アリサ¹⁰⁰⁹

K-Pop and Anime only Atiny, Stay, Engene, and Onedoor Hwa, Minho & Hoon biased

[thirstkanaphan]

their makeup looks so good!!!

[stllmnstr]

champagne problems: part one

pairing: jake sim x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, rich kids au, fake dating au, college au, angst, fluff

part one word count: 15.6k

part one warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, family drama, a fatal case of second son syndrome

soundtrack: boom - dpr live / bad idea! - girl in red / blood on the floor - kuiper / calico - dpr ian / comme de garçons (like the boys) - rina sawayama / lust - chase atlantic

note: another reupload!! hope this hopeless romantic college boyfriend jake hits just as good the second time around. happy reading ♡

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The second son of a wealthy family, Jake Sim has gotten used to always standing in the shadow of his older brother. From grades to girls to talks of becoming future CEO of the Sim Corporation, he’s no stranger to coming in second place. So when an opportunity arises for Jake to finally have the one thing his brother can’t and best him once and for all, he knows he’d be a fool not to take it.

There are only two problems. The first is that the thing his brother wants so badly isn’t a thing at all. It’s you, semi-estranged daughter of the Sims’ closest and most long-standing business partner.

The second is that Jake Sim can’t fucking stand you.

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Fingers wrapping around the stem of your wine glass, you sigh. Punctuality may have been a steep order for someone who you suspect is running dangerously low on both common sense and regard for others, but twenty minutes? Really?

Your eyes land on the obnoxiously ornate grandfather clock next to the hostess stand. In a restaurant with ceilings so high you can barely see them and a carefully curated ambience that practically screams old money, it blends right in. It also gives you an updated timeframe on your would-be date’s tardiness. 

Scratch that – thirty minutes. 

Pulling out your phone, the absence of any new notifications is almost as annoying as whatever threadbare excuse you’re sure your date will offer you when he arrives. Glancing at the door, it remains devoid of any new patrons. Or perhaps rather if he arrives. 

You’re running near empty on both pinot noir and patience, and you use the distraction of your phone to make you seem a little less pathetic. As if this entire restaurant isn’t already privy to the fact that you’re actively being stood up. 

Well, you think wryly, at least you look good doing it. The off white ensemble you selected for the evening is Chanel, and vintage, at that. Usually you wouldn’t pull out all the stops like this for something as flimsy as a first date, but men like James Sim have an eye for this kind of thing. 

Four years your senior, he’s already carving out a name for himself at twenty-five. You suppose it is a little less impressive, though, when the name he was born with already carries a legacy of its own in the business world you usually do your very best to stay out of. Rumor has it he’s already a shoo-in for the next CEO of his father’s company. When nepotism is that blatant, you can’t do much but scoff and raise a glass to it. 

Scrambling for something to do to make your wasted time pass a bit quicker, you search up the social media profile of your would-be date. Honestly, you doubt you would learn anything more substantial about him if he actually bothered to show up than you will from scanning over his feed. In your experience, men like that tend to make up for their success on paper by lacking an actual personality and any sort of self-awareness. 

Gym selfie. Scroll. Gym selfie from a slightly different angle. Scroll. Dog photo. Pausing, you suppress a small smile. The dog in the picture is pretty cute, if nothing else. Zooming in slightly, your eyes crinkle at the way the dog’s tongue lolls out of its open mouth in a grin. Well, at least he’s got that going for him, you suppose. A cute dog is enough to bump any guy’s ranking up a few points in your book. 

If James Sim is nothing but a sum of his social media profile, it’s not like you expected anything else. After all, this is the heir to the Sim Corporation, a golden boy that was born with a crown on his head and a gold spoon in his mouth. Everything he’s earned has been laid out for him in painstakingly placed steps. His entire life has been guided by a heavy hand and the knowledge that he would one day inherit everything that makes his family worth knowing. 

You probably wouldn’t be too concerned with showing up to first dates on time, either. Especially since you doubt he’s ever been denied a second. 

Tonight is nothing but a blip on a radar, you’re sure. Something for a secretary to schedule and him to notice a day or five late. Maybe if you’re lucky, someone on his team will send a consolatory bouquet once he does realize the mistake. He is still building his reputation, after all, and you could use a fresh set of flowers for your apartment. 

With another slightly pitiful sigh and a final swig of wine, your glass is empty and your optimism is shot. A second glance at the clock says that thirty-eight minutes have now elapsed since your scheduled meeting time. And in your opinion, that’s thirty-nine too late for a first date. 

Retrieving your coat from the back of your chair, you figure tonight will be remembered as nothing but a waste of a good outfit. Besides, you suppose forty minutes of aimless scrolling is ultimately less painful than the inevitable headache this date surely would have been had he bothered to actually show up. 

Suddenly, you frown. You won’t complain if this date never actually happens, but you may end up with a slight problem. Although you haven’t been on the best of terms with your mother in a long time, tonight was meant to be the final bullet point on a list of favors you owe her. 

As you pull your coat on, you consider the best way to frame the events of the evening. Lean into the whole ‘getting stood up’ thing in an effort to earn some sympathy points? Lay out the facts in their most basic form, timestamps included? Emphasize the fact that you waited long past the obligatory twenty minutes for him to actually show up? Or leave your message chain as it currently is, tell her nothing at all, and let her assume what she wants?

They’re all equally iffy, you think. Risky in their own regard. 

Signing your name at the bottom of the check, you scribble in a generous tip for the waitress who did her best to check on you often without making it obvious that she knew you were expecting company that never arrived, expertly skirting that line between overbearing and empathetic. At least someone will go home happy, you think, adding an extra zero for good measure. 

Exiting the restaurant, you decide to make it two people. James Sim may be a hotshot at his father’s company, but you’ll be damned before you let him ruin your evening. Before you order the Uber back to your place, you add an extra stop at your favorite sushi place. Takeout in the comfort of your own home will certainly be easier to enjoy than whatever Michelin-Star concoction you would have ordered here anyway, eaten in small bites between forced conversation topics, awkward pauses, and too long sips of wine. 

And an hour later, you’re polishing off the last piece of an absolutely divine rainbow roll, wearing nothing but silk pajamas and a face mask, with old reruns of your favorite show playing on the TV when James Sim finally glances down at the Rolex on his wrist. He’s finally arrived at the tail end of a meeting that’s running so far behind schedule he has half a mind to just walk out of it. He would, too, if his father wouldn’t actually threaten his life for it. 

It’s late, James realizes. Stupid late. So late that he won’t have the time or energy to do anything but pass out by the time he gets home, which really sucks, because he was genuinely looking forward to his date tonight–

“Fuck.”

All he can do is curse, even as the shocked faces of a concerning number of top executives turn to look at him all at the same time. 

…

Jake Sim is about to fail his econ midterm. 

It will be at least a week before grades are released, but he already knows it. He can already feel it in the way the questions start to swim in his mind, making less and less sense the more he turns them over, in the way his gut fills with dread as the minute hand of the clock at the front of the lecture hall ticks closer and closer to the testing time limit. 

And it wouldn’t be that bad, if it weren’t his second time repeating this course. 

Oh, his father is going to have an absolute field day with this one. Jake can practically hear it now. 

“You failed your midterm? After already failing this course twice? You know, James was actually the top scoring student in his economic section. Dr. Jeong still mentions his term paper every time I see him at the university…”

And that’s if he’s in a good mood. Or rather, if things at the company are going well. Jake doesn’t even want to consider the comments he’ll be on the receiving end of if the news of his failure finds his father already agitated. 

Exhaling, he gives his exam one final once-over, scanning for completion more than accuracy. His brain is so fried that he knows it’s of little use to him now. For his own sake, the best thing to do at this point is turn his test in and send a silent prayer to whoever might be listening on his way out the door. 

Leaving the lecture hall behind him, Jake puts his phone out of airplane mode and frowns at the two notifications that pop up on his screen. The first is a missed call from his brother, and the second is a message from the same sender, requesting that he give him a call when he has the chance. 

Considering that it’s neither his birthday nor a major holiday, Jake is more than a little confused. Regardless, he honors the request, pressing his phone to his ear as he begins the walk back to his apartment. Although it’s significantly less spacious than his childhood home, he finds it far more welcoming in more ways than one. 

The outgoing call rings once, twice, three times. Jake is about to be annoyed at the missed connection, but his brother answers in the moments just before he’s sent to voicemail.

“Hey, Jake.” Shocking. He actually bothered to check the caller ID. 

“Hey.” Jake’s voice is careful, guarded. It’s not like his personal life is of any importance to his older brother, but he’s not in the mood to answer any questions. He won’t give James any reasons to ask. “I saw your message.”

“Right.” Jake can hear the shuffle of other voices, scattered movements coming from the other line. James sounds busy. Just like always. Usually, that would usually mean he’s distracted. But Jake has the odd feeling that he has his brother’s undivided attention when James adds, “I have a favor to ask you.”

Immediately, Jake’s stomach drops. There are very few things in this world that are not within James Sim’s grasp, and even less that are within Jake’s, relatively speaking. Whatever it is, he must be desperate, if he’s willing to enlist the help of his little brother. 

“Okay.” Jake’s voice betrays none of his sudden anxieties. “What is it?”

At least James spares him the agony of suspense. “You know ___, right?”

Jake frowns. Sure, he knows of you. Just like he has a vague idea of every one of his family’s business partners and their immediate kin. Particularly the ones that are the same age as him and attend the same university. But it’s not like he’s close with you, not like he’s ever had an actual conversation of any substance with you. 

Especially since the minimal interactions the two of you have had did not leave Jake wanting more. The only child of parents whose last name is on the front of the most successful law firm within a thousand mile radius, you strike him as everything he’d expect you to be. 

Spoiled. Entitled. Vapid. Out of touch with any version of reality that doesn’t consist of you getting everything you want at the exact moment you want it. He supposes it’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, considering his own upbringing, but he’d like to think that he’s earned what he’s been given, at least partially. Especially since most of it has been his brother’s hand-me-downs.  And it’s not like his father has ever been in the habit of doing him any favors that don’t come wrapped in criticism, comparison, and disdain.

Although rumor does have it you and your mother haven’t been on speaking terms since you left for university, Jake imagines it’s probably because you wanted to bring the limited edition Versace to campus with you, and she insisted it would be safer at home. 

Oh, well. Whatever designer dispute happened between you and your mother is no skin off his back. Jake has his own problems to worry about. 

One of them being his brother’s question that still lingers on the other line. 

Weighing responses in his head, Jake finally settles on, “I guess.” It’s his best attempt at being noncommittal. 

Unfortunately, it doesn’t do anything to dissuade his brother. “Do you have her number by chance? My secretary should have taken it down, but she can’t find it anywhere.”

Jake balks, footsteps faltering. An equally distracted student walking behind him nearly stumbles right into his back. Wordlessly, Jake sends them an apologetic look before clarifying, “Her number? Like, her personal phone number?”

“What other kind of number is there?” And there’s the James that Jake knows. Annoyed at the perceived incompetencies of his younger brother, just as always. 

Suddenly, Jake’s patience is running short too. James is the one asking for a favor and still has the gall to be annoyed with him. Typical. Jake’s words are clipped when he says, “No, I don’t have ___’s phone number.” 

Jake expects that to be the end of it, but his brother won’t let it go so easily. 

“Seriously? Don’t you two go to the same school?”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Right, because I have the entire student body on speed dial.”

There’s a pause on the other end. Jake half expects his brother to just hang up on him. After all, he’s never been able to take what he gets, to swallow what he dishes out. 

What Jake does not expect, however, is the way James sounds so tentative when he speaks again.  “Well…”

“Well what?” Patience already running thin, it’s all he can do not to snap. 

“Do you think you could get it for me?”

Jake must be dreaming. This must be a post-exam punishment, a hallucination brought on by over exerting his brain too far for too long. “Do I think I could get ___’s phone number for you?” he repeats flatly. 

“Is there an echo in here?” Asshole. At least he’s consistent. 

“Just an echo chamber,” Jake mutters away from the receiver. 

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Jake stops for a moment to fiddle with his keyring as he walks up the stairs to his apartment. “No, I can’t get her phone number for you.” 

“Why not?”

The key won’t line up quite right. Jake tries again, frustration seeping through. “Because I have better things to do than run stupid errands for you. Why don’t you drive here and get it yourself?”

“Trust me, if I thought she’d give it to me, I’d be there in an hour.”

The lock on his door finally clicks open, and Jake all but throws his bag down after kicking off his shoes. “And what the hell makes you think she’d give it to me?”

“Well, you didn’t accidentally stand her up, for one.” James doesn’t sound embarrassed by it. Just matter-of-fact. Like a date is nothing but a business deal. Something to be rescheduled and redone if negotiations go sour the first time around. 

It is enough to stir up some of Jake’s curiosity, though. “You went on a date with ___?” He supposes it makes sense. Even if the rumor mill and its rumblings about your rocky relationship with your mother ring true, you’re still your parents’ daughter. Still a perfect match on paper for the future CEO of the Sim Corporation. The king of a company and princess of a law firm. It’s a match made in heaven, he thinks ruefully. 

“No, I didn’t. That’s kind of the whole point here.”

“Whatever.” Jake still doesn’t see what the hell he has to do with all this. “Why don’t you just look up her parents’ number in the company database and get it from them?”

Jake can practically feel his brother’s exasperation through the phone. “Right, because that would go over really well. Hi there," he imitates. “I’d like to make your daughter the mother of my future children. Care to pass along her phone number so I can get started on that?”

Jake suppresses a wince. “Jesus. I see why she stood you up.”

“She didn’t. I stood her up,” James clarifies. “On accident.”

Semantics. And not ones that Jake is interested in. “Either way. I’m not getting her number for you.”

“Yeah?” Jake is unsettled by the way there’s still no trace of defeat in his brother’s voice. There’s something almost sinister when he suddenly switches topics. “How are classes going?”

Jake’s lips pull into a taut line, disaster of an econ midterm still fresh on his mind. “Fine.”

“Really? Even econ? Third time’s the charm and all that?” Well, at least his brother can be counted on to consistently be an asshole.

“Why do you care?” The only thing Jake wants to do is end this call and crawl into bed for a well-deserved afternoon nap. Let his subconscious spare him from thoughts of his older brother and econ and you for at least a little bit. 

James has other plans. “You must have taken the midterm recently, right?” Jake’s silence is confirmation enough. “You know, the only thing Dr. Jeong weighs more heavily than the midterm is the final paper at the end of the semester.”

A minute ago, Jake thought you were the last thing he wanted to talk about. The sudden shift in direction in this conversation is starting to prove him wrong. If there’s one thing Jake would rather discuss even less than his older brother’s dating life, it’s school. “What does that have to do with a–”

“And I think I still have my copy of the paper that earned me the top score in my entire section.” The smugness is practically palpable. “I might have to do some digging, but I’m sure it’s in my old files somewhere.”

Jake rolls his eyes, wishes the immediate comparison weren’t the first thing to rise to the forefront of his mind. Wishes it didn’t find him so lacking. Wishes it wasn’t narrated in the voice of his disappointed father. “If you’re trying to gloat, it’s n–”

“I’m trying to strike a deal. Jesus, no wonder you’re on track to be a super senior getting a business degree.”

“This is my third year,” Jake defends indignantly. 

“And your third attempt at econ, which I passed in my first year.” He sounds like he’s settling a little too well into the CEO role when he proposes, “I’m trying to make it your last attempt.” 

Jake would be lying if he said his curiosity weren’t piqued, even just slightly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, little brother, that my term paper, my notes, all of it, are yours.” It sounds too good to be true. It has to be too good to be true. James is a lot of things, but generous and helpful are very rarely any of them. “As soon as you get me ___’s number.” And there it is. 

Jake hangs up without bothering to dignify that with a response and hopes it sends a strong enough signal of his refusal. Then, he falls into his bed face-first with a groan. 

And a week later, when his econ midterm results are finally posted, the first thing Jake does is let his head fall on his desk with an alarmingly loud thud that has Jay poking his head in the door to make sure everything’s okay. The second thing he does, a solid twenty minutes later, is send his older brother a text. 

Jake [7:21pm]: You better start digging through those old files. 

…

All things considered, you’re easier to track down than Jake expects. The university campus is big, and judging from the way he can’t remember ever seeing you in a class, the two of you don’t share a major. But the similarities in your social status mean you’re bound to run in some of the same circles, and Jake is able to use this to his advantage. 

Ultimately, it takes very little digging on his part. First, he mentions your name to Jay in the middle of an upper body superset in the university gym. Jay frowns, setting the weights back on the rack. 

“That name sounds familiar. I think maybe Heeseung knows her?”

That tidbit takes him to Wednesday night, which always finds Jake in the library at a statistics study group Heeseung also makes a habit of attending. On their way out for the evening, Jake stops him by the door. 

“___?” Heeseung pauses for a moment in contemplation. “I’m pretty sure she’s friends with Sunghoon.”

And the third piece of the puzzle proves a bit more difficult to click into place. Sunghoon is harder for Jake to find, at least in a way that comes across naturally. Much like yours, Park Sunghoon is a name Jake hears in passing more than anything. He’s a friend of friends, a mutual acquaintance that Jake has never really had a conversation with and certainly doesn’t know well enough to interrogate for your phone number. 

But his most recent midterm score is still looming over his head, and the thought of retaking econ again is so nightmarish it sends a shiver down his spine  every time he considers it. At this point, there isn’t much Jake wouldn’t put on the line to pass the damn class. Including his pride, apparently. 

So when Jake hears from Jay who hears from Heeseung that Sunghoon will probably be at the party Epsilon Nu Eta is throwing this Friday night, he starts to formulate a plan. 

And he starts to regret said plan less than twenty-four hours later when he finds himself on the doorstep of a frat party. A frat party. He can’t remember the last time he came to one of these things. At twenty-one, he already feels geriatric as he tugs self-consciously at the sleeves of the plan black long sleeve he put on for the occasion. Something that will hopefully hide the questionable stains he’ll inevitably leave with. 

Entering through the front door with hinges that don’t align quite right, Jake has one mission in mind: find Park Sunghoon. Find him and somehow convince him to pass along your number. There’s a fine line to be walked there, Jake thinks. If he comes across as too eager, it will just be creepy. Nonchalance is the name of the game, but he’s never been good at keeping his cards close to his chest. 

For Jake, it’s a tall order, which means the only detour he’ll allow himself is grabbing a cup of lukewarm beer from the kitchen before he sets out looking for Sunghoon. The alcohol is an effort to break the barrier of his inhibitions more than anything. To make what he’s about to do feel a little less painful. 

Making his way out of the kitchen, Jake wanders aimlessly for a few minutes. He doesn’t know much about Sunghoon, other than the fact that he competes for your university’s figure skating team and is undeniably handsome. A good-looking figure skater, Jake thinks as he turns down yet another crowded hallway, narrowly avoiding spilling his drink. Where would one of those be hiding? 

He spends a few more awkward minutes asking around to no avail. Just when he’s on the verge of saying fuck it and making some sort of sacrifice to the econ gods instead, Jake bumps into the man of the hour on his way to the bathroom. 

In the chaos, Jake doesn’t recognize him until it’s almost too late. “Hey,” Jake calls out, bladder all but forgotten for now. He’s trying to fake an air of coolness when he adds, “Sunghoon, right?”

“Yeah.” Jake thanks his lucky stars that Sunghoon must be at least two drinks in, because he doesn’t seem weirded out at all by the sudden question from a near stranger. 

“I’m Jake.” He reaches his arm out for a handshake. Blinking, Sunghoon just stares at his outstretched hand as long, awkward moments bleed into each other. Eventually, Jake just lets it fall back to his side. “I’m, uh, in a statistics class with Heeseung.”

“Right on,” Sunghoon nods, still unsure if this conversation has a point to it. Luckily, the pleasant haze clouding his thoughts means he doesn’t mind too much either way. 

Jake figures there’s no point in dragging this out by exchanging more pleasantries, and he has the feeling Sunghoon might start forgetting his own name, much less yours, if he lets this continue for too long. 

“Listen,” Jake starts, trying to sound as not creepy as possible. “I heard that you know ___ pretty well.”

Sunghoon just shrugs. Jake can’t tell if he’s succeeded. “You could say that.”

“I know this is a strange request, but, uh,” Jake scratches the side of his head, “is there any chance I could get her number? I promise not to do anything weird.” Word vomiting, the extra details are spilling out before he can stop them. “It’s not even for me, actually–”

Sunghoon spares him the rest of a rambling explanation. “Sorry, bud. No can do.”

Jake’s stomach tightens in panic. He really, really just needs your phone number. It has him forgetting his earlier inhibitions, throwing caution to the wind even if he’s making a bit of a fool of himself in the process. “It’s for something important, actually. I’m kind of desperate–”

Sunghoon just puts a consolatory hand on Jake’s shoulder, interrupting his train of thought. “Look, man, it’s nothing against you personally, but I have literally never met you in my life. Besides, if I gave out ___’s number to every random guy that asked, I’m pretty sure she’d shave my head.” Sunghoon leans in close, like he’s about to share a secret. Jake’s nose twists at the scent of alcohol on his breath. “And between you and me, I don’t think I could pull off being bald.” 

Jake kind of begs to differ, but that’s neither here nor there. He opens his mouth to plead his case again, but Sunghoon doesn’t even let him get a word out. 

“Sorry, man, but I really can’t help you.” Pausing for a moment, he considers. “You said your name was Jacob, though, right?” He doesn’t pause long enough for Jake to correct him. “I could ask her if she’s cool with giving you her number–”

“Whose number are you giving out?” And if Jake thought this conversation wasn’t enough of a train wreck already, trust the timing of your entrance to be more disastrous than divine. 

Eyes turning to you and your sudden intrusion on the conversation, Jake’s mind goes blank for a minute.  And yeah, he kinda gets why his brother’s so hellbent on having a second chance at your time. Dressed in all black, your hair is loose around your face. Even though it likely costs more than most people’s monthly paycheck, there’s nothing inherently special about what you’re wearing. Still, Jake is finding it exceedingly difficult to look away. 

It’s something in your aura, he thinks. In the way you carry yourself. Something that money can’t buy. Something that makes his gaze want to linger. 

“___!” Sunghoon grins, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, wobbling slightly. You jostle at the sudden impact, inching away from where the contents of his cup slosh dangerously close to the rim. “What a coincidence. We were just talking about you.”

Your brow creases in confusion. Jake tracks the miniscule movement with parted lips. 

“You were?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon confirms, just at the same moment Jake shakes his head, “No.”

Turning your mildly concerned gaze away from your friend, you glance at Jake for the first time. Brow furrowing further, you cock your head to the side as your lips part in partial recognition. He looks oddly familiar, but you can’t quite place him. “Do I know you?”

“No.” Jake shakes his head again, a little too fervently. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. At least not properly.”

It’s an odd way of putting it. You’re about to ask him to clarify when Sunghoon cuts in, clearing up the confusion for you. “It’s Jacob,” he says, as if that should mean anything to you. Turning back to the boy across from him, he adds, “Jacob Sim, right?”

And that clicks things into place.  

“Sim?” you echo, realization dawning on your features.

“Yep,” Sunghoon confirms. 

Across from you, Jake says nothing. He doesn’t think he could if he wanted to. In fact, he’s pretty sure his life is flashing before his eyes. 

“Sim,” you repeat one final time, jaw ticking in agitation as everything starts to settle. “I do know you.”

“Oh, really?” Sunghoon asks at your side, oblivious to the way your tone betrays obvious animosity. A distaste so palpable Jake can practically feel it radiating off of you. Turning back to Jake, he’s apologetic. “Sorry, Jacob. I guess I could have given you her number, then.” Sunghoon smiles sheepishly, as if he hasn’t just made things a million times worse. “My bad.”

Jake’s eyes widen in horror as he scrambles for some sort of defense, an explanation that will dig him out of this rapidly deepening hole, but you beat him to it. 

“My number?” The look you give him has a concerning amount of venom in it. “Seriously? God, why are all you Sim men so obsessed with me?”

“That’s not–” 

“First your brother views my LinkedIn profile twenty-three times after standing me up, and now you’re harassing my friends for my phone number?”

“Hold on. I’m not harassing anyone–”

“No,” Sunghoon agrees, nodding diplomatically. “Jacob was perfectly pleasant–”

“It’s Jake, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, just Jake.”

“Sorry,” Sunghoon apologizes. Turning to you, he tries mediating again. “Well, like I said, just Jake was perfectly pleasant–”

“I don’t care how pleasant he is.” Your glare somehow becomes icier. “Leave me alone, and tell your dickhead brother to do the same.” Muttering to yourself more than anything, you add, “The last thing I need right now is you practically stalking me–”

“Stalking you?” Jake flounders, an edge of annoyance creeping into his tone. He’s not surprised to learn that you really do think the world revolves around you, but really? Stalking?  “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not like I’m enjoying this interaction any more than you are.”

You don’t back down, crossing your arms over your chest. The movement has Sunghoon teetering dangerously where he leans on you, but you pay him no mind, attention focused solely on the man in front of you. “Then why do you want my phone number so bad?”

“Like I was trying to say earlier when you wouldn’t let me get a word out sideways,” Jake bites, “it’s not for me. I made a deal with someone, and I told them I’d give them your number.”

Your gaze narrows. “Who?”

“What?”

“Who did you make a deal with?”

Jake hesitates, knowing how the truth will sound. Screw it – a lie would likely be just as damning. Still, it takes him another pregnant pause to eventually admit, “... My brother.”

Scoffing in disbelief, you double down on your ire. “Absolutely not.” Shaking Sunghoon off your shoulder, you turn to leave, dragging him with you. Jake’s eyes close; he can’t bear to watch his last chance at passing this semester leave him in the dust.  

So much so that he pleads again, “Wait, ___. Please.” Jake is begging now, and he feels a little pathetic for it. Still, he can’t help the way desperation drives him to continue. “You can block him for all I care. I can’t explain everything, but my life is quite literally in your hands right now. I just need–”

“No.” The single syllable vibrates with finality. “Do I have to spell it for you? N-” you bite, enunciating so sharply Jake thinks you might draw blood. “O. No. I’m not giving my number to you or your flake of  a brother or anyone else that so much as looks like they might have the name Sim.”

God, is the only think Jake can think as he miserably watches your retreating figure, Sunghoon stumbling along  as you drag him with you. I am so fucked. 

…

When Sunghoon finally emerges from your guest bedroom an hour before noon the next day, it’s to ask if you’d be kind enough to spare him some Advil. Even with a bad case of bedhead and the aftermath of overconsumption, he still manages to look good, albeit a little lifeless. 

“I’ll do you one better,” you tell him, but reach for the small white bottle anyway, shaking out a few tablets and offering them to your best friend along with a glass of cold water.

“Bagels and coffee?” Sunghoon asks over the rim of his glass, with a little more alertness in his eyes than there was moments before. 

“Bagels and coffee,” you confirm. A tried and true hangover cure, if there ever was one. And even though your head is feeling nice and clear, thanks to your trusty two drink limit that has yet to fail you, the local cafe a block from your apartment is very rarely something you turn down. 

Thirty minutes later and a change of clothes later, the two of you are trading gossip and stealing bites of each other’s orders when the other person isn’t looking at the table in the back corner of the cafe. Sunghoon is just about to stuff another piece of your bagel in his mouth when he notices yet another notification light up the screen of your phone. 

Sunghoon nods towards where it rests on the table, bagel suddenly forgotten. “Is that your mom again?”

“Yep.” Your lips stretch thin. You don’t even need to glance down at your phone to confirm. She’s been blowing up your notifications all weekend.  “She’s been on my ass about the upcoming fundraiser event for days now. And reminding me about the utmost importance of bringing an appropriate plus-one.”

Across from you, Sunghoon straightens his shoulders. “I suppose it is about time I bust out the trusty old prom suit again.”

You sigh, sending your half-eaten bagel a forlorn glance. “I wish. She told me if I ever bring you again, I lose half my trust fund.”

“What?” Sunghoon looks affronted. “Why?”

You level him with a look. “Does soap ring a bell?”

Sunghoon splutters in indignation. “That was one time,” he defends. “And anyone would have thought those were edible! They were shaped like candies, and they were on a platter–”

“Soap presentation aside, I don’t think that excuse will work on her.” The dejection in your voice is apparent. “Besides, she’s already made it very clear that you’re explicitly forbidden from attending any future family events as my plus-one.”

“Whatever,” Sunghoon grumbles. “Keep all your stupid inedible soaps.” Pausing for a moment, he realizes that still leaves a giant question hanging in the air. “Who are you gonna bring, then? You know, it kind of is too bad your date with Sim number one didn’t pan out.”

You shrug, pointedly ignoring the way your phone screen lights up yet again. It really is a bit of a shame James turned out to be an unreliable flake. One that still hasn’t bothered to apologize to you or even give any sort of indication that he remembered your scheduled date. Still, you can’t think of anyone that would earn your mother’s approval faster. “I’ll probably just fake a stomach flu.” After all, you’re kind of out of options. “I thought about asking Jungwon, but he’s got stuff going on for his internship that night. A big economics conference or something.”

“Speaking of economics,” Sunghoon leans in conspiratorially. “I think I might have some intel on our new friend from last night.”

“How was economics the segue you went with? We were literally just talking about his older brother.” Giving him a look of disbelief, you add, “And what about that interaction gave you the impression that we’re friends?”

“Whatever,” Sunghoon brushes you off before he continues, “Anyway, I heard from Heeseung who heard from Jay that apparently little Sim is hot garbage at economics. Rumor has it he’s already failed the class twice and is on track to do it again.”

You’re not sure why he’s deemed this information relevant to you, but you’d be lying if you said it weren’t a little amusing. 

“Really? Jungwon’s taking it now too, and he said that he sleeps through half the lectures and is still pulling an A.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be prodigies.”

Your lips flatten. “Pretty sure you don’t have to be a prodigy to not fail an entry level course three times.”

“Hey, cut him some slack,” Sunghoon argues. “He’s only failed it twice as of now.”

You scoff, entirely uninterested in the gory details of Jake Sim’s academic failures. “Whatever.”

“Either way,” Sunghoon says, “Jay told Heeseung who told me that’s why he’s so desperate for your number.” Confusion makes itself known on your features. You still don’t see the connection until Sunghoon adds, “Apparently he made some sort of deal with his brother that if he gets him your phone number, he’ll help him pass econ.”

A beat of silence passes between you. The barista at the counter calls out a customer’s name. It’s all you can do to not let your jaw physically drop open, mostly because–

“That is probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” Glaring at Sunghoon, you can’t believe the theatrics of it all. “How many times have I told you to stop believing everything Heeseung says?”

“Technically, Jay said it,” Sunghoon corrects. “And I don’t know... It kind of makes sense when you think about it.”

You beg to differ. “It absolutely does not. What is this, middle school? Are we passing notes behind the teacher’s back and making our friends ask our crushes if they like us back?” It’s ridiculous. Absolutely, utterly ridiculous. 

There is no way. Absolutely no way that James Sim, heir to a multimillion dollar company, is wasting his time giving his little brother an economics cheat sheet in exchange for your phone number. 

Sunghoon raises his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I just thought you might be curious.”

And you hate to admit it, but you kind of are. Even though every ounce of logic you’ve accumulated in twenty-one years of life tells you that Heeseung is a notorious gossip whose stories are just as much fiction as reality and your best friend is no better. Even though the whole thing makes absolutely no sense at all. 

Even though you repeat it to yourself over and over for the rest of the day, that damn curiosity is still there. Pestering you and disturbing your sleep and leaving you wondering if maybe, just maybe, some things are entirely too ridiculous to be anything but true. 

…

On Wednesday night, Jake and Heeseung are in the middle of a particularly brutal probability set when a sudden shadow looms over their favorite corner table on the third floor of the library. 

Glancing up, Jake finds Heeseung’s gaze already trained somewhere over his shoulder. Jake can’t quite tell if the look on his face is confusion or terror. 

“Mind if I join?” The request comes from behind him, posed in an oddly familiar voice. Heeseung is nodding in agreement before Jake has the chance to so much as turn around and identify the intruder. 

All is revealed soon enough, though, when you slide down into the seat next to him, ignoring the way Heeseung scrambles to move his things and make room for you in the seat next to him. Instead, you busy yourself with setting your bag on the floor and pulling out your laptop. 

It’s all Jake can do to stare at you blankly. This evening, you’ve traded the all black outfit from the other night’s party for something a bit more casual, something comfortable that blends in better to the background of a university library. The sudden proximity also means that the scent of your perfume is quick to waft over towards him. 

Jake does his best to hold his breath before his brain can trick him into thinking he likes it. 

“Stop looking at me like that.” A bold request for someone who just hijacked a study session and sat down with no explanation, but Jake wouldn’t expect anything less from you. 

“Like what?” The words are out before he gives them permission. Across the table, Heeseung is staring too, but all three of you know the command isn’t for him. 

“I don’t know.” Glancing at the battery bar hovering just above empty, you dig around in your bag for a moment for your laptop charger. Jake notes that you still have yet to look at him. Instead, you begin to busy yourself with typing something on your computer. “Just stop it.”

He hopes you can feel the way his eyes burn holes into the side of your head as his blank stare shifts into a glare. 

Heeseung glances between the two of you. His outburst is sudden. “Oh! I just remembered.” He hits his head for good measure. The acting is wasted on this audience, though. Neither of you pay him any mind or even bother to glance in his direction. “I have to go, uh…” he trails off, finishing lamely with a rather flat, “somewhere else.”

“Great.” Your eyes don’t leave your screen, fingers still flying on your keyboard. “See you later.”

As Heeseung scrambles to pack up his unfinished statistics homework and high tail it out of the library, the air that has suddenly become stifling, Jake glances down at where your fingers are still moving. 

Distractedly, he wonders how you can type so fast with nails that long, how you never seem to need the backspace key. How none of the pastel pink that coats your fingernails seems to be so much as chipped. A projection of perfection, he thinks, down to every last detail.  

Moments pass, neither of you saying anything.

You still haven’t looked at him by the time you do eventually break the impasse. “I heard you suck at econ.”

And Jake actually cannot believe you. “Did you seriously hunt me down just to rub it in?”

“Rub it in?” That at least earns him some of your attention, even if it is just a brief, confused glance as your fingers pause in their typing. “It’s not like I’m the reason you can’t pass.”

“Believe it or not, you quite literally are.”

You sigh, removing your hands from your keyboard entirely. Then, before he can blink, you spin your entire body in your chair, eyes, shoulders, and knees all directly trained on him. Jake can’t help the way he flinches back a few inches at the sudden change in pace. 

“Look,” you start. He can already tell by the way you wrap the single syllable sound in patronization that he’s not going to appreciate whatever you’re about to say. “I can tell that you’re not used to, like, having conversations with people, but usually what happens is you give someone enough information so that they know what you’re talking about.” He’s right. 

And he’s quick to defend himself. “Maybe I could, if you’d let me get three words out without interr–”

But you’ve moved on already. “Is the whole ‘deal with your brother’ thing true?”

Jake lets the silence linger for a moment, looking at you in disbelief. “You literally just proved my point.”

You roll your eyes. “I knew what you were going to say, so I sped things along. Now answer my question.” You lay it out for him again. This time, even more directly. “Did you try to get my number because of some deal you made with your brother?”

He’s not sure why it sounds so ridiculous, narrated back to him in your voice. It’s not like it was a brilliant, foolproof plan to begin with, but the way you present it has him feeling about five inches tall. 

“I…”

“It’s a yes or no question.” You really don’t beat around the bush, he thinks. 

“Yes, okay?”

Looking behind you, you suddenly lean in a little closer. It’s all Jake can do not to flinch back again. Bringing your hand up to cup your mouth, it’s like you’re about to divulge a terrible secret when you whisper, “You’re that bad at econ?”

Jake just sighs. “Worse, probably.”

Frowning, you pull back a few inches. “Aren’t you a business major? Isn’t econ, like, pretty important for you?” If he were thinking clearly, Jake might wonder how you know that. But that only thing his mind has space for right now is annoyance. At you, at this exchange, at the way you so easily pick through his flaws and seem to have no problem laying them bare at his feet like he doesn't already know them intimately.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I got any say in my major,” Jake counters. He might have more patience for this conversation if he were having it with anyone but you, if you weren’t throwing his own insecurities back in his face with every follow-up question.

At that, something flickers through your eyes. Sympathy, maybe. “Fair enough.” Whatever it is, it’s gone before he can identify it. And it’s not enough to make you pull your punches. “Still though, that’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Jake doesn’t need the reminder. “Just get a tutor like everyone else.”

The thing is, Jake has thought about it. On more than one occasion. He’s even gotten so far as filling out the university tutor request form. He just could never quite bring himself to complete the ‘Name’ field without all of the potential consequences forcing him to hit backspace. 

He might not be his brother, but he’s not stupid enough to think that his family would ever be okay with the Sim name anywhere near a tutor form. He tells you as much. “And listen to my dad tell me how much of a disappointment I am for not being able to even take a class on my own?” Jake laughs humorlessly. “No thanks.”

A beat passes. Two. You’re not done yet, but you at least have the decency to sound a little apologetic, a little tentative when you say, “Not to kick you while you’re down or anything, but I mean, that has to be better than failing twice.”

Jake just shakes his head. “You don’t know my father.”

You shrug but don’t press the matter further. Truth be told, you don’t know his father, but you do know fathers like him. You have one of your own. The third floor of the library doesn’t seem like the place for that conversation, though, even if you’ve already uncovered more than your fair share of each other’s secrets in the last ten minutes. “I guess not.”

…

Your phone is buzzing far too incessantly for a Saturday morning, much less this early on a Saturday morning. Internally, you curse Friday night you, who forgot to switch it into do not disturb before falling asleep. Face still buried in your pillow, you reach around your nightstand blindly with the intention of remedying that particular mistake and enjoying a few more moments of peace.

Before you can make good on your plan, you make the fatal mistake of reading the message preview before silencing your phone. And suddenly, to your neverending annoyance, you’re wide awake. 

Mom [7:36 am]: Looking forward to seeing you next Saturday at the fundraiser. 

Mom [7:37 am]: I also noticed that you haven’t indicated who you’ll be bringing yet. Please fill out the RSVP form when you have a moment. 

Mom [7:45 am]: James Sim hasn’t RSVP’d yet. Are you bringing him? You should invite him if you haven’t already.

Mom [7:53 am]: I also never heard the update after your date a few weeks ago. Hoping no news is good news. I just spoke with his father the other day, and it sounds like he’s doing great things over at their company. 

Mom [8:01 am]: I also heard that he volunteered a few summers ago rebuilding turtle habitats. Wow! I think you two would get along very well.

Groaning, you flip your phone back over. That about sums up how well she knows her only daughter, you think ruefully. If she thought wooing you with turtles was a good idea, she must have forgotten that you’ve had a lingering phobia of the freaky little reptiles since your friend from elementary school had a pet turtle that bit your finger when you were at her house. 

Besides, you have serious doubts that’s actually how James Sim spent his last summer in university. 

If memories from your social media scrolling serve correctly, rebuilding turtle habitats was code for partying on a yacht for a month straight. You don’t care how he spends his free time, but the way he already has your mother wrapped around his stupid finger is enough to annoy any lingering sleepiness out of your system. 

Whatever. James Sim’s white lies are the least of your concerns now, and they certainly won’t solve your problems. If anything, you’re starting to regret not telling your mother anything about your failed attempt at a first date with him. Now, trying to explain that disaster of an evening would only sound like an excuse at best and a flimsy lie at worst. 

And even if she did believe you, you still have the glaring issue of next Saturday and your lack of a pre-approved plus-one.

With one final groan, you pull your blanket over your face, trying and failing to banish any thoughts of your mother, James Sim, and the certain disaster next weekend will be. 

Despite your best efforts, your worries linger. They follow you into Sunday; they start to make you desperate on Monday. With a diminishing handful of days left until the fundraiser, your anxiety only surges. 

By the time Wednesday rolls around, you’re so stressed out that you can barely force your eyes to focus on the nearly blank Word document in front of you, all of the legalese and case details you can usually sort through in your sleep jumbling into one incomprehensible blob. 

Halfway through your third reread of a paragraph that details the basics of copyright law, it strikes you. The seedling of an idea so utterly ridiculous it just might be your saving grace.  

Your mother probably, definitely, couldn’t care less about James Sim’s so-called affinity for wildlife rescue. No, the only thing that makes him an appropriate candidate in her eyes for this Saturday has nothing to do with his personality at all. 

It’s his name that she likes. His family name specifically. 

In the middle of your favorite cafe, it hits you. The seedling of an idea sprouts roots, begins to bloom. 

If one Sim is good enough to be your plus-one, then surely the other one would be too. 

And you know exactly where he’ll be tonight. Glancing down at the time on your phone, you force your brain to think. Now, all you need is a plan. A way to convince him. Something he can’t refuse.  

Closing the lid of your laptop, you smile. You know exactly what it is he wants. 

Before you leave the cafe, you send a quick message to a friend. Set your plan in place so that the details are polished, irrefutable when you present it to him.

And then you set out for the university library. 

When you find Jake and Heeseung sitting at the same exact table on the third floor of the library, Heeseung doesn’t even bother to stick around for the customary greetings. Instead, he takes one single look at you before offering another flimsy excuse about having somewhere to be. Or maybe something to do. You can’t remember, and it doesn’t really matter. 

After all, the only reason you’re here is because–

“I have a way for you to pass econ.” Sliding into the seat next to Jake, the same one you sat in last time, you don’t waste any time before divulging the reason for your presence. 

If Jake is startled, he doesn’t show it. Statistics homework forgotten on the table, the only thing you see on his face is pure, obvious relief as his shoulders relax. 

“Thank god.” Reaching for his phone, he unlocks it, tapping and swiping until he’s ready to enter a new contact. “Give me your number, and I’ll–”

You shake your head, interrupting his train of thoughts. The way you smile makes him suddenly uneasy. He thought this was over, but now he’s not so sure. You confirm his fears when you say, “A different way.”

Now Jake just looks exasperated. If you keep up this habit, he’s about to start failing statistics too. Never mind the fact that he got his hopes up for what he is sure will turn out to be a giant pile of nothing. Still, he humors you. “What do you mean, a different way?”

“I mean,” you start, folding your hands across your lap. Jake has the distinct impression that you’re trying your best to be as convincing as possible. If nothing else, it does pique his curiosity. He’s never seen you be anything but annoyed or uninterested. It’s an interesting change of pace.“I have a friend who’s also taking econ right now and hasn’t scored below a 98 on a single assignment.” Jesus, Jake thinks. Must be nice. 

And then you drop the bomb on him. “He said he’s more than willing to tutor you. For money, of course.” you specify, moving on so quickly he hardly has the chance to process what you’re saying. “And it’s not like you can’t afford it, but I’ll split the cost with you. For the principle of it all.” There’s a beat of silence as what you’ve just said settles into the air. “Oh,” you add, remembering the most important detail. “And he’ll be discreet. Under the table tutoring, if you will. No chance of word getting back to Daddy Sim.” 

You do your best to give him your most trustworthy smile. Jake just stares back at you, mildly horrified.

When he finally speaks again, it’s to say, “... Please, and I mean this with every single bone in my body, please never refer to my father like that again.”

Not even bothering to look sheepish, the only agreement you offer is a mock salute. 

Your poor taste in nicknames aside, it does seem like a pretty sweet deal from where Jake is sitting. He cannot fail economics again, and getting a tutor would mean that his brother couldn’t hold his success over his head, couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for it. And a discreet tutor would be even better. Not going through the official university system would mean a much lower chance of his father ever finding out he got some help along the way.

All things considered, and very much to his surprise, Jake is having a hard time seeing any downsides. 

He goes through the list again. First, he gets to pass economics. Second, he doesn’t have to deal with his older brother in the process. Third, he gets a tutor that won’t pop up on his father’s radar, and all Jake has to do in return is–

Wait.

“Hold on a minute.” There’s an unmistakable edge of suspicion in Jake’s voice. There’s no way you went out of your way to find him a tutor, to help pay for it, without getting something in return. The wheels in his mind are starting to spin when he asks, “What’s in it for you?”

Next to him, you smile. It’s small, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you almost look nervous. “It’s just a small favor, really.” The expression on your face is not reassuring in the slightest. Still, you insist, “It’ll be easy, I promise. Just a few hours of your time at most.”

Jake knows better than to agree without details. And especially to anything you’re proposing. He’s already preparing to kiss his dreams of passing econ goodbye when he asks slowly,“What is it?”

You sigh, pretenses dropping. If you’re going to convince him now, you might as well do it with honesty. “That annual charity fundraiser event my parents throw. Your parents are usually there, I think. I don’t know if you’ve ever gone?”

Jake shrugs, frowning as he tries to remember. He’s not entirely sure either. After a while, fundraisers and events and family obligations all start to blur together. Although the name does ring a bell, albeit a distant, faint one. 

“Anyway,” you continue, “my mother is insistent that I bring a date. Someone she considers appropriate company. You know, runs in the same circles and comes from what she would consider a good family.” Jake nods. He does know exactly what you mean. Picking up on his agreement, you add with a twinge of hopefulness, “Like I said, it would be easy. Especially for you, since you’re used to this kind of stuff. I wouldn’t have to train you–”

That has Jake rolling his eyes. “Let me guess. I get a treat for rolling over?”

The ice in your glare is half hearted. “You know what I mean. There are certain…” You weigh your words carefully. “expectations at these things.” Pausing for a moment, you add, “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think you’ll eat the soap, even if it’s candy shaped and on a platter.”

If you were trying to clarify your point, you did a terrible job. Jake’s brow pulls downwards in confusion. “Is that supposed to be some kind of metaphor?”

“Unfortunately not.” You shake your head, but don’t explain any further. Sunghoon’s mishaps are not the point of this conversation. A mutually beneficial deal is. Which is why you ask him, “So, what do you say? Are you in or not?”

Is he? Jake says nothing, considering. Mentally, he goes through the list of pros and cons. Pros, he thinks. I get to finally pass econ, and I get to do it without my brother. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, gaze tracking the movement as you nervously bite at your lower lip. Also, I get to show up at an event with the girl he’s been trying to get for weeks now. 

He’d be lying if that didn't spark a certain warm feeling in his chest, if it didn’t inspire a sudden bout of preemptive vindication. But there are other things to consider.

Cons, he continues internally. I have to spend an entire evening at an event hosted by your family and make them believe you don’t annoy the ever-loving shit out of me.

Weighing his options, Jake has one more question. “How long would it be?” he asks, and you try to stifle a grin, as if he’s already told you yes. 

“The event is technically four hours,” you say carefully, “but I’m sure we could manage to sneak out after a solid two and a half.”

Jake nods, thinking it over a moment longer. 

“Okay,” he finally breathes, hoping this isn’t some kind of terrible, elaborate trick, that he isn’t about to sign his life away on a dotted line. 

For econ, he thinks. For what’s left of his struggling GPA. He can manage a single night at a mind-numbingly boring high society function. Even if it’s with you. “I’m in.”

And it feels a bit strange, he has to admit, as he watches you type your contact information into his contact list. It feels odd to have your number in his phone with no intention of passing it on. To know that he’s the one who will be using it to confirm the details of this Saturday. To know that his brother will be none the wiser and not at all closer to having any kind of access to you.  

And if that strange surge of smugness makes another sudden appearance, well, Jake just figures that no one ever has to know about it. 

…

Frowning, you give yourself another once over in the full length mirror that sits next to your vanity. A shimmering, pale gold, the evening gown that flows over your figure was hand-selected by you for this very event. For some reason, you’re having a hard time rediscovering the magic you’d felt trying it on in the showroom here in the soft, ambient light of your bedroom. 

Objectively, you’re sure you must look good. The compliments the store attendants had given you were more than just customary, and gold has always been your color. Still, a slew of sudden uncertainties simmer in your gut. Is the slight sparkle too garish? Does the gold wash you out? Your worries feel too big for your bedroom, at too stark an opposition with the peaceful ambience as soft, instrumental music plays from your speaker.

But this particular Saturday evening has its ways of making you feel jumbled where you’d typically be steadfast. Insecure where you’d usually find confidence.  

It’s true that your mother has always had a critical eye, and especially where you’re concerned. If you were to search deep enough, however, you’d find that she’s not the person you’re most concerned about making a lasting impression on tonight. 

With no small effort, you resist the urge to smooth out invisible wrinkles in the bodice of your dress. A nervous habit more than anything, it’s only exacerbated by the way your phone is still devoid of notifications. The clock on your nightstand is a reminder that your date for the evening should be here any minute, should be sending a message as confirmation of his arrival at your apartment. But your phone is still silent, even as the hour of the fundraiser draws nearer and nearer. 

Maybe this was a terrible mistake, you think, a new bout of uncertainties beginning to brew. It shouldn't be a surprise, really. Trust him to be just as flakey as his brother, with absolutely no regard for previous commitments or anyone else’s time. It’s just your luck that you get stood up again, this time by the other Sim. 

You're in the middle of disguising your fears and distracting yourself by cursing him and his future bloodline when your phone finally pings with an incoming notification. Well, you think, grabbing your coat, feeling a bit ridiculous for the slight overreaction, you’ll have to look into removing generational curses when you have the time.

For now, you settle with pulling on your heels for the evening, ignoring the way you feel a bit wobbly despite the fact that you’ve walked in far worse. Locking your apartment behind you and striking a slightly unsteady pace towards the elevator down the hall, you whisper a silent plea that tonight isn’t as much of a disaster as you’re afraid it could be. 

You watch as the numbers on the elevator screen tick lower and lower, a swirling mix of dread and excitement starting to swim in your stomach. When you finally reach the first floor, you’re surprised to see a familiar face waiting for you in the lobby. Something in you softens, albeit just slightly. You’d incorrectly assumed he would just wait for you in the comfort of his car and spent the whole ride down preparing to awkwardly check license plates in the near dark till you found the right one. 

An overwhelming sense of  self-consciousness returns to you under the brightness of the lobby lights. Unconsciously, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, wondering how long it will take him to notice you as you begin to walk towards him. You’ve only made it a few steps when it strikes you that he’s already distracted by something else. 

Across the lobby, Jake Sim is engaged in a conversation with your doorman. One that looks slightly heated, by your judgment. 

As you get closer, their words become more audible. 

“Like I just told you,” The exasperation in your date’s voice is apparent. “I’m here to see ___.”

And you really should make your presence known, should step in and divert the brewing argument, especially since you seem to be the subject of it. 

But then you look at Jake. Really look at him. 

Realistically, you knew he would come well-dressed. That had been a big part of your reason for choosing him. The Sunghoon soap fiasco aside, you already knew Jake Sim wasn’t someone who needed you to put together a PowerPoint presentation on formal event dress code. He didn’t need you to explain the concept of complementary colors or the advantages of getting a suit tailored. Didn’t need you to explain that Converse were not an appropriate show or that no, a bolo tie is not acceptable attire. 

Up until now, you were grateful for his pre existing knowledge. It saved you a lot of time and effort that you could use to focus on other things, like getting ready yourself. But it also meant that you were entirely unprepared to see him like this. 

Eyes scanning him again, the immaculate fit of his suit is undeniable, as is the way his dark hair is perfectly mussed. It’s styled enough to avoid withering comments from elderly attendees who have the habit of asking how people see with their hair covering their eyes. But it’s also messy in a way that looks intentional, in a way that makes you want to run your fingers through it, tug at it just a little, just to tease. 

It’s not just that he’s dressed well, though, despite the fact that he undeniably is. 

No, what has you freezing in your footsteps is the fact that Jake looks good. 

“And like I just told you, you’re not on her guest list. So I’m sorry, sir.” There is not a single trace of apology in your doorman’s voice. “But I’m afraid I can’t let you up. You’ll have to contact her and ask her to add you to her guest list.” You’re not sure how he manages to do it without losing any professionality, but your doorman makes it very clear that he thinks that will happen just as soon as hell freezes over. 

Jake’s shoulders tense in visible frustration. You have to suppress an actual sigh at the way fabric stretches over the muscle there. “Again, I’m not asking you to. Could you please just let her know that I’m here? She’s not answering her messages–”

“How odd.” The sarcasm is unmistakable. 

Getting a little desperate, Jake ignores the slight and continues anyway. “And we’re on a bit of a time crunch, so–”

From here, you can see the way his features start to twist in panic. It’s sobering enough to snap you out of your trance.

Cutting in, you make your presence known. “It’s okay,” you tell your doorman first. “I know him.” Then, you turn to Jake, putting on an award-worthy performance of false nonchalance when you explain, “Sorry I didn’t respond to your message. I was just on my way down.”

You watch as some of the tension drains from his features. “That’s alright,” Jake concedes easily. “I just wanted to make sure we weren’t late.”

A funny feeling, a new one, stirs again. Something in you softens. “I appreciate that.” 

You can’t help the way you take another look at him. At his suit, his hair, his face. At him, at all of it. 

Mistaking your gaze for scrutiny, he asks, a bit self-consciously, “What do you think? Will your mother approve?”

She will. There’s no doubt in your mind. But you’re not looking at him through her eyes when you tell him, “Yeah, you look good. Really good.”

The last part probably wasn’t necessary, but the way he flushes makes it almost worth it. Casting your eyes downward in an effort to hide a smile, you notice a detail that you missed earlier. 

Jewelry. Gold jewelry. A handful of rings on his fingers and a delicate bracelet on his left wrist.  

Suddenly, his message from last night makes a little more sense.

Jake [9:02 pm]: What color is your dress for tomorrow?

You [9:08 pm]: Gold. Don’t worry about trying to match. A black suit will be just fine. 

Now, you’re grateful he didn’t fully listen to you, touched that he even bothered to ask.  

Across from you, Jake is suddenly having a bit of a hard time breathing. The earlier near-fiasco with your doorman all but forgotten, you’re still admiring his bracelet as his eyes scan the length of you, throat bobbing by the time his gaze makes its way back up to your face. 

“You, uh,” he coughs. “You look nice too.”

“Thank you.” You miss the way his gaze wanders, can’t seem to find a place to land that won’t dust the tops of his cheekbones an even deeper shade of crimson. “I’ve been looking forward to wearing this dress forever.”

And it is a nice dress, Jake thinks, but he’s not sure how to tell you that’s not what he meant. 

Eyes finally landing on your feet, or rather, on the stilettos you’re wearing, he frowns. “I had to park kind of far away.” Meeting your gaze, he adds, “Why don’t you wait here? I’ll pull the car around front.”

“Okay.” Something in you melts a bit at his consideration, at the fact that he even noticed. “Thank you.”

And it is nice, you think, to not be beginning the evening with your feet already sore. To have someone pick up on the little things, even if he’s being compensated for it in the form of half-price tutoring.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you try not to sigh like a lovesick schoolgirl when he opens the door for you, when he puts his hand on the back of your seat as he reverses the car out of its parking spot. Get it together, you think. You’ve turned up your nose at far more obvious attempts at wooing you, and it’s not like Jake is here with you out of his own volition. The thought is surprisingly disappointing, as he adjusts the stereo, soft music filling the silence.

The drive passes like that, in a quiet that’s only uncomfortable if you look at it too close. Eventually, the soft melodies filtering through the stereo become a pleasant sort of background noise as you watch the world blur outside the window. 

It would be smart, probably, to sort out your story for the evening and put together something coherent for when the two of you are inevitably asked invasive questions, but you can’t bring yourself to be the one to disturb the peace. 

So when you arrive at the fundraiser a handful of minutes later, you just have to hope that the image the two of you strike together will be enough to stave off any unwanted questions for the time being. 

Again, Jake opens your car door for you, offers a steadying hand as you step out of it. And when he gives you his arm as you enter through the front door of the venue, you take it, wrapping your fingers around his elbow. Pausing just outside the entrance, you watch as he takes a deep breath.  

“Ready?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him or yourself. 

Jake answers for the both of you. “Let’s do this.”

Walking through the lobby, you hand your jackets to the coat check attendant before entering the ballroom where the fundraiser is held. Despite your general distaste for this evening and everything it entails – you sneak a glance at your partner in crime. Well, mostly everything – you can’t help but admire the space around you.

Decorated immaculately down to every last element, your mother truly doesn’t spare any expense or detail when it comes to throwing parties. And like always, she somehow manages to have a sharp eye on everything and everyone, no matter how chaotic or busy. You’ve hardly taken two steps inside the ballroom when she finds you, approaches you will all the grace of a panther stalking its prey. 

Pulling you in for a quick hug, the warm greeting she gives you is more for the benefit of onlookers than for you. And it forces you to remove your hand from Jake’s arm.

Looking over your shoulder, her voice is sickeningly saccharine. “And this must be James,” she beams, making eye contact with the wrong brother. Directing her attention to him, she gushes, “My daughter has told me wonderful things about you.”

Your eyebrows raise in disbelief. Jake stifles a laugh, expertly turns it into a cough. 

Really? You think. She did all that digging on James’ so-called turtle philanthropy but never bothered to pull up a picture of the guy? And you mean, standard genetic similarities aside, it’s not like the two of them look that much alike.

“Actually, mom,” you spare him the expense of having to correct her mistake, “this is Jake Sim. James’ brother. We go to school together.”

“Oh,” her eyebrows fall at the slip, no doubt an unforgivable social faux pas in her mind. “You never filled out the RSVP form, sweetie,” she somehow makes the term of endearment sound like a curse, “so I wasn’t sure who you’d be bringing.” Trust her to find a way to make her mistake your fault. 

Turning back to your date, she tries to remedy her mistake. “Jake, then.” She offers him a smile so forced you’re surprised her cheeks aren’t aching. Looking back at you, she fishes, “And he’s your…?”

Her dangling bait goes untouched. “He’s my plus-one.” It’s an intentional choice of words on your part. In your mind, it’s a neutral enough term that will hopefully let you navigate the evening without too many rumors or invasive questions about your personal life from people you only speak to out of reluctant obligation.  

Jake is less used to the way your mother tends to poke and prod, the way she likes to examine the superficial details of your life with a microscope and make sure she can frame them in a way that will be pleasing for public perception. The way she doesn’t ask about your love life because it’s of any genuine interest to her, but because she wants sole control of the rumor mill’s production. 

Next to you, he stiffens, feels as though he’s already failed some kind of test he didn’t know he was taking, wasn’t given any materials to study for. 

There’s a lot to be said, probably, about the way you pick up on his discomfort so easily. The way your hand returns to the crook of his elbow wordlessly and gives a single, gentle squeeze. Reassuring him, putting his nerves at ease, as you begin to navigate your way out of this conversation. 

“We’d better find our seats,” you tell your mother. The only reason Jake can identify the icy edge hiding in the superficial sweetness of your voice is because he’s been on the receiving end of it. On multiple occasions. Directed at someone else, he finds it almost amusing. “Wouldn't want to miss anything.”

“Of course,” your mother concedes, but there’s an undertone there. Jake can tell that there’s a war being waged here, battles and skirmishes in subtext and stilted pauses. He’s no stranger to the way high society likes to wrap up insults in niceties and skirt around delicate topics, but his own family has never been anything but blunt when it comes to their distaste for him and his choices. 

He’s still not entirely sure what he just witnessed, but you’re dragging him by his arm to find your assigned table before he can sort through the offending slights and put on armor that may be of any use to you. 

Carefully arranged, the maze of tables is easy enough to navigate. Each seat has a white place card in front of it, embossed with a shimmery golden script that matches your dress and holds the name of the guest who’s been assigned to sit there. 

You drag Jake past a flurry of names and attendees he half recognizes, stopping only to grab two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, handing one to Jake before you continue on your mission. After another minute of searching, you find your name at a table a few rows out from the far wall. Rolling your eyes, you can practically hear your mother’s reasoning: Not too close to the wall. Wouldn’t want people thinking I’m trying to hide her. But certainly not anywhere near the center of the room, in case she falls into that pesky habit of being an awful embarrassment.  

Standing behind your chair, your eyes find the place card stationed in front of the seat next to yours at the same time Jake’s do. 

“Oh my god.” The exasperation is apparent, even though your words are barely audible where you mutter them under your breath. 

Because of course this hasn’t already been enough of a train wreck. Because of course the place card next to yours doesn’t have Jake’s name on it. Nope, embossed in the same shimmery gold is the name of another person entirely. 

James Sim. 

You turn to your date, apologetic. “God, I’m sorry. I really didn’t fill out the RSVP form, but I didn’t think she’d just assume…”

“It’s okay.” Jake gives you some grace. “Really, it wouldn’t be the first time.” And all things considered, he kind of is in his brother’s seat tonight. Attending an event that’s better suited for the future head of the company than his forgotten younger brother. Accompanying the girl that public opinion surely dictates would be a better match for him. 

Still, you frown. Reaching for the small clutch that sits against your hip, you rummage for a moment before pulling out a black permanent marker. 

Jake glances at you sideways.Your bag of the evening is tiny, barely even big enough to hold your phone. He’s surprised you managed to fit the marker in there, much less prioritize it enough to bring it with you. “You carry that thing around with you all the time?”

You shrug. “Never know when you’ll need to do some DIY vandalism.”

It would be a lie if he said something in him doesn’t soften, just a bit, when he watches you reach for the place card in front of his seat and put a giant, bold X over his brother’s name. 

Your handwriting is no match for the computer-generated script, but Jake still likes the place card a little better when you’re done with it, likes the way his name looks next to yours when you set it back on the table, alterations completed. 

“There,” you say, looking entirely too satisfied with your handiwork. “All better.” This time, you slide down into your seat before Jake has the chance to pull it out for you. Turning to him as he tentatively takes the seat next to you, he finds a small frown on your lips. “Wait,” you pause, realization written across your features. “Your brother isn’t coming, right?”

Jake shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it. He has no reason to come. My parents are on a business trip, so they won’t be here either. And that also probably means he’s more swamped than usual at the office.”

Nodding, you take a sip of champagne. “Good.” Pausing, your lips quirk. “Although it would be kind of funny if he–”

“I think you’re in my seat.” The sudden interruption is flat, leaves no room for arguments. 

Startled, the two of you spin in your chairs. 

James Sim, despite his brother’s predictions, is in fact not otherwise occupied at his office. Instead, he stands directly behind his younger sibling, strikes an imposing figure where his shadow blocks the chandelier light behind him and extends over his brother and his altered place card. 

Eyes flaming, he looks at where his name has been crossed out. Replaced. 

Next to Jake, you remain silent, figure that you’ll let Jake handle this one the way he let you handle your mother. Far be it from you to step in on a family matter.

But then you notice the way Jake shrinks a little in his seat, hides a little further in his brother’s shadow. Reaches for the place card like he wishes he could take it back.

Sliding your gaze back to your least favorite Sim sibling, your voice is even, albeit icy, when you point out the obvious, “It’s not actually. Can’t you read?” Jake’s hand stops in its tracks, falls back to his lap.

A quick look your way is the only indication James even hears you. Instead, he continues his one-sided conversation with his brother, a barely controlled sort of fury crossing over his expression. “Hm,” he muses, glancing between the two of you. “Sure seems like you two are awfully close.” Casting an accusatory glare at Jake, he adds, “That’s funny. I could have sworn you said you barely knew her.”

Her. You’re sitting right there, and you don’t even get a name. 

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Jake either. And it turns out to be just what he needs to find his voice. You’re almost proud of the sarcasm he manages to muster when he counters, “Yeah, well, this funny thing happens when you spend time together. You actually get to know each other.” Straightening his spine, there’s an unmistakable edge in his voice when he adds, “You know, when you actually bother to show up, that is.”

You hide a laugh behind your hand, albeit not very well. Glancing at Jake, a feeling swells in your chest that you can only identify as pride. You didn’t know he had it in him. 

Reassessing his strategy, James turns to you, forcing a nonchalance that is entirely contradicted by the way his cheeks are rapidly reddening. “Actually, ___,” he tries, acting as if the last thirty seconds faded out of existence at his will. “I was hoping to speak to you about something. I’d love to get you a drink if you–”

“Actually,” Jake cuts in, doubling down. “We already have drinks.” Behind you on the table, the two near full glasses of champagne are undeniable evidence. The laugh that spills out of you this time is impossible to hide. Yeah, you decide, between the two of them, you definitely hate James more. Entirely amused, the only thing you wish you had is a bowl of popcorn as you root for the underdog. Not that he needs it. Much to your satisfaction, he’s been landing his punches well. 

The giggle dies on your lips, though, when you feel the warmth of another hand suddenly cover the top of yours where it rests on your thigh. Gaze flaming, James follows the movement. Startled, your eyes fly to Jake. The only view you’re offered is of his profile as he keeps his gaze trained on his brother, the challenge in his features unmistakable. 

The only consolation he offers for your sudden shock is a small, reassuring squeeze against your knuckles. 

And then he says, “And I’d like to keep my girlfriend right here, actually.” At that, he does finally turn to you, eyes pleading, gaze imploring when he seeks your permission. Even though they’re performative in nature, his words aren’t solely for James’ benefit. “If that’s alright with you, that is.”

Girlfriend.

You were perfectly happy in the role of the observer, but now Jake has dragged you into the spotlight. Even though it pains you, you know you can’t leave him hanging. Not when that would mean a sure victory for his dickhead of a brother. 

Girlfriend. The word echoes in your head, has you feeling dizzy.

“Of course,” you return hollowly, barely recognizing the sound of your own voice over the sudden rushing in your ears. “Boyfriend.”

When you smile at him, you make sure it looks sickeningly sweet enough to deter James. Your eyes, however, flash with a warning only Jake can read. 

“You’re dating?” James can’t hide his shock, and his outrage is just as obvious. 

“Yep,” Jake passes you a panicked look. But you don’t need it, don’t need his convincing. You’ve already dug yourself a deep enough hole. Trying to climb out now would only mean everything crumbles. 

“Sure are,” you confirm with a tight smile. Turning back to Jake, you add, “Actually, sweetie, I need to talk to you about, uh…” you scramble for a moment. Finish vaguely with, “that thing.” 

“Right.” Jake picks up on the threat in your eyes seamlessly, knows there’s only one acceptable response. “That thing,” he echoes. 

“Yeah, so,” you turn back to James, barely acknowledging him as you start to stand. “We’re gonna step out for a minute.”

Jake is all but putty in your hands as you switch the positioning of your grip so that the hand that was resting on yours is now encased firmly between your fingers. 

“See you later,” are Jake’s breathless parting words to his brother. 

“Hopefully not, though,” you alter. 

And then you’re dragging him back through the crowd towards the exit, and it’s all Jake can do to not run into the other guests or knock over the delicately balanced trays of hors d’oeuvres waiters carry throughout the room. He’s at your mercy all the way through the double doors of the ballroom, and you pause only briefly to determine which hallway is less likely to have people in it before deciding on the one to the right, towing him along behind you.

Once you’re far enough away from unwanted eyes and ears, you start wiggling every door knob you come across, growing visibly more frustrated until you finally find an unlocked one. Huffing, you push Jake into the spare storage closet first. Following him in, you close the door behind you. 

The sudden change in space puts you in close proximity. Your nose is only a handful of inches away from his when you start laying out accusations. 

“What the hell?” With the same hand than just dragged him on a half marathon, you shove at his chest. “Boyfriend?” You have half a mind to grab the broom standing next to you and start whacking him with it. 

“I’m sorry!” Jake holds his hands up defensively. He doesn’t miss the way you’re eyeing every cleaning tool around you, no doubt deciding which would make the most effective weapon. “I panicked, okay? I just hate that smug little look he gets on his face–”

“Well you’re about to be seeing ‘that smug little look’ a lot more once he calls your bluff!” you half-shout, trying to convey your anger without alerting anyone to your presence.“The timeline barely lines up to begin with. It’s only been what, a few weeks since I was supposed to go on a date with him? And that’s not to mention the fact that there won’t be anyone to corroborate our story, because we don’t spend any time together, since, y’know, we’re not dating.”

Jake begs to differ. You’ve invaded more than one of his Wednesday night statistics study sessions. 

But before he can point this out, you’re continuing. “Which means you’re gonna have to come up with some sort of believable explanation for why we break up after, like, three days.”

“Ugh.” Jake drags an open palm down his face. He hates to admit it, but you do have a point there. 

Fingers running through his hair, his sudden stress is apparent. And you’re not trying to send him to an early grave, but would it have killed him to think before he spoke? Consider the consequences of starting the exact kind of rumor you’ve been hoping to dodge all evening? You get that his brother is not exactly an easy person to get along with, but was the short-lived victory really worth the potential fallout? 

Across from you, Jake seems to be having the same realizations. A million thoughts whirring through his brain, he’s not sure where to place his focus. 

After a moment, he settles on optimism. “Look, I think it will be fine.” The more he thinks about it, the more he convinces himself he believes it. “James has been up to his ass in company stuff since the second he graduated, so it’s not like he has extra time to check up on us or anything.” And even if he did, James would have no way of knowing who to ask. Jake has the sneaking suspicion his older brother couldn’t name a single one of his friends if his life depended on it. He would have no idea who to track down to corroborate your so-called romance. 

“We won’t have to do anything,” Jake reasons. “I’ll just mention you in passing for the next few weeks if he happens to ask.” Even that should be simple enough. After all, Jake seriously doubts he will. “And by the time the holidays roll around, I can just say things fizzled naturally.” Easy. Simple. Uncomplicated. Mutual, and your pride and his both remain intact. “No big deal.” 

Across from him, you weigh his words. It makes sense, yes, but there’s something starting to swirl in your gut that you don’t like. It feels a little too much like dread, like trepidation. Jake can read all of the uncertainty written across your face when you tell him, “I still don’t like it. My mother and your brother were both here tonight and already got different stories from us. This could get messy really quickly. I mean, what if our families start talking–”

“They won’t.” Jake shakes his head. “Your mom thinks I’m just a plus-one, and when my name comes up in James and my father’s conversations, it isn’t to discuss the ins and outs of my dating life.” Of this, at least, Jake is sure. His father couldn’t care less who he dates, as long as it’s not a liability to him, to the company. “Besides, we're university students.” Jake tries to lighten the mood, clear some of the tension. “Twenty-one and immature and all that.” For a moment, Jake imagines what life would feel like if that’s truly all he was, if that’s the only thing he got to be. No added pressure of a notorious last name and a reputation to maintain. Tucking that thought to the back of his mind, he decides he’ll mourn it later. “A short-lived relationship with a story that doesn’t quite add up is practically a right of passage. Not something to be suspicious of.” 

You remain silent for a moment, but your hand doesn’t get any closer to the broom.

“Okay.” Some of the tension seeps out of your shoulders as you turn his reasoning over in your brain, nodding as his logic starts to piece together. “Okay,” you reiterate. You still don’t like it, but he’s right about one thing: it is the best option you have. 

After all, there’s no way in hell you’re about to go tell your mother that your plus-one is actually your secret boyfriend, and you hate to admit it, but James’ little smirk is incredibly agitating. And it will all blow over, you’re sure. Like Jake said, James and your mother have no real reason to talk, and if Jake is convinced that his brother won’t be spreading this particular rumor, you’ll just have to believe him for the time being. 

Letting him out of the closet first, you only imitate hitting him upside the back of the head once before you catch up to him, linking arms again before reentering the ballroom. 

As the evening goes on, your worry starts to subside. Thankfully, every other part of the night goes perfectly to plan, even if you do have to force yourself to laugh a little too hard at one of Jake’s awful jokes when you catch James watching the two of you. The second glass of champagne you down helps, if nothing else. 

Exactly as you predicted, after two and a half hours have passed, you and Jake are sneaking out the back exit, tiptoeing to his car as the fourth speaker of the evening continues their droning speech inside the event. Your mother is none the wiser to your early departure, and you hope it’s the first in a series of victories for the evening. 

When Jake drops you off just outside the front doors of your apartment building, his smile is almost reassuring enough to put that lingering sense of unease to rest where it still sits in your gut. 

Makeup removed, hair washed, and evening gown traded for pajamas, sleep is slow to find you a handful of hours later. Eventually, though, it does, and your rest is undisturbed, dreamless. 

…

The next morning, with nothing but the pastel tones of sunrise and the sound of his brewing coffee maker to keep him company, Jake Sim stares at the message on his phone in abject horror. 

Mom [7:32 am]: I can’t believe I had to find out from your brother! Family dinner next weekend at our place. Bring your girlfriend. :) 

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

PART TWO IS UP AND LINKED ON MY MASTERLIST!

note: thank you for reading!! this is the version I had saved in my docs and it should be identical to what was posted before but in case there are any slight differences, that's why. I also sometimes make the fatal mistake of doing small grammatical edits in tumblr itself, so please excuse any minor errors as I didn't do a read through this time around. as always, I love to hear any thoughts you may have!

[starhwatiny]

AAAAAH HE LOOKS SO AMAZING HES SO HANDSOME MY HEE 😭😭😭

[lovecase]

𝒯HIRD WHEEL ℘ L.HEESEUNG's! ─── ( a spider-man au. )

( 애인 ) 𝒾n which ︵ heeseung’s a quiet engineering student by day and the city’s favorite hero by night, but he's somehow losing a romantic rivalry with his own alter-ego. you’ve fallen for the witty, masked boy who swings by your window, never realizing he’s the same nervous friend who can’t look you in the eye at the library. it turns out the hardest part of being spider-man isn't saving the city—it’s playing the third wheel to your own mask.

mdni smau parts fluff angst hurt/comfort eventual smut friends to lovers megan (katseye) yunjin (le sserafim) soobin (tomorrow x together) yunjin & soobin are dating 15k words 16ss

i think this will be my magnum opus & as always, enhypen is seven! i hope this fic can provide anyone, even if it's just a little, comfort during these times ♡

there will be another part! i just got nerfed by tumblr's image limit

⌨️ like&&reblog for a kiss. ── #click4masterlist to see more.

THE SMELL OF THE ENGINEERING LAB AT 3:00 AM WAS A SPECIFIC KIND OF DEPRESSING. It was a mix of burnt solder, stale energy drinks, and the metallic tang of copper wiring. Heeseung leaned over a glass beaker, his eyes burning from staring at the same translucent blue liquid for the last three hours.

It was supposed to be his newest batch of web-fluid—higher tensile strength, faster drying time, and hopefully, less prone to jamming the shooters. But instead of hardening into a fiber, it was just sitting there, looking like a sad, lukewarm puddle of expired Elmer's Glue.

"It’s not polymerizing, Jake," Heeseung muttered, his voice raspy from lack of sleep. "I’ve adjusted the catalyst three times. It’s still just… soup."

A few feet away, Sim Jaeyun—better known to Heeseung as the only person keeping him sane—was buried under a mountain of physics textbooks and a laptop that was whirring so loudly it sounded like it might achieve liftoff. Jake didn't look up, his fingers flying across the keys as he ran another simulation.

"Give it a second, Hee. You’re being impatient," Jake said, his tone remarkably calm for a guy dealing with someone as sleep-deprived as his best friend. "I just recalculated the shear stress. If we want it to hold a literal city bus, the viscosity needs to be higher at the point of exit. Check the temperature again."

Heeseung sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted. Not the kind of exhausted you get from staying up late to cram for an exam, but the kind that settled into your bones and stayed there. The kind that came from spending six hours in back-to-back engineering lectures, three hours at the campus library, and then four hours swinging through the soot-stained alleys of the city trying to make sure nobody got mugged on their way home from work.

Being Spider-Man was a full-time job that paid zero dollars and offered zero sleep.

"If I check the temperature one more time, I'm going to throw this beaker at the wall," Heeseung whispered.

"Don't do that. Glass is expensive and I'm not cleaning it up," Jake replied, finally looking up. He leaned back in his swivel chair, his hair a messy nest of brown curls. He looked at Heeseung—really looked at him—and frowned. "You look like a zombie, man. When was the last time you actually closed your eyes for more than twenty minutes?"

"Yesterday? Maybe?" Heeseung leaned back, his spine popping in three different places. "I tried to nap during Fluid Mechanics, but the professor has a voice like a foghorn. It’s impossible."

"You’re going to crash," Jake warned, pointing a pen at him. "And when you crash, you’re going to miss a ledge, and then I’m going to have to explain to your mom why you’re in a full-body cast. I’m not doing that. She scares me."

Heeseung opened his mouth to argue, but his phone buzzed on the metal table. The vibration was loud in the quiet lab, a sharp zzzt-zzzt that made him jump. His reflexes were so keyed up that his hand shot out and grabbed the device before the screen even fully lit up.

It was a notification from the group chat, named something completely ridiculous, because Sunoo was the one who insisted on naming it.

Heeseung’s heart did a weird, fluttering skip when he saw your name. He swiped the screen open, the brightness of the display making him wince.

It was a photo. A grainy, flash-brightened picture of a massive, glistening plate of chili cheese fries. In the background, he could see the tacky neon signs of the 24-hour diner near the edge of campus.

Your face was partially in the frame, tucked next to Sunoo’s, both of you grinning like idiots. He thought he saw Yunjin somewhere in the back, too, but his eyes were fixed on you.

You looked vibrant—your hair a little messy, your cheeks flushed from the cold night air, and your eyes sparkling with that bright shine that always seemed to draw people toward you.

Heeseung stared at the photo. He stared at the way you were laughing, the way your hand was reaching for a fry, and he felt a sharp, familiar ache in his chest. It wasn't his Spider-sense warning; it was just plain, old-fashioned pining.

He wanted to be there. He wanted to be sitting in that cramped booth, arguing with Sunoo about music or listening to Ni-ki complain about basketball practice. Most of all, he wanted to be near you. He wanted to hear your voice without a police scanner crackling in the background.

His thumb hovered over the keyboard. He started to type: Save some for me?

Then he paused. He looked down at his hands—his knuckles were bruised from a fight with a car thief two nights ago, and his fingernails had traces of black grease under them. He looked at the red and blue suit stuffed into the bottom of his backpack, hidden under a pile of dirty laundry and a copy of Thermodynamics for Dummies.

He couldn't go. He was a junior engineering student with a secret identity and a lab report due. He was the guy who was always too busy, too tired, or just plain gone.

"She looks cute in that photo, doesn't she?"

Heeseung flinched, nearly dropping his phone. Jake was leaning over his shoulder, a knowing grin on his face.

"Shut up," Heeseung muttered, quickly locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket.

"I didn't say who 'she' was, but you clearly knew," Jake teased, sliding back into his seat. "Just text her, Hee. Tell her you’re coming. Take a thirty-minute break. The web-fluid isn't going anywhere."

"I can't," Heeseung said, his voice flat. "I have too much to do. And besides… she's… she's her. Look at that photo. She’s friends with everyone. She’s pretty, she’s nice, she’s literally the campus sweetheart. And I’m just the guy who falls asleep in the back of the room and smells like chemicals."

"You smell like nice laundry detergent and existential dread, actually," Jake corrected. "And she likes you, man. She always asks where you are when you don't show up to the hangouts. Sunoo says she mentioned you three times yesterday."

Heeseung’s heart gave another annoying thud. "She was probably just wondering if I died. It’s a valid concern."

"She thinks you’re mysterious. Use it to your advantage."

"I'm not mysterious, Jake. I'm a mess." Heeseung looked back at the beaker of soup. "I’m a guy who spends his nights hanging off the side of a skyscraper because I have an overactive sense of responsibility. I can't take her to a diner. It took me three weeks to tell her my last name because I was so worried that some guy in a mask was going to follow her home."

Jake’s expression softened. He reached over and clapped Heeseung on the shoulder. "You’re doing a good thing, Hee. But you’re allowed to be a person, too. You’re allowed to want the fries."

Heeseung looked at his phone again. He imagined walking into the diner. He imagined the way you’d look up, your face lighting up when you saw him. You’d probably slide over to make room for him in the booth, your shoulder brushing against his, smelling like that sweet, flowery perfume you always wore.

He was just about to reach for his phone again when the silence of the lab was shattered.

A small, black box on the workbench—the police scanner Heeseung had modified to pick up local precinct frequencies—erupted into a burst of static.

"All units, we have a code 3. High-speed pursuit in progress. Suspects in a black SUV heading north on Mapo Bridge. Shots fired. Repeat, shots fired."

The atmosphere in the room changed instantly. The warmth of the diner photo, the longing, the simple desire for a plate of fries—it all vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp clarity. Heeseung’s posture straightened. His eyes went from tired to laser-focused in a matter of seconds.

Jake cursed under his breath, turning back to his laptop to pull up the city’s traffic cam feed. "That’s heading right toward the residential district. If they don't stop them at the bridge, things are going to get messy."

Heeseung didn't say a word. He stood up, grabbing his backpack from the floor. He didn't look like a shy engineering student anymore. He looked like someone who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders and didn't have time to complain about it.

"Viscosity is still low," Heeseung said, his voice tight. "But it’ll have to do." He reached into his bag and pulled out the mask. The fabric was soft, but it felt heavy in his hands—a reminder of everything he had to give up every time he put it on.

He moved to the shadows at the back of the lab, where the security cameras had a blind spot he’d mapped out months ago. He stripped off his oversized hoodie and jeans, the cool air hitting his skin. He pulled on the suit, the tight fabric clinging to his frame like a second skin. It was damp in a few spots from his earlier patrol—he really needed to wash it—but he didn't have time to care.

He thought about you. He thought about the diner. He thought about the fries.

Then he pulled the mask over his head.

The world turned red and digital. The heads-up display flickered to life, highlighting the fastest route to Mapo Bridge. The HUD also showed a lingering notification in the corner of his vision—a small icon representing the group chat message he hadn't replied to.

Heeseung swiped the notification away with a flick of his wrist.

"Save me some caffeine for when I get back," Heeseung said, his voice now filtered through the suit’s vocoder, sounding deeper and more confident than he felt.

"I’ll have the lab results ready by the time you're done," Jake replied, already typing again. "Try not to get shot. It’s bad for the suit’s aesthetic. Also, blood is really fucking hard to get out of spandex."

Heeseung didn't respond. He moved to the window at the back of the lab—the one he’d loosened the latch on weeks ago. He slid it open, the cold Seoul air rushing in, whipping against his masked face. He climbed onto the ledge, looking out over the city.

The lights of the skyline stretched out before him, a sea of neon and glass. Somewhere out there, you were laughing in a diner. Somewhere else, people were in danger.

Heeseung took a breath, checked his web-shooters, and dived into the night.

The fries would have to wait. The city wouldn't.

The fluorescent lights of the lecture hall felt like they were vibrating. It was 9:00 AM on a Friday, and Heeseung was pretty sure he was vibrating, too—partly from the four shots of espresso Jake had practically force-fed him ten minutes ago, and partly from the sheer, bone-deep exhaustion of having spent the last five hours chasing a stolen SUV through the narrow backstreets of Mapo.

He sat in the very last row, slumped so low in his seat that his chin was almost touching the scarred wood of the desk. He had his hoodie pulled up, the fabric shielding his face from the harsh glare of the overhead lights.

His eyes were bloodshot, the whites of them crisscrossed with tiny red veins that throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Every time he blinked, it felt like someone was dragging sandpaper across his corneas. Not pleasant.

He didn't look like a hero. He looked like a guy who had spent the night fighting a losing battle with his bedsheets.

His knuckles were still stinging, tucked safely into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He’d taken a nasty hit to the ribs during the chase—one of the suspects had a literal crowbar—and every breath he took felt like a dull knife scraping against his lungs.

Sure, he healed faster than most, but there was only so much that he could do. But the SUV was in a ditch, the suspects were in zip-ties, and the police had recovered three crates of stolen tech.

A win. Theoretically.

But as Heeseung stared down at the blank pages of his notebook, his brain felt like it was made of wet cotton. The professor, a man who seemed to take personal offense at the concept of joy, was droning on about structural integrity and load-bearing beams.

It was ironic, really. Heeseung spent a lot of his life now thinking about structural integrity—mostly while swinging off of it—but right now, he couldn't even remember how to spell the word 'load.'

He shifted slightly, trying to find a position that didn't make his side ache, and his gaze drifted downward, scanning the sea of heads in the lecture hall.

The room was packed. It was one of those massive, stadium-style halls where everyone looked like a tiny speck from the back. But Heeseung’s eyes found you instantly.

It was like his brain had a specialized tracking system just for you. No matter how many people were in a room, no matter how loud the noise or how dim the light, his focus always snapped to you. You were sitting three rows down, tucked into the middle of a row next to Sunoo.

Even from this distance, you looked like you belonged in a different world than him. You were leaning forward, your chin resting in the palm of your hand, looking perfectly awake and attentive. And pretty. So pretty. You wore a soft, cream-colored sweater that made you look warm and approachable, the kind of person people instinctively wanted to stand near.

Next to you, Sunoo was busy doodling in the margins of his notebook, his soft hair catching the light. He looked bored out of his mind, but every few seconds, he’d lean over and whisper something in your ear, making you let out a small, silent laugh that made Heeseung’s chest tighten.

Heeseung watched the way your shoulders shook slightly when you laughed. He watched the way you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. He felt a familiar, dull ache in his throat. This was his routine. He watched from the shadows, a silent observer in a life he wasn't quite sure he was allowed to join.

He was so busy staring—so busy memorizing the curve of your neck and the way you tilted your head—that he didn't realize Sunoo had looked up.

Sunoo’s eyes scanned the back of the room, squinting against the light, until they landed on Heeseung. A huge, mischievous grin broke across his face. He didn't care about the professor’s lecture on tension or the fifty other students between them. He raised a hand high in the air, waving enthusiastically at Heeseung.

Heeseung froze. He wanted to melt into the floor. He wanted to vanish into the vents and crawl back to the lab. He didn't want to be perceived—not like this, not when he looked like he’d been dragged behind a bus.

Sunoo nudged you, pointing toward the back row.

You turned around.

The air seemed to leave the room. Heeseung stopped breathing entirely. For a second, he forgot about his bruised ribs, his ruined sleep schedule, and the lingering smell of exhaust on his hoodie. He just saw you.

Your eyes locked onto his, and for a heartbeat, your expression was one of pure surprise. Then, your gaze softened. You took in the dark circles under his eyes, the messy state of his hair, and the way he was practically hiding in his oversized clothes.

Instead of turning back around, you gave him a small, sympathetic smile. It wasn't the courteous smile he saw you give everyone else. It was softer. Kinder. It was the kind of look that said, I see you, and you look like you're having a really hard time.

Heeseung felt a jolt go through his body. It was his Spider-sense this time, but it was wrong. It was malfunctioning. There was no danger in the room, no ceiling about to collapse, no hidden villain in the front row. But his skin was prickling, his heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird, and his stomach felt like it had dropped into his shoes.

He couldn't look away. He felt like he was caught in a spotlight. You crinkled your nose at him—a tiny, playful gesture—before turning back to the front of the room, leaving him breathless and reeling.

He was so dazed that when his phone started vibrating against his thigh, he almost jumped out of his skin. He fumbled for it, his hands clumsy and trembling, nearly knocking his notebook off the desk. He caught the phone just before it hit the floor, his heart racing.

He ducked his head, hiding behind the person in front of him, and checked the screen.

It was a text from Jake.

Heeseung blinked, his face flushing a deep, hot red. He risked a glance to his left. Jake was sitting five seats away, pretending to take notes, but he had a tiny, smug smirk on his face. He didn't even look up, just tapped his pen against his desk in a rhythmic, mocking beat.

Heeseung looked back at his phone, his thumbs hovering over the screen.

Heeseung’s hand flew to his forehead, rubbing frantically at his skin. He felt like a total idiot. He was a superhero. He fought criminals. He saved lives. And here he was, getting bullied by his best friend over a girl who had done nothing but smile at him.

He looked down at you again. You were back to taking notes, your head bowed. Sunoo was back to doodling.

Heeseung let out a long, shaky breath, leaning his head back against the wall. The exhaustion was starting to win again. The adrenaline of the smile was fading, leaving him feeling heavy and hollow.

He closed his eyes for just a second. Just one second.

The professor’s voice became a distant hum. The scratching of pens on paper sounded like rain. Heeseung drifted, his mind floating somewhere between the Mapo Bridge and the diner from the night before. He imagined you sitting next to him, handing him a fry, telling him it was okay to be tired.

Zzzt-zzzt.

He snapped awake, his head jerking forward. He had no idea how much time had passed—five minutes? Ten? The lecture was still going. The room hadn't changed.

He checked his phone again.

Heeseung stared at the message. You haven't seen him in forever. You wanted him there. You were asking for him.

He felt the familiar tug-of-war in his chest. One side of him—the tired, lonely side—wanted to say yes immediately. He wanted to sit on a floor in a crowded dorm room, surrounded by his friends, and just exist. He wanted to be near you without a mask on.

But the other side—the side that currently had a bruised rib and a police scanner in his bag—was already calculating the risks. Tonight was Friday. Friday nights were busy. Crime didn't take a night off just because some college juniors wanted to have a mixer. If he went, he’d be distracted. He’d be checking the time every five minutes.

He’d be a ghost at the party, just like he was a ghost on campus.

He looked at your message again. He could almost hear your voice saying it—that bubbly, sweet tone that made even a text message feel like a hug.

He started to type. I’ll try to be there.

Then he deleted it.

I have a lot of work to do. Maybe next time.

He deleted that, too.

It was a non-committal, cowardly answer. It was the best he could do.

He put the phone away and tried to focus on the lecture. Something about trusses. Something about equilibrium. He looked at the back of your head, the way your hair bounced slightly as you wrote.

He felt like he was walking a tightrope. On one side was the life he wanted—the life where he was just Heeseung, the guy who liked you. On the other side was the life he had—the life where he was a secret, a symbol, a protector.

He didn't know how much longer he could stay in the middle.

The lecture finally ended with a sharp, dismissive comment from the professor. The room erupted into the chaotic sound of zipper-closings and chair-shuffling. Heeseung stayed put, waiting for the crowd to thin out. He didn't want to get caught in the rush. He didn't want to have to talk to anyone.

But Sunoo had other plans.

From three rows down, Sunoo stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and started climbing over seats toward the back. You were right behind him, moving a bit more gracefully, navigating the narrow aisles with ease.

Heeseung’s heart started that annoying hammering again. He scrambled to pack his things, stuffing his notebook into his bag with trembling hands. He accidentally knocked his pen onto the floor and had to dive under the desk to retrieve it.

When he sat back up, Sunoo was standing right in front of him, leaning against the desk with a grin that was far too bright for this early in the morning.

"Heeseungie! You survived!" Sunoo chirped, poking Heeseung’s shoulder. "You look terrible. Like, really, truly awful. Did you get hit by a truck?"

"Rough night," Heeseung muttered, pulling his hoodie tighter around himself. He kept his head down, focusing on the zipper of his bag. "Just a lot of studying."

"Studying? You're always studying," Sunoo scoffed. "You’re an engineer, not a monk. You need to live a little."

"I live plenty," Heeseung said, finally looking up—and immediately regretting it.

You were standing right behind Sunoo. Up close, the kindness in your eyes was even more overwhelming. You were looking at him with genuine concern, your head tilted slightly to the side.

"Are you okay, Heeseung?" you asked, your voice soft and steady. "Sunoo’s right, you look exhausted. You’re not getting sick, are you?"

"No," Heeseung said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat, trying to sound like a normal human being. "No, I'm fine. Just... didn't sleep much. Projects and stuff."

"Well, you should come tonight," you said, stepping a little closer. Heeseung could smell your perfume now—something light and sweet, like cherries. It was a dizzying contrast to the smell of burnt rubber that was still clinging to his skin. "Yunjin and Megan missed you at the diner last night. We all did."

We all did. Heeseung felt like he was melting. "I... I'll try. I have a lab report due, but maybe I can finish it early."

"Don't let Jake help you," Sunoo joked, glancing over at Jake, who was finally standing up from his seat. "He’ll just talk about physics until your ears bleed."

"Hey, I heard that!" Jake called out, walking over to join the group. He looked perfectly fine, of course. He hadn't been the one chasing SUVs. He’d just been the guy in the chair. "And for the record, physics is fascinating."

"It's nerd talk," Sunoo countered.

While they were bickering, you stayed focused on Heeseung. You reached out, your fingers lightly touching his forearm for just a second. The contact felt like a lightning strike. Heeseung almost flinched, his muscles tensing under your touch.

"Seriously, Heeseung," you whispered, so the others wouldn't hear. "Take some rest. You look like you're carrying the whole world on your shoulders."

Well, you hadn't been too far off.

Heeseung looked into your eyes, and for a terrifying moment, he thought you knew. He thought you could see right through the hoodie, right through the lie, and see the red and blue suit hidden in his bag.

But you just smiled—that sweet, soft smile that made everyone love you—and gave his arm a tiny squeeze before letting go.

"See you tonight?" you asked.

"Yeah," Heeseung said, the word leaving his lips before he could stop it. "Yeah. See you tonight."

You beamed at him, then turned to Sunoo. "Come on, Sunoo, we’re going to be late for our elective."

"Damn, already? Bye, Heeseung! Bye, Jake the Nerd!" Sunoo waved over his shoulder as the two of you headed toward the exit.

Heeseung stood there, frozen, watching you walk away. He watched the way you navigated the crowded hall, waving to a few other people, clearly the person everyone wanted to talk to.

"You're so whipped," Jake said, leaning against the desk next to him.

"I'm not whipped," Heeseung muttered, though his face was still burning.

"You literally just promised to go to a party after spending all night getting beaten up by car thieves. You can barely stand, Hee. How are you going to survive a party?"

Heeseung slung his bag over his shoulder, the weight of the suit shifting against his back. He felt the ache in his ribs, the sting in his knuckles, and the fog in his brain.

"I'm... not," he said.

"What do you mean?" Jake asked him, tilting his head.

Heeseung looked toward the door where you had disappeared.

"I panicked," he admitted. "I can't go. I have patrol. Plus, I think I'm falling behind in some of my classes."

He walked out of the hall, his heart still doing that strange, fluttering dance. He was exhausted, he was hurting, and he was a mess. He hated that he lied to you, that he got your hopes up. If he could even call it that. Heeseung wasn't sure you actually cared about him. You were polite like that... it didn't mean anything.

He just hoped the city would stay quiet for one night. He just wanted that for a few hours, where he could be Heeseung, and not the guy in the mask.

But as he walked down the stairs, he felt a familiar prickle at the base of his neck. It was faint—barely there—but it was a reminder.

The city never stayed quiet for long. And he was the only one who could hear the noise.

The night air was sharp, biting through the thin spandex of the suit as Heeseung perched on the cold steel of a suspension cable. Below him, the Han River looked like a sheet of black glass, reflecting the neon hum of the city. Usually, the height was where he felt most at home—away from the crowded hallways and the crushing weight of his engineering textbooks—but tonight, his mind was miles away.

Specifically, it was stuck in a dorm room on the other side of campus.

He checked his suit’s internal clock. 11:45 PM. By now, Soobin’s mixer was in full swing. He could almost hear the muffled bass of the music through the walls, smell the cheap snacks, and see you laughing in the middle of a circle of people.

He imagined you looking at the door every time it opened, wondering if he was finally going to show up. Or maybe you weren't. Maybe you had already forgotten the stuttered "yeah" he’d given you in the lecture hall.

He let out a long, foggy breath that clouded his eye lenses for a second.

"You’re brooding again, Hee. I can hear the dramatic pouting through the comms."

Jake’s voice crackled in his ear, sounding far too crisp and awake. Heeseung could hear the faint click-clack of a keyboard in the background. Jake was likely sitting in their shared dorm, surrounded by three different monitors and at least two empty ramen cups.

"I’m not brooding. I’m patrolling," Heeseung muttered, shifting his weight. His ribs still throbbed—a dull, rhythmic reminder of the crowbar from the night before—but the adrenaline of being in the suit usually acted as a decent enough numbing agent.

"Patrolling is just brooding with more gymnastics," Jake countered. "Why are you even out there? I told you the police scanners have been dead for an hour. Go to the party. Go see the girl. Live a little before you turn into a literal gargoyle."

"I told her I had a lab report," Heeseung lied, even though Jake knew better.

"No, you told me you had a lab report. You told her you’d see. Which, in girl-code, means you’re coming. If you don't show up, you’re just the guy who flaked."

Heeseung winced. "I can't just... walk in there, Jake. Look at me. I’m exhausted. I’ve got a bruise the size of a dinner plate on my side. I wouldn't even know what to say to her. Spider-Man can talk to anyone, but Heeseung? Heeseung can barely order a coffee without tripping over his own feet."

"That’s the secret, man. You’re the same guy. The mask just gives you an excuse to stop overthinking. Just pretend you’re wearing the suit under your clothes. Big, hero energy. You got this."

"You were invited, too. Why don't you go? You don't have to be here, y'know. Go live your life."

Jake paused for a moment before responding, "Solidarity, dude." Heeseung cracked a smile at that. There were times he felt that his best friend was too kind to him, and this was one of them.

"I'm hanging up now," Heeseung said.

"Fine. But don't come crying to me when Sunoo texts me saying you missed the best party of the semester. Be safe, Spidey."

The comms went dead with a soft beep. Heeseung sighed, standing up on the cable. He looked toward the campus buildings in the distance. He really should just go home. He should sleep. He should be the responsible student his parents thought he was.

But his feet didn't move toward the dorms. He shot a line of webbing toward the underside of the campus bridge, swinging out into the open air. The wind rushed past him, tugging at the suit, and for a few seconds, the heavy thoughts in his head felt a little lighter.

He was just finishing a sweep of the perimeter near the south entrance when his Spider-sense gave a tiny, almost imperceptible prickle. It wasn't the "get out of the way of a speeding bullet" kind of warning. It was more of a "pay attention" nudge.

He stuck to the side of a brick pillar under the bridge, his gloved fingers clinging to the rough surface. He looked down.

There was someone walking on the pedestrian path above.

Even from the shadows, he knew it was you. You were walking alone, your dress a bright spot against the dark pavement. You looked a little tired, your shoulders slumped, but you were still smiling as you looked down at your phone. You were probably texting the group chat, telling them you’d made it out of the party and were headed back to your dorm.

Heeseung felt that familiar, painful tug in his chest. You were so close. If he just climbed up, if he just took off the mask...

But he stayed still, hidden in the dark. He watched you walk, a silent guardian who couldn't even say hello.

You were halfway across the bridge when you stumbled. It was a small thing—your foot caught on an uneven piece of concrete—but it was enough to make you lurch forward. Your phone, which you’d been holding loosely in your hand, slipped from your fingers.

He watched it happen in slow motion. The phone hit the ground, bounced once, and started sliding toward the gap between the bridge floor and the railing.

"Well, fuck," Heeseung murmured.

You gasped, lunging for it, but your fingers missed the glass by an inch. The phone slid through the gap, vanishing over the edge.

Heeseung didn't even think. He didn't have time to.

He let go of the pillar, dropping into a freefall. He shot a web at the underside of the bridge to swing himself upward, his body arching through the air. He saw the phone—a small, silver rectangle tumbling through the darkness toward the rocky bank of the river.

He tucked his knees to his chest, spinning once to gain momentum, and reached out. His fingers closed around the cool metal of the phone just a few feet above the ground.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, he shot another web toward the bridge’s support beam, using the tension to slow his descent. He landed silently on the pavement directly in front of you, his boots hitting the concrete with a soft thud.

He stood up slowly, the phone held safely in his hand.

You were frozen, your eyes wide, your hands still hovering in the air where you’d tried to catch the device. You looked like a deer caught in headlights—breathless, shocked, and incredibly pretty. The moonlight hit your face just right, and for a second, Heeseung forgot he was supposed to be a mysterious hero. He just wanted to stare at you.

But then he remembered. He was wearing the mask. He wasn't the guy who stuttered in the back of the lecture hall. He was Spider-Man.

He stepped forward, the white lenses of his mask narrowing as he looked at you. He felt a strange, intoxicating rush of confidence. It was like Jake said—the mask was an excuse.

"Looking for this?" he asked.

His voice was different when he was in the suit. It was steady, tilted with a bit of a playful edge that he could never manage as Heeseung. He held the phone out to you, the screen still glowing with a half-finished text message to Sunoo.

You blinked, finally coming back to your senses. Your face went from pale shock to a deep burning within seconds.

"Oh my god," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper. "You... you caught it. How did you... I didn't even see you."

"I have a habit of being in the right place at the right time," he said, stepping even closer. He was well within your personal space now, close enough to smell the faint scent of cherries on your skin. It made his head spin. "You should be more careful, sweetheart. Gravity is a clingy boyfriend. It’ll take everything you give it."

You let out a small, breathless laugh, reaching out to take the phone. Your fingers brushed against his gloved hand—a tiny, electric spark that made Heeseung want to jump out of his skin. But he didn't move. He held his ground, watching you tuck the phone into your pocket.

"Thank you," you said, looking up at him. You were still blushing, your eyes searching the blank white lenses of his mask. "I would have been so dead. All my photos, my notes... everything was on there."

"Can't have that," Heeseung said. He leaned one hand against the railing of the bridge, posing slightly. It was a total Spider-Man move—arrogant, smooth, and completely unlike him. "A girl like you shouldn't be walking home alone this late anyway. It’s dangerous."

"A girl like me?" you teased, finding your voice again. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, a gesture he’d seen you do a thousand times in class. "And what kind of girl is that?"

The kind I’ve been staring at for six months, he thought. The kind who smells like cherries and makes me forget my own name.

"The kind who’s too distracted by her phone to see a superhero swinging by," he said instead. "The kind who probably had a long night at a party she didn't want to leave."

You looked surprised. "How did you know I was at a party?"

"Lucky guess. You look like you’ve been dancing. Or at least trying to avoid being danced on."

You laughed again, a bright, genuine sound that filled the quiet night. "You're not wrong. It was a bit much. My friend Soobin throws loud mixers."

Heeseung felt a pang of jealousy. He was talking to you. He was actually having a conversation with you, and he wasn't fumbling his words. You were looking at him with admiration, with interest. You liked this version of him.

"Well," he said, pushing off the railing. He knew he couldn't stay too long. The more he talked, the more likely he was to slip up. "Since I’m already here, I might as well make sure you get to your door in one piece. Wouldn't want gravity to try anything else tonight."

"Are you offering to walk me home?" you asked, a mix of curiosity and something else in your eyes. "Is that part of the superhero service?"

"Special occasion," he said.

He didn't walk with you, exactly. He hopped up onto the railing, crouching there like a bird, moving along the edge as you walked on the pavement. It was a show-off move, and he knew it, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted you to keep looking at him.

"So," you said, looking up at him as you walked. "Do you do this often? Save phones from certain death?"

"Only for pretty girls," he said. The words came out so easily it almost scared him. "The guys usually have to buy their own replacements."

You flushed again, ducking your head. "You're a flirt, Mr. Spider-Man. I didn't expect that."

"I've been told I have a certain charm," he said. "Though usually, I’m just told to be quiet and stop webbing up the police cars."

The walk to your dorm felt far too short. Usually, the trek across campus felt like a marathon when Heeseung was carrying his heavy engineering bag, but tonight, he wanted the bridge to stretch on forever. He listened to you talk—really talk. You told him about how you were tired of school, how you missed your family, and how you had this one friend who was always disappearing.

"Heeseung," you said, the name hitting him like a physical blow. "He’s an engineering major. Super smart, but he’s like a ghost. He said he’d come tonight, but he flaked. Again."

Heeseung felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He looked away, staring out at the dark trees lining the path. "Maybe he’s just busy. Engineering is hard."

"I know it is," you said softly. "I just... I worry about him. He looks so tired all the time. Like he’s carrying a lot of weight."

Heeseung turned back to you. You were looking at him, but he knew you were thinking about him—the other him. The messy, tired version.

"He’s lucky to have someone like you worrying about him," he said, his voice dropping a bit.

You smiled, a sad, sweet little thing. "I hope so. Anyway, this is me."

You stopped in front of your dorm building. The lobby lights were bright, casting a long shadow behind you. You turned to face him, your hands tucked into your sweater sleeves.

"Thank you again. For the phone. And the walk."

"Anytime," Heeseung said. He stayed on the railing, looking down at you. He wanted to reach out. He wanted to tell you that he was right there. He wanted to tell you he was sorry for flaking.

But he just gave you a two-finger salute. "Sleep well, sweetheart. And stay away from the edges."

He shot a web at the top of the building and swung away before you could say anything else. He didn't look back until he was three roofs away.

He landed on a ledge, ripping the mask off his face. His skin was cold, but his cheeks were burning. He leaned his head against the brick wall, his heart racing.

He loved it. He loved the way you looked at him. He loved the way you laughed at his jokes. He loved being the guy who could make you blush.

And he hated it.

He hated that he had to hide behind a mask to get you to notice him. He hated that he was jealous of his own shadow. He hated that the version of him you liked wasn't the version that had to sit next to you in class and pretend he didn't care.

"How was the walk?" Jake’s voice came through the comms. He’d clearly been listening.

"Shut up," Heeseung said, his voice cracking.

"You called her sweetheart, Hee. That was bold. A little cheesy, but bold."

"I'm going home, Jake."

"Yeah, yeah. See you at the dorm, lover boy."

Heeseung stuffed the mask into his bag and started the long walk back. He felt like a fraud. He felt like a hero. But mostly, he just felt like a guy who was falling deeper and deeper into a hole he didn't know how to climb out of.

He looked up at your window as he passed your building. The light was on.

He wondered if you were thinking about the hero. He wondered if you were still mad at the guy.

He didn't have the answer. He just had a bruised rib and a secret that was getting heavier with every swing. He walked into the shadows of his own dorm, the ghost returning to his grave, while the hero stayed tucked away in a backpack, waiting for the next time gravity tried to take something precious away.

The gym was a cavern of echoes, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of a basketball competing with the squeak of sneakers against the polished wood. Heeseung sat on the bleachers, shoulders hunched, feeling like he was vibrating out of his skin. He was only here because Jake had insisted he needed "human interaction" that didn't involve soldering irons or police scanners, but as usual, Heeseung felt more like a ghost than a person.

"You look like you’re waiting for a root canal," Yunjin said, nudging his shoulder.

Heeseung blinked, shaking himself out of his trance. Yunjin was sitting next to him, her eyes glued to the court where Soobin, her boyfriend, was currently setting up a three-pointer. She looked perfectly comfortable, her legs crossed, a relaxed smile on her face.

"I’m just tired," Heeseung muttered, pulling the strings of his hoodie until the fabric partially obscured his face. It was his default defense mechanism.

"You’re always tired, Hee. It’s your brand," she teased, but her attention quickly snapped back to the game as Soobin made the shot. She let out a loud whistle that echoed through the high-ceilinged room. "Nice one, babe!"

Heeseung looked down at the court. It was a heated game of pickup. Soobin was holding his own, and Jay—always the most charismatic and driven of the bunch—was leading the flow with a bold, effortless energy that Heeseung secretly envied. Then there was Riki.

Riki was a sophomore, like you. Even though he was a year younger than the rest of the group, he moved like a blur of sheer, terrifying talent. He played with a professional level of focus, his eyes sharp as he navigated the court.

Heeseung watched them move, his brain unconsciously tracking their trajectories, calculating the force needed for a jump. It was an engineering habit, but also a survival one. He knew exactly how fast Jay was going to pivot before he even did it.

"Nice hustle, Riki!" Jay called out, clapping his hands together. He wiped sweat from his forehead, looking like he could go for another three hours. Jay didn't do anything halfway; if he was playing a casual game, he was playing it like it was the finals. "Riki, you’re dropping your shoulder on the drive. Keep it square!"

Riki rolled his eyes, leaning over with his hands on his knees. "I'm not dropping my shoulder, Jay. I'm just dying of thirst. I forgot my water bottle in the dorm and my throat feels like a desert."

"Determination, Riki! Push through it!" Jay joked, though he was grinning.

Riki checked his phone, which was sitting on the sidelines. A small, knowing grin touched his face. "It's fine. I texted for reinforcements."

Heeseung didn't think much of it until the heavy double doors of the gym groaned open. The sound of the basketballs hitting the floor seemed to sync up with the thumping of Heeseung’s heart the moment you walked in.

You weren't dressed up like you were for the mixer. You were wearing jeans and a hoodie, your hair pulled back in a half-up, half-down. You looked casual, comfortable, and devastatingly pretty in the harsh, yellow gym lights. In your hand, you held a large, bright red bottle of Gatorade.

"Reinforcements are here!" you called out, your voice carrying across the court.

Riki’s face lit up. He jogged over to the sideline as you approached. To anyone else, it might have looked like a romantic gesture, but everyone knew the truth. You and Riki had been friends since you were toddlers. Your parents were practically family, and the two of you had grown up like siblings—or even twins, given you were the two sophomores in a group of juniors.

You were each other's safe haven. He was the one person who could text you at 9:00 PM to complain about a water bottle and actually get a response.

"You're a lifesaver," Riki said, snatching the bottle and taking a massive gulp.

"You're a dork," you replied, reaching out to ruffle his sweaty hair, which he dodged with a laugh. "I was right in the middle of a movie, you know. I expect interest on this delivery."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll pay you back in snacks later," he said, already turning back to the guys.

The game didn't start back up immediately. The guys drifted over to the sideline to grab their own drinks, congregating near where you stood. Heeseung stayed on the bleachers, feeling his skin start to prickle. He wanted to say something, to wave, to let you know he was there—but he also felt that familiar, heavy shyness pinning him to the metal bench.

"Hey, look who showed up," Sunoo said, appearing from the other side of the gym where he’d been chatting with some other students. "The hero of the hour."

You laughed, leaning against the padded wall near the court. "I'm just the delivery girl. How's the game going? Is Jay winning by sheer force of personality yet?"

"Always," Soobin said, walking over to press a quick kiss to Yunjin’s cheek as she hopped down from the bleachers to join the group.

Heeseung felt like he was watching a movie he wasn't cast in. He stayed seated, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He watched you interact with them—the way you joked with Soobin, the way you easily matched Jay’s boldness. You were the glue. You always were.

"So," you said, your eyes shining with a sudden, excited energy. "Speaking of heroes, I have to tell you guys something crazy. You’re not going to believe what happened last night after I left Soobin’s."

Heeseung, who had been trying to look at his shoes, felt his entire body go rigid. He knew exactly what you were about to say. He reached for his own water bottle, which was sitting next to him on the aluminum seat, and took a long, desperate swig to keep his mouth from going dry.

"What happened? Did you run into a cat again?" Riki teased, leaning on his knees.

"No!" you said, swatting at his arm. "I dropped my phone. Like, right off the side of the bridge near the dorms. I thought it was gone. I was ready to cry."

"And?" Jay asked, crossing his arms, looking genuinely curious.

"And Spider-Man caught it," you said, your voice going a little higher in pitch. "I’m serious! He literally dropped out of the sky, caught it mid-air, and landed right in front of me."

Heeseung’s throat suddenly decided to stop functioning. He tried to swallow the water he’d just taken in, but it went down the wrong pipe. He erupted into a violent, hacking cough, his face turning a shade of red that rivaled the Gatorade you’d brought.

"Whoa, Hee, you okay?" Jake asked, looking up at him with a suspicious, knowing glint in his eyes.

Heeseung wanted to sock him in the jaw, but he couldn't answer. He just kept coughing, clutching his chest, while Yunjin patted his back with a little too much force. "Geez, breathe, Heeseung. The water isn't going anywhere."

Once the coughing fit subsided into a pathetic wheeze, Heeseung wiped his eyes and tried to look normal. It was impossible.

"You were saying?" Jay prompted you, completely ignoring Heeseung’s near-death experience. (Heeseung was grateful for this.)

"He was so... I don't know, charming?" you continued, your cheeks flushing. "He didn't just give it back and leave. He actually talked to me. He was so witty and cool. He even walked me to my dorm building. Well, he swung along the railings while I walked, but still. He was so smooth."

Heeseung felt a strange, conflicting surge of emotions. Half of him—the Spider-Man half—was incredibly proud. He’d done that. He was the charming guy you were gushing about. The other half—the Heeseung half—felt like he was being stabbed in the heart with a dull pencil. You were blushing over a version of him that didn't even have a face.

"Smooth, huh?" Jay said with a chuckle, bouncing the basketball once. He wasn't being mean, just his usual audacious, skeptical self. "The guy wears spandex and crawls on walls. He’s probably some theater major in a unitard who likes the attention. It's a bit theatrical, don't you think? The whole 'mysterious hero' act?"

Heeseung’s eye twitched. A theater major? He spent ten hours a week doing differential equations and another twenty recalibrating web-fluid viscosity in a basement that smelled like ozone.

"It's not an act, Jay," you defended, your voice firm. "He saved my phone. He didn't have to do that. And he was really nice. It felt... I don't know, real."

"It's a mask," Riki added, taking another sip of Gatorade. "Anyone can be 'smooth' when nobody knows what they actually look like. He's probably a forty-year-old dude with a receding hairline."

"He is not!" you exclaimed, laughing. "He sounded young. And he was... I don't know, athletic? Obviously."

Heeseung wanted to scream. He wanted to stand up, rip off his hoodie, and show them the bruise on his ribs. He wanted to tell Jay that a "unitard" didn't have reinforced carbon-fiber padding. But he just sat there, looking every bit as depressed as he felt. As one would feel after hacking their lungs out in front of their long-time crush.

"I think he's cool," Sunoo chimed in, always the one to support a good story. "He makes the city feel more like a movie. I’d love to meet him."

"You just want a selfie for your Instagram, Sunoo," Soobin pointed out.

"And? It would get, like, a million likes."

You turned away from the guys then, your gaze drifting up toward the bleachers. You saw Heeseung sitting there, looking small and rumpled. Your expression softened, and you walked over to the base of the bleachers.

"Heeseung," you said, your voice much gentler than it had been when you were arguing with Jay. "You’ve lived here longer than some of us. Have you ever seen him up close? Spider-Man, I mean?"

The group fell quiet, all eyes turning toward Heeseung. Jake had his arms crossed, watching Heeseung with a look of pure, unadulterated amusement. He was enjoying this way too much.

Heeseung felt the weight of everyone’s gaze. He felt your eyes—so bright and curious—waiting for his answer. He felt like he was suffocating.

"I... uh," he started, his voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat and tried again. "No. Not really. I mean, I've seen him on the news. In the distance, maybe."

"You don't think he's cool?" you asked, noticing his lack of enthusiasm. The disappointment in your voice makes him want to throw himself off the Lotte World Tower. Without his web-shooters.

Heeseung felt a petty, irrational urge to defend his civilian self. If you liked the hero so much, maybe you should know that the hero wasn't all that special.

"I don't know," Heeseung said, shrugging with a forced nonchalance. "I think he's probably... mid. Like, he’s just a guy doing his job, right? It’s kind of a lot of work for not much reward. And the suit is probably really itchy."

The silence that followed was heavy.

You looked at Heeseung like he’d just grown a second head. Your eyebrows shot up, and your mouth hung open just a tiny bit. "Mid? Heeseung, he saves people! He caught my phone from like a fifty-foot drop!"

"Yeah, but... he could’ve just used a net or something," Heeseung said, digging his own grave. "The swinging looks dangerous. It’s statistically inefficient."

Oh, God. A net? Really?

"Statistically inefficient?" you repeated, shaking your head. "You are such an engineer, Heeseung. Honestly, sometimes I think you don't have a romantic bone in your body."

You turned back to the guys, clearly done with Heeseung’s "mid" take. "Ignore him. He’s just being a hater because he’d rather be looking at a blueprint than a hero."

"Hey, I'm not a hater," Heeseung protested, but it was too late. The guys were already moving back toward the court.

"Back to the game!" Soobin yelled.

You stayed on the sideline for a few more minutes, chatting with Yunjin. Heeseung watched you from the bleachers, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed by a giant, invisible hand. He’d done it. He’d successfully annoyed you. You were currently thinking he was a boring, uninspired buzzkill, all while you were harboring a crush on his alter-ego.

Jake caught his eye from across the court and mouthed the word: Mid?

Heeseung flipped him off under the cover of his hoodie.

As the game resumed, the gym filled with the sounds of squeaking sneakers and the heavy thud-thud-thud of the ball. Heeseung tried to focus on the game, but his mind was spinning.

He was his own worst enemy. He was competing with a version of himself that didn't exist in the daylight. He was jealous of a piece of fabric and a pair of white lenses.

When the game finally ended an hour later, the guys were exhausted. They collapsed on the sidelines, panting. You were still there, helping Riki pack up his bag, still talking about the bridge incident to anyone who would listen.

"I'm telling you, his voice was so familiar," you said to Yunjin as you both walked toward the exit. "But I can't place it. It was like... I've heard it a million times but in a different context."

Heeseung, who was walking a few paces behind you with Jake, felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

"Maybe you should ask him for his number next time," Yunjin joked.

"I should," you laughed. "I wonder if he has a phone. Or does he just use a tin can and a web?"

The two of you disappeared out the doors, your laughter fading into the night air.

Heeseung stopped in the middle of the parking lot, staring at his shoes. The cool night air felt good against his skin, but it didn't help the knot in his stomach.

"You really leaned into that hater angle, didn't you?" Jake said, bumping his shoulder.

"I didn't know what else to say," Heeseung admitted, his voice quiet. "I can't exactly agree with her, can I? 'Yeah, I'm super charming and my voice is amazing.' That would be even weirder."

"You could’ve just said he was okay. You didn't have to call yourself 'mid'. That's a blow to the ego, man."

"It's the truth," Heeseung sighed. "Heeseung is mid. Spider-Man is the one she wants."

"She’s talking to you in class, Hee. She’s bringing Gatorade to your friends. She’s worried about your sleep schedule. She doesn't even know Spider-Man’s real name."

"Exactly," Heeseung said. "She likes the mystery. If she knew it was just me... the guy who chokes on water and talks about statistics... she’d be disappointed."

Jake looked at him for a long moment, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "I think you're wrong. I think she'd be relieved. But you're too stubborn to see it."

"Whatever. I'm going to the lab," Heeseung said, turning away.

"It's 11:00 PM!"

"The web-fluid won't recalibrate itself, Jake."

Heeseung walked away, his shadow stretching long and dark behind him. He looked at the silhouette on the pavement—the tall, lean shape of a boy in a hoodie. It looked nothing like the hero on the news. It looked like a ghost.

As he reached the lab, he didn't turn on the lights. He sat in the dark, surrounded by the smell of acetone and chemicals. He pulled the mask out of his bag, the white lenses staring back at him in the moonlight.

"Charming," he whispered to the empty room. "Smooth."

He threw the mask onto the workbench and put his head in his hands. He was winning the war against crime, but he was losing the war for your heart—and the worst part was, he was losing it to himself.

He stayed there for hours, the only sound the distant hum of the city he was sworn to protect. He thought about your smile, the way you’d defended him against Jay, and the way you’d looked at him on the bleachers.

He wanted to be the hero. But more than that, he just wanted to be the guy you didn't think was mid.

And right now, that felt like the hardest mission he’d ever faced.

The university basketball arena was a different beast than the quiet, echoey gym where the guys played pickup games. Tonight was a legitimate campus event, and the energy was electric. The air was thick with the smell of overpriced popcorn, floor wax, and the collective roar of a thousand students who had nothing better to do on a Tuesday night than scream themselves hoarse.

Heeseung sat in the middle of a packed row of bleachers, and he was currently losing a very difficult battle with his own eyelids.

He had been out until 4:00 AM. A group of specialized thieves had tried to break into a high-end tech warehouse near the docks, and Heeseung had spent most of the night playing a high-stakes game of hide-and-seek among shipping containers. By the time he’d webbed the last guy to a crane and made it back to his dorm, the sun was already threatening to peek over the horizon.

He’d had exactly two hours of sleep before his first lecture, and the three cups of coffee he’d downed since then were currently doing absolutely nothing.

On his left sat you. You were wearing a university hoodie that looked slightly too big for you, and you were cheering with an intensity that made Heeseung’s head throb in a rhythmic, dull way. On his right were Yunjin and Megan, who were currently busy taking selfies and trying to spot Soobin and Jay on the court.

"Look at them! Jay is actually terrifying when he’s in the zone," Megan shouted over the noise, pointing toward the court.

Jay was indeed in the zone. He was moving with that signature bold, charismatic style, barking plays at the rest of the team. Riki, the star sophomore, was weaving through defenders like they were standing still, and Soobin was a literal wall under the basket. Jake was darting around the perimeter, his eyes sharp, looking for an opening.

It was a great game. A thrilling game.

And Heeseung was about five seconds away from passing out.

The roar of the crowd started to sound like a distant ocean. The bright, flickering lights of the scoreboard blurred into a singular, warm glow. Heeseung felt his chin drop toward his chest. He snapped his head back up, blinking rapidly, trying to focus on the orange blur of the basketball.

Stay awake. Stay awake. You’re in public. You’re with her. Don’t be weird, he told himself.

But his body was done. Every muscle ached from the dockyard fight, and the warmth of the crowded arena was like a heavy blanket. His head started to nod again. It was a slow, rhythmic movement. Down... up. Down... further down...

He didn't mean for it to happen. He didn't even realize it was happening. But as his consciousness finally slipped away, his head tipped to the left. It drifted through the air until it found a soft, steady place to land.

Your shoulder.

You froze. You had been in the middle of shouting something to Yunjin, but the words died in your throat the moment you felt the weight of Heeseung’s head press against you. You looked down, your eyes wide. You sat perfectly still, your back as straight as a board. Your face was very warm.

You didn't move an inch, terrified that any slight shift would wake him up. You could feel the weight of his head, the softness of his hair against your skin, and the warmth of his breath through your shirt. It was the most domestic, heart-stopping moment of your life, and you were currently being broadcasted to the entire friend group.

Heeseung was out cold. His breathing was deep and even, his face finally relaxed and free of the stressed engineer expression he usually wore. Without the glasses and the constant look of worry, he looked... peaceful. Vulnerable.

Yunjin noticed almost immediately. She nudged Megan, pointing at the two of you with a mischievous grin.

"Oh my god," Megan whispered, fumbling for her phone. "Look at the sleepy little guy. He finally crashed."

"Don't," you hissed, though you didn't move an inch. You were terrified that if you even breathed too deeply, he’d wake up and realize what he was doing, and the resulting awkwardness would probably cause him to flee the state.

"I have to," Megan said, her thumbs flying across her screen as she opened the group chat. "The guys need to see this. Heeseung actually chose a person over a nap in the library. This is historic."

Sunoo, who was sitting in the row directly in front of you, turned around with a devious glint in his eyes. He saw Heeseung slumped against you and let out a tiny, delighted giggle.

"Is he dead?" Sunoo asked, reaching out a finger.

"Sunoo, stop it," you whispered, trying to sound stern.

But Sunoo was Sunoo. He leaned over and very gently poked Heeseung’s cheek. Heeseung didn't even flinch. He just let out a tiny, soft sigh and tucked his face a little closer into the crook of your neck, seeking the warmth.

"He's definitely dead," Sunoo concluded. "Or he’s just really, really comfortable. Look at his face. He looks like a kitten."

Megan snapped a picture—the flash was off, thank goodness—and sent it to the group chat with the caption: rip heeseung. he’s never living this shit down!

You felt your face heating up. You could feel the warmth of his skin through your hoodie. It was a strange sensation—having him so close. Usually, there was a visible three-foot radius of complete secrecy around Heeseung, but right now, that wall was completely gone.

You felt a sudden, sharp surge of protectiveness. You knew how hard he worked. You saw the dark circles under his eyes in class, the way he was always the last one to leave the lab, and the way he seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his back. You didn't know why he was so tired—you just knew that he deserved this rest.

"Leave him alone," you said to Sunoo, who was reaching out for a second poke. "If any of you wake him up, I will personally make sure you don't get any of the snacks I brought."

Sunoo pouted but retracted his hand. "Fine. But if he drools on you, don't say I didn't warn you."

You looked down at him again. His eyelashes were long and dark against his skin. You noticed a small, faint scratch on his jawline that you hadn't seen before. You wondered how he got it. He was always getting these random little nicks and bruises—clumsiness, he called it.

You leaned your head back against the bleacher, trying to stay as still as possible. The game continued below you. Riki made a spectacular dunk that sent the crowd into a frenzy, but you didn't jump. You didn't even cheer. You just sat there, smiling like an idiot, leaning into his touch.

It was a strange feeling. You were still thinking about the bridge—about the hero who had saved your phone and walked you home. He had been so smooth, so confident. And yet, here was Heeseung, who was the complete opposite. Heeseung was quiet, awkward, and currently using you as a warm pillow.

And yet, you found yourself wanting to tell the whole world to be quiet. You wanted the announcers to stop talking, the cheerleaders to stop dancing, and the crowd to stop roaring, just so he could get another twenty minutes of rest.

You found yourself shifting just a tiny bit, making sure he was as comfortable as he could be. You didn't care about the game anymore. You didn't care about the group chat or the fact that Megan was probably recording a video of the two of you right now.

You just cared about the way his breathing hitched for a second before smoothing out again.

Then, the buzzer for halftime went off.

It wasn't just a buzzer. It was a sharp, loud, electronic blare that seemed to vibrate through the very marrow of your bones. It was designed to be heard over ten thousand screaming fans, and in the relatively enclosed space of the arena, it sounded like a bomb going off.

Heeseung didn't just wake up. He launched into consciousness.

His Spider-sense, which had been blissfully dormant while his brain tried to recover, suddenly screamed DANGER at the sudden, violent noise. To his sleeping brain, the buzzer sounded like a building collapsing or an explosion in the dockyards.

His body reacted before his conscious mind even realized where he was.

He jerked upright with such force that he nearly knocked you over. His eyes snapped open, wide and bloodshot, and his hands instinctively flew to his wrists, his fingers twitching in the specific motion used to fire a web-string.

"Who? What? Where?" he barked, his voice loud, jagged, and full of a combat-ready adrenaline that absolutely did not belong in a college basketball arena.

He scrambled backward, his sneakers squeaking against the metal bleachers as he tried to create distance from the "threat." He nearly tumbled over the row behind him, his heart hammering against his ribs so hard he was sure everyone could see his hoodie vibrating.

He looked around wildly. He didn't see a villain. He didn't see a falling crane.

He saw the court. He saw the cheerleaders starting their halftime routine. He saw a thousand students looking confused.

And he saw Sunoo, who was currently doubled over, clutching his stomach as he laughed so hard no sound was coming out.

"Oh my god," Megan wheezed, holding her phone up. "I got the whole thing. I got the jump-scare of the century."

Heeseung’s brain finally started to catch up with his body. The red mist of adrenaline began to clear, replaced by a cold, crushing wave of realization. He felt the phantom weight of your shoulder where his head had been just seconds ago.

He turned his head slowly, his neck feeling stiff and heavy.

There you were.

You were looking at him with a mix of genuine concern and a tiny, suppressed smile. Your shoulder felt suddenly very cold and empty, and you were still slightly tilted from the force of his sudden departure.

"Good morning, Sunshine," you said softly, your voice a calm anchor in the sea of his panic.

Heeseung stared at you. He felt like he was hovering about three inches off the ground. He looked down at his shirt, his hands trembling as he smoothed out the fabric.

"I... did I..." he stammered, his face rapidly turning a shade of red that was probably visible from the moon. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—was I leaning on you?"

"For about twenty minutes," you said, tucking a loose hair behind your ear. "You looked like you needed it. You were out like a light."

"Twenty minutes?" Heeseung whispered, horrified. He checked his chin, his hand frantically searching for any sign of drool. He had visions of a giant, embarrassing wet spot on your hoodie. He imagined the group chat. He imagined moving to a different country and changing his name to something like 'Evan'.

"You didn't drool, Heeseung. Relax," you said, noticing his panic.

"I... I'm so sorry," he repeated, his voice barely audible over the music playing on the loudspeakers. "I didn't sleep much. I was... studying. Late."

"Must have been some intense studying," you said. "You jumped like someone had just pulled a fire alarm."

"I have a startle response," he lied, his heart finally starting to slow down. "Engineering stress. It’s a real thing."

"Sure it is," Sunoo chimed in, finally catching his breath. "Riki is going to lose his mind. He didn't think you were capable of physical contact with anyone other than a calculator."

"Sunoo, don't you dare," Heeseung groaned, burying his face in his hands.

But it was too late. On the court below, the halftime break had started, and the guys were heading toward the bench. He saw Riki grab his phone from his bag, look at it, and then immediately whip his head around to stare up at the bleachers.

Riki caught Heeseung’s eye and gave him a massive, theatrical thumbs-up, grinning like a maniac. Jay, standing next to him, looked at the screen, looked up at Heeseung, and just shook his head with a smile. And then there was Jake, with his eyes wide, like he was doing a double take. Right before launching into a fit of laughter, grabbing Soobin’s shoulder as to not topple over.

Heeseung wanted to vanish. He wanted to turn into dust and be swept up by the janitorial staff.

"They're never going to let me live this down," he muttered into his palms.

"It's just a nap, Heeseung," you said, reaching out and gently patting his arm. The touch was brief, but it sent a jolt of electricity through him that was stronger than any buzzer. "It's not a big deal. Honestly, it was kind of nice to see you actually relax for once."

Heeseung looked at you through the gaps in his fingers. You didn't look annoyed. You didn't look creeped out. You looked... happy?

"You're not mad?" he asked.

"Why would I be mad? You're a good pillow," you joked.

Heeseung let his hands fall, his face still glowing pink. He looked down at the court, where Jake was now waving at him mockingly.

"I'm still going to kill Megan for taking that video," he said, though there was no heat in it.

"Good luck! I’ve already uploaded it to the cloud," Megan said, not looking up from her phone. "You’re a viral sensation in our circle now, Hee. Embrace it."

The rest of the game was a blur for Heeseung, but for a completely different reason. He wasn't sleepy anymore. He was hyper-aware of everything. He was aware of the inch of space between his arm and yours. He was aware of the way you smelled like cherries and laundry detergent. He was aware of the fact that for twenty minutes, he had been closer to you than he had ever been to anyone in his life—without a mask on.

As the final buzzer sounded—which Heeseung handled much better this time, only flinching slightly—the crowd began to pour out of the stands.

"We're going to meet the guys at the diner," Yunjin said, standing up. "You guys coming?"

"I think I should go back and actually sleep in a bed," Heeseung said, his voice a bit more stable now. "I don't think my heart can take another halftime buzzer."

"I'll walk with you," you said, surprising him. "I'm a bit tired too. All that cheering is exhausting."

Heeseung’s heart did a little flip. "You don't have to. You should go eat with the others."

"I want to," you said, and there was a finality in your tone that he didn't dare argue with.

The walk back to the dorms was quiet. The campus was cool, the air smelling of damp leaves and distant woodsmoke. For the first time, Heeseung didn't feel the need to fill the silence with technical facts or stammered apologies.

"Seriously though," you said as you reached the fork in the path where you had to head toward your building. "Get some sleep, Heeseung. You're working too hard."

"I'll try," he said. "Thanks for... you know. The shoulder."

"Anytime," you said, giving him a small wave. "See you in the lecture hall tomorrow? Try not to fall asleep on the professor’s shoulder."

"I'll do my best," he promised, face heating up.

He watched you walk away, the same way he had on the bridge. But this time, he wasn't crouching on a railing. He was standing on his own two feet.

He felt a strange sense of victory. Spider-Man had saved your phone, sure. Spider-Man had been charming. But Spider-Man had never felt the warmth of your shoulder or the way you had protected his sleep.

Maybe being Heeseung wasn't so "mid" after all.

He walked back to his dorm with a slight spring in his step, oblivious to the fact that his phone was currently vibrating in his pocket with a relentless stream of messages from the group chat.

He didn't care about the photos. He didn't care about the jokes.

He just cared about the fact that for twenty minutes, he didn't have to be a hero. He just had to be a guy who was tired, and you had been there to catch him.

He reached his door, unlocked it, and collapsed onto his bed without even taking off his shoes. As he drifted back off to sleep—this time a real, deep sleep—his last thought wasn't about web-fluid or crime rates.

It was about the way you had called him 'Sunshine'.

The night was quiet, but the air against Heeseung’s face was anything but calm. He was currently crouched on the side of a brick chimney three stories up, his gloved fingers finding purchase in the mortar. Below him, the university campus was a map of orange streetlights and long, dark shadows.

It had been nearly two weeks since the basketball game—two weeks since he had practically catapulted off your shoulder in a state of sheer panic—and the memory still made his stomach do a weird, uncomfortable flip every time he saw you in the lecture hall.

He hadn't been sleeping much (which wasn't new). Between the mountain of engineering projects and the fact that a group of carjackers had decided to make the north side of the city their personal playground, Heeseung was running on fumes and caffeine. But tonight, his... patrol had taken a very specific, very intentional detour.

He shot a line of webbing toward the roof of your dorm building, swinging through the crisp night air with a practiced ease. He landed silently on a ledge just above the fourth floor. He knew which window was yours. He’d "accidentally" seen it from the ground enough times to memorize the position.

He crawled down the brickwork, moving like a shadow, until he was perched just to the side of the glass. He stayed in the darkness, the white lenses of his mask narrowing as he looked inside.

This was not creepy, by the way. He was not being creepy. He was just a guy checking on his... friend. Or something like that.

The room was bright and warm, a stark contrast to the biting cold of the rooftop. You were sitting at your desk, surrounded by a fortress of textbooks and highlighters. Your hair was up in a messy bun that looked like it was held together by sheer willpower and a single pencil. You were wearing fuzzy, light blue pajamas—the kind with little clouds on them—and thick wool socks.

Heeseung felt that familiar tug in his chest. You looked so normal. So safe.

But you weren't alone.

The door to your room was open, and he could see Yunjin and Megan in the common area, their shadows dancing against the wall. Suddenly, the two of them burst into your room, music blaring from a phone. They were laughing, doing some synchronized TikTok dance that involved a lot of arm-waving and rhythmic jumping.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as they circled your desk, trying to get you to join in. Even from behind the glass, Heeseung could tell you were fighting a smile. You swatted at them with a highlighter, pointing toward your open textbook, but they just laughed harder.

Heeseung watched for a long time. He felt like a voyeur, but he couldn't bring himself to leave. This was the part of your life he never got to see—the messy, loud, roommate-filled reality of being a student. In the lecture hall, everything was academic and structured. At the mixers, it was crowded and overwhelming.

But here, in the glow of your desk lamp, you were just... you.

Finally, after one last dramatic pose that nearly knocked over your lamp, Yunjin and Megan retreated. He heard the muffled sound of your door closing as they headed out to the kitchen or down the hall.

The room went quiet. You let out a long sigh, rubbing your eyes before leaning back into your chair.

Heeseung waited a beat. Then, he reached out and gave the glass three soft, rhythmic taps.

Tink. Tink. Tink.

You jumped, nearly falling out of your swivel chair. You spun around, eyes wide, staring at the dark window. For a second, you looked terrified, but then you saw the faint outline of the mask and the flash of red and blue.

Your face transformed instantly. The exhaustion seemed to vanish, replaced by a bright, genuine light that Heeseung could feel even through the glass. You scrambled toward the window, fumbling with the latch before sliding the frame up.

"You!" you breathed, the cool night air rushing into the room. "What on earth are you doing here? I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"And leave my favorite phone-dropper behind?" Heeseung asked, his voice tilting into that smooth, playful edge he only had when the mask was on. "Not a chance."

He hopped onto the windowsill, crouching there with his knees tucked to his chest. He looked around the room, making sure the coast was clear. "Are your roommates gone? They seemed pretty busy with... whatever that was."

You flushed, leaning against the window frame. "You saw that? God, they’re obsessed with that dance. I’m trying to pass my classes, and they’re trying to go viral."

"It wasn't bad," he teased, his head tilting to the side. "Though I think you could’ve handled the footwork better."

"I wasn't even doing it!" you laughed, throwing a stray eraser at him. He caught it out of the air without even looking, tossing it back onto your desk. "What are you doing here anyway? Isn't there, like, a bank being robbed somewhere?"

"It’s a slow day," he shrugged. It wasn't every day that the city was this quiet, and maybe he should've been at home, using this time to rest up—but it seemed like he could never say no to the idea of you. "Besides, I figured I’d check in. See if you’ve managed to keep your phone in your pocket for more than forty-eight hours."

"I have, thank you very much," you said, crossing your arms.

His lenses scanned you up and down, settling on the fluffy blue fabric of your outfit. "Nice pajamas, by the way. Are those... clouds? Is there a matching hat, or is that reserved for special occasions?"

You looked down at yourself, suddenly self-conscious, and smoothed out the fuzzy fabric. "They're comfortable! It’s cold in this building, and I have a lot of studying to do. Don't judge my fashion choices, Mr. Spandex."

"Hey, this isn't spandex," he countered, leaning closer into the room. "It's a highly sophisticated tri-weave polymer. Very high-tech. Very serious. Not at all like fuzzy clouds."

"It looks like you're wearing a unitard," you teased, echoing Jay's words from two weeks ago.

Heeseung flinched internally. "A unitard? Ouch. That’s a low blow. I’ll have you know this suit is aerodynamic. It helps with the swinging. Fuzzy clouds, on the other hand, probably create a lot of drag."

"Well, I'm not planning on swinging anywhere tonight, so I think I'm safe," you said. You looked at him, your expression softening. You reached out, your hand hovering near the edge of the windowsill. "You look tired. I mean, I can't see your eyes, but your shoulders... you look like you haven't slept in a week."

Heeseung felt a jolt of panic. Was it that obvious? Was his Heeseung side leaking through the mask?

"Occupational hazard," he said, trying to regain his footing. "The city doesn't sleep, so I don't really get to either. It’s fine. I’ve had plenty of... uh, coffee."

"You sound like a friend of mine," you said, a small, sad smile touching your lips. "He’s an engineer. He works himself to the bone. He actually fell asleep on me during a basketball game last week. I think I've mentioned him before," you hummed.

Heeseung felt the air leave his lungs. He stayed perfectly still, his heart thumping against his ribs. "Uh, yeah. I think you have. Sounds like a real thrill-seeker, this friend of yours."

"He's not," you said softly. "He’s quiet. A bit awkward. He called you 'mid,' actually."

Heeseung let out a dry, forced laugh. "Mid? Wow. Remind me to web his locker shut tomorrow."

"Don't you dare," you said, but you were smiling. "He’s actually really sweet. I think he’s just... lonely. Or maybe he’s just carrying something he won't tell anyone about. I felt really bad for him. He woke up so panicked, like he was expecting a fight."

"Maybe he was just embarrassed," Heeseung suggested, his voice dropping an octave. "Maybe he didn't want the girl he likes to see him at his weakest."

You paused, your eyes searching the white lenses of his mask. "The girl he likes?"

Heeseung realized he’d said too much. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight on the ledge. "I mean... lucky guess. A guy doesn't just fall asleep on someone unless he’s comfortable with them, right?"

"I guess so," you said, though you sounded a bit distracted. You looked back at your desk. "Anyway, I should probably get back to these equations. If I fail this midterm, my parents are going to kill me, and not even a superhero can save me from that."

"Right. Uni work. Nasty stuff," he said. He stayed for a few more minutes, teasing you about the way you chewed on your pencil when you were thinking, and listening to you complain about your professor. It was the easiest conversation he’d had all week. There was no stuttering, no tripping over his feet, no embarrassing himself.

He was smooth. He was the hero. He was the guy you were leaning toward with interest in your eyes.

"I should go," he said finally, standing up on the ledge. "The clouds are calling you, and I have a city to... not rob."

"Wait," you said, reaching out and catching the fabric of his sleeve.

He froze.

"Will you come back?" you asked. "I mean... I know you’re busy. But it’s nice having someone to talk to who doesn't try to make me do TikTok dances."

Heeseung looked down at your hand on his arm. He felt a wave of affection so strong it made his head dizzy. "Yeah. I'll be around. Just keep your window unlocked."

"It's a deal," you said.

He shot a web at the building across the street and leaped into the night. He did a celebratory flip in mid-air, the adrenaline of the conversation buzzing through his veins. He felt invincible. He felt like he was on top of the world.

But as he landed on a nearby rooftop and looked back at your glowing window, the feeling started to change.

He pulled the mask off, the cold wind hitting his sweaty forehead. He leaned against a cooling vent, his chest heaving.

The high was fading, and in its place was a sharp, bitter sting.

He thought about the way your eyes lit up when you saw the mask. He thought about the way you laughed at his jokes and the way you flirted back with Spider-Man.

And then he thought about Heeseung.

Heeseung, the guy who had sat next to you for months and barely managed a "hello." Heeseung, the guy who had finally, by some miracle, ended up with his head on your shoulder—only to ruin the moment by launching himself into the air like a startled cat.

You liked the guy in the mask. You liked the confidence, the wit, and the mystery. You liked the version of him that was a lie.

The version of him that was real—the tired, awkward engineer with the scratched jaw and the inability to talk to his crush like a normal person—was just a boring friend. You felt bad for Heeseung. You felt protective of him. But you looked at Spider-Man like he was something special.

Heeseung looked at the mask in his hand. It was just a piece of fabric, but it was a wall he had built himself. A wall that kept him safe, but also kept him out.

He imagined telling you the truth. He imagined landing on your windowsill and pulling the mask off. He saw the look of shock on your face—and then, he imagined the disappointment. The realization that the charming hero was just the guy who drooled in his sleep.

"She doesn't like you, Heeseung," he whispered to the night air. "She likes the suit."

He felt a sudden, irrational flash of jealousy toward his own alter-ego. He wanted to rip the suit to shreds. He wanted to be the guy who made you laugh without needing a voice changer or a hidden identity.

But he wasn't that guy. He was just a boy who was too afraid to be himself, competing with a shadow that he could never beat.

He put the mask back on, but the magic was gone. The suit felt heavy. That stupid fucking polymer weave felt like lead.

He turned away from your window and started the swing back to his dorm. He would see you tomorrow in class. He might sit next to you, and if he did, he would probably stutter when you asked him for a pen. You would look at him with that kind, pitying smile, and then you would probably go back to thinking about the hero who had visited your window.

It was a cycle he didn't know how to break.

As he reached his own room and crawled through the tiny gap in the window, he didn't feel like a hero. He felt like a fraud.

He changed into his own pajamas—plain gray ones, nothing as cute as fuzzy clouds—and climbed into bed. His phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was a message from the group chat.

Heeseung turned the phone off and stared at the ceiling.

You had called him 'Sunshine.' Well, you called Heeseung that. But that one word wasn't the same as anything else you'd said to Spider-Man. He was the guy who had your heart, but he was also the guy who could never have it.

He closed his eyes, hoping for a dream where the mask didn't exist. But even in his sleep, he could hear the sound of his own heart beating for a girl who would never see him the way he saw her.

🏷️ ( third wheel ) : @imsleepingwhataboutu @rianzysworld

[starhwatiny]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Posted a new one shot over on A03, feel free to check out my other work Consume which has 600 kudos 🥹

[starhwatiny]

Ateez ASEA performance was so good AHHHH

[yum-nyang]

(credit)

[starhwatiny]

boynextdoor is coming to my city!!! FINALLY a group i listen to comes to Vancouver and not just Toronto 😭

[starhwatiny]

sigh… like how are Zerose going to do the OT9 fanchant even after the disband yet Engenes can’t even do the ot7 after Hee puts 6 years into enha im just so tired of these ot6’s 🫩

[starhwatiny]

The concept of the boys performing Moonstruck without Hee… let me just go kms real quick 😀

[liuhsng]

✩ˎˊ˗ sugar in the soil ( pjs ! ) — part 1

✩ˎˊ˗ part of the xo, with you series | enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — jay x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 ⤷ word count — 16k ⤷ taglist for the series — open !

⤷ a/n — hi my loves ! i’m so sorry this took a bit longer than expected, but it’s finally here. this one’s cute and honestly just really, really cute. thank you for being patient, as always. please enjoy reading 🤍

⤷ warnings — college au, psychology major!jay, biology major!reader, college!enhypen, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, rich!jay, kinda emotionally guarded!reader, perceptive!jay, reluctant protector!jay, awkward!jay, tension-filled bickering, sarcastic flirting, subtle care, reader is stubborn and independent, reader is unintentionally endearing, jay is smug but soft deep down, scenes of vulnerability, quiet comfort, slight possessiveness, light jealousy, foreshadowing deeper feelings, developing trust, soft domestic hints, fluff, mentions of the other parts from this series

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — your fascination with flowers was a quiet love you turned into your future. majoring in biology at decelis university, you often found yourself needing rare blooms, fresh clippings, or just the scent of something calming after long hours in the lab. that’s why the little flower shop down the street became your second home. the staff knew your name. mrs. park always had tea ready. until one afternoon, the usual calm was replaced with someone entirely unexpected—park jongseong, of all people. golden boy. heir to a business empire. the last person you'd expect to be arranging sunflowers behind the counter like he belonged there. or, where your love for flowers leads you to someone who’s far more than just his reputation.

It was just past six in the morning when your footsteps tapped along the cobbled path you’d memorized after two years at Decelis University.

The world was still soft at that hour—hushed and wrapped in the cool, lingering breeze of dawn.

You shivered as the wind brushed against your legs, pulling your cream tote bag closer to your side.

“Thank god I didn’t wear a skirt,” you mumbled under your breath, glancing down at your black pants and oversized white sweater—the hem of it brushing gently against your upper thighs.

Not exactly the peak of fashion, but it was warm, and it smelled like the lavender detergent your roommate always hoarded.

A faint smile curved your lips as you looked up—the dainty little flower shop on the corner.

Even from a distance, you could spot the display of blooms lined neatly in white ceramic vases outside the door.

Soft pastel peonies, cheerful bunches of daisies, stalks of buttery yellow freesia, and delicate stems of baby’s breath nestled in between.

The real show, though, were the hanging roses—pale pink and dried lavender ones twirling gently from above the glass panels, tied with beige ribbon and strung like little ornaments of peace.

You paused at the door, eyes skimming over everything like it was a painting you’d seen a hundred times and still hadn’t gotten tired of.

Your fingers reached out to push open the door, the soft chime of the bell above your head greeting you.

Despite the almost boisterous, cheerful personality of the outside—the interior was simple. Minimalistic, warm. Earthy.

Sunlight poured through the front windows and landed across the long wooden counters, highlighting the rows of terracotta pots, tiny spritz bottles, and little signs written in slanted cursive.

Your favorite part was always the wall near the back—lined with herbs and greenery. Eucalyptus, sweet basil, dusty miller, thyme. Every single pot labeled. Every single one cared for.

A chalkboard beside it read: ‘Green babies: please talk to them!’

You shook your head with a small laugh, eyeing the row of sleepy-looking succulents under the sign.

“Good morning, little guys,” you murmured quietly, tapping the edge of one terracotta pot with your finger before straightening up.

“Mrs. Park?” you called out, adjusting the strap of your tote bag on your shoulder.

Almost instantly, the person you were looking for peeked out from behind the beaded curtain that led to the back storage room, her familiar voice echoing softly through the quiet shop.

“(Y/N), dear! There you are,” Mrs. Park beamed, stepping fully into the room with her gray-streaked hair tied into its usual messy bun and a dusting of flour still smudged on her apron.

You returned the smile warmly. “Good morning, Mrs. Park.”

She gestured proudly to a small, tiered pastry stand placed right by the counter—a little gold rack filled with a fresh batch of muffins and small sweet buns, all wrapped in pink wax paper.

“Help yourself, love. I made too many again.”

You leaned forward with a grin, grabbing one of the lemon muffins off the top tier and taking a small bite. “This is really good.”

Mrs. Park raised a hand, already chuckling. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s always true,” you replied through a soft laugh, covering your mouth with the back of your hand.

“So,” she leaned against the counter, “what do you need today?”

You wiped your fingers on the napkin she handed you.

“I was hoping to get some Verbena officinalis, chamomile, and if you still have them—maybe a few sprigs of alpine aster? My professor wants us prepping extraction samples for the new experiment.”

Mrs. Park’s eyes sparkled. “Of course, of course. Wait here, dear. I’ve got just the thing in the cooler.”

You nodded and leaned gently against the counter, your eyes drifting toward the delicate vase of pink peonies placed right beside the register.

The petals were full, blooming with that soft ruffled texture that looked too perfect to be real.

You reached out without thinking, fingers brushing lightly over the edge of one. They were fresh. You could always tell.

That’s what you liked about ‘Park & Bloom.’ Their flowers were always fresh—never tired, never wilting, always alive. There was a certain kind of love you could feel in a place like this.

You hummed quietly to yourself, letting the soft instrumental music from the little radio fill the silence as you waited.

When Mrs. Park returned, she had a neat little bundle of herbs in her hands, all carefully wrapped in parchment and tied with twine.

“There we go,” she said with a satisfied smile, setting it down on the counter.

But before you could thank her, she reached underneath and placed something else beside it. Soft pink peonies, arranged with sprigs of eucalyptus and tiny filler blooms in cream and blush.

You blinked. “What’s this?”

Mrs. Park smiled knowingly. “They’re your favorite.”

“Well—yeah,” you admitted slowly, touching the bouquet again, “but I didn’t—”

“It’s on the house.”

Your eyes widened. “No, no, I’m paying. Please, Mrs. Park—”

“Nonsense,” she said, already turning away like the discussion was closed. “You’re a regular. And you always talk to the plants. That counts for something.”

You frowned and gently gathered both the wrapped herbs and the bouquet, quickly fishing through your tote until your fingers found a bill—larger than necessary.

You slammed it down on the counter with a huff. “Keep the change, Mrs. Park. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Before she could argue, you were already halfway to the door.

“(Y/N)—you little—!” she called after you, laughing.

You waved behind you, ignoring the sound of the door swinging open as someone else stepped inside just as you rushed out.

You barely registered the shadow of a tall figure entering, the door chime getting swallowed up by your footsteps hitting the pavement.

Mrs. Park sighed, looking down at the bill before shaking her head with a fond smile.

“Stubborn,” she muttered, placing the money gently in the tip jar.

Then she glanced toward the boy who had just walked in, tousled hair and sleepy eyes, dressed in denim and black.

“Just like Jay,” she muttered under her breath with a fond shake of her head.

“What about me?” the boy in question asked, his voice a little hoarse as he pointed to himself while stepping fully into the shop.

“Nothing. Suit yourself,” Mrs. Park replied, turning her back to him as she gestured vaguely toward the pastries cooling on the rack. “Eat before they’re gone.”

Jay grinned, walking over to the rack and picking up a banana muffin. He took a bite, chewing slowly.

“I woke up too early,” he said, mouth half-full, “I don’t even have class until nine.”

Mrs. Park gave him a look as she started wiping her hands on her apron. “What did your father say?”

“That you have a meeting at eight,” Jay said with a sigh, lifting one shoulder in a shrug, “and to call Hyunjae to cover the shop until you get back.”

The woman let out a dramatic groan, untying her apron with exaggerated annoyance. “Can’t your father do anything by himself?”

Jay chuckled under his breath and leaned against the counter. “Apparently not.”

Mrs. Park muttered something under her breath as she bent down and pulled out a white pastry box from under the counter. “Jake’s order is ready too.”

“Of course it is,” Jay mumbled with a smirk, standing upright as he reached into his pocket and fished out a few bills. He handed them to her without a second thought.

She scowled. “When will you kids learn not to pay here?”

Jay only grinned as he leaned on the counter. “Well, you know them. None of us listen.”

Mrs. Park rolled her eyes but accepted the payment anyway, stashing the bills in the small tin box behind her.

Jay checked the silver watch strapped to his wrist and sighed. “I better get going.”

He rounded the counter with ease, stepping closer to give his mom a quick one-armed hug. “Bye, Mom.”

“Text me when you get to campus,” she called after him.

He gave her a lazy wave, the box of cookies tucked under his arm as he pushed the door open. The bell above jingled softly as he stepped out into the cool morning air.

The scent of peonies and incense still lingered as he crossed toward his car, unlocking it with a click.

He opened the door, slid the box onto the passenger seat, then paused for a second to glance back at the small flower shop glowing warmly behind him.

With a tired sigh, Jay muttered under his breath, “Another day of this boring cycle,” before slumping into the driver’s seat.

The moment his back hit the seat, he tilted his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes for a second—just one second.

The soft hum of the morning traffic passed in the distance, car tires brushing along damp pavement.

He groaned and buckled his seatbelt with a sharp click, dragging a hand down his face. “And I have a quiz for developmental psych later too,” he grumbled. “Just… great.”

His hand stayed on the wheel for a beat longer than necessary, fingers drumming against the leather as he stared blankly at the windshield.

“Should’ve just skipped today,” he mumbled, reaching over to push the box of cookies a little more securely onto the seat.

“But no, Jake needs his cookies, and I need my GPA.”

He rolled his eyes at himself before starting the car, the low rumble of the engine coming to life in the silence.

The fluorescent lights above hum with a low buzz, matching the pounding in your head. The smell of ethanol and overcooked nerves hangs heavy in the air.

Lab’s barely ended, and your notes are a mess—ink smudged, a whole page crumpled from frustration, and worst of all, your results section might as well be fiction.

You let out a strangled groan and thunk your head against the thick biology textbook with a dull thud.

“Careful,” Jisung mutters beside you, grimacing as he lifts a pair of gloved hands like he’s watching a crime scene.

“You placed that book on top of the lab counter. The germ-infested lab counter.”

You peel your forehead off the book with a slow glare. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one failing.”

He shrugs with a sheepish wince, still in his gloves, now held up like he’s surrendering. “Okay, my bad.”

You narrow your eyes. “You didn’t even try to deny that I’m failing.”

“I mean…” He drags the word out. “You’ve been stress-picking at your highlighter for the past twenty minutes. That’s not usually a good sign.”

You groan again, dragging a hand down your face. “I’m going to die in a sea of unsorted data and unlabeled Petri dishes.”

“Death by biology,” he nods solemnly. “Poetic.”

Before you can respond, the shrill ring of the bell cuts through the lab. You exhale sharply, “Finally.”

Without a second thought, you yank off your lab coat and shove it into your tote like it personally wronged you.

The sleeves are still half-inside out and your pen falls out of your pocket, but you don’t care. Not anymore.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and glance at Jisung, who’s taking his sweet time peeling off his gloves.

“I have a shift at the library until six,” you say, brushing your bangs out of your face. “Are you going to crash in one of the study rooms again?”

He shakes his head with a sigh. “Nope. I need to help Chenle with his stupid photography project. Something about needing ‘a face that screams tortured genius.’”

You blink. “And he picked you?”

“Offended,” he deadpans, pressing a hand to his chest. “But yes. Apparently, my dark circles and academic burnout passed his standards.”

You let out a small laugh, the tension finally cracking a little. “Well, stop by if you can. Bring snacks. Or caffeine. Or brain cells.”

“I’ll see what I can spare,” he says, mock-saluting you with one gloveless hand and the other still holding a rogue pipette.

You’re already halfway to the door when he calls after you.

“Bye, (Y/N)!”

You glance back and flash him a tired smile. “Bye, Jisung.”

Then you turn on your heel, your sneakers squeaking faintly against the linoleum as you disappear down the hallway. The white walls of the science wing are painfully sterile, and the hum of buzzing lights doesn’t help your growing headache.

You let out a breath—half sigh, half groan—as you roll your neck and start making your way toward the library.

“Thank God,” you mumble under your breath, eyes flicking to the hallway signs above.

The library was only a few halls down from the lab, which meant less time dragging your feet and more time convincing yourself that lab report wasn’t going to kill you.

You move through the corridors, passing a few tired-looking students carrying canvases, coffee cups, and an emotional burden that looked way too familiar.

The soft clink of keys in your bag, the rhythm of your own footsteps, and the occasional sound of muffled laughter from a classroom fill the air around you.

Despite everything, there’s a calmness in the routine of it all.

Finally, you reach the end of the hallway where the tall, double wooden doors of the library stand quietly under the golden ‘University Main Library’ plaque.

You press a palm against the door and push it open.

The scent hits you instantly.

Paper, ink, and a hint of dust—it makes you smile a little, the corners of your lips tugging up despite the weight in your chest. You’ve always loved this part—the soft quiet of the library wrapping around you like a blanket.

You walk toward the front desk where the afternoon shift student librarian is still seated, tapping lazily on the keyboard.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Eunchae greets you with a small grin, her glasses slipping down her nose a bit. “You look like you fought a war.”

You exhale a soft laugh. “Hi, Eunchae.”

“Rough day?”

“You could say that.” You slip behind the desk and drop your bag beside the office chair, the straps giving a quiet thud as they hit the ground.

She reaches over to hand you the laminated clip-on badge. “Here. You’re the boss now.”

“Thanks.” You clip it onto your sweater, the cold plastic brushing your collarbone as you settle into the worn-out chair that squeaks in protest.

Eunchae’s already packing up, stuffing a textbook, three pens, and an empty boba cup into her tote. “I swear I’m going insane from the quietness in here,” she mutters.

“If I heard one more guy try to flirt with me over book codes, I was going to scream.”

You chuckle under your breath, your fingers already reaching for your laptop. “Romantic,” you tease. “Truly the language of love.”

She waves dramatically as she grabs her jacket. “See you, (Y/N). Don’t forget to breathe.”

You give her a tired wave. “Bye, Eunchae.”

Then it’s just you.

The soft whir of the air conditioning. The gentle rustle of pages turning from a far-off table. You settle deeper into the chair and pull your laptop out of your bag, setting it on the desk in front of you.

Your screen blinks to life and your lab report opens automatically—you stare at it for a second, shoulders slumping as the frown slowly creeps back onto your face.

“…Kill me,” you whisper.

You sigh and reluctantly start typing, your fingers dragging over the keys with all the energy of a dying lightbulb.

You squint at the lines of data from earlier in the lab, trying to remember if the solution turned blue after five minutes—or was it four?

Your momentary focus is abruptly cut off by a small cough and the sound of a familiar voice.

“What’s up?”

You glance up, already grinning before your eyes fully register the face. You push your chair back and stand, arms crossing over your chest.

Leaning casually on the front desk, with that same easy smile and brown hair falling just a little over his eyes, was Jake.

“What do you need, Jake?” you ask, brows raising.

You and Jake weren’t particularly close, but he was one of those people who had wormed his way into your life with charm and annoying persistence.

You’d met him at a party Jisung dragged you into—a night of glittery lights, too much bass, and not enough air—and somehow ended up sitting beside the overly friendly boy with puppy eyes who introduced himself with a full handshake.

Jake smirks. “Is that any way to greet a friend?”

You roll your eyes, sinking back into your chair. “I’m working, Sim.”

“That’s all you ever do,” he says with a mock sigh, shifting the white box in his hand onto the desk.

You glance at it, suspicious. “Okay, for real—what do you want?”

“Nothing sketchy,” Jake says with both palms raised. “Just figured you could use a little sugar. Here.”

He opens the box, revealing a neat assortment of cookies—some gooey with melted chocolate, others crisp on the edges with hints of caramel, one with marshmallow peeking out from the center.

The smell alone makes your stomach growl.

Jake hands you a napkin. “Take a few. I mean it. I won’t be able to finish them all anyway.”

“What is this? Where did you get them?”

“Ordered from a friend,” he says with a grin. “Trust me, they’re good. Like, really good.”

You blink, touched in a way you didn’t expect to be. Maybe the gods had whispered in Jake’s ear that you were barely running on fumes today.

“Well… thanks,” you mutter, taking two and gently placing them on the napkin. “This is saving my life right now.”

Jake leans forward a little, still grinning. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“Okay, now that your saint act is over,” you say, biting into a cookie and groaning at how annoyingly delicious it is, “what do you actually need?”

Jake laughs. “Fine. Do you have any study rooms available?”

You nod, setting the rest of the cookies down on the lower counter.

You tap on the small monitor screen beside you, scanning the digital dashboard for room availability. “Room 5 and 7 are both open.”

“I’ll take seven,” he says without hesitation.

You pull out the room card, holding it up before handing it over. “Isn’t Room 7 kind of big for just you?”

Jake shrugs, reaching for the card. “I’ve got a few friends coming in later. If you don’t mind?”

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite your exhaustion. “Sure, no problem. Enjoy.”

Jake offers a mock salute. “Thanks, (Y/N). Don’t work too hard.”

You wave lazily as he turns. “Have a good night.”

Once he’s gone, the library settles back into its familiar quiet hum—soft page turns, the occasional cough, the distant click-clack of a keyboard.

You sigh, pulling your chair closer and tapping away at your laptop. The paper was almost finished. All you needed was Jisung’s part of the hypothesis, and you could submit it before midnight.

You stretch your arms above your head, eyes fluttering shut for a second in bliss. Finally.

That peace, however, is gently interrupted.

“Hi. Good evening.”

You blink. The greeting was too formal—almost jarringly so. You glance up, expecting maybe a professor or someone lost on their first day, only to freeze for a heartbeat when you see him.

Park Jongseong.

He stood there, tall, hands politely tucked into the pockets of his sleek black jacket, glasses perched perfectly on the bridge of his nose.

His dark hair was slightly tousled, like he’d just run his hand through it, and despite the casualness of his outfit—black jeans, sneakers, and a plain dark tee under the jacket—he looked like he’d walked straight out of a luxury campaign shoot.

Probably because he had, if the rumors were right.

You recognized him instantly. Everyone did.

He was that kind of popular—wealthy family, striking visuals, a seat on one of the organizations he rarely attended, and a reputation so polished people either thought he was faking it or secretly a jerk.

But the thing was, he’d never actually done anything to support those rumors.

No scandals, no snide remarks. Just that calm, kind, slightly reserved personality that made people either swoon or stay suspicious.

You stare at him a second too long before blinking and rising from your seat.

“Hi. Yes, um… What’s the matter?” you ask, straightening your name card without thinking.

Jay’s lips twitch upward in a sheepish smile as he meets your eyes. “Uh, my friend said he’d be here? In one of the study rooms. I think I might be in the wrong building.”

You tilt your head. “What room?”

He blinks, then reaches for his phone from his pocket. “Wait a minute, please.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting back a smile at how genuinely nervous he looks while scrolling through his messages.

He mutters under his breath, eyes flicking back and forth before he finally looks up with a small, relieved grin.

“Room seven.”

You raise an eyebrow, and the corners of your lips twitch upward.

“Jake’s friend?”

He nods, laughing a little. “Yeah… he is.”

You hum, already reaching for the back-up paper slips. “Forced you?”

Jay lets out a breathy chuckle, dropping his gaze for a second. “You could say that.”

You hand him the slip of paper and the temporary code key just in case Jake lost the room card. “You’re free to go, then. The paper’s just in case Jake’s an idiot.”

Jay nods, his smile turning a little more relaxed. “Thank you. And… have a good evening.”

“You too,” you say, giving him a small nod as he walks away.

You sit back down at your desk, watching him head off down the corridor before returning to your screen. The cursor blinks again. You smile softly to yourself.

“He seems nice,” you murmur, clicking back into your document, the soft clack of your keyboard filling the silence again.

A voice beside you replies smoothly, “Isn’t he?”

You nearly jump out of your seat. “What the hell—Jake?!”

He grins like he’s done absolutely nothing wrong, arms casually crossed as he leans against the side of your desk, clearly amused by your reaction.

“Relax,” he says, eyes dancing.

“I was waiting for him upstairs, but he was taking too long, so I figured I’d come down and see what was taking him.” He lifts a brow.

“Seems like he’s getting real cozy with you.”

You blink, scoffing. “Cozy? That’s a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”

Jake shrugs with faux innocence. “Suit yourself.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t you have to meet up with your friend or something?”

He nods, pushing off the desk with ease. “Yeah. But he has a name, you know.”

“I know,” you sigh, dragging your cursor across your screen, trying to look busy. “But I don’t even know him enough to use it, so I’ll just keep referring to him as your friend for now.”

Jake chuckles knowingly, taking a step back, already turning on his heel. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You watch as he jogs off toward the direction Jay disappeared in, his gait casual but amused, like he knows something you don’t.

You shake your head, a breath of disbelief escaping you.

“Weirdo,” you mutter under your breath, the corner of your mouth twitching upward in spite of yourself.

The night air was cool against your cheeks as you walked beside Jisung, the sky painted in a fading indigo, the last hints of orange clinging stubbornly to the horizon.

Streetlamps flickered on one by one, casting a soft glow on the pavement as your footsteps echoed gently through the quiet campus street.

“I swear,” Jisung huffed, one hand dramatically pressed to his side. “If Chenle elbows me one more time during a shoot, I’m actually calling HR.”

You let out a small laugh, hugging your jacket closer to your frame. “You are such a baby, Jisung.”

“I am a baby,” he retorted with no shame, lifting his chin.

“Unless you want to experience being ordered around by a man shorter than you, be my guest. That menace was using his whole body weight, I felt my rib shift.”

You snorted. “I highly doubt he’s that strong.”

“I’ll record it next time. I’m not being dramatic, I’m being honest.”

You smiled, his complaints now a familiar soundtrack to your evening walks back.

Just as you were about to tease him again, your gaze shifted to the side—drawn, like always, to the soft glow of the flower shop tucked just between the café and the old stationery store.

You opened your mouth, but before a single syllable could leave your lips, Jisung raised his hand like he could read your mind.

“Yes,” he said dryly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You blinked. “But I haven’t even—”

“Just go inside, (Y/N),” he interrupted again, already stepping backward. “I’ll send you the hypothesis later. Don’t text me, I’m icing my side.”

He flashed you a small smile, shouldering his backpack a little higher as he turned, hands tucked into his pockets as he started toward the dorms.

You blinked once. Then twice. A soft huff escaped your lips as you muttered, “Drama queen.”

Turning toward the pristine glass doors of the flower shop, you pushed it open gently.

The little silver bell above jingled, light and warm, like it knew you by name. A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips as the familiar scent of blooming petals, sweet earth, and lavender.

At least you had this—something to look forward to at the end of a shitty day at Decelis.

You expected to hear the soft clink of porcelain from the back, Mrs. Park’s gentle voice humming a forgotten tune as she wrapped up your usual peonies and lavenders with a cup of her flower tea already set aside for you.

But instead, you tilted your head.

There, standing awkwardly by the counter, was the same boy you saw earlier in the library.

Gone was the jacket from earlier, replaced with a crisp white button-up and a black apron tied messily around his waist.

His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, one of the cuffs still uneven, and he looked painfully out of place—his brows furrowed in concentration, lips pursed slightly as he wrestled with a bouquet of red roses that looked one sharp tug away from falling apart.

You blinked again.

Still there.

No hallucination. No glitch in the matrix. His dark brown hair catching the warm overhead lights, his hands fumbling with the ribbon, and a small, frustrated frown forming on his face as he stared at the bouquet like it had personally offended him.

Your eyes scanned the shop quickly. No sign of Mrs. Park. No second pair of hands. No flower tea waiting by the counter.

You cleared your throat softly, not that he noticed—far too wrapped up in his floral battle.

So instead of calling attention to yourself, you wandered toward the rightmost shelf where a row of succulents sat nestled beside some miniature vases.

You picked up a little cactus, its spikes short and plump, the soil freshly packed. It looked healthy—fairly young, too. After a pause, you reached for a small Red Widow's Thrill, the tiny star-shaped flowers clustered together.

You nodded to yourself, hugging the two plants to your chest, and walked to the counter.

Park Jongseong was still there. Still wrestling with the roses.

He didn’t look up.

You stood across from him, watching quietly as he muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “why do flowers even need bows—this is psychological warfare.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

“…Did the roses hurt you personally, or is this your first day?”

He jolted.

His head snapped up so fast he nearly knocked over the ribbon spool. His eyes locked onto yours—wide, brown, and clearly panicked.

“I—Uh—sorry, I didn’t hear you come in—wait—” he blinked, narrowing his eyes slightly as if trying to place your face.

“You’re the girl from the library.”

You nodded once. “Jake’s friend, Park Jongseong?”

His nose scrunched instantly, and he shook his head. “Park Jongseong sounds way too formal. It’s just Jay.”

“Okay, Jay,” you echoed with a small smile tugging at your lips.

Your gaze drifted downward, eyes settling on the crumpled pink paper and the satin white ribbon in his hands. “Need any help?”

Jay looked down at the mess in his fingers, then up at you with a sheepish grin and ears tinged a soft, rosy red. “Do I look that helpless?”

You laughed softly, “No, not really.”

“Then I can do this,” he said, suddenly straightening with mock confidence as he hastily tried to wrap the ribbon around the roses again, the satin slipping out of his fingers twice before he managed to tie something close to a bow.

His fingers were clumsy but careful. You watched, entertained.

He brought the bouquet to the counter and gestured to the plants in your hands. “I’ll ring those up for you.”

You handed them over—your little cactus and the red widow’s thrill—and leaned slightly against the counter, watching him work.

He scanned them quickly, then looked up. “Anything else?”

“Nope,” you said as you reached into your bag and pulled out a bill.

You handed him the cash and tilted your head curiously, eyes flicking toward the unevenly wrapped bouquet of roses still sitting beside the counter.

“So… who are the flowers for?”

He nodded toward the bouquet of roses sitting awkwardly in the wrapping paper.

“My mom has this regular she always prepares flowers for. Some girl named (Y/N). She told me to pack them up for her like usual. I just hope she doesn’t mind the presentation.” He gave a breathy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

You blinked slowly, your lips twitching upward. “No, I don’t.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

You broke into a laugh, covering your mouth with your hand. “Nice to meet you,” you said, sticking your hand out playfully. “I’m (Y/N).”

Jay blinked. Once. Twice. Like you just grew wings.

You pulled your lanyard from around your neck and flashed your ID. “Promise.”

His eyes widened. “(Y/N)—oh my god. I’m so, so sorry—”

“Relax,” you laughed, waving him off as he bent into an apologetic bow. “I told you, it looks nice.”

“If that’s nice, then what about those?” he said, gesturing to a poor, wobbly bouquet of lavenders sitting behind him, lopsided and definitely taped unevenly.

You giggled softly. “Oh, come on. They’re not half bad.”

“That’s what my mom said too,” he muttered, clearly unconvinced.

Your eyes scanned the shop again as you leaned on the counter a little. “So how many customers have you tried to appease tonight?”

Jay huffed a laugh. “Not that many. Maybe ten? Most of them just bought potted ones. Less…ribbon trauma.”

You nodded slowly as he handed over the now neatly boxed succulents.

Then, without much thought, he lifted the bouquet of roses and held it out to you gently. “I really am sorry for the roses.”

You took them, smiling warmly. “And I said don’t sweat it. Have a good night, Jay.”

Before he could even open his mouth to say something else, you were already pushing the door open, letting the soft jingle of the shop’s bells ring out as you disappeared into the evening.

Jay stood there, blinking at the empty doorway, the scent of roses still clinging faintly to his fingers.

“…Have a nice night, (Y/N),” he mumbled to no one.

He glanced back down at the ribbon still draped across the counter, fingers brushing over it absentmindedly.

He didn’t know why—but suddenly, this shift in his boring routine didn’t seem so boring anymore.

Jay exhaled, raking a hand through his hair before muttering under his breath, “The flowers must be driving me insane.”

With a defeated sigh, he shook his head and slumped back into the chair behind the counter.

He reached under the counter and pulled out his overstuffed bag, dragging out his laptop and the thick, miserable stack of notes from his social psychology class.

He stared at the papers for a beat, then scoffed lightly. “I take it back. This is boring.”

The wind bit at your cheeks as you hurried down the path, jacket clutched tighter to your chest.

Your scarf was slipping—again—and your breath fogged in the dim light of a morning that hadn’t fully arrived yet.

The sun was still hiding behind the clouds, tucked somewhere far behind the rooftops.

You hated rushing. Especially past the roses out front. But the cold was merciless today, slicing through the gaps in your coat and coaxing a grumble from your lips as you quickened your steps.

The shop’s glass doors came into view, fogged slightly from the inside warmth. You pushed them open with stiff fingers, a quiet chime following you in.

Warmth wrapped around you like a woolen blanket. The smell of fresh blooms, faint soil, and something baked—something sweet—immediately filled your lungs.

It was a comfort that no heater or glove could mimic.

“Not stopping to admire the roses this morning, dear?”

You turned, and your heart eased further.

Mrs. Park stood behind the counter in her cozy lilac cardigan, a tray of fresh muffins beside her, still steaming. Her hair was pinned back in its usual way, her smile like the kind you only find in storybooks or movies with happy endings.

You smiled, already walking toward the daisies in the corner near the register. “Good morning, Mrs. Park.”

“They’re almond and brown sugar today,” she said proudly, nodding toward the tray. “Still warm.”

You nodded, peeling off your gloves. “You spoil me.”

“Nonsense. You kids don’t eat enough,” she huffed softly, wiping her hands on a cloth before motioning to the flowers. “Thought I’d switch the display a little this morning.”

You ran your fingers over the soft white petals, smiling faintly to yourself. “They look good.”

The sudden chime of the bells made your head turn.

And there he was again. The boy from the library. The one who had handed you roses wrapped in crinkled tissue and unsure words.

He stepped inside, wind chasing after him before the door clicked shut.

He wore a black hoodie layered over a grey shirt, simple jeans, and glasses that clung to the bridge of his nose like they belonged there.

He blinked slowly at the warmth of the shop, his eyes adjusting—and then they landed on you.

He froze for a second. Just a second.

Then he cleared his throat and offered a sheepish smile.

You returned it gently, offering a slight nod, before dropping your gaze back to the daisies and plucking a few, along with a handful of the white roses nestled beside them. You brought them up to the counter.

Mrs. Park beamed as she reached for the stems. “Newspaper or that fancy ribbon wrap today, dear?”

“Just newspaper, please,” you said, placing the blooms gently on the wooden surface.

She began wrapping them up as you reached into your coat pocket, pulling out a folded bill and placing it atop the counter. “Please, Mrs. Park. Just take it today.”

She laughed, shaking her head but accepting it nonetheless. “Just because you’re so stubborn.”

You smiled and glanced to the side just in time to see Jay who wordlessly stepped past you and disappeared behind the beaded curtain that led to the shop’s backroom.

You figured he was grabbing something and turned your attention back to the flowers.

But moments later, he returned, now with his bag slung over one shoulder, the other hand running through his hair like he was trying to compose himself.

Mrs. Park tied the final knot of twine around your bouquet and handed it to you with a smile.

“Here you go, sweetheart.”

You took them carefully. “Thank you, Mrs. Park. I’ll see you late—”

“(Y/N), dear?”

You turned just as your hand reached for the doorknob. “Yes, Mrs. Park?”

She wiped her hands on her apron. “How do you usually get to Decelis? You just walk, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s not too far. Twenty minutes, give or take.”

She turned her gaze toward Jay, who was quietly zipping up his bag, pretending not to hear. “Jay, do you mind driving (Y/N) to the university?”

Your eyes widened. “Oh—no, no, there’s no need! I walk all the time, it’s completely fine.”

Mrs. Park tutted, crossing her arms. “It’s freezing out there. Look at you, your nose is already pink. And Jay has a car.”

“I don’t mind,” Jay said, voice low but steady. His cheeks were very clearly tinged red, though it was unclear whether it was from the cold or the question.

Still, you shook your head. “Trust me, Mrs. Park, I don’t want to bother—”

“It’s really fine,” Jay said again, this time softer. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

You hesitated, torn, but Mrs. Park had already gestured toward the door like there was no room for protest.

With a sigh, you gave in. “Okay… if you’re sure.”

You turned to find Jay already by the door, holding it open.

“Thank you,” you murmured as you stepped past him.

“No problem,” he replied, his eyes flicking to you only briefly before focusing on the sidewalk ahead. “Just… careful with the steps, it’s icy.”

You nodded, tightening your grip on the flowers as the cold bit at your cheeks again. J

ay let the door close behind you both, the jingle of the bell muffled by the wind—but not before he paused, lifting a brow at his mother’s suddenness.

Mrs. Park only smiled knowingly from the counter, lifting her muffin tray in a wave like she hadn’t just thrown you into the same car with her son.

Jay shook his head with a breath of disbelief, muttering something under his breath before digging into his hoodie pocket for his keys.

He held them up with a faint jingle and walked over to a sleek black Ferrari parked right in front.

You blinked owlishly, “…That’s yours?” you asked, pointing.

He looked at the car, then at you, and tilted his head. “What, the stroller?”

You rolled your eyes but laughed, even as he opened the passenger side door for you, motioning you in with a small, gentlemanly bow that made your heart thump louder than you liked.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop the warmth threatening to paint your face—completely unnecessary in the cold, but there it was anyway.

He closed the door softly after you were seated, then jogged around to the driver’s side, slipping in with one smooth motion.

He tossed his bag in the backseat and started the engine, the dashboard lighting up with a soft hum as the heater kicked in.

“What do you mean, ‘all this time’?” he asked, glancing at you while adjusting the mirrors.

You buckled your seatbelt, settling in. “I always see this car parked here… I just assumed it was Mrs. Park’s, or like… some rich guy’s who lives across the street.”

Jay chuckled under his breath, clicking his own seatbelt into place. “My mom drives—but not really. It's either me, my dad, or whatever driver’s free from home or the company.”

You blinked at him again. “So you’re like, a certified chauffeur.”

He shot you a look. “Don’t act surprised. I do more than just water plants and fight you over roses.”

You snorted. “Fight is a strong word.”

Jay gave you a look like he didn’t believe that for a second. You just smiled to yourself, the warm air slowly thawing the tips of your fingers.

“What’s with that look?” he asked suddenly, eyes flicking to you while waiting at the corner for a passing delivery truck.

“What look?” you replied innocently.

He narrowed his eyes. “You're looking at me like I’m a wilting plant or something.”

You burst into a laugh, the kind you tried to smother behind your scarf but failed.

“I’ll just keep it to myself,” you said, still giggling. “You might judge me.”

Jay shrugged. “Kinda too late for that, don’t you think? You’re literally in my car, (Y/N).”

You turned your head slowly, his use of your name catching you off guard, like he was testing how it felt in his mouth. Soft and thoughtful.

“Well…” you started slowly, “I mean, I always thought Mrs. Park was kidding when she said the flower shop was more of a hobby than a job.”

Jay sighed, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “It is a hobby. Technically.”

“And you’re popular for being, you know,” you raised your brows dramatically, “rich.”

“Not rich,” he corrected, eyes flicking to the road. “Just… well off.”

You grinned. “That’s what all the rich people say.”

He laughed a little at that, shaking his head like he was trying to figure you out.

“Park and Bloom,” he said, nodding back toward the shop.

“It’s her passion project. She manages it in the mornings, leaves it to my cousin in the afternoons. Keeps her busy.”

“Busy from what?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Jay glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching like there was more he wasn’t saying. “Busy from everything else. My dad’s business, board seats, charities… pretending she’s not way too young to be retired.”

You blinked. “Damn.”

He glanced sideways again. “What?”

“I don’t know. That’s… kinda impressive.”

He let out a small scoff, but you didn’t miss the slight lift in his posture.

“Well,” you started, leaning back into the passenger seat as you stretched your arms a little, fingers brushing over your sweater sleeves.

“What about you? What’s your hobby?”

Jay blinked. The question seemed simple, but it visibly threw him off. His hands tightened ever so slightly on the steering wheel.

No one really asked him that. People either assumed they knew, or didn’t care to learn. Most didn’t even have the guts to make eye contact after one conversation.

He didn’t answer right away.

“Earth to Jay,” you teased, waving a hand near his face with a small grin.

He blinked again, this time snapping out of whatever thought he was drowning in. “Right—uh. I like playing the guitar, I guess.”

You perked up. “Really?”

He nodded, almost sheepishly. “Yeah. Not a rockstar or anything, just… I play when I can.”

“Interesting.” You tilted your head, pretending to examine him like you were solving a puzzle. “So, are you a business major?”

He let out a small chuckle—low and amused. “Are we playing 21 questions now?”

You smirked. “Well, as you said, I’m already in your car. Might as well get to know my driver.”

“Driver?” he repeated with mock offense, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Wow. And here I thought I was being nice.”

You just laughed, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

“But no,” he added, “I’m studying psychology.”

Your head turned fast enough to make your hair sway. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. I know—unexpected, right?”

You paused, thoughtful. “Not really… just surprising.”

“How so?” he asked, genuinely curious.

You leaned against the window, gaze drifting to the shops passing by in soft, sleepy blur.

“I guess… assuming from your reputation—y’know, being the heir to a business empire—I thought you’d take business. But no. It’s kind of refreshing.”

Jay glanced at you again, slower this time. You were still looking out the window, completely unaware of how carefully he was watching you.

Refreshing.

It was refreshing for him too—not just because you weren’t interested in his bank account or the company he’d one day run, but because you asked things for the sake of knowing.

Out of curiosity. Not calculation. It was rare.

He smiled quietly, looking back at the road. “It is, isn’t it?”

You turned to him then, catching the last flicker of that smile as you raised a brow. “So,” you said slowly, almost teasing, “Is the famous Park Jongseong going to continue his psychology dreams?”

“If I have time to do so after taking over the company, then…”

He gave a small shrug, one hand lazily adjusting the steering wheel. “Why not?”

You nodded, a little more solemn this time. “Still inheriting the business after all.”

“Mhm. I’m ready for it,” he said. “So don’t worry.”

Your lips tugged into a soft line, voice low as you mumbled, “Never doubted you.”

And for a moment, silence engulfed the car. Not the awkward kind, but something quieter. Something that hummed just beneath your skin, settling into the space between you and him.

Jay didn’t respond right away. His fingers just drummed softly on the steering wheel, almost like he was processing something—maybe your words, maybe the weight they carried.

You didn’t realize how long that silence lasted until you blinked and looked out the window, realizing you were already parked right in front of the laboratory building.

The engine hummed softly beneath your feet, and the campus morning buzz was just starting to stir outside.

You turned to him. “You could’ve just dropped me off at the gate, you know.”

Jay shook his head, eyes still fixed ahead before flicking to you with a slight raise of his brow.

“Do you want my mom to kill me?” he said, half-joking, half-serious. “Plus, it’s kind of a long walk.”

You snorted. “Whatever you say, chauffeur.”

That made him smile, but before he could reach for the door handle to get out and open it for you, you raised a hand.

“No need,” you said quickly. “I can get out of the car myself.”

He hesitated. “But—”

“I’m fine, Jay,” you interrupted, a little more gently this time. “I swear.”

He sighed, sinking back into his seat. “Okay. If you say so.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt, the click loud in the quiet space. Your hand lingered on the door handle for a second longer before you turned to him again.

“Thanks for the ride, Jay. Have a good morning.”

His eyes softened, lips curving slightly as he nodded. “You too, (YN). See you around.”

You smiled—small, sincere—before stepping out and shutting the car door behind you.

He didn’t drive away right away. Not until he saw you reach the building’s steps, humming to yourself, brushing some hair away from your face. The sun hit just right, making the morning light settle on your skin like soft gold.

You ignored the few curious glances tossed your way—some confused, some whispering—but you didn’t let it get to you. You kept your head high, steps light, your bag swinging gently by your side.

You didn’t look back.

But Jay watched for just a moment longer before pulling away, the image of your quiet smile still lingering in the corner of his mind.

The late afternoon sunlight stretched lazily across the classroom, golden rays filtering through the windows as you hunched over your desk, squinting between the glare on your laptop screen and your open notebook.

The room buzzed softly with low chatter, the occasional laugh, and the scratch of pens against paper.

Most students were scattered across the room, taking advantage of the free period, some napping, some studying.

You weren't surprised that the seat beside yours was empty—but his things were there: a worn-out hoodie thrown haphazardly on the chair, a mechanical pencil sticking out of his open pencil case, and his phone charging beside your elbow, leeching off your power bank like always.

Your fingers tapped the keys methodically, eyes darting from screen to page, double-checking that your notes on cellular respiration weren’t just typed right, but color-coded correctly.

You were in the middle of highlighting a complicated term when a hand landed on your table.

The jolt made your pen jerk violently across the page, leaving a streak of fluorescent orange ink slicing through the margin like a battle scar.

You blinked slowly at the mess, then sighed through your nose. "I swear, if any of you guys just ruined my—"

You looked up, already scowling.

Park Jisung was in front of you.

Hair ruffled from the wind, cheeks pink from running, and his eyes practically sparkling as he grinned down at you like a golden retriever who had just fetched a stick.

“Where have you been?” you asked flatly, raising a brow. “I’ve been doing all this by myself while you’re out there vanishing into thin air—”

“When were you going to tell me you had a thing for Jay?” he blurted out, completely ignoring you.

“…What.”

“You know,” he said, plopping into his seat, legs bouncing with barely-contained energy. “Park Jongseong? Jay? Tall, good-looking, looks like a prince? That Jay.”

“Yeah, I know who he is,” you said slowly, “*but I definitely don’t have a thing with him.”

“Well,” Jisung leaned in, smirking, “Chenle told me he saw you getting out of Jay’s car this morning.”

“What?!” you half-yelped, earning glances from your seatmates.

You gave a sheepish nod of apology toward one of them before turning back to Jisung with wide eyes.

“What do you mean Chenle saw that? Why was he even in our building?”

“I told him to come,” Jisung said casually, as if this wasn’t earth-shattering information. “I accidentally shoved one of his camera lenses into my bag during our shoot yesterday.”

You slapped your forehead. “Dumbass.”

“We’re going off-topic,” he said, looking far too entertained. “Jay. Car. You. What’s the deal?”

The bell rang, slicing through the tension. Students began packing up, chairs scraping, zippers zipping.

You stood and started gathering your things, flustered. “We really don’t have anything going on, Jisung.”

He stood too, but lingered, grabbing his charger from your power bank. “But the whole car thing—?”

You slung your bag over your shoulder, walking toward the door with Jisung trailing beside you like an eager detective.

“You know my favorite flower shop?”

He nodded, squinting at you. “Yeah. What about it?”

“Well…” You adjusted the strap of your bag. “His mom owns it.”

Jisung stopped walking.

“His mom?” he said incredulously, then scrambled to catch up. “Wait. Like, she owns it-owns it?”

You shrugged. “One of their family’s many businesses, I guess.”

He stared at you like the sky had just turned purple.

“So you’re telling me you got out of Jay’s car, after being a regular at a flower shop that his mother owns, and you two aren’t dating?”

You laughed, eyes crinkling. “No! I doubt he’s into flower-obsessed caffeine addicts.”

“Stop acting like people don’t kiss the ground you walk on,” Jisung grumbled, exasperated. “You’re literally one of the most popular students in the science department.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” you said, chuckling. “I’m not even close to Jay’s level of popularity.”

“But you’re still popular!” he insisted, throwing his hands in the air dramatically.

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “We’re in different realms, Jisung.”

“Different realms, my ass,” he snorted. “If I find out you two start dating, you owe me dinner.”

You turned your head toward him, raising a brow with a teasing grin. “Deal.”

“Wait—really?” he blinked, slightly caught off guard.

“I mean, yeah.” You shrugged casually. “It’s not like it’s gonna happen anyway.”

He let out a loud laugh, the kind that made a few students glance your way. “You say that now, (Y/N), but watch—you’re gonna be sharing a milk tea with him in no time.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head as the two of you pushed through the front doors of the science building and stepped into the warm afternoon sun.

Students buzzed around campus like bees in a hive, backpacks swinging, voices carrying in the breeze.

“Are you going with me to the library?” you asked, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

Jisung shook his head. “Nah, but I’ll walk with you. I’m going in the same direction anyway.”

“For what?”

“Jeno invited me to this basketball thing,” he said, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

“Apparently their team’s captain—uh, Heeseung, I think—he’s looking for new people to play with for fun or whatever.”

You smiled. “Heeseung’s not that bad.”

Jisung looked at you sideways, squinting. “Wait—you know him?”

You nodded, stepping around a group of freshmen standing in the middle of the walkway. “I’ve heard of him through Jake. They’re friends. I think Heeseung’s in the same friend group as Jay, too.”

“God,” Jisung groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Rich people. I swear, they’re built different. Like you accidentally bump into them and suddenly you’re cursed for life or offered a black card.”

You burst into laughter. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m not wrong,” he huffed.

“They’ve got this whole aesthetic. Leather jackets, expensive watches, dangerous glares. I don’t even know if I’m walking into a friendly basketball game or a mafia recruitment.”

You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh. “Just don’t let Heeseung intimidate you. He seems chill.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung muttered. “Says the girl who’s brushing shoulders with them.”

You snorted. “They’re just people, Jisung.”

“Mmhm. Rich, insanely good-looking people who probably have secret trust funds and family empires.”

You didn’t say anything to that. Just smiled to yourself and kept walking, letting the late afternoon breeze play with the edge of your sleeves.

The sun had dipped low enough to spill warm gold over the campus walkways, shadows stretching across the stone paths and weaving between the sea of students heading to their own destinations.

Beside you, Jisung kicked at a pebble and sighed, like he hadn’t just casually insulted half of Decelis University’s most beloved golden boys.

The crowd thinned a little by the time you reached the front steps of the main library.

You slowed, glancing up at the tall glass doors and then to Jisung, who was already looking at you with a knowing smirk.

“This is your stop,” he said.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He tilted his head. “You got a shift tonight?”

“No,” you replied, pulling your bag higher on your shoulder.

He let out a long sigh. “Then what are you even gonna do in there?”

“I need to finish our paper. And study for the quiz.”

Jisung blinked. “We have a quiz?”

You laughed. “Next week.”

His eyebrows scrunched together, mouth pulling into a frown. “You’re studying a week early?”

You gave him a sheepish shrug, smiling like you hadn’t just exposed yourself. “Why not?”

He groaned dramatically, stepping back like your logic physically wounded him. “This is exactly why people call you a nerd.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Who calls me a nerd?”

“Me,” he said flatly, flashing a grin.

You rolled your eyes, not even bothering to argue. Instead, you jerked your chin toward the direction of the gym. “Just go to the gym, Jisung.”

He was already walking backwards, flashing you a peace sign. “Bye, nerd!”

“Seriously…” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head as he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

With a sigh, you turned your attention to the already open double doors of the main library, the warm yellow lights inside spilling out.

You stepped inside and instantly felt the difference—the hush of the indoors, the faint hum of heaters, and the overwhelming scent of old books and disinfectant that always clung to the place.

Your shoes padded softly across the wooden floor as you headed straight for the front desk.

Sure enough, there was Eunchae, sitting behind the counter, her brows furrowed as she flipped through a small stack of returned books, scanning barcodes and sorting titles like clockwork.

The sight made you smile—but it quickly faded when you noticed the noise level in the room.

The main floor of the library was packed. Every table was full, every group buzzed with whispers, pens tapped, pages flipped, and the occasional shuffle of chairs echoed across the space.

“Hey, Eunchae,” you greeted, walking up to the desk.

She looked up immediately, her whole face lighting up when she saw you. “Hey! You're early,” she said with a grin, brushing some loose strands of hair behind her ear before setting the book aside.

You leaned against the counter, glancing back at the tables and letting out a soft sigh. “Looks crazy in here. You okay?”

Eunchae nodded, but her eyes betrayed just how frazzled she really felt. “It’s just really busy tonight,” she muttered, rubbing her temples before straightening up.

“Group projects. Midterms. People panicking. The usual.”

You scanned the room again, eyes trailing from the study cubicles to the crowded group tables. “Are you sure you can deal with this alone?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I need the credentials anyway. Still, thank you for giving me your shift tonight. You didn’t have to.”

You shook your head quickly, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “It’s nothing. Seriously. You’ve covered for me enough times.”

Eunchae offered a grateful look before returning her attention to the stack of books on her left. “Try to find a seat, though. It's every man for themselves tonight.”

You groaned playfully. “Noted.”

She chuckled, then tapped the empty chair beside her. “If you don’t find any, you can crash here with me. I won’t judge if you type away behind the desk.”

You nodded gratefully, taking a step back with a soft smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. Good luck, Eunchae.”

“Same to you, (Y/N),” she replied, voice warm as ever.

Stepping away from the front desk, you adjusted the strap of your bag and exhaled. Your eyes scanned the room for an open seat—nothing. Every table was packed.

You sighed, walking deeper into the library. Past the tall, aged shelves, where the noise began to soften, muffled by old pages and quiet focus.

The deeper you went, the more your heartbeat slowed—less chaos, more calm.

Near the very back, where the windows were fogged slightly from the cool outside air, you spotted a couple rising from their seats, collecting their things.

You silently willed them to move faster, and as soon as they stepped away, you were quick to slide into the nearest chair.

Or you tried to.

A hand landed on the chair across from you at the same time, and you froze.

Your eyes met someone else's—only to be met with familiar dark ones you’ve recognized.

Jay stood there, books piled in one arm, a half-drunk coffee in the other, a hint of steam still curling from the lid.

His hair was slightly tousled like he'd run his hands through it too many times, and his uniform blazer was unbuttoned, sleeves slightly rolled, as if he had been fighting sleep and time since morning.

“Oh,” he said, blinking. “It’s you.”

“Good evening, Jay,” you greeted politely, trying not to sound as surprised as you felt.

“Good evening, (Y/N),” he mirrored, voice softer.

He nodded toward the table, shifting his weight on one foot. “Were you… going to sit here?”

You gave a slow nod. “Yes, actually.”

“Oh—sorry.” He took a step back immediately, smile sheepish as he gestured vaguely behind him. “I didn’t mean to—uh—steal it. I can find somewhere else—”

You cut him off with a small shake of your head. “It’s fine. We can share.”

Jay tilted his head slightly, brows raised. “Are you sure? I mean… I don’t want to intrude.”

“You gave me a ride earlier,” you reminded him gently, eyes flicking to the chair across from yours. “This is the least I can do. So please—sit.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his features before his lips curved into a grateful smile.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, settling into the seat as you both placed your things on the table.

The moment his bag dropped to the floor with a dull thud, he let out an audible sigh of relief, leaning back in his chair for just a second. You glanced at him, amused.

“That bad, huh?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, massaging the back of his neck. “It’s been a long day.”

You offered a sympathetic smile as you began pulling out your own pile of papers, smoothing them out beside your laptop. Jay glanced over at your mountain of handouts, raising a brow.

“What about you?”

“I have a quiz next week,” you mumbled, “and like… three lab reports I haven’t started yet.”

You lifted the messy bundle of worksheets and waved them dramatically. Jay snorted, opening one of the heavy books from his pile.

“God. Sounds familiar.”

“What’s with all the books?” you asked, eyeing the stack. “Research?”

“Nope,” he said grimly, “three quizzes tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help the grimace that twisted your face. “Oh.”

Jay chuckled at your reaction, the sound low and tired. “I know. Tell me about it.”

You smiled, setting your laptop in place and opening your notebook.

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the soft hum of the library and the occasional flipping of pages filling the space.

Jay glanced at you again, barely turning his head but enough to catch a glimpse of the way your brows furrowed as you read over your notes. His lips quirked up in a quiet, boyish smile—so fleeting it could’ve gone unnoticed.

He shook his head with a soft chuckle under his breath, gaze falling back to his own open textbook, where highlighters bled through the thin pages and his scrawled handwriting curved like tangled ivy across the margins.

But even as he looked down, he wasn’t really reading.

Because to him, everything about you was astonishing.

You didn’t approach him just to gawk. You didn’t fumble over your words or try to flirt like everyone else did. You didn’t bat your lashes or hang on to his every sentence for the sake of impressing him.

You asked questions. Real ones. Thoughtful ones.

As if you saw past all the surface-level noise and looked directly at the person underneath—the one he wasn’t sure anyone bothered to see anymore.

You talked to him like he was just Park Jongseong. Nobody else.

A soft hum left his lips, and he leaned back in his chair a little, eyes skimming the highlighted lines again as he tapped the capped end of his pen against the desk.

He snickered quietly at one of the messier annotations scribbled in the margin, his own handwriting nearly impossible to read in the yellow ink.

His brief laughter caught your attention, and when you looked up, you found him smiling—eyes crinkling ever so slightly at the corners. It made you smile too, instinctively.

You tilted your head, eyes warm with curiosity.

“Is it true that psychology makes you insane too?” you asked teasingly.

Jay laughed, this time more openly, the sound melting into the quiet murmur of the library.

He turned his book around and tilted it in your direction, revealing the absolute chaos of notes, arrows, underlines, and circles all over the pages.

“No,” he said with a grin. “I just find my handwriting funny.”

You leaned forward to look, eyes widening a bit. “Funny? Jay, this looks like a crime scene,” you whispered, trying not to laugh.

“Is that a smiley face next to the word trauma?”

Jay rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, chuckling. “Yeah, well. Gotta keep things light somehow.”

You both laughed, the kind that bubbled naturally and settled between you as you pointed your pen at him with a teasing squint.

“Light is a bit too far-fetched with that topic, Jay. You’re literally dissecting the human mind.”

He turned the book back around, flipping through a few more pages littered with chaotic lines, highlighted blocks of text, and tiny frustrated scribbles in the margins.

“I should probably rewrite my notes,” he sighed, half-laughing, half-defeated.

You smiled softly and nudged your open pencil case toward him without a word. The soft clatter of pens and highlighters drew his attention.

“Knock yourself out,” you said, the corners of your lips tugging upward.

Jay glanced at the offered tools, then at you—your calm presence, the curve of your smirk, the way your hand rested near your laptop like you’d been waiting to offer help all along.

He reached over and took a black pen, his fingers brushing yours just barely.

“Thanks,” he muttered under his breath, almost too quiet to catch, as if saying it too loud would make the moment too real.

You just nodded, lowering your gaze back to your notebook, but your smile lingered.

Minutes passed. Then more. What started as a short break turned into hours of quiet company. The kind that didn’t need to be filled with words.

You worked on your lab sheets, flipping between tabs and scribbling formulas, while Jay read through his notes, occasionally adjusting the sticky flags he had lined up across the edge of a thick textbook.

Every once in a while, one of you would say something—about a definition, a memory from class, or just a random thought—and the other would respond with a small smile or a soft laugh before falling back into the comfort of silence.

You stretched your fingers after typing out the final conclusion on your lab report. “And… done,” you whispered under your breath.

Jay hummed across you, glancing over. “That’s it?”

You looked up, blinking. “You’re done?”

He shrugged, closing his book and gesturing at the mess in front of him. “I guess so. I’ve read through every chapter twice, and I think my highlighters are crying for help.”

You laughed, glancing at the pages, now overwhelmed with neon yellow, green, and pink. Sticky notes stuck out like feathers on a bird.

“Nice job,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Jay nodded with mock triumph. “What about you?”

You turned your laptop toward him. “Just finished answering everything.”

He tilted his head, leaning in a little as he scanned the open tabs and your meticulous work. “All three sheets?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

You nodded.

“Damn,” he muttered, impressed. “We make one good study team.”

You chuckled softly. “That’s true.”

As you began closing your laptop and slipping it into your bag, you nudged your pencil case toward him. “Are you done?”

“Oh—yes, thank you,” he said, quickly putting the pen he borrowed back inside.

You zipped it up, placing it gently in your bag. “No problem. Glad I could help you, you know?”

Jay gave a soft smile, a genuine one, as he looked around the now nearly empty library.

It was quiet—much quieter than it had been hours ago. The hum of conversations and footsteps had faded into the occasional rustle of paper or the librarian’s distant footsteps.

He started packing up as well, carefully slotting in what he could into his messenger bag, organizing the mess he had made earlier.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

You nodded, standing up and stretching a little. Jay followed suit, and the two of you walked side by side through the long aisle of bookshelves.

There was something calm about the way the library dimmed toward closing, the distant sound of a ticking clock echoing through the tall ceiling.

“What now?” Jay asked, adjusting his bag over his shoulder.

“Well, I usually walk back to my apartment after this,” you said, voice soft, “but I stop by your mom’s flower shop first.”

Jay glanced at you, humming. “That’s nice.”

You tilted your head a little, curious. “What is?”

He looked down at you, meeting your eyes with something close to admiration. “Seeing you so dedicated to the shop.”

A smile slowly spread across your face. The compliment was simple—but it warmed something in your chest.

“I love it a lot,” you said softly. “Ever since I started going to Decelis, Mrs. Park had everything I ever needed for my labs… and she’s really nice.”

Jay nodded, agreeing. “She is. Well—thank you for being our regular.”

You smiled wider as he bumped his shoulder playfully against yours, making you roll your eyes with a little laugh.

“Plus, I love her baked treats,” you added. “They’re really good.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Jay said with a grin.

As the two of you neared the front desk, a voice chimed out.

“Good night, (Y/N)—you too, Park.”

You looked up to see Eunchae mid-sentence, blinking at the both of you. Her gaze flicked between your face and Jay’s, and a teasing smile tugged at her lips almost immediately.

Jay furrowed his brows slightly, glancing between the two of you in confusion.

You sighed, muttering, “Walk faster,” as you gently tugged on his sleeve.

Jay looked at you, then back at Eunchae, then raised an eyebrow as a grin slowly pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“Okay… what was that about?” he asked.

You gave him a deadpan look. “Ignore her.”

Behind you, Eunchae grinned even wider, wiggling her fingers in a teasing wave as you and Jay walked out the library doors.

The evening breeze brushed past the both of you, gently tousling your hair as the sky dimmed into deep blues and golds. The faint sound of laughter and footsteps echoed from distant parts of campus.

Jay shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket, glancing sideways at you.

“Should I, uh, know the meaning behind that little interaction back there?” he asked, referring to Eunchae’s smug wave.

You let out a laugh through your nose, hugging your arms as the wind picked up again. “No, please don’t,” you replied, tone playfully dramatic. “For your sanity.”

Jay chuckled, nodding. “Got it. I’ll pretend I saw nothing.”

You both walked side by side, the soft crunch of gravel under your shoes filling the comfortable silence.

“I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten,” he said, glancing up at the dusky sky.

“Yeah…” you agreed softly. “It’s pretty late.”

Jay hesitated, slowing his steps a little before turning to you. And if it wasn’t for the campus lights just starting to flicker on, you might’ve noticed the faint blush painting his cheeks.

He cleared his throat. “Uhm… are you hungry?”

You tilted your head, blinking at him. “Why?”

Jay looked down, suddenly finding his shoes very interesting. “I mean—you don’t have to be—but I just thought, maybe, you know…”

You grinned. “I can eat.”

His head snapped up, startled. “Oh. That’s—good. That’s great.”

You squinted at him, amused. “Why? What’s up?”

Jay rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze as he stuttered, “Well, I uh—was thinking—maybe if you're not busy and I mean you’re probably not because we’re already walking and it's late and—”

You reached over and tugged gently on the sleeve of his hoodie, giggling. “Jay. Calm down. I can’t understand you.”

His mouth shut instantly. His eyes dropped to your hand, still lightly tugging on his sleeve—your fingers just barely brushing the fabric, but somehow it made his heart race. He blinked, then inhaled slowly.

“Do you want to eat dinner?” he asked, voice a bit steadier this time. “With me?”

You stared at him for a beat, then smiled.

“My treat,” he added, eyes darting away, cheeks glowing pink.

You blinked once then leaned in a little closer, grinning. “Is this a date?”

His eyes widened. “What—I mean—no! Not like that—I just—I figured we both haven’t eaten and it's late and—and it's totally fine if you don’t want to, I wasn’t trying to make it weird or anything—”

And there it was again. That same Jay Park who had a reputation for being cool, level-headed, untouchable—now standing in front of you as a stammering, flushed, hoodie-wearing mess because of one little question and the tiniest bit of skin contact.

You giggled, letting go of his sleeve. “I’m just teasing, Jay.”

He pouted, mumbling something under his breath as he looked down at his hands, now fidgeting with the silver rings on his fingers.

“You didn’t have to put me on the spot like that…” he grumbled.

You laughed again, watching the way he furrowed his brows and blew air into his bangs.

“Where’s the fun in that?” you teased, bumping your shoulder gently into his.

He sighed, cheeks still tinged with pink, “So… is that a yes or a no?”

You nodded enthusiastically, eyes crinkling with your smile. “Yes. I’ll have dinner with you.”

A small grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Okay. My treat.”

You immediately protested, “Wait—Jay—”

But he was already walking ahead, hands buried in his hoodie pockets, grinning to himself.

“No takebacks,” he called over his shoulder. “You already agreed.”

You jogged a few steps after him, eyes wide. “No fair!”

Jay looked back, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “All’s fair in love and late-night dinners,” he said with a smug little shrug.

The road stretched ahead in a calm blur of streetlights and sleepy buildings, the dashboard lights casting a soft glow over the two of you.

Jay’s hand rested on the steering wheel, his other casually draped over the gearshift as a gentle tune filled the silence from the car speakers.

“If that’s what it takes to learn that sweet heart of yours…” he sang under his breath, low and steady, just barely louder than a hum.

You turned your head from the window where your cheek had been resting against your palm, and looked at him, surprised. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

Jay kept his eyes on the road, shoulders twitching in a sheepish shrug. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” you countered, your voice warm with amusement.

“Jay, stop lying. You sounded really good.”

He chuckled softly, one corner of his lips lifting in a shy smile. “Okay, maybe I can, but I’m not that good. I’d rather stick to playing the guitar, honestly.”

You shifted in your seat to face him a little more, still grinning. “I like your voice, though.”

Jay glanced at you then—just for a second—but the smile on his face grew the tiniest bit softer. “Thanks,” he murmured, eyes flicking back to the road.

“I’m serious,” you said gently. “It’s calming. You should sing more often.”

Jay exhaled a breathy laugh and scratched the back of his neck with one hand. “So… you like English songs?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I like some of them. I’ve had this one on repeat lately.”

He hummed, bobbing his head a little. “Nice taste.”

You smiled smugly, playful. “I know.”

That made him laugh again—this time, a bit louder. “Cocky much?”

“Just confident,” you teased, elbowing him lightly.

“Mmhm.” He nodded in fake seriousness, then looked ahead again, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm with the music. “I love this one too, though.”

“Really?” you asked, tilting your head.

He nodded, and his voice slipped out again, just a touch louder this time.

“If it’s ten thousand hours or the rest of my life, I’m gonna love you…”

You stared without meaning to, your breath caught somewhere between your chest and throat.

The moonlight washed through the car window, casting a soft silvery sheen over Jay’s features—his dark hair slightly tousled, jawline sharp, lips curling faintly with the lyrics, and those calm, focused eyes.

For a moment, he didn’t look like the Jay you knew—the one always being scolded for fighting, or arguing with you over notes.

He looked gentle. Thoughtful. Beautiful.

You smiled to yourself, eyes fluttering down as you whispered, “It really is a good song.”

Jay looked over briefly, catching the way you were gazing at him, and tilted his head slightly, voice softer now. “Do you like it that much?”

There was a pause. The song continued, lyrics floating through the air between you like something delicate.

Jay’s voice was low when he replied, “It reminds me of something, too.”

You turned to him slowly. “What does it remind you of?”

He hesitated, lips parting slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he should say it. But then he just smiled faintly, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Nothing bad.”

That made your heart skip just a little.

You didn’t push it. You just smiled softly to yourself, letting the comfortable silence return as he focused on driving.

The soft hum of the song continued through the speakers, wrapping around the two of you like a blanket, and before you knew it, Jay was pulling into a parking spot.

You blinked at the sudden stop and turned to look out the window.

A warm, cozy-looking restaurant stood in front of you. The soft glow of fairy lights wrapped around the pillars of the outdoor patio, and groups of people laughed and talked over their meals.

You noticed how packed the parking lot was — it must’ve been a popular spot.

“This place looks… really nice,” you said, turning to him.

Jay just smiled as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “It is.”

Before you could even reach for the handle, he was already out and walking around the car. Your heart did a little somersault when he opened the door for you, offering a hand.

You laughed. “Really?”

“C’mon,” he said, smirking. “Don’t make me regret it.”

You rolled your eyes playfully but took his hand anyway. It was warm. Firm. Comforting. He helped you out with ease and kept holding your hand for a moment longer before letting go reluctantly.

As you both walked up to the entrance, you glanced sideways at him. “So, how’d you know about this place?”

He shrugged casually. “My aunt owns it.”

You looked at him, eyebrows raised. “No way. That’s actually really cool.”

Jay chuckled. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“No, it is,” you insisted with a grin. “Having an aunt who owns a cute restaurant? That’s awesome.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling. “If you say so.”

As you stepped into the restaurant, the soft chatter and clinking of silverware greeted you.

The place smelled like garlic, toasted bread, and a hint of something sweet—warm and comforting, just like it looked from the outside.

A staff member at the small wooden reception desk looked up and smiled. “Good evening, Mr. Park.”

“Evening,” Jay greeted with a small nod. “Is my aunt in?”

“Yes, sir. She’s by the first booth, just near the door. You should see her right away.”

Jay nodded in thanks, then gently placed his hand on your back. “C’mon. This’ll be quick.”

You nodded, ignoring the way your heart jumped from the contact as he guided you through the bustling main floor.

Just as the staff said, a woman sat in the first booth, glasses slipping down her nose as she typed furiously on her laptop. Jay leaned in a little, voice playful.

“Busy?”

She looked up, startled for a split second before a bright smile spread across her face. “Jay! You didn’t say you were coming!”

She stood up and immediately wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back with one arm.

“Are you alone?” she asked, glancing at you with a curious but warm gaze.

He pulled back and stepped to the side so you were in full view. “Nope.”

Her lips curled into a knowing smile.

Jay ignored it. “Are there any booths available?”

“There should be a few left upstairs,” she said, scanning the busy dining area. “But you know your booth’s always reserved for you.”

Jay smiled. “Thanks, auntie.”

With a quick nod, he motioned for you to follow. “Let’s go.”

You quietly followed beside him, trying not to focus on how naturally he placed his hand on the small of your back again. It was nothing, probably unconscious. But your cheeks were warm anyway.

The stairs led to a second floor that was just as cozy — quieter, more intimate. Artwork lined the walls: soft-toned paintings, delicate sketches, and calming landscapes. Your eyes flitted over them in awe.

“Wow,” you murmured.

Jay glanced back, amused. “You like art?”

“I love it,” you admitted. “Especially ones like these. They’re so soft.”

He smiled at that but said nothing more until you reached the very last booth — a corner seat by the window.

The view was stunning.

The glass walls opened the whole space up to the city lights, the glimmer of buildings stretching out into the horizon. The skyline glittered like constellations in a sea of black. You slid into the leather seat, trying not to gape.

“Now this,” Jay said as he sat across from you, “is what’s cool.”

He pointed upward and you followed his finger.

Your breath caught.

A beautiful chandelier hung at the center of the room, soft golden lights catching on the delicate glass shards — casting subtle rainbows against the white ceiling.

“Wow…” you whispered.

Jay smiled, his eyes not on the chandelier, but on you. “Pretty, right?”

You nodded slowly, still a little starstruck by the place. “It’s beautiful.”

He looked away, chuckling lightly. “I figured you’d like it here.”

You looked back at him just as he reached for the menu. “So, what do you want to eat?”

You mirrored him, opening the simple leather-bound menu. “Hmm… what do you guys usually get here?”

Jay glanced up, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’ve never taken my friends here.”

You blinked. “Not even Jake?”

He shook his head, amused. “Nope.”

“Why not?” you asked, clearly curious.

Jay let out a soft laugh. “Because knowing us, we’d probably end up paying more for the damage than the food.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my god—”

“I’m serious!” he grinned. “One time, Jake dropped a whole hot pot on the table at another place, and we just left a hefty tip and walked out like nothing happened.”

“You guys sound fun to be around,” you giggled.

Jay scrunched his nose, playful. “If your definition of fun is clumsily breaking dishes and turning every meal into a mess, then yeah. We’re so fun.”

You beamed at him, resting your chin on your hand again. “Still. It must be nice. Being that close with your friends.”

“It is,” he said, tone softening just a little. “They’re annoying, but they’re my people.”

You smiled, heart warming at the sincerity in his voice.

Jay smiled back at you, his eyes crinkling just at the sides—the kind of smile that felt unguarded, the kind people only gave when they were truly comfortable.

“Well,” you said, resting your forearms against the table, “what do you usually order here?”

“Steak and mashed potatoes,” he replied instantly, like he’d been ordering the same thing for years.

You tilted your head. “Anything else?”

The corner of his mouth lifted as if he was holding back a bigger grin. “Chocolate cake for dessert.”

Your lips curved. “I’ll have that too, then.”

He raised a brow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You nodded once, certain. “I trust you. Isn’t that enough?”

That made him laugh—a low, warm sound that curled at the edges.

“Okay, okay.” He lifted his hand, catching the attention of a waiter with a casual wave. The soft yellow light from the chandelier above caught the faint shine of the rings on his fingers as he gestured.

Dinner went smoothly after that.

The booth you were in had just enough privacy to make the space feel yours, with the hum of conversation from other tables fading into a comfortable background noise.

The city lights through the glass wall twinkled faintly, reflected in the polished surface of your table. The steak was perfectly seared, the mashed potatoes creamy, the sauce rich but not overpowering.

Between bites, you and Jay drifted in and out of conversation—small comments about the food, light teasing about the way you cut your steak too precisely, your laughter bubbling over more than once.

At one point, Jay set his fork down and leaned back a little, his arm resting along the back of the booth.

“You know how I met Ni-ki? You know, our first-year friend. The one Jake probably mentioned to you before?”

You looked up, curious. “Ah…him. No, how?”

“It was because of my cousin,” he began, picking his fork back up to slice into another bite. “She was in the same class as him back in high school.”

“And?” you prompted, chewing slowly.

Jay gave you a deadpan stare, but there was a spark of amusement in his eyes. “She called him a dick.”

You almost dropped your fork, laughing. “What? Why?”

“She said he never talked to her unless it was absolutely necessary. Like—” he mimicked a bored monotone, “‘Move.’ That’s it. That’s all he’d say to her.”

You pressed your fingers to your mouth to stifle a laugh. “No way—”

“Oh, there’s more,” Jay said, shaking his head with mock disbelief.

“One time she asked him if he wanted to join a group project, and he just said, ‘No.’ Then walked away.”

You leaned back, still laughing. “Oh my god, that’s awful—”

“Right?” Jay shook his head, a laugh escaping him before he sighed, stabbing the last piece of his chocolate cake with his fork.

“Well, I ended up befriending Ni-ki during my last year of high school, and he’s been stuck with our group ever since. My cousin still hates him, though.”

You popped the last bite of your dessert into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully before shrugging. “Well, it can’t be helped.”

Jay gave you a pointed look, lowering his voice like he was letting you in on a secret. “If you ask me, I think Ni-ki just likes her.”

Your brows shot up. “I mean… that’s a possibility.”

He leaned back with a dry chuckle. “I might punch him first. Who knows.”

You shook your head, lips twitching. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jay just smirked. “Are you done?”

You nodded, wiping your mouth with the napkin. “Yeah.”

He glanced at your now-empty plate, then back at you, tilting his head toward it in a subtle gesture. “Ready to go?”

You followed his gaze, letting your eyes drop to the cleared plate before nodding again. “Yeah, come on.”

He stood, grabbing his bag, and you did the same. The two of you made your way down the stairs, the hum of conversations and clinking cutlery greeting you again.

Jay stood beside you at the cashier, pulling out his card with casual ease.

“Good evening,” the cashier greeted.

“Evening. For table twenty, please.” Jay slid the card across the counter, his tone casual but polite.

As she began to process the payment, he added, “Can I also get a chocolate cake for takeout?”

The cashier nodded with a polite smile. “Would that be all?”

“That’s all,” Jay confirmed, tucking one hand into the pocket of his hoodie as he waited.

While she worked, you leaned in just enough for your shoulder to brush his arm.

Standing on tiptoe, you whispered near his ear, “You can eat all of that by yourself?”

You caught the faint twitch of his lips before he glanced down at you, laughing under his breath. “For me and my family.”

“Mmhm.” You rocked back on your feet, feigning disbelief but unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

The cashier returned his card with a practiced motion and handed over the neatly packaged cake.

Jay accepted it with one hand, the weight of the box light in his grip, while the other found its place naturally at the small of your back.

His palm was warm even through the fabric as he guided you toward the door.

From behind, his aunt’s voice cut through the gentle hum of conversation. “Bye! And I’m sending the cake money back to your bank account!”

Jay’s groan was immediate, loud enough for nearby tables to hear.

He turned halfway toward her with narrowed eyes. “No, don’t—”

But she just winked in his direction, her gaze flicking knowingly between the two of you before tilting her head toward you with a smile that said far too much without a single word.

You blinked, tilting your head in confusion. “What was that about?”

“I swear she lives to embarrass me,” Jay muttered, shaking his head like this was an old, unsolvable problem.

Before you could press further, the staff member from earlier stepped forward, holding the door open for the two of you.

Jay gave a polite nod in thanks before stepping outside with you.

The evening air was crisp against your cheeks, carrying the faint scent of grilled food from the kitchen vents mixed with the distant tang of city asphalt.

Neon signs from nearby shops painted the sidewalk in shifting colors, and the low hum of traffic seemed muted here.

Jay’s hand lingered at your back until you reached the car, where he finally—reluctantly—pulled away to open the passenger door for you.

His movements were unhurried, like he was in no rush to create space between you, but still careful in a way that made your chest feel warm.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, slipping inside.

Jay placed the cake gently in the backseat, double-checking it wouldn’t slide around, before circling to the driver’s side.

He slid into his seat, fingers curling around the wheel as he started the engine—a little quicker than necessary.

The soft hum filled the quiet, and for a moment, the only sound was your quiet exhale as you breathed warm air into your cupped hands.

Jay glanced over, brows furrowing. “Cold?”

You met his gaze sheepishly. “Oops—sorry. It’s just… really cold.”

Without saying another word, he reached forward to turn up the heater.

Then, in one swift motion, he tugged his hoodie over his head, the fabric rustling in the still air, and held it out to you.

You shook your head immediately. “No, it’s fine—”

He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval before gently placing it down on your lap, careful not to brush against you.

You sighed, giving him a look. “You know, for someone who’s known for his cold demeanor, you’re acting sweet.”

Jay’s lips quirked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “And for someone for someone who’s so level-headed, you’re stubborn.”

The words slipped out before he could stop himself, and the moment they did, color crept up the tips of his ears.

“Plus, I’m just being a good friend,” he added quickly, eyes darting back to the wheel.

You shrugged teasingly, adjusting the hoodie on your lap. “Thank you, good friend. You’re such a good friend.”

He clicked his tongue again, turning his face away just enough to hide the pink dusting across his cheeks—but you caught it anyway.

Letting out a slow sigh, he glanced back at you. “Where to?”

You tilted your head. “You can just drop me off at your mom’s flower shop.”

Jay immediately shook his head, grip tightening on the wheel like he’d already made up his mind before you even asked. “I’m not letting you walk this late alone.”

“But—”

“No,” he cut in, voice steady but carrying that quiet edge that told you there was no point in arguing. “I mean it. I’d blame myself if something happened to you.”

You let out a groan, tipping your head back against the seat dramatically. “I swear I’ll be fine—

He didn’t even respond this time, just sent you a sharp, level look out of the corner of his eye. It was the kind of look that made you stop mid-sentence.

You slumped slightly, muttering under your breath, “See? So stubborn.”

Jay’s lips twitched as if he was holding back a smile, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“Can we at least stop by the flower shop first? Please?” you asked, leaning forward just a little, hoping the softer tone might sway him.

His eyes flickered to you briefly before returning to the streetlights passing overhead. “Wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

You huffed, crossing your arms in mock offense, earning yourself a quiet chuckle from him. The sound was low, warm, and for some reason, it made the air in the car feel just a bit more comfortable.

“My mom’s not there, though,” he said casually after a moment, his voice breaking the easy silence. “I think Hyunjae’s watching the shop tonight.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve seen him sometimes,” you said, recalling the tall, slightly awkward guy you’d occasionally spotted behind the counter.

Jay nodded once, merging smoothly into the main road. “Mhm. He’s one of my cousins.”

His hand adjusted slightly on the wheel, the faint glow from the dashboard catching on his profile—sharp jawline, relaxed eyes, lips that tugged upward almost imperceptibly.

Outside, the night stretched on, neon lights flickering past your window in blurred streaks, while inside, the faint hum of the heater and the lingering warmth from his hoodie on your lap made the ride feel unhurried, almost safe.

Jay glanced sideways at you from the driver’s seat, one hand steady on the wheel as the other tapped idly against his thigh.

The traffic ahead was slow, red brake lights lining up like a trail of fireflies.

“It’s a bit traffic right now,” he said, voice low. “You can get some rest if you want.”

You blinked, your head lolling slightly as you turned to look at him, eyes already heavy. “Mhm… okay,” you murmured, pulling the hoodie closer as you adjusted it in your lap.

A moment later, you slipped your arms through the sleeves and tugged it on over your top, burying your nose into the soft fabric. You sunk into the passenger seat a little more, eyes fluttering shut as your head tilted gently against the window.

“Goodnight, Jay…” you mumbled sleepily, words nearly lost in the lull of your breath.

Jay’s hand paused on his thigh. He glanced over again, just in time to see your lashes lower and your breathing steady out.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” he whispered, barely audible, a small smile tugging at his lips as he returned his eyes to the road.

But not before he looked once more—just once—lingering longer than he probably should have.

There was something about the way you looked in that moment—wrapped in his hoodie, hands tucked close to your chest, your features soft in the dim light. Peaceful. Unbothered. Completely at ease. With him.

Jay gripped the steering wheel tighter.

He wasn’t sure what to make of the feeling creeping up through his chest—slow, persistent, unfamiliar.

He told himself it was nothing. Just the warmth of the car. The calm of the night. The tiredness from the long day.

But deep down, he knew it was more than that.

And for the first time in a long while, Jay didn’t feel like speeding through the night.

He wanted to slow down.

Just a little longer. Just a little more time with you beside him.

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

⤷ permanent taglist — @m1kkso @ilovhoonie @jiyeons-closet @manobillie @yjmylove @in-somnias-world @cripplinghooman @yeossified @ateez-atiny380 @chemiru @eleftheriance @deluluscenarios @simp4simlee @baedreamverse @lala-loopsydoll ⤷ series taglist — @seungsoftly @aloveminsalade @merakicafee @isagistar @heeknow @blooqz @k1ttyjwon @dearestdreamies @sourkiki @mixxie2203 @wonuzu @12e45 @fancypeacepersona @omlhyck @starfallia @koizekomi @hommyy-tommy @laylasbunbunny @aggarwaldrishti @bestboileeknow @meeghangryfun @liliawritesss @starfire21 @seokjinthescientist @iicehoon @stayupdates @carmenxhiu @atashiboba

© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[kangsyeosang]

for @arinnin 💖

[starhwatiny]

okay Kei Urana is cooking with the new chapters omg new leaks go CRAZY

[liuhsng]

✩ˎˊ˗ ride with caution ( lhs ! ) — part 1

✩ˎˊ˗ part of the xo, with you series | enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — heeseung x fem!reader

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 ⤷ word count — 14.4k ⤷ taglist for the series — open !

⤷ warnings — college au, biker!heeseung, english major!heeseung, fashion major!reader, college!heeseung, college!reader, college!enhypen, strangers to lovers, slow burn, tension-filled interactions, mutual pining, rich!reader, casual jealousy, subtle possessiveness, emotional repression, foul language, kinda fuckboy!heeseung, soft!heeseung deep down, mentions of ive’s wonyoung and yujin, reader is cold but not heartless, fluff, angst

✩ˎˊ˗ summary — lee heeseung has always been the kind of boy you were told to stay away from—reckless, with a trail of rumors that follow wherever he goes. they say he fights for fun, kisses without meaning, and never sticks around long enough to fall. you, on the other hand, have never had time for distractions. being one of decelis university’s most promising fashion majors, the spotlight’s already on you—you were supposed to avoid him. and you did. until a quiet offer of help changed everything. or, where the boy you never planned to look twice at ends up being the only one who sees right through you.

The room was silent except for the faint hum of the projector and the occasional shuffle of papers.

You stood tall at the front of the hall, posture straight as if you’d been sculpted for moments like this.

Your fingers smoothed the hem of your pleated skirt, tugging once at your cropped white blazer to ensure it sat perfectly on your shoulders.

The faint gold pin of your major’s crest glinted under the overhead lights as you adjusted it ever so slightly, a habit born of nerves you’d never admit to.

Behind you, your designs illuminated the screen—five mid-length coats, each distinct yet cohesive in their color palette and silhouettes.

“For this final piece,” you began, voice calm and steady, “I wanted to marry modern minimalism with delicate detailing. The bodice is structured with a cinched waist for shape, while the lace sleeves soften the silhouette.”

You paused, the faintest crease forming between your brows.

“However, during construction, I noticed an issue with the stitching at the lace sleeve ends—it wasn’t holding cleanly against the lining.”

A murmur ran through a few students in the audience, but you pressed on.

“To solve this, I reinforced the edges with an under-stitch and switched to a finer thread gauge for more flexibility, which allowed the lace to sit flush without compromising durability.”

You stepped back slightly, hands folding neatly in front of you as you gave a small nod. “That concludes my presentation. Thank you.”

For a beat, the room stayed quiet. Then applause swelled, echoing through the hall like a rolling wave.

Your lips curved into the faintest smile—not too wide, never smug—just enough to mask the tightness in your chest finally easing.

One of the panelists, Professor Kim, leaned forward with a warm expression. “As expected of Choi (Y/N). Our top student.”

A few soft laughs broke out across the room, and your smile grew a fraction.

“You have an exceptional eye,” He continued, “but more importantly, you have the presence of mind to identify and resolve issues independently. That’s a skill even seasoned designers struggle with.”

You inclined your head politely. “Thank you, professor.”

Behind you, the murmurs grew louder, sprinkled with approving comments from your peers.

As you made your way back to your seat, Yujin and Wonyoung were already grinning like proud parents.

“I told you,” Yujin whispered as you sat down, elbowing you lightly. “You were overthinking it. You killed it.”

You let out a small laugh, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Maybe.”

“Not maybe.” Wonyoung smiled, eyes crinkling as she rested her chin in her hand. “You really said, ‘save the best for last,’ huh?”

You shook your head with a quiet chuckle, trying to ignore the faint heat rising in your cheeks.

“Good job, everyone,” Professor Kim’s voice cut through the fading applause, drawing the attention of the room back to the front.

“You all passed the midterm project. Well done.”

Cheers and relieved sighs erupted from the students, the tension breaking like a dam. Hands clapped, a few chairs scraped back with excitement, and Yujin even did a little fist pump beside you.

But then Professor Min spoke up, her tone calm yet edged with finality. “However—”

The cheers instantly died down, replaced by a chorus of groans and murmurs.

“There’s still the final project,” she continued, clasping her hands in front of her. “It accounts for forty percent of your grade.”

You straightened slightly in your seat, fighting the urge to sigh. Forty percent. Of course.

Professor Min’s expression softened just a little at the collective despair in the room.

“The materials and requirements have been uploaded to the portal. You’ll have until the end of the month to submit. I suggest you start early.”

With that, the panelists gathered their notes and began exiting the hall.

“Good luck, everyone,” Professor Kim added with a small smile. “You’ll need it.”

As the door clicked shut behind them, the buzz of conversation returned—quieter now, tinged with nervous energy.

You exhaled slowly, relief loosening the knot in your chest.

“Shall we?” Wonyoung asked, slinging her sleek tote bag over her shoulder. She tilted her head toward the door with her usual elegance, though the teasing glint in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

“Yeah,” you murmured, gathering your tablet and sketchbook. Yujin hummed in agreement, already stuffing her charger into her bag as she grinned.

“You two seriously need to chill,” Yujin said playfully. “Midterms done. Let’s get celebratory coffee. My treat.”

But before you could reply, a familiar, cheerful voice called your name from the doorway.

“(Y/N)!”

You glanced up, surprise flickering across your face before a smile broke out.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed and blonde hair catching the light, was none other than Kim Sunoo.

His grin was bright enough to rival the afternoon sun. “There you are! I thought I’d missed you.”

“Oh right!” you exclaimed, the realization hitting you as you snapped your fingers. “I completely forgot—I promised I’d help you with the costume samples for your performance.”

Wonyoung and Yujin exchanged knowing looks as they stood.

“It’s totally fine,” Wonyoung said smoothly, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “You can just meet us at our usual table later.”

“Yeah, go be a good Samaritan,” Yujin added with a wink, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes. “I’m not a good Samaritan.”

“Sure you’re not,” Wonyoung teased as the two of them strolled away down the hall.

Turning back to Sunoo, you noticed his slightly sheepish expression as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he said with a small laugh. “Were you busy?”

“Not at all,” you replied warmly, shaking your head. “Come on, let’s finish the samples in the cafeteria. What do you say?”

His entire face lit up at your suggestion. “Yes! Thank you. Seriously, I’m really glad you’re my friend, you know that?”

You let out a soft laugh, nudging his shoulder as the two of you began walking side by side.

“Nonsense. I’m glad you’re mine too,” you said genuinely. “I’m always happy to help you, Sunoo.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that made it impossible not to smile back, and for a moment, the weight of final projects and deadlines felt just a little lighter.

As the two of you walked through the halls, the sound of your heels tapping against the floor mixed with Sunoo’s occasional hums.

It was warm outside the design building, but the faint hum of conversation and laughter spilling from the cafeteria ahead felt heavier—too packed, too loud for your liking.

When you finally stepped inside, you sighed softly, scanning the chaotic sea of students.

Every table was occupied—people hunched over assignments, groups laughing a little too loudly, trays clattering as someone almost tripped over a chair.

“Yeah…” Sunoo rubbed the back of his neck, scanning the tables with a hopeful glint in his eye.

“Well…” His eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh! I see someone I know.”

You raised a brow, watching his hand lift as he pointed toward the far side of the cafeteria. “Is it okay with you if we join him?”

You sighed, adjusting the strap of your bag. “As long as this person doesn’t annoy me.”

Sunoo laughed brightly. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t really speak that much around strangers.”

That made you pause.

Strangers? You weren’t sure if that label comforted you or not.

But you nodded anyway, following Sunoo as he weaved between crowded tables until you reached a corner tucked away from most of the noise.

There, sitting with his head bent low over a laptop, was a boy with cherry red-dyed hair, one hand lazily scrolling through the touchpad as a small pile of chocolate milk cartons sat stacked beside his things.

“Hey! Heeseung!” Sunoo chirped, grinning as he reached the table.

The boy’s head lifted slowly, dark eyes meeting Sunoo’s before a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Sunoo.”

Sunoo offered him a fist bump, which Heeseung returned without looking away from his screen.

“Mind if we sit?” Sunoo asked brightly.

Heeseung leaned back slightly, his gaze flicking to you just for a second—long enough to make your stomach tighten.

Then he nodded lazily. “Go ahead.”

Sunoo grinned, turning to you as if urging you to sit before you changed your mind. You reluctantly slid into the seat across from Heeseung, setting your tablet down with practiced precision.

“Look at this.” Sunoo gestured to the pile of chocolate milk with an incredulous laugh. “What’s with the stockpile?”

Heeseung’s lips curved faintly. “Go crazy. Don’t even like chocolate milk that much.”

“Seriously?” Sunoo chuckled, grabbing one. He held another out toward you. “Want one, (Y/N)?”

You shook your head politely. “I prefer banana milk.”

At that, Heeseung’s eyes flicked up from his laptop, a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

“Exactly,” he murmured, voice low but smooth like he’d just won a silent argument.

Sunoo blinked between the two of you before laughing. “Oh right! Lee Heeseung, Choi (Y/N). Choi (Y/N), Lee Heeseung.”

Heeseung offered his hand across the table, his long fingers loose and easy like he wasn’t trying at all. “Nice to meet you.”

You glanced at his hand but didn’t take it. Instead, you gave a polite nod.

He hummed, retracting his hand without missing a beat. “No to physical touch. Got it.”

Sunoo chuckled awkwardly. “We’re gonna be working here for a while. Hope that’s okay.”

“Don’t mind me.” Heeseung shook his head, already looking back down at his laptop. “I’m busy.”

And he meant it. His fingers tapped lazily at the keyboard, the glow of the screen highlighting his sharp features.

Cherry red strands fell slightly into his eyes, and you hated how effortlessly striking he looked even when he wasn’t paying attention to anything but his work.

You tore your gaze away, opening your tablet with a soft sigh.

“Sunoo,” you murmured, sliding the design mock-up toward him, “we need to modify the cargo pants.”

Sunoo leaned closer, nodding eagerly. “Right! The ones for the backup dancers? What do you think—less pocket bulk?”

“Yes,” you replied, your eyes flicking briefly to Heeseung before focusing fully on Sunoo again. “And we need a lighter fabric. It’ll move better during the performance.”

Sunoo hummed, nodding eagerly as his fingers drummed against the table.

He reached over to grab another chocolate milk from the small pile beside Heeseung’s laptop, twisting the carton in his hands as his lips curled mischievously.

“You know…” Sunoo began, eyeing the absurd stash with a teasing grin, “why do you even have so many of these anyway?”

Heeseung, still hunched lazily over his laptop, spared him a glance. The faintest curve of amusement played on his lips as he opened his mouth to answer—but he didn’t get the chance.

A chorus of soft giggles floated toward your table, and you instinctively looked up.

Three girls from your Apparel Development class—each perfectly dolled up in their own statement pieces—were making their way over.

Their steps were hesitant yet excited, clutching cartons of chocolate milk in their manicured hands as they approached.

You watched silently as Heeseung leaned back slightly in his chair, his cherry red hair catching the warm cafeteria light.

He let out a quiet sigh, though his expression melted into a smooth, practiced smile.

“Yes?” His tone was light, teasing even, but not unkind.

One of the girls stepped forward nervously, placing three more cartons onto the growing pile beside him.

“We, um—thought you might want more,” she said, her voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

Heeseung chuckled, the sound low and effortless. “Thank you, ladies. I’ll be sure to drink them, yeah?”

They giggled again—one even tucking her hair behind her ear as she muttered a shy “bye, Heeseung.”

“Bye,” he replied with an easy grin, watching them walk away before turning back to his laptop like nothing had happened.

Sunoo nearly choked on his sip of chocolate milk, laughter spilling out as he wiped the corner of his mouth. “Oh my god. That’s why.”

Heeseung didn’t look up, fingers tapping away at his keys. “Hm?”

“The chocolate milk. You don’t even like it that much—you’re just hoarding offerings from your little fanclub.”

A faint smirk tugged at Heeseung’s lips, but he didn’t deny it. “What can I say? People like to give.”

Sunoo shook his head, grinning as he glanced at you. “Isn’t he ridiculous?”

But you weren’t smiling. You raised a brow, glancing between the newly stacked cartons and the cherry red-haired boy across from you.

The dots connected almost instantly in your head.

Of course.

Just another pretty face with the personality to match. Charming. Effortless. Probably used to people falling over themselves to get a sliver of his attention.

You shook your head lightly, muttering under your breath, “Figures.”

Heeseung’s eyes flicked up at you then—quick, sharp, like he’d caught the faint trace of judgment in your tone.

But you didn’t meet his gaze.

Instead, you tapped your tablet screen with a neatly manicured finger, saying to Sunoo, “We need to adjust the stitching pattern on the waistband too. It’s pulling oddly at the seams in the mock-up.”

Sunoo nodded, already distracted as he jotted notes. “Got it. You’re a lifesaver, (Y/N).”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Heeseung’s lips twitch—not quite a smirk, not quite a smile—as he turned his attention back to his glowing screen.

“Interesting,” he murmured under his breath, so quiet it was nearly swallowed by the soft hum of the cafeteria.

His gaze trailed briefly—taking in the elegant way you held your stylus, the faint crease in your brow as you pointed out flaws in Sunoo’s design, and the way your gold wristwatch caught the light when you reached for your tablet.

You didn’t notice him watching, too focused on your work. Or maybe you did, and you were just very good at pretending you didn’t care.

Heeseung’s lips curved faintly again, this time in a softer way, like a private joke only he understood.

His fingers resumed their lazy tapping on the keyboard, but his eyes flicked up one last time—just for a second—as if filing the image of you away for later.

Then, with a low hum to himself, he muttered almost inaudibly, “This could be fun.”

The soft hum of chatter and clinking mugs filled the café, the faint aroma of espresso and warm pastries wrapping around you like a blanket.

It was the next morning, and though the sun had barely broken through the hazy clouds outside, Decelis students already filled the small coffee shop—hunched over laptops, sketchbooks, and steaming mugs.

You sat tucked into a corner booth, tablet balanced delicately against the pile of papers sprawled in front of you.

Wonyoung sat next to you, her long hair falling over her shoulders as she scrolled through fabric swatches on her phone.

“I’m telling you, chiffon could work,” Wonyoung mused, tilting her screen toward you. “It’s breezy, light, and drapes beautifully for movement.”

Sunoo leaned in from across you, popping the straw of his iced Americano between his lips.

“It’s good, but it needs a stronger base. Otherwise, it’ll just float awkwardly when they dance. Maybe a cotton blend? Something breathable.”

You hummed thoughtfully, tapping notes onto your screen.

“We could layer chiffon over a structured lining. That way, it keeps the form but still flows with the movement.”

Wonyoung’s eyes lit up. “Genius.”

The conversation continued like that—light, technical, and productive—until the quiet jingle of the café door’s bell rang.

Out of habit, your eyes flicked up, barely paying attention.

It was none other than Lee Heeseung.

Cherry red hair falling just slightly into his eyes, a simple gray sweatshirt hanging loose on his frame paired with ripped denim. Silver rings and a thin chain glinted faintly under the café’s warm lighting.

He carried nothing but his phone and earbuds, looking entirely too comfortable as his gaze scanned the room—until it landed on you.

For a second, your eyes met. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, the same kind that had gotten under your skin yesterday without him even trying.

You quickly broke the eye contact, lowering your head to your tablet as if the stack of fabric specs was suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

Sunoo didn’t miss the way your shoulders stiffened. He turned slightly, following your line of sight just as Heeseung approached their booth.

“Hey, Sunoo,” Heeseung greeted casually, lifting his hand for a high five.

Sunoo grinned, reciprocating with an easy slap of palms. “Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Didn’t know you guys would be here either.” Heeseung’s voice was smooth and low, his eyes flicking briefly—almost lazily—to where you sat, before returning to Sunoo.

“Yeah,” Sunoo laughed, oblivious to the faint tightness in your jaw.

Heeseung hummed lightly, then gestured over his shoulder. “I’ll be right there.” He nodded toward an empty table at the back of the café.

“Great. Are you busy later?” Sunoo asked brightly.

Heeseung thought for a moment, tilting his head slightly as his fingers toyed with the silver chain at his neck. “Besides helping out at the tryouts? No, not really. Why?”

“Can I come and watch?” Sunoo asked, his grin widening.

“Sure. Anytime.” Heeseung’s smile was easy, effortless—as if he hadn’t just left a quiet ripple in the air around your booth.

He offered Sunoo a brief nod before walking away, slipping into the corner seat with the same quiet confidence that had annoyed you yesterday.

You didn’t look up until you were sure he wasn’t paying attention. Then your eyes finally flicked back to Sunoo.

“Tryouts?” you asked, arching a perfectly-shaped brow. “For what?”

Sunoo’s grin widened knowingly. “So you were listening.”

Wonyoung didn’t even try to hide her smirk as she sipped her lavender latte. “Didn’t know you were into bad boys, (Y/N).”

You scoffed, sitting straighter as your fingers swiped across your tablet screen. “Please. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Wonyoung’s grin only grew as she leaned forward conspiratorially. “I don’t know… I don’t think your brother would be thrilled about Lee Heeseung of all people.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the faint heat threatening to creep up your neck. “What’s with him, anyway? How do you even know him?”

Wonyoung’s voice lilted with playful mischief. “Everyone knows him, (Y/N.) He’s the captain of the basketball team. Smart. Ridiculously talented. And—”

Sunoo chimed in with a laugh. “—Decelis’ golden boy. Oh, and notorious playboy. Don’t forget that.”

Wonyoung giggled, nodding. “Seriously. He’s everywhere—sports, academics, even social events. You could ask anyone, and they’d have at least one story about Lee Heeseung.”

She tilted her head, her earrings swaying slightly as her lips curved in playful mischief. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve never heard the rumors?”

You didn’t even look up from your tablet as your stylus glided against the screen with practiced precision. “I don’t listen to baseless rumors.”

Sunoo snorted softly from across the table, stirring his drink with his straw. “Oh, these aren’t baseless. Trust me, there’s a lot.”

You raised a brow, reluctantly glancing up at him. “Like?”

Sunoo held up his fingers, ticking them off one by one.

“He made another senior cry after they broke up—though technically she wasn’t even his girlfriend. He punched Jake in the face once for accidentally popping one of their basketballs.”

“That’s…” You blinked, surprised despite yourself. “A little extreme.”

“It’s true!” Sunoo laughed, shaking his head.

“And he’s really famous for… you know, not really rejecting girls outright but not accepting their confessions either. He doesn’t lead them on, but he also doesn’t stop them from trying.”

You let out a small sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair neatly behind your ear as your eyes flicked back down to your sketches.

“Why are you even friends with him? He’s like the total opposite of you, Sunoo.”

Sunoo smiled faintly, the kind of soft grin that said he wasn’t bothered in the slightest. “He’s a good friend. I’ve known him since high school.”

“Has he always been like that?” you asked, almost without thinking, fingers still idly tapping at your tablet screen.

“Kinda,” Sunoo admitted with a quiet laugh. “But he’s also the type who shows up when it matters. People don’t see that part of him.”

You hummed, not fully convinced as you flicked through the color palettes on your screen. “Sounds like a headache to me.”

Sunoo and Wonyoung exchanged a knowing glance, the corners of Wonyoung’s lips twitching as though she wanted to say more but decided against it.

After a moment, you glanced back up at Sunoo. “Tryouts—for what?”

“Basketball,” Sunoo replied simply, popping a piece of pastry into his mouth. “The team needs some fresh faces. I don’t know… diversity or whatever.”

You hummed again, resting your chin lightly on your hand as you returned your focus to your work. “Figures. Someone like him would need all eyes on him.”

Wonyoung smirked, sipping her latte. “Sounds like you do listen to rumors after all.”

You shot her a flat look, lips pressed into a thin line. “No. I just observe.”

And with that, you let their teasing voices fade into the background, your fingers resuming their steady rhythm on the tablet screen.

You drowned out the clinking mugs, the hum of Decelis students laughing at nearby tables, even the faint thrum of music from the café speakers.

The only thing you refused to acknowledge was the burning stare you swore you felt at the back of your head.

You didn’t look back—you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

It was five in the afternoon when you found yourself being dragged—quite literally—across the campus courtyard by an overly eager Sunoo.

He clutched your bag like it was ransom, his blonde hair glowing under the late afternoon sun as he half-pleaded, half-whined.

“Please, (Y/N), come on. Jungwon and Ni-ki bailed, and I can’t watch alone or I’ll look like a weirdo.”

You sighed, tugging lightly on your bag. “Sunoo, you know I don’t do… whatever this is. Basketball? Gymnasium air? Questionable bleachers?”

“Questionable?” He gasped dramatically, hugging your bag tighter. “You wound me. Also, I’ll buy you dinner after.”

“I don’t need—”

“Or,” Sunoo cut in with a grin, “you can buy me dinner instead. Your choice.”

You paused, glaring faintly at the boy who you’d grown to treat like your own younger brother—thanks to your lack of one.

He was giving you the puppy eyes again, all wide and glinting in the light, knowing exactly how to push your walls down.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Sunoo’s entire face lit up as he looped his arm around yours with a triumphant grin. “You’re the best. Like, actually my favorite person alive.”

“Uh-huh. We’ll see if I’m still your favorite after I get mosquito bites,” you mumbled, letting him steer you toward the back gates of the main building.

The walk was quiet, the sound of your shoes tapping against the concrete blending with the faint buzz of cicadas.

Streetlights flickered to life one by one as Sunoo guided you toward the closed gymnasium near the music department’s building.

“Oh, come on. It isn’t that bad,” Sunoo chirped, practically bouncing on his heels.

You gave him a skeptical look, lips pressing into a thin line. “Mhmm. Getting eaten alive by mosquitoes isn’t bad at all.”

He laughed, a soft melodic sound, as you both approached the double doors.

He peeked through the small glass window before pushing one open and gesturing dramatically. “After you, milady.”

The first thing to hit you was the scent of disinfectant and polished wood.

Then came the faint squeak of sneakers against the glossy court floor and the rhythmic thuds of basketballs being dribbled in quick succession.

The gym was fuller than you’d expected—students scattered in groups, some running casual drills, others sitting along the sides chatting.

“Here, let’s sit,” Sunoo whispered, tugging you toward the far bleachers. You allowed him to guide you, your eyes scanning the room out of pure habit.

And then they zeroed in on him—01, Lee.

His back was to you, cherry red hair slightly tousled, the number on his jersey stretching across his broad shoulders as he stood talking to a group of guys you recognized from campus.

His gray sweatpants clung loose around his long legs, but there was nothing casual about the way he carried himself—confident, relaxed, like the court belonged to him.

You raised a brow as you settled on the bench beside Sunoo, crossing your legs neatly. “Captain, you say?”

Sunoo followed your gaze, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. That’s Heeseung.”

You hummed softly, leaning your elbow on your knee as you rested your chin against your palm. “Figures. He looks like the type who needs a whole room watching him.”

Sunoo snickered. “You say that like you’re not watching him right now.”

You shot him a pointed glare. “I’m observing.”

“Sure.” Sunoo grinned, leaning back on his palms.

“That’s what everyone says before they end up showing up to every game.”

You scoffed lightly, eyes flitting back to your tablet screen as you pulled it out of your bag. “Relax. I won’t even be here long.”

“Uh-huh.”

Before you could even unlock the screen, Sunoo snatched the device from your hands with alarming speed, holding it out of your reach as his eyes narrowed at you playfully.

“No work.” He gave you a pointed look, wagging a finger. “We’ll finish that later.”

“Sunoo—” You let out a sharp sigh, already knowing arguing was useless when he had that determined gleam in his eyes.

With a dramatic huff, you crossed your legs and folded your arms, leaning back against the cold bleacher seat.

“Fine. But if I get behind because of this, it’s on you.”

“Uh-huh. Sure, Ms. Perfectionist.” Sunoo smirked, tucking your tablet into his tote bag for safekeeping.

You rolled your eyes, dragging your gaze reluctantly back to the court.

Heeseung’s voice echoed through the gym, bouncing off the walls with a quiet authority that demanded attention without trying.

“Alright, split into two groups,” he called out, his tone smooth yet commanding.

“One with me, one with Jeno. Let’s run a few trial games. Five minutes each—show us what you’ve got.”

You watched as he gestured toward the vice-captain—a sharp-eyed boy with black hair—tossing him a spare ball. He caught it easily, already motioning for half the group to join him.

Heeseung, meanwhile, walked leisurely toward the sideline, spinning his own ball absentmindedly in one hand.

The loose white sleeveless jersey showed just enough of his toned arms to make the girls a few seats away from you and Sunoo start whispering excitedly.

“Heeseung!” one of them called out with a nervous giggle.

He turned his head slightly, offering them an easy wave and the kind of lopsided grin that probably lived rent-free in their daydreams.

You huffed under your breath, ignoring their flustered whispers and giggles.

But then his gaze moved—and for the second time in two days, Lee Heeseung’s eyes found yours.

His lips quirked into a small smile, one eyebrow raised as if amused by the fact that you were even here. You held his gaze steadily, tilting your chin up ever so slightly—refusing to be the first one to look away.

Even seated on the bleachers, you stood out like a flame in a room of shadows.

The pastel blue blazer draped flawlessly over your frame—a tailored Chanel piece he recognized instantly—paired with a crisp white skirt that skimmed mid-thigh and delicate heels that clicked against the wood earlier when you walked in.

Your hair fell in soft waves, not a strand out of place, your expression calm and poised like you belonged anywhere but in a stuffy gymnasium.

Heeseung’s smile widened faintly before he let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

He passed the ball in his hands to Jeno with a casual toss and clapped his hands together. “Alright! Let’s see what you can do.”

“Who’s that?” you murmured, nodding slightly at Jeno as he barked instructions at his group.

“Jeno. Vice-captain,” Sunoo answered easily, eyes still on the court. “Really solid player. Heeseung trusts him with running drills.”

You nodded, your attention unintentionally drifting back to Heeseung as he leaned casually against the scorer’s table, arms crossed loosely over his chest.

Even from here, it was impossible not to notice how tall he was—how he seemed to take up space without even trying.

“He’s tall,” you muttered before you could stop yourself.

Sunoo’s lips curled into a knowing grin. “Yeah. He’d make a good model, huh?”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Only if he wasn’t such a notorious playboy.”

Sunoo grinned knowingly but didn’t comment, his attention shifting back to the court just as Heeseung stepped forward again.

The cherry red-haired captain barked out quick, decisive orders—his voice cutting through the gym’s chatter with practiced ease.

“Jeno, you’re on point. Seungmin, cover left. I’ll take it from here. Let’s go.”

The ball was in his hands again before the words even finished leaving his mouth.

His movements were clean, precise, almost lazy in their ease as he dribbled past two freshman defenders, pivoting with a sharp twist of his heel.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against polished wood filled the air as Heeseung stepped back—just outside the three-point line—and with one smooth motion, he sent the ball flying.

It arced high, almost tauntingly slow, before it sank cleanly through the hoop.

The gym erupted in cheers, a few players even clapping as Heeseung gave a small shrug like it was no big deal. His gaze, however, flicked toward the bleachers—directly at you.

For a brief moment, his eyes locked with yours.

And then his lips curved into that maddeningly faint smirk before he turned back to the game, calling out more instructions like he hadn’t just made the air between you sizzle.

“Show-off,” you muttered under your breath, straightening in your seat.

Unfortunately, the group of girls sitting nearby noticed the fleeting interaction. You caught them glancing at you from the corner of your eye, whispering behind manicured hands.

You raised a perfectly sculpted brow at them. “What are you looking at?”

One of them scoffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Spoiled brat.”

You tilted your head, lips curling into a cold smile. “Because I have the money to do as I please?”

The girl faltered slightly, and you rolled your eyes with a sharp laugh. “Relax. Lee Heeseung’s all yours. I promise I’m not interested.”

They looked away quickly after that, muttering under their breaths as you exhaled a slow sigh, focusing your gaze back on the court.

By the time the game wrapped up, the freshmen on the sidelines were red-faced and panting, while the regular players clapped a few of them on the back.

Heeseung had a towel draped around his neck and a bottle of water in one hand as he jogged over to where you and Sunoo sat.

“Well?” he asked, his voice light with amusement as his eyes flicked between you and Sunoo. “How’d I do?”

Sunoo grinned as he slung his bag over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t the freshmen be the ones asking that?”

They both laughed, an easy, familiar sound that made you feel like an outsider for just a second.

Heeseung’s gaze then settled on you, his smile softening as he tilted his head. “And you? What’s the verdict?”

You blinked, caught off guard for a moment before biting the inside of your cheek. “I… don’t know anything about basketball.”

His grin widened into a chuckle, head tipping back slightly. “Not even one thing?”

You shook your head, expression calm and unimpressed. “No.”

“Guess I’ll have to teach you, then,” he teased, reaching for his towel to wipe his forehead.

You only raised a brow, saying nothing as Sunoo stood and reached for your bag.

“Is everybody in the team already?” Sunoo asked as he handed you your things.

Heeseung shrugged. “Most of them. Still deciding on a few spots.”

His eyes flicked back to you briefly—searching, almost curious—as you stood next to Sunoo, fixing the strap of your bag on your shoulder.

“You two are still here?” Heeseung asked, his voice casual but his gaze lingering a beat longer on you. “It’s getting late.”

Sunoo smiled brightly, reaching to loop an arm through yours. “Yeah, I wanted to watch. Anyways, we’re heading out now. Bye, Heeseung.”

“Bye, Sunoo.” Heeseung’s eyes shifted to you, his tone softening slightly. “Bye, (Y/N).”

You gave him a small nod, offering no more than a polite smile as Sunoo gently tugged you toward the doors.

Heeseung watched you leave, his once playful expression slipping into something unreadable—neutral, contemplative.

As the gym doors closed behind you, he let out a quiet sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck before turning back to his teammates.

“Alright, let’s wrap it up.”

The only sound that filled the old-school charm of the library was the faint rustle of turning pages and soft whispers exchanged between tables.

You sat alone, the large mahogany desk in front of you covered with sketchbooks, swatches, and expensive pens your mother insisted you use.

Your eyes narrowed down at the blank figure on the page, the silhouette barely formed—no color, no lines, no personality. Nothing was coming to you.

Finals weren’t even near, but you never slacked.

Not when your mother was Korea’s most sought-after designer, nor when your older brother—Decelis alumni—was already making headlines with his own shoe firm by twenty-two.

You weren’t just expected to be great. You were expected to be better.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you let your thoughts swallow you whole.

Maybe you weren’t born to design. Maybe you were just the family’s pretty face—the one good at being polite, presentable, and perfect in public.

You sighed and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, frustration starting to bubble in your chest when a soft knock on the wood of your desk made you jolt upright.

You blinked.

Silver rings. Long fingers. Knuckles lightly bruised like he’d just come from a game or a fight—maybe both.

You slowly looked up and met the warmliquid brown gaze of Lee Heeseung. Eyes shaped like a doe’s—soft but unreadable. Almost too pretty for someone with a reputation as cold as his.

Cherry red strands framed his face, a bit tousled like he didn’t bother fixing it after practice, and he wore the Decelis black varsity jacket unzipped, revealing a white shirt that clung to his torso.

His expression wasn’t cocky—just curious. And quiet. Like he was trying to figure you out.

You tilted your head slightly, lips parting as you let your gaze fall down and then back up.

“Yes, Lee?” you asked, voice smooth with a hint of challenge.

Heeseung just smiled, the corners of his lips tugging up with ease as he motioned to the empty chair across from you. “Can I sit here?”

You raised a brow at him but gave a small shrug, nodding. “Sure. Not like it’s reserved.”

“Thanks,” he said, still grinning as he slid into the wooden seat, the chair giving a quiet creak beneath him.

He set his laptop down with a soft thud, glancing up to find you already trying to focus again, fingers twirling a pencil between them, eyes narrowed at your untouched sketchpad.

“Where’s Sunoo?” he asked casually, like it was just a passing thought.

“He had something to do,” you replied, tone clipped but not exactly cold. You didn’t owe him more than that, and he didn’t seem to expect it either.

Heeseung chuckled at the lack of detail, nodding slightly as he opened his laptop. “So just you, then.”

“Just me,” you echoed, eyes still on the page, not even sparing him a glance.

There was a short silence between you, not heavy, but not exactly comfortable either. Then, you felt his eyes flicker to your side. “You major in fashion, right?”

You looked at him finally, one brow arching with a sarcastic twist. “What gave it away?”

To your surprise, he didn’t falter. He simply pointed at the maroon Prada bag neatly tucked beside your sketchbook. “Everything, honestly. But mostly that.”

You hummed, fingers tracing idle lines on the page, trying to sketch something—anything—that didn’t look like an uninspired blob. The pencil scratched lightly, but your mind was blank.

“You’re quiet,” Heeseung said suddenly, gaze still focused on his screen. “That means you’re thinking. Or stuck.”

You let out a small sigh. “Maybe a bit of both.”

“What’s the problem?”

“I’m out of ideas,” you mumbled, flipping the page and starting fresh.

Heeseung nodded knowingly. “Writer’s block, designer’s block… same thing. When my brain gets stuck, I get up. Cafés and walks help a lot.”

You tilted your head, genuinely curious despite yourself. “Why’s that?”

He turned toward you slightly, resting his chin on his palm. “They give me something to look at. Different people, different conversations, smells, sounds—it’s like mini inspiration packets for free.”

You eyed him for a moment. “And you’re a…?”

“English major,” he answered with a small shrug, the glint in his eyes unmistakable.

Heeseung liked talking about this—liked the way his words could shape things, the way ideas came to life on the page.

You studied him for a second.

His laptop was already open to a document, full of scattered dialogue and poetic lines you couldn't read but looked lived-in, like he actually used his mind more than people assumed.

Heeseung caught your gaze and smirked. “What? Surprised I can read?”

You blinked, before nodding slowly, voice laced with dry humor. “You don’t exactly seem like the literary type.”

That made him chuckle under his breath, a soft, low sound that felt too genuine to be mocking. His shoulders relaxed a little as he leaned back, fingers tapping lazily at the edge of his laptop.

“Fair,” he replied, still smiling. “You’re not the first to say that.”

There was something oddly refreshing about the way he said it—no irritation, no defense. Just amusement.

You glanced at him again, catching the faintest glint in his eyes, as if he truly enjoyed talking about himself… not in a narcissistic way, but like it was rare for someone to ask without already assuming the answers.

And it was rare.

You didn’t know anything about Lee Heeseung—aside from the constant buzz of whispers and stolen glances he seemed to drag with him wherever he went.

But none of that existed here, not in this quiet corner of the library. Here, he was just some guy sitting across from you, trying to strike up a conversation.

Heeseung turned back to his laptop, the screen lighting up his face in soft white-blue hues as he said, “I’m sure you’ll find inspiration later.”

You frowned slightly. “How do you know that?”

“I just do,” he answered easily, not looking away from his screen, fingers now scrolling through something.

“It comes in waves. You’re just in the middle of a dry one.”

You hummed quietly, eyes drifting back to your sketchpad, still blank except for a few frustrated pencil lines.

The silence returned, but this time, it wasn’t heavy. It was comfortable.

Across from you, Heeseung adjusted his seat, resting his ankle on his opposite knee, posture relaxed but still sharp around the edges—like a blade that’s learned how to rest without dulling.

You glanced at him again, then at the Prada bag he’d pointed out earlier, and finally at your own page.

Maybe he wasn’t that bad. Maybe—just maybe—Sunoo was right. There was something a little more layered beneath the sharp jaw, the smug grins, and the nonchalant aura.

Something softer. Something that didn’t mind sitting in silence with someone else.

You tapped your pencil lightly against the edge of your sketchpad, and for the first time in hours, an idea started to form.

Heeseung, without looking up, said quietly, “Told you so.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Are you always this cocky?”

“Only when I’m right,” he replied, finally glancing up at you, that smirk tugging at his lips again. “Which, by the way, is most of the time.”

The cafeteria was unusually quiet for midday, its usual crowd reduced to only a handful of scattered students.

The sunlight slanted lazily through the tall windows, casting golden patterns on the floor as the distant clinking of trays and soft hum of background music made for a comforting lull.

You were curled up on one of the corner benches, legs folded beneath you as your tablet rested on your lap, stylus gliding across the screen with practiced ease.

Next to you sat a growing army of empty banana milk cartons—two stacked, one half-full, and another freshly punctured by a straw you were sipping through absentmindedly.

It was peaceful. Just the way you liked it.

Until a low cough disrupted your focus.

You frowned, not even bothering to look up as your hand stilled mid-sketch. “There’s literally empty tables everywhere.”

“I know,” a familiar voice said, laced with amusement.

You glanced up, half-annoyed, only to meet the cherry red-haired male from the library—Lee Heeseung.

He was holding a tray, a banana milk sitting innocently on it.

You blinked. “What are you doing here?”

Heeseung smiled, not answering as he casually slid into the seat across from you. “Can I sit?”

You sighed. “You already are.”

He laughed at that, cracking the lid off his banana milk and poking a straw in.

You stared. “You do realize that stuff’s basically sugar water, right? You’ll be running to the bathroom in like—ten minutes.”

Heeseung raised a brow, amused. “So you do care.”

You rolled your eyes, cheeks heating faintly. “I don’t. You’re just weird.”

His gaze drifted to the side of your tray, where the banana milk cartons were lined like little trophies. “Really? That’s rich coming from the person who drank four.”

“I haven’t eaten yet,” you huffed. “Leave me alone.”

You turned back to your tablet, trying to sink back into the rhythm you’d found earlier. But before you could draw another line, something soft slid across the table.

You paused. A neatly wrapped milk bread bun sat next to your tablet now, its plastic crinkling faintly under your wrist.

You turned your head slowly, eyes narrowing.

Heeseung was scrolling through his phone, earbuds in, gaze pointedly not meeting yours.

You blinked, lips parting slightly. “…What’s this?”

He didn’t answer, simply popped a piece of chicken into his mouth and leaned back in his seat.

You stared at the bread for a moment before mumbling under your breath, “…Thanks.”

Heeseung looked up at you, a faint smile ghosting his lips as he gave a small nod. “No problem.”

His voice was quiet, like he didn’t want to break whatever quiet bubble the two of you had found yourselves in.

He nudged the banana milk closer to him, took a slow sip, then leaned an elbow on the table, his eyes scanning your face with something curious.

“Where’s Sunoo?”

Your fingers paused over the bread wrapper. The question was innocent—lighthearted, even—but something about it made your chest tighten.

A smile crept onto your lips, small and automatic, the kind of smile that used to come so easily at the mention of your friend.

But this time, it faded just as fast.

You didn’t meet Heeseung’s eyes as you replied flatly, “He’s busy.”

You tugged the plastic open with a quiet crinkle, carefully peeling back the corners like it gave you something to focus on.

Heeseung let out a soft breath—maybe a laugh, maybe just amusement. “Of course.”

There was no malice in his voice, only a kind of warmth wrapped in sarcasm.

He glanced at you again, eyes soft as he asked, “So, it’s just you?”

The repeated question made your chest tighten for some reason you didn’t want to name. “Just me,” you murmured, tone even, like yesterday hadn’t happened at all.

Heeseung nodded, smile tugging lazily at the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t press further. “Okay.”

He seemed almost used to your dry tone, like he didn’t expect anything more but still somehow found your cold honesty a little funny.

You didn’t respond.

Instead, you took a small bite of the milk bread, your eyes flicking back to the tablet in your lap as if hoping it would magically distract you from everything else.

If you had looked up just a second longer, you might’ve caught the fleeting smile playing on Heeseung’s lips—something real, something soft.

He stared at you for a beat longer, then shook his head with a barely-there smirk as he stabbed a fork into his food.

He didn’t speak again.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—but it was heavy.

Comfortable in a way that shouldn’t have made sense, not with someone you barely knew. But you weren’t scrambling to fill the quiet, and neither was he.

You continued nibbling on the bread slowly, the sketch on your tablet long forgotten. Your stylus sat limp in your hand as you simply… let yourself sit there, with him.

A minute later, Heeseung fixed one of his earbuds on his ear, properly slipping it in as he opened his playlist.

The screen glowed against his skin, and he tapped the play button once.

Music spilled from his other earbud faintly—mellow guitar strums and lo-fi drums—just loud enough that you could hear it if you really tried.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

You walked down the hallway with your usual expressionless stride, ignoring the not-so-quiet whispers echoing off the walls around you.

“She’s so full of herself.”

“No, she’s just a genius, didn’t you hear about her last collection?”

“I bet she thinks she’s better than everyone.”

Same voices. Different day.

You barely blinked as they passed by, used to the reputation that clung to you like the scent of luxury perfume.

You were either the fashion department’s ‘prodigy’ or the ‘cold, stuck-up brat’—there was no in-between. But it didn’t matter. You didn’t have time for their noise.

You adjusted the strap of your on your shoulder, fingers brushing the buttery leather as you continued walking toward the exit.

Sunoo had texted a few minutes ago, asking to meet at your favorite café just outside campus. A small escape—one you were honestly looking forward to.

But the second you turned the final hallway out of the fashion building, your steps slowed.

There, leaning casually against the wall by the exit, stood Heeseung.

Black joggers. Worn basketball shoes. His university jersey still on, hanging loosely over his figure. A white zip-up jacket draped open over it. His dark hair was damp at the edges, like he’d just come from practice.

His gaze was scanning the students spilling out of the building—bored, like he didn’t even know what he was looking for. Until his eyes landed on you.

And then, as if you were in some cliché drama, he lifted a hand and waved. At you.

You blinked.

Glanced behind you.

No one.

You raised a brow and sighed under your breath, the slightest drop of dread forming in your gut as you adjusted your bag and walked forward, your heels clicking with every step on the polished floor.

You met halfway, and as always, he was already grinning like he found your frown amusing.

You narrowed your eyes. “What do you want, Lee?”

He pushed off the wall with lazy ease, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he fell in step beside you. “Are you always this harsh?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Are you always this annoying?”

He laughed—head tilting back slightly like he actually enjoyed the way you spoke to him. “Damn, you really don’t hold back, huh?”

You didn’t answer. Just kept walking. If you acknowledged the slight way your heart tripped at his laugh, you’d never forgive yourself.

He matched your pace effortlessly, his longer legs keeping up with your brisk stride as you both exited the building into the soft breeze outside.

“I’m actually here on behalf of Sunoo,” he said, finally explaining his presence.

You turned your head slightly, eyes narrowing. “What? Why?”

Heeseung shrugged a little too casually, “He told me he’d be running late. Some last-minute project he needed to finish up. Said he probably wouldn’t make it in time—so he sent me as his substitute.”

You blinked. “Substitute?”

“Mhm.” He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen with ease before turning it toward you. Sure enough, there it was—a message labeled ‘Sunoo’ with the text:

sunoo [4:53 P.M.]: i owe u big time heeseung pls just go w her to the cafe she’ll kill me if she waits alone

sunoo [4:53 P.M.]: I’ll try to come later!!

You stared at the screen, deadpan, then sighed, muttering, “Kim Sunoo, I swear to God.”

Heeseung chuckled beside you, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Oh come on, I’m not that bad. I thought we were getting close.”

You gave him a flat look, raising a single brow. “Is three days enough to determine a person’s personality?”

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, as if considering your question way too seriously. “Well… kind of,” he mused, “I mean, you wouldn’t stab me in public just because I’m here instead of Sunoo… right?”

You didn't respond immediately—just kept walking as you muttered, “Tempting.”

Heeseung laughed, the sound light and easy, like he wasn’t bothered at all by your dry jab. “So, where’s this mysterious café of yours?”

“Just one near the gate by the arts building,” you replied, voice even as you tucked your hands into the sleeves of your cardigan.

He nodded, gaze forward as he adjusted the strap of his backpack. “Huh. Never been. Lead the way then.

Silence soon wrapped around the both of you—not uncomfortable, but filled with something you couldn’t quite name. The air between you felt heavier the longer you walked side by side, heels tapping in sync against the stone path.

Still, he didn’t speak again, and somehow, that unnerved you more than his usual cocky remarks.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, observing the way his cherry-red hair caught the dying gold of the afternoon light.

He wasn’t smiling, wasn’t fidgeting, wasn’t trying to get under your skin. He just walked. Quiet. Calm. Collected.

And that was what unsettled you the most.

It was strange—seeing him like this. The same Heeseung who made it to the top of your ‘Most Annoying People Alive’ list without even trying, the one who always had a smirk ready and a comment lined up to rile you.

But now? He was unreadable. Still. Focused.

Was this how he always was when Sunoo wasn’t around to stir him up? Or was this his default?

You bit the inside of your cheek, unsure why it bothered you so much. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—with a strange sort of quiet confidence that made you question your own.

Or maybe it was the way his presence didn’t demand attention, but somehow pulled yours in anyway.

He turned to you suddenly, catching your stare. “You okay?”

You blinked. “Yeah. Fine.”

Heeseung smiled faintly, a knowing sort of curve to his lips. “You were staring.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“You were definitely staring,” he teased, nudging your elbow with his.

You scoffed. “Your hair’s just blinding.”

Heeseung let out a breathy laugh, the sound bouncing lightly between the two of you.

“What, you don’t like dark red?” he teased, running a hand through his vibrant cherry-dyed hair with a smirk that made you roll your eyes.

You didn’t bother replying—just kept walking, eyes forward. But he caught the way the corners of your lips twitched ever so slightly.

Heeseung’s grin only widened at the lack of protest. “Okay then,” he hummed, clearly entertained by your silence.

The next thing you knew, the two of you were already inside the café.

A warm hum of espresso beans and jazz music swirled around the quiet corners of the glass-walled space. The table you chose—one of the corner booths nestled near the tall windows—was bathed in a soft afternoon glow.

Your matcha cold brew sat on the table in front of you, condensation sliding lazily down the cup. Heeseung’s java chip frappé, on the other hand, was already half-melted, neglected entirely as his focus stayed glued to you.

“I still don’t get how you manage to multitask so much,” he said, chin propped on his hand as he leaned slightly forward, eyes scanning your tablet while you spoke.

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, letting out a short, amused breath. “I don’t know either. Now stop staring and focus,” you mumbled, turning the device toward him.

He blinked before shifting a little closer, his knee brushing against yours under the table. “Alright, alright,” he murmured with a small grin.

“Okay,” you started, eyes scanning your notes, “I made some modifications on the pants—fixed the trim to something more tapered, but I haven’t stitched it yet. I’m stuck on what thread to use so it doesn’t tear the fabric, especially since Sunoo moves so much onstage.”

Heeseung tapped his chin thoughtfully, his brows pulling in. “Have you tried bonded nylon? It’s tough. Won’t tear easily.”

You looked up slowly, brows raised. “Where the hell did you learn that?”

He smiled and shrugged. “I had a close friend who was a fashion major. He graduated last year.”

You nodded, clearly impressed. “You remember at least one thing he said, huh?”

“I remember the important stuff,” he said casually, eyes dropping to your tablet again.

“Tell Sunoo you’re done finalizing the fabric for the top, and you just need to settle on accessories. You said you were leaning toward gold last time, right?”

You blinked. “Yeah… I was.”

Heeseung looked proud of himself. “See? I listen. Not just a pretty face, y’know.”

A small smile escaped you before you could stop it. You quickly looked down to hide it, pretending to scroll through your files.

He caught it anyway.

“I told you,” he said, voice light, teasing. “I’m not that bad, (Y/N).”

You shook your head, lips quirking. “We’ll see.”

Heeseung let out a quiet chuckle, eyes flickering to the condensation dripping down his forgotten drink. “I still don’t get how you haven’t burned out.”

“I have,” you said honestly, tone softer now. “I just don’t show it.”

Heeseung smiled, not the teasing kind he usually wore, but something smaller—gentler.

He ran a hand through his hair, the strands falling right back into place as he leaned one elbow on the table, eyes not leaving yours.

“So it’s just you, huh?” he repeated, voice quieter.

You let out a breath of a laugh, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Just me.”

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly like something about that amused or maybe even impressed him. The sound made you smile in return—an unintentional reaction that slipped through your usually guarded expression.

Then he leaned forward, squinting at your nearly empty cup and the crumbs on your plate. “So, are you hungry?”

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “I had a muffin earlier. And the matcha’s still half full, so… not really?”

He gave you a flat look, raising a brow. “Real food, (Y/N).”

You snorted. “I can’t. I still have another project to finish after this.”

“When’s that due?” he asked, already knowing what your answer would be.

You sighed, “Next week.”

He let out a laugh and leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest as he pointed out, “Exactly. Come on, I’ll treat you to dinner.”

“There’s no need, Lee, I can handle—”

“I told Sunoo I’d be with you.” He clicked his tongue and cut you off, tilting his head as if that settled the matter.

You stared at him. He stared back. His arms still crossed in defiance, making the letters of the Decelis University jersey stretch across his chest.

“That’s not a valid excuse,” you muttered.

“It’s a perfectly valid excuse,” he grinned. “Now get up. I’m not leaving you here to starve.”

“I’m not starving!”

“You had a muffin.”

You huffed and gave him a look, grabbing your tablet and neatly tucking it into your bag. “You’re so annoying.”

“I know,” he said, voice light, as he stood up beside you.

He waited, watching you pack the rest of your things. And when you finally zipped your bag and rose from your seat, he held the café door open with the cockiest little smirk like he’d just won a war.

“Cocky much?” you muttered as you stepped out, brushing past him.

He grinned, letting the door shut behind him as he fell in step beside you. “What? Can’t a gentleman walk a pretty girl back to campus?”

You rolled your eyes. “You? A gentleman?”

“I opened the door,” he said with faux offense. “Twice, might I add. That’s two gentleman points.”

You shook your head, letting out a small laugh as the two of you strolled down the sidewalk. The sky was soft now—pale blue melting into gold—and the warm breeze carried the faint scent of the bakery down the block.

Your shoulders brushed every now and then, but neither of you pulled away.

You furrowed your brows, eyes fixed on the sidewalk ahead.

Whatever this thing was—this connection, this pull—you didn’t know what to call it.

He wasn’t just some passing face anymore. Not after how easily he made you laugh. Not after how naturally he took up space beside you like he belonged there.

And that scared you.

Heeseung glanced at you, catching the wrinkle in your brow. “You okay?”

You blinked, trying to play it off. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

You sat on the cold bleachers beside Sunoo, the hum of rubber soles squeaking against the polished wood floor echoing across the gym. It was early afternoon, and despite the crowd being modest, the cheers from a few enthusiastic bleacher rows away made your eye twitch.

You glanced down at your hand, inspecting your nails with a soft frown, lips pursed.

“Ugh,” you sighed under your breath, squinting. “Why is it that the gel always grows out at the worst possible time?”

Sunoo, beside you in his cream cardigan and blue jeans, let out a soft laugh. “You really can’t even pretend to be interested, can you?”

You raised a brow without looking at him, eyes flickering back to the court where the Decelis team moved in sharp formations. “Why are we here again?”

He turned to you, blonde hair bouncing a little with the movement, smiling brightly. “To show support for our friend.”

You snorted. “Your friend. Not mine.”

Sunoo blinked dramatically at you. “He took you out to dinner two nights ago.”

You rolled your eyes. “A night you bailed on me for, by the way.”

“I already apologized for that!” Sunoo defended with a soft whine, poking your shoulder. “Besides, that’s not the point. You went. You let him pay.”

“That was nothing,” you said, arms crossing over your chest. “He was just being friendly.”

Sunoo side-eyed you, trying and failing to hide a smug grin. “That’s what they all say.”

You groaned. “Oh my god, Sunoo—”

Before you could say more, the buzzer rang loudly through the gym, and the crowd stirred with energy as the timeout was called.

The players headed toward their benches, water bottles being passed around. You scanned the group lazily until your eyes landed on Heeseung.

Cherry red hair damp with sweat, jersey clinging to his tall frame, the number on his back glinting slightly under the lights. He wiped his face with the edge of his shirt, flashing a sliver of toned abs that made the girls a few rows down absolutely lose it.

You scowled, muttering under your breath, “They act like they’ve never seen abs before.”

Sunoo leaned over slightly, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “Like you have?”

You turned your head slowly, one brow arching as your lips parted to retort—but he beat you to it.

“Yes, smartass, I know,” he drawled dramatically, flipping his blonde bangs out of his eyes. “You help your mom and brother with their modeling gigs.”

You gave a victorious little smile, proud and smug as you leaned back against the bleacher, eyes flicking lazily back toward the court—only to meet a pair of familiar brown ones already staring.

Heeseung was standing near the team’s bench, one hand on his waist, towel draped over his neck. He wasn’t even pretending not to look.

His lips curled into a knowing little smile as he caught your gaze, and you blinked in surprise before offering him the most nonchalant wave you could muster.

He dipped his head slightly, amused, then turned back to his teammates who were crowding around the coach. But not before you saw that stupid cocky grin again.

Sunoo hummed beside you like he was watching a soap opera unravel. “Yeah. Totally not friends.”

You didn’t even have to look to know he was smirking.

He continued, voice laced with mock sincerity, “Because, you know, friends totally look like they wanna suck each other’s faces off.”

Your head whipped toward him, scandal written all over your expression. “Kim Sunoo—!”

He just laughed, loudly and unashamed, clapping once at your reaction. “God, I love toying with you and your high-class grammar. You make it so easy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, swatting at his arm. “You’re so annoying.”

He grinned. “Admit it, you’d be bored without me.”

“Painfully.”

You both fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, watching as the players began lining up again. You sighed, arms crossing over your chest as you slumped back into the metal bleachers.

“When’s this game going to be over?” you asked, voice bordering on a whine.

Sunoo glanced at his phone. “We don’t have classes until two.”

You groaned. “So, never.”

Sunoo snorted, nudging your shoulder with his. “Patience.”

The two of you slumped a little lower in your seats, your chin resting against your palm while your eyes drifted over the court. It had gotten a little more intense, more aggressive.

You watched as Heeseung weaved in between two defenders with ease, chest heaving, face damp with sweat, and you couldn’t lie—it was kind of attractive.

Just kind of.

Not that you were going to admit that out loud.

The game dragged on, minutes stretching as the buzzer rang again and again, signaling quarters, subs, and timeouts. You and Sunoo chatted aimlessly in between, and despite yourself, you kept glancing back at Heeseung.

He played like he had something to prove. His movements were clean, controlled—every pass, every shot, every quick dodge through players was done with ease and confidence.

And as much as you wanted to pretend it didn’t faze you, your heart skipped when he made that final three-pointer, right at the buzzer.

The sound echoed through the gym, followed by the shriek of the final buzzer.

Cheers erupted from his teammates. The teams called out a chorus of “Good game!” and “Thanks for the match!” as they lined up to slap hands.

People began trickling out of the bleachers, footsteps echoing in waves.

You and Sunoo stood, heading down the short steps as chatter filled the air, gym bags unzipping, laughter bouncing off the walls.

And then, right at the base of the stairs, Heeseung appeared.

Sweat still clung to his neck and jaw, his shirt damp against his toned chest. He grinned—wide, boyish, and proud—as he jogged up and stood in front of you both.

He tilted his head, cocky. “Well? How’d I do?”

You blinked. “I still don’t know a thing about basketball, Lee.”

He blinked, lips parting slightly like he was almost offended—until you added, “But I guess that last three-pointer was impressive.”

His eyes widened. “Wait. Wait, did you just—? Did you actually call it a three-pointer?”

He turned to Sunoo, dramatic. “Did you teach her that?”

Sunoo raised his hands smugly. “I did. Took me two weeks, but I finally got through her designer brain.”

You smiled, shaking your head as Heeseung chuckled.

“Well, thank you. Both of you—for coming.”

Sunoo shrugged. “It’s nothing. Not like we have classes until two.”

Heeseung nodded in understanding, grabbing the edge of the towel draped around his shoulders to wipe his forehead. “Still. Means a lot. Even if it’s just a practice game.”

Sunoo arched a brow. “For a practice game?”

The two boys exchanged a look.

Sunoo laughed first. “You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re annoying,” Heeseung muttered fondly, nudging Sunoo’s arm with his elbow.

Sunoo pointed toward the gym doors. “Well. Shall we?”

You gave a little nod and turned to follow Sunoo, your steps soft on the polished floor. But behind you, Heeseung’s voice called out.

“Good luck on your classes, (Y/N)!”

You glanced back. “Thanks, Lee.”

He smiled at you, sweat-slick hair falling slightly over his eyes.

But before you could respond again, Sunoo was already a few steps ahead, tapping his phone and humming some song under his breath.

You quickened your pace to match him, only to glance one last time over your shoulder.

Heeseung was no longer looking at you, now surrounded by a bunch of girls from some other department. They laughed at something he said, one of them reaching to push his shoulder playfully.

He didn’t look at them the same way he looked at you, but still—your brows furrowed.

You looked away and stepped outside with Sunoo, the gym doors closing behind you with a soft thud.

But you couldn't help it.

Your feet slowed slightly as your eyes flicked back over your shoulder, catching a glimpse through the tall glass panes on the door.

For a second—just a second—his eyes drifted back toward the door like he knew. Like he knew you’d turn around. And when they did, your gaze clashed with his across the glass. He didn’t say anything. Just smiled.

That stupid, lopsided, boyish smile that made your stomach do something annoying.

You quickly turned your head, heat rising to your cheeks, only to see Sunoo already watching you like a hawk, hands stuffed into the pockets of his cream hoodie, lips twitching with barely concealed smugness.

“I know that look,” he said in a sing-song tone, starting to walk again.

You glared at him, falling in step beside him. “No, you do not.”

He shrugged. “Come on. I mean, it's your first time liking someone, I don’t blame you.”

You nearly choked. “Sunoo—!”

“What?” he laughed, throwing his hands up playfully. “You don’t have to say it out loud for me to see it all over your face. You get this weird thing going on with your mouth when you’re trying not to smile.”

You rolled your eyes. “I don’t even know him fully. Sunoo, please. You’re making it sound like I’m… infatuated.”

He hummed. “Aren’t you?”

You smacked his arm lightly, earning another laugh from him as the two of you walked past the familiar brick path that led back to your department’s main building. But the truth lingered in your throat.

You didn’t know what you felt for Heeseung. And you really didn’t know why the sight of him laughing so easily with other girls made something sour coil in your chest.

It wasn’t like you were anything to him. Just a stranger from a different building who happened to have a loud friend and a schedule that aligned, somehow.

You exhaled quietly, pushing the doors open to the Fashion Department and stepping into the cool air-conditioned hallway.

The hallways of the main building were as chaotic as ever, buzzing with voices, shoes clicking against polished floors, and the occasional laughter echoing off the walls.

You walked through it all like you were floating—head held high, confidence cloaked around you like one of your mother’s luxury silk scarves. Your tote swung against your hip with every graceful step, your expression unreadable.

“She looks so intimidating, oh my God…”

“Wait, is that Choi (Y/N)?”

“Damn… she’s even prettier up close.”

You heard it all. You always did. But like usual, you didn’t flinch—let alone acknowledge it.

You were headed to the administration office, needing to track down one of the professors under the Fashion Merchandising elective to confirm your final consultation date for your Market Behavior in Modern Fashion project.

One of your designs had been shortlisted for a collab pitch, and there were requirements to meet.

You clutched the folder of reference papers closer to your chest, turning the corner toward the long hallway where the admin office sat, only to pause ever so slightly at what you saw.

Heeseung.

Walking right toward your direction with two boys at his side. You’d seen them around before—thanks to Sunoo.

The sharper-eyed one with the feline expression was Yang Jungwon, a student org vice president, while the one with the striking pale features and deep-set eyes could only be Park Sunghoon. No Sunoo in sight.

They were laughing at something. Shoulders bumping. Casual and easy in that boyish way. And then, as if gravity had its own plans, Heeseung’s eyes flicked up from whatever Jungwon was saying—and met yours.

It was brief.

A single moment.

But it lingered.

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t smile. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t let it show.

You simply looked away and kept walking past them like nothing.

Heeseung's head tilted the slightest bit as his gaze followed you. His smile from earlier dimmed just slightly—his brows knitting together.

“Hey,” Jungwon nudged him with a chuckle, glancing between Heeseung and your retreating form. “What, another new girl?”

Heeseung frowned. “She’s not—she’s my friend. If you can even call it that.”

Sunghoon snorted. “Come on. Me and Jungwon aren’t blind. You do this whole… googly-eye thing when you’re interested.”

“What googly-eye thing?” Heeseung snapped, glaring mildly at Sunghoon as the other boy held in a laugh.

“That one,” Sunghoon pointed at his face dramatically. “Right there. You look like you’re trying not to smile every time you look at her.”

Jungwon grinned. “Exactly. Like, is she different? ‘Cause I think she might be different.”

“Shut up,” Heeseung groaned as he ran a hand through his hair, stealing another glance down the hall you just disappeared into.

“She’s not like that. I mean—she’s not one of them.”

“Them being…?”

“My admirers,” Heeseung said flatly, the word tasting sour. “They obsess over me. It’s weird.”

“Okay, Mr. Humble,” Jungwon said with a shrug. “So then, what’s she to you?”

Heeseung slowed his steps for just a second. Thought about the glare you gave him during your first encounter.

The annoyed roll of your eyes when he teased you. The quiet softness in your expression when you forgot to be guarded.

Heeseung exhaled, “…I don’t know,” he muttered.

Sunghoon raised a brow. “You sure?”

He didn’t respond.

He was still staring at the hallway you disappeared into, wondering why your silence this time left him with a strange, unshakable emptiness in his chest.

Meanwhile, just around the corner, your steps finally slowed.

You turned into the quieter hallway leading to the Administration Office, letting the sound of chatter and heels against tile fade behind you.

The second you were alone, you exhaled sharply.

You stopped in front of the frosted glass door, fingers tightening around the strap of your shoulder bag as your eyes dropped to the polished floor.

“Get a grip,” you muttered under your breath, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face.

“You’re here for the product catalog inquiry. Not to unravel over some guy who probably flirts with anything that breathes.”

You shook your head as if it would shake the thoughts away too. “He’s confusing. That’s all,” you whispered, steadying yourself with a deep breath.

“You don’t even know what this is. And you’re not about to let it get in the way.”

And with that, you reached for the door handle, pushing it open with a blank expression painted on your face—composed and unreadable, no matter what war brewed underneath.

The sun was merciless, beating down on your shoulders like it had something to prove.

You shifted the paper bag in your arms, muttering under your breath, “It’s so hot, I feel like I’m about to melt into the pavement.”

Your blouse clung uncomfortably to your back, and you sighed as you approached the wide pathway near the gym—one of the only shaded spots on the walk to the art building.

You stepped gratefully into the shadow cast by the structure, a small sigh of relief slipping past your lips as you used your free hand to fan yourself.

But your eyes shifted toward the open gym doors, curiosity betraying you.

The first thing that caught your attention was the dark cherry-red of his hair, glinting slightly under the gym lights. Then the white fabric of his jersey, the navy-blue ‘LEE’ stitched across the back in bold letters, slightly wrinkled as he moved.

Heeseung was tossing a basketball to one of his teammates, laughing with a kind of ease that felt both annoying and magnetic.

You didn’t mean to stare—but your feet stopped moving.

He turned, almost like he felt your gaze.

And the second his eyes found you, his entire expression lit up. Heeseung raised a hand in your direction, a wide smile forming on his face like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

But you blinked. Once. Twice.

And then you turned your head and walked away.

Didn’t wave. Didn’t smile. Didn’t acknowledge him at all.

The smile on his face faltered. His hand dropped slowly, confusion flickering across his features as he stood frozen for a moment, the echoes of bouncing basketballs and sneakers squeaking on hardwood suddenly too loud.

“What the hell…” he mumbled, brows drawing together.

“Yo, Heeseung! You good?” one of his teammates called out.

Heeseung didn’t answer. He ran a hand through his damp hair, trying to shake off the sudden heaviness in his chest.

Things were going well. You laughed at his jokes, talked back without flinching, sat with him at cafés like you didn’t mind his presence.

But now, you looked at him like he was a stranger again. Like he didn’t exist. Like he wasn’t the same guy who once grinned when you called him a show-off.

Heeseung exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. “You confuse me, Choi (Y/N),” he muttered under his breath, fingers curling into fists as he forced himself to look away.

He was many things. Top of his class. Basketball team captain. Future latin honors. The kind of student teachers raved about and underclassmen admired.

But with you? None of it seemed to matter.

Because you didn’t fall for the rumors or polished charm. You didn’t give a damn about titles. You saw through all of it—and that scared him. Excited him. Frustrated him.

And now you were cold again. Distant. Untouchable.

He looked down at his hands, fingers twitching like they wanted to crush something. Then he turned back toward the court with a scowl pulling at his lips.

“You still with us, captain?” one of his teammates called, dribbling toward him.

Heeseung forced a smirk, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Peachy.”

He jogged back toward the rest of the team, sneakers squeaking against the polished gym floor as the sound of bouncing balls and barking coaches faded into background noise.

But his thoughts were louder. Clingier. Like your silence had clawed its way into his brain and was now echoing on repeat.

You wanted space.

Fine. He could give you that. Hell, he wasn’t the type to chase someone who clearly didn’t want to be chased. Not anymore.

As he stopped at the three-point line and waited for the pass, he ran a hand through his hair and shook his head slightly, like he could physically knock your face out of his thoughts.

He caught the ball with a heavy thud and muttered under his breath, “Get it together.”

Because yeah, maybe he had a reputation—a little rough around the edges, the guy who showed up with bruised knuckles and a cocky grin.

Maybe he pissed off teachers with his smart mouth and turned in papers two minutes before deadlines.

But even with all of that… he had respect.

He never forced himself into anyone’s space. Especially not yours.

So if you needed distance, then distance you’d get.

He drove the ball forward and sank it cleanly into the net. The gym echoed with the satisfying swish, and someone clapped him on the back.

“Damn, someone’s pissed,” one of the boys joked. “Girl trouble again?”

Heeseung scoffed, spinning the ball once in his hands before tossing it back toward center court. “Aren’t you late for your third rejection this week?”

Laughter broke out, but his smirk was tight.

Because no one knew.

No one knew just how bad it messed with him—

To finally feel like he was getting through to you, only for you to shut him out all over again.

The warm scent of garlic butter and fried chicken wafted through the air as you, Wonyoung, and Yujin strolled down the path to the main building cafeteria, heels clacking lightly against the pavement.

Your tote hung low on your shoulder, sketchpad sticking out awkwardly between fabric swatches, and your fingers were still smudged with yesterday’s dried graphite.

“Well, I think my proposal’s going really well,” you began optimistically, gaze flicking to the sky like you were asking the universe for some grace.

Wonyoung snorted, not even trying to hide her smile. “You mean your color palette and those three empty pages labeled ‘concept sketches’?”

“Okay, rude,” you muttered, letting your weight lean into her side as she tugged you by the arm into the forming lunch line.

“I still don’t have a muse. Or any real inspiration. I can’t even visualize the silhouette yet—this project’s gonna be the death of me. I’m never gonna make it to third year.”

“You’re such a big baby, (Y/N),” Wonyoung teased, gently bumping your hip. “You’ve literally pulled magic out of nothing before. You just like to panic first, design later.”

Yujin laughed, reaching forward to grab a tray. “We already think you’re getting the highest grade this semester. You’re gonna be fine.”

You sighed, your voice dropping into a more fragile tone. “I hope so.”

And as if the universe had been listening and decided to spite you—because of course—it chose that exact moment to test your nerves.

Heeseung stepped into the cafeteria.

Wearing all black. Looking irritatingly flawless. Laughing at something stupid Sunoo had just said.

Your body tensed instantly, lips pressing together as you stared at your tray a second too long.

You hadn’t seen him in almost a week—okay, avoided was the better word—but it didn’t stop the flicker of heat crawling up your neck.

You quickly looked away, but not fast enough.

Because he saw you.

Heeseung’s smile dropped the moment your eyes met.

You rolled your eyes and pointedly turned your head toward the drinks fridge, pretending to be deeply fascinated by orange juice.

Heeseung slowed his pace. Just barely. His brow furrowed.

Sunoo, still mid-laugh, blinked and followed his friend’s gaze. “Wait… was that (Y/N)?”

Heeseung kept walking but the crease between his brows stayed, jaw ticking slightly. “Yeah.”

Sunoo tilted his head, clearly confused. “She didn’t even say hi. Or look like she wanted to say hi. What was that about?”

Heeseung shrugged, his voice casual but tight. “No idea.”

Sunoo narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I said I don’t know, Sunoo,” Heeseung muttered, glancing over his shoulder at your turned back, the way Wonyoung had a protective hand on the small of your back while you muttered something under your breath.

“You really didn’t do anything?”

“I swear, I didn’t,” he said, almost too quickly. Then quieter, “It’s like she suddenly hates me.”

Sunoo blinked, lips pursing in thought. “Well… she did hate you at first.”

“What?” Heeseung furrowed his brows, pausing mid-step. “What do you mean?”

Sunoo gave him a sheepish little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay—don’t get mad—but I might’ve mentioned your… you know. Reputation.”

Heeseung stared at him, deadpan. “My what reputation, Sunoo?”

Sunoo held both his hands up like he was surrendering. “Just! Just that you had kind of a… colorful dating history. Nothing huge! I just hinted at it. Lightly. Casually.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t mention my ex, did you?”

Sunoo’s wince was answer enough.

“I hinted at her,” he muttered, shrinking under Heeseung’s glare. “Barely. Like, ‘He’s had some messy flings but he’s really sweet when he wants to be,’ type of thing.”

Heeseung groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Sunoo…”

“I’m sorry, okay?!” Sunoo whined. “I didn’t think she’d take it to heart! I thought she’d just keep teasing you like usual!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Heeseung muttered, trying to shake it off. “Don’t worry about it.”

But Sunoo didn’t let up. “It is a big deal. You’re not fooling around this time, are you? You’re not toying with her.”

Heeseung didn’t say anything. He just stared at the floor, jaw tight.

Sunoo let out a soft sigh and continued, voice gentler this time. “Usually… all your admirers do the chasing. And never you. But with (Y/N)?” He smiled faintly. “I think it’s a good thing that she’s not one of them.”

Heeseung swallowed hard, staring at the back of your head across the cafeteria as you laughed at something Wonyoung said—so far away, so different now.

“I know,” he mumbled. “That’s what makes it worse.”

The hallways of the fashion department building were quiet—eerily so, save for the faint ticking of the old wall clock and the distant hum of a sewing machine from one of the advanced design rooms.

Most students were glued inside their classrooms, immersed in last-minute cramming or sketching, which left the corridors empty and still.

You grunted softly under your breath, adjusting the obnoxiously heavy stack of fabric folders in your arms.

“Stupid Soobin,” you muttered, struggling to keep the folders balanced as you reached the corner near the stairwell.

“What kind of big brother dumps ten pounds of swatches on me and says, ‘Here, maybe you’ll get inspired’?”

You scoffed, still remembering how smug he looked when he handed it to you this morning. Just because you swung by his company for coffee didn’t mean he could load you like a pack mule.

With a soft huff, you rounded the turn toward the stairwell—only to freeze mid-step.

There, standing by the window near the first landing, was him.

Heeseung.

Clad in his usual all-black hoodie and pants, his signature basketball sneakers tapping lightly against the tile as he leaned on the railing, clearly waiting for someone.

Your breath hitched, eyes wide as you instinctively stepped back into the shadow of the wall, hugging the folders close.

What the hell is he doing here? He had no business in the fashion department.

You were just about to turn around and walk the other way when—

“So,” Heeseung suddenly said, his deep voice echoing slightly in the empty stairwell. “You wanted to meet me here?”

You froze.

Your brows furrowed.

“Yeah,” a female voice replied, nervous and a little too soft. “I—I hope it’s okay. I just… I didn’t know how else to say this.”

Your curiosity got the better of you. You leaned just enough to peek around the corner, eyes narrowing slightly.

It was some girl—probably a junior, based on the ID badge clipped to her chest. She was twisting the hem of her sleeve, cheeks flushed pink.

“I just think you’re… really talented,” she said shyly. “And hot. And like, you’re probably way out of my league, but I couldn’t not say something, you know?”

You blinked.

Heeseung sighed, the sound laced with a tired kind of patience. “Look, I’m sure you’re a nice girl. And I appreciate the guts it took to say that, really. But…”

“But?” the girl asked softly.

“I’m already interested in someone else,” he said, voice steady.

Your heart stopped.

The girl sounded crushed. “Oh. Um, who?”

Heeseung hesitated. Then, without an ounce of embarrassment, he said—“Choi Y/n.”

Your stomach dropped.

The folders in your arms nearly slipped from your grip as you jerked in shock, barely managing to catch them before they hit the floor. The rustle was loud—loud enough to echo.

Heeseung’s head snapped up toward the sound. He squinted but saw nothing.

You pressed your back hard against the cold wall, heartbeat thudding in your ears.

“She’s such a cold bitch, though,” the girl whispered sharply, and your eyes narrowed instinctively. “She never even talks to people. Why would you like someone like that?”

Heeseung didn’t even flinch.

“Look,” he said calmly. “(Y/N) doesn’t waste her time. She has standards. And yeah, maybe she’s not handing out smiles and small talk like candy, but she’s honest. And she doesn’t pretend to be someone she’s not just to be liked.”

You stood frozen, lips slightly parted, stunned speechless.

Heeseung was still speaking, but the pounding in your head made it impossible to catch the rest. You didn’t want to. Your legs were already moving.

He didn’t mean it. There was no way.

He was just trying to get out of that confession with minimal damage. That’s all.

It had to be.

Your heels clicked sharply against the tiled floor as you turned and walked away, folders pressed tight against your chest. You didn’t dare look back.

And yet, down the stairs, Heeseung’s voice trailed off when he caught the sound of footsteps fading in the hallway above.

His brows furrowed.

He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing as he scanned the upper steps and corridor, but all he saw was the empty hallway.

A breath escaped his lips, laced with something that felt a lot like disappointment.

Down in front of him, the girl shifted awkwardly. She hadn’t moved since his confession.

“…I’m sure you’ll find someone else, yeah?” Heeseung said, his tone gentler now. “Someone who’s gonna feel the same.”

She gave a small nod, clearly dejected, mumbling a quiet, “Thanks,” before turning on her heel and walking away.

But Heeseung didn’t watch her leave.

Instead, he glanced back up again.

His jaw clenched as he slipped his hands into his hoodie pocket, the weight of your name still heavy on his tongue.

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

⤷ permanent taglist — @m1kkso @ilovhoonie @jiyeons-closet @manobillie @yjmylove @in-somnias-world @cripplinghooman @yeossified @ateez-atiny380 @chemiru @eleftheriance @deluluscenarios @simp4simlee @baedreamverse @lala-loopsydoll ⤷ series taglist — @seungsoftly @aloveminsalade @merakicafee @isagistar @heeknow @blooqz @k1ttyjwon @dearestdreamies @sourkiki @mixxie2203 @wonuzu @12e45 @fancypeacepersona @omlhyck @starfallia @koizekomi @hommyy-tommy @laylasbunbunny @aggarwaldrishti @bestboileeknow @meeghangryfun @liliawritesss @starfire21 @seokjinthescientist @iicehoon @stayupdates

© 2025 liuhsng — reblogs are highly appreciated and please don’t hesitate to request some fics here if you want me to write anything !

[heepilled]

evan x qressed. he looks so good omg

[heetaki]

sigh

[pprodsuga]

tides of regret | heeseung

summary: in the year since heeseung first rejected your love confession, you've tried everything to get over him. a trip to europe makes you realize you miss your former best friend more than anything, and it makes heeseung realize he's got it all wrong.

notes: aaand she's here! this is 24.4K words worth of my heart and soul. consider this a token of my appreciation for welcoming me on enhablr. i sincerely hope you enjoy it. <3

deep cuts: #1

warnings: angst/internal self doubt, playful banter, dirty talking, praise, slight degradation, oral (m and f receiving), dry humping, fingering, mentions of exhibitionism and face sitting, nipple sucking, spit, brief moment of anal (tongue only), condom removal, unprotected sex, creampie.

For @enha-stars – may this story rip you apart and stitch you back together.

masterlist

Incheon feels lonely at three in the morning. 

The overhead lights being turned off because of the lack of travelers at this hour makes the airport feel bigger than it actually is. It’s too quiet without the familiar sounds of luggage wheels on the linoleum or overhead speakers announcing flight changes every ten minutes. You don’t think you’ve ever been to an airport so early in your life. 

It’s quiet enough to leave you alone with your bothersome thoughts. In the years you’ve been away from home as you studied abroad, you can’t help but feel a gravitational pull towards life in Seoul and the people in it. The familiarity of your home outweighs the adventure you once yearned for in your youth, and now you’re left with the exciting notion that, this time, you’ll know when you’ll be coming back.

The terminal has an abundance of seating. Your backpack rests on the seat beside you as Jay double checks the gate number while the rest of your friends find a spot on the seats next to you, attempting to find an ounce of comfort in the dimly lit area.

“I know leaving early saved us hundreds of dollars, but I need sleep,” Sunghoon says from beside you. His usually well kept hair falls in all sorts of places like he woke up without a second thought and hailed a taxi the minute he opened his eyes. 

“You’ll thank me later,” Jay says. “We can sleep on the plane.”

“Our flight doesn’t leave for another two hours,” Jake whines from beside him as he yawns. “How am I supposed to sleep on these god forsakes chairs?” 

“Quit whining and try,” Jay retorts. He looks behind him to see the rest of your friend group approach before glancing over to you. “Doing okay?” 

“How come Y/N gets preferential treatment?” Jake beckons. 

“Because she isn’t a nuisance like you,” Jay immediately fires back before diverting his attention towards you again. 

“I’m alright,” you say, stifling a yawn behind your hand. “Just cold and sleepy.” 

“Hopefully they turn off the damn AC,” Sunghoon says as he pulls his sweatshirt over his head. “I feel like my veins are being injected with ice.”

“It’ll warm up when more people come,” Jay reasons. “I wish there was a coffee stand that was open. I need a cup.” 

“I could go for one,” you agree. “I’m trying to stay awake for the next couple of hours so I can sleep on the plane.” 

The rest of your friend group appear behind Jay and you look down to check your phone for any notifications when Heeseung catches your eye. It takes you by surprise and you abruptly look back at your screen and busy yourself by aimlessly scrolling through social media as he attempts to occupy the empty seat beside you, but Jake beats him to it.

“I’m gonna freeze to death and then all of you are gonna have to deal with my frozen body.” Jake dramatically slouches down onto the seat until his head finds your shoulder, nuzzling his cheek as if trying to find comfort in you. “Jesus, Y/N, you’re so warm.”

You laugh. “I wore layers.” 

“You’re gonna regret that when we get on the plane,” Jake mumbles. 

Heeseung, from the corner of your eyes, opts to move to the seats in front of you. You try not to pay him any mind.

You snort. “Yeah, well I can take these layers off while you freeze until you become an icicle.” Jake hums when you let your head fall onto his. 

“You know I’m not built for the cold. Australia’s my home.”

“And yet you moved to Korea,” Sunghoon provokes. 

Jungwon and Riki are rummaging through the bag of snacks you’d brought for an early breakfast until the restaurants and coffee stands around you open up. Jake’s right, it’s far too cold to stop shivering, but you suppose you’re grateful that the discomfort distracts you from sleeping too early. 

“I can’t believe we’re finally going on this trip,” Sunoo says from above you. With your head still on Jake’s, you turn to look at the boy speaking. “I’m really excited for you to show us where you’ve been for the past four years.”

A tiny smile graces your lips. “I’m excited to show you around London and Paris. The latter is a two hour train ride. My friends and I would go every few weekends or so to explore the city. Pictures and videos don’t do them justice.” You sigh as you reminisce. “I really did think that I’d end up living there when I graduated.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Missed home too much, I guess.” You shrug. “Though, I can’t believe Riki went through a growth spurt in the last two years that I was gone.”

“You went back to Okayama before Y/N came back for holiday break, right?” Jungwon asks, looking between the both of you.

“That’s right,” Riki says. “I was sad that I couldn’t see you before you went back to school.”

“Now he’s twice my height.” You gesture at the younger boy. He’s too shy with the sudden affection and chooses to bury his head in Jungwon’s shoulder. “You were so little.”

“Shut up,” he mumbles. 

“I can’t believe you’re fluent in English now.” Jungwon pushes Riki off of his arm. “You, Jake, and Jay are kind of scary when you speak English.”

“It was a little hard at first. I used to watch a lot of American cinema so I could understand it better than I could speak it. But I can’t lie, it’s fun being able to talk to them in English.”

“You were so cute trying to string phrases together during your first summer back,” Jay coos. “Texting her in English was funny because she couldn’t understand the difference between spelling.”

“Poor Jake.” You pull your head from his and look down at him. “You probably had aneurysms looking at my grammar.” 

You lift your head to see that the aforementioned has fallen asleep amongst the conversation with his mouth slightly ajar and soft snores echoing past your ear. You don’t move when Jay asks if you want Jake off of your shoulder, but you shake your head.

Conversation falls flat when the group unanimously decides that sleepiness is overtaking the need to socialize. Jay keeps checking his watch to look out for the time while your eyes try to look anywhere but at Heeseung. 

It’s odd, the way two people can lose a friendship overnight. The heartbreak that came with romantic rejection wasn’t nearly as bad as realizing texts and phone calls were far fewer in between the moment you had arrived back in Europe to finish your studies. It hurt to know that neither one of you felt comfortable enough to see each other when you were back in your hometown unless the two of you were invited to hang out with mutual friends. 

Still, seeing Heeseung after he had rejected your confession felt like a punch to the gut. 

Long gone were the days of being able to send him unimportant updates about your life abroad or what you were doing at any given summer day back home. You couldn’t ask him to go to the restaurants you used to frequent near his house or yours. You certainly couldn’t call him at random hours because you were bored and missed his voice. 

It wasn’t for the lack of trying. It felt like things might've gone back to normal after a short period of not talking, but your texts going unanswered and your calls going to voicemail was all you needed to know. 

Perhaps it’s why you’re comfortable spearheading this vacation with Jay, who had made it a point to visit you in London when you’d chosen to stay behind instead of going home for the holiday break. The two of you had never spent time alone prior to then, but it touched you that he’d go out of his way to dedicate an entire day to visit you when he was there for a family vacation. 

Coming back to Korea the summer after graduating felt like you were making the right choice, even if your head was telling you to find a home in Europe. Still fresh from your unresolved rejection, stepping off of the plane and knowing you wouldn’t be returning back to your university’s town made the uncomfortable reality of coming face-to-face with Heeseung sink in. You’d have to live with the consequences. 

But it’s been eight months since you returned, six months since Jay’s dad was gracious enough to offer you a position on his marketing team, and five months since he encouraged your entire friend group to take a trip to your old stomping grounds. 

The proposition felt too sudden, especially with how little experience you had working with his team, but you’d spend an evening with the Park family for him to consider you an honorary member. Though, you’re sure Jay might’ve told him something happened between you and Heeseung, especially after telling everyone you wouldn’t be coming home for the holidays. 

To this day, you haven’t uttered a single word to your friends about what happened the night Heeseung rejected your love confession. If you know him as well as you think you do, you don’t think he's told anyone either. 

“Cafes are opening up,” Jay notes. Sunghoon’s ears perk up. “Three of us should go get food and drinks while the rest save our seats.” 

The airport overhead lights must’ve turned on while you were deep in thought. Jay’s right, the coffee stands have opened and it’s likely due to the new influx of travelers who’ve arrived at the airport. Foot traffic is still light and you know Jay wants to get ahead of the crowd. 

Jake has woken up because of the growing murmur around him and lifts himself off of your head to wipe the sleep out of his eyes. He yawns once more but tries his best not to fall asleep again.

“How long was I out?”

“Twenty minutes, give or take,” Sunghoon answers.

“Sorry for sleeping on you,” Jake apologizes. 

“It’s okay. You needed it.” He scrunches his face, not used to the new lighting. “Jay, I’ll come with you to get coffee. I need to stretch my legs.” 

“I’ll help as well.” Heeseung speaks for the first time in a while and his voice nearly catches you off guard. 

“Sure.” Jay gathers everybody’s orders before the two of you follow him around the terminal. 

The line isn’t unbearably long, but with Heeseung towering behind you, it feels like you’ve been standing for hours. You shift from one foot to the other in order to find a happy medium to no avail. Jay orders for the group and you pay attention to him more than you care to when you realize Heeseung is now standing beside you to make room for more people to wait in line. He’s considerate like that and you hate it. 

When the baristas are finished with your order, you reach for the bag of sandwiches in your haste to escape Heeseung. But your fingers touch the steam and you drop the bag into the counter with a hiss.

“Careful,” Heeseung says. “Don’t get hurt, please.” 

Your clumsy nature was always something he teased you for. Heeseung sounds so sincere about his worry that you think you’d rather him pour all of the hot coffee on you instead. 

“Thanks.” You grab the bag with so much as a single moment of eye contact before realizing Jay has started walking back. 

Breakfast is eaten in silence. Everyone is too tired to speak, save for Jake whose twenty minute nap has rendered him a little more awake than the rest of you. You and Sunghoon share your egg sandwich and chocolate croissant respectively without a word spoken between the two of you. 

Meanwhile, Heeseung is staring at the way your thighs are close to Sunghoon’s. He had shifted his body closer to yours in order to form a makeshift table so that sharing pastries wouldn’t result in crumbs on the floor. You can feel Heeseung's gaze on your kneecap and it makes your face flush. 

Sunoo and Jake offer to throw everybody’s trash away when you’re all done eating. The airport is in full swing by now and everyone has said their graces and apologized to Jay for giving him a hard time with how early they arrived. 

It seems that sleep has threatened to overtake you. You’re waiting in line to scan your plane ticket and board the aircraft, but the sudden warmth of the airport has caused you to yawn a few too many times. Riki’s standing in front of you and his height makes for a perfect makeshift wall to lean on. Or, that’s what your tired brain is telling you, because you slouch forward and let your cheek rest against his back as you close your eyes. 

“Sleepy girl,” you hear him chuckle. You merely nod in acknowledgement. 

Your comfort is short lived when he softly nudges you because the line has moved. Soon, you scan your ticket and give the airline agent a smile as thanks before waiting to set foot on the aircraft. 

Sunghoon notices your dropped shoulders and wordlessly takes your backpack off of you. 

“You don’t need to do that,” you say with a frown when you see Sunghoon carrying your belongings with him. 

“Let me hold it,” says Sunghoon. “You look like you’re about to fall over with the extra weight.” 

“If you insist.”

“Let us take care of you, yeah?” Jay interrupts, bumps his shoulder with yours. “You’ve been running all over Europe these past four years and we’ve only seen you a handful of times. You deserve to relax on this trip.” 

“I can’t believe you guys are being so sweet on me. I know that’s ending the second we get back to Korea.” 

The two boys laugh. “Well, it’s only fair, I guess. You’re like, the mom friend.”

“Jay is the mom friend.” The aforementioned doesn’t argue. 

The squeeze of the aircraft is tight and you’re desperately trying to look for your seat. It seems that Sunghoon is sitting in your row, which excites you, but you’ve come to realize that you’ve obtained the ungodly middle seat. You make peace with it for a brief moment before Heeseung clears his throat awkwardly.

“Let’s switch seats,” he says from behind you. His ticket shows the window seat right next to yours. “I know you hate middle seats.” 

“No, I couldn’t ask that of you.” 

“You’re not asking.” He says it with a smile and it makes you cower into yourself. “You should move to your new seat so we don’t hold up the line.” 

Heeseung suggests it in a way that is reminiscent of the days where he’d give up his sweet treats because you wanted a taste. It tugs at your heartstrings but you don’t have time to think about that when you notice how the plane is starting to fill up. 

Reluctantly, you slide into the window seat while Heeseung and Sunghoon follow suit. Your seat belts are buckled and in no time, the aircraft takes flight. 

For the next hour, Heeseung looks like he wants to say something to you. The headphones you've brought do well to cancel out the noise, for the most part. You can see from the corner of your eye that he glances at you from time to time, but you ignore it and choose to get comfortable for the long haul. 

When you notice the flight attendants come with the beverage cart, you take it as a cue to get comfortable and try to get some sleep for the next few hours. Likely due to the lack of sleep from the night prior, you fall asleep as soon as your head rests against the plane.

You don’t hear Heeseung requesting an extra bottle of water for you.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

When you come to, you’re barely able to register that it’s time to eat the first meal on the flight. You take your headphones off and put it in your backpack as you blink the sleep out of your eyes. 

“Chicken or beef?” 

Heeseung looks at you, expecting an answer.

“Hm?”

He laughs softly. “Chicken or beef?” 

Your eyes dart between him and the flight attendants when you realize they’re about to approach.

“I heard them asking people which meal they want,” Heeseung explains. “So, chicken or beef?”

“Beef.” You clear your throat. 

“Beef it is.”

Sunghoon requests chicken when the flight attendant arrives. Heeseung orders beef for the both of you before you get the chance. If he notices you looking at him strangely, he doesn’t comment on it. 

The food comes quicker than expected and the meal tastes decent, though you’re trying your best not to elbow Heeseung as you cut away at your portion. He seems engrossed in the movie in front of him while you peek at what he’s watching—Iron Man, to no one’s shock. 

You soften a bit at the nostalgia that comes with Heeseung and Marvel, namely the rainy days in your youth spent marathoning the superhero movies. There had been one year in high school when he’d dressed up as Tony Stark and you as Pepper Potts despite a few girls your age whispering behind your back at the matching costumes out of jealousy. You don’t think you can think of the franchise without thinking of Heeseung. 

The memories almost bring a smile to your face. Heeseung seems to notice you glancing at his screen in between bites. You avoid eye contact when you realize he caught you staring and focus on cutting your meal, praying that Heeseung will stop looking at you and watch the movie instead. 

But he takes one earbud out and holds it to you. 

“Do you want to watch it with me?” He’s halfway through. You tell him such but he doesn’t care. 

“I don’t want to jump in halfway through.” 

“Come on, it’s not like you haven’t done that before.” 

Heeseung says it with such nonchalance that it makes your stomach drop. He sees the way your eyes falter for a moment and the way you glance between his hand and the screen. You try to come up with excuses to refuse his offer, but you’ve got eight more hours until you land.

“Sure,” you settle. Heeseung gives you one headphone and resumes watching.

Between the meals being picked up and tray tables being put away, you manage to fall asleep in your seat. Sunoo sits in front of you and upon coming back from a quick bathroom trip, sees your head resting on Heeseung’s shoulder with his cheek propped on your head. The two of you are fast asleep despite the credits rolling and he can’t help but snap a quick photo. 

You wake up some hours later when Sunghoon says your name. The cabin lights turning on temporarily blinds your vision as you wake up when you realize you’d managed to push yourself back enough to rest yourself against Heeseung’s arm. 

“Oh God,” you say in shock, pulling yourself and the seat upright. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

“It’s okay,” he replies, like he means it. “Sleeping on planes is uncomfortable. But I know you know that.” 

You nod. “Yeah. It's too hard to get comfortable.”

“I can’t believe we’re spending two weeks in Europe. I’ve never been outside of Korea and Japan before. You’ll have to help me with my English.”

“Jay or Jake can also help with that.” You say it with a yawn and Heeseung’s eyes cast to the floor for a brief moment. You barely notice, gathering your own belongings as the flight descends. 

“Yeah, I guess they can.” 

When you land, the familiar disorientation of the time difference truly wakes you up. It’s eleven in the morning when the plane door finally opens and Jay’s moving a step ahead of you as he occupies space in the aisle way to grab his belongings. You follow suit and wait for your turn to exit amongst your friends and other travel goers.

Stepping out of the plane and into the familiar terrain of the Heathrow Airport reignites your attentiveness and you smile at the fond memories of being greeted by your university friends upon arriving. The familiar atmosphere of English travelers milling around the gate warms your chest with nostalgia. 

You wait for the boys to emerge before signaling Jay, who follows beside you as you walk towards the baggage claim area. You lead him with little trouble down the escalator as the rest of your friends follow suit, yawning in an attempt to wake themselves up. 

“It’s weird seeing you in your element,” Jay comments as he stands beside you, periodically checking the turnstile for his luggage. “A good kind of weird.” 

“This airport might as well be my second home,” you tell him. “It feels routine to wait for my luggage at this point.”

“I’m tempted to sleep when we get to the hotel but I don’t want to mess up my sleep schedule more than it already is.” Jay pulls his luggage. 

“Yeah, that’s smart. I think we should take an hour to freshen up and find a place to eat before we go exploring.”

“I can already hear Jake whining about it.” 

The two of you share a laugh. “He’ll just have to get used to it. We can have an early night and rest up before we explore tomorrow.” 

“He slept on the plane, for the most part,” Jay informs. “Surprisingly, he didn’t snore as loudly as he usually does.” He spots your luggage and takes it off of the belt for you. 

On the other side of the carousel, Heeseung and Sunoo are standing together to find their own luggages. 

“You guys looked pretty cozy,” Sunoo comments. “It was nice seeing you two like that again.”

“It felt nice,” he mutters. “I really missed her.” 

Heeseung doesn’t have to tell Sunoo what happened between the two of you for him to know that you two aren’t as close as you used to be. The older boy feels nearly ashamed that his own friends have caught up on his awkward demeanor.

“Well, she’s back for good and we’re here on vacation. Try not to dwell on whatever it is that’s making you think too hard.”

Heeeung laughs. “I’ll try, Sunoo. It’s just hard when we’re not as close. How can I compete when we’re in her college town and how will I talk to her in Paris?”

“Well, you never know,” Sunoo says as he picks up his luggage. “Anything can happen in the City of Love.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

The hotel itself is modest in size. Quaint, old cobblestone surrounding the entryway like you remember it. The people are busy walking in and out of the meeting rooms in the lobby as you walk to the concierge to sort out the rooming situation. Jay stands beside to help distribute the keys and the employee behind the desk bids you a good stay. 

The view from the fifth floor is spectacular already. You catch glimpses of the streets of London below you, street lights decorating the sidewalk and flowers surrounding the city. This feels like the London you remember and it adds a slight pep in your step. 

“Alright, it’s decided that three of you are gonna share,” you say as you reach the first room. “The other four will be split into two rooms and I’ll get a room for myself.”

“That’s not fair,” Jake huffs. 

“I refuse to share a room with any of you.” You pocket the key to the single bedroom. “Plus, Jay’s mom helped me make the arrangements when we planned the trip.”

“Favoritism,” Jake coughs. You nudge his side.

“To make it fair, everyone will pick up a key card without knowing the room number and flip it. That’ll determine who you room with.”

“Alright,” Jungwon says. “Fair enough.”

One by one, your friends pick their key cards and discover their roommates. Jake, Sunoo, and Riki are the unlucky three who will be rooming together for the duration of the week. Jay and Sunghoon are in the room directly across from theirs while Heeseung and Jungwon share a room. 

“Let’s meet at the lobby in an hour,” Jay suggests. “We can get some lunch and do some exploring before deciding on dinner.”

“We can take it easy and sleep early tonight,” you add in. “I know that flying internationally is always a bitch and I try to time my sleep when I need to.”

The eight of you part ways. Your suite has a beautiful view of the sky and the room itself makes you feel like the main character of a romance film. The bed is just to your liking with pillows stacked to the nines. It feels nice to have a moment to yourself. With your friend Yunjin backing out of the trip at the last minute due to family conflicts, you hadn’t had time to think about anything other than arriving at the hotel safely. 

You busy yourself with a shower and freshen up, pulling out options for you to wear for the rest of the night. You settle with something stylish yet comfortable and put enough makeup on your face until you’re satisfied with the person staring back at you in the bathroom mirror. 

True to your word, you enter the lobby when you said you would. Jay and Sunghoon are already downstairs by the seats. Sunghoon stands to offer you the loveseat but you decline politely and sift through your phone until the rest of the guys arrive. 

When they do, it’s like all eight of you collectively agree that hunger has overtaken you. You know of a nearby cafe that serves sandwiches from your days in university. You lead them to the quaint restaurant that has your friends staring at the art on the walls as you greet the cashier and order. 

It’s a slow moment for the eight of you as you all eat in relative silence, the sound of quiet slurping audible from the coffees everyone has chosen to drink. 

“Did you spend a lot of time here?” Jungwon asks. 

“Around the area, yeah,” you say, looking around. The outdoor seating area is just towards the edge of the street with the weather being a cool, cloudy day. “I loved coming to cafe’s like these with my friends after class. We’d study until they kicked us out and then go for a drink or two.” 

“We should go to a pub while we’re here,” Jake suggests. “I’ve always wanted to see an English pub. We have a few back in Australia.” 

“I know just the place! My friend’s brother owns it and they know I’ll be in town for the next week. It would be nice to catch up with them.” 

“Hopefully your friends here kept you out of trouble,” Sunghoon teases. You flick him with your fingers. 

“I’m the most responsible one out of you seven and don’t you forget that.” 

“Do you miss being here now that you’re back?” Riki asks in between sandwich bites. “God, I love London already.” 

“You’re going to choke if you don’t slow down.” He apologies and takes a single bite. “Well, I think I miss my friends a lot. I don’t necessarily miss being in university, but I miss the freedoms that come with it.”

“I still can’t believe you spent four years of your life here,” Sunghoon says. “That’s insane when you think about how you cried when your aunt took you to Tokyo for a week when you were in middle school.”

The boys laugh and you frown. “I was twelve, okay? You wound me. But yeah, I think I grew out of my shell in high school and had this urge to travel but didn’t know how to do it. I was surprised when my parents encouraged me to apply to King’s College, even more so when I got accepted.”

“You’ve always been too good to stay in one place for too long,” Jake says. “We got close until halfway through our first year of high school, I think. I always got the sense that you wanted more than what our hometown could offer.” 

“I always wanted to move to the heart of Seoul eventually. But I think I needed to come here in order to figure that out.”

“Would you really have stayed in London if you had the chance?” 

You avoid looking at Heeseung, whose attention averted from his phone to you. 

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “But what I do know is that I’m happy to be back in Korea and I’m happy to be traveling to Europe.” 

“You always did have that sense of adventure,” Heeseung says. “I remember you were the one who always got us in trouble when we explored a little too far.” 

“Your mom was pissed that time I walked a little too far down the shoreline when we went to Jeju.” The memory feels warm despite your discomfort at having Heeseung’s eyes on you. “I didn’t know who she wanted to kill more, me or you.”

“Definitely me. You could do no wrong in her eyes.”

“What happened?” Sunoo asks. 

“My family and Heeseung’s took a trip to Jeju Island when we were around seven, if I remember correctly. I’d taken swimming lessons and thought I could show off my new skills at the beach we were at, but there was a wave that was a bit too much for me to handle.”

“She was nearly swallowed by the ocean.” Heeseung hits his knee with his palm as he recalls the memory. “I mean, I was seven and it seemed like the wave was gigantic but to my mom, it must’ve been just tall enough that she could see over it.”

“She yelled at him for the rest of the night because she had to pull me out from under the water,” you add. “I was fine. My parents laughed it off but his mom was so pissed at him for not telling me to come back to the shore.”

Echoes of laughter fill the space. It feels nice to be able to laugh like this with Heeseung, temporarily forgetting why you were so awkward around him in the first place. 

When the check is paid, you lead the group around the area. Sunghoon takes out his camera and captures everything that inspires him while Sunoo and Riki are off to explore the shops around. It brings warmth to your chest to see your friends enthusiastically exploring the space you once called home. It had been a dream of yours since Jay came to visit and let you drag him around town for the day. Having them with you feels like you’re healing a part of yourself. 

You duck into the quiet bookstore you used to frequent while you were a student. Filled with novels and trinkets from floor to ceiling, it feels familiar to you. 

You get lost in thought when you glance at the books in front of you and you don’t notice Heeseung approaching. 

“Still love books?” 

“Jesus,” you gasp, clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry,” he laughs. “Seems like you still scare easily.” You hate that he knows you so well. Clearing your throat, you put the book back. 

“Yes, to both. I used to come to this bookstore a lot when I had free time.” 

He looks around. “It looks like a nice place.”

“They have a reading nook in the back. The owner is this sweet older woman who was the first person to help me with my English when I first moved. I think she let me read books for free because I used to bring her sweets.”

“That sounds like something you’d do.” You cast your eyes to the floor. “It’s crazy that there’s parts of you that I don’t know.” 

“Yeah,” you mumble solemnly. Heeseung’s eyes bore into the side of your face as you pretend to look at the titles of the books. 

“Do you talk to your college friends often?” 

“All the time. My closest friends live all over the place. Two of them are from the area, one went to live in the States, and a few live in Busan.”

“I’ll bet it was nice to have some Korean friends when you moved. I remember you used call me to tell me about your first semester here.” 

You can’t help but think about the first few months after you moved when you would call Heeseung for a bit of comfort when things felt too overwhelming. With Korea being nine hours ahead, you always felt a little too bothersome phoning when it was the middle of the night for him, not used to the time difference. But he always answered you or called back when he had the chance. 

You’d spend hours on the phone, talking to him about how difficult it was to learn English and how making friends was not as easy as you thought it would be. Navigating the city felt lonely and isolating because you’d barely made friends in your classes in the first few weeks. Heeseung was there through all of it, reminding you that being eighteen years old in a new country made you brave despite feeling like you were a failure for not grasping a hold on life like you thought you would. 

Falling asleep on the phone with him became a routine, too. Whether it was you who fell asleep after a long day or Heeseung, who had stayed up listening to your worries, the sound of his breathing made it feel like you were back home in Korea instead of exploring a grand new world. 

Soon enough, you could talk your way around and piece together conversations with your classmates until you’d found friends who shared similar interests. Heeseung was the first person you told and the first person to tell you how proud he was that you extended your roots to learn about yourself away from home. You always thrived off of his praise as if making him proud was something you never sought out to do, but appreciated when it happened.

But that was four years ago. Whatever friendship you had with him then is not the one you have with him now. 

“It was nice,” you settle. “I miss my college friends. You might get to meet some later in the week.” 

“Nice,” he mutters to himself when you walk past him. “That’s really nice.” 

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

The rest of the week is spent in your old stomping grounds, from touring your campus, to shopping, to sightseeing. The eight of you split up more often than not to explore different areas based on mutual interest. You find that Heeseung tends to gravitate towards you and you aren’t sure if it’s because he feels guilty for rejecting you or because he genuinely wants to explore what you want to do. 

Still though, at least one other person joins you. It feels nice to have a buffer to avoid any awkward conversation or moments, especially when Heeseung trips over his words trying to talk to you. 

The week goes by too quickly for your liking. Spending time in London has felt like coming back home, in a way. You’ll always have your memories here and this city will remain the same when you return in the future. Now, it no longer feels like the place you escape too because things got too hard back home. 

Even with Heeseung next to you more often than not, you’ve found a happy medium The awkwardness dissipates when you set aside your indifference to show everybody your favorite places, watching them explore the city for themselves. 

As expected, Riki and Jake have spent a little too much on clothing with the hopes that they can fit it into their luggage on the way back. It fits miraculously. 

Your friend Leo, the one whose brother owns the pub you used to frequent, tells you he’s excited to see you after all these months. It’s a Friday night when you arrive, seeing it well populated. But it’s rather early in the evening before the rush hour, so you enjoy the relative quietness before people rush in. 

Heeseung, on the other hand, has been in a stupor for the latter half of the week. It began when he managed to talk to you in the bookstore, but blossomed when he watched you navigate your way around the city. You barely looked at your phone for directions and had no problem switching to English when you greeted shop owners. Hearing you speak fluently in a language you once struggled with in your childhood made him feel somewhat removed from your life. The two of you used to joke that he was always better with English. Now, the tables have turned. 

The fear that you’d told your school friends about what transpired between the two of you plants itself in the back of Heeseung’s mind. He worries that your friends won’t like him and that you’ve scorned his name, but he chides himself just as much as he worries because he knows you and how deeply you care about people. 

Heeseung wishes he could go back in time to change what happened. He wishes that he’d admit his mistake and confess to you before you left. It had taken him a long time to confront his own feelings, but seeing you back in Korea made him realize he didn’t care if the relationship was long distance or not. He didn’t care as long as you were in his life. 

The months spent apart without phone calls or texts were agony. He loathed hearing what you were up to from your mutual friends or when he accidentally watched your Instagram stories. Seeing you happy without him made his heart lurch, not out of possessiveness, but because he wished you were comfortable enough to share those moments with him. 

To boil it down, Heeseung hopes this trip can undo a year’s worth of his ignorance. 

But before he can think about that, your exclamation pulls him towards a strange man before you. 

“Leo!” 

The sheer volume of your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by Heeseung, who eyes the bloke the second you make a dash for him. His heart winces when your arms wrap around the stranger’s neck and as he spins you around, squeezing you for good measure. He isn’t pleased when Leo settles to let his arm rest around your waist instead of letting you go. He’s even less so when you don’t attempt to separate yourself from him. 

“Hey, pretty girl,” Leo says with a boyish grin, accent making Heeseung nearly roll his eyes. 

“This is Leo.” You let your head rest on his shoulder for a brief moment. “He’s one of my friends from university. I think we met in, what, second year?” 

“Second year, auditing class with Professor Donahue on Mondays and Wednesdays,” he says. “God, that class was so boring.” 

“He’s the friend whose brother owns the bar,” you explain to them. You introduce Leo to each friend respectively. “Jay and Jake are my friends who are fluent in English.” 

“You can speak it and understand it as well, right?” Leo asks as he shakes Heeseung’s hand.

He nods while giving him a tight smile. “Just a little. I’m practicing.” 

“Nah, you sound perfect already.”

Heeseung feels indifferent to see you in your element with people from your past. The bartender, who is Leo’s brother, tells you the first two rounds are on the house after he checks IDs. Riki and Jungwon are excited to have their first pub experience after you make them promise to take it slow and drink lots of water in between. 

“It’s a bit weird seeing her be like that,” Leo says to Jay with a laugh. “When we first got to know each other, it was me who had to tell her to watch how much she drank.”

“Y/N, drinking?” Jake asks. “No way. Back in Korea, she got drunk maybe twice a year.” 

“She and a mutual friend, Elizabeth, were as thick as thieves. They were like a package deal before we all graduated and until she moved to the States. They’d always go a little too hard after exam season was over or if people invited them out on a Saturday night.”

“Y/N’s always been the responsible one out of the bunch,” Jay adds. “In high school, there was one time she got so drunk that she nearly scaled the roof of my friend’s house. Heeseung nearly fell off trying to get her down. After that, she swore off alcohol.” 

Heeseung makes a few comments in the conversation as he watches you catch up with Leo’s brother and as you facilitate conversation between the rest of the guys. There’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he realizes there’s a lot he doesn’t know about you. 

The two of you talked less as you became more comfortable in your environment. At first, Heeseung took it to heart and made the assumption that you’d chosen your friends in England over him, but a stern conversation with his mother made him realize he was being juvenile. He could only comfort you so much when he was oceans away. It was probably a good thing that you were talking to him less because that must’ve meant you were as overwhelmed or scared like you were when you first moved to England. 

You’d still call him a few times a week before bed–when Heeseung was getting ready for the day–to update him on everything that happened in the past week. You two texted more frequently than you conversed, sending him pictures of new places you’d discovered or him sending photos of your mutual friends with sad faces at the notion of you not being able to be there with them. 

Heeseung had always felt a bit jealous of your time abroad. He loved Korea, but he yearned for the same sense of adventure you once had. Only, he hadn’t figured it out until halfway through university when it was too late to transfer or apply for a semester abroad. When Jay had proposed this trip and that his father would expense half of it, he jumped at the opportunity to go. 

Although, he didn’t know it would hurt him this much.

Hearing you talk about your life here made him feel like it was his fault that he barely knew your life in England. It was so easy when the two of you lived a few blocks from each other; he’d run into you with your other friends on the street or know exactly where you were likely to be at any given moment. He knew you felt the same way about him too, as you always knew where to find him if you really needed him. 

But it feels like this is the first time he’s seeing you for who you are as an adult, not the child that he grew up with. 

Surely, Heeseung always knew you had a good head on your shoulders. You were always the more outspoken one who stood up for what you believed in, no matter how big or small. You never backed down if someone was giving you a hard time and it was one of the reasons why Heeseung had struck up a conversation with you as you two played in the sandbox after a few kids had stolen the toys he was playing with. That sense of responsibility and gratuity followed you into your adolescent and teenage years, too. Not once had Heeseung heard anyone say a bad word about your character. He’d like to think he had something to do with it, but deep down, Heeseung knows it was all you. 

When you confessed nearly a year ago, Heeseung felt like his heart might’ve ceased to function properly. Truth be told, he’s never taken his daydreams about being your boyfriend too seriously. He always wondered if it was normal to develop small crushes on your girl-friends at a young age and wondered if those butterflies in his stomach was because of how often his other friends at school would playfully tease him until they stopped. Jake and Sunghoon had been people who teased him for having a girl as his best friend until they befriended you too, and Heeseung was satisfied when they stopped with their comments. They, too, could understand why Heeseung was so keen on keeping you around. 

But the butterflies never quite left him. Your smile was too bright. Your voice was too angelic. Everything about you and how you fit into his life felt a little too perfect; Heeseung hated cliches in his youth and this felt like one big cliche joke. He knew his mother didn’t approve of the girls she’d see him with, even in college when he got into his first serious relationship. She wasn’t as enthusiastic about her as she was with you. At the time, the frustration seemed too biased until it ended in a way that made Heeseung realize his mother truly knew what was best for him.

Heeseung never considered the possibility of dating you until you confessed your feelings for him. 

As much as he plays off being the spontaneous, go-with-the-flow type of person, Heeseung gets scared when things go unplanned. He backs away from courage and from moments that make or break his character. He likes to play it safe unless he can make a calculated risk in his favor, choosing to let others fall flat on their face and learn from their mistakes. Heeseung had never considered the possibility of you having feelings for him either. That fateful summer night is one he will always remember, especially in the way the light in your eyes dimmed when he told you he didn’t feel the same. 

He remembers your quick apologies and the way you backed away too quickly for his liking. He had tried to reach for your hand to tell you it was okay and that he didn’t feel awkward about it, but you’d shook your head and merely told him you’d see him later. Heeseung had never seen you leave so abruptly. But he figured you’d get over it, as you typically do when things don’t go your way. You’re resilient like that.

Heeseung assumed you needed time to heal from the awkward encounter and hadn’t reached out to you for a week. He didn’t think much of it at the time and hadn’t made plans with you until he realized you’d be leaving for Europe the week following. By then, it had been too late, because he stopped by your house the morning after you left. 

Getting together with Seulgi after you left felt too easy. He knew she’d always had a thing for him but brushed her off for reasons he couldn’t fathom until he bumped into her a few weeks after you’d left without so much as a text or a voicemail. Feeling a bit irritated at your wordless departure, Heeseung took Seulgi out on a few days to take his mind off of you.

Except, it didn’t work. Heeseung found himself fantasizing about what it would be like to go out to dinner with you when she was sitting in front of him. When she’d texted him to thank him for his time, Heeseung imagined the kind of things you would say after your first date. When he kissed her for the first time underneath the twinkling lights of a local fair, Heeseung pictured you as he closed his eyes. The fantasy was ruined when Seulgi’s perfume touched his olfactory senses, pulling him back into reality. The guilt of kissing somebody who wasn’t you ate at his chest the moment he saw Seulgi smile at him from where he stood. 

He tried his best with her but broke it off when the unrest overtook his mental wellbeing. It was amicable, for the most part. All Heeseung knows is that his parents (along with all of his friends) were happy that he hadn’t continued with that relationship.

“Y/N used to talk a lot about you, Heeseung,” Leo says, bringing the aforementioned out of his thoughts. “We’d be out at dinner or something and she’d always run outside to answer your calls.”

“Really?” Heeseung says out of surprise. He didn’t know you did that. 

“You bet,” Leo replies. “She talked a lot about Korea when we’d hang out with our friends but she seemed to talk about you the most.” 

Heeseung wonders if you told him about what happened between the two of you the summer before you left. 

“I’m flattered.” Heeseung honestly doesn’t know what else to say. He chooses to tell the truth. “I missed her a lot. I grew up with her living a few blocks away. It felt weird not to be with her when I went to college.” 

“Y/N said the same thing. Every time she’d be homesick, she’d tell us she needed to call you.” Leo’s words bring a warm flush to Heeseung’s face but he chooses to blame it on the alcohol. 

“I heard my name,” you say as you walk to where they’re sitting. “Not talking shit about me, my dear Leo?”

“Never,” he teases. “Although, I’m sure I still have some pretty photos of you and Elizabeth at this very pub.”

“Oh God, please don’t.” You push his shoulder when he moves to reach his phone. “Those do not need to see the light of day and you definitely need to delete them.”

“How else am I going to blackmail you?” 

“You’re the worst.” You look cute when your nose is a bit red from drinking. You always did suffer from redness to the face when you drank. “I can’t believe Elizabeth and I let you into our friend group.”

“Hey! I was the one who introduced you to her in the first place.”

“I’ll bet if I texted her right now, I’d have it in writing that she’d choose me over you.”

“Okay, you don’t need to do that because she definitely would.” 

The group laughs and conversations flow nicely as a few other friends from your university days join you later in the evening. It feels like a reunion, of sorts. It feels especially wonderful to have most of your favorite people under one roof despite the slight language barrier. But everyone seems to get along well enough, especially Riki, who has taken a liking to your Japanese friend you met on your first day of orientation. 

When the room gets too hot, you make your way outside where you’re fenced in by a metal barricade. It’s cold outside, but the alcohol running through your veins keeps you warm enough that you decide not to go back to ask for a jacket. Heeseung wants to follow you but stays still in his seat when he sees Sunghoon exit the door after you leave. 

The wine in your hands is still halfway full. You’ve decided that you’ve taken the lead far too many times this week and that Jay can handle getting everyone home. It’s your fourth drink of the night, just enough to keep you buzzed for the duration of your time at the pub. 

You register the door sliding open and make room for Sunghoon when you spot him over your shoulder. 

“Your friends are really nice,” he comments, leaning on the railing next to you. 

“They’re the best,” you say with a fond smile. “I owe them a lot. I only started enjoying my time here when we became friends.” 

“You know, I was a little worried that you wouldn’t be happy when you moved to London for the first time.”

“What makes you say that?” 

“I think a lot of people would describe you as brave and as someone who will dive in head first to things that scare you, which is true for the most part. But I think people rarely pay attention to the vulnerable side of people like you because it looks like you have it all together.”

“I was a total wreck when I first moved,” you said. “I don’t know if you remember the few times I called you when Heeseung wasn’t able to pick up.”

“Oh, I remember. That was the first time you cried to me and now you have no issue getting your snot on my sweaters.” You swat his arm at the joke but he dodges you just in time. “I remember Yeji getting worried about you too. She was so young and always said she wanted to be brave like you.”

“Sweet girl,” you say. 

“The two of you are similar. I watch out for her a lot, you know? Our relatives always think she puts on a brave face and don’t think twice when she talks about her fears. They always tell her she’ll be fine, but it’s hard to actualize that when you don’t believe it.”

“I thought about coming home a few times when things got really hard,” you confess. “I was out of my depth because I couldn’t speak English very well. I could only speak fragments and getting my way around campus was so hard.” 

“I don’t know how you did it, if I’m being honest. But I’m glad that you stuck around long enough to see what your life would be like.”

“Me too. I’d really love to think I’ve become a better person now that I’ve gotten the chance to know myself beyond the comfort of my home, you know? I love you guys and I love my family, but sometimes being back in Korea felt like I was listening to what was expected of me instead of what I wanted.”

Sunghoon laughs. “Yeji said the same thing a few weeks before we left for London. Part of me thinks she’s considering studying abroad. I found a few college brochures in her room.”

“Don’t you know better than to snoop inside your sister’s bedroom?”

“Yah,” he says. “Yeji steals too many of my sweaters and she said I could get them back.”

“You’re just too easy to make fun of, Hoonie.” 

A comfortable silence passes over the both of you. The audible sound of people talking amongst themselves and the beautiful lights of the city illuminate what makes London so beautiful. It isn’t until Sunghoon speaks that you pull yourself out of your daydreams.

“I heard you that night,” Sunghoon confesses. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“The night of the bonfire.I know you told Heeseung you liked him.”

You turn your head to him. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I figured you’d tell me whenever you felt ready,” he says with a shrug. “You went back to London a couple of weeks later and I wanted to spend time with my friend. There never seemed to be a right time.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and balances from one leg to another. “You looked really sad, Y/N. I’ve never seen you look that way before.” 

There’s a beat of silence. 

Sunghoon listens as you sigh and you push yourself from the railing. Your back touches the cold metal as you look beside yourself to see him. 

“I deluded myself into thinking Heeseung might’ve felt something for me too,” you admit. “It’s not that girls and boys can’t be friends, but towards the end of our friendship, it was like something shifted.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’d…touch me longer. Hugs, pulling me by my waist at parties, lingering near me at Riki’s bonfires, that kind of thing. He started playing with my fingers a lot more. Heeseung never used to touch me like that. He’d interrupt conversation with guys to pull me away. I always knew what he was doing but I liked him so much that I didn’t care if he interrupted a good thing between me and someone else.” 

Sunghoon purses his lips and watches as you look ahead at the glass doors to see your friends laughing. “I noticed that too.”

“When we were alone, it felt like he was one sentence away from telling me he loved me more than a friend. Not that platonic crap that the eight of us tell each other, but the deep shit where that kind of love comes from kindred souls.” 

“Heeseung’s too stupid to see what’s good for him anyway.” Sunghoon pulls a laugh out of you and he’s glad to hear it. 

“But then I confessed to him the night of that bonfire.” You bite your lip at the memory, willing yourself not to tear up. “I mean, you heard him. He told me he didn’t feel the same way and didn’t want to ruin our friendship because it was perfect as it was.”

“And then you heard he’d gotten together with Seulgi.”

“Yeah.” You nod once and look down at your drink. 

“They weren’t together long,” Sunghoon says. “She wanted more but he didn’t want to give that to her. The boys were confused because he seemed to be really happy with her until he broke it off so sudden. I always thought it was because he felt too guilty after rejecting you.”

“What did the guys think?”

“Riki hated her. I have a feeling it was because she wasn’t you, though. I think Sunoo, Jungwon, and Jake were surprised when he’d gotten together with Seulgi after you left and were trying to be nice about it. Jay was indifferent, but then again, you two weren’t as close as you were with the rest of them until he visited you while you were away.”

“Did his opinion change?” 

“Definitely. Heeseung had a period of time in the new year where he went on a couple of dates with her, telling us he might’ve made a mistake by breaking things off too soon.” Sunghoon shakes his head as he tells the story. “Jay was unbelievably pissed.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know how he gets when he’s angry. He’s quiet and doesn’t talk until he’s calm. But it was like a volcano erupted, or something. Jay came back mid January to find out Heeseung had been seeing Seulgi for a couple of weeks and completely lost it on him. He said things about not knowing a good thing if it spat in his face and how he ruined every chance of happiness because of his own doing.” 

“Wow…I didn’t know Jay said that.”

“It was scary. Heeseung tried to fight back and say it was his life and that Jay didn’t have a right to say what he could and couldn’t do, but the poor guy never stood a chance. Jay asked him if he would be happy if you came back to see him dating Seulgi and that shut him up real quick.”

“What do I have to do with it?” you ask. “He rejected me before I left.” 

“I don’t know,” Sunghoon says truthfully. “I always thought that Heeseung was trying to redeem himself through Seulgi. But I guess we’ll never truly know.” 

“It’s been almost a year,” you reminisce. “You’d think I would’ve gotten over him by now after spending time in Europe with, well, other boys.”

“He’s not just any guy who rejected you,” Sunghoon says. He looks out at the street, finding the words to say. “You two had been best friends since before me or the guys got to know either of you. There’s a special kind of bond between people who grew up together, you know?

“I think a large part of you misses being friends with him. Sure, rejection always stings, but it’s knowing that you don’t have your best friend that hurts you more.”

“Jeez,” you chide. “You always know how I feel.”

Sunghoon laughs. “I’m just observant. I know that it’s hard to be on this trip because Heeseung’s trying to be that friend you once knew. He probably feels guilty for giving you the cold shoulder during your first few weeks back in Seoul.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well he’s not doing a great job showing it. Life would be easier if he left me alone.”

“But do you want that?” 

You cast your eyes to the floor. “No, I don’t.” 

Satisfied with your answer, Sunghoon nods. 

“You know, I knew Heeseung had feelings for you the night we played spin the bottle just before we graduated high school.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hoon. He never liked me.” 

Sunghoon shakes his head. “Do you remember what happened that night?” 

“Vaguely. I remember that being my first time trying alcohol and Jake having to cut me off when I couldn’t walk straight.”

He nods. “When you were sober enough to string a few sentences together, some girl suggested playing spin the bottle. When it was your turn to spin, it landed on me.” 

You make a face. “Ah. I do remember kissing you.” 

“Well you don’t have to look grossed out,” Sunghoon teases. “Everyone knew it was awkward because we’d been friends for like, five years at that point. We were both so flustered that the kiss lasted for maybe two seconds before everyone cheered.

“Heeseung was pissed. I saw him looking at me like I’d killed his family, or something. I swore I could see steam coming out of his ears. He wouldn’t talk to me for a week because I’d been your first kiss.”

“Seriously?” 

“Dead serious.” Sunghoon laughs at the memory. “He wouldn’t answer my texts. In the group chat we were in, he’d acknowledge everyone but me. It wasn’t until a week later when we were all hanging out that I told him there was nothing between us and it was awkward to kiss you in front of our friends.” 

You stand there, dumbfounded. “Huh.”

“I’ve never told anyone that,” he confesses. “I doubt anyone remembers us kissing except for him. I assumed this would be a story I’d tell you and the guys when you both eventually got together.” 

He murmurs an apology. “It’s okay, Hoon. I’m glad you told me. I guess I’m just…confused. Why did he reject me if he allegedly liked me?” 

“I wish I knew. He was miserable when you left and refused to talk about you moving back to Europe for your final year abroad. Heeseung was really sad when he found out you weren’t coming home for Christmas break.” 

“I couldn’t bear to see him. I was so heartbroken and the friends here tonight were consoling me in the way they knew how. I knew I’d be a depressed wreck if I came back home.”

“That makes sense,” Sunghoon affirms for you. “I’m glad you met up with Jay while he was here, though. You got some kind of Christmas gift from home.” 

“Me too. I feel like Jay and I got closer because of it. I knew he could tell something was off but he didn’t say anything about it. Something tells me he knows more than he cares to say.” 

“You know Jay.” You both nod. “More observant and caring than the rest of us. Part of me thinks Heeseung’s jealous of your new friendship with him since the two of you basically planned this whole trip on your own.” 

“Well, Jay has more international travel experience and his dad knows the right people,” you say with a shrug. “I spent four years of my life here. It makes sense.”

“To us, yes. To Heeseung? I think his feelings cloud his judgment.” 

“He never used to confuse me,” you admit. “We used to talk about how much we hated when people made us guess how they felt or what they were thinking. We always said it was unfair if you make people you love, make you guess their intentions. But he’s doing that to me and it’s been driving me insane.

“Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I watched him date girls in high school. I watched him with what I thought would be his first serious girlfriend during our first year of college before he went through that short hookup phase. God, that hurt me so bad and I couldn’t say anything because it wasn’t my life.” 

“For what it’s worth, I think it was brave of you to confess to him,” Sunghoon tells you. “I don’t say that as a cheap cop out to make you feel better either. You know me, I’m really sentimental about things even if I don’t come off that way. To confess your feelings to someone who you love…one can only hope to hear that someday.” 

You nudge your shoulder with his. “You say that like you didn’t have girls begging for a date.” 

Sunghoon laughs and you know what he means. 

“You’ve always been the bravest of all of us,” he continues. “I think the reason why I wanted to be friends with you when we were kids is because you didn’t take bullshit from people. I was too shy to stand up for myself between my career as a figure skater while trying to be a normal kid. You and Heeseung offered that kind of normalcy. I could see you two in the bleachers at my competitions and then we’d go out for ice cream like it was any other day.” 

“Well, now you’re going to make me cry.” 

“I mean it, Y/N. You’re a great friend and a great person. I hope Heeseung hasn’t fucked things up too bad that you leave his life for good.” 

You shiver. “Me too.” 

“Talk to him,” Sunghoon advises. “Do it before we leave. You’re removed from your life back home.” You open your mouth to refute but he beats you to the chase. “If it doesn’t work out, then you’ll know your answer when you go home and you can resume your life without Heeseung in it.” 

Sunghoon leaves you alone with your thoughts but makes you promise that you’ll join the group soon.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

When you walk back into the pub, Jake clouds your personal space before you can even think about ordering another drink.

“Jesus, Hoon. Couldn’t you have offered Y/N your jacket if you guys were gonna be out that long? Poor girl looks like she’s about to freeze to death.

Jake’s affinity for the dramatic never ceases. Your friends look at your goosebumps and the way you’re acclimating to the warmer temperature inside while Sunghoon merely rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine,” you say. “We only came in because I started to get cold.”

“Let me get my jacket for you,” Heeseung says as he rises from his seat. 

“No.” You’re sure you say it too abruptly, but you can’t bear the thought of wearing his clothes after the conversation you just had. “I’m fine, honestly.” 

“Stop being stubborn and wear a damn jacket,” Leo chides, wrapping his coat around your shoulders. “You have this habit of never bringing one when you need it and it drives me crazy.” 

“But that’s what I have you for, don’t I?” 

As you tug the material closer to your body, Sunghoon watches as Heeseung stares at Leo with a hard expression. 

“Not when you’re back in Seoul, you goof.” Leo takes your empty glass. “I’m glad you have these guys back at home. They seem really good for you.” 

“I love them a lot.” You say it so tenderly with your head tilted as you look at the boys you’d call family, only for them to coo at your clearly vulnerable, inebriated state.

“My mother, my older sister, and best friend,” Riki says with a hiccup as he engulfs you in a hug. “Seriously, I would be dead in a ditch without you.” 

“I don’t know a better person,” Sunoo chimes in from where he’s seated. 

“There was one time where Y/N had this lemon phase where she couldn’t stop drinking lemonade or eating lemon candy,” Jake tells the group. “Now I think of her every time I see something yellow.” 

“That’s kind of fitting though, isn’t it?” Leo asks. “Yellow for sunshine.” 

Everybody agrees and it makes your cheeks and neck warm up. You hide yourself in Leo’s jacket, but God, Heeseung wishes he could hide you in his arms instead. 

Still, he can’t help but agree with Leo. If there’s any truth to his words, it’s that you are made of pure, unfiltered sunshine.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

The next morning, all eight of you board the train for a two-hour ride to Paris. For the next five days, you’ll be acting as a tourist rather than tour guide, for the most part. Jay volunteers to take the lead since you did most of the heavy lifting in London. You do, however, chime in to give him a few recommendations from your prior visits to the city. 

Sunghoon’s advice plagues your thoughts, so much so that Jungwon has had to guide you out of the hotel and into the cab before arriving at the train station. Both he and Sunoo look a bit worried about you, but you wave them off and tell them you had one too many to drink. You know they don’t believe you but you’re grateful they don’t press on. 

Paris is much more beautiful than you remember it, and it’s likely due to the fact that you’re here on vacation, not because you wanted a weekend getaway to escape the stress of midterms and exams. The people are just as indifferent as ever. You’re able to practice some of your basic French to order coffee and pastries for everyone. It’s a feat that leaves Heeseung impressed and you try not to acknowledge him when you see his jaw drop. 

The hotel itself is more beautiful than the last. You have the room with the balcony and double doors leading to a breathtaking view of the buildings and streets below. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen, even if the streets are littered with trash and the people are a bit too loud. It still feels charming. 

The rooming situation is the same as London, with you in the single room and the rest of the boys to fend for themselves. This time, Jungwon, Jay, and Sunghoon are sharing the three bedroom with Heeseung and Jake sharing another, and Sunoo and Riki in the other double. The hotel must’ve miscalculated the rooming situation and put your single room at the end of the hallway away from the others, but you aren’t complaining. 

The first few days are filled with happiness and dread, namely when you see Heeseung as you begin your day. He has a knack for making you laugh until you come to the notion that you really shouldn’t be finding his jokes very funny because he doesn’t deserve that kind of reaction from you. 

In fact, he doesn’t deserve your attention after ignoring you for as long as he has. Seeing Leo again brought up memories of crying in his flat with Elizabeth and drinking too much wine to forget the pain temporarily. Your friends invited you to a night spent in the pub after Leo begged his brother to close it for the night so that you could have a free space to drink and talk about Heeseung until your voice gave out. 

Your irritation carries over and Heeseung can tell when you move away from him when he tries to stand next to you. He’s hurt but he tries to understand that you have a right to be, even if he knows in his heart the reasons why he acted the way he did. He just needs to find time to talk to you, even if the conversation doesn’t end the way he hopes it will. 

With two days left on the trip, you’ve eaten your way through the streets of Paris and have done your fair share of shopping. Each of the boys had bought you a small token of their appreciation (Heeseung paid for your latte, Jay purchased a small wallet from Prada, Jake gifted you new sunglasses, Sunghoon a charm for your bracelet, Sunoo a bowl of pasta for lunch, Jungwon a pair of earrings, and Riki a new jacket that looks similar to his from back home). It warms your heart to know you have people who care about you enough to show and tell you. 

The Eiffel Tower calls your name one late afternoon and by the time you all manage to walk up, the sun is setting below the horizon. There are couples around Heeseung who are taking photos left and right, one of which asks him to take a few pictures for them. He can’t help but wish he was in their place, asking a stranger to take a photo of the two of you as he kisses the apple of your cheek. Heeseung snaps a few good ones before the couple thanks him. 

It doesn’t help that you look like a walking goddess. Truth be told, Heeseung wanted to buy you more than just coffee when the boys agreed to each give you something as a token of their gratitude. Heeseung had come up with a list of ideas he wanted advice for, but it was Sunghoon who’d told him to keep it simple for your sake. He was right, as always, because you thanked him with a pleasant smile instead of ignoring him like you had in the days prior. Heeseung gets the feeling that you wouldn’t appreciate a grand gesture from him right now.

He hates that he can’t read you like he used to. He hates that the other friends know you better than he does, and he hates that he’s in the City of Love and he can’t call you his girlfriend. 

Riki and Jungwon are more perceptive than they let on. Heeseung sees the way their eyes dart between the two of you and how they’ve been trying their best to navigate the new dynamic. Riki, especially, hadn’t been receptive of Seulgi the first time Heeseung invited her to a bonfire. Heeseung had overheard the younger boy telling Jungwon it wasn’t the same without you there and that he’d rather go home than spend another minute getting to know someone who wasn’t you. 

At the time, Heeseung was beyond irritated and refused to speak to Riki for the rest of the night. Now, however, he understands why Riki acted the way he did. 

You look so beautiful underneath a Parisian sunset. Heeseung knows he’s staring. He’s grateful that you’re too preoccupied with Sunghoon taking photos of you. But God, he wishes you’d laugh at him like that. 

“You should talk to her,” Jake says from beside him. Heeseung jumps at his sudden appearance. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“I want to.” Heeseung says it out loud for the first time. He wants to work it out with you and get his best friend back in whatever way you’ll allow. “I miss her, Jake. I miss being her friend and I fucked up when I rejected her.” 

Heeseung doesn’t notice Jake’s eyes widen at the sudden admission. Jake had his fair share of theories and considered Heeseung to be his best friend, but even he knew there was a limit about what he was willing to share and what he kept to himself. Heeseung’s friendship with you was something he stopped trying to learn a few years after he got to know you; Heeseung had a soft spot for you and had no problem letting people know that. It wasn’t until you mentioned to Jake that you hadn’t spoken to Heeseung in months that he knew something was up. 

“She clearly cares about you,” Jake says. “She wouldn’t be on this trip if she didn’t.”

“But she’s been ignoring me the past three days. And before you say it, yes, I know that she has a valid reason to, but I’m hurt and I want to make things better.”

“You have to let her take the reins and let her talk to you when she wants to,” Jake advises. “You know how she is. Y/N’s headstrong and she might not know how she feels right now, but she always knows what’s best for her. You’re good for her, Heeseung. Let her come to that conclusion on her own.”

Heeseung relinquishes his breath. “You’re right. I just…miss her. A lot. Things will never go back to the way they used to but I don’t think I want them to. I used to pray every night that I could somehow make everything like it was before that night but now I want more than that. She deserves better and I want to be better for her, not that coward who was too scared to try something new with the person he loves.” 

His friend’s words bring a smile to Jake’s lips. “Well I, for one, believe in you. I think the rest of the guys do too.” 

“I know,” Heeseung says softly with his eyes on you.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

You can’t believe you leave Europe in two days as you sip your wine. Jay’s father was gracious enough to reach out to his friend at the hotel’s restaurant to negotiate having this meal compensated. It’s a gesture you hold onto and make a mental note to write a thoughtful note when you settle back in Korea. Jay sits next to you and partakes in the wine activities with you, namely picking out two different bottles to share with the table. Talking to Jay like this makes you feel otherworldly, like you’ve gotten more experience out of life since you chose to study abroad. You feel lucky, in a sense, that your life has given you more than you expected it too. 

The younger boys head upstairs after dessert and bid you all a goodnight in case they don’t see you before falling asleep. For the next thirty minutes or so, it’s the five of you laughing away at the hotel bar like old times, reminiscing about embarrassing moments from high school or how difficult it was to hear Jake’s Korean when he first moved. 

The Australian leaves as soon as he yawns. Sunghoon, a little too tipsy upon standing from the bar table, presses a gentle kiss to your head when he says goodnight to the rest of you. Jay gives your arm a reassuring squeeze and you understand for the first time that he always knew you better than he let on. He says goodnight and tells the bartender to charge his room whenever you two close the tab. 

Now, you and Heeseung are sitting together, mere inches apart as the Parisian sky twinkles with stars above the two of you. 

Neither of you know what to say. You fidget with the glass and contemplate on whether you should head up as well. Heeseung can sense your awkwardness and wish he hadn’t messed things up so badly that you can’t stand to be alone with him without thinking of an escape plan. He misses when the two of you could sit in complete silence and still feel comfortable around one another. 

“Thank you for showing us around,” he speaks up before you can make the decision to leave. “I remember you talking about all of the places you showed us when you first moved here. I’ve always wanted to visit.” 

“Really?” 

Heeseung nods. “I used to be so jealous that you got the opportunity to travel abroad every time you talked about it. But I think I like it better this way, with you as the tour guide.” 

That brings a laugh out of you and Heeseung can’t help but smile. He doesn’t care if it’s the alcohol allowing your walls to come down. He’s grateful for the chance. 

“I used to write down places I wanted to show you,” you confess. “There were so many places that reminded me of where we’d used to hang out as kids. It always felt like there was a part of you with me.” 

His heart melts. “I wish I could’ve visited you while you were here. Your friends seem pretty cool.” 

“They are.” Heeseung watches you smile. “They’ve been with me through a lot and helped me get over this fear of failing in a different country. My friend Suki, who now lives in Tokyo, was the first person to really get me out of my shell and convinced me to go out. Awkward Y/N? Going to clubs?” 

“You know how to dance, though. I bet you killed it.” 

“A little too much, perhaps. I didn’t date or hook up much, but there were a few times that I did.” Heeseung’s heart begins to sink as does his hope. This is not where he wanted to lead the conversation but his ears perk up at your next point. “But I wasn’t happy doing that so I stopped making out with random guys on the dance floor.”

“If only thirteen-year-old you could see you then,” he teases. You bump his shoulders with yours and he feels electricity running down his arm. 

“I think I did a good job adjusting and learning. There were times where I felt like I didn’t know what I was doing with my life because I couldn’t decide if I wanted to stay in London or go back to Seoul. That burden felt too much.” 

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you came back home.” 

Your head whips to look at Heeseung, who can only sit and watch as your eyes begin to water. 

“Why didn’t you say anything when I texted and called you?” you ask meekly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why didn’t you see me when I came back?” 

“I know.” He gulps. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so, so sorry.” 

You sniffle and Heeseung wants to cry too. “Everyone came to pick me up at the airport. I kept looking for you but you weren’t there. Jake had to pull me away from baggage claim because he said you weren’t coming but I didn’t listen. I told him he was wrong. You always come.” 

Heeseung’s soul breaks with every crack in your voice and with the way your lips quiver. He sees your mascara beginning to smudge and resists the urge to wipe it away so that your eyes may look fresh and dry. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I have no excuse.” 

“I wanted my best friend but you never showed up for me. You didn’t call or text me when you knew I was home and I had to wait until Riki’s bonfire to see you.”

“I was an idiot and stupid,” is the only answer Heeseung can come up with. “I used to be so scared of change. You left the country and I had to start thinking about what I wanted to do with my life but it was so hard without you in it.”

“Then why did you leave me?” 

His heart shatters. 

You’ve turned away from him in an attempt to walk back to your hotel room. However, Heeseung has learned his lesson. He doesn’t let you stray too far and gently tugs your wrist to pull you into his chest and is surprised when you don’t fight him off of you.

He doesn't care that your tears have stained his shirt or that you’re hiccupping into his clothes. All Heeseung wants to do is let you know he’s here for you now, despite his past mistakes and clouded judgment. Heeseung loves you for your bravery and vulnerability. He can only hope you understand that. 

“Let’s go to your room, yeah? I can help you take your makeup off.”

Whether from the alcohol or your need to be near Heeseung, you let him guide you to the elevator. He digs in your purse for your room key and coaxes you to sit in the bathroom while he locks the door. This routine feels a bit familiar; in his youth, he learned how you like to take your makeup off and get ready for bed after a particularly rough night drinking. He could never understand why he hadn’t minded taking the extra step and to keep himself sober when you were in the vicinity, but he understands it now. 

Heeseung meets you in the bathroom and washes his hands before putting your hair in a ponytail. He bites his lips when he sees your fresh tears and mutters another apology, forcing himself not to wipe away the tears with his fingers. Instead, he lets you blot them with a tissue before gathering makeup remover in his hands and gently smears it all over your skin. 

“I didn’t like change,” he says after a quiet beat. “I was too cowardly to take what I wanted, even if the person I wanted said they wanted me too. I don’t know why I didn’t chase after you that night or why I thought you needed space before you left. I don’t have an explanation for any of it except to say that I was a coward who never wanted anything to change between us.” 

Heeseung warms a wet cloth and wipes the balm away until he’s satisfied and moves on with your favorite cleanser, rubbing it between his hands until it foams. 

“I think, deep down, I’ve always loved you more than I led on. I can’t think of any moment in my life where you weren’t there or times that I didn’t want you around. Even when we were in elementary school and everyone kept saying we would get cooties from each other, I wanted you with me.” 

He lets you wash your face and applies the rest of your products on as you once taught him. 

“I’ve always had this sense of pride when it came to being your friend. Everyone always talked about how cool you were because you always knew what to say and when to say it. I love that about you, you know. You have a way of making people feel like they’re really special. I don’t know why I was so afraid of that.

“I love who you are and what you believe in. You make the world a better place for everyone around you. How you treated me was a small fraction of why I love you. I love your passions and that you aren’t afraid to chase after them. I love that you stick with the same boba order even though you tell yourself you’ll try something new. I love that you hate the beach but go with us every time we ask. I love when you get a little drunk because you don’t fight me when I want to take care of you.”

Heeseung swallows. “But mostly, I just really love you.”

You open your eyes for the first time. Heeseung can only stare. 

“You really hurt me.” 

He glances down. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

“What hurt the most was knowing you weren’t going to be there as my best friend, Heeseung. I could handle your rejection. I could find a way to get over you. But I could never get over losing our friendship. I never wanted you out of my life because it’s better with you in it.” 

“Please don’t get over me,” Heeseung croaks. His own eyes begin to swell and he forces a choked sob down his throat, aggressively wiping his eyes to rid himself of tears. He presses his forehead against yours. “I don’t want you to get over me.” 

You don’t say anything for a few moments. Heeseung swears he feels the blood rushing to his ears as he anticipates your response and he’s sure that even if what you say isn’t what he wants to hear, he’s happy to wear his feelings on his sleeve for once in his life.

“I don’t think I could even if I tried.” 

Heeseung’s heart stops beating. He doesn’t kiss you even though he wants to. He doesn’t take your hand and pull you into him like his heart tells him to. Instead, he whispers a quiet thanks and is surprised when he hears you laugh. 

“I can’t apologize enough. I don’t want to make you feel like you have to do or say anything.” 

“I know,” you whisper. Heeseung's hands are dangling awkwardly by his side. He feels like pushing his forehead against yours was too much. But your hands reach for him and you give him a squeeze.  

Heeseung throws caution out of the window and envelopes you in a hug. He feels your body melt against his and can’t help but look at the way you’ve folded into his chest in the bathroom mirror, with your head in his neck and his cheek on the crown of your head. Heeseung missed holding you like this–with your bodies intertwined as if you were two soulmates who were forced apart upon creation. 

He stroked your back with his hand and kept the other secured around your waist. Your soft breaths touch his skin and it feels like he’s got electricity running through his veins. 

“I’m sorry,” Heeseung whispers again. “I will keep apologizing until you know the depth of my regret.” 

The boy feels like he’s floating when you press a soft kiss to his exposed chest, mentally thanking Jake for forcing him to let loose and unbutton a few. 

“You could start by staying with me until I fall asleep,” you say. “Like old times.” 

He tries not to punch the air. “I can do that.” 

Heeseung waits in the bathroom until you’ve changed into comfortable clothing. He isn’t surprised when he sees you in shorts and an oversized shirt. It’s reminiscent of what you used to wear when you’d sleep in the guest bedroom in his house or vice versa, but now that he’s acknowledged his feelings for you, he can’t help but coo at how cute and sleepy you look. 

You tuck yourself in bed with the blankets to your chin and he completely melts to the floor. You pat the spot next to him and he sits on top of the blankets. 

“Under the covers, silly.” 

“I don’t want to rush it,” Heeseung says in a panic. 

“We aren’t rushing. We’re two best friends who got each other back.” 

Heeseung has never been more relieved. Though, he knows you’re a stickler for outside clothes in bed, so he makes the decision to take your key card and change.

“I’m not leaving you,” he says when he notices you rise from your spot on the bed. He holds two key cards to prove it and leans over to press a soft kiss to your cheek. “I’m going to change and then I’ll be right back. I promise.” 

He comes back ten minutes later. It warms your heart at the sight of him and you feel the comfort in your body when he slides underneath the covers. 

You surprise yourself when you move to lay your head on his chest with your arm around his body. Heeseung doesn’t seem to mind, though, and he pulls you closer to him like you’ve done it a million times before. The two of you have wanted this for too long to make it feel awkward. 

“What did Jake say when you came into the room?” you ask.

“He was half asleep until I turned the light on but he asked me if we resolved things. I told him yes and then he asked if I was staying the night with you when he saw me leaving.”

“Am I right to assume he was more excited about having the room to himself?”

Heeseung laughs. “That you are.”

“Deep down, I think Jake knew we’d find our way. I think they all did.” 

“I’m sorry,” Heeseung whispers once more. You quiet him with a kiss to his cheek. 

“I know, Hee. We can talk more tomorrow. For now, let’s sleep.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

The next morning, Heeseung wakes up before you do and frowns when your body’s all the way on the other side of the bed. He leans over your sleeping frame and brushes strands of hair from your face, admiring how serene you look in your sleep. For a moment, Heeseung ponders if it’s too soon to wake you up the way he’d like to, but if last night was any indication about how you felt, he’d be willing to take the chance. 

He leans down to kiss your forehead and both of your cheeks repeatedly until your eyes flutter open. Heeseung thinks he could listen to your laugh every morning with the way you wince at the sunlight and how his lips touch your skin. Still, your gaze finds its way to Heeseung’s and you can’t help but smile. 

There was a brief moment before you fell asleep that you’d wondered if you’d been too quick to forgive him. But for as hurtful as the past year was, you can’t help but acknowledge the steps he took during the trip in an attempt to undo all of the contempt you had built for him. You owe it to yourself to be happy with Heeseung. 

“Good morning, pretty girl,” Heeseung says with his morning voice that sounds a little too good for seven in the A.M. “Did you sleep well?”

“Slept like a baby. I feel like one too.”

“That’s because you are a baby,” Heeseung teases, kissing your cheeks and then the tip of your nose. “My baby.” 

“I really want breakfast but I’m too lazy to get up from the bed.”

“We could always order in. I’ll pay.”

You shake your head. “I’ll be too tempted to stay in bed and it’s our last full day in Paris. Let’s just get ready and have breakfast at the hotel restaurant?” 

The both of you are halfway done eating breakfast when the rest of your friends trickle in, joining your table and the ones next to you. It takes them a while to wake up, but it’s Sunghoon who speaks up first. 

“I’m assuming you two talked?” 

“And made up,” you say with a tilt of your head. 

“That’s my girl,” Sunghoon says proudly, sipping on his coffee. 

“I’ll let that slide since we’re all friends,” Heeseung jokes. You laugh and, for the first time in a while, you don’t feel guilty about it. 

“I had the whole room to myself, too. I woke up and didn’t have to fight anyone for the bathroom,” says Jake. 

Riki nearly spits his juice out. “You guys slept together?” 

“Not like that!” you’re quick to exclaim. “He just slept over. Slept. As in, we closed our eyes and actually slept.” 

“Both of us knew we needed our beauty sleep before dealing with the six of you asking us questions,” Heeseung adds. “But for your information, we made up. We still have things to figure out, but we’re back to being friends.” 

“Hopefully more than that,” Jungwon coughs behind his coffee. He merely smiles when Heeseung looks in his direction.

“I think you two should spend the rest of the day by yourselves,” Jay suggests. “We can either meet up for dinner or whenever we have to check out.” 

“I second that,” Sunoo agrees. “You two clearly need to talk.” 

“I wanted to go shopping with Y/N again,” Riki says with a frown. Jake presumably knocks his shin with Riki’s, who clears his throat. “But you two should totally hang out without us.” 

“I think we might,” Heeseung says, holding his hand out for you to take. He stands from his seat and encourages you to stand as well, leading you away from the table. “Thanks for the breakfast, Jay!” 

“I’m choosing to be the bigger person because Y/N’s been through enough,” Jay mutters when Heeseung is out of hearshot, making the table laugh.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

“You know, I think the reason why I had such a hard time reaching out was because we’d never gotten into something that serious before,” Heeseung admits. The gelato in your hand isn’t as good as you remember it, but it does the job to cool you down on a particularly warm afternoon. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Do you remember when we were kids and how hard it was for me to talk to you about anything that was action movies or superheroes?” 

“God, you and your Superman cape from fourth grade,” you snort. “You wore that thing to school everyday. Your dad had to wash it every night otherwise you’d refuse to go to sleep.” Heeseung shuts his eyes at the memory. 

“You were the only person I felt comfortable pouring my heart out to, you know. You were always the first person I called when I needed someone to talk to, but then I was the reason why you got hurt…I think part of me didn’t know if I was allowed to reach out to you.

“It’s a stupid excuse, I know. But when I heard you were coming back to Seoul a few weeks before you did, I couldn’t help but think about how many times I could’ve texted you.”

“Yeah, you could’ve.” Heeseung merely nods at your agreement. “We’ve been through a lot over the years, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.” 

“I just wish I had come to this conclusion when it happened. I was so caught up in graduating and focusing on how I felt that I didn’t consider how you must’ve been dealing with all of it. I don’t think I’ve ever been so selfish in my life.” 

“I think the time you refused to let me be friends with Jake because you said you needed friends aside from me was your second most selfish moment.” 

Heeseung rolls his eyes. “Quit it. I was thirteen, okay?” 

Neither of you particularly care to do any sightseeing today. It feels nice to walk side-by-side without the company of your other friends. The juxtaposition of how you felt towards the beginning of this trip compared to how relaxed you feel surprises you a tenfold, but you suppose that comes with genuine apologies and forgiveness. 

You’re willing to admit Heeseung looks criminally good in black jeans and a striped button down. He wears his clothes so effortlessly yet still looks like he could’ve taken his wardrobe from a magazine. You’ve always found it a bit unfair that Heeseung always manages to look so cool without trying too hard. 

“You’re staring,” he mutters, looking at you from the corner of his eye as the two of you walk down a cobblestone street. 

“I’m not,” you lie. You turn your head to avoid his gaze, but Heeseung thinks he likes seeing you this shy. It’s new territory for him, one that he wants to explore. 

“Can I ask you a question?” 

“Go for it.” 

“Why did you forgive me so quickly?” Heeseung asks. “I appreciate it, I really do, but a big part of me feels like I don’t deserve that just yet.” 

It takes you a while to answer. Why did you forgive him as fast as you did? For a week and a half, being in close quarters with Heeseung made you feel nothing but anxious and on edge, so why were you able to allow yourself to be vulnerable in front of him?

“I’ve always held onto the idea that you’re a good person,” you begin. “I’ve always admired that you intend to care for the people you love and make them feel like they have a place in your life. You’ve always made me feel safe, like I could run to you when things got too hard. 

“What you did was in poor taste, sure, but making bad decisions doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. I know you, Hee. I know how you get when you’re faced with a difficult choice and how long it takes for you to come around. I was justifiably hurt but I think a part of me always knew you’d fix it somehow.” 

“I wish I could feel deserving of that kind of forgiveness.” 

“You know me. You know I wouldn’t tell you that if I didn’t feel like what I’m saying is true. I’ll admit that I shocked myself with how quickly I let my guard down with you…but you’re Heeseung. You've been my best friend since the first grade and you’re the boy I happen to have a really big crush on.” 

Heeseung bites his lips at your confession, willing himself not to be too forward as to kiss you in the middle of the street. He sees your bravery and the way you’ve put your heart directly in the palm of his hand, acting out of vulnerability even though the both of you knew he hurt you once before. 

He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. Instead, Heeseung grabs your hands and locks his fingers with yours, squeezing three times to tell you he loves you.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

The afternoon comes and goes with little to no plan. Heeseung’s a bit worried that he hasn’t heard anything from the boys and he’s rendered shocked that you’ve taken it upon yourself to let the day take you where it may instead of finding the next spot to visit. 

As if on cue, Jay texts him with plans for the evening. 

jjongcaprio: 20:00, Pétrelle. It’s a five minute walk from the hotel

jjongcaprio: I made reservations for you and Y/N tonight. Don’t worry about me and the boys, just take her out on a romantic date 

jjongcaprio: The bill’s covered. The reservation’s under your name btw

heeseung: bro i cannot ask you to do this 

jjongcaprio: You don’t have to. You and I both know Y/N deserves to be wined and dined 

jjongcaprio: Plus I saw you looking at a few restaurants when we were on the train. I managed to pull some strings for you and got a last minute reservation for tonight

heeseung: thank you jay…i really don’t know what i’d do without you

jjongcaprio: It’s really not a problem, bro. Promise me that you’ll try to be happy with her. The guys and I are rooting for you two

“So,” Heeseung clears his throat as he looks up from his phone, “I think you and I should go out for dinner.” 

“Where are you thinking of going? I can text the others and see if they’re done sightseeing, or whatever it is they’re doing.”

“I mean just us two.” He stands awkwardly when you’ve turned your attention to him, his feet planted on the sidewalk beneath him as if that’ll help steady his beating heart. 

“Like a date?” 

“Yes,” he says immediately. “Like a date. I, Heeseung, am asking you out on a date. Tonight. At eight.” 

“I, Y/N, would love to go on a date with you. At eight.” 

The twinkle in your eye and your coy nature makes him feel like a teenager again. He leads you into the hotel and walks you to your door before stepping back as you step inside. 

“We’ve got an hour and a half before we need to leave. I’ll come by and then we can walk together. The restaurant is only a five minute walk, so you can wear those new heels I know you feel guilty buying.” 

“They’re really pretty though,” you rationalize. 

Heeseung nods. “Gorgeous, actually. Maybe you’ll be as tall as me if you wear them.” 

“We’ll just have to see, won’t we?” 

Heeseung bites his bottom lip as you disappear behind the door, locking eyes with you until you’re completely out of sight. Flirting with you like this is a completely new phenomenon for him. He’s only daydreamed about what you might say if he said something a little too suggestive or how you might act if he dedicated a wink in your direction. Heeseung had never considered that he’d be the one flustered, cheeks reddening to the point where he starts to feel shy. 

His nerves are endless as he picks out an outfit for tonight. Heeseung sends a quick text to his parents, who had pressured him into bringing nice clothes for a fancy dinner, and spends a few minutes updating them on the events of the past few days. His mother is pleased, to put it lightly, and sends a handful of emoticons to display her happiness. His father tells him words of encouragement before making Heeseung promise to bring you for dinner as his girlfriend, not just his best friend. 

With the last touch of his cologne, Heeseung looks at himself in the mirror and tries not to think too hard about how he looks. You’re Y/N, his best friend since he can remember, and you’ve seen him with snot dripping from his nose. 

“I look fine,” he says to himself in the mirror. “Y/N will like the look because your mom picked it out and we know those two agree on everything. Absolutely nothing to worry about.” 

Heeseung’s only regret is he doesn’t have a bouquet of flowers to present you with as he makes his way to your hotel room. He wipes his palms on his trousers and takes a deep breath before knocking on your door. 

When it opens, he’s met with the sight of you in a short black dress that hugs your hips to accentuate your body. The dress itself is an elegant, spaghetti strap number with a flattering neckline paired with jewelry that makes your skin appear to be glowing. Your heels match well with the dress you’ve chosen, so much so that Heeseung’s jaw drops when his eyes rake over your body. 

“Wow,” he mutters. “Just…wow.” 

“I’m not used to you being speechless,” you say mildly, closing the door behind you. 

“You look gorgeous,” he sputters. “I shouldn’t be seen with you tonight.” 

“You’re dramatic, Hee.” You give him a once over and Heeseung thinks he wouldn’t mind you checking him out as you please. “You look handsome as ever.”

He beams at the compliment and holds his arm out for you. 

“Shall we?”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

Heeseung knows the type of person you are and what you value, yet he still renders himself shocked when you allow him to take control of the evening. He knows you don’t need to have the expensive consequences that come with a first date or to be sipping the most luxurious wine to be happy, but Heeseung can’t help but feel like you deserve to feel as elegant as you look every once in a while. 

The host leads the two of you to a table with the most gorgeous view of the Parisian scenery. The twinkling stars paired with the dimly lit restaurant adds a romantic touch to the evening. Heeseung mentally thanks Jay for preparing wine recommendations so neither of you have to think too much about it. 

For a moment, he’s worried that he’s reached too far out of his depth. The fanciest thing Heeseung has ever done with you is eat ramen after prom in your best outfits because you both came to the conclusion that prom should be spent with someone you actually like. It’s funny in hindsight when he thinks about it now. 

You look so beautiful like this, allowing yourself to be taken care of by him. Talking to you over the table feels like you’re back in Korea before all that transpired. The food is impeccable and Heeseung thanks his lucky stars that he and Jay got it right. You sing praises left and right. 

Dinner ends much quicker than he’d like as the two of you finish dessert. The waiter tells him the bill has been taken care of and Heeseung sits in his seat awkwardly as you look out the window to see the view from outside. But he hears the live band in the background and sees a few older couples slow dancing from where he sits and makes up his mind. 

“Do you want to dance?” 

You pull your attention to him. For a moment, he thinks he’s asked the most absurd question known to man when he recalls all the times you refused to make a home on the dance floor until you’ve gotten at least four drinks in your system. 

You surprise him. 

“I’d love to, Hee.” 

The room disappears when he leads you to the dance floor. He mimics the other dancers and takes the lead, swaying your bodies back and forth to the melody of the music. You smell of vanilla and cinnamon, a scent so distinctly you that it makes him grin like a man in love. 

“Thank you for tonight,” you say against his neck. “I won’t lie when I say I feel like a princess.”

“That’s because you are a princess,” Heeseung says, kissing the top of your head. “You deserve to be treated like one.”

“I can’t believe you pulled this off so quickly. Don’t restaurants like these require reservations?”

He chuckles nervously. “About that…Jay helped me with the details. I was looking up restaurants to take you to if I got the chance before our trip ended. I guess he saw the list and chose the most romantic one out of the bunch.”

“I owe Jay a thank you.”

“We both do.” 

“I feel lucky to have people in my life who care about me this much,” you say. “I’m so happy you’re back in my life.” 

“I’m happy to be in it.” Heeseung squeezes your waist. “Deep down, it’s always been you that I’ve loved. There’s not a single person who makes me feel the way you do.”

“Yeah?” 

You feel him nod. “I’ll say it until you believe me. I’ll even yell it in this restaurant right now.” 

“Please don’t,” you laugh. “I believe you.” 

The sound of the melody overtakes the conversation. You feel Heeseung’s steady heartbeat as he expertly moves your bodies together on the dance floor. When you close your eyes, you think of this moment and how badly you want to commit it to memory, no longer in anguish over the tribulations of the past year. It feels nice to let go of your worries, even better that you have Heeseung back. 

“I really want to kiss you,” he murmurs under his breath. You pull your head back.

“Then you should kiss me.” 

Heeseung wastes no time and pulls you into him, one arm around your waist and the other behind your neck. His mouth finds yours when he decides he loves the taste of red wine on your lips. It feels poetic to be kissing you for the first time as you’re both dressed to the nines in the middle of Paris. To him, kissing you feels like a breath of fresh air and the start of something new. For you, kissing him feels like coming home. 

When he pulls back, you search for his eyes. 

“Take me back to the hotel,” you whisper. 

Heeseung feels his heart drop. 

“I’m sorry. We can go back now.”

You grip the collar of his slightly unbuttoned dress shirt when he moves. It’s only then that Heeseung sees the want in your eyes and the pure lust that clouds your pupils. 

“Take me back to the hotel.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

By the time your elevator reaches your floor, Heeseung’s dress shirt is completely unbuttoned with his toned chest exposed. You’re barely able to detach yourself from his mouth when he pushes you out of the contraption. Your hand reaches for his as you pull him towards your room, digging through your purse when you feel Heeseung’s lips on the back of your neck. 

“You look sexy in my jacket,” he mumbles, pressing wet kisses to your skin. 

“L-Let me find the key.” 

“So sexy.” His hands slide up the side of your body until he grips your waist. 

When the door opens, you pull Heeseung inside with you and lock it shut before pushing his dress shirt off of his body, exposing his muscular build and broad shoulders. You aren’t shy about hiding your lust, gazing all over his chest and abdomen as you feel your core drip with arousal. 

“I like it when you look at me like that,” Heeseung says. He reaches for your hand and places it on his chest. You take the liberty to glide your nails down his abdomen, feeling the way he tenses underneath your touch. 

“I’m really wet,” you say as you eye the tent that has grown in Heeseung’s pants. 

“Are you?” he asks. “You won’t mind if I check?” 

You shake your head and Heeseung takes that as a green light, his hands finding the soft fabric of your dress before pushing his hand underneath it. He whimpers when his fingers come in contact with your wet lips. It’s adorable, the way you push yourself against him to chase his lips while he fingers smear your wetness across the fabric of your panties. 

“Bed,” you mumble against his lips. 

He follows where you pull him, loving the way you take control when you push him onto the mattress. Heeseung distracts himself to catch his breath from the overwhelming sense of pleasure to realize that you’ve started to undo his belt buckle and take his hard cock out of his pants. 

“You don’t have to—”

“I want your cock in my mouth,” you plead, looking him in the eye. “Please let me.” 

You sit politely on your knees as you unbuckle Heeseung’s pants. His chest rises and falls in anticipation and he looks down at you to see that your mouth is watering at the sight of him. 

He’s already fully hard; he has been since you started unbuttoning his shirt in the elevator. You spit directly onto the tip of his cock and he bites his lip at the sudden contact before watching as you swipe your hand up and down himself. 

Heeseung doesn’t want to think about how you learned to do what you’re doing to him. He doesn’t want to think about the boys you’ve kissed or the people who got to see you like this before. What he does know, however, is he’s the only person from here on out who will see you on your knees if he can help it. 

Your mouth envelopes the head and Heeseung emits a short grunt. The tension between you two begins to slowly dissipate as you fit more of his cock inside of your mouth. Your tongue expertly traces every ridge and vein as you push your throat down onto him, causing Heeseung to put his palms on the mattress and throw his head back. 

You hum around him when he moans. He’s itching to put his hand behind your head but refuses the idea, letting you set your own pace. Heeseung watches as you switch your angle, sitting up to rest on your knees to push your head further down on him. He witnessed as you spread your legs, a choked moan coming from his throat in conjunction with a particular gag from your mouth. 

There’s spit everywhere. It’s trailing down your lips and connecting to his cock when you pull yourself from his body. It’s seeping to his pants and he’s about to speak up when your motion attaches itself to his sensitive balls, licking at its warmth while your hand strokes him from atop. 

“That’s it. Fuuuuck.”

He bucks his hips once and curses. Heeseung feels your mouth envelop one of his balls, the pressure of your mouth around it making him feel a kind of euphoria he didn’t know was possible. Your mouth moves to the other to give it the same treatment before retreating back to his cock. This time, your hand massages him from below as you suck on him. 

When you look up at him and wink, he decides enough is enough. 

“Baby,” Heeseung pants, attempting to push your head off of him. He thinks it’s so sexy that you’re turned on while giving him a blowjob. “Baby, please stop. I don’t wanna come yet.” 

You oblige and take your mouth off of him with a popping sound. You sit back and Heeseung stares at you through drooping eyelids in pure shock and amazement at how you’ve managed to pull him to a near orgasm as quickly as you did.

“Come here,” he beckons with his fingers.

He attaches his mouth to yours and pushes his tongue inside of your mouth, exploring the warm, wet walls you have to offer. Heeseung decides that he loves the feeling of your tongue against his and lets you suck on the muscle. 

You take your dress off to reveal sheer panties with nothing else on. Heeseung’s jaw drops at your beauty, but he also cannot believe how sexy his best friend’s body is. To him, you were sculpted from the hands of Aphrodite herself with great love and care. And it’s all for him.

“You are so fucking sexy,” he murmurs, hovering over your body to press kisses to the valley of your chest. You let his hands roam and spread your legs to make room for him. 

Heeseung’s head travels back to your chest and you watch as he envelops your right nipple in his mouth. “Your tits are just perfect.” 

He makes a show out of it, hands cupping your breasts to massage them as his mouth works on you. He pushes your tits together and shoves his face between them, inhaling your scent while his tongue gathers whatever taste your body gives him. Heeseung moves to your left nipple and uses his tongue to flick the hardened bud over and over again until you’re arching your chest into his mouth. 

He grinds himself into your core with his pants still loose around his legs. It brings a moan out of your throat and he swallows it whole with his lips pressed firmly against yours. The friction feels delicious with the fabric of your panties against the hardness of Heeseung’s cock. He grinds against you with the help of your hips rolling into his, your natural wetness coating his cock in your essence. 

Heeseung moves his head to kiss your jawline, moving his mouth all over the expanse of your neck until he kisses right below your earlobe. You let out a particularly loud moan when he does, and Heeseung curses.

“Shit. Yeah baby, make those sounds for me. Let me hear your pretty moans.” 

His mouth attacks the area again and you aren’t shy about it. Your hands tangle in his hair as he kisses your neck and grinds his cock against the wet panties, which have by now molded to the shape of your pussy. 

Heeseung groans at the feeling of a particularly wet gush and lifts his hips enough to elicit a whimper out of your mouth. He experimentally lifts his hips again to align himself with you as he did before. The pressure must feel so good because your mouth hangs open with your eyes boring into his. 

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Does my baby feel good?” You can only nod and he doesn’t blame you. “That’s a good baby. Fuck, you’re so wet, it’s driving me crazy.” 

Heeseung feels your legs wrap around him and the way your heel pushes his lower back into your core. He takes the hint and quickens his pace, wanting nothing more than to see you come for him.

“You gotta come for me now, pretty girl,” he coaxed. “You deserve to come. Won’t you do that for me?” 

Heeseung is sure that he’s never seen or heard anything more erotic compared to the vision of watching you come. Your mouth opens with breathy moans as you focus on your pleasure and your eyes squeeze shut as if you’re trying to savor the moment in your mind.

“Atta girl,” Heeseung praises when your hips grind into his. He keeps himself still and lets your body take over. 

You eventually come down and realize Heeseung has yet to come, but that’s the last thing on his mind. He sinks his body down to come face-to-face with your crotch and licks the come off of the soiled fabric of your panties. The sheerness gives him a sneak peek at your pussy, and he groans when he licks a slow, fat strip up your slit.

“You taste so fucking delicious, baby.” He licks at you again, faster this time. “Tastes like milk and honey.” 

Heeseung kisses your wet panties over and over again, his soft lips providing jolts of pleasure. His hands roam around the soft flesh of your thighs and squeezes them as if he remembers you’re all his to touch. The feeling is one you want to commit to memory, but it seems like Heeseung knows your mind is working overtime because he reaches his hand to find yours and gives it a reassuring squeeze. 

You let his hand go when he pulls it from you to slide the useless barrier down your legs and to undo the straps of your heels. He takes great care to kiss your skin tenderly, starting by your ankle and making his way down just shy of where you need him the most. Heeseung repeats the process on the other leg until he comes face to face with your glistening core, licking his lips as if he doesn’t know where to start. 

“Such a pretty pussy,” he says before placing a soft kiss to your clit.

He repeats the motion, kissing your folds like they’re delicate antiquities that need to be handled with the utmost care. His lips become covered with your essence; he feels you squirm underneath him and uses the expanse of his palms to gently pry your legs open for him, soothing the soft skin of your inner thighs. 

Heeseung tentatively licks your slit and decides he loves the sound of your moans when he has his mouth on you. He does it again, dragging his tongue to feel every ridge and crevice that he’s yet to explore. His mouth feels like a warm comfort with the slow pace he sets, licking you as if he’s trying to tell you how much he loves you without saying it. 

“You taste divine.” 

You look down below to see his hair covering his eyes and brush it away with your hands. Heeseung looks right into your soul and you feel your heart clench, causing you to roll your hips into his face. He merely buries his nose close to you until he bumps your clit with the tip, pushing his wet muscle into you deeper. 

When your moans get lighter and your breathy sounds are the only audible thing in the room aside from his own moans. You open your eyes to see Heeseung humping the mattress below you. The sight is so erotic that you can’t help but let out a loud whine at the thought of Heeseung pleasuring himself while pleasuring you. 

He brings his fingers to your pussy and sways his fingers back and forth until he foregoes his slow pace, favoring a faster one. He abuses your swollen clit while you can only lay there and watch him play with you. Heeseung expertly inserts his middle finger into your seeping hole and bites his lip to concentrate on getting you to come again. 

“I need it,” he confesses, bringing his mouth to lick you as he adds another finger. “I need you to come for me again, baby. Can you do that for me?’

“Yes, Hee,” you pant. “I wanna come so badly.”

“You can do it, baby. You’ve been such a good girl tonight, giving me the best head and letting me make you come. I think you deserve to feel good.” 

“I do,” you nod rapidly. “Fuck, I think I’m coming.”

“That’s right,” he coos, hammering his digits into you while his tongue laps up the juices leaking from your pussy. “So good. You taste so fucking good. Give it to me.” 

He doesn't relent until he’s satisfied. Heeseung cleans the come from your lips as best he can while sneaking his hand to his cock, pumping himself as he tastes your orgasm on his tongue. 

“You’ve crazy,” you mutter as you settle from your high, loving the feeling of Heeseung’s mouth tenderly licking you clean. 

“For you.” He pulls his face away and wipes the back of his hand before pressing a kiss to your clit. 

When he rises to take his pants and boxers off, he sees you with your arm covering your face. 

“Are you doing okay?” 

“Perfect, actually,” you sigh. You remove your arm to see him with his cock in his hands and motion him to come towards the edge of the bed as you crawl on your knees before sitting upright to pull him into a searing kiss. 

“That might be the hottest thing I’ve ever seen you do,” Heeseung says against your mouth. “It’s better than porn, if I’m being honest.” 

You grab his cock and stroke him. “I’ll consider letting you take a video of me when we get back home if you fuck me right now.” 

“Turn around,” he says after an open-mouthed kiss.

You follow his instructions and he groans to himself as you present your perfect pussy to him again. Heeseung sinks to his knees and smacks your ass before shoving his tongue into your hole. He spreads your asscheeks apart and digs his nose against you, licking up the wetness and remnants of your orgasm like it’s his last meal. His tongue licks up your body until he finds your wrinkled muscle and presses a soft kiss to your tightest hole. 

The surprise comes to him when you moan softly. Your body doesn’t jerk away. Rather, you spread your legs further for him and Heeseung moans against your pussy before bringing his tongue to lick over the muscle again. 

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks, dipping his tongue back in.

“Better than I imagined.” 

“You imagined my tongue in your ass, baby?” 

You nod. “I’ve always wanted to know what that feels like.” 

Heeseung doesn’t give you a verbal answer. Instead, he spits into your hole and watches it dribble down to your pussy, licking his way from your incredibly wet folds to your hole once again. He licks over the expanse with the surface of his tongue one, twice, three times before you’re whining for his cock. He wastes no time tearing open the condom and hurriedly places it on himself. 

The first stretch of his cock in your pussy makes him see Heaven. The sharp gasp that comes from your mouth is music to his ears and he’s careful to sink himself into you slowly, inch by inch until you’re telling him he can go further. 

His cock impales you at such a perfect angle that it has you falling to your elbows, your back arched so perfectly that he’s sure you’d be the most popular pornstar if you really wanted to be. He keeps half of his cock in you to allow you to adjust, but he underestimates just how cock hungry you are because you back yourself until he’s filling you to the brim.

“Baby’s such a slut, isn’t she?” Heeseung wonders out loud. He grins when you nod. “I love you like that. So dirty for me.” 

“Only for you,” you say, cheek pressed to the mattress when Heeseung thrusts in you. 

The sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the room. It doesn’t take long for your wet juices to glisten over the back of your thighs and onto Heeseung’s. His hands find purchase on your hips as he pulls your body close to him, loving the way your choked moans become muffled by the mattress below. 

“So. Fucking. Tight,” he moans with detailed thrusts. “So. Fucking. Wet.” 

He climbs on the bed and plants his feet on the blankets, holding your body in place as he pounds into you from above. The angle has you seeing stars and rips moan after moan from you. 

Heeseung grins wickedly. “Such a fuckable body. So perfect.” 

His degradation paired with praise ignites a fire inside of you. You can only moan louder to let Heeseung know exactly how he’s making you feel and you can’t help but think you deserved to be fucked exactly the way Heeseung is fucking you.

The pleasure feels like an explosion of a thousand suns. Your body is warm from the hours you’ve spent in the hotel room and your neighbors getting a good night’s sleep is the least of your concerns. Heeseung’s cock drills into you from above like he’s a sex god and it nearly brings you to tears. 

He turns you over carefully until you’re laying flat on your back with your head propped against the pillows. He steals one from you and puts it underneath the small of your back to create leverage before lining up his cock with your entrance and pushing himself in again.

Heeseung thrusts like he’s got to prove just how in love with you he is. Your wanton moans fill the room with his low grunts as his cock continually hits the one spot that makes you see stars, over and over again.

But you know he could do more to make you feel better. He must notice you in deep thought because he slows his hips. 

“What is it, baby?” Heeseung asks when he notices your eyebrows knit together. “Is this okay? Do you need me to stop so we can take a break?”

“Take it off,” you whisper. His hips have faltered and his pace stutters at your words.

“Take what off?”

“The condom.” Heeseung nearly chokes. “Take the condom off.” 

“Baby—”

“I just wanna feel you.” 

Heeseung curses and his hips automatically drill into yours at the request out of pure shock. He can’t lie to himself. He’s thought about it multiple times since you left for Europe and as he’s come to term with his feelings for you. The cute fantasies about taking you on dates to dinner or drive in theaters transform into daydreams about dirty affairs in his bedroom with his seed leaking out of your perfect hole. 

Still, he doesn’t believe it.

“Please, Hee,” you plead, arching your chest towards him. “Let me feel you. Don’t you want to come inside me?”

“Fuck,” he falters, his forehead on yours. “You can’t just say that…I can’t be risky with you.” 

“Yes you can.” He watches you bite your lip and feels your hands push him off of you. Heeseung doesn’t put up a fight when he slips out of your warm hole and feels your hands grip his cock, desperately trying to tug the condom off of him. 

Heeseung sees the pathetic rubber in your hands when you bring it up for him to see. It’s glistening and his mouth drools at the sight, lips parting enough as if he stares at it in disbelief. He groans lowly in your ear as he peppers a few wet kisses to your neck. 

You spread your legs wider in the air and grip his cock in your head, pumping him a few times before letting his bare tip rest against your hole. His sharp intake is enough to make you bite your lip. 

“Pussy’s so wet,” he says against your neck, pushing an inch inside of you. “God, I could come like this.”

“You can.” 

“No, baby. Gonna fuck you the way you deserve before I come.”

With that sentiment, Heeseung pushes himself inside of you until he’s fully sheathed within your walls. He relishes the way you gasp at the sudden movement and he uses this angle to his advantage, positioning his ear next to your mouth to hear your delicious sounds. 

He moves his hips at such a pace that it makes you feel like your body’s bouncing on top of the soft mattress below you. Heeseung presses his chest against yours to kiss you like his life depends on it, tongue invading the privacy of your mouth but you couldn’t care less where his mouth goes. He can feel your nipples on his skin and groans into your mouth when you clench at a particularly hard thrust. 

“S-So good,” you stutter against his mouth with a breathy moan. Heeseung feels your arm around his shoulders, scratching at his back. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Mhm,” he coaxed. “Such a good baby. You look so pretty underneath me.” 

With a new sense of purpose, Heeseung lifts himself to push himself into you at a deeper angle. He forces his hips into you harder, your hands coming to your chest to cup your tits to give you something to hold in the meantime.

“That’s right, beautiful. Squeeze your tits for me.” 

You do, pinching and twisting your nipples until you hear Heeseung moan above you. It sounds nearly animalistic, the way his throat emits a groan that sounds so primal. He sees the dirty smile you paint your mouth with and leans his head down to press a kiss to your forehead before his hand comes to your cheeks, squeezing them between my fingers.

“You like it when I fuck you like this?” Heeseung asks, hips rolling against your own pelvis. When you nod, he gives you a nasty smile of his own and gives you a few harsh thrusts for good measure before pulling himself off of your chest with his cock still inside of you. 

Heeseung sits on his knees and pulls out just far enough where his hot tip remains buried inside of you, relishing in the panty breaths you emit as he watches your chest rise and fall. You look so beautiful to him with your hair messed up against the pillow beneath you and with a few faint hickeys on your chest and neck. Heeseung thinks that all of his wildest dreams could never compare to how gorgeous you look when you’re positioned directly where he wants you. 

You don’t complain when he pulls out to rest his cock on your wet, bare pussy. You wince at the loss and let him slide himself up and down, biting your lip when he grazes your swollen clit over and over again. 

The man above you lifts your right leg so that he can grip you tighter. You relinquish any control left in your body as Heeseung curses and kisses the side of your ankle. He dips the head of his cock inside and thrusts shallowly as if to tease, but you know he’s exploring all the way his cock looks like against your own body. 

It feels euphoric. The whole affair is dirty, but it’s the kind of dirty that makes you want to do it again. It’s the kind of dirty that makes this night an event you’ll want to remember for the rest of your night because Heeseung had poured his entire heart and soul for you to take. 

For Heeseung, this pleasure is less about knowing you have him permission to put himself inside you. You’ve always been so sure of yourself and your body; it’s something Heeseung has always admired about you as a person. Growing up with your insecurities of relationships and dating might’ve made you feel like a late bloomer; to Heeseung, your tendency to keep your head straight has always been a testament to how knowledgeable you are about yourself and about others. You save yourself for people who are worthy of you, and god, does he want to be worthy of you.

“I love you,” Heeseung whispers from above you. His eyes are closed and he pays no mind to the feeling your pussy gives him. Flashes of your memories stitch together like a film reel with your laughter as the soundtrack. He doesn’t think he wants to hear anything else for the rest of his life. 

Just for good measure, he whispers it again. “I love you so much.” 

“And I love you.”

Heeseung opens his eyes to see your tender ones, cheeks flushed from the sudden compliment. He always liked that he knew how to get you to blush when no one else couldn’t. This time, a sense of pride blooms in his chest. 

“I’ll never let you down,” he confesses. “And if I do, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.” 

“I know, baby.” Heeseung’s hand cups your cheek and caresses it. “I trust you.” 

That’s enough for him to release your leg from his grip and pound himself into you like his life depends on bringing you to peak happiness. 

Heeseung’s palms are planted firmly on either side of your body as his hips roll gracefully against yours, the hot, wet mess between the two of you splashing on both of your thighs. He watches your eyes close shut and as your back arches to relieve some of the pressure, feeling somewhat proud of himself when he watches as your hands grab at the sheets for stability. 

There’s nothing that compares to watching you orgasm. Your eyebrows knit as if you’re concentrating while your mouth stands slightly ajar at the euphoric feeling of that single knot that’s threatening to come undone until it does. All of the girls he’s deluded into thinking he liked could never compare to the looks and sounds you’re making. 

“That’s it,” he coaxes softly. “Cream my cock, baby. That’s a good girl.” 

Heeseung feels you push and clench around him, gushing until there’s nowhere left for your come to go. He peeks down at where the two of you meet and groans when he sees his cock becoming painted in a sheer layer of white. It edges him on and the moment he locks his eyes with yours, his hips begin to stutter and he spills all he has to offer inside of you. 

He comes with short breaths as if he can’t believe you’ve allowed him to do so. Your hips move up and down as if to milk him for all he’s worth while Heeseung’s trying his best to balance his body on top of yours, grateful that some of his gym workouts prevent him from completely collapsing on top of you to.

His come seeps from your bodies and he pulls out, a few droplets splattering on your pussy lips. He nudges the tip against it, smearing his paint across your canvas and marveling at the sight. 

“My good girl,” he murmurs, eyes locked in at his handy work.

“I’ve never let anyone come inside of me,” you say with a fond expression. Your arm comes to brush Heeseung’s hair from his face before cradling his cheek when he looks at you in surprise. 

“Really?” 

You nod, biting your cheek. “Well, I always knew you were it for me. I didn’t want anyone else tainting what’s yours.” 

“Mine?” he asks, catching his breath. “You mean it? You’re mine.”

“I’m yours, Hee.” 

“All mine,” he mutters to himself in disbelief. 

You still feel his cock working itself against you. He’s still hard, a wonder after your hours locked away in your hotel room. It makes you laugh.

“No one has ever compared to you either,” Heeseung says. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he continues toying with your pussy. “Even when I fooled myself into thinking I didn’t like you.”

You laugh. “Well that’s good to hear. I realized all the guys I went after while I was abroad either looked like you or reminded me of you.” 

“I can confidently and stupidly say the same.” 

Your laughs echo through the room. Heeseung pulls your body upright, not caring that your mixed come is leaking on his cock and his bare lap. He kisses you with tender care, lips moving at a slow pace while his hands roam over the expanse of your back while your hands are on his broad shoulders. Heeseung could live like this everyday if you’d let him. 

You smile midway through when you feel his fully hardened cock against you. Heeseung apologizes quietly against your lips but feels you shake your head, pulling back to push him against the headboard until he’s comfortably seated. 

He looks at your pussy when you hover above him, the white cream still sticking to you as you grip his cock. Heeseung can’t believe his eyes when he understands what you’re about to do. Before he can even think, you align yourself with his cock and sink until you’re stuffed with him.

“Shit,” he curses through his teeth. 

“What good is coming inside of me if you don’t do it again and again, Hee?” 

“That might be the hottest thing you’ve ever said to me.” 

“Oh, yeah?”

You don’t move just yet, opting to press small kisses to Heeseung’s face. You kiss his forehead, both temples, his nose, both eyelids, and the apples of his cheeks before placing a kiss to his lips. 

“Before we leave, I want you to fuck me against that window,” you say, turning your head to the window that glimpses the city below. 

“But people can see,” is Heeseung’s first comment.

“So?” 

He chokes and when you feel his cock twitch inside of you, you can’t help but laugh at him.

“I’ve heard talk about your escapades, Lee. Why so shy with me?” 

He smacks your asscheek. “Naughty girl. Didn’t know you were nasty like that.” Heeseung gives you that kind of teasing smile that has you folding for him all over again. “Alright then, humor me. What else do you want to do before we leave?” 

“I’d love to give you a blowjob while we shower, too.” 

“That can certainly be arranged. Anything else?” 

You look around the room. “I kind of want to see you eat me out while I sit on the desk chair. Makes me think you’re some kind of secretary who’s desperate for my pussy.”

“I am desperate for your pussy,” Heeseung reminds you. “What if I’m the stone cold CEO and you’re the cute secretary whose ass I dream about?” 

You swat his chest. “This is my fantasy. You can have yours when we get home.” 

Heeseung raises his eyebrow. “Mm, you sure?”

“Positively,” you nod. Heeseung’s hands travel from your ass to your hips and guides you up and down his cock, letting you set the pace after the brutal first round from a few minutes prior. 

“Gonna fuck you in and on my car, since you like being watched so much,” Heeseung teases. His words seem to make your pussy clench and hips move faster. He forgoes any shyness when speaking about his fantasies and spills his every thought.

“I always thought you looked so cute in your old school uniform. I’ve always wanted to take you in that skirt they gave you.”

“I’ll buy one of those sexy schoolgirl costumes and surprise you for your birthday,” you say, locking your eyes with him. “Oh, professor! Is there anything I can do to raise my grade?”

Heeseung laughs at your antics, but the images of you in the costume aforementioned makes his grip on your body tighter. 

“I selfishly want to watch you suck me off while I play with the guys.” He says it in a way that makes him avert his gaze and you can see a faint blush on his face. “I-I saw this video on Twitter. It looks hot.”

“I can do that for you.” You kiss both of his burning cheeks.

“But mostly, I just want you to sit on my face. Mad at me? Sit on my face. Sad? Sit on my face. Happy to see me? Sit on my face.” 

“Simp,” you grunt, thighs burning from pushing yourself on and off of Heeseung’s cock. 

“And proud.” He smacks both ass cheeks again. “Now what do you say, baby? If you ride me until you come, you can blow me in the bathroom before I fuck you in front of the entirety of Paris. Can you do that for me?”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

The next morning, you meet Heeseung and the rest of the guys in the lobby while Jay checks out on behalf of all of you. Jake’s the first to see you coming. 

“You’re glowing and I don’t know if I like that.” He raises his eyebrow at Heeseung, who has pulled you into him by your waist. 

“At least some of us are getting laid,” you retort. “I don’t recall seeing anyone do the walk of shame even though you had the room to yourself.” 

Riki and Sunoo don’t try to contain their laughter as Jake’s cheeks turn a shade of pink. He rolls his eyes when you look at him, but shakes his head and punches your arm with your first. 

“Nah, I’m really glad you two got that out of your system and worked it out.”

“You guys had major sexual tension,” Sunoo comments. 

“Thank God Y/N’s room was at the end of the hall,” says Sunghoon. “I don’t know how their neighbors felt but I can sleep peacefully knowing I didn’t have to hear all of that.” 

“Okay, enough,” Heeseung laughs. “We get it, we had a lot of sexual tension and now we’re fine.”

“So you guys are boyfriend-girlfriend?” Jungwon asks. 

“Y/N is my girlfriend and I am her boyfriend.” 

“I will key his car if he hurts you again,” Riki tells you, looking at Heeseung after he’s finished speaking. You detach yourself from his waist and bring your arms around Riki to give him a squeeze.

“Thanks, Riki.”

“Okay, we should call the cabs right now so we can get to the airport early,” Jay says from behind you. 

“Jay is such a dad,” Jungwon whispers. 

He pays no mind to Jungwon’s words, instead focusing on the way Heeseung pulls you into his chest. It warms his heart in ways he can’t explain.

“Congratulations, you two. Let’s go home.”

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

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