stunna @stunna4nriki - Tumblr Blog

"𝖭𝖮, 𝖲𝖧𝖤𝖲 𝖬𝖨𝖭𝖤". ─ 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗌𝗃𝗒. + 𝗅𝗁𝗌.

!! pairing: heeseung and jake x female reader

!! synopsis: it was all fun and games having the two biggest heartthrobs on campus chasing after you. jake the steady one who showed up, who waited, who looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense. and heeseung the wild one who teased, who pushed, who looked at you like he was trying to figure out what was underneath. two boys. four years. and you, stuck in the middle, never choosing, never needing to. until you had to.

!! genre: college au, love triangle, mutual pining, smut + suggestive, crack, fluff

!! warnings: jealousy, possessive behavior, alcohol consumption, smut(mdni), switch reader, soft dom + sub jake, mean dom heeseung (hes so dada), threesome, praise kink, tit play, pet names, dirty talk, oral (female + male) , piv, light spanking + choking, degrading, unprotected sex cs we young ho's (jk wrap it before u tap it pls), cum + spit play, overstimulation, squirting, mxm if u squint (mb was feelin freaky) double penetration, orgasim denial (lots of it sry), lmk if i missed anything

!! wc: 23K

!! a/n: hihihi amazing ppl i hope u enjoy reading dont hate on my queen y/n its heejake we talking abt here. I attempted to proof read while half asleep so if something doesn't make sense js ignore it ok?? ok!! shoutout to my baddie my everything the mother of my kids @arelyvn for being my motivation to try out something new js know u getting it tonight anyways happy reading!!

Students stream past you in waves, you're halfway across the quad, when you feel it. A shift in the air. The way conversations sometimes dip and rise when someone important walks by.

You don't need to look to know who it is. You've been here long enough to recognize the sound of campus adjusting to the presence of certain people. Jake and Heeseung are crossing the quad from the opposite direction, accompanied by the rest of their friends. Jay, Sunghoon, Sunoo, Jungwon and Ni-ki, the names everyone on campus knows, the group that's been at the center of everything since freshman year. They move through the crowd like they own it, and in a way, they do.

You watch them as they pass. Jay is mid-rant about something while Sunghoon is beside him, pretending to listen. Sunoo is laughing at something on his phone, his head thrown back, and Jungwon is trying to grab the phone from him. Ni-ki is walking backward in front of them all, saying something that makes Jay throw his hands up even more, and something that makes Sunghoon look away from the crowd and pay attention.

And then there's Jake and Heeseung. Jake is the one people notice first. Something about him draws the eye without demanding it. He's got his hands in his jacket pockets, his head tilted as he listens to whatever Ni-ki is saying. He's the kind of person who makes you feel seen without trying. People have been talking about Jake since freshman year, about how he helped that transfer student find her way to the dining hall during the first week, about how he stayed up all night helping Sunghoon study for a final, about how he's the reason their group became a group in the first place.

People have been talking about Heeseung for just as long. They talk about the way he plays basketball, the way he's been scouted since his first season. Where Jake makes you feel safe, Heeseung makes you feel like you're standing at the edge of something dangerous. He walks with his eyes scanning the crowd like he's looking for something or someone and when his gaze passes over you, it lingers for just a second longer than it should. He's been doing that for four years.

You've known them both for four years. You've watched them become the people everyone talks about. You've heard the whispers of the girls who want Jake's attention, the ones who want Heeseung's, the ones who want both and the girls who've tried and fail to get there attention. And you've been in the middle of it. Not by choice, maybe, though you've never exactly stepped out of it either. You've let them orbit you, let them watch you, let them want you. You've told yourself it doesn't mean anything, that you're not doing anything wrong by letting them both stay close. And that you're not responsible for what they feel, that you're not leading anyone on, that you're just existing in the space between two people who have been there for four years. The problem is you're not sure you believe yourself anymore.

The library is quiet when you get there, the way you like it. You find your usual table near the window, spread out your books, and try to focus on the reading you've been avoiding for three days. You make it ten minutes before a coffee cup appears in your peripheral vision. You look up. Heeseung slides into the chair across from you. Oat milk vanilla latte. Exactly how you like it.

"I didn't ask for coffee."

"You didn't have to." He leans back, stretching his arms behind his head, and you try not to notice the way his shirt pulls across his chest. "You always come here on Tuesdays. You always get tired around ten. You always need a second cup."

You wrap your hands around the cup, letting the warmth seep into your palms. "That's creepy."

"It's observant. There's a difference."

"There really isn't." He grins. It's the same grin he's been giving you for four years. The one that says he's always a step ahead, that he's been watching you long enough to know exactly how to get under your skin. A puzzle you can't quite solve.

"Are you going tonight?" you ask, already knowing the answer.

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Why? Thought you hate Sunghoon's parties."

"I don't hate them. I tolerate them." He leans forward, elbows on the table, and his voice drops. "I'm going because you'll be there."

You hold his gaze. Four years ago, that kind of line would have made your stomach flip. Now, you've learned to meet him where he is. "You always say that."

"Because it's always true."

You try to hold back a smile. He catches it of course and his grin softens into something that looks almost genuine.

"See you tonight," he says, standing.

He's halfway to the door when you call after him. "Heeseung."

He turns.

"The coffee's cold."

He laughs, a real laugh the kind you don't hear often and pushes through the exit. Leaving you alone with your lukewarm latte and the strange, familiar ache in your chest.

You sit there for another twenty minutes, staring at the same page. When you finally pack up your books and head for the exit, not paying attention. You push through the doors, your eyes on your phone, your mind still tangled up in thoughts you don't want to name, and you walk directly into someone's chest.

"Watch-"

You look up. Jake.

He steadies you with a hand on your arm, his grip gentle, his face shifting from surprise to something warmer when he realizes it's you. "Sorry," he says, his hand still on your arm. "I wasn't looking."

"I wasn't either."

He doesn't let go right away. His thumb brushes your sleeve, a small, absent movement, like he's not even thinking about it. His eyes are warm in the afternoon light, the kind of warm that makes you forget you were in a hurry to leave.

"You okay?" he asks. "You look like you're somewhere else."

You pull back, tuck your hair behind your ear. "Just tired. Long week."

He nods slowly. He doesn't push. That's one of the things you've always loved about Jake.

"Sunghoon's party," he says. "You going?"

You laugh, a little breathless. "You're the third person to ask me that."

"Third?"

"Heeseung asked. Yunjin asked. Now you."

His expression doesn't change at the mention of Heeseung. You're not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing. "So what did you tell them?"

"I told them I'd think about it, but I'll most likely be there."

He smiles and steps aside to let you pass, but as you move by him, his hand brushes yours. Barely anything. But you feel it.

"I hope you come," he says, and there's something in his voice that makes you stop.

You turn to look at him. "Why?"

He holds your gaze. "Because I always have a better time when you're there."

You don't know what to say to that or why your body wants to step closer. Instead, you smile. "I'll think about it," you say again, and this time, it sounds like a promise.

He's still watching you when you walk away. You can feel his eyes on your back, warm and steady, and you let yourself wonder, for just a moment, what it would be like to stop pretending.

You're halfway across the quad when your phone buzzes. You pull it out of your pocket, expecting Yunjin or your mom or one of the dozen group chats you've muted and forgotten about. It's Heeseung. Don't think about it too hard. Just show up.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. You type out a response, delete it, type another, delete that too. Finally, you settle on: I'll be there.

His response comes almost immediately. Good.

You shove your phone back in your pocket and keep walking, your heart pounding, your mind racing, the weight of the weekend pressing down on you like something you're not ready to carry.

Sunghoon's party is in full swing by the time you arrive. The apartment is packed, bodies pressed together in the kitchen and the living room and the hallway. Fairy lights are strung across the ceiling, casting everything in warm gold, and someone has set up a makeshift dance floor. You walk in like you own the place. Because you do. You've been coming here for four years. You know where Sunghoon keeps the good alcohol, which corner of the couch is most comfortable. You know these people. You know this room. You know exactly what you're doing here.

Yunjin finds you immediately, her hand closing around your wrist, pulling you toward the kitchen. "You're late."

"I'm never late."

"You're always late. Drink this." She shoves a cup into your hand. "Sunoo made his special punch. It's terrible but it's strong."

You take a sip. It is terrible. But it's also strong, and you're here, and the music is loud enough to drown out the voice in your head that's been asking too many questions lately. You let Yunjin pull you through the crowd, introducing you to people you've already met, making you laugh at jokes you've already heard. She's in her element tonight, bright and loud and impossible to ignore, and you're happy to let her take the lead. But your eyes are moving.

Jake is across the room, leaning against the wall, a cup in his hand. He's talking to Niki, but his eyes find you almost immediately, like he knew exactly where you'd be. He smiles, small and easy, and you smile back before looking away. Heeseung is on the other side of the room, near the windows. He's not talking to anyone. He's just watching, the way he always watches, his hands in his jacket pockets, his face unreadable. When your eyes meet, he doesn't smile. He just tilts his head, a small gesture, a question you don't know how to answer. You look away first.

An hour later, you're on the dance floor. The music has shifted to something slower, heavier, the kind of beat that settles into your bones and makes you want to move. You're dancing with Yunjin at first, then with Sakura, then with no one in particular, just letting the music move through you.

You feel someone behind you before you see them. A hand on your waist, light, questioning. You turn. Jake is there, close enough that you can see the slight flush on his cheeks from the heat of the room.

"Dance with me," he says. It's not a question.

You raise an eyebrow. "That sounded like an order."

He grins. "Is it working?"

You let him pull you closer, his hands settling on your waist, yours finding his shoulders. He's warm, steady, the way he's always been. His hands are careful, respectful, the hands of someone who has been waiting for a long time and isn't going to rush now that he's here.

"You're a good dancer," you say.

"I'm a terrible dancer. You're just easy to move with."

You laugh, and his hands tighten on your waist, just enough for you to feel it. Across the room, you see Heeseung watching. His arms are crossed, his face unreadable, but there's something in his posture that tells you he's not as casual as he's pretending to be.

You smile at Jake. You lean in close, your lips brushing his ear. "He's watching."

Jake doesn't turn. He doesn't need to. "I know."

"Does that bother you?"

His hands slide down your waist, just slightly, just enough to pull you closer. "Not tonight."

You dance for another song, maybe two. Jake's hands stay on your waist, his eyes stay on your face, and for a moment, you let yourself exist in this space, in the warmth of him, in the steadiness of his hands. When the song ends, you pull back. He doesn't let go immediately.

"I'm getting a drink," you say.

He releases you slowly, his fingers trailing down your arm, your wrist, your hand. "I'll find you."

You know he will.

You're at the makeshift bar in the kitchen when Heeseung appears beside you. He doesn't say anything at first. He just stands there, close enough that his arm brushes yours, far enough that you could pretend you don't notice.

"Jake looked happy," he says.

"He usually does."

"Not like that." Heeseung turns to look at you. His face is close, closer than you expected, his eyes dark in the low light. "He only looks like that when you're around."

You hold his gaze. "And you?"

He doesn't answer. He reaches past you, his arm brushing your waist, and grabs a bottle from the counter. When he pulls back, he's close enough that you can smell whatever cologne he's wearing.

"What do you want, Heeseung?"

He looks at you for a long moment. Then he smiles, and it's not his usual smirk. It's something else, something that makes your stomach tighten.

"You," he says. "But I'm not the one you're dancing with tonight."

You could let it go. You could walk away, find Yunjin, pretend this conversation didn't happen. But you've been running for four years, and you're tired of running. You step closer. Close enough that your chest almost touches his. Close enough that you have to tilt your head to meet his eyes.

"Then stop watching," you say, "and do something about it."

His breath catches. You see it the moment his control slips. His hand comes up, his fingers brushing your waist, your hip, pulling you toward him.

"You're playing a dangerous game," he says, his voice low.

"Am I winning?"

He laughs, low and rough, and for a moment, you think he's going to kiss you. His face is close, his lips inches from yours, his hand tight on your waist. But he doesn't kiss you. He pulls back, just enough to breathe.

"You're going to be the death of me," he says.

He disappears into the crowd before you can respond.

You later find Yunjin on the couch, her legs draped over Jay's lap, a glass of wine in her hand. She looks at you with the particular expression she gets when she knows something you don't want her to know.

"What?" you say.

"Nothing." She takes a sip of wine. "Just watching you work."

"I'm not working."

"Oh babes you're working alright." She grins. "Jake danced with you for twenty minutes. Heeseung looked like he wanted to eat you alive. And you're standing here like you didn't do anything."

You settle onto the couch beside her. "I didn't do anything."

"That's what you think."

She laughs, and you laugh, and the night moves on.

Later, much later, you find yourself on the back patio. The air is cool, a welcome relief after the heat of the house. The city is quiet, the stars faint overhead, and for a moment, you're alone. But you're not alone for long.

Jake appears beside you, his hands in his pockets, his face half lit by the light from the house. He doesn't say anything at first. He just stands beside you, close enough to touch, far enough to let you breathe.

"You had fun tonight," he says.

"I always have fun."

"You had more fun than usual." He turns to look at you. "Heeseung looked like he wanted to kill me when I was dancing with you."

You laugh. "Heeseung always looks like that."

"Not like that." He steps closer. "Not when it's you."

You look at him. At the person who waited, who showed up, who never asked for anything except the chance to be near you.

"You're staring," you say.

"You're worth staring at."

He leans in. His forehead touches yours. His breath is warm on your lips.

"Can I kiss you?" he asks.

You think about the years of not choosing, of running back and forth, of being too scared to want what you wanted. "Yes," you say.

He kisses you. It's soft, gentle, the way he's always been. His hands cup your face, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones, and he kisses you like you're something precious, something worth waiting for. You kiss him back. Your hands find his chest, his shoulders, his hair. You pull him closer, and the kiss deepens, and for a moment, you forget about everything else.

He pulls back first, his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven.

"That was-" he starts.

"Don't ruin the mood Jake."

He laughs, low and warm. "I was going to say perfect."

You smile. "Yeah? Need you so bad Jake."

Your words seemed to be the final straw for Jake, as he's tugging you from the porch to his car and before you know it in his apartment.

Jake's apartment is quiet. The windows are open, letting in the cool spring air, the sound of the city muffled to a distant hum. His room is clean in a nice comforting way. He's standing in the middle of the room, watching you. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched, his hair falling across his forehead. He looks nervous. He looks like he's been waiting for this moment for years and now that it's here, he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"You're staring again," you say.

"You're worth staring at yet again."

You move toward him slowly, watching his face, watching the way his eyes track your movements, the way his chest rises and falls a little faster with each step you take. You stop when you're close enough to touch, close enough to feel the heat of him, close enough to see the slight twitch in his hands.

"What do you want tonight?" you ask.

His throat works. His hands come out of his pockets, hovering at his sides like he's not sure where to put them. "I want to try something."

"What kind of something?"

His jaw sets. He straightens his shoulders, lifts his chin. There's something determined in his expression, something that looks like he's been practicing for this. "I want to be in control and have you in ways I've always dreamed," he says.

You raise an eyebrow. "Is that right?"

He steps closer. His hand finds your waist, his fingers pressing into your hip, and he pulls you toward him. His other hand comes up to your face, tilting your chin, making you look at him. "Yeah," he says, and his voice is lower than usual, rougher. "I want to take care of you. I want to make you feel good. I want to be the one who decides how fast this goes."

You let him hold you. You let him tilt your chin, let him press his body against yours, let him try to fill the space the way he thinks he's supposed to. He's trying so hard. You can see it in the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way he's holding himself like he's playing a role he doesn't quite know.

He leans in to kiss you. It's harder than usual, more demanding, his tongue sliding against yours, his hand tight on your hip. He's trying to set the pace, trying to be the one who leads, trying to be rough in a way that doesn't come naturally to him. You kiss him back. You let him have this. For now.

He walks you backward toward the bedroom, his mouth never leaving yours, his hands everywhere from your waist, your back, your thighs. He's trying to be commanding, trying to push, trying to be the one who decides. But there's a hesitation in his touch, a carefulness that betrays him. He pulls at your shirt like he's not sure how hard to pull. His fingers tremble against your skin. His breath comes in short, sharp gasps that sound more desperate than dominant.

When your back hits the bedroom door, he presses into you, his body hard against yours, his mouth on your neck. "I've been thinking about this all night," he says against your skin. "About taking my time with you. About making you beg for it."

You bite your lip to keep from smiling. "Is that so?"

He pulls back to look at you. His eyes are dark, lips a plump cherry red his chest heaving, his hands pressed against the door on either side of your head. He's trying so hard to look commanding, trying to look like he knows what he's doing, trying to be someone he's not.

You reach up, your fingers tracing his jaw. He leans into your touch without thinking, his eyes fluttering closed, his whole body softening under your hand. "Jake," you say softly. He opens his eyes. "You're not very good at this."

He blinks. "What?"

You push against his chest. He stumbles back, surprised, and you step forward, reversing your positions. His back hits the door. Your hands press against his chest, holding him there. "You're trying to be someone you're not," you say. "You're trying to be rough. Trying to be in control. Trying to be the one who decides."

His throat works. His hands hang at his sides. "I want to be what you need."

You slide your hands up his chest, his shoulders, his neck. Your fingers thread into his hair, tilting his head back the way he did to you. "What I need," you say, your mouth close to his ear, "is you. Not some version of you that you think I want. Just you."

His breath catches. His hands find your waist, but they're not pushing, not pulling. They're holding on.

"You want to be in control tonight?" you ask. He nods. His eyes are wide, his lips parted. "You're not going to get it."

You kiss him. It's soft at first, teasing, your tongue tracing his lower lip, your fingers tightening in his hair. He makes a sound against your mouth something between a gasp and a whimper and his hands tighten on your waist, but he doesn't push. He doesn't pull. He just holds on.

You pull back. Look at him. "You want to be good for me?"

His eyes are glassy, his chest heaving. "Yes."

"Then do what I say."

He nods. His hands fall to his sides.

You step back. Look at him. His shirt is rumpled, his hair a mess, his lips swollen from kissing. He's standing against the door like he's waiting for something, like he'd do anything you asked.

"Take off your shirt."

He reaches for the hem, pulls it over his head. His skin is warm in the low light, his chest bare, his muscles tensing and relaxing under your gaze. He drops the shirt on the floor, his hands falling back to his sides.

"Good," you say. "Now the pants."

He fumbles with the button, his fingers clumsy, his eyes never leaving your face. The pants fall to the floor. He steps out of them, kicks them aside, stands in front of you in nothing but his boxers. His chest is still heaving, his hands shaking, his whole body strung tight.

You circle him slowly. His shoulders are tense, his breathing shallow, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. You run your fingers down his back, feel the muscles jump beneath your touch, hear the sharp intake of his breath. "You've been waiting for this," you say. "Haven't you?"

His voice is hoarse. "Four years."

You stop behind him, press your chest against his back, your mouth close to his ear. "Then stop trying to be in control. Let me take care of you."

He shudders. His head falls forward, his hands braced against the door.

You reach around, your fingers finding the waistband of his boxers. You pull them down slowly, feeling his breath catch, feeling his body tremble beneath your hands. The boxers fall to the floor. He steps out of them, kicks them aside, and then he's bare, his skin warm, his body hard, his heart pounding so hard you can see it in his neck.

You turn him around. He's fully hard tip already leaking, his eyes dark and wide. He looks at you like you're the only thing in the world.

You push him toward the bed. He goes willingly, his legs unsteady, his eyes never leaving your face. When his knees hit the edge, he falls back onto the mattress, his arms bracing himself.

You climb onto the bed, kneel between his legs. His thighs are warm beneath your hands, his muscles tense, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. You run your fingers up the inside of his thighs, feel him shiver, hear the small sound that escapes his throat.

"Lay back," you say. He lays back. His hands fist in the sheets. His chest rises and falls, his whole body waiting.

You wrap your hand around him. He's hot, heavy, pulsing beneath your fingers. His hips jerk up, a desperate, involuntary movement, and he makes a sound that's a whimper.

You stroke him slowly, watching his face. His eyes are closed, his lips parted, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He's already falling apart, already losing himself, and you've barely touched him.

"Look at me pretty boy," you say. He opens his eyes. They're dark, glazed, barely focused.

You lean down, your tongue tracing the head of him. He gasps, his hands flying to your hair, but he doesn't pull. He doesn't push. He holds on like you're the only thing keeping him grounded.

You take him into your mouth. The sound he makes is desperate, broken, your name caught in his throat. His hips jerk up again, but he stops himself, his hands trembling in your hair, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding still. You move slowly, your tongue circling, your lips tight, your hand working what your mouth can't reach. You feel him pulse on your tongue, hear his breath turn to ragged gasps, feel his thighs trembling beneath your hands.

"I'm not going to-" His voice breaks. "I'm going to-"

You pull back. Just before he falls over the edge.

He whimpers. His hips buck up, searching for your mouth, your hand, anything. "Please-"

You stroke him slowly, watching his face. His head is thrown back, his jaw slack, his hands fisted in the sheets. "Please," he says again. "Please, I need-"

"You need what?"

"I need to cum. Please. I've been waiting-I've been-" His voice cracks. His hips jerk up, desperate, searching.

You lean down, take him in your mouth again. His whole body arches off the bed, a broken sound tearing from his throat. You work him fast now, your hand moving with your mouth, feeling him swell, feeling his thighs shake, feeling his control slip away.

"I'm-" His voice is barely a word. "I'm-"

You pull back again.

He cries out. His hands fly to his face, covering his eyes, his whole body trembling. "Please- I- mmm stop being so mean," he whispers. "Please, I can't-I need-"

You climb up his body, straddle his hips. His hands fall away from his face, his eyes finding yours. They're wet. His cheeks are flushed, his lips parted, his whole body open and waiting.

"You want to cum?" you ask. He nods. "Then beg."

His hands grip your thighs. His voice is hoarse, broken. "Please. Please, I'll do anything. I've been waiting for four years. I've been wanting you for four years. Please let me- please let me feel you-"

You reach between your legs, position him at your entrance. His hips buck up, desperate, but you hold him down. "Say my name."

"Y/N." His voice cracks. "Y/N, please-"

You sink down onto him.

He cries out. His back arches, his hands grip your thighs, his head falls back against the pillows. You move slowly at first, watching his face, watching the way his eyes roll back, his jaw slack, the rise and fall of his chest. "You feel so good," he gasps. "So good-"

You move faster. His hands slide up your thighs, your hips, your waist. He's not trying to control. He's just holding on, his fingers pressing into your skin, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I'm close," he says. "I'm so close-"

You slow down. He groans, his head thrashing against the pillows. "Not yet," you say. "Please," he begs. You start moving again, fast, hard, watching his face, watching the way his control slips, the way his body strains beneath you.

"I'm going to-" His voice is desperate. "I can't-"

You slow down again.

He sobs. His hands grip your thighs, his nails digging in, his whole body shaking. "Please," he begs. "Please, I need to cum. I need-"

You lean down, your mouth close to his ear. "Flip us over."

He moves before you finish the sentence. His hands find your waist, rolling you onto your back, settling between your legs. His breaths coming out unbalanced, his face flushed, his eyes wild. He looks down at you. His hands are trembling. His whole body is trembling. "Can I?" he asks, his voice rough. "Can I-"

You nod.

He pushes into you fast moving even faster. Deeper than before. His forehead is pressed against yours, his breath hot on your lips, his hands tangled in your hair. Each thrust deliberate, each movement pulling sounds from your throat you didn't know you could make.

"You feel that?" His voice is low, rough. "You feel what you do to me?"

You nod. You can't speak.

He moves even faster. His rhythm is sloppy, uncontrolled, the kind of rhythm that comes from someone who's found his place and found his pace. "I've got you princess," he says. "I've got you."

His hand slides between your bodies, his fingers finding you, working you in time with his thrusts. The pressure builds, spiraling, tightening, until you can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except feel.

"I want to feel you cum," he says. "I want to feel you fall apart on me."

You shatter. Your body clenches around him, your nails dig into his back, his name tears from your throat. He follows a moment later, his face buried in your neck, his body shuddering against yours, his voice breaking on your name.

He collapses beside you, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you against him. His chest is heaving, his skin slick with sweat, his heart pounding so hard you can feel it through his ribs. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The room is quiet, the city distant, the world reduced to the space between you.

He lifts his head, looks at you. His face is soft, open, the way it only is when it's just the two of you. "You did that on purpose," he says.

You smile. "Did what?"

"Edged me. Made me beg." His fingers trace patterns on your skin. "You liked that."

"You liked it too."

He laughs, low and warm. "I loved it." He pulls you closer, his arm tight around your waist, his face buried in your hair. You close your eyes. His heartbeat is steady beneath your ear, his breath warm on your skin, his arms holding you like you're something precious. He presses a kiss to your forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."

You smile against his chest. "Good."

The library is quiet in that particular way it gets on Thursday afternoons. You're at your usual table near the window, your books spread out around you. You've been staring at the same page for thirty minutes, your mind elsewhere, replaying the party. Jake's hands on your waist. Heeseung's voice in your ear.

You're still thinking about it when a coffee cup appears in your peripheral vision. You don't need to look up. You know that cup. You know that hand. You look up. He's sliding into the chair across from you, his jacket unzipped, his hair still damp from a shower. He looks tired, the shadows under his eyes darker than usual, but there's something in his face that makes your chest tighten.

You take a sip of the coffee. It's perfect. It's always perfect.

"Why are you here, Heeseung?" you ask. "It's three o'clock on a Thursday. You don't come to the library. You've never come to the library."

He shrugs, but there's something in his expression that shifts. "Maybe I wanted to see you."

"You see me every day."

"I see you across the quad. I see you in the dining hall. I see you dancing with Jake at parties." You notice the way his jaw tightens, just slightly at the mention of Jake. "That's not the same as seeing you."

You don't know what to say to that. You don't know what to do with the weight of his words, the way he's looking at you.

He leans forward, his elbows on the table, his voice dropping. "There's a game this weekend. Last one of the season. Scouts are coming."

You raise your eyebrows. "Scouts?"

"Professional teams. They've been watching me for a while." He shrugs, like it's not a big deal, like it's not the thing he's been working toward his whole life.

"Heeseung, that's huge."

"It's just a game."

"It's not just a game and you know it."

He's quiet for a moment. His eyes are fixed on something outside the window, something you can't see. When he looks back at you, his face is different. Softer. More open. "I want you there."

You stare at him. "What?"

"The game. I want you to come." He says it like it's simple, like it's the easiest thing in the world. Like he hasn't been watching you for four years, like he hasn't been waiting, like he hasn't been standing on the edge of something he's not sure he's allowed to want.

"You want me to come to your game."

"I want you to be there." He leans back in his chair, his eyes don't leave your face. "I've been playing for four years. Every game, I look for you in the stands. Even when I know you're not there."

Your chest tightens. "Heeseung-"

"You don't have to say anything." His voice is quiet now, almost careful. "I'm not asking you for anything. I'm not asking you to choose. I'm just asking you to be there. For one game."

"I'll think about it," you say.

He nods slowly. "That's not a no."

"That's not a yes either."

He stands up, pushing his chair back, grabbing his coffee. He's halfway to the door when he turns back. "It's Saturday. Six o'clock. The gym." He pauses. "I hope to see you."

He's gone before you can respond. The door swings shut behind him, and you're left alone with a heart that won't stop pounding.

Saturday comes faster than you expect. The gym is packed when you arrive. The stands are overflowing, students crammed into every seat, people standing along the walls, the air thick with anticipation. There are faces you don't recognize in the front row men in suits with clipboards, scouts from teams you've only seen on TV. The energy is different from the other games. Heavier. Like everyone in this room knows they're about to witness something.

You find a seat near the middle this time. Not hiding. Not tucked away. You want him to see you.

Heeseung is on the court, warming up. He's focused in a way you've never seen, his movements sharp, precise, like he's running through every play in his head before the game even starts. He doesn't look at the stands. He doesn't look at the scouts. He just moves.

The game begins. It's brutal from the start. The other team is good, better than anyone expected. They double team Heeseung every time he touches the ball, throw everything they have at him. For the first half, it works. He's frustrated, you can see it in the set of his jaw, the way his hands clench at his sides when he comes off the court.

At halftime, the score is tied. Heeseung sits on the bench, his head in his hands. You watch him. You watch the coach crouch beside him, say something you can't hear. Heeseung nods. He looks up. He looks at you.

For a moment, everything else fades. The noise, the crowd, the pressure. He looks at you like you're the only thing keeping him grounded. You give him a small smile with a little nod. Just once. He nods back.

The second half is different. Heeseung comes out like a different player. His movements are faster, sharper, like something has unlocked inside him. He drives past defenders, sinks shots from impossible angles, directs his teammates with confidence. The crowd feels it too the shift, the electricity.

The score tightens. The clock winds down. Ninety seconds left. Heeseung's team is down by two. He takes the ball. He drives. Defenders close in on all sides, three of them, bodies pressing against him, hands reaching. He should pass. Everyone in the gym knows he should pass. But he doesn't. He jumps.

The ball arcs through the air. Time slows. The crowd holds its breath. The ball hits the backboard, spins on the rim once, twice- Drops through.

The gym explodes. He stands there for a moment, frozen, the noise washing over him. Then he looks up. He finds you. His face breaks into something you've never seen before pure, unguarded joy. He points at you, just a finger raised, a gesture that says I did this for you. His teammates mob him, lift him onto their shoulders. You stay in your seat, your heart pounding, they won. He won.

After the game, you wait for him outside the locker room. The hallway is empty, the crowd long gone, the noise of the celebration faded to a distant echo. You lean against the wall, your hands in your pockets, trying to calm your heart.

A player you recognize from the team walks out, his bag over his shoulder. He sees you, stops. "You looking for Heeseung?" You nod. He grins. "He's in there. Took the longest shower of his life. Said he needed to cool down." He nods toward the door. "Go ahead. He won't mind." He disappears down the hallway before you can respond.

The locker room door is heavy. You push it open slowly, the sound echoing off the walls. It's empty. The benches are covered with towels, the air thick with the smell of soap and sweat. You hear water running from somewhere in the back, the hiss of a shower, the low hum of someone humming under their breath. You follow the sound.

Heeseung is standing at the sinks, his back to you, a towel slung low on his hips. His hair is wet, dripping onto his shoulders, onto his back, onto the floor. His skin is still flushed from the shower, still warm, still damp. The muscles in his shoulders move as he reaches for something on the counter, a roll of tape, a bottle of something you don't recognize. Water drips down his spine, following the line of his back, disappearing into the towel at his waist.

You can't breathe. You can't move. You can't stop watching.

He turns. He sees you.

For a moment, neither of you moves. The water drips from his hair onto his chest, trails down his stomach, disappears. His chest is still heaving from the game, from the shower, from whatever he was thinking about before you walked in. His arms are bare, the muscles defined in a way you've only imagined, his skin warm and damp and close enough to touch.

"You came," he says. His voice is rough, lower than usual.

"I said I would."

He takes a step toward you. Water drips from his hair onto his shoulders. "You watched?"

"Every second."

"You saw the shot?"

You nod. "I saw it."

He takes another step. He's close enough now that you can smell the soap on his skin, something clean and sharp. Close enough that you can see the water still clinging to his collarbone, his chest, the hollow of his throat.

"I made that shot for you," he says. "Every point. Every play. I did it for you."

Your heart stops. "Heeseung-"

"You want to know why I asked you to come? Why I needed you here?" His hand comes up, his fingers brushing your cheek, leaving a trail of water on your skin. "Because I can't do anything without thinking about you. I can't play without looking for you in the stands. I can't breathe without wondering if you're thinking about me too."

His hand slides into your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. His face is close, so close you can feel his breath on your lips, warm and uneven. "I've been waiting for four years," he says. "I've been watching you with him. Watching you not choose. Watching you pretend you don't feel this. And I can't do it anymore."

"Feel what?" Your voice is barely a whisper.

He responds by kissing you. It's not soft, not careful, not gentle. It's the kind of kiss that's been building for four years, the kind of kiss that doesn't have room for hesitation. His hands are in your hair, your waist, pulling you against him, and his skin is warm and wet and you can feel every inch of him pressed against you. You kiss him back. Your hands find his chest, his shoulders, his neck, pulling him closer, and he makes a sound against your mouth that sends heat flooding through your body.

He pulls back just enough to breathe, his forehead against yours, his chest heaving. His skin is hot beneath your hands, his heart pounding so hard you can feel it.

"You're still wet," you say.

He laughs, low and rough. "You're not complaining."

Your hands slide down his chest, following the trail of water, feeling the muscles tense beneath your fingers. His breath catches. His hands tighten on your waist. "If you keep doing that," he says, "I'm not going to be able to stop."

You look at him. His hair is dripping onto your face, his skin flushed, his eyes dark. He's shirtless, wet, close enough to touch, and you've never wanted anything more. "Then don't stop."

His hands slide down your body, finding the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head. His mouth follows, hot against your collarbone, your shoulder, the space between your breasts. He kisses like he's been waiting his whole life for this, like he's memorizing every inch of you. Your back hits the lockers behind you, metal cold against your skin, and he presses into you, his body warm and solid and everywhere.

"Four years," he breathes against your neck. "Four fucking years I've wanted this. Wanted you."

You pull his face up, kiss him again, and he groans into your mouth, his hands sliding down your back, your hips, your thighs. He lifts you without effort, your legs wrapping around his waist, your back against the lockers, his body pressed against yours. "You have no idea," he says, "what you do to me."

"Then show me Hee."

He kisses you again, and you let yourself fall.

You look at him. His hair is drying, curling at the ends. His face is open, vulnerable. His lips linger on yours for a moment longer, like he's not ready to let go. When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, his breathing uneven. The locker room is quiet around you, the celebration moved somewhere else. It's just the two of you, the lights humming overhead, the smell of soap and sweat still clinging to his skin.

"We should probably get out of here," he says, but he doesn't move. His arm is still around your waist, his fingers still tracing circles on your hip.

"Probably," you agree. You don't move either.

He looks at you for a long moment. Something shifts in his expression something that looks like decision. "Come with me," he says.

You raise an eyebrow. "Where?"

"My dorm. It's closer." He pauses, his thumb stilling on your hip. "Unless you want to go back to your place."

"Your dorm," you say.

He smiles. It's small, real, the smile he only lets you see. He stands up, pulls you with him, his hands finding yours. His palms are warm, his fingers interlacing with yours like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Let's go," he says.

The walk to his dorm is quiet. Heeseung's hand is in yours. His thumb traces patterns on your skin, absent, unconscious, like he's not even thinking about it. His jacket is draped over your shoulders, he put it there before you left the locker room, his hands lingering on your arms, his breath warm on your neck. "You're cold," he had said. "I'm fine." "You're shivering." He had wrapped the jacket around you, pulled it tight, his hands resting on your shoulders for a moment longer than necessary. The jacket smells like him. You've been breathing it in ever since.

Now you walk side by side, not talking, not needing to. The silence between you is comfortable, the kind of silence that comes before something you've been waiting for. You look at him. His face is half-lit, half-shadowed, the streetlight catching the angles of his jaw, the curve of his lips. His hair is almost dry now, falling across his forehead. He's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters. Then he leads you inside.

His dorm is small. The room is cluttered in that particular way boys' rooms are clothes draped over a chair, textbooks stacked on the desk, a basketball in the corner that you know he's had since freshman year. He closes the door behind you. The lock clicks. The sound echoes in the quiet room.

He moves toward you slowly, like he's giving you time to change your mind. His hands find your waist, his fingers settling on the fabric of his jacket, still wrapped around you. His face is close, close enough that you can see the sparkle in his eyes, the slight tremor in his hands. "You have no idea," he says, "how long I've wanted this."

You reach up, your fingers brushing his jaw. His skin is warm, slightly rough, and he leans into your touch like he's been waiting for it. "Then stop talking about it," you say.

He kisses you. It's different from the locker room. Slower. Deeper. His hands slide under his jacket, finding your waist, your hips, pulling you against him. Your back hits the door, and he presses into you, his body warm and solid, his mouth moving against yours like he's learning you, memorizing you. His hands push the jacket off your shoulders. It falls to the floor, pooling at your feet. His mouth is on your neck, your collarbone, your throat, and every kiss sends heat flooding through your body.

"We should move to the bed," he murmurs against your skin.

"Then move."

He laughs, picks you up, carries you across the room. You wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, and he lays you down on his bed, the sheets cool against your back, his body warm above you. He pulls back just enough to look at you. His hair is falling across his forehead, his eyes dark. "You're so fucking beautiful," he says. "You have no idea."

You pull him down, kiss him, and let yourself fall.

"You think about me when you're with him?" His thumb traces your jaw, tilting your face up. "When he's inside you, are you thinking about me?" You shake your head. "I don't-" "Don't lie to me, thought I wasn't going to find out that a pretty girl like you is out messing with a boy who cant handle all this?"His voice is soft, almost gentle, but his hand tightens on your throat. Just enough. Just enough to make your head spin. "I can smell him on you. I can see it in your eyes. You've been thinking about me this whole time. Wondering what it would be like if I was the one making you fall apart."

Your knees go weak. He feels it, pulls you closer, his thigh pressing between your legs. "That's what you want, isn't it?" His mouth is at your ear, his breath hot on your skin. "You want me to take over. You want me to make you forget his name."

"He was just-"

He cuts you off with a kiss. Hard. Deep. His tongue slides against yours, and his hands are everywhere your hair, your waist, your thighs. He kisses like he's claiming you, like he's erasing every other touch you've ever felt. His teeth catch your lower lip, pulling, biting down just enough to make you moan into his mouth. When he pulls back, you're breathless. Your head spins. Your hands find his shoulders just to steady yourself, but he grabs your wrists, pins them above your head.

"You want to know what I thought about all night?" His thumb traces your lower lip, pulling it down, watching the way your breath hitches. "I thought about getting you alone. Thought about taking you apart. Thought about making you forget your own name. Thought about the sounds you'd make when I finally got my hands on you."

Your knees go weak. He notices. His mouth curves into something that's not quite a smile but something darker, hungrier. "That's what you want, isn't it? You want someone to take control. Someone to tell you what to do. Someone to make you stop thinking for once. Someone who knows exactly how to take you apart."

You swallow. Your throat is dry. Your wrists are still pinned above your head, his grip firm enough that you couldn't move even if you wanted to. "Yes Hee."

His hands drop to the hem of your shirt. He pulls it over your head in one motion, and the cool air hits your skin. His eyes move down your body, slow, deliberate, like he's cataloging every inch of you. His gaze lingers on your breasts, on the way your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath. "Good," he says. "Because tonight, you don't get to think. You don't get to decide. You don't get to do anything unless I tell you to. Understand?"

You nod.

His hands move down your body, finding the waistband of your pants. He pulls them off slow, his eyes never leaving your face. Your underwear follows, and then you're bare beneath him, your chest heaving, your thighs pressed together, your body aching for his touch. He spreads your legs. His hand slides between them, his fingers finding you wet and ready.

"So wet for me," he says. "You've been thinking about this all night, haven't you?"

"Fuck yes I have."

"What were you thinking about? Tell me."

His finger slides inside you, slow, and you gasp. "Thinking about-about your hands. Your mouth. The way you-"

His finger curls, finds the spot that makes your hips buck. "The way I what?"

"The way you take control." Your voice is barely a whisper. "Mmmm the way you make me feel like nothing else matters."

He adds a second finger. His thumb finds your clit, circles it slow, and the sounds coming out of your mouth are desperate, broken, nothing you've ever heard yourself make before. "You take it so well," he says. "You're so good for me. So fucking perfect."

His fingers move faster, his thumb pressing harder, and the pressure building in your belly is too much, not enough, everything you've been waiting for. "Look at me," he says. "I want to see your face when you cum."

You open your eyes. He's watching you, his eyes dark, his mouth parted, his hand working between your legs. "That's it," he says. "Let go. Cum for me."

You shatter. Your body clenches around his fingers, your back arches off the bed, his name rips from your throat. He doesn't stop. He keeps moving, keeps pressing, keeps pushing you higher, until the waves of your orgasm are still rolling through you and he's still not done. "You can give me more," he says. "I know you can." You shake your head. "I can't-" "You can." His fingers curl inside you, his thumb presses harder. "You're going to cum for me again."

The pressure builds again, faster this time, the sensitivity making your whole body tremble. He doesn't let up. He pushes and pushes and pushes, and when you come again, it's with a scream, your body convulsing, liquid flooding his hand, soaking the sheets beneath you. "Good girl," he says.

He pulls his shirt over his head. His chest is bare, his skin flushed, his muscles tensing as he unbuckles his belt. His pants fall to the floor, and then he's above you, his body covering yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress. He kisses you again, slower this time, like he has all the time in the world. His hands find the clasp of your bra, undo it, let it fall. His mouth follows, down your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. He takes his time. He doesn't rush. He wants you to feel every second of this.

His tongue circles your nipple, and your back arches. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling in the strands, pulling. He bites down just enough to make you gasp and then his mouth is on the other breast, his hand replacing his mouth on the first, his thumb and finger rolling your nipple until you're squirming against him. He pulls back. "I didn't say you could touch." Your hands drop. Your chest heaves. He watches you for a moment, his eyes dark, his lips parted, a thin line of saliva still connecting his mouth to your skin. He kisses down your body connecting his lips to your wet pussy.

The first touch of his tongue makes your hips jerk. His hands grip your thighs, holding you in place, his fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave marks. He works you slow, deliberate, his tongue moving in circles that make your vision blur. He knows exactly what he's doing. Your hands find his hair again. This time he doesn't pull away. He lets you hold on, lets you grip the strands, lets you use him to ground yourself as the pressure builds in your belly.

He adds a finger. Then two. Curling them inside you, finding the spot that makes you see stars, and his mouth never stops. His tongue is relentless, circling, pressing, sucking, driving you higher and higher until you're trembling, until you're gasping, until you're right on the edge. The sounds coming out of your mouth are desperate, broken, nothing like the composed person you are in the rest of your life.

"I'm close," you breathe. "I'm-"

He pulls back.

You cry out. The sound echoes off the walls, raw and needy. Your legs are shaking. Your whole body is shaking. Your hands pull at his hair, trying to drag his mouth back to where you need him, but he doesn't move. "Did I say you could come?" You shake your head. Your voice is gone.

He lowers his mouth again. Slower this time. Teasing. His tongue traces patterns on you, learning you again, taking you apart piece by piece. He spells out letters- your initials, his, words you can't quite make out and each stroke of his tongue sends electricity through your body. His fingers move inside you, slow and deep, and he builds you up again, higher this time, pushing you toward something you can't name.

Your hips move against his mouth. Your hands pull his hair. You're beyond thinking, beyond words, beyond anything except the feeling of him, the pressure building, the need coiling tight in your belly. "Please," you gasp. "Please, I need-"

He pulls back again.

You sob. The sound tears out of you, raw and desperate, and he stands up, his mouth slick, his chin wet, his eyes dark, his chest heaving. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, watching you fall apart against the door. "You want to cum?" he asks. "Mhhmm Yes." "Beg like the good fucking whore you are."

You look at him. His face is hard, his jaw tight, his hands on your hips. His thumbs press into the hollow of your hip bones, holding you in place. He's not going to give you what you want. He's going to make you ask for it. He's going to make you earn it.

"Please," you say. Your voice cracks. "Please, Heeseung. I need to cum. I need you to let me cum. I'll be good. I'll be so good. Just please-"

He kisses you. You can taste yourself on his lips, slick and sweet, and he swallows your sounds as his hands move to his belt, slow, deliberate, and the sound of leather sliding through metal makes your thighs press together. He sees it. His mouth curves. He pulls his jeans down, kicks them aside. His boxers follow. He's hard, thick, his cock curving up toward his stomach, and your mouth waters at the sight of him. He wraps his hand around himself, strokes once, twice, watching your face.

"You want this?" he asks. "Yes." "How bad?" "So bad. I need it. I need you."

He climbs onto the bed. His body covers yours, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his hips settling between your legs. The heat of him radiates through your skin. "You want to cum for me?" he says against your mouth. "Then cum for me."

He pushes inside you in one motion.

Your body arches. Your hands claw at his back. He's thick, stretching you, filling you, and the pressure of him inside you after being denied for so long makes your eyes roll back. He doesn't wait. He doesn't give you time to adjust. He moves hard, fast, his hips driving into you, his mouth on your neck, his hands gripping your thighs.

The sound of it fills the room. Skin slapping against skin. The bed frame hitting the wall. Your moans, his grunts, the wet sounds of him moving inside you. He fucks you like he's been waiting for this, like he's been holding back for years, like every night he spent watching you with Jake is being driven out of him with every thrust.

"You feel that?" he asks, his voice rough in your ear. "You feel how good you are for me? How perfect you are when you're not thinking, not fighting, just taking what I give you?"

You can't answer. You can't speak. Your nails dig into his back, leaving red trails down his shoulder. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he groans, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he drives into you harder.

"Look at you," he says. He pulls back just enough to watch his cock disappear inside you, to watch the way your body takes him. "Look how wet you are. How hungry you are. You've been waiting for this. Waiting for someone to fuck you like this."

He reaches between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit, pressing in time with his thrusts. The pressure builds faster this time, coiling tighter, pushing you toward the edge you've been denied twice now. Your vision blurs. Your hands grip his arms, his shoulders, anything you can hold onto.

"You're going to cum for me," he says. "You're going to cum so hard you forget your own name. And when you do, I want you to say my name. I want everyone to hear who you belong to."

His thumb presses harder. His hips drive deeper. His body is slick with sweat, his hair falling across his forehead, his jaw tight with concentration. He's watching you fall apart, watching the moment your control breaks, watching you shatter underneath him.

"Now," he says. "Cum for me. Now."

The pressure inside you breaks.

You scream. His name tears from your throat, loud in the quiet room, and your body clenches around him, pulling him deeper, holding him there. Your back arches off the bed, your hands grip his arms hard enough to bruise, and you feel everything every nerve, every muscle, every cell of your body release at once.

He groans, his face buried in your neck, his hips stuttering against yours. His body tenses, his grip on your thighs tightens, and he follows you over the edge, his voice breaking on your name, his body shuddering against yours, his cock pulsing inside you.

He collapses beside you. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you against him, his face buried in your hair. You're both breathing hard, your skin slick with sweat, your bodies tangled together in the sheets. His chest is heaving against your back. His heart is pounding so hard you can feel it through his ribs.

He presses a kiss to your shoulder. "You okay?"

You nod. Your voice is gone.

He pulls you closer. His hand finds yours, his fingers interlacing with yours, and he holds you in the quiet. He laughs low and warm, the sound vibrating through his chest into your back. "Amazing. You were amazing."

You turn in his arms, face him. His face is soft now, the hard lines gone, the control slipped away. He looks like the boy who brought you coffee on Tuesdays. His hair is damp, his lips swollen, his eyes heavy-lidded and warm. "I need water," you say.

He kisses your forehead. "I'll get it."

He disappears into the kitchen. You lie in his bed, the sheets tangled around you, your body still humming, your mind quiet for the first time in weeks. Your thighs are sticky, your back is marked with scratches, your lips are swollen. You can still feel him inside you, the ghost of him, the memory of how he filled you.

He comes back with a glass of water, helps you sit up, watches you drink. His eyes move over your body, the marks he left, the way your hair is tangled, the flush still on your skin. When you're done, he takes the glass, sets it on the nightstand, and pulls you back down beside him. His arm wraps around your waist. His leg hooks over yours. He holds you like he's afraid you'll disappear.

"Stay," he says.

You look at him. "Okay."

His arm tightens around you. His breath evens out. His heart slows beneath your ear. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself be held.

The days after the game feel different.

You tell yourself nothing has changed. You still go to class. You still study. You still let Yunjin drag you to the dining hall. But something has shifted. You feel it in the way your body remembers Heeseung's hands, his mouth, the way he said your name. You feel it in the silence that stretches between you and Jake now, the things you're not saying, the secret you're carrying. You're going to tell him. You know you have to. You just need to find the right moment.

The right moment finds you first. It's Thursday. You're sitting on the steps outside the library, trying to focus on a reading you've read three times without absorbing a word. The afternoon sun is warm, the campus quiet, and you've been here for an hour while your mind drifts. You hear footsteps. You don't need to look up to know who it is. You know the rhythm of his walk, the weight of his presence. Jake sits down beside you. He doesn't say anything at first. That's not unusual. Jake is comfortable with silence. But this silence is different. Heavier. Charged.

You look at him. His face is tight. His jaw is set. He's looking at the quad, not at you, and there's something in his posture that makes your stomach tighten. "I heard about the game," he says. You knew this was coming. You've been preparing for it. "Jake-" "I heard you were in the locker room with him. After." His voice is clipped, controlled. "I heard you left together." You take a breath. "Yeah." He turns to look at you. His eyes are cold. You've never seen Jake look at you like this. "So it's true," he says. "You fucked him."

The word lands like a slap. You stare at him. "Excuse me?" "You heard me." He doesn't look away. His voice is flat, emotionless. "You've been stringing me along for four years, making me wait, making me think I had a chance. And the whole time, you were just waiting for him to finally make a move." Your hands curl into fists. "That's not what happened." "No?" He laughs, but there's nothing funny in it. "Then what happened? You just happened to end up in the locker room with him? You just happened to leave together? You just happened to-" "Stop." Your voice is sharp. "You don't get to talk to me like that." "I don't get to?" He stands up. You stand with him. "I've been here for four years. Four years of waiting. Four years of watching you run back and forth between us. And you couldn't even tell me? You let me find out from other people?" "I was going to tell you." "When? After you fucked him again?" His voice rises. "After you decided which one of us was worth your time? After you got tired of playing games?"

Your blood runs hot. "Playing games? You guys are the ones who are acting like I'm some kind of prize." He flinches. Just slightly. But he doesn't back down. "That was back then," he says. "I was stupid. I'm not treating you like a prize anymore. I know what I want. But you've been playing games this whole time. You liked it. You liked having both of us chasing you. You liked the attention. You liked being wanted." The words hit you like a blade. "You don't mean that." "I mean it." His voice is cold, steady. "You've had four years to choose. Four years to figure out what you want. And you didn't. Because you didn't want to choose. You wanted to keep us both on the hook. You wanted to know you could have us whenever you wanted."

Your chest is heaving. Your hands are shaking. "You're just saying this because you're hurt." "I'm saying it because it's true." He steps closer. "You slept with him, and you didn't tell me. You let me sit next to you in class. You let me hold your hand. You let me think-" His voice cracks, but he steadies it. "You let me think I meant something to you. And all that time, you were just waiting for him." Your voice is shaking. "You're standing here, acting like I'm the one who did something wrong, because I slept with someone I've known for four years? Because I didn't tell you fast enough?" "Jake you're not even my boyfriend." He opens his mouth. Closes it. For the first time, he doesn't have a response. Your voice is steady now. "You don't get to be angry because I made a choice you didn't like. You don't get to call me names because I didn't choose you."

He stares at you. His face is pale, his hands shaking, his eyes wet. But he doesn't apologize. He doesn't take it back. "You know what?" he says. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you're not worth waiting for." The words hang in the air between you. You feel them like a wound, sharp and deep. "Get away from me," you say. He doesn't move. "I said get the fuck away from me." He turns. He walks away. His shoulders are stiff, his head down. You watch him disappear across the quad, and you don't call after him. You don't run after him. You stand there, your hands shaking, your eyes burning.

You sit back down on the steps. Your books are still spread out around you, your coffee long cold, your phone buzzing in your pocket. You don't look at it. You don't move. You think about what he said. You liked the attention. You liked being wanted. The words echo in your head, looping and repeating. You think about the years of watching them orbit you, never choosing, never having to. About the way you let them both stay close, let them both hope, let them both wait. Your phone buzzes again. You look at it. Yunjin: Jake just showed up at Jay's. He looks like shit. What happened? You stare at the message. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You type: He found out about Heeseung. He called me a game player. Said I like the attention. Said I wasn't worth waiting for. Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again. Do you want me to come over? You think about it. No, I need to be alone. You type. Okay. I'm here if you need me. You put the phone down. You sit on the steps as the sun sets, as the campus empties, as the light fades to gray. You let the anger settle in your chest. You let the hurt settle underneath it. He was wrong. You know he was wrong. But some part of you wonders if he was right.

Three days pass. You don't talk to Jake. You don't talk to Heeseung. You go to class, you sit in the back, you leave before anyone can catch your eye. Yunjin brings you food you barely eat. Sakura leaves notes on your door. Chae sends you memes that you look at without seeing. You're not sad. You're not angry. You're just empty. On Friday, Yunjin shows up at your apartment. She doesn't knock. She uses the key you gave her freshman year and walks straight into your bedroom, where you've been lying on your bed for the past two hours, staring at the ceiling. "You're coming tonight," she says. You don't look at her. "I'm not going anywhere." "Sunghoon's having a party. Everyone's going to be there." She sits on the edge of your bed, her hand finding your arm. "You need to get out of this apartment. You need to see people. You need to-" "I need to not see them." "Then don't see them. But you can't hide forever." She's right. You hate that she's right.

She pulls out her phone, scrolls for a moment, shows you the screen. A message from Sunghoon in the group chat. Party tonight. Everyone come. No excuses. And then another message, sent a few minutes later. Heeseung said he's coming. He asked if you'll be there. Your heart stutters. You stare at the screen. Three days of silence, and he's asking about you through Sunghoon. Yunjin watches your face. "You don't have to talk to him. But you should go. Get dressed. Dance. Forget about everything for one night." You think about it. About the silence that's been pressing on your chest for three days. About Heeseung's hands, his mouth, the way he said your name. About Jake's voice, cold and sharp, saying maybe you're not worth waiting for. "Fine," you say. "One hour." Yunjin grins. "That's what you always say."

As always the party is already in full swing when you arrive. The music loud enough to feel in your chest, the lights low and golden. You let Yunjin pull you through the crowd, let her put a drink in your hand, let the noise wash over you. For the first time in three days, you feel something other than the weight of everything you've been carrying. You see Heeseung across the room. He's leaning against the wall, a cup in his hand, his jacket unzipped, his hair falling across his forehead. He's talking to Sunoo, but his eyes are scanning the room, looking for something. Looking for you. When he sees you, his face changes. Softens. He excuses himself from Sunoo and starts walking toward you. You could walk away. You could find Yunjin, find Sakura, find anyone who isn't him. You don't. You stand there, your drink in your hand, your heart pounding, and wait.

He stops in front of you. Close enough to touch. His eyes move over your face, your dress, your hands, like he's checking that you're real. "You came," he says. "You asked." He smiles. It's small, real, the smile he only lets you see. "I didn't think you would. After-" You shake your head. "I needed to get out." He nods. He doesn't bring up the locker room, the dorm, the night that's been sitting between you for three days. He just stands there, close enough to touch, and lets the silence be whatever it needs to be. "Drink?" he asks. You hold up your cup. "Already have one." He looks at it, raises an eyebrow. "That's Sunoo's punch. You're braver than I thought." You laugh, and it's the first time you've laughed in days. "It's terrible." "It's always terrible." He takes the cup from your hand, sets it on a nearby table, and offers you his hand. "Dance with me." You look at his hand. At his face. At the boy who's been watching you for four years. "Dance with me," he says again. "Forget about everything. Just for tonight." You take his hand.

He pulls you onto the dance floor. The music is loud, the beat heavy, and he moves with you like he's been waiting for this. His hands find your waist, yours find his shoulders, and for a while, you don't think about anything else. You don't think about Jake. You don't think about the argument. You don't think about the four years of not choosing. He's a good dancer. Not in the careful way Jake is, but in the way that comes from confidence, from knowing exactly what his body can do. His hands move down your back, your hips, pulling you closer, and you let him. "You're staring," he says. "You're worth staring at." He grins. "That's my line." "You've used it enough. I figured I'd borrow it." He pulls you closer, his mouth near your ear. "You look beautiful tonight." Your chest tightens. "Heeseung-" "I just wanted you to know."

The song changes, something slower, and he pulls you against him, your cheek against his chest, his arms around your waist. You can feel his heartbeat, steady and real. "I've missed you," he says quietly. You close your eyes. "I've missed you too." He pulls back after a while. His face is flushed, his hair damp at the temples, his eyes bright. "I need to use the bathroom," he says. "I'll be right back." You nod. He squeezes your hand once, then disappears into the crowd.

You wait. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen. The music plays on, the crowd moves around you, and you stand there, waiting for him to come back. Something doesn't feel right. You push through the crowd toward the hallway where the bathrooms are. The hallway is quieter, the music muffled, the lights dim. You pass the bathroom door empty, the light off. He's not there. You keep walking. Toward the back of the house, toward the rooms you've never been in. You find him at the end of the hallway. He's pressed against the wall, a girl in front of him. Her hands are on his chest. Her mouth is on his. And he's kissing her back. You stop. Your hands go cold. Your chest caves in. You watch his hands slide down her sides. You watch her press closer. You watch him kiss her the way he kissed you, and something inside you breaks.

He pulls back first. He says something to her, something you can't hear. She laughs, runs a hand through his hair, and disappears into one of the rooms. He turns. He sees you. His face goes white. "Y/N-" You don't run. You don't cry. You walk toward him, slow and steady, and stop when you're close enough to see the panic in his eyes. "You said you were going to the bathroom," you say. Your voice is calm. You don't know how. "Y/N, it's not what you think." You laugh. It's hollow, empty. "You were kissing her. I saw you." "She came onto me. I wasn't-" "You were kissing her back." Your voice is rising now. "You were kissing her like you kissed me. Like I meant nothing." "That's not true." He reaches for you. You step back. "Don't touch me." He drops his hand. His face is pale, his eyes wide. "Y/N, please. It didn't mean anything. I was drunk. I wasn't thinking. I-" "Really this is the best excuse you got."

His jaw tightens. "That's not fair." "Not fair?" Your voice cracks. "You asked me to come tonight. You danced with me. You told me you missed me. And then you disappeared to kiss someone else while I was waiting for you." "I told you, it didn't mean anything." "Then what did I mean?" You're shaking now. "Was I just something to pass the time until something better came along?" His face hardens. "You're the one who ran back to Jake. You're the one who never chose. You're the one who-" "I didn't run back to Jake. I was trying to figure out what I wanted." "And what did you figure out?" He steps closer, and his voice is sharp now. "Because from where I'm standing, you don't know what you want. You've never known. And you've been dragging both of us along for four years because you're too scared to make a decision."

The words hit you like a blade. "Heeseung, are you serious right now?" "Yes, I'm serious." His voice is cold. "You like the attention. You like knowing we both want you. That's why you never chose. Because if you chose, you'd have to give something up. And you're too selfish to do that." You stare at him. The boy who brought you coffee. The boy who said you were the best thing that ever happened to him. "I slept with you," you say, your voice breaking. "I trusted you. And you're standing here calling me selfish because I caught you kissing someone else?" For a moment, something flickers in his eyes regret, maybe, or shame. But then it's gone. "You should go," he says. You don't move. You can't. "Go, Y/N." His voice is flat. "Go find Jake. Go run back to him like you always do."

The tears come before you can stop them. Hot and fast, streaming down your face, and you hate that he's seeing this, hate that he's the one making you cry. "Fine," you whisper. "You know what I will go run to Jake." You turn. You walk away. You don't look back.

You make it to the front porch before your legs give out. You sink onto the steps, your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking. The tears won't stop. They keep coming, hot and ugly, and you can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except sit and fall apart. You don't hear the door open. You don't know anyone is there until a jacket settles around your shoulders and a familiar voice says your name. "Y/N." You look up. Jake is kneeling in front of you, his face close, his eyes worried. He's not angry. He's not cold. He's just here. "Hey," he says softly. "Hey, I've got you." You shake your head, try to pull away. "You said I wasn't worth waiting for." He flinches. "I didn't mean it. I was angry. I was hurt. I didn't mean a word of it."

You look at him. His face is open, raw, the way it's always been when it's just the two of you. "He kissed someone else. Heeseung. I saw him. And he said-" Your voice breaks. "He said I'm selfish. He said I like the attention. He said I never choose because I'm too scared to give anything up." Jake's jaw tightens. Something dark passes through his eyes. But he doesn't say anything about Heeseung. He doesn't defend him or attack him. He just looks at you, and his hand finds yours, warm and steady. "He's wrong," he says. "You're not selfish. You're not attention seeking. You're someone who's been hurt, who's been scared, who's been trying to figure out what she wants. And that's okay. That's more than okay." You stare at him. "You really believe that?" "I believe that you're worth waiting for." He squeezes your hand. "I've always believed that. And I'm sorry for what I said. I'm sorry for making you feel like you weren't."

The tears come again, but they're different now. Softer. He pulls you into his arms, his hand on your back, his chin on your head, and you let him hold you. You let yourself be held. "I've got you," he says again. "I'm not going anywhere." You close your eyes. His chest is warm, his arms steady, his heart beating beneath your ear. For the first time in days, you let yourself breathe.

You sit on the steps for a long time, Jake's jacket around your shoulders, his arm around your waist, his hand on your hip. The party noise is muffled behind you, the voices fading into background noise. The night is cool, you're still trying to catch your breath, still trying to stop the tears that keep coming no matter how hard you press your palms to your eyes. Jake doesn't say anything. He doesn't tell you it's going to be okay. He doesn't ask any questions. He just sits beside you, his arm steady around you, his thumb tracing slow circles on your side, waiting.

Your breathing evens out after a while. The tears slow, then stop. You lean into him, your head on his shoulder, and let yourself exist in the quiet. "I'm sorry," you say finally. Your voice is hoarse, raw. "What for?" "For everything. For not telling you about Heeseung. For-" You stop. Your throat tightens. "For making you feel like you were waiting for nothing." He's quiet for a moment. His hand stills on your side. "You didn't make me feel like that," he says. "I said things I didn't mean. I was angry. I was hurt. And I took it out on you. That wasn't fair." "You were right, though." You pull back, look at him. His face is half lit by the porch light, his eyes dark and soft. "I have been running back and forth. I have been scared to choose. I've been so scared of losing one of you that I never let myself have either."

He reaches up, his hand cupping your face, his thumb brushing the tear tracks from your cheek. "You're allowed to be scared. You're allowed to not know what you want. That doesn't make you selfish. That doesn't make you anything except human." You lean into his touch. His palm is warm, his fingers gentle. "I don't want to be scared anymore," you whisper. He looks at you for a long moment. Something shifts in his expression something soft, something careful, something that looks like hope. "Then let me help you forget," he says. You blink. "What?" "Tonight. Forget about Heeseung. Forget about the fight. Forget about everything that happened." His hand slides into your hair, his fingers threading through the strands. "Let me take you somewhere quiet. Somewhere that's just us. And let me remind you that you're worth everything." Your heart pounds. "Jake" He leans in, his forehead touching yours. His breath is warm on your lips. "I'm not asking for anything you're not ready to give. I'm just asking you to let me be here. Let me help you forget." "Okay," you say.

He smiles. The smile that's been yours since the beginning. He stands, pulls you up with him, and his hand finds yours. "My place," he says. "It's closer." You nod. He squeezes your hand once, and you let him lead you off the porch, away from the party, away from Heeseung, away from everything that happened tonight. The night air is cool on your skin, the streets quiet, the campus empty. His hand is warm in yours, his thumb tracing patterns on your palm, and for the first time in days, you let yourself breathe.

The morning after Jake's apartment, you wake up in your own bed. You only remember his hands, his mouth, the way he said your name. You remember the quiet afterwards, his arm around your waist, his breath warm on your neck, the way he held you like he wasn't ready to let go. You stayed until the sun came up. And then you left. Now you're lying in your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together everything that's happened in the past week. Heeseung in the locker room. Jake on the porch. Heeseung's hands, Jake's mouth. The way both of them said your name like it meant something. Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You reach for it without looking. Yunjin: I'm coming over. Don't try to stop me. You don't try to stop her.

She shows up twenty minutes later with coffee and a bag of pastries. She doesn't say anything at first. She just sets the coffee on your nightstand, kicks off her shoes, and climbs into bed beside you. You lie there for a moment, side by side, staring at the ceiling. "I slept with Jake after Sunghoon's party and with Heeseung after his game," you say. She doesn't react. You keep going. "Then Jake found out. He said some things. I said some things. We didn't talk for days." You take a breath. "Then at Sunghoon's most recent party, Heeseung kissed someone else. I saw it. We had a fight. He said I was selfish. He said I like the attention. He said I never choose because I'm too scared to give anything up." Yunjin's hand finds yours. She doesn't say anything. "And then Jake found me on the porch. He took me to his place. And I slept with him again."

The words hang in the air. You wait for her to say something to tell you that you're wrong, that you're making a mistake, that you need to figure out what you want before you hurt everyone including yourself. Instead, she squeezes your hand. "That's a lot," she says. You laugh. It's weak. "That's all you have to say?" "I have a lot to say. I'm just trying to figure out where to start." She turns on her side, facing you. "How do you feel? About both of them?" You think about it. About Heeseung's hands in the locker room, the way he looked at you after the game, the way he said he made that shot for you. About Jake on the porch, his arms around you, the way he said you're worth waiting for. "I don't know," you admit. "I care about both of them. I've cared about both of them for four years. And I keep thinking that if I just had more time, I'd figure it out. But it's been four years, Yunjin. And I still don't know."

She's quiet for a moment. Then "Can I tell you something?" You nod. "When I was trying to figure out what I wanted with Jay, I kept waiting for a sign. Something that would tell me it was the right choice. And I waited so long that I almost missed it. I almost let fear keep me from something that could have been really good." She looks at you. "You're not going to get a sign. You're not going to wake up one day and magically know. You have to choose. And it's going to be scary. And you might make the wrong choice. But not choosing that's a choice too. And it's the one that hurts everyone the most."

You stare at her. "Since when did you get so wise?" She smiles. "Since I spent two years watching you do exactly what I was doing." You laugh, and it's real this time. "What should I do?" "I think you should talk to him. Heeseung. Hear what he has to say." She squeezes your hand. "Not because you have to forgive him. Not because you have to choose him. But because you deserve to know the whole story before you make up your mind."

You think about it. About Heeseung's face in the hallway, the way he said you should go. About the fight, the words that are still echoing in your head. "What if he was right?" you ask. "What if I am selfish? What if I do just like the attention?" Yunjin's face hardens. "He was wrong. He was hurt and he was angry and he said things he shouldn't have said. But that doesn't mean you should let those words live in your head forever." She sits up, swings her legs over the side of the bed. "Talk to him. Hear him out. And then decide what you want." She leaves before you can respond. The door closes behind her, and you're alone again, staring at the ceiling, thinking about her words.

He texts you that afternoon. Can we talk? You stare at the message for a long time. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard. Where? The library steps. Where we always used to meet. I'll wait. You put your phone down. You get dressed. You walk across campus, your hands in your pockets, your heart pounding.

He's sitting on the steps when you arrive. His jacket is unzipped, his hair is messy, and he looks like he hasn't slept. When he sees you, he stands up, and for a moment, neither of you moves. "Thanks for coming," he says. You don't say anything. You sit down on the steps. After a moment, he sits beside you. Not too close. Far enough that you could walk away if you wanted to. "I was wrong," he says. "At the party. Everything I said it was wrong. I was angry. I was hurt. And I took it out on you." You look at him. "You kissed someone else." He flinches. "I know." "After you asked me to come. After you danced with me. After you said you missed me." "I know." His voice cracks. "I don't have an excuse. I was scared. I was-" He stops. Runs a hand through his hair. "I saw you with Jake. At the party before. I saw you dancing with him. And I couldn't stop thinking about it. About you. About him. About what it would be like when you finally chose him." "That doesn't give you the right to kiss someone else." "I know." He turns to look at you. His eyes are red rimmed, his face open in a way you've rarely seen. "I've been in love with you for four years. And I've been watching you with him, watching you not choose, telling myself that if I just waited long enough, you'd see me the way I see you. And then you came to the game. You came to the locker room. You came to my dorm. And I thought-" His voice breaks. "I thought maybe I'd finally won. Maybe you'd finally chosen me."

You don't say anything. You let him talk. "And then I saw you with Jake at the party. The way you looked at him. The way he looked at you. And I realized-" He stops. Swallows. "I realized I was never going to be him. I was never going to be the one you ran to when things got hard. I was never going to be the one who stayed." "You never stayed," you say quietly. "That was the problem. You were always leaving. Always disappearing. Always making me wait while you figured out what you wanted." He looks at you. "Is that what you think?" "That's what you did."

He's quiet for a moment. "I was scared. Every time I get close to you, I get scared. Scared that you'd choose him. Scared that I wasn't good enough. Scared that if I let myself want you too much, I'd lose you. So I pushed. I pulled away. I made excuses. And I hurt you because I was too scared to let myself be hurt." You look at him. At the man who's been running from something he's wanted for four years. "I'm not asking you to forgive me," he says. "I'm not asking you to choose me. I just-I needed you to know before it's too late, before I-." Your throat tightens. "Before you what?" "Nothing, it's nothing dont worry about it." He says voice shaky letting you know it is something to worry about but you don't push.

You look at his hand. At his face. At the years of wanting and waiting and never quite choosing. You take a breath. "I'm glad we were able to talk things out." His hand tightens around yours. "Does that mean-" "It means I'm not going to disappear. It means I'm going to think about what you said. It means-" You stop. Look at him. "It means I'm not going to make a decision right now. I need time." He nods slowly. "I can wait." You pull your hand away. Stand up. He stands with you. "I'm not asking you to wait," you say. He smiles. It's small, sad, real. "I know." You turn. You walk away. You don't look back. But this time, it doesn't feel like an ending.

The weeks after your conversation with Heeseung settle into something you didn't expect. It's not a relationship. It's not a choice. It's not anything you can name. But there's a rhythm now, a balance that wasn't there before. You see Heeseung at practice, watch him from the stands sometimes, let him walk you to class when your schedules align. You see Jake at the dining hall, let him save you a seat, let his hand find yours under the table when no one's looking. Neither of them pushes. Neither of them asks. Neither of them makes you choose. You're not sure if that makes it easier or harder.

"You're doing it again," Yunjin says. You're sitting in her apartment, a textbook open in your lap, your phone face-down on the couch beside you. She's sprawled on the other end, a bag of chips in her hand, watching you with the particular expression she gets when she's about to say something you don't want to hear. "Doing what?" "Staring at nothing. Thinking about them." You look at her. "I'm studying." "You've been on the same page for like an hour." You glance down at your textbook. She's right. You haven't read a single word. Yunjin sets the chips aside, pulls her legs under her. "Talk to me." You close the book. "I don't know what to do." "About which one?" "About both." You lean your head back against the couch, stare at the ceiling. "I keep thinking that if I just had more time, I'd figure it out. But it's been four years, Yunjin."

She's quiet for a bit then says. "Maybe you're not supposed to know. Maybe you're supposed to stop trying to figure it out and just feel." You look at her. "That's very philosophical for someone who spent two years pretending she didn't like Jay." She throws a pillow at you. "I'm trying to help." You catch the pillow, hold it against your chest. "I know. I just don't want to hurt anyone. And I feel like no matter what I do, someone's going to get hurt." She slides closer, her knee bumping yours. "You can't control that. You can only control what you do. And whatever you choose, whatever happens, I'm here. Okay?" You look at her. At the person who's been your anchor for four years. "Okay."

She grins. "Good. Now stop moping. We have a party to get ready for." You blink. "What party?" "Sunghoon's end of semester thing. The big one. Everyone's going to be there." You groan. "Another party?" "This one's different." She's already on her feet, pulling you up. "This is the last one. The final party. The one everyone talks about for years after. You can't miss it." "I'm tired of parties." "You're tired of thinking. That's different."

She pulls you toward her closet, starts flipping through hangers. "You need to let loose. Dance. Drink. Forget about everything for one night. And everyone's going to be there. Jake. Heeseung. The whole group. It's going to be perfect." You lean against the doorframe. "What if I don't want to see them?" "Then don't see them. But you can't hide forever." She pulls out a dress, holds it against you. "Besides, you look hot in this. And if you look hot, you feel hot. And if you feel hot, you stop thinking about stupid boys for five minutes." You look at the dress. It's black, short, the kind of dress you wear when you want to be noticed. The kind of dress you haven't worn in weeks. "Fine," you say. "One hour." She grins. "Ughhhh That's what you always sayyy."

Sunghoon's house is packed as always, the music loud enough to feel in your chest, the lights low and golden. You can hear laughter from every room, see bodies pressed together, catch glimpses of faces you've known for years and faces you've never seen before. Yunjin pulls you through the crowd, her hand tight on your wrist, her energy infectious. She's wearing the dress she bought for tonight, the one she's been saving, and she looks like she's ready to take over the world. "Drink," she says, shoving a cup into your hand. "Sunoo's punch. It's terrible. Drink it anyway." You take a sip. It is terrible. You take another. You let her pull you onto the dance floor, let the music move through you, let yourself forget for a moment that you came here with weights on your chest. Yunjin is laughing, her arms around your neck, her voice loud in your ear, and for the first time in weeks, you let yourself exist in the moment.

You see Jake across the room. He's leaning against the wall, a cup in his hand, watching you with something soft in his eyes. When you catch his gaze, he smiles, small and real, and something in your chest loosens. You see Heeseung on the other side. He's standing with Sunghoon, his favorite leather jacket on , his hair falling across his forehead. He's watching you too, his expression unreadable, but when your eyes meet, he nods. Just once. You look away first.

The night moves on. You dance until your feet hurt. You drink until the edges of the room go soft. You laugh at things that aren't funny, let yourself be pulled from room to room, let the noise and the lights and the bodies press in around you until you forget why you were ever scared. Yunjin finds you in the kitchen, her face flushed, her hair escaping from the clip she's been fighting all night. "Sunghoon's setting up a game," she says, breathless. "What game?" She grins. "Seven minutes in heaven. You're playing." You shake your head. "I'm not playing." "You're playing." She grabs your arm, pulls you toward the living room. "Everyone's playing. It's tradition."

The living room has been transformed. A bottle sits in the center of the floor, surrounded by pillows and cushions, and the hallway leading to the bedrooms is dimly lit, a closet at the end waiting. People are gathered in a circle, sitting on the floor, leaning against walls, cups in hands, faces lit up with anticipation. You see Jake on one side of the circle, Heeseung on the other. They're not looking at each other. They're looking at you. Yunjin pulls you down beside her. Sunghoon is in the center, his phone in his hand, his face serious. "Rules are simple," he announces. "Spin the bottle. Seven minutes in the closet. Whatever happens in there stays in there."

The first spin lands on Sunoo and a girl you don't recognize. They disappear down the hallway, and the room holds its breath. Seven minutes later, they emerge, flushed and laughing, and the circle erupts. The bottle spins again. And again. Each time, two people disappear down the hallway, and the room waits, and the night stretches on. You're watching, not participating, when Sunghoon calls your name. "Your turn." You look at him. "I'm not playing." "You're playing." He's already reaching for the bottle, his fingers wrapping around the glass. "It's your senior year. You can't say no." He spins. The bottle turns. Once. Twice. Three times. It slows, wobbles, stops. Pointing directly at Jake.

The room erupts. Yunjin shoves you forward, and you stumble into the center of the circle. Across from you, Jake is already standing, his face unreadable, his hands in his pockets, his eyes fixed on you. "Seven minutes," Sunghoon announces, pulling out his phone. "Timer starts now." Someone pushes you toward the hallway. Jake follows. The closet door closes behind you, and suddenly it's just the two of you, in the dark, the noise of the party muffled to a distant hum.

The closet is small. There's barely enough room for the two of you, your shoulders touching. Clothes hang above you, jackets and coats that smell like Sunghoon's house, like the parties you've been coming to for four years. For a moment, neither of you moves. "Hi," he says. "Hi." He laughs softly. "This isn't how I pictured our next conversation going." "How did you picture it?" "I don't know. Less... closet." You laugh, and it's nervous, maybe, or something else you don't want to name. "It's very closet." "Very closet." He shifts beside you, his arm brushing yours. "I've been wanting to talk to you. For a while. About what happened at the party. About ya know everything." "You don't have to explain." "I want to." He turns to face you, and even in the dark, you can see his face, the sparkle in his eyes, the openness that's always been there. "I've been in love with you since freshman year. I know you're not ready to hear that. I know you're still figuring things out. But I needed you to know. Before everything changes."

Your heart is pounding. "Jake-" "I'm not asking you to choose. I'm not asking you to be ready. I'm just asking you to let me be here. For as long as you want me." You step closer. He doesn't move. He waits. You kiss him. It's soft. Gentle. The way he's always been. His hands come up to your face, cupping your cheeks, and he kisses you back like he's been waiting for this his whole life. His lips are warm, his hands steady, and for a moment, there's nothing else. No party. No future. No choices. Just him. He pulls back first, his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven. "I don't want to rush you," he breathes. "You're not rushing me." "I don't want to be something you regret." You look at him, his dark eyes, his swollen lips, the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing that matters. "You're not something I regret," you say. "You never have been." He kisses you again, and this time, there's nothing careful about it.

Neither of you hears the timer. The door opens. Light floods in, and you blink, disoriented, your hands still tangled in Jake's hair, his arms still wrapped around your waist. Heeseung is standing in the doorway. His face is unreadable. His hands are clenched at his sides. He looks at you. He looks at Jake. He looks at the way Jake's hands are on your waist, the way your fingers are still in his hair. "Time's up," he says. His voice is flat. You step back. Jake's hands fall away. The hallway is crowded. People are watching. You can feel their eyes on you, waiting to see what happens next. Yunjin is at the front of the crowd, her hand over her mouth. Sunghoon is beside her, his phone still in his hand, the timer long since finished.

Heeseung doesn't move. He just stands there, blocking the door, his eyes fixed on you. "Out," he says. You move to leave. But before you can step past him, his hand shoots out, blocking the door. "Not you," he says. He looks at Jake. "Him." Jake tenses. "Heeseung-" "Out." For a moment, no one moves. Then Jake looks at you, something unreadable in his eyes. And walks away. Heeseung doesn't give you time to process what's happening before he drags you into a room. Little did you know Jake was just a few steps behind.

It's just you and Heeseung, in the room, the noise of the party fading to nothing. He doesn't touch you. He doesn't move. He just stands there, his hand still on the wall behind you, his breathing heavy. "You've been doing this for four years," he says. "Running back and forth. Making us wait. Making us want." "Heeseung-" He turns to face you. His eyes are dark, his jaw tight, his chest heaving. "I've been watching you with him. Watching you not choose. And I told myself it was fine. I told myself I could wait. But I can't keep doing this." "What are you saying?" He steps closer. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him, smell the familiar scent of his jacket, see the pulse beating in his throat. "I'm saying that if you want him, I need you to choose. Not because I think I deserve you. But because I can't keep being the person you come to when you're not sure about him."

Your throat tightens. "I never used you." "I know." His voice is softer now. "I know you didn't. But I've been waiting for four years for you to see me the way I see you. And I don't think you ever will." You stare at him. "Don't say that." "It's the truth." He steps closer, his body nearly touching yours. His hand comes up, his fingers brushing your cheek. You lean into his touch without thinking, your body betraying you, wanting him even when you're not sure you should. "Then stop pretending," you whisper. His eyes darken. His hand slides into your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. "Tell me what you want," he says. You look at him. At the man who's been chasing you for four years. "I want you," you say. "I want both of you." His breath catches. His hand tightens in your hair. "Both of us?" You nod. Your heart is pounding, your chest tight, your body humming with something you've never let yourself want before.

He pulls back, just enough to look at you. Something passes through his eyes, surprise, maybe, or hunger, or something else you can't name. He opens the door of the room. The hallway is empty now, the crowd moved on, the game forgotten. But to your surprise Jake is right outside the door looking like a deer caught in the headlights. "Jake," he calls. His face is guarded, his hands in his pockets, his eyes moving between you and Heeseung. Heeseung looks at Jake, and something passes between them, something that looks like understanding. "She wants both of us," Heeseung says. Jake's eyes widen. He looks at you. "Is that true?" He says stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

You step forward, your hand still in Heeseung's, your eyes on Jake. "I'm tired of choosing," you say. "I'm tired of running back and forth. I'm tired of pretending I don't want what I want." Jake stares at you. His hands drop to his sides. His face is open, raw, the way it only is when it's just the two of you. "And what do you want?" he asks. You look between them. Heeseung on one side, his hand tight around yours, his eyes dark, his chest heaving. Jake on the other, his face soft, his hands reaching for you, his heart in his hands. "I want you," you say. "Both of you. Tonight."

The silence that follows is louder than anything they could have said. Heeseung moves first. He pulls you toward him, his hand cupping your face, his mouth finding yours. He kisses you hard, desperate, like he's been waiting for this his whole life. You kiss him back, your hands fisting in his jacket, pulling him closer. When he pulls back, Jake is there. His hand finds your waist, turning you toward him, and his mouth is on yours, softer, slower, the way he's always been. You're between them. You've always been between them. But this time it's different. Heeseung's hand slides down your back. Jake's hand finds your hip. They're both touching you, both holding you, both looking at you like you're the only thing in the world that matters. Heeseung's lips brush your ear. "You sure about this?" You look at Jake. He nods. You look at Heeseung. His eyes are dark, his breathing uneven, his hand steady on your waist. "I'm sure," you say.

Heeseung looks at Jake. Something passes between them years of competition, of wanting, of waiting. And then Heeseung nods. "You've been thinking about this," he says. His voice is low, rough. "Haven't you?" Your breath catches. "Heeseung-" "Answer me." His hand slides up your throat, giving it a slight squeeze and letting it rest there, his thumb pressed against your pulse. He can feel how fast your heart is beating. He can feel how much you want this. "Yes," you breathe. He smiles. It's not the smile you're used to. It's darker, sharper, the smile of someone who knows exactly what he wants and knows exactly how to get it. He turns you to face him, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs tracing your cheekbones. "Yes what?" "I need words cause once I start there's no going back." "Yes," you say. "I'm sure. I want this. I want both of you so much." His mouth curves into something dangerous. "My good girl."

He kisses you. Hard. Deep. His tongue slides against yours, and his hands are everywhere from your hair, your waist, your hips. He kisses like he's claiming you, and you let him. You arch into him, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. When he pulls back, your head spins. Your chest heaves. You're already breathless. He looks at Jake over your shoulder. "You want to touch her?" Jake's voice is rough. "Yes." "Then touch her." Jake's hands find your waist. His touch is softer than Heeseung's, gentler, but no less hungry. He pulls you back against his chest, his arms wrapping around you, his mouth finding your neck. Heeseung watches. His eyes move over you, over Jake's hands on your body, over the way you lean into his touch. Over the way Jake leans into your touch. "Take off her shirt," Heeseung says. Without hesitation Jake's hands slide under your shirt, pushing it up. He pulls it over your head, and the cool air hits your skin. His hands are warm on your stomach, your ribs, the sides of your breasts. "Her bra," Heeseung says. Jake unhooks it. His fingers are trembling. The bra falls to the floor, and Jake makes a sound behind you something low, something desperate as his hands cup your breasts.

Heeseung steps closer. His hand slides into your hair tugging it to tilt your head back. "You like this? You like the attention? Having both of us touch you?" "Yes, fuck I love It so much." His thumb traces your lower lip. "You're going to be so good for us tonight. Aren't you?" You nod. Your tongue flicks against his thumb. His eyes darken. "Get on the bed," he says. You lie back on the mattress. The sheets are cool against your skin, and the two of them stand at the foot of the bed, watching you. Jake's hands are shaking. Heeseung's are steady. "Jake," Heeseung says. "Her breasts. Seems to need some attention." Jake moves onto the bed, settling beside you. His mouth finds your nipple, and you gasp. His tongue is soft, gentle, the way he always is. He sucks lightly, his hand cupping your other breast, his thumb circling your nipple. Alternating between the two.

Heeseung kneels between your legs. His hands push your thighs apart, and you spread for him without thinking, your body already responding to his touch. "Look at you," he says. "Already so wet like some stupid slut. You've been wanting this, haven't you?" "Mhmm yes, want it so much." His fingers slowly trace your slit, gathering wetness, circling your clit. Your hips buck trying to get more. He presses you back down with his other hand. And lands a smack to your clit making you squirm under him. "Behave, not yet." "We're going to take our time with you pretty girl."

He slides one finger inside you. Then two. Your back arches, and Jake's mouth is on your breast, sucking harder now, his tongue flicking against your nipple. Heeseung's fingers curl inside you, finding the spot that makes your vision blur. "That's it," Heeseung murmurs. "You like that? You like when he plays with your nipples while I finger you?" You can't answer. Your hands grip the sheets. The pressure is building, coiling tight in your belly, and you're so close, so close- He pulls his fingers out. You cry out. The sound is desperate, broken, and Heeseung looks at you with satisfaction in his eyes. "Did you think I was going to let you cum that easily?" "Please," you gasp. "Please, I need- I want-" "Already so fucked out cant even form words huh? Tell me what do you need?" "I need to cum. Please, Heeseung. I'll be good. I'll be so good for you guys. Just let me cum."

He looks at Jake. "Eat her out. Make her taste herself on my fingers." Jake moves down the bed. His hands push your thighs apart, taking a moment to take in how wet you are, before you know it his mouth finds you. His tongue is soft at first, tentative, then firmer, faster, lapping at you like he's been starving. His fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open, and the sound he makes loud yet low, desperate and hungry sends heat flooding through your body. Heeseung is watching. His hand is in his pants, stroking himself, his eyes fixed on your face. Then down to Jake eating you out like a starved man. "She tastes good, doesn't she?" he asks. Jake moans against you sending waves throughout your body. His tongue circles your clit, faster now, and your hips buck against his face. He holds you down, his mouth relentless, his jaw working, and you can feel yourself getting close again, can feel the pressure building.

Heeseung pulls his hand out of his pants. His cock is hard, red and wet with pre cum at the tip begging for attention, he moves up the bed straddling your chest. "You're going to open your mouth for me right princess?" He says. You open your mouth. He slides his cock across your face and lips spreading his pre cum all over than finally into your mouth. The taste of him is warm and salty you moan around him, your tongue working, your lips stretching. His hand tangles in your hair, guiding you, setting the pace. "That's it. Take all of it like a fucking champ." Jake's mouth is still on you, his tongue still working, all while rutting onto the edge of the mattress pants already damp leaving a wet mark. Heeseung's hips are moving fast, pushing deeper into your throat, and you're drowning in sensation of the taste of him, the feel of Jake's tongue, the pressure building stronger in your stomach.

Heeseung pulls out. A strand of saliva connects you to him, and he smears it across your lips. And takes a look at Jakes wrecked state. "Pathetic fucking loser." He says loud enough for Jake to hear and make him let out a high pitched moan. Heeseung diverts his attention back to your flushed face lips parted trying to catch your breath. "I want to cum on your face," he says. "You want that?" "Yes Hee want it so much, please." He strokes himself over you, fast, hard, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on your face. When he cums, it's across your cheeks, your lips, your chin. Hot and thick. You feel it dripping down your skin, and you lick your lips, taste him, swallow. Then open your mouth to show. Heeseung watches you. "My good fucking girl."

He looks at Jake. "She came on your face?" Jake lifts his head. His mouth is slick, his chin wet, his chest heaving. "Not yet." Heeseung's hand finds your clit. You jerk. Your body is oversensitive, trembling, and the pressure is unbearable. "Then make her fucking cum loser." He pushes Jakes head back down holding it down until he's done. His tongue is faster now, harder, and Heeseung's fingers are inside you, curling, pressing, driving you toward the edge. Your hands find their hair Jake's soft strands, Heeseung's thicker ones and you hold on as the pressure builds, as your body tightens, as the world narrows to the feel of them. You cum on Jake's face. Your body arches, your mouth opens, and Heeseung's name tears from your throat. Jake drinks you down, his tongue lapping at you, and Heeseung's fingers work you through it, drawing it out until you're shaking, until you're begging him to stop.

He pulls his fingers out. Licks them clean. Dives his finger back in coating his fingers with your slick. "Open," he says leaving no more for argument. The second you open your mouth he hovers right above it and spits into it than finger fucks your mouth. Heeseung's fingers curl deeper into your mouth, pressing against your tongue, and the sound you make is wet, desperate, muffled around his knuckles. Saliva drips down your chin, pooling in the hollow of your throat, and your eyes water from the stretch, from the way he's holding you open, from the way he's watching you with something dark and satisfied in his expression. "My good little whore," he says. Making u moan against him. "Jake, fuck her dumb." He states

Jake is frozen, absolutely dazed, face flushed in awe at the way you're literally glowing. And watching Heeseung's fingers slide in and out of your mouth. Watching the mess he's making of you. Watching the way you take it. "What? Want me to finger fuck you to or something?" He teases, making himself let out a low chuckle. And Jake a high pitched whimper. "No fucking way" Heeseung says making direct eye contact with Jake. "You like watching?" His voice is low, rough, pitched for Jake's ears. His fingers never stop moving in your mouth. "You want to know what it feels like?" All of a sudden Jake's throat feels dry. His voice comes out strangled. "I-"

Heeseung's fingers slide out of your mouth with a wet pop. He reaches down, his fingers dragging through the mess on your chin, your throat, collecting the wetness on his knuckles from spit, tears and his cum all over you. Then he turns to Jake. He holds his hand out. His fingers are soaked, glistening in the low light. Jake stares at them. His breath catches. His lips part. Heeseung's thumb presses against Jake's lower lip, pulling it down. "Open up." Jake's eyes flutter. His mouth falls open. Heeseung pushes his fingers inside, slowly, watching Jake's face the whole time. Jake's eyes widen. His hands grip the sheets tighter. He makes a sound something between a gasp and a moan and Heeseung's expression shifts, something hungry surfacing. "There," Heeseung breathes. "That's it. Take it little boy." His fingers slide deeper. Jake's eyes close. His mouth works around them, tongue sliding against Heeseung's knuckles, and the sound he makes is low, desperate, muffled.

You watch them, your chest rising and falling, your body still trembling from Heeseung's hands on you. Jake's face is flushed, his lips stretched around Heeseung's fingers, his whole body arched toward him. Making you feel dizzy. Heeseung pulls his fingers out slowly, dragging them across Jake's tongue before letting them slide free. Jake gasps out of breath, his eyes opening, dark and wide. Heeseung looks at his hand, slick with spit, and then he looks at you. His mouth curves. "Liked the show didn't you," he says, his voice low teasing.

Before Jake lets his thoughts consume him he moves over you. His body covers yours, his arms bracketing your head, his hips settling between your legs. His face is wet, his lips swollen, his eyes dark. "You okay?" he asks. His voice is soft, checking. You pull him down, kiss him. You can taste yourself on his lips, taste Heeseung on your own. "Fuck me Jake." He pushes inside you. You're so wet that he slides in easily, and you both moan at the feeling of it him filling you, you clenching around him. He moves slow at first, his hips rocking against yours, his mouth on your neck. "You're so tight," he groans. "So fucking tight."

Heeseung is beside you. His hands find your breasts, playing with your nipples, pinching, rolling, sending sparks of pleasure through your overstimulated body. His mouth finds your ear. "You like that? You like him inside you while I touch you?" "Mmm fuck yeahh." He pinches harder. Your hips buck. Jake groans. Heeseung's hand slides down your stomach, finds your clit. He presses, circles, works you while Jake fucks you, and it's too much, not enough, everything. "I'm close," Jake gasps. "I'm going to-" "Not yet." Heeseung's voice is sharp. "She cums first." Making Jake groan. He presses harder on your clit. His fingers circle faster. Jake's hips drive into you, faster now, losing control, and you can feel yourself climbing, feel the pressure building, feel the edge approaching. "Come on," Heeseung says. "Cum for him. Let him feel you."

You break. Your body clenches around Jake, your hands grip his shoulders, your voice breaks on his name. He follows a moment later, his face buried in your neck, his hips stuttering against yours, his body shuddering. He collapses beside you. His chest heaves. His skin is slick with sweat.

But Heeseung isn't done. He rolls you onto your stomach, pulls your hips up. You feel him behind you, his cock pressing against your entrance, already hard again. "She's done," Jake says. His voice is concerned. "She needs a break." Heeseung looks at you. "You're my good girl you take whatever I give you, right?" You nod your head. Your voice is hoarse. "I want- I need- you- more- give me please." He pushes inside you. You cry out. You're oversensitive, raw, and every nerve is on fire. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady, and he fucks you hard, fast, the way he fucks when he's lost control.

Your body arches. Your hands claw at anything you can get a hold of. He's thick, stretching you, filling you, and the pressure of him inside you makes your eyes roll back. He doesn't wait. He doesn't give you time to adjust. He moves hard, fast, his hips driving into you, his mouth on your neck, his hands gripping your thighs. The sound of it fills the room. Skin slapping against skin. The bed frame hitting the wall. Your moans, his grunts, the wet sounds of him moving inside you. He fucks you like he's been waiting for this, like he's been holding back for years, like every night he spent watching you with Jake is being driven out of him with every thrust. "You feel that?" he says. "You feel how good you are? How perfect you are for this?" Your hands fist the sheets. Your body is shaking, your mind blank, your mouth open. You can't form words. You can only feel.

He reaches around, finds your clit. You sob. It's too much. You can't take it. But he doesn't stop. His fingers work you, his hips drive into you, and the pleasure is so intense it hurts, burns, consumes you. "I can't," you gasp. "I can't, I can't-" "You can." His voice is hard. "You're going to cum for me. You're going to cum so hard you forget your own name." Jake moves closer. His hand finds yours, holds it. His other hand cups your face, turns you toward him. "I've got you," he says. "We've got you." Heeseung's fingers press harder. His hips drive deeper. "Cum on my cock. Show me who you belong to." Was your final straw leading the pressure inside you to break.

You scream and chant both of there names like a mantra. Your body convulses, your vision whites out, and you feel yourself gush around him, soaking the sheets and soaking him your body releasing everything. Heeseung groans, his hips slamming into you one last time, and you feel him cum inside filling u up, the heat of him, the way his body shakes. He pulls out. You collapse onto the bed. Your face is wet. You're not sure if it's tears or spit or cum. You can't move. You can't think. You can only lie there, trembling, while they clean you up. Jake's hands are gentle, wiping your face, your chest, your thighs. Heeseung brings a towel, warm water, cleans the mess between your legs. They turn you over, lift you, change the sheets while you lie there, too spent to help. When they're done, they pull you between them. Jake's arm wraps around your waist. Heeseung's chest is warm against your back. "Too much?" Jake asks. You shake your head. Your voice is barely a whisper. "Perfect." Heeseung presses a kiss to your shoulder. "You did so good baby." Your eyes close. Their hands are on you, gentle now, soothing. Jake's fingers trace patterns on your hip. Heeseung's breath evens out against your neck. The last thing you feel is their arms tightening around you, holding you together as you drift.

The next week is strange. You see them both around campus, but you don't seek them out. You don't text. You don't call, allowing yourself to form your thoughts. You let the days pass, let yourself exist in the space between what happened and what comes next.

Heeseung shows up at your apartment on a random Wednesday. "Can I come in?" he asks. You step aside. He sits on your couch. You sit across from him. The space between you feels like miles. "It started as a bet," he says. "Freshman year. We were drunk. Jay made a joke. It was supposed to be stupid. Something we'd forget about by the next day." You don't say anything. "But then I saw you at the library. You were sitting by the window, and you looked up when I walked in, and you-" He stops. Swallows. "You smiled at me. Like you knew me. Like you'd been waiting for me. And I forgot there was ever a bet."

You look at him. "You never told me." "I was scared." His voice cracks. "I was scared that if you knew how it started, you'd never believe how it ended. I was scared you'd look at me and only see the stupid kid who made a bet, not the person who fell in love with you." He moves to kneel in front of you, his hands finding yours. His fingers are cold, trembling. "I love you," he says. "I've loved you since the first time I saw you. And I've spent four years trying to be someone worth loving back. I know I've messed up. I know I've hurt you. But the bet was never real. Not after the first week. Not after I knew you."

"I love you too," you say. "But I don't know if that's enough." He closes his eyes. His hands tighten around yours. "I'm leaving, I got scouted to play in the major leagues" he says. "At the end of the summer. I'm moving across the country. And I'm not going to ask you to wait." He looks up at you. "I think- I think I need to start over. Somewhere new. Somewhere I'm not the person who made a bet. Somewhere I'm just me." Your throat tightens. "Heeseung-" "I'm not saying goodbye." His voice is rough. "I'm not saying this is the end. But I need to go. I need to figure out who I am when I'm not chasing you. When I'm not waiting. When I'm not hoping."

You don't know what to say. Your chest is too full, your throat too tight. He stands up. He pulls you with him. His hands cup your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. "If it's meant to be," he says, "I'll find my way back. And if it's not-" He stops. Swallows. "If it's not, I need you to know that you were the best thing that ever happened to me. And I'm sorry I was too scared to tell you sooner." He kisses you. Soft. Slow. The way he kissed you in the locker room. He pulls back. He looks at you one more time. And then he walks out the door.

You stand there for a long time after he leaves. Your face is wet. Your hands are shaking. You don't know how long you stand there, in the middle of your apartment, the door closed, the silence pressing in. Your phone buzzes. You don't look at it. It buzzes again. You pick it up. Jake: Can we talk? You stare at the message. Your fingers hover over the keyboard. Come over.

He's at your door in fifteen minutes. He doesn't sit. He stands in the middle of your living room, his hands at his sides, his face open in a way you've never seen. "You know about the bet," he says. You nod. "I should have told you. I should have told you a hundred times. But I was scared. I was scared you'd walk away. I was scared you'd look at me the way you're looking at me now." You don't say anything. You let him talk. "It started as a joke. A stupid, immature joke. And I spent four years trying to make up for it. Trying to be someone worth choosing." He looks at you. "I love you a lot. I've loved you since the first time I saw you. And I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But that bet was never real. Not after I knew you."

"I know," you say. He stares at you. "You know?" "I know it wasn't real. I know it stopped being a bet a long time ago." You step closer. "I'm still angry. I'm still hurt. But I know." His face crumples. His hands find yours, his fingers cold, trembling. "I thought I lost you." "You didn't lose me." "I thought you were going to choose him. Heeseung. I thought-" His voice breaks. You reach up, your hand cupping his face. "I need time. I need to figure out who I am when I'm not being chased. When I'm not being fought over." He nods. His eyes are wet. "I'll wait. I've been waiting for four years. I can wait a little longer." You pull him into your arms. He holds you like he's never letting go. "I love you," he says against your hair. "I've always loved you." You close your eyes. His arms are warm around you, his heart beating against your chest, his breath steady in your ear. "I love you too," you say.

He pulls back, looks at you. "So that means-" "It means I'm not going anywhere. It means I'm going to take some time to figure out what I want. And when I'm ready-" You stop. Look at him. "When I'm ready, I want it to be you." He kisses you. Soft. Gentle. The way he's always been. When he pulls back, he's smiling. It's the smile that's been yours since the beginning.

Graduation comes faster than you expect. The ceremony is long and hot, the speeches predictable, the crowd a sea of caps and gowns. Yunjin cries during the address. Sakura pretends she isn't crying too. Chae takes approximately seven thousand photos. Jake is in the row ahead of you. He turns around when your name is called, his smile wide, his eyes bright. You walk across the stage, diploma in hand, and when you sit back down, his hand finds yours.

After the ceremony, everyone gathers on the lawn outside the auditorium. The whole group is there, Yunjin with her arm looped through Jay's, Sakura and Chae are taking photos with Sunoo. Sunghoon is trying to get everyone organized for a group picture, which is proving impossible. Jungwon is laughing at something Ni-ki said. Heeseung is standing with his family nearby, his cap already off, his gown unzipped. You find him after a moment. He sees you coming and excuses himself from his parents. "Congratulations," you say. "You too." He shrugs. "I just threw a ball through a hoop. You, on the other hand, did something impressive." You laugh. "You're ridiculous." "You've mentioned that."

Jake appears beside you. His hand finds your waist. Heeseung looks at him, and for a moment, neither of them says anything. Then Heeseung smiles. "Take care of her." "I plan to." "She's stubborn. She doesn't eat when she's stressed. She pretends she's fine when she's not. You have to watch for that." Jake nods. "I know." Heeseung looks at you. "And you stop pretending you have it all figured out. No one does. That's the secret." You laugh, and it's real, and it hurts, and it's exactly what you needed. "I'm going to miss you," you say. "I'm going to miss you too." He pulls you into a hug, quick and tight.

When he pulls back, his eyes are wet. "Don't let him be boring. He has a tendency." Jake rolls his eyes. "I'm standing right here." "I know." Heeseung grins. "That's the point."

They look at each other. Four years of competition, of wanting, of waiting. And now, this. "When you're on TV," Jake says, "I'm going to tell everyone I knew you before you were famous." "I'm going to deny it." "I'm going to ask you for money." "I'm going to block your number." They laugh. You laugh too. And for a moment, it feels like everything is exactly the way it's supposed to be.

Sunghoon finally gets everyone organized for a group photo. The whole crew gathers on the steps of the auditorium. Yunjin and Jay, Sakura and Chae, Sunoo and Sunghoon, Jungwon and Ni-ki, you and Jake, and Heeseung, who's stayed even though he already took photos with his family. "Everyone squeeze in," Sunghoon calls, setting up his phone on a tripod. "Ni-ki, stop messing with Jungwon." "I'm just fixing his shirt god fricking forbid." "You're messing it up." The timer counts down. Three. Two. One. The photo captures everyone mid-laugh, mid-argument, mid-moment. It's messy and imperfect and exactly right.

After the photo, people start to drift. Sunghoon is already planning the after party. Yunjin is dragging Jay toward the parking lot. Sakura and Chae are arguing about where to go for food. Sunoo is trying to get everyone's drink orders. You're standing with Jake and Heeseung, the three of you off to the side, watching the chaos. "One more," someone says. You turn. It's Jungwon, holding up his phone. "One more photo. For old times." You laugh. You pull Jake closer. Heeseung steps in on your other side. Jungwon lifts his phone, and Ni-ki appears beside him, leaning into the frame. "Three, two-"

"Wait," Ni-ki says. He's not looking at the camera. He's looking across the lawn, at a girl standing near the fountain, holding what looked like her brother's cap while taking pictures for him. "Who's that?" Jungwon follows his gaze. His phone lowers. "I don't know. I've never seen her before." "Me neither." Ni-ki tilts his head. "She's cute." Jungwon looks at her. "She's really cute." They stand there for a moment, both of them watching her, both of them forgetting about the photo.

Jay appears beside them, Sunghoon trailing behind. "What are you two staring at?" Ni-ki nods toward the girl. "Her." Jay looks. He looks at Sunghoon. Sunghoon looks at Jay. A slow grin spreads across Jay's face. "Oh no," Sunghoon says. "What?" Jungwon looks between them. "What is it?" "Nothing." Jay's grin widens. "I've just seen this before." Sunghoon shakes his head, laughing. "Not again." "Not again what?" Ni-ki asks.

Jay puts an arm around each of them. "Let me tell you a story. About a bet. About two guys who thought they knew what they wanted. About four years of chasing and fighting and messing everything up." Jungwon and Ni-ki look at each other. They look at the girl by the fountain. "Here's the thing," Jay says. "That bet? Neither of them won. Not really. But they both ended up exactly where they were supposed to be." Ni-ki looks at the girl again. She's laughing at something, her head thrown back, now posing for pictures. "So what you're saying is-" "I'm saying be careful." Jay's voice is lighter now, teasing. "That girl? She might be trouble." Jungwon grins. "We like trouble." Sunghoon groans. "Oh my gosh here we go again."

They're still talking when you turn away, your hand in Jake's, Heeseung walking beside you. The afternoon sun is warm, the campus spread out before you, the future waiting somewhere beyond the gates. "You think they'll figure it out?" Heeseung asks, nodding toward the younger boys. You look back. Jungwon and Ni-ki are already walking toward the fountain, already finding their way toward something new. "I think," you say, "they're about to find out." Jake squeezes your hand. "Let's go home." You walk together, the three of you, out of the campus, out of the years you've spent here, into whatever comes next.

a/n: omgg if u made it this far tysm for reading I hope u enjoyed the fic and will enjoy my future works. no frl tho thank u if u made it this far ily

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