. A body designed for admiration. Never permitted to scar under the limelight demanded from the nature of his existence. But he shattered that himself, the instant he left the door unlocked, the instant he let the lens catch him.

The scandal wasn’t an accident. It was the only time the world saw him as filth—and he liked it.

Good.

A flash of dark hair pulses through his memory, breaking through the bleakness like slips of sunlight peeling through clouds. You.

Heeseung drags his tongue across the ridges of his teeth, slow and deliberate, like he’s already tasting the ruin. You looked at him as if you wanted to dismantle him, to break him down just to see how he’d look rebuilt in your hands. And you wanted him. Not the Adonis. Not the golden boy. Just him.

No one ever did. Not where the lights could reach. They only wanted him in shadow—hidden behind locks, passwords, and neat little NDAs. But he was the one who’d started leaving the doors cracked open. The one who forgot to demand silence. The one who fed his lovers the chance to slip. He’d wanted the photo out there—wanted to watch his pristine image rot in public. There was nothing sweeter than the thought of being dragged into daylight, stripped and named for what he really was. In short, Heeseung wanted that photo to get leaked. Planned—fully intended, even. But you? You weren’t part of the original plan. And now, it’s even better.

To be fair, there was little thought that went into the process—no real plan. Just an expośe that cupped its hands full of public degradation on the walls for his enjoyment. Life had gotten too monotonous in cyclical praise. He was perfection—golden, god-like.

The slope of your waist—the supple texture of your skin that he could almost feel through the photographs’ sleek film. Your hair that cascaded along your form like water, the swell of your breasts, and the slightly visible puffiness of your cunt. His heart throbbed. And before he realizes it, Heeseung trails a porcelain hand down his abdomen, gripping a hand tightly over the pulsing girth lifting towards his navel. His head bangs lightly on the marbled tile as he sits back, eyes pointed towards heaven.

Heeseung knew he was disgusting. And maybe you were the one person who’d like him for it. You were two sides of a coin—he could feel it. He believed it.

Hips rocked against his hand—pushing, pulling at flesh like it was your wetness that enveloped him. Water fills his open mouth, pouring out and then in—choked groans sputtering out of him like liquid guilt. He twists his hand, raising it up to the tip of his cock, and jerks to what his memory could recollect of your nude shape—building up an unsettling tempo, as he descended slowly into a terrifyingly real illusion of you.

“P-please.” He begs and he doesn’t know to who or what he’a pleading to. To you. Maybe the universe. You’d probably photograph this moment—the arch of his back, the rapid thrusting into his hand—the sacred beauty of his distorted and invasive desire. It was primal, instinctual. There was no logical basis of his fascination towards you other than the level of obsession he knew you were capable of. But it wasn’t for him. It was for the world around you. He was just an extension of that.

And Heeseung already didn’t like that. Though he didn’t say it, he agreed to be yours with an unspoken expectation—he’d be the ultimate, singular object—the golden apple of your eye. He craved possession—Mutual possession, that is. Heeseung was a little more…under the table about it. And no one really needed to know that. No one wanted to, at least.

His hips roll, twitch, body keening over—the veins on his pelvis pronounced and throbbing—fucking into his hand like you were there to take it. Heeseung liked ruining pretty girls, but he could tell you weren’t the kind to lie on your back and take it.

You liked power. Control. Perfection.

And because Heeseung was intrigued by you, he’ll hand you a leash to see what you’d do with it.

Liquid heat pulses through him and he gasps—streaks of white painting his belly, gazing at the wall. Dazed. Feverish.

There was something dangerous about you

and Heeseung was never the type to turn away from a dark room—stepping into the shadows like it was destined to begin with.

—

“Hold still. There it is—“ Dainty hands squeeze the shutter, one eye squints while the other focuses on Heeseung’s form. You get it now—why he was deemed golden boy of the decade.

A subdued, yellow bellied light, painted by the afterglow of a flickering red bulb stood at the backdrop of your photo studio. You squint, tightening your fists, and focus on the lens—aiming towards Heeseung.

He was beautiful—fluid like water. Mysteriously alluring and full of silent charm. Heeseung didn’t say much but when he did, a crowd would crawl to hear the cadence of his voice—laugh when he wanted them to like it was a live audience.

Heeseung—almost languidly—rolls his head to look at you from where he rests on the arm of a maroon velvet couch. Eyes glossy, nearly unreadable were it not for his quirked lips. “Am I perfect yet?”

“No.” You instantly reply, smiling kindly. “But you’re beautiful. Beauty doesn’t demand perfection.”

“Ah—but didn’t you want perfection?” It’s a small inquiry, light in tone. The air between you is amiable. Smooth. Like old friends meeting again after years of living separate lives.

“I wanted honesty. I liked your filth, Heeseung. As nice as it is to see you smile so insincerely.” You laugh lightly.

“And what if it isn’t insincere—how would you know?” His smile only stretches, but his eyes—they firm. Prod like knives. Dark. Curious.

“Your eyes—they’re dead. I can’t feel any light from you. It’s practiced. Beautiful? Yes. But it doesn’t reach me.” You say it like it didn’t bother you. His fabricated character and the unsettling underbelly of who he truly was. Even you didn’t know the extent of it—just the epidermis of his filth, sensed by your intuition alone.

For a moment, Heeseung’s eyes widen. The initial lightness of his face fading into an almost boyish surprise. He finally blinks, turning his face away to stare at the ceiling, only humming in acknowledgement before a comfortable silence weighs the room.

You step towards him, placing a cold hand on his wrist to position it over his head. The tip of your index finger tilts his chin upward. “Eyes on the camera. Do me a favor—remember the last time you came. Every detail. Don’t say a word. I need that heat for this shot.” You knew the root of his scandal was his hunger, and you wanted to catch it—see if desire could fracture the shell of media-trained perfection.

Goosebumps form on his skin, though his calm facade didn’t betray him. The couch dipped beneath your weight as you rose onto the cushions, leaning over him, camera angled down the length of his body.

His eyes slowly drift over your shape—stationing themselves where your v neck sweater dipped and exposed the swell of your breasts. He smiles. Serpentine. Calculating—probing.

“I touched myself.” He starts with, casual. You hum lightly. Discussions of intimacy never shook you as an artist. It came up in conversations over cups of coffee—intensely indulgent details and photographic evidence of exhibitionistic escapades shared between friends and strangers when permitted.

“I thought of you.” His eyes peer into the camera as if the lens did nothing to obscure your eyes from him. Stilling, your finger pauses mid press—the sound of the incoming shutter growing dull. Your hands slowly pull your camera from your face as you stare at Heeseung.

He observes you, quietly sweet in a way that didn’t seem pressing—the kind of polite look you’d see from boys at church, a next door neighbor, or a mutual you’d run into at the grocery store.

It suddenly clicked. Heeseung played his part well—and it would take time to see him unravel. You were used to getting what you wanted nowadays, never expecting to have to work for it. And you certainly hadn’t planned on the golden boy carrying much depth beyond his deviant sex life. So you’ll let him play sweet even if you could sense his acrid nature.

You hum neutrally, feigning interest. “What did you imagine?”

Whatever got the heat out of him. You’d crack him open if need be.

His eyes scan your face, tracing the lines of your lips as they form words.

And he lies.

“I thought of you suffocating me.” You huff a breath. A half laugh—interrupted by your focus on the world you were trying to encapsulate through your lens, distracted. “—yeah? Did I kill you?”

Heeseung still doesn’t blink. “No—but I think I wanted you to.” He slipped the truth in slowly, darkening the energy of the room like ink in water.

“You like getting off to murder or something?” You quirk a brow, intrigued. You had no horse high enough to look down on him. Not when it came to the nature of desire.

“No, but I’d kill for the things I want.” He confesses.

“And how would that apply to me strangling you?” Without a beat. The air around you falls still—hot like magma. Like every time you spoke, ash found its way to clutter and stick to your mouth like cotton candy. It didn’t quite fit—tones that belonged in conversations about the weather found themselves weaved into Heeseung’s sudden confession of morbid desire. All the more, it was pointed at you.

“I’d also die for the things I want.”

Your finger flicks against the shutter. There. In that moment alone, you were able to get the shot you wanted. An unaffected smile breathes through your face before you ask with half a mind. “That’s all that did it for you? My hands around your neck?” The tension brewed. A sudden dawning and self reminder that you were the subject of his fantasy— began weighing on you.

“It wasn’t your hands that I imagined suffocating me.”

The air thickened impossibly, couch cushions creaking as you adjust your weight.

“Then what did—“

Before the question could fully leave your mouth, Heeseung clasps a hand behind the back of your left knee and pulls down. You tumble, a sharp gasp leaving your lips once you go off kilter. You’re only halfway down when he tugs again. Harder. Then slides the palms of his hands under your shirt until they rested above your womb.

Wide eyes blink up at you. Curious—almost innocent, though you knew better.

He shifts lower, settling into his fantasy—chin pressed to the soft curve of your inner thigh, head angled beneath you as you straddle his neck. His breath heats the fabric of your jeans, each exhale licking at the seam.

“You strangled me. Just like this.”

Click.

Your finger moves on instinct—recognizing the vision you’re chasing. His soft brown hair rustles, fanning on top of the maroon fabric of the couch like silk. A strand prods his left eye.

So much for salvaging his reputation. If every session unraveled like this, you wouldn’t erase his scandal—you’d only make it look tame compared to the collection you were about to curate.

And if Heeseung is only honest in bed, you wouldn’t oppose to sleeping with him. You’ve done worse in the haze of chasing photographic perfection: hanging off cliffs without proper gear just to catch the right angle back when you were still an intern. You were let go shortly after—but the shot you took drew enough recognition for Sunghoon to find you. (The company, meanwhile, wrote you off as too much of a liability.) You’ve snuck onto government property because you swore you’d glimpsed a rare bird, and vanished without a word to trek through a Mongolian winter after a dream you couldn’t shake.

Heeseung waited patiently. If anyone else peered inside of the small studio, they may have mistaken his gait as obedience—like Heeseung wasn’t the one who tied your thighs around his neck. But he was.

That’s the kick.

Your body shivers lightly when his thumb massages small circles onto your stomach.

“What else did I do to you?” Your eyes meet his, unwavering. Voice low—Confident. Controlled.

His only response is his hands trailing down your stomach, unbuttoning your jeans slowly, before pulling down the zipper with his teeth.

Click.

He doesn’t break your gaze as he grips on the sides of your jeans, tugging them down with a patient pace until they hit the barrier of his throat. He touched you with a certain feigned reverence—a lightness to his hands like a predator trying to fit into the mold of something small. Soft. Careful. Slow—cautionary.

The softness of his lips drag up the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, warm breath brushing the fabric of your cotton underwear.

And then his head tilts up, finally whispering a reply:

“I can show you.”

Despite the calculation written on your face, your hands tremble slightly. Nonetheless, you point the viewfinder to his lips—obscuring his eyes, his gaze—centering it on the damp trace of saliva on his lips, its textures detailed under the clarity of film.

He flattens his tongue on the cloth, sliding upwards to catch the fabric of your underwear between his teeth—pulling to his left before kissing the soft puffiness of your cunt.

“There you are.” He whispers, deceivingly reverent. Sweet.

And then his eyes steel. Gazing at you from his lashes, calculated—observing. Your back arches, hips pushing towards his mouth when he slides the muscle between your folds slowly and sucks. His grip on your hips tighten before he pushes you to sit completely on his face, weight pressing against his mouth, jaw working.

He circles around your entrance and pushes in with a groan. Dipping, tasting. Pulling out, flicking lightly.

Heated kisses press against your flushed flesh—open mouthed and hungry. You see red and think that the color suits Heeseung. A little too well but true to character.

A filmy heat glazes over his expression, eyes rolling back at the taste of you on his tongue.

He can’t breathe.

He doesn’t want to.

And though you know you should probably get off—you don’t. Not before taking a photo of his eyes, hot and heavy as they fight to stay open and not roll back to watch your expression. Your thighs border the photo—slick apparent on his cheekbones from the rolling of your hips.

Click, click, click—

Heeseung gasps when you slide off of him before you could orgasm. His eyebrows furrow and arms reach to wrap around your waist in defiance.

He looks a mess. A sheen of white, almost translucent liquid drips lightly from the corner of his mouth, and smears itself around his jaw. “W-wait—“

Click.

Even his desperation is beautiful.

“My beautiful muse—behave. Stay still.” Your voice is soft, but edged with command. Heeseung doesn’t loosen his grip, yet his body remains frozen, his gaze locked exactly where it was the instant you spoke.

He won’t speak unless you tell him to.

Shutter sounds fill the room and he fights the urge to move and taste the remnants of you off his lips—letting you move his limbs to your liking, like a doll.

And this particular instance began the long, winding road you and Heeseung would walk in the years to come—a single moment that quietly laid the foundation for something far darker than either of you had originally intended.

—

Even after you published the first few photos you’d taken of Heeseung in an exhibition titled, Adonis in fragments, the spectacle of a body— there was no unwriting the workforce duo you’d become. From then on, Heeseung would take no offers, would refuse to be photographed by anyone else. Refused to allow anyone else take his place and title as your muse.

By photographing him, Heeseung was reborn—his scandal no longer weighed him. It amplified his image.

Just as you’d expected, the photographs you’d taken of Heeseung during that era overshadowed the initial leak. Made it look like light work. A fine work of enthralling exhibitionism, of Heeseung’s immorality taken in splices and vignettes.

You had made art of his anatomy, his submission, and his seemingly endless appetite for hedonism and excess. Heeseung wasn’t merely golden—he was a sex symbol, an infamous libertine whose body was both idolized and consumed: laminated on storefronts, archived in hidden digital albums, desired and acknowledged from every corner of the world.

And Heeseung was yours. Not in the traditional way. Somewhere between quiet boundaries—a sort of purgatory between the metaphorical state lines of lovers, yet not quite friends. Closer to being strangers despite the years that stitched the two of you together.

To you, he was a doll—programmed to drop to his knees at the slightest beckon. He’d abandon tasks midstream just to answer your call on the first ring, to appear at your side the instant a vague idea crossed your mind.

It was cold, cut—direct. Unfair, probably.

The gala was an opulent masquerade—high society draped in rare textiles, jewels that scattered light like kaleidoscopes when strands of light flickered against pearlescent surfaces. You sat at the edge of the room, eyes wandering around, mildly interested in the theatrics of the rich, famous, and pretentious.

Wine, champagne, and caviar whisks by on silver platters held by handsome waiters—plastic laughter reverberating off the hollow edges of the grandiose, Parisian venue.

Ignoring fire safety, you slip a hand into the brown leather purse at your side and draw out a bronzed cigarette case. Beside you, Heeseung sits motionless, waiting for the rare moments you choose to acknowledge him. A pale hand reaches forward, zippo lighter flicking open to slowly burn at the end of your cigarette. Music plays faintly in the background, a dull lull and orchestration.

Heeseung pulls his arm away, smoothly tucking away the metallic canister.

Inhaling, you finally break your casual silence—eyes still trained on the scenes playing before you.

“My adonis—have you been well?”

His tone is saccharine, but edged with something mildly frustrated. Dampened, despite his politeness. “No. I haven’t heard a single word from you in the last month. Surprised to hear that I’m still your adonis.”

“Whether or not you’re an Adonis—you’ll always be mine.” You smile at his boyishness.

His suit rustled—charmingly wrinkled, carelessly thrown on. Heeseung unfastened the cuffs of his white shirt and rolled the fabric slowly up his forearms. You feel his eyes on you, probing and dark.

You jolt when a cold hand slips up slowly—as if memorizing the texture of your skin—from your elbow to lace around your fingers, tugging them toward his mouth. His lips close deliberately over the spot where your lipstick stains the soft filter. His lashes flicker in the ember’s glow, shadows dancing as smoke curls between you, thickening the air and marking you both with the same scent.

Heeseung liked smelling like you by the end of the night—the familiar and intoxicating air of your perfume and expensive tobacco.

“I didn’t mean to abandon my puppy.” You smile at him, watching him close his eyes once your palm cusps his cheek—digesting the feeling of your occasional softness.

“…What’s kept you occupied?” He had a gut feeling. And it sickened him.

You knew he wouldn’t take it well, but you didn’t hesitate to rip the bandage off. “I met a boy in Busan—the son of a fisherman’s family. He caught my eye.”

You take another drag, turning away with furrowed brows—vacant. The air around you seemed to freeze, sharp and crackling like ice.

Heeseung’s eyes visibly darken. “And do you treat him the same?”

You sigh, exasperated. “What do you mean by that, Heeseung?”

He doesn’t answer right away, jaw ticking with all the right words lodging themselves in his throat—stiff. Anxious.

You rarely called him by his name. That means he’s annoying you. And Heeseung hated annoying you.

Because that meant he was even more liable to lose you. But he couldn’t shake off the anxiety, the disturbance—the darkness that’s long been rooted and festering inside of him like an infection.

His palms dampen with sweat, dragging them against the fabric of his pants before gripping his knees. The silence is thick—barbed with something too fleshed out for Heeseung. He couldn’t do this out in public. The words. The violence he carried towards you. The hefty weight he’s always carried—that he kept under deadbolts, lock and key.

“Does he do everything you want?” The question slips out low, bitter.

“Does he sleep beside you? Has he tasted you? Has he been inside you—the way I have, for as long as I’ve known you?” His voice breaks uncharacteristically, a sudden fragility that stuns even you. Gone was the poster boy and beside you, sat a man horribly in love.

You snuff out the cigarette, digging the edge until it bent on the exterior of your bronzed case. “He’s a boy.” You hiss, body turning towards him—offended, continuing.

“I don’t do this—“you gesture between you two. “This isn’t the usual process of my work, Hee. And even I have enough morality to not even dream of looking at a fifteen-year-old boy like that—are you insane?” The words stretch out, pushing through gritted teeth.

“Whatever his age—is he more beautiful than I am?” His eyes are wide and anxious, steadily breaking open at the seams. You rise to tug him off his seat—leading the way to an empty balcony that hung above the garden. The night air bites you as you try to find a middle ground—softness enough to placate him, needle-sharp defense for your own sake—while shadows of branches bleed across his form, the looming willow tree obscuring his expression.

“Heeseung, you’re the crowned Adonis—eyes follow you wherever you go. You can have anything you want at the palm of your hand if you so much asked for it—“

“Damn the rest of the world. Do you think I’m the most beautiful? I want you — I want you so much it aches.” It almost sounds like a plea: for help, for relief, for answers — for you.

“It keeps me awake at night. I haven’t slept, I barely eat, and even in dreams you haunt me. But I can’t have you—not the way you have me. I don’t have a hold on you.”

His eyes hollow with anguish, beauty breaking open as desires he buried for ages finally surge to the surface.

It was cyclical—his tendency to unravel the moment your gaze shifted to anyone else. But this was the most outwardly turbulent he had ever become. His desperation always hit at a small soft spot on you no one else knew about. And it resulted in a lack of taking on any other projects with the exemption of his.

Heeseung only ever cried during sex—sometimes as reprieve, other times overstimulation. But never out in the real world. Never beyond that closed door he adored locking you both inside.

To this day, you still don’t know what you feel for him.

It was a delicate dance between almost being in love—but you didn’t know if it was with him or the power you had over him.

But then moments like this were a sharp reminder of how much power he had over your life. It’s one of the many things Heeseung’s good at—fooling someone into thinking they had all of the power, only for them to realize this was the exact position he planned to be.

“Heeseung—“ you step towards him, holding his face in your hands. “…What can I do? We can’t keep doing this. You are my greatest muse—but I can’t ignore the outside world either. So what can I do for you?”

He doesn’t blink, gaze fading into something unreadable as he stares down at you—less soft, less vulnerable. He pulls you closer by the slim of your waist, fingers splaying where the curve of your spine dipped.

“Let me have you.”

“What does that mean?” He tilts down to look at you, swallowing and contemplating what words should leave him. But you couldn’t read him. And whenever that happened…you were scared of him. Of something that lingered under the surface you tried to shove away from you so that it was far away enough to not acknowledge.

It reminded you of the first time you’d fallen for Heeseung’s seduction—how he sank slowly to his knees, sharp gaze fixed on you, unblinking, as if he refused to miss even the slightest flicker of emotion across your face.

Kneeling, he buries his face against your stomach, inhaling deeply as his arms tighten around you.

“You have me. Entirely. Whenever you call, I’ll be there. I’ll bend into whatever shape you want me to take—strip myself nude and make a spectacle of myself for you and your art.” He breathes out a promise. Silken and velvet voice, maroon and reddened at its edges. “I’m a fool for you. Powerless. Pathetic. But what are you willing to do for me? Or am I nothing to you? Even when I hold you close enough to be an extension of your heartbeat, I feel lonely.”

It’s a somber confession. One that left his lips. One that he wouldn’t change—a certain resignation that even if it continued down that path, he wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t.

At last, he lifts his head from your stomach to look up at you. You meet his gaze with calm composure, weighing his words, before gently tugging him to his feet.

He doesn’t question you—doesn’t ask where you’re taking him to, and only watches. Still, as always, resting his eyes on you like he made a promise to God to never look away.

The room is dim, curtains half-drawn, the air stale with old perfume and cigarettes. You’ve barely stepped inside before his body betrays him, tightening in anticipation—like he’d been waiting for you in the dark all along.

Like muscle memory, he moves to sink onto his knees again before you stop him with a hand on his waist. He stills, tracking your movements as you kneel in front of him—eying him like you’d allow him to do anything he wanted to you. And he feels like his heart’s gonna fall out from his throat. In all the years he’s known you—not once have you given up that cool and composed control.

You’re different—subdued, quiet, almost willing. Shy, as if offering him a rare glimpse of sweetness he was never meant to see. And when you finally speak—light, submissive, gentle—he draws in a sharp breath.

“Do what you want.”

The crackle tears through the air, the shift so brutal it snaps you back with whiplash. He looms over you, body caging yours as his hand clamps hard around your throat, jerking you upward with no mercy. The force slams you into a kiss—violent, starved, and depraved. A tumultuous hunger pouring out from where his hands touch you.

You gasp, his tongue sliding in like venom—the kind that numbs prey before it’s devoured. A cruel mercy, born of instinct’s brutality.

“And what if I want something horrible?” His chest heaves, searching for breath.

You don’t have an answer to that.

And so he unravels.

—

You shouldn’t be surprised. Not when Heeseung’s had a metaphoric collar around his neck for years under you. Your chest heaves, nails clawing at Heeseung’s damp back—flexing against the curved muscle of his shoulder blades, too prideful to tell him to stop.

Your body jolts under the force of his hips pounding into you, arching into his mouth—sweat ridden body reddened and sticky from post orgasm sensitivity.

“H-Heeseung, slow down.” You grit out finally, but he doesn’t register it. The sheets are soaked and clinging onto your skin, breathing out sharply when he presses your thighs against your chest.

“So good. You feel so good.” He whispers this again and again, humming it into your hair like a mantra. Licking over your pulse line—your body a live wire.

Your body’s memorized him: the rhythmic stretching, the pushing and pulling of your bodies against each other. The taste of his release still lays heavy on your tongue—sweet and tart, slowly being masked by the salty dampness you lick from his body.

Another orgasm.

You’ve lost count.

But Heeseung’s gone blind, lost himself to a space where he only registers the feeling of your heat and breath. And he can’t stop. Even if you beg him to.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head, legs shaking and pushing against his chest

He trails his lips over your collarbone before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, deep enough to leave purple indentations

“You’re mine.” He whines into your ear, rolling his hips and stuffing you to the hilt. The sensation of him throbbing inside of you is vivid—vulgar. Every inch of him, each vein, and curve dizzied you.

The meat of your thighs ricochet once he picks up the pace again, wetness tacking your skin together, and your moans muted as his fingers crawl into your mouth. You lather your tongue against the cold skin, sucking lightly—dazed.

His mouth wraps around your breast, pulling the skin in and tugging with his teeth. A small yelp leaves you and he grins at the sound. He pushes to fold your body even further,

The headboard slams rhythmically against the wall, bed going slightly off kilter once Heeseung digs your face into the mattress with a hand around your throat.

You were the only one who’s seen him. Really seen him.

And you’re his.

“Say it. Say that you’re mine.”

Your eyes glaze over, face red as you claw at his forearms, deliciously overwhelmed—and push the words from your gaping mouth.

“I’m yours. I’m yours, Hee.”

You look helpless. Small. Powerless

He refuses to close his eyes when he cums inside of you, plugging himself in with his temple against yours, and commits it to memory. He folds himself over you, lowering his frame until his head rests in the nook of your neck with heaving breaths.

He repeats back to you. “I’m yours, I’m yours.”

—

Heeseung’s gone AWOL. No text, no call—no notice.

It’s been five days and on any other occasion, you wouldnt have thought hard about it.

You stare blankly at the headlines stretching across your television screen and tighten the grip on your phone. The empty ring thrums in your ears, your heartbeat loud enough to drown it out. The lights flicker, catching your reflection—a gaunt face, pale and withered, fear pressed down but leaking through all the same.

“Fifteen-year-old boy found dead in the water. Cause of death remains undetermined, though the body shows clear signs of strangulation—”

Sunghoon’s messages lays stale—cold and open on your Lock Screen.

‘Don’t read the news and keep the TV off. Call me when you wake up.’

You knew the moment his message appeared—you weren’t going to listen. Still, Sunghoon tried. Your hand trembles, hovering over the call button beneath the contact: Adonis.

You don’t press it.

You’re not ready to know.

—

Heeseung doesn’t announce his arrival, only slips his slim fingers under the small bamboo plant next to your front door before grabbing your extra house key.

He kicks off his shoes with a haphazard tug, exhaling as he works the laces free. The lights are off, and a half-finished cup of coffee sits abandoned on the table—room washed in the soft melancholy of blue hour. It’s deceivingly quiet, even though he feels the tension radiating from your bedroom.

You stay silent as he strips off his clothes, slips beneath your blankets, and presses his cold body against your warmth—adoration and parasitic yearning seeping into your space like smoke.

A cold kiss softens over the skin where he bit your shoulder the other night. The clock on your nightstand ticks softly as he hums a nameless song low into your ear, rubbing slow circles on your hip bone.

He knows you’re not sleeping. But Heeseung waits for you to speak, just as he’s always done.

“Did you do it?” The words fall empty, blank shells clattering on the uncharted emotional space between you.

His humming stops, eyes fixated onto the back of your head. “Do you really want to know the answer?”His voice is sweet, calm, and casual. Light in the ways that felt like he knew you didn’t want to actually acknowledge his crimes. The bedsheets twist around your legs like snakes—like a pit you couldn’t crawl your way out of and you can’t will yourself to move.

You couldn’t runaway from the truth anymore.

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling a shuddered breath. “Why?”

“Hard to say, really. Equally as hard to stop myself from doing it—so here we are.” He sounds tired—flippant. Alarmingly dry like there was nothing else to say about it—like there wasn’t a body of fifteen year old boy littered between you two, lying still as graves.

“He was fifteen.” You say it out loud—the tragedy of fleeting beauty fighting to overtake your need to put on a strong front.

“And you’re mine.” Is all he says.

You can’t bring yourself to tug his arms off

and the only reprieve comes in the momentary hollowness of sleep.

—

That night, you dream of a beautiful boy drifting on dark blue water, his finger pointed at you, lips moving in silence. In the distance, a boat horn echoes as the sweep of a lighthouse beam cuts across his silhouette.

You jolt awake the moment you register the word that fell from his lips like a mantra: Murderer.

—

Heeseung makes love to you again and again: an amalgamation of dizzying heat, bodily fluids, and wordless escapades. You can’t speak to him, but your hands still clutch him with a vice grip. Your camera sits alone on the dining room table—rotting under the humid heat permeating the stale apartment air.

The outside world blurs out from your viewfinder, not having left your apartment in days. He clings to you in the shower, washes himself off and out of you, just to douse you with him all over again.

On the days you want to bathe alone, he sits outside of the door. Waiting patiently—silently.

Like clockwork, you eventually open the door without fail, scooting towards the faucet so he can curl around you. Heeseung doesn’t like leaving you alone—doesn’t like the sensation of your skin not sticking to his like Velcro.

He leaves more marks now—until your body is no longer your own, every bruise a claim, every ache a reminder that you belong to him.

The sound of water softly pouring from the edges of your bathtub at your combined weight echoes. The silence is numbing and achingly intimate as Heeseung cups water into the palm of his hands and strokes away soap suds from your right arm.

You finally break the silence—your first words to him since his confession, not the unwilling sounds he dragged out of you when his hands slipped inside.

“Heeseung.”

He loves your voice but doesn’t want to hear it. So he does what he’s been doing the last few days—distracting you with hands that know your body well enough to navigate it blind.

You shiver once his arms slips around your waist from behind before reaching upward to cup your breast into his wide palms.

“We can’t keep doing this.” You plead tiredly. Gone are the hours you’ve tried to bury his crime under the bliss of his body hovering over yours.

He hums. “Keep doing what?” His chin slots into the space above your collarbone and hugs you a little tighter. “—this?”

You push at his wrists, eyebrows furrowing in frustration. “Stop it.”

He flinches a bit at your frigid tone and leans to curl into your body, as if trying to soften the incoming blows of your anger. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Don’t give me that. You killed someone.” You exasperate, mouth hanging open—aghast.

“Because you looked elsewhere.” He groans before grabbing your hips and shifting you around to face him. He cups your face, leaning to press his nose against yours, breath fanning against the small hairs on your cheek. “Don’t you get it?”

You don’t.

Possession? Yes. Obsession, even. But this? This is…horrible. Is this what you’d unknowingly asked for when you asked for Heeseung’s truth the day you met him?

“That doesn’t excuse anything.” You hear the weakness in your voice and hate yourself for it. Hate yourself for the soft spot you let him dig into you without even knowing it.

“I’m not trying to excuse anything. It’s just the way it is.” He hums softly, neck dipping so his doe eyes can search yours. “I’ll be good. But will you help me be good?” Tilting his head with a smile, he presses against your left cheek.

“How?” Your gaze drifts up to meet his, and Heeseung bites back a groan—goosebumps rising as he fights the shiver threatening to course through him.

You looked so sweet. So confused.

“By rewarding me.” Is all he replies before laying a chaste kiss on your lips. Your back straightens when his hand rolls down and cups around your warmth.

“Let me know when I’m being good. Show me when I’m being good.” He massages over your cunt, progressively applying pressure the more your body begins to respond. His other hand grabs yours before guiding your fingers to station themselves right by your entrance. “Like this.”

Your face flushes, a fever blooming in your body. The faint remnants of Heeseung’s cologne warms the room, in combination with the lukewarm bathwater, was the achingly perfect recipe for deviating the conversation.

—and your body always listens to Heeseung.

He almost laughs when you slip your fingers inside yourself, stroking around the reddened flesh—but the sound stutters in his throat when your other hand closes over his, guiding it to the thickest part of his cock.

“—ah!” He flinches and unconsciously fucks into your hand, hips stuttering at the tightness of your grip.

“Such a pretty body shouldn’t be left untouched, Adonis. Not in here.” You look at him through half-lidded eyes, frustration simmering beneath your gaze—another attempt to dodge the conversation.

The water ripples around your rhythmic movements, Heeseung’s fingers replacing yours once your hand moves to focus on stroking him. He throbs in your hand: sensitive and hungry, as he watches your right hand roll over his cock.

Heeseung let out a low groan, his hips bucking slightly as you began to move your hand up and down, mimicking the rhythm of his own strokes on you. The water sloshed gently around you, it’s swaying spilling over the edges of the tub.

The sound of your breathing filled the room, mingling with the soft, wet sounds of your hands moving against each other.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world.” He leans closer to drag his lips down your neckline, tugging the skin lightly with his teeth—veins pushing against his forearm at the force he’s using against you. “You own me.”

You unconsciously tighten around him at his words, arching your back and pushing your hips towards his hands—tugging his cock with more urgency.

“I’d kill for you. I have—and I’d do it again. Whatever it takes to keep what’s mine.”

It’s filthy. The whispering—the psychology of it all. But Heeseung was a person fueled by want. Always by want.

So were you.

And thus, the orgasm that followed after a cacophony of groans and whimpers, accompanied by quaking bodies and weak muscles—shouldn’t have been much of a surprise. Not when Heeseung’s palm flattened and pressed against your clit deliberately. Not when his fingers stretched you a devious amount by the third finger, and surely not when he looked that good when orgasming onto his own stomach.

Maybe disconnecting from the world made you feel…differently.

Less urgent about the monstrosity of it all.

You’ll get him next time.

Hopefully.

—

Heeseung hums and strips himself under the warm yellow-bellied lights. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

He haphazardly plops his white cropped Heineken T-shirt next to a stray tripod, before settling onto the rough motel carpet with nothing else on but his blue jeans.

The vacancy sign outside buzzes and echoes through the otherwise empty parking lot. Thick wooded areas, damp from midnight fog dredges the hour in true New Americana fashion.

It was an impulse decision: buying a one way ticket overseas and dragging Heeseung along. You weren’t running away—you were buying time.

Time to think.

Time to navigate Heeseung’s crime and your wretched soft spot.

You wouldn’t call yourself a morally upright person. Not definitely. There were definitely a couple (or a lot) of screws loose and rattling in your brain. The only thing you’d ever fixated on and found sanctuary in was photography.

And even now, dead in the middle of something far larger and atrocious than your creative obsessions—all you want is to press the shutter.

Heeseung lights a Newport 100, having already taken note of the faulty smoke sensor. He looks tired, even as a fox-like grin stretches the skin of his features. Lean muscles and a veiny abdomen shine under the throbbing heat of your photo light set up, stomach caving in as he takes a hefty drag.

You drop the bomb casually.

“When we get back, I…have to photograph other people. I pushed it off for too long and I’m on contract. For the love of God, please don’t kill anyone.”

Heeseung pauses mid-inhale, eyes going dark. “Oh?”

You liked that expression.

Click.

His eyes flick over to you quietly, observing. “Who is it?”

“Sim Jaeyun,” you begin. “He was one of the first nude models I worked with as a student. I had an ongoing project with him and Park Jongseong—until I met you. Then… well, the rest is history.”

You mumble the words, fumbling with the aperture as the squint in your eye deepens once it aligns with the viewfinder. While you focus the lens on the honeyed embers of his cigarette, Heeseung’s eyes still fall on you. He mumbles the name, rolling it around his tongue indecisively. A faint smile traces his lips

“I make no promises.”

You couldn’t help it.

Click.

—

Sim Jaeyun was found gutted in his penthouse bathtub two weeks after your return. Young. Beautiful. Still as time—a god gone too soon.

A lone Polaroid floated on the now frigid water, taken from an opening in his bathroom door—unaware of another presence in his home.

Heeseung didn’t bother to wiping his body upon letting himself into your apartment, pulling off his zip-up to reveal bloodied handprints on his forearms.

You pause mid chew, the tip of your pen creaking under the weight of your incisors.

“You fucking didn’t.” You deadpan, glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose, eyebrows furrowing in exhaustion.

But then your eyes catch on his blood-matted hair and the hollowness of his eyes—and you move towards your camera without thinking.

Click.

—

You think you taste Jaeyun’s blood in your mouth when Heeseung kisses you. The metallic aftertaste never seems to wash away.

—

Jongseong goes missing, but you already know he’s gone for good.

It won’t be long before they trace it all back to you—to Heeseung.

He’s been more quiet lately. Contemplative—attached. The apartment’s become a dark abyss, an expansive void the two of you would drift to and from one another.

You don’t know how to explain it: how to explain that Heeseung’s obsession only softened you—only made your own obsessions feel seen by someone who finally understood what it meant to do anything for the things you wanted.

So you wait, cradling Heeseung’s head to your chest and only then does his body finally relax. Your camera sits alert on your nightstand.

You’ve never told him you loved him.

You almost do.

—

The camera’s rolling when Heeseung takes his seat on the stool, a lit cigarette burning low between his fingers. Smoke curls up, soft against the stark black backdrop that swallows him whole. You’d used a different one today—an old favorite from before you could afford the luxury of something better.

His eyes rest on you, waiting.

The grip on his hands tighten—he wants to hold you. Standing away from you made him anxious.

“Adonis. No—Heeseung. Why did you do it?” Your voice echoes off the walls of your apartment, furniture mixed around the expanse of the room—collaged and pushed away from their original place to make room for your impromptu set up.

He straightens his shoulders after a long drag.

“Hard to say. I don’t like the world around you.” He confesses. Even now, the lilt in his voice is melodic—charming. Charismatic.

“Have you ever murdered someone before?” Your eyes train on to him. He recognizes that look—the one you get whenever you found a vision to chase.

“Not a person. Before I made it big, my pops used to beat me. There was no one else in the house except for me, him, and a dog.” He begins. You take a sharp breath.

This.

This is what you’ve waited years to see on camera.

Heeseung unfiltered.

You wait for him to continue. He nods lightly, as if agreeing with himself that the memory’s allowed to leave him.

“I skipped school one day. A couple of friends wanted to go to the arcade and… I followed them. He found out and said he was gonna kill my dog as punishment when he got home.” His eyes grow dark as he twists in his seat, voice bordering on mechanical. “I knew his violence more than anyone. So I killed the dog myself. Quickly.”

Your palms sweat, heart banging in your chest like ricocheting metal. Heeseung.

“—I was a kid. If he found out that I’d let the dog out, he would’ve beaten me bad. So I did it and I don’t know if I regret it.” He simplifies and exhales, smoke wafting—embers almost hitting the filter. “I haven’t seen pops in over a decade. Once I was scouted, my face and body became my saving grace. It put food on the table in ways he never supplied, and he stopped bothering me. Never asked if or when I was coming home.”

Heeseung’s voice is metallic—like blood. Like iron. He tells the story like it’s a mundane thing.

But when he feels your stare, he softens—melts in front of the camera like he’d always been something fragile.

Maybe he was.

“I just wish I killed him and not the one thing that was mine. The one thing I wanted and got to have.” He admits after a moment. Contemplating and accepting whatever clicked into place within him. “I don’t need to read into why I did what I did. It’s already done. But we both know this, right?”

You stop the camera from rolling, but take one final shot of Heeseung. Simple, unmasked, and dark.

The night is spent developing and handpicking a series of photos from the last five years. Scrawled onto a small slip of paper are the words: The Genesis of Adonis: A tale born from blood. To the side, you lay out a singular dated cassette tape.

Before bed, Heeseung quietly takes your camera—eying the minuscule scrapes dancing around its bodice. A shutter blooms in the air as he takes photos of you brushing your hair in front of your old vanity, and another one of you under him—laughing at something he couldn’t quite pin down anymore.

And you make love for one final night,

bodies sweating away the morning you felt coming.

—

Sometime, just before dawn—when the sky is still indigo.

“I wish we were born in the same body.”

The two of you face each other, skin cold and bare, curling on top of the muted sheets. You play with the tips of Heeseung’s fingers as he brushes away damp strands of hair from your temple. Lips quirking, you close your eyes and respond tiredly.

“We’d be one fucked up person. Maybe it’s best that we’re split in two.”

He laughs quietly, eyes curling into half moons. “So be it.” He stares at you for a couple of moments, digesting the softness of the pads of your fingers. “You’re the only one I think understands. It’s not rational. None of this is. It never was.”

He takes your hand, lifting it to his lips. One by one, he kisses the tips of your fingers, then turns your palm over and presses his mouth to its center.

“Heeseung, I love you.” The words feel heavy, weighing the day with a late confession. It almost feels too late. It probably is.

He doesn’t reply,

And only breaks into the palm of your hand—shaking and crying into the quiet of the room.

He holds you close.

You know without a doubt he loves you too.

—

The mirror stares back at you defiantly. Elegant, poised, deceivingly acceptant and unshaken. Your favorite perfume permeates the air, earrings dancing as your neck turns to gaze at Heeseung dabbing your perfume onto his wrist. You donned your best dress, all red velvet and beaded glamour. Heeseung wears the suit he told you he planned to wear to the apocalypse if it ever happened. Ironed, sharp, still devilishly handsome as ever.

He shivers when you pad over and press a kiss to his pulse, eyes filled with an emotion neither of you have words to explain. Fear. Want. Regret that felt pointless to feel with the blunt knowledge that what’s done is done.

And he kisses you like he already misses you. Like he’d crawl out of the ground as a dead man just to be able to stand next to you like this for another day.

It’s electric, full of life sentences and damnation—a willing fall from grace that Heeseung’s always wanted but never quite like the way it’s come. He licks at your tongue and pushes you closer by the nape of your neck—turning his head to take you in deeper.

The day’s here. Neither of you know how you know. You just do.

When the banging on your door comes, you don’t answer. You sit curled onto his lap, whispering sweet nothings into his ear, as you brush his hair to soothe him. You don’t register the words—the yelling, the warnings.

Heeseung squeezes his eyes shut and tightens his grip around your waist, trying to memorize the texture of your skin and how your muscles felt whenever you moved. His lips move through a mantra and you finally hear the words: I’m yours, I’m yours.

The world stills when you cup his face, lifting it until he’s forced to meet your eyes. You know what happens to beautiful things in captivity—they either rot on their own or are deliberately ruined. And somehow, he knows what you’re saying.

What you’re planning.

What you’re accepting.

None of this was planned. This sort of oncoming tragedy could’ve easily been avoided, but you’re at the point of no return. He nods shakily, eyes watering as if to say—I’m going with you.

The door slams open, splintering against the wall—an explosion of sound swallowed by the sharp click of safeties disengaging. Guns rise, black barrels catching the light as they fix on you both. You turn anyway, slow and deliberate, defying the command that still hangs in the air, purposefully. You don’t intend on walking out of this room alive.

Maybe this is as close to repentance as you’d get.

You look at Heeseung one last time, mouthing his mantra back to him—a quiet echo meant only for him. Then you lean in, pressing your mouth to his, warm and unhurried, as if the world might grant you both another minute. Heeseung sighs into the kiss, his arm sliding around your waist to pull you closer, holding you there like he could stop what’s coming. His other hand drifts toward his empty pocket—slow, deliberate, almost tender in its finality. A death sentence.

The last thing you feel is the shared grin curling across both your faces—then the metal tears through you, through him, until the monstrous ache of wanting fades with you both.

—

The burnt rubber of tires skidding onto the apartment lot squeal as both Jungwon and Sunghoon arrive at the scene. Sunghoon’s handsome face is distorted under the sudden calamity—hair tousled and worn from his own hands tugging. Jungwon’s ties is loosened, eyes bloodshot as he raises his hands to cradle his head.

Neither you nor Heeseung had relatives to call to properly “identify” or notify of your bodies. The pair both fight the urge to vomit at the sight of two bodies intermingled on your bedroom floor, covered in stark white sheets.

Jungwon curses, choking through his words. “What the fuck happened?” Tears fall without his permission, and he smudges away the moisture gruffly.

Sunghoon stands still—frozen at the epicenter, not allowed to come too close. He shuts his eyes at the faint slip of your dress bleeding out from under the sheet. You were wearing your favorite dress.

He turns away from the scene, moving into the hallway until he greets a familiar room: your photo studio—your beloved dark room.

On instinct, he slowly turns the knob—clicking open the door and unconsciously waits to hear your voice hiss at him for letting the light in and ruining the photo developing process. He shakily exhales at the photos that greeted him.

Heeseung, with blood clotted in his hair and drying across his hands—an image both intimate and horrific. Others are quieter but no less haunting: Heeseung staring straight into the camera, an unfamiliar expression caught between revelation and ruin.

He finds the cassette tape and the words you scrawled onto paper. The Genesis of Adonis: A tale born from blood.

…you made this your last project.

He almost scoffs, even in the middle of his struggle to keep upright.

And then three others—photos he knew you didn’t lay there at the end—were of you: grinning like a girl in love, beautiful and unraveling in front of your old vanity the way you always did at the end of the night.

Heeseung took these.

Sunghoon stood there, caught in the aftermath of something that defied explanation.

He couldn’t understand you.

He couldn’t understand Heeseung.

He supposes, maybe you only ever understood each other.

So he lingers for a few measured breaths before turning away, closing the door behind him—slowly, deliberately—sealing something sacred and unspeakable inside.

fin.

—

siren’s note:

aaaaand that’s a wrap! I wanted to write a story that played on the irrationality of some connections—like it’s intense in ways that can never really be communicated to other parties. it’s impulsive, life altering—electric. and sometimes, fatal.

Heeseung’s character is super layered. But I also didn’t want to necessarily justify his murders… yes, he’s traumatized but he’s not saying he murdered everyone because he has a backstory. He did it willingly—impulsively. And was willing to do it again.

Sometimes it’s that simple. Sometimes it’s instinct.

if it feels a little rushed, I’m sorry! life has been super hectic and i’ve been wanting to post this so this is what I have.

nonetheless, I hope whoever reads this enjoyed it! I might end up writing some little blips for this pair, especially since I didn’t write as much erotica for them as planned with my schedule…. But we’ll see.

[250318]

© pomelo0914. | do not edit and/or crop logo

[ddingdd0ngz]

— EN- when you fall asleep in their lap ☆

𝑓. readerㅤ⋆ㅤ749ㅤㅤ◜ᴗ◝ㅤㅤfluff est. relationship ❜ㅤㅤ─── feedback & reblogs are highly appreciated ¡!

Heeseung (이희승)

You loved lying on Heeseung’s bed, watching him play PlayStation. You loved how he bounced slightly when he won, how he passed you the controller when he needed to run to the bathroom, and how focused yet playful he got during games. But tonight, your eyes were tired, and you hadn’t cheered once. He paused the game and looked over his shoulder. «Come here» he said, patting his lap. You crawled over and rested your head there, eyes barely open. He smiled at you from above and added, «One last match, then we sleep.». You didn’t even have the energy to reply. You simply kissed his knee lightly, and with a small chuckle, he intentionally lost the game to join you in bed sooner.

⋆°｡⋆

Jay (박종성)

Jay was in the kitchen, cooking dinner while you waited on the couch with a movie playing. He always warned you not to sneak bites before he finished, so you behaved… this time. But the movie was slow, and before you knew it, your eyelids dropped. You stirred only when a gentle hand brushed your forehead. Jay carefully shifted your head onto his lap, sitting beside you. «I just put everything in the oven. You’ve got ten minutes of cuddles, but don’t fall asleep before dinner,» he whispered, stroking your hair. You smiled, snuggling into him, basking in the comfort of his warmth and the scent of food filling the apartment.

⋆°｡⋆

Jake (심재윤)

«Come here, please,» Jake called from your bed. You were buried in exam notes, highlighters scattered everywhere. «Five minutes!» you said without looking up. Half an hour passed. You finally finished the page and stretched your aching back, only to see Jake curled up, fast asleep, waiting for you. You felt both guilt and affection swelling in your chest. Quietly, you climbed onto the bed and laid your head on his lap. He stirred, voice soft and sleepy. «You did great,» he murmured, hand reaching out to rest gently on your head. And that’s all it took for you to melt.

⋆°｡⋆

Sunghoon (박성훈)

«Hoonie?» — «Mm.» — «Love!». This time, he replied, «Yes, princess?» without taking his eyes off his phone, adding another jacket to his online cart. «I’m sleepy,» you mumbled with a yawn. Immediately, Sunghoon adjusted himself on the couch, sitting up straighter and patting his thigh without a word. You grinned, knowing he always gave in to your sleepy demands. You rested your head on his lap and murmured, «Buy something for me too.» He chuckled, his thigh trembling slightly with the laugh. «Of course I will, sleepyhead.» You drifted off, his fingers playing with your hair and his shopping forgotten.

⋆°｡⋆

Sunoo (김선우)

«Babe, can I paint your nails?» Sunoo asked sweetly, halfway through a k-drama episode and surrounded by snacks. «Babe?» he asked again when you didn’t answer. «Mh?» you hummed, barely lifting your head from the pillow. «I asked if I can paint your nails.» You sat up slowly. «Can I sleep in your lap?» you said. That was the thing about you two — joy came from the smallest exchanges. You settled in his lap, and soon his hands found yours. Even as sleep took over, you heard his soft laughter as he gently filed your nails anyway.

⋆°｡⋆

Jungwon (양정원)

Jungwon had been talking about his day for a while — about recording, practice, and how funny Jay was. «And then Jay was so— y/n?» He paused mid-sentence, looking down. Your breathing was slow and your face relaxed, head heavy on his lap. «You must’ve been tired,» he whispered to himself. Carefully, he reached behind the couch to grab a blanket and tucked it over you without shifting you too much. He smiled to himself, letting you sleep, gently brushing your hair out of your face as he resumed his story under his breath, just for you.

⋆°｡⋆

Ni-ki (니시무라리키)

Ni-ki had been dancing for over an hour. You watched from the corner of the practice room, heart full, but concern starting to bubble.«Ki? Don’t you think it’s time for a break?» you called out, pausing the music. He turned, out of breath, clearly reluctant. «I really should keep going—» But he stopped mid-sentence. You were his soft spot. With a sigh, he walked over and sat on the floor, legs stretched. «Here,» he tapped his lap twice. You happily rested your head down, still warm from his workout. His breath was still heavy, his voice low. «Thank you,» he whispered. You were already asleep.

© ddingdd0ngz

[fullsunberry]

Delicious. MDNI

Finding a four-year-old love letter shouldn’t make you this crazy, but here you are, on a train, hoping the man who wrote it still cares. However, fate had more in store when the train unexpectedly booked you a cabin with a charming yet overly flirtatious stranger. wc. 21k

loosely inspired by "Delicious - True Love" (mobile game)

genre: one bed and forced proximity

content warnings: alcohol, profanity, loads of sexual innuendos, lots of sexual tension building through the day and night, unprotected sex, semi-public-ish sex?? (no one left in the cafe), oral play (F receiving), creampie, slow-burn with sex in between lol, mention of ghosting, lowkey stupid y/n but she is in denial, cheating (not heeseung), and toxic Sunghoon. YEARNING!

authors note: it was a bitch to post this cause tumblr thinks it's too long smh, i had to make it two parts (second half already posted)..so if they're is any formatting mistakes that's why (and let me know so i can fix it <3)

An envelope arrived showing the clear marks of its long journey. Creased in half, then in half again, as if it had wandered through too many hands before finally finding its way to you. The stamp was smudged, the corners softened, and a faint coffee ring bled through one edge. It had been tucked between utility bills and grocery flyers in your mailbox that morning, so unremarkable at first glance that you nearly tossed it aside.

You hadn’t recognized it right away.

Not until you turned it over in your hands behind the counter of your little café. The espresso machine hissed softly in the background, the air thick with the scent of warm pastries and toasted bread. Sunlight filtered in through the front windows, catching the dust motes that floated lazily above the worn wooden tables.

That’s when you saw it . Your name, written in that familiar looping script.

Your chest tightened instantly.

You set your rag down, wiped your hands on your apron, and slid onto the stool at the end of the counter. The envelope felt almost fragile between your fingers, as if too much pressure might erase whatever had survived four years of misdirection. You unfolded it carefully, the paper crackling as the deep creases loosened.

A faint scent rose from the page —aged ink mixed with something that still reminded you of summer wildflowers— and just like that, you were pulled back to that humid night on the beach: warm sand clinging to your skin, the distant crash of waves, and his lips brushing yours beneath the stars.

Sunghoon.

Your eyes dropped to the first line.

Dearest Y/N, I’ve started and stopped this letter more times than I care to admit. I keep thinking there’s some “right” way to say this. Something poetic enough to match the way this summer felt. But the truth is, I’m not that smooth. I’m just a guy who’s been thinking about you more than I expected to. I didn’t go into the summer looking for anything serious. Honestly, I didn’t think I was looking for anything at all. And then you showed up —late nights, messy laughs, stolen fries, and conversations that somehow stretched until sunrise. Suddenly, my favorite part of every day was waiting to see if your name would pop up on my phone. I know we were never supposed to be more than what we were: two people passing through each other’s lives at just the right (or maybe wrong)time. But I’d be lying if I said you didn’t leave a mark. You made me feel lighter, braver, and, for the first time in a while, really present in the moment. Now that summer’s over and everything’s shifted back to “real life,” I just wanted you to know that what we had mattered to me —even if it was brief. I’m not asking for anything. I just didn’t want the season to end without saying it out loud. Wherever you are, I hope you’re doing well. And if our paths cross again someday, I wouldn’t mind seeing that smile in person one more time. Forever yours, Sunghoon

Your heart pounded against your ribs, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks. Four years. You'd thrown yourself into work at your family's diner back home, dating sporadically but never committing, always comparing them to him.

The rest of the day blurred by. You asked your mother and father to run the diner, ignoring your mom's concerned questions about why you sounded so breathless. By evening, your bag was packed: a few changes of clothes, your favorite apron (the one with the embroidered pastries), and that letter, folded carefully into your pocket like a lucky charm. The train ticket to the city burned a hole in your wallet. It was impulsive, reckless even, but the pull was too strong to ignore.

The platform was busy when you arrived.

Suitcases rolled across wet concrete, voices overlapped in rushed goodbyes, and the long sleeper train hummed quietly under the yellow station lights. Rain shimmered on the ground, and the air felt thick.

You hugged your bag to your chest as you climbed the metal steps toward the train. Your mind was still spinning —the letter, the café, the impulsive decision to leave. Everything felt fast and unreal.

Just as you reached the doorway, a conductor stepped in front of you with a stern-face. He was young for his job, maybe mid-twenties, with sharp features and a uniform that hung neatly on his lean frame. His name tag read Jungwon.

“Ticket, please,” he said, calm but firm.

Your heart sank.

Your hand shot into your pocket. Then the other one. Then your bag. You searched everywhere. Your phone, your keys, receipts, even the folded letter but your ticket was gone.

“I—I had it,” you blurted out, your face heating up. “I must’ve misplaced it in the rush. Please, I really need to get to the city. It’s important.”

Jungwon’s expression tightened.

“This is a sleeper train,” he began. “We don’t have regular seats, and—”

Before he could finish, a sudden commotion burst from inside the café car down the hall.

The door flew open, and a man in a chef’s uniform stormed out. His dark hair was tousled, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms dusted with flour. He looked exhausted, jaw clenched in frustration.

“Jungwon, if you don’t get this under control, I’m done,” he snapped, gesturing wildly behind him. “The café’s swamped, and I’m down a server. One more rush like this, and I’m quitting this damn train! I might even jump in front of it!!”

Jungwon rubbed his temple, clearly overwhelmed. “Jay, calm down. We’ll figure it out.”

You felt something click into place.

Stepping forward, you cleared your throat. “Excuse me… I couldn’t help overhearing. I work in a diner —I’ve got experience with cafés, serving, all of it. If you let me in, I can help out. Just until the next stop, or until I sort my ticket. Please.”

Jay’s eyes flicked to you, sharp and assessing. The irritation on his face didn’t disappear. But something curious replaced it.

Jungwon hesitated, glancing between you and the growing line of restless passengers inside the café.

“Fine,” he finally said. “But only if Jay agrees. And no funny business.”

Jay crossed his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You any good with a coffee machine? And can you handle rude customers?”

“Better than most,” you replied, meeting his gaze steadily.

He studied you for another beat, then nodded.

“Alright, Jungwon —just get the newbie her ticket,” Jay said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That’s not how it works,” Jungwon shot back, exhaling sharply.

Jay threw his arms up. “Then I will jump off this train.”

Jungwon glanced at him, unimpressed. Then turned back to you, “Do you have your ID?”

You nodded quickly and handed it over, your fingers trembling. He scanned it, tapping a few things into his device, the quiet beeps stretching the moment out.

After a pause, he let out a low sigh.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll issue you a temporary pass to your cabin. You’ll have to sort the ticket at the city terminal.”

Relief flooded through you.

He printed a slim slip and handed it over. “Cabin 14B. Straight down the hall.”

“Thank you,” you breathed, lightheaded with gratitude.

Jay snapped his fingers. “Come on, newbie —move. Get in here before the rush actually kills me.”

You slipped past them into the warm, bustling café car, the clatter of cups and hiss of the espresso machine washing over you as the doors slid shut behind you.

Inside, the space felt alive. Wooden counters gleamed beneath soft lighting, glass cases displayed golden pastries, and the air hummed with the rich scent of brewing coffee and fresh bread. A world away from the greasy spoons of your family’s diner.

Jay handed you an apron, "Name's Jay. Start with the orders piling up. And don't burn the croissants."

You tied the apron around your waist, rolling up your sleeves. You dove headfirst into the rush, hands moving on instinct, pouring lattes and plating scones, you felt a thrill of purpose. The work was familiar, grounding, even as your mind wandered back to Sunghoon. 

The evening wore on, the café filling with passengers seeking rest from the journey. You moved efficiently, dodging elbows and flashing smiles, but one customer stood out. He slid onto a stool at the counter, his presence commanding despite the casual button-down shirt that hugged his broad shoulders. Dark eyes locked onto you as you approached, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

"What can I get for you?" you asked, pen hovering over your notepad.

"Something sweet," he drawled, his voice smooth like velvet. "Like you, maybe?"

You rolled your eyes, unfazed by the flirtation. "We've got éclairs or a slice of cheesecake. Pick one."

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his cologne—a mix of spice and citrus—wafting toward you. "Éclairs it is. And your name? For the order, of course."

"Y/N," you said curtly, turning to fetch his plate.

As you handed it over, his fingers lingered on yours. "Heeseung," he introduced himself, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't worry, I don't bite. Unless asked nicely."

You forced a polite smile, heat creeping up your neck despite yourself. The café was no place for distractions, but Heeseung's gaze followed you through the rest of your shift.

By the time the café closed for the night, your feet ached, but a strange joy buzzed in your veins. Jungwon nodded approvingly as you untied your apron. "Not bad for a stowaway. Your room's booked at the end of the car. Get some rest."

You thanked him, weaving through the dim corridor to your assigned sleeper compartment. As the door clicked shut behind you, cutting off the low hum of the train rushing through the night. Your body felt heavy with exhaustion after the chaotic shift in the café car, but the small space offered a bit of quiet at last.

It was tighter than you’d expected. A narrow bed was bolted to one wall, a tiny sink sat in the corner, and above it hung a folded pull-down couch. Dim overhead light filled the room with a soft glow. You kicked off your shoes, the cool metal floor sending a shiver up your legs.

You dug through your bag for your pajamas, a simple tank top and shorts you’d thrown in without thinking. The letter from Sunghoon crinkled in your pocket as you pulled it out. You set it carefully on the tiny bedside shelf like something fragile.

Your thoughts started to spiral. What if he wasn’t the same anymore? What if that summer had meant more to you than it had to him? You shook your head, pushing the questions away.

You peeled off your work clothes, letting the apron and shirt fall in a heap on the floor. The cool air brushed against your skin as you pulled on your tank top, the fabric still slightly damp from the long day.

Just as you bent to pull on your shorts, the door handle rattled.

You froze.

Before you could move, the door swung open.

That one flirtation customer, Heeseung, stood in the doorway.

His shirt was half-unbuttoned at the collar, giving you a brief glimpse of his chest beneath. His eyes went wide in surprise —and yours mirrored his.

You yanked your shorts up, clutching the hem as if it were a shield.

“What the—?” you yelped, stumbling back against the bed. Your face burned with embarrassment and anger. “Get out! This is my room!”

Heeseung’s mouth dropped open. He grabbed the doorframe like he might lose his balance. “Holy shit —sorry! I thought this was mine! The conductor said compartment fourteen B and—”

He quickly looked away, though not before you noticed his cheeks turning pink. He stepped back, nearly tripping over his own bag in the hallway.

You snatched your shirt from the floor and held it against your chest even though you were already covered. “Jungwon assigned this to me after my ticket got lost. You can’t just barge in here!”

He ran a hand through his messy hair and let out a sharp breath. “Lost ticket? That explains it. They must’ve double-booked this cabin when they reassigned you. Typical train mess.”

His voice sounded irritated, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him with a resigned click.

“Double-booked?” you snapped, crossing your arms. The stress of the day crashed over you all at once. “Great. Just great. I’ll go find Jungwon and fix this.”

Heeseung shook his head and dropped his bag by the door with a thud. His eyes met yours, tired but steady, his usual playful edge gone. “It’s the middle of the night. Everyone’s off shift, and we’re hours from the next stop. You’ll just wake up the whole car.”

He glanced at the bed, then at the pull-down couch, his jaw tightening. “We’ll sort it out in the morning. The conductor’s office opens at dawn.”

You opened your mouth to argue but exhaustion hit you like a wall. Your shoulders slumped. He was right.

“Fine,” you muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed. “But you stay on your side. And no more surprises.”

Heeseung nodded once.

Without another word, he turned to the wall and pulled down the fold-out couch. It creaked softly as it opened, narrow and barely long enough for him. He kicked off his shoes, shrugged out of his button-down, and lay down in his plain white tee, facing the wall.

The message was clear: the bed was yours.

You watched him for a moment. The tension in your chest eased just a little. No flirting. No arguing. Just quiet acceptance.

The train swayed gently beneath you, rocking the compartment like a lullaby. You slid under the thin blanket and switched off the light. Darkness wrapped around you.

Sleep didn’t come right away. Your mind replayed the moment he’d walked in, and the way his usual confidence had slipped into something unexpectedly vulnerable.

But slowly, the rhythm of the train carried you under. Your breathing evened out. The frustration of the day melted away.

By the time a distant train whistle echoed through the night, you were already fast asleep in the shared silence.

-------------

Sunlight slipped through the thin curtains of the sleeper compartment, gently pulling you from sleep. The train no longer rattled the way it had overnight; now it hummed steadily, almost soothing. You stayed still for a moment, wrapped in the warmth of the blanket, legs tangled and heavy with lingering exhaustion.

When you finally opened your eyes, you noticed him.

Heeseung sat cross-legged on the pull-down couch, already dressed for the day. A crisp button-up was tucked neatly into his slacks, sleeves rolled just enough to look intentional. He held a worn paperback in his hands, eyes focused as his thumb traced the edge of the page. His hair was slightly messy in a way that somehow made him look even sharper.

He glanced up when you shifted.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he said lightly, closing the book. “Jay’s been roaming the cars since dawn looking for you. Something about your shift starting early.”

The words jolted you awake.

“What?” You shot upright, the blanket sliding down to your waist. “Already?”

Panic kicked in. Jay had warned you the morning shift could start early, and you’d promised you’d be there. You scrambled out of bed, grabbing your clothes from the floor. In your rush, you barely registered Heeseung’s presence anymore. The compartment felt like your own space now, urgency drowning out everything else.

You pulled on your shirt and skirt, fumbling with buttons, smoothing the fabric down with quick hands. Heeseung watched quietly, amusement flickering in his eyes, but he didn’t say a word. You snatched your apron and shoes, already heading for the door.

“Thanks for telling me,” you muttered, not slowing down.

You were gone before he could respond.

The corridor felt cool against your flushed skin as you hurried down the car. The train swayed gently, early risers scattered along the way, cups of coffee in hand. By the time you reached the café car, the frantic rush from last night had faded into a calm morning lull.

Only a few passengers sat at the tables.

Jay stood behind the counter, wiping down the espresso machine, sleeves rolled up and dusted with flour. When he spotted you, his tense expression softened into relief.

“There you are,” he said. “I was starting to think you bailed. Rough night?”

“Overslept,” you admitted, tying your apron around your waist. “Long story. What can I do?”

He chuckled and handed you a tray of pastries. “Nothing crazy. Slow morning. Ever worked brunch before?”

You slid the pastries into the display case. “Plenty. I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Jay,” he said with a grin. “Officially this time.”

The shift passed easily. You refilled coffee, cleared plates, and chatted as the scenery outside shifted from rolling hills to distant glimpses of the sea. Jay talked about working kitchens his whole life, about liking the movement of the train. You shared just enough about your trip —keeping the letter vague, but letting the excitement slip through.

Then the café door opened.

Heeseung walked in like he owned the place.

He slid onto a stool at the counter, eyes immediately finding yours. “Morning,” he said. “Black coffee. Whatever’s fresh.”

Jay raised a brow but started on the order.

You poured the coffee, fully aware of Heeseung watching you. “Sleep okay?” he asked casually. “You looked pretty comfortable when I left.”

You set the mug down a little harder than necessary. “Fine. Thanks for sleeping on the couch.”

He leaned closer, voice low. “That skirt looks good on you. Though I think the apron alone would work too.”

You ignored him, wiping down the counter that didn’t need cleaning. He didn’t stop—commenting on how smoothly you moved, how flushed your cheeks were, whether it was the heat or something else. When you bent to pick up a dropped napkin, he let out a quiet whistle.

“Careful,” he said loudly. “Wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”

You shot him a glare as you plated his pastry. “Eat your food and behave.”

Jay glanced over, amused. “Trouble?”

“Just a customer,” you said.

Heeseung’s grin said otherwise.

The rest of the morning slipped by in a blur of clinking cups and quiet glances.

Heeseung lingered at the counter far longer than necessary, nursing his coffee like it gave him permission to stay. His eyes followed you as you moved between tables, and every time you leaned down to clear a plate, he leaned in just enough to murmur something meant only for you.

“The way you bend like that?” he murmured. “It’s distracting.”

You shot him a warning look. “Focus on your pastry.”

He only smiled. Your cheeks burned, and the way Jay occasionally glanced over told you the tension wasn’t as subtle as you wanted it to be.

By lunchtime, the café picked up speed. Orders stacked up, passengers filed in, but Heeseung still didn’t move. He ordered a sandwich next, resting his chin in his hand as you worked.

“It’s your wrist,” he said low. “That little twist every time you cut. You keep moving like that and I’m going to need you to demonstrate it somewhere quieter.”

You slid the plate across the counter a little harder than necessary. “Eat. Some of us are working.”

His laughter followed you as you turned to the next customer—warm, easy, and annoyingly effective.

During a brief slow hour, Jay pulled you aside, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. “That guy’s got a mouth,” he said quietly. “You good?”

You nodded, relieved by the concern. “Yeah. Just… persistent. Thanks.”

Jay chuckled. “Figures.”

The two of you fell back into a comfortable rhythm. He grilled orders while you plated and served, trading quick stories about favorite dishes and the strange routines of train life. His presence was grounding, calm and steady, a sharp contrast to Heeseung’s constant energy.

By afternoon, the teasing turned into a game.

Heeseung switched to tea, brushing your fingers when you handed him the cup. “Soft hands,” he said lightly. “For someone so feisty.”

You pulled back quickly. “Boundaries.”

He grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Even when you ignored him, bussing tables or refilling mugs, he kept at it —praising how fast you worked, how kind you sounded with an elderly passenger, how your smile changed when you laughed. A few times, you fired back.

“If you’re so impressed,” you said once, “you can tip better.”

His chuckle sent an unwanted thrill straight through you.

As the sun dipped lower, golden light spilled through the café windows. The crowd thinned, the pace finally slowing. Jay clapped you lightly on the shoulder.

“Great work today,” he said. “You’re a natural. Same time tomorrow?”

You untied your apron, muscles pleasantly sore. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Heeseung stayed until the very end. When he paid, he slipped a generous bill into your hand, his thumb brushing your skin.

“For the entertainment,” he said.

You pocketed the money without a comment.

When the café finally fell quiet, you lingered for a moment in the quietness. Then headed back toward the sleeper compartment, the day’s energy still buzzing under your skin.

-------------

The compartment door clicked shut behind you.

Heeseung was already there, stretched out on the pull-down couch with his book open, just like the night before. But the moment you stepped inside and kicked off your shoes, the mood shifted.

No smirk. No teasing comment.

Heeseung closed his book carefully and stood. “Long day,” he said quietly. “You need to change?”

You hesitated, towel half-pulled from your bag. “Yeah… if that’s okay.”

He nodded without a word. Turning his back fully, he faced the wall and lifted one arm, covering his eyes with his sleeve. “Take your time,” he added. “I won’t look.”

Something in your chest loosened. The silence felt strange—calm, respectful, almost formal. It was a sharp contrast to the nonstop flirting from earlier, and it left you oddly unsettled.

As you slipped into your pajamas, you hesitated, then spoke up.

“Hey… did you ever ask Jungwon about the double booking?”

Heeseung paused, his arm still covering his eyes. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “I caught him this afternoon.”

Your stomach tightened. “And?”

He exhaled quietly. “He said there’s nothing he can do until we reach the city. Train’s full. No empty compartments.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Figures.”

“I told him it was a mess,” Heeseung added, softer now. “But his hands are tied.”

“Of course they are,” you muttered, then looked up at him. “Thanks for asking, though.”

He gave a small shrug. “Didn’t feel right not to.”

You changed quickly after that, the silence settling into something unexpectedly gentle. When you were done, you cleared your throat softly.

“You can turn around now.”

Heeseung lowered his arm slowly and turned around.

“Alright,” he said, voice quiet.

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, he focused on getting comfortable again, moving with deliberate care as if giving you a few extra seconds. When he finally glanced up, his expression was neutral, maybe even soft.

You climbed into bed, tugging the blanket up to your waist. Outside the window, the last light of day blurred into streaks of gold and gray as the train kept moving.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The train hummed beneath you, steady and rhythmic. Somewhere down the hall, a door slid shut. Pipes knocked softly in the walls. Normal sounds, grounding ones.

You stared at the ceiling, thoughts drifting despite yourself.

“Hey,” you said after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t have to be… so different,” you admitted.

There was a pause. Then a soft exhale.

“I know,” Heeseung said. “I just figured… you didn't ask to share a room with me.”

You turned your head slightly, surprised by how close his voice sounded in the small space. “Thank you,” you said before you could stop yourself.

Another pause.

"No problem,” he replied, not teasing this time. Just honest.

The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward. It settled between you, warm and careful. You shifted under the blanket, exhaustion finally pulling at you again.

“Goodnight,” you murmured.

“Goodnight,” he answered.

-------------

Morning light slipped through the thin curtains, pale and quiet. You woke first. The compartment was still, the steady hum of the train softer than it had been overnight. Heeseung was curled on the pull-down couch, one arm draped over his eyes, his book open and facedown on his chest. For a moment, you just watched him breathe, the slow rise and fall grounding in a way you didn’t expect. Then you slipped out of bed, dressed quietly, and eased into the corridor.

The café car smelled like fresh coffee and warm bread. Jay stood behind the counter, tying his apron. “Morning,” he said. “No bakery in this town. Platform’s packed with tourists. Might get busy.”

You smiled. “Busy I can handle.”

But the rush never came. Most passengers wandered into town chasing ocean air and market stalls, leaving the café calm and half-full. You wiped down counters, reshaped dough for the morning batch, and slid trays into the warmer. The quiet was nice.

Then the door opened.

Heeseung walked in like he had nowhere else to be, jacket slung over his shoulder, hair still slightly messy from sleep. He took his usual seat at the counter. “Morning,” he said. “You disappear early.”

“Some of us work,” you replied, pouring his coffee.

He smiled into the steam. “I work.”

“Oh?” You set the mug in front of him. “And what exactly do you do?”

“I'm a writer.” He wrapped both hands around the cup. “Mostly travel essays. Sometimes fiction, when I’m brave enough.”

You paused. “That explains a lot.”

He lifted a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You talk like you’re narrating your own life.”

He laughed, not defensive, just amused.

You leaned against the counter. “So what are you writing about now?”

“This trip,” he said easily. “Small towns. Train stations. People who look like they’re running toward something.”

Your hand stilled for half a second. “And what do I look like?”

He didn’t answer immediately. He studied you, not teasing this time, just thoughtful. “Focused,” he said finally. “Like if you stop moving, you might think too much.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re projecting.”

“Probably.”

You slid a tray of fresh pastries into the case. “I’m a baker, by the way. Not just temporary train help.”

“Yeah? Your own place?”

“Family shop. Grew up there.” You shrugged. “Flour in my lungs since I could walk.”

“That’s better than ink stains,” he said, lifting his fingers. “They never come out.”

You glanced at his hands. Long fingers, faint smudges near his knuckles. “I like baking,” you said. “It’s simple. You follow the steps. If it fails, you know why.”

“Writing’s not like that,” he replied quietly. “Sometimes you do everything right and it still falls flat.”

“That sounds miserable.”

“It is,” he admitted. “It’s also addictive.”

You shook your head. “I prefer dough.”

He grinned. “I noticed.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Careful.”

“What?” he said innocently. “You handle flour like it listens to you.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“It is where I’m from.”

You tried not to smile and failed.

He took a sip of coffee. “So why the train?”

“Why not?”

“Most people don’t wake up and board a sleeper to nowhere.”

“Maybe they should.”

He tilted his head. “You always this stubborn?”

“Only when someone’s analyzing me before nine a.m.”

He laughed again, softer this time. “Fair.”

There was no performance now, no exaggerated flirting. Just conversation that stretched easily, without effort.

“You ever write about bakeries?” you asked.

“Not yet.”

“You should. Early mornings. Quiet ovens. The way sugar smells when it caramelizes.”

He watched you as you spoke, like he was memorizing the shape of the words. “Say that again.”

“What?”

“The way you described it.”

You rolled your eyes but repeated it, slower this time.

He smiled. “That’s a paragraph already.”

“You’re stealing my lines.”

“I’m borrowing inspiration.”

You reached for his empty mug, and when your fingers brushed, neither of you pulled away right away.

“Careful,” he said softly.

“Careful of what?”

“I might start writing you in.”

You held his gaze. “Only if you can keep up.”

Outside, the train whistle blew, calling passengers back. The café began to fill, voices and footsteps returning, but the space between you felt steady now. Easy.

-------------

The rest of the day moved faster than it should have.

What started as a quiet morning turned into a steady stream of customers once the train left the platform. Tourists returned with bags of market bread and salty hair from the sea. Families wanted coffee. Couples wanted something sweet. Someone spilled orange juice. Someone complained about their croissant not being warm enough.

You barely stopped moving.

Flour dusted your apron. Your wrists ached from kneading and slicing. The espresso machine hissed nonstop. At some point, you realized you hadn’t sat down once.

Heeseung stayed through most of it.

Sometimes he helped —passing you plates, grabbing napkins before you could reach them. Sometimes he just watched, offering commentary that was softer now, less showy.

“You move faster when you’re tired,” he observed at one point.

“That doesn’t make sense,” you muttered, sliding a tray into the oven.

“It does if you’re trying not to think.”

You shot him a look. “You always narrate people’s coping mechanisms?”

“Writer brain,” he said lightly.

By the time evening rolled in, the café lights felt harsher. The golden glow from earlier had faded into deep blue shadows beyond the windows. One by one, passengers filtered out.

Chairs scraped back. Goodnights were exchanged. The car slowly emptied.

It had been a long day.

Jay leaned against the counter with a dramatic exhale. “That,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel, “was brutal.”

Jungwon stepped in from the corridor, cap tucked under his arm. “You survived.”

“Barely.”

Jay reached beneath the counter and pulled out two bottles. “If I don’t have a drink right now, I’m resigning.”

He popped one open with practiced ease and poured himself a generous glass.

Jungwon watched for a second before holding up a hand. “Pour me one too.”

Jay smirked. “Knew you’d crack.”

He grabbed another glass and filled it. The sharp scent of alcohol cut through the lingering sweetness of pastries.

Then Jay glanced across the café.

You were still leaning against the counter, talking quietly with Heeseung. The conversation had slowed, easy and unhurried.

Jay raised an eyebrow. “You know we’re closed, right?”

Before Heeseung could respond, you spoke up.

“It’s okay,” you said casually. “He’s with me.”

Jay looked between the two of you for a beat, then shrugged.

“Alright,” he said. He set the second unopened bottle down on the counter in front of you, along with two clean glasses. “Don’t stay up all night.”

Jungwon gave you a small nod on his way out. “Try to get some rest.”

“No promises,” Heeseung called lightly.

Jay shook his head. “I don’t want to know.”

With that, the two of them headed out, their voices fading down the corridor.

The café fell quiet.

Just you. Just him. And the low hum of the train.

The liquid in the glasses caught the dim overhead light, casting warm shadows across the counter. You slid one toward Heeseung, your fingers grazing the cool edge of the glass, and he took it with a slow nod, his eyes locking onto yours.

"To long days," he murmured, clinking his glass against yours. The whiskey burned smooth down your throat, spreading heat through your chest, loosening the knots from hours on your feet. You leaned back against the counter, the wood pressing into your hips, and watched him swallow his own pour. His throat worked visibly, Adam's apple bobbing, and you felt a tingle low in your belly.

He set the glass down, fingers tracing the rim absently. "So, my last story. You want details?"

You nodded, pouring a refill for both of you, the bottle glugging softly. "Every part."

Heeseung leaned in, elbows on the counter, voice dropping. He painted the scene: rain-slick cobblestones, a hidden trattoria where he'd talked to his source —an old fisherman with tales of shipwrecks. But as he spoke, his gaze drifted, lingering on the way your blouse clung slightly from the day's steam, the subtle rise of your breasts with each breath. The whiskey made his words looser, his posture more open, knee brushing yours under the counter.

You sipped again, the alcohol blurring the edges of restraint. "Sounds intense. Ever get in over your head like that here? On this train?"

His laugh was low, almost a rumble. "Maybe. Chasing a story I didn't expect." His hand moved then, casual at first, resting on the counter near yours. But his pinky hooked over your smallest finger, a feather-light touch that sent sparks up your arm. You didn't pull away. Instead, you turned your palm up, letting his fingers slide between yours, intertwining slowly.

The air thickened, charged with the scent of whiskey and unspoken want. Heeseung's thumb stroked the back of your hand, circles growing firmer, and you felt the heat climb, pooling between your thighs. "Tell me," he said, voice husky now, eyes dark as they flicked to your lips. "What's the one thing you'd chase right now, if the train stopped?"

Your breath hitched. The compartment's shared silence from last night echoed in your mind, but here, with the liquor warming your veins, restraint felt like a thin thread. You leaned closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, the faint musk of his skin mixing with the café's lingering coffee. "I don’t know," you whispered, your free hand rising to trace the line of his jaw..

Heeseung's eyes hooded, breath escaping in a soft exhale against your wrist. He turned his head, lips brushing the inside of your palm –a kiss so light it could have been accidental, but the way his tongue flicked out, tasting your skin, said otherwise. Your pulse thrummed there, and you pressed closer, the counter digging into your waist as you shifted.

"That’s okay," he echoed, releasing your hand only to stand, rounding the counter in one fluid step. The space between you vanished; he caged you against the edge, hands planting on either side of your hips, not touching yet, but close enough that you felt the heat of him. His chest nearly brushed yours, and you tilted your head up, lips parting on instinct.

He didn't kiss you. Not yet. Instead, he dipped his head, nose trailing along the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply. "You smell like vanilla and coffee," he murmured, lips ghosting over your pulse point. Your body responded instantly, nipples hardening against the fabric of your blouse, an ache building in your core.

"Heeseung," you breathed, hands finding his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle there. He groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your skin, and finally, his mouth pressed to your throat—open-mouthed, hot, sucking gently until you arched into him.

The whiskey bottle stood forgotten as his hands slid to your waist, thumbs circling just under the hem of your blouse, slipping beneath to graze bare skin. Goosebumps followed his touch, and you gasped when his fingers splayed wide, pulling you flush against him. Through his shirt, you felt the hard line of his chest, the rapid beat of his heart mirroring yours.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes blazing with hunger. "Tell me to stop," he said, voice rough, but his hips pressed forward, letting you feel the growing bulge in his pants grinding against your thigh.

"Don't," you replied, bold from the alcohol and the day's pent-up tension. Your hand slid down his chest, over his abs, until your palm cupped him through the fabric. He was hard, thick, straining against your touch, and he bucked into your hand with a low curse.

"Fuck," he hissed, capturing your mouth then in a kiss that was all heat and demand. His tongue swept in, tasting of whiskey and him, tangling with yours as he devoured you. You moaned into it, fingers fumbling with his belt, the clink of metal loud in the empty car.

He broke the kiss to nip at your lower lip, then trailed down, unbuttoning your blouse with deft fingers. Cool air hit your skin as he pushed the fabric aside, exposing your bra –just a regular sports bra, but his gaze devoured it like it was sinful. "Beautiful," he growled, palming one breast, thumb rolling over the peaked nipple until you whimpered.

You tugged his shirt free, hands roaming his back, nails scraping lightly as he shoved your skirt up your thighs. His knee nudged your legs apart, settling between them, and you rocked against the firm pressure, slickness gathering in your panties.

Heeseung's mouth found your collarbone, sucking a mark there while his hand dipped lower, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear. "Wet already," he murmured, approval thick in his tone as he slipped beneath the fabric, stroking through your folds. You were soaked, clit throbbing under his touch, and he circled it slowly, teasing until your hips jerked.

"Please," you gasped, grinding into his hand. He slid one finger inside you, then two, curling them just right, thumb pressing your clit. The stretch burned sweet, and you clenched around him, head falling back against the cabinet.

He pumped steadily, mouth latching onto your nipple through the fabric of your bra, teeth grazing as he sucked. Pleasure coiled tight, your breaths coming in pants, but he slowed just as you teetered on the edge. "Not yet," he whispered, withdrawing his fingers, leaving you aching and empty.

You whined in protest, but he silenced you with another kiss, deeper, hungrier. His cock pressed insistently against your thigh, and you reached down, freeing him from his pants. He was hot and heavy in your hand, pre-cum beading at the tip. You stroked him firmly, thumb swiping over the head, and he groaned into your mouth, hips thrusting into your grip.

"Want you," he panted, lifting you onto the counter with ease, the whiskey glasses rattling. Your skirt bunched at your waist, panties shoved aside as he lined up, the blunt head of his cock nudging your entrance.

But the train jolted then, a sudden sway that pulled you both back to reality. Heeseung froze, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. "We should... room," he said, voice strained, though his body screamed otherwise.

You nodded, legs wrapping around him anyway, holding him close. The desire hung thick, unspoken promises in the air as he helped you down, tucking himself away with visible effort.

The corridor to the room stretched like an eternity, each step echoing with the train's rhythmic clatter. Heeseung's hand hovered at the small of your back, not quite touching, but the promise of it sent shivers racing up your spine. The whiskey buzzed in your veins, amplifying every glance, every brush of fabric against skin. You could still feel the ghost of his fingers inside you, the ache he'd left behind throbbing insistently.

He unlocked the door with a soft click, and the space enveloped you both —dimly lit by a single overhead lamp, the bed neatly made from earlier, the pull-out couch untouched. No interruptions, no worry of prying eyes. Just the two of you.

Heeseung closed the door behind him, the lock snapping into place. His eyes met yours, dark and intense, the restraint from the café fraying at the edges. "Finally," he breathed, stepping closer until your back hit the edge of the bed. His hands found your hips this time, gripping firmly, pulling you against him. The hard length of his cock pressed into your stomach through his pants, stiff and hot.

You tilted your head up, lips crashing into his. The kiss was messy, urgent —tongues sliding together, teeth nipping as hands roamed. Yours tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a groan from his throat. Heeseung's fingers dug into your ass, kneading the flesh as he ground against you, the friction making you both gasp.

"Been wanting this since I walked in on you changing," he muttered against your mouth, voice gravelly. He walked you backward until your knees buckled against the mattress, and you sank down, him following to hover over you. His weight pinned you lightly, one knee between your thighs, pressing up against your soaked panties.

You arched into him, hands shoving at his shirt until it came off in a hurried pull. His skin was warm, muscles flexing under your palms as you traced the lines of his chest, down to the waistband of his pants. Heeseung captured your wrists gently, kissing each palm before guiding them above your head. "Let me take care of you first," he said, eyes locked on yours, a wicked glint there.

He released you to trail kisses down your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin while his hands worked your blouse open fully, shoving it off your shoulders. The bra followed, pulled off and tossed aside, leaving your breasts bare. He palmed them roughly, thumbs flicking over your still hard nipples, then lowered his mouth to one, sucking hard. His tongue swirled around the bud, teeth grazing just enough to make you moan, your back arching off the bed.

"Heeseung," you whimpered, fingers threading through his hair, holding him there. He lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, leaving them shiny and swollen from his mouth. All the while, his hips rocked against your thigh, his cock straining, but he held back, focused on unraveling you.

Satisfied with your chest, he kissed lower, over your stomach, nipping at the soft skin there. Your skirt was next, hiked up and yanked down your legs, panties dragged off with it. Cool air hit your exposed pussy, slick and swollen from earlier teasing. Heeseung settled between your thighs, hands spreading them wide, his breath ghosting over your folds.

"So wet for me," he murmured, voice thick with approval. His eyes flicked up to meet yours as he leaned in, tongue flattening to lick a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. The sensation jolted through you, hips bucking up, but he held you down with firm hands on your thighs.

He licked again, deliberate, tasting every inch. His tongue delved into your pussy, thrusting shallowly, lapping at your arousal like he couldn't get enough. You moaned loudly, the compartment's walls muffling the sound. Heeseung hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine, and focused on your clit. Circling it with the tip of his tongue, then sucking it between his lips.

Your hands fisted the sheets, pleasure building fast and fierce. He slid two fingers back inside you, pumping in time with his mouth's rhythm, curling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. "Fuck, you taste good," he growled, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. Then he dove back in, sucking harder, tongue flicking relentlessly.

The coil in your belly tightened, breaths coming in short pants. Heeseung didn't let up, fingers thrusting deeper, mouth devouring your pussy with wet, obscene sounds. Your thighs trembled around his head, and when he grazed his teeth lightly over your clit, you shattered. Orgasm crashing over you, walls clenching around his fingers as you cried out his name.

He worked you through it, licking softly until you twitched from overstimulation, then withdrew, kissing the inside of your thigh. His chin was slick, eyes hazy with lust as he crawled up your body. "Your turn?" you panted, reaching for his pants, but he shook his head, cock nudging against your still-sensitive entrance.

"Not yet," he said, voice rough. "Want to feel you come around me."

Heeseung's words hung in the air, as he positioned himself between your legs. Your body still hummed from the orgasm he'd given you, pussy clenching around nothing, slick and ready. He took off his pants in quick, efficient movements, his cock springing free —thick, veined, the tip already leaking pre-cum from before. It bobbed heavily as he stroked himself once, eyes devouring the sight of you spread out beneath him, chest heaving, skin flushed.

You reached for him, fingers wrapping around his shaft, guiding him closer. The heat of him rubbed against you, and he hissed through his teeth at the contact. "Please," you whispered, the plea raw and unfiltered.

Heeseung leaned down, capturing your lips in a hot kiss, his tongue plunging deep as he grinded the head of his cock at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open. Your walls fluttered around him, gripping tight, and you moaned into his mouth at the fullness. He bottomed out with a low groan, hips flush against yours.

"So fucking tight," he rasped, holding still for a moment to let you adjust. His forehead pressed to yours, breaths mingling, before he started to move. Long, deliberate thrusts that dragged his cock along your sensitive inner walls.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back to pull him deeper. Heeseung's hands braced on either side of your head, muscles straining as he picked up pace. The bed rocked with the motion, syncing with the train's sway, turning the rhythm hypnotic. Sweat slicked your bodies, skin slapping together in the quiet space.

He shifted, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder to change the angle, and the new depth made you cry out. His cock hit that spot inside you relentlessly now, pounding with precision. "Right there," you gasped, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails. Heeseung buried his face in your neck, sucking at the pulse point while his hips snapped forward, driving harder.

The pleasure coiled tight again, faster this time, your pussy squeezing him. Heeseung's breaths grew ragged, his control slipping as he chased the edge with you. "Cum for me," he demanded, voice low and commanding, one hand slipping between you to rub circles over your clit.

It tipped you over, orgasm ripping through you, walls pulsing around his cock as you shattered, soaking him with your release. Heeseung followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, spilling hot cum inside you with a choked moan. His body shuddered, hips jerking erratically as he rode it out, filling you.

He collapsed onto you gently, both panting, his weight a comforting press. He lingered inside you for a moment longer, his cock softening as your combined releases trickled out, warm and sticky between your thighs. He eased back carefully, not wanting to rush the intimacy, and grabbed a soft cloth from the small sink in the compartment's corner. Dampening it with cool water, he returned to your side, his touch gentle. First from your swollen folds, then along your inner thighs, soothing the sensitive skin.

You sighed, body relaxed and heavy against the sheets, watching him through half-lidded eyes. The care in his movements stirred something deep, a tenderness that contrasted the raw hunger from moments before. He cleaned himself next, efficient but unhurried, before tossing the cloth aside and sliding back into bed beside you.

"You okay?" he asked, voice husky, propping himself on one elbow to scan your face. His free hand traced lazy patterns on your hip, thumb circling the curve there.

"More than," you murmured, turning into him. Your leg draped over his, seeking the warmth of his body. He pulled you closer, arm wrapping around your waist, fingers drawing patterns across your lower back.

He tugged the thin blanket over you both, cocooning the shared heat. Your eyelids grew heavy, the day's exhaustion crashing in now.

"Sleep," he whispered, as if sensing your drift. His lips brushed your hair one last time, and you felt his body relax fully against yours.

-------------

Morning light filtered in softer than the day before. Heeseung’s arm was draped lazily over your waist, warm and heavy. You slipped out from under it carefully; he stirred but didn’t wake. You dressed in silence —blouse, skirt, hair tied back. The room still smelled faintly like him, and that didn’t help your focus.

The café was already alive. Jay stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, the espresso machine hissing in sharp bursts. “Morning,” he said without looking up.

“Morning.” You tied your apron.

He glanced at you. Then glanced again. A slow smirk tugged at his mouth. “Sleep okay?”

Your hands paused mid-knot. “…Yeah.”

“Good,” he replied, far too neutral. “Get enough sleep?”

Heat rushed straight to your cheeks. “It wasn’t like that.”

Jay hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Sure.”

You shot him a look, but he just chuckled and slid a tray toward you. “Relax. I don’t need details. Just don’t do it in my café.”

You buried your face briefly in your shoulder, willing the warmth to fade, and got to work.

Heeseung hadn’t shown up yet. No occupied stool at the counter. No lazy commentary. No lingering gaze. And somehow, that absence felt louder than his teasing ever had.

You poured coffee. Wiped tables. Refilled water glasses. The rhythm settled in —steady, familiar.

Until it wasn’t.

A passenger, distracted and waving their phone mid-story, turned too quickly and collided straight into you. The tray in your hands tipped. A full glass of ice water poured down the front of your blouse.

You gasped at the cold shock. Fabric clung instantly to your skin.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, stepping back, but the damage was obvious. Water soaked through your apron, darkening everything beneath.

Jay was beside you in seconds. “Okay,” he said firmly. “Go. Change.”

“I can just—”

“Nope. You’re not serving like that.” He pointed toward the corridor. “Room. Now. I’ve got this.”

You hesitated.

He softened. “Seriously. Ten minutes.”

You nodded and slipped away. The corridor felt colder against your damp clothes; each step made the fabric cling more uncomfortably to your skin. You reached your compartment, turned the handle, and stepped inside.

And froze.

Heeseung sat on the edge of the bed.

In his hands —the letter.

Folded paper, carefully opened. His eyes lifted the second the door shut. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke.

You stepped forward slowly. “What are you doing?”

His fingers stilled against the page, but he didn’t crumple it. Didn’t hide it. “I was looking for my notebook,” he said quietly. “I thought I left it on the nightstand.”

Your stomach twisted.

He glanced down at the letter again, not reading now. Just absorbing. “Sunghoon,” he said.

You crossed your arms instinctively, suddenly aware of your soaked blouse, the way it clung, the vulnerability of standing there while he held something that personal. “You shouldn’t have opened it.”

“I know.”

A pause. “But I did.”

The train hummed beneath you.

Heeseung stood slowly and held the letter out like it weighed more than paper. “You were running toward him,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

Your throat tightened. “Yes.”

Silence stretched between you. His jaw shifted, not angry, just processing.

“And now?” he asked.

You didn’t have an answer ready. Because now wasn’t simple anymore.

You stepped forward and took the letter carefully,. “I didn’t expect…” You stopped.

“Me?” he finished softly.

You met his eyes.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “I wasn’t supposed to be part of your story,” he said, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “I was just passing through.”

“You weren’t just passing through,” you replied before you could stop yourself.

His gaze flickered to your soaked blouse and then back to your face, conflicted, like he didn’t trust himself to look too long. “You should change,” he said gently, but he didn’t move away. “You’re freezing.”

You hadn’t even noticed the shiver until he said it.

The letter rested between your fingers, heavier now. So was the space between you.

But before you could even grab your clothes to change, he spoke up again. 

“So,” he said, softer than you expected, “am I just a chapter?”

There was no accusation in it. That almost made it worse.

Your chest tightened, like something invisible had cinched around it. The letter trembled in your hands before you folded it closed. “Heeseung, I don’t know—what am I supposed to say?” Frustration spilled out before you could stop it. You threw your hands up, the paper crinkling. “There isn’t a clean answer to this.”

“The truth,” he said gently, but firmly.

Your throat went dry. “I—” The words tangled. Everything felt knotted together. “I have to change.”

It was a coward’s exit, and you knew it.

You stepped around him, grabbing a dry shirt from your bag. The damp blouse clung stubbornly as you peeled it off, cool air brushing your skin. You pulled the clean shirt over your head quickly, fingers fumbling at the hem.

He didn’t turn around.

He just stood there, shoulders tense, one hand dragging through his hair like he was trying to line up thoughts that refused to cooperate.

The compartment felt smaller than ever.

You cleared your throat softly so he’d know you were still there—that you weren’t walking away entirely. “My stop is tomorrow,” you said quietly.

The words landed heavy.

He didn’t move at first. Then he turned slowly. Something in his expression had shifted. “So you’re leaving.”

You nodded. “I’m not staying here,” you corrected gently. “That was always the plan.”

“To meet him.”

You hesitated. “…Yes.”

The train hummed beneath you, steady and indifferent.

“And after?” he asked.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. Because that was the part you hadn’t figured out. You were supposed to get off the train. Supposed to find Sunghoon. Supposed to close something that had been open for four years. You hadn’t planned for anything beyond that.

Heeseung studied your silence. “You don’t look certain.”

“I’m not uncertain,” you shot back too quickly.

He gave you a look.

Your shoulders dropped with a quiet exhale. “I just didn’t expect…”

“Me?” he finished.

You met his eyes. “Yes.”

The honesty hung there —fragile and terrifying.

He stepped closer, just enough that the space between you thinned. His voice softened. “Then what does that make this?”

A knock hit the door. Sharp.

Both of you froze.

Another knock, firmer. “Y/N?” Jungwon’s voice filtered through the wood, calm but purposeful. “Jay sent me. He said to check on you.”

The spell shattered.

You blinked, reality rushing back too fast. Heeseung stepped away immediately, distance snapping into place like it had never been fragile seconds ago.

“I—yeah,” you called out, clearing your throat. “I’m fine!”

A pause. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you answered, a little too quickly. “Just changing.”

Heeseung dragged a hand through his hair and turned toward the window, jaw tight again.

“I’ll tell him you’re alive,” Jungwon said dryly from the other side. “Five minutes.”

Footsteps faded down the corridor.

Silence flooded back in but it wasn’t the same silence. The question still lingered.

What does that make this?

You looked at Heeseung, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was staring at the blur of coastline outside, expression guarded now, shutters drawn.

“You should go,” he said after a moment. “Finish your shift.”

You swallowed. Not wanting to make it worse, not wanting to disappoint him further, you nodded and turned for the door.

And this time, the space between you felt a lot wider.

-------------

You went back to the café and slipped behind the counter like nothing had happened. Jay glanced up. 

“You good?” 

“Yeah,” you said, already reaching for a towel. He studied you for a second, then let it go. “Dry those glasses.” You nodded and worked.

You didn’t talk much after that. Not to passengers and not even to Jay. You moved through the rest of the shift on instinct alone. Wipe, rinse, stack. Pour, serve, clear. Your hands knew the rhythm even if your head didn’t. Heeseung never came back to the counter.

By evening, the café had gone quiet. The last customers filtered out, chairs scraping softly across the floor. The espresso machine gave one final tired hiss before Jay shut it down. You kept wiping the counter long after it was already clean.

Jay noticed. “You planning on refinishing that?”

You blinked and stilled. “Oh. Sorry.”

“We’re closed.”

“Right.” You folded the towel neatly, but you didn’t untie your apron. Didn’t grab your bag.

He leaned against the counter, arms loosely crossed. “You’re not packing up.”

You swallowed. “I can’t go back to my room.”

He didn’t ask why. He didn’t need to. He just nodded once, like that was enough. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his keycard, and held it out to you. “Take mine.”

You stared at it. “Jay, I can’t.”

“You can.”

“That’s your room.”

“I’ll bunk with Jungwon for one night.”

You shook your head automatically. “No, that’s—”

He stepped closer and pressed the card into your hand before you could finish. “It’s fine. He owes me. And I’ve slept in worse places than Jungwon’s top bunk.”

A small, reluctant laugh escaped you.

His expression softened. “You don’t have to explain. Just don’t stay somewhere you don’t feel okay being.”

Your throat tightened as you wrapped your fingers around the keycard. “Thank you.”

He shrugged like it was nothing. “You’re good help. I’d prefer you not spiral before your stop.”

There it was again —your stop. Your chest pulled tight.

Jay noticed, of course. His voice was gentle. “I’ll miss you, you know.”

The simplicity of it nearly undid you. “I’ll miss you too,” you admitted quietly.

He clapped his hands once, breaking the moment before it could sink too deep. “Go. Before I change my mind and start charging rent.”

You rolled your eyes but held onto the keycard. As you stepped into the corridor, the café lights dimmed behind you, and for the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe.

-------------

Morning came softer in Jay’s room. The bed was firmer than yours, the sheets faintly scented with clean linen and flour, like the café had followed him into sleep. For a few blissful seconds, you forgot where you were. Then three solid knocks against the door.

You sat up immediately, heart jumping, disoriented until the unfamiliar ceiling pulled everything back into place. Jay’s room. Not yours.

Another knock. “Y/N?” Jay’s voice.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and crossed the room, unlocking the door. Jay stood there already dressed, apron folded over one arm. In his other hand —your bag. 

You blinked. “How did you—?”

He handed it to you before you could finish. “Someone dropped it off in the café early.”

Your stomach tightened. “Someone?” you repeated.

He shrugged, casual but deliberately vague. “Didn’t leave a note. Just said it was yours.”

You stared at the bag a second longer than necessary. You didn’t need a name. Jay didn’t offer one.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

He nodded once. “We’re pulling into the city in a few hours. Come by the café before you go. Eat something. Proper goodbye.”

Your throat tightened again. “Yeah. I will.”

He gave you a small, almost proud smile. “Good. Don’t make me come drag you.”

He turned and headed down the corridor, leaving you alone with your bag and the weight of what it meant. Heeseung must’ve gone back to the compartment. Must’ve seen you weren’t there. Must’ve gathered your things —and chosen not to say goodbye.

You closed the door gently and stood there for a moment before unzipping the bag. Everything was folded neatly. Your apron. Your extra shirts. The letter tucked safely into the inner pocket like it hadn’t been touched again.

Your chest tightened.

You showered quickly in the small washroom, letting the water wake you fully. When you stepped back into the room, you dressed more carefully than usual —smoothing your skirt, adjusting your shirt, brushing your hair. Finally letting it down, instead of the bun it has been in all week. You weren’t dressing for the café. You were dressing for the city. 

You glanced at yourself in the mirror once before leaving. You looked steadier than you felt.

The café was warm when you stepped in. Jay stood behind the counter, Jungwon near the espresso machine, sleeves rolled neatly as always. They both looked up at the same time.

“About time,” Jay said.

Jungwon gestured toward the counter. “We saved you a seat.”

At the edge of the counter sat a plate already prepared —fresh pastry, coffee steaming beside it. Your seat.

You swallowed and slid onto the stool between them. Heeseung’s usual spot at the other end of the counter was empty. You tried not to look at it.

Jay nudged the plate toward you. “Eat. You’ll need energy if you’re going to dramatically step off into the city.”

You huffed a faint laugh. “Is that what I’m doing?”

“No backing out now,” Jungwon said dryly. “I did a lot of extra paperwork to let you get on this train.”

You smiled. For a few minutes, the conversation stayed light —small jokes, complaints about tourists, Jungwon correcting Jay over something trivial. The normal rhythm of them. It felt grounding.

Then the train whistle sounded in the distance. City approach.

Jay leaned his elbows on the counter, studying you more seriously. “You sure about this?”

You nodded. “I think so.”

Jungwon’s gaze was steady. “You don’t have to be certain..”

Warmth spread through your chest. “I’ll miss this,” you admitted.

Jay scoffed lightly. “Of course you will. Best café on rails.”

You smiled, but your eyes flicked once more toward the empty stool at the far end. Still empty.

Jay noticed. He didn’t comment. He just reached over and squeezed your shoulder once, firm and steady.

The train began to slow, metal grinding softly against metal. The city waited ahead.

And Heeseung never walked through the door.

-------------

The train doors slid shut behind you with a final metallic sigh, and just like that, you were standing in the city. No dramatic reunion. No cinematic music swelling. Just cobblestone streets warmed by late-morning sun, storefronts with peeling paint, and the distant cry of gulls near the water.

You adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder. Okay. Now what?

You hadn’t thought that far ahead. You’d planned the train. The letter. The impulsive bravery of showing up. You had not planned the actual showing up part.

“Brilliant,” you muttered under your breath as you started walking. “Traveled across the country with no address, no phone number. Just hope.”

You turned down one street, then another, pretending you knew where you were going. You didn’t. What if he moved? What if he wasn’t even here? What if he was and this was a terrible idea?

You groaned quietly, too busy replaying every questionable decision that led you here to watch where you were going —and walked straight into someone.

“Oh!” a woman exclaimed.

You stumbled back as two woven baskets tipped forward, flowers spilling onto the pavement.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted, already crouching to help.

The woman laughed lightly, not angry. “It’s alright. They’ve survived worse.”

You gathered loose stems carefully, brushing dirt from delicate petals. The air filled instantly with lavender and something citrusy. “I wasn’t looking,” you admitted.

“You looked distracted,” she replied warmly.

You glanced up. She looked around your age, maybe a little older, kind eyes, hair pulled back loosely. She balanced the remaining basket on her hip like she’d done it a thousand times.

“I can carry one,” you offered quickly, lifting the fuller basket before she could protest.

She smiled. “If you insist. The shop’s just down the street.”

You followed her half a block to a small flower shop tucked between a bookstore and a bakery. The sign above the door read Sooha’s Florals in soft painted script. Inside felt like a pocket of spring. Dried flowers hanging from the ceiling, vases lining wooden shelves, sunlight catching in glass jars.

“You can set it there,” she said, gesturing to a long wooden table.

You did, brushing your hands off. “Thank you.”

“I’m Sooha,” she said.

“Y/N.”

She tilted her head slightly. “You’re not from here.”

You let out a breath. “Is it that obvious?”

“A little,” she admitted gently. “You don't look like you know what you're doing.”

You hesitated. It would’ve been easier to brush it off. But something about the way she said it —curious, not prying— made you honest. “I don’t.”

She leaned against the counter. “Can I ask what?”

You gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “This is going to sound ridiculous.”

“Those are my favorite kinds of stories.”

You glanced at the door, then back at her. “I came looking for someone. A… summer thing. From four years ago. He sent me a letter. It got lost in the mail for years. I just got it.”

Sooha’s eyes widened. “That’s incredibly romantic.”

You huffed softly. “Or incredibly delusional.”

“No,” she insisted. “Romantic.”

She tucked a stray flower into a vase, thoughtful. “You came all this way because of a letter?”

You nodded.

“That’s brave.”

“It feels more stupid than brave.”

“Same thing sometimes,” she said lightly.

She smiled, and there was something steady about it. Rooted. “I’m engaged,” she added, glancing at the ring on her finger. “We’ve been together forever. But sometimes I think about how small choices change everything. A missed train. A delayed letter.” She looked back at you. “If you don’t come, you’d always wonder.”

Your stomach chose that exact moment to betray you with a loud, unmistakable growl.

You froze.

Sooha burst into soft laughter. “Okay. Before you chase romance, you need food.”

You covered your face briefly. “I cannot believe that just happened.”

“There’s a place a few streets down called Décelis,” she continued, still smiling. “Best food in town. You’ll like it.”

The name settled strangely in your chest. “Décelis?” you repeated.

She nodded. “Big windows. Always busy around lunch.”

You adjusted your bag again. “Thank you. For the pep talk.”

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she said gently.

You stepped back into the sunlight, the shop door chiming softly behind you. Décelis. You hadn’t planned this far ahead. But maybe the city was planning for you. 

-------------

Décelis wasn’t hard to find. Sooha had described it perfectly. Big windows, sunlight pouring in, the low hum of conversation spilling onto the street. The scent of espresso and fresh pastry hit you the second you stepped inside.

And behind the counter—

“Are you kidding me right now?”

You froze. He froze.

“Sunoo?”

He blinked once. Twice. “Y/N?!”

He rounded the counter so fast he nearly knocked over a tray of cups. “What are you doing here?”

“I—what are you doing here?” you shot back.

“This is my restaurant!” he gestured wildly. “What are you doing here?”

“You own Décelis?”

“Yes! I told you I was gonna open something one day!”

“You say that about everything!”

“And I did it!” he pointed dramatically toward the ceiling like that sealed the argument.

A loud sputtering noise cut through the moment. Both of you turned. Behind the espresso machine stood a tall boy with dark hair falling into his eyes, staring at the portafilter like it had personally offended him. “I don’t understand why it’s doing that,” he muttered.

Sunoo dragged a hand down his face. “Because, Riki, you packed it like you’re building a brick wall.”

“You said firm.”

“I said firm, not violent.”

You tried not to laugh.

Sunoo looked at you like he was on the verge of collapse. “This is my new hire. He knows nothing. I am stressed.”

“I know how to make espresso,” you said carefully.

Sunoo blinked. “You do.”

“Yes.”

“You worked at your family bakery, right?.”

“Yes.”

He grabbed your hands dramatically. “Move in.”

You stared at him. “What?”

“I have a spare room. Help me train him. I’ll feed you.”

“Sunoo—”

“Please,” he whispered urgently. “He tried to steam milk in the cold pitcher.”

“I thought it would heat up,” Riki defended.

You burst out laughing, and just like that, something tight in your chest loosened.

Two days later, you were behind the counter at Décelis, sleeves rolled up, guiding Riki’s hands. “Okay,” you said, adjusting his grip. “You tamp evenly. Not like you’re angry at it.”

“I’m not angry.”

“You look angry.”

He huffed but tried again. The espresso pulled clean this time it was smooth and dark.

He blinked. “Oh.”

“See?” you smiled. “You’re not hopeless.”

Sunoo leaned against the pastry case, arms crossed. “She’s better at this than me.”

“Obviously,” you replied.

The door chimed. You didn’t look up right away, you were mid-sentence explaining milk temperature. Then something shifted. That feeling, like the room tilted slightly.

You looked up.

Your breath left you.

Sunghoon.

He looked older, more grounded, but the same. He stopped walking the second he saw you. “Y/N?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. He crossed the space between you in seconds. “What are you doing here?” he asked, disbelief and something softer mixing in his voice.

“I got your letter,” you blurted.

He stilled. “What?”

“It was lost,” you rushed. “For years. I just got it. I know it’s crazy to just show up like this after four years—”

He cut you off with a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You finally found me?”

“You’re not… upset?” you asked.

“Upset?” He shook his head. “I thought you ignored it.”

Your chest tightened. “I never even saw it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, overwhelmed. “I thought I imagined everything.”

“You didn’t,” you said quietly.

Behind you, Sunoo slowly looked between the two of you. Riki leaned over and whispered loudly, “Is this the summer guy she mentioned?”

You shot him a look. Sunoo elbowed him. “Subtle.”

Riki straightened immediately. “I will take care of the café.”

Sunoo raised a brow. “You will?”

“Yes.” Riki grabbed two pastries from the display and shoved them toward you. “Go. Sit. Talk. I’ve got this.”

“You absolutely do not have this,” Sunoo muttered but he didn’t stop you.

Sunghoon’s eyes never left yours. He gestured toward a small table by the window. “Can we?”

You nodded.

Four years of silence, miscommunication, and what-ifs sat between you. And for the first time since stepping off the train, you finally had the chance to talk.

You sat across from him at the small window table, sunlight catching in his hair the same way it had that summer. For a moment, neither of you spoke. It wasn’t awkward. It was just… full.

Sunghoon let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually real,” you admitted. “I half expected you to have moved. Or forgotten. Or—”

“Forgotten?” he cut in gently.

His expression shifted —not offended, just certain. “I never forgot.”

The steadiness in his voice made your chest tighten. He leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table. “I wrote that letter three times. I didn’t know if it was stupid. Or too much.”

“It wasn’t,” you said immediately.

His lips curved softly. “I kept thinking… if you didn’t respond, that was my answer.”

“It wasn’t an answer,” you whispered. “I never got it.”

Something flickered in his eyes, relief maybe. Or vindication. Or both. “I waited,” he admitted quietly. “Longer than I should’ve.”

You felt that. “Why didn’t you call?”

He gave a small, self-aware smile. “Because if you didn’t answer the letter, I didn’t want to force it.”

Of course. Careful. Respectful. Still that same quiet intensity that had undone you at nineteen.

“I thought about you,” he continued, voice steady. “More than I meant to.”

Your throat tightened. “I compared everyone to you,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.

His expression softened completely. “You came all this way,” he said. “Not knowing if I’d even be here.”

“I didn’t plan that far ahead,” you muttered.

He laughed softly —the same laugh that had lived in your head for four years without fading. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

The simplicity of it made your eyes sting. He reached across the table slowly, giving you time to pull away. You didn’t. His fingers wrapped around yours.

“I meant what I wrote,” he said quietly. “It mattered. You mattered.”

The noise of the café blurred around you. You searched his face for hesitation. There wasn’t any. He looked at you the same way he had that night on the beach.

“You look the same,” he added softly.

“I don’t,” you said. “I feel different.”

“Good,” he replied. “We’ve matured since nineteen.”

There was no disappointment in his tone. No shift in energy. No sign that time had worn anything down. If anything, it felt deeper.

“I was scared,” you admitted. “That I built you up in my head.”

He squeezed your hand gently. “And?”

You studied him —the way he listened, the way he didn’t rush you, the way his eyes didn’t wander. And you realized he wasn’t a memory. He was exactly what you remembered. Just older. Stronger. More certain.

“You didn’t disappoint,” you said quietly.

His smile was slow, warm, almost disbelieving. “Good,” he murmured.

Behind you, Riki fumbled loudly with something metallic. Sunoo’s voice rang out, “If you break that machine, I’m billing you!”

You both laughed, and it felt easy. Natural. Like four years had bent but never broken the thread between you.

Sunghoon leaned back slightly, still holding your hand. “Stay,” he said. Not impulsive. Not desperate. Just hopeful. “Don’t make this just a visit.”

Your heart kicked hard in your chest. And for the first time since boarding that train, you weren’t thinking about what you might lose. You were thinking about what you could build.

-------------

The next morning, you woke earlier than you needed to. Sunoo was still asleep when you slipped out of the apartment, the city just beginning to stretch awake. The air carried a soft, salty breeze from the water, and the streets were quiet. Just shopkeepers lifting metal grates and someone hosing down the sidewalk.

You didn’t head straight to Décelis. Your feet took you somewhere else first.

The little bell above the flower shop door chimed as you stepped inside. Sooha looked up from behind the counter, trimming stems. For half a second she just stared. Then her eyes widened. “No.”

You were already smiling. “Yes.”

She dropped the scissors. “He came?”

You nodded, barely containing it. “He walked into the café randomly. Like something out of a movie.”

Sooha pressed a hand to her chest. “Stop. I love this.”

“I know,” you laughed. “I almost passed out.”

“Tell me everything.”

You leaned against the wooden table where you’d helped her the day before. The shop smelled like eucalyptus and roses. “He thought I ignored him,” you said softly. “He thought I never answered.”

Her expression softened immediately. “Oh.”

“I told him the letter was lost. He… he was just happy I found him.”

Sooha let out a soft gasp. “That’s disgusting.”

You blinked. “What?”

“In the best way,” she clarified quickly. “That’s so romantic it hurts.”

You laughed, warmth spreading through your chest all over again. “It didn’t feel awkward,” you admitted. “It felt like we just picked up where we left off. But not in a naive way. We’re different now. It’s steadier.”

She studied you. “You look steadier.”

You glanced at your hands. “I was terrified I’d built him up too much. That it would fall apart the second I saw him.”

“And?”

“It didn’t.”

Sooha smiled, almost proud. “Sometimes things survive distance.” She rearranged a vase of lilies as she spoke more casually. “I met mine when we were young too. We’ve grown up side by side. It’s strange realizing the person you loved as a kid isn’t exactly the same person you love now. But if it’s right, you grow into it.”

You watched her. “Were you ever scared?”

She laughed softly. “All the time. Loving someone long-term is terrifying. You choose them again and again.”

That sat with you.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” you admitted. “It’s only been a day.”

“That’s fine,” she said gently. “You don’t need the ending immediately. You just need to know if your heart feels safe.”

Safe. That was it.

You nodded slowly. “It does.”

Her smile widened. “Then I’m over the moon for you.”

A comfortable silence settled as she wrapped a small bundle of wildflowers in brown paper and handed it to you. “For your counter. Every good love story deserves fresh flowers.”

You took them carefully. “You’re going to make me cry before work.”

“Good. Go cry somewhere else before I get emotional too.”

You hugged her impulsively, and she squeezed you back like you’d known each other longer than a few days. When you stepped back into the morning light, flowers tucked against your chest, you felt lighter. Not reckless. Not nostalgic. Just hopeful.

-------------

It was late afternoon when the bell above the café door chimed. You were mid-laugh at something Sunghoon had just said, one hand braced against the counter, the other still holding a spoon you’d forgotten to put down. He was sitting close enough that your shoulders brushed every time you moved.

“Focus,” he murmured. “You almost salted that instead of sugaring it.”

“You distracted me,” you shot back.

“Good.”

The bell chimed again.

This time, you looked up —and your breath caught.

Heeseung stood just inside the doorway, travel bag slung over one shoulder, hair slightly wind-tossed, eyes scanning the room. Then they landed on you.

His face changed instantly.

Hope. Real, unguarded hope. Like he hadn’t been sure you’d still be here. Like he’d rehearsed what he might say. Like coming back had cost him something.

Your heart lurched.

He took a step forward —and then he noticed Sunghoon. The stool pulled close. The easy proximity. The way Sunghoon’s arm rested along the counter behind you.

The hope didn’t vanish.

It tightened.

Sharpened.

Heeseung’s jaw flexed as he walked the rest of the way in.

You stepped out from behind the counter instinctively. “Heeseung.”

His eyes softened for half a second. “You look…” he started.

Happy.

He didn’t finish.

Instead, his gaze shifted to Sunghoon. “Let me guess,” he said evenly, “this is the letter guy.”

Sunghoon turned slowly on his stool, calm and measured. “And you are?”

Heeseung gave a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Apparently just a plot twist.”

You stiffened. “Heeseung—”

“What?” he said lightly, though the edge was there. “I’m just putting faces to stories.”

Sunghoon stood, not aggressive, just steady. “You’ve heard about me?”

“Enough,” Heeseung replied.

“From her?”

A beat.

Heeseung’s eyes flicked back to you. “Does it matter?”

The air thickened. Sunoo had gone suspiciously quiet. Riki was absolutely pretending to polish the same espresso wand for the fifth time.

“You came a long way?” Sunghoon asked.

Heeseung exhaled softly. “Far enough.”

“Why?”

There it was. Direct.

Heeseung’s gaze sharpened. “Why do you keep asking questions?”

“I asked you a question first,” Sunghoon said evenly. “and she’s with me.”

Your pulse pounded. “Okay,” you cut in. “We’re not doing this.”

Heeseung looked at you, and there it was— jealousy. 

“So you found him quickly,” he said quietly.

“You never said bye.” you shot back.

He hesitated. That landed.

“I wasn’t sure you would want me to,” he admitted.

Sunghoon watched carefully. “Are you staying in the city?”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened. “Is this an interview?”

“It’s a question.”

“You’re very calm,” Heeseung said, something sharper creeping in.

Sunghoon didn’t rise to it. “It’s respect.”

“For who?”

“My girlfriend.”

The simplicity of it made something flicker across Heeseung’s face.

He looked back at you. “Is this what you want?” he asked. Not accusing. Just searching. “Because if it is, I’ll stop.”

The room went still.

Sunghoon’s posture shifted subtly. 

You swallowed. “Heeseung, I didn’t know—”

“That I’d come back?” he finished quietly.

You shook your head. “That you would.”

He let out a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Neither did I.”

Silence hung between you. Then something in him softened. He ran a hand through his hair, tension bleeding from his shoulders.

Heeseung looked at you. “I didn’t mean to come in swinging. I just… thought maybe.”

He didn’t finish.

He didn’t have to.

You stepped closer. “I’m glad you came.”

That surprised him. It showed.

Sunghoon noticed too— but he didn’t interrupt.

Heeseung’s smile tilted, faint and crooked. “Good.”

He walked to the far end of the counter and set his bag down. “I’ll take a coffee,” he said lightly. “If that’s still allowed.”

Sunoo cleared his throat dramatically. “Coming right up!.”

Riki muttered, “This is the best shift of my life.”

You shot him a glare.

The tension didn’t disappear, but it shifted. It wasn’t a fight. It was a line drawn quietly in the sand.

-------------

The tension lingered even after Sunoo handed Heeseung his coffee. It wasn’t loud anymore, but it hummed beneath everything.

You wiped your hands on your apron and stepped out from behind the counter. “Heeseung,” you said quietly, nodding toward the hallway near the storage room. “Can I talk to you?”

He followed without hesitation.

Once you were out of earshot, he leaned back against the wall, arms crossing loosely. The edge was still there, but it had dulled.

“You don’t have to glare at him,” you said softly.

“I wasn’t glaring.”

“You were.”

He exhaled, jaw shifting. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

“He didn’t do anything to you.”

“I know.”

“And you don’t have to like him,” you added, gentler now. “But be nice.”

His gaze softened, not defensive, just tired. “Is that what this is? You asking me to behave?”

“I’m asking you not to turn this into something it doesn’t have to be.”

He studied you for a long moment. “Are you happy?” he asked quietly.

This time, there was no edge. Just care.

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

The word settled between you, steady and unshaken.

Something shifted in his expression. He nodded once. “Okay.”

You searched his face. “Okay?”

“If you’re happy,” he said simply, “that’s it.”

Your throat tightened. “Heeseung…”

He shook his head lightly. “I meant what I said on the train. I don’t want to compete. And I don’t want you choosing anything because of guilt.”

A faint, real smile touched his mouth. “You look different,” he added. “Lighter.”

You swallowed. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” he said gently. “I walked in too late.”

The honesty of it made your chest ache.

He pushed off the wall. “I’ll be nice.”

You gave him a look. “Actually nice.”

He huffed softly. “I can manage civil.”

“That’ll do.”

When you stepped back into the café, the air felt different— less charged. Sunghoon glanced up, assessing without making it obvious. Sunoo was pretending very badly not to stare.

Heeseung walked to the counter and set his cup down. “Hey,” he said casually to Sunoo. “Can I get this to go?”

Sunoo blinked. “Uh—yeah. Sure.”

Sunghoon met Heeseung’s eyes briefly. Heeseung held the look, then gave a small nod. Not surrender. Not hostility. Just acknowledgment.

Sunghoon returned it.

Riki watched like he was witnessing a war peace treaty.

You stood there, unsure what to do with the quiet shift in energy.

Sunoo handed over the lid. “You heading out?”

“Yeah.” Heeseung slid his bag over his shoulder and glanced at you one last time. “Take care, okay?”

You stepped closer instinctively. “You too.”

There was a beat, something unspoken in the way he looked at you. 

Then he turned and walked toward the door. The bell chimed softly as it closed behind him.

And just like that, the tension thinned.

Sunghoon stepped closer to you.

You turned and looked at him, “He’s just—“ 

“You don’t need to explain yourself, I trust you.” He intruded.

You thank him by giving him a small smile.

“You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

But your chest felt heavy in a different way.

Sunghoon stepped closer to the counter, hands resting lightly on the wood. “I should get back,” he said. “Lunch rush is about to hit and I have to work.”

You nodded. “Yeah. We’re about to drown in it.”

A small smile tugged at his mouth. There was something different in his expression now.

He reached across the counter and brushed his fingers against yours. “I’ll come by tonight?”

“Yeah,” you said, unable to stop smiling.

This time, he stepped around the counter, closing the small gap between you. Sunoo immediately found intense interest in a stack of napkins. Riki froze mid-milk-pour.

Sunghoon leaned in slightly. “You’re really here,” he murmured.

“I am.”

And before you could overthink it, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t dramatic. Just soft. 

Your cheeks flared instantly.

Behind you, someone inhaled sharply. “Oh my god,” Riki whispered.

Sunoo smacked his arm lightly. “Very subtle.”

Sunghoon pulled back slowly, thumb brushing the side of your hand one last time. “See you later,” he said, voice softer now.

You nodded, still pink. “Yeah.”

He walked toward the door, pausing only to give Sunoo a polite nod on his way out. The bell chimed as it closed behind him.

Silence.

Then Riki spun around. “WHAT was that?”

Sunoo leaned over the counter dramatically. “Since when do we get Kdrama plot twists during business hours?”

Your face burned hotter. “It was nothing.”

“It was absolutely not nothing,” Sunoo shot back.

Riki pointed toward the door. “Who was that guy?”

Before you could answer, the bell chimed again and a customer stepped in, scanning the menu.

You grabbed the opportunity like a lifeline. “Welcome in!” you said brightly, already moving to the register.

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. “You’re avoiding.”

“What size do you want?” you asked the customer sweetly.

Riki leaned toward Sunoo and stage-whispered, “She’s deflecting.”

You shot them both a warning look, but the rush picked up just enough to save you.

-------------

By lunchtime, the café buzzed steadily. Orders overlapped, milk steamed nonstop, and the bell above the door chimed every few minutes. You were wiping down the counter when it rang again.

You looked up.

Sooha stood in the doorway, holding a small paper bag, scanning the room until she found you. Her face lit up instantly.

You leaned over the counter. “You’re on break?”

She slid onto the stool across from you. “I had to see you.”

Sunoo narrowed his eyes suspiciously from behind the pastry case but stayed quiet.

“You’re glowing,” Sooha said without hesitation.

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

You leaned in, lowering your voice. “He came by again this morning.”

Her hands flew to her face. “Stop.”

“And—”

“And?” she demanded.

You smiled despite yourself. “He kissed me.”

Sooha gasped so loudly Sunoo whipped around. Riki abandoned the espresso machine entirely.

“I’m sorry,” Sunoo said, leaning over the counter. “We’re pretending we can’t hear you, but we absolutely can.”

Sooha blinked. “Oh.”

Riki pointed between you. “Who was the tall one earlier? Not the kiss one. The other one.”

You froze.

Sunoo’s eyes widened. “There was another one?”

Sooha turned toward you slowly, interest sharpening. “Another one?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “This is not a group discussion.”

“His name,” Riki announced dramatically, “was Heeseung.”

Sooha’s brows lifted. “Heeseung?”

Sunoo looked scandalized. “There’s a Heeseung?”

Riki nodded. “He came in like a storm cloud.”

“I did not storm,” you muttered.

“He stormed internally,” Riki corrected.

Sooha leaned forward, fully invested now. “So who is Heeseung?”

You hesitated. Sunoo crossed his arms. “I deserve context.”

“For morale,” Riki added solemnly.

You exhaled. “He was… someone I met on the train here.”

“And?” Sooha pressed.

“And it got complicated.”

“How complicated?” Sunoo asked.

You shot him a warning look.

He raised his hands. “I’m invested. This is my employee.”

Riki nodded. “This is better than TV.”

You shook your head, fighting a smile. “He’s not part of this anymore.”

Sooha studied your face carefully. “You’re sure?”

You nodded slowly. “He asked if I was happy.”

“And you are?” she asked gently.

Your eyes drifted toward the door without meaning to. “Yes,” you said softly.

Sunoo looked between you and Sooha, then at Riki. “Okay. I support the kiss guy.”

Riki nodded with conviction. “Kiss guy has good energy.”

Sooha beamed. “I agree.”

You rolled your eyes, but warmth spread through you anyway. Because for once, you weren’t chasing something uncertain. You were standing in it. And even with gossip swirling around you, it felt right.

-------------

The week settled into a strange rhythm.

Mornings were softer. Sunghoon would come in early, before the rush, sliding onto the stool at the counter like it was second nature. Sometimes he brought you coffee from somewhere else in the city “for comparison.” Sometimes he just sat there, elbows resting on the counter, listening to you complain about Riki over-steaming milk again.

“You look cute,” he said one morning, nudging your wrist lightly with his knuckles.

“You’re biased.”

“But you are,” he replied easily.

He never hovered. Never claimed space that wasn’t offered.

Afternoons felt different.

The bell would chime and you’d glance up instinctively, already knowing.

Heeseung.

He didn’t come every day, but enough that you noticed the pattern. He’d take the far stool now, not the one closest to you. Order something simple. Stay just long enough to talk.

The first time he showed up again after that morning, you narrowed your eyes at him immediately. “What?”

“What?” he asked lightly.

“You don’t live here.”

“No.”

“You said your stop wasn’t this city.”

“It wasn’t.”

You crossed your arms. “So why are you here?”

He held your gaze, calm and unflinching. “Because I wanted to be.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” he said gently.

You leaned forward. “Heeseung.”

He exhaled slowly, fingers tapping the rim of his cup. “You think I came to stir something up.”

“I think it’s suspicious.”

That made him smile faintly —not smug, just amused. “I’m not here to compete. You already answered that question.”

You searched his face.

“I meant it,” he continued. “When I asked if you were happy.”

“I am.”

“I know.”

The certainty in his tone caught you off guard.

“Then why stay?” you asked quietly.

He leaned back, glancing around the café. “Because I like this city.”

“That’s convenient.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “You think I’m orbiting you.”

“Aren’t you?”

A beat.

Then he shook his head. “I’m choosing to be in a place where someone I care about is. That doesn’t mean I’m trying to insert myself.”

Your shoulders eased slightly.

“I don’t want to disappear just because we didn’t end up where we thought,” he added. “I’d still like to be in your life. Even if that’s just… this.”

You studied him. “Just friends?”

“If that’s what you’re offering.”

There was no edge. No pressure. Just openness.

“You’re serious,” you said slowly.

He nodded. “I don’t build entire chapters and then pretend they didn’t happen.”

You looked down at the counter, then back up. “Okay.”

His lips curved faintly. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

After that, the tension shifted. He talked more easily, less guarded. One afternoon, while you were wiping the counter, he gestured toward the window. “You notice how the light hits the buildings around five?”

“You mean when it blinds everyone?”

“It doesn’t blind,” he protested lightly. “It softens the edges.”

You rolled your eyes. “Writer.”

He smiled. “I’ve been working again.”

“Oh?” you asked, curiosity slipping through.

“New piece. The city helped.”

“How?”

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice like it was a secret. “It’s different from the last one. Less about running. More about living.”

Your chest tightened faintly.

“Is that inspired by someone?” you asked carefully.

He met your eyes. “Everything is.”

You waited.

“There’s something about this place,” he continued thoughtfully. “The flower shops. The noise in the mornings. The way people choose to stay.”

“You sound like you’re staying.”

He smiled softly. “Maybe I am.”

“Not because of me,” you warned lightly.

He shook his head. “No. Not because of you.”

A small pause.

“But you’re part of it.”

It wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t loaded. It was honest.

Across the week, he and Sunghoon never overlapped intentionally —almost like an unspoken agreement. Mornings were calm and warm. Afternoons were thoughtful and steady.

And somewhere between milk foam and late sunlight, you realized something.

They weren’t fighting anymore. They weren’t pulling at you.

They were just showing up for you.

[click here for the next part]

Thank you to the people who left a comment of the teaser! @kristynaaah @i4tzy @cutehoons02 @strawbabyz @livie22

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click here to be added!

[skzdelf]

you guys need to give this fic more views, long fic, good written, amazing plot, what else do you need? 👏👏

I’ll be reading the part two tomorrow, 3am readings are killing me

[fullsunberry]

Delicious. MDNI

Finding a four-year-old love letter shouldn’t make you this crazy, but here you are, on a train, hoping the man who wrote it still cares. However, fate had more in store when the train unexpectedly booked you a cabin with a charming yet overly flirtatious stranger. wc. 21k

loosely inspired by "Delicious - True Love" (mobile game)

genre: one bed and forced proximity

content warnings: alcohol, profanity, loads of sexual innuendos, lots of sexual tension building through the day and night, unprotected sex, semi-public-ish sex?? (no one left in the cafe), oral play (F receiving), creampie, slow-burn with sex in between lol, mention of ghosting, lowkey stupid y/n but she is in denial, cheating (not heeseung), and toxic Sunghoon. YEARNING!

authors note: it was a bitch to post this cause tumblr thinks it's too long smh, i had to make it two parts (second half already posted)..so if they're is any formatting mistakes that's why (and let me know so i can fix it <3)

An envelope arrived showing the clear marks of its long journey. Creased in half, then in half again, as if it had wandered through too many hands before finally finding its way to you. The stamp was smudged, the corners softened, and a faint coffee ring bled through one edge. It had been tucked between utility bills and grocery flyers in your mailbox that morning, so unremarkable at first glance that you nearly tossed it aside.

You hadn’t recognized it right away.

Not until you turned it over in your hands behind the counter of your little café. The espresso machine hissed softly in the background, the air thick with the scent of warm pastries and toasted bread. Sunlight filtered in through the front windows, catching the dust motes that floated lazily above the worn wooden tables.

That’s when you saw it . Your name, written in that familiar looping script.

Your chest tightened instantly.

You set your rag down, wiped your hands on your apron, and slid onto the stool at the end of the counter. The envelope felt almost fragile between your fingers, as if too much pressure might erase whatever had survived four years of misdirection. You unfolded it carefully, the paper crackling as the deep creases loosened.

A faint scent rose from the page —aged ink mixed with something that still reminded you of summer wildflowers— and just like that, you were pulled back to that humid night on the beach: warm sand clinging to your skin, the distant crash of waves, and his lips brushing yours beneath the stars.

Sunghoon.

Your eyes dropped to the first line.

Dearest Y/N, I’ve started and stopped this letter more times than I care to admit. I keep thinking there’s some “right” way to say this. Something poetic enough to match the way this summer felt. But the truth is, I’m not that smooth. I’m just a guy who’s been thinking about you more than I expected to. I didn’t go into the summer looking for anything serious. Honestly, I didn’t think I was looking for anything at all. And then you showed up —late nights, messy laughs, stolen fries, and conversations that somehow stretched until sunrise. Suddenly, my favorite part of every day was waiting to see if your name would pop up on my phone. I know we were never supposed to be more than what we were: two people passing through each other’s lives at just the right (or maybe wrong)time. But I’d be lying if I said you didn’t leave a mark. You made me feel lighter, braver, and, for the first time in a while, really present in the moment. Now that summer’s over and everything’s shifted back to “real life,” I just wanted you to know that what we had mattered to me —even if it was brief. I’m not asking for anything. I just didn’t want the season to end without saying it out loud. Wherever you are, I hope you’re doing well. And if our paths cross again someday, I wouldn’t mind seeing that smile in person one more time. Forever yours, Sunghoon

Your heart pounded against your ribs, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks. Four years. You'd thrown yourself into work at your family's diner back home, dating sporadically but never committing, always comparing them to him.

The rest of the day blurred by. You asked your mother and father to run the diner, ignoring your mom's concerned questions about why you sounded so breathless. By evening, your bag was packed: a few changes of clothes, your favorite apron (the one with the embroidered pastries), and that letter, folded carefully into your pocket like a lucky charm. The train ticket to the city burned a hole in your wallet. It was impulsive, reckless even, but the pull was too strong to ignore.

The platform was busy when you arrived.

Suitcases rolled across wet concrete, voices overlapped in rushed goodbyes, and the long sleeper train hummed quietly under the yellow station lights. Rain shimmered on the ground, and the air felt thick.

You hugged your bag to your chest as you climbed the metal steps toward the train. Your mind was still spinning —the letter, the café, the impulsive decision to leave. Everything felt fast and unreal.

Just as you reached the doorway, a conductor stepped in front of you with a stern-face. He was young for his job, maybe mid-twenties, with sharp features and a uniform that hung neatly on his lean frame. His name tag read Jungwon.

“Ticket, please,” he said, calm but firm.

Your heart sank.

Your hand shot into your pocket. Then the other one. Then your bag. You searched everywhere. Your phone, your keys, receipts, even the folded letter but your ticket was gone.

“I—I had it,” you blurted out, your face heating up. “I must’ve misplaced it in the rush. Please, I really need to get to the city. It’s important.”

Jungwon’s expression tightened.

“This is a sleeper train,” he began. “We don’t have regular seats, and—”

Before he could finish, a sudden commotion burst from inside the café car down the hall.

The door flew open, and a man in a chef’s uniform stormed out. His dark hair was tousled, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms dusted with flour. He looked exhausted, jaw clenched in frustration.

“Jungwon, if you don’t get this under control, I’m done,” he snapped, gesturing wildly behind him. “The café’s swamped, and I’m down a server. One more rush like this, and I’m quitting this damn train! I might even jump in front of it!!”

Jungwon rubbed his temple, clearly overwhelmed. “Jay, calm down. We’ll figure it out.”

You felt something click into place.

Stepping forward, you cleared your throat. “Excuse me… I couldn’t help overhearing. I work in a diner —I’ve got experience with cafés, serving, all of it. If you let me in, I can help out. Just until the next stop, or until I sort my ticket. Please.”

Jay’s eyes flicked to you, sharp and assessing. The irritation on his face didn’t disappear. But something curious replaced it.

Jungwon hesitated, glancing between you and the growing line of restless passengers inside the café.

“Fine,” he finally said. “But only if Jay agrees. And no funny business.”

Jay crossed his arms, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You any good with a coffee machine? And can you handle rude customers?”

“Better than most,” you replied, meeting his gaze steadily.

He studied you for another beat, then nodded.

“Alright, Jungwon —just get the newbie her ticket,” Jay said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“That’s not how it works,” Jungwon shot back, exhaling sharply.

Jay threw his arms up. “Then I will jump off this train.”

Jungwon glanced at him, unimpressed. Then turned back to you, “Do you have your ID?”

You nodded quickly and handed it over, your fingers trembling. He scanned it, tapping a few things into his device, the quiet beeps stretching the moment out.

After a pause, he let out a low sigh.

“Fine,” he said. “I’ll issue you a temporary pass to your cabin. You’ll have to sort the ticket at the city terminal.”

Relief flooded through you.

He printed a slim slip and handed it over. “Cabin 14B. Straight down the hall.”

“Thank you,” you breathed, lightheaded with gratitude.

Jay snapped his fingers. “Come on, newbie —move. Get in here before the rush actually kills me.”

You slipped past them into the warm, bustling café car, the clatter of cups and hiss of the espresso machine washing over you as the doors slid shut behind you.

Inside, the space felt alive. Wooden counters gleamed beneath soft lighting, glass cases displayed golden pastries, and the air hummed with the rich scent of brewing coffee and fresh bread. A world away from the greasy spoons of your family’s diner.

Jay handed you an apron, "Name's Jay. Start with the orders piling up. And don't burn the croissants."

You tied the apron around your waist, rolling up your sleeves. You dove headfirst into the rush, hands moving on instinct, pouring lattes and plating scones, you felt a thrill of purpose. The work was familiar, grounding, even as your mind wandered back to Sunghoon. 

The evening wore on, the café filling with passengers seeking rest from the journey. You moved efficiently, dodging elbows and flashing smiles, but one customer stood out. He slid onto a stool at the counter, his presence commanding despite the casual button-down shirt that hugged his broad shoulders. Dark eyes locked onto you as you approached, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

"What can I get for you?" you asked, pen hovering over your notepad.

"Something sweet," he drawled, his voice smooth like velvet. "Like you, maybe?"

You rolled your eyes, unfazed by the flirtation. "We've got éclairs or a slice of cheesecake. Pick one."

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his cologne—a mix of spice and citrus—wafting toward you. "Éclairs it is. And your name? For the order, of course."

"Y/N," you said curtly, turning to fetch his plate.

As you handed it over, his fingers lingered on yours. "Heeseung," he introduced himself, eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't worry, I don't bite. Unless asked nicely."

You forced a polite smile, heat creeping up your neck despite yourself. The café was no place for distractions, but Heeseung's gaze followed you through the rest of your shift.

By the time the café closed for the night, your feet ached, but a strange joy buzzed in your veins. Jungwon nodded approvingly as you untied your apron. "Not bad for a stowaway. Your room's booked at the end of the car. Get some rest."

You thanked him, weaving through the dim corridor to your assigned sleeper compartment. As the door clicked shut behind you, cutting off the low hum of the train rushing through the night. Your body felt heavy with exhaustion after the chaotic shift in the café car, but the small space offered a bit of quiet at last.

It was tighter than you’d expected. A narrow bed was bolted to one wall, a tiny sink sat in the corner, and above it hung a folded pull-down couch. Dim overhead light filled the room with a soft glow. You kicked off your shoes, the cool metal floor sending a shiver up your legs.

You dug through your bag for your pajamas, a simple tank top and shorts you’d thrown in without thinking. The letter from Sunghoon crinkled in your pocket as you pulled it out. You set it carefully on the tiny bedside shelf like something fragile.

Your thoughts started to spiral. What if he wasn’t the same anymore? What if that summer had meant more to you than it had to him? You shook your head, pushing the questions away.

You peeled off your work clothes, letting the apron and shirt fall in a heap on the floor. The cool air brushed against your skin as you pulled on your tank top, the fabric still slightly damp from the long day.

Just as you bent to pull on your shorts, the door handle rattled.

You froze.

Before you could move, the door swung open.

That one flirtation customer, Heeseung, stood in the doorway.

His shirt was half-unbuttoned at the collar, giving you a brief glimpse of his chest beneath. His eyes went wide in surprise —and yours mirrored his.

You yanked your shorts up, clutching the hem as if it were a shield.

“What the—?” you yelped, stumbling back against the bed. Your face burned with embarrassment and anger. “Get out! This is my room!”

Heeseung’s mouth dropped open. He grabbed the doorframe like he might lose his balance. “Holy shit —sorry! I thought this was mine! The conductor said compartment fourteen B and—”

He quickly looked away, though not before you noticed his cheeks turning pink. He stepped back, nearly tripping over his own bag in the hallway.

You snatched your shirt from the floor and held it against your chest even though you were already covered. “Jungwon assigned this to me after my ticket got lost. You can’t just barge in here!”

He ran a hand through his messy hair and let out a sharp breath. “Lost ticket? That explains it. They must’ve double-booked this cabin when they reassigned you. Typical train mess.”

His voice sounded irritated, but he didn’t leave. Instead, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him with a resigned click.

“Double-booked?” you snapped, crossing your arms. The stress of the day crashed over you all at once. “Great. Just great. I’ll go find Jungwon and fix this.”

Heeseung shook his head and dropped his bag by the door with a thud. His eyes met yours, tired but steady, his usual playful edge gone. “It’s the middle of the night. Everyone’s off shift, and we’re hours from the next stop. You’ll just wake up the whole car.”

He glanced at the bed, then at the pull-down couch, his jaw tightening. “We’ll sort it out in the morning. The conductor’s office opens at dawn.”

You opened your mouth to argue but exhaustion hit you like a wall. Your shoulders slumped. He was right.

“Fine,” you muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed. “But you stay on your side. And no more surprises.”

Heeseung nodded once.

Without another word, he turned to the wall and pulled down the fold-out couch. It creaked softly as it opened, narrow and barely long enough for him. He kicked off his shoes, shrugged out of his button-down, and lay down in his plain white tee, facing the wall.

The message was clear: the bed was yours.

You watched him for a moment. The tension in your chest eased just a little. No flirting. No arguing. Just quiet acceptance.

The train swayed gently beneath you, rocking the compartment like a lullaby. You slid under the thin blanket and switched off the light. Darkness wrapped around you.

Sleep didn’t come right away. Your mind replayed the moment he’d walked in, and the way his usual confidence had slipped into something unexpectedly vulnerable.

But slowly, the rhythm of the train carried you under. Your breathing evened out. The frustration of the day melted away.

By the time a distant train whistle echoed through the night, you were already fast asleep in the shared silence.

-------------

Sunlight slipped through the thin curtains of the sleeper compartment, gently pulling you from sleep. The train no longer rattled the way it had overnight; now it hummed steadily, almost soothing. You stayed still for a moment, wrapped in the warmth of the blanket, legs tangled and heavy with lingering exhaustion.

When you finally opened your eyes, you noticed him.

Heeseung sat cross-legged on the pull-down couch, already dressed for the day. A crisp button-up was tucked neatly into his slacks, sleeves rolled just enough to look intentional. He held a worn paperback in his hands, eyes focused as his thumb traced the edge of the page. His hair was slightly messy in a way that somehow made him look even sharper.

He glanced up when you shifted.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” he said lightly, closing the book. “Jay’s been roaming the cars since dawn looking for you. Something about your shift starting early.”

The words jolted you awake.

“What?” You shot upright, the blanket sliding down to your waist. “Already?”

Panic kicked in. Jay had warned you the morning shift could start early, and you’d promised you’d be there. You scrambled out of bed, grabbing your clothes from the floor. In your rush, you barely registered Heeseung’s presence anymore. The compartment felt like your own space now, urgency drowning out everything else.

You pulled on your shirt and skirt, fumbling with buttons, smoothing the fabric down with quick hands. Heeseung watched quietly, amusement flickering in his eyes, but he didn’t say a word. You snatched your apron and shoes, already heading for the door.

“Thanks for telling me,” you muttered, not slowing down.

You were gone before he could respond.

The corridor felt cool against your flushed skin as you hurried down the car. The train swayed gently, early risers scattered along the way, cups of coffee in hand. By the time you reached the café car, the frantic rush from last night had faded into a calm morning lull.

Only a few passengers sat at the tables.

Jay stood behind the counter, wiping down the espresso machine, sleeves rolled up and dusted with flour. When he spotted you, his tense expression softened into relief.

“There you are,” he said. “I was starting to think you bailed. Rough night?”

“Overslept,” you admitted, tying your apron around your waist. “Long story. What can I do?”

He chuckled and handed you a tray of pastries. “Nothing crazy. Slow morning. Ever worked brunch before?”

You slid the pastries into the display case. “Plenty. I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Jay,” he said with a grin. “Officially this time.”

The shift passed easily. You refilled coffee, cleared plates, and chatted as the scenery outside shifted from rolling hills to distant glimpses of the sea. Jay talked about working kitchens his whole life, about liking the movement of the train. You shared just enough about your trip —keeping the letter vague, but letting the excitement slip through.

Then the café door opened.

Heeseung walked in like he owned the place.

He slid onto a stool at the counter, eyes immediately finding yours. “Morning,” he said. “Black coffee. Whatever’s fresh.”

Jay raised a brow but started on the order.

You poured the coffee, fully aware of Heeseung watching you. “Sleep okay?” he asked casually. “You looked pretty comfortable when I left.”

You set the mug down a little harder than necessary. “Fine. Thanks for sleeping on the couch.”

He leaned closer, voice low. “That skirt looks good on you. Though I think the apron alone would work too.”

You ignored him, wiping down the counter that didn’t need cleaning. He didn’t stop—commenting on how smoothly you moved, how flushed your cheeks were, whether it was the heat or something else. When you bent to pick up a dropped napkin, he let out a quiet whistle.

“Careful,” he said loudly. “Wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”

You shot him a glare as you plated his pastry. “Eat your food and behave.”

Jay glanced over, amused. “Trouble?”

“Just a customer,” you said.

Heeseung’s grin said otherwise.

The rest of the morning slipped by in a blur of clinking cups and quiet glances.

Heeseung lingered at the counter far longer than necessary, nursing his coffee like it gave him permission to stay. His eyes followed you as you moved between tables, and every time you leaned down to clear a plate, he leaned in just enough to murmur something meant only for you.

“The way you bend like that?” he murmured. “It’s distracting.”

You shot him a warning look. “Focus on your pastry.”

He only smiled. Your cheeks burned, and the way Jay occasionally glanced over told you the tension wasn’t as subtle as you wanted it to be.

By lunchtime, the café picked up speed. Orders stacked up, passengers filed in, but Heeseung still didn’t move. He ordered a sandwich next, resting his chin in his hand as you worked.

“It’s your wrist,” he said low. “That little twist every time you cut. You keep moving like that and I’m going to need you to demonstrate it somewhere quieter.”

You slid the plate across the counter a little harder than necessary. “Eat. Some of us are working.”

His laughter followed you as you turned to the next customer—warm, easy, and annoyingly effective.

During a brief slow hour, Jay pulled you aside, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. “That guy’s got a mouth,” he said quietly. “You good?”

You nodded, relieved by the concern. “Yeah. Just… persistent. Thanks.”

Jay chuckled. “Figures.”

The two of you fell back into a comfortable rhythm. He grilled orders while you plated and served, trading quick stories about favorite dishes and the strange routines of train life. His presence was grounding, calm and steady, a sharp contrast to Heeseung’s constant energy.

By afternoon, the teasing turned into a game.

Heeseung switched to tea, brushing your fingers when you handed him the cup. “Soft hands,” he said lightly. “For someone so feisty.”

You pulled back quickly. “Boundaries.”

He grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Even when you ignored him, bussing tables or refilling mugs, he kept at it —praising how fast you worked, how kind you sounded with an elderly passenger, how your smile changed when you laughed. A few times, you fired back.

“If you’re so impressed,” you said once, “you can tip better.”

His chuckle sent an unwanted thrill straight through you.

As the sun dipped lower, golden light spilled through the café windows. The crowd thinned, the pace finally slowing. Jay clapped you lightly on the shoulder.

“Great work today,” he said. “You’re a natural. Same time tomorrow?”

You untied your apron, muscles pleasantly sore. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Heeseung stayed until the very end. When he paid, he slipped a generous bill into your hand, his thumb brushing your skin.

“For the entertainment,” he said.

You pocketed the money without a comment.

When the café finally fell quiet, you lingered for a moment in the quietness. Then headed back toward the sleeper compartment, the day’s energy still buzzing under your skin.

-------------

The compartment door clicked shut behind you.

Heeseung was already there, stretched out on the pull-down couch with his book open, just like the night before. But the moment you stepped inside and kicked off your shoes, the mood shifted.

No smirk. No teasing comment.

Heeseung closed his book carefully and stood. “Long day,” he said quietly. “You need to change?”

You hesitated, towel half-pulled from your bag. “Yeah… if that’s okay.”

He nodded without a word. Turning his back fully, he faced the wall and lifted one arm, covering his eyes with his sleeve. “Take your time,” he added. “I won’t look.”

Something in your chest loosened. The silence felt strange—calm, respectful, almost formal. It was a sharp contrast to the nonstop flirting from earlier, and it left you oddly unsettled.

As you slipped into your pajamas, you hesitated, then spoke up.

“Hey… did you ever ask Jungwon about the double booking?”

Heeseung paused, his arm still covering his eyes. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “I caught him this afternoon.”

Your stomach tightened. “And?”

He exhaled quietly. “He said there’s nothing he can do until we reach the city. Train’s full. No empty compartments.”

You sighed, rubbing your temple. “Figures.”

“I told him it was a mess,” Heeseung added, softer now. “But his hands are tied.”

“Of course they are,” you muttered, then looked up at him. “Thanks for asking, though.”

He gave a small shrug. “Didn’t feel right not to.”

You changed quickly after that, the silence settling into something unexpectedly gentle. When you were done, you cleared your throat softly.

“You can turn around now.”

Heeseung lowered his arm slowly and turned around.

“Alright,” he said, voice quiet.

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, he focused on getting comfortable again, moving with deliberate care as if giving you a few extra seconds. When he finally glanced up, his expression was neutral, maybe even soft.

You climbed into bed, tugging the blanket up to your waist. Outside the window, the last light of day blurred into streaks of gold and gray as the train kept moving.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The train hummed beneath you, steady and rhythmic. Somewhere down the hall, a door slid shut. Pipes knocked softly in the walls. Normal sounds, grounding ones.

You stared at the ceiling, thoughts drifting despite yourself.

“Hey,” you said after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t have to be… so different,” you admitted.

There was a pause. Then a soft exhale.

“I know,” Heeseung said. “I just figured… you didn't ask to share a room with me.”

You turned your head slightly, surprised by how close his voice sounded in the small space. “Thank you,” you said before you could stop yourself.

Another pause.

"No problem,” he replied, not teasing this time. Just honest.

The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward. It settled between you, warm and careful. You shifted under the blanket, exhaustion finally pulling at you again.

“Goodnight,” you murmured.

“Goodnight,” he answered.

-------------

Morning light slipped through the thin curtains, pale and quiet. You woke first. The compartment was still, the steady hum of the train softer than it had been overnight. Heeseung was curled on the pull-down couch, one arm draped over his eyes, his book open and facedown on his chest. For a moment, you just watched him breathe, the slow rise and fall grounding in a way you didn’t expect. Then you slipped out of bed, dressed quietly, and eased into the corridor.

The café car smelled like fresh coffee and warm bread. Jay stood behind the counter, tying his apron. “Morning,” he said. “No bakery in this town. Platform’s packed with tourists. Might get busy.”

You smiled. “Busy I can handle.”

But the rush never came. Most passengers wandered into town chasing ocean air and market stalls, leaving the café calm and half-full. You wiped down counters, reshaped dough for the morning batch, and slid trays into the warmer. The quiet was nice.

Then the door opened.

Heeseung walked in like he had nowhere else to be, jacket slung over his shoulder, hair still slightly messy from sleep. He took his usual seat at the counter. “Morning,” he said. “You disappear early.”

“Some of us work,” you replied, pouring his coffee.

He smiled into the steam. “I work.”

“Oh?” You set the mug in front of him. “And what exactly do you do?”

“I'm a writer.” He wrapped both hands around the cup. “Mostly travel essays. Sometimes fiction, when I’m brave enough.”

You paused. “That explains a lot.”

He lifted a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You talk like you’re narrating your own life.”

He laughed, not defensive, just amused.

You leaned against the counter. “So what are you writing about now?”

“This trip,” he said easily. “Small towns. Train stations. People who look like they’re running toward something.”

Your hand stilled for half a second. “And what do I look like?”

He didn’t answer immediately. He studied you, not teasing this time, just thoughtful. “Focused,” he said finally. “Like if you stop moving, you might think too much.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re projecting.”

“Probably.”

You slid a tray of fresh pastries into the case. “I’m a baker, by the way. Not just temporary train help.”

“Yeah? Your own place?”

“Family shop. Grew up there.” You shrugged. “Flour in my lungs since I could walk.”

“That’s better than ink stains,” he said, lifting his fingers. “They never come out.”

You glanced at his hands. Long fingers, faint smudges near his knuckles. “I like baking,” you said. “It’s simple. You follow the steps. If it fails, you know why.”

“Writing’s not like that,” he replied quietly. “Sometimes you do everything right and it still falls flat.”

“That sounds miserable.”

“It is,” he admitted. “It’s also addictive.”

You shook your head. “I prefer dough.”

He grinned. “I noticed.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Careful.”

“What?” he said innocently. “You handle flour like it listens to you.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“It is where I’m from.”

You tried not to smile and failed.

He took a sip of coffee. “So why the train?”

“Why not?”

“Most people don’t wake up and board a sleeper to nowhere.”

“Maybe they should.”

He tilted his head. “You always this stubborn?”

“Only when someone’s analyzing me before nine a.m.”

He laughed again, softer this time. “Fair.”

There was no performance now, no exaggerated flirting. Just conversation that stretched easily, without effort.

“You ever write about bakeries?” you asked.

“Not yet.”

“You should. Early mornings. Quiet ovens. The way sugar smells when it caramelizes.”

He watched you as you spoke, like he was memorizing the shape of the words. “Say that again.”

“What?”

“The way you described it.”

You rolled your eyes but repeated it, slower this time.

He smiled. “That’s a paragraph already.”

“You’re stealing my lines.”

“I’m borrowing inspiration.”

You reached for his empty mug, and when your fingers brushed, neither of you pulled away right away.

“Careful,” he said softly.

“Careful of what?”

“I might start writing you in.”

You held his gaze. “Only if you can keep up.”

Outside, the train whistle blew, calling passengers back. The café began to fill, voices and footsteps returning, but the space between you felt steady now. Easy.

-------------

The rest of the day moved faster than it should have.

What started as a quiet morning turned into a steady stream of customers once the train left the platform. Tourists returned with bags of market bread and salty hair from the sea. Families wanted coffee. Couples wanted something sweet. Someone spilled orange juice. Someone complained about their croissant not being warm enough.

You barely stopped moving.

Flour dusted your apron. Your wrists ached from kneading and slicing. The espresso machine hissed nonstop. At some point, you realized you hadn’t sat down once.

Heeseung stayed through most of it.

Sometimes he helped —passing you plates, grabbing napkins before you could reach them. Sometimes he just watched, offering commentary that was softer now, less showy.

“You move faster when you’re tired,” he observed at one point.

“That doesn’t make sense,” you muttered, sliding a tray into the oven.

“It does if you’re trying not to think.”

You shot him a look. “You always narrate people’s coping mechanisms?”

“Writer brain,” he said lightly.

By the time evening rolled in, the café lights felt harsher. The golden glow from earlier had faded into deep blue shadows beyond the windows. One by one, passengers filtered out.

Chairs scraped back. Goodnights were exchanged. The car slowly emptied.

It had been a long day.

Jay leaned against the counter with a dramatic exhale. “That,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel, “was brutal.”

Jungwon stepped in from the corridor, cap tucked under his arm. “You survived.”

“Barely.”

Jay reached beneath the counter and pulled out two bottles. “If I don’t have a drink right now, I’m resigning.”

He popped one open with practiced ease and poured himself a generous glass.

Jungwon watched for a second before holding up a hand. “Pour me one too.”

Jay smirked. “Knew you’d crack.”

He grabbed another glass and filled it. The sharp scent of alcohol cut through the lingering sweetness of pastries.

Then Jay glanced across the café.

You were still leaning against the counter, talking quietly with Heeseung. The conversation had slowed, easy and unhurried.

Jay raised an eyebrow. “You know we’re closed, right?”

Before Heeseung could respond, you spoke up.

“It’s okay,” you said casually. “He’s with me.”

Jay looked between the two of you for a beat, then shrugged.

“Alright,” he said. He set the second unopened bottle down on the counter in front of you, along with two clean glasses. “Don’t stay up all night.”

Jungwon gave you a small nod on his way out. “Try to get some rest.”

“No promises,” Heeseung called lightly.

Jay shook his head. “I don’t want to know.”

With that, the two of them headed out, their voices fading down the corridor.

The café fell quiet.

Just you. Just him. And the low hum of the train.

The liquid in the glasses caught the dim overhead light, casting warm shadows across the counter. You slid one toward Heeseung, your fingers grazing the cool edge of the glass, and he took it with a slow nod, his eyes locking onto yours.

"To long days," he murmured, clinking his glass against yours. The whiskey burned smooth down your throat, spreading heat through your chest, loosening the knots from hours on your feet. You leaned back against the counter, the wood pressing into your hips, and watched him swallow his own pour. His throat worked visibly, Adam's apple bobbing, and you felt a tingle low in your belly.

He set the glass down, fingers tracing the rim absently. "So, my last story. You want details?"

You nodded, pouring a refill for both of you, the bottle glugging softly. "Every part."

Heeseung leaned in, elbows on the counter, voice dropping. He painted the scene: rain-slick cobblestones, a hidden trattoria where he'd talked to his source —an old fisherman with tales of shipwrecks. But as he spoke, his gaze drifted, lingering on the way your blouse clung slightly from the day's steam, the subtle rise of your breasts with each breath. The whiskey made his words looser, his posture more open, knee brushing yours under the counter.

You sipped again, the alcohol blurring the edges of restraint. "Sounds intense. Ever get in over your head like that here? On this train?"

His laugh was low, almost a rumble. "Maybe. Chasing a story I didn't expect." His hand moved then, casual at first, resting on the counter near yours. But his pinky hooked over your smallest finger, a feather-light touch that sent sparks up your arm. You didn't pull away. Instead, you turned your palm up, letting his fingers slide between yours, intertwining slowly.

The air thickened, charged with the scent of whiskey and unspoken want. Heeseung's thumb stroked the back of your hand, circles growing firmer, and you felt the heat climb, pooling between your thighs. "Tell me," he said, voice husky now, eyes dark as they flicked to your lips. "What's the one thing you'd chase right now, if the train stopped?"

Your breath hitched. The compartment's shared silence from last night echoed in your mind, but here, with the liquor warming your veins, restraint felt like a thin thread. You leaned closer, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, the faint musk of his skin mixing with the café's lingering coffee. "I don’t know," you whispered, your free hand rising to trace the line of his jaw..

Heeseung's eyes hooded, breath escaping in a soft exhale against your wrist. He turned his head, lips brushing the inside of your palm –a kiss so light it could have been accidental, but the way his tongue flicked out, tasting your skin, said otherwise. Your pulse thrummed there, and you pressed closer, the counter digging into your waist as you shifted.

"That’s okay," he echoed, releasing your hand only to stand, rounding the counter in one fluid step. The space between you vanished; he caged you against the edge, hands planting on either side of your hips, not touching yet, but close enough that you felt the heat of him. His chest nearly brushed yours, and you tilted your head up, lips parting on instinct.

He didn't kiss you. Not yet. Instead, he dipped his head, nose trailing along the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply. "You smell like vanilla and coffee," he murmured, lips ghosting over your pulse point. Your body responded instantly, nipples hardening against the fabric of your blouse, an ache building in your core.

"Heeseung," you breathed, hands finding his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle there. He groaned softly, the sound vibrating against your skin, and finally, his mouth pressed to your throat—open-mouthed, hot, sucking gently until you arched into him.

The whiskey bottle stood forgotten as his hands slid to your waist, thumbs circling just under the hem of your blouse, slipping beneath to graze bare skin. Goosebumps followed his touch, and you gasped when his fingers splayed wide, pulling you flush against him. Through his shirt, you felt the hard line of his chest, the rapid beat of his heart mirroring yours.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes blazing with hunger. "Tell me to stop," he said, voice rough, but his hips pressed forward, letting you feel the growing bulge in his pants grinding against your thigh.

"Don't," you replied, bold from the alcohol and the day's pent-up tension. Your hand slid down his chest, over his abs, until your palm cupped him through the fabric. He was hard, thick, straining against your touch, and he bucked into your hand with a low curse.

"Fuck," he hissed, capturing your mouth then in a kiss that was all heat and demand. His tongue swept in, tasting of whiskey and him, tangling with yours as he devoured you. You moaned into it, fingers fumbling with his belt, the clink of metal loud in the empty car.

He broke the kiss to nip at your lower lip, then trailed down, unbuttoning your blouse with deft fingers. Cool air hit your skin as he pushed the fabric aside, exposing your bra –just a regular sports bra, but his gaze devoured it like it was sinful. "Beautiful," he growled, palming one breast, thumb rolling over the peaked nipple until you whimpered.

You tugged his shirt free, hands roaming his back, nails scraping lightly as he shoved your skirt up your thighs. His knee nudged your legs apart, settling between them, and you rocked against the firm pressure, slickness gathering in your panties.

Heeseung's mouth found your collarbone, sucking a mark there while his hand dipped lower, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear. "Wet already," he murmured, approval thick in his tone as he slipped beneath the fabric, stroking through your folds. You were soaked, clit throbbing under his touch, and he circled it slowly, teasing until your hips jerked.

"Please," you gasped, grinding into his hand. He slid one finger inside you, then two, curling them just right, thumb pressing your clit. The stretch burned sweet, and you clenched around him, head falling back against the cabinet.

He pumped steadily, mouth latching onto your nipple through the fabric of your bra, teeth grazing as he sucked. Pleasure coiled tight, your breaths coming in pants, but he slowed just as you teetered on the edge. "Not yet," he whispered, withdrawing his fingers, leaving you aching and empty.

You whined in protest, but he silenced you with another kiss, deeper, hungrier. His cock pressed insistently against your thigh, and you reached down, freeing him from his pants. He was hot and heavy in your hand, pre-cum beading at the tip. You stroked him firmly, thumb swiping over the head, and he groaned into your mouth, hips thrusting into your grip.

"Want you," he panted, lifting you onto the counter with ease, the whiskey glasses rattling. Your skirt bunched at your waist, panties shoved aside as he lined up, the blunt head of his cock nudging your entrance.

But the train jolted then, a sudden sway that pulled you both back to reality. Heeseung froze, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. "We should... room," he said, voice strained, though his body screamed otherwise.

You nodded, legs wrapping around him anyway, holding him close. The desire hung thick, unspoken promises in the air as he helped you down, tucking himself away with visible effort.

The corridor to the room stretched like an eternity, each step echoing with the train's rhythmic clatter. Heeseung's hand hovered at the small of your back, not quite touching, but the promise of it sent shivers racing up your spine. The whiskey buzzed in your veins, amplifying every glance, every brush of fabric against skin. You could still feel the ghost of his fingers inside you, the ache he'd left behind throbbing insistently.

He unlocked the door with a soft click, and the space enveloped you both —dimly lit by a single overhead lamp, the bed neatly made from earlier, the pull-out couch untouched. No interruptions, no worry of prying eyes. Just the two of you.

Heeseung closed the door behind him, the lock snapping into place. His eyes met yours, dark and intense, the restraint from the café fraying at the edges. "Finally," he breathed, stepping closer until your back hit the edge of the bed. His hands found your hips this time, gripping firmly, pulling you against him. The hard length of his cock pressed into your stomach through his pants, stiff and hot.

You tilted your head up, lips crashing into his. The kiss was messy, urgent —tongues sliding together, teeth nipping as hands roamed. Yours tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a groan from his throat. Heeseung's fingers dug into your ass, kneading the flesh as he ground against you, the friction making you both gasp.

"Been wanting this since I walked in on you changing," he muttered against your mouth, voice gravelly. He walked you backward until your knees buckled against the mattress, and you sank down, him following to hover over you. His weight pinned you lightly, one knee between your thighs, pressing up against your soaked panties.

You arched into him, hands shoving at his shirt until it came off in a hurried pull. His skin was warm, muscles flexing under your palms as you traced the lines of his chest, down to the waistband of his pants. Heeseung captured your wrists gently, kissing each palm before guiding them above your head. "Let me take care of you first," he said, eyes locked on yours, a wicked glint there.

He released you to trail kisses down your neck, sucking marks into the sensitive skin while his hands worked your blouse open fully, shoving it off your shoulders. The bra followed, pulled off and tossed aside, leaving your breasts bare. He palmed them roughly, thumbs flicking over your still hard nipples, then lowered his mouth to one, sucking hard. His tongue swirled around the bud, teeth grazing just enough to make you moan, your back arching off the bed.

"Heeseung," you whimpered, fingers threading through his hair, holding him there. He lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, leaving them shiny and swollen from his mouth. All the while, his hips rocked against your thigh, his cock straining, but he held back, focused on unraveling you.

Satisfied with your chest, he kissed lower, over your stomach, nipping at the soft skin there. Your skirt was next, hiked up and yanked down your legs, panties dragged off with it. Cool air hit your exposed pussy, slick and swollen from earlier teasing. Heeseung settled between your thighs, hands spreading them wide, his breath ghosting over your folds.

"So wet for me," he murmured, voice thick with approval. His eyes flicked up to meet yours as he leaned in, tongue flattening to lick a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit. The sensation jolted through you, hips bucking up, but he held you down with firm hands on your thighs.

He licked again, deliberate, tasting every inch. His tongue delved into your pussy, thrusting shallowly, lapping at your arousal like he couldn't get enough. You moaned loudly, the compartment's walls muffling the sound. Heeseung hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine, and focused on your clit. Circling it with the tip of his tongue, then sucking it between his lips.

Your hands fisted the sheets, pleasure building fast and fierce. He slid two fingers back inside you, pumping in time with his mouth's rhythm, curling to hit that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. "Fuck, you taste good," he growled, pulling back just enough to speak, his lips glistening. Then he dove back in, sucking harder, tongue flicking relentlessly.

The coil in your belly tightened, breaths coming in short pants. Heeseung didn't let up, fingers thrusting deeper, mouth devouring your pussy with wet, obscene sounds. Your thighs trembled around his head, and when he grazed his teeth lightly over your clit, you shattered. Orgasm crashing over you, walls clenching around his fingers as you cried out his name.

He worked you through it, licking softly until you twitched from overstimulation, then withdrew, kissing the inside of your thigh. His chin was slick, eyes hazy with lust as he crawled up your body. "Your turn?" you panted, reaching for his pants, but he shook his head, cock nudging against your still-sensitive entrance.

"Not yet," he said, voice rough. "Want to feel you come around me."

Heeseung's words hung in the air, as he positioned himself between your legs. Your body still hummed from the orgasm he'd given you, pussy clenching around nothing, slick and ready. He took off his pants in quick, efficient movements, his cock springing free —thick, veined, the tip already leaking pre-cum from before. It bobbed heavily as he stroked himself once, eyes devouring the sight of you spread out beneath him, chest heaving, skin flushed.

You reached for him, fingers wrapping around his shaft, guiding him closer. The heat of him rubbed against you, and he hissed through his teeth at the contact. "Please," you whispered, the plea raw and unfiltered.

Heeseung leaned down, capturing your lips in a hot kiss, his tongue plunging deep as he grinded the head of his cock at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open. Your walls fluttered around him, gripping tight, and you moaned into his mouth at the fullness. He bottomed out with a low groan, hips flush against yours.

"So fucking tight," he rasped, holding still for a moment to let you adjust. His forehead pressed to yours, breaths mingling, before he started to move. Long, deliberate thrusts that dragged his cock along your sensitive inner walls.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back to pull him deeper. Heeseung's hands braced on either side of your head, muscles straining as he picked up pace. The bed rocked with the motion, syncing with the train's sway, turning the rhythm hypnotic. Sweat slicked your bodies, skin slapping together in the quiet space.

He shifted, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder to change the angle, and the new depth made you cry out. His cock hit that spot inside you relentlessly now, pounding with precision. "Right there," you gasped, nails raking down his back, leaving red trails. Heeseung buried his face in your neck, sucking at the pulse point while his hips snapped forward, driving harder.

The pleasure coiled tight again, faster this time, your pussy squeezing him. Heeseung's breaths grew ragged, his control slipping as he chased the edge with you. "Cum for me," he demanded, voice low and commanding, one hand slipping between you to rub circles over your clit.

It tipped you over, orgasm ripping through you, walls pulsing around his cock as you shattered, soaking him with your release. Heeseung followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, spilling hot cum inside you with a choked moan. His body shuddered, hips jerking erratically as he rode it out, filling you.

He collapsed onto you gently, both panting, his weight a comforting press. He lingered inside you for a moment longer, his cock softening as your combined releases trickled out, warm and sticky between your thighs. He eased back carefully, not wanting to rush the intimacy, and grabbed a soft cloth from the small sink in the compartment's corner. Dampening it with cool water, he returned to your side, his touch gentle. First from your swollen folds, then along your inner thighs, soothing the sensitive skin.

You sighed, body relaxed and heavy against the sheets, watching him through half-lidded eyes. The care in his movements stirred something deep, a tenderness that contrasted the raw hunger from moments before. He cleaned himself next, efficient but unhurried, before tossing the cloth aside and sliding back into bed beside you.

"You okay?" he asked, voice husky, propping himself on one elbow to scan your face. His free hand traced lazy patterns on your hip, thumb circling the curve there.

"More than," you murmured, turning into him. Your leg draped over his, seeking the warmth of his body. He pulled you closer, arm wrapping around your waist, fingers drawing patterns across your lower back.

He tugged the thin blanket over you both, cocooning the shared heat. Your eyelids grew heavy, the day's exhaustion crashing in now.

"Sleep," he whispered, as if sensing your drift. His lips brushed your hair one last time, and you felt his body relax fully against yours.

-------------

Morning light filtered in softer than the day before. Heeseung’s arm was draped lazily over your waist, warm and heavy. You slipped out from under it carefully; he stirred but didn’t wake. You dressed in silence —blouse, skirt, hair tied back. The room still smelled faintly like him, and that didn’t help your focus.

The café was already alive. Jay stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled up, the espresso machine hissing in sharp bursts. “Morning,” he said without looking up.

“Morning.” You tied your apron.

He glanced at you. Then glanced again. A slow smirk tugged at his mouth. “Sleep okay?”

Your hands paused mid-knot. “…Yeah.”

“Good,” he replied, far too neutral. “Get enough sleep?”

Heat rushed straight to your cheeks. “It wasn’t like that.”

Jay hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Sure.”

You shot him a look, but he just chuckled and slid a tray toward you. “Relax. I don’t need details. Just don’t do it in my café.”

You buried your face briefly in your shoulder, willing the warmth to fade, and got to work.

Heeseung hadn’t shown up yet. No occupied stool at the counter. No lazy commentary. No lingering gaze. And somehow, that absence felt louder than his teasing ever had.

You poured coffee. Wiped tables. Refilled water glasses. The rhythm settled in —steady, familiar.

Until it wasn’t.

A passenger, distracted and waving their phone mid-story, turned too quickly and collided straight into you. The tray in your hands tipped. A full glass of ice water poured down the front of your blouse.

You gasped at the cold shock. Fabric clung instantly to your skin.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, stepping back, but the damage was obvious. Water soaked through your apron, darkening everything beneath.

Jay was beside you in seconds. “Okay,” he said firmly. “Go. Change.”

“I can just—”

“Nope. You’re not serving like that.” He pointed toward the corridor. “Room. Now. I’ve got this.”

You hesitated.

He softened. “Seriously. Ten minutes.”

You nodded and slipped away. The corridor felt colder against your damp clothes; each step made the fabric cling more uncomfortably to your skin. You reached your compartment, turned the handle, and stepped inside.

And froze.

Heeseung sat on the edge of the bed.

In his hands —the letter.

Folded paper, carefully opened. His eyes lifted the second the door shut. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke.

You stepped forward slowly. “What are you doing?”

His fingers stilled against the page, but he didn’t crumple it. Didn’t hide it. “I was looking for my notebook,” he said quietly. “I thought I left it on the nightstand.”

Your stomach twisted.

He glanced down at the letter again, not reading now. Just absorbing. “Sunghoon,” he said.

You crossed your arms instinctively, suddenly aware of your soaked blouse, the way it clung, the vulnerability of standing there while he held something that personal. “You shouldn’t have opened it.”

“I know.”

A pause. “But I did.”

The train hummed beneath you.

Heeseung stood slowly and held the letter out like it weighed more than paper. “You were running toward him,” he said.

It wasn’t a question.

Your throat tightened. “Yes.”

Silence stretched between you. His jaw shifted, not angry, just processing.

“And now?” he asked.

You didn’t have an answer ready. Because now wasn’t simple anymore.

You stepped forward and took the letter carefully,. “I didn’t expect…” You stopped.

“Me?” he finished softly.

You met his eyes.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. “I wasn’t supposed to be part of your story,” he said, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “I was just passing through.”

“You weren’t just passing through,” you replied before you could stop yourself.

His gaze flickered to your soaked blouse and then back to your face, conflicted, like he didn’t trust himself to look too long. “You should change,” he said gently, but he didn’t move away. “You’re freezing.”

You hadn’t even noticed the shiver until he said it.

The letter rested between your fingers, heavier now. So was the space between you.

But before you could even grab your clothes to change, he spoke up again. 

“So,” he said, softer than you expected, “am I just a chapter?”

There was no accusation in it. That almost made it worse.

Your chest tightened, like something invisible had cinched around it. The letter trembled in your hands before you folded it closed. “Heeseung, I don’t know—what am I supposed to say?” Frustration spilled out before you could stop it. You threw your hands up, the paper crinkling. “There isn’t a clean answer to this.”

“The truth,” he said gently, but firmly.

Your throat went dry. “I—” The words tangled. Everything felt knotted together. “I have to change.”

It was a coward’s exit, and you knew it.

You stepped around him, grabbing a dry shirt from your bag. The damp blouse clung stubbornly as you peeled it off, cool air brushing your skin. You pulled the clean shirt over your head quickly, fingers fumbling at the hem.

He didn’t turn around.

He just stood there, shoulders tense, one hand dragging through his hair like he was trying to line up thoughts that refused to cooperate.

The compartment felt smaller than ever.

You cleared your throat softly so he’d know you were still there—that you weren’t walking away entirely. “My stop is tomorrow,” you said quietly.

The words landed heavy.

He didn’t move at first. Then he turned slowly. Something in his expression had shifted. “So you’re leaving.”

You nodded. “I’m not staying here,” you corrected gently. “That was always the plan.”

“To meet him.”

You hesitated. “…Yes.”

The train hummed beneath you, steady and indifferent.

“And after?” he asked.

You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. Because that was the part you hadn’t figured out. You were supposed to get off the train. Supposed to find Sunghoon. Supposed to close something that had been open for four years. You hadn’t planned for anything beyond that.

Heeseung studied your silence. “You don’t look certain.”

“I’m not uncertain,” you shot back too quickly.

He gave you a look.

Your shoulders dropped with a quiet exhale. “I just didn’t expect…”

“Me?” he finished.

You met his eyes. “Yes.”

The honesty hung there —fragile and terrifying.

He stepped closer, just enough that the space between you thinned. His voice softened. “Then what does that make this?”

A knock hit the door. Sharp.

Both of you froze.

Another knock, firmer. “Y/N?” Jungwon’s voice filtered through the wood, calm but purposeful. “Jay sent me. He said to check on you.”

The spell shattered.

You blinked, reality rushing back too fast. Heeseung stepped away immediately, distance snapping into place like it had never been fragile seconds ago.

“I—yeah,” you called out, clearing your throat. “I’m fine!”

A pause. “You sure?”

“Yes,” you answered, a little too quickly. “Just changing.”

Heeseung dragged a hand through his hair and turned toward the window, jaw tight again.

“I’ll tell him you’re alive,” Jungwon said dryly from the other side. “Five minutes.”

Footsteps faded down the corridor.

Silence flooded back in but it wasn’t the same silence. The question still lingered.

What does that make this?

You looked at Heeseung, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was staring at the blur of coastline outside, expression guarded now, shutters drawn.

“You should go,” he said after a moment. “Finish your shift.”

You swallowed. Not wanting to make it worse, not wanting to disappoint him further, you nodded and turned for the door.

And this time, the space between you felt a lot wider.

-------------

You went back to the café and slipped behind the counter like nothing had happened. Jay glanced up. 

“You good?” 

“Yeah,” you said, already reaching for a towel. He studied you for a second, then let it go. “Dry those glasses.” You nodded and worked.

You didn’t talk much after that. Not to passengers and not even to Jay. You moved through the rest of the shift on instinct alone. Wipe, rinse, stack. Pour, serve, clear. Your hands knew the rhythm even if your head didn’t. Heeseung never came back to the counter.

By evening, the café had gone quiet. The last customers filtered out, chairs scraping softly across the floor. The espresso machine gave one final tired hiss before Jay shut it down. You kept wiping the counter long after it was already clean.

Jay noticed. “You planning on refinishing that?”

You blinked and stilled. “Oh. Sorry.”

“We’re closed.”

“Right.” You folded the towel neatly, but you didn’t untie your apron. Didn’t grab your bag.

He leaned against the counter, arms loosely crossed. “You’re not packing up.”

You swallowed. “I can’t go back to my room.”

He didn’t ask why. He didn’t need to. He just nodded once, like that was enough. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his keycard, and held it out to you. “Take mine.”

You stared at it. “Jay, I can’t.”

“You can.”

“That’s your room.”

“I’ll bunk with Jungwon for one night.”

You shook your head automatically. “No, that’s—”

He stepped closer and pressed the card into your hand before you could finish. “It’s fine. He owes me. And I’ve slept in worse places than Jungwon’s top bunk.”

A small, reluctant laugh escaped you.

His expression softened. “You don’t have to explain. Just don’t stay somewhere you don’t feel okay being.”

Your throat tightened as you wrapped your fingers around the keycard. “Thank you.”

He shrugged like it was nothing. “You’re good help. I’d prefer you not spiral before your stop.”

There it was again —your stop. Your chest pulled tight.

Jay noticed, of course. His voice was gentle. “I’ll miss you, you know.”

The simplicity of it nearly undid you. “I’ll miss you too,” you admitted quietly.

He clapped his hands once, breaking the moment before it could sink too deep. “Go. Before I change my mind and start charging rent.”

You rolled your eyes but held onto the keycard. As you stepped into the corridor, the café lights dimmed behind you, and for the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe.

-------------

Morning came softer in Jay’s room. The bed was firmer than yours, the sheets faintly scented with clean linen and flour, like the café had followed him into sleep. For a few blissful seconds, you forgot where you were. Then three solid knocks against the door.

You sat up immediately, heart jumping, disoriented until the unfamiliar ceiling pulled everything back into place. Jay’s room. Not yours.

Another knock. “Y/N?” Jay’s voice.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and crossed the room, unlocking the door. Jay stood there already dressed, apron folded over one arm. In his other hand —your bag. 

You blinked. “How did you—?”

He handed it to you before you could finish. “Someone dropped it off in the café early.”

Your stomach tightened. “Someone?” you repeated.

He shrugged, casual but deliberately vague. “Didn’t leave a note. Just said it was yours.”

You stared at the bag a second longer than necessary. You didn’t need a name. Jay didn’t offer one.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

He nodded once. “We’re pulling into the city in a few hours. Come by the café before you go. Eat something. Proper goodbye.”

Your throat tightened again. “Yeah. I will.”

He gave you a small, almost proud smile. “Good. Don’t make me come drag you.”

He turned and headed down the corridor, leaving you alone with your bag and the weight of what it meant. Heeseung must’ve gone back to the compartment. Must’ve seen you weren’t there. Must’ve gathered your things —and chosen not to say goodbye.

You closed the door gently and stood there for a moment before unzipping the bag. Everything was folded neatly. Your apron. Your extra shirts. The letter tucked safely into the inner pocket like it hadn’t been touched again.

Your chest tightened.

You showered quickly in the small washroom, letting the water wake you fully. When you stepped back into the room, you dressed more carefully than usual —smoothing your skirt, adjusting your shirt, brushing your hair. Finally letting it down, instead of the bun it has been in all week. You weren’t dressing for the café. You were dressing for the city. 

You glanced at yourself in the mirror once before leaving. You looked steadier than you felt.

The café was warm when you stepped in. Jay stood behind the counter, Jungwon near the espresso machine, sleeves rolled neatly as always. They both looked up at the same time.

“About time,” Jay said.

Jungwon gestured toward the counter. “We saved you a seat.”

At the edge of the counter sat a plate already prepared —fresh pastry, coffee steaming beside it. Your seat.

You swallowed and slid onto the stool between them. Heeseung’s usual spot at the other end of the counter was empty. You tried not to look at it.

Jay nudged the plate toward you. “Eat. You’ll need energy if you’re going to dramatically step off into the city.”

You huffed a faint laugh. “Is that what I’m doing?”

“No backing out now,” Jungwon said dryly. “I did a lot of extra paperwork to let you get on this train.”

You smiled. For a few minutes, the conversation stayed light —small jokes, complaints about tourists, Jungwon correcting Jay over something trivial. The normal rhythm of them. It felt grounding.

Then the train whistle sounded in the distance. City approach.

Jay leaned his elbows on the counter, studying you more seriously. “You sure about this?”

You nodded. “I think so.”

Jungwon’s gaze was steady. “You don’t have to be certain..”

Warmth spread through your chest. “I’ll miss this,” you admitted.

Jay scoffed lightly. “Of course you will. Best café on rails.”

You smiled, but your eyes flicked once more toward the empty stool at the far end. Still empty.

Jay noticed. He didn’t comment. He just reached over and squeezed your shoulder once, firm and steady.

The train began to slow, metal grinding softly against metal. The city waited ahead.

And Heeseung never walked through the door.

-------------

The train doors slid shut behind you with a final metallic sigh, and just like that, you were standing in the city. No dramatic reunion. No cinematic music swelling. Just cobblestone streets warmed by late-morning sun, storefronts with peeling paint, and the distant cry of gulls near the water.

You adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder. Okay. Now what?

You hadn’t thought that far ahead. You’d planned the train. The letter. The impulsive bravery of showing up. You had not planned the actual showing up part.

“Brilliant,” you muttered under your breath as you started walking. “Traveled across the country with no address, no phone number. Just hope.”

You turned down one street, then another, pretending you knew where you were going. You didn’t. What if he moved? What if he wasn’t even here? What if he was and this was a terrible idea?

You groaned quietly, too busy replaying every questionable decision that led you here to watch where you were going —and walked straight into someone.

“Oh!” a woman exclaimed.

You stumbled back as two woven baskets tipped forward, flowers spilling onto the pavement.

“I’m so sorry,” you blurted, already crouching to help.

The woman laughed lightly, not angry. “It’s alright. They’ve survived worse.”

You gathered loose stems carefully, brushing dirt from delicate petals. The air filled instantly with lavender and something citrusy. “I wasn’t looking,” you admitted.

“You looked distracted,” she replied warmly.

You glanced up. She looked around your age, maybe a little older, kind eyes, hair pulled back loosely. She balanced the remaining basket on her hip like she’d done it a thousand times.

“I can carry one,” you offered quickly, lifting the fuller basket before she could protest.

She smiled. “If you insist. The shop’s just down the street.”

You followed her half a block to a small flower shop tucked between a bookstore and a bakery. The sign above the door read Sooha’s Florals in soft painted script. Inside felt like a pocket of spring. Dried flowers hanging from the ceiling, vases lining wooden shelves, sunlight catching in glass jars.

“You can set it there,” she said, gesturing to a long wooden table.

You did, brushing your hands off. “Thank you.”

“I’m Sooha,” she said.

“Y/N.”

She tilted her head slightly. “You’re not from here.”

You let out a breath. “Is it that obvious?”

“A little,” she admitted gently. “You don't look like you know what you're doing.”

You hesitated. It would’ve been easier to brush it off. But something about the way she said it —curious, not prying— made you honest. “I don’t.”

She leaned against the counter. “Can I ask what?”

You gave a small, self-conscious laugh. “This is going to sound ridiculous.”

“Those are my favorite kinds of stories.”

You glanced at the door, then back at her. “I came looking for someone. A… summer thing. From four years ago. He sent me a letter. It got lost in the mail for years. I just got it.”

Sooha’s eyes widened. “That’s incredibly romantic.”

You huffed softly. “Or incredibly delusional.”

“No,” she insisted. “Romantic.”

She tucked a stray flower into a vase, thoughtful. “You came all this way because of a letter?”

You nodded.

“That’s brave.”

“It feels more stupid than brave.”

“Same thing sometimes,” she said lightly.

She smiled, and there was something steady about it. Rooted. “I’m engaged,” she added, glancing at the ring on her finger. “We’ve been together forever. But sometimes I think about how small choices change everything. A missed train. A delayed letter.” She looked back at you. “If you don’t come, you’d always wonder.”

Your stomach chose that exact moment to betray you with a loud, unmistakable growl.

You froze.

Sooha burst into soft laughter. “Okay. Before you chase romance, you need food.”

You covered your face briefly. “I cannot believe that just happened.”

“There’s a place a few streets down called Décelis,” she continued, still smiling. “Best food in town. You’ll like it.”

The name settled strangely in your chest. “Décelis?” you repeated.

She nodded. “Big windows. Always busy around lunch.”

You adjusted your bag again. “Thank you. For the pep talk.”

“I hope you find what you’re looking for,” she said gently.

You stepped back into the sunlight, the shop door chiming softly behind you. Décelis. You hadn’t planned this far ahead. But maybe the city was planning for you. 

-------------

Décelis wasn’t hard to find. Sooha had described it perfectly. Big windows, sunlight pouring in, the low hum of conversation spilling onto the street. The scent of espresso and fresh pastry hit you the second you stepped inside.

And behind the counter—

“Are you kidding me right now?”

You froze. He froze.

“Sunoo?”

He blinked once. Twice. “Y/N?!”

He rounded the counter so fast he nearly knocked over a tray of cups. “What are you doing here?”

“I—what are you doing here?” you shot back.

“This is my restaurant!” he gestured wildly. “What are you doing here?”

“You own Décelis?”

“Yes! I told you I was gonna open something one day!”

“You say that about everything!”

“And I did it!” he pointed dramatically toward the ceiling like that sealed the argument.

A loud sputtering noise cut through the moment. Both of you turned. Behind the espresso machine stood a tall boy with dark hair falling into his eyes, staring at the portafilter like it had personally offended him. “I don’t understand why it’s doing that,” he muttered.

Sunoo dragged a hand down his face. “Because, Riki, you packed it like you’re building a brick wall.”

“You said firm.”

“I said firm, not violent.”

You tried not to laugh.

Sunoo looked at you like he was on the verge of collapse. “This is my new hire. He knows nothing. I am stressed.”

“I know how to make espresso,” you said carefully.

Sunoo blinked. “You do.”

“Yes.”

“You worked at your family bakery, right?.”

“Yes.”

He grabbed your hands dramatically. “Move in.”

You stared at him. “What?”

“I have a spare room. Help me train him. I’ll feed you.”

“Sunoo—”

“Please,” he whispered urgently. “He tried to steam milk in the cold pitcher.”

“I thought it would heat up,” Riki defended.

You burst out laughing, and just like that, something tight in your chest loosened.

Two days later, you were behind the counter at Décelis, sleeves rolled up, guiding Riki’s hands. “Okay,” you said, adjusting his grip. “You tamp evenly. Not like you’re angry at it.”

“I’m not angry.”

“You look angry.”

He huffed but tried again. The espresso pulled clean this time it was smooth and dark.

He blinked. “Oh.”

“See?” you smiled. “You’re not hopeless.”

Sunoo leaned against the pastry case, arms crossed. “She’s better at this than me.”

“Obviously,” you replied.

The door chimed. You didn’t look up right away, you were mid-sentence explaining milk temperature. Then something shifted. That feeling, like the room tilted slightly.

You looked up.

Your breath left you.

Sunghoon.

He looked older, more grounded, but the same. He stopped walking the second he saw you. “Y/N?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. He crossed the space between you in seconds. “What are you doing here?” he asked, disbelief and something softer mixing in his voice.

“I got your letter,” you blurted.

He stilled. “What?”

“It was lost,” you rushed. “For years. I just got it. I know it’s crazy to just show up like this after four years—”

He cut you off with a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You finally found me?”

“You’re not… upset?” you asked.

“Upset?” He shook his head. “I thought you ignored it.”

Your chest tightened. “I never even saw it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, overwhelmed. “I thought I imagined everything.”

“You didn’t,” you said quietly.

Behind you, Sunoo slowly looked between the two of you. Riki leaned over and whispered loudly, “Is this the summer guy she mentioned?”

You shot him a look. Sunoo elbowed him. “Subtle.”

Riki straightened immediately. “I will take care of the café.”

Sunoo raised a brow. “You will?”

“Yes.” Riki grabbed two pastries from the display and shoved them toward you. “Go. Sit. Talk. I’ve got this.”

“You absolutely do not have this,” Sunoo muttered but he didn’t stop you.

Sunghoon’s eyes never left yours. He gestured toward a small table by the window. “Can we?”

You nodded.

Four years of silence, miscommunication, and what-ifs sat between you. And for the first time since stepping off the train, you finally had the chance to talk.

You sat across from him at the small window table, sunlight catching in his hair the same way it had that summer. For a moment, neither of you spoke. It wasn’t awkward. It was just… full.

Sunghoon let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh. “I can’t believe you’re actually here.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually real,” you admitted. “I half expected you to have moved. Or forgotten. Or—”

“Forgotten?” he cut in gently.

His expression shifted —not offended, just certain. “I never forgot.”

The steadiness in his voice made your chest tighten. He leaned forward, elbows resting lightly on the table. “I wrote that letter three times. I didn’t know if it was stupid. Or too much.”

“It wasn’t,” you said immediately.

His lips curved softly. “I kept thinking… if you didn’t respond, that was my answer.”

“It wasn’t an answer,” you whispered. “I never got it.”

Something flickered in his eyes, relief maybe. Or vindication. Or both. “I waited,” he admitted quietly. “Longer than I should’ve.”

You felt that. “Why didn’t you call?”

He gave a small, self-aware smile. “Because if you didn’t answer the letter, I didn’t want to force it.”

Of course. Careful. Respectful. Still that same quiet intensity that had undone you at nineteen.

“I thought about you,” he continued, voice steady. “More than I meant to.”

Your throat tightened. “I compared everyone to you,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.

His expression softened completely. “You came all this way,” he said. “Not knowing if I’d even be here.”

“I didn’t plan that far ahead,” you muttered.

He laughed softly —the same laugh that had lived in your head for four years without fading. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

The simplicity of it made your eyes sting. He reached across the table slowly, giving you time to pull away. You didn’t. His fingers wrapped around yours.

“I meant what I wrote,” he said quietly. “It mattered. You mattered.”

The noise of the café blurred around you. You searched his face for hesitation. There wasn’t any. He looked at you the same way he had that night on the beach.

“You look the same,” he added softly.

“I don’t,” you said. “I feel different.”

“Good,” he replied. “We’ve matured since nineteen.”

There was no disappointment in his tone. No shift in energy. No sign that time had worn anything down. If anything, it felt deeper.

“I was scared,” you admitted. “That I built you up in my head.”

He squeezed your hand gently. “And?”

You studied him —the way he listened, the way he didn’t rush you, the way his eyes didn’t wander. And you realized he wasn’t a memory. He was exactly what you remembered. Just older. Stronger. More certain.

“You didn’t disappoint,” you said quietly.

His smile was slow, warm, almost disbelieving. “Good,” he murmured.

Behind you, Riki fumbled loudly with something metallic. Sunoo’s voice rang out, “If you break that machine, I’m billing you!”

You both laughed, and it felt easy. Natural. Like four years had bent but never broken the thread between you.

Sunghoon leaned back slightly, still holding your hand. “Stay,” he said. Not impulsive. Not desperate. Just hopeful. “Don’t make this just a visit.”

Your heart kicked hard in your chest. And for the first time since boarding that train, you weren’t thinking about what you might lose. You were thinking about what you could build.

-------------

The next morning, you woke earlier than you needed to. Sunoo was still asleep when you slipped out of the apartment, the city just beginning to stretch awake. The air carried a soft, salty breeze from the water, and the streets were quiet. Just shopkeepers lifting metal grates and someone hosing down the sidewalk.

You didn’t head straight to Décelis. Your feet took you somewhere else first.

The little bell above the flower shop door chimed as you stepped inside. Sooha looked up from behind the counter, trimming stems. For half a second she just stared. Then her eyes widened. “No.”

You were already smiling. “Yes.”

She dropped the scissors. “He came?”

You nodded, barely containing it. “He walked into the café randomly. Like something out of a movie.”

Sooha pressed a hand to her chest. “Stop. I love this.”

“I know,” you laughed. “I almost passed out.”

“Tell me everything.”

You leaned against the wooden table where you’d helped her the day before. The shop smelled like eucalyptus and roses. “He thought I ignored him,” you said softly. “He thought I never answered.”

Her expression softened immediately. “Oh.”

“I told him the letter was lost. He… he was just happy I found him.”

Sooha let out a soft gasp. “That’s disgusting.”

You blinked. “What?”

“In the best way,” she clarified quickly. “That’s so romantic it hurts.”

You laughed, warmth spreading through your chest all over again. “It didn’t feel awkward,” you admitted. “It felt like we just picked up where we left off. But not in a naive way. We’re different now. It’s steadier.”

She studied you. “You look steadier.”

You glanced at your hands. “I was terrified I’d built him up too much. That it would fall apart the second I saw him.”

“And?”

“It didn’t.”

Sooha smiled, almost proud. “Sometimes things survive distance.” She rearranged a vase of lilies as she spoke more casually. “I met mine when we were young too. We’ve grown up side by side. It’s strange realizing the person you loved as a kid isn’t exactly the same person you love now. But if it’s right, you grow into it.”

You watched her. “Were you ever scared?”

She laughed softly. “All the time. Loving someone long-term is terrifying. You choose them again and again.”

That sat with you.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” you admitted. “It’s only been a day.”

“That’s fine,” she said gently. “You don’t need the ending immediately. You just need to know if your heart feels safe.”

Safe. That was it.

You nodded slowly. “It does.”

Her smile widened. “Then I’m over the moon for you.”

A comfortable silence settled as she wrapped a small bundle of wildflowers in brown paper and handed it to you. “For your counter. Every good love story deserves fresh flowers.”

You took them carefully. “You’re going to make me cry before work.”

“Good. Go cry somewhere else before I get emotional too.”

You hugged her impulsively, and she squeezed you back like you’d known each other longer than a few days. When you stepped back into the morning light, flowers tucked against your chest, you felt lighter. Not reckless. Not nostalgic. Just hopeful.

-------------

It was late afternoon when the bell above the café door chimed. You were mid-laugh at something Sunghoon had just said, one hand braced against the counter, the other still holding a spoon you’d forgotten to put down. He was sitting close enough that your shoulders brushed every time you moved.

“Focus,” he murmured. “You almost salted that instead of sugaring it.”

“You distracted me,” you shot back.

“Good.”

The bell chimed again.

This time, you looked up —and your breath caught.

Heeseung stood just inside the doorway, travel bag slung over one shoulder, hair slightly wind-tossed, eyes scanning the room. Then they landed on you.

His face changed instantly.

Hope. Real, unguarded hope. Like he hadn’t been sure you’d still be here. Like he’d rehearsed what he might say. Like coming back had cost him something.

Your heart lurched.

He took a step forward —and then he noticed Sunghoon. The stool pulled close. The easy proximity. The way Sunghoon’s arm rested along the counter behind you.

The hope didn’t vanish.

It tightened.

Sharpened.

Heeseung’s jaw flexed as he walked the rest of the way in.

You stepped out from behind the counter instinctively. “Heeseung.”

His eyes softened for half a second. “You look…” he started.

Happy.

He didn’t finish.

Instead, his gaze shifted to Sunghoon. “Let me guess,” he said evenly, “this is the letter guy.”

Sunghoon turned slowly on his stool, calm and measured. “And you are?”

Heeseung gave a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Apparently just a plot twist.”

You stiffened. “Heeseung—”

“What?” he said lightly, though the edge was there. “I’m just putting faces to stories.”

Sunghoon stood, not aggressive, just steady. “You’ve heard about me?”

“Enough,” Heeseung replied.

“From her?”

A beat.

Heeseung’s eyes flicked back to you. “Does it matter?”

The air thickened. Sunoo had gone suspiciously quiet. Riki was absolutely pretending to polish the same espresso wand for the fifth time.

“You came a long way?” Sunghoon asked.

Heeseung exhaled softly. “Far enough.”

“Why?”

There it was. Direct.

Heeseung’s gaze sharpened. “Why do you keep asking questions?”

“I asked you a question first,” Sunghoon said evenly. “and she’s with me.”

Your pulse pounded. “Okay,” you cut in. “We’re not doing this.”

Heeseung looked at you, and there it was— jealousy. 

“So you found him quickly,” he said quietly.

“You never said bye.” you shot back.

He hesitated. That landed.

“I wasn’t sure you would want me to,” he admitted.

Sunghoon watched carefully. “Are you staying in the city?”

Heeseung’s jaw tightened. “Is this an interview?”

“It’s a question.”

“You’re very calm,” Heeseung said, something sharper creeping in.

Sunghoon didn’t rise to it. “It’s respect.”

“For who?”

“My girlfriend.”

The simplicity of it made something flicker across Heeseung’s face.

He looked back at you. “Is this what you want?” he asked. Not accusing. Just searching. “Because if it is, I’ll stop.”

The room went still.

Sunghoon’s posture shifted subtly. 

You swallowed. “Heeseung, I didn’t know—”

“That I’d come back?” he finished quietly.

You shook your head. “That you would.”

He let out a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Neither did I.”

Silence hung between you. Then something in him softened. He ran a hand through his hair, tension bleeding from his shoulders.

Heeseung looked at you. “I didn’t mean to come in swinging. I just… thought maybe.”

He didn’t finish.

He didn’t have to.

You stepped closer. “I’m glad you came.”

That surprised him. It showed.

Sunghoon noticed too— but he didn’t interrupt.

Heeseung’s smile tilted, faint and crooked. “Good.”

He walked to the far end of the counter and set his bag down. “I’ll take a coffee,” he said lightly. “If that’s still allowed.”

Sunoo cleared his throat dramatically. “Coming right up!.”

Riki muttered, “This is the best shift of my life.”

You shot him a glare.

The tension didn’t disappear, but it shifted. It wasn’t a fight. It was a line drawn quietly in the sand.

-------------

The tension lingered even after Sunoo handed Heeseung his coffee. It wasn’t loud anymore, but it hummed beneath everything.

You wiped your hands on your apron and stepped out from behind the counter. “Heeseung,” you said quietly, nodding toward the hallway near the storage room. “Can I talk to you?”

He followed without hesitation.

Once you were out of earshot, he leaned back against the wall, arms crossing loosely. The edge was still there, but it had dulled.

“You don’t have to glare at him,” you said softly.

“I wasn’t glaring.”

“You were.”

He exhaled, jaw shifting. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

“He didn’t do anything to you.”

“I know.”

“And you don’t have to like him,” you added, gentler now. “But be nice.”

His gaze softened, not defensive, just tired. “Is that what this is? You asking me to behave?”

“I’m asking you not to turn this into something it doesn’t have to be.”

He studied you for a long moment. “Are you happy?” he asked quietly.

This time, there was no edge. Just care.

You didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

The word settled between you, steady and unshaken.

Something shifted in his expression. He nodded once. “Okay.”

You searched his face. “Okay?”

“If you’re happy,” he said simply, “that’s it.”

Your throat tightened. “Heeseung…”

He shook his head lightly. “I meant what I said on the train. I don’t want to compete. And I don’t want you choosing anything because of guilt.”

A faint, real smile touched his mouth. “You look different,” he added. “Lighter.”

You swallowed. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” he said gently. “I walked in too late.”

The honesty of it made your chest ache.

He pushed off the wall. “I’ll be nice.”

You gave him a look. “Actually nice.”

He huffed softly. “I can manage civil.”

“That’ll do.”

When you stepped back into the café, the air felt different— less charged. Sunghoon glanced up, assessing without making it obvious. Sunoo was pretending very badly not to stare.

Heeseung walked to the counter and set his cup down. “Hey,” he said casually to Sunoo. “Can I get this to go?”

Sunoo blinked. “Uh—yeah. Sure.”

Sunghoon met Heeseung’s eyes briefly. Heeseung held the look, then gave a small nod. Not surrender. Not hostility. Just acknowledgment.

Sunghoon returned it.

Riki watched like he was witnessing a war peace treaty.

You stood there, unsure what to do with the quiet shift in energy.

Sunoo handed over the lid. “You heading out?”

“Yeah.” Heeseung slid his bag over his shoulder and glanced at you one last time. “Take care, okay?”

You stepped closer instinctively. “You too.”

There was a beat, something unspoken in the way he looked at you. 

Then he turned and walked toward the door. The bell chimed softly as it closed behind him.

And just like that, the tension thinned.

Sunghoon stepped closer to you.

You turned and looked at him, “He’s just—“ 

“You don’t need to explain yourself, I trust you.” He intruded.

You thank him by giving him a small smile.

“You okay?”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

But your chest felt heavy in a different way.

Sunghoon stepped closer to the counter, hands resting lightly on the wood. “I should get back,” he said. “Lunch rush is about to hit and I have to work.”

You nodded. “Yeah. We’re about to drown in it.”

A small smile tugged at his mouth. There was something different in his expression now.

He reached across the counter and brushed his fingers against yours. “I’ll come by tonight?”

“Yeah,” you said, unable to stop smiling.

This time, he stepped around the counter, closing the small gap between you. Sunoo immediately found intense interest in a stack of napkins. Riki froze mid-milk-pour.

Sunghoon leaned in slightly. “You’re really here,” he murmured.

“I am.”

And before you could overthink it, he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t dramatic. Just soft. 

Your cheeks flared instantly.

Behind you, someone inhaled sharply. “Oh my god,” Riki whispered.

Sunoo smacked his arm lightly. “Very subtle.”

Sunghoon pulled back slowly, thumb brushing the side of your hand one last time. “See you later,” he said, voice softer now.

You nodded, still pink. “Yeah.”

He walked toward the door, pausing only to give Sunoo a polite nod on his way out. The bell chimed as it closed behind him.

Silence.

Then Riki spun around. “WHAT was that?”

Sunoo leaned over the counter dramatically. “Since when do we get Kdrama plot twists during business hours?”

Your face burned hotter. “It was nothing.”

“It was absolutely not nothing,” Sunoo shot back.

Riki pointed toward the door. “Who was that guy?”

Before you could answer, the bell chimed again and a customer stepped in, scanning the menu.

You grabbed the opportunity like a lifeline. “Welcome in!” you said brightly, already moving to the register.

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. “You’re avoiding.”

“What size do you want?” you asked the customer sweetly.

Riki leaned toward Sunoo and stage-whispered, “She’s deflecting.”

You shot them both a warning look, but the rush picked up just enough to save you.

-------------

By lunchtime, the café buzzed steadily. Orders overlapped, milk steamed nonstop, and the bell above the door chimed every few minutes. You were wiping down the counter when it rang again.

You looked up.

Sooha stood in the doorway, holding a small paper bag, scanning the room until she found you. Her face lit up instantly.

You leaned over the counter. “You’re on break?”

She slid onto the stool across from you. “I had to see you.”

Sunoo narrowed his eyes suspiciously from behind the pastry case but stayed quiet.

“You’re glowing,” Sooha said without hesitation.

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

You leaned in, lowering your voice. “He came by again this morning.”

Her hands flew to her face. “Stop.”

“And—”

“And?” she demanded.

You smiled despite yourself. “He kissed me.”

Sooha gasped so loudly Sunoo whipped around. Riki abandoned the espresso machine entirely.

“I’m sorry,” Sunoo said, leaning over the counter. “We’re pretending we can’t hear you, but we absolutely can.”

Sooha blinked. “Oh.”

Riki pointed between you. “Who was the tall one earlier? Not the kiss one. The other one.”

You froze.

Sunoo’s eyes widened. “There was another one?”

Sooha turned toward you slowly, interest sharpening. “Another one?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “This is not a group discussion.”

“His name,” Riki announced dramatically, “was Heeseung.”

Sooha’s brows lifted. “Heeseung?”

Sunoo looked scandalized. “There’s a Heeseung?”

Riki nodded. “He came in like a storm cloud.”

“I did not storm,” you muttered.

“He stormed internally,” Riki corrected.

Sooha leaned forward, fully invested now. “So who is Heeseung?”

You hesitated. Sunoo crossed his arms. “I deserve context.”

“For morale,” Riki added solemnly.

You exhaled. “He was… someone I met on the train here.”

“And?” Sooha pressed.

“And it got complicated.”

“How complicated?” Sunoo asked.

You shot him a warning look.

He raised his hands. “I’m invested. This is my employee.”

Riki nodded. “This is better than TV.”

You shook your head, fighting a smile. “He’s not part of this anymore.”

Sooha studied your face carefully. “You’re sure?”

You nodded slowly. “He asked if I was happy.”

“And you are?” she asked gently.

Your eyes drifted toward the door without meaning to. “Yes,” you said softly.

Sunoo looked between you and Sooha, then at Riki. “Okay. I support the kiss guy.”

Riki nodded with conviction. “Kiss guy has good energy.”

Sooha beamed. “I agree.”

You rolled your eyes, but warmth spread through you anyway. Because for once, you weren’t chasing something uncertain. You were standing in it. And even with gossip swirling around you, it felt right.

-------------

The week settled into a strange rhythm.

Mornings were softer. Sunghoon would come in early, before the rush, sliding onto the stool at the counter like it was second nature. Sometimes he brought you coffee from somewhere else in the city “for comparison.” Sometimes he just sat there, elbows resting on the counter, listening to you complain about Riki over-steaming milk again.

“You look cute,” he said one morning, nudging your wrist lightly with his knuckles.

“You’re biased.”

“But you are,” he replied easily.

He never hovered. Never claimed space that wasn’t offered.

Afternoons felt different.

The bell would chime and you’d glance up instinctively, already knowing.

Heeseung.

He didn’t come every day, but enough that you noticed the pattern. He’d take the far stool now, not the one closest to you. Order something simple. Stay just long enough to talk.

The first time he showed up again after that morning, you narrowed your eyes at him immediately. “What?”

“What?” he asked lightly.

“You don’t live here.”

“No.”

“You said your stop wasn’t this city.”

“It wasn’t.”

You crossed your arms. “So why are you here?”

He held your gaze, calm and unflinching. “Because I wanted to be.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” he said gently.

You leaned forward. “Heeseung.”

He exhaled slowly, fingers tapping the rim of his cup. “You think I came to stir something up.”

“I think it’s suspicious.”

That made him smile faintly —not smug, just amused. “I’m not here to compete. You already answered that question.”

You searched his face.

“I meant it,” he continued. “When I asked if you were happy.”

“I am.”

“I know.”

The certainty in his tone caught you off guard.

“Then why stay?” you asked quietly.

He leaned back, glancing around the café. “Because I like this city.”

“That’s convenient.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “You think I’m orbiting you.”

“Aren’t you?”

A beat.

Then he shook his head. “I’m choosing to be in a place where someone I care about is. That doesn’t mean I’m trying to insert myself.”

Your shoulders eased slightly.

“I don’t want to disappear just because we didn’t end up where we thought,” he added. “I’d still like to be in your life. Even if that’s just… this.”

You studied him. “Just friends?”

“If that’s what you’re offering.”

There was no edge. No pressure. Just openness.

“You’re serious,” you said slowly.

He nodded. “I don’t build entire chapters and then pretend they didn’t happen.”

You looked down at the counter, then back up. “Okay.”

His lips curved faintly. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

After that, the tension shifted. He talked more easily, less guarded. One afternoon, while you were wiping the counter, he gestured toward the window. “You notice how the light hits the buildings around five?”

“You mean when it blinds everyone?”

“It doesn’t blind,” he protested lightly. “It softens the edges.”

You rolled your eyes. “Writer.”

He smiled. “I’ve been working again.”

“Oh?” you asked, curiosity slipping through.

“New piece. The city helped.”

“How?”

He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice like it was a secret. “It’s different from the last one. Less about running. More about living.”

Your chest tightened faintly.

“Is that inspired by someone?” you asked carefully.

He met your eyes. “Everything is.”

You waited.

“There’s something about this place,” he continued thoughtfully. “The flower shops. The noise in the mornings. The way people choose to stay.”

“You sound like you’re staying.”

He smiled softly. “Maybe I am.”

“Not because of me,” you warned lightly.

He shook his head. “No. Not because of you.”

A small pause.

“But you’re part of it.”

It wasn’t heavy. It wasn’t loaded. It was honest.

Across the week, he and Sunghoon never overlapped intentionally —almost like an unspoken agreement. Mornings were calm and warm. Afternoons were thoughtful and steady.

And somewhere between milk foam and late sunlight, you realized something.

They weren’t fighting anymore. They weren’t pulling at you.

They were just showing up for you.

[click here for the next part]

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[sa1co]

FIEND. (M)

Synopsis: Heeseung may be addicted to the drugs, but you're addicted to him in a way that'll probably kill you too.

Genre: angst, psychological drama

Pairings: Addict!Heeseung x Dealer!Reader (brief mention of Supplier!Jay)

Content Warnings: addiction , toxic relationships, drug use, emotional manipulation, domestic conflict, verbal conflict, verbal abuse, name calling (b*tch, as*hole) physical aggression, psychological trauma, mature themes

Authors Note: sighhhh, this one’s a real doozy friends. heesungs an addict thats fiending so he’s really mean and nasty in this. brace yourselves. if you haven’t already read it, you should go cleanse your palate with the jungwon fic afterwards.

also, wtfffff thank you all so much for 1.8k notes on the jungwon fic???? it was based on my own very lovely experience so i love how much y’all are loving it🖤

Word Count: 2.8k

MDNI 18+

Heeseung doesn't knock like a normal person when he's fiending. There's a rhythm to his desperation— three soft taps, then one harder one. It’s his tell. The thing you instantly recognize even before you check the peephole.

Through the lens, you watch him fidget, rocking back and forth like the shaky ghost of the boy you used to kiss in dark rooms. The peephole warps his face, but not enough to hide how much worse he’s gotten.

He's hunched over, arms wrapped around himself like he's freezing despite the comfortable warmth outside. His hoodie swallows his thin frame awkwardly, and his cheeks are hollower than they were last week.

His lips are dry and cracked white, and there's a raw cut splitting the bottom right corner. The same side where a bruise shadows his eye.

He looks like he hasn't eaten or slept in days. Maybe even longer.

The knocks come again—still gentle.

"Hey... open up," he whispers. "It's me."

You don't move.

"Y/N," he calls softly, almost sweet. "C'mon…I know you're home. I saw your car out front. Don't ignore me."

More silence.

The knocks pick up, edging into frantic. Then he lets his forehead fall against the door and thuds against it like that—soft, exhausted hits that pull a low groan out of him, not from pain but pure frustration.

"Come on," he snaps, pounding the door one time. " I know you're home. Please... just... just open the door."

When the silence continues, his agitation mutates into something vicious. He starts pounding. Slow at first, then faster, hitting with the side of his fist, then his whole arm.

"Open the fucking door, Y/N!"

You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping if you hold out a little longer, he'll tire himself out and leave. He doesn't.

He never does.

"OPEN THE DOOR!"

His shoulder slams into the wood, again and again, rattling the frame. You flinch with every hit but still don't open it. Not because you don't want to, but because you know what he wants, and once you let him in, you won't be able to make him leave until he gets it.

The banging keeps going, keeps echoing through the hall; maybe even the whole building with how worked up he is. And you're about to give up and just let him in when your neighbor's door swings open first.

"HEY! What the hell do you think you're doing?" the man shouts. "Get the fuck away from her door, you fucking junky! I'm calling the cops!"

Heesung's head jerks toward him, eyes glassy and feral.

"The fuck d'you just say to me?" he asks, already turning toward him.

But his voice is calm. Too calm.

The neighbor repeats it. Slower. Louder.

And that's all it takes.

Heeseung lunges.

You tear the door open just in time, grabbing him by the hoodie and dragging him backward with every ounce of strength in your body.

"Heeseung, stop it! STOP! Get inside!"

He resists even as you try to pull him, grabbing the doorframe. He's half snarling, half laughing, and yelling taunts over your shoulder, trying to antagonize your neighbor. He tries to twist free, tries to keep the chaos going even as you struggle to drag him back.

It takes you shoving him hard and snapping, "Heesung, chill the fuck out!" for him to freeze long enough to meet your eyes. Then he folds, hands slipping from the frame, and he lets you push him inside.

You apologize to your neighbor in a frantic rush before slamming the door shut.

In your apartment, Heesung collapses against the wall like someone cut his strings.

He quickly finds his footing and tries to straighten himself, pulling on his now wrinkled hoodie, and running a shaky hand through his hair. He smiles, shy and loose, like he's embarrassed you saw him like that.

"What took you so long?" he teases, breathless. "I thought you were ignoring me."

You glare at him.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Heeseung? You can't keep showing up and doing shit like this. Are you trying to get me arrested?"

He shrugs, childlike.

"Well, maybe you should've opened the door faster." He says. Then his voice softens. "I missed you."

He takes a step closer, smiling in that crooked, boyish way that used to get him free drinks. But now it looks all wrong on his face. Too thin. Too desperate.

His gaze drags over you, hungry and lingering in that painfully familiar way he used to look at you before everything went bad. It used to make your blood run hot, but now it just makes your stomach turn.

His hand twitches as it comes up, like he's working up the nerve to touch you. Then you feel his fingers sliding onto your waist. Tentative. Testing.

He must read the disgust on your face as something else, because he leans in anyway, like he's going for a hug—or something more. Something he's offered before when he had nothing else to bargain with.

Something you've let him use once or twice when you were weaker. When you didn't know better. When you still thought the sex was affection, and not currency.

His cracked lips ghost dangerously close to yours, breath warm and unsteady, but you still don't pull away. Not because any part of you wants to, but because you hope he'll read the tension in your body and stop so you don't have to say it out loud.

He doesn't. You turn your face away.

"Don't."

Heeseung freezes, the rejection hitting sharp and humiliating. For a second, he looks like he might cry.

Not because you wouldn't kiss him, but because he thought it might work. Because he doesn't have anything left but himself to trade.

"Get out," you whisper, voice firm.

He laughs once, dry and bitter, then steps back, letting his hand fall from your waist. He wipes his nose with the back of his sleeve even though there's nothing there. A pathetic attempt to look unfazed.

His eyes flick to the floor, then to your face, then away again. Like he's trying to hide the humiliation under the twitch of withdrawal.

"Fine," he mutters, jaw clenched, fingers twitching.

But his eyes are already scanning the room, darting around with a frantic kind of calculation.

"Just... give me a bag," he says under his breath. "And I'll go."

Any sympathy you might've had for him, or the situation, vanishes in an instant. You fix him with a pointed look.

"I'm out."

He freezes. Levels you with a look of his own.

"Bullshit."

"I'm serious."

"No you're not." He argues.

"Yes, I am."

"Oh fuck you!" His spits. "You've never been dry a day in your fucking life—don't bullshit me!"

"I'm not!" You lie. "Jay's shipment was late so I haven't been able to re-up yet—"

"Shut up." He growls, shoving past you.

You stumble, gasp, try to grab him, but he rips his arm out of your hold so violently it pitches you forward and sends you crashing to the ground.

He barely registers the impact, or your startled whimper, but what little he does hear doesn't deter him either way.

He's already halfway across the room by the time you're on your feet again, and you don’t have time to tend to the pain shooting through your knee as he starts tearing through the apartment.

He moves like a storm. Ripping drawers open. Overturning furniture. Digging through every hiding place he knows or suspects of.

"Heeseung, stop!" You yell, lunging towards him. "What the fuck are you doing?! STOP!"

He shoulders you aside without even looking when you try to block him from lifting up the couch cushions. Your calf slams into the table. You barely feel it over the adrenaline.

"Where is it?!" He yells. "I'm not fucking joking."

"Neither am I, asshole! I told you—I'm fucking out!"

You're shaking now, panting. You want to scream, to force him out, but you're frozen in part shock, part disbelief, part the knowledge that one wrong move could set him off even worse than this.

You brace yourself against a bookcase trying to think of your next move when he turns to you, eyes wide and crazed. He zeros in on the case, convinced that must be where the stash is.

"Move." He growls, already heading towards it. You move out of the way instantly.

"There's nothing in there, you idiot!"

And you mean it—there really isn't. But Heeseung's not listening. He grabs and shakes every trinket, pulls out all the books, and even flips through some pages as if maybe you'd tucked the stash in there.

You huff out a breath, incredulous and frustrated. Heeseung misunderstands the sound and spins toward you, eyes sharp and glaring.

"Oh, that's funny. That's real fucking funny. You think I'm stupid? Think you can jerk me around like some fucking dog. Where the fuck is it?!"

In one sudden motion, he turns and kicks the side table beside your couch, sending it skittering across the floor until it crashes into the wall.

It's no where near you, not even close, but the sound is loud enough that you cower reflexively. When you look back up, the fear is gone, leaving only white-hot anger.

"Get. Out." You grit, shoving him back with both hands. "Get the fuck out, Heeseung, or I swear to God I'll call the cops myself! You need help—"

That word ruins everything.

He whips around to you, eyes wide and seething.

"Help?!" he spits, stepping toward you. "You think you're better than me cuz you quit?"

He jabs a finger at your chest. "You're not. You're fucking scum. Worse than me.”

Another step.

"At least I'm just a fucking addict. You're the greedy bitch who made me one."

He jabs the heel of his palm into your shoulder.

"Cops?!" He taunts. "Go ahead! Call them!”

Then he shoves you.

"Call the fucking cops! Do it! Tell them what you did to me. Tell them how you ruined my fucking life—"

Then he shoves you again, harder this time, and you hit the wall so hard it knocks a raw, broken grunt out of you.

Heeseung freezes.

All the anger in him evaporates at once.

You crumble to the floor breathless, hands clutching your head. Heesung drops down with you, calling your name softly, like he's just now realized what he's done.

"Shit—Shit, I'm sorry. I-I-I didn't mean to," he stammers, hands hovering, afraid to touch you now. "I'm sorry, okay?  I didn't—fuck, Y/N, I didn't mean that, okay? I'm so sorry!"

He keeps apologizing, over and over, but you're so dizzy the words are barely coherent anymore. They're just loose, frantic half sentences he tries to use like a bandage.

He reaches for you, hesitates, then settles his hands on top of yours instead. Tender, careful, gentle in a way you haven't felt from him in months.

He rubs them like he’s petting a skittish animal that might bite. Then when you don’t react, he kisses the top of your head softly, desperately, like maybe he can undo the damage that way.

He's still apologizing, still trying to get you to look at him, until you finally push his hands away. Not angry. Not mean. Just done.

You try to sound stern when you say, "You need help," but it comes out softer than you intended.

He hears the softness in your voice, and takes the opportunity to move closer, holding your hands again.

"I know... I know." He admits softly. "I need help. A-And I’ll get it. I'll get help, okay? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Then he breaks down. Just shatters. The sobbing hits him all at once, violent and ugly. He folds into you like a child who's finally given up fighting sleep, forehead dropping against your knees.

Then the shaking starts.

"P-please, I'll get help. Just—just one more hit, okay?" He whispers. "Then I'll stop. I'll get clean, I swear. Just please... please make it stop."

You swallow hard, eyes lifting to the ceiling like you can hold your tears there.

"You can't— you can't just leave me like this," he chokes. "It hurts. It fucking hurts."

You're not an idiot. You know he's manipulating you. You've heard this all before: the begging, the bargaining, the promises that mean nothing a day later when he needs another fix.

But hearing him cry them is something else entirely. It cuts deep, right into the part of you that’s convinced you owe him something for the person he's become.

"I'm sick, Y/N. I'm so fucking sick. And you did this to me," he sobs, not cruel this time, just broken. "You can't pretend you didn't. You can't…”

And that's the knife that goes in clean.

He lifts his head, eyes glazed and trembling, just in time to see it land. Your eyebrows pinch and your lips quiver. Heeseung grips your hands tighter, dropping to his knees.

"Please," he whispers. "Make it stop. I don't wanna feel like this anymore. I don't wanna..." His voice gives out. "I just need it... I need you."

Your heart twists painfully at the word you, but that's not what breaks your resolve.

It's the truth in his voice.

The truth you'll never outrun.

Because he's right, you did do this to him. You taught him the escape. You showed him the door out. And you watched him choose it over and over again until it wasn't a choice anymore.

He may have already been broken when you met him, but you turned him in to this desperate and pitiful thing, even if you didn't mean to.

So you peel yourself out of his hold, leaving him crying on the floor, and make your way into the kitchen. Your hands are shaking as you pull out the stash you hid in the air vent the second you heard him knocking.

He follows you with his eyes, watching you with a hope even more devastating than the rage. You walk back over to him, footsteps heavy and resigned, swiping away at a stray tear sliding down your face. Then you crouch down.

He stops crying almost instantly, sniffling, and wiping at his face.

"This is the last time," you whisper, lying to him, lying to yourself. "Don't come back."

He nods too fast, smiling through the tears, small, childlike and devastating. You place the bag in his waiting hands, and his whole body sighs.

"Thank you," he breathes, like a prayer. "Thank you."

He grips the bag in his palm like a lifeline as he crawls the few steps to your coffee table. His movements are frantic and clumsy, and when he empties the bag onto the glass, he moves too fast and some of it spills.

He curses under his breath, pinches the fallen bit off the floor, and sprinkles it back on the table. He cuts the powder with the desperation of someone drowning, then bends down, holding a nostril, and snorts it all in one harsh pull.

The high hits him like a tidal wave.

Still crouched by the wall, you watch with a guilty kind of horror as he sinks to the floor, bones liquefying, body finally uncoiling, tension melting out of his limbs in slow, heavy waves.

His head lolls back against the couch cushion, eyes fluttering half shut, and a blissed out smile spreads across his face, slow and euphoric.

He looks over at you through the haze when he finally hears your choked sobs.

"Hey," he slurs, sluggish, confused. "No, no, don't cry. Come here..."

He slides his hand across the floor, reaching for you.

You should say no. You should throw him out. Or call someone and save yourself. But you don't. Instead, you move to him, sit down, and guide his head into your lap.

He curls into you immediately, arms wrapping around your waist, breath slow and warm against your stomach. His body finally stops shaking after a while, and he drifts, inch by inch, into a quiet, heavy sleep.

You sit there in the middle of your wrecked living room, holding the boy you destroyed, tears slipping silently down your face as you stroke his hair.

He looks peaceful like this.

Peaceful in a way that's entirely too heartbreaking. Heartbreaking because it's a peace you gave him—a peace that's eating him alive, a peace that will likely kill him sooner rather than later.

And yet, you hold him tight. Because Heeseung may be addicted to the drugs, but you're addicted to him in a way that'll probably kill you too.

But until then, you hold him, because this is what you made, and you don't know how to unmake it.

[skzdelf]

give this a fucking novel nomination, love it 👏👏👏

[jongst4r]

almost yours (l. heeseung)

in which your housemate can’t stand the thought of you with someone else

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader || wc: 12.4k || cw: roommate au, friends to lovers, slow burn (heeseung yearns sooo much), fluff, angst, slight smut! masturbation, kissing, making out, two idiots in love, mentions of enhypen’s jay, swearing, use of petnames || warnings: slight +18 content, preferably mdni!!! || a/n: i’m actually sooo happy with how this turned out :c (i may or may not have cried while writing)

it had started out simple — two people looking for a place to live, thrown together by chance when a mutual friend mentioned the extra room in heeseung’s apartment. at first, being housemates with him felt almost awkward; heeseung was polite, careful, the kind of person who washed his dishes right away and offered to carry your groceries if you came home with too many bags.

but as weeks slipped into months, the tension melted into something… cozier. late-night takeout on the couch turned into inside jokes, shared playlists for cooking dinners, long conversations that carried past midnight. you learned the way heeseung’s laugh filled the kitchen, the way his eyes softened when he listened to you talk about the smallest details of your day. he learned how you liked your coffee, that you hummed when you were focused, that you had a stubborn streak that matched his in the funniest arguments over board games.

slowly, the apartment stopped feeling like his and started feeling like yours. it was in the little things — the blanket you always left draped on the couch, his hoodie tossed over the back of your chair because you “stole” it one cold morning and never gave it back, the two of you brushing shoulders in the kitchen because you’d gotten used to moving around each other in the small space. weekends were filled with the comfort of shared silence, each of you doing your own thing but still sitting in the same room. sometimes, you’d glance up from your laptop to find him already looking at you, quickly averting his gaze with a sheepish smile.

there were moments that stuck more than others: the rainy evening you both stayed up building a pillow fort in the living room just because neither of you wanted to go outsider; the time heeseung stayed up late quizzing you for an exam, pretending to be a strict teacher but breaking into laughter every time you answered wrong; the night you came home tipsy, and he sat with you on the bathroom floor while you rambled nonsense, holding your hair back and laughing until you fell asleep against his shoulder.

the lines blurred slowly, without either of you saying anything. what had begun as convenience became comfort, and comfort began to feel suspiciously like something deeper — something neither of you were supposed to acknowledge. neither of you did. instead, you lived in the quiet, unspoken moments: the way his gaze lingered too long when you were dressed up to go out, or how your chest tightened whenever his hand brushed yours in passing.

somewhere in that blur of everyday moments, heeseung started to notice things about you he probably shouldn’t have, like how pretty you looked when the morning sun hit your face in the kitchen, how your laughter made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain. he didn’t mean to fall for you, but it happened slowly, inevitably.

it was in the quiet hours that it hit him hardest — when you padded down the hall in your slippers to say goodnight, or when he heard your soft singing drifting from the shower. even the most ordinary things began to feel extraordinary, simply because they belonged to you. he’d catch himself staring too long, memorizing the curve of your smile, the tilt of your head when you were teasing him. sometimes he’d have to go to his room just to cool down, gripping his sheets while clenching his jaw, knowing he was too far gone.

still, heeseung never said anything. you were almost his best friend now, his safe place, and risking that felt impossible. so he kept it quiet, locking away the longing every time you leaned against his chest during a movie or smiled at him like he was the only person in the room. instead, he let the feelings sit heavy in his chest, pretending they weren’t there even as they grew stronger with each passing day, waiting — hoping — for a moment when it might not feel so impossible to tell you.

and then one evening, in the middle of folding laundry together, you mentioned it casually — like it was nothing. “jay asked me out, so i think i’ll go on a date with him tomorrow.”

heeseung froze, shirt half-folded in his hands, the world tilting just slightly beneath his feet. he forced a smile, nodded, and said something supportive — he couldn’t even remember, because all he could hear was the pounding in his ears. you were going out with jay. one of his closest friends.

heeseung knew he should be happy for you, that he had no right to feel the tight coil of jealousy in his chest, but he couldn’t stop it. because the thought of you, dressed up and smiling for someone else — especially someone like jay, known for being a gentleman— made his heart ache in a way he didn’t know how to hide.

he found himself replaying your words long after the laundry was done, lying awake in bed while the image of you with jay dug under his skin. he imagined jay making you laugh the way he wanted to, jay leaning in close over dinner, jay walking you home with that easy charm he was known for. every scenario left a bitter taste in his mouth, jealousy curling in his gut.

he told himself it was selfish, that he had no claim over you. but the truth was cruelly simple: he wanted to be the one you chose. he wanted to be the reason you dressed up, the one who got to see your eyes light up, the one you said goodnight to at the door. instead, he was stuck pretending, playing the role of the supportive friend while inside, the thought of losing even a fraction of what you shared made him feel like he couldn’t breathe.

heeseung tried to go about the next day as if nothing had changed. he drank his coffee, scrolled aimlessly on his phone, even forced himself to laugh at something one of his friends sent him in the group chat. but underneath it all, there was a tension in him that wouldn’t let up, like he was holding his breath without realizing.

when the evening came, he couldn’t help but notice the way you disappeared into your room to get ready. the sound of hangers shifting in your closet, the faint hum of music, the click of your heels against the floor when you finally stepped out — every little detail made his chest tighten. you looked stunning, radiant in a way that made it impossible for him to look away. he managed a smile, told you that you looked nice, but the words felt hollow compared to what he wanted to say. you look perfect. please don’t go. stay with me instead.

hours dragged by after you left. heeseung sat on the couch with the tv playing some show he didn’t care about, his phone untouched on the coffee table. every time the door creaked in his imagination, every time he thought he heard footsteps in the hall, his heart jumped and sank all at once.

when you finally came back, it was late. heeseung heard the front door click open and his heart jumped before he could stop it. your heels clicked against the floor again, slower this time, your laughter soft as you slipped your shoes off by the door. you looked tired, a little flushed from the night, but your eyes were still bright. heeseung peeked out from the living room, pretending like he’d only just gotten up to grab some water.

“hey,” you said, voice warm, almost dreamy, as you dropped your shoes by the door. “didn’t think you’d still be up.

heeseung forced his lips into a small smile, clutching the remote tighter than necessary. “couldn’t sleep,” he murmured, eyes flicking from your face to the floor, then back again.

you crossed the room and sank down beside him on the couch, a little sigh leaving your chest. “it was fun,” you said, unprompted, leaning back against the cushions. “jay is… really easy to talk to. we went for dinner and then walked by the river for a while. i didn’t even realize how late it got until he dropped me off.”

heeseung’s stomach churned, but he nodded like it was nothing, like he wasn’t dying inside with every detail. “sounds nice,” he said, his voice steady even though his throat felt tight, the words he wanted to ask pressing at the back of it. did he make you laugh? did you like being with him? are you gonna see him again?

instead, he just gave a stiff smile and nodded. “glad you had a good time.”

you smiled at him. “yeah. i think we’re gonna go out again soon.” your tone was light, almost teasing, like you were letting him in on a secret.

heeseung’s chest ached. he wanted to ask why you were telling him this — why you looked at him with those bright eyes, why you leaned closer as if you wanted him to share in your excitement. part of him wanted to scream, to tell you not to go, to admit the jealousy eating him alive. but he couldn’t. he just hummed in agreement, eyes fixed on the tv though he couldn’t see a single thing on the screen.

you didn’t seem to notice his silence. you kept talking, recounting little details — how jay had opened doors for you, how he’d told a stupid joke that made you laugh harder than you expected. the way your eyes shined made it impossible for heeseung to look directly at you for too long. so he just listened, nodding when he had to, pretending he was fine.

you stretched your arms overhead, yawning. “i’m exhausted, though. think i’m just gonna shower and go to sleep.”

heeseung nodded again, looking away before you could notice the way his hands were clenched at his sides. “sleep well,” he murmured.

and when you finally walked outside the room, he stayed on the couch long after, staring at the screen, his heart pounding like he’d just lost something he never really had in the first place.

the week between your first and second date with jay felt like the longest of heeseung’s life. on the surface, everything looked the same — same routines, same late-night takeout, same easy talk in the kitchen while cooking dinner together. but underneath, nothing felt the same to him.

heeseung noticed it everywhere. the way your phone would light up more often than usual, and the soft smile tugging at your lips as you typed out quick replies, the way you hummed while brushing your hair in the morning, the way you seemed more restless at night, padding around the apartment with that little bounce in your step like you were carrying a secret you couldn’t wait to tell.

you weren’t flaunting it, you weren’t cruel, but heeseung noticed every single thing. he’d catch himself staring at you longer than usual, watching the way your expression softened whenever you mentioned jay’s name, and every time it felt like a small cut he couldn’t stop reopening.

inside, he was going insane. jealousy curled tight in his chest, leaving him restless. he hated how much he thought about it: you sitting across from jay again, laughing at the same kind of dumb jokes you always laughed at with him, leaning in close like you did when you wanted heeseung’s attention. he couldn’t stop picturing jay seeing the things he saw every day — the way you bit your lip when you were focused, the way your laugh spilled out, the way you looked when you first woke up.

he tried to act normal, to keep things easy between you. heeseung cracked jokes, asked about your day, shared playlists like always. but there were cracks in his façade. sometimes his replies came too short, his smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes, or his laughter sounded forced. you seemed too caught up in your own quiet excitement to notice — or maybe you did, and you just didn’t press.

by the time the weekend rolled around and you mentioned casually that jay was picking you up again, heeseung felt the ground tilt beneath him just like it had the first time. he nodded, swallowed hard, and muttered something supportive. but as you disappeared into your room to get ready, he sat on the couch in silence, staring at his hands, wishing he could tell you the truth — that every day that week had been torture, that the thought of you going back out with jay again made his chest ache in ways he didn’t know how to explain.

the apartment felt unbearably quiet after you left. the click of the door shutting behind you lingered in the air, followed by the faint echo of your perfume, and then there was nothing but silence. heeseung sat there on the couch, staring at the wall, a heaviness pressing into his chest until he had to lean forward, elbows braced on his knees.

he thought about how everything had started — so small, so innocent, so… harmless. just two housemates sharing space, trading polite smiles in the kitchen, learning each other’s rhythms. he hadn’t even noticed it happening at first. he thought it was just comfort, familiarity, the natural closeness that came with living together. but somewhere along the way, that comfort shifted into something sharper, something that tugged at him every time you smiled, every time you laughed, every time you looked at him like he mattered.

heeseung closed his eyes, remembering the first moment he realized he was in trouble. it wasn’t anything dramatic — just you falling asleep on the couch during a movie, your head tipping onto his shoulder. he had frozen, too aware of the warmth of you pressed against him, too aware of how his heart was beating so hard it almost hurt. and when you stirred, murmuring his name so softly before settling back down, he’d felt something inside him tilt, like the ground shifting under his feet.

after that, it was impossible not to see it everywhere. the way you hummed while you cooked, the way you stole his clothes without asking, the way you teased him in that playful, easy way that made him grin no matter how bad his day had been. little things, all adding up until suddenly he couldn’t imagine a day without you in it.

and now you were out with jay. his friend. someone who got to see you dressed up, glowing with that spark of excitement in your eyes. someone who might reach across the table to hold your hand, who might kiss you at the end of the night. the thought made his chest tighten until it was hard to breathe.

he wanted to hate jay for it, but he couldn’t. jay was a good guy. funny, gentle, kind, thoughtful. you could do a lot worse. but that was what made it worse for heeseung, because jay wasn’t doing anything wrong, he was just giving you the attention you deserved, and heeseung had no claim, no right to stop it.

his hands dragged down his face, frustration bubbling under his skin. when had he let himself get so gone for you? when had simple friendship turned into late-night yearning, into this ache that followed him everywhere?

heeseung leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling. he thought about how easy it would’ve been to stop it early, to never let himself blur the line between friendship and something more. but it was too late now. he had fallen, quietly and completely, and no matter how much he told himself to move on, to bury it in the deepest place his mind could reach, the truth sat heavy in his chest.

he was in love with you.

and tonight, while you were out with jay, smiling and laughing the way he wished you only did for him, he was stuck here with the weight of it — knowing he couldn’t tell you, knowing he couldn’t stop it, and knowing it was already too late.

heeseung spent the next few days in a quiet, simmering tension. after your second date with jay, you hadn’t mentioned him again, hadn’t hinted at another date, and heeseung clung to that silence like a lifeline. he told himself it meant you weren’t interested anymore — that maybe, finally, the space between the two of you could shift into something more.

heeseung tried to be subtle at first, just little things here and there: lingering a second longer when he passed by you in the kitchen, offering to grab your coffee exactly the way you liked it, teasing you gently when you were stubborn about finishing a task. he smiled more than usual, let his jokes carry an extra warmth, a personal note meant only for you. his heart raced each time you laughed, each time your eyes lingered a second too long when he was talking.

heeseung even started leaving little notes for you in the fridge or on the table — funny reminders of things you’d said, tiny compliments about how good you looked, how incredible you were, how much he appreciated you. he called it playful encouragement, but it was more than that. every note, every joke, every small gesture was him trying to remind you of him, trying to make you feel the way he felt whenever he looked at you.

heeseung caught himself imagining scenarios in which he could steal more of your attention: movie nights on the couch, long walks through the neighborhood, lazy mornings when you both stayed in pajamas too long, and whispered conversations in the quiet of the apartment. he was building a world where it was just the two of you, carefully orchestrating little moments so that maybe, somehow, you’d notice him the way he noticed you.

but even as he schemed quietly, his chest tightened every time he thought of jay, of those dates, of the possibility that you might still want him. hope and fear tangled in a knot he couldn’t untie. heeseung told himself that he was doing this for you — that he just wanted to make you happy — but the truth he couldn’t speak even to himself was simpler and crueler: he wanted you, and he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else taking you away.

heeseung and you were sprawled across the bed, tangled in the kind of lazy, comfortable closeness that only comes from months of shared routines, laughter, and silly, private jokes. the sunlight slanting through the curtains painted soft patterns across the sheets and your skin, catching the glint in your eyes as you laughed at something dumb — something heeseung couldn’t even remember now, but that made his chest tighten.

your hair tumbled over his arm in a careless mess, and heeseung absentmindedly ran his fingers through it, feeling the strands slip between his fingertips. your hand found his chest, tracing idle patterns, fingertips ghosting over the muscles in a way that left him shivering even though the morning light was warm. for the first time in days, heeseung allowed himself to relax, letting his heartbeat slow just a little in the comfort of you pressed against him.

you rolled to face him, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead with a soft touch, and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. heeseung’s chest tightened again, a little painfully, a little beautifully, as his heart stumbled over itself.

“you’re ridiculous,” you teased, voice light and airy, full of warmth.

“you love it,” he murmured back, teasing too, though the tremor in his voice betrayed how high-strung he actually felt. you giggled.

“maybe a little,” you admitted, your head finding the curve of his shoulder again, the weight of you against him grounding him. heeseung closed his eyes for a moment, letting himself drink it in — the softness of your hair against his arm, the quiet sound of your breathing, the warmth that felt like it had been missing from his life for far too long.

he let himself imagine what it would be like if this were always how it was, if the two of you could just be like this every day: close, easy, intimate in a way that didn’t need words. he pictured lazy mornings together, quiet nights where the two of you shared headphones and playlists, whispered secrets in the kitchen, and fell asleep tangled in each other’s arms. he let himself breathe, really breathe, for the first time in days.

gathering courage, he tilted his head, eyes meeting yours, fingers threading into yours. “you know,” he whispered, voice soft, careful, “i really… i really like this. being here with you. like this.”

you smiled, squeezing his hand, and heeseung’s chest swelled with a strange, soaring kind of hope.

and then, casually, your voice cut through the room like a knife. “oh, by the way, i forgot to tell you… do you remember this italian restaurant i told you about? jay wanted to go too, so he made a reservation for us.”

heeseung froze, the hope inside him evaporating instantly, replaced with a sharp, hollow ache. his chest tightened painfully, and the air felt suddenly too thick. he could feel the blood drain from his face as he tried to process it, tried to slow the sudden racing of his heart. the bubble of comfort and warmth that had enveloped him just moments ago was gone, replaced with the bitter weight of heartbreak.

you hummed softly, unaware, brushing a hand across his arm as if nothing had happened. “but don’t worry, we’ll have our movie night today,” you added lightly, pressing a small kiss to his shoulder before shifting slightly to grab your phone from the sofa.

heeseung stayed frozen for a long moment, silent, the hurt making it hard to form words. he felt his stomach twist. he wanted to scream, to beg, to demand that you stop, that you notice how much he cared, how much he loved you, but he couldn’t. all he could do was swallow hard, his jaw tight, fingers curling around the fabric of the cushion. he felt helpless, the simple joy of your closeness now tainted by the knowledge that jay was going nowhere, that you wanted him.

heeseung’s mind raced, spinning through memories of your laughter, your soft touches, the way you leaned into him without thinking. every little thing now felt like a cruel reminder of what he couldn’t have. he clenched his fists, pressing them against his knees, forcing himself to stay still while your hand brushed against his arm.

his chest ached, and even as you leaned back against him heeseung couldn’t shake the weight of heartbreak pressing into his ribs. he had to hide it, pretend that he wasn’t burning inside, because he couldn’t risk scaring you, pushing you away, or letting you see the storm behind his eyes.

but beneath that careful exterior, the truth was undeniable. heeseung was in love with you, utterly and completely. and knowing that jay could still have a claim to your attention, even if it was small, was almost more than he could bear. he wanted to wrap you in his arms and never let go, wanted to tell you all the things he’d bottled up for months, wanted to make you see that the person you laughed with now, the person you trusted and leaned on, was the one who wanted to be by your side more than anything in the world.

heeseung let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. he stayed there as the quiet stretched on, letting the tension coil in his chest while you settled back into your comfort. and as the minutes ticked by, he realized that the ache wouldn’t fade anytime soon — not until he could tell you, not until you knew how much he cared, not until maybe, somehow, you saw him the way he saw you.

today, the apartment feels quieter than usual. sunlight streams through the blinds, casting stripes across the floor, but heeseung moves through the morning like a ghost — quiet, distant. every little sound you make — the clink of your mug, the rustle of the sheets — makes him glance up, chest tightening, as if each movement is a reminder that you’re real and not just a part of some daydream he keeps trapped in his head.

you notice it almost immediately. the way he lingers over his coffee cup, staring off into nothing, the way his shoulders slump a little more than normal, and how he avoids meeting your eyes even when you’re sitting right across from him.

“c’mon, smile a little more, it’s saturday!” you chirp, bouncing a little in your seat, hands resting on your knees. heeseung stiffens, swallowing, trying to force a casual grin, but it falters the second it reaches his lips.

you lean closer, tilting your head with a frown. “hey… seriously. what’s wrong? you’re acting weird.”

heeseung hesitates, heart hammering. he wants to tell you — wants to confess everything that’s been roiling in his chest — but the words catch in his throat. instead, he just shakes his head, forcing a smile he hopes looks convincing. “i’m fine. just… tired.”

you cross your arms, unconvinced, eyes narrowing playfully. “uh-huh. sure you are. you’re too fidgety to be tired. and you didn’t even laugh at that joke i made about the delivery guy spilling his coffee yesterday.”

heeseung swallows again, chuckling softly despite himself. “yeah, you got me. i’m… distracted, i guess.” the truth sits heavy in his chest: distracted by you, by your laugh, by how good you’ll look tonight. by the fact that jay is going to enjoy all of those things.

you lean back, brushing a strand of hair from your face, eyes studying him. “hm. you’re lying. something’s off. what is it?”

heeseung wants to speak, wants to explain that he’s jealous, that he’s aching to touch you, to keep you close, to make you see what’s in his heart — but he can’t. he just shakes his head, letting the silence fill the room instead, fingers drumming lightly against the table.

you heave a dramatic sigh, standing up from your chair. “whatever. i give up. you’re impossible sometimes,” you tease, though the frown lingers a little. “i’m going to hop in the shower before jay comes to pick me up. don’t be a stranger, okay?”

heeseung watches you move across the room, chest tightening as you disappear behind the bathroom door. the sound of running water reaches him almost immediately, and he closes his eyes, jaw tight, imagining how you’ll look, imagining the date ahead.

heeseung sits back down, silent, hands gripping his knees, heart hammering. he’s caught between wanting to tell you everything and knowing that he can’t — not yet, not ever. so instead, he waits, each splash of water a reminder that you’re out there, getting ready for someone else, while he’s stuck here, his feelings burning in his chest, unspoken, painfully real.

when he hars the click of the door, heeseung sits on the edge of the couch, trying to pretend he’s absorbed in his phone, but he can’t take his eyes off you. the moment you step out of the bathroom, towel wrapped loosely around your hair, it’s like everything in the room sharpens.

“hee… heeseung?” you ask hesitantly, showing him the dress you put on. “is this too much?”

heeseung swallows, voice tight in his throat. “n-no… it looks… good.” he’s trying to be neutral, calm, but his stomach twists. good doesn’t even begin to cover it, he thinks. you’re stunning — stunning in a way that makes his chest ache, makes him want to reach out and touch you, make sure no one else does.

“really? i don’t know,” you say, twirling slowly in front of him. the short, cut-low dress clings to you in all the right places, accentuating every curve, and heeseung’s jaw tightens involuntarily. “does it… look okay?”

heeseung tries to blink, to shift focus, but the thought of jay seeing you like this sends a surge of jealousy straight through him. “it… it looks amazing,” he says finally, voice low, but he can feel heat rising to his cheeks. his hands clench into fists at his sides. amazing is still not strong enough.

you glance at him nervously, tugging at the hem, clearly seeking reassurance. “really? i don’t want it to be… too much, you know? i just want to look… nice.”

his throat tightens, heart hammering, and heeseung bites the inside of his cheek. he wants to tell you to stay, to take the dress off, to never go. he wants to grip your waist and pull you to him, to show you that you’re his — every curve, every inch, every smile belongs to him. instead, he swallows hard and nods, forcing his voice steady.

“it looks… perfect,” he says, trying to sound casual, but it comes out more strained than he intends. “you… you look incredible.”

you smile softly, clearly relieved, but heeseung sees the way you fidget slightly, tugging at your dress again. “are you sure? i mean… it’s short, and the neckline—ugh, i just want to look right.”

heeseung feels a sharp pang of jealousy, imagining jay seeing you like this. the thought makes him ache in ways he doesn’t want to admit. he wants to groan, pull you into his lap, press his hands against you, and remind you what he could do for you instead.

“hee… what’s wrong? are you… okay?” you ask gently, concern flickering across your face. your eyes are soft, worried, and heeseung wants to drown in them, wants to tell you how desperately he’s been holding himself back.

he clears his throat, voice low and rough, trying to steady himself. “i’m fine. just… don’t change. you look perfect as you are. i… i mean it.”

you nod slowly, taking a small step back, checking yourself in the mirror again. “okay… thanks. i just… i want to look nice for him, you know?”

heeseung’s chest twists painfully. for him. his hands clench again, and his jaw tightens. he wants to tell you that you don’t need to impress anyone else, that he’s been wanting you like this all along. but instead, he swallows the words, forcing a calm smile, even though inside, he’s burning, ache and lust twisting together.

“you look amazing,” he says finally, his voice just above a whisper, but firm. “he’s lucky. anyone would be.”

you smile again, finally seeming satisfied, and heeseung swallows hard, trying not to imagine anyone else touching you. the heat pooling low in his stomach is a dangerous reminder: he wants you. he wants you now. he wants to stop anyone else from seeing you the way he does.

he watches as you grab your clutch and keys, hair still damp but styled perfectly, your dress clinging just so, and every step toward the door is like a small blow to his chest. he wants to yell, to beg you to stay, to keep this beauty for himself, but he stays rooted to the couch, chest tight, hands trembling slightly.

“have fun,” he murmurs, voice low, and you wave before slipping out the door, leaving him staring after you, heart hammering, jealousy and longing clawing at him, desperate and frustrated.

heeseung drops onto his bed, chest tight, jaw aching from the effort of keeping his voice steady when he told you to have fun, of not throwing himself at you because of how good you looked. the heat between his legs is immediate, a mix of jealousy, desire, and the ache of loving you without being able to act on it.

his fingers tremble slightly as they brush against the waistband of his boxers. he hesitates, heart hammering, because this isn’t just about lust — it’s about you. every thought, every stroke is a mix of wanting you and imagining all the ways he could make you his, all the ways he could show you how much he loves you, how much he’s dreamed of having you all to himself.

heeseung presses a hand against his chest, closing his eyes for a moment, picturing you in that short cut-low dress. the curve of your legs, the way your hair fell around your face, your soft voice asking him for his opinion, completely unaware of the storm you stirred inside him. he can almost feel your skin against his, warm and soft, and his fingers move lower, the thought of being the one to touch you, to kiss every inch of you, sending shivers down his spine.

“you’d be mine,” he mutters under his breath, the words almost a prayer. “i’d make you feel so good… only you.”

his hand slides over the fabric, teasing through the thin material, imagining the way your soft skin would respond under his touch. heeseung pictures the curve of your hips pressed against him, lips on his in messy, desperate kisses, your hands clutching at him as he holds you close, his own voice rough with need.

he starts to move his hips against his hand, slow at first, teasing himself the way he wants to tease you. every thought of you — your laugh, your smile, your soft “is it too much?” — makes his movements more urgent, more desperate. he imagines whispering against your ear as he guides you through it, telling you how perfect you are, how good you make him feel just by being here, just by being his.

his chest rises and falls quickly as he imagines pressing you to the bed, soft moans spilling from your lips as he takes his time, not just fucking you but showing you what it means to be loved, to be cherished. his other hand tangles in his bed, gripping the sheets as his fantasy grows more vivid: holding you close, your chest against his, your warmth soaking into him while he whispers soft praises, promises that he’s been holding in for months.

heeseung can’t stop himself. the imagining, the desperation, it all builds until his movements grow faster, rougher, the ache between his legs almost unbearable. he hums low, throat tight, imagining your gasp, your soft cries, the way your body would respond to him, how easily he’d make you tremble under his touch.

“i want you so bad,” he whispers, almost choking on the words, fingers moving quicker, imagining slipping his hands under your dress, kissing you anywhere, everywhere, making you his in ways no one else could. “i’d take care of you… make you mine… only mine.”

heeseung leans back, face flushed, heart hammering, lost in the fantasy of having you pressed against him, soft, warm, trusting, moaning, his voice being the only one you’d hear. he imagines the quiet aftermath, holding you until you both drift into sleep, your breath soft against his skin, your fingers entwined in his.

and even as he reaches his orgasm, the thought of someone else — of jay — lingering in the same space he longs to occupy, adds a bitter edge to the pleasure. his heart aches with it, the love and the jealousy mixing so tightly that even as he comes, he feels empty, desperate for more.

heeseung collapses onto his pillow, chest heaving, flushed and messy, still imagining you there, still imagining how he would make you his, and silently promising himself that one day, he won’t have to imagine.

it’s way later than midnight and he’s staring at the ceiling, trying to convince himself to sleep, but every sound from outside makes his pulse spike. when he hears the apartment door click, he pricks up his ears. you’re home.

he’s been waiting, almost unconsciously, hoping you’d come back before he fell asleep — hoping to see you, even for a second, just to hear your laugh, your voice, to ask you how your date went. he sits up slowly, blankets pooling around his waist, heart hammering. he hears your footsteps on the hardwood, soft and tentative, the sound of you setting down your bag, maybe taking off your shoes. a small smile flickers across his face. relief washes over him for a split second as he pushes himself up slightly, about to call your name.

“hey… you’re back,” he murmurs softly, voice hoarse. he pictures your tired smile, and he feels his heart lift just imagining it.

but then—

voices. not his, not yours alone, another voice.

jay.

he freezes instantly, muscles tensing, stomach dropping. heeseung can’t see anything from the bedroom, but he can hear it clearly.

“so, can i… stay the night?” jay’s voice is smooth, casual, confident, and something about it makes a sharp pang stab through heeseung’s chest.

“i mean, i don’t know if… heeseung might be—” you start, hesitant, almost pleading.

and then a soft, unmistakable smack, a kiss. heeseung flinches, a sharp twist of jealousy shooting through him, chest tightening painfully.

“pretty please?” jay murmurs, and heeseung’s stomach knots.

heeseung sinks back into the pillows, face pressed against the sheets, heart hammering. he doesn’t move, doesn’t call out to you, doesn’t make a sound. he can’t. the ache in his chest pins him down.

soft laughter drifts into the bedroom. your voice, gentle, paired with the sound of jay leaning in, whispering something, close, intimate. heeseung feels every pang like a knife. the faint rustle of sheets reaches him too, and his chest twists tighter, imagining the worst. he’s convinced you’re in jay’s arms, that you’re kissing, that you’re probably — oh god. he shoves the thought away, but the image won’t stop, and the jealousy is sharp and raw.

heeseung’s hands curl into fists, jaw tight, knuckles pale. he wants to storm out, to confront you, to push jay out of your bedroom, of your house, but he doesn’t. he can’t. he can only lie there, feeling nauseous, imagining you pressed against someone else, wishing it was him.

he closes his eyes, chest rising and falling unevenly, trying to focus on the image of your smile, on anything that reminds him that you’re still you, that you’re still his. but even as you laugh quietly, he feels his own heart splintering. every giggle, every whisper, every soft shuffle of movement coming from your bedroom feels like a dagger.

and yet, beneath the heartbreak, beneath the jealousy, a sharp heat coils in his chest. it’s possessive, desperate, and it’s him. he wants you. he wants you here. he wants to be the one you run to, the one you trust, the one who makes you feel loved.

heeseung lies in bed, frozen between wanting to scream and wanting to pull you into his arms, wishing he could reach out, wishing he could undo the distance that’s formed between you and him tonight. the longing is burning him alive.

the sunlight slips in through the blinds when he finally drags himself out of a restless sleep. he blinks against the brightness, head heavy, chest still aching with the weight of last night. his room feels suffocating, the sheets tangled around his legs, his body tense from hours of tossing and turning.

he pulls himself up, raking a hand through his messy hair, and the apartment is already alive with faint noises — clinking in the kitchen, the muffled sound of the tv, your voice humming softly. he stops in the doorway of his room, heart clenching at the sound. you’re awake. of course you are. you always wake up earlier than him.

for a second, he almost lets himself smile, almost calls out to you the way he always does, but then it crashes back over him: jay. the memory of your whispered voice from last night, the quiet giggles, the muffled kisses. heeseung’s throat tightens, and instead of heading toward the kitchen, he drifts sluggishly, keeping his steps slow, hesitant, like if he moves too quickly, he’ll break all over again.

“morning,” you murmur when he finally appears in the doorway, spatula in hand, still in your sleep shorts and one of your oversized tees. you flash him that smile, the one that usually pulls an automatic grin out of him. but today, he can’t.

“morning,” he mutters, voice flat, and he heads straight for the fridge without looking at you.

you pause, eyebrows pulling together, watching him grab a bottle of water. “you’re up late, did you stay up gaming all night?” you tease lightly, testing the waters. usually, he’d quip something back, something stupid that makes you roll your eyes. this time, he just shrugs and leans against the counter, sipping his water without even glancing your way.

your stomach twists. “okay… what’s with you?”

“nothing,” he says too quickly, the edge in his tone sharper than he means it to be.

you blink, frowning, spatula tapping against the pan. “nothing? heeseung, you look like someone just killed your dog.”

he exhales through his nose, shoulders stiffening. “i’m just tired.”

you set the spatula down with a soft clatter and cross your arms, staring at him. “right. tired. so tired that you can’t even look at me when you talk?”

his jaw tightens, eyes fixed on the label of his water bottle. the silence stretches heavy between you, your confusion growing with each passing second.

“did i… do something?” you ask finally, irritation creeping into your voice. “because if i did, you could at least tell me instead of acting like i don’t exist.”

heeseung’s head snaps up then, guilt flashing across his face for just a moment before he shuts it down. “you didn’t do anything,” he says, softer this time, but it doesn’t feel convincing.

your patience thins, heat rising in your chest. “heeseung, you’re acting so weird. i’m standing here trying to talk to you, and you won’t even—” you cut yourself off with a frustrated huff, throwing your hands up. “ugh, fine. whatever. if you don’t wanna talk to me, then don’t.”

you turn back to the stove, your shoulders tense, your movements sharper than usual as you flip the eggs in the pan. the silence is deafening, and heeseung stands there, water bottle clutched too tightly, throat aching with words he can’t say.

he wants to tell you everything — how the thought of jay in your room all night made his chest hurt so bad he couldn’t breathe, how the idea of you smiling at someone else the way you smile at him makes him feel sick, how he’s been in love with you for months and doesn’t know how to stop.

but he doesn’t. he just stands there, distant and heavy, while you simmer with confusion and irritation, your back turned to him. it feels like the line between you two has shifted overnight, stretched thin and fragile, and he hates it. he hates himself for causing it. he hates jay for being here. he hates the ache in his chest that won’t let him act normal around you.

and still, he can’t bring himself to move closer. can’t bring himself to bridge the gap. so he stays there, silent, while you mutter under your breath and slam the spatula back down.

the morning drags. breakfast is quiet, the only sounds the scrape of your fork against the plate and the low hum of the tv in the background. you don’t look at him, and he doesn’t try to bridge the silence. his chest aches with every minute that passes, but he can’t force himself to be normal, not when the memory of jay’s laugh in your hallway still echoes in his ears.

when you finish eating, you stand abruptly and start stacking your dishes. “i’m going out for a bit,” you say flatly, not offering details like you usually do. no explanation, no soft smile. just clipped words.

heeseung glances up at you, guilt flashing in his eyes, but he only nods. “okay.”

you disappear into your room to change, and the slam of the door makes him flinch. he drops his fork onto his plate and presses his palms into his eyes, frustration bleeding through him. he knows he’s pushing you away, knows you’re angry, but what’s he supposed to say? hey, i’m acting cold because i can’t stand the thought of you with jay? because i want you so bad it hurts?

the day drifts on in fragments. heeseung spends most of it locked in his room, headphones on, trying to distract himself with music, with games, with anything that will pull his mind away from you. but he can’t help it — every time he remembers your laugh, he’s pulled right back into that ache.

when you finally come home in the afternoon, arms full of shopping bags, he peeks out of his room to see you kicking off your shoes. you look stunning, hair tousled from the wind, cheeks flushed. you glance up at him briefly, offering a small, tight smile that doesn’t reach your eyes before you head straight for your room.

he swallows hard, lingering in the hallway, wanting to knock on your door, to ask where you went, if you had fun. instead, he retreats again.

the hours drag. dinner passes the same way breakfast did — tense, quiet, your annoyance practically radiating off you. you scroll on your phone at the table, laughing softly at something on the screen, and heeseung feels a stab of jealousy twist in his chest. is it jay you’re texting? are you planning another night together?

he pushes food around his plate, appetite gone, and excuses himself early.

the evening hangs heavy. you’re sprawled on the couch, watching something on tv, when heeseung shuffles past with a glass of water. he hesitates, glances your way — your legs curled up, blanket pulled to your chest, eyes fixed on the screen. you don’t look at him. you don’t say anything.

he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. his throat closes up, and he retreats again, back to the safety of his room, back to the silence that feels like it’s crushing him from the inside.

lying in bed that night, heeseung stares at the ceiling, listening to the faint sounds of the tv through the wall. he wonders if you’re waiting for a message from jay. wonders if you’re still thinking about why he is so distant.

he wants to fix things between you, wants to stop acting like a stranger, but the words won’t come. every time he thinks of opening his mouth, the image of jay’s hands on you flashes behind his eyes, and the jealousy roars too loud.

the next day, night presses heavy over the apartment, the air thick with the tension that’s been building since yesterday. you’re curled on the couch, scrolling absently on your phone, but your eyes keep flicking toward the hallway where heeseung’s door has been shut all day. the silence between you has gone from uncomfortable to unbearable.

finally, when you hear his door creak open, you can’t hold it in anymore. “are you seriously gonna keep ignoring me?” your voice cuts through the quiet, sharp with frustration.

heeseung freezes in the hallway, glass of water in hand. his jaw tightens. “i’m not ignoring you,” he mutters, though he doesn’t meet your eyes.

you let out a sharp laugh. “could’ve fooled me. you’ve barely said a word to me all day, heeseung. if you’ve got a problem, just say it.”

his throat works as he swallows, staring at the glass like it has answers. “i don’t have a problem.” he murmurs as he walks towards the kitchen.

you’re quick to follow him. “bullshit.” you slam your phone down onto the table, the sound making him flinch. “you’ve been acting weird ever since yesterday, and i’m not stupid. i know when you’re pissed at me, so just say it. what did i do?”

heeseung drags a hand through his hair, the frustration in him finally breaking loose. “it’s nothing, okay? just… drop it.”

“no, i’m not gonna drop it!” you’re quick to follow him, stepping closer, anger sparking in your chest. “you’ve been treating me like i did something wrong, and i don’t even know what the hell it is! did i say something? do something? why are you acting like this?”

heeseung’s chest rises and falls quickly, his grip tight on the glass. “because—” he stops himself, words catching in his throat, heart hammering too loud.

“because what?” you snap, glaring at him.

his silence is louder than any answer, and it makes your blood boil. “you’re unbelievable,” you spit out, voice shaking with the hurt you’ve been trying not to feel. “we’re supposed to be friends, heeseung. if something’s wrong, you talk to me, not shut me out like this.”

that word — friends — hits him like a punch to the gut. he sets the glass down too hard on the counter, turning to face you with fire in his eyes. “yeah, well maybe being your friend isn’t as easy as you think it is!”

the words hang in the air, heavy and dangerous.

your brows knit together, confusion flashing in your eyes. “what the hell does that mean?”

heeseung’s chest heaves, his hands balling into fists at his sides. he wants to scream it, to tell you that seeing jay’s hands on your body made him sick, that hearing you giggle after jay begged you to stay the night nearly broke him, that he can’t stand watching you with someone else because he’s been in love with you this whole time. but the fear of ruining everything chokes him, and instead he shakes his head, backing away like distance will make the feelings disappear.

“forget it,” he mutters, voice low, strained. “you wouldn’t understand.”

your mouth falls open, anger giving way to hurt. “you don’t even give me a chance to understand! you just shut me out and act like i’m the problem.”

heeseung squeezes his eyes shut, his voice cracking when he finally answers. “you are the problem.”

silence slams down like a wall. your breath catches, pain flashing across your face. “wow,” you whisper, taking a step back. “good to know how you really feel.”

before he can take it back, before he can explain that he doesn’t mean it like that — that the problem isn’t you, it’s the way he wants you, the way he can’t stop wanting you — you’re already turning away, storming down the hall.

the sound of your bedroom door slamming rattles through him, leaving him standing alone in the dim light of the kitchen, heart clawing at his ribs, regret burning hot in his chest.

he sinks down onto the couch, head in his hands, replaying every word he just said, every look on your face. he’s never felt further away from you than he does in this moment, and it tears him apart.

heeseung presses a hand to his chest, the ache so sharp it feels like it’s clawing at his lungs. he wants to go to you, to tell you that he didn’t mean it the way it came out, that he was scared and jealous and stupid, but his pride and fear of making things worse hold him frozen. he keeps replaying your face, the hurt in your eyes, the way your lips trembled as you tried to fight back your own tears.

he leans back against the couch, sliding down until he’s practically collapsed on the cushions, and he buries his face in his hands. the warmth of the apartment feels suffocating, and every creak of the floor, every distant noise outside, makes him imagine you there on the bed, crying quietly, wishing he could undo the tension he created.

heeseung’s chest tightens as he thinks about the distance he’s put between you both, the way his words were sharper than intended. he wants to crawl across the apartment, hold you, apologize, make you feel safe again, but the knot of guilt and longing in his stomach pins him in place. every beat of his heart screams for you, but every thought of approaching you feels like stepping into a storm.

he can’t stop imagining your small sobs, your hands covering your face, and it makes his chest ache even more. he hates that he caused this, hates that he let his jealousy and fear speak for him, and hates himself for how desperately he wants to fix it.

for some minutes the apartment is quiet, the kind of quiet that presses against your chest and makes every breath feel heavy. you’re curled up on the bed, face buried in your hands, shoulders shaking softly as silent tears slide down your cheeks. the fight from earlier keeps replaying in your mind — his words echoing, cutting deeper than you want to admit. “you’re the problem.” it feels like a weight pressing down on your chest, suffocating, and you can’t stop the sobs that wrack your body.

heeseung stands in the hallway for a long moment, frozen, heart pounding, listening to your silent sobs that come through the door. every instinct in him is screaming to run away, to leave you alone, to hide, but something deeper, something desperate, roots him in place. he made a mistake — he said things he didn’t mean, pushed you away because he was scared, jealous, and foolish. he’s an idiot.

slowly, quietly, he steps forward, moving towards the door. he knocks slightly.

“hey… can i come in?” he murmurs softly, voice low and tentative, like he’s afraid to break the fragile space around you. you flinch at the sound of his voice, hands tightening over your face.

heeseung enters the bedroom, seeing you curled up in bed. he sits beside you, keeping a careful distance, eyes wide and full of worry. “i’m so sorry, i… i didn’t mean it,” he says softly, almost pleading. “what i said earlier… it wasn’t true. it was stupid, and i—”

you shake your head, muffled sobs spilling past your fingers. “you said it, heeseung, you said i’m the problem,” you whisper, voice cracking. the hurt in your tone makes something ache in him like a physical blow.

heeseung swallows hard, chest tight, and reaches out, hesitating, before gently brushing a hand down your arm. “i know,” he murmurs. “and i’m sorry. so sorry… i didn’t mean it like that. you’re not the problem. it’s… it’s me. i’m the one who’s messed up. i shouldn’t have said that.”

you glance at him through tear-blurred eyes, your chest heaving, voice trembling. “then… why did you say it?”

heeseung bites his lip, the confession he’s been holding back pressing at his chest. “because… i was scared,” he admits, voice almost breaking. “scared of… of how much i—” he stops, throat closing, the words trembling on the tip of his tongue. “scared of how much i care about you. about you. and… i don’t want to mess it up.”

you sniffle, trying to catch your breath, and before you can protest or say anything, he slowly, carefully, leans closer, laying in bed. his arms wrap around you gently, and he pulls you into his chest. “shh… it’s okay,” he murmurs softly, holding you tightly, one hand tangled in your hair, the other resting over your back. “i’ve got you, it’s fine. you’re safe. i’m sorry for hurting you.”

you bury your face against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of him, the warmth of his body pressing comfort into yours. your hands grip at his shirt as you shiver against him, and heeseung strokes your back, humming quietly, soothingly, careful not to say too much but letting you feel his presence, his care, his affection.

you’re still sniffling softly, sheets tangled around your legs, and heeseung’s hand rests gently on your shoulder as he rubs small circles with his thumb. the quiet hum of the apartment wraps around you both, but our chest is tight, heart still racing, and heeseung can feel it too, every tremble of your body, every shaky breath.

“i… i need to say something,” heeseung murmurs, voice low, almost hesitant, but it vibrates with urgency. you glance at him, cheeks wet, hair sticking to your temples, and he winces, hating that he caused this. “i… i ignored you because… because i heard you talking to jay after your date. and when he asked you to stay the night… i couldn’t—i couldn’t handle it.”

your brow furrows, confusion mixing with hurt. “heeseung… we didn’t—” you start, voice catching. “we didn’t do anything. we just… slept. we didn’t—i don’t… you’re overthinking—”

heeseung exhales sharply, frustration and longing bleeding into the sound. “i know that now,” he admits, pressing his hand a little firmer against your shoulder. “i know that, and i’m sorry. i just… when i heard it, my chest… it felt like it was being squeezed. like i couldn’t breathe. i couldn’t stop imagining you with him, and i…” he swallows hard, struggling for words, voice barely a whisper. “it hurt so much, more than i can even—”

you look at him then, tears still pooling, trying to steady your own voice. “heeseung… you don’t have to worry. he didn’t do anything, we just slept,” you whisper, voice breaking, and heeseung’s chest twists painfully at the sound. relief and guilt crash together, leaving him trembling slightly as he leans closer, careful to let you feel his warmth without crowding you.

“that’s the thing,” heeseung says softly, voice thick, eyes not leaving yours. “it doesn’t matter what he did, or what you did. because i…can’t stand the thought of anyone… anyone treating you like you’re theirs. i—” he stops, voice catching, and you can see the raw, vulnerable edge in his expression.

heeseung takes a shaky breath, the weight of everything he’s been holding in pressing against his chest so heavily that he can hardly think straight. he feels your tears soaking into his shirt, yourl body trembling in his arms, and the ache in his chest twists tighter. he can’t hold it in anymore — not the guilt, not the longing, not the truth he’s been burying.

it’s now or never.

“i have to tell you something,” he murmurs, voice low and rough, almost breaking. his fingers trace small circles on your back, the motion soothing, but his heart is racing with every word he’s about to say. “i’ve been… feeling this way for a long time, longer than i probably should have, and i couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud until now.”

you lift your head slightly, sniffing, eyes red and glimmering in the dim light, searching his face for the words that feel like they could hurt or heal you. heeseung swallows hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak.

“when you… started going out with jay,” he continues, voice thick, each word deliberate, trembling with the weight of his fear, “i thought… i could handle it. i told myself i was just going to be protective, just being your friend… but i couldn’t do that. it’s never been that.”

he gulps and your hands tighten on his shirt instinctively, as if trying to anchor him, to tell him it’s okay to keep going. heeseung leans back slightly, eyes meeting yours, and for a moment the room is still, the only sound the quiet hum of the city outside, the soft rhythm of your breathing mingling with his.

“the truth is… i’ve been in love with you for months,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper, raw and unpolished, but carrying every ounce of the longing he’s been carrying for months. “and every time i think about you with someone else… every time i hear your laughter with him, every time i imagine him treating you in the way i want to i… i can’t stand it. i can’t stand the thought of anyone else getting to hold you, to make you smile, to be what i want to be for you.”

heeseung’s hands grip your arms lightly, almost as if grounding himself, almost as if fearing that you’ll slip away before he can finish. “i didn’t mean to hurt you earlier. i didn’t mean to say those things. i was… scared. scared of losing you, scared of admitting that i can’t just… watch you go on like i’m nothing.”

his thumb brushes gently against your cheek, lifting your face slightly to meet his gaze. “i can’t lie anymore. i can’t pretend i don’t feel this, not when every part of me wants to be the one for you. i love you, and it’s been killing me, keeping it in… seeing you with someone else, feeling like i’m losing you even when you’re still here.”

heeseung leans closer, forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours, trembling with the vulnerability he’s finally allowed himself to show. “i’m not asking for anything right now. i just… i needed you to know. i can’t keep pretending. i want you to be mine in every way that matters to me… and i can’t stand the thought of anyone else taking that place.”

your fingers curl around his wrists instinctively, and for the first time since he began speaking, a small, tentative softness enters his chest, a flicker of hope mingling with the ache. heeseung keeps his face close to yours, eyes searching yours for any sign that he hasn’t completely scared you away, voice quiet and trembling: “i’ve loved you from the moment i realized i could, and i… i can’t hide it anymore. i don’t want to hide it from you ever again.”

the room is still except for the sound of your breaths, your sobs subsiding just enough to let him hear the sincerity, the raw, aching truth of what he’s just confessed, and even as his chest aches from fear, longing, and hope all at once, he knows that finally, finally, he’s spoken the words his heart has been screaming for months.

heeseung stays pressed against you, forehead to forehead, his hands lingering on your arms and shoulders as if he can hold you together physically while his heart races uncontrollably. the vulnerability in the room is almost tangible, heavy with the weight of everything that’s been unsaid between you two for months. he can feel the faint shiver running through your body.

“heeseung…” your voice is soft, tentative, still trembling from crying, “i… i didn’t know…”

“i know,” he murmurs quickly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his thumb ghosting over your cheekbone. “i didn’t want to tell you. i was scared. scared of losing you, scared that once you knew… you’d see me differently, or worse, see me as nothing.”

heeseung takes a shaky breath, letting himself feel the heaviness of his own emotions for the first time in weeks. “but i can’t… i can’t keep pretending. i can’t watch you… i can’t even imagine you with someone else without my chest feeling like it’s being crushed. i needed you to know.”

you press closer to him instinctively, forehead still against his, your hands moving to grip the sides of his torso, as if grounding him as much as yourself. heeseung can feel your warmth, the rise and fall of your chest beneath his, and it sends a jolt through him — a painful, beautiful reminder of how desperately he wants you, and how long he’s been holding back.

“i… i don’t… i don’t have feelings for jay,” you whisper finally, voice shaking, “i’ve never had, it was just… dates, nothing else. i promise.”

heeseung shakes his head, cutting you off gently, cupping your face with both hands now, holding you still so you can’t pull away. “it’s not… i’m not worried about what you did. it’s about how much i love you. i can’t even pretend anymore. hearing you with him… even if nothing happened, even if you don’t like him… it broke me inside. i just… i want you. i want you to know that.”

heeseung’s voice cracks slightly, and your eyes widen as the depth of his confession hits you fully. the words are more than “i love you” — they’re a revelation, a confession of months of desire, fear, and longing he’s buried so deeply that even he sometimes couldn’t believe it himself.

“i don’t want to scare you,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours again, “but i had to tell you. i can’t watch you go out with someone else, even just on a date, without feeling like my chest is being ripped apart. i… i’m in love with you. i’ve been in love with you for so long, and the thought of anyone else…” his words falter, broken by the ache in his chest. “i can’t, i just can’t take it. i want to be the one you run to, the one you laugh with, the one who makes you happy, not… someone else.”

heeseung’s hands trace your jawline softly, holding your face as he searches your eyes for any sign that you might feel even a fraction of what he does. his breathing is uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly, but he can’t stop now — he’s finally laid bare everything he’s been holding inside, and the vulnerability, though terrifying, feels almost liberating.

“i just… i love you,” he whispers again, softer this time, almost pleading, “more than i can say, more than i should… but i do. and i can’t hide it anymore. not from you, not from myself.”

for the first time, heeseung feels the weight of his heart lifted slightly — not because he knows your answer yet, but because he’s finally said it. finally, he’s been honest, and the truth hangs in the air, fragile, between the two of you.

heeseung keeps his forehead resting against yours, his hands still cupping your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone in a slow, soothing motion. the vulnerability in his expression hasn’t faded; every single one of his heartbeats is a reminder of how tightly he’s been holding this in.

“it’s… it’s okay if you don’t feel the same,” he murmurs softly, a little smile on his lips, voice rough with emotion. “i just… i needed you to know. i can’t keep pretending anymore. but… whatever you feel, whatever you think, it won’t change how much i care about you. i don’t want to lose you, ever.”

he leans back just a little, enough to look into your eyes, searching for any flicker of understanding. “so, whatever you feel, it’s okay,” he says again, a small, shaky exhale escaping his lips. “i’m not asking for anything. i just… can’t imagine not being by your side, even if… we’re just… this. just friends. i’ll… i’ll take whatever we have just know that i’m here. for you. always. if you ever need me. if you… if you need someone who will never leave you, it’s me.” heeseung’s hands move slightly, brushing away stray strands of hair from your face, lingering at your jaw, as if holding you in place while the words hang in the air between you. “just… don’t push me away. please.”

the apartment feels impossibly quiet. heeseung’s eyes never leave yours, filled with a mixture of fear and hope, love and desperation. he wants so badly for you to understand, to see everything he’s been holding inside — the longing, the nights spent worrying, the ache in his chest every time he imagined you with someone else.

“i’m sorry, i know this is too much,” he adds, voice breaking.

heeseung’s fingers lightly stroke your face, eyes glimmering with unshed tears as he waits, heart hammering, hope and fear intertwining. he has said it all now — the truth he’s held in for so long — and now all he can do is let the silence speak, let you feel the weight of it, let you know that whatever your answer, his heart will always belong to you.

heeseung’s eyes widen as he watches you blink at him, a mixture of shock and disbelief on your face. for a moment, he thinks he’s ruined everything — he’s spilled his heart and all he can do is wait for rejection, for the look that says he’s crossed a line he can’t come back from.

but then you do something he doesn’t expect: you laugh. it starts as a small, shaky sound, and then it breaks into a full, uncontrollable laugh that shakes your shoulders. and just as suddenly as it comes, it’s mixed with soft sobs, tears sliding down your cheeks, and heeseung’s chest tightens as he realizes — those aren’t tears of anger or disappointment. they’re happy tears.

“what—what are you—?” he stammers, panicked, pulling you slightly closer, hands trembling against your arms. “i… i didn’t… i didn’t mean—”

you grab his face with both hands, pressing your forehead to his, laughing and crying at the same time. “oh my god, heeseung,” you gasp between laughs, voice quivering with happiness, “you idiot… you’re such an idiot!”

he freezes, heart pounding, unsure if this is relief or disaster, but then you kiss him. soft at first, but urgent and full of the laughter and crying that’s spilled from you. your lips move against his, and it’s electric, warm, comforting, and thrilling all at once. heeseung stiffens for a second, then melts into you, finally letting go of all the fear he’s been holding onto.

“wait—i mean… you…?” heeseung murmurs against your lips, pulling back just slightly, eyes searching yours.

“i like you,” you whisper, the words breaking free in a rush. “god, i like you so much, heeseung, i’ve liked you for months.” you whimper, tears spilling from your eyes as you hold him close. “i thought you didn’t feel the same, so i tried to make you jealous with jay.” you confess as your voice trembles, your sobs getting louder. “he said he’d help me by taking me on fake dates and by acting as if he like me but… ugh, fuck! i was an idiot! i’m so fucking stupid, i can’t believe how stupid i’ve b—”

heeseung silences you with a quick, soft kiss, pressing his forehead to yours when he pulls back just slightly, eyes full of awe and something tender that makes your chest ache. “you’re ridiculous.” he whispers, a teasing smirk on his face.

you shake your head, eyes still filled with tears as you caress his face, a timid giggle escaping from your lips. “says the ridiculous boy i’m in love with.”

he bites his lower lip as he smiles even wider. “you don’t even know how much i’ve wanted to hear that,” he whispers, voice low and trembling, a hint of laughter mixed with disbelief.

you grin, brushing a hand along his jaw. “do you know how hard it was for me, seeing you act so distant when i just wanted to kiss you?”

heeseung groans, burying his face in your neck, inhaling your scent. “do you know how hard it was for me, seeing you go out with jay? and trying to smile and act normal?” his voice catches slightly.

“oh, please,” you murmur, laughing against his chest, “and do you know how hard it was for me, pretending to care about him when all i wanted was to come home and see you?”

heeseung lifts his head, looking down at you with those dark, warm eyes that make your stomach flip. “do you know how hard it was,” he whispers, teasing now, “not to throw myself at you the second you walked in that little dress? i swear to god i would’ve just…” he swallows, voice low, “it made my heart fucking stop.”

you giggle, reaching up to tug lightly at his hair. “oh really? you mean the dress i wore for jay?” you tease him, nipping at your lower lip seductively.

“yes, for jay, you little minx,” he mutters through gritted teeth, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “do you know how hard it was,” he continues, voice dropping to a whisper that sends shivers down your spine, “not to fucking kill him when he asked you to stay over? when i watched you laugh and flirt with him?”

you press your face against his chest, letting out a shaky laugh, and whisper, “do you know how hard it was for me not to beg you to ask me to stay every single time i went out with jay? hoping you’d just stop me, even a little?” your voice trembles with a mix of embarrassment and longing, but heeseung’s chest rumbles with a laugh at the confession.

he lifts his head just enough to look down at you, dark eyes wide. “you… you were thinking that?” he murmurs, voice thick with disbelief and something softer, more intimate. “all those times… you wanted me to stop you?”

you nod, biting your lip and hiding your flushed cheeks against his shoulder. “i didn’t know if you felt the same and i was so scared… but i wanted you, every time.”

heeseung swallows hard, shaking his head, and his hands tighten around your waist. “you don’t know what it did to me,” he admits quietly, voice roughened by emotion. “seeing you with him, even just for a second… i felt like i was losing you, and it was killing me.”

you gasp softly, trembling in his arms as he presses his forehead to yours, letting the weight of your confessions settle between you. “i’m so sorry heeseung… i never wanted to make you feel that way,” you whisper, voice barely audible, as your eyes start filling with tears again. “i only wanted your attention… i only wanted you.”

heeseung’s lips brush against your temple, then the corner of your jaw, finally settling for a long kiss that makes your knees weaken. “shh, don’t worry about it, it’s okay,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands framing your face, “everything’s okay.”

you smile into the kiss, tugging him down so you’re fully entangled on the bed. your hands roam over his back and shoulders as he wraps himself around you, holding you as if he could never let go. between breaths, you whisper again, shy but certain, “i’m yours, i’ve always been yours.”

heeseung tightens his embrace, nuzzling his face into your hair. “i love you,” he murmurs back, voice filled with awe and relief.

and the two of you lie there, laughing softly between kisses, whispering little teasing confessions, your hearts finally in sync, the months of longing and unspoken words melting as you hold each other close.

© jongst4r, 2025