➥ SKZerton, Foes to Paramours (lol), Opposites Attract
➥ Contains: "Extra! Extra! Entitled Victorian Fuckboy Drinks Humble Juice, Entire Clarendon Is Shook", danger of slipping due to Hyunjin being super smooth, Hyunjin's dick and ego having a death match as to which is monstrously bigger, masculinity that's more fragile than Lady Chaerin's china collection, introduction to Hwang men being whipped for women beneath their station
⚠ — (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here. See masterlist for more): Corruption fetishism
➥ On Hyunjin's first night back in Clarendon, the Hwang brothers go out for an allegedly unforgettable night, but the woman who pretends to be a courtesan ruins everything.
*a/n: Happy belated Valentine's and a BIG happy birdday to our Global Hwanger HQ CEO @straywrds ^^
𝙰𝚄𝙳𝙰𝙲𝙸𝚃𝚈
“Minji, make haste! He shall be here any moment.”
The Hwang Estate wasn’t the only place buzzing with excitement that evening. The entire Clarendon got wind of the golden Hwang son’s return home, and were probably kicking their feet somewhere—the gentlemen because the legend of merrymaking was finally back in town, and the ladies because they would finally get to ogle high society’s favorite bachelor this season.
No, his reputation as a premium quality rake did not take anything away from the anticipation; why’d you ask?
Ask anyone, and they would all give you an endless string of buts in response. He juggled ladies’ hearts as skillfully as he played polo, but they all felt lucky to be the object of his affections, no matter how ephemeral. He was the guest of honor at Madame Gabriella’s, but he was a young man with needs; what was wrong with that? The number of bodies he touched in Clarendon alone was outrageous, but they were the ones lining up for him, and no one was complaining. In fact, that roster harbored some names held in such high regard that if these torrid affairs were to see the light of day, half the marriage mart would have to bid their prospects goodbye.
But no one had it in them to say no to Hwang Hyunjin.
He just had this magnetic charm to him that rendered him absolutely irresistible, and even though everyone and their mamas knew that this handsome devil of the first water had no intentions of ever taking a wife, walking down the aisle with him waiting for them at the end of it was still every young lady’s—perhaps secretly even a few dowagers’—favorite daydream.
Well, he was at least gentleman enough to leave virgin hymens intact, so… Some foul, but no noteworthy harm.
“Hyunjin, dearest, welcome home!”
Who would ever tire of being welcomed like royalty everywhere they went? Well-liked by his family, well-liked by his peers, well-liked by the ladies he had a bit of a weakness for… Of course it would antagonize every gentleman who had to compete with him season after season when he wasn’t even participating! Spoiled brat, nothing but a handsome face, accustomed to getting everything he pointed at just because his last name was Hwang… Fucking devil of the first water.
Whereas few things in life made Hyunjin feel as alive as watching people choke on their viscous jealousy.
“I have missed you all terribly. Heavens, Nari, you have grown so much!”
“Me! What about me?”
“What on earth is Minji feeding you, Jinseok?” Hyunjin feigned shock, looking his younger brother up and down. “You look old enough to go to taverns with us!”
“To the table this instant,” Chaerin linked her arm with her son’s. “Minji had a feast prepared with all your favorites!”
The Hwangs sat down to enjoy supper as a complete set of nine after what felt like a lifetime, and that commotion could probably be heard all the way from the palace. Laughter, loud bickering, fight over Minji’s famous thyme bread still ongoing after two decades, family news, Minjae’s scotchmaking, Yerin’s pregnancy with her second, Jaehyun’s scholarship, Hyunjin’s travels, Rina and Nari’s looming society debuts, Jinseok’s boarding school, and much Clarendon gossip… There was so much to catch up with that if it weren’t for the knock on the door, no one would notice they had been at that table for a full three hours.
“Young Master Hyunjin has callers, my lady.”
“Do you have to go frolicking on your very first night back?” Chaerin protested, reluctant to share the apple of her eye so soon.
“Let him be, dear,” Hwang Sr. came to his genetic copy’s rescue, winking at him playfully. “The lads must have a lot to catch up on, as well.”
“Seungjae!”
“We shan’t be terribly late,” the oldest Minjae placed a kiss on his mother’s head. “Delightful evening, family.”
“It’s the first night!” Chaerin’s voice echoed behind them as the three brothers threw themselves outside.
A small crowd of young men, who happened to be some of the finest, most genteel, and well-educated bachelors of the town, were waiting for them by the carriages lined up back-to-back. When they finally caught sight of the crown jewel of Clarendon nights, however, they all turned into a bunch of scoundrels born and bred in Magnolia Alley, cheerily greeting their partner in debauched crimes with hard smacks on his back.
“Welcome back, fucking rakemeister!”
“This better be as glorious as I’ve pictured it to be, or I’m leaving first thing in the morning,” Hyunjin declared, not even half-jokingly.
“Trust, brother, you won’t forget tonight anytime soon,” Jaehyun reassured him with a knowing smile, then called out to the coachman. “Magnolia Alley, please.”
Until tonight, you had only heard about this place in cautionary tales. Ooh, beware of the magsmen. Ooh, always keep your valuables on your person and under your corset. Ooh, do not touch anyone if you don’t wish to get the warts.
What a load of horseshit…
Maybe it was an alley once upon a time, but at present it was a street so long that you couldn’t see where it ended. The entire place looked like a lively fair, flooded with playful lantern lights and the loudest, most heartfelt laughter that ever blessed your ears. A ten-second walk, and you were already convinced the residents of this neighborhood didn’t know what sorrow meant, or the fact that it existed.
This was the place you should exercise, quote, extreme caution?
Well, maybe just a little bit because the shabby building you were standing in front of did not exactly promise to be the safest haven in Clarendon. You carefully crossed the entryway, looking around for a sign of life.
Oh, there was life, alright.
Some muffled murmur was leaking through the cracks of the heavy, wooden door ahead, telling on the drunken festivities taking place beyond it. To your right was a fireplace, and a woman was cross-stitching in front of it like a lazy cat. She didn’t seem bothered by the sounds of revelry in the slightest, either because she couldn’t hear very well or because she was used to it. Heck, maybe she was indulging from time to time herself. Maybe she had even invented it—she looked so old that it was as if she had always been on that couch, and one day someone just decided to erect a building around her.
“Excuse me,” you approached the woman. “I’m looking for Madame Gabriella. Are you, by any chance…?”
She slowly raised her head and adjusted her pince-nez, looking you up and down.
“Oh, dear sweet girl, you’re not from here, are you?” she eventually spoke, her eyes filled with something akin to pity.
“Is it... really that obvious?” you instinctively wrapped your shawl tighter around yourself.
“Only the gentlemen making her rich call her madame,” she snickered knowingly but affably. “To everyone else around here, she’s just Gabby.”
“Ah, at long last! I was getting worried you might have encountered some magsmen, my dear!”
Another woman came down the stairs like a hurricane, knocking the wind out of you. She had to be a descendant of some goddess, or at the very least a lady in disguise, because that kind of beauty simply could not belong to a no-name commoner, much less in a place like Magnolia Alley. It wouldn’t come as a shock to you if she were the bespoke muse of the astray spirits in town, effortlessly walking around like a boudoir painting in the flesh, having sonnets written, busts sculpted, symphonies composed after her to immortalize her grace. The way she carried herself was anything but sordid, and she seemed to have such a kind heart, welcoming you with a warm hug even though you didn’t know each other at all.
“You’re coming from the Kim Estate, yes?”
“Y–Yes! Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” you collected your jaw from the floor and slightly bowed to who you assumed to be just Gabby, even though nothing about this woman was “just” anything.
“My acq— Please, this is not a débutante house,” she smiled through her furrowed brows. “Do I look like a dowager to you?”
“N–NO! It’s… It’s uh… T–The Kims were quite particular about their aides’ decorum,” you gave the synopsis of your military precision days, staring at the tip of your shoes. “Force of habit, my lady.”
“One that has no intention of dying hard, I presume,” she observed, then sternly declared, “but I will smack you with pillows if you keep talking like that. I’m just Gabby, okay?”
“Yes, my la— G–Gabby!”
“Such beauty,” she lifted your chin up, adoringly examining your features. “Pity you didn’t come to me for work. That face would make both of us richer than the Duke of Luneborough.”
“That’s… most kind of you. I think,” you hesitantly accepted her compliment, your cheeks slightly burning.
“Come. I’ll show you to your room.”
“I–I have a room?”
“Why, of course. Did you think you were going to sleep on the curb, dear?” Gabriella giggled coquettishly.
Dragging your trunk behind, you followed her upstairs, eagerly inspecting every single thing on the way. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but something about this place was giving you the tingles. Ideaphoria was spiking the long-stagnant waters of your imagination, making you hallucinate a thousand different stills to illustrate. A table with a lavish spread. Fine gentlemen and beautiful ladies satiating themselves around it. No formal ballroom, just an intimate gathering. Perhaps a forbidden one that shouldn’t even occur in the first place. Slightly inebriated suppressed laughter. Outrageous whispers exchanged. In a cozy, red room. With the finest red wine. In seductive red dresses. But always red. All red. Just red.
Everything about this place screamed sin, and you were oh so tempted to commit a bunch just by breathing in the air here.
On the second floor, the hallway was lined with several rooms on each side, and at the very end was a single, big door, reminiscent of a royal’s bedchambers. Through the open doors, you could see a few people cleaning, dusting, changing bedsheets, and fluffing the pillows like they were preparing to host some esteemed guests. From the entryway, you had the impression that this place was a tavern of sorts, but maybe it also doubled as an inn. Or maybe something more… scandalous?
Did your red-stained hallucinations have merit to them after all?
“Here we are. Home sweet home,” Gabriella opened one of the doors. “It’s not much, but at least I can promise that the beds are quite comfortable.”
The gigantic four-poster in the middle of the room, the stunningly inlaid chest of drawers, the ornate lace curtains dancing with the night breeze, and the huge windows overlooking the vespertine beauty of Clarendon…
…was not much?!
“This must be the most beautiful room on the face of the earth,” you gawked at everything your eyes could perceive.
“Oh, please,” she couldn’t help but chuckle at your aghast reaction. “Come downstairs when you wish to eat, okay? Lottie will fix you something.”
Just as she was about to leave, you suddenly called after her as if someone pinched you.
“Gabby!”
“Hm?”
“Thank you,” you slightly bowed at her. “I really am most grateful.”
She took a few steps back in and placed her hands on your shoulders. “Do not even mention it. Your head butler was like a father to me.” Then compassionately caressed your cheeks just like an older sister would. “You are always welcome here, and you can stay as long as you want, okay? And if there is anything I can help you with—”
“Actually…”
“Well, that was fast,” she burst into hearty laughter. “Do tell, my dear.”
“Oh, not a favor! It’s information I’m looking for,” you immediately explained yourself, terrified of being more of a burden for your beautiful savior. “Do you happen to know where Rain Street is?”
“Rain Street?” she furrowed her brows. “The snotty place the society gentlemen go to pretend they are cultured?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know, but… I need to be there tonight.”
Gabriella saw the way your expression was uncontrollably changing—you were clearly trying to keep a straight face, and knowing way too much about matters of the heart and body, she just knew it was something heart-fluttering pulling the corners of your mouth in the opposite direction.
“Are you meeting someone important by any chance?” she nudged you knowingly, deliberately emphasizing the object of her sentence.
“Maybe,” you answered, your eyes still averted but no longer holding back your smile.
“That’s more like it. Look how much smiling suits you,” she pinched your cheek. “There is a print house with a green door by the square. It’s the street to its right. You can’t miss it.”
Once Gabriella closed the door behind her, you stood by the bed, opened your arms, and let yourself fall on the mattress, in complete disbelief of your reality. You had made it to the land far far away, at least away enough from the Parks and close enough to Rain Street. You grabbed a pillow from behind you and buried your head in it, squealing at the top of your lungs and kicking your feet out of pure joy. When you sufficiently calmed down, you asked Lottie to point you to the direction of the lavatory, washed the dusty roads off of yourself, scoured your trunk for decent enough attire, and after neatly organizing the stack of papers in your leather binder, you finally left your room.
Downstairs, the sounds beyond the wooden door had grown even louder, loud enough to land a tiny spark on your highly flammable curiosity and make it catch on fire. Your feet carried you to the door on their own, and you watched yourself open it the tiniest measure, just enough to peek through.
Maybe your visions earlier were actually premonitions because everything inside was in the shades of dark red, embellished with ample amounts of gold—the thick drapes, the large booths, even the drinks in crystal glasses… Beautiful ladies with very deep necklines were hand-feeding the gentlemen they were tending to, giggling at the words whispered into their ears, letting their patrons caress, kiss, even fondle them to their hearts’ content. Gabriella was in there, too, shining amongst a small crowd of fifteenish people, but her thing looked a little different than the rest. The gentleman she was in the embrace of seemed genuinely enamored with her, playing with her silky waterfall hair, unable to open his eyes when he kissed her bare shoulders. Just as you were wondering whether he was legitimately courting her, your answer was handed to you.
“Minjae, stop it…” Gabriella bit into her smile.
“Why, my love? Is this not how you like it?”
“Is this how the Hwang heir should behave?”
“Is this how you should talk to your man? I love you, you hear me?” The man suddenly raised his voice and drunkenly yelled at the room. “I FUCKING LOVE THIS WOMAN!!!”
A roar of laughter erupted in the smoke-veiled room, and this Minjae pulled her close, kissing the life out of her. While you were endeared by what you were witnessing, you also felt the burn of a few drops of envy. All these ladies were so free, so liberated, living their lives entertaining these gentlemen, and not feeling a shred of shame for it. In fact, they all seemed to quite enjoy how they earned their bread. Though some of them were luckier than the others because Gabriella’s table was chock full of impossibly good-looking men as if they were handpicked. Maybe they were, who knows?
Leaving them to bask in their revelry, you walked into the chilly night.
Truth be told, Gabriella was onto something because you were on your way to meet the love of your life, too. Not a courtship prospect, per se.
Something with a capital A.
Years ago, while secretly reading a newspaper, you had seen an ad printed in microscopically small letters, announcing a renowned arthouse in Clarendon was accepting students for its correspondence classes free of charge. As a stick-on-dirt chalk-on-concrete doodler of many years, of course you would jump at the opportunity. Learning how to shade an apple realistically, just like in the huge encyclopedias in the library? Being able to draw someone as if their face were imprinted on the paper?
GOOD LORD!
But you had to do it in complete secret because you had no intention of letting the one nice thing in your life get confiscated from you.
You spent years corresponding with what was akin to an imaginary friend. You had no idea what it looked like. A girl? A boy? A wise mage? An ethereal being entirely made of light? The letters came directly from the arthouse without a personal signature, so your friend didn’t even have a proper name. It never occurred to you to ask, and after a certain point, you were simply too embarrassed to ask because that would be rude. You needn’t hurt the only person who seemed to care for you. As banal as it was, you decided to name your friend Artie.
And tonight was the night you were finally going to put a face to the name.
Once you reached the square, you really couldn’t miss it—the bright green door of the print house stuck out like a sore thumb among the dark greys of concrete and muted colors of levelheaded prestige, literally pointing you to where you needed to go. Your heart was about to crack your ribcage open when you saw the sign that read “Rain Street”. Less than ten steps into the narrow road, and you were actually standing before the residence of the friend that kept you silent company all these years.
You took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The gentle sound of the bell alerted the residents that someone had entered the building, but it was dead quiet inside, not a soul in your line of sight. You followed the hallway to the right leading to a large room, and just one glance told you that you were indeed at the correct address. There were easels arranged around a circular podium, each canvas housing an unfinished story. Soft petals, a jar of honey, a woman smoking a pipe… You wondered if these were subjects witnessed in this very room or just a figment of the brush-holder’s imagination. But in any case… In any case… The beauty. The sheer, magnificent beauty of each stroke. The boldness of the palettes. The unadulterated emotion stuffed into—
“May I help you?”
“JESUS CH—!”
Your binder jumped out of your hands and dove into the ground with a loud thud as you clutched your chest. A woman clad in a black dress was standing behind you, but she was less a débutante wishing to attract well-off heirs, and more a warrior princess who wouldn’t hesitate to kill for her people. Her eyes were a color you had never seen in your life—a fascinating mix of green, hazel, and grey that strikingly contrasted her supple olive skin, piercing holes into your soul.
Just what was in the water of Clarendon that turned women into goddesses here?!
“G–Good evening. I was um… Er erhm, I was looking for the master I was corresponding with?” you picked up your binder and dusted off your skirt. “I have been learning from this house for quite a while. I wished to show my work in person.”
“You’re the student?!” she suddenly raised her voice, breaking into the most pleasantly surprised smile. “It is such a pleasure! And, well, relief that ghosts from the ether weren’t writing to us.” She extended her hand to you like a peer and introduced herself, “My name is Vi. I am the head artist here.”
This woman was Artie?!
“It’s an honor!” you folded your body in half instead of shaking her hand. “You have no idea, NO idea what you have done for me. There was no way I could express it with words, so I came here to show you instead. Would you please take a look?”
She eagerly nodded and took your binder from you, going through the pages one by one. The earliest apples you were trying to draw were multiplying in consecutive pages. Three apples on a single page. Five. Seven. Some smaller but more accurate, some larger but with better light. Then a few flowers, a vase, the flowers in the vase, a small hill in the distance, the crescent moon through a window… Then a hand, a bare shoulder, a nose and a pair of glistening lips, a pair of eyes and nothing else, a few locks of hair in the wind, an open collar, sleeves rolled up…
All of which waiting to be connected to a single body and made whole.
“I am tremendously proud of your progress. Your potential is immense,” Vi spoke in a soft voice, her eyes a little misty. “Have you considered doing more than charcoal?”
“Actually…” you wriggled in your place. “I know this might be too much to ask, but… but I simply have to ask.”
“Yes?”
“I live in Clarendon now. I… I arrived today, actually,” you sheepishly smiled. “I was wondering if I could attend your classes in person?”
Her face fell so visibly that she didn’t even need to say anything. You instantly knew that was a no.
“I terribly wish I could say yes,” she answered, looking crestfallen, “but if you’re here in person, they will charge you. I have no say on the matter.”
“Oh, I… I understand,” you nodded, smiling through your disappointment. “I knew it was quite far-fetched. As I said, I just wanted to show you my work.”
“Vi, your girl is not coming tonight,” a man called out from the door.
“THIS is the notice I get?!” a lioness roar ripped from her throat, slightly scaring you.
“Is everything okay, my lady?” you asked in a tiny voice.
“These spoiled society girls, I swear…” she sighed, fuming out of her nose. “They always make promises on a whim, but when they no longer feel like it, they suddenly change their minds. It’s not like we have a business to conduct here; we mere mortals simply exist as a backdrop to their world!”
“So be it. The only thing that doesn’t have a remedy is death, my lady,” you held her hands and gave them a firm squeeze, confusing her as to why you looked so chirpy. “Do you need help with something? I’m quite strong and I can handle a lot of labor.”
Vi creased her brows and looked you up and down, twirling you around as if to examine the fit of your dress.
“I have a proposal for you,” she started with a smirk. “In exchange for classes, would you be up t—?”
“YES!”
“You didn’t even let me finish!”
“As long as you let me be here, whatever it is, yes,” you fervently nodded. “I will cook. I will clean. I will punch drunken people back to sobriety. I will—”
“You will have to model for nude studies.”
“Oh,” your galloping thoughts came to an abrupt halt. “How–How nude are we talking about?”
“Sometimes partially, sometimes almost fully, but I would pose you appropriately so your modesty is concealed,” she held your hand and made you sit on the podium, trying a few poses already. “If it eases your mind at all, half of our artists are women, and everyone comes here genuinely wishing to study. Should anything untoward happen, we would remove the culprits immediately, but you will be pleased to know that reprimands have never been necessary. This is a respectable arthouse for respectable people.”
Think. THINK!
It wasn’t like she was asking you to sell yourself to her. It was your teacher, the only thing akin to a friend you ever had asking for a favor, and even though the genteel folk would disagree, you still thought artistic pursuit to be a noble cause.
But stripping bare for strangers when no one had seen you like this before…
“Does it… Does it have to be tonight?”
“Of course not. We can reschedule it,” she chirped, then added in a serious tone, “but I implore you not to agree to something that makes you uneasy.”
“I would just sit here, yes? And nothing else?”
“Yes, you would just sit. It shall be quite boring actually,” she snorted.
“And you will teach me everything you know in exchange?”
“Let’s start with walks before we can run, but yes,” she approvingly nodded, “I shall help you catch up.”
“THANK YOU!” you threw yourself at her, holding her in the tightest embrace, and Vi responded with ear-tickling warm laughter.
How about that? Maybe this was life’s way of making it up to you for a lifetime’s worth of loneliness. By giving you not one but two sisters in a single day.
When you returned to Gabriella’s, you were floating on air, pressing your binder harder into your chest as you climbed the stairs. It was as if you were coming back from seeing a paramour you were madly in love with—butterflies were flapping their tiny wings all over your body, rendering you unable to stop stupidly smiling to yourself, and you wanted to squeal into your pillow again, even louder this time. As the night deepened, Magnolia Alley was only growing louder, having no intention of retiring to rest, but you didn’t care. That wasn’t noise; that was the lullaby of happiness, good times, and fulfillment about to rock you to sleep, and honestly? No other song would suit tonight better.
“Yes. Oh, yes! Suck harder…”
Um…
You froze in the middle of the hallway, turning your head to the door’s direction. Did you perhaps accidentally inhale some hallucinogens from the smoke downstairs, because…? But you heard it. It may have been just a few words, but you could feel your entire face ablaze—your ears, your cheeks, your nape, even inside your nostrils…
You knew perfectly well how wrong it was, but in your defense, your highly flammable curiosity had been quietly burning since earlier tonight, about to turn into ashes, and you had never been this close to people… being intimate. You just had to know what was happening in there. What they were saying to each other. How one would love another in the rawest way possible.
You carefully approached the door and pressed your ear against it.
“Almost. I’m almost— Jaehyun, you’re driving me crazy!”
“Mm, a whore’s cunt tastes a lot sweeter for some reason, you know?” a man’s giggles hit your ears, followed by disgraceful slurping sounds. “I think I prefer women over girls.”
“Jaehyun…”
“I love that you know how to fuck me just right.”
“Jaehyun…”
“I fucking love that you never hold back with me, darling. Cum for me. I’m dying to fuck you.”
“JAEH—!”
Jesus CHRIST!
You didn’t even realize your hand was covering your mouth, either to not make a noise or because you were scandalized out of your mind. Listening to this woman growling like a wounded animal, the wet sounds, the hard panting, your heart was beating like crazy, on the verge of giving out. Tingling sensations were spreading all over your body right from your core, and if you just pressed your fingers between your legs… If you caressed yourself just a little bit… Maybe… Just maybe…
Your unholy thoughts were cut short when you heard footsteps climbing the stairs. You immediately dashed to your room at the end of the hall, slamming the door close and resting your back against it, trying to catch your breath with your eyes closed. You were worldlessly chastising yourself what you had just done, but you actually deserved a slap on the face. Were you fucking crazy? Since when were you eavesdropping on people’s private business like a neighborhood girl with nothing better to do?
But… But it felt so… It felt so…
“Finally. I was starting to get bored.”
You would have certainly appreciated it if Gabriella marked these identical doors with a distinguisher, then you wouldn’t have ended up in a stranger’s room in a panic fit. When you opened your eyes and faced the owner of that deep, velvet voice, your knees almost gave way, but it had nothing to do with fear.
The things god created in her free time were astounding. Like her favorite children, for example.
A young man was sitting on the couch, jacket tossed aside, collar loose, sleeves rolled up, wavy hair tousled, running his long fingers on the rim of his scotch glass. For someone bored to tears, he looked a bit too scrumptious. He was clearly expecting a courtesan here, and this would have been the ideal time to tell him you weren’t one.
It may have been the residual tingles of earlier, or just his unbelievable beauty that rendered you completely insane, but you found yourself leaning into whatever the heck this was supposed to be.
“You were… waiting for me long, my lord?”
“It had been a while, yes,” he heaved a sigh. “I shall only hope that was for a pleasant surprise?”
“Why, of course.”
WHAT SURPRISE? Your nonexistent improvisation skills were miserably failing you. You had already forgotten every word you knew, and your head was a complete blank slate, perfect to sketch this blasé prince’s face on and kiss it before you go to bed tonight.
Or do other things to relieve yourself if you were to stand in his presence for too long.
“Approach,” he instructed you.
You left your binder on the small table by the door and walked to him, completely hypnotized. One arm resting on the backrest of the couch, one ankle resting on his knee, his eyes were gliding all over your body. He was just looking, but you felt fondled everywhere, utterly clueless as to why you loved it that much.
Were there…? By any chance…? Inside you…? That you had no idea of…?
As you stood right before him, he finished his drink and reached for your hand, pulling you down to sit next to him.
“Did your mistress tell you this was my favorite color?” he kissed your fingers softly.
“I just made a sophisticated guess, my lord,” you answered, fixing the skirt of your burgundy dress and trying your hardest not to pass out.
“Sophisticated guess?” he narrowed his eyes. “Based on what?”
“That,” you pointed at his discarded jacket. “I saw you downstairs. You seemed like you would get a kick out of it if we matched.”
“You deduced that simply by looking at me from a few meters away?”
“This is not your first night here, correct?”
“My brothers and I are quite the esteemed patrons, actually.”
“Which means you knew of the color palette of the interiors, and I’m pretty sure you are aware your attire makes you look like you own the place.”
He seemed content, no, absolutely delighted by your unexpected answer, his lips curling into the most seductive smile. And the more you entertained him… the more you had this urge bubbling up inside you, telling you to entertain him more. Do it more.
A lot more.
“I like you,” he emphatically declared, licking his lips not so discreetly.
The wet sounds from earlier immediately echoed in your head, and you unwittingly pressed your legs together. If you were in this burgundy prince’s bed, if that criminally gorgeous face was between your legs, would he think you tasted sweet? Would he call you sweet nothings? Would he tell you to cum hard for him?
Was he dying to fuck you, too?
“What surprises do you have for me then?” he asked, hungry anticipation dripping from each word he uttered. “Do I get to spectate you being pleasured, by any chance?”
Ha! Of course this was what you would get for imagining chaste-adjacent delusions about a gatekeeper of hell. So these were the kind of things he was into. Licentious. Salacious. Crudely voluptuous.
“Well, I haven’t invited anybody,” you responded.
“There must be a mistake. I was told this would be a party of four.”
CRAP!
Obviously you couldn’t have calculated that there were already arrangements in place. You didn’t know why, but just the thought of sharing his attention felt like a snake bite, and it was tainting your blood with venom entirely unfamiliar to you. This was a complete stranger that you had just met, but still…
Still…
“If my lord forgives the initiative,” you turned to him, “I was hoping to have him all to myself tonight.”
“And why would I do that exactly?”
“What if I can offer you something a party of four cannot?” you reached for his collar with the confidence that did not belong to you. “Would you be intrigued?”
“If you can make your case…” he slowly exhaled.
“Are you familiar with marinating, my lord?”
“As in… culinary?” he knit his brows together, somewhat confused.
“Mhm. It is when you… soak food… in a seasoned liquid,” you enunciated everything clearly, carefully selecting the words you stressed. “Do you know why it is done?”
“To make it taste better.”
“Exactly. To enhance the flavor. To make it more tender,” you continued. “To increase… moisture.”
He was breathing heavier now, eyes fluttering close, and you were hoping it was because he was imagining it exactly the way you intended. Your fingers moved from his collar to his neck, and you almost hissed in pain for his skin was a million degrees.
“Time is also a good marinade,” you intently looked at your fingertips tracing lines down his jawline. “Makes it taste sweeter, would you not agree?”
“Taste what sweeter?” he leaned in closer.
“I think you know,” you replied with a blooming smile.
“Say it anyway,” he demanded and slightly pulled your bust down, just enough to show your cleavage, then whispered against your skin. “I fucking love it when a woman gets vulgar with me in the bedroom.”
And the moment he pressed his lips on your chest, you shuddered from head to toe so hard that he looked up at you all surprised. A lopsided grin was uncontrollably growing on his lips as if you had just told him it was going to be a party of eight instead.
“I’m the first man that ever touched you, aren’t I?” he asked.
“What makes you say that?” you countered, perfectly poised.
“You are… too responsive to me,” he brushed the back of his fingers down your chest. “Only virgins react to me that way.”
VirginS. Plural.
The way he said it was… braggy almost. Like he was showing off his precious medals of achievement. You wondered just how many of them passed through his hands. How many of them he would remember if he saw them on the street today.
And if any of them regretted it at all.
“Jaehyun was right, I will not forget tonight anytime soon,” he smiled bigger, but it was all kinds of demonic. You could almost see fangs coming out through his parted lips. “And neither will you; I’ll make sure of it.”
He kissed your neck, and all your resolves started to dissolve again. A man. A man this fine. This captivating. This sensuous. And he wanted you. His lips. His tongue. Feeling you. Tasting you. Wet. Warm. Wet. Hot.
Soaked.
Drenched.
TORRID.
“Even the salt on your skin tastes like sugar, my god, I can’t get enough of you,” he reached for your hand and pressed it on his crotch. “Feel it. This is what you’re doing to me.”
You had no control over how your breath stuttered embarrassingly hard, almost making you choke on air. The very first time you touched someone this intimately. This inappropriately. And it was him. A man this fine. This captivating. This sensuous. And he was this hard because of you.
Mouthwateringly so.
“My lord, I um…” you pulled back. “I must tell you, I’m… I’m not… “
“Not what?” he slightly tilted his head. “Not… experienced?”
He was so close to your face that if you just flinched, your lips would touch. All he did was caress your cheeks, but your eyes closed on their own as if he was inebriating you through sheer willpower.
“I think we have covered that,” he let out the softest chuckle. “It’s fine, I happen to quite enjoy teaching.”
Teaching. Him teaching you. Teaching you the most shameless things. If you crawled into his bed right right now… And if you asked him to get between your legs… Kiss the lips no one had ever seen… Taste the flavor no one had ever indulged in… Would he think you tasted sweet? Would he call you sweet nothings? Would he tell you to cum for him?
Was he dying to fuck you, too?
You were supposed to say no. Why weren’t you saying no?
“Just the way to please me…”
Why weren’t you saying no?
“To kiss me…”
Why weren’t you saying no?
“To fuc—”
“I DON’T WORK HERE!!!”
He was startled quite badly, looking at you with widened eyes. As the seconds followed each other, his expression turned from panic-ridden to extremely discontent.
“What are you fucking doing in my chambers then?”
“You’re going to think I’m insane…” you pinched the bridge of your nose because, well… Nothing you could say at this moment would sound reasonable.
“You don’t say?” he scorned.
“It was an honest mistake. Well, at first,” you explained to him. “My room is actually the one next to yours.”
“And you thought pretending to be a courtesan was a sane thing to do because?”
“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “The ladies downstairs seemed quite happy. I guess I wanted to know what it felt like.”
A dense silence sat between you uninvited. He could very well issue a complaint right now, and he would be right. What were you even thinking going this far anyway? Was it really for a secondhand experience? Or did you actually want to see firsthand if you had it in you to seduce this man? A man this fine, at that.
This time, he startled you when he burst out laughing out of nowhere.
“That was majestically foolish of you,” he taunted, reaching for his empty glass to refresh his drink.
“I beg your pardon?”
“What if I were some brute who demanded his money’s worth?”
“You are the furthest thing from a brute,” you pointed in his general direction.
“Do you always judge a book by its cover?” he slightly clenched his jaw, taking a little offense.
“All my books have the same binder, so your argument isn’t worth much, my lord.”
“Then fucking get them bound in different colors. You’re a bit too trusting,” he heaved a deep, annoyed sigh. “Not to mention spectacularly erroneous in your judgement.”
“Or having seen many a person gave me a good sense of character.”
“What do you make of my character then? Do tell.”
“Well, for starters, your opinion of yourself seems entirely too high.”
He cracked up again, confusing you even more, because you could no longer tell if he was actually entertained by you or if these laughs were neurotic in nature.
“Oh, is that so?” he rhetorically asked, voice too saccharine as if he was talking to a child. “How do you figure, miss know-it-all?”
“You deem yourself quite fine looking, do you not?”
“I believe I possess certain qualities that make a woman’s heart race, yes,” he took a large sip from his drink, then leaned forward. “Do you disagree?”
“No, I do not.”
“You’re saying I don’t make your heart race?”
“I… I mean…”
“You don’t find me delicious enough for your taste?”
He scooted even closer and filled his lungs with you, placing the tiniest kiss on your ear. The waters that had receded were rising again, and it seemed like a tidal wave was about to hit the shore this time around.
But just… why?
“Jasmines,” he whispered, titillating you so much that goosebumps broke all over your body. “God, your scent is intoxicating.”
You were trying to remember what common sense was because, despite your better judgement, you just could not leave his side. Yes, so what, you loved it when he was this close to you. You loved that you could smell sandalwood on him, too. You wondered what it would be like if your scents swirled around one another and gave birth to a brand new one, the scent of unspeakable acts of lust. Just the thought of him hovering over your naked body, his sweat-covered cross necklace dangling over your chest, pressing his large hand on your mouth to keep you quiet, hitting deep, deep, deep inside you, and you relishing every single one of his taunts punctuated with bites on your lips…
“How is my opinion of myself too high if it’s god’s honest truth?” he held your chin, eyes fixated on your lips.
“Because allure by itself does not a character make, my lord,” you popped the balloon of his ego, way too inflated with the self-sung praises to his beauty.
“Excuse me?”
“I believe I was loud enough. You are quite handsome, but you’re also formidably vain,” you scooted away. “All you do is reap the unearned advantages of your god-given gift, no?”
What in the world were you even saying to him? Were you even hearing yourself? Were you aware of who the hell you were addressing?!
You rose to your feet, finally getting ready to leave the room, and took one last look at him. At how maddeningly beautiful he still was even when he was on the brink of a rampage.
“I feel sorry for the woman who’s going to share your bed tonight,” you spoke, your words drenched in disappointment.
“What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“Is it not true that you’re just going to use her to worship yourself?”
It was as if he froze. He opened his mouth, but no words were coming out. You huffed at his lack of response and headed to the door to pick up your binder.
“HEY!”
You turned around and watched him stomp in your direction, not even slightly intimidated. He slammed his hands on the door behind you, fuming out of his nose.
“Whatever mind games you’re playing with me, I won’t have it,” he spat through his clenched teeth. “I did not come here to get insulted to my face.”
“Jesus, you’re not very accustomed to losing, are you?” you sneered.
“What losing? We weren’t competing!” he shouted, exasperated beyond words.
“If we were, I highly doubt you could emerge victorious.”
“You take that back,” he lowered his voice, extremely serious.
“Why? Have you ever broken a sweat for anything? Is it not true that your biggest woe in life is how many women you should bed on any given night?” your voice gradually raised beyond your control with every word you uttered. “You cannot win against someone who had to fight tooth and nail for everything they not even wanted but fucking NEEDED!”
The audacity. Oh, the audacity…
His eyes had grown maniacally big. He wanted to say a thousand things, but he didn’t know which venom spit first. How dare you? What would you know about his woes, huh? Just because he lived more comfortably than you DID NOT give you the liberty to blurt out whatever you felt like saying!!!
He was breathing erratically, still saying nothing. You didn’t know why you did it, but at that moment, you were overcome with this urge to touch his face. You felt him shudder, and his features softened in an instant.
He looked like a boy to you all of a sudden.
“You are so beautiful, it actually hurts me to look at your face. You can buy infatuation with this, no doubt about it,” you flashed him a broken smile, “but just know that you will never be able to trade it for something real.”
“Good thing I’m most definitely not looking to, then.”
You felt too tired to continue this battle of wits and just sighed in defeat. Fine, he wanted a pseudo-victory? He could have it. You gently pushed his chest, so you could open the door and leave.
“And that’s why I feel sorry for you,” you emphasized in the calmest voice. “Enjoy your night, my lord.”
“May we enter, my lord?”
Just as you stepped out of the room, three women arrived. You were speaking out of rage when you mentioned his woes of body count in his bed, but you did not expect to witness it this literally this soon. You took one look at the ladies, one look at him, laughed to yourself, and left for your room.
The audacity. The absolute audacity!
“Does my lord crave anything special tonight?” one of the women asked him.
He looked at her with blank eyes, barely processing what she was saying.
“Sure,” he mumbled, then sat back down on the couch. “Undress.”
Minutes were passing, but Hyunjin just wasn’t able to locate the whereabouts of his focus. He was still so flustered, feeling like he just got an earful from a governess for something he knew he was in the wrong. But the audacity… Your fucking AUDACITY!!!
Who the FUCK even were you?!
He suddenly grabbed his jacket and jumped to his feet, heading to the door at light speed.
“My lord, where ar—?”
“Entertain yourselves,” he ordered them, face devoid of a shred of emotion. “You were handsomely paid, were you not?”
When he walked into the hallway, he looked at the doors to the left and right of his. He balled his hand into a fist to knock on the quiet one to the left, but eventually gave up. He just left Gabriella’s entirely, aimlessly wandering the streets, something still boiling in the pit of his stomach and deepening the creases between his brows. He despised it when his mother was right, but turns out she was right yet again. He really shouldn’t have gone frolicking on his very first night back.
❥ Reblog & drop your feedback to reform Rake Hwang into your simp.
The way she went from horny mesmerized to whatever it was? How? I mean…that takes a lot of effort, or insanity. I folded when he first looked at her and died completely at him saying that he happens to quite enjoy teaching?? Jesus Christ, I’m unwell. In the best possible way!
run along with the gods | a lullaby on his throat chapter four
pairing: demigod!hyunjin x f!reader + felix x hyunjin (past relationship heavily mentioned) | word count: 21k | genre: mythology au, romance | warnings: adult and sometimes dark themes ; complicated feelings ; angst ; elements of contemporary fantasy ; explicit sexual content. View all compiled warnings here (+nsfw warnings). This work is for adult audiences only.
He loved you in the way a mortal could love, which was to say, like he was running out of time.
A shooting star.
It was, after all, what you had always been. A temporary burst of light in the night sky of people’s existence. Something one of a kind, something flashy and fun but intrinsically ephemeral. A bench for people to sit on and rest when they were too tired to walk. A gentle voice to soothe their loneliness. Balance in their chaos. Mayhem in their order. A cold beer after a long day of work. A soft, woolen jacket on a chilly day. An upbeat song after a breakup.
A tree to protect them from the harsh heat of the sun. A tree for them to sit under, to find refuge in its shade.
You had been that to so many people that you weren’t sure what bore the curse exactly—your heart, your lips, or your cunt. It seemed that as soon as your heart warmed up to somebody they just ran away from you. As though your love was a contagious illness that people did not want to catch so they fled as soon as you exhibited symptoms. Your first boyfriend at the age of eleven. Your first real boyfriend at the age of fourteen, who broke up with you because you wrote him a love letter on Valentine’s Day but wouldn’t have sex with him yet. The boy who you had come to learn had asked you to prom so he could fuck you, which he did. His breath smelled like cheap beer and he dragged you to the back of the house where the afterparty took place. And he just fucked you there with your face pressed against the trunk of a tree, taking your virginity at the same time and staining your pretty prom dress with the pinkish cum that oozed from your pussy after.
The woman who showed you the difference between fucking and making love, but had also taught you that people could make love even though they did not actually love you. That guy in college who only remembered you when he was drunk. That other guy in college who was mostly interested in pictures of your pussy or videos of you playing with it. The neighbor at the apartment in which you lived while you worked on your PhD, who turned out to be married.
Jisung, with whom you had fallen in love even though he couldn’t, or perhaps wouldn’t, get you off with meaningful lovemaking. Jisung, who had made it clear there was nothing between you two except sex and that your feelings were unwelcome because he wasn’t ready to commit yet. Except he kept you around, never too close, never too far. He’d call you at night if he had been bored and horny or something. Maybe fucking you was better than fucking his hand, but at least his hand couldn’t fall in love with him.
There had been another after that. A man more beautiful than you thought possible, his beauty coming from within. A man who held entire universes in his eyes, a man who fucked you so good that you saw god as you clenched around his cock. A man with whom you had believed you’d never run out of things to talk about. A man who you had believed might love you someday. As in, love love, not the fake kind. Except you had been wrong about that. You had been wrong about the whole thing since the very beginning of it, letting your loneliness win over your logic. Your brain had not put up much of a fight. Your heart had won that battle. Your stupid, irrational, foolish heart.
And Hyunjin had left you.
You had been a shooting star for him, something that was only fun for a second or two. After all, there were plenty of stars in the sky, so why try and get attached to the one that was meant to disappear? You had been a shooting star for him. A brief streak of light in the night. Something for him to wish upon.
Superficial. Temporary. A key to a museum vault. An opportunity. A cumdump. You had been many things to Hyunjin, but a lover was not one of them.
And you couldn’t care less.
“Miss? Miss?”
The host’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts almost painfully, almost as though you had fallen into a pit full of them and he had grabbed you by the nape of your neck to hoist you back up. Suddenly you were no longer plummeting in the night sky—you were back in the reality of your life, which, for now, was a TV studio.
The spotlights blinded you and warmed up your skin more than the summer sun would. The chair they had given you was uncomfortable and the host conducting the interview kept looking at your cleavage as soon as the camera was away from him.
The man, whose name you had forgotten already, stared at you, tilting his head to the side. “Are we experiencing issues with your earpiece, miss?” he asked, his gaze flicking to your tits once more.
“N—No,” you responded, gulping thickly. “I just… What was the question again?” You couldn’t be more grateful that Seungmin had adamantly refused for you to do any live interviews. You only participated in pre-taped stuff.
The host had an amused smile in which you detected flirtatious undertones. If he thought you had been distracted by him, he was wrong, but you wouldn’t let him know that. Later, you’d unbutton your shirt a little more so he could see your tits better, and hope that memory crossed his mind the next time he masturbated.
He shot a glance at the camera to his left. “I’ll just do it again.” He sat straight on the chair again. “Miss, the world has given you many titles since you have shared your discoveries with it. You’ve been called a master linguist, a prodigy, a genius. But what about you? What do you think describes you the best?”
A shooting star.
“I’m still just an art historian,” you replied, which was a rehearsed answer to a rehearsed question. “I guess you could say I got lucky.” That part wasn’t rehearsed, but they could cut it out later if they wanted, or if Seungmin didn’t like it.
You had been adamantly against the idea of having an agent at first. How preposterous. How absurd that an art historian would hire an agent to handle the public aspect of this new life of hers. Yet Jisung insisted, claiming he could certainly not do that for you and that he knew a guy. That guy, Seungmin, was very good at his job and you were glad he was there to help out. There was so much to deal with—the publishers for the books, the business inquiries, the press… and everything else.
This current interview, for example, was a PR stunt to shut down the accusations against you. People said you were a fraud, that someone else must have made the discovery, which you supposedly stole from that hypothetical person. Because, how on Earth was it possible for an art historian to take one look at the engraved words on one piece of a tablet and suddenly understand the entirety of this obscure language? It made no sense. And truly, you understood. There were days you still thought you were crazy.
Others, however, were slightly more vile in their comments. They said that you hadn’t discovered anything, not because you had stolen someone else’s work, but because you had simply invented this language. Something to get money and attention from. The long list of world-renowned linguists who had double, triple-checked your work didn’t matter to them—they were persuaded that everything was made up. They somehow blamed the government for it, too.
“Lucky? I think you’re selling yourself short,” the host retorted. “What you did is no small feat. The circumstances around it may be… unusual, but it doesn’t take anything away from the immense worth of the gift you’ve offered the world.”
Jonathan. His name was Jonathan.
You wondered if Seungmin had gone around the studio to find the host that needed to get his dick wet the most. This guy was really working hard to get some.
You thought about his words for a second. They appeared in your mind in Cipherian too, but these symbols were coated with a deep, dark crimson light. “You flatter me, Jonathan.” You made yourself smile. Your lipstick was thick and left an unpleasant taste in your mouth. “It’s true that I’ve dedicated many years of my life to the myths and to the art created from them. Now, if some believe that isn’t enough to acquire the ability to understand a dead language, that isn’t my problem. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.”
Jonathan looked at the left camera again, behind which the director was standing. “Is it true? Is it true that they studied your brain?” He asked it hurriedly like he was afraid someone would stop him before he could finish his sentence. You understood why—that question was off-script. It had been posed to you many times, but not necessarily something you were meant to discuss today.
The director raised his hand but you could barely see him because of the spotlights. You heard Seungmin’s voice behind you, complaining, but you made a reassuring motion, keeping your eyes on the host. “Yes, they’ve studied my brain. Scans and MRIs, and more.”
Jonathan frowned. For the first time since you sat down with him, he seemed to be experiencing a genuine emotion. “That’s kind of… unprofessional, isn’t it? No, even worse—inhumane? You aren’t a lab rat after all.”
You shrugged. “I was curious myself,” you admitted. “I still don’t understand how it all happened, and I figured that tests could help. But they didn’t really see anything. No structural abnormalities in my brain, no strange mutation, and nothing to report in their screenings of my blood and organs. Whatever happened had nothing to do with the state of my body.”
“But they can’t study your mind, can they?” He seemed interested enough to stop glancing at your tits.
“They did. As much as science allowed it. I spent a lot of time answering questions and submitting myself to all those tests. I thought… that whatever it was ought to be discovered. What if it had been just a tiny thing that could have been, eventually, implemented in other people, developing the parts of their brain responsible for language? What if it could have helped treat patients with aphasia, or even amnesia?”
Jonathan shook his head with a sigh. “That’s a noble cause, miss. I salute you.” He dipped his head. “I understand, unfortunately, that they found nothing on that front either?”
“Nothing at all. I couldn’t be more normal.” You were so normal that it was super easy to walk away from you. You were so normal that you left nothing behind, no pain, no scar. “I tell myself that all this time I spent studying—you know, I even traveled a lot around the Mediterranean, visiting different sites—created some sort of puzzle in my head. Only, the pieces had no order to them. At one point, they aligned with one another and it just… appeared to me, finally. I maintain that I got lucky.”
Your grandmother used to say that a person couldn’t be both lucky with love and with wealth, that one would always outdo the other. Safe to say that all of the buzz around Cipherian had filled your bank account with so many zeroes that you developed tachycardia anytime you checked the number.
But you had never been more alone.
“And I maintain that you sell yourself short,” Jonathan responded, smiling. “You are quite literally in the process of creating a guide to this language—which opens the world to a second lost language also. Your contribution to the world of history and art is unmatched, wouldn’t you say?”
You had nothing to say about that. You didn’t really care. You had figured out a language, then another. You didn’t even have any credit for it because none of it had been deliberate. It had just happened. More like a curse than a blessing.
Seeing that you weren’t reacting to his statement, Jonathan went on. “How is the book coming along, then? I know a good portion of the world is more than impatient to delve into Cipherian.”
You nodded but it was out of habit more than because it meant anything—you did not feel human but you could at least try to look like one. “I’m aware of that and it’s why I’d rather take my time with it and do it right.”
“Of course—this kind of project deserves to be executed well.” The flirty glimmer returned on the host’s face. “It’s almost all the time we have, but I know everyone at home would want me to ask this—can you share some of it with us? A sentence, a grammar rule, anything?”
They had told you beforehand that Jonathan was going to ask you this. This was part of the publicity stunt around your book. After you had brought forth your discovery to the museum, the director had it validated by a few world-renowned linguists and translators. One of them had dedicated most of his life to try and decipher the Voynich Manuscript, another had worked on several movies and TV shows to help authors create whole new languages for their script and the last had published several books on the Sumerian language.
While they could fully verify what you were telling them, they couldn’t believe it. Not even from a lack of faith or trust in you—it was just that incredible. So they consulted colleagues, and historians, too. And a good portion of the language had leaked on the internet, meaning that by now, a lot of it had been elucidated by amateur linguists. Hell, they had most of it right—you had seen their work. They weren’t wrong but they didn’t understand it. Cipherian had countless layers to it and was too complex to ever fit it in one book, let alone a Reddit thread started by some incel in search of validation between his wanking sessions.
The word for a dream that one would have when they slept didn’t even have syllables or a sound—it was a soft exhale of about 1.5 seconds with a relaxed jaw. There was no other meaning to the word dream, as though whoever spoke that language never used it for any other reason such as an aspiration or an ambition. In Cipherian, you couldn’t dream of visiting Iceland, you could only fall asleep and experience it through your slumber.
There was, however, a word for yearning. It was beautiful and sounded like a poem. The word sounded eerily similar to both Hyathos and Feliks, almost like their names had been melted together to create a new one.
Yearning. You knew it. You knew its cruel burn intimately.
But you couldn’t care less.
“I can tell you about the word, or rather, words, for never in Cipherian.” You tried as hard as you could to sound friendly or like there was still a soul inside you. “In the paragraphs of the Casnea tablet that have been made public, there are two sentences in which the word never is found,” you began, and for the first time since the interview had begun, you felt comfortable, at ease, at home. The language, the words, their meaning—they had become your sole purpose now.
The first sentence was, Feliks lies beneath the cypress tree, alone. Sometimes he wants to take people there, but he never does.
The other, Feliks knows that Hyathos doesn’t belong anywhere near the cypress tree. He never did, even if it felt good to be there.
It turned out that, in Cipherian, never was conditional when it was associated with a person, and whether that person was awake or not.
The meaning behind the first sentence was that people other than Hyathos did visit the cypress tree, but never when they were awake or even alive. Corporeal.
The meaning behind the second sentence was that no matter how happy he was there, Hyathos never belonged beneath the cypress tree, except for when he saw it in his dreams.
So you told him that. Jonathan. You said it just like that in its most simple form, also speaking Cipherian so that people could hear the two different pronunciations of the word never. The interview ended like that—he thanked you and shook your hand for the camera but kept your hand in his after the director had called ‘Cut’. He thanked you again, saying it had been an honor to meet the woman behind this new language and he looked at your tits again, so you accepted his offer when he suggested grabbing a drink together. There was a small bar right by the TV studios and he often went there.
“We’re not going.” Jisung appeared in front of you like a ghost yet you barely reacted—you were used to his lingering presence by now.
“You’re not going,” you retorted. Behind you, the filming crew was wrapping up and gathering their things. Darkness was creeping up in the room as one by one, the spotlights were being turned off. “I’ll meet you guys at the hotel.”
Seungmin joined you hurriedly. “It’s his job to stay with you and make sure you’re safe,” he pointed out with an accusatory tone, phone in hand.
“You hired Ji because he was following me around with some sense of duty, he just wasn’t being paid for it.” You wrapped yourself in your soft jacket.
“And you hired me to take care of those things.” Seungmin’s voice left little to no space for arguing. He pushed his dark hair away from his eyes as though he really wanted you to see how serious he was.
“Don’t make me regret it, Seungmin.” You glanced at him, catching sight of Jonathan at the other side of the room, waiting for you by the door.
You had hired Seungmin when things had picked up for you in the past weeks. But it was rather suspicious now that you were thinking about it. What had happened exactly was Jisung saying he ‘knew a guy’ and now these two seemed to have formed an alliance against you.
As if on cue, Seungmin’s phone rang. He lifted his index at you, motioning you to wait a moment, and stepped away as he took the call.
As you went to grab your purse, Jisung put his hand on top of it to stop you. “Do you really want to go with that guy?” he asked softly. Too softly. “Didn’t you see the way he was looking at you?”
You gulped, staring into your almost-ex’s eyes. “It’s because he was looking at me this way that I want to go, Ji.” You pushed his hand away, finally getting a hold of your bag. “If you wanted to keep fucking me, all you had to do was tell me.”
A cloud of darkness passed on Jisung’s face. “Let’s not go there.” He handed your bag to you, effectively quieted by your remark. “I’ll go with you. Yes, I’m going,” he added when you opened your mouth to refuse. “I’ll stay out of your hair, but I want to be around.”
Jisung let Seungmin know of the new plan and you joined Jonathan, who led you through the TV station building, giving you—and Jisung—a quick tour. He told you how excited he was for the interview to air because it was something the audience had been asking for. He said, “It’s an honor to be a part of this grand thing, grand enough that it might change the world.” You almost told him he wasn’t a part of shit but remained quiet. You did, however, hear Jisung’s soft snort at the back and couldn’t suppress the amused smile that appeared on your lips.
The weather was as awful as it had been for the past weeks. It hadn’t really stopped raining for a long while, which broke several records. It was cold and dark, so you pulled the hood from your jacket over your head as you jogged on your way to the bar.
The bar was small but cozy. Just one room, crowded with tables and chairs and people. Each wall, except for the one to the left where the counter and bartenders were located, had several private booths. That was where Jonathan led you while Jisung took a seat at a table on the other side of the room.
You looked at your phone while Jonathan was ordering your drinks. Your work inbox was filled with emails and inquiries—more interviews, neuroscientists requesting to get a look at your MRIs, linguists asking to be involved in your current project because they claimed they had a good understanding of Cipherian already. But you knew they were full of shit. Seungmin had access to that same inbox and usually dismissed all of those. He must have been busy today if he hadn’t done it already, but you took a certain pleasure in deleting the most annoying messages.
You checked your missed texts, too. There were fewer of those, although your phone had been ringing non-stop for the first week after the discovery. Colleagues from abroad or even locals who wanted to congratulate you and get juicy details. You hadn’t slept that week—no more than two hours a night.
Minji had texted you, updating you on the current events at the museum. With everything going on, you hadn’t been able to fulfill your duties as assistant curator of the Deities exhibition and Minji had taken over for you. Still, she consulted you regularly and dared not make any major decision without your or Mrs. Yoo’s approval, which was almost a shame—the young woman was intelligent and had a bright future in front of her.
Still, you responded quickly to her. The issue today was with space in the rooms of the exhibition—a few new pieces had been added and it was difficult to find the right location for them.
You pressed Send, and as you were about to put your phone away, another conversation, way below on the screen, caught your attention. The device, all of a sudden, weighed a ton in your hand. There was a little red exclamation mark next to the recipient’s name, letting you know your message hadn’t been able to make it to him.
You opened the conversation. The last message Hyunjin had sent you was begging you to let him speak with you, only you, about the myths, some time before he visited you at your apartment and fucked you. You had ignored that message.
Here is what had happened—you had been beyond exhausted and had slept a lot after your discovery. A lot. Yet Hyunjin had been there when you’d woken up. He had made food for you, had helped you bathe. He made love to you on the floor of your apartment and his cum had been warm, unnaturally so. You could still feel its heat within you, as though it had stained you with something that couldn’t be washed away. That morning had changed you in ways you couldn’t explain—but that warm pressure between your legs made you crave things you had never wanted before.
You had written the essay. The first of many, but still. A quick analysis of Feliks and Hyathos’ relationship, based on the pieces of the Casnea tablet that had been uncovered. It had taken days. One morning Hyunjin had fucked you and filled you with his cum which seemed to have aphrodisiac properties.
And then he left.
There had been no tears, no sobs, only resignation. A shooting star. You were a shooting star, ephemeral, short-lived. Your pussy was tight enough for men to want to fuck it a few times but not good enough to make them want to stay around.
You: I’m done writing the essay. Where are you? I want you to be the first to read it.
[Message could not be sent]
You: Hyunjin?
[Message could not be sent]
You: Are you alright? Is something wrong?
[Message could not be sent]
The number had been deactivated, which you had found out when you had tried calling him. Many times.
But there had been no tears and no pain. You waited for it to hit you, to pin you to a wall, cut your chest open, and crush your heart in its cruel, cold hands. You had loved him. Hyunjin. It was crazy to think of it this way but you had fallen in love with him. And now he was gone. And you didn’t care.
You were empty and you didn’t care. Your mind was empty, and your heart, and your cunt. You weren’t lustful, you weren’t even horny—nothing else in your life existed except Cipherian and that insatiable craving between your legs. And you didn’t care.
Jonathan came back with a tray of tequila shots and some lime wedges. He handed you the first shot which you did not follow with lime juice. You let the liquor burn you on the inside just to feel something.
There was a short silence during which Jonathan suckled on his lime, glancing around the room. “That guy, your bodyguard,” he said after a while. The room was loud with conversations and music but you heard him well. “He’s your boyfriend or something? You two seem close.”
You shook your head. “Nah. We had a situationship some time ago but he broke it off because I had too many feelings for him.” And now you didn’t have feelings about anything at all.
“Situationships are like that.” He handed you another shot. “Bad idea, especially with coworkers.”
You squeezed some lime juice into your glass and it made your fingers sticky. “So I assume you are more the one-night stand type of guy, Jonathan?” You raised your eyes at him as you spoke just to see his face.
He was both pleased and a little uncomfortable. He hid behind his lime again. “Call me Jon,” he said after a while.
You reached for him under the table, squeezing his thigh gently. He jumped a little in his seat but let out a satisfied grunt. “So, Jon. Do you have a condom with you? How about we chat, get drunk, and then you can fuck me in your office?”
And this is exactly what happened. More shots followed. You went to sit on the same bench as Jonathan instead of facing him. He fingered you a little under the table and you rubbed his semi through his pants. Both of your voices low, you told each other how you liked to fuck. You knew very well there would be none of that tonight, nothing fancy, but warmth pooled between your legs anyway when Jon told you about the threesome he had a few years back.
You weren’t sure what to say when he asked your preferences, and you almost left the bar when he inquired about your best sexual experiences. Your preferences? You weren’t sure. Maybe you liked it when people fucked you like they meant it. Like they loved you. Your best sexual experience? He had a name, and you did not want to speak it, so you said whatever came to your mind instead.
Men like Jon were easy to read. “I like being used.” Ironic. Ironic but perhaps true—after all, wasn’t it exactly what everyone who touched you did anyway? Like you were a disposable fleshlight?
“Oh, you’re very upfront, aren’t you?” At that, he buried his fingers deeper into your cunt, and you clenched around them, needing more. Jonathan hissed through his teeth. “Ah, shit, you’re tight…”
His hard-on throbbed underneath your palm and you figured there was no point in delaying the inevitable, so you simply pulled away and stood next to the booth while Jonathan was attempting to conceal the bulge in his pants with his jacket. He paid the tab and took your hand in his.
Jisung followed you with his eyes, glaring at you from his seat. You pretended you did not see him and walked the same way you had when you came here except in silence now. It was dark after nightfall, and the TV station was empty except for a few people here and there.
You shoved your hand into Jonathan’s pants in the elevator, really feeling him, tugging at his cock. He groaned, his fingers digging deeper into the skin of your waist, his other hand pulling your shirt down to expose as much of your tits as he could.
You didn’t let him kiss you, so he nibbled at your neck instead. And when you made it to his office, he did the same to your breasts, now fully exposed in private, while you were unzipping his jeans.
“I love little cockhungry sluts like you.” Jonathan’s eyes were glazed over, inebriated. Or maybe just horny. His breath smelled like liquor. “Suck me.”
He put his hand on your shoulder and one weak shove was enough to get you on your knees. The carpet burned your skin a little but you didn’t care. You pulled his jeans, then his boxers down, exposing his erection. His cock was on the shorter side, but thick—thick enough that you struggled to take it in your mouth.
You released a liberal amount of spit on his tip, using your hand to spread it on his length.
“Come on. Don’t be a tease.”
You looked into his eyes when you took his cock between your lips. He tasted bitter, salty, unpleasant, and you had a hard time adjusting your jaw to his size. But from the way he throbbed on your tongue, you could tell Jonathan reveled in the sight of tears welling up in your eyes.
You didn’t care. You couldn’t give any less of a shit about any of it—Jonathan, the vile taste of his cock, the emptiness within you.
“That’s it, ohh, fuck…” Jonathan caressed your head in a way that looked tender at first, but only for a second—quickly, he grabbed your hair in a fist, pulling you closer, forcing his cock deeper into your mouth.
You gagged, your body convulsing with it, your cunt throbbing with it. You let your mouth fill with saliva until it ran at the corner of your mouth and down your chin, until it clogged your throat, until you couldn’t breathe. Your vision blurred as Jonathan fucked your mouth in desperate, shallow thrusts. You welcomed the sting in your throat and the one in your lungs, too. These days, this was the closest you could get to feeling alive. To feeling anything.
Gagging again, you anchored yourself to this stranger, your fingernails digging into his thighs. Jon, bent over, was losing his cadence, muttering deep, throaty groans without a care for volume, despite the occasional footsteps heard on the other side of the door.
“Fuuuuck. Ah, fucking—” Jonathan used the grip he had on your hair to pull out, leaving you panting and choking, lips swollen and sensitive. Some spit and precum dripped on your chest, rolling down your tits. “Get up, come here.”
He helped you up, dragging you to the other side of the room to access his desk from which he produced a condom. You watched as he applied it over his flushed, straining cock.
Before you knew it, he had you pinned up against the wall face first. He hiked up your skirt and pushed your panties to the side before burying himself inside your warm cunt in one swift motion.
You cried out as he stretched you, keeping you firmly in place. You wouldn’t have guessed he was that strong, but he had no problem keeping you still as he worked you open for him. “Relax now,” he grunted, his hand at the back of your neck, squeezing you there.
“Fuck me.” Your voice was weak because of the burn in your throat but he didn’t need you to tell him what to do.
Jonathan thrust into you until he bottomed out—and he let out a strangled sigh when he did, but wasted no time pounding into you. He was frantic, chasing his high and yet doing everything to delay it. Jonathan fucked the way a man who watches too much porn did—a way that was relentless and impersonal.
“Tell me you love my cock,” he grunted into your ear, one arm draped over your chest to keep you close while he fucked you. When you took more than two seconds to respond, he grabbed your hair again, pulling it, forcing your head to fall back. It hurt a little and you clenched around his cock. “Fucking say it,” he repeated, his voice low.
You didn’t love his cock, but it was inside you, momentarily occupying your mind and your cunt. “I love your cock,” you said nonetheless as Jon’s hand trailed up, his fingers wrapping around your throat. You knew what men liked to hear. “I love your big cock,” you added, eyelids fluttering, electricity spreading all over your core. “Harder, harder, please…”
Men like him liked it when women begged. Jon loved it—he let out a series of breathy growls as he forced his cock deeper into you, his hips slamming your ass hard enough that you were losing your balance, and also, losing sight of yourself. You closed your eyes, letting your body take control, allowing your mind to recede, to become nothing. A few seconds of peace. Just a few instants where nothing existed except the ache in your dripping pussy and the sting of fingers around your neck and waves of fire spreading under your skin. There was a word for that in Cipherian. Llhas. There was no direct translation for it, but it represented a place or a moment where pain and pleasure blended together to become one.
Jon came to a stop abruptly. “Let me see while I ravage you.”
He wasted no time dragging you to the floor and you found yourself laying with your back on the carpet, your legs spread wide open. Jon bit his lip as he lowered himself to you, staring at your pussy. You imagined it must be flushed and swollen and pretty. His cock, heavy, bobbed when he got on his knees. He guided himself inside you again, but this time you saw his face as he buried his cock into your heat. You tried to read it but you could not. You understood a dead language better than empty lust, it seemed.
You cried out when he moved, setting a fast and steady rhythm with deep, powerful thrusts. He tugged at your shirt to expose your tits better and watch them bounce as he fucked into you. Then he buried his face into your neck and you knew he was close. You clenched around him and he called you a whore. You moaned when he did so and he called you a desperate slut. He retreated a little to watch his cock disappear into your folds and he said, again, that you were a whore because you were creaming all over him.
“I know you like having your tight little pussy stretched like that, don’t you?” But he wasn’t even talking to you really. He was just talking out loud. It wouldn’t have been any different if he had been fucking a blow-up doll. You listened to the sounds of flesh and wetness as he sank into you over and over. He held your face in his hand a little harder than he needed to but another wave of llhas came over you.
It felt good when Jonathan came—he came like a feral animal, letting go of your face to hold your waist instead, slamming you onto his cock as he arched into you, hips stuttering, spilling himself into the condom. His hair stuck to the sweat on his temples and he kept fucking you to ride his aftershocks, returning to your tits, massaging them, and suckling onto your nipples as you milked the rest of his load with strategic clenches and rolls of your hips.
He collapsed onto you, out of breath, a little pathetic. The office smelled like sweat and sex.
“Fuck…” he sighed after a little while. You could feel him softening inside you—he moaned when he pulled out. “You’re amazing…”
But all you had done was lay there and let him fuck you.
He tried to kiss you again but you did not let him do that. It took him a few more moments to gather himself and manage to stand up, and you watched as he discarded the condom. It fell into the bin with a heavy thump. You became aware of the ache between your legs—not llhas, just pain. And you welcomed it because pain was better than nothing at all.
Jon had the grace to help you up. He pulled you against him into an embrace that meant nothing. “Did you cum?” he asked, then immediately, “When can I see you again?”
You pulled away slowly, buttoning your shirt back up before adjusting your panties under your skirt. Some of your arousal dripped into them and it reminded you of something foreign.
“No,” you replied. “And you won’t,” you added before grabbing your purse and walking away. You heard Jonathan stammer in an attempt to keep you in his office but cut him off when you closed the door behind you.
It’s without any real surprise that you found Jisung in the hallway, sitting on a bench, scrolling his phone. Waiting for you.
Neither of you spoke at first, but when he stood, Jisung stared at you for a long time, as though he was trying to say something but the right words didn’t come. In the end, he gave up, and you walked together toward the elevator.
It was still raining outside. Pouring. The drops rolled down the wide windows of the TV station’s entrance, distorting the colored lights of the city and cars on the other side of it. The night sky was dark, darker than usual, like thick ink.
“Wait here, I’ll go get us a cab,” Jisung said finally. “There’s a restroom over there.” He motioned toward a short hallway.
It seemed like lifetimes ago now, but back in the day when you and Jisung used to fuck, you had been the one to explain to him how beneficial it was for girls to pee after sex, and he had always made sure to remind you afterwards. He apparently had not forgotten that. You wondered if he heard the things Jon said to you while he was using your pussy.
You did use the restroom when Jisung went out, attempting to wipe your slick off your panties and yourself as well as you could. You washed your hands and returned to the lobby, only to find Jisung near the door. Together, you went outside and the raindrops were cold and unforgiving. At least the cab was warmer and Jisung took care of speaking to the driver, so you just rested your head on the window and watched the pretty lights. There were many words in Cipherian to talk about light.
Light coming from a flame. Powerful and dangerous. Cekliptio. From cekl, which meant fire, and ptiox, which was a word to designate the opposite of shadow.
Light coming from the stars, glimmering, faint, undeniable. Axst. Similar to the word Ixst, which meant freckles.
Light coming from the Sun, which belonged to those with a soul that needed warming up. Feyllhks. Pronounced Feliks.
The light in one’s eyes when they see the owner of their heart. Arra. A word that could also mean belonging and eternal.
There was no word in Cipherian for the lights of a city you didn’t know, but you wished one existed. These days, the dead language was all you had to find comfort in because it was the only thing that mattered. It was the only thing you had, the only thing you cared for.
You watched the traffic light ahead turning to red. After a moment of sitting at the intersection, Jisung’s hand found yours and he squeezed it gently.
“Are you alright?” you heard him ask, his voice soft and low.
You did not know how to respond to that. Your pussy was sore and you wanted to get back to the hotel to soak in a hot bath. Not warm, hot. Until your skin reddened all over. Until the heat made you dizzy and hurt you all over. Then you’d sit at your computer and work on translating and analyzing. Because it was all that you had. You’d be drinking all the while and masturbate a few times while watching cheap porn before passing out on the bed or the floor.
You weren’t alright.
You weren’t anything.
You opened your mouth to tell Jisung that—you figured you at least owed him the truth, no matter how bleak. At the same time, the light turned green, and the taxi crossed the intersection.
And another car hit it. It hit the front of the car on the passenger side. Your side. And it knocked the air out of your lungs. Your head hit something and the sound of bending metal and shattering glass was horrendous and deafening, becoming one with the pain that was slowly spreading within your body.
It hurt you all over, but not for long, because darkness enveloped you.
You were dreaming.
And you knew that you were dreaming because pain no longer existed here.
It was not a meadow with a lilac sky that you found yourself in.
The air smelled sweet in this place, the crisp scent of apples, the soft scent of plums. The smell of peaches, ripe, juicy, warming up under the sun.
The orchard you stood in stretched as far as you could see. It was bordered by the ocean on one side and grassy hills on the other. Among the fruit trees grew other trees in places, tall and lush, casting their shadow, cooling the air. Your bare feet sank into the soil a little as you walked and it was pleasant. Like a caress.
Maybe you were dead and this was heaven.
You were at one end of the orchard—you decided to visit the hills nearby and went on. And on. You walked for a long while, your mind empty. But the sight was pretty from here with the fruit trees and the sea glimmering under the warm sun, whose light felt like a kiss.
Movement caught your attention at the other side of the orchard—somebody else was here. You stretched your neck to try and see better but they were just too far away. Soft brown hair floating in the breeze. A slow but steady gait.
You took a few steps, trying to decide if you could make it to the mysterious figure before being pulled out of this dream. Then you saw something else, closer—a woman was sitting under a pine tree. She was the most beautiful woman you had ever seen, with skin like honey and hair like silk. Her posture was both perfect and nonchalant, and you found yourself envying her effortless beauty.
She noticed you, too, and a smile appeared on her lovely face. “There you are. Come here, child. We do not have much time.”
Maybe because you wanted to see her from a little closer, you did as you were told, hurrying to close in the space between you and the woman. She raised her hand, asking to take yours, and when you grabbed it, she gently tugged at your arm to invite you to sit with her.
Her beauty left you speechless. There were roses braided into her hair, thorns and all, and the air carried their scent to you.
“You have to tell me who did this to you,” the woman told you, pulling you closer as though she was trying to find the answer to her questions in your eyes. “Who did this to you, child?”
“Did what?” You frowned, confused. “Are you asking what killed me?” You did not remember. All that you remembered was loud noises. And pain.
She shook her head. “I want to know if you remember who put our words into your mind, my dear. I want to know who it is that wove them into your soul.”
You looked away, your gaze trailing toward the sea, while you thought about it. It was difficult—it seemed like your thoughts had been separated from your body and your mind. It took a while to reach them.
“A kiss,” you replied, and it was the best you could do. You could not say it with words. You could not remember it with words either, or images. But you remembered the kiss.
The woman nodded slowly as though she had been expecting your response. She sighed, turning her attention back to you. She caressed your cheek, still trying to read you.
“The gift bestowed upon you was not yours to have,” she said. “But it is yours now, and it can’t be taken back. I am sure he’s sorry for it, you know. The one who gave you the kiss. He only ever wants to help people. He bleeds compassion, you see. I believe he thought he was giving you a message to relay to someone.”
You looked behind her at the other side of the orchard, where the person there was now picking some fruit off the trees and putting them in a basket. “Are you talking about him?” you asked.
“No,” she murmured. “That is my son. This is his orchard.”
“Your son?” You almost felt something at that but your heart dodged it. “I know him.”
“You do. You do know him.” This time, she caressed your hair before cupping your cheek. “You love him, but you don’t remember.”
“I love him.” Saying the words was strange. Distant. Cold. As though it was somebody else’s voice speaking through your lips.
“Oh, child…” The woman’s eyes filled with tears. “You can remember him here, if you want. In this place, love is stronger than anything.”
You stood so that you could see her son a little better. He was still walking slowly among his trees, plucking dead leaves or harvesting ripe fruit. He hadn’t seen either of you yet.
“I remember that I loved him,” you said. “But I don’t remember what love feels like.” Your words made no sense, yet the woman understood you very well. She rose, and instead of standing idle like you, she made her way toward the closest tree on which peaches grew. She tugged at the ripest peach she saw and brought it back with her as she stood by you again.
“Eat,” she invited, handing you the fruit.
You felt it with your hand, caressing its velvety skin—it was warm, unnaturally so, and dense. Denser than other peaches you had held before. It smelled good. It smelled like a peach that had been grown by the sea, and with all the care in the world.
You brought it to your lips, and then you bit into it.
And you remembered.
It came to you all at once, so much of it that you felt physically heavier—like whatever had been contained in the peach had been transferred into you. But you remembered. Slow dancing in the night. A kiss. Many kisses. Pomegranate lips. Making love and meaning it. Being seen. Being understood. Being desired and desiring in return. You remembered him and his voice and his cock and his mind, as beautiful as a flower, as complex as life itself. His heart, sweet like a peach, fragile like one, too.
“Say his name if you want,” she whispered.
You closed your eyes, suddenly blinded by the sunlight shining upon you. You remembered him. You remembered Hyunjin and the depth of your feelings for him.
It was too much—you cried. Then you laughed. You sobbed, you smiled. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen and the most painful thing you had ever felt. You remembered love.
“Can I remember when I go back, too?” you asked.
“I’m not sure,” the woman explained. “But I hope you do.” There were tears in her eyes. “He was always so alone before he met you. Even when he snuck out to meet the boy… I pretended I did not know, but a mother always knows. I could see it in his eyes, I could feel it in the heaviness of his steps. But you… It is different with you.”
The wind became cold, then colder. Somehow, you knew it meant your time here was coming to an end.
“Can I go see him?” you asked between bites of this peach, watching the young man as he carefully picked his fruit.
“No. Not now. He is not really here.” Already, the taste of peach was fading away, and the world was turning dark again. “You’re in danger, child,” the woman went on. “My husband, and others, they do not want you to know what you know.”
The peach was no longer in your hand, yet its juice still rolled down your wrist. “What should I do?”
“Just remember.”
It appeared to you in pieces, and you couldn’t tell whether you were dreaming or not. Pain in your arm. Your lower back. Your legs. Your head. The scent of gasoline, cold rain seeping through, twisted metal. Jisung, with blood on him, calling your name.
The ambulance. More people talking to you and bright lights and more pain. The taste of peaches lingering on your tongue.
Jisung again. Saying words you could not understand because you were busy trying to remember something, but it just would not come to you. It was a name. No, it was a name but it was also something else. Something sweet, and important.
Cold darkness. Then warm darkness, a mattress beneath you. Jisung. Again. With Seungmin. Their whispers makingtheir way to you, but instead of words, you just heard a breeze, like wind over the ocean. The pain wasn’t gone but it was different, more diffuse. There were moments you couldn’t even tell where it came from.
Jisung. His hand holding yours, his head resting on the bed. His face turned toward you. It was dark but not too dark, and you could see that he was sleeping. There was a bandage on his eyebrow and he had a few bruises on his arm. But he did not let go of you. Once upon a time, you thought you loved him, but that was before you understood love.
He was still there when you woke up for good, awake this time. The light in the room blinded you and the first thing that Jisung did was to hurriedly close the blinds over the window and dim the ceiling light a little. You were in a hospital room, hooked up to a few machines and an IV, and there were vases with flowers surrounding your bed. Their scent permeated the room, subtle yet undeniably there underneath layers of antiseptic.
“Hey,” Jisung said, taking your hand again. “You’re back.”
You almost joked by saying, I never left, but that would not have been true and you knew that. You did leave. You could still feel something velvety under your fingertips. You could still smell the rich scent of a pine tree under the sun.
You tried speaking and yet no words came out. They weren’t even stuck in your throat—it was as though they wouldn’t even leave your mind. After a few deep breaths, you made another attempt, forcing your lips open and focusing on nothing except the thought that you wanted to express, which was the overwhelming thirst making your mouth dryer than the Sahara. Panic took over you as you once again failed to speak. You looked around as if anything here could solve your problem.
Nothing could, except Jisung noticed your gaze lingering on the water pitcher by your bed and understood what you wanted. He poured you a glass of ice-cold water and held it for you while you drank. Swallowing it was almost painful, yet immensely relieving. Llhas.
“You weren’t supposed to move before the doctor came to see you,” Jisung explained while he helped you lie down again, yet he remained by your side once your head lay on your pillow.
The two of you stared at each other for a few seconds, and then the seconds stretched into a longer moment. There were so many things you wanted to say to him and your inability to do so had nothing to do with whatever made it hard for you to form words. You wanted to thank him for everything he had done for you these past months, yet it seemed those words did not even exist.
You wanted to apologize. For all the times he had asked you not to do something stupid, and you didn’t listen to him. Because you didn’t care. But it felt so unlike you not to care, and you could see that now.
Jisung opened his mouth to speak but instead, cupped your face in his hand, pushing a strand of hair away from your eyes. He looked like a mess—he was wearing the same shirt he had been before, he hadn’t shaved, and he smelled like cheap spray deodorant.
He seemed to read your question in your eyes because he gave you an answer. “A car hit the front of the taxi—the engine, actually. The police said he wasn’t drunk or anything. His car just… malfunctioned.”
You frowned, trying to remember the actual event, but finding yourself unable to. Not clearly at least. All that you remembered was fear and the smell of gasoline.
“Actually,” he went on, “they said it came close. We—you—were lucky.” He took a deep breath, struggling to keep his voice steady. “If the guy’s car hadn’t glided on the wet pavement before his brakes failed, he would have hit you directly.” He offered you a faint, joyless smile. “Everyone is begging for the sun to return, but if it hadn’t been for the rain, you wouldn’t be here I think.”
You gulped, wincing as you did so, and Jisung took it as a signal to help you drink more water. It was only then, as you tried holding your own cup, that you noticed the cast around your arm.
“I’ll go tell them you’re awake,” Jisung said, and he left the room. It seemed all incredibly empty then. Not even the flowers made it look any livelier. You lay on your hospital bed, eyes to the ceiling, letting the pain in your body speak to you. Your arm didn’t hurt as much as your neck and your shoulder, but it felt sore and heavy.
It didn’t take very long until a doctor came in to see you, and Jisung remained by the door, waiting politely as you were told about a small fracture in your upper arm and a mild concussion, which explained the strange pressure you felt behind your eyes. It was alright because all you had to do was nod and say “Hm hm” in a variety of intonations, so your little problem went vastly under the radar. The doctor mentioned you were probably tired and advised you to rest—he didn’t want to discharge you until tomorrow, to make sure things were alright.
You slept most of the day. At one point, Jisung left to go shower but he was immediately replaced by Seungmin, who, it looked like, was inclined to speak just as much as you. He seemed troubled, often returning to his phone with a frown on his brow, but he brought you a phone. Not your phone, because yours had been destroyed in the accident.
In between naps, you held the new device in your hand. It was similar to the one you had, only a slightly newer model. You opened the text app and, naturally, it was empty.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Seungmin told you when he caught sight of the screen. “The SIM card was also ruined so I had to get a new one. Did you sync your stuff online? I can do it for you.” It wasn't worth it. On your other phone, you had settings that synced pictures and videos, but not text messages.
You remembered the conversation you wished to look at with your own two eyes, the one where the recipient’s phone number was now deactivated.
You slept more. You slept until a nurse woke you up for dinner, saying that you hadn’t eaten enough today and that youhad to finish your meal.
Jisung watched you play with your food—some sort of casserole—for a while. “You need to eat,” he said, but he tookthe plate away from you. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and handed it to you after opening a food delivery app. “Order whatever you want. I’m starving, too.”
Half an hour later, the two of you were eating burgers with french fries and an unhealthy amount of soda. He even ordered some cake for dessert, which you also ate. While you had dinner, Jisung showed you the flowers from up close and explained to you who they came from. They were pretty.
There was one huge flower arrangement from the museum and one specifically from Minji and Mrs. Yoo, which brought tears to your eyes. There was a vase from the publishing house where you’d publish the book, and the last was a little smaller than the others, more modest, but lovely nonetheless. Chrysanthemums, aster and some leafage. There was a card with it:
Get well soon. I hope to meet you again,
P. Seonghwa
You looked at this one for a little longer than the others. Jisung seemed to believe you didn’t know, or remember, who the sender was, so he clarified for you.
“Remember? He’s the journalist who interviewed you a few months ago, about that tablet.” The Casnea tablet. How could he think you wouldn’t remember that? “Looks like you made a strong impression on him.”
There were quite a few innuendos in Jisung’s last sentence and they did bring back a few memories—not anything that you had forgotten, just things that did not matter in the grand scheme of things. Not that Mr. Seonghwa himself didn’t matter. After all, he was a good person and a talented journalist. But Minji had hinted—no, she had claimed with certainty—that he had been hitting on you. And he did ask you out to dinner. And you never even responded to him, yet he sent you flowers? How did he even know you were in the hospital?
To Jisung, you gave a nod so that he wouldn’t insist, and you both finished your food. He helped you to the bathroom so that you could wash up—you sat on a chair while he ran a damp towel on your face and your neck. The gestures were familiar to you, only, not from his hands. He even brushed your hair with the comb that came in the bag of toiletries that Seungmin brought you. “I’m gonna have to tell the doctor, you know,” he said under his voice, nowspraying rose water in your brushed hair. “That you can’t talk.” He looked at you then. “Or is it that you won’t talk? Did that guy hurt you?”
It took a few seconds for you to even remember who Jisung was talking about. You shook your head, almost mumbling a no, but the words melted on your tongue before they could form. No. Jonathan hadn’t hurt you. You felt nothing about him, or for him.
He sighed. “I’ll go get us some coffee.” He remembered that you liked to drink one after a particularly big dinner. It spilled a little bit of warmth into your chest. “If it hasn’t come back in one hour, I'll tell the doctor. Aphasia’s no joke. They’re gonna have to do more MRIs.”
You knew he wasn’t even talking about the tests the doctors did last night—this was about how nobody could figure out how, or why, you suddenly acquired the knowledge of a dead language. They had studied you and your brain for weeks without finding anything even a little abnormal about it. And yet here you were, involved in yet another language-related incident.
You sat on the bed with your empty phone, not even knowing where to begin with it, or perhaps enjoying its silence. The nurses Jisung had tasked with watching over you were pretending not to be staring, leaning against the wall by your door. He had done that when he went to pick up the food too. As if you needed a babysitter.
You cleared your throat, inhaling as much as you could. You could talk. You really could. You could read and talk. And write. None of these things were foreign to you, so it wasn’t supposed to be hard. You needed to be able to speak again if only to tell Han Jisung that you wouldn’t allow him to put a baby monitor in your bedroom later on, no matter how overprotective he acted with you.
“Here I am,” Jisung announced proudly when he returned, a cup holder in one hand and a paper bag in the other. He gave a not-so-inconspicuous nod to the nurses by the door, who then walked away. “I had an idea while I was downstairs—I figured, maybe some reading could help. Make your brain think about words.”
He handed you your coffee which was average hospital coffee, and left a pile of magazines on your bed. “They didn’t have much,” he apologized. “But it’s better than nothing, I guess.”
When he went to sit on the chair, you made space for him on your bed. He seemed to hesitate before he sat next to you. It reminded you of the few instances after you had sex with him, when you’d smoke before sleeping, or before he left your place. He rarely spent the night at yours.
The first magazine was a little boring—it didn’t have much going for it other than a few scientific articles. One about Antarctica, one about heirloom tomatoes, and another about the fauna in certain African countries. You flipped through the pages, finding no problem in reading, just having no interest in doing it.
You finished your coffee by the time you made it to the second magazine, which was a well-known, music-oriented magazine. This one seemed to have a bit more life to it, so you started on page one and actually read the article—about an up-and-coming alternative band—alongside Jisung, who commented on it. You knew he was doing it just to stimulate your speech abilities and you appreciated it. A lot.
Actually, you were just laughing at one of his stupid jokes when you turned the page you were on and came face to face with a full-sheet advertisement for a luxury jewelry brand. Your heart dropped in shock, putting an abrupt end to your laughter. It stirred in your throat, becoming something else, as tears tickled your eyes. You fought them, though, so that your vision remained as clear as it could be, staring at the ad before you.
Hyunjin.
You would say that you had almost forgotten how beautiful he was but he possessed the kind of beauty that was impossible not to remember. He was handsome in a way that nobody else before him had been or after him would be.
In the ad, he was dressed in modest, white clothing and sported his usual chin-length hair. He sat nonchalantly yet with his usual perfect posture in a white porcelain bathtub, posing with elegance and looking directly into the lens of the camera. Droplets of water could be seen sticking to his honey skin. One hand was buried into his damp hair while the other displayed a textured silver bracelet and a ring.
Hyunjin.
You reached for the magazine, caressing his face with your fingertips as though you could feel him, but it was only a fool’s attempt at making sure that he was real. That he had ever been real. Just yesterday, you could still pick up your phone and scroll through your texts until you found the dead conversation with him just to verify that he had indeedexisted. That he had indeed once existed with you. In your life. And you in his.
Just yesterday, you didn’t care that he had left you.
“Fuck.” Jisung tried to take the magazine from you but you were quicker, which caused you to moan in pain from having moved a little too fast. He raised both his hands, yielding before you could hurt yourself any further.
You reported your attention to the page only you weren’t really seeing it. You were seeing other things. You were tasting expensive wine, you were slow dancing in the cold night, you were talking for hours about history and art and everything else. You were smelling petrichor and amber and rose and peaches and you were feeling Hyunjin’s smooth skin under your touch. Under your tongue. His lips on yours kissing you alive and his cock inside you fucking you to your demise.
You exhaled in an unexpected sob which caught you off-guard and brought you back to reality. You turned to Jisung, your lips trembling, your heart sprinting, its beat echoing within your ribcage like a song, or more accurately, war drums.
The words came to you as though they were meant to be the ones you spoke all along.
“I miss him,” you uttered, your voice no more than a whisper, but not weak. “Hyunjin. Ji, I miss him so much.”
There was nothing that Jisung could do, but he held you as you wept as finally, the scorching pain of his absence tore through you like a serrated blade. And yet you relished it. Every moment of it, every tear, every second of agony. Nothing had ever hurt you quite as much as losing him, but you would choose to be tormented over being numb any day. Because it meant your heart was still beating in your chest. It meant that you could feel something. Anything. It meant that you had loved him. That you still loved him.
But had he loved you? No. Why would a man like him love you?
If he loved you, why would he leave?
You did not sleep, but Jisung did, his arms around you as though he could bear some of the weight of your sorrows for you. You let him sleep, tears rolling down your cheeks quietly as the night shift of the hospital began.
It was two in the morning when Jisung stirred in his sleep before waking up almost violently. His first instinct was to check on you. Your cheeks were still damp and your eyes were dry and sore but you had cried all of the tears you had to cry.
“Do you know, Jisung?” you murmured as he took your hand in his. “Do you know why he left? Was it because of me?”
You had spent all these months without thinking about it but had made up for it these past few hours, analyzing the situation, going through all of your memories to find something. A reason. The shadow of a reason. But you couldn’t think of anything, so the natural conclusion had been that Hyunjin had realized he didn’t want you and had left. He was kind and sensitive, and you could imagine that he had found himself unable to tell you because he knew it would break your heart. You couldn’t compare with that past lover of his, the one he never forgot. The one he still loved.
It probably felt wrong. To kiss you, to fuck you, when he loved another.
“Because of you?” Jisung frowned, squeezing your hand harder. “I’m not supposed to—” He cut his own sentence off, biting his lip. You couldn’t make out his exact expression in the darkness of the room but you saw the moment his shoulders went from tense to relaxed. Not from relief, but from a surrender. “He came to see me. Before he left.”
Your heart skipped a beat. “What?”
“He came to see me,” Jisung repeated, his voice low. “He… he wouldn’t give me details, but he said that you would be in danger, and he asked me to watch over you while he was gone.”
The words spilling from Jisung’s mouth were so unlikely, so foreign, that you took the time to translate them in your mind. But none of the languages you knew could explain their existence. Nothing made sense anymore. You hadn’t really questioned Jisung’s sudden willingness to become your personal bodyguard. But you hadn’t really questioned anything back then.
It wasn’t even the part about you being in danger that shocked you the most.
“But why would he ask you that?” You shook your head. “It’s not like he cared, is it? If he cared, he wouldn’t have left. He never… loved me. Or anything like that.” It hurt you to say those words, but it was better than not speaking at all.
Jisung’s breath hitched softly, ending in a sigh. “Is that what you think? Is that what you’ve thought this whole time, why you… do these things?” And you knew he meant getting drunk and fucking strangers just to feel something.
There were no words for the feeling that was creeping up in your chest, and it had nothing to do with your temporary aphasia.
“God, I hated not telling you, I should have told you.” Jisung leaned closer to you then, as though you wouldn’t hear him from a few inches farther. “He did. Love you, I mean. He said so, I promise. I swear, he told me that he did.”
You thought that you were dreaming, but you knew that you were awake because of your desolation, that feeling of emptiness—the barren thing that you had become, it all felt too real to be a dream.
Outside, the rain stopped.
Hyunjin: How is she doing? You said they’d remove her cast yesterday but you didn’t text me. Please respond.
Hyunjin put his phone down and grabbed his glass instead. Half of it was filled with wine and the other half was pure boredom. Despair. Sorrow. And it was sour, the taste of it overcoming the wine.
It was a white. It was the wine that he had with you on your first date.
It wasn’t supposed to be a date but it became one. Nothing was supposed to happen the way it did but it was too late now, and what had been done could not be undone. You could not unlearn Cipherian.
He could not unlove you.
He tried. He did try, not because he wanted to, but because he thought that making you insignificant might be the only way to save you. Making it so that you did not matter, that you were invisible to the gods. But it just was not possible. He could put the whole world between the two of you; he could prevent any access to the internet from his phone or laptop to resist temptation; he could keep his days and his nights busy with photoshoots and fashion weeks, but it did not mean that you would leave his mind for one second. You never did.
You haunted him.
Hyunjin looked at the horizon before him. The view from his hotel room was stunning—he was right by the sea, close enough that its scent invaded the room through the double doors he left open. Tonight, however, he was sitting on the suite’s private balcony, with a bottle of wine kept on ice and a dinner he hadn’t touched in front of him.
The sun was setting and taking its time doing so, blending and melting into the blue of the sea. The sight of it cut his breath short. He reached out, as though he could feel it with his fingers. Its light, its warmth, its force. And he did. He did feel it. Light came to him as a gentle caress. Like somebody taking his hand in theirs.
“Feliks,” he said under his breath, and the sounds of the promenade below him swallowed his voice. The waves, lazy but steady, and the conversations. All these people, so alive, so mortal. Alive because they were mortal.
Hyunjin was neither of these things. One might believe that immortality granted an unlimited amount of vitality, ofresolve, too. He found that it was rather the opposite. Did they know? All of these people? Did they know how lucky they were?
He jumped when his phone vibrated on the table—Hyunjin let his arm fall back on the side of his body while his other hand grabbed the device quickly, eager to read the response.
Seungmin: Sorry, things have been busy. The cast came off and she’s fine, just a little sore
Hyunjin: Is she eating? Sleeping?
Seungmin: Mostly. Han is on it 24/7. You ok?
Hyunjin: I’ve got lots of really cool gigs.
Which was his way to say that he was okay even though he was not. However, he would keep pretending otherwise over the phone so that his former manager wouldn’t worry. During their time together, he and Seungmin had grown fond of each other—enough so that Hyunjin knew he would leave your employment and come find him again should he feel like it was necessary. But Hyunjin had asked him to keep an eye on you.
He could not tell Seungmin, or Han Jisung, that you had angered the gods, and that it was all his fault. But it seemed like they did buy his made-up conspiracy story about how your big discovery made many people jealous. They even believed they had a distant connection to Hyunjin through past jobs and that they could use him to find you, because they would find you. At any cost. You mean any cost? Seungmin had asked while Hyunjin was going around his bedroom, throwing random items of clothing into a bag—he had booked a last-minute flight to get away from you as quickly as possible. Why does that sound like these people are going to… kill her?
Because they fucking will, had been Hyunjin’s answer. It was the closest word to it anyway—kill. Death. It was the only way he could explain the urgency of the situation to a mortal, but what he feared might happen to you was so much worse. Death was the proof that one used to be alive, that they loved and were loved.
But when some of them would get ahold of you—his father, or perhaps Feliks’ father—they would just unmake you. They would make it so that you had never existed. Nobody would remember you. All of the things you had ever touched would go untouched by you. Including him. His lips, unkissed. His cock would never have known the miracle between your legs. His heart, his mind, and even his soul would have no recollection of you, same as everyone else.
They were greedy, self-important, arrogant gods. It would not matter to them that it was Feliks who had kissed their language into you without consulting you about it—it would not stop them from doing what they felt was necessary to do in order to remain that. Gods.
Because it was that for them—that rift separating them from the mortal, all the pieces of it that made it whole and solid—was what made them godly creatures. It wasn’t about who they were, what they were, and the vastness of their dominance. It was about who they were to mortals, what they were as opposed to mortals, and how they could use their sovereignty to establish themselves as supreme beings.
And maybe it had been why he never fit in. Because Hyunjin had never cared much for it—for who he was to others, and whether he was worshiped or not. He’d much rather have a simpler life, where one has to earn love instead of claiming it by force or manipulating others into it.
Seungmin: I saw that. Congrats!
Hyunjin let his thumb hover on the screen as the next text he wanted to send appeared in his mind. It was the very same text he had wanted to send since day one, since the very moment he sat his ass down on that first flight that put distance between you and him.
Maybe it had been foolish. To think that by making this sacrifice, he was saving you. That it would take the gods’ attention away from you a little—after all, it was him they were meant to observe while he served his sentence on the mortal plane, not you. Hyunjin knew his father, he knew the anger of others like him—they were probably furious that you had come to learn the secret language of the gods, but he knew that they were even more resentful that he, Hyathos, had fallen in love with a simple mortal and had decided to devote his life to her.
Hyunjin typed the words just to see how it felt to do so. Does she ask about me sometimes? What a pathetic question. Counterproductive, too. Kyma had been generous—and brave—enough to provide you with indifference, but there was only so much she could have done from here after all, so it was Hyunjin who was cursed with the yearning for your love.
A blessing can sometimes come disguised as a curse.
There was no winning with that, no matter what Seungmin would tell him. If he said you never talked about him, it would crush him. If he said you asked for him or missed him, it would be even worse. That was also why he never let Seungmin tell him where your public appearances took you—otherwise, nothing would stop him from just getting on a plane and finding you. And kiss you again. And tell you how he felt.
There was no point in sending that text to his former manager because Hyunjin had been very clear—if for any reason, at any moment, you asked about him, Seungmin and Jisung were to tell you that he had ghosted them, too, not even bothering with saying goodbye.
He drank the rest of the wine in his glass and instead of filling it again, Hyunjin started to drink directly from the bottle, then he erased the text and put his phone back. He had typed those words many times yet never sent them.
Hyunjin jumped when a flash of light illuminated the world, followed by another. When he heard the rumble of thunder, he looked up out of habit, only to be faced with the sunset again. Although it was rapidly descending, it was still very much there in a clear, limpid sky.
One glance behind him showed another story—over there, dark, thick clouds were rolling over the world, coming face to face with the last slither of light, blending with it in the sky like oil on a canvas. Lightning cracked once again as the scent of petrichor invaded the air. Hyunjin remained there, motionless, as the tourists on the promenade were becoming aware of the incoming weather, hurrying to take shelter. It was noisy, but then Hyunjin realized the racket didn’t only come from downstairs—it came from the skies, too.
And then it rained. It rained so hard that each drop felt like tiny shards cutting into his skin—if Hyunjin had been able to feel pain, he was certain that this would be enough to make him pass out. Instead, it just felt like a hundred little cuts. Still, he lingered on the balcony for a few moments, watching the sunset as it struggled to withstand the sudden storm. The world was becoming dark and cold. Somewhere on the promenade, a child was crying and calling for its mother, only the rain was so dense that he couldn’t even see where the screams came from.
The clouds swallowed the sunset and Hyunjin retreated inside, closing the double doors behind him. Tomorrow, on the news, they would once again talk about the strangeness of the weather and the impact it had on the world. He envied them. The mortals. They thought it was climate change. They thought it was some meteorological once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon.
Well, it was a once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon but it had nothing to do with climate change.
Despite the closed doors and the rain falling hard outside, it seemed to him that he could still hear the child. Screams coated with cold-blooded terror, with sheer panic. The child begged for their mother over and over and Hyunjin heard it despite thunder and distance.
He grabbed a hoodie left on the back of a chair and quickly put it on, pulling it over his head before heading downstairs. Dismay was tangible in the hallways—people were afraid of the sudden rain. He ran into many of them, drenched, making their way back to their hotel room, just grateful to be somewhere dry.
Hyunjin was glad to have chosen the stairs instead of the elevator when the power went out in the building but even more so when did not come back on. No auxiliary power seemed to be functional either as the entire place turned dark. He used his phone to navigate his way outside, but by now, it was difficult because of the straight-up agitation that reigned in the hotel. He heard a scream downstairs, then someone asking others to keep calm.
Hyunjin found the lobby crowded. By the mismatched arrangement of people here, he figured that some of them had probably been lounging on the beach when the rain hit and had simply run for shelter to the nearest door they could find. Others clung to their suitcase. The room was lit up by many other phones and a few small lanterns that people sometimes brought on camping trips.
Outside, it looked like the end of the world.
It wasn’t raining. Oceans were falling from the sky, crashing down hard enough that it felt like an earthquake. Or maybe there was an earthquake.
Hyunjin elbowed his way toward the door. Two security guards were standing by it, not guarding per se, but like everyone else, watching the peculiar scene outside. Water was rising in the streets—it wouldn’t take long before it reached the door and crept under. Some buildings farther down the promenade were already half-submerged.
“You really should stay inside,” one of the two men told Hyunjin, barely glancing at him—just enough to notice that he had wrapped his fingers around the door handle.
“There was a child in distress,” Hyunjin replied.
“Authorities have been called,” the guy assured. “Was this your child, sir?”
His child? No. He wondered sometimes if his divine seed could have taken within you. You were the first woman he had fucked without protection and he wasn’t entirely sure mortal birth control worked in this case. That would have been so much worse. Should he have put a baby inside you, his father’s retaliation would surely be the worst imaginable. Hyunjin could very well picture it and the way his father would tear the unborn child out of your womb and claim you for himself by putting one of his inside you. It was the way they did it. The gods. The cruel ones.
He had been so careless. He had been negligent. Clearly, you weren’t pregnant so there was no point in ruminating and yet, he realized the magnitude of his mistake as he watched the torrents fall from the sky. He had been foolish and fearless when he should have been the opposite. He should have walked away the moment you made his heart flutter at the museum. He should have walked away the moment you made his cock hard just because of the words you were saying, or because of your perfume. He should have walked away the moment he realized he could not walk away because he did not possess the strength to deny himself this, to deny himself you.
He had been unreasonable, unwise, and imprudent. He had been a mortal.
He gulped, his throat dry. “I’m just gonna go see.” He did not wait—Hyunjin pulled the door open and walked outside.
It was probably as close as it could get to drowning while standing with two feet on the ground. The storm went on, worsening the deluge, yet Hyunjin could still hear the panicked screams. Somewhere farther, much farther, were sirens and honks. But here, it was just him, standing in the middle of the street as he tried to locate the source of the cries. Whenever he thought he found it, thunder rumbled, or someone pounded on the window of the hotel, surely to incite him to come back.
The water had risen above his ankles when he figured out where to go, weighing down his footsteps. The rain was cold and unforgivable, and for once, he felt like something was matching the desolation of his life since you were no longer in it. He felt like it was that, this torment of his, that was descending from the skies, permeating every molecule around, flooding the entire place. This is how he felt without you. Like he was drowning, except not. Like every footstep, every inhale of oxygen cost him part of his soul, and maybe it did.
Could one drown in emptiness the same way they could in water?
The more he walked, the louder the cries became. He called out to see if he would be heard in return but got no response. His heart was pumping so hard in his chest that he felt something strange happening to his body, something that had never happened before. It felt a little like his brain was floating in jello, like his body was going limp despite his unwillingness. His balance was weird too, like he really had to focus just to stay on his feet.
Was this what being dizzy felt like? He had heard so much about it during his time here but had never experienced it himself. He did not think he even could experience it. Maybe it was the wine—while alcohol didn’t affect him as much as it would a mortal, he wasn’t insensitive to it. But this… was a lot.
Hyunjin held onto a ramp by the side of the promenade as he fought his way through the wall of rain. Using his hearing to guide himself, he stopped again near a small shop that rented beach chairs and other similar items. The cries stopped then, but he had enough time to finally be sure that they came from the other side of the building.
He jumped over the fence, landing in water that now reached close to the middle of his shin. He did not know what he expected to find when he turned the corner of the shop, but it certainly wasn’t this.
A child stood there. A little boy, his posture stiff, his hands closed in fists. He did not move when Hyunjin appeared beside him, keeping his gaze fixated on the horizon, toward the place where the sunset had been before it got swallowed by a storm.
Hyunjin tried to speak but the words remained stuck somewhere in his throat. He reached for the boy, not really thinking, or perhaps thinking that he would at least take him back with him to the hotel, where they could try to find his parents after the rain was over.
When his fingers came in contact with the child’s shoulder, the boy turned to him, his head snapping at inhuman speed. Hyunjin had not been afraid very often in his life—certainly not among mortals—but he was now. The child’s face was distorted with emotions too deep for a boy this age—terror, agony, and dread decorated his traits, taking control over them, over him entirely.
Hyunjin looked into the boy’s big, intricate eyes, and then his gaze lingered on his soft brown hair. Damp, it stuck to his honey skin. He had seen this face before. He could not shake off the feeling of familiarity he felt, no matter how scared of one another they were. He had seen this boy before.
He had been this boy before.
It became obvious then, that Hyunjin was staring at a version of himself when he was still young, even by god standards, when he was little and innocent. I must be dreaming, he told himself, unable to look away. Tears pricked at his eyes as terror invaded him too.
How could this be possible?
Then, the boy resumed his screaming, his face contorting even more as though he was in pain. He screamed and he cried and he begged for his mother, for their mother. Hyunjin wanted to tell him that no matter how loud he shouted, Agatheia would never hear him, not from here.
Before he could even do anything, the boy ran away, but not for long—he ran toward the other side of the promenade, stopping at the fence, which was the only thing between him and a nasty fall into the sea. I won’t hurt you, Hyunjin wanted to say, but that would have been a lie. He had hurt himself plenty.
The boy climbed on the fence—Hyunjin darted in his direction but it was too late. The child glanced behind his shoulder, looking straight into Hyunjin’s eyes, and he jumped.
He looked down into the sea when he reached the place where the boy had been just two seconds ago but he couldn’t see anything, just waves. It was at this moment that the rain began to falter, too, the incessant sound of it becoming less and less deafening, the pressure of it less and less unpleasant.
He stood there for a long time, not moving, staring at the water. Neither jumping after the child nor walking away. The rain had completely come to a stop when Hyunjin finally looked away, finding the avenue crowded with emergency services. A firefighter was coming his way and even spoke to him but Hyunjin could not respond yet. In his head, the scene kept playing over and over—the child turned ugly by fear, the child screaming, the child running, the child jumping into the sea.
“Sir?” the man insisted, putting himself in front of Hyunjin. “Sir, are you hurt?”
Hurt? No, he could not be hurt. Not his body anyway. A curse, a blessing. All of his wounds were within him, bleeding, raw, sensitive, and you were the worst of them all.
He shook his head, walking away. The firefighter followed him for a few meters before being called somewhere else, so Hyunjin went back to the hotel on his own. His shoes were filled with water, much like his clothes. He didn’t look at anyone when he reached the hotel lobby, and he climbed the five floors in the staircase because the power was still out.
He was cold, or at least he thought he was.
Once he reached his room again, he put his phone on the table and removed all of his clothes, and then Hyunjin lay down beneath all of the covers of his bed. It seemed like he had never been as tired as he was now.
He fell asleep, only it felt a little too much like it.
Like he jumped over a fence and fell into a stormy sea.
Hyunjin was dreaming.
And he knew that he was dreaming because he was back here in the meadow with the cypress tree. The sky was lilac, the air smelled like evergreen trees, like salt, and like gold. The soft grass caressed his bare ankles, and it was at that moment that he realized he was fully naked, much like the figure sitting underneath the tall tree.
Feliks.
He wanted to run yet he knew there was no need to hurry in this place, so he simply took one step, then another, crossing the space between the sun and him at a steady pace. The closer he got, the sweeter the air became as undertones of ripe peach and plums blended with it.
Hyunjin could not take his eyes off him, off Feliks. He knew that it was a dream, but it felt so real. The warm glow of his light-colored hair, the shimmer of the constellations on his skin.
His smile. The smile that he had for him, back when he could still call this place home. Not that the land of gods had ever been that for him, a home, but this meadow had been the only thing that felt like it for him before you came into his life.
“Hyathos.” Feliks’ voice filled him like sunlight melts ice on a winter morning. “I’ve missed you.”
He was there then, towering over his past lover, looking at him as though he could not believe what he saw. And yet he was there, undeniably. His smile, his delicate and beautiful body, his thighs, his cock. Soft, it rested lazily on Feliks’ flat stomach, as tantalizing as ever.
Feliks offered him a hand. When Hyunjin took it, he pulled him gently to the ground with him, and he let him. His knees sank into the soft grass, and then they sat close to one another, their bodies touching in more than one place. It started little fires all over Hyunjin, its flames coursing through his veins, settling at the back of his neck, somewhere within his ribcage, and between his legs.
“I miss you,” Feliks repeated, and the slight alteration in his sentence made Hyunjin want to cry.
“I miss you too.” And he did. He missed him and how easy and forbidden their love had been. He missed his lips and his laugh and his hands all over him. He missed the man he had been when they were together—hopeful, self-assured, courageous. Yet, he resented the god he was facing now. “Why did you do this, Feliks?”
He knew he didn’t have to explain any further—they never needed a lot of words to understand each other. Besides, Hyunjin imagined he could read it in his eyes.
Feliks bit into his lip, his glimmering eyes filling with tears. “I thought it would help if you could read the stories again, the real ones, not those the mortals tell each other. I thought... since you could no longer understand our language, that I could give it to someone close to you. Someone who wasn’t selfish, who would share it with you willingly.”
Hyunjin found nothing to respond to that, but he had to admit he had been waiting eagerly for your published translations of the ancient texts so that he could remember them, really remember them, once more.
“I didn’t think enough,” he went on. “I should have known this would anger them.”
Them. Hyunjin’s father, Feliks’ father, the others. “Do they know it’s you who did it?” he asked, his voice low and strangled. He had lost you already and he wasn’t sure he could lose Feliks also.
The god of light nodded slowly. “That is why I called you here, Hyathos. I wanted to see you one last time before…”
“No.” Hyunjin felt something tickle his throat.
Feliks sighed. “They’ll probably send me to my aunt Ismene and she will be the one to judge me for my actions, which I know are highly punishable.” He reached for Hyunjin’s face, cupping his cheek in his warm hand. He had forgotten that feeling—the feeling of light itself spreading on his skin like kisses, like honey on warm bread. “My betrayal runs deep, I don’t expect exile would be quite enough to pay for my mistakes.”
“Don’t say that.” He hadn’t noticed before, but there was a small basket with peaches on the other side of Feliks, their skin soft and brightly colored. He recognized them. His peaches, the ones he used to grow in his orchard. The ones he used to bring here to share with Feliks. How did he get ahold of these? “It can’t be the end. They can’t unmake you, you’re… Feliks.”
“There are other suns. I am just one of many. I am replaceable.” Feliks let go of him to grab two peaches, handing him one.
Hyunjin understood that feeling—he had been that, once. Replaceable. One of many. He had been that to Feliks, and it had broken his soul. Or so he thought. Sometimes he wondered if he had truly loved Feliks but then regretted having those thoughts—of course he had loved him. Part of him still did love him and always would. It just had not been truelove. The kind of love that binds souls no matter what. The kind of love one doesn’t have to beg or wait for.
Still. A world without Feliks was not a world that Hyunjin could imagine. When he tried to think about it, his brain only sent him white noise.
He did not taste the peach, but he watched as his former lover bit into his, as the sweet juices ran down his chin. Feliks wiped them with the back of his hand.
“Am I dreaming?” Hyunjin asked.
Feliks nodded. “Yes. It’s the only way I can reach you. It’s the only way I could reach her.”
He gulped as a strange sensation spilled into his chest—not quite anger, something milder than that. Irritation. Displeasure. “It’s the only way you could reach that painter too,” he pointed out, doing his best not to scowl.
“I wanted you to get the message somehow, and back then, even bringing you here in your sleep would have been dangerous,” Feliks retorted before taking another bite of his peach, slurping as flesh and juice filled his beautiful mouth.
The message. Yes, Hyunjin had read it in Caverley’s painting. It was not a message meant for mortal minds or words. It was a message of love. It was an apology. It said something along the lines of, I’m sorry I could not love you enough. I’m sorry I didn’t try harder to love you enough. I miss you, but I can’t have you.
Hyunjin tilted his head. “It killed the man who painted it.”
Feliks averted his gaze, letting go of his half-eaten peach. “I wanted you to—”
“You wanted me to understand, I know,” Hyunjin cut him off. It was always that with Feliks—he was so scared of being forgotten and misunderstood that he did not hesitate to use drastic measures to prevent it. Like fucking an apology into a clueless human, or kissing a dead language into the mortal Hyunjin had fallen in love with.
They had been lovers for quite a while, but it had not been enough time for Hyunjin to make Feliks see that he loved the sun even after the night fell.
“Feliks, have you ever loved me? Truly?” Sometimes, ignorance was worse than a dreaded truth.
“Is that what you think? That I never loved you?” Feliks’ eyes filled with tears. “Of course I did love you. I still do. Our loves are just not in the same language.”
Hyunjin disagreed—the language was the same, it was the tenses that varied. Feliks only ever spoke to him in the present tense while he had seen his future in him. He had been a little foolish, perhaps, but he had truly believed thattheir love could unite their families. That, with time, his father would see that the gods from the realm of Light were not enemies, not rivals, but could be powerful allies instead. In return, he had been certain that Feliks could have convinced his parents that the people from the realm of Blood could be more than simple-minded warriors. The land of the gods had never known peace, and he had wanted to change that. He loved him enough for that, Feliks, that it could have changed the world.
“It couldn’t have worked,” Feliks continued, his voice lower. “There are too many things between us.”
He was right. Except that Hyunjin had wanted to try anyway. He would have tried, he would have.
But when he went to respond, Feliks stopped him, raising his hand, listening. “Someone’s here,” he whispered. He turned toward the tree line at the other side of the meadow and spoke to it. “Come, dear. I’m sure he’ll want to see you.”
Hyunjin turned his head just in time to see a person step onto the tall grass and approach the cypress tree with slow but purposeful movements.
You.
He stood, his heart stopping as you made your way toward him, more beautiful than any god or goddess he had ever seen.
“I’m dreaming, aren’t I?” Hyunjin asked no one in particular, but it was Feliks who gave him a response.
“Yes.” He stood, too, and embraced him from behind. It felt a little like Hyunjin was propelled two hundred feet farther. Feliks’ body was warm, comforting. Familiar. Like many times before, Feliks kissed his neck, pressing his full lips on his skin there. “There’s a reason why she’s here, but she is just a dream. It would be too risky to bring her whole here again. You want to keep her safe, right?”
Hyunjin gulped, hating the sudden weight tugging at him in his lower stomach, or perhaps hating that he relished it. “Yes. More than anything.”
You came to a stop before him, looking at him with big, sad eyes, your lips trembling. Your hair was longer than it had been the last time he saw you. He was stunned at the unexpected sight of you. He hadn’t thought about the moment he would see you again because he had just assumed there would be no such moment.
“But she looks real,” he insisted, his body going limp.
Feliks held him tighter, leaving little kisses on his upper back, his bare shoulder, wrapping an arm around his chest to pull him closer.
“She looks real because you want her to look real, Hyathos.” Feliks offered you his other hand. “Come see me.”
So you did—you obeyed, walking past him to join Feliks but never letting Hyunjin leave your sight. He couldn’t hold it against you—nobody could ignore it when the light itself summoned them. It used to be all he had. Those moments when Feliks called on him and they would come here in this secret place to talk and to fuck. It used to make him feel so big, so important, to be loved by someone as bright and warm as Feliks. It used to drive him crazy when Feliks would get hard under his touch, or when Feliks begged to suck his cock. Then Hyunjin would watch as his length disappeared between his lover’s pretty lips, and everything felt right.
He used to believe it when Feliks said I love you. And he did. Love him. This, Hyunjin and Hyathos alike knew. But Feliks wanted to be loved by all—he felt inadequate and small and lacking when he did not feel the love of many.Hyunjin, on the other hand, felt inadequate and small and empty when he did not feel the love of Feliks. He never sought more than that—he never needed more than that. Feliks, perhaps, had a bigger heart than he did, and it just required more to replenish it.
Feliks let go of him to take both your hands, pulling you closer to him. He left a chaste kiss on your cheek. “You should taste a peach, they’re delicious,” he advised you, and you complied. When you were at a reasonable distance, Feliks approached him again. “It’s time to say goodbye, Hyathos. I don’t think I’ll ever see this place, or you again.”
No. It did not matter that he had not been enough for Feliks, he couldn’t imagine his life without him. Hyunjin had learned that—that love was rarely fair. But that did not bother him.
“They’ll come get me and you have to be gone before they do. They can’t see you. It’s too dangerous,” Feliks insisted. He pressed his small hand on Hyunjin’s cheek, pulling him into a kiss. Lips on lips. And then the lips parted, deepening the kiss.
It felt good. Like returning to a favorite travel destination knowing that it would never be your home but enjoying being there nonetheless. It felt good like a ray of light appearing from behind clouds after a storm. It felt good like a blade through the heart.
Hyunjin pulled away, realizing that kissing Feliks felt exactly like it always had, only he no longer wished to do it. It hurt him. It hurt him to become aware of it, and yet relief overtook him.
Feliks had a faint smile. “Go now, take her with you. They’ll be here any minute.”
He wasn’t quite ready to let go yet. “You have to fight. You have to lie, to tell them… it wasn’t you. You have to—”
Feliks shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what I tell them. Aunt Ismene will see everything.”
Hyunjin wondered what she would see. He wondered if, perhaps, Feliks had wanted to give mortals the language of the gods so that they found new ways to love him. That was something that he did, sometimes—giving up entire parts of himself seeking validation, admiration, and affection. As though he was blind to himself, to how bright and regarded he was. Nothing would ever be enough for him. Nothing. And for that, Hyunjin pitied him.
He could hear them now—footsteps coming from the forest, and voices, too. As though whoever was coming to get Feliks had no fear of being heard. “Feliks…”
“Whatever happens, we’ll never be fully apart,” Feliks said, letting go of him, even nudging him away. “Please. You have to leave.”
But Hyunjin’s feet were anchored to the ground. He wanted to weep and scream. He looked away, past the forest, toward the mountains separating the realm of Light and the realm of Blood. On the other side of them was his mother. She was probably sitting in her garden, hoping for the safe return of her only remaining son. He wanted to stay here and go see her. He wanted to stay here and eat peaches with you and Feliks. He wanted you to get to know him. Feliks. You’d like him, he was sure of that.
“Now!” Feliks insisted through his teeth, and when Hyunjin still didn’t move, he turned to you. “Get him out of here, please. Please, both of you have to go.”
The peach that you were holding fell to the ground when you let go of it, immediately taking action. You made your way to him, taking his face in your hands. “Hyunjin, come with me.”
You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
“Follow me. We’re leaving.” And he did follow you, but not without a last glance at Feliks from over his shoulder. He could see it now—Feliks had summoned you here because he knew you were the only thing Hyunjin would choose over him. “Faster. Faster!”
You were running then and so was he—both of you bolted, sprinting to reach the safety of the trees surrounding the meadow before it was too late. Feliks still stood underneath the cypress tree, looking at the both of you even though he could not see.
Six figures appeared, but before he could make out who they were exactly, you forced him to look away, holding his head in your trembling hands. “Wake up now,” you whispered. “I miss you. I miss you. Please come find me.”
You were a dream. You weren’t really asking him this. It could not be real.
Behind him, noises of a fight echoed.
“Wake up,” you said again. But all he wanted to do was go kill the men who were taking Feliks away and then fuck you hard. He missed you in a way he did not know something could be missed—like he had put a part of himself in your heart and existed without it since.
He kissed you, tears running down his cheeks. Feliks screamed, and Hyunjin woke up.
The hotel room was dark, the air humid and cold. Hyunjin stayed motionless in his bed, his heartbeat the only thing he could hear, holding onto the last thing he had felt from his dream, which was your lips. He was rock hard underneath the sheets, sensitive, leaking as though he had been aroused for hours.
He closed his eyes again, chasing the dream, trying to make sense of it. It was night outside and it was night inside andit was night inside of him too. He didn’t know if any of it was true. Feliks. He didn’t know if they had taken him away or if it was just his mind telling him that he, Hyunjin, was ready to let him go.
Maybe it was both.
He remembered you, too, your body, the feeling of it against his. Your skin, your lips. Your scent. You. He rolled on his stomach to rub himself on the mattress, an unbearable pressure building between his legs, an ache spreading all over his cock and his balls and his chest.
He loved you. He did. He loved you in the way a mortal could love, which was to say, like he was running out of time. He needed more of it, more time, to kiss you, to love you, to make you breakfast. To eat your pussy. To bake a peach crumble with you. To make love to you, to visit hundreds of museums all over the world with you.
He was running out of time. He had been wrong. He had been wrong to leave. How could he keep you safe if you were on the other side of the world?
Hyunjin came then, the thought of seeing you again more than enough to tip him over the edge as he humped the mattress desperately, longing for you, yearning for you. He came whispering your name like a madman, spilling himself all over the satin sheets. His high lasted him for an unusually long time during which he could not stop seeking friction and imagining it was you he was fucking, remembering your pussy, remembering you.
When he had fully emptied himself, he collapsed on the other half of the bed, his stomach covered in cum, his body covered in sweat, the fancy sheets stained in a way that ought to make him ashamed except he was not. The rain had stopped outside. He stared at the darkness around him, panting softly. Maybe the sun would never rise again, but that would not stop him.
He could see it now—he was meant to be with you. At all costs. He would give his immortal life if it meant it would keep the selfish gods away from you.
Night fell early these days, and the air smelled crisp—the fall winds were merciless outside of the car. You wrapped your woolen cardigan tighter around you, your gaze fixated on the road ahead. Music was playing at low volume on the car’s satellite radio—just some late-night chill beats to fill the silence that reigned inside the car.
Jisung sat behind the wheel, driving carefully—neither too fast nor too slow—with his fingers tapping on the wheel to the rhythm of the music.
Jisung sat behind the wheel, driving carefully—neither too fast nor too slow—with his fingers tapping on the wheel to the rhythm of the music.
He cleared his throat. “Feels kinda weird to be back home, doesn’t it?” As though to support his statement, he motioned vaguely at the scenery around you, which was the highway between the airport and the downtown area. “It’s been a while.”
You nodded distractedly. “Yeah, been a while.”
But even as you came upon familiar buildings and as you entered and drove deeper into the city, none of it felt like home. It felt no different than being on this stupid press tour. You wondered if perhaps it might feel strange because it was nighttime and that everything would be alright tomorrow morning, yet you knew you were only telling yourself lies.
Maybe out of habit, Jisung slowed down the car as you drove past the museum. Your museum. You had visited so many of them to give press conferences that you had almost forgotten how much you liked this one. Maybe it was just because you were used to it. Maybe it was just because once, Hyunjin had kissed you within these walls.
You almost told Jisung to stop here, that you’d go get something from your office just so you could see this familiar place again but changed your mind at the last minute. Still, you watched the museum from the side mirror after you went past it, not letting it leave your sight until the car took a right turn.
When you turned your head at the front again, you noticed that Jisung had been watching you from the corner of his eyes, but pretending he wasn’t at all.
Again, he cleared his throat. “Maybe—I mean, look, do you maybe wanna spend the night at mine?” He spoke a little too fast for it to sound natural. “I mean, not like, spend the night, I mean, just sleep there. I’ll take the couch. Then I’ll go help you unpack your things at yours tomorrow.”
You took a deep breath. Could he really sense that you weren’t exactly sure how you’d react to being back there again? At your apartment? It had been months, after all. You feared, almost, that Hyunjin’s scent would linger in places, like your couch or perhaps even your bedroom. And you didn’t know how that would make you feel.
The same question that had been haunting you since the night of the accident returned to your mind, like pieces from a shipwreck lost at sea resurfacing after a violent storm.
Why did he leave? If what Jisung said was true—if Hyunjin did love you, or even something close to that, why didn’t he stay?
For your safety had been Jisung’s only and relentless response whenever you questioned him, but that was a pile of horseshit. You couldn’t even blame Jisung for it—you knew he had been fed that aforementioned horseshit by Hyunjin himself and was only repeating his words.
“I’d rather go home,” you replied, but your voice sounded strangely foreign. You knew he offered because he cared and because he seemed to genuinely believe you were in some kind of danger. You, on the other hand, didn’t. Or maybe you didn’t care. “I’m not really tired so I’ll be up all night anyway. I’ll just work.”
Jisung let out a non-committal hum while he was trying to form a response. “It’s all you’ve been doing though. Working.” Still, he negotiated a turn, heading toward your neighborhood.
“It’s all I have.” And it was just true, yet you knew it was a bit dark and that he would worry. He always worried, it seemed. “To do,” you added quickly. “It’s all I have to do.”
He saw right through you yet Jisung pretended he didn’t. “Will you go back to work at the museum? Like, after the books are out?”
You shrugged, feeling a strange weight pressing on your chest as you approached your building. “I mean, yes, I figure.” Technically, you were still employed there, and the entirety of your work on Cipherian and the myths was sponsored by the museum. You wondered how strange it would be, though. To walk on those floors again. To remember the woman you had been before.
That woman, you figured, was dead. She had been changed forever, altered to the point that she no longer existed. You would never be her again. You had been stained by something you couldn’t describe with words.
Jisung did help you get your suitcase up to your door and stayed by your side while you were looking for your keys—you hadn’t used them in so long, after all. He asked if he could look around before you got inside, and you granted him that—after that, you knew he would be at peace and he would leave you alone. And it wasn’t even that you minded his company. If anything, you had come to enjoy it quite a lot. You just needed to be alone for a few hours, as though it would allow you to mourn something.
“Looks fine to me,” Jisung told you. He hugged you, keeping you in his embrace a little longer than he needed to. “Call me if you need anything.”
“I will. Thanks, Ji.”
He smiled but there was no joy on his face, only remorse.
It felt strange to close the door behind him. You listened to the sounds outside—his footsteps in the stairway, the cars passing in the street. His rental starting and driving away. Then you focused on the noises coming from inside—the steady buzz of your fridge, your upstairs neighbor walking from his bathroom to his bedroom. Your breathing, deep, slow. Different. The same.
Sometimes, you only notice that things changed after you brought them back to the place they were before.
You showered. It was still the same body wash as it had been before you left and it reminded you of Hyunjin. Of showering with him, here. His body against yours. His big hands lathering your skin, his lips on your cheek, your jaw, your shoulder. Other places. It felt strangely empty without him.
Everything was empty. Your fridge, your cupboards. You still had some gyokuro green tea though, so you put some water to boil and made yourself a cup, but without anyone to share it with, that felt rather hollow, too.
Just sitting on the edge of your bed while changing into your clothes was too much. Nothing felt right. Someone else ought to be there. For an instant, you considered calling Jisung and telling him you had changed your mind, that he should come spend the night, and then you realized there was no point to it—it just wouldn’t do. Even if he slept with you in your bed. Even if he fucked you in it all night.
You found your laptop in your luggage and went to sit in a corner of your living room, which was also barren and cold. But you sat by a window and drank your tea while the night deepened outside—there were fewer cars on the road, lesspedestrians too. You cracked open the window and started by checking your personal email. You composed a simple email to your mother to let her know you were back in your apartment, figuring it ought to suffice for now. She had been asking you to come visit but you kept telling her you were too busy. It wasn’t even a lie, but you just didn't want her to realize that the woman who had once been her daughter was gone forever.
In your work email, however, one message in particular caught your attention because it came from the most prestigious university in the country. It wasn’t that you never received correspondence from people attending art history classes there—you had worked with quite a few PhD students these past few years, and even some professors who wanted to consult you for their courses.
But this email wasn’t from someone at the university. It was from the university. It was a rather short email, yet a deeply significant one. You read it once, and then another time, but it took two more read throughs for the words to be processed by your mind.
Your phone rang then, and you wouldn’t have taken the call if you didn’t know exactly why Seungmin was calling you.
“Did you see the email?” you asked, but you knew he had because he had access to your work email and he was always on his phone.
“I did.” You could tell Seungmin was in a car. “So, you’re going to accept it, right?”
The Alden Breay Award, presented to scholars whose research distinguished itself by its contribution to the world. It wasn’t unlike a small-scale Nobel prize. Only one of them was awarded each year to researchers from all across the globe, all fields included. It was a highly sought-after honor that generally immortalized the researcher’s work.
Your selection had apparently been voted by a vast committee of experts in philology, palaeography, ancient history, linguistics, archeology, art history, philosophy and semiotics. There was, apparently, no doubt that you ought to be this year’s recipient of the award for your work on Cipherian and the ancient myths. According to the selection committee, your discoveries had propelled the world of history several decades into the future, making the impossible possible.
You gulped, but a knot remained in your throat.
“I don’t think I really deserve it,” you murmured, closing the lid of your laptop as though it would make the award disappear forever. The living room was dark without it. “I didn’t really research anything. It just happened.”
“You made the discovery regardless,” Seungmin insisted. Before you could add anything, he went on. “Of course they gave it to you. You’re all over the news already. Everyone says it’s the discovery of the century. They had to give it to you. I think you'll also get a Pulitzer, but you didn't hear it from me. It’ll be good exposure. Good money, too.”
You didn’t care about money. You already made more of it than you needed.
Your silence lingered, during which you heard Seungmin pay the driver of his cab and come out of the car. You stared outside, looking at this place that didn’t feel like home, wishing that it did.
“Okay.” You tasted the word in your mouth, finding it had no flavor. “I’ll do it.” You may not be of much importance, but whatever exposure this would get you, the museum would get as well. “The email said we could choose the location for the event, right?”
“Yes!” Seungmin sounded happy about it. It painted a faint smile on your lips—at least one of you was excited. “Do you have a preference? There are some very good venues—”
“The museum.” You thought about Mrs. Yoo, about Minji, about everyone who had worked so hard on the Deities exhibition. They should be the ones who reaped the honors of it all. Not you. The least you could do was to bring the party to them.
Oh, you had spent many late nights at the museum, same as anyone else, trying to make everything work, organizing shipments of valuable artifacts, trying to convince other museums to let you borrow something of theirs for a while. But none of this was of any importance because a language had appeared in your brain, and now that language was your prison. Now, that dead language was the only thing about you that mattered.
“The museum’s a great idea,” Seungmin retorted and you could hear him typing frantically on the phone. He must have put you on speaker and was already drafting an acceptance letter for the award, no doubt. “It’s so late, why don’t you try getting some sleep? We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Well. Later.”
It was already two in the morning. You cleared your throat, taking a deep breath to keep your voice as steady as you could make it. “Yeah, okay.” It was best not to argue with him.
“I forgot to tell you—congrats, really,” Seungmin said and you could even hear the smile in his voice, which somehow made you feel even worse.
There was nothing to congratulate you for. You had done nothing. Yet all these people wanted to speak with you and give you awards and call you grand things but you knew it had nothing to do with you. None of these people knew you. You had not let them know you, nor would you ever.
You had let someone in once and it cost too high a price.
None of this was about you personally. Whatever had happened, you were simply the voice for a language that had been extinct for millennia. After you were done translating all the available texts, after you had written down every ounce of knowledge you possessed on Cipherian, your purpose would be fulfilled, and the world would no longer have a use for you.
It was, after all, what you had always been. A temporary burst of light in the night sky of people’s existence.
A shooting star.
It took you a long time to fall asleep—by the time you drifted off, the sky was beginning to turn pale. You dreamt. You dreamt that you ran, holding someone’s hand, dragging them with you. You ran away from something terrible but you did not know what. You ran toward the unknown but it did not matter and you were not afraid. There was a hand in yours, familiar and warm and the feeling of it was intimate. You never looked behind you to see who it was—there was no time for this, there was only time for running.
When you woke up hours later, you were out of breath as though your dream had been real.
You noticed it as soon as you opened your eyes—in the sky, a sun had risen, but it did not look the same as it did yesterday.
.. to be continued.
author's note: Hello everyone! How are you guys doing? I hope you all have been well & that you are having a good summer. I wanted to say a huge thank you for all the love that you give me. It's such a wonderful thing and yet I cannot help but feel like I don't deserve it. I will always work hard so I do deserve it one day 🤍 I appreciate every ask sent, every reblog, everything. I am the luckiest author on here and maybe in the world, and I owe it all to you guys. So, thank you.
I would like to extend a special thank you to @cb97percent who helped me with this chapter when I struggled a lot with it. Thank you, love.
Also, a special thank you to @hyunskizz whose love for Hyathos has kept this story alive. Thank you my lil apple. May he always bring you comfort and delicious fruit.
I went back to re-read this chapter in order to refresh the details before moving on to the newly released "Intended souls" and realized I never wrote anything to it in the first place, which I am deeply sorry for.
Honestly, Mari, it usually takes me a couple of days to process and live through every piece you create, because there is nothing on the surface. And it takes time to fully undertsand what happened, live through the feelings and emotions the characters had to go through. It is so so layered and so deep that you just can't just close the app and go live your normal life.
I already told you many times that i have this deep heavy feeling when reading your stories. Heavy not in a negative way. just loaded. Thats how you know the author really took their time and effort to build the characters, the tension, the details so it is impossible to just forget, and it means so so much. Because in the world of fast content, with reels, tiktoks and my basic attention span being 30 seconds, I stay with you and the stories FOR YEARS. And honetly, Hyathos is one of my favourite ones!
I loved every second of how you wrote their longing and feeling of being numb, desperate, lovesick, and hurt. And how they both realise what they meant for each other.
The whole Feliks scene broke my heart of course but i feel like I might right a separate essay on this specific part, but right now I dont have any coherent words to describe it. It was just...beyond everything. The realisation of what love meant for each of them, how it was all sicnere, just different..it hurt so much. And the fact that Feliks took both Hyathos and YN to this place to say his goodbyes.. to say that it mattered for him too, that it wasn't nothing for him. Ugh. Beautiful in a way the words cant describe.
As always, Mari, I am beyond thankful that you have once decided to write this, it is a beautiful piece of writing and nothing that i have read so far (which is a lot) has compared to your stories in the level of emotions, sincerity and soulfullness (idk if there is a word like that but i feel like i need to say it like that). Just thank you. You are my favourite author ever.
Synopsis: While everyone else in the office avoids Minho like he’s radioactive, you have a secret crush on him and you think it’s stupid as he’d never feel the same… or so you think. (6,2k words)
Author's note: Happiest birthday to the guy with a strong black cat energy 🐈⬛
When the company you worked for merged with another, you expected new rules, new systems, maybe even new friendships.
What you didn’t expect was Minho.
The first time you saw him, you thought he was simply the type who wore his seriousness like his suit jacket—stiff, formal, but nothing a smile couldn’t soften. You’d always believed people had gentler sides waiting to be uncovered, so you gave him the benefit of the doubt.
A week into working alongside him, you learned that’s just how he is. Sharp words cut through the air like knives when he caught a junior making a mistake. He didn’t yell, but the low, pointed tone was enough to freeze everyone within earshot. A misplaced report, a late submission, even a typo—Minho noticed it all, and he wasn’t afraid to call people out on it.
Soon, people began steering clear of him like he was a ticking bomb. Words spread across the office—cold, harsh, distant. You should have joined them in keeping your head down, but instead you found yourself watching him.
In the same week you worked alongside him, you also learned something no one knows about Minho. Behind every cutting remark, he was precise. Behind every scolding, there was a strange kind of care—because he wanted things done right, not out of cruelty, but out of pride for the work itself. His standards were high, but he held himself to them, too.
And what began as respect, an admiration for his dedication, slowly grew into something else. Something you didn’t dare say out loud.
Because somewhere between watching him stay late nights to finish projects and catching rare glimpses of him rubbing his tired eyes when he thought no one was looking, your admiration twisted into a secret crush.
-
The weekly strategy meeting—usually a blur of charts and numbers—feels different the moment Minho speaks.
He sits across the long table, posture straight, every word rolling off his tongue clear and precise. He doesn’t stumble, doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t second-guess himself. His voice carries with it a weight that demands attention, and everyone in the room listens.
You try to look casual, but your eyes keep drifting to the way his crisp white shirt stretches neatly across his shoulders, to the silky blue tie that looks far too elegant for such a dull Monday, to the way he leans forward slightly when he’s emphasizing a point. Eloquence drips from every sentence, intelligence carved into the lines of his expression.
You can almost feel yourself melting into your chair just watching him. How is it fair that someone so stern, so terrifying to others, can be so impossibly attractive to you?
All of a sudden, Minho’s eyes flick your way. Sharp, direct, like he knows.
Your heart skips a beat and heat rushes to your face as you quickly duck your head, scribbling nonsense into your notes just to look busy as if you weren’t just openly staring at him a second ago. You pray he didn’t notice. You pray the room is too full, too loud, that you’re nothing more than another coworker in his periphery.
But even as you keep your head down, the image of him—confident, composed, devastatingly beautiful in that blue tie—burns behind your eyes.
-
Not long after the meeting wrapped up, your landline rings and you pick it up. It’s a muscle memory at this point.
The secretary ditches formality and goes straight to the point. “The director wants to see you.”
There’s no need to respond anyway. When the director calls, you come even though the summon usually means extra work, and sure enough, when you step into the office, you find Minho already there, sitting opposite her, one leg crossed over the other, looking maddeningly composed.
“Ah, you’re here,” the director says, gesturing for you to sit. “I’ll get straight to the point. They moved up the new product presentation to tomorrow so I asked Minho to prepare the initial draft. But…”
She briefly glances at him and Minho’s lips curl into the faintest smirk.
“I can’t do it alone.” His voice is even, but there’s something in the way he says it—like he’s already a step ahead. “This project is too detailed for one person to handle without risking mistakes.”
The director nods in agreement. “That’s why I want you to work with him. Tonight, if possible. The draft needs to be on my desk first thing tomorrow morning.”
Tonight? With him? Just the two of you? You can feel your pulse pick up.
Minho turns his head, and his gaze lands on you. His eyes don’t waver, don’t soften—just steady, dark, unwavering. But beneath the formality, there’s something else there. Something that feels like… anticipation. Almost like he’s curious to see what you’ll say. Almost like he’s looking forward to it.
You swallow air, suddenly aware of how loud your heartbeat sounds in your own ears. Being alone with Minho… the thought is equal parts terrifying and thrilling. You’re not sure you’re ready for whatever comes with it.
Then again, this is work. A task directly handed to you by your superior. You can’t say no.
So you straighten in your seat, clear your throat, and force out, “Of course. We’ll get it done tonight.”
The director smiles, relieved. “Good. I’ll leave it in your hands then.”
When you rise to leave, Minho does too. As you pass each other in the doorway, his arm brushes against yours—light, fleeting, but enough to send a shiver down your spine. And then, in the corner of your eye, you catch the faintest trace of a grin tugging at his lips.
-
The office begins to empty as the evening creeps in. Desks that buzzed with chatter just hours ago now fall silent, one by one. You’re still at your computer, finishing up a few loose ends, when a co-worker passing by pauses at your desk.
“Hey, you’re not leaving?” she asks, slipping her bag over her shoulder.
You shake your head with a small smile. “No. I’ve got to work late tonight… with Minho.”
Her eyebrows jump and then she leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice so no one else can hear. “Good luck.”
Before you can reply, she slips away with a knowing shake of her head. You exhale slowly, sinking back into your chair and stretching your arms above your head, shoulders loosening from a day of tension.
The quiet is almost soothing until you catch the sound of footsteps approaching. You glance up to find Minho stands beside your desk.
“What do you want to do?” he asks, voice low but steady. Then with deliberate motions, he undoes the buttons at his wrists and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows. The fabric slides back, revealing the lean lines of his forearms.
You straighten, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “We should probably divide the tasks,” you suggest, trying to keep your voice even. “That way, we won’t overlap.”
You try to focus on his words as he talks about a way to divide the task but your eyes keep drifting down to the veins coiling beneath his skin, prominent with each flex of his hand as he smooths the sleeve into place. It’s such a simple movement, ordinary even, but it makes your stomach flip in a way it shouldn’t.
“...and you can handle the visuals,” he finishes.
You force your gaze back up to his face, hoping he didn’t notice the split-second detour of your eyes. “Right. The visuals. I can do that,” you answer a little too quick, a little too casual.
He tilts his head just slightly, studying you with that unreadable expression and then, as if nothing happened, he nods and sits down, pulling his laptop closer.
It’s just you and him in the office tonight. And you know it’s going to be harder than ever to concentrate tonight.
-
Minutes stretch into hours and you’ve buried yourself deep into your slides, eyes locked on the screen, pen tucked between your teeth as you work through numbers and charts.
But even in your focus, thoughts of coffee creep in. Your body aches for the warmth, the caffeine, the small break, the excuse to stretch your legs. You hesitate, though. Should you offer to make one for Minho too? Would he even want you to? He doesn’t exactly seem like the type who accepts favors easily.
You nibble the cap of your pen, debating on it, until the hairs on the back of your neck prickle. You can’t shake the feeling that he’s looking at you.
Slowly, you turn your head and sure enough, Minho’s eyes are already on you. Not casually, not by accident—just steady, dark, fixed in your direction.
You force your voice low, hesitant, as if the silence between you might break if you speak too loudly. “I… I was going to make coffee. Do you want one too?”
For a heartbeat, he doesn’t answer. He just holds your gaze, like he’s searching for something behind your question. Then, finally, his lips part. “Yeah, sure.”
He doesn’t look away, not even once, and it makes your chest flutter in a way that feels dangerous.
You clear your throat, breaking the spell, and push back your chair. The scrape of its legs against the floor sounds louder than it should. With shaky hands, you gather yourself, stand, and head for the pantry, your pulse quickening with each step, as if you’re fleeing from the pull of his gaze.
The coffee machine whirs as you press the power button on and it’s the only sound that fills the pantry. You stand in front of it, arms raised as your fingers knead into the tense muscles of your neck. A sigh slips from your lips, low and drawn out, almost a moan, as you try to ease the ache from sitting at your desk too long.
“Oh, that felt good…” you murmur under your breath, pressing harder on the tension on your shoulder.
The sound of footsteps makes you jolt and you quickly turn on your feet, eyes widening when you see Minho standing at the doorway with his hand tucked in his slacks pocket.
“Why are you so surprised?” he asks evenly, a brow quirked.
You shake your head too fast, clutching for composure. “N–Nothing.”
The smirk that curls on his lips tells you he doesn’t buy it. It’s small, sly, almost like he’s reading straight through your lie. He steps further inside, leaning against the counter with infuriating ease, arms crossed over his chest. His head tilts, his gaze steady, following your every movement as you fumble with the machine like it suddenly became rocket science.
Then, out of nowhere, his voice cuts through the silence. “Am I scary?”
The question makes you laugh awkwardly, too quickly, like it’s a ridiculous thing to ask. “What? No, of course not.” You wave a hand, trying to dodge it, but your laugh dies a little too soon.
Minho doesn’t move but his eyes sharpen. “I know everyone in the office is scared of me,” he says simply, like he’s stating a fact.
You shake your head, stubborn. “They just don’t know you the way they should.”
His gaze lingers, piercing through you, holding you in place. “What about you?” His voice drops lower, intimate in a way that makes the room feel smaller. “Are you scared of me?”
The words trip out of you instantly, almost desperately. “No.”
But your smile is too quick, too awkward, as though you’re trying to hide something.
He studies you, silent for a long beat. Then he nods slowly, almost like he’s solved a puzzle. “You’re not scared of me,” he says at last. “But you’re afraid of me.”
His eyes lock on yours, unwavering, and you feel yourself unraveling under his intense stare. He’s too close to the truth, too close to the secret you’ve been keeping.
Panic, you abandon the half-brewed coffee and turn on your heel. “I’d better get back to work,” you mutter in a rush, desperate to escape.
But you barely make it two steps before his voice snaps across the room. “You like me, don’t you?”
You can feel the blood drains from your face as your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. The silence that follows is deafening, your halted body betraying you more than any words could.
Behind you, Minho exhales a laugh—low, knowing, edged with triumph. “Don’t bother denying it. I can see it all over you.”
You walk fast, your heels clicking against the floor as if putting distance between you and Minho could erase what just happened. But the office is nearly empty, and the echo of his footsteps follows close behind, relentless.
You make it to your desk and try to busy yourself by tidying the cluttering pens and papers,. But of course, it’s useless because his desk is right across from yours. There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide until the task is done and Minho knows it.
“I’ve noticed the things you do when you think I’m not looking,” he says from behind you. His smooth, low voice peeling away your defenses.
“The way you stare at me in meetings. That little look you give me when you think I’m too busy to notice. You chew your lip when I speak, like you’re holding something back. And just now…” His tone dips lower, velvet wrapped around steel. “…that face you made when I caught you in the pantry.”
You squeeze your eyes shut as embarrassment and frustration mixing until you can’t take it anymore. You spin in your chair, facing him head-on, your words spilling out before you can stop them.
“Yeah, okay, I like you.”
The confession slices through the silence and for a moment, the world holds still. Then, slowly, a smirk curves across Minho’s lips. He steps closer, closing the space between you with unhurried strides.
“Want to know something?” His eyes glint, dark with something you’ve never seen in him before. “I can actually do this job myself.”
Your lips quiver as you mutter, “What?”
He plants a hand on the edge of your desk, leaning in. “I asked for you because I wanted to be alone with you.”
Before you can react, he presses a hand against the desk beside your hip, then the other, caging you in. The wooden surface digs into your back as his body looms over yours, close enough that you feel the heat radiating from him.
You’re pinned, trapped, your pulse hammering in your throat. His eyes sweep over your face, lingering like he’s quietly measuring you, observing you and then he smiles—not cruel, not mocking, but dangerous in its certainty.
“Now that I’ve got you…” his voice drops, low and intimate, “…what should I do with you?”
The smirk on his lips deepens, and for a moment you swear you see something feral flicker in his eyes.
Your lips part, trying to come up with an excuse, or shift the attention back to the task at hand, just anything to escape this situation but before any words can leave your mouth, he crashes his lips against yours.
The kiss is harsh, searing, all teeth and tongue and pent-up tension. The papers you’re holding slip from your hands and scatter across the floor as you clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer. He presses you harder against the desk, one hand gripping your jaw to tilt your face, forcing you to open for him as his tongue claims yours without hesitation.
When he finally pulls back, your lips are wet, swollen, your breath shaky. Then his voice dips into a growl.
“We could’ve had this all along.”
Before you can respond, his hand skims down your waist, sliding under the hem of your blouse, fingers teasing the bare skin of your stomach. Your back arches involuntarily, a needy sound slipping past your lips, and that’s all the permission he needs. He dips his head, capturing your mouth again, deeper this time, hungrier.
The constant hum of the computer fills the silence between gasps and muffled moans as he devours you, his hands roaming shamelessly now, palming your waist, cupping your ass, pulling you flush against the hard press of his body.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he mutters against your lips, biting at your lower one before sucking it into his mouth.
You’re dizzy, drunk on him, your fear completely eclipsed by the way he’s kissing you like he’s starved, like he’s wanted this just as badly.
“Minho—” you sigh between kisses, but the words die as he lifts you onto the desk, scattering pens and files onto the floor.
He steps between your legs, his hands gripping your thighs. “Here,” he says, voice rough, dark. “We’re doing it here.”
Your body already trembling at his words. “Here, what? Why… here?”
A smirk curls his lips as he leans in, his mouth ghosting over your ear. “Because I want you to remember this every time you sit at this desk. I want you to think about me fucking you so good you can’t focus on your work.”
Heat floods all over you at his words, your stomach twisting with anticipation. You try to hide your shiver, but his knowing grin tells you he noticed.
He doesn’t give you time to protest as his mouth crashes against yours again, hungrier than before, his hands sliding up your thighs until his fingers slip beneath your skirt, dragging the fabric higher.
The desk creaks beneath your shifting weight as his palm cups you over your panties, and you can’t hold back the gasp that escapes your lips. He swallows it eagerly, deepening the kiss as his fingers press harder, teasing your clothed sex until your hips are rocking against his hand.
“Already so wet,” he murmurs against your lips, smug, savoring every sound you make. “You wanted this too, didn’t you? Sitting across from me all day, pretending you weren’t staring.”
You bite your lip, unable to deny him. Your silence only makes his grin widen, his fingers curling around your panties to tug them aside.
The office is quiet, eerily so but the thought of someone maybe being just down the hall makes every touch feel dirtier, hotter. Without warning, Minho slips his fingers inside you, stretching you slowly. The sudden intrusion makes your mouth fall open, a sharp moan escaping before you can stop it. The sound echoes too loud in the empty office, and Minho’s eyes go wide. In an instant, his other hand clamps over your mouth, muffling the desperate sound you let out. But there’s a flicker of amusement behind his eyes like he enjoys how reckless you are for him.
“Shh,” he whispers low, his voice hot against your ear. “You want the whole building to hear how needy you are?”
You shake your head quickly, but it doesn’t stop the way your body clenches around his fingers as he pumps them deeper. He curls them just right, dragging out another muffled whimper that vibrates against his palm.
The sound of footsteps echoing down the corridor. It must be the security guard doing their round. Panic sparking in you, your wide eyes meet his, but Minho just smirks like this is all part of his game. He slows his pace, almost lazy now, each thrust of his fingers driving you insane while his hand stays firmly over your mouth.
“Quiet,” he breathes, his lips brushing your cheek as he leans in closer. “Be good for me. Don’t make a sound.”
The footsteps come closer, so close you swear they’ll stop at your door. Minho’s eyes stay locked on yours the whole time, his fingers never stopping, his expression daring you to hold it together.
Your chest heaves as the guard’s shadow passes by, lingering for a second that feels like eternity… before moving on.
Only when the steps fade away does Minho finally ease his hand from your mouth, his fingers glistening as he pulls them from your cunt. He brings them up between you, studying the shine with a crooked grin before slipping them past his lips, sucking them clean like he’s savoring you.
“Who needs coffee when I have this,” he says, his voice husky, gaze dark as he looks at you trembling on your own desk.
Then his hands are on you again, this time reaching for your blouse, unbuttoning it open but his patience wears thin on the third one so he yanks it open, the buttons scatter across the floor.
“You…” his voice is low and rough, as his eyes rake down your body, “…you hide this under those boring office clothes?”
He mutters it like he’s cursing himself for not noticing sooner, his fingers already tearing at your blouse, ripping the thin fabric open until your bra is exposed. His breaths quickening as he pushes the fabric aside to bare your skin.
“Fuck,” he exhales, almost reverent, running his hand down the front of your body.
Minho doesn’t waste time. He’s tugging at your skirt now, shoving it up around your hips, his fingers digging into your thighs. His eyes burn as he takes in the sight of you spread out across your desk, your clothes clinging in pieces.
“This…” he mutters, almost to himself as his hands trace the curve of your waist, your breasts. “This is what I’ve been missing?”
His mouth finds your skin then, hot and demanding, biting at your collarbone before dragging his lips down your chest. Each mutter against your flesh is half-groan, half-praise, as if he’s talking more to himself than to you.
“Hmm… Perfect,” he breathes, tugging your bra down and cupping your breast in his hand, squeezing like he needs to prove you’re real. His tongue flicks over your nipple, and his muffled voice groans against it, “Absolutely perfect.”
Minho doesn’t rush even though you can feel how badly he wants to. His hands are everywhere, greedy and rough, but his pace is agonizingly slow, like he wants to unravel you piece by piece.
“You know what’s fucked up?” he murmurs against your skin, his lips grazing the underside of your breast before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. His hand slides down your stomach, fingers circling just above your waistband, teasing but never quite touching where you need him most.
“The whole office is terrified of me…” he chuckles darkly, dragging his teeth over your nipple until you gasp, “…but if they saw you like this? Spread out, dripping for me on your desk? They’d know who really has the power over me.”
Your body arches, chasing his hand, but he pulls back, shaking his head with a wicked grin. “Not yet.”
His fingers finally dip under your skirt, brushing over your soaked panties. The low groan he lets out vibrates against your chest. His thumb presses harder on your clothed clit, making you whine.
“Beg for it,” he demands, slipping one finger beneath the fabric but not inside. He drags it up your slit, collecting your slick, then holds it up for you to see glistening under the dim office light. “Beg for me to touch you.”
You try to buck against him, but he pins your hips to the desk with a firm hand, his smirk growing as you squirm. “God, you look so hot like this. All dressed up, torn open, begging me to ruin you.”
His finger dips in just the slightest, barely pushing past your entrance before pulling out again, making you whimper. He leans close to your ear, his voice husky as he whispers, “I’m going to make sure every time you sit at this desk, you’ll remember how desperate you were for me.”
His words, the way he said it while intensely gazing into your eyes, it undoes something in you. Shakily, breathlessly, you mutter, “Minho, please…”
He triumphantly smirks and without another ounce of restraint, he pushes two fingers inside you in one smooth thrust. The sudden stretch makes you cry out, but the sound barely leaves your mouth before he clamps his other hand over it, muffling you.
“Shhh,” he warns, his breath hot against your cheek. “You don’t want them finding out what a needy little slut you are for me, do you?”
His fingers work inside you relentlessly, curling just right, pumping faster each time you clench around him. The wet sounds echo indecently in the quiet office, and you can feel yourself unraveling quickly, the tension winding in your belly like a spring about to snap.
He watches your face intently, eyes dark and burning with hunger. “Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight. You gonna come for me? Right here on your desk?”
You nod frantically, your muffled whimpers spilling against his palm. He leans closer, whispering filth into your ear as his thumb finds your clit and presses down. “Do it. Make a mess for me. I want to see you fall apart.”
The combination of his filthy words, the ruthless rhythm of his fingers, and the dangerous thrill of being caught sends you tumbling over the edge. Your whole body shakes, convulsing around his fingers as waves of pleasure crash through you. He holds you firmly, hand still over your mouth as your muffled cries vibrate against his palm.
Minho groans low in his throat, watching the way you shudder and spasm for him. He doesn’t stop until you’re a trembling, breathless mess slumped against your desk. He doesn’t give you a moment to recover as he grips your waist and pulls you off the desk, turning you around, making you face the desk. “Bend over,” he orders, voice like gravel. His hand presses between your shoulder blades until your chest meets the cool surface of your desk, your skirt bunched indecently around your hips.
He lets you go but then you hear the clinking of metal and then zipper being pulled open from behind you, heightening the tension in the room. The next time he has your hands on you again, you feel the thick head of his cock sliding against your soaked entrance, smearing your slick across your folds. He doesn’t push in all the way, just the tip breaching you, then pulling out again, over and over, until you’re whining with frustration.
“Please…”
“Please?” He leans down over you, lips brushing your ear, his cock nudging just barely inside before retreating again. “You think you’re ready to take all of me? Hm?”
You arch your back, desperate, your fingers clawing at the desk. “Yes—fuck, yes.”
He chuckles darkly, savoring your begging as he pushes in just a little deeper, stretching you slow, inch by inch. The burn makes you gasp, your body instinctively clenching around him.
“God,” he hisses through gritted teeth, pausing to control himself. “So fucking tight. You feel like you’re going to tear me apart.”
You whimper, pushing back against him, but he grips your hips hard, refusing to let you take more than what he allows. His cock slides another inch deeper, the pace slow, almost torturous.
“Slow down, sweetheart,” he murmurs, kissing the back of your neck like a cruel comfort. “I want you to feel every single inch of me. I want you to remember this stretch every time you sit at this desk.”
By the time he finally bottoms out, the pressure is overwhelming, your walls pulsing around the fullness of him. He stays buried deep, not moving, forcing you to take the sensation of being completely filled. Then, he pulls back just slightly, only to push it in, hard. You cry out, the sound muffled by your own arm as you bury your face in it.
Minho smirks in satisfaction. “Oh, yeah. That’s the sound I’ve been dying to hear.”
For a moment, he holds himself deep inside you, his thrusts slow yet intense, dragging against every nerve ending. His hand slides up your back, fingers tangling in your hair as he leans down, his mouth grazing your ear.
“You know how many days I sat across from you at this desk,” he murmurs, hips rocking just enough to make you gasp, “watching those perfect little legs of yours cross and uncross? Made me want to rip that skirt off and see what was underneath.”
You clench around him at his words, and he groans, gripping your hips tighter. He pulls back and slides in again, slow enough to make your toes curl.
“And that tight skirt,” he continues, voice dripping with filth, “hugging your hips, your ass—fuck, every curve showing, but just out of reach. Do you know how hard it was not to bend you over and take you right then?”
Your moan slips out before you can stop it, your face pressing harder into the desk to stifle the sound. Minho smirks against your skin, picking up just a little more pace but still keeping it torturously measured.
“And when you’d sit there,” he says, remembering in vivid detail, “biting your pencil between your teeth as you thought? Drove me fucking insane. All I could think about was how those lips would look wrapped around my cock, how you’d sound with your mouth full.”
You whine, your body trembling, and he growls low in his chest, clearly loving your reaction.
“But the worst,” he groans, thrusting in slow and deep, making your knees buckle, “the worst was wondering what kind of sounds you’d make when I finally got inside you. I used to sit across from you every day, imagining your moans, wondering if you’d be sweet and needy…” His thrust punctuates each filthy word. “…or if you’d scream for me.”
Your walls flutter around him at his confession, and he curses, kissing the side of your neck as though he can’t help himself. “And now I get to find out. Every fantasy—right here, on your desk.”
Your whole body shudders, the tension breaking all at once as his filthy words unravel you. You cry out his name and it’s echoing too loudly in the quiet office. His hand clamps over your mouth instantly, muffling the sounds as your orgasm tears through you, walls spasming around his cock.
“Fuck,” he groans into your ear, holding himself deep inside as he feels you pulse around him. “You really came just from that?” He chuckles low, dark and smug, his hand still pressed against your lips. “All it took was me telling you how I’ve been thinking about you and you’re already falling apart for me.”
Your muffled whimper makes him smirk even more. He pulls his hand away just long enough to whisper, “Pathetic little thing, aren’t you?” before replacing it again when another moan escapes.
Instead of slowing down, his thrusts grow harder, deeper, relentless, each one knocking the breath from your lungs. Your body’s already oversensitive, still reeling from the orgasm he just pulled out of you, but he doesn’t give you time to recover.
“You came a second ago but your cunt’s still clinging to me like it’s begging for more.”
Your mouth falls open in a cry, but it barely escapes before his hand presses over your lips again, muffling your sounds.
The office is silent except for the wet slap of his hips against you and your muffled moans. He pulls almost all the way out, then slams back in, burying himself to the hilt. “That’s it. Take it,” he growls. “Every time you sit at this desk, you’ll remember how I fucked you senseless on it.”
Your body trembles, pleasure coursing through your veins until it’s unbearable. You try to hold it back, but the pressure coils tight and fast, snapping all over again.
You convulse around him, muffled cries spilling against his palm as your second orgasm crashes through you, harder than the first. Your knees buckle, your nails scrape across the desk, and he groans deep in his chest as your walls clamp down around his cock.
“Fuck—there it is. That’s it. That’s my good girl,” he hisses, thrusting through your climax, dragging out every pulse, every flutter. “I’m not stopping until you’re dripping all over this desk for me.”
Your body jerks, overstimulated, yet the heat won’t let go. He doesn’t give you a break, using your quaking, trembling body to chase his own edge, rutting into you like he owns you. His breath fans hot against your ear as he leans over you, chest pressing into your back, his hand sliding up to tangle in your hair and tilt your head so you can’t escape the rasp of his voice.
“You could’ve told me,” he says, almost scolding, but with a hint of hunger in it. “All this time, you were sitting across from me, looking at me like that… and I had no idea you wanted me too.”
Your mouth parts, words caught in your throat as your body clenches tight around him at the confession. He lets out a dark chuckle, dragging his cock all the way out before sinking back into you slow, making you feel every inch of his swollen length.
“If you’d told me sooner,” he continues, his pace torturously unhurried, “we could’ve been fucking each other’s brains out every night by now.” His hand slides down your side, squeezing your waist before dipping between your thighs, his fingers pressing against your swollen clit. “All those nights you went home aching for me? You could’ve been screaming my name instead.”
You shiver under him, the words, the rhythm, the overwhelming stretch of him inside you—every part of it coils together until you’re trembling on the edge again.
Suddenly, his tone shifts softer. His lips brush the back of your neck, then your jaw, before he finds your mouth and kisses you. Slow, sweet, devastating in contrast to how he’s been fucking you.
“I’m going to take my time with you,” he murmurs against your lips, his thrusts still rolling steady yet deep, each one more intense for its restraint. “Scares you a little, doesn’t it?” He smirks when your body clenches, when you nod against him. “Good. I want you excited. I want you desperate.”
The push and pull, the sweet kiss and the filthy words, it’s all too much. Your body arches into him, your legs trembling as his thrusts finally grow just a little rougher, just enough to drive him to the edge. He buries himself deep inside you one last time, his hand gripping your hip as he groans, spilling his seed into you.
The sound of his raw, broken groan of your name, echoing in your head long after the moment passes.
He stays buried in you, his chest pressed to your back, both of you breathing hard, bodies damp with a sheen of sweat. Then, slowly, he pulls out. The stretch makes you gasp, and the emptiness leaves you trembling. You barely have time to catch your breath before you feel the warmth spilling down your thigh, his release sliding out of you in a messy trail.
Minho leans back just enough to watch, his dark eyes fixed on the sight. His lips curve into a wicked smirk, and he lets out a low, satisfied hum.
“Fuck. Didn’t expect to see you like this,” he mutters, dragging his thumb along the curve of your hip possessively. His gaze never leaves the way you’re dripping for him. “Ruined and dripping for me… on your own desk.”
The office feels too quiet now, the hum of fluorescent lights a reminder of where you are and the stack of unfinished files is still scattered on the desk beneath you.
When he finally meets your eyes again, there’s no teasing in his stare, just a quiet, dangerous claim.
“You’re mine now. Every time you sit here…” his hand cupping your jaw, forcing you to look back into his eyes. “…you’ll remember who you belong to.”
-
The next day, everything at the office feels the same on the surface but you both know it’s not.
You’re at your desk, leaning forward slightly as you skim something on your computer screen, unaware of the eyes burning into you.
Minho sits across the room, looking as composed as ever to everyone else. But inside, he’s replaying that night in vivid detail—the way you clutched the desk, the way you cried out his name, the way his release dripped down your thighs.
He pushes back his chair and strolls toward you, his expression perfectly neutral, nothing to raise suspicion. He stops at your side, one hand braced casually on the desk as if to ask about the document you’re reading. But beneath the facade, he places his other hand on the curve of your ass, hidden from everyone else’s view.
He leans down, close enough that only you can hear him, and whispers in that low, dangerous tone. “If you keep bending over like that, I’ll take it as a sign you want another round right here.”
His hand slowly strokes over the round of your ass before he pulls back, face still blank, as if he only asked about numbers on a spreadsheet. He walks away like nothing happened, leaving you there, outwardly composed but inwardly seething with need, already plotting when he’ll get you alone again.
-
Please support my writings by kindly reblog, comment or tip me on my ko-fi!
Oh Jesus Christ reading this in the office made the experience x1000 times better, even thought it was almost impossible, because this?? Is perfection!!
pairing: hyunjin x reader ; chan x reader | wc: 23.4k | genre: adult romance | warnings: heavy angst ; heartbreak ; themes of mental health struggles ; themes of grief ; complicated feelings ; explicit sexual content. reader discretion is advised. this series contains heavy themes that could be upsetting to some. if you're concerned it might be an issue for you, please read the unabridged list of warnings, which also contains nsfw warnings. this work is for adult audiences since it contains mature themes and explicit sexual content.
Hope takes such a long time to die. But it dies.
Hyunjin’s story goes like this.
He fell in love and then he fell in despair. And when he reached the bottom of it all, he had to climb back up. And he did. Only, nothing was ever the same after.
Resentment can only exist in a place where there was once love.
To be more accurate, love is often still very much present as resentment sneaks in, as it permeates one’s skin and makes a home out of their body. Grudges don’t arise out of pure hatred—at least not in Hyunjin’s eyes. They come from a place of love, the same way disappointment does. You can’t ever be disappointed at somebody you dislike, or somebody you’re indifferent to. No, resentment is much like a flower and love is the garden. The first bloom appears and you wonder why. Because you don’t remember planting those seeds. Yet it grows, furtively, but anchoring itself in the soil with strong roots. And then it turns out the flowers are poisonous and invasive, and they’ve killed all the other ones.
Hyunjin knew resentment intimately. It started at a young age when he began showing interest and skill in painting. He must have been no more than seven or eight, visiting his grandparents’ cottage house away from the city. Hyunjin wasn’t particularly fond of summer vacation because he was an only child and his parents kept him busy during the summer, so he couldn’t see his friends very often.
But he liked the cottage house. That particular day was especially sunny but not too warm, so the grown-ups had decided to spend the afternoon outside, sitting around the patio table under a large parasol with a variety of snacks and drinks before them. A retro music radio station was playing American oldies from a small radio cassette player and the air smelled like freshly cut grass.
Hyunjin was sitting at the table too, only he wasn’t a part of the conversation. And truth be told, he didn’t understand most of it anyway. He was keeping himself busy with paints and brushes that his grandfather always kept around. He had some that nobody was allowed to touch, not even his son, but Hyunjin was welcome to help himself in the leftovers or spares. Mind you, there was nothing suboptimal about those leftovers because everything was of professional quality. Only, if his grandfather decided he no longer wanted a certain shade of blue in his palette, then it ended up in the leftover basket.
“Look at him go!” his grandfather had said at one point. It had even taken Hyunjin a few seconds to realize he was speaking about him but not to him. “Hell, Dhako. Seems like your boy is bound to be the next big thing in the family. He’s even better than you were two or three years older than that!”
Resentment. What an ugly, awful feeling. It smells foul and tastes even worse, and Hyunjin had been choking on it since childhood.
He wouldn’t say that his father hated him, no, hence the resentment, the grudge. Hyunjin wasn’t yet aware of it at the time. His mind was too young to comprehend the intricacies of the situation. He just felt like he wasn’t good enough for his dad who kept berating and diminishing him. Later—much later—Hyunjin would come to understand that it was what made him into the man he was today. He couldn’t know for sure, but would he have developed his artistic abilities to that extent if he hadn’t been animated with the vivid desire to please his father, which prompted him to try hard and harder so he could improve?
Or maybe this was a delusion, an attempt at making peace with it.
Hyunjin’s childhood was in every possible way rather unconventional. Both of his parents were artists, just like his grandfather had been, and his father before him. His mom taught art to children with disabilities and his father worked as a curator at a museum. It meant that Hyunjin was often at the museum growing up. In a way, it’s the museum that raised him. His mother loved him very dearly but was too attached to her job, and his father didn’t care enough about him to participate significantly in his education. It was the wooden floors and warm lighting of the museum that were his home—the museum was close to his school and his mother often worked in the evenings, as she gave art workshops in hospitals.
So Hyunjin would sit in his father’s office quietly and do his homework or read a book. When he was a little older, Hyunjin was allowed to walk in the museum if he was accompanied by someone, and there was always someone who wanted to show him around anyway. The employees were all so nice to him, and it was only later—again, much later—that Hyunjin realized they had noticed the gaps in the love his father had, or rather, didn’t have for him, and were trying to compensate for it.
Then his father got another job, one that required traveling. His mother was opposed to it and they fought a lot but Hyunjin pretended not to hear it. He would stay in his room, light up his desk with a small flashlight held between two books, and paint while his father called his wife names, and vice versa. Hyunjin didn’t know this at the time and neither did his mother, but for many years, his father became an art forgery specialist. He traveled all over the world, sponsored by a network of other, bigger criminals, to help create forgeries and even to falsely authenticate fake paintings as real.
Hyunjin was well into his teenage years when he found out, and he found out when his father was beaten up almost to death, in America, for selling a fake Cézanne to the wrong people. He almost died. He was supposed to die, his corpse left out in the open to send a message to the other forgers in his network, yet he pulled through. Since he had been living under various fabricated identities, he was able to return to Korea and be Naro’s descendant again. From then on, their family always had a lot of money but his mother kept working anyway. His father did not work, not that Hyunjin could tell, although he’d say he had ‘meetings’ and ‘stuff’ to do.
Looking at Death right in the eyes did not change Hwang Dhako. It did not make him softer, or kinder. It did not make him appreciate the little things in life. It did not make him love his son more. It did not make him resent his son less.
All the while, Hyunjin painted. When he still lived at home, his father would barge into his room just to criticize whatever he was working on. If Hyunjin was doing watercolors, he’d tell him he didn’t know how to use them yet, that he should stick to something simpler, less volatile, like acrylic. If Hyunjin did acrylic, he would then tell him that it was for children, that he could do better than that, and that ‘real men paint with oil’. Or whatever the fuck.
And when Hyunjin painted with oil? Then he did not know how to mix his pigments correctly. He did not know how to blend colors. His work was bland. His work was too colorful. The lines were too harsh. There was not enough contrast. The theme was boring. Or impossible to understand. Maybe he should do something else. Not everyone is meant to be an artist, but then Hyunjin wouldn’t be a good fit to be a curator, professor, or historian either.
The worst part is that Dhako would utter these things and make it sound like he said it out of genuine concern. He would say these things as though he was a master teaching his pupil. He would say these things like he cared, like they came from a place of love. But the love had been tainted and resentment had taken over.
Hyunjin had assumed that his father’s resentment would be the worst he would ever have to endure. Only, he was wrong about that. And about so many other things.
Hyunjin met Dara when he ran out of space in his apartment and decided to rent a studio so he could keep working in a comfortable setting.
This came after his multiple attempts at attending university. He tried in Seoul first before choosing to relocate to Italy, where he assumed an immersion among some of the world’s most famous masterpieces would help him major. When that didn’t work, he went to Paris with the same hopes. That worked a little better, only, instead of graduating in one subject, he jumped from one major to the other, unable to decide what he liked most. Or what was most realistic for him. For a long while, he did not mind—he even enjoyed it, figuring he was opening doors for himself even though he wasn’t actively honing just one skill at a time.
Art history, photography, visual and studio arts, creative writing, and even a little bit of animation. He liked all of it, of course. Happiness had never been Hyunjin’s default state but that period of his life had been when he was closest to it. In the sense of contentment, fulfillment, and how easy it was to go through his days. Being away from home and his father was a big part of it, but he was curious by nature, and he felt good in an environment where he was learning.
For a couple of years, things were good. He got good grades in most of his classes and participated actively during lectures, although at the end of the day, none of it mattered since he never lingered anywhere for long. Still, it earned him the good graces of professors and students alike, boosting his confidence, and broadening his horizons.
Until Paris. In Paris, Hyunjin studied Impressionism a good amount, finding himself fascinated by it. He carefully researched Monet’s chaotically deliberate brushstrokes and Renoir’s lifelike lighting. He tried to replicate Sisley’s incredible contrasts and Morisot’s rich textures. He spent a lot of time in museums, which, to him, still felt like home. It did not matter which museum it was—they all reminded him of his childhood and the afternoons spent among masterpieces, evading his father and taking in the sights.
Melancholy permeated these memories and yet, Hyunjin was fond of them nonetheless. Maybe because there was so much beauty among the darkness. Maybe because despite his father’s resentment, Hyunjin had never stopped painting. He had never stopped creating. Maybe because by then, he had realized that his devotion to painting came from the void left by his father, and his need, as a boy and then a teenager, to fill it with something beautiful. A need that was most definitely more a habit, a self-defense mechanism, than it was anything else. Still.
He was at home in museum exhibit rooms, with their high ceilings and worn-out floors and whispers. He liked to listen to what people said. Many of them were, of course, commenting on the art in their vicinity. It did not matter to him whether they had never been in a museum before or if they were the art director themselves. To Hyunjin, there was no distinction—art ought to be appreciated by anybody who needed it. To him, art was home, in a way that was more intimate, more intrinsic, than museums. He believed that art could and should become part of every living person. Everybody should be exposed to it in some kind of way—he was persuaded it could make the world a better place.
So he listened to them. The people. The Karens who didn’t get it. The old men who smelled like cigarettes and pretended to understand all of it. The other students. The average museum-goers, the experimented ones, the painters, the sculptors, the little children who held their mother’s hand and looked at the art with fascination despite being intimidated by it.
In a way, this became Hyunjin’s school, and it was on those days that he learned the most. At least it felt like it. Often, he would sketch them in the notebook he kept on himself at all times. To remember what they said. To remember what they thought of the colors and the composition of this or that painting. It fed his soul in a way nothing had before, and Hyunjin came close to some sort of epiphany during that time—close enough that he could feel its warmth on his fingertips, but too far for him to even know what it was he was reaching out for. A young man, arm outstretched, trying to seize the sun and keep it in his grasp, but blinded by it. He was close, so close, to discovering something bright and beautiful.
And then he ended up in Florian Auclair’s class. Florian, by all means, did not look like an asshole. He was younger than most professors and had been given a class almost immediately after earning his PhD. He was a tall man, although not quite as tall as Hyunjin, with a quiet, monotone voice that made it hard to stay awake during his class. He had built his course with other professors of the department and it was intended to be innovative—it was neither a theoretical course nor a practical one. Or rather, it was both at once, and more. The syllabus included visits to specific museums or even locations in the city, and Hyunjin had been looking forward to it since day one. In fact, he was so excited when Auclair was explaining his syllabus and giving details that Hyunjin took notes. For a brief instant then, he thought, maybe, that was it. Maybe he could be a professor like this. He hadn’t considered it before because he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to teach art history, art theory, or practical courses. But this brand new course offered him a vision of what education could be, and, for a brief instant, gave him some sort of peace regarding his mother, too.
She had always been so devoted to it. The teaching of art. In a way that was more addiction than devotion perhaps—like she couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help staying late at work to paint with palliative patients. Even though it meant leaving her son behind. Even though it meant leaving her son to be raised by a museum, its employees, its changing collections. It was not because she did not love him.
Later—much later—Hyunjin realized it all came from a lack of love for herself. It was the only way her mind allowed her to feel a sense of reward, of purpose. She wasn’t a bad mother. She was a pretty good one. Motherhood just was not her purpose in life.
Hyunjin didn’t resent her for it, but he resented the whole concept of being an art teacher. In any way. Which was paradoxical considering the amount of art classes he had been taking. He resented it because he understood—at least now he did. When he stood in a corner of an exhibition room and heard somebody ponder out loud to their companion, about a piece, an art movement, anything, he had to work very hard to resist joining the conversation. And he resisted because it would be out of place to interrupt two strangers to art-splain them, exposing himself as some sort of museum stalker all the while.
But god, did it feel good to share his passion. His knowledge. He had been raised into it, into art, brushstrokes and blending and themes and pigments. They were a part of him, of his soul—he was nothing without art. And the dopamine rush it gave him to share this with others simply could not be described with words. It cost him a lot—especially in his social life. So it truly was around that time that he began understanding his mother, and his resentment for teaching receded, like an ocean at low tide, leaving the sand damp and smooth behind, ready to be molded into something else again.
Florian Auclair was a brilliant painter. He shared some of his work with his students in that first class, also explaining everything he hoped he would teach them and how they could all learn together. They would meet artists and curators and more, if he was able to book everyone he wished.
When Auclair dismissed the class, Hyunjin stayed behind, as did a few others. They stood at the front of the vast lecture hall, sitting on the desks or leaning on the blackboard. Just four of them and Auclair, who answered their questions and discussed certain points that had been brought forward during his presentation. At first, Hyunjin listened, mostly, as he figured others might have the same interrogations as he did. Mostly, he was interested in how their work would be graded and wished to learn more about the paper they’d have to write at the end of the semester so that he could begin his research immediately. The conversation was lighthearted. Florian Auclair was fluent in both French and English and Italian as well, apparently. He gave everyone the information they needed.
And then Hyunjin asked him about the paper. Auclair seemed a bit reluctant to drop too much information about it so early—it would give him and the others currently present an advantage that others wouldn’t have—but he still mentioned that they would be required to investigate and research one art movement of their choice. It was a huge relief to Hyunjin who already knew exactly what he intended to write about. When he thanked Auclair, the other students did the same, all of them shaking their professor’s hand one by one—a short, polite gesture during which Florian asked for their name.
Almost as though life required a dramatic effect, Hyunjin was last. His hand was still squeezing Auclair’s when he said those two little words. “Hwang Hyunjin.” Auclair let go of his hand, his chin lifting a few inches as he gave him an appraising look, his facial expression turning stiff and cold.
Hyunjin wasn’t an idiot—he was well aware that Auclair knew exactly who he was, only, he did not let it show to the others. He looked like he was trying to play it cool with Hyunjin as well, not acknowledging anything, and everybody went on their way.
The week after, Auclair’s class would take place not in the lecture hall but at the Musée d’Orsay, where everybody would be required to choose one painting and sketch it with as much detail as they could. A few weeks from now, they would travel to the South of France to visit another museum in Montpellier. There, they would have to find a second painting from a different art movement and sketch this one as well.
Then would come the actual assignment, which was to swap the art movement and style of the two paintings and sketch both once again. Ultimately, they would pick one and turn it into a proper painting using the medium of their choice. The assignment was exciting and Hyunjin just couldn’t wait—he knew way before he made it to the museum which two paintings he would be using for the assignment.
Orsay was full of Monet’s paintings—he appreciated his unique and recognizable style, so he wanted to explore it further. As for the second painting, Hyunjin would study Alexandre Cabanel’s work since he liked his moody and evocative pieces. The task was daunting as both painters had drastically different approaches and styles, but the challenge only made it better and more enticing.
The light was just right when Hyunjin sat down to sketch Monet’s Nymphéas Bleus. Another student was with him, having picked the same painting. She was nice and she was pretty, too. They chatted as they sketched and it took Hyunjin a solid hour before he awkwardly asked her if she wanted to have coffee with him after class. She blushed violently and accepted before excusing herself for just a few seconds, asking him if he could keep an eye on her stuff, which he did gladly.
That was when Auclair walked by him and looked at his sketch with an expression dangerously close to disdain. Hyunjin was used to it because his father had made him this way, but he couldn’t deny that it hurt nonetheless, especially coming from a professor. Here. In Paris. Just a few feet away from a piece by one of his favorite painters, which he was sketching.
“Is there a problem, Monsieur?” he asked, taking a deep breath as his mood swayed between furious and devastated.
Auclair shrugged. “Not really. No issue here, just a little lackluster, don’t you think?”
Lackluster. Hyunjin put down his pencil, standing up. “I’m not done sketching it, Monsieur,” he replied, speaking slowly, warmth spreading at the nape of his neck.
The professor blinked, tilting his head just a little. “I hope you know you won’t be getting any favors just because of your family name—not in my class, non.”
There it was. It wasn’t the first time a situation such as this one happened in Hyunjin’s life—his ancestry had haunted him during his entire academic career. Either he was getting it too easy as teachers and sports coaches tried to get noticed by his parents, especially his father, or they were making him work twice as hard, as though he had to prove he was worthy of his name, that he was someone beyond it.
“I hope you know I wasn’t expecting any favors, Monsieur Auclair,” Hyunjin retorted, mimicking perfectly the professor’s displeased tone.
“I thought you might choose Cornelia’s Colors for this assignment,” Auclair went on, completely ignoring Hyunjin’s response. “Wouldn’t it be fitting?”
Hyunjin swallowed a grunt. He had visited the museum the first week he moved here, seeing Naro’s vibrant and famous painting of the pink bird for the second time in his life. He didn’t even remember the first as he was just a small child, on vacation with his parents.
“I don’t think it would be fitting, no.” He paused—just for a second. “It is a beautiful piece, though.”
“Of course. Stunning. Your—what, great grandfather? Great, great, great grandfather? It was a long time ago, wasn’t it?—sure was a master of pigments.”
The cold and cordial tone of the conversation made Hyunjin want to punch Auclair in the face. “He was,” he admitted. “My grandfather still has some of the books that were in his library, about color theory and even chemistry. He truly wanted to mix the most beautiful colors.” At that time, Hyunjin couldn’t know it yet, but his grandfather would pass away that year, and he would inherit all those precious volumes as well as his grandad’s beloved painting supplies. To his only son, he left money. Nothing of sentimental value. And for that, Hyunjin’s father would resent him. A lot.
Auclair pressed his tongue into his cheek, a cloud passing in his already dark eyes. “I heard a lot about you, Hwang. Some say you are a prodigy. Others say you’re reaping a legacy that isn’t yours to benefit from. I’m looking forward to finding out which one it is.”
Through gritted teeth, Hyunjin retorted, “I’m neither of these things. I’m just a guy who paints. I paint because I was born into a family of artists. That’s it.”
“Yeah, I have to give you that one, Hwang. You are just a guy who paints.” And then he walked away.
Hyunjin stood, dazed, for a few moments, lost in his thoughts. Part of him wanted to fuck off, leave this museum and this city, and return home. Because Auclair was wrong. Because Auclair was right. All his life, Hyunjin had only been that—Hwang Naro’s descendant. He was pretty sure it was the only reason he got into this school in the first place.
It felt like they—as in, a general they—were expecting something of him, only he didn’t know what it was. And maybe they didn’t even know it themselves. But everybody was just expecting. Waiting in anticipation. Hoping he would turn out to be something more. To be something at all. Something broke inside of him that day, as shame overtook him in the middle of one of the world’s most famous museums.
It was just a name. It just so happened that Naro had a son, who had a son, who also had a son, and then that son had a son, who he named Dhako, and Dhako had a son who he named Hyunjin. Somehow, the name had persisted this way, through a long line of only sons. It meant nothing. One of these people could have been a daughter and then the chain would have been broken if she had married and taken her husband’s name.
It was stupid. Ridiculous. And frankly, it was a little backward and macho.
It was that day that Hyunjin realized, for the first time, that not only was he expected to somehow live up to the name, but he was also expected to continue the bloodline. He was Naro’s last descendant.
“Hyunjin?” He jumped when the girl addressed him after coming back. Her cheeks had returned to their normal color, but she was staring at him with a frown. “Are you alright?” The girl’s name was Romane, and she looked like she was genuinely concerned.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” He said it out of habit, but happiness had never really been a familiar thing to him. It was a foreign concept. Something he knew existed but couldn’t comprehend. “I just…”
He let his sentence trail off and become nothing and walked away, out of this particular room. He knew where his feet were taking him. His mind was blank, much like a canvas before it was claimed by an artist and they did something to it.
It took only a few minutes before he found himself standing in front of Cornelia’s Colors. It was in a smaller room, adjacent to another exposition hall that was a lot more crowded because it had a Van Gogh—Starry Night—in it. No, not that one. That one, the one that everybody knows, came after and was not currently a part of Orsay’s collection. Starry Night Over the Rhone is similar in composition and color, but less chaotic. Vincent’s soul, Hyunjin presumed, was a little more whole when he painted that one. A sublime work with lifelike lights and beautiful contrasts.
Anyway. Hyunjin was almost alone in the room as he faced the pink bird, which was shaded with blue and black, flying in a vibrant sky. He wanted to touch it, feel the oil under his fingertips, study the expert brushstrokes. He wanted to become this bird and be beautiful too. He wanted to be something like that. He wanted to go home.
He wanted to start over. Not just college, which, arguably, he had started over a few times already. He wanted to go back to when he was just a child. Innocent. Young enough that he didn’t even know what his family name was. Young enough that he could run to his mother when he was upset and she would pick him up and sing him a lullaby.
Young enough that his father didn’t resent him.
If he was given the opportunity to go back and change something, then he would only change one thing—he would never, not even once, pick up a paintbrush. In this life, he was made of art. It was all that he had. All that he was. It meant that he couldn’t give it up. Or rather, he knew that it would kill him when he would, in fact, give up.
Hyunjin took a few steps back, observing the painting from afar, observing the people who were looking at it. There was an old man who didn’t linger for very long. And then, from the next room where Starry Night was shown came a young couple. The woman was speaking incredibly fast, as though she was afraid to forget her thoughts before she could express them. He listened to their conversation when he realized that she was explaining to her boyfriend—no, husband, if he could believe their ring fingers—the difference between the two Starry Nights, also mentioning other pieces from Van Gogh’s nocturne series.
Then she saw it. Cornelia’s Colors. A soft gasp spilled from her delicate lips, painted in a pink that wasn’t unlike the one she was currently looking at. She covered her mouth with a faintly trembling hand while her husband was taking her other one in his, bringing her closer to the frame so she could really see it.
“What’s this one, babe?” the man asked with a strong Australian accent, leaning closer to read the description.
She turned to him, then to the painting again. “It’s by Naro. He’s the one who did my favorite painting.” She pressed herself closer to her husband. “It expresses the beauty and freedom of a young woman’s heart.” Tears were threatening to spill from her eyes. “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
It was clear to Hyunjin that this man definitely found the painting pleasant to look at but in the same way he would find a sunset pleasant to look at, too. In any case, he delivered a line that surely got him laid that night. “It is,” he admitted with a playful smile. “But you’re prettier.”
The woman buried her face in her hands, elbowing his side. “Please, for the love of god, Chr—”
Hyunjin didn’t stay to see the rest of it. He did not need to. He did not want to.
He hadn’t admitted this to anybody before, and not even to himself, but he wanted that. He wanted his work to be hung on a wall and for it to make people cry, too. Or laugh. He wanted to inspire them to love and to hate and to exist. He wanted lipstick-coated lips to gasp upon seeing it. He wanted to force beauty into the world. He wanted lovers to think of his paintings when they made love or when they fought. He wanted students to come to the museum to sketch one of his pieces. He wanted to be the subject of PhD theses. He wanted to be remembered.
He wanted his art to matter. And he wanted it to matter because of what it was more than because of who had painted it. But, selfishly, he wanted to matter, too.
He wanted to be somebody’s favorite painter.
Romane was still waiting for him near the Monet, not at all absorbed by her task, mostly glancing around to find him. She seemed relieved when he joined her again and did not press him when he didn’t talk. They drew together in silence, only exchanging a few words when Hyunjin asked to borrow her pencil sharpener. An hour later, when Auclair gathered the class together again outside the museum so he could give them more information about the assignment and next week’s class, Hyunjin avoided his gaze and looked at the sky instead. Then, when everybody was dismissed, he turned to Romane.
“Wanna go have a drink instead?”
She blushed again but she nodded. They shared a meal and drinks and talked a lot. She was really, really pretty, and fun. Her medium of choice was oil pastels on canvas, but ultimately she aspired to become a researcher and study the science behind art pieces. Hyunjin found that very cool. When both of them had enough drinks, he asked her why she had agreed to come with him today.
It was such a stupid question too, and he knew it before he even finished uttering it. “Is it because of my name?”
She averted her gaze, choosing to focus on her glass, which she emptied in one go. “No.”
“I wouldn’t be upset if it were the case.” And that was true. He would be lying if he said he never used it to get laid.
“But it’s not.” She licked her lips nervously. “I thought you were mysterious. And cute.”
Romane lived with four other roommates in a tiny apartment but it was still closer to the bar than his place was. He fucked her twice, once against the wall of the bedroom she shared with another girl who was doing her homework in the living room, then again in her bed. He fucked her maybe a little harder than he needed to. He fucked her as hard as he would have wanted to punch that Auclair cunt in the face. He fucked her hard enough that she would remember him.
They dated for a couple of months. The sex was great. One day, she asked if he wanted to fuck her ass. She had never done it before and wanted to try. Another time she wanted to have sex in a public space so she sucked him off at the back of a train. Then came the trip to Montpellier for Auclair’s class. They walked together in the museum, hand in hand, like a real couple would. And they were a real couple, Hyunjin figured. But something felt off, he just couldn’t figure out what.
Still, she sat with him when he went to sketch the second painting he had chosen, which was Alexandre Cabanel’s Phaedra. Ultimately, he wanted to paint this one using Monet’s impressionist style and color palette, which would fundamentally change the painting, and even its meaning in some way.
“Are you sure you want to sketch this one too?” Hyunjin asked Romane soon after they settled near the painting, which was rather large.
She shrugged. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you don’t have to use the same painting as I do.”
He saw it then, in Romane’s eyes. A certain darkness, tangible and awful. “I know,” she replied. “Do you want me to sketch something else?”
Hyunjin sighed. He had noticed that in the past couple of weeks especially, Romane seemed to seek his validation and his affection too, using methods that he could only imagine she would come to regret one day. On days when he was a little busier and couldn’t text her as much, she would drag him to a private bathroom somewhere and give him head, not letting him return the favor. On days when Hyunjin was a little less patient, more irritated, more stressed, she would send him nudes or even videos of herself masturbating.
But it was only then, in Montpellier, that Hyunjin realized the magnitude of it. How fucked up it was. He hated himself for not seeing it before. For letting Romane become pathetic because he wasn’t able to give her what she truly wanted, which was love.
“You can sketch whatever you want, Romie,” he replied, keeping his voice low, troubled by the realization that had just hit him. “It’s your assignment, your grade.”
She stayed by his side for a few minutes before moving a little farther to another painting. Another Cabanel—his very famous Fallen Angel. The day went by as it normally would have—Hyunjin endured a bit more of Auclair’s backhanded compliments and snarky comments, and he sat in the silence Romane imposed on him.
They had dinner together nonetheless and the mood improved when they discussed their plans for their respective paintings. She would paint the waterlilies in Cabanel’s style, she said, insisting once again that she could pick a different painter entirely if he preferred.
He took her back to the hotel room he rented for the both of them. There, he told her she shouldn’t fold herself into whatever shape she thought others wanted. He told her she should find her own voice, her own ways, that she should carve her own path, even if it meant some people would like her less. It would never be a bad thing because she would discover new aspects of herself every day.
She cried a lot, asking him if he hated her. And of course he didn’t. She was still crying when they laid down on the bed to sleep, so he held her in his arms and apologized.
But he knew that she knew he was right. He knew, also, that this would be their last night together. So he fucked her as hard as he had the first time, drilling her into the mattress, pulling her hair, fucking her from behind. She melted a little more with each thrust, her pussy throbbing around him, soaking the sheets beneath her. She came so hard she almost blacked out, milking him in the process, but he fucked her through their orgasm.
It was her who broke up with him as they recovered from the intense and sloppy sex. “I wanted you to love me so badly that I completely forgot who I am.” What a sad thing. “I’m so angry inside, Hyunjin. I almost hate you.”
He knew that feeling intimately. It wasn’t just love, and it wasn't hate. It was something else, something much worse, uglier. Insidious.
Resentment.
Hyunjin dropped out of Auclair’s class right after he handed him the painting, Phaedra, in the impressionist style. He was excessively proud of it, having worked many hours on it, so much that he would surely fail other classes. It didn’t matter though.
When he went to meet Auclair in his office to give it to him, Hyunjin informed him that he wouldn’t return to his class. Or to any class. He had made up his mind and already bought a plane ticket to go back home.
“Why did you give me this then?” Florian Auclair asked, staring at the canvas Hyunjin brought.
“Because I wanted you to see it.” He was proud of it. The painting. It had been tricky to produce after all, and the idea behind the assignment was clever. He had learned a lot through it. “Also, I just wanted to know if you resented me.”
That seemed to deeply unsettle Florian. He put the canvas down, studying it a few more seconds before turning to Hyunjin again. That was new for him—to be blunt about things, direct. To ask for the information he needed. But he had come to realize that living in uncertainty was worse than living with a truth he didn’t like.
He had learned a few things about Auclair, mostly by asking around the people he knew in the department. Because, well, his name was known, and professors often came to him for discussions. And this is what he learned through asking—that Auclair had heard that the head of the department would offer Hyunjin a course of his own, should he choose to keep studying at their institution. However, it meant that Auclair’s experimental course would probably have to be removed from the program to accommodate him.
“It’s alright if you do,” Hyunjin added. “But I want to know and I think I’m entitled to that knowledge.”
Maybe Auclair couldn’t admit to it. “No, I don’t resent you. I resent the way the system works.”
Hyunjin didn’t pretend he didn’t know what this was about. “I liked your course a lot. I thought you were a visionary. I wouldn’t have let them take it off the program. I wouldn’t even have wanted a course of my own. I was never a threat. They gave you a whole course right as you graduated, too.”
Florian Auclair went to the window of his office to stare at it for a few seconds while he thought this over. It was a rather cloudy day.
“I appreciate that you think like that and cared enough to come and tell me,” Auclair said, his gaze still turned to the cityscape outside. “They gave me a class, yes. They’re on my ass constantly though, making sure I’m not wasting their precious money by teaching it. But I know it would have been different for you. And I know you will always have it easier than any of us.” He turned to Hyunjin then. “You’re one of the best students I ever had. Your understanding of color and the way you use it…” He sighed.
Hyunjin came a little closer. “So why do you hate me?” He just needed to know.
“I don’t hate you, Hwang. You piss me off. You’re either the best contemporary painter currently alive or you will be within a few years. But it doesn’t even fucking matter. You could be the worst and you would still be standing here in front of me anyway. Have you never thought about it? Why do you think schools let you retake courses, change majors, and it never affects your GPA? These schools—this very university—all want to be the one to hand Naro’s last descendant his diploma.”
As much as it hurt, Hyunjin had to respect it. He looked at his assignment again, seeing it from a different eye now. He saw it all—the countless hours he spent practicing and working on his technique, all the times his father shat on his work, all the times Hyunjin had to start a painting over because he wasn’t happy with the result. He saw all the hours spent at the museum when he was younger. He saw his professors shaking his hand and praising him.
Auclair was right.
None of it mattered.
“I think you’re doing the right thing,” Auclair added after a while. “Dropping out, I mean. All you’ll ever get here is either bias or prejudice. You should find your own way.”
And that’s exactly what Hyunjin did. He packed his things, left, and started over. Again.
When he returned to Seoul, Hyunjin stayed with a friend he knew from his old university while he was looking for a place of his own. It was not bad at all. He had always liked Seungmin a lot anyway, even though the two of them didn’t have a lot in common at first glance. They got along well, like brothers.
Despite being busy with his job, he helped Hyunjin a lot. He helped cheer him up after the Paris fiasco. He helped him find a job—a paid internship at the company he worked at. They were a media company with different markets such as two radio stations, podcasts, book publishing, magazine publishing, and even a small video game studio that was just starting. Hyunjin didn’t need the job per se—while he wasn’t crazy rich he had enough money to live well. But Seungmin insisted that it would keep him busy with something else, and Hyunjin had to agree. So for a few months, he would go to work and then come back home and paint, extending his stay at Seungmin’s place because it was great to live with him and it was easier this way.
Until Seungmin met a girl and it turned out to be a perfect match.
Hyunjin found a nice apartment not too far from the office. The building was a little old but he didn’t mind—the light was good in the living room thanks to the large windows. That was the place where he painted his first commissioned work—Seungmin had asked him to paint his girlfriend’s cat so he could give it to her on her birthday. Hyunjin didn’t want to take money from him but Seungmin insisted. I want to be your first client. It made Hyunjin smile. The cat was really cute.
Hyunjin opened an Instagram account for his work. He did it more for himself than for others, feeling like it could also serve the purpose of organizing and archiving his work. Things happened quickly then—he started selling some paintings while opening a few slots for commissions here and there. It was hard, sometimes. To let them go. The paintings. Hyunjin didn’t have much—all he had was his family name, painting supplies, and windows in his living room. He lived a rather solitary life, using his lunch breaks to sketch what he wanted to paint in the evening and his weekends to produce even more art.
He painted. A lot. With all of his heart. It was all he had. It was all he was. It was all he could do. It was all he was meant to be. A man standing before a blank canvas. A man saturating it with the colors of his soul. It felt wrong to sell them. It felt as though he was selling parts of himself to strangers. He thought about that at night when he was in bed. By now, dozens of strangers had his sorrows, his joys, his worries, his love, his pain hung in their living room. Or maybe in a hallway, or their bedroom.
The absence of resentment meant an absence of love. For months, he didn’t speak to any member of his family. He just painted. It was better this way. But it was very lonely.
He was very alone.
There were days when the sunlight filtering through his windows wasn’t enough to warm him up. Music wasn’t enough to cover the heavy silence of his empty apartment. The feeling of his paintbrushes applying oils on the canvas wasn’t enough to fill his empty heart.
He’d go out then, with Seungmin or other people from the office who weren’t really his friends. They were just people from the office. It was better to keep people at arm’s length. Sometimes he’d even go out alone. Usually he had a few drinks and, rarely, went home with a girl. Or a guy. Their place—never his. He didn’t want people to exist in the same space where his art existed. It was fine if they saw and used his body for one night, but he did not want them to see the colors of his soul. It wasn’t like he had series and series of hookups, but sometimes it felt good to pretend. To pretend he wasn’t lonely and destined to die alone. To pretend he could be loved. To pretend he wasn’t just flesh and bones, that something, a small fire perhaps, still existed within him.
Every time somebody bought a painting from him, he figured it was because of his family name, despite the fact that he signed his art with his first name only. Every time somebody opened their legs for him, he figured it was because of who he was, even though they had no fucking clue who he was.
None of it mattered. But it did not mean there was no pain even though it didn’t matter.
He painted. It was all he was meant to do. He painted until he ran out of space in his apartment to store the paintings, the canvases, his paints, and the shipping supplies required to wrap and send out his art. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. His father. Romane. Auclair. The other professors, those who were too nice to him. The ones who resented him.
Over time, his paintings changed. He painted less. He found an art studio for rent, furnished it and transferred all of his supplies there. He thought it would help to keep art and his life separate, only there was nothing to separate—they were made of the same things, the same atoms.
Hyunjin went to the HR department of the office to officially quit the job. He wanted it to be clear that he wasn’t quitting because he disliked working there, only, he had decided to be an artist full-time. He spent more time elaborating his projects and more time painting them, too. He tried all sorts of new techniques and mediums.
It just so happened that the CEO of the company was also visiting HR that day, and this is how Hyunjin met Lee Minho. “I saw your work,” he told Hyunjin. “I’d like to buy something from you. Want some coffee?”
Hyunjin was largely intimidated by the man—but that lasted only a few minutes. It turned out Minho was a warm, kind man, clever and passionate, too. He told Hyunjin that someone from upper management had sent him a link to his page.
They talked about Hyunjin’s tortuous path in college and they talked about Minho’s love for camping. Despite being very rich, he had a very grounded attitude.
“So, about the commission…” Hyunjin started.
“Oh, no no no. Not a commission,” Minho specified. “Just paint something, and I’ll buy it.” Seeing that Hyunjin was a little uneasy, he went on. “It’s your creative mind that I’m after—I’m not looking to have my vision come true. Paint whatever you want, however you want it, whichever size. Doesn’t matter. It can take a month or a year.” He pulled a business card out of his desk but before he handed it to him, he wrote a phone number at the back. “That’s my personal phone. Call me when it’s done. You name your price then. Any price.”
As Hyunjin walked home that day, he realized that Lee Minho was the first person since his grandfather to blindly trust him and his abilities and to believe in him. Not once during today’s conversation did he bring up Naro or any of his art. He asked Hyunjin about his favorite locations in Europe and told him about the best fishing spots he had visited. He was too cultured and too intelligent not to know who Hyunjin was, so the omission was intentional. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. But he knew exactly what he wanted to paint and he couldn’t wait to start.
He had been touched by Minho’s honest, almost pure appreciation of his camping trips. The way he described nature—or rather, the way he described the way he felt when he was surrounded by it. It made sense to Hyunjin to paint something reminiscent of that so he bought a huge canvas and a lot of green pigments, and got to work.
Hyunjin met Dara when he was about one week into Minho’s painting. He had stopped taking commissions and had stopped selling paintings, too. It no longer felt right to let people pay money for anything less than his absolute best. He had come to realize this—that even if he put his whole entire soul into something, it did not make it any better. It just made it more real.
Dara moved into the art studio next to his. It was much smaller than his but fully renovated.
It’s a tale as old as time. A lonely guy meets a lonely girl and it creates sparks. One loves the other very much. The other is also in love, but their heart lives in a cage.
And the sparks become a wildfire, ravaging them both.
Some days, Hyunjin almost wished that Dara had never fallen in love with him—she wouldn’t resent him then. It would be easier if she just straight-up hated him.
It’s a tale as old as time. Finding love and losing it, only to realize we never really had it in the first place. It’s such a strange feeling, like trying to hold onto sand and watching it spill from our cupped hands.
Except you're in love with the sand, desperately so.
Jeongin waved at you frantically. “Boss! You decided to come!”
It was damn near impossible to resist the young man’s wide smile as he watched you approach. It was his third summer here and he just loved opening day, so you always made sure he got to work on the site for at least a few hours. Enough time for him to eat some barbecue, some ice cream, and to chat with people. He was especially popular with the grandmas—they all adored him, and he left the premises with his pockets full of candy.
This was why Jaime had come in today to be at the shop for a few hours, and also why Chris’ mom had taken a break in her retirement to take care of the office and check-ins. She didn’t like parties too much and was happy to help. Not that you or Chris had asked her. She had just assumed that you still had a beating heart inside your chest and that attending the yearly opening party was something you wanted to do. And you just didn’t have it in you to tell her that you’d much rather lock yourself in the office with your laptop and a series to binge-watch.
But you didn’t want her to know. You didn’t want her to see the gaping wounds that you were so desperately trying to conceal because you knew they would hurt her, too. You wanted nobody to see the true magnitude of it. Just thinking about it made you want to hide somewhere.
Everybody would know why. Everyone would figure out exactly why Chris had stopped loving you and why you were hurting so much. Even if they saw just a little. Just a slither of it. They would know. That it was all because you hadn’t been able to keep your baby safe and alive inside you. That it was because you had failed as a wife and as a mother.
So you forced a smile on your lips. At least, Jeongin’s pleasant personality didn’t make it hard for you to be around him. “Here I am,” you said, giving him a gentle slap on the back. “Are things going alright here?”
“Concert’s going to start in about half an hour,” Jeongin explained. His tongue and his lips were stained from the blue slushy he must have drunk not long ago. It only added to his boyish aura, although you knew he was also a very serious employee and trusted him with his responsibilities. “But the hot dog stand ran out of propane, so the boss had me get one of the tanks from the emergency stash. Told me you should know.”
You nodded. Yes, you were in charge of that—the emergency supplies. Chris took care of most of the daily supplies such as food and other necessities.
“Noted.” You stood on the hill at the end of Warbler Rd—from here, you could see most of the site. It was properly packed today, more than you had expected. More than last year for sure. “Thank you, Jeongin.” You would give him a raise this year for sure, and probably promote him to a management position at the end of the summer.
He gave you a nod, still looking at the crowd down below. He held his walkie-talkie in one hand, often lifting it to his ear to listen to whatever transmission was on the main channel, in case he would be needed somewhere. He was on Security tonight, which you had figured would give him a good opportunity to watch the concert.
You felt warmth in your chest at the thought of pleasing someone. You weren’t doing much of that anymore these days. Chris used to be so happy when you’d pack him a lunch or bring home some trinket from a store, bought because it reminded you of him somehow.
“Hey, Ayen,” you started, making sure to use the young man’s nickname. “Give me your radio. And your badge.”
He turned to you so abruptly you felt the air move in between you two. It was dusk and this particular spot wasn’t too well-lit so you couldn’t see his face, but you could see his big, shocked eyes. “Are you firing me?”
You let out a chuckle, unable to control it, letting it turn into a full-on laugh. There wasn’t a lot of that either these days, so you chose to let the sweet taste of it linger on your tongue. “Of course not! Are you insane? You know we need you here!” You gave him a friendly nudge, taking the walkie-talkie from him. “You go to the concert, I’ll cover for you tonight. If you go now you’ll have a good view… and I’m pretty sure I saw Lucy in the crowd somewhere…”
Jeongin choked on nothing and went with the smooth recovery of a fake cough. You let it slide but you weren’t born yesterday—there was an ice cream parlor on the camping site and its owner had a daughter who was just the same age as Jeongin. And there was an undeniable chemistry between them.
And she came to help her dad for the pre-season prep last week, with a few of her friends from college, and you heard her tell them about her crush on Jeongin.
You carefully removed Jeongin’s name tag from his t-shirt. “Now go. And don’t worry, I’ll still pay you the full day. Just don’t drink too much, ok?”
“Thank you boss!” Jeongin gave you a big hug before leaving, basically prancing away towards the stage where the concert would take place.
The warmth in your chest lingered until you lost sight of him, and then you were alone again. It was dark by then already, dusk turning into night. You hung the walkie-talkie at your belt and began your round, deciding to start by the corner where the restaurant and ice cream shop were. Sometimes, some reluctant teenagers, dragged here by force by their parents, could cause some mild issues if there wasn’t anybody around.
It was a rather short walk there, but you were stopped a few times on your way by people who had questions or needed directions. It was night when you reached the courtyard and you found yourself slowing down as you approached. You could hear voices, almost whispers, coming from there. You put your hand on your walkie-talkie, ready to ask for help if you needed. Until you heard a laugh. A laugh that sounded like a bright sunrise.
Chris was here.
You let go of your radio, scanning the area to find him. Almost all of the tables were empty except for three, occupied mostly by older people who wanted nothing to do with a cover band and just wanted to enjoy some ice cream before they went to sleep.
Then you saw him. Chris. He was flattening empty cardboard boxes on the other side of the courtyard, but he wasn’t alone.
Now here’s the thing.
You knew he didn’t love you anymore. Most days, you hoped he would do something to free the both of you from this prison. You hoped he would sit you down and ask for a divorce or something, only, he didn’t, and you knew why. You understood—he did not like giving up. He was allergic to failure. And sometimes it cost him a lot, but he couldn’t help it. You had always loved that about him. His determination, his strength.
Here’s the other thing.
The camping site was quite large and it demanded a lot of maintenance. So, two years ago, you hired a landscaping company to do it for you during the busy months. This way, everything was neat all the time and even a lot prettier than it used to be since neither you nor Chris had time to do much gardening around here. The landscaping company was small and familial. A man with his son and daughter. The man was close to retirement age but stubborn as hell. The son was a few years older than you and the daughter a few years younger. Both of them were lovely people, much like their father.
The woman’s name was Summer, and she looked just like it. Silky hair, gorgeous face. She radiated warmth. A bright smile, an honest smile. A voice like music. A good heart, too, hidden inside her beautiful body.
She was here with Chris tonight, and this wasn’t a rare occurrence. Since she was on site almost every day, they saw each other often during high season, and they got along exceptionally well. A little too well even.
The worst part was that you couldn’t dislike her because she was a great person. Intelligent, funny. Kind. Generous.
No, scratch that.
The worst part was that she obviously wanted to fuck Chris and Chris obviously wanted to fuck her. Only you knew he didn’t and you almost hated him for it. You loved him even more for it. They spent a lot of time together, just like tonight. But he didn’t fuck her because he was too good of a person for that, too loyal. But he was being loyal to something that was killing him from the inside.
They were flattening empty boxes and making piles of them. He laughed again at something that Summer said and your heart dropped in your chest. There wasn’t a lot of that these days. Laughter. But Chris laughed when he was with Summer.
You quickly turned away before either of them could see you, fleeing the scene as though it was you who had been caught red-handed.
You couldn’t hold it against him. You wouldn’t even hold it against Chris if he did have sex with her. But of course, none of that meant it didn’t hurt you. There were days you wanted to tell him everything. I love you, Chris. I think you should sleep with Summer. That would hurt him. And then the both of you would hurt and it wouldn’t benefit anybody.
There were fewer people on the trails as the concert was beginning—you could hear the evening’s host make his speech before the band would come on stage and play. Tears burned your eyes and you tried very hard to hold them back, knowing it was dark but that you could be seen by a staff member at any moment regardless. Nobody could see you because they would know then. They’d run into you here, see the tears on your face, and then keep walking and run into Chris, who was being Chris and not a ghost version of himself, with Summer. And they would know.
You took a deep breath, then another, still walking your usual round through the camping site.
Maybe it had to be you. Maybe you would need to hurt Chris even more and tell him that you wanted a divorce. You couldn’t tell him you were setting him free—he would just resent you even more for that. He would say, don’t put this on me, and he would be right to say so. After the storm would pass, though, he’d ask what the both of you were supposed to do now. He’d leave the house to you, surely. But this—the camping, the store. You knew he couldn’t leave it.
But you wondered if you, however, could.
Maybe you could sell your ownership parts to somebody. Summer’s dad, for example. He liked the place and knew it well. He would give your job to his daughter and then Chris would get to see her even more often and everyone would be happy.
But this—the camping, the river, the forest. It was all that you had always known. You remembered college well and how it never felt right to be somewhere that wasn’t here. You never felt quite at home and you had made the mistake of making Chris your home instead.
It was all that you deserved anyway. To feel astray and exiled wherever you went. You had failed as a mother and then as a wife and this was all life’s poetic way of punishing you. You had lost so much. You had lost everything. You had lost too many parts of yourself to remember who you were supposed to be.
“Come ON! It already started!”
A pleading voice broke the quietness of the immediate area around you. While you could definitely hear the first notes of the concert—the band always started with a cover of Barbie Girl, rock version—it seemed that nobody was in this part of the site. Well, except for the two people you could hear arguing.
You were in the RV area, which was either populated with elderly couples or rich ones who wanted to get a taste of camping without having to sleep on a cot or on the ground. The trail here was well-lit and, in the light silence, you could hear the river just behind. You passed a few RVs and then noticed a black Jeep Patriot.
“You dragged me all the way to this… place, that’s already a lot, Lee. I’m not going to a concert tonight. I can hear the music from here!”
Your heart missed a few beats when you recognized Hyunjin’s voice. You slowed down, knowing you probably shouldn’t, but you couldn’t help it.
Both he and Minho were standing outside by their RV. There was a small fire lighting up their area. They seemed to have unpacked a lot of things but a few containers were still stacked up by the door. While Hyunjin still had his stylish outfit from earlier, Minho had changed into jeans and a t-shirt, looking relaxed.
“That’s the problem with you,” Minho told Hyunjin, shaking his head. “You’re afraid of fun. Your brain immediately jumps to the option that would provide you with the least dopamine, which then makes you crave dopamine and search for it in stupid places.”
“Stop psychoanalyzing me,” Hyunjin retorted. “I pay someone to do that. A professional.” He paused then, looking at Minho as he was searching into one of the containers only to pull a light sweater from it. “I take my meds. I just don’t want to go. I want to draw.”
Minho sighed. “You draw all the time.”
Hyunjin mumbled something you couldn’t make out. By then, no matter how much you had slowed down your pace so as not to be seen or heard, you had made it to their lot. It just so happened that it was also where the road ended, with a fence blocking cars from going any further but allowing visitors to sit by the river. You glanced at the riverfront, making sure no one was there since nobody was supposed to be too close to the water after dark. When you were certain it was safe, you turned back and started walking from where you came…
…and ran into Minho as he was walking away from the RV. So much for not being seen.
“Hey, uh, check-in lady!” He offered you a smile. “Didn’t think I’d see you around here.”
You waved the flashlight you were holding as though it was police evidence, feeling warmth creeping up at the back of your neck. For some reason, being in his—and Hyunjin’s—presence unsettled you. And it made it so much worse not to know exactly why. “I’m making rounds.”
“You also do security? Talk about a resourceful woman. Love to see it.” Minho glanced behind him and you followed his gaze. Hyunjin had taken a seat on a camping chair by the fire with a sketchbook in hand but was staring in your direction. The flush at your neck spread all over your face and you thanked all the gods you knew that it wasn’t daytime. “Are you a manager or something?”
Your gaze lingered for a few too many seconds on the man behind Minho, even after he had turned to you again. Hyunjin was now pretending not to be listening to your conversation, his head in his sketchbook, using the fire as sole lighting. The flames reflected on his skin the same way sun rays refracted in water, swaying lazily.
“Uh… actually…” you started, your mind occupied mostly by Hyunjin’s peculiar posture and the way he was holding his pencil like it was too small for his large hand. “I—I’m the owner. Of the camping.” You did look at Minho then, only to see his eyes widening in surprise.
“Really? Damn!” He reached out, offering you his hand to shake. You reciprocated mostly out of habit, although you found his reaction a bit excessive, yet adorable. “I have to compliment you then. This place is awesome. Somehow you’ve managed to make a family-friendly camping site without being boring for childless people. Everything’s clean, well-thought and organized. And that lobster mac and cheese at the restaurant… absolutely divine. Hyunjin ate two bowls.”
You forced yourself not to look behind him. “I appreciate it and I’ll make sure to send your compliments to the chef,” you spoke playfully. The ‘chef’ was Marlene, a woman in her 70s who refused to retire but complained about work just about every day. She did make the best damn mac and cheese in the state, though. “I should admit it’s not like I established the camping or anything, I…”
You hesitated for a few seconds, realizing you didn’t want to say the words my husband, which were necessary for you to tell the full story of Riverside Campground.
No, that wasn’t just it.
You didn’t want Minho—or the guy who was very obviously eavesdropping behind him—to know you were married.
And now it was taking you way too many seconds to come up with a rephrasing of that initial sentence. You were wasting Minho’s time.
“My parents owned the general store uphill,” you started. “Their close friends owned the campground. Their son and I run things now.”
Their son.
“That’s awesome! I also run the company my father started.” If Minho had noticed your unease he didn’t let it show. “I always love to hear how people manage their employees or their investments…” He shook his head as though he was deciding something. “Look, come by anytime if you wanna chat, ok? I’ve always said people can learn from one another—should learn from one another.”
“Yeah, sure, thanks.” You smiled, taking a few steps back. “Hope you enjoy the show—they’re a fun band. Call the number on the map if you need anything.”
“Thanks! Have a nice night!” Minho waved at you and, instead of following you, turned to Hyunjin. They spoke in quiet voices that you heard less and less as you walked away.
It felt good to disappear into darkness again. To be invisible once more. You kept your flashlight off so as not to be seen. There was something stuck in your throat—tears, sure, but tangled with excruciating shame.
You should have said My husband’s parents owned the campground and now we run things after their retirement. Or something like that. But you didn’t.
You made your way back to the empty lot where the concert was taking place. It was packed and it looked like people were having a good time already, singing along and waving their lit-up phones in the air. You found yourself missing the period of your life when such a sight made you happy. Because you were already happy, or as happy as you could be anyway. You missed the woman you were then—warm and kind and funny.
You did a few more rounds than necessary but at least it kept you away from the concert. Still, you hummed along to the songs you knew, quietly, walking alone in the dark. Just like any time you were on your own, your mind wandered, forcing you to imagine ten or a hundred divorce scenarios. There was once a time—maybe up until a few months ago—where it was still bearable, where you believed that things could be mended even though they could never be like before.
Everything was different now, and tonight was just one more proof of it.
You circled around a few times but when the end of the concert came near, you returned toward the stage area to help the crowd make it back to their camping site. The field was almost empty when you saw Chris. He had put on a black hoodie over his t-shirt and he was talking with Summer. Again. Both of them stood by the path, nodding and saluting the guests as they walked away but never cutting their conversation short.
You looked away, turning your gaze at the sky instead. There were still too many lights on to allow you to see all of the stars.
Was that really it?
Was he no longer your best friend? Was he just somebody’s son? You wondered what you were to him exactly, other than the place where his daughter had died. Did he harbor, still, a few warm sentiments for you? Or had his love—all of it—turned into resentment? You wondered if he had noticed your presence at all, or if, maybe, he was pretending he hadn’t.
You checked your phone only to realize you wanted to stay outside for much longer than the hour you had left. You didn’t want to go home, even if Chris rarely went there for very long anymore. Something about today was different—you felt it in your bones, as though there had been a shift. But it did not show itself, staying hidden in the shadows somewhere, waiting. Or maybe you weren’t ready to know yet.
You texted Jake, who was supposed to come in in an hour to cover the night security shift. He had been working here for many, many years—before you became owners, he used to wash dishes at the restaurant—and he was among your most trusted employees. You thought about your text for a few seconds before typing it. Hey Jake! Look, I accidentally scheduled both Maggie and you for tonight. Since she’s already here, I thought I could give her tonight’s shift and you could come in tomorrow instead? But it felt wrong to lie to him. You were lying. To everyone. Every minute of every day. Every ghost of a smile was a pretense. Every I’m great! What about you, how are things? was yet another fabrication. And you were tired of pretending.
You: Hey Jake. Do you want tonight off? I’ll pay you half your night
The response took no time.
Jake: Sure!
Jake: everything ok? is there a problem?
You: No problem. I just feel like being outside so I’ll cover for you. I’ll see you tomorrow?
This time, he took a little longer to reply but you could only figure that the exchange must be strange from his perspective.
Jake: call me if you need me to come in anyway. see you tomorrow, boss.
He had started calling you boss when Jeongin began doing so. The two liked teasing you with it. They were good guys, and the use of the nickname warmed up your heart a little.
You were about to circle back to do another round when you ran into—once again—Minho. To your utmost surprise, he wasn’t alone. You had noticed over the evening that Hyunjin was no longer sitting outside the RV but you had obviously assumed that he was inside and had gone to bed. You were a little shocked to see him walk with Minho, the two of them talking with their heads close to one another, as though they didn’t want to be heard. Then Hyunjin lifted his gaze, establishing direct eye contact with you.
You froze. And he froze, too, prompting you to quickly look away. He must have thought you were staring or even stalking him. Your heart raced in your chest again, the same way it had earlier while he checked in and then again near their RV. God, what would he think of you? Surely he would think this had something to do with Naro’s paintings. Or maybe he would just think you were weird.
Minho, however, didn’t seem to think anything nefarious—his face was illuminated by a smile when he followed Hyunjin’s eyes. “Hey! You again!” He waved at you, elbowing Hyunjin. “Be nice,” he told him.
You pressed your lips together, your mind going a thousand miles an hour trying to calm yourself down. There was nothing to be so worked up about. He was just some guy. Hyunjin. He was literally just a guy.
Minho walked toward you. “You were right. The show was awesome,” he said. He was, for sure, very generous with his compliments. “Even Hyunjin ended up coming by.”
Hyunjin nodded slowly. “Yeah. It was great.” He smiled. He made himself smile, more like.
“Look, I bought a bunch of bacon and eggs and other stuff,” Minho started. “I bought too much. Do you wanna come by for breakfast tomorrow morning? I’d love to talk with you about how you run this business. And Hyunjin is shy, but I’m sure he’d like to talk to you about art.”
Flames spread on your cheeks. You exhaled, finding yourself unable to inhale. Your skin burned in places—your face, your ears, the back of your neck, even your chest. It felt like you had been under the sun for too long.
Minho was about to say something else but he closed his mouth and took one step back, looking behind you. You twisted your neck to see what had silenced him and found yourself muted too. Your insides—hot like lava just a second ago—turned to ice.
Would it be exaggerated to say it felt as though he had caught you cheating? Perhaps. And yet you felt exactly like that—like he had seen you do something you weren’t supposed to do. You wouldn’t feel any differently if you were six years old and a store owner had caught you stealing a candy bar while your mom was looking away.
“Hey,” Chris told you with a smile but you knew something about this smile wasn’t quite right. “What are you doing here?” He was there, just standing there, and Summer was a few feet behind him, only, she was now the one wearing the black hoodie that Chris had on just earlier. You tried to feel some kind of way about that piece of information but your brain made you unable to process it at all, moving on to something else.
We’re just talking, I don’t know them, you almost said, your heart racing. But then he gave the walkie-talkie you were holding a nod of the head and you understood what he was saying.
“I—Uh—figured I’d let Jeongin enjoy his evening since his friends were here,” you explained with a shaky voice. “I’ll cover tonight’s shift too. I made a mistake in the schedule and I didn’t want to call anyone at the last minute for it, since I’m already up.”
Chris’ facial expression changed ever so slightly—his eyes took a faint squint and you could imagine he was scanning his memory to remember tonight’s schedule. It was hosted on a shared account—apparently, you had forgotten that little detail. You quickly pulled out your phone and subtly erased Jake’s name, which was very much there under tonight’s date, and showed your screen to Chris.
“I thought Jake was coming in,” Chris replied with a shrug. Then he turned to the two other men. “Good evening,” he said in his customer service voice. “Is there anything we can help you with?”
You averted your eyes, unable to look at anyone currently involved in the conversation.
“No sir, thank you very much,” Minho replied with a tone that was a little too merry. Perhaps he hadn’t appreciated being interrupted in the middle of a conversation, which you could understand. “We were simply giving our compliments to the lady.”
“Compliments?” He looked at you then at him. You, on the other hand, observed Summer, all wrapped up in your husband’s hoodie. The one you had given him for his birthday a few years ago.
“He is the co-owner,” you said, not even looking at either of the guys, only staring Summer down. You didn’t want to hate her. Hell, you didn’t hate her at all. But she could try to be a little less obvious, especially in public.
“The co-owner?” Minho seemed surprised but still offered his hand to shake nonetheless. Meanwhile, Hyunjin was just glancing around with his hands in his pockets, his hair hiding most of his face. “Christopher…”
All employees—Chris and you included—had badges with their names on them. Mostly it was a way to let all the guests know who they could ask for help or directions, and the names were a little friendlier than the simple mention of ‘staff’ on a t-shirt.
You saw Minho make sense of things. First, he saw Chris’ last name. Then he looked at yours—again.
You could see the cogs turning in his head. “So you two are related?”
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
You knew it had to be you. It always had to be you, somehow—but it was the burden bestowed upon you for what you had done. For what you had failed to do. It was life’s poetic way of punishing you for being inadequate.
Four seconds. And four seconds of silence, when right in the middle of a conversation, might just as well be four hours.
To your—and everyone’s—surprise, it was Hyunjin who spoke first, relieving you of this cumbersome task that had been following you for years.
“They’re married, Min,” he said from behind his hair, his voice strangely quiet and low.
Minho’s mouth fell open but he tried to conceal whatever emotion that was by nodding fervently. “Ah! Of course, of course. Well, nice meeting you, Mr. Bahng. This is a fine business you have here, as I told your wife earlier.” They shook hands. “Lee Minho, Hwang Hyunjin. We’re over at the RV site. We should probably get going.”
“Thank you for choosing Riverside Campground!” Chris waved at them when they turned to leave. “Hope you enjoy your stay!”
Minho smiled flatly at you, waving with very little enthusiasm. Hyunjin didn’t wave but he lingered around a few seconds more than his friend. Or boyfriend. You still had no fucking clue who they were to one another.
“Bye,” he told you.
Not to Chris and certainly not to Summer. He spoke to you, just you.
There was a rumbling somewhere deep within your chest. Like something there wanted to come back to life.
Hyunjin’s story goes like this—
His life was never normal, partially because of his family name and a lot because of the pressure his father felt about his own family name, all of which he projected onto his son. He tried many things. He tried to get away from painting but that didn’t work. He tried to become a scholar but that, also, didn’t work. He broke exactly one heart and had his broken a few times, but never in an irreversible way, even when it felt like it. Until he met Dara.
His life was never normal until he met Dara. He liked her as soon as they met and the spark was indubitable. Others noticed it too—Seungmin, then Minho when he came to visit Hyunjin in his studio to see where his commissioned painting was at. Hyunjin’s mother even noticed something. You seem happy these days my son, she told him. And he was happy, for the first time in a long time, or maybe ever. Like he hadn’t been happy before and was only discovering the taste of it.
It’s a tale as old as time. A lonely guy meets a lonely girl and it creates sparks. One loves the other very much. The other is also in love, but their heart lives in a cage.
It was one of the first things he learned about Dara. The morning of the second day they knew each other, he knocked at her studio door with coffee. She was unpacking supplies and other things. Among them was a stunning painting of a flower but broken into hundreds of uneven pieces, as though it was made of glass. Dara told Hyunjin she painted it the day her ex broke up with her. There was another painting stored with it, this time depicting a woman with abstract lines, some of them even violent with how powerful of a stroke they had required. Red paint was splattered across the entire canvas, which was large. The woman was holding something small in her hand, something that the viewer couldn’t see—he could only feel its significance.
Dara didn’t tell Hyunjin this from the get-go—she used other words on that second day. A little later, though, when they were having drinks on the tiny balcony of his studio, she said this: “I can’t love again you know? It’ll kill me. I don’t trust people anyway.”
It was a cool night, but not too cool either, or maybe it was thanks to the wine they kept drinking. Hyunjin looked into his glass—in the dark, it seemed like it held black ink, or poison, instead of wine.
“Isn’t that what everyone does these days?” He shrugged. “Situationships, I mean.”
Dara burst into a laughter so pure it sounded a little like crystal bells, or even like beautiful notes on an ancient violin. Hyunjin sat quietly, letting Dara’s profound beauty permeate him. She had stunning eyes—expressive, deep, honey-brown eyes, and he loved staring into them.
“Do I look like I can do situationships?” And he knew what she meant—when Dara did something, she did it with her whole entire heart and soul, whether it was a painting, a conversation, or eating a meal. He could only imagine how passionate of a lover she might be.
They both laughed at that. “I guess not. I don’t even know how that works, to be honest. I understand one-night stands more than situationships.” After all, he had a few of those. One-night stands. To fill some void that was still very much unfilled. “Do people go to others and be like, hey, wanna fuck but like, just fuck? Repeatedly?”
“RIGHT?” Dara slammed the table, almost causing the wine to fall off it. “My other question is, how do you even have this sort of relationship with someone you’re not in love with?”
“I don’t get it either,” Hyunjin admitted before drinking some wine. He hesitated a little before saying the words that were on his mind. “Does that mean you’ll never have sex again?”
Dara’s laughter died in the night. She didn’t seem upset at the question—she took her time to think about it, drinking and lighting a cigarette. “Guess so, uh?” Then, maybe in an attempt to soothe the slight unease that was creeping up on the balcony, she gestured around at nothing. “It’s not like there’s a queue for my bed anyway.”
The truth is Hyunjin’s cock twitched in his pants at that. He blamed it a little on being touch-deprived. The truth is, Hyunjin, at that point, didn’t know that he was already in love with Dara. They spent entire days together, just the two of them, in either of their studios, painting and talking and painting. Talking about painting. Talking about love. About their past. And everything about it was easy and he never stopped to overthink it. Because it felt right.
It felt normal. For the first time ever, somebody was seeing him, perceiving him, and not walking away, not demanding more or less of him. For the first time, someone liked Hyunjin just the way he was.
To this day Hyunjin couldn’t tell what overtook him—what kind of boldness possessed him at that moment, because he wasn’t exactly the kind of guy to say these things. But he said, “But of course people want to fuck you. Why wouldn’t they?” God, that was an awfully direct thing to say to somebody he saw every day. But what it really meant was, Of course I’d fuck you. In a heartbeat. Right here right now.
But he still didn’t know that he was in love with her.
Dara didn’t push it. They went home separately, but that night was the first night Hyunjin thought of her when he jerked off in the shower. He thought of Dara, her mouth, the way she applied paint, her laugh, her broken heart as he fucked into his hand, his forehead pressed on the cool ceramic tile. And he was ashamed. But he still didn’t know that he was in love with her.
Hyunjin’s story goes like this—his bond with Dara grew stronger as weeks passed. He trusted her and she trusted him, both of them surprised at how easy it was to open up to the other.
Hyunjin’s story goes like this—they got drunk one night in his studio, and Dara kissed him. And it was exactly at that moment that he finally realized he loved her, that he had loved her this whole time. He kissed her back and they talked a lot. They kissed more. They made love three times throughout the night, first on the floor, then on a table, and then on the couch he had in his studio for when he needed to take a nap. For him, it felt as though his fate was sealed. Because nothing had ever felt like this before, and he knew that nothing ever would again.
Because at some point into the night, Dara pinned him down to the floor, riding him like a goddess would ride an ocean or something like it, and she leaned down to kiss him and to whisper three little words on his lips, and he believed her.
Hyunjin’s story goes like this—Dara meant it when she told Hyunjin that she loved him. But she also meant it when, a few weeks earlier, she told him that she couldn’t love again. It might have been more accurate to say that she wouldn’t love again, but to her, there was no difference between the two. The paradox spawned something dark within her, although she tried to hide it. Maybe she knew she would hurt Hyunjin. Maybe she knew she had already hurt him.
But Hyunjin wasn’t an idiot. He was in love but he wasn’t stupid. Dara had made it very clear before, and lovemaking, as visceral and passionate as it might have been, wouldn’t change that. He knew it. Yet, somewhere deep within his heart, he held the hope that maybe Dara’s love would be as big as his, and a love like this could move mountains. It could certainly move aside the fears haunting her since it did exactly that for him. So he waited, patiently. And all that Dara did was drift away from him.
He stopped painting. Meanwhile, Dara couldn’t stop painting. He went to the studio every day, and everything was the same except that he was in love with her and Dara was in love with him but she didn’t want to, or couldn’t, be with him. He tried his best to hide it. He tried because he knew it would hurt her if she ever came to realize the emptiness she had left within him.
So things went downhill. And they could have gone very low if it weren’t for Minho who, one random day, showed up at Hyunjin’s place to inquire about the painting he had commissioned him a while ago. Not with the intention to rush him, just to ask about it. But he found Hyunjin in a profound state of decay. After all, he hadn’t seen him for months. But Minho understood—he, too, had lost his first love.
Hyunjin’s story goes like this—he learned that resentment could only exist in a place where there was once love when he felt it in Dara. Regret. Resentment. As though he was a reminder of the love she could feel but not give. One time, Dara confronted him about it and he had to pretend he was okay about the whole ordeal and he hated doing that. What an awful feeling. To keep a love silent. Secret. But he did it for her sake. He said it was okay. And that was a lie.
It took a long time. He and Dara had a lot of conversations about it. They had a lot of conversations about many other things, too. Their friendship remained the same. If anything, it grew stronger than ever. He started painting again and things were good. He was exclusively painting commissions now and he was quite successful. He took his time with them, truly giving each painting the love they deserved. After all, it was the only thing he could love openly, so he did that. He put all the love he had for Dara in each stroke of a brush, in every little bit of impasto he could, in every vibrant red he used. And his art had never been as beautiful, so he knew that his love was true.
Hope takes such a long time to die. But it dies.
Hyunjin’s story goes like this.
He fell in love and then he fell in despair. And when he reached the bottom of it all, he had to climb back up. And he did. Only, nothing was ever the same after.
The night was quiet and your mind was anything but.
No matter how hard you tried to chase them away, the thoughts always returned. Mostly Chris. Your determination to avoid him. Your determination to keep an eye on him to see if he cheated on you yet. The pain of knowing he wouldn’t cheat on you, even if it killed him not to. Naro’s Loss. Your loss. Minho’s insightful eyes.
Hyunjin. Just Hyunjin.
Most people were still up and about on your first patrol of the night, perhaps needing to unpack a few more things after the concert. It was calm at the RV site—Minho and Hyunjin’s lights were off entirely. You lingered a little longer than you needed there but it was to listen to the river. It was the best spot to observe it too, which you often did in the daylight.
The general store was open a few nights of the week, including tonight. Sometimes it was the same employee who handled the shop and security duty and sometimes it wasn’t. You should have been at the shop tonight while Jake handled security but now it was just you. And it felt better and worse at once.
After the patrol, you took refuge in the shop’s back room, sorting items and taking inventory. You only had two clients show up, one for a pillow and the other for some late-night snacks.
It was better here than out there. Because here, you were forced to think about work. You weren’t just walking, and some less pleasant thoughts couldn’t haunt you as easily. You played music on the speaker Chris had bought for the store last year. You unboxed the cutlery you hadn’t been able to shelve earlier. You unboxed the remainder of the kids’ section you hadn’t had time to do before. Small water pistols, coloring books, frisbees, sweet-smelling SPF, sidewalk chalk sets, children’s shampoos and body cleansers. Balls, ring toss games, a few storybooks.
Watercolor paint sets. The small ones, with cheap plastic brushes.
It was always you who did it. Unboxing the items for the kids’ section. Because Chris couldn’t, or wouldn’t. Not that there was much of a difference in his case. He had done it the very next summer after Judith and then never after. Not a single word had been said about it—he would sometimes set up the shop in just a day, getting everything ready pretty much all on his own. Except for the children's stuff. It would remain in its boxes in a corner of the storage room until someone took care of it. You. Or someone else. His mom used to do it. But it had to be you because you were the one who deserved that punishment.
The watercolors were the last item you stacked on a shelf. You kept them for last on purpose, Hyunjin’s image permeated the fog in your mind, no matter how thick and how dark it was. More smoke than fog. Like something had been on fire for a long time and yet there was nothing left to burn. But it somehow still burned.
You returned to the counter, reaching for the iced coffee left next to your phone. However, your hand hovered the device instead, and you grabbed it almost like you didn’t mean to. It didn’t stop you from immediately opening a search engine and typing Hwang Hyunjin inside it.
The results were mostly unsurprising. First was his Insta account on which no pictures of himself appeared. Instead, it was all art. His, or museum visits, or stunning pictures of whichever scenery moved him on a given day. It seemed to you like he was into photography at least a little because you could tell he used fancy cameras and different lenses depending on the location. You scrolled mindlessly, trying to see as much as you could as quickly as possible, almost as though there was a time limit. Almost as though someone would catch you. As if it was bad to look at someone’s profile on social media.
Yet, the more time passed, the slower you went. Always careful not to accidentally like any picture so you remained unseen, your eyes refused to follow, lingering on the art that Hyunjin created. You found yourself studying many of his paintings for several minutes.
He was incredible.
Describing his style would be difficult because it seemed like Hyunjin couldn’t help but try new things. New techniques and methods, all the types of paint known to mankind or something like it, varied compositions. All sorts of genres, too. Still life, portraits, landscapes, seascapes, figurative styles or charcoal sketches.
First you noticed his contemporary impressionist paintings. Or rather, the way he used color in it like the subject of the painting was telling a lie and the color palette was telling the true story. Two lovers in a bed, entangled, only most of the canvas was saturated in blacks. Different blacks, expertly blended. A stormy sea with treacherous currents. Again, most of the canvas was dark. A boy sitting at a table, drawing, and his eyes were oozing black.
His expressionist pieces were just as poignant. Two lovers again—their outline chaotic yet undeniably recognizable. The two of them were kissing, and it looked like a passionate kiss, too. One of them was saturated red, the color spilling all over, staining the other with it. A beautiful, deep Alizarin Crimson, to be more exact, which was a shade of red that you particularly appreciated. Hyunjin used it often, or so it would seem.
Not two pieces were the same and yet they all obviously belonged to Hyunjin’s artistic genius. It was a little as if he used his soul in place of paint, and you could feel it through the screen of your phone.
You sat with it all for a while, lazily continuing your search. While his Insta seemed official and like he was selling paintings through it, he also had a website that served as a portfolio. Nowhere did it mention his blood relation to a renowned painter.
The pieces in his portfolio were even more refined, but one in particular caught your eye.
It was titled Resentment. Mixed media on canvas.
Two lovers. Again. Two silhouettes sitting, intertwined together and making love, surrounded by a variety of objects, made prisoners by them. The objects were like tangled strings, wrapped around them, their chests, their wrists, their throats. You wouldn’t say the lovers appeared unbothered by this strange prison but while it hindered their movements, they also seemed resolute to focus on one another, pretending they weren’t being choked to death by a string of broken Christmas lights. The glass shards punctured their skin much like the roses that were braided into them, whose thorns made them bleed. Headphone cords, coarse sisal rope scratching them all over. A silk ribbon around an ankle, tied too tightly, so tight it cut the skin there, too. Chains, heavy or fine, leaving their marks on arms or stomachs or thighs.
You let go of your phone, speechless, realizing your vision was blurred by tears. This was clearly inspired by a very real and personal part of Hyunjin’s life and yet it was something else you saw in the painting. You could feel the desperation, the weariness, the torment. The love. Painful, raw, real as hell.
It was Chris and you that you pictured, tangled in strings of resentment strong enough that they were, slowly but surely, suffocating both of you.
You covered your mouth, looking away, your mind running marathons as it emptied itself, leaving only vivid memories playing at a loud volume. The first time Christopher kissed you. That time when you were eight years old and you fell and scratched your knee and the blood scared him so much he cried. Being locked in his bedroom as teenagers, listening to music, laying in his bed, in love and unable to admit it even to yourself. Being in love with Chris. Chris being in love with you. The time he took you on a trip to Paris. When he fucked you here on this very counter after slow dancing with you in the shop. Waking up in the same bed as him.
Waking up in the same bed as him and being whole, still.
Sometimes, you read a book, watched a movie, or saw a painting that reminded you what it was like to be in love. Actively. Not just in the passive way, but in the painful way. Not the kind of love that was a memory. A ghost. A love that used to be something and turned into less.
Here is what happens to a heart that loves something that doesn’t love it the same way. Something that loves back but from a distance. An intentional distance, put there to protect one or both parties. A love that is incompatible.
It hurts. At first, it hurts. The worst kind of pain. Excruciating. It feels like you’re dying except you’re not, you’re painfully alive until you wish you weren’t anymore, until the ache morphs into something else. Something even darker. The absence of light. The absence of warmth. You’ve already lost big parts of yourself at that point and you’re starting to understand they’ll never come back.
The human body and the human mind have a limit to how much damage they can endure. To how much agony they can withstand. Unfortunately, that limit is very high. It destroys you, slowly, molecule by molecule. It drains the colors out of life first, and then out of you. This is when you start feeling like nothing is quite worth it anymore because you’ve lost the ability to appreciate things. It’s not worth it. It doesn’t feel worth it anyway. Then one day you see a beautiful sky over a mountain and it doesn’t even move you. It’s not beautiful. It is just a sky over a mountain.
You miss it. You miss them. You miss the less damaged version of you. You’re ashamed because you allowed somebody to fill in the voids of your soul. And now that they’re gone, as though the ocean recedes at low tide, your edges, sharp and rugged, are exposed. Bare. Raw and sensitive like open wounds.
Loss. Only something that occupies a vast amount of space within you can cause it. At one point, you realize the emptiness has nothing to do with the tides—you become aware of the tsunami that is about to drown you. What was taken from you is returned tenfold, only not in the form of love. It’ll seep through your skin and infiltrate your lungs. Grief. Sorrow. Melancholy. Resentment. Aloneness.
Forced upon you. Waterboarded upon you.
This is when you pull away. From people. From things. From life. Not even intentionally, but it happens nonetheless. As a defense mechanism perhaps. You become the one who puts a distance between the world and you, but it doesn’t even matter, for you are barely corporeal anyway, and nothing or nobody can touch you.
The alarm on your phone went off, pulling you back to reality, only you weren’t here yet, not entirely. It was time for your second patrol of the night. And you were crying. And you were making peace with the second most violent thing that had ever happened to you, which was the fact that Christopher was being choked to death by resentment and it was your fault. And maybe you, too, were struggling for air, and you couldn’t save him. You couldn’t save either of you. It felt like all you could do was watch life fading away from him, the same as it was from you.
Of course, someone with an outsider’s perspective might tell you that if Chris seemed resolute not to ask for a divorce because it would be a failure and he didn’t like failures, why didn’t you do it? After all, you were the one to say it always had to be you—what was so different about this? And they would be right. But they would be wrong, too. The failure would remain no matter who initiated it. So maybe it was inevitable, but on top of being the place where his baby had died, you would also be what had officially brought forth the biggest failure of his life. Because that’s what he would say. You knew him.
And you were not quite ready to be hated by him. It was one thing not to be loved by Chris. But hatred? Loathing, even, maybe? No. You weren’t strong enough to do it, not now at least.
You walked the same path as you had previously, your eyes blank, advancing almost like a zombie, your head filled with awful things. With beautiful things turned awful, too. And those were even worse.
The campground was quiet except for the chirping of crickets and the song of tree frogs echoing in the woods, the sound of them bouncing on the trunks of trees. Your mind was lingering in the kids’ section of the shop but the sounds of the night anchored you and you let them. The soft soil underneath your walking boots. The river flowing steadily. The stars in the sky. Your mind was lingering on a painting as beautiful as it was sad, and somehow, you were seeing the world with different eyes and hearing it with different ears. Like something had shifted inside you, but it was too early to figure out what exactly. Maybe it was just that you relished that feeling of knowing you weren’t as alone as you thought you were. Someone understood you, even if it was, maybe, in a different shade of aloneness. It was aloneness anyway. Unfortunately for him, Hyunjin seemed to be able to portray the sorrow that afflicted you, which meant he must be intimate with it, too. What a terrible thing to be burdened by.
You wondered if you would ever get the chance to ask him. How would you even go about it? You couldn’t picture yourself straight up telling him you had looked him up. It sounded stalky and weird. He had seemed reluctant to share some parts of his personal life earlier, which was understandable considering you were a total stranger to him. You knew Lee Minho had invited you to breakfast out of politeness but, obviously, you wouldn’t go. Because you were a stranger. They were strangers. So it was likely you wouldn’t talk to Hyunjin, not even once, in all of the summer.
But then you smelled weed.
You stopped in your tracks, inhaling deeply to make sure you were actually smelling it. You couldn’t see anything as you looked around—you had just entered the RV site and everything was still. Not a single light was on in the vehicles and things were just the way they had been earlier. It didn’t take you very long to find the source of the smell. You made it to the river, walking on the edge of it, mindful of each step you took. You knew this place by heart though and would have been able to navigate your way with your eyes closed.
Someone was sitting on the ground, smoking, resting on a smooth, large rock behind them.
You sighed, starting to regret offering to do night security. Most of the time there was no issue, but when there was one once in a while, you weren’t exactly the kind of person who liked to exert your authority. You tried telling yourself this was most likely just a stray teenager trying to get the most out of this parent-imposed vacation, looking for some peace away from their family.
You cleared your throat. “Hey, excuse me?” Your voice sounded a lot smaller than you wanted it to. You were the boss. You were the owner of this place. You had a right to set rules. Right? “It’s just that we don’t allow drugs on the property, so…”
You took a few more steps toward the culprit, only to realize it was a young man with long, dark hair, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt.
“Oh, hello you.” Hyunjin sat upright, turning to you. It was dark but some light from a nearby lamppost filtered through the tree leaves, caressing his honey skin and showing his soft smile. “Sorry about that.” He waved the joint he was holding.
You froze. “Oh.” You took it all in at once. The soft breeze caressing his silky hair. His deep, intelligent eyes. The sorrow he exuded. His beauty. “H—Hello.”
The man stood, his lips pressed together in a contrite smile. “I didn’t think I’d get caught,” he admitted with a giggle that echoed in your empty chest.
“It’s fine, it’s fine.” You waved at him when he went to put out the joint. “I don’t really mind. It’s just that we had to make rules for when there are kids around.”
“Makes sense.” Hyunjin shook his head, half-sitting on the boulder, his eyes not leaving you as though he was studying you. “How’s the night shift going? Not too many problems I hope?”
It took you a few seconds to be able to speak again. Something about Hyunjin was unsettling, but not in a bad way. He was so unique. You had never met anyone who had this energy before. He made you want to sit and make him tell you the story of his entire life. Like he was an ancient sacred manuscript written in an intricate language, unknown and familiar at once.
“No, not too many,” you heard yourself respond, surprised at how comfortable you were around him. “Just one guy I caught with weed…”
At that, Hyunjin’s giggles turned into full-on laughter, causing a smile to appear on your lips. A genuine one, so tangible it felt warm on your face. The warmth spread slowly, spilling onto your cheeks and at the back of your neck.
“Kids these days!” He said sarcastically, rolling his eyes in a dramatically exaggerated manner, brushing his fingers through his hair to push it away from his face.
The laughter died slowly and silence returned. Only, it wasn’t really silent. The river was flowing and the frogs were still singing and from here, you could even hear an owl, and crickets. As if the world was desperate to remind you that it was still alive, no matter how lifeless your own heart was.
“Maybe I can buy my way out of this,” Hyunjin added with a mysterious look on his pretty face.
He reached into the tote bag left near him, pulling out of it a handful of mini liquor bottles, offering you some with an inviting nod.
You pretended to be shocked. “Are you trying to corrupt me?” You tsked him with a sigh. “Well, I have to say, it’s working.” You grabbed a bottle of whiskey with a playful smile.
Hyunjin smoked quietly, watching you as you screwed open the bottle and drank most of it in one go. It was good whiskey, smooth, but it burned your throat just enough to anchor you to the present moment. He sat down on the grass again, gently patting the space next to him, inviting you. “Care to stay for a minute? Or should you not?”
You weighed your options—everything seemed orderly enough after all, so maybe hanging out here was just fine.
After all, before tonight, before seeing the true colors of his soul, you didn’t think anybody could understand the pain you had, your inner conflicts. Which was self-important and perhaps even selfish, but it had been a long fucking time since you had related to anything as much as you related to his paintings.
You sat down, not saying a word, the vivid images of Hyunjin’s art still floating in your mind almost like flashbacks badly edited into a low-budget movie. You finished the whiskey, eyes on the sky above, watching the stars and the way they sparkled.
Out of nowhere, Hyunjin handed you the joint. “Are you alright?” He asked it to you quietly but in a very sincere way.
For a couple of seconds you couldn’t believe that he would just share weed with you like this. Then you realized you had simply forgotten your college days and how blissfully unaware you had been back then. This would be far from the first time you smoked with a stranger.
His question troubled you. You took the joint from him, inhaling the smoke and pretending to be super cool about how it immediately made you cough. It had been a while.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” you replied. “What about you?”
You turned to him, only to be faced with Hyunjin’s grave expression. A faint squint had appeared between his brows, and he didn’t shy away from staring. His eyes went from yours to the joint you pressed between your lips, back to your eyes.
He completely ignored your question. “You look like you’ve been crying.”
One thing you hated about you was how skilled you had become to dodge these. Yet it did not feel the same coming from Hyunjin. A stranger perhaps, but one who had faced sorrow, truly faced it, had been stabbed by it probably repeatedly, and lived to tell the tale.
Like going on vacation to a foreign country and accidentally coming face to face with someone from home, and knowing they were from home before they even opened their mouths. You knew that Hyunjin came from the same place as you did, which was a place where loss was a tangible thing, worn around the throat, a place where one was a slave to it.
To someone else, someone who didn’t come from that place, you would have bullshitted something about allergies. Typically, they bought it.
To Hyunjin, you said, “I have bad days sometimes. Today is a bad day.”
And it felt good to say it. It felt good to say it to him. It was only a minuscule drop of the gargantuan secret that lived with, the pain that you carried with you and kept trapped within you so that it wouldn’t spill out and stain others. So that it would never hurt Chris.
Hyunjin nodded and took the joint back from you after you handed it. In exchange, he simply passed you another whiskey and then proceeded to open one for himself.
Your wedding ring shone under the faint light. You observed it for a few seconds.
“I understand that,” Hyunjin said after a while. “I get those too. A little too often to my taste, but it’s better now that I take meds for it.” He drank some whiskey and turned to you again. “Is there something I can do to cheer you up? Other than getting you wasted, I mean.” He had a guilty smile.
You chuckled. “Thank you. That’s actually really nice of you. Offering.” Nobody offered that to you since nobody knew you had bad days. No one. Not a single soul. “Getting wasted does help.”
Few words were exchanged as you finished the joint together. More bottles were opened, too. You wondered where Chris was. He was probably back home. He would have gone back home when you told him you’d spend the night here and that no one else was scheduled. Because it meant you couldn’t leave the premises and there was a zero percent chance you’d go back home, too. You two were rarely there, at the same time, at night. He’d come by during the day to do laundry and even have lunch or dinner with you. But then he bounced. And you’d see his car parked in his parents’ driveway or he’d just be somewhere here. Doing maintenance he called it. But really he just couldn’t stand being too close to you at night. Like you were a sleep paralysis demon. But really you were just the place where his daughter had died. And it was worse.
“I’m sorry you… have bad days,” you tentatively said after a while. You could feel the various substances having their effect on you. You felt heavy and weightless at once. It was as though all your sadness was still very much there, but you weren’t actively drowning in it.
You didn’t know if it was because you were high or because for the first time in years you had admitted to someone you weren’t alright.
“For some people, you know, it’s just easy to be happy. I’m not one of those people,” Hyunjin explained with a shrug. “Minho actually made me see his therapist. He thought he could fix me.” He paused for a few seconds. “Not everything that is broken can be fixed. But broken things can still have a place and a purpose in life.” He had another pause, longer this time, and you dared not interrupt him. He faced you—really faced you, turning his body towards you—and spoke again. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you’re like that too, right?”
He took your breath away, just like that.
He smelled like weed, like his intricate and fancy cologne. His breath smelled like liquor. And his scent was melting in the air, blending with the sweet and pleasant esters and terpene of the evergreens around you. The moss that grew on them. The water from the river. The faintest trace of salt, brought by a breeze that came from the beach. You smelled him. Really smelled him. You let the olfactory memory of the moment engrave itself in your mind.
You looked at him. Really looked at him. The delicate traits on his face, how violently pretty he was. His gaze, heavy, meaningful, honest. The softness you felt in him was a strange contrast to the strength he evidently had. His large shoulders, his plush lips. The way his clothes were too big for him and yet hinted at a perfect, sculpted, toned body. The way he held himself, leaning toward you. You looked at him. Really looked at him. You let the sight of it carve itself into your soul.
You did not want to forget that moment.
You had not been seen, really seen, in a long while.
Long enough that you had forgotten that feeling. And yet it was undeniably there, in your chest, coming back home after a long vacation away only to find its home empty, desolate, devastated. Decayed. You could picture it kicking at your dead heart, wondering what the fuck had happened in the past years.
You gulped. “Yes,” you breathed, averting your gaze, ashamed. And ashamed of being ashamed. “Yes, I’m… like that.”
His response took no time. “It’s alright. It doesn’t change your value as a person or anything.”
You looked down at the river. How many times had you considered just throwing yourself in it, letting it take you somewhere else, hoping you would drown before anybody could find you?
He didn’t know. Hyunjin. He didn’t know what you had done. He didn’t know the ugly things inside you. He didn’t know that fearful thoughts were corporeal and dangerous. He didn’t know that you had been punished for your greed and for your uncertainty and that it, in fact, lowered your value. A lot.
And what the fuck were you doing here anyway? Chatting with this man you didn’t know and let him read your soul like you were some unsolved riddle in a magazine left on a table in a dental clinic’s waiting room?
It took half a second—you went to stand back up, the motion of it barely happening—and Hyunjin lowered a hand on your arm to stop you. “Wait.”
You stared at him, motionless, a little numb. Not numb enough. His skin was smooth and warm. You felt a faint spark of electricity run through you when he squeezed—terribly faintly squeezed—your forearm.
“I’m sorry,” he went on. “I didn’t mean to say anything offensive or hurtful, I just—”
You didn’t like to see guilt written on his handsome face, especially not because of you. “You didn’t,” you assured him. The electricity had run its course and it went to die in your chest, where other forces were at war with your inert heart. “Please, it’s fine.”
Hyunjin retreated his hand, sitting against the boulder again. “But I made you want to leave.”
“I always want to leave.” It just came out of you, like that, without warning. One of those awful truths about you that you kept buried, hidden away. That you tried to forget. “It’s not people’s fault, it’s mine.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I get it.” Hyunjin nodded, licking his bottom lip in a slow, lazy swipe of his tongue. “I always want to leave, too. Almost. I don’t feel like that when I paint, or when Minho forces me to go fishing or something.” Hyunjin gulped, clearing his throat faintly. “I don’t think I’m feeling it right now either. Your energy. It’s…” He frowned while he was looking for the right words. “It’s like a color that contains multitudes of other colors. And I love colors.”
Part of you wanted to remind him of how fucking high he was for saying stuff like that.
But another part of you stopped you, forcing you to think about his words, forcing them down your throat, into your chest. Using them like an antidote on that fucking heart of yours.
“And now I’m making it worse,” Hyunjin added with a self-derogatory sigh. “Sorry. I’m not good at talking to people or making friends.”
Tears pricked at your eyes as a variety of emotions overcame you, washing over you like the high tide on a beach. “I think the opposite. So far you’ve been nothing but nice to talk to.”
He smiled faintly. “I don’t know why you’re sad, but I just thought of something that might cheer you up a little.”
Hyunjin reached into his tote bag again, this time pulling his phone out of it. He scrolled for almost a whole minute, visibly looking for something specific, truly absorbed in the task. You couldn’t look away from him. Fucking hell. Fuck.
He let out a little thrilled exclamation. “There it is!” Then, Hyunjin simply handed you his phone. You, a stranger.
You took it from him, intrigued. The screen showed two pencil sketches on paper.
But then you saw it, and you nearly dropped the phone. It was not pencil. It was charcoal. At the bottom of the sheet was a signature below a date in the late 19th century. A signature you had seen countless times before.
“What the fuck?” You glanced at Hyunjin who now had a shit-eating grin on his face but quickly returned your attention to the screen. “Is this real?”
“Yup. It’s real. My granddad had them, and he gave them to me some time ago.”
You studied them with a hand over your mouth. The sketches. Drawn by Naro himself, all these years ago.
The one on the left depicted a scenery. Something beautiful, probably from his time in South Holland if you could trust that you recognized the architecture of the town behind the empty field that was drawn. Tall grass, swayed by the wind, with a forest on one side and Leiden on the other. The sketch was simple but no less beautiful, and Naro’s style was undeniable and undeniably intriguing. The accuracy with which he drew the trees, yet made the city more of a blur, an impression, a suggestion. He always loved nature, or so the books said. Very much.
The sketch on the right left you speechless. Slowly, air stopped coming into your lungs and you found yourself staring at it through tears that you were desperately trying to swallow back.
It showed his wife, sitting on the edge of a bed on which an almost faceless child lay. The little girl wore a gown with flowers on it. She was holding onto a doll. Her face suggested pain and exhaustion. Her face was barely a face. It was just that. Distress. Her mother was holding her other hand and caressing her hair.
If Loss the painting had a prequel, that would be it. The sketch was depicting the last moments of Naro’s daughter before she passed away.
You gave Hyunjin his phone back. It seemed to you like it weighed a ton all of a sudden. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes, or maybe it was because you didn’t want him to see your tears.
But it was too late. “Ah, shit, I didn’t want you to cry, I just, you said, well I thought—” Hyunjin stuttered his life away while you sat there, watching the river.
Your heart. In your chest. They were operating on it. They had cut it open and were trying to restart it. After all, dead things didn’t hurt that much, did they?
“Hyunjin,” you heard yourself say, your voice weak and shaking. “I saw your paintings. Some of them. And I know that something—someone—broke your heart.” You wiped the few tears that had begun to roll down your cheeks. “I know that your pain is deep. Deeper than the soul.”
You did look at him then, his face illuminated by the screen of his phone which still showed the sketches. His eyes had a glassy aspect to them. Was he high or was he sad?
“I have a pain like that too.” They had hooked your heart onto a defibrillator. It jumped in your chest but it did not restart. Hyunjin put the phone down, listening intently, wiping, too, the corner of his eye. “The woman. On the drawing.” You motioned at the device resting on the grass. “That was me once.”
Slowly, Hyunjin put together what you were trying to tell him. And you didn’t even know why you were telling him. It made no sense. You didn’t talk about this. To anyone. Ever.
You almost told him everything. How losing Judith had driven you crazy enough that you were convinced you had somehow caused it. That it was all a punishment for all the greedy things you had done, the horrible thoughts you had. That you were so scared at first you weren’t sure you ought to be a mother at all. That, maybe, it was best you never became a mother because maybe you would be an awful one. That life showed you what was meant to be. It forced it on you.
Forced upon you. Aloneness.
Resentment.
You went on but only barely—the words remained trapped in your throat, too real to be spoken out loud.
“You don’t have to say more,” Hyunjin whispered, his speech slower than it had been. “I… I get it. I think.”
Hyunjin stared at you and you couldn’t read the expression on his face, but you understood the emotions it evoked. Horror. Compassion. Something even deeper than that. There was another detonation in your chest and this time, your heart shuddered.
He couldn’t talk for a long time after and neither could you. But somehow, it was okay.
“I’m so sorry,” he said after a while. “God, I am so sorry.”
You wiped the rest of your tears. More might come later, but at least it was over for now. “I’m sorry for unloading this on you. You didn’t ask for any of this.”
He shook his head. “No, no. I shouldn’t have… I just wanted… I didn’t know…”
You cut him off. It felt strange—like the pain was very much there still but different. Not so alone, in a good way. As in, you were sad and you knew you would always be. But you were other things, too. “Of course you didn’t know. We don’t know each other.”
He tilted his head, just a little, staring right into your eyes. “But I don’t think we’re strangers anymore.” He was beautiful the way art was beautiful. It took some time to take it all in. And you never really took it all in. He wasn’t just a piece of art anyway—he was a whole museum. “I mean, you discovered my deepest secrets in my paintings and you just told me one of yours. I think it amounts to something, doesn’t it?”
Yes. Yes it did.
You mirrored him, cocking your head to the side too, studying him. Taking in not just the sight of him but this strange feeling that was carving itself a home within you. You couldn’t understand what it was. Or why it was. All you could do is let it settle in.
All you could do was let your heart be revived. And you didn’t want to. Really. It was just a waste of time. It was worse than that. Your heart had died already, stopping at the same time as Judith’s. And it had remained this way when you failed at being someone that Chris could love. Should it be stopped again—and it will—it would just kill you for good.
“Was it a long time ago?” you inquired, accepting how peculiar the conversation was. Accepting that you were comfortable with it. With him. “That… it… that you had your heart broken?”
His eyes flicked but returned to you in less than a millisecond. “Not really. Some time last year.” He breathed in. And out. “It still hurts. That’s the problem, right? It’ll always hurt. It was the first time I loved someone for real. So it hurts more. I loved her so desperately. I couldn’t admit to myself she didn’t love me back for a long time. No, it’s not even that. She didn’t want to love me back. It made it so much worse.”
She didn’t want to love me back. How unfair.
You wondered whether Chris wanted to love you still or not.
Hyunjin returned the question. “What about you? Was it… a long time ago?”
“A few years. Three? Four?” How were you supposed to explain that after a while, when spending too much time in misery, it just becomes misery minus the time? “It’ll never not hurt.”
“I feel like all those comforting phrases people say about grief only make it worse,” Hyunjin pointed out in a low voice. “We all know it will hurt always.” He frowned. “I’m so sorry,” he said again.
“What do you mean?” you asked. Somewhere near, a whip-poor-will sang its distinct song a few times. A glance at the sky behind you let you know the moon was out.
“Someone told me once that grief is just love that has nowhere to go anymore,” Hyunjin explained. “It’s meant to be comforting. But it’s not. Love, when it has nowhere to go or when it isn’t wanted. It’s not uplifting. It’s just cruel.” He looked around, startled by the sudden birdsong echoing in the night.
“It’s a whip-poor-will,” you told Hyunjin. “They kind of look like if a frog had a baby with a bird.” Chris liked to tell the tourists that, and the tourists all found it very funny. It was also strangely accurate. “You’re right. About grief. Nothing makes it not-grief.” Then, you added, “I never really talk about this.”
Hyunjin let out a displeased grunt. “So you’re just… alone with it?”
“Aren’t you?”
He thought about it. “I have Minho. I don’t know where I’d be if he didn’t make me get my shit together.” He bit into his lip. “But he doesn’t know everything. So I am alone about certain things. Like resentment.”
“Resentment.” The thing you wished you didn’t know how it felt at all.
“You know, resentment can only exist in a place where there was once love. Maybe, for some, love turns into grief. And for others, it turns into resentment.”
Yes. Yes. Fuck.
You felt it in your chest. An earthquake made of light.
Could it be? That you had found the person on Earth who could understand—really understand—you? And who you could understand, too?
No, it couldn’t be. This was too reckless. Creating bonds with others was such a significant risk that you avoided it altogether. What was the endgame here, after all? You would come hang out with Hyunjin once in a while and, throughout the summer, get to know him, perhaps even tell him everything? About Judith and about Chris and about how you missed your mom and about how you weren’t a person anymore.
And maybe he would tell you more about his broken heart. And then he would leave and forget you ever existed. And he was handsome, dangerously so. He made stupid little butterflies appear in your stomach when he looked at you for a little too long or when he touched you or when you smelled him. And you were married and you shouldn’t even be thinking these things, you shouldn’t be thinking about his lips and wondering how it felt to be kissed by them.
You didn’t remember it. The feeling of being embraced and kissed and loved.
You sat there, psychoanalyzing yourself, telling yourself that you were so starved for love and attention that you were willing to drink up whatever was offered to you. Even if it was just a guy being polite—not dishonest or anything, but just polite, and kind. It made sense to seek warmth when you were out there freezing to death.
But, god, he was beautiful.
“I should go back,” you heard yourself say, and it hurt you to say it. You wanted to stay here all night, talking or not talking. Just existing alongside Hyunjin for a moment.
He nodded. “I’ll walk you back.” He stood up without waiting for a response.
You stood too, almost stumbling over as you did so. Hyunjin caught you just in time, his arm around your waist while you regained your balance.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
Oh no. No no no no. No. No. Fuck.
“It’s fine, I’ll be fine,” you told Hyunjin, keeping one hand on the boulder, your breath coming to a stop. It was at that moment you realized there was a difference between an arm around the waist for pretense and one with purpose. Intention. Even if that intention was as insignificant as preventing you from falling over. Pretense would always be that. A lie. An impression. The suggestion of something, which is a million times worse than nothing.
“I’ll go,” Hyunjin insisted. “If you say no, it’s fine, but I’ll just follow you until you make it to wherever it is you’re going.” He let go of you and the night felt cooler than it had been. The ghost of his touch lingered on you and the whip-poor-will sang again.
You had a nervous laugh. “So you’re a stalker? At least you’re an honest one.” He laughed, too.
He gathered his things and both of you retreated, walking away. You couldn’t help but look behind your shoulder as you did so, just to see it. The spot you were sitting in when something changed inside you. When your secret became a little less secret. It looked the same as it always had and if you came back here tomorrow or a year from now, it would be identical. But it would always be that place where your heart restarted.
You had never truly believed it would ever happen, but you always figured that if your heart came back to life, you would feel it. It would be grand, like fireworks. An explosion. Lightning and thunder. You imagined it would feel as though the Earth had shifted on its axis.
But there was none of that tonight. Turns out, a heart that’s thawing is quite silent, inconspicuous even. Turns out, one moment your heart is numb and one second later, it isn’t anymore. And that’s it.
Hyunjin helped you over the fence. You didn’t need his help but you let him because it felt good to be touched by him, even for just a moment. You walked together in silence for a long while, just following the path, taking your time. At one point, he took his phone out to look up something and his giggles echoed into the night. If you had to describe the giggles, you would say they were endearing and a little goofy, dorkish even, but contagious.
“You were right about that bird. It does kind of look frog-ish.” For emphasis, he showed you his image search, displaying whip-poor-wills.
You told him about some of the wildlife around and Hyunjin listened avidly, asking questions when he wanted precisions on something. He seemed particularly interested in woodpeckers and inquired plenty about the yellow-bellied sapsucker, baffled by its cry after he listened to it on his phone. “It sounds like a squeaky toy!”
And you kept on walking. He was advancing with ease, his long legs allowing him graceful, efficient steps. You informed him you were returning to the general shop since it was open through the night, except for while you did your patrols. He asked a few questions about that, too. You told him about your parents. Your mom. He tried to give you his condolences but you didn’t let him.
The shop was in sight by the time you gathered enough courage to say something about Naro’s sketches from earlier. “Hyunjin… those sketches,” you started. “Thank you. For showing them to me.”
“In hindsight, I shouldn’t have,” he pointed out gravely.
“No, I’m glad you did.” And to your surprise, you meant it. “I never saw them before.”
A proud smile appeared on his face. “Of course not. We never shared those with the public or anything. They just stayed at my grandad’s place and now they’re at mine.”
“Damn, that’s cool as hell.” You shook your head, suppressing a smile. “What else do you keep at your place? Not the stolen painting, I hope?”
He let out a heartfelt laugh. “I fucking wish,” Hyunjin sighed. “I could make some serious money with that.”
You let silence creep in before you spoke again. “I really liked it. The art I saw from you. It’s amazing. I’ve never seen such elaborate storytelling within individual pieces like that. How long have you been painting?”
“Oh, my whole life I guess,” Hyunjin explained. “My grandfather mentored me a lot. My father worked as a curator in museums. For a while.” He paused there. “So my whole life has been about art. I tried to distance myself from it but that didn’t work, did it?”
You snorted. “Doesn’t look like it, but it’s great though! How it’s a family thing.”
“Yeah, you could say that.” He motioned towards the shop, now very close. “Same goes for you. It’s a family thing.” Maybe you were crazy but he looked like he hesitated. “Your family and your husband’s.”
What were you supposed to say to that? “Yeah.”
He stopped when you reached the door. “Thank you,” he told you. “For chatting with me. And… for liking my art. You look like you know what you’re talking about, so it’s a pretty big compliment coming from you.”
“I just like art. Good art,” you specified with a smile. “Thank you. I owe you a couple of drinks at least.” You grabbed your keys from your pocket and unlocked the front door, also turning the lights back on.
You turned to him again—his irises were dilated, his lips were raw from biting them and from smoking and drinking. But god, he was beautiful.
“I’d love that, so I hope you meant it.” Hyunjin smiled—a coy smile, almost.
He did something you didn’t expect—he opened his arms and hugged you briefly. Just a couple of seconds, pressing you against him with his big arms around you. His body was warm, and his embrace was gentle, tender even.
“Bye,” Hyunjin whispered, pulling away. “I’ll see you around.”
He turned and walked away, leaving you speechless. His scent stayed on you all night. You spent hours trying to reason with yourself but there was no point.
Turns out, there is a difference between a thawed heart and one that’s set ablaze.
A big fucking difference.
... to be continued.
Note from Mari: I do feel like a broken record when I write these but I absolutely want to say thank you to my readers. Thank you for reading my stories, sure, but also for making this place a welcoming one for me and for treating me the way you do, which is with kindness, compassion, and love. I don't think I deserve so much, but I keep all of it in my heart. Thank you for giving me a purpose.
This is a combination of my old and new permanent taglist. It seems like I upset a few people by restarting my taglist and I do apologize. It's more work than it seems to keep track and since so many people on it were silent readers or straight up inactive, I wanted to try and make it a little easier for me. Only a handful of people responded to my initial post so I assumed people were losing interest and no longer wished to be on my taglist, hence why I didn't make several subsequent announcements regarding it. I didn't mean to hurt anyone or ignore anyone. I did my best to compile everybody for this one and am sorry if I missed anyone. Please let me know.
I read this chapter in the very first day it was released. And I was so deeply moved by it that I was only able to form any coherent words just now, when I was rereading it in order to start chapter 3. And I should say that it hit me just like the 1st time.
I cried. I am still crying writing this. I can not explain in words how deep, how profound it is and how no matter what story of yours I am reading, I can always relate to it. Sometimes in a sad way, sometimes in a beautiful. But By Design? It's so special. You published it at the moment I was in despair, thinking about my marriage and my relationship in the very same way as the MC, and it was a relief and a deep cut somewhere under the ribs at the same time, reading it.
I really do not think there is enough words to describe how beautiful your works are, and how emotionally I am involved into every one of them. Whenewer I feel bad, sad, or longing, I always come back to you, your stories and even the replies of yours, knowing I will find comfort here. I do not think I am able to express it in more words like this, but I also don't think you can estimate how much it means to me and other readers of yours - what you create.
Thank you foror existing. Thank you for writing for us. For pouring your soul out like that. I wish you smile while reading that, and every day of your life after. Sincerely. You deserve all of this.
With love,
Elen
synopsis: your sweet boyfriend comes up with a way to make you feel even more connected as a couple.
wc: 7.2k
warnings: tantric sex ~ a meditative form of sex. the aim is to be present in the moment to achieve a sensual and fulfilling sexual experience, connecting with your lover on a more profound level.
(aka edging, soft lovemaking, sensual touch, making out, oral (f and m), handjob, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie)
a/n: i wrote this in two days (had to power through + it's not proofread so excuse any mistakes) and it felt so sweet and intimate and made me even more soft for hyune. happy birthday to my beloved hyune who deserves the entire universe and more💕
masterlist
You had just gotten home from work, the tiredness settling in your bones as you shucked off your shoes and coat with a deep exhale.
"Jinnie?" you called out to your beloved, scanning the living room and kitchen area in hopes of seeing a sign of him. With a little pout on your face, you made your way to the bedroom.
You slowly opened the door, thinking that he must be napping but your brows shot up in surprise when you didn't find him there either, nor heard the shower running in the bathroom.
"Jinnie?" you repeated but no answer. You shook your head with a small smile.
There was only one place you'd find him now.
You made your way to the guest room turned art studio where he was probably painting with his earphones in.
You knocked and quietly opened the door, finally finding your boyfriend, but he wasn't sitting in front of a canvas painting, he was sat at the desk, staring at his laptop. His brows were furrowed in concentration as his eyes scanned the letters on the screen, his teeth gnawing at his lip.
Upon hearing the door open, he looked up, his face softening into a smile when he laid his eyes upon you.
"Oh, hey love. I didn't hear you come in." Hyunjin said, beckoning you to come closer.
You walked closer to him and he wrapped his arm around you, swiftly pulling you in his lap and making you squeal in surprise. Your arms automatically wrapped around his shoulders as he leaned in, kissing your jaw and cheek.
"What's got you so concentrated?" you giggled a little, caressing the back of his head, the buzzed hair soft under your palm.
Hyunjin's eyes fluttered as he gently caressed your cheek, pressing his lips on yours.
"Something I wanted us to try for a long time." he whispered against your lips, kissing you slowly again. You could never get enough of his kisses, you loved it all from the little pecks he'd give you as he giggled to the most desperate and passionate make out sessions where you couldn't get enough of each other, always needing more.
"Oh yeah?" you smirked. "Something naughty?"
"Not really." Hyunjin shook his head and motioned towards his laptop, adjusting you on his lap so you were turned towards the screen. He leaned his chin on your shoulder, one arm wrapped around your stomach and his free hand scrolling up the page.
"Tantric sex?" your eyes widened, cheeks burning instantly.
"Mhm. Have you heard about it?"
"I have. It's supposed to be like meditative and sensual?" you asked, your hand caressing his arm that was holding you.
"Something like that." Hyunjin chuckled. "I just want us to connect like never before. I want to be close to you in every way possible. I want to explore you and love every part of you." he talked, his lips constantly making contact with the back of your neck.
Goosebumps appeared on your skin and you shivered, grabbing at his hand and intertwining your fingers as you turned to look at him.
"Hyunjin." you sighed, your heart beating fast against your chest.
"Don't feel pressured, my love. It's just a suggestion. You don't have to say yes." he smiled sweetly at you.
"Tell me more about it." you whispered, turning to face him fully and gently taking his face in your hands. Hyunjin giggled a little, nuzzling into your palms.
"Okay well, the point is to be in the moment with your partner, take your time as you explore each other and do stuff like breathe together and just touch each other. It doesn't have to be just sex, it's not about getting to the finish line, it's more about enjoying the journey." he explained and you nodded.
"It's supposed to bring us closer together. And when you do finish at the end, it's like the best full body orgasm you can experience." he added.
"So basically it's a huge edge fest?" you joked and Hyunjin laughed.
"Kind of, if you wanna look at it that way." he searched your eyes.
"Of course I wanna be closer to you, my love. It sounds like something wonderful, like an out of body experience." you smiled, kissing his nose.
"So, you wanna try it?" he beamed at you and you nodded.
"Yes, I'd love to." Hyunjin let out a delighted chuckle as he hugged you tighter, making you giggle.
You were a little bit nervous but excited to try something so romantic and loving with your sweet Hyunjin.
~
A few days later, after doing more research and discussing about it, the two of you finally had a weekend off, no other plans, perfect for enjoying each other without anyone else bothering you.
As soon as you opened your eyes that Saturday, you found Hyunjin already awake and smiling at you.
"Good morning, beautiful." he said and you whined, covering your face with the blanket, mumbling behind it.
"Don't hide." Hyunjin pried the blanket out of your fingers, pulling it down and chuckling at your disheveled state.
"You'll look at me all day today anyways." you huffed, moving your hair out of your face. He leaned in and gave you a few sweet pecks.
"I can't wait." he smiled, wrapping his arm around you.
You stayed like that quietly for some time as you caressed the back of his neck and he drew circles on your back. You almost fell back asleep until he lifted up and pressed a kiss to your forehead.
"I'm gonna start preparing our space." Hyunjin said before getting up. You turned on your back, stretching with a smile.
It was really happening.
By the time you got up and made your way to the living room, Hyunjin had already moved around some furniture, preparing the carpeted floor with covers, blankets and pillows. The two of you thought your living room would be the best option, it was spacious and full of light, usually the room where you relaxed, with all the pretty paintings Hyunjin had hung on the walls and the flower pots you had scattered around.
It was also the room where you first kissed and made love on your third date, when you invited Hyunjin over for a home cooked dinner.
"Need help?" you asked and Hyunjin nodded.
"I prepared some fruit in the kitchen. And water bottles. You can bring it here." he said and you walked away to the kitchen, bringing all the stuff to the living room.
Hyunjin was lighting up some scented candles before he turned to smile at you.
"Do you think it's warm enough here? I turned on the heating."
"It's fine. Comfortable." you nodded.
You decided to eat a simple toast for breakfast and have just a little bit of coffee. There was a strict rule of no devices whatsoever, just you and Hyunjin in your own little world so he grabbed your phones and laptops, leaving it all turned off in your bedroom.
Lastly, Hyunjin dimmed the lights and took your hand in his gently, a sweet smile dancing on his lips as the two of you finally settled in your living room.
"So, how do we start?" you asked, feeling a little nervous.
"However we feel like. There is no rules to that." he smiled. "Though matching our breathing is important. But I just wanna embrace you first, my love." Hyunjin added, placing his hands gently on your waist. You smiled wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pressing your chest against his as you felt his warmth and found yourself enjoying the familiar and comforting place your lover's arms provided.
You held each other quietly for some time, then ever so slightly you started moving together to the quiet relaxing music in the background as if you were slow dancing but even slower. With your eyes closed, you pressed your cheek against his, your heart already filling up with love. Swaying with him like that almost made you feel like your feet weren't even touching the ground.
"You wanna sit down?" Hyunjin whispered quietly after a while, brushing his lips against your cheek gently.
"Mhm." you said and he leaned back, his hands finding yours and fingers entwining as he sat down cross-legged, you following suit and mirroring his pose, scooting closer to him so your knees and feet touched. Both of you were wearing only underwear and a shirt you slept in so the bare skin contact already got your breath stuck in your throat.
Hyunjin held your hands, resting them over his knees, his thumb caressing your skin gently. He gave you a little smile as the two of you held eye contact. You slowed your breathing, focusing on the moment as Hyunjin observed you. A little giggle escaped your lips.
"Sorry." you whispered.
"No, it's okay. We should be smiling and laughing. I'm glad that looking at me makes you giggle, darling." he smiled and you felt your cheeks burning. Even after so many shared moments together, you felt shy under his gaze at times.
"Well yeah, you always make me smile." you said quietly, it was his turn to giggle as he gently squeezed your hands. You sat like that for a while, gazing into each other's eyes lovingly, warmth spreading throughout your body, enveloping your heart as butterflies started fluttering inside your stomach, the flapping settling in your gut. You were shocked that only looking into Hyunjin's eyes already started making you feel aroused.
You closed your eyes a few times to take a deep breath and then looked at him again.
"What are you thinking about?" you asked.
"The day we met." Hyunjin answered.
"Oh. You bumped into me pretty hard." you laughed and he chuckled.
"It was Kkami's fault." he added and you rolled your eyes playfully.
"Poor Kkami." you pouted jokingly, reminiscing the day you thought would be the worst day ever but instead, you ended up meeting the love of your life. It was a horrible day at work, you were stressed as you were walking home, clutching a comforting cup of coffee when out of nowhere a little dog came running your way, barking as he flew past you, after him his owner who bumped into you so hard that you fell on your ass and spilled coffee all over yourself.
All you wanted to do in that moment was to just stay on the floor and cry. The handsome stranger gasped and shrieked, apologizing profusely before helping you up. He kept begging you to let him make it up to you and that's how you let him get you a new cup of coffee, exchanging names and numbers.
Only two weeks later you started dating, and you haven't looked back since.
"Thinking about it too now?" Hyunjin asked.
"I was." you smiled.
"I was in love with you the moment you yelled at me. You were so scary but so pretty." he confessed and you laughed.
"I thought I looked pathetic. I felt like it." you shook your head.
"No, you looked so beautiful." Hyunjin smiled, squeezing your hands gently.
"If you say so." you giggled and he let go of your hands, reaching towards your chest and putting his palm against your heartbeat.
He took your wrist in his other hand and guided your hand to his chest, your palm pressed against his heart too.
"Can you feel my heart beating for you, my love?" Hyunjin whispered and you felt a rush of emotions overwhelming you.
"Yes, I can." you whispered.
"Breathe with me." he added and the two of you kept eye contact, feeling each other's hearts beating as you matched your breathing.
You already felt overwhelmed with love for Hyunjin, as if your heart would burst, being close to him, looking at him, being looked at by him, being noticed, touched, loved.
"I wanna kiss you." Hyunjin said. "Am I being impatient?" he asked and you chuckled.
"I don't know. Aren't we supposed to let our feelings and desires lead us?"
"I guess we are. Come sit on my lap, beloved." Hyunjin smiled and you untangled your legs and stood up, stretching a little before sitting in his his lap, your legs wrapped around him. Your core was close to his but still far enough that you didn't feel him pressing against you, more so leaning on his legs.
Hyunjin's hands cupped your cheeks, thumbs gently tracing on your skin. The shapes of you were already engraved in his mind, he could sketch you out with his eyes closed.
He leaned in and kissed the tip of your nose, then each of your eyelids, making you giggle quietly as you placed your hands on either side of his neck. Hyunjin took in a sharp breath, his neck was always sensitive and you felt him becoming warmer and more tense as your fingertips ran over his skin.
"Relax." you said, pressing your lips into his cheeks, kissing his soft skin as he leaned his head back a little, enjoying your touches.
"Remember to breathe." you whispered and he nodded.
"Yes." he whispered back, opening his eyes and looking at you with a glazed over look.
"My sweet Jinnie." your hands ran up over his head, as you gently caressed his short hair, giving him a little massage.
"Mm. Darling. That feels really good." his hands came down to your waist and he gently squeezed.
"I love making you feel good." you kissed his forehead and he let out a quiet whine.
"You always make me feel good, beloved." he stated as you kissed the tip of his nose.
His breath hitched when you cupped his face and brushed your lips against his. Hyunjin couldn't help it as he pulled you in just a little closer so now you could feel the warmth of his core near yours.
He puckered up his lips and just stayed like that, connected with you as you matched your breath again. Hyunjin then captured your lower lip between his and started kissing you gently, slowly moving his lips, savoring the moment as if it was the first and last time he would kiss you.
His hands drew little circles on your lower back as you kept kissing him, pouring the love from your lips to his. You didn't even hear the music in the background anymore, all your senses were focused on Hyunjin. He gently rubbed his nose against yours in between kisses and your hands made their way down to his shoulders which you always admired and loved kissing, maybe even sinking your teeth in.
Hyunjin's hands trembled before travelling down to gently squeeze your hips. His fingertips played with the hem of your shirt, the tip of his tongue prodding at your lips. You parted them, letting him in and he tasted you, rubbing his tongue against yours before swirling it around. You felt a zap pass through your core, arousal gathering on your entrance now.
He squeezed your hips again before leaning back a little.
"Gotta catch our breath, hm?" he asked in a sultry tone, his eyes darkened as he brushed a strand of your hair away from your face.
"Mhm." you nodded, clutching at his shoulders a little.
Hyunjin's fingertips softly ran down your inner thighs, making you shiver as he went back up.
You looked down, noticing his erection and you bit your lip. He giggled a little, making you look up at him.
"Usually I'd already be inside you, hm?" he kissed the corners of your lips.
"Yeah, pretty much." you chuckled.
"I wanna keep kissing you, my love." he said, one of his hands tangling in your hair as he held the back of your neck, his other still lingering on your thigh.
"Me too." you said, caressing his upper back, feeling the muscles flexing underneath your palms.
Hyunjin leaned in with a smile, kissing you slowly again until you built up the kiss again, your tongues crashing against each other slowly as you savored the taste of each other.
You couldn't help the little moans escaping your lips, your panties becoming more wet by the second. You throbbed and burned slowly, wanting to feel him closer to you but at the same time enjoying the sensual moment you were in.
You stopped kissing, almost losing track of time, having no idea how long you have been making out.
"I wanna feel how warm you are." Hyunjin bit on your lower lip gently, his fingertips dangerously close to your wet pussy.
"Feel me, beloved." you whispered, gently caressing his back as he touched your thighs.
His fingers made contact with your core through your panties which were soaked at this point.
"Mm, love." Hyunjin's lips pressed against your jaw, kiss after kiss travelling to your neck. You threw your head back with a gasp, concentrating on your breathing and his fingertips just softly running over your clothed pussy.
Your touched his chest, hands sliding down until you got to his erection, your fingers finding his wet head and gently circling it.
"Y/n." his warm breath hit your neck before he licked a long stripe on your skin and gently nipped at it.
"I love you." Hyunjin pressed a kiss under your ear, retracting his hand, in favor of sliding both of them under your shirt and caressing your tummy.
"I love you." you squeezed his length a little, making him moan quietly before you slid your hands to his hips.
He leaned back to smile at you and you kissed him gently as he kept caressing your stomach.
"Can I take it off?" he asked, gripping the end od your shirt and you nodded.
"Of course." you smiled and he pulled your shirt off, tossing it aside. His eyes fell down to your chest and your tummy.
"So beautiful." he said, sucking his bottom lip in.
"Yours too." you said and Hyunjin snapped out of his trance, pulling his shirt off and throwing it somewhere in the same direction he threw yours.
"Come closer." he wrapped his arms around you and you wrapped yours around him as he pulled you flush against his body, your chest pressed against his and your cores finally touching. You felt as if your entire body was burning as you both let out a sigh at the little friction.
"There's nowhere I'd rather be right now." Hyunjin said, his cheek on your shoulder as you held each other tightly.
"Me too, sharing this moment with you is beautiful." you said, running your fingertips on his back. Hyunjin shivered a little, holding you tighter and you adjusted on his lap, squirming a little and making him moan into your ear.
"Love." he gripped your hips and moved against you slowly, grinding his entire length against your pussy.
"Jinnie." you matched his movement and started grinding against him gently.
The friction between you was delicious and the way you moved against him slowly, not hurrying to finish and holding back a little made you feel even more aroused than usually. You felt like there were waves of pleasure running through your entire body even though he wasn't even inside you.
"My sweet angel." Hyunjin gently cupped your breasts and you shivered, arching into his hands, still moving your core against his softly.
"Jinnie." you whined a little when his thumbs brushed against your nipples.
"I- I feel close."
"You want a break?" he asked and you nodded.
"Okay." he pecked your lips with a smile before the two of you untagled from each other, stretching a little.
"How are you feeling?" you asked when he gave you a bottle of water.
"Like my entire body is on fire."
"Same." you chuckled.
You decided to eat some fruit, sitting close to each other as you talked for a while, calming down just a little even though the fire still burned inside you, now a bit more dim.
"You wanna continue, angel?" Hyunjin asked after a while.
"Yes. What do you wanna do?"
"I want you to lay down and relax for me." he said, brushing his knuckles against your warm cheek.
"Oh. Okay." you smiled, anticipation building up inside you.
"Get comfy." he caressed your legs, noticing the tension in your body. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in and letting out a long exhale as you melted into the blankets beneath you.
Hyunjin hovered over you, leaning in to press small kisses everywhere on your face before kissing your lips. He tasted sweet like the fruit you just ate and you were so addicted to his lips. He slowly slid off your underwear so now you were completely bare under him.
He kissed your jaw, then your neck slowly, taking his time and lingering after each kiss. You felt his hot breath against your skin the entire time, making you shiver as your fingers curled into the sheets below.
"Love, relax." Hyunjin noticed, brushing his fingertips over your hands.
"Sorry." you whined, biting on your lip and relaxing again.
"It's okay." he reassured you, his fingers dancing on your sides. He scooted down a little, leaning in to press kisses on your stomach, dragging his bottom lip against your skin as he looked at you.
"You're so sweet, my darling." Hyunjin murmured against you as he kept kissing you. You fell into sort of a trance, closing your eyes as he kissed you everywhere, coming up to your breasts. His lips continued worshipping your supple flesh, avoiding your nipples at the beginning, making you shake with arousal and need. He gave you only two soft kisses on each bud, leaving you yearning for more.
"Hyun..." you breathed out, blinking your eyes open and seeing that he grabbed the coconut oil used for massage.
"Shh, I got you love. Just stay relaxed like that for me." he cooed at you, caressing your face. You closed your eyes and soon felt the oil drizzle on your abdomen. Your eyes snapped open and you looked at Hyunjin who smiled at you sweetly as he started gently spreading the oil on your skin, his fingers warming you up, right above your core, teasing, loving.
"Focus on your breathing." he reminded you as you got worked up immediately, it felt so good.
You focused on taking deep breaths, amplifying the feeling of his warm hands on you as he gently massaged you, his hands sliding up to your ribs and between your breasts. You fell into another trance as he kept gently running his hands on your body, before he poured some more coconut oil in his palms and softly grabbed your breasts, massaging the flesh.
"Look at my hands, beloved. Look at them worshipping your beautiful body." Hyunjin said and your eyes fluttered open, a moan escaping your lips when you saw the intense but loving look in his eyes, focused only on you, like you were the only thing that existed in the world.
You looked down at his beautiful hands, ones you loved, ones that held you, touched you, gave you comfort, brought your pleasure and painted masterpieces. You felt the urge to kiss and lick at his fingers but held it in, knowing soon he'll be the one receiving all the worship.
"Breathe." he saw you getting worked up.
You took a few deep breaths, feeling yourself getting incredibly wet, probably even dripping on the sheets and you wanted to press your legs together and rub them just to feel a little relief.
"Ah." you whined when Hyunjin started slowly circling around your nipples before pressing his thumbs gently into them and then moving up and down, left and right. Your eyes rolled back, your pussy clenching as you felt so sensitive to everything he was doing to you.
Hyunjin smiled at the state of you, lightly pinching your nipples before circling them again.
"H-Hyunjin." you moaned, feeling like you could cum just from that stimulation.
"Darling." he pinched your nipples again, and you whined, your legs twitching, pressing against his thighs where he kneeled between yours.
"Kiss me." you needed something, anything and Hyunjin obliged, pressing his sweet plump lips against yours, engulfing all the little moans slipping out of you as he kept stimulating your sensitive nipples.
You were so sure you were about to cum from only that when Hyunjin retracted his hands, grabbing a little cloth and cleaning his fingers from the coconut oil. He observed you with a little smile as you stared up at him.
"I need you, Jinnie." you whimpered, trying to close your legs.
"I know." he said, prying your legs open gently, his hands on your inner thighs. "I know, angel."
He leaned down, pressing his lips on your inner thigh as his eyes fell on your core. You felt exposed, a wave of embarrassment washing over you but Hyunjin smiled.
"You're so wet, my love." he whispered, closer to your pussy before he touched your clit ever so gently with his thumb, and that was enough for you to jolt and moan. You've never felt this sensitive before, surprising yourself at the electrifying feeling running through you while he only brushed against your nub.
"So sensitive huh?" he smirked a little, gently running the pad of his thumb up and down.
"Y-yes." you moaned out, your toes curling at the feeling.
"Ready to receive pleasure." he noted, biting on his lip harshly as he circled your clit. You were dripping more and more, your eyes falling down to see his erection straining against his boxers. He followed your eyes and looked down.
"Don't worry. Right now it's about you." Hyunjin reassured you.
"But I wanna see." you breathed out when he dipped his fingers down to gather your wetness and gently smear it all over your aching cunt.
"As you wish, beloved." he retracted his hand for a moment only to get rid of his boxers, his cock springing free, hard and dripping as it slapped against his abdomen.
"Fuck." you groaned, so needy for him. "Touch me more."
Hyunjin didn't need to be told twice, his hand was back between your legs as he started massaging your clit, applying different pressures and movements, making you moan loudly as your legs trembled. You were close again.
"Hyunjin! I'm gonna cum." you whined, fisting the sheets and he stopped, his hands on your inner thighs, caressing you as you shivered.
"Breathe for me." he hovered above you, trying to get you to match his deep breaths.
He kissed you lovingly until you calmed down a little before he made his way between your legs.
"Can I taste you?" he asked and you nodded frantically, you were still burning up like never before.
Hyunjin leaned in immediately, his plump lips pressed against your lower ones. You whined, your breath hitched before you relaxed against his lips, kissing your clit and your wet pussy. He pressed the tip of his tongue in your clit, circling it and making your toes curl again. It was getting harder and harder to hold back. He ran his tongue down through your slit, gathering your juices and swallowing them.
"So sweet, my angel." he muttered against you before prodding at you with his tongue, pushing it in, your warm pussy welcoming him.
"Hyunjin." you moaned his name, your hand finding the back of his head as you caressed him.
"Hyunjin." you repeated as he gently fucked you with his tongue. "I love you." you felt it in the deepest corners of your being, the love for your man.
"I love you so much, my angel." Hyunjin smiled as you touched his face before he dove back in to kiss and suck at your sensitive clit.
Pretty soon, you were trembling against his mouth, messy with your arousal and his spit and he moaned into you when his dick accidentally brushed against the sheets.
He leaned back suddenly, blinking.
"You okay?" you asked.
"I feel like if you touched me right now, I'd cum." he breathed hard, licking around his lips.
"Do you need a break?" you asked.
"No, not yet. You?"
"Maybe just some water." you swallowed and Hyunjin nodded, the two of you hydrating and then exchanging a few sweet kisses.
"You wanna lay down now?" you asked him and he giggled, becoming giddy.
"Yes." he answered and you changed your positions, Hyunjin getting comfy on the blankets as you hovered over him. You took a moment to admire him laid before you, vulnerable and naked, ready to receive your touch and your love.
"Beautiful." you whispered and Hyunjin smiled, his cute dimples showing as his eyes filled up with so much love. You grabbed his hands, bringing them to your lips, kissing his knuckles and he smiled as he looked at you.
"I love your hands so much." you said and he chuckled.
"So you've told me before." he licked at his lip as you started pressing lingering kisses into his fingertips.
"I love them because they can be the most gentle and the most rough, whichever I need." you licked at his middle finger, making him shiver as he stared at you in a trance.
"Y/n." Hyunjin breathed out when gently sucked on his middle finger. "Mm." his body was already trembling, arching into you. You kissed his hand, his palm, his fingertips again and again, looking at the little puddle of pre-cum forming on his navel.
You released his hands after some time, placing yours on his chest and gently running them up and down, slowly moving to his shoulders, his arms, squeezing his biceps then back to his chest where you slid your thumb over his nipples. Hyunjin shivered every time you did that, his body trembling under your touch, his cock twitching and leaking.
He enjoyed having your attention only on him, your touch purposeful as you slid your hands up to his neck, he threw his head back letting you hold him. The way he looked at you in that moment, as if he was giving his entire life to you made you throb, more arousal gathering on your pussy.
"Sweet lover." you whispered, sliding your hands down to his inner thighs full of love bites you had left on them, marking him as yours. You gently touched him, massaging his flesh, fingertips close to his core every time you went up.
"Ah. Yes." he moaned as you touched him. You wanted to hear more, to see more, you wanted to make him feel so good. Your hands were now gently massaging around his cock, closer and closer to where he yearned for you.
You bit on your lip as you gently cupped his balls and Hyunjin let out a desperate moan, trembling under your touch.
"Remember to breathe." you echoed his words and he nodded quickly, his brows furrowed as he breathed deeply, your hand massaging his balls. You put your other hand on his cheek, and he looked at you with a small smile as you smoothed out his eyebrows.
"Relax for me." you cooed at him and he relaxed into the blankets, giving into your touch. His cock kept twitching as you massaged him, pressing your fingertips to his inner thighs, then around his member, then back to cupping his balls and lightly tugging on them.
"Fuck." Hyunjin gasped a little when you gathered the pre-cum that had been dripping on his navel and wrapped your fingers around his tip.
"Oh god." he let out a breath, looking down at your hand as you started circling your fingers all around the head, smearing his pre-cum and running your thumb over his slit.
You were getting even more wet, clenching at the feeling of him in your hand, so warm, so heavy, so wet, just for you. You wrapped your hand around him and started moving it slowly up and down, flicking your wrist at the tip.
"Ah, it feel so good!" Hyunjin whimpered before you wrapped your other hand around him, giving him more stimulation as you moved, squeezed and touched.
"W-wait, I don't wanna cum yet." he stuttered after a few minutes, his cock twitching harshly in your palms.
"Okay." you released him, gently touching his abdomen. You've never seen him so hard and you've never wanted him more, to feel him inside you, to be connected with him.
"Just breathe." you smiled at him, kissing him gently. Hyunjin placed his hand at the back of your head and held you as he pushed his tongue in and massaged yours with it.
You leaned back to catch your breath, trying to align your heartbeats again. You leaned in to kiss his neck and Hyunjin whimpered quietly, throwing his head back to give you access. You gently kissed his skin, inhaling his familiar and comforting scent as you went lower and lower, kissing his chest, his nipples, his stomach until you got to his cock.
"Y/n." he gasped, his thighs trembling when you pressed a kiss to his tip then ran your tongue over his sensitive slit.
"Keep going, please." Hyunjin needed you, he always did. You licked a long slow stripe from the base of his cock to the tip, leaving a few kisses on the way and making him lose his mind. You wrapped your lips around the head and lightly sucked.
Hyunjin let out a guttural moan, twitching against you as you took him in.
"Baby." he groaned, his fingers tangling in your hair. You took your time, enjoying the feeling of his heaviness on your tongue, how warm he was, how he throbbed harder the more you slid down, leaking into your mouth, the salty taste of pre-cum driving you wild, waking up something primal inside you.
You wrapped your hand around the base and slid down as much as you could, gagging lightly around him as you cupped his balls with your other hand again.
"Ah, shit!" Hyunjin's hips jerked, his hand gripping at your hair and you sucked on him a few more moments before releasing.
"I was so close. So close." he panted and you giggled, wiping away the spit on your lips.
"You wanna take a break?" you asked and he nodded, pulling you down to lay next to him.
Your arms wrapped around each other as you threw your leg over his thighs, your hand sliding up and down his arm and shoulder while Hyunjin caressed your head and played with your hair.
You basked in each other's warmth and presence in the comfortable silence for a while before Hyunjin kissed your forehead, making you look up at him.
"How do you feel?" you asked, caressing his face and he nuzzled into your touch.
"Wonderful. Loved." he kissed your palm before smiling at you again.
"I wanna suggest something." you said, sitting up and he leaned up on his elbows and looked at you.
"Of course."
"I always wanted to try... cockwarming you." you said, feeling a little shy as you looked away, your cheeks burning. Hyunjin twitched at your words, his eyes fluttering and hands squeezing and curling into fists.
"Yes. Yes. I'd love that." he said and you looked at him.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, don't be shy now." he chuckled, sitting closer to you and wrapping his arms around you.
"You know I'm all yours, my love." he kissed your cheek, nosing against your skin.
"I'm all yours too, beloved."
"I know." Hyunjin smiled, kissing you sweetly. His hand reached between your legs and you pressed your thigh against his, opening up to let him touch you. His fingers slid against your wet entrance, up and down, tapping against your clit and making you whimper on his lips while he kissed you.
You reached down to touch his stomach, fingertips playing with his happy trail as he circled your clit. You let your hand slide lower as you wrapped your hand around his length, pumping him slowly and making him shiver. Hyunjin let out a grunt, laying his head on your shoulder and burying his face in your neck as he pressed his fingertips on your entrance. You leaned into his touch and he took that as a sign to slowly push two of his fingers inside you.
He slid in easily, your pussy clenching around his fingers and sucking them in, you were aching to be filled up for some time now. Neither of you said anything, just enjoyed the moment as both of your hands moved slowly, you spread the pre-cum down his length, giving him languid strokes and he matched your pace, pumping his fingers deep inside you, looking for that sweet spot.
You moaned loudly when he found it, his thumb pressing against your clit while his fingers rubbed your spot.
"Hyun..." you whimpered, squeezing his cock a little and making him bite into your shoulder.
"My love." he sighed then, licking over the bite and kissing it as he felt you getting wetter on his fingers, the thought of finally being inside your warmth made his mind spin.
You were close again, it was just a matter of moments for you to cum, you were so desperate at this point, you were barely holding back at this point. Hyunjin felt you clenching harder around him so he slowly pulled his fingers out, leaving you empty.
"Need you, Jinnie. Need you so much." your hands squeezed at his sides and he pulled you into his lap.
"Shh, it's okay, just wrap your legs around me." he said, grabbing the base of his cock and pressing the tip against your wet pussy. You bit on your lip, your legs wrapped around him as he guided you down on his length slowly, making you feel every inch of him. Both of you moaned loudly at the feeling, your senses heightened as he filled you up perfectly, fitting snuggly inside you.
"So warm." Hyunjin muttered, mouthing at your neck again. You clenched around him, arching your back, your nipples grazing against his skin.
He let out a breath as you slid your hands on his back, shoulders and neck, wrapping his arms around your waist, his hands gently squeezing the supple flesh on your bottom, massaging you.
"Hyunjin. I feel so full." you moaned. "You feel so good inside me." you added, touching the back of his neck.
"My angel. Always ready to take me and make me feel good. I love being inside you. Connected with you." Hyunjin spoke against your skin, lips travelling down to capture your nipple, gently sucking on it.
"Mm." your head started spinning instantly when he sucked a little harder, one of his hands coming up to play with your other breast.
You enjoyed the intimacy of the moment, him inside you while he worshipped your breasts and you caressed his hair, your eyes closed in bliss. There was really nothing else in this moment except you and him. You felt as if your souls were connected, not just your bodies and the thought of so much love between you made you want to burst.
You took his face in your hands and guided his lips to yours, kissing him passionately and lovingly. You squirmed on top of him, pressing your chest against his, both of you getting more desperate.
"Are we gonna break the rules if we make love now?" you asked, kissing the corner of his lips.
"There are no rules. We do what we feel like doing." Hyunjin said with a smile as you kissed the beauty marks on his face.
"Okay." you nodded, embracing him and the two of you stood like that for a few moments before you leaned back.
"I want you to make love to me." you whispered and Hyunjin let out a loving giggle, helping you get off him and move down onto the sheets.
"Gladly." he whispered, pushing you knees up as he positioned himself and slid back inside you easily, filling you up completely.
You moaned in unison as he caged you in with his arms, his body almost completely covering yours. You wrapped your legs around him, digging your heels into his backside. Hyunjin groaned and started fucking you with slow and languid movements.
"I don't think I will last long." he chuckled, his entire face and neck red.
"Me either." you clutched at this back while his hands cradled your head, caressing your hair as he looked at you with eyes full of love and lust.
"I love you, y/n. I wanna be with you forever. In every lifetime, just you and me." Hyunjin talked as he rocked into you slowly, dragging against your clit deliciously and creating perfect friction.
"I love you, Jinnie. Wanna be yours forever, too." you were losing your mind, maybe you were already gone as you nails dug into his flesh without you even realizing. It started from your toes curling and travelled up your legs, making your thighs quiver and then it spread like a fire inside your abdomen, fluttering through your stomach, somehow making your nipples harden even more, goosebumps rising on your skin.
"Hyunjin, I'm cumming." you whimpered and he groaned loudly.
"Me too." he whimpered. "Cum with me, my love."
He was shivering above you, his body on edge like yours, the love between you bursting as the coil finally snapped, feeling like a tidal wave crashing against every part of your body and pouring out of your core all around his length, you exploded, your ears ringing and entire body shaking as you kept cumming for what felt like a whole minute, your pussy clenching around Hyunjin's hardness.
He was stunned by the way you came, adding onto the emotions swirling and building up inside him as he moaned your name repeatedly like a prayer, twitching and exploding inside you, ropes of warm cum filling you up endlessly. Hyunjin kept rocking his hips into you, chasing that feeling, the wave that crashed over both of you, prolonging the orgasm as much as you could.
"Oh my god." you breathed hard as he collapsed on top of you. You felt like you went blind for a second, your ears ringing and your throat dry.
"Wow." Hyunjin squeezed your hand as he came down too.
You were in bliss.
He slowly looked up at you after a while, the sweetest smile adorning his face.
"That was... beautiful." he said and you nodded quickly.
"I can't feel my legs, honestly." you said and Hyunjin chuckled.
"I can't feel my dick." he added and you laughed, playfully smacking his shoulder.
"Do you know how much I love you?" he asked, lifting up to move the hair that got stuck on your sweaty face.
"As much as I love you." you answered and he bit on his lip with a chuckle.
"Happy four years, my love." Hyunjin said, kissing you gently.
"Happy four years, Jinnie." you smiled against his lips. "We should buy Kkami a treat to thank him."
"Oh yes. He did bring me to you." Hyunjin smiled, sliding out of you slowly and then wrapping his arms around you.
You shivered a little and he brought you closer to his warm body, pulling a blanket over the two of you.
"Let's stay like this for a while." he whispered and you nodded, burying your face in his neck, his arms your safe place.
Time and space disappeared around you, the world outside didn't exist, only your hearts vibrating together with a love that would last forever.
the buildup, the sensuality, the sweetness of this was soooooooo good, like i was actually present there. it felt like being wrapped in the fuzziest blanket of love. thank you for the work!
[an: inspired by how eager i got the time one of my partners asked me to ruin them, because i don't think people understand the effect that has on a person.]
which brings me to my point. chan, who would fucking giggle when you ask him to ruin you. who'd slide his hand over your ass, patting it before he pushes you over his lap swiftly.
chan, who stuffs two of his fingers down your mouth so you can wet them before he pushes them into you, cooing when you squeak from the sudden penetration.
chan, who grins against your shoulder, voice low and teasing as he murmurs, “you really want to be ruined that bad, baby?” his breath fans hot across your skin, his fingers already working you open. slow and deliberate, like he’s savouring the way your body trembles for him.
chan, who hums in satisfaction when your hips buck against his hand, one arm locking you down across his thighs like it’s nothing, like he owns you. which, as respectful as he is, might just be true in this moment.
“Iook at you,” he whispers, dragging his fingers out just to push them back in harder. “so needy. soooo fucking wet for me.” he bites your shoulder gently, soothing the sting with his tongue.
chan, who talks you through every second of it . filthy and sweet in the same breath. “you’re taking it so well. bet you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?” and when all you can do is nod, whimpering around the fingers he’s shoved back into your mouth, he chuckles, breathless, like he’s the one unraveling.
“good pet,” he says, voice rasping like it costs him not to take you right then. “let me ruin you properly.”
chan doesn't give you time to recover. the moment he pulls his fingers from your mouth and your cunt, he’s dragging your underwear down, yanking them off with one swift motion. he doesn’t even bother undressing himself, just frees his cock, thick and flushed, already leaking from how wrecked you sound for him.
he grips your hips, nails digging into the soft flesh as he drags you into place, back arched, ass up, cheek pressed into the bed as you pant. “you said you wanted to be ruined,” he growls, lining himself up. “so don’t fucking run from it now.”
and then he slams into you.
there’s no warning, no gentle easing, just the sheer force of him driving in to the hilt, making your whole body jolt forward as he holds you down. the sound that tears from your throat is primal, broken, and it makes him groan. deep and wrecked like he’s been holding back all night, because he has.
“fuck, listen to you,” he pants, snapping his hips forward, each thrust brutal, relentless. “so fucking loud. ya want everyone to hear how desperate you are for my cock?”
your answer is a whimper, a choked cry into the mattress, and he laughs. fucking laughs.
he slaps your ass, hard. once. then again. “answer me.”
“yes! please-fuck, chan-”
that’s all he needs. he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back so he can whisper against your ear, voice ragged. “thats a good pet. keep begging. i’m not stopping until you forget your own name.”
you don’t even get a second to breathe before chan’s pulling out, flipping you onto your back like you weigh nothing. his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, chest heaving as he reaches beside the bed, and when you see the wand in his hand, your stomach flips.
“oh, you’re already shaking?” he mocks softly, almost sweet, but there’s nothing kind in the way he grabs your thighs and spreads them wide, tossing one over his shoulder as he settles between your legs. “too bad, baby. too fucking bad. you asked me to ruin you,” he says between pants of his own.
he presses the wand to your clit without hesitation, no warmup, no easing in, just the raw, humming vibration slamming into your nerves. Your back arches immediately, a strangled moan escaping as your legs kick.
chan holds you down with one hand on your stomach, heavy and unrelenting. “uh-uh. you take it. you fucking take it. you can right baby?” he asks, and it's so fucking hot, the way he's checking in on you and you nod, whimpering. and that's all chan needs.
your body is already spiraling, clenching around nothing, overstimulated from how hard he fucked you. but now? now he doesn’t care. if anything, the way you writhe just makes him more eager. “look at you. messy little slut. you’re gonna come like this, aren’t you? just from this? didn’t even put my cock back in and you’re already...fuck.”
he watches you with that obsessed, ravenous look, eyes locked on your face as you fall apart. and just when your climax hits, sharp and blinding, chan shoves the wand harder against your clit, pushing you straight into overstimulation. you cry out, twitching under him, but he doesn’t move it away and holds you down by your hips instead. because you haven't said the safe word yet, and chan knows you won't. not yet.
“no, no,” he coos, cruel and soft. “you said ruin. that means you don’t get to stop me. not until i hear your colour is anything other than green, sweetheart.”
thinkin bout hyunjin who gets down on his knees for you at any and every opportunity.
bad day? he's on his knees, tugging at your jeans and letting you hold his hand as he looks up at you, just wanting to make you feel better.
got a good grade on an assignment or a promotion at work? he's kissing his way down your body as he settles himself on his knees, ready to reward you.
can't sleep? he's pushing your thighs apart so he can lazily drag his tongue until you let go and fall asleep.
hungover? he’s guiding you to sit at the edge of the bed, kissing your knees before spreading them apart, mumbling, "just let my tongue ground you, baby."
feeling insecure? he’s on his knees, hands smoothing over your thighs as he worships every inch of you with his mouth, whispering between kisses, "how could you ever doubt how perfect you are?"
bad argument? he’s apologising between deep, slow strokes of his tongue, desperate to make it up to you, to have you falling apart for him as his hands hold you still.
just took a shower after he finished fucking you? he’s pushing you back onto the bed, damp skin under his lips as he groans, "so fresh, so sweet. gotta taste you all over, angel."
he's jealous? he’s gripping your thighs tighter, pulling you to the edge of the bed as he looks up at you with dark eyes. mine, he growls before diving in, determined to remind you exactly who you belong to, and vice versa when you're jealous too. except then he's mumbling "yours" as he slowly looks up at you from on his knees, panting with your arousal on his mouth and chin.
hyunjin, who doesn’t just love you, he worships you. on his knees, every single time.
I seen your post "Hyunjin as Your Boyfriend" and I literally was dying it was so perfect!!!
I was wondering if you could could make a hyunjin and y/n first time? But like slow and passionate but also like unexpected,
Like maybe some thing about hyunjin invites y/n for dinner at his place and they end up doing it?
It's just a request you dont have to do it if you dont want to but I love your stories!💕
This request is so beautiful, tysm @strykdsstanot8. I changed a little tiny bit but I hope you like it 🫶
Warning: lowkey smut, that's all
Word count: 2.6k
You and I
Alexa, play You and I by Crush
Hyunjin’s heart felt like it was about to leap out of his chest as he stood in front of the restaurant, waiting for his date— you. The bouquet of flowers in his hand was trembling slightly, and his feet just wouldn’t stay still. The concrete beneath him could’ve cracked from how much he had already paced around.
Hyunjin had always been aware of his beauty. He knew his features and physical traits made his face naturally attractive, harmoniously striking. But looking at his reflection in the restaurant’s window, he wasn’t so sure anymore. He wondered if the color and outfit combination really worked, if you’d actually like his new buzz cut, or if maybe he should’ve just covered it with a hat.
Oh, shit.
Why was he so nervous? It was you, after all, one of the people he felt the most chemistry with. Someone who truly understood him, made him feel seen and heard. And yet, he always got nervous before seeing you— a side effect of the passion he carried for you.
Passion.
But was it only that? The nervousness, the butterflies, the sweaty palms, the racing heartbeat. Maybe there was something more. Comfort. Trust. Companionship. Intimacy...
Even though things hadn’t gone beyond teasing touches and the occasional moment where you could feel his bulging pressing against your pelvis during a heated make out session. You were both taking things slow. Letting it bloom naturally, carefully— so you could mature and bloom something good, ripe, and strong in the future.
When he least expected it, your hand touched his shoulder gently. You had a soft smile on your lips, and he looked so lost in his own thoughts that it made him look incredibly cute. He turned quickly, startled, and you couldn’t hold back your giggle when he gasped and placed a hand over his chest, “Ah! You scared me!”
But that feeling didn’t last long. In a matter of seconds, he was completely mesmerized by your outfit, your hair, your face, your smile… everything. Everything about you knocked the air out of him, made his knees weak, “Wow… it’s like every time I see you, you somehow look even more breathtaking”. His words, though few, were enough to make you blush, “T-thank you, Hyunie. By the way… I really like your hair”
Point for Hyunie!
He stepped closer to you, slow and deliberate, placing his hands gently on your waist before leaning in— his lips inches from yours. Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath grew slightly heavier. He was addictive. And finally, his lips met yours in a deep, slow kiss, one that tasted of everything he’d been holding inside. Desire, warmth, anticipation, emotion— all of it poured into that kiss. When he pulled away, a soft, playful smirk lingered on his lips, as if he hadn’t just completely swept you off your feet.
Then, he lifted the bouquet and handed it to you, “For you, beautiful”. You smiled in return, bringing the flowers close to your nose and breathing in their sweet, fresh scent, “I love them”, you said softly. Offering you his arm, he smiled warmly, “Shall we?”.
And with that, he gently guided you inside the restaurant.
𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ
The lighting inside the restaurant was soft and golden, spreading a warm glow on the delicate table settings and glinting off the wine glasses— it was intimate without being overwhelming. He guided you to your table, his hand gently resting on your lower back. And as you both sat down, you noticed how his eyes kept drifting toward you, even when he was trying to read the menu. He was trying to play it cool, but you could feel it in the way his gaze lingered on your lips when you smiled, in the way his fingers tapped nervously against the stem of his glass.
“I hope you’re hungry”, he said with a soft chuckle, “I’ve been thinking about this dinner all week”. You raised an eyebrow, teasing, “The food… or the company?”. He grinned, leaning in just a little closer, “Do you even have to ask?”
The conversation flowed effortlessly— stories, laughter, little glances across the table that said more than words ever could. At some point, you were both leaning forward, your elbows resting on the table, sharing memories and inside jokes that made you forget the rest of the room even existed.
Then came the wine. Smooth, fullbodied, and just enough to make the air between you even warmer. He poured it slowly, watching the way the red liquid curled into your glass. “To us”, he said softly, raising his glass. You clinked yours gently against his, “To us”. He swirled the wine slowly in his glass, a glint of candlelight danced on the edge of the glass catching in the deep red of the wine. He looked calm, but his fingers still tapped lightly against the stem, a quiet rhythm that gave him away, "By the way", you said, leaning slightly closer, "How’s the move going?"
He let out a soft sigh, then chuckled, "Chaotic, mostly. I’ve got boxes everywhere and paint stains on every piece of clothing I own. But… it’s starting to feel like home”. You smiled at that, "Did you start decorating already?" "A little”, he said, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "Hung some of my paintings, rearranged the shelves… tried to make it feel more like me, I guess" "I bet it looks beautiful".
He looked down, a modest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "It’s getting there. Actually…". He paused, then looked at you again, a slight glint in his eye, "I was gonna wait to finish a few more things before inviting anyone over, but…". You raised a brow, amused, "But?" "But now I kind of want you to see it". He hesitated for a beat, then added, "Wanna come over after this? I could show you what I’ve done so far". You didn’t even try to hide your smile, "I’d love to".
His smile widened, almost like a kid who was just given permission to share a secret he’d been keeping, "Good. I think you’ll like it” “I’m hundred percent sure I will”. And just like that, the evening shifted— something soft and unspoken settling between you, the promise of warmth lingering in the air, just waiting to unfold behind another door.
𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ
Hyunjin’s room smelled like him. A masculine, soapy, fresh, indescribable scent— yet unmistakably his. The place wasn’t exactly the tidiest, but it overflowed with personality. The walls were covered in paintings and drawings he had made himself, and the shelves were filled with an eclectic mix of items: incense holders, art supplies, his camera, handmade ceramic pots.
He wasn’t just a work of art himself— he was also an artist.
On the floor, your eyes caught sight of a half finished canvas— two intertwined silhouettes, blending together until they became one. The caption underneath read:
"Loving you is my safe place"
You instinctively reached out to pick it up, but he gently caught your wrist, stopping you with care, “It’s a surprise”, he said softly. You smiled at his words, letting your hand fall gently back to your side as he released your wrist. There was something about the way he looked at you in that moment— soft, knowing, as if he was already painting the next scene in his mind, and the two of you were right at the center of it.
He moved around the room, lighting a cinnamon spiced vanilla single wick candle on the shelf near his window. Its soft glow flickered across the walls, dancing over the curves of his artwork and casting warm shadows across his face, “You want music?” he asked, voice low, a little playful.
Before you could answer, he picked up his phone and played something soft, slow— something that felt like silk against your skin. The melody wrapped around the two of you like smoke, lazy and sensual.
Then, without a word, he held out his hand.
You took it.
He pulled you gently toward him, guiding you into the center of the room. His other hand found your waist, and yours slid up to rest on his shoulder. The sway started slow, subtle, your bodies falling into rhythm naturally, as if they had danced this way before— maybe not in this life, but in another.
There was no rush. No pressure. Just you and him, heartbeats syncing, breaths slowing, closeness thickening with every passing second.
You could feel the warmth of his body through his clothes, the firmness of his chest beneath your palm, the brush of his thumb over your hip. His forehead rested lightly against yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke— because you didn’t need to, your bodies spoke for you.
Each movement was a whisper.
Each breath, a promise.
And when his hand slid from your waist to the small of your back, pressing you just a little closer, you felt it— that magnetic pull. That quiet, burning gravity that only grew stronger the longer you stayed in his arms. You weren’t just dancing, you were melting into each other.
The music faded into the background, but the rhythm between your bodies stayed alive— slow, deliberate, electric. You could feel the way his breath grew warmer against your skin, the way his hands no longer moved with hesitation but with purpose. He tilted his head slightly, brushing his nose against yours before capturing your lips in another kiss— deeper this time, slower. His lips moved like they were savoring you, tasting every sigh, every soft moan you tried to swallow.
Your hands tangled in the hair of his nape, and he groaned softly against your mouth. That sound alone sent a pulse straight down your core. Still holding you close, he guided you backwards, his body gently pressing into yours with every step until your knees hit the edge of his bed. You sat, breathless, looking up at him. He stood there for a second, just watching you— eyes dark, full of hunger, but also something tender. “You’re so beautiful”, he whispered, fingers tracing the line of your jaw, then down your neck, slow and possessive.
Then, he leaned down and kissed you again— this time deeper, rougher, his tongue sliding against yours, his hands exploring more boldly now. One moved down to your thigh, gripping and spreading your legs apart with a gentle but commanding touch as he stepped in between. Clothes started disappearing piece by piece.
His shirt.
Yours.
Your pants unbuttoned under his teasing fingers, his gaze following every inch of newly revealed skin like a starving artist admiring his muse. He kissed down your chest, tasting your skin, your sighs, the warmth of your body beneath his tongue. When his mouth closed around your nipple, you arched into him, moaning his name softly— almost like a prayer. His hands were everywhere— firm on your hips, soft on your ribs, sliding between your thighs, gently drawing out more reactions, more sounds, more of you.
And when he finally entered you, it wasn’t just sex— it was an unveiling. A discovery. He moved inside you slowly at first, deep and steady, like he was learning every part of your body by heart. His eyes never left yours, and it was impossible to tell where one of you ended and the other began.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, matching his rhythm as his name left your lips again and again— sometimes in whispers, sometimes in breathless moans.
It was intense. Messy. Intoxicating.
But there was caring in it too— in the way he held your hand, in the way he kissed your forehead between thrusts, in the way he kept asking if you were okay, if it felt good, if you wanted more.
You did. God, you did want more.
When your climax hit, it rolled through you like a wave, your body trembling under his, his voice low and broken in your ear as he followed seconds later, burying his face in your neck and groaning your name like it was the only word he knew.
And then, silence. Not empty, but full— full of afterglow, of shared breath, of hearts still racing together. He pulled you into his arms immediately, wrapping you in his warmth, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder, your hair, your temple. "You're okay?", he murmured. You nodded against his chest, "Perfect". He held you tighter, brushing his fingers up and down your back. You felt safe. Wanted. Loved.
And maybe that’s why it happened— why the words slipped from your lips so easily, without hesitation, “Hyunie” “Hum?” “I love you”.
There was a pause. A heartbeat of silence.
Then, his arms tightened slightly around you, and he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, “I love you too, beautiful”, he said, voice quiet but certain. And then he kissed you again— soft, slow, endless. Not out of lust, but out of love. As if he wanted to memorize what that moment tasted like forever.
𔓶𑇓𝆬 ͙࿐𓈒ْ ㅤㅤ
The morning sun slipped softly through the gap in the curtains, painting your skin in warm, golden tones. Light caressed your face as you lay curled against Hyunjin’s chest, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing. The world outside existed, but here, in this room— time felt suspended.
You could still smell him on the sheets, on your skin— that warm, fresh, musky scent that was so him. His arm stayed wrapped around you, even in sleep, as if he instinctively knew you were something he never wanted to let go of. Then he moved slightly, mumbling something incoherent before slowly opening his eyes— sleepy, soft, and still a little dazed from the night before, “Hum… good morning”, he said, his voice rough with sleep, lips, somehow, still swollen from kisses.
You smiled, full of warmth and comfort, “Good morning, Hyunie”. He looked at you for a moment, like he was trying to figure out if the night had really happened or if it had just been too good to be true. But then his fingers brushed softly along your waist, tracing slow circles against your skin, and he murmured, “You’re still here… so it must be real”.
You laughed gently, and he pulled you even closer, nestling into the curve of your neck, “Did you know you sleep like an angel?”, he mumbled, “But you mess up the sheets like a storm”. You playfully smacked his shoulder, “That’s your fault”. He chuckled, “Maybe. I like the mess when it’s with you”.
The two of you stayed there for a while— lazily wrapped in each other, trading soft kisses and sleepy whispers. Hyunjin didn’t seem in any rush to leave the bed, and neither were you. His hands wandered slowly over your hair, your shoulder, your fingers intertwined with his— gentle, grounding, tender.
Eventually, he got up, slipping into a gray sweatpants and heading to the kitchen to make coffee. You watched him from the bed— his face marked from the pillow, his movements slow and sweet, a quiet smile on his lips. You still ached in the best way from him. And when he brought you a mug and sat beside you, leaning his shoulder into yours and resting his head lightly on you— it was perfect.
Simple. Soft. Warm.
The kind of love that didn’t need to be loud or flawless. It just needed to be real.
And it was.
If you enjoyed it please consider liking and reblogging. Feedbacks, loves notes and requests are very much appreciated 😊
Oh how sweet, unrushed and emotional was that. I could feel their love on the tips of my fingers, and the content smile didn’t leave my lips the whole time reading it. Absolutely loved every second! Thank you dear author 🩵
Synopsis: Late night drinking and a card game, plus two pretty boys? what’s the worst that could happen? (5,7k words)
"Let's play a game!" Chan announced, grinning from ear to ear that his dimples sunken in his cheeks.
With his red cheeks and silly laughs, you were sure he was slightly drunk. You turned your head to the other side to look at Hyunjin and exchanged a knowing glance.
"Is he drunk?" You whispered.
Hyunjin giggled, "I think so," he whispered back and took a sip of his drink.
The three of you were sitting on the sofa, facing the table that was filled with an array of snacks and a few cans of drinks from juice to the half-empty bottle of liquor.
You were surprised to have them visiting your place for a spontaneous little get-together that led to you pulling out the bottle of rum you have in your alcohol stash.
"I'm pretty sure I put a lot more coke than the rum," you said to Hyunjin.
Hyunjin shrugged, he took a bag of chips from the table, "you know he's bad at drinking," he commented, then shoves chips into your mouth in which you voluntarily took and ate.
Chan scooted close to you on the sofa, "Come on! Let's play!" He announced again, along with a toddler-like whine.
When you were about to speak, Hyunjin fed you with more potato chips which you reluctantly took and ate again. You glared at Hyunjin, and he responded with a giggle.
"What are we going to play, Hyung?" Hyunjin asked, put down the bag of chips then dusted off the food crumbs on his lap.
Chan pulled out something from behind him and made it seem like a magic trick, you chuckled at how silly he looked when he did that.
He slammed the thing and took it out of the box that turned out to be a deck of cards.
"Have you been hiding it behind you the whole time?" You asked him.
Chan laughed, he pushed his curly dark hair to the back and took the deck of cards in his hands, "I always come prepared," he said.
"Hyung, you haven't told us what we are going to play," he reminded him of his unanswered question.
Chan held up his hand, "We're going to play suck and blow,"
"Oh!" You exclaimed at the mention of the game name you haven't played since your last college party.
"You know it?" Hyunjin asked from behind you.
You nodded because the answer was obvious, "yes,"
"How do you play it?" He asked.
At first, you thought he asked you that to make sure you knew, but it was actually the other way around.
"You don't know?" You asked him back.
He shook his head.
"I'll give these cards a good shuffle while you explain how the game works to Hyunjin," Chan said, then began shuffling the cards even though it was no use to do that.
Hyunjin shifted his body to face you and rested one arm on the sofa.
"It's easy! The first person puts the card on their lips and then starts passing the card around," you explained, "You suck in the card and pass it to the next person on their lips, and you blow out to pass it," you finished.
There was a crease forming between his eyebrows, "then what's the fun?"
You chuckled, "you have to keep passing the card, if you dropped it then you lose,"
He leaned in so close to you that you could smell his alcohol-tinted breath, "what happens if I lose?" He asked.
You tipped your head and smiled, "you have to kiss," you replied.
"That's such a hassle!" He groaned, "Can we just kiss?" He added with a playful laugh.
Chan stopped shuffling the cards, "what if the losers have to fulfill the wish of the winner?" He suggested an idea.
It sounds so risky but tempting, and the idea of having them grant your wishes is too great of a chance to pass.
"I like it. Let's do that!" You agreed and clapped your hands together.
"Hyunjin?" Chan asked Hyunjin, who slouches against the sofa.
"Okay, let's do it," he agreed and immediately sat up straight with his back leaned against the sofa.
Chan shuffled the cards again.
"There's no use in shuffling it, Chan!" You said with squinted eyes.
He laughed, "I know, I just wanted to do it!"
"Before we start," Hyunjin said next to you, "can you show me how to do it?"
You didn't think he was speaking to you until none of them said anything and looked at you in anticipation,
"You want me to show you?" You asked for confirmation.
Hyunjin nodded.
You shrugged, "Yeah, why not?" You took one card from the deck in Chan's hands and put the card close to your mouth.
"You suck in the card to take it from someone," you proceeded to show him to do it by sucking the card with your mouth then taking it off, "and if you're going to pass it to someone, you blow it out at that person or just wait for that person to take it from you,"
You put the card on your mouth again and sucked it in to let it stick on your mouth, gestured Chan to lean in closer, then brought his face closer by his chin to pass the card to him.
Chan was taken aback by the way your fingers gripped his chin as you leaned in close to pass him the card, he almost forgot that he was supposed to get the card and not just stay still kissing you against the card.
As for Hyunjin, he enjoyed watching your mouth and Chan's pressed against each other with merely a card between them. The thought of having your mouth will be pressed against his too, made him exuberant.
You sighed when you succeeded in passing the card to Chan and took your hand off his chin.
"That's how you do it!" You said, feeling proud of your excellent presentation.
Hyunjin touched his lower lip, "okay, okay, I get it now," he responded.
Chan took the card from his mouth and looked down at your lipstick mark on it, he secretly took the card and set it aside.
"The order is me, then I pass it to you, then you to Hyunjin and back again, alright?" Chan instructed.
"Why not Hyunjin pass it to you?" You suggested.
Chan looked at you with a questioning look on his face.
"I want to see you two kiss," you said while half-laughing.
Hyunjin burst out laughing.
"That's not a good idea," Chan meekly said with a deadpan look on his face.
You held up your hands in the air, "it's okay, I'll let it pass this time," you said.
Chan yet again shuffled the cards for the umpteenth time,
"Are you guys, ready?" He asked.
Both you and Hyunjin nodded in unison.
Chan took the top card from the pile and put it on his mouth until it stuck on it, he leaned in at you.
You slightly tipped your head to the side and leaned in to meet him halfway, when your lips touched the smooth surface of the card, you sucked in the card and held your breath.
You quickly turned your body to the opposite side to meet Hyunjin, who was already waiting with his shoulders hunched down, so his head was at the same level as you.
Running out of breath, you grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him closer. You could feel the plump of his lips when you pressed the card onto his lips, and you successfully passed the card on the first try.
You gasped for air the second you let go of the card, "Not going to lie, I got a bit dizzy," you said.
Hyunjin put the card down, "should I pass it right back to you?"
"Hey!" Chan shouted, "you should pass it right back to her!" He ordered.
"Huh?" You glared at Chan, but Hyunjin grabbed you by your neck, insisted you look at him. You took a deep breath before leaning in and taking the card from him.
Hyunjin’s hand was so cold it raised the goosebumps on your arms, and you tried to ignore it as you sucked in the card until it stuck nicely on yours.
You snapped your head immediately in Chan's direction; he cupped your jaws in his hands and aggressively pressed his mouth on you, causing you to laugh.
The card almost slipped from your mouth, but Chan managed to catch it with his mouth right on time.
"Were you trying to give me CPR?" you asked while laughing.
Chan laughed along, and his ears got red, whether by alcohol or he was flustered, you couldn’t tell.
"I'm sorry!" he quickly apologized the second he took the card down off of his lips.
You shook your head in disbelief, took a glass of water from the table, and took a big gulp.
Chan took a new card from the pile, "Ready for the 2nd round?" He asked.
You nodded while Hyunjin clapped in excitement, "Let's get it!"
Chan began like he previously did, this time holding you by your shoulder to aim his mouth at yours, tilting his head as he securely passed the card to yours.
You turned your head to Hyunjin, who hunched down once again to take the card from you and succeeded in the first try, he was getting good at it.
You licked your lips and took a deep breath before taking the card back again from him, Hyunjin held your neck to angled your head since the card was slightly sliding down his chin. You tipped your head upward and sucked in the card immediately before it drops then turned your body to the side to face Chan.
Chan leaned in then withdrew himself, he looked completely out of it for a second, and you started getting dizzy from holding your breath too long.
You whined with the card still stuck to your lips, and that seemed enough to snap him out of the daze.
You immediately closed your eyes when he leaned in, trying to hold your breath for at least another few seconds.
But instead of the stiff, slick texture of the card, you felt his soft, plush lips on yours. And it caught you off guard, you couldn’t function well due to the lack of oxygen that you froze with your lips pressed with his.
When you regained your senses, you jerked your head away and gasped,
"Chan!" You gasped, your hand flew to your lips.
Chan giggled, "I'm sorry. I can't help it," he said as an excuse.
"Did we just lose?" You asked, feeling so annoyed not because of the kiss, but at the fact that he made both of you lose.
He shook his head, "no, that was my fault, I lost," he said, but he didn't sound the slightest bit sorry for losing the game despite his competitive nature.
"Let's do one more round," Hyunjin came up with the suggestion, sitting up straight next to you and raking his hair to the back with his fingers.
"I like that," Chan agreed with a lopsided grin on his face.
You couldn't decide if this game made you even drunk or sober, but it was too early to give up on a game. One more round won't hurt, right?
You stifled a nod, "Yeah, okay, let's do it," you relented.
Chan took the top card on the deck and put it on his mouth in one go, he grabbed you by your shoulders to keep you still as he passed the card onto your mouth.
When the card safely passed to yours, you turned in the opposite direction to face Hyunjin. You leaned forward while kept sucking in the card against your mouth.
You saw Hyunjin leaned in close, but his hand reached for the card and tossed the card somewhere onto the floor, without giving you a second to react, he pressed his mouth on yours.
The softness of his lips melted your shock away almost instantly, and the next thing you know, his hand tangled in your messy locks while the other held you by your jaw.
You opened your mouth to speak, but he used the chance to taste more of you, sticking his tongue to invade your mouth. He let out a sigh that was oddly aphrodisiac as he tugged your lower lip between his teeth.
"Hyunjin," you sighed, the second he spared an inch of space between your mouths.
He cupped your face in his hands and crashed his lips on yours again, sending you tipped sideways but fortunately, your shoulder hits Chan's chest. You were oblivious that Chan was there the whole time until he wrapped his hand around you.
You turned your head at him, and he gave you a sly smile, "Let me join," he muttered before sinking his mouth on yours.
All the while, Hyunjin placed his hot mouth on your neck, sucking and nibbling on the thin skin.
With the firm grip of his hand on the nape of your neck, Chan kissed you deeply, his tongue relentlessly prying the mouth open that made you eventually give in.
Hyunjin gathered your hair with his hand and held it up so he could plant soft kisses on the skin on the back of your ear.
When you started to run out of breath, you put your hand on his chin to slowly pull him away.
Chan went on planting kisses on your neck, while Hyunjin was also doing the same thing on the other side.
"You smell heavenly," Hyunjin hummed against your neck.
Chan took your hand and placed it on his neck, you turned your head at Hyunjin, and he eagerly took your mouth in his again, brushing his lips over and over again.
Chan wrapped his hand around your neck as he nibbled your ear; the low hisses he made sent a chill down your spine.
They took turns to have your lips on them again; you couldn’t comprehend how you could still function well despite being overwhelmed by all these stimulations at once.
When your logic finally caught on to the fact that you were making out with two guys, you were slightly shocked and highly aroused at the same time.
Chan retracted his mouth to watch Hyunjin kiss down your neck and the way your face slacked with your eyes shut, enjoying every second of it.
Chan sighed at the sight he was seeing.
Hyunjin sensed he was being watched, he slowly pulled away and looked at Chan.
You opened your eyes to have them both staring at you.
"I told you," Chan said to Hyunjin, "she'll like it,"
Hyunjin licked his lips then smirked, and you watched as both of their eyes turned wide and dark, heavy with lust.
Despite two pairs of eyes fiercely gazing at you, you softly laughed at them.
"And you think I wouldn't like to have two hot guys kissing me?" You shot back at them, biting your lower lip with a smug on your face.
You glanced at Hyunjin, and he was slyly grinning, his lips flushing red and swollen.
Chan leaned in closer to the side of your face, "so, what do you think?" He asked.
"Well," you grabbed the collar of Hyunjin’s shirt and brought his face close to yours, "if this is my prize for winning," your lips grazed his as you spoke but then snapped your head the other way at Chan, "how can I say no?" You finished.
A wicked grin bloomed on Chan's face, "we'll make sure it's the best you'll ever get," he replied.
Chan snaked an arm around your neck and with one quick move, scooped you in his arms and sat you on his lap with your back against his chest.
Chan placed a haste kiss on your neck; his hands moved down to the hem of your dress and pulled it upward to take it off of you.
Hyunjin got off the sofa and kneeled on the floor in front of you, his eyes darted at your clothed core in front of him, looked up at you, then grabbed your chin and pulled you for a kiss.
With your body leaned forward, Chan used the opportunity to unclasp your bra, slid the straps down your arms to get rid of it.
His impatient hands reached for your hands and began palming them, "look at these breasts," he murmured next to your ear, "they're just perfect for me," he exclaimed as your breasts fit both of his hands like they were made for him. He began gently kneading on the ample flesh, using his fingers to play with your hardening buds.
Hyunjin watched as you reclined against Chan and how his hands played with your breasts.
"Let me taste them," Hyunjin breathlessly said.
Chan halted his kneading, held your breasts in his hands, and held them out at Hyunjin.
Hyunjin licked his lips before taking your hardening bud into his mouth, licking and swirling his tongue on your nipple.
"Try the other one," Chan ordered, his hands steadily holding your breast in his hand.
Hyunjin switched to the other breast, taking your breast in his mouth, and you looked down, you saw his plump lips wrapped around your nipple.
You yelped when Hyunjin sucked on your flesh too hard, causing you to claw on Chan's forearms.
Hyunjin sighed in satisfaction the moment he let go of your breast, "taste so good," he muttered.
Chan hummed against your shoulder blade, his hands continued to knead on both of your breasts, smearing the wet of Hyunjin’s saliva all over.
Hyunjin tugged at the waistband of your underwear and didn't waste his time to pull it down your legs, licking his lips before lowering his mouth on your inner thigh.
Chan glanced at Hyunjin, who was closing in on your heating core, he then brought his hands down the side of your body then parted your legs open, "Let Hyunjin have a taste of it too," he said to you.
You squirmed on his lap, then looked at Hyunjin bringing down his and gasped when you felt his mouth touch the tender flesh, he swiped his tongue down your slit repeatedly as if it wasn't wet enough.
Chan held your waist with one hand and the other gently kneading on your breast.
You reclined against Chan's body at the intensified pleasure as Hyunjin began sucking on your cunt, slipping his tongue in and out of your hole while circling on your clit.
Chan noticed the way Hyunjin hummed in delight as he slurped on your essence, he got curious and ran his hand down to your core.
Hyunjin reluctantly took his mouth off of you so Chan could touch your cunt; you saw his chin and the tip of his nose glistening wet with your essence. But what Chan did was more than a touch, he inserted one finger then withdrew it to add another one, he pumped his fingers a few times until they were dripping in your arousal.
He brought them close to his mouth then sucked on them, "oh yeah, taste so good," he said.
Hyunjin smirked in agreement, brought his mouth down on your cunt again, savoring every bit of it like a delicious dish.
You moaned as you were getting closer to your orgasm, Chan could tell from the way your toes curling and legs trembled, "Keep going, she's close," Chan told Hyunjin.
Hyunjin hummed at the affirmation that he heard him, he continued his delightful assault on your sex, sucking and lapping his tongue over and over again until you lost all sense of control and let the pleasure take over.
Your nails dug into Chan's forearms yet his arms firmly held you as your body slacked from your release.
You leaned forward to give Hyunjin an improper kiss on the mouth and tasted yourself on his mouth.
You leaned back on Chan's chest, he held you close as he planted a kiss on your neck,
"Let's get you comfortable," he said. He took you in his arms and carried you to your bedroom, laying you down gently as if you were a frail paper doll.
And you crawled over to him, you noticed that you were the only one who was naked only made you feel even more aroused, he pulled you close and kissed you rather hungrily. You hovered above him with his hands roaming your body, tracing every curve of your body.
He kissed down your neck, you rested your hands on each side of him to allow him access to your chest.
He was more than willing to bury his head between your breasts, running his wet mouth on the flesh and sucking on them once in a while.
You turned your head to the side to find Hyunjin stripped off his clothes, unbuttoning his shirt as he watched you making out with Chan on the bed.
He took off his jeans next along with his underwear, revealing his erect member that caused a sigh to escape your mouth.
Chan sat up on the bed and rested his back against the headboard, he turned you over to have your back pressed on him again, he sat up straighter, sending you slouch against him and your head rested on his chest.
Hyunjin got on the bed next, "Can I fuck you raw?" He asked you.
Incapable of making a verbal answer, you nodded.
He rubbed your thighs as he kneeled in front of you, and Chan grabbed your legs by your knees to hold them up.
Hyunjin almost drooled at the sight of your wet cunt before his eyes, he took his cock and ran the tip down your slit a few times to milk some more arousal from you.
Chan's breathing quickened at the pornographic view, you could feel the thumping of his heart against your skin.
"She's so little," Hyunjin breathlessly said.
He clenched his jaw when he started pushing his length inside you, he made a sound that was a mix of groans and hisses.
He cursed out loud, "You’re so tight," he whimpered yet kept pushing his length inside you.
You held on to Chan's arms, crying out as Hyunjin’s cock stretched you out more than you could handle, and Chan saw how you struggled.
"You can take him well," Chan whispered to you on the top of your head, his thumb making lazy circles on the skin of your inner thigh.
Hyunjin slowly kept pushing the remaining of his length inside, and you suppressed your moan by pressing your mouth on Chan's arm.
Hyunjin let out a raw groan when he finally bottomed out, "you feel so good," he praised.
He lowered himself on you to place a brief kiss on your mouth before finally beginning to move against you.
He set a steady, slow pace, but each thrust went deeper than the previous, making you endlessly moan at how good he made you feel.
And the fact that Chan couldn't stop whispering sweet nothings to you didn't help,
"You're so beautiful moaning like that," he said along with a kiss on your temple.
A few moments later, he praised, "such a good girl," and later after that, he said, "I can't wait to be inside you,"
All those words made you clench around Hyunjin and gave him a hard time to stay in rhythm, "oh fuck, fuck," he repeatedly cursed, "she keeps clenching around me," he whimpered.
His thrusts were getting sloppy, and shut his eyes so tight as if it would help him regain some control, "I'm going to lose it," he announced.
Getting impatient for his release, Hyunjin picked up the pace and thrusting into you harder. The orgasm hit you faster, and more intense than the previous, feeling that your walls sucking him in gave Hyunjin no time to give you another thrust as he groaned out loud, signaling that he just climaxed as well.
He slowed his movements as he relished his sweet release, when he regained a bit of control, he slowly pulled out and saw cum dripping out of the tip.
"Oh fuck, I cum so hard," he groaned.
He rubbed your thigh as another blob of white of his seed gushed out of your hole along with a string of curses spilling out of his mouth.
Chan slowly put down your legs as your body relaxed from your second orgasm of the night, his pants got smaller the longer he watched.
Hyunjin brought your face close by your neck to kiss you, "you made me cum so hard," he said as soon as he let go of the kiss, then didn't waste time to kiss you again and Chan joined in by kissing your bare shoulder and neck.
"I'd like to continue but it's Chan Hyung's turn now," he said to you against your lips and all at once retracted himself off you, then excused himself to the bathroom.
Chan settled himself beside you on the bed, dragged your body closer, and caressed the smooth of your skin under his touch.
"You don't have to do it if you're tired," he said as he held your face with his hand, he was aware that you might be tired.
You shook your head, "No, I want you," you replied.
He pecked your lips, "if the winner wants her prize now, then she must get it, right?" He said with a cheeky grin.
He got up on the bed and took his shirt off by the back collar, exposing his chiseled abs and pale skin. He went on to unbuckle his belt right away and saw how you watched his hands working to open his jeans.
"I saw you struggle to take Hyunjin's," he said, as he pulled down his jeans just low enough to let his erection sprung free, "I'm not sure if you can take me well," he added.
He then took your hand and let you palm his throbbing cock, "Can you take me well?"
As if you were enthralled by how big it is, you blanked out on words to say and despite doubted if you could take him well, you found yourself nodding.
"Good girl can take a little bit more, right?" He asked you, looking down at how your hand wrapped around his length.
He took his jeans down his legs then had you trapped under him again, "there are just so many things I want to do to you," he said before turning you over on the bed.
You lay face down with your head rested on a pillow, Chan ran his big hand down your back to the curve of your rear, caressing the supple flesh and gently pinching on it.
He sighed at the sight of your cunt from the back, he lifted your hips, and you voluntarily jutted your ass up in the air for him.
"Hyunjin made quite a mess," he muttered to himself.
He kneaded on your flesh again as he teased your entrance with the tip, you shamelessly arching your back at him.
With a strong grip of his hand on your hip, he carefully entered you. And he was right, you struggled taking him despite having Hyunjin stretch you first, and he rubbed your thigh as he kept easing inside.
He lowered himself, kissing your shoulder and the crook of your neck, "you can take me well," he encouraged, "I know you will, baby,"
You turned your head to meet his, and he captured your lips for a slobbering kiss and tried to divert your attention as he kept pushing his length inside.
You clutched the sides of your pillow and cried out from the mix of pain and pleasure he brought on you.
"Just a little bit more," he assured you.
You buried your head in your pillow to muffle your high-pitched moan when he was fully inside you.
He grunted repeatedly and kneaded on your ass again, "such a good girl," he breathlessly praised.
He brought himself close to you again and peppered your skin with searing kisses, "why are you still so tight, mmh?" He asked in between kisses.
He rolled his hips a few times to stretch you out more, groaning against your skin with his teeth scraping your skin.
With one hand keeping your hips lifted, he began moving, slow and steady.
From your peripheral vision, you caught Hyunjin climbing onto the bed then lay next to you.
His hand reached out to your tousled hair and removed strands of hair from covering your face. He planted tender kisses on the side of your face, and you propped your elbows on the mattress so you could lift your upper body at him.
He took your mouth in his, kissing with your tongues and teeth clashing against each other, all the while Chan mercilessly pounding into you.
Hyunjin used one hand to pump his length while the other held you by your neck as he deepened the kiss.
The noises the three of you made resounded in your bedroom, and you didn't realize you were crying until Hyunjin wiped your tears with his knuckles.
You felt your body shake, and on the brink of another orgasm, yet you couldn't betray your body drained from all the stimulations.
"Oh, you keep clenching around me, baby," Chan said between his grunts.
"Close," and that was all you could mumble to him.
With the grip of his hands on your hips getting stronger, he slowed his pace and replaced it with a slow, hard thrust that reverberated throughout your body.
You collapsed back onto your pillow with your eyes fluttering shut, letting the waves of pleasure washing over you as Chan endlessly rammed into you to chase his high.
Hyunjin sat up on the bed, kneeling next to your body, and a moment later, you felt warm drops on your back. Turned out, Hyunjin came ahead of Chan and discharge his load on your back. He moaned a few times as he watched his cum on the smooth of your skin.
Soon after that, Chan pulled out of you to shoot his load on your back, and it surprised you how much you enjoyed having them paint your body with their essences.
You hummed in pleasure, and after that, nothing.
You woke up to Hyunjin’s beautiful lashes rested along his eyelids, half of your body overlapped his, and when you tried to shift, you felt Chan's big hand weighed on your back.
You noticed that you were wearing Chan's black shirt, and you could tell from the musky scent that is really his.
You turned and lay facing up the ceiling, sighing as you tried to recall what happened last night and how you didn't remember what you did before you fell asleep.
"You're awake," Hyunjin mumbled from beside you with his eyes still closed.
You sighed again, "Did I pass out last night?" You asked with a grimace on your face.
He hummed, "don’t worry, we cleaned you up right after,"
You winced and threw your hands to your eyes, shielding whatever pride left in you, "that's so embarrassing," you groaned.
Hyunjin softly chuckled, "I think that's hot," he brought his mouth close to your cheek and brushed his lips ever so softly.
"Let's not do that again," you whined at him but he placed a quick peck on your lips instead.
All of a sudden, Chan nuzzled his head in your neck, "No, I think we should do that again," he mumbled.
You'd be lying if you didn't enjoy having two men cuddling you and propose another threesome first thing in the morning.
You glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed, "I hate to break it to you guys, but aren't you supposed to be back at 8?" You told them.
You turned your head at Chan, "and it's 7.13 am," you informed him.
Hyunjin groaned against your shoulder while Chan kissed you on the cheek before reluctantly getting up from the bed,
"Hyunjin, let's go!" He ordered, got himself back right into his leadership role.
Hyunjin gave you another peck on the lips, "last night was great, and I think we should do it again," he said with a smile, then got off the bed.
You sat up and watched as they picked up their clothes on the floor, then putting them on, Chan gestured to his shirt you were wearing.
You unbuttoned the shirt one by one with your eyes locked with him, "the eyes are not helping," he said to you.
Hyunjin licked his lower lip when he saw you taking the shirt off, revealing your bare upper body at them.
You handed the shirt back to Chan and immediately reached for the duvet to cover up your chest, you spotted a smear of blood on the white sheet.
"Did someone bleed last night?" You asked them.
Hyunjin glanced at Chan, and he glanced at you, gave you an eyebrow raise of acknowledgment, "I think you know who most likely bleed between us three," he said with a smile.
It took you a minute to realize it was yours, of course, it was yours, you had two men fucking you, and you expected nothing happened.
You winced in embarrassment, "that's even more embarrassing," you moaned and hid with the duvet.
Chan laughed, "So, do you like your winning prize?" He asked as he buttoned his shirt back.
Hyunjin sat at the corner of the bed to put on his socks, and you could feel both of their eyes looking at you in anticipation.
"There's nothing better than winning," you said to them with a sly smile on your face.
Chan ran his tongue along his row of teeth and grinned, he came up to you and kissed the top of your head, “Well, next time, make sure you win again!” he said.
“No,” Hyunjin resisted, he came up to you and kissed your cheek, “Next time, I’ll win.”
I have no words to describe how reading this felt.
Having my bias and my bias wrecker in a situation like that is just above unreal. When Hyunjin threw away that card I was just ajsbdbxinezonwwowosbaaaaaaaa
The way you described the whole process is extremely sexy and realistic, which is a very good thing, because I could literally imagine every kiss and every move.
pairing: hyunjin x f!reader | word count: 25.8k | genre: romance, exes to lovers | warnings: angst ; breakup ; heartbreak ; jealousy and themes of cheating and overall bad relationships ; regret and guilt ; mutual pining ; forced proximity ; mentions of depression/low mental health ; hurt/comfort ; reunions | this chapter contains adult and sexual content as well as strong language but no major warnings apply. this work is a direct sequel to the one-shot just stay with me that i released two years ago~
You knew things weren’t great but you would never have imagined it would come to this. Maybe, somewhere, you still held the hope that things would work out. That Hyunjin loved you the way you loved him, which was to say, enough to try.
“I can’t believe you did this to me, Min. I know we went through a lot you and I but I thought we were friends.”
Minho let out an exasperated sigh. “We are friends!” He looked behind his shoulder as the newly arrived guests made their way in, bringing with them a cool breeze from outside. “Calm down, please. I had no intention to cause a scene. It’s just that he called, and then we had a conversation and I mentioned the cabin and it felt weird not to invite him. Besides, I just figured it was about time that you guys talked.”
You raised your eyebrows, cocking your head to the side as the shock settled in. “That’s deeply fucked up, do you even realize that? Deeply. Since when are you a couple mediator? Is that your new business idea? I see it. An office with large windows and a massive sign on the front with the name of your agency on it.” You motioned at the empty space before you as though you were showing a very real sign from a very real building. “Conci-Lee-Ation.”
Minho scowled at you, pursing his lips. “See, that’s your problem. It’s not that you can’t move on from things. It’s that you don’t want to.”
Minho’s words reached you much like a blade would cut you open. You stood before him with your mouth agape, silenced, wordless, the sour taste of betrayal invading your throat. His expression softened as soon as he saw the tears pricking at your eyes—he clicked his tongue, letting out a long, tired exhale. “I’m sorry—” he started, but you cut him off.
“Don’t,” you managed, your bottom lip quivering. But you would rather lie down in the huge living room fireplace than let Minho or anybody else see you cry. “I should be the one apologizing, right? So let me. I am so, so, so sorry Minho for being irrational like this during a situation that is totally normal and not unpleasant at all. I apologize for being upset that you invited my ex to spend the weekend with us without giving me a heads-up.”
You were doing your best to keep your voice as low as possible so as not to be heard but you were becoming aware of a few heads turning in your direction. In the other room, near the front door, Changbin and Jisung were welcoming Hyunjin and Felix inside, and Hyunjin was pretending very hard that he hadn’t noticed you. You figured that the others might even believe his acting but you knew him better than they did.
“Look—” Minho started, reaching for you.
You recoiled, avoiding the hand that was trying to squeeze your shoulder. “Don’t touch me. Don’t fucking touch me, Lee Minho. I’m gonna go get this brain fog out of my head and then I’m leaving.”
You walked away before Minho could even say anything. To avoid the crowd, you went out by the small hallway at the back. There was a door at the end of it, leading to some sort of patio furnished with snowed-in chairs and a functional hot tub.
You didn’t like speaking in absolutes so you wouldn’t say that being here tonight was the worst idea you ever had but it was certainly somewhere in the top three.
It seemed almost like a genuine Christmas tradition by now—you, standing somewhere outside in the dark, freezing your ass off there instead of letting anyone see you cry.
The first occurrence of this lovely festive activity had been on that Christmas escapade organized, that time also, by Minho—just a weekend at a cabin in the mountains for the employees of his restaurant. Oh, and you had cried quite a lot that first night. As though something about the holidays made your heart a little bit more vulnerable.
You hadn’t fully processed your breakup with Minho before that night, causing your emotions to go overboard. It wasn’t even that you had still been in love with him because you weren’t. It was just that he had moved on so easily and you were still at the same place in your life. It was just that he had recently gotten engaged to his very pretty girlfriend and you were still very much alone.
Last year had been even worse. It had been, really, the beginning of the end. Stupid arguments over insignificant things. And then it was about significant things. You told Hyunjin he was being unfair, that it was selfish of him not to let you help him. He did not like that. It made him cry. You spent an entire hour crying on your own, sitting on the stairs of the building, outside in the cold. It took two days before he spoke to you again, and what he said was, You don’t understand how I feel so you can’t help me. You’re there for me and I love you.
It was the last time he said it. I love you. Ironically, the breakup had been on Valentine’s Day.
The pain had followed you through the year. A year of ups and downs, emphasis on the downs. You earned your life well, your apartment was decent. You even had a social life. Or rather, you forced yourself to have one. Maybe so as not to worry anybody. Maybe because you wanted to remember what it was like to feel whole.
But it just felt as though nothing really mattered anymore. Nothing had been the same since.
Well. Except for the fact that one whole year later, you were once again hiding outside, the frigid winds covering the sound of your cries.
It started so well. Hyunjin and you. It had been on a night much like this one that you had come to realize you had special feelings for him. Feelings that had crossed the friendship line a while back, only, you couldn’t see it until Hyunjin announced his departure from the restaurant. It had seemed like the end of the world at the time. You couldn’t imagine your daily life without him—who would stay late with you and sweep the floors while listening to soothing music and discussing various topics? Who would come up with stupid jokes to lighten the mood on your bad days? Who would have your back when the restaurant was too busy and your section was more than you could handle?
Who would put extra maraschino cherries in your drinks just to make you smile?
It started so well. Perhaps too well. You skipped the ‘going on dates’ stage, jumping headfirst into this relationship because both of you believed in it and had strong feelings for the other. You didn’t doubt that. But, turns out, feelings are in no way a guarantee of success in a relationship.
Hyunjin did leave his bartender position at Minho’s restaurant to open his own bar. A small, intimate establishment where great drinks were served. It was an instant success, mostly due to the warm, welcoming ambiance of the bar. The crowd was as diversified as it could be—on any given evening, the bar—called Nightcap—could be filled with people in work meetings, groups of friends playing board games, dates, family reunions, birthdays… Anyone, really. Hyunjin was proud of his bar and you were proud of him.
You helped him as much as he’d let you, which wasn’t that much. He said he didn’t want it to become your burden and you respected that. You could tell he needed to achieve certain things on his own so that he could be at peace with it. And it was fine.
Somewhere between that first night with him and just a few weeks later when you woke up one morning with your heart particularly full, you fell in love with Hyunjin. You woke him up to tell him so, even, leading to an entire day of passionate lovemaking with food deliveries in between rounds.
Things were good for a while. Until they weren’t. You also left your job at the restaurant to work full-time at Nightcap and working with Hyunjin was amazing. Until it wasn’t.
The worst part is that it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t even yours. It just happened. He dedicated himself day and night to start his business and even if his plan was solid and he got help from Minho and a few other friends, a new business was a new business. At the end of his first financial trimester, Hyunjin was so shocked by the bar’s losses that he was unable to keep food down for an entire week. His anxiety levels were so high during that period that you didn’t recognize him—he was cold, distant, and even inconsiderate.
But of course you could understand that, and it didn’t make you love him any less.
You made Hyunjin lower your salary in the hopes that his losses would be less disastrous a few months later. To compensate, you decided to use your baking skills to make some money on the side. You found a bakery that hired—the two owners, a married couple, were close to retirement and they were looking to find good employees for when it would be time to pass the bakery along to a buyer who wished to run it. They liked you a lot and it was reciprocated, so they trusted you quickly and a lot. In the end, you became responsible for the bakery several days a week.
You loved it but it was a lot. You’d finish your shift at Nightcap sometimes well past three to help Hyunjin close up and you would take an hour-long nap in the backroom before making your way to the bakery where you often worked until two or three in the afternoon.
Anybody with a drop of insight would have seen it coming. But, maybe, love blinded you. Or maybe you were just too foolish.
It was lovely. Being Hyunjin’s girlfriend. Test-tasting his signature drinks. Having him come up behind you and embrace you just so he could whisper sweet nothings into your ear. He bought you flowers. He test-tasted your cakes. He put extra maraschino cherries in your drinks, even if it was just a soda. He tried to make it all work—the crazy hours, the stress, the pressure, your relationship.
It was amazing. Being Hyunjin’s girlfriend. Until it wasn’t.
And, months later, you found yourself hiding outside to cry in the cold. You didn’t want anybody to see your pain, your shame. You didn’t want anybody to see all of the space Hyunjin used to occupy within you because then they would know where all of your emptiness came from.
You didn’t like speaking in absolutes but maybe, after all, coming here this weekend was the worst idea you ever had.
You swallowed your sobs when you heard a door open and close nearby. Oh no. Someone had noticed your absence—you quickly wiped your tears as well as you could, hoping the cold wind would reduce the flush on your face.
It was Jisung. You sighed in relief, glad it wasn’t Minho—how could he do this to you? It was one thing for two exes to have the same friend group, but it was another to invite Hyunjin without letting you know about it.
Jisung made his way to you, carrying an extra hoodie. “Hey.” He handed the hoodie to you, pulling the hood over his head to protect himself from the wind. “Come back, yeah?”
You took a deep breath, looking away, staring at the scenery. The cabin Minho had rented this time around was even bigger than the first had been. Located deep in the mountains and surrounded by them, it offered a stunning view no matter where you looked. It was snowing heavily, hindering your sight, but even in the night, you could see the snow-covered evergreens and the white mountaintops. You had loved it just earlier. And now all that you wanted to do was to run away.
“I just need a minute,” you told Jisung, wrapping yourself into the hoodie he brought. It smelled like Changbin and you could only assume it was his. “You can go back inside, Ji.”
Jisung shook his head. “Nah, I think I’ll stay if that’s alright.” He mirrored you, leaning on the fence surrounding the patio. “I didn’t know he was going to be there. I would have told you.”
“I know you would have.” Out of everyone here, Jisung was the one who probably understood you the most. He, too, would have bitter memories of the other winter reunion, because it was then that he and Min-seo started dating. She left him after admitting she had cheated on him. Safe to say she was no longer a part of this friend group, but you could tell Jisung was still hurt. “I’m gonna leave. I’ll come back on Sunday to get you.” You two drove here together.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Jisung admitted, clicking his tongue. “Felix and Hyu—” He cleared his throat, embarrassed. “They said they barely made it here and that they were closing the roads behind them due to a blizzard. You would probably not make it very far. It took them almost two hours just to get from the village down the mountain to here.”
You didn’t take that news well—it brought more tears to your eyes. You took a deep breath but exhaled it as a shaky sob. Despite the wind, Jisung caught it. He opened his arms and hugged you, holding you tight. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I’m sure you’ll be alright. Look at the place Minho rented!” He spun on his heels so that you faced the cabin despite hugging. “It’s huge! There’s gotta be enough space for both of you in there.”
You figured you could just spend the entire weekend locked in your room and sneak out at night to get food or something. This way you wouldn’t see Hyunjin. At most you would hear his voice, and that would be painful enough.
You wished, so badly, that you didn’t care—everything would be easier. Because if you did that. If you hid away, if you avoided Hyunjin, he would know how affected you still were. And you were ashamed of that. You didn’t want him to know. You didn’t want him to know the impact his absence had on you, the toll it had taken on you.
As much as you wanted to run away, you couldn’t. Right?
You didn’t want to hurt him.
But you wanted him to think you did not give a single fuck about the breakup.
So you took a deep breath and nodded gently, prompting Jisung to pull away from you. “Let’s go back inside please, I’m freezing.”
He dragged you back toward the door without waiting, talking about dinner plans. It had been decided that tomorrow, Minho and you were supposed to cook the Christmas dinner, so naturally Jisung had a few requests of his personal favorites. You were almost certain he was making a point of being dramatic about it to distract you and you appreciated him even more for it.
You stopped him before he could turn the door handle. “Ji, is it really obvious that I cried?” For some reason, asking this question gave you a sense of deja vu.
He looked at you using the light filtering from inside to make his judgment. “Not too much. Hey, listen. It’s not by avoiding him forever that you’ll heal from it. Maybe facing that heartbreak is what you need.”
The deja vu hit you even harder, making you lightheaded for a few seconds.
He was right and you hated that he was right. You said nothing, choosing to just follow him inside, immediately relieved from the cold by the ambient warmth of the cabin. You took a deep breath. Then another.
The truth was that you just hadn’t seen Hyunjin at all since the breakup and you had no idea how you would react when you found yourself face to face with him. Maybe you would become enraged. Maybe you would freeze and lose your words. Maybe you would break down in tears like an idiot.
Jisung was right. Avoiding Hyunjin would not heal the wound he left behind. But what he didn’t know—and what you were too ashamed to admit to Jisung—was that nothing ever would. You had let Hyunjin take all of this space inside you and now he was gone and you were empty. And it was not the kind of empty that could be replaced. It was not the kind of hollow that could be replenished. It would stay like that, preserved, unchanged.
You took off the hoodie—after just a few instants in the snowfall outside, it was completely drenched. You returned to the living room, your gaze fixated somewhere between the ground and one meter above it, no higher, avoiding any eye contact. The main floor consisted of one big room—the kitchen and living room were only separated by a half wall.
You weren’t stupid. You noticed the voices quieting down as you entered but paid them no mind. Or rather you tried to look like you didn’t care and made your way near the fireplace where a few pieces of clothing and boots were already drying on the wall beside it. The cabin was completely quiet by the time you were done executing that simple motion and you could feel people’s eyes burning the back of your head.
Felix called out your name first. You heard genuine joy in his voice but something else too—it was obvious he was trying to diffuse the tension. “It’s been too long!”
You spun on your heels to face him. He hadn’t changed really—Felix was always Felix. Radiant and kind. He pulled you into a friendly hug which forced a faint smile on your lips despite how troubled you were. “Hey, Felix.” You tried very hard not to look behind him. “Didn’t think I’d see you here. How have you been?”
“Ah, pretty much the same.” He shrugged. “I sell office spaces and commercial buildings, exactly like I used to.” Felix had a chuckle. “Business is good though so I don’t complain. What about you?”
You opened your mouth to respond but the words got stuck somewhere along the way, gnawing at your throat like disembodied hands. In a moment of weakness, you allowed your eyes to scan the room, and you saw him.
He’d been wearing a beanie and his thick winter jacket when they first came in and you did run away in literally less than a second, but Hyunjin, unlike Felix, had changed. Considerably. For a few seconds you couldn’t even breathe, stupefied by the mere fact that you were in the same room as him once again. You couldn’t look away from him.
And it seemed that he, too, couldn’t look away from you.
He sported much longer hair than he did the last time you saw him. It fell loosely, framing his face in a messy yet ravishing and controlled manner. He was just as handsome as he had always been. His big, brown eyes observed you from head to toe, his front teeth sinking into his plush bottom lip, showing his evident hesitation. He seemed skinnier than you remembered him and yet his sweater hugged his body at just the right places, displaying newly acquired muscle mass. You could only guess that he had become gym buddies with Changbin—you wouldn’t know. Apart from Ji and Minho, you didn’t really keep up super well with the guys from the restaurant.
But he had deep dark circles under his eyes and his energy was different than it had been. His lips bore the marks of his constant chewing at them, much like his nails and the skin around them.
You had wondered, all this time, how it would feel when you would see Hyunjin again. Now you had your response.
It felt exactly like the day he broke up with you. Time had not soothed the pain—the sharp pieces of your broken heart pierced you from within as your forces abandoned you. You were bleeding out again.
You gulped, your breathing suddenly shallow. Seeing Hyunjin again felt much like standing outside in a blizzard.
Felix’s facial expression became concerned and you wondered what you looked like exactly. Your pulse quickened dangerously when Hyunjin pushed himself up to come your way, followed by everyone’s gaze. Once again, the room became quiet.
When Felix noticed Hyunjin, he offered you a flat smile, squeezed your shoulder, and walked away to return with the others, making sure to speak in an unnaturally loud voice. You panicked internally, watching, unable to move as Hyunjin approached. Was your vision blurry because of tears or because of sheer terror? God, you couldn’t let him see you cry. You just couldn’t. Not after all that had happened.
You heard his voice when you turned away. Much like Felix, he simply called out your name, but his voice was quiet, soft, brittle. “Wait, please,” he added when he noticed you were still looking away but weren’t moving. “Can we like… talk?”
He was standing next to you now, you could tell. You didn’t need to see to know—you could smell him, his complex cologne, his personal scent, the musky, unique smell of his shampoo. You knew he was right there because you could feel warmth emanating from his body. He had always been a walking furnace, after all.
You inhaled shakily and, finally, you faced him.
You could have collapsed from it alone but somehow managed to stay on your feet. You wanted to look everywhere at once. You wanted to try and read his eyes. You wanted to look at the beauty marks adorning his skin. You wanted to get hypnotized by the texture of his lips, just like you used to.
He flinched too, almost dropping the beer he was holding. When he came to his senses, he glanced around the room, motioning at the hallway from which you came. “Can we? Talk?”
With a nod, you walked into the private space, your heart beating at an uneven pace, making you feel as though you were on the verge of a heart attack. Your insides were cold, turned to ice, but your skin was hot, feverish, your cheeks burning. You made a point of only stopping at the far end of the hallway where the lighting was as dim as it could be. He couldn’t see you cry. He couldn’t see you blush. He couldn’t know. You did not want him to see the wounds he inflicted upon you.
But when you two came to a stop, only silence reigned. You looked through the window in the door—in just a few minutes, the snow had erased your and Jisung’s footprints. You could barely see a few meters away from how thick the blizzard was.
He couldn’t know.
So you tried your best to look like you had your shit together. “What did you want to tell me?”
Hyunjin jumped, almost like he was surprised that you asked him a question. “What?” The shadows from the curtains covered half of his face, making it difficult to read him.
“You said you wanted to talk,” you reminded him impatiently. This conversation needed to be as succinct as it could be. You estimated at about two, perhaps three minutes the time you had left before tears would inevitably roll down your cheeks. “So what did you want to talk about?”
You had your guesses, all of them worse than the last. Maybe he wanted to flex some accomplishment to prove something to you. Maybe he wanted to tell you about a forgotten item at his apartment. Maybe he wanted to tell you he was getting engaged to Haley.
The thought of that alone pulled all the air from your lungs—you pretended to clear your throat to help it pass.
Hyunjin gulped. “It’s been so long. I just wanted to know how you’re doing.”
He couldn’t know.
Everybody has a weakness, right? You hadn’t been certain about yours before meeting Hyunjin and especially before dating him. Because then you had found out it was almost impossible for you to lie to him. He said it had always been the case, even revealing that he had been able to read your mood swings long before he confessed.
So he would definitely see right through you when you would force a smile on your face and tell him things were good and what about him, how’s the bar, everything?
“You still at the bakery?” he went on when the only response he got was silence.
You nodded. “Yeah. Were you able to secure the loan you wanted? For the renovations?” For months, Hyunjin had worked very hard to get a start-up loan for new businesses granted by the government. There was some work to be done in the building and he needed it.
A dark veil clouded his gaze. He drank from his beer as though to let a few seconds pass. “Yeah. Yeah, I got it.” He drank again.
You let out a non-committal hm hm, unable to find an appropriate reaction. You were happy for him in a way. In a way, you didn’t wish him any harm. His well-being took nothing away from you.
He looked tired, sure—but you remembered Minho’s first two years with the restaurant and he had that same look. A new business was much like a newborn baby, after all. Hyunjin seemed fatigued but you couldn’t see traces of sorrow on him. Maybe it was because it was dark, but he looked like he was just fine. Like he was over it.
Over you.
He could not know. That you were nowhere near over him. ‘Over him’ wasn’t even a different country—it was a whole other continent across the globe.
“Good for you man,” you heard yourself say and it sounded wrong. Good for you man. What kind of response was that?
“Yeah.” He stood there in the darkness, facing you, sometimes looking at the snow outside and other times letting his gaze linger on you.
He used to tell you that you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He used to tell you that you were his favorite person. He used to tell you that he loved your scent. Your taste. He used to tell you that he loved you.
“Has construction begun?” you inquired but you didn’t really want to know. You were looking for a way to end this conversation politely. “Are you adding a new section?”
Again. “Yeah.” It was a flat yeah. It told you everything you needed to know, really. He wanted to talk to you because he, maybe, felt bad or something. He hadn’t been a great boyfriend at the end but he wasn’t a monster. It must be obvious how miserable you were and he felt bad that he, on the contrary, was just fine. You could only imagine he felt some sort of guilt.
“Where were those?” you asked, motioning at his beer, unable to bear it any longer. You would collapse under the weight of this conversation. “I could use a beer too.”
“Oh, Felix and I brought them. They’re in the fridge. Help yourself, ange—” He stopped before the end of his sentence, frozen in place, his mouth still agape, only able to stop the word from spilling out too late. He covered his lips like he couldn’t believe it.
Meanwhile, you battled the storm within you. Tears pricked at your eyes while waves—no, a tsunami—of memories washed over you. You wished, almost, that it was the bad memories that came back. It would make it so much easier. But it wasn’t. It was all of the good ones. It was the first time he kissed you. It was the first time he bought you flowers. It was the time he took you on an impromptu trip to the beach.
It was all of the times he called you his angel.
Hyunjin tried to apologize, becoming a stuttering mess, but you heard none of it—you were far away already, dashing up the stairs to your left before he could see your tears.
He couldn’t know. You didn’t want him to know. That he had made a barren place out of your heart. That you still dreamed about him sometimes and that it didn’t matter if it was a good dream or not. Either it was a nightmare in which you relived the breakup or sometimes even where he was dead, or it was a lovely dream in which he still loved you. The latter made waking up one of the most painful things you ever did.
He couldn’t know how much you missed him.
Ten months ago
You groaned when you heard your ringtone from the other room, trying not to lose focus as you put the finishing touches on the bottom part of the two-tiered cake you were working on.
“Want me to get it for you?” Eric asked as he was busy with paperwork at the moment, sitting on a stool not far from yours. The cake-decorating apparatus took up almost all of the space on the work table, leaving him just a tiny corner.
You completed the fine tracing of the flower you were drawing in pink icing before looking up. “It’s fine, I’ll check it out later. I’m almost done anyway.”
“I knew it was a good idea to put you in charge of the decoration. That cake is gorgeous,” Eric pointed out with a smile. “I bet that woman will have the best Valentine’s Day.”
Eric was the son of the bakery’s owners—while they had decided it was time for them to retire, they didn’t want to sell the bakery to just about anybody. Eric, a self-employed accountant, had taken over most of the management to allow his parents some rest without having to give away the business they had worked so hard for all of their lives. You liked him—Eric was pragmatic and understanding, which he got from his parents who were two lovely people. He knew you worked hard at Nightcap too, and often forced you to take naps in the breakroom if he noticed you were tired.
“Bet she will,” you responded, finding nothing else to say. You remembered her boyfriend who came in last week to order the cake. He had admitted to you he would propose to her on Valentine’s Day.
Your plans for Valentine’s Day? Work, work, and more work. Most definitely not getting engaged.
Life used to be so much easier. It hadn’t always been simple at the restaurant but it had been somewhere you were comfortable at. You worked crazy hours and it never really mattered, it never took a toll on you. You could be exhausted and functional at once. Maybe, because you were never as exhausted as you were now.
You sighed, grabbing a few more leaf-shaped pieces of fondant to adorn the roses you had applied earlier. Life used to be much easier but you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world, would you? Because it meant you had Hyunjin. It meant you were with him, that the both of you formed a team. You believed in his project and his vision and you wanted to do everything possible to help him make it last. There was nothing you wanted more than his success.
But, by god, you were so fucking tired. Your only plans after this cake, which was the last of your Valentine’s Day orders, was to go home, take a boiling hot bubble bath and then pass out in bed for as long as possible. Eric had given you tomorrow off—while the bakery would be busy, his mom had come in today exceptionally to do some prep for tomorrow, allowing you some time to rest. That wouldn’t last very long though—there was a Valentine’s event organized at Nightcap, and naturally, you’d go help out over there.
At least it meant you would spend the evening with your boyfriend.
It wasn’t what it used to be. You were afraid to admit it even to yourself but it was true. You couldn’t even remember the last time both of you had enough energy—or will—to fuck.
It wasn’t easy for Hyunjin. He had high standards for himself, which meant he perceived any setback, minor or major, as an absolute failure. He was tense and often depressed. It put a lot of pressure on his shoulders and he did not share any of it with you. He seemed resolute to carry that burden all on his own.
At that thought, your eyes filled up with tears. You grabbed a few random utensils on the table and went to the sink to rinse them just to make sure Eric wouldn’t see.
Only, it was too late.
“Leave that, I’ll do the dishes…” Eric appeared behind you, his soothing voice accompanied by an equally soothing hand on the small of your back. He tried nudging you away but you didn’t let him. “Go home. You need sleep.”
You held the batter-covered spatulas under the warm water, your gaze fixed on them, working very hard on zoning out. On purpose. These days, pretending that the outside world didn’t exist was the only way you could feel peace or at least a semblance of it. Your phone went off again but you ignored it.
There were too many thoughts in your head—it was impossible to make sense of them, but all of them revolved around the same thing.
Hyunjin. And how he was pushing you away, slowly but decidedly. A little more every day. Like he was actively trying to find ways to keep you at a distance. You knew him. You knew when he was worried or when he was sad or when he was angry. Sometimes he was all of those at the same time, but he wouldn’t let you comfort him. On his bad days, you barely recognized him. He was short-tempered and barely spoke to you, choosing to quarantine himself some place you were not.
At first, you just told yourself he wasn’t perfectly comfortable with you, maybe. You could understand that—the relationship had moved quickly, perhaps a little too fast. Not everyone is used to just displaying their deepest emotions to others, not when it was about something as significant as Hyunjin’s projects. You gave him space so that he could learn how to process these big emotions on his own, figuring that you would simply dive in when the right moment came.
But the right moment never came.
What made it so hard was the fact that Hyunjin used to be an excellent partner when it wasn’t about Nightcap. He was romantic and showered you with kind gestures. He was vocal about his love for you and supported you in your own endeavors as well as he could. So you tried to keep the relationship working—a storm did not mean the sun would never be out again. You loved him and you wanted to be with him. At any cost.
The wall he was building between the two of you was getting higher and higher. Your calloused hands were sore from climbing and your arms could barely support you anymore. Sooner rather than later, you would fall back before you could even have a peek at the other side of it.
Eric’s voice brought you back to the present moment. “That’s enough now,” he simply said, reaching for the utensils you were holding. They weren’t even under the water anymore—it was your hand that had been there instead. It took a few seconds for the pain to reach you, your skin darkening where the water had burned you.
He did not give you a choice—Eric wrapped his arm around your shoulders and brought you back to the worktable, forcing you to sit down while he searched a freezer for some ice. Once it was applied to your hand, he took care of carefully packaging the cake and storing it in the walk-in as you stared through the large windows at the front. Life was happening out there, as normal. You just felt like you were outside of it.
“You’re taking the week off,” Eric said with an accusatory tone when he came back. “And do not argue. I’m not hearing it,” he added when you turned to him to protest. “If you come back here before your time off is over, I’ll fire you on the spot.”
You wanted to cry then, not minding that he would witness it, only the tears didn’t come. You absorbed the sorrow back and a little more of it just became a part of your DNA.
“Eric—” you started, your voice foreign.
“You gotta talk to him,” Eric cut you off. “You have to. You’re not seeing it through my eyes—if you did, you would be appalled.”
Something ugly emerged in your belly—heavy and hard like lead but colder than the ice that was melting on your hand. “You’re right,” you replied, pushing yourself up. “I’m not seeing it through your eyes. I’m seeing it through mine. Because it’s my fucking life, not yours.”
You regretted it as soon as you spoke—it was then that the tears made their appearance. In less than two seconds, Eric’s arms were wrapped around you and he was pulling you into a tight hug, patting you gently. Your attempt at resisting him was weak and you found your face buried in the crook of his neck, embracing him back, holding onto him like you were afraid to fall.
“I’m s—sorry,” you stuttered between sobs. “Eric, I’m so sorry, I’m just…”
He shushed you. “You’re fine. Just breathe for me, okay? Deep breaths. Yes, like that.” He sighed, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Sweetheart,” he whispered into your ear. “He’s hurting you. Can’t you tell?”
The sob that spilled from your lips was heart-wrenching—you closed your fists tighter around his shirt, more of your warm tears rolling down his neck.
“It’s just that I’m useless, Eric.” You tried to breathe deeply as he advised, but only a little oxygen made it to your lungs. “There’s nothing I can do to help him. I love him. I love him so much. I think—no, I know—he’s the love of my life. But all I do is make things worse.”
Eric clicked his tongue, pulling away to look you in the eyes. “That isn’t true. And if it’s true, it isn’t on you. It’s not your fault he’s shutting himself off.”
“But it is,” you insisted, wiping your face with the back of your hand. “If I were a better girlfriend, I could do more, you know? I would know what to do, I would make him happy again.”
Eric’s silence hurt you more than anything he could have told you. He just stared at you with a saddened expression, finding no words to comfort you, or perhaps knowing you weren’t ready to hear the truth.
What you said was also the truth, though. Hyunjin hated it when you were trying to comfort him. He would say that he felt like a burden, like a responsibility. You didn’t see the problem with that. He wasn’t a burden per se—but you had no problem with feeling a sense of responsibility when it came to his happiness. You wanted to do things to make his life better. It wasn’t a chore. It was just… love.
But he hated it. So you had learned how to conceal those attempts at comfort. You had to pretend and give him a succinct response if he told you about something that worried him. Then you had to wait. Sometimes you’d surprise him with some of his favorite foods, other times you called a few friends so that they would come over. It didn’t matter. It just needed to look like you weren’t actively trying to help him.
And now you couldn’t help but feel like he was also resenting you for not helping him.
Maybe you were falling already. Maybe you had been falling for a long time and you just couldn’t see.
“I’ll drive you home,” Eric decided. And the truth was that you had no energy left in you to resist him, so you let him grab your bag, your jacket, and your phone and you let him drag you to his car after he carefully closed the shop.
The car ride was completely silent—he turned off the radio as soon as he started the car. The night was cold but not windy and you rested your head against the cool glass of the window just to feel something.
“I have a few colleagues that could help,” Eric said out of nowhere. He was a few years older than you and you knew he had a large network of acquaintances. “There’s Jake, I told you about Jake. His uncle owns a bar, you know?” You remembered vaguely. “He works for his uncle, but I’m sure he’d be more than happy to step in for a couple of days. You could go somewhere. Just you and Hyunjin.”
The idea was pleasant in theory but you knew better. You wouldn’t become a better girlfriend just because you were in another place. If anything, it would all make it worse. He would be upset that you’d even suggest such a thing. He would never leave his bar to someone he didn’t know, not for a weekend, not even for an hour.
You used to think he was ashamed. But you knew better.
It was just that you failed him.
Eric stopped his car in front of your building. You were still trying to find something to tell him but nothing came to mind. Instead, you gave him a nod and you got out of the car, not even looking back as you made your way toward the entrance, searching your bag for your keys while you waited for the elevator. As you did so, the screen of your phone lit up when you accidentally brushed it.
The wallpaper was a picture of Hyunjin and you. A selfie that he took some time last year when things were still good. You couldn’t recognize the girl in the picture. She was you only you weren’t her. Not anymore.
You had two missed calls—the time matched the ringtones you heard while at the bakery. Both calls were from Hyunjin, but he didn’t leave a voicemail.
The apartment was quiet when you entered. You moved in with him soon after you began dating him, head over heels happy to spend as much time as possible with the man you loved. His apartment was more spacious so it just made sense for you to move in here.
It took a few seconds for you to realize the shower was running. So Hyunjin was home, only he hadn’t turned any of the lights on when he came in. Everything was dark and still.
Exhausted from your day and from crying, you went to the bedroom, waiting for him to get out of the shower so that you could shower too—
—and you woke up later. It took you a few seconds to understand that you had fallen asleep in the first place, most likely due to your extreme fatigue.
It was still dark outside and everything was as quiet as it had been when you came home. The same knot was still in your throat too. You closed your eyes again, taking a deep breath, extending your arm to reach the other side of the bed, fully expecting Hyunjin to be asleep next to you.
But your hand touched nothing except the cool blanket.
You sat upright, looking around the bedroom, looking for him. He had been home after all—you had just fallen asleep while he was in the shower. About a million voices in your head started to whisper things you didn’t want to hear but you couldn’t tune them out. Maybe he came back home to shower just so he could go out again after and go fuck that waitress he hired some time ago. The one who was always after him. The one who was openly flirting with him. He kept denying it, he kept saying you were projecting.
Not really knowing what to do, you left the bedroom to check the bathroom just in case, but it was empty. So you made your way to the living room instead. And it was where you found him.
The TV was playing at a low volume, displaying the anime that Hyunjin was watching to fall asleep these days. He was laying on the couch, motionless, his chest rising and sinking slowly to the rhythm of his breathing. You felt relief and pain at once. He wasn’t out fucking that girl. But he had chosen to sleep here instead of by your side.
You swallowed your pride and lowered yourself next to the couch, giving his face a gentle caress. Hyunjin hummed in his sleep, frowning but not waking up. This time, you cupped his cheek and tugged a strand of his silky hair behind his ear. God, he was stunning. It seemed like it had been so long since you could observe him like that. He didn’t seem quite at peace, not even in his sleep, but it was better than nothing.
You pulled yourself closer to Hyunjin and kissed his sleepy lips, just pressing your mouth onto his. He let out the familiar groan he usually did when he woke up.
“You’ll rest better if you sleep in the bed,” you whispered, but he didn’t move.
A scowl appeared on your brows. “Baby?”
He shifted in his ‘sleep’, rolling with his back facing you. Only you could swear he was just pretending to sleep. It sounded crazy, it sounded insane, and it was very much unlike him, and yet you couldn’t see it any other way.
That reality was just too painful to process so you walked away, giving Hyunjin the space that he wanted but was too embarrassed to ask for with words. You didn’t cry, even if you wanted to. You went to take a shower, washing the day away, scrubbing your body vigorously as though it would make you into a new person. But it didn’t. When you turned the water off, you were still you. Just you. You were still the girl Hyunjin was avoiding.
You lay awake in bed for several hours that night, waiting to see if Hyunjin would get up any time soon, even just to get a glass of water in the kitchen. You stared at your ceiling, your heart heavy with the memory of the sweet taste of maraschino cherries. To you, today, they just tasted like Hyunjin’s love, and you craved it more than you could say.
You dozed off without realizing you did but when you woke up, Hyunjin was gone.
You spent your entire Valentine’s Day worrying. Under normal circumstances, you would have picked up your phone to text Hyunjin and ask where he was. You even knew which response to expect—he would tell you that he was at the bar, getting everything ready for tonight’s event. But you didn’t. Not immediately at least. There was a wound on your heart and it was a little too raw to poke at it just yet.
Instead you kept yourself busy for a few hours by deep cleaning the entire apartment. The washing machine ran non-stop until sometime around two in the afternoon. By then, your entire body was sore from all the housework done but you had finally figured out what you were going to text Hyunjin.
You: hey! ♥ happy valentine’s day baby. are you at the bar?
Hyunjin: you too angel. yes setting everything up for later
The response was a little dry but you swallowed your tears and your pride, determined to make things right somehow. If he ever let you.
You: I figured! I’ll be right there. want me to pick up some takeout on the way there? anything you want, it’s on me!
Hyunjin: you don’t need to come. felix is here and most of the staff
He literally did not want you there. He did not want you anywhere near him. No matter how obvious it was—and for how long it had been—you just couldn’t make sense of it, not really. Or maybe some part of your brain refused to process it to spare you, only it did not feel like being spared. It did not matter if you realized it in small increments or all at once. The end result was the same.
He did not love you anymore.
And you didn’t know what to do about that. You hadn’t thought it was possible. You hadn’t imagined it would ever happen. If you were honest—and admitting this even just to yourself was difficult—when Hyunjin and you became a thing, you never imagined how it would end. You never envisioned the termination of it because it did not feel like there would be one. And that had been absurd, obviously. You could see that now. It had even been borderline cocky—that was not the kind of confidence you ever displayed before. To assume someone would love you until the end of times or whatever. Not that every day would be sunshine and unicorns and rainbows, but that it was the kind of love that would overcome the dark days.
How conceited, presumptuous of you.
Now that the truth was catching up with you though, you found yourself humbled the fuck down.
You did something stupid but it was the only thing you could think to do at the moment—you searched your nightstand to find the leftover painkillers they had prescribed you last year when you sprained your ankle and struggled with physical therapy. You had one left, which you kept in case you injured yourself or something. Today seemed like a perfect occasion to put yourself into a coma of sorts. You washed down the pill with a shot of your favorite whiskey and buried yourself under your covers, staining the pillow with your tears, crying yourself to sleep.
It was dark when you woke up. You were getting tired of waking up at night with your heart broken in more and more pieces but you pushed yourself up and made yourself shower. Then you did your hair and even put on a little bit of mascara. The truth was that you just wanted to see him. You wanted him to kiss you. You never wanted to forget what it felt like. To be kissed by him. To be loved by Hyunjin.
The party was going strong at Nightcap. Hyunjin had organized a few games—you had even helped come up with them. The one you worked on the most was the free drink game. Single people could sign up and a number was assigned to them, as well as one free drink ticket. An entire section of the bar was reserved for them where they could meet new people. When someone was interested in another, they could go to the bar and use their free drink ticket to give to that other person. The thing is—the free drink would only be given if two people submitted each other for it. Of course, people could cheat if they wanted but it was their loss. The drink was one glass of Love Potion, a drink designed by Hyunjin several months ago, especially for tonight. Prosecco and cherry vodka on the rocks with a lime-flavored sweet and salty rim. Served with maraschino cherries.
Because he said that it was with those that he made you fall in love with him.
You remembered his smile as he told you that. You remembered his lips too, stained with the cherry juice from testing different versions of his drink.
Life used to be so good.
Jay—the apprentice bartender—was mixing up a few drinks, on his own behind the bar. You found it unusual for Hyunjin to leave the young man alone on such a busy night, but he didn’t show up, not even after waiting a few minutes. Yet you had seen his car in the parking lot so you knew he was here. Somewhere.
Felix was in the bar’s tiny kitchen, doing some preparations. Nightcap didn’t serve meals per se but did offer appetizers and other snacks. He saluted you warmly, as he always did, but he couldn’t tell you where Hyunjin was. “I mean he said he was gonna get more limes at the back to slice but that was a while ago,” he said. “Is he not here?”
No, he was not.
In hindsight, you probably should have gone home at that moment. Or maybe not, depending on how you looked at it. But instead you thanked Felix and, ignoring the lump in your throat, crossed the kitchen to make your way toward the back. A short hallway separated the kitchen and the storage room, where an emergency exit was also located. You shivered when you passed the old door, feeling the cold breeze from outside through it.
You were rehearsing in your head what you thought you would tell Hyunjin when you heard a familiar voice coming from the storage room.
“You can tell me what’s wrong, I’m here for you, Hyune.” It was Haley speaking to him, a waitress. A really pretty waitress who seemed to really really really enjoy working for your boyfriend. “You’re an amazing man. You deserve better than a cheater.”
Your heart halted but so did your feet—you came to an abrupt stop just before you entered the room, a hand over your mouth to cover the sound of the gasp you just let out. A cheater? Was she talking about you?
A cheater?
HYUNE?
You knew what was happening and yet you couldn’t believe it. You stretched your neck—just a little—to get a peek inside of the room. Hyunjin was right next to the large commercial fridge where you knew he kept the limes. Haley stood before him, very close to him. She was touching him, too, squeezing his shoulder and then letting her hand travel down to his arm, caressing him. Feeling him up.
Just about a million thoughts hit your brain at the same time but it was only a few that you could hear clearly. You knew Hyunjin had no enjoyment in his relationship with you anymore. That was one thing. But to call you a cheater and then hide with his waitress to let her coddle him? Seduce him, even? What kind of nerve did he have?
Was he this unhappy with you? That he would make up stories about cheating, perhaps to alleviate his own guilt? That had to be it, right? He was projecting. He was projecting because he wanted to fuck Haley—if he hadn’t already. He would sometimes tell you that you were the one projecting but now you could tell this whole thing was just a big, messy projecting inception.
You knew things weren’t great but you would never have imagined it would come to this. Maybe, somewhere, you still held the hope that things would work out. That Hyunjin loved you the way you loved him, which was to say, enough to try.
The hit was violent. It felt a lot like you had been kicked in the chest. Or like Hyunjin himself had cut you open to crush your heart with his bare hands.
What happened next was even worse. You bit into the hand still covering your mouth so as not to be heard when Haley pulled Hyunjin by the collar of his shirt to kiss him.
You looked away because the sight was too much. Because it felt like you would die if you saw more of it. You took a feeble step toward the emergency exit, your legs trembling just as much as the rest of your body.
You heard Hyunjin’s voice coming from inside the room. “What the fuck?” There were a few noises, like fabrics brushing and footsteps. You couldn’t comprehend his intonation. You couldn’t tell if he was shocked or if he was, perhaps, denying how badly he wanted it. He said something else but you couldn’t hear it over the sound of your pulse and the high-pitched ringing that echoed in your ear.
Haley sounded displeased when she replied to him, and yet honey coated her voice. “You can pretend all you want but I see the way you look at me,” she said with a joyless chuckle. “Don’t you think about me when you touch yourself? My body, my tits? I saw you checking me out.” There was a pause during which you leaned against the wall behind you or else you might just collapse. “Tell me, Hyune, do you think about me when you fuck her?”
You had heard enough and yet you barely controlled your body when you ran away, pushing the emergency door to put as much distance as you could between you and this fucking place and Hyunjin and that girl. You couldn’t breathe, no matter how hard you tried to force oxygen into your lungs. The February air was cold and ruthless but you recognized the signs of a panic attack, knowing what was to come if you didn’t snap out of it.
You found your phone in your purse but you didn’t even know who to call. The only person you really wanted to be with was Hyunjin. But he wanted otherwise. You had failed him so spectacularly that he… that he…
As you scrolled through your contacts, you realized how alone you were without him. Ironically, it was Minho’s name that popped into your mind. But it was Valentine’s Day after all and he would either be with his wife or at the restaurant, or perhaps both. In any case, there was no way a call from his ex would be welcome. Eric would be busy too, but maybe you could call Jisung. But to tell him what? What was there even to say?
You heard the door you had just come out from open again and it was closed just a few seconds after. You were on the other corner of the building, hiding there while you regained your senses if you ever would.
“Baby? Angel? Is that you?”
Hyunjin.
You realized he must have heard the door. In your urgency to get the fuck away from this place, you hadn’t really bothered with being quiet.
Angel. How could he allow this word on his tongue after what he did? After he kissed that girl with it?
It took a few seconds for your feet to obey your brain but you didn’t make it very far before Hyunjin caught up with you. Neither of you was wearing even a jacket—you had left your winter coat on a hook in the kitchen with everyone else’s, but you couldn’t even process the cold. Not the one outside, anyway.
He looked like he didn’t know why you were here. Not really here at the bar but here, behind it, running away, wildly underdressed. He also looked like he knew very well what was going on.
“Oh my god,” he sighed when he made it to you. “Come inside, you’ll freeze. Are you okay?”
He tried to grab your hand but you dodged him. Hyunjin’s facial expression darkened—he opened his mouth to say something but no words came out.
Part of you wanted to leave now, digest it all, and have a talk tomorrow, or even later tonight. But another, stronger part of you couldn’t bear keeping it inside for even one more second. It felt like trying to swallow a knife.
“I saw you,” was all you said. “I just want you to know that I saw you and I heard you.”
The little color he had drained from his face. “W—What?” His bottom lip was trembling—a telltale sign that he was going to cry. “No, no, I—I pushed her away, angel, listen—”
You tsked him, shaking your head in disbelief. You could believe that. That he had pushed her away. Because they were in a public place and he was very notably in a relationship, and people would talk. “It’s fine,” you shrugged. It was not fine but you went on. “She’s hot, I get it.”
“I fired her,” Hyunjin responded without a pause, his voice flat.
You looked into his eyes, realizing you had no idea what was going on in his head. Realizing you didn’t know who you could trust more. Him, or yourself. Perhaps the correct answer was neither.
“So? Do you?” you replied. “Do you think about her when you touch yourself? When you fuck me?”
You hadn’t seen anger in Hyunjin very often and certainly never to the level he was getting at, so it took you a few seconds to recognize that he was enraged. Something flicked in his eyes, like a warning, but you ignored it. “Are we going to pretend you’re not fooling around with your boss?”
The question left you speechless. You took a step back, your shoulder blades meeting the brick wall behind you. “What?” You weren’t even surprised—you were properly dumbfounded, as though Hyunjin had spoken in a language you weren’t fluent in.
Hyunjin was getting impatient. A breeze blew over the both of you and a few strands of hair fell over his forehead, obstructing his eyes. “Can we skip the part where you pretend you don’t understand what I’m talking about?” he snickered, looking disgusted. “No, I’m not fucking fantasizing about Haley. But I did call you last night. Twice. To tell you I was on my way to pick you up from the bakery so we could go home. Got no answer—I figured, fine, you’re busy.”
You thought you knew where this was going but you couldn’t even believe that you were here, right now, having this conversation.
“I saw you through the front windows,” Hyunjin went on. “It was kinda dark, but I saw enough to draw my own conclusions.”
This explained everything about the awful feeling gnawing at you from the inside. It hadn’t left you since Hyunjin had ignored you last night.
“He just hugged me,” you retorted with a small voice. You didn’t know if you were shaking because it was cold or because you had never felt as broken as you felt now. “I was crying.”
“Sure. A hug. That lasted at least one minute, probably more,” Hyunjin commented. “I wouldn’t know, I walked away. Tell me, does he “““hug””” you like that often?” He emphasized his point by dramatically air quoting the word. How does he like to “““hug””” you? Rough? From behind? Missionary? Does he—”
Your hand left the side of your body before you even realized it—you slapped Hyunjin in the face, shocked at what you were doing just as much as what he was saying and the disdain with which he was speaking to you. Tonight was too much. All of it was entirely too much—barely two minutes ago you witnessed a kiss between him and another woman and yet it was you who was being accused of cheating?
Hyunjin stood before you, speechless, feeling the reddened skin of his cheek like he couldn’t believe it.
“Yes, a hug.” Your voice was shaking.
He cocked his head to the side. “A hug. And then he’ll try to hit that,” he retorted, pressing his lips together.
It felt like it would help you so much if you could figure out exactly what it was that you were feeling. You were furious. You were hurt. You felt sad and betrayed and hopeless.
You were scared.
Maybe you had known deep inside you, for a while now, that it would come to this.
“He’s gay. He has a boyfriend. He’s not trying to ‘hit that’. I’m not trying to ‘hit that’. He’s worried about me.” You took a deep breath but only managed to exhale pathetic sobs. “I’m so alone. I’m just so fucking alone, Hyunjin. You don’t even look at me anymore. You just sulk and when I try to pull you back up, when I try to be there for you, you push me away. It hurts, by the way. It hurts when you do that.”
Hyunjin blinked slowly, his gaze becoming unfocused as though he was reviewing the veracity of your words. It felt terrible to have finally said it. It felt wonderful. Like throwing up after drinking too much. Tasted just as nasty, too.
“So I hurt you,” Hyunjin replied flatly. “I hurt you.”
“I know you don’t mean to,” you added. “I just—”
He cut you off. “It was about time you told me,” he said, his voice barely audible. “Why the hell are you wasting your time with me, then?”
Your heart dropped—it was so violent that you had to press a hand over your chest. It felt like you were going to have a heart attack. “I’m not wasting my time, I’m just saying—”
“No, I got it. I hurt you. Have you ever stopped and wondered if maybe you hurt me, too?” It would have been better if Hyunjin hit you in the face. Anything would have been better than that. “You don’t know how alone I feel too. It’s fine that you don’t want to make me a priority, but it would have been nice to feel like you have my back.”
You buried your face in your hands, hiding your tears away. It couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening. He couldn’t be telling you that. It couldn’t end.
Not like this.
“But I do have your back,” you mumbled, the pieces of your heart stabbing you from the inside. “I love you—you know that, right?”
The expression on Hyunjin’s face gave you the response he didn’t speak.
“Are you breaking up with me?” you asked, your eyes wide.
“I don’t see what the point of staying together is. If all I do is hurt you and sulk. It’s quite obvious that you’ll be happier without me.”
He walked away. He just walked away.
It was Felix who found you outside some time later, alerted by Hyunjin’s awful mood, or so he said. He was nice. He brought you your coat and offered to go home with you but he was Hyunjin’s friend and he should stay with him. He insisted on calling a cab for you, but when the driver asked you where you were going, you did not give him the address of Hyunjin’s apartment—your apartment. You asked him to take you to the restaurant.
It was the end of the evening there—the dining room was crowded mostly by couples who were now eating dessert and drinking champagne. When you inquired to some of the new employees about Jisung, they all told you he was upstairs with the boss.
It used to feel like home. This place. The smells, the sounds. It was in this place that maraschino cherries took the taste of love. You crossed the restaurant, keeping your eyes on the floor so as not to see the bar section on the other side. You went directly to the staircase, hoping to find Jisung in his office, but only he was in Minho’s.
It was the two of them who comforted you that night—or tried, at least. You would never forget the look on their faces when you pushed the door open. It was like they had seen a ghost. Or worse. It made you wonder what you looked like.
You figured you most likely looked like a woman who had lost everything.
Because you sure as hell felt like it.
Now
Imagine holding the best, most beautiful gift life could ever give you. Imagine feeling its weight in the palm of your hand, the texture of it too, and its warmth. Imagine it scurrying along your arm to bury itself in your chest, making a home out of your heart. Imagine taking care of it, this light inside of you, to make sure it never goes out.
Imagine a downpour. A monsoon. Imagine not building a roof over the light. Imagine letting the light burn itself out in order to keep yourself warm. And letting it. Because maybe your brain felt like you ought to be punished for something, and what better punishment than to take away from you that one thing, that warmth that you love so much, even if it meant to hurt it all the while?
After all, there could be only one way to separate that light from your heart, so imagine drinking poison in the hopes it would poison it, too.
Imagine the light drowning right before your eyes.
What you would see is the state of Hyunjin’s heart.
He had it all. He had it all because he had you. Maybe it was from missing you too much but he would say that he fell in love with you at first sight and he has only loved you more and more since.
Maybe it was just because of the way he longed for you. Maybe it was because it was all that he had left. The longing, the yearning. The memory of you.
Hyunjin was aware of his mistakes. He knew them a little too well—he played them in his head almost at all times.
He had it all but he didn’t know that he did while it was happening. He was greedy. He had the bar and it was great, it was like a dream come true. Only he was too proud, and too ashamed, too. He really believed he could make it on his own. He didn’t want his problems to become yours.
He didn’t want you to see him fail.
He had it all but none of it was worth anything if you weren’t there with him.
Hyunjin had come to understand that a little too late—that he couldn’t just share the good things with you. That true love meant, also, sharing the burdens, the ugly stuff. Really sharing, not just pretending to.
By the time that information settled in, you were long gone.
Those were the worst months of his life.
Those were months of sleepless nights, of regret, of shame. Big decisions brewing at the back of his mind and at the very front of it too, crushing him under their weight. Months and months and months of missing you and knowing you deserved better than a guy like him, whose first instincts had been to sabotage the relationship instead of dealing with his issues. You deserved better than a coward.
The colder it got outside, the more vividly he remembered you.
Hyunjin called Minho one evening in early December, only a few weeks ago. He made it look like he wanted to catch up on him—Hey, it’s been a long time man, how are things?—but really Hyunjin wanted to ask about Minho’s contacts in the food and beverage industry.
And maybe, also, he wanted to ask about you.
“Oh, business has been as good as it can be,” Minho told him after Hyunjin inquired. “Just super grateful for the staff, everyone’s working hard during the holidays.” He paused then. “Hey, Hwang. Are you free some time around the 20th?”
Hyunjin thought about it, looking at the calendar hanging in Nightcap’s break room. “That’s a Friday. Those are busy,” he replied. Naturally, as a bar owner, he did not have the luxury to take Fridays off. “Why?”
“Ah, of course,” Minho replied politely, clearing his throat. “I rented a cabin in the mountains again since it was such a success the first time. Too bad you can’t make it, you’d be welcome, Felix too—”
Hyunjin almost dropped his phone, his heart racing. “I can make time,” he said without waiting. “I mean, I could ask someone to take over for a couple of days, I—” He wondered if he sounded as desperate as he was.
Minho let out a non-committal sound, clicking his tongue. “Are you only saying that because you think she’ll be there?” He didn’t need to specify who he was talking about—Hyunjin knew.
He was right. Minho was right. Hyunjin had vowed himself he would stay away from you—he had caused you enough pain anyway. He had to pay for the terrible mistakes he made. But the temptation was just too much.
“Before you ask, yes she RSVP’d,” Minho went on. “You should come too. I think it’s about time the two of you get some closure. Fair warning though—I will beat you up if you make her cry. Don’t bring your girlfriend, only Felix.” Hyunjin tried to stop him to at least let him know he sure as hell didn’t have a girlfriend, but Minho didn’t let him. “I’ll text you the address and directions when I hang up. We’re also having a Secret Santa gift exchange. To keep it simple, I’ll pair everyone in an online randomizer. So I’ll text you about that in a couple of days too. I’ll see you on the 20th, Hwang. Good talk.”
He just hung up. One minute later, Hyunjin was sent a Maps link with an address located in a remote village up in the mountains.
Two days later, Minho was texting him again to let him know that he would be your Secret Santa.
Minho: Better not fuck this up, Hwang.
Hyunjin knew he ought to call Minho and ask him to redraw the names because it just wasn’t appropriate. In all honesty, Minho might have tweaked the results. He knew he ought to call him to cancel the whole thing. Hyunjin shouldn’t go. Perhaps he would be tempted. By you.
He shouldn’t go. But he was not strong enough to resist.
He only wanted you to know what had really happened. He wanted you to know that he was sorry, that he never fucked Haley and never even wanted to, that he never actually thought you and Eric had slept together. He was just upset. And tired. And inadequate.
He hadn’t apologized for what he had done—you hadn’t given him the occasion to do so. The day after the breakup, you came into the apartment with Minho, Jisung, and Chan. Chan kept him company—as in, making sure he was never in the same room as you were—while the other two helped you pack up your things. You did not look at him but he heard you cry from the other room. You left the apartment. When he went to the bedroom, your keys were on the unmade bed, and his heart was in his throat.
He did not deserve to apologize, but it was his one shot at telling you the truth and admitting his faults. He wouldn’t miss it.
Imagine holding the best, most beautiful gift life could ever give you. Imagine fucking up so bad that your entire life is ruined.
“Dinner is ready,” Jisung’s voice said through the door. He knocked again. “We made pasta with the sauce Chan brought. The one you like so much,” he added. “Min just opened a bottle of wine. Come on.”
You sighed, burying your face into your pillow. He didn’t understand. You had tried staying—you had tried having a normal conversation with your ex, but it couldn’t work out. It meant that you couldn’t stay. You had been devising a plan for the past hour or so. While Christmas music was playing downstairs and smells from Chan’s delicious pasta sauce started floating in the air, you were checking if the motel you had seen in the village on your way here was open and if there was a room for rent. A little snow didn’t worry you.
Good thing you hadn’t really taken the time to unpack your bag.
“Are you there?” Jisung asked, wiggling the door handle to see if you had locked it. You had not, perhaps in your hurry to run away from Hyunjin or because you didn’t imagine anyone would come after you.
He cracked open the door, just barely, staring at you from the shadows of the hallway. Your room was dark too as you had not bothered turning on any lights during your crying fit. It was a small room but it had a nice view—like most of the bedrooms in the cabin, it even had a balcony. It had a cozy, rustic vibe to it with three of the four walls made of distressed wood paneling, the one facing your bed was built with warm-red bricks. It was such a shame. You had loved the room upon seeing it and had been actually looking forward to your weekend here, as much as you could anyway.
It was hard for you to look forward to things these days. But this weekend was supposed to be good. You were supposed to cook the Christmas dinner tomorrow with Min and you would bake some cookies and a cake, too. You had been assigned as Seungmin’s Secret Santa and you had found a bomb-ass gift for him which was a baseball shirt autographed by his favorite player. He would owe you his life after this. Okay, maybe not literally, but still. You couldn’t wait to see the look on your friend’s face when he would unwrap it.
Not anymore though. You wouldn’t be here tomorrow night. Hell, if there was a god and if that god was good, you wouldn’t even be here in an hour.
“I decided to leave,” you told Jisung, sitting up. “You can’t stop me.”
Jisung fully opened the door. “You can’t though,” he pointed out. “You saw the snow.”
“It’s snow, not a horde of dragons attacking the mountain. I’ll manage.” You stood, putting on a denim jacket over your t-shirt and grabbing your bag.
“A horde of dragons? You watch too much TV, friend.” Jisung shook his head. “Please don’t leave tonight. We talked about this just earlier.”
“I changed my mind. I don’t want to be brave anymore.”
Jisung tried—and failed—to stop you from getting out of the room. He followed you downstairs. Everyone seemed to be in the kitchen. It smelled delicious and you heard their conversations and the clinking of cutlery, but you did not look that way. Instead, you went directly to where you had left your winter jacket and changed into your snow boots.
“We came in my car though,” Jisung muttered, clearly trying not to be heard by the others whose conversations had visibly lowered in volume. “You need my keys.”
“Yup.” You reached into the pocket of Jisung’s jacket which hung right next to yours and retrieved the aforementioned keys. “There. All good. I promise I’ll be careful with it. I’ll go down to the village at that motel we saw. I’ll come get you on Sunday. Okay?”
Jisung gave up, a saddened look on his face. He nodded slowly, raising his hands in surrender. “What happened to facing your heartbreak and healing from it?”
You glanced towards the other side of the large open space room. All of your friends sat around a huge wooden table overflowing with food and wine. All that you could see were smiles. Hyunjin was facing the other way so you could not see his face but he was eating his pasta and having a conversation with Changbin who sat next to him.
“You’re right about that,” you conceded, your throat tight. “But I don’t think any amount of facing it and looking it in the eyes will heal me. I’m hopeless, Ji. You’re gonna have to wrap your head around that at some point.”
“Nobody is hopeless,” he insisted, but you had walked away already.
You would at least be an adult about it. While you were elaborating your plan, you had considered faking an emergency, something giving you an excuse to leave. But it would be too obvious and too childish. Hyunjin always saw right through your lies anyway.
“Hey guys,” you managed as you approached the table. “I just came to say goodbye. I decided to leave.”
A heavy silence fell onto the room. Hyunjin spun in his chair to see you but you did not look at him.
Minho stood. “Don’t leave, it isn’t safe,” he said. “Look—”
“I’m leaving,” you repeated. “Let’s not ignore the elephant in the room, yeah? We’re all adults, after all, guys. I know it’s been a while since many of you have seen Hyunjin—and Felix—and I’m really happy y’all get this little reunion. But I’m just gonna go. Okay? No hard feelings. Not even for you, Min.”
You saw Hyunin lowering his head from the corner of your eye. “I’ll go,” he muttered. You barely heard him. “I shouldn’t have come.”
“No, it’s totally fine!” You could hardly believe how easy it was for you to say all of those things in front of everyone. You imagined it must be caused by some sort of adrenaline rush. “I mean it. You should stay.” You made your way toward the door before anyone could stop you.
Minho did follow, putting himself in between the door and you. “Wait, okay?”
“Min, just, no,” you began. “You and I dated for nine months. We were friends before. One night you kissed me. Nine months later, you were barely looking at me, barely speaking to me. In the end you broke up with me because it didn’t feel right, because you had too much work, all that.” You didn’t care that Minho’s wife was right there. You didn’t care that literally everyone in the room was listening to you. “I got over you. Then I fell in love with him,” you added, motioning towards Hyunjin who was still looking at the floor. “It was great. Until it was not. Until he, too, stopped looking at me. Until he stopped speaking to me. Until he kissed that waitress in the back room. And then he broke up with me too. So you’re gonna step the fuck away and let me leave this place. And everything will keep going as it was before and I’m not gonna be mad at anyone here. I’m just gonna go. Okay?”
Minho swallowed thickly, sliding to the left, freeing the door. “Okay.” He opened his mouth to speak and you knew him well enough to know he wanted to say I’m sorry, only you didn’t want to hear any more of that—you just pushed the door open and walked out.
You did manage to close the door behind you but that in itself was a miracle for you had barely made it outside. The snow was reaching somewhere just below your knees—it was heavier than you had imagined, too, and you sank into it with each step you took. It infiltrated your boots, freezing your toes almost instantly.
The wind was relentless. You swallowed snow on many occasions on your way to the parking lot, located on the left side of the cabin. But you remained resolute, fueled by anger, by disappointment. You could barely make out the cars—snow must have accumulated on the spot illuminating the area and it had also covered a lot of the cars, so it was difficult to see which was which.
It was cold but you didn’t care. Once you found Jisung’s car, you began removing the several inches of snow that covered it. You thought about Minho’s words as you angrily pushed the wet snow off the roof and windows. It’s not that you can’t move on from things. It’s that you don’t want to. Maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong—it wasn’t true for every aspect of your life, except, perhaps, this one thing. Hyunjin.
Moving on from him seemed impossible. You had seen, so vividly, your life intertwined with his in the future. You had felt a love deeper than you thought love could ever be.
And now it was all that you had left. The memories of it, no matter how painful they were. It was all that you had of Hyunjin—the empty space he left behind.
It kept snowing.
Hyunjin wished you had slammed the door.
Many things happened right after you left—the group separated itself into thirds. One third tried to diffuse the obvious tension immediately by saying that by now, snow plows or something must have cleared the roads at least a little and that you would be okay. Then they continued the conversation almost as though nothing had occurred. Hyunjin couldn’t even be mad at them because he could tell it was out of good intentions. They were trying to preserve some kind of peace.
The second group seemed genuinely worried for your well-being. Should he have been able to speak right now, he would have been one of them, voicing his own concerns about the weather and your lack of winter clothing. Felix was asking Jisung if he should go get you. Jisung shrugged. “Maybe someone could follow her just to make sure she makes it safely.”
The third group, however, had other preoccupations. Si-yeon, Minho’s wife, Ha-ri, Changbin’s girlfriend, Soren, Chan’s girlfriend, Chan himself, and Seungmin were discussing under their breaths but he could hear them very well.
“Is it true what she said?” Si-yeon asked after clearing her throat. By the sound of it, it seemed like she was directing her question towards Minho, but when she did not get a response, she turned to Hyunjin. “Is it true? Did you cheat on her?”
Heat burned his ears. God, he wanted to disappear. He barely managed to raise his eyes. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “It’s not how it happened.”
“Did you kiss a waitress? That’s what she said,” Soren pointed out.
“She kissed me,” Hyunjin specified. “I rejected her.” That night was the worst night of his life. He remembered everything in detail.
“Did you not tell her that you invited her ex?” Chan asked Minho. “That’s fucked up, dude.”
A cacophony followed—everyone talked over the other, trying to make themselves heard, exposing their point. He really shouldn’t have come. It wasn’t fair to you. He didn’t imagine that Minho would have kept it from you, of course not. But he had, and now you were upset.
And Hyunjin’s heart was heavy.
He missed you. He missed you more than he could say—it didn’t matter if he locked himself in a room all weekend, making sure you never saw him. Because it would mean to be under the same roof as you once again. Even just a few hours. Maybe, if he was lucky, he would smell your perfume as you walked past his door, or maybe he would hear your voice.
One thing was sure, he wasn’t going to let you leave. Not tonight. He’d barely managed to reach this place, after all.
Without a word or a glance to anybody, Hyunjin pushed himself up, making his way toward the door. He ignored all the questions and comments. What are you doing? Where are you going? Are you sure it’s a good idea? Maybe someone else should go.
In two seconds, he was in his boots again, leaving his slippers behind.
Maybe, selfishly, he wanted you to know that he still loved you.
Going outside felt like running into a wall, only, the wall was made of wind, ice, and snow. He coughed as snowflakes entered his mouth and even his nostrils. He was only wearing a light sweater but he hid his hands into the sleeves, also protecting his face as best he could with his arms. He called out your name but the wind was louder, so he waited a few seconds to try again.
He could see some people looking through the windows and that did not please Hyunjin, so he quickly made his way toward the small parking lot. Snow entered his boots but he kept going, squinting as he tried to catch sight of you. He could see that some snow had been removed from a car but that wouldn’t be enough for you to be able to drive with it. There was a lot of snow on the ground and he didn’t think that a simple sedan would be able to go through it.
He could see the car. He could also see your bag, left on the trunk.
But he couldn’t see you.
He called your name again, his heart dropping. It was totally understandable that you were angry but you couldn’t possibly have run off into the woods in this weather, right?
What he saw once he reached the car was perhaps worse. You were sitting right next to it, one leg stretched and the other bent so that your foot was towards you. You were completely leaning over it, your shoulders shaking with cries. You had cried earlier too—he had seen it in your eyes. It hurt him to see you like this.
He approached you carefully, almost as though you were a feral animal. “Hey,” he said in a low voice.
You jumped, looking up, recoiling when you saw him—that motion caused you to wince and wrap your hands around your ankle.
Hyunjin got on his knees, not minding one bit the cold snow dampening his pants and freezing him. “Did you hurt yourself?” He tried to look you in the eyes but you wouldn’t let him. “Did you fall? Did you hit your head?”
“I’m fine,” you replied. “It’s just my ankle.”
“You don’t look fine to me.”
You sighed, wiping tears off your face. Your bare fingers were red and stiff. Instinctively, Hyunjin reached for your hand to warm it up, but you pulled away. “It’s fine. I’ll be okay. Go back inside.”
He looked around, searching for his words. “I don’t think you can leave,” he started, leaning closer to you. “Look. We can’t even see the path. We’re snowed in. And you hurt yourself. Isn’t this the ankle you sprained before?”
You gave him a slow nod after a few seconds. “There was ice over there,” you explained, motioning vaguely behind you. “Under the snow. I slipped, and…”
“We’ll get you back inside now,” Hyunjin said. “Wait here, I’ll go get someone and we’ll—”
“No, please.” This time, you did touch him—when he went to stand up, you caught his wrist, pulling him back. Your touch went through his body like a shockwave, making him lightheaded. “I can’t go back in there. Not after I made a scene.”
There it was. There you were. He recognized you more than ever now as you softened, as your anger dissipated. Not two seconds ago, you were still enraged. Now you looked at him with teary, pleading eyes.
“Everyone in there is your friend,” Hyunjin pointed out. “No one will judge you.”
“Of course they’ll judge me.” You let go of his wrist, taking a deep breath. “Help me up. I can still drive.”
Unfortunately for you, he had seen in which pocket of your coat you had put Jisung’s keys—he was easily able to reach into it to retrieve them, effectively stealing them from you.
You stared at him with your mouth wide open, shocked. “Fuck you!”
“Yup, fuck me,” Hyunjin retorted, this time standing up for good. “Hold on!” he quickly added when you, too, tried to stand, but it was obvious you couldn’t put much weight on your ankle.
“This is the second most humiliating day of my life,” you muttered as Hyunjin went to help you up. “The first on the list is when my boyfriend dumped me on Valentine’s Day.” You shot him a venomous gaze.
He sighed, the pang in his heart undeniable. He had never really been confronted with it before. The pain he had caused you. It had all been abstract up until this point. He had thought about it a lot, of course, but to see it with his own two eyes was a whole other thing. Your damp cheeks, the redness in your eyes. The expression on your face when you looked at him—it wasn’t even anger, or disgust. It was worse. It was disappointment.
And yet. You were there. You were right there. It was the first time in so long that Hyunjin saw you, that he spoke with you. And it wasn’t an easy thing to admit, not even to himself, but it still felt so normal to be by your side, to just speak with you. Sure, there was an awkwardness that could not be denied. But there was so much more beneath it. All the memories, all the time spent with you, all the love, the intimacy. It seemed like that bond hadn’t been severed.
“What a fucking loser,” Hyunjin said with an exaggerated snort. “Good riddance, yeah? Nobody needs a boyfriend like that.”
You stared at him, speechless, blinking slowly. Maybe it was the stress or the pain, but you burst into laughter that you had to control in order not to hurt your ankle even more. It was music to his ears. It almost felt like being revived after cardiac arrest. “Come on, help me up instead of working your stand-up comic routine.”
Hyunjin positioned himself behind you, not hesitating before wrapping one arm around your waist and another under your arms. “I got you, just don’t use that foot.” You smelled good. Your perfume was the same—its delicate yet bold notes hit his nostrils like a warm spring day.
Much like ripping a band-aid off a wound, Hyunjin pulled you up right away—you helped by standing on your good foot and by holding onto the car next to you, but you had to lean against it as soon as you stood, wincing in pain. “Wow,” you said nonetheless. “You’ve been working out, haven’t you?”
He shrugged. “Helps me keep my head clear.” He grabbed your bag and returned to you, wrapping his arm around your waist again. You held onto him and hopped as best you could toward the cabin as he let you put all your weight onto him. “Careful, you’ll slip again,” he warned. “I’ll carry you—”
“Not a fucking chance. I’d rather die frozen in the snow than go back in there carried princess-style by the guy who dumped me on Valentine’s Day.”
“Really gotta rub it in, don’t you?” Despite the gloomy essence of the conversation, the tone was light-hearted. “Not that I don’t deserve it…”
It didn’t matter that it took several minutes to make it back to the porch—Hyunjin was not cold. Not when he was so close to you. Not when he was touching you, holding you.
“Don’t let them make fun of me,” you warned.
He glanced inside—pretty much everyone was back around the table. “I won’t,” he promised, grabbing the door handle, but he didn’t push it open. “I really want you to know that I didn’t cheat on you. I didn’t want to cheat on you,” he said, turning to you. “I know that you saw what you saw and I’m not asking you to forgive me or anything like that. Haley kissed me and I pushed her away. I just want you to believe me. Please.”
You frowned. “You literally broke up with me five minutes later, though.”
“I had my reasons. But nowhere among them was Haley. I promise you.” His heart felt lighter now that he had told you.
“She had been flirting with you for months,” you reminded him. “Very openly. Often right in front of me.”
“I should have fired her way before,” he conceded. That was one of the many mistakes he made—obviously, Hyunjin wasn’t worth much when put under stress, like he lost any ability to think clearly. “But I don’t want you going around thinking that you got cheated on. Because you didn’t. I would never have done this to you.”
You remained quiet—Hyunjin could sense that you needed to think it over, so instead of insisting on the topic, he opened the door.
You were obviously uncomfortable when you followed him inside. “You have no idea how humiliating this is for me,” you muttered under your breath. “All of it.”
It was his fault, after all, so there was no way in hell Hyunjin would let you be uneasy because of him.
The guests around the table became quiet when they noticed that you were with him. Jisung immediately got up, followed closely by Si-yeon and Soren.
Jisung gasped when he saw the state you were in. “Oh my god, are you okay?”
“It’s my fault,” Hyunjin said immediately. “I insisted that she should stay and I chased after her.” He found it rather simple to lie when it was to make your life easier. “She tripped and twisted her ankle trying to run away from me.”
“I’m fine,” you said but nobody believed you.
Hyunjin was gently pushed away as everyone came to take care of you—Chan and Soren helped you to the couch while Jisung was preparing a bag of ice for your ankle. Minho inquired about the amount of parm you wanted on your pasta as he filled a plate with food for you. Felix stood with Hyunjin and, together, they observed the scene quietly. You were given a hot pack to warm up your fingers and a thick blanket to wrap around you.
In no more than five minutes, you were comfortably lying on one of the sectional couches of the living room, eating a generous plate of pasta with your foot elevated on two cushions. Jisung, Soren, and Chan were sitting with you, eating and drinking, while others had returned to the table and a few people were standing near the kitchen island, chatting and putting leftovers in containers.
Hyunjin stayed in a corner after sending Felix away—he didn’t want his friend to miss out on a good evening on his behalf. He wasn’t hungry anymore. He was just troubled. He hadn’t been able to predict how he would feel once he saw you again, but even if his guess had turned out scarily accurate, the real thing was a million times more intense.
Hyunjin had known from the start. He had known from the moment you walked away from him that Valentine’s Day that he still loved you and that he wouldn’t stop loving you. But to know one thing and to experience it were two very different events.
His eyes met yours when you looked up from your plate. This time you didn’t avert your gaze.
Yup. He was fucked.
He was still head-over-heels in love with you.
“I think it’s sprained and that we have to wrap it tightly,” Jisung said, his eyes on his screen after looking up first aid advice.
“We’ll get you to a doctor as soon as the snow allows it,” Chan assured. “Do you want another glass of wine?”
The ambiance was much quieter than it had been—everyone was dispersed around the cabin, just enjoying the overall coziness of the place. You were still in the living room with Chan, Soren, and Jisung but you could see Minho in the kitchen, chatting with Felix and Hyunjin while he did some prep for tomorrow’s Christmas meal. You knew a few people were watching horror movies in the basement—and you were especially grateful to be anywhere but there.
“No, thank you,” you told Chan, forcing a smile on your face. “You guys don’t have to stay with me you know? I’ll be fine. Didn’t you want to play board games?”
“Won’t you play with us?” Jisung asked.
“I’m tired.” And it wasn’t even a lie. Your entire day had been a roller coaster of emotions and you felt drained, empty, and your ankle was still excessively painful. “If someone would be kind enough to fetch me some elastic bandages from the first aid kit, that’s all I need. I’m used to it, I can wrap it myself.”
Chan tried to insist but in the end, Soren dragged him away so he would help her choose a board game—maybe she understood you a little better than the guys. Maybe she knew that you just needed to be alone for a little while.
It was Jisung who brought you the bandages. “Are you okay?” He squeezed your shoulder, taking a deep breath.
You stared at the rolls of bandage in your hand, thinking it over. Today felt much like a fever dream, like nothing about it was real. Like it could not be possible that you were currently in the same building as Hyunjin. Like it could not be possible that he had spoken to you softly, that he had held you, touched you, and that it made your heart flutter.
“I don’t know,” you admitted to Jisung. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to be feeling,” you added, keeping your voice low.
“I don’t think there’s any way you’re ‘supposed’ to feel right now,” he told you.
You nodded, sending him away so that he could join the game. Felix and Hyunjin also voiced their desire to play. “I’ll make us a round of drinks before,” Hyunjin decided. “Anyone interested?”
You heard responses coming from the dining area and then silence fell over the room. From the corner of your eye, you noticed that several heads were turned your way. Hyunjin called your name, his voice cracking as he did so. “Do you want a drink?”
“Sure,” you replied out of habit, mostly to make everyone look away.
You focused on unwrapping your supplies, doing your best to chase the thoughts swirling in your head. God, why were you a little glad to see him all of a sudden? You had been so upset about it earlier—with good reason!—and while you were very much still pissed off, you couldn’t help but feel a certain relief after his revelation.
You didn’t want to believe him. That he didn’t cheat on you, that he never even wanted to. So why was your heart… like that? Why wasn’t it raising its defenses, why was it leaving you exposed and vulnerable? Had it not learned from the betrayal it suffered? Why had it been so easy for Hyunjin to sneak his way back inside of it?
For months, the simple idea of meeting Hyunjin again had haunted you as you had no idea how you would react. But sometimes—usually after a few drinks—you started to imagine crazy scenarios. Like him calling you out of nowhere and asking to see you or even him showing up unannounced at your job to beg you to take him back. You were usually quick to banish these thoughts, trying to drown them in the most painful memories you held. Like all the times he kept you at a distance when all that you wanted was to be there with him, just so he wouldn’t be alone with his dark thoughts.
When that didn’t suffice, you had to bring out the big guns. Like replaying in your mind the kiss with Haley. Or the subsequent breakup, and the tone with which he spoke to you, making it very clear that while you had good intentions, you did not have the means to help him—no matter how hard you’d try, you would never be enough to soothe his heart.
Except he was here tonight, whether you liked it or not. And you could still feel the ghost of his hand around your waist. You had never known addiction before and would a drug addict had told you about their experience, you would have empathized with them of course, but not understood. If it’s an addiction and if it’s dangerous, then why keep doing it, even if it feels good?
Because. Because it felt so fucking good.
You were so lost in your thoughts, barely paying attention to wrapping your ankle, that you didn’t notice Hyunjin when he approached, holding two glasses. You jumped when you saw him, immediately telling yourself that your heart rate was increasing because he had surprised you and not because he looked exceptionally handsome in the warm lighting of the fireplace.
And certainly not because he was handing you a glass with a very familiar drink in it—you recognized it instantly as one of his signature drinks. He called it, simply, Merry Christmas. You had participated in its creation in the form of drinking many versions of it to review them. Sugar around the rim, some limoncello, a little bit (or a lot) of vodka, and a drop of vanilla syrup in some seltzer. But the best part was the maraschino cherry juice, which gave the cocktail its festive look along with a piece of rosemary resembling a little evergreen tree in the glass.
“There,” Hyunjin said, waiting for you to pick up your drink. He seemed to hesitate but ultimately went on, “I added some extra cherries in yours. I hear they’re very good at promoting the healing of ankles specifically.”
You stared at your glass and then at his own drink, which only had one maraschino cherry in it. As though you needed to make sure, you glanced around the room, trying to see how many the others had gotten. Because Hyunjin had put an entire mini-skewer of cherries in yours.
He used to do that all the time back at the restaurant. His special drinks. Just for you. They didn’t always contain alcohol but he always made up some scientific facts to justify them—to boost serotonin, to clear headaches, to ease a sore neck, to heal a cold. And you’d always accept the drinks with a witty remark and it forced a smile on your face, no matter what.
In hindsight, you couldn’t believe that you hadn’t noticed his feelings for you before it was almost too late. He hadn’t even been subtle about it, had he?
And there he was, doing it again. This time, though, your brain came to your defense—this wasn’t him flirting with you like it had been at the restaurant. This was simply Hyunjin trying to be nice after daring to show up here.
And yet, almost like muscle memory, your lips curved into a faint smile.
“I’d really love to see all these medical articles you read,” you retorted, accepting the drink from him. “It’s crazy all the things I learn with you. At this rate, you’re basically some sort of healer.”
Hyunjin seemed just as surprised as you to hear your response, but once the shock set in, he chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you my secrets,” he replied, sitting on the couch next to the cushions on which your ankle rested not long ago. “The more I tell you, the more dangerous it is for you. It’s best if you stay in the dark.”
“Sure thing.” You took a sip from the drink—it was ice cold and just as delicious as you remembered it. Or maybe even more. It had been so long. “I didn’t know there was a cocktail mafia out there. I got it—I won’t tell a soul.”
“I knew I could trust you.” Hyunjin winked at you, also tasting his drink, glancing at the others who were now preparing their board game on the table. “Seriously though, are you okay?” He motioned at your foot.
You rested it on the cushions again, lifting the leg of your pants to display it. It was definitely very swollen and a little bruising had started to appear in places. You winced, sucking air between your teeth, quickly drinking more in the hopes that the alcohol would help. “It could have been worse,” you said nonetheless. “I don’t think it’s broken.”
“Yeah, it looks exactly like the time you sprained it,” Hyunjin confirmed with a nod, observing it closely. “Give that to me. It needs to be wrapped quickly to control the swelling.” He showed you the bandages left on the couch next to you. “I think it’s better if someone does it for you.” He stopped then, averting his gaze. “I can get someone else if you want.”
Gun to your head, you would not have been able to understand addiction before tonight.
“It’s fine. Thank you.” You handed him the bandages, sitting more comfortably now. “You’re the healer, after all. Makes me wonder why you settled for bartending when you could be rich—like, a literal millionaire—performing miracles on the daily. You could have it all. A palace to live in, all the riches you can imagine, all the girls, too—”
You stopped mid-sentence, biting into a maraschino cherry, releasing its sweet juice on your tongue. It hadn’t really occurred to you that Hyunjin could very well be in a relationship right now. If it wasn’t Haley then it was someone else. Surely. A man like him—kind, funny, handsome, with a huge cock and the talent to use it. There was no way in hell he wasn’t seeing someone.
Hyunjin put his drink away, choosing to begin his task instead of responding. He gulped, reaching for your ankle, pausing just a few millimeters away from it almost like he was asking permission. He used to do that a lot. Except it was with his mouth on your pussy, and he did it to tease you just as much as to ask for your consent—because it turned him on a lot.
Just how much alcohol was in this damn drink?
You took another sip anyway, hoping that holding the glass in front of your face for a few seconds would allow for the dramatic flush that had appeared on it to fade away a little.
Slowly, carefully, Hyunjin lifted your foot to lay the bandage underneath your ankle. It quickly returned on the cushions, and if you were honest, it had caused you a lot of pain to move it and yet you found yourself wishing he would do it again. The sensation of his fingers on your skin was as frightening as it was intoxicating. It reminded you of when he would caress your leg, your calf, your ankle with the back of his fingers while the two of you lounged on the couch. Sometimes naked, sometimes not, just existing alongside one another, watching TV.
It reminded you of all the times he would wrap his fingers around your ankles, pulling them up, resting them on his shoulders so he could fuck you deeper.
Oh no. No no no. You couldn’t feel like this. You couldn’t even let those thoughts wander in your mind—it was too dangerous. The fact that he was here tonight was a coincidence, albeit a sinister one. It didn’t mean anything. He was nice to you because of his guilt and maybe because he had gotten over that dark episode in his life and he wanted some closure. It was hard to tell. In any case, none of this meant anything. Him being sweet. The maraschino cherries.
You couldn’t let it mean anything—because in less than forty-eight hours you would both leave this place and go on your separate ways. And you did not think you could go through it another time. You did not think you could lose him again. It might kill you this time. It really might.
Fortunately for you, however, a strong gust of wind blew over the mountain as you took a few more nervous sips of your drink, and the power went out.
There was only one second of complete silence before an uproar of terrified screams echoed from downstairs, where a bunch of people had been watching horror movies. Ultimately, Seungmin’s voice could be heard louder than the others as he urged people to ‘chill the fuck out’ because ‘it’s just a power outage’.
Minho cursed from the kitchen. “I can’t see shit.”
The cabin was very dark with the exception of the large fireplace in the living room and a few dim security lights here and there. Being so close to the fire, you could see Hyunjin very well—he did not seem bothered by the sudden turn of events, continuing his careful wrapping of your ankle, making sure to be as meticulous as he could be.
People downstairs quickly came back up, telling a tale of the power going out at the exact moment some disturbing scene happened in the movie, scaring all of them to death. Minho reminded everyone that an electrical generator would continue to give them power for the two fridges as well as one tank of hot water and that he did not want anybody arguing over that.
“We’ll still have food and be able to wash up,” he said while Felix was holding the flashlight on his phone over his shoulder to light up the counter where he was cutting up vegetables. “Nobody is allowed to take extensive showers like some people like to do. Okay?”
“This felt targeted, Lee,” Hyunjin chuckled, shaking his head.
Hyunjin was known for his very long and very warm showers—it had become a running joke among the employees. You giggled too, remembering the friendly bicker between these two back when you worked at the restaurant. But your amusement was cut short by the memory of Hyunjin’s bathroom after he exited his shower in the apartment you shared with him—he usually doodled something in the condensation that was covering the mirror. For you. A heart, a smiley face, or he’d just write I love you. You even made it a habit of going to see what the surprise was after his shower, even if you didn’t need to be in the bathroom.
You drank more, remaining quiet as everyone took place on the couch or on big cushions on the floor. By the time most were comfortably installed, your ankle was tightly wrapped and Hyunjin had even pressed more ice onto it.
He stayed there when he was done, sitting, and drinking in silence. You tried to ignore the curious glances, eyes fixated on the flames in the fireplace.
“It’s running late, we could just go to bed and hope the power is back by tomorrow,” Seungmin suggested.
“The heating system relies on electricity though,” Minho explained. “There are loads of blankets, but maybe it would be safer for some of us to sleep here in the living room by the fire?” He gulped nervously. “Especially those who, huh, aren’t sharing a bed with someone else. I’d hate for someone to freeze in their sleep.”
“Wow,” Jisung scoffed with a playful smile. “Looking out for your single-as-fuck friends. Truly heartwarming.”
“I’m just saying,” Minho responded, shrugging, but he was smiling too. “Those who want, we could go grab the mattresses upstairs?”
“OH MY GOD, A SLEEPOVER! YES!” Jisung exclaimed, pushing himself up even though it had not been a minute since he sat down. “Singles only. All of you who are fulfilled and content and happy can go freeze your asses upstairs.”
As usual, Jisung’s comment brought laughter to the group. Most of the guys were on mattress duty while others were trying to find all the extra blankets, or exchanging woolen socks to make sure everyone’s toes would be safe from the cold. Naturally, you were forbidden to move, so you just drank, each maraschino cherry reminding you of how alone you were.
And yet you were surrounded with all of your friends. People you cared about and who cared about you. People who called you on your birthday, who sent you memes in the middle of the night as a love language, who brought you soup when you had the flu. It wasn’t fair to them. This loneliness that you felt. And you didn’t want any of it, but it was stuck somewhere in your throat, slowly but surely preventing your lungs from getting the oxygen they needed.
And here they were, devising architectural plans for a pillow fort while you were holding your tears. You wouldn’t have called yourself a bad person or a bad friend before but it was tonight that you realized that you were one. Because it felt like so little mattered since the breakup. Months. Months of just watching life happen around you—as the audience, not the actor.
It just seemed like your existence itself was lackluster now that you had tasted life with your soulmate. Everything you did, you did it without Hyunjin. Without Hyunjin as a qualitative, descriptive way to describe the state you were in. You woke up without Hyunjin. You celebrated your birthday without Hyunjin. You went to the grocery store without Hyunjin. You went to work. You visited your mother for dinner. You went out for drinks with friends. You watched the new season of your favorite TV show.
You existed without Hyunjin.
But it just wasn’t the same.
It soon became clear that Hyunjin intended to be present for Jisung’s sleepover, which made you panic on the inside. On one hand was your ankle and you weren’t sure how well you’d do in the stairs. On the other hand was the dreadful notion of sleeping in the same room as him. It wouldn’t matter how many people would be there also—you would be able to recognize his breathing patterns, his soft, sleepy sighs when he rolled over.
You had never been one to sleep easily before him. You’d spend hours just waiting for sleep to come. And then there had been Hyunjin and it used to feel like you didn’t have enough hours in a day to be with him. Like you didn’t even want to sleep at night. You’d lay in bed, sleepy, often a little sore between your legs but full of cum, just existing alongside him. Listening to him fall asleep. His arms around you. It was impossible not to drift to sleep then, because you had never felt safer than in these moments.
Needless to say—now that you slept without Hyunjin, you did not sleep very much at all.
Carefully, you removed your ankle from the cushions, preparing to get up—Hyunjin spotted you, quickly dropping the pillows he was holding. “Wait! You can’t do that!”
You rolled your eyes—it seemed easier to act annoyed at him than you let him show the true state of your heart. “I sure as hell can. I can’t spend the next week sitting on that couch. I need to pee.”
He grunted something under his breath. “Alright. Let’s go. You always have to pee.”
“Oh shut up,” you retorted, nudging him and yet still allowing him to wrap his arm around you once again, helping you up. He quickly pulled away, letting you lean against the wall. “I’ll manage. Thank you very much.”
You pathetically limped your way to one of the downstairs bathrooms, locking yourself in there using your phone for light, quickly splashing cool water all over your face. You should have tried to leave. By now, you might have been in a motel somewhere, all alone, away from Hyunjin and all the memories he brought back.
You were walking around the bathroom, testing whether you could make it upstairs or not, when someone knocked at the door.
“Coming!”
“It’s me.” Hyunjin. “I just figured, like, do you want me to go get your toothbrush and stuff from upstairs? Maybe?”
What the fuck was going on? Was that going to happen? Being… friends? With him? After everything that had happened? Despite all the complicated feelings you had?
You opened the door. “It’s fine, I’ll sleep upstairs,” you assured.
He raised an eyebrow, looking at you and then down at your ankle. “Not a good idea.”
“It’s fine,” you repeated, going past him, making your way slowly and painfully toward the stairs. He followed you closely—you could feel his hands ghosting you as he prepared to hold you if you collapsed.
Maybe it made you want to collapse.
“Hey, are you not coming to my sleepover?” Jisung called. He was busy making the beds with Felix. You counted five of them which could only mean one thing. “I told them to bring a mattress for you. Thought it would be best for your foot.”
You stood there, basking in the warmth of the fireplace. Sure. Sure, it all looked super cozy. Part of you wanted to sleep on the cold hard floor upstairs. Another part of you wanted the exact opposite.
“Listen to your friend,” Hyunjin advised. This time, he pressed his hand on your lower back, sending your mind spinning and your heart racing. His hand was so big and so warm. Just above your ass. “I’ll go get your stuff upstairs. You really need to be careful, there was a lot of swelling.”
You almost asked Jisung to go instead but if you had to be totally honest with yourself, if someone was going to look into your luggage and see your underwear, you’d rather it was somebody who had once been intimate with it. So you just nodded. “Call me when you’re up there, I’ll guide you.”
“Does that mean you packed at the last minute and everything is chaos in your bag?” Hyunjin playfully asked. “When will you learn?”
You pushed him, limping towards a couch in a quiet corner. It was a little farther away from the fireplace and all the action, but you could use the peace, even if it was a little cool. “I don’t think you have any lessons to give me, Hwang. Just how many airpods have you lost by now? We must be at five or six pairs, right? More? When will you learn?”
Hyunjin stuck out his tongue at you, choosing to climb upstairs instead of responding to you. You sat down, breathing deeply. You couldn’t let this go any further. You couldn’t even be his friend, not even if it somehow turned out to be true that he had never cheated on you. You couldn’t watch him fall in love with another. Certain things are just too heavy to bear.
Jisung pretended to need something on the table to have an excuse to stand closer to you. “Looks like things are good between you t—”
“Don’t,” you cut him off. “There are no ‘things’ between us. I just decided to be civil, same as him. It’d be a shame to waste Minho’s weekend. He spent a lot of money on this.”
“Hm-hm.” You heard Jisung suppress his laughter. “Sure thing.” He turned to you. “Look—I really think you two need to talk. Let me finish,” he added when he saw that you were going to interrupt him again. “I get it, he hurt you. But you don’t see the way he looks at you, do you?”
Your phone rang in your pocket—you pulled it out only to see Hyunjin’s number appear on the screen. It had been months since you had seen it there and it made your heart flutter.
“He doesn’t look at me in any special way,” you replied, suddenly very aware of the taste of maraschino cherries lingering on your tongue.
But Jisung was gone already, returned with the others in their quest to create the most comfortable sleeping nook known to mankind. You allowed yourself a few seconds to pretend Jisung hadn’t said anything and took the call.
“I’m with your bag,” Hyunjin said immediately. “Where’s your toothbrush?”
You tried to remember the moment when you threw everything in your luggage. “Probably at the bottom. I have a small toiletries bag. Bring the whole bag.”
You heard shuffling and brushing noises—it became obvious Hyunjin had put you on speaker, probably using the light from his phone to see inside your bag as he searched it. “Got it! What do your PJs look like?”
“It’s just a pair of dark blue shorts and a black tank top. It has a jellyfish on it.” You definitely had not planned on being seen by Hyunjin in your pajamas. You might have picked something a little more… a little less… simple.
Or not. Because none of this mattered. He probably definitely had a girlfriend and nothing was happening.
“Found them,” Hyunjin replied. “Love the tank top, it’s really cool. Do you want socks?”
“Yes, the fuzzy ones. Bring my underwear too.” You sighed, burying your face in your hand.
There was a silence on the other end. Just a few seconds. “Which one? Oh, this one’s cute. With the sheep.”
Yes of course. Out of all the panties you brought today, he had to come across the ones with a sleeping sheep pattern on them. “Sure, whichever.” You sighed. “That’s all, thanks. Oh—wait, I have a power bank too. We could charge our phones. In the left pocket I think?”
You really had thrown everything in there at the last minute. You tried to remember a little better but Hyunjin let out a strange sound—a gasp of sorts—and it snapped you back to reality, putting all of your memories exactly where they belonged.
No. No, your power bank was not in the left pocket.
“You still have that thing?” Hyunjin asked with an intonation that was impossible to decode.
That thing as in the bullet vibrator he gifted you for your two-month anniversary. That thing as in, that bullet vibrator that you had put in the left pocket of your bag just in case things were a little boring up here.
Flames engulfed your head whole—you sat there, speechless, trying to find something to say. But really you were remembering the evening he gave it to you. And the things he had done to you with it that very night. Edging you and teasing you until there were tears in your eyes, until you begged him to let you cum. Playing with you using that toy and his mouth and his fingers and the tip of his cock. Sinking into you only when you were on the brink of insanity, finally giving you what you needed, fucking you into a delightful bliss.
“Well, it still works,” you heard yourself say. “Would be a waste to throw it away.” That wasn’t even a lie—that little thing packed a punch.
Hyunjin chuckled. “Want me to bring it to you?”
You clicked your tongue. “You’re hilarious. Maybe you want some alone time with it? If I recall well, you probably wouldn’t be against it.” And you knew that your memories were accurate—how could you forget brushing the vibrating toy up and down Hyunjin’s straining cock, slowly, languidly, just so you could collect his precum and lick it off him?
“So funny, ha-ha-ha. Alright, be right there.” Hyunjin hung up. You stared at the dark kitchen in front of you, unable to grasp onto the thoughts that visited your mind. And yet it was all that you wanted. It was all that you needed—to figure out what was going on in your head and in your heart.
Hyunjin came back wearing his own lounging outfit—just sweatpants and a graphic t-shirt with a hoodie, nothing unlike him. He also gave you a small, battery-powered camping light which he had found upstairs, but he barely looked at you as he handed you the pile of clothes he went to fetch. To be fair, you barely looked at him, too—it was already a lot to find yourself stuck on a snowed-in mountain with your ex, after all, and the fact that he had just gone through your stuff, panties and vibrator included, did not help, and you eagerly locked yourself in the bathroom, glad to be away from the others for a few minutes.
As you changed, it became obvious that the sleepover had already started in the living room. Jisung had apparently officially closed the door upstairs, ‘blocking’ the access to his Singles-Only night. Felix and Seungmin were arguing playfully about video games. You listened to their conversation with a smile on your lips, choosing products at random from your toiletries bag, just whatever you needed to freshen up a little.
In truth, you knew that this uncertainty was no better than whatever had been occurring in your mind before. A discussion had been launched—only it wasn’t even a discussion. It was just Hyunjin dropping information on you without you having any chance to respond. But you had questions. You had many of them. And either you were getting answers tonight or you weren’t going to sleep at all.
As soon as you were cleaned up and cozy in your pajamas, you returned to the main room only to find Hyunjin alone in the dim kitchen, adding slices of orange into a pot on the gas stove. You looked on the other side of the cabin where both Jisung and Seungmin were sitting around Felix, who was playing on his Switch. The three of them paid no attention to you whatsoever.
With a deep breath, you painfully made your way to the counter and sat on the nearest stool. Hyunjin glanced behind his shoulder as he stirred whatever was in the saucepan—but from here, you could smell his mulled wine. His recipe was the best you ever tasted.
You sat in silence for a minute, trying to find the right words, realizing there were no right words.
“It smells good,” you said in a low voice.
“Thank you. I put loads of oranges, just the way you like it,” Hyunjin replied, turning to you. There were only a couple of candles lighting up the entire kitchen and you watched as the flames danced on his skin. “And extra honey, too.”
It was strange. It was a little messed up. To act like this when he hadn’t seen you in months. When he had dumped you on a cold February night.
“What you said earlier…” You averted your gaze, reliving the memory. “Was it true? Was it really really true?”
Hyunjin frowned as he tried to understand exactly what you were referring to. “What do you mean?”
“That you didn’t cheat on me.” Your voice was barely more than a whisper. “That you didn’t want to.”
He did not speak just yet—instead, Hyunjin grabbed two mugs and carefully filled them with warm wine using a ladle. He slid one over to you. “Careful, it’s hot.”
You wrapped the mug with your hands to warm them up, inhaling the familiar scent. It smelled like winter nights and sitting on the balcony, dressed up from head to toe, just to drink mulled wine and kiss under the snow.
“I swear,” Hyunjin responded, leaning on the counter on the other side of it, looking right into your eyes. “I promise you. I made mistakes—I made all the mistakes, actually, except that one.”
You didn’t want to believe him. But you believed him.
“I… I was so upset after what I had seen at the bakery,” Hyunjin explained. “I couldn’t believe you would cheat on me. I didn’t really believe it. I was just hurt. My mind was dark. Which is not an excuse, by the way. I’m just explaining.”
You took the smallest sip of wine, careful not to burn your tongue. It was warm but it wasn’t hot—suddenly, you remembered Hyunjin’s ability to always serve a beverage at the right temperature.
You did believe him—but there was another, darker question on your mind.
“Can I ask you something else?” You bravely found Hyunjin’s eyes—he tilted his head to the side, nodding as an invitation for you to go on. “What was it, then? Is it something I said, something I did? Something I didn’t do? What is it that made you fall out of love with me?”
Hyunjin recoiled, straightening up, looking away, obviously troubled. Maybe he wasn’t ready to tell you about that yet but selfishly you didn’t care very much. You just needed to hear it from him. He would, of course, word it kindly. But you needed him to tell you about the ways you had failed him.
“Guys,” he called out, turning away and grabbing more mugs. “I made mulled wine. Who wants some?”
“I’ll have some, thanks, man.” Seungmin pushed himself up, making his way to the kitchen to get his wine.
As though they were waiting for someone to get up for them, Felix and Jisung asked him to bring them a cup too, causing more friendly banter.
“How’s your ankle?” Seungmin asked you while he was waiting for Hyunjin to fill the mugs—and he was really taking his time, stopping after each mug to gulp down a lot of wine as though he needed to make sure he wouldn’t remember tonight.
“Not too bad,” you replied, your voice weak. “It could be worse.”
“Good. Thanks a lot,” Seungmin added when Hyunjin slid a small, Santa-themed platter before him. He had placed the mugs of wine on it as well as a few chocolates. “It’s good to have you back, and I’m not saying that just because of the drinks.”
“Yeah he is saying it just because of the drinks,” Jisung said from the living room, causing more chuckles.
Seungmin walked away, calling Jisung a few names. You focused on your own wine, drinking some more of it, but it did not have the effect you were hoping it would have. You shivered, suddenly becoming a little too aware of the lack of proper heating in the place. Everything—save for the bickering—was quiet, allowing you to hear the howling wind outside. You drank more to warm up. While you were definitely starting to feel the buzz from the drinks, you were still way too sober for this.
“You should have brought winter clothes,” Hyunjin reprimanded but his voice was gentle. He shook his hoodie off himself, removing it and quickly resting it on your shoulders before you could say anything. “And, by the way, nothing.”
You frowned, confused and shocked. The hoodie’s soft fabric caressed your skin, warm and comforting. It smelled like him. Like Hyunjin. You slid one arm into it, then another, unable to resist it. “Nothing what?”
“You asked what made me fall out of love. My answer is nothing did.” Hyunjin kept himself busy by cleaning up the saucepan and stove.
Nothing.
Nothing as in it happened without a reason? Or nothing as in he didn’t fall out of love? Those were two very different things.
“But you broke up,” you managed, your hands trembling.
“Because I thought it was the best thing for you.” Hyunjin left the stove, standing right next to your stool, his hair falling over his face a little. “Do you understand? It’s not something you did. You were perfect. You were… You were too good for me. Can’t you see that? It wasn’t because I didn’t love you anymore. It was because I loved you that I let you go.”
A strange mix of rage and anguish rose within you. You stared at the bottom of your mug where only a little wine was left—you emptied it, still deep in your thoughts. This couldn’t possibly be happening.
“So you’re telling me,” you started, your voice low, “that you were still in love with me on that Valentine’s Day? And you broke up with me for my own good?”
He gulped and bit his lip. It was dark but you could still see the flush on his cheeks. “Yeah.”
You stood up, unable to stay still any longer. You went to the sink to let your empty mug soak and limped back towards the nearest window just to watch the blizzard. Hyunjin followed you quietly.
“That decision wasn’t up to you, Hyunjin,” you whispered. “You made it, but it wasn’t yours to make. I was and still am more than capable of deciding what’s good or what’s bad for me.” You looked behind you, at this handsome man hiding behind his hair. “We were so good together and you ruined it.”
He let out a shaky breath. “I know,” he muttered. He hesitated but not for long. “You’re the best thing that happened to me.” You turned to him, trying to see the expression on his face better. “It broke me. It took me months of therapy to feel almost like a person again. Months to realize the fact that I broke up because I felt inadequate and that instead of trying to be better, I went the cowardly way.”
Therapy? “Hyunjin—”
He shook his head, his long hair moving with him. “I know I have no right to but I want to apologize. I’m so sorry. I’m not asking for forgiveness. Just saying sorry.”
You listened to the room around you. There was laughter coming from the living room and the crackling of the fireplace and the wind outside. But your heartbeat was louder. He had gone to therapy? Hyunjin?
Inadequate?
“Hyunjin,” you breathed, reaching for his face. He flinched—barely, but he flinched, undoubtedly remembering the slap he had earned himself on that awful night. Still, you pushed a strand of his hair away, displaying his big, sad eyes. The flames of the candles flickered in the tears collecting there. You did not know what to say. “It broke me, too.”
He pressed his lips together, holding his tears. You cupped his face briefly, just to feel him under your fingertips. When your hand retreated, he touched his cheek as though he couldn’t believe it. “I’m so sorry. It’s such a waste. It was all for nothing.”
Any animosity you might have felt for him had melted a while ago. Your heart felt like the first day of spring with remnants of snow and puddles of water on the ground, but with a bright blue sky and the sun warming up the world again. Hyunjin had not cheated on you. He had been a little bit stupid because he did not respond well to pressure.
He had hurt himself hurting you.
“It wasn’t for nothing,” you replied. “I know you were so stressed because of the bar and I should have helped you more, I just didn’t know how, I should have known how. But don’t say it was for nothing. Nightcap is your baby, and—”
“No,” Hyunjin interrupted you. When you tried to insist, he shushed you more insistently and this time it was him who framed your face with his large hand, cupping your cheek, resting his thumb on your trembling lips.
A jolt of electricity went through your body. How many times had he held you like this? Exactly like this? Seconds before he would pull you into a kiss and say something sweet or something nasty to you. Time stopped for a while—not for the rest of the world, no. The snowstorm was still raging outside and the guys were still playing in the living room and the flames were still flickering on the candles and in the fireplace. Time stopped for you and for Hyunjin only—time stopped being linear. Instead, it brought you back, just for a few instants, to the past. To the way things used to be when you were still whole.
Hyunjin looked into your eyes as though they were a work of art in a museum that he wanted to study. His gaze trailed down to your lips, lingering there much longer than it should, before returning where it was.
“Yes,” you insisted but your face was so warm you could feel it. “You worked so hard for it and none of what you sacrificed for it was for nothing.”
“I put it up for sale some time ago,” Hyunjin revealed, struggling to get the words out. “I don’t want it anymore.”
It would have felt the same if he had been the one to slap you in the face right then and there. You pulled away, the intimate bubble you two were in breaking instantly. You whispered an outraged cry at him. “LIKE HELL YOU’RE SELLING IT!” You pushed him away almost like he had attacked you. And he sort of had. “There’s your blood, sweat, and tears in this place, you’re not giving up on it. I forbid it.” You became aware that the living room was eerily quiet all of a sudden.
“It’s already on the market. Besides, I’m not changing my mind.” Hyunjin shrugged, looking over your shoulder to stare at the snow. “You’re wrong. What I sacrificed for it was too high a price.”
“But it was your dream.” You could not believe you were having this conversation.
“A dream can become pointless,” Hyunjin replied. “Mine did. That’s why I called Minho. I wanted to ask if he knew anyone who might be interested in buying. And if he’d have me back at the restaurant.”
“This is not happening.” You shook your head, crossing your arms over your chest. “Is Felix in charge of selling it? FELIX?”
“There’s people in bed upstairs,” Hyunjin urged you but you were already gone—you did your best to get to the living room as quickly as possible.
Felix had paused the game, leaving his Switch on the coffee table. “What’s going on?”
“Are you selling his bar?” Felix’s facial expression turned suspiciously contrite—he did not need to say anything, you already had your answer. “What the fuck? Isn’t he your best friend or something? How can you let him do that? Don’t you remember all the hard work he put into it? All the love? You were there, same as me!”
Felix looked somewhere next to you where you could only suppose Hyunjin was standing. All the while, you noticed Jisung’s concerned look as he observed the scene.
Still, it was Seungmin who spoke first. “People change their minds sometimes.”
“But not about this,” you insisted. “This is the equivalent of a mother selling her child.”
“Hyunjin thought long and hard about this,” Felix explained. “He tried many things, but…”
“But at the end of the day, no matter what I tried or even what my damn therapist would tell me,” Hyunjin finished for him, “the fire was gone, and it was all meaningless.”
You found nothing to say about that. In fact you found nothing to say about anything. After letting the silence grow heavy the more time passed, Jisung tried to break the uneasiness that had infiltrated the room. “My laptop’s got a full battery,” he said. “How about we put on a movie and try to get some sleep? I bet Minho’s gonna be working in that kitchen at 5 AM tomorrow.”
Everybody agreed a little too eagerly, however your voice still hadn’t returned. You left the guys while they were setting up the laptop and choosing a movie to retrieve your power bank in order to charge your phone overnight. Nightcap. It simply could not be gone. It made no sense—the more you thought about it the less sense it made, in fact. Hyunjin had invested a lot of money in it. Who in their right mind would waste this away?
“Dude, I’m not sleeping next to him, sorry,” you heard Seungmin. “We all know he basically runs a marathon in his sleep every night.”
Hyunjin clicked his tongue. “I just move around a little bit, you’re being dramatic. Fine, take this bed then.”
The exchange brought a little bit of warmth back into you as you recalled Hyunjin’s insane sleeping habits. It’s not that he talked in his sleep or that he sleepwalked, but he would go to bed wearing something with a certain amount of blankets and wake up the next morning butt naked with only a quarter of one blanket left on the bed, covering nothing at all. It was funny but it still resulted in you being rather cold, especially during the winter months, so you had to sleep in separate blankets than him.
God, you missed him.
You still missed him even though he was right there, just a few meters away.
Most of the kerfuffle was over by the time you joined the living room again where the five mattresses had been laid down next to one another. Felix slept on the far left, then Seungmin, then Jisung. The next bed was empty, and the one on the far right was occupied by Hyunjin who was scrolling his phone. He looked around as you approached, realizing that nobody had taken the space beside him.
There were three awkward seconds before he came to help you sit down to make sure you didn’t strain your ankle too much. “I’m sure Ji would trade places with you,” he told you as you sat down on the mattress. It was soft but not too much, and comfy. The blankets were smooth.
You probably should trade places with Jisung. For your own sake. “I’m good if you are,” you said nonetheless. It must be the wine. “Besides, I’m far more used to your antics than any of these guys.”
Hyunjin let out a faint chuckle. “Do any of them know you snore?”
Your mouth fell open in utter shock. “I do not!”
“Sometimes you do when you’re really tired,” Hyunjin recalled, lying down in his own bed. He spoke to Jisung behind you. “If it gets too annoying, you’ll have to tickle her until she wakes up and stops.”
“How is that fair? I don’t go around and reveal all your secrets?!” You lay down too, pulling the blankets over you, immediately reaching a level of snugness not yet known to mankind. The fire was keeping the entire room warm. “I didn’t tell anybody when you cried at the movie theater watching Inside Out!”
Felix actually spat out the water he was drinking. Seungmin begged for details but you decided to leave it there because it was funnier this way. Jisung started the movie and everyone settled in. You had already seen this movie but it was one that you liked so you paid attention, watching as well as you could from your mattress on Jisung’s laptop screen.
It was unfortunately Jisung who fell asleep first—so much for his big sleepover. By then, your comfort levels had gone down significantly due to your sore ankle. You winced in pain, trying to stuff some of the thick blankets underneath your foot to elevate it a little.
Hyunjin rested himself on one elbow, leaning next to you. “Are you alright?” he whispered. His breath smelled like sweet mint—he was still using the same toothpaste as he used to. “Does it hurt?”
He was very close. Close enough that you could see the texture of his lips. “A little. It’s okay.”
He wasted no time. “Hold on.” In less than two seconds, Hyunjin was up again and going to the freezer to fill a plastic bag with ice.
When he returned, he kneeled down at the foot of your bed to apply the ice under your covers—he also used one of the pillows from the couch to elevate your ankle. Your heart skipped a beat every time he touched you. “Better?”
“So much better. Thanks.”
Hyunjin nodded and looked at the other guys. With a playful roll of the eyes, he simply closed the laptop’s lid.
“They’re all asleep. Children,” he giggled under his breath, returning to his bed. And you would not admit this to anybody but you could swear he was much closer to you than he had been before. “Goodnight. And wake me up if you need to get up. I know you’ll have to pee like a million times.”
You elbowed him gently yet firmly. “Goodnight.” Without the laptop screen lighting up the room, the whole place seemed warmer, like amber was coating everything.
You closed your eyes and yet you knew sleep would not find you. You were still thinking about Nightcap and what it meant for Hyunjin.
And his arm was dangerously close to yours. If you moved even just one inch, your hand would brush his.
After it had been agreed it was best for everybody if you two slept under separate blankets, Hyunjin had gotten into the habit of finding your hand under all of those layers separating you and holding it as the two of you drifted to sleep.
You missed him.
You missed being loved by him.
“Hyunjin,” you mouthed, your mind haunted by visions of Hyunjin behind the bar at Nightcap, mixing his kick ass drinks, chatting with his favorite regulars.
“What? Already?” He rolled on his side with a puzzled expression on his face. You had been right—his hand ghosted yours as he did so but he made sure to keep it away. “You need to get your kidneys looked at.”
“Oh shut up, I don’t need to pee.” You rolled on your side too so you would face him. “You can’t sell Nightcap.”
His eyes darkened. He licked his teeth, sighing. “I’m selling Nightcap. Case closed. Now, sleep.” He closed his eyelids, almost like a child would when they pretended to sleep.
You tugged at the sleeve of his t-shirt. “Don’t play with me. Look at me in the eyes, Hyunjin, and tell me you no longer want to have your own bar.”
It took a while but Hyunjin yielded, opening his eyes, his gaze finding yours. He stared at you then slid even closer—he was on the very edge of his mattress. “I no longer want to have my own bar.”
“But why? Everything you did… It’s the best damn bar in town.” The conversation was barely audible and yet you two understood each other perfectly. “I know it isn’t easy, but you can do this.”
Hyunjin held his breath for a few seconds. “Nobody ever believed in me as much as you did,” he muttered, dejected.
You clicked your tongue. “Bullshit. That isn’t true. Everyone believed and still believe in you. Felix! And Minho, Chan, Changb—”
He shook his head, disagreeing. “No. I mean. Yes, but it’s not the same. They believed in my business, in my drinks and in my chances at building something good. But you, you believed in me.”
It pulled the air out of your lungs—you stayed there, motionless, your gaze slowly blurring as tears pricked at your eyes. You hated this. You hated all of this.
You hated speaking in the past tense with Hyunjin.
“I still do,” you managed, exhaling shakily. You closed your eyes in the hopes it would stop you from crying.
It did not. You tried burying your face into your pillow but Hyunjin was quicker—you jumped a little when he touched you, wiping your tears with the back of his fingers before caressing your cheek with his thumb. A strong chill went through your spine, tickling you all over your body. Especially between your legs.
Oh fuck.
“See? It’s just how I said. Nobody believes in me the way you do,” Hyunjin whispered. He must have gotten closer because you could feel his breath on the damp skin of your face. “I’m selling Nightcap because it lost its meaning. I was not quite enough for it back when I had you by my side. Now that I’m alone, I’m properly inadequate.”
You opened your eyes not minding the tears anymore. You couldn’t shake this anger inside you. “You gave up on me,” you said. “And now you’re going to give up on your dream, too?”
Hyunjin remained quiet for an instant, his gaze dancing from your eyes to your lips to his hand, still very close to yours. “I had the idea for Nightcap when I realized I was in love with you and I didn’t think you would ever return my feelings,” Hyunjin explained. “I couldn’t stand the idea of working at the same place as you. It was torture. But by some miracle, you did fall in love with me. Nightcap—that dream—and you became intertwined in my head. Don’t you get it? The tables have turned now—I can’t stand being in a place where you are not.”
He wiped your tears again, taking his time, caressing your lips. The tingling came back in your extremities while a distracting pressure pulled at your loins. You had to resist the urge to kiss his hand. You had to resist the urge to forget all the pain you had been through and kiss him.
“Can I please ask you something? Just one thing,” Hyunjin went on, tucking your hair behind your ear like he used to. “But only tell me the truth. If you’re going to say anything but the truth I don’t want to hear it.”
You nodded, wondering if he could feel your pulse through your skin.
“Have you been happy? Have you been living a good life, falling in love, making friends, enjoying each day?”
This hurt a whole lot more than your sprained ankle. This hurt more than a blade through the heart. A blade through the heart was swift, merciful. This was more like a serrated knife wielded by some psychopath. Your reflex was to retreat both of your arms underneath your blankets as though it would protect you.
The truth. “I’ll tell you if you tell me,” you chose to say.
He thought about it. “No. I haven’t been happy, but it’s a bit better with the meds that the psychiatrist prescribed.” He licked his lips, a slight frown appearing between his brows. “There hasn’t been anybody else. Your turn now.”
He was single? Not just single—he hadn’t seen anyone else since last Valentine’s Day? Hyunjin? This young god? Business owner? Handsome as hell? Charming without even trying to be? How could it even be?
You took some time to ponder over it. “I don’t know. I don’t remember what it felt like to be happy. I remember moments of it, but it’s like they happened to somebody else, or like I saw it in a movie. My heart forgot how to be anything but heavy.”
This seemed to make him sad. “Have you fallen in love?”
Your body was warm under the blankets but you refused to take off Hyunjin’s hoodie. You let his scent invade you. You let it remind you of the first time he kissed you.
“No. My heart forgot how to do that, too.”
Hyunjin said nothing but his eyes did not leave you. You felt his hand sneak underneath your covers, searching for yours—he held it when he found it, squeezing it gently. “Sleep,” he whispered.
Muscle memory is one hell of a thing. Despite the turmoil within you and despite the unexpected fire between your legs, the familiar feeling of your hand in Hyunjin’s, joined together under a separate layer of blankets, appeased you. Or maybe it was the wine. And the drink before that. But your eyelids became heavy and your chest a little lighter.
Maybe it was just a dream, but you felt Hyunjin press his lips on your forehead, whispering inaudible things as you surrendered to sleep.
Maybe it was just a dream.
to be continued...
Note: Happy holidays everyone! I have been working on this for a while and as I mentioned in the masterlist, I truly intended on releasing everything as a one-shot for Christmas. Unfortunately there have been complications at work and I had to pick up a few additional shifts... So instead of rushing or not finishing it on time, I've separated the story in two parts!
It was great to revisit bartender hyun<3 it made me very nostalgic from the period of time when I originally wrote Just stay with me. I'd like to say thank you to all of my readers, of course, but especially those who have been sticking around with me since then or even before! But thank you to everyone and to those who give me and my stories some love. Thank you for your kind words and for supporting me. I appreciate it <3
I will try to release part two asap!! Let's pray that things settle down at work.. You guys take care!
Once again you blessed this world with a true charm that is conveyed in words by an incredibly talented person.
Just stay with me was the story that made me acquainted with you. It was the first time I read a ‘long’ (what is 17k words now, pfff) one shot that changed the way I perceived fanfiction and met an author whose stories I was eager to read, reflect on, wait and always make a special place in my heart for. I was so in love with this story that I recommended it to my non-fandom non-fanfiction friends and heard really good feedback about it. It’s my go to story when I crave for some love in a one shot format.
So when I saw that you were planning on a sequel I was excited as hell. Because the tender bartender Hyunie would be back. But when I saw the epigraph my heart fell. I didn’t think I would be able to face the breakup of my favorite couple. Like it would just not be possible. Not with this relationship. At this time I was also going through the moment when it felt that my husband fell out of love with me (we talked it through, just like the characters, it’s all good but I was overthinking at the moment) and it just cut through me especially harsh So I really hesitated to read it for some time, until it felt ‘right’ to.
Ironically, ‘right’ turned out to be on the 1st of January, in the cabin in the mountains we rented to celebrate the New Year with a group of friends.
First of all, I want to make yet another compliment on your writing. I don’t know how you do it, but I live through each and every one of your stories. I do not think it is because of the pronouns used, but how you envelope the story, how the reader dives deep into the thoughts, feelings and events. The way you convey all this with words is just exceptional, I haven’t experienced it with any other writer out there, even though I read a couple of really good ones. But it’s only with you that I read, fully immersed in the plot, as if the outer world doesn’t exist at all.
Reading this chapter was intense. I had a heavy heart during most of the story and truly worried about how on earth all this could have happened.
I was in the car somewhere in the mountains when reading it and tumblr and my internet connection said bye bye right at the moment when Hyunjin and MC were having a banter near the bar. When I was on the peak of the heartbreak. And I couldn’t get back to it for 2 more hours. I swear I thought my heart would explode. When I finally reached the WiFi I locked myself in the room to see what comes next.
To be honest I really loved how MC and Hyunjin were able to talk like ‘normal’, joking a bit here and there, it really shifted the tension so much. And it is worth so much. The part when they talked in the kitchen, how he said that nothing made him fall out with her. How they held each others faces.
And the ending, when Hyunie asked her is she was happy. Oh, lord. My poor souls who didn’t have the chance to talk everything through and just dived into overthinking. That is a road to nowhere, truly. I’ve been there myself a few times in life and since then I always follow the rule ‘it’s better to do (to talk it through in this case) and regret then never find out the truths and regret, drown in thoughts etc.
The chapter left me with tears but those were tears of hope and a bit of sadness. I am so looking to the next chapter!
Thank you Mari, and Happy New Year! May this one be full of joy, inspiration and love!
genre: fluff, pining, non-idol au, best friend’s little brother au
word count: 5.2k
summary: when another girl makes hyunjin question the way you see him, inevitably leaving him to sulk, he wants nothing but to go to you and hold you in his arms. and good thing he did, for that was all he needed to realise how wrong she was.
a/n: here she is! like i said this part doesn’t show the upcoming convo between y/n and dahye but!!we have a very good hyunyn moment if you ask me and a lot of you were asking about hyunie’s tweet about the almost kiss lol. as always i hope you guys enjoy! i would love to read your different thoughts on this<3
Hyunjin wanted you to rely on him.
Ever since the night you broke down in his arms when Mingyu left, he promised to himself to always be there for you no matter what. And then when you grew closer as the new year started, not only was his goal to be there for you anymore, but for you to notice that he was, and therefore to know that you could go to him whenever you felt like you needed someone.
However, the thing was, that just as you began to rely on him the way he wanted, he failed to realise that he, too, started to rely on you the most — not to say to need you more than he ever had.
It only hit him after the very unpleasant conversation with Dahye he had that afternoon.
Although he sounded cold, unbothered even, he couldn’t help but feel upset about it.
It wasn’t even Dahye threatening with telling you about his feelings for you what he was upset about — he was being so obvious about them already anyway, if anything her telling you would only confirm what you deep down already knew. It sucked that it wouldn’t be on his own terms and timing, sure, but that was it.
He could also always confess that day, before Dahye even had the chance to do it for him, but he didn’t want to rush into something he knew you weren’t ready to hear just yet, only for Dahye not to end up acting on her words in the end. In all honesty, he didn’t think she would do it. She wouldn’t, right? He wanted to believe she wasn’t obsessed with him to the point of actually coming in between your relationship.
No, that wasn’t it. What upset him were her spiteful words about his age, and how you would never be able to see past your age gap.
He knew it was stupid. Three years were nothing. Maybe they were when you just met, when he was still a high schooler, a teenager, but not anymore. Not now that you were both in your twenties and he had a career, a job, a car. Now that he was able to drive you around, take you out, buy you stuff just because. Most importantly, three years were definitely nothing now that you grew close enough to become actual friends —although there was nothing platonic on his end of your friendship—, being able to joke around and treat each other as equals, finally leaving behind the ‘little brother/big sister’ dynamic you had unintentionally adopted with him by being Yeji’s best friend, and which he grew to despise with everything in him as the years went by.
He had even brought it up to you only a few days ago, how he didn’t want you to still see him like the teen boy you met six years ago, and you promised him you didn’t; that you saw him as the man he was now — as Hyunjin. Just Hyunjin.
Nevertheless, although he knew your small age gap was nothing now, and although you had confirmed it to him not even a week ago, up until he managed to make you fall for him, it would always be his biggest insecurity when it came to you. And, therefore, having someone point out how ‘clearly’ you treated him like a child, even if it came from a place of spite, like he knew it did from Dahye, could only make him sulk.
And it was when his mind was spinning and his heart was hurting, that he realised he wanted nothing more but to go to you in that moment.
He wanted to hold you close, to wrap his arms ever so tightly around you, and to have your arms wrapped around his body just as fondly. He wanted to feel your chest move up and down against his with every breath you took, to feel your breathing on his neck as you hid your face in the crook of it, and to take in that sweet scent of yours he loved so much.
He wanted to be with you, close to you. Simple as that.
And, thankfully for him, expressing his wishes to you was all it took for you to accept him at your place. Even though you were busy right then, having him say he was feeling down and wanted nothing but to be with you was all it took for you to put your workload aside and focus on him.
That’s how Hyunjin ended up at your door only half an hour later, entering the passcode he knew by heart. It was still surreal for him to have reached this point in your relationship, where you’d tell him to just help himself into your place when he arrived, like you had texted him to a few minutes ago.
It felt almost domestic, without you being a couple yet. And he loved it to bits.
“I’m here!” He announced his arrival as soon as he entered your place, not to have you freak out over your door opening so suddenly.
“Hey, I’m in the kitchen!” You replied from the next room, just as he took his shoes off and put on the slippers you kept for your guests by the door.
Wasting no time, he made his way into the kitchen, unable to hide the beaming smile creeping up his face at the sight of you in an apron, with your hair tied up into a ponytail, as you were just putting a tray of what looked like chocolate chip cookies in the oven.
“Suddenly felt like eating something sweet?” He asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame as he admired you.
You shook your head no, closing the oven and then quickly fixing the heat before you stood up and finally looked at him — your eyes inevitably softening when they met his. “Just thought we could have some coffee and your favourite cookies later in order to cheer you up…”
Being too shy by your own statement, you missed the way his lips parted into a lovesick smile that showed his teeth. You did, however, hear the breathy laugh that escaped his mouth right after, feeling him enter the room and get closer to you right as you cleaned up the remains of flour on the counter.
And maybe you focused a little too hard on said task, for you failed to realise how close to you he actually got — only doing so when you felt his chin rest on your shoulder and his arms sneak around your waist, loosely enough not to push any boundaries.
“Thank you…” he mumbled cutely, unable to see just how flustered you were. “You didn’t have to, though. Just being with you is enough to make me feel better”.
You bit your bottom lip in a poor attempt to avoid a smile from showing on your face, looking down to his intertwined hands over your stomach, before you found yourself covering them with your own and gently rubbing your thumbs on his soft skin.
“There was no harm in taking it one step further and making you a sweet treat, was there?” You asked, tilting your head back so you could look at him.
Hyunjin smiled softly, eyes going down to your mouth for a second before he nodded his head. It was only becoming harder not to lean in and press his lips to yours when you were so close to him.
Luckily —or not really— for him, you put some space between the two of you by undoing his hold around your waist and turning around, so you could properly look at him.
“I may have gotten a bit caught up and ended up making more cookie dough than I intended to, though” you confessed, undoing your ponytail and beginning to take off your apron. “So I put the rest of it in a container that I’m giving you to take back home later. Just keep it in the freezer and whenever you feel like having some preheat the oven at—what…” you shyly wondered when Hyunjin could not hold back a giggle, quietly placing the folded apron on the counter.
He shook his in disbelief, letting out another small laugh as his warm hands cupped your face.
I love you, is what he wanted to say.
Fuck, he loved you.
He loved how you cared for him and everyone you loved. Because you loved him, he knew you did, even if it was only platonically.
He loved how you had dropped everything that day, regardless of how busy you were, just to be with him when he said he needed you.
He loved how you showed affection by baking and doing small acts of service.
He loved the way you loved so beautifully, so selflessly; without asking for anything in return — although, unknown to you right then, he was willing to give you everything in return.
He loved you. All of you.
From head to toe, inside and out, he loved every last bit of you.
“You’re the best” he said instead, adoringly looking at you while his thumbs drew gentle circles on your cheeks.
“All I did was bake some cookies…”
“And you’re the best” he repeated, leaning in once more and tightly wrapping you inside his arms.
“Hyunie…” you sweetly called his name when he began to softly rock your bodies together.
“What, I said I wanted to hold you” he mumbled nuzzling a ticklish spot in your neck that had you letting out a laugh.
“I thought maybe you’d do that after I took the cookies out of the oven”.
At that, he smiled, pulling away just enough to look at you. “Now why would I do that, I’m taking every second I get”.
Rolling your eyes in amusement, you playfully tried to pry his hands away from your body. “You’re a dork”.
He chuckled, only tightening his hold on your waist and lifting you up with ease. “Maybe,” he sat you down on the counter, not wasting another second to pull you into his arms once again and to hide his face in the crook of your neck, all while you were still trying to process what had just happened. “But I did say I was coming over just to hold you, so…”
“Just to hold me?” You wondered, for once and for all hugging him back and feeling him relax under your touch.
“Just to hold you” he hummed, getting lost in the way your hand gently ran up and down his back.
“You won’t be eating the cookies I made especially for you then?”
He chuckled, somehow managing to pull you closer to him. “I will be eating all those and then taking the dough you told me about home with me”.
“I would’ve been very sad otherwise” you pushed it, earning a brittle laugh from him.
“You’re gonna have to text me the instructions, though, because otherwise I’ll most definitely end up fucking it up somehow and burning them”.
“I’d expect something like that from Han and not you, honestly” you admitted.
“Oh, he’s not allowed anywhere near my cookies”.
“Don’t be selfish now” you called him out.
“You made them especially for me, though” he stood his ground.
“Should I make a whole batch for him then?” You teased, pulling him away by his shoulders, so you’d meet his eyes right before you pensively stared at the ceiling. “Maybe one for Minho as well”.
“Yah, they can get their own person to bake for them” he called you out. “You’re mine”.
Trying your hardest to ignore the butterflies that had just been unleashed in your stomach, you played dumb. “Oh, so I’m like your personal baker now?”
He smirked, knowing all too well what you were doing. “You know that’s not really what I meant”.
Finding it hard to meet his eyes without growing nervous, you looked down to your lap instead, noticing his loose grip on your waist. “Let them at least try one if you don’t want me to send them some, then”.
“I’ll think about it after the nap you promised me” Hyunjin negotiated.
You chuckled, only then locking eyes with him. “We gotta wait until the cookies are done first. They take around ten minutes, there isn’t enough time left for us to actually fall asleep”.
“Doesn’t mean we can’t cuddle in the meantime” he fidgeted with the fabric of your t-shirt.
“I guess you’re right…” you agreed softly. “We could go to the sofa for now”.
“For now?” He questioned. “Where are we going next?”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to take a nap?” You confusedly asked right back.
“Yes?” His eyebrows furrowed. “I thought on the couch?”
“Oh,” you felt your cheeks burn. “The couch, of course”.
“Where were you thinking?” He smiled —more like, smirked— as he caught on.
“I’m not saying it” you sheepishly looked away, earning a throaty laugh from him that had him resting his forehead on your shoulder for a moment, as he collected himself.
“I have no problem napping in your bed as long as you’re okay with it” he managed to put into words what you refused to.
“I simply thought it’d be more comfortable but now I’m too embarrassed, so let’s just go to the sofa instead”.
“Don’t be,” he lovingly pulled a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s all about comfort after all”.
“Never mind, I’m too ashamed now”.
“Couch then?” He suggested, not wanting to push your limits.
“I mean, I guess, but it’s gonna be uncomfortable though…” you mumbled, taking the two of you back to the night you fell asleep together on it, and how your bodies hurt the next morning.
He knew first hand that your couch wasn’t the best place to sleep on and that you weren’t just using it as an excuse to take him to your bed — although he wouldn’t mind it if you were.
“Then bed” he stated the obvious, unable to hide his grin.
You half laughed, half whined, letting your head fall on his shoulder to hopelessly hide yourself from this conversation.
“Y/N, if you don’t decide within the next five seconds, I’m choosing one and carrying you there”.
“You wouldn’t” you mumbled.
“Is that a challenge?”
You shrugged, still refusing to lift your head up and to give him a proper answer.
“Okay then,” he sighed, making your heart jump when you felt his hands grab the back of your knees to pull you closer to the edge of the counter —and, therefore, to him—. “Just for the record, I warned you”.
With that said, his hands travelled slightly up to the back of your thighs, lifting you up enough for you to wrap your legs around his waist out of instinct, just as a small, surprised squeal escaped your mouth.
This wasn’t platonic, you thought while you crossed the door and entered your living room. This was so way past being platonic.
His hands on your thighs, your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck while your face hid in it, as you were too shy right then to look up and meet his eyes that would be only a couple of inches away… These weren’t touches you’d share with a friend, let alone with just anyone else.
You could see the red lights in your head warning you about the risky path you were taking, and yet, you didn’t want to turn back around.
“Okay, last chance” he stopped right outside the door to your room. “Where are we napping”.
“I thought you were choosing instead?” You tilted your head back, finally earning enough courage to look at him.
“I was, but I’m trying to be a gentleman here and let you have the last word”.
You chuckled, feeling like you were losing your mind. “Just take me to the bedroom already”.
His head tilted back in surprise, eyes sparkling in a way you’d never seen before. “Oh?”
“No, don’t” you helplessly tried to fix it, placing a hand over his eyes so you wouldn’t have him giving you that look that for some reason made you so fucking weak. He giggled, accepting his fate as he could not use his hands right then to remove yours from his eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that”.
“You know, when you say stuff like that I—”
“Yah, Hwang Hyunjin” you moved your hand down to cover his mouth instead, before he could finish his sentence.
“You’re the one who started it” his loud yet muffled words were enough for you to withdraw your hand completely, placing it back over his shoulder.
“I didn’t mean it like that, though?” You repeated your previous point.
He sighed overdramatically, shaking his head as he could not contain his amusement. “You really need to start watching your words”.
“Last time something like this happened, you said it was cute” you reminded him.
“Last time it happened, I wasn’t carrying you like this when we were alone at your place” he pointed out, managing to bring even more heat to your face. “I’m just a simple man, Y/N”.
“Ugh, can we just go take a nap before I get even more embarrassed?” You begged, having already shamefully hidden your face in the crook of his neck.
Hyunjin laughed lightly, silently complying with your wishes and entering your bedroom for once and for all, where he carefully laid you down on your bed before he slumped down next to you.
Not satisfied with just being next to you, he lied on his side to face you and threw an arm over your waist, so he could pull you closer and make the most out of this lazy evening with you.
However, instead of closing his eyes like you’d expected him to as soon as his head hit the pillow, he kept them open, using that moment to admire your face from up close and giving place to a comfortable silence to take over the room, as your eyes remained fixed on him as well and neither of you dared to look away from each other.
“You know, you’re supposed to close your eyes when you’re trying to sleep” you teased him in a whisper after what felt like minutes.
“You’re looking at me instead of closing them, too” he bit back, in a whisper as well.
“There’s no use for me to try and sleep yet, I have to go and take the cookies out of the oven any minute now”.
“Well, I guess I’ll just stare at you as well until that happens, then” Hyunjin said, and at that you could only laugh under your breath, shaking your head as your adoring eyes remained locked with his. “What?” He couldn’t help but nervously ask — somehow the look in your eyes feeling all too new for him and not knowing how to react.
“Nothing, I just…” you kept quiet for a moment, thinking carefully about your next words. “Never thought we’d be like this one day”.
“Like what, about to take a nap in your bed?” He joked.
You playfully shoved him off, having him take that small action of yours to his advantage by grabbing your hand, in order to keep you from pushing him again. “You know what I mean…”
He nodded quietly, staring down at your hands right as he intertwined his fingers with yours. “Is it weird?” He asked you, unable to hide the fear in his voice.
Staring down to your interlocked hands now resting in the small space between your bodies, you shook your head no, and Hyunjin released the air he didn’t realise he’d been holding for the five seconds it took you to give him a sincere answer.
“It’s just new,” you confessed, looking up at him. “Different. Not weird”.
Hyunjin smiled sweetly, leaning slightly in so that his head would rest closer to yours on the pillow — close enough for his breathing to mix with yours, for his nose to graze the tip of yours, and for a small tilt of his head to be all it’d take for him to press his lips to yours if he wanted to.
But he wouldn’t. No matter how bad he wanted to kiss you and how hard he was trying not to, he wouldn’t go as far as to close the gap between your mouths and press them together, because he wouldn’t push you.
The ball was in your court. It had been for a while now. He would only get as close as he could without making you uncomfortable, and you would be the one to make the final decision. Whenever you were ready, he would be there, ready as well to take whatever it was you were willing to give him.
The way he caught your eyes going down to his mouth, staring at it for what could be considered longer than normal, to then fix them back in his eyes before they went back down to his lips, just as he was hopelessly doing with yours right then, was enough to let him know you were considering taking the risk.
Nevertheless, right as he felt you move just an inch closer to him, just as he held his breath and thought maybe you would finally make the move and allow him to taste your lips like he had dreamed of countless times by now, the alarm you’d set up on your phone was heard going off from the kitchen.
You inevitably jumped up and away from him, undoing the previous hold of your hands while at it and clearing your throat, almost as if you’d just been pulled away from a trance.
“T-The alarm, I should, um…” you tried your best to compose yourself as you began to stand up. “The cookies…”
Hyunjin simply nodded, just as stunned, letting you know it was okay for you to go.
“Do you want me to bring them to you or maybe come with me and eat them in the kitchen or…”
He smiled. You were blabbering.
Cute.
“As much as I’m dying to try them,” he genuinely let you know. “I just want you to come back here already so we can go back to how we just were before the alarm went off”.
Feeling your cheeks burn, like it seemed to be the norm when you were around him now, you nodded; clumsily stumbling back and pointing towards the door, to let him know you were heading out of there.
With one last lingering look after he nodded his head for you to go, you left him alone in your room to shove his face into the pillow as a mixture of an incredulous laugh and a frustrated whine of his was muffled into it.
That was just his luck.
But he wasn’t crazy, was he? You had been staring at his lips and you did lean closer to him the moment before the alarm went off. The tension was so clear, so palpable, he couldn’t have imagined it. He wasn’t that delusional, was he?
He sighed heavily, resting on his back and defeatedly throwing an arm over his eyes. Had it not been for the stupid alarm, maybe he would be feeling your lips on his right then.
You, on the other hand, although just as frustrated as him, remained speechless, unable to understand what had just happened.
After having mindlessly turned off the alarm as you rushed to take the tray out of the oven, you just stood there in the middle of your kitchen, almost frozen, as you got once again lost in your thoughts.
You wanted to kiss him.
You could try and blame it on the atmosphere surrounding the two of you being just right and luring you into it, or maybe even on the way he looked particularly handsome that day and having his pretty face only inches away from you was being of no help at all. You were only human, after all. But even then, you couldn’t deny that, whatever the reason was, for a moment there you had really wanted to kiss him. Had you even leaned in at some point?
God, had it not been thanks to your alarm, you would probably have ended up rushing into something you were not ready for yet and turning your relationship with Hyunjin into a mess.
Were you really willing to kiss him regardless of the consequences?
It had been, what, a week since Chan opened your eyes about this whole situation with Hyunjin? Roughly one week since you started questioning everything? And you were already thinking of risking it all and kissing him?
You couldn’t just rush into things. Not with Hyunjin. Not when you weren’t sure about anything.
You didn’t know what you wanted, nor what you were looking for yet — either with Hyunjin or with anyone else for that matter. And you cared about him too much to even dream of playing with him.
Which didn’t mean you weren’t willing to explore your feelings for him. You were certain now more than ever that you did feel something for him. Maybe minimum, maybe just a small crush, but you couldn’t deny that there was a spark in your heart that ignited when it came to him. And you wanted to lean into that warm and safe feeling you got whenever you were with him.
You didn’t feel ready to jump into a new relationship just yet, and you didn’t exactly know what Hyunjin wanted from you either; for you knew that, in male language, flirting and giving someone special treatment didn’t always translate to wanting a serious relationship.
It felt too soon to ask him about his intentions with you, too entitled to demand an answer from him right then. But, so far, you were okay with how things were. You were just figuring out your feelings and the depth of them, and you guessed so was he.
Still, whatever it was that you felt, and whatever it was that he did, you couldn’t ignore that there was something going on between the two of you anymore. The conversations you held, the looks you exchanged and the small touches you shared during the past week… Furthermore, the tension you had felt only minutes ago and the urge to lean in and press your lips to his, were all the realisation you needed.
Taking a deep breath, feeling ready to go back to the man waiting for you in your room after managing to clear your mind, you grabbed your phone before you could head back. However, a particular Twitter DM caught your attention before you could do so. Standing in your place, you stared at the notification, reading Dahye’s words over and over.
‘Hey, girlie!’, followed by the smiley emoji with blushy cheeks, which could only come off as cynical from her.
You immediately felt sick to your stomach. You’d gotten a text like that once before in your life, by one of Hayun’s annoying friends trying to warn you about Mingyu and her, and you had wrongfully ignored it —only at first, until you could no longer look past the signs—, so you knew better than to ignore a text like this now. But that didn’t mean you were opening it today.
You had already gone through enough emotions that day. From waking up early to catch up with the project, to have Hyunjin publicly call you pretty on Twitter, to have him text you about feeling down and inevitably making you worry, to have him tell you he wanted to hold you, to have him actually hold you, to feel flustered as ever over the sudden couch or bed discussion whilst being carried by him, to feeling like kissing him for a moment there… You definitely needed a rest, and you wanted nothing but to do so in his arms.
Whatever it was that Dahye wanted to tell you, it could wait — for you knew it had to do with Hyunjin, and you were neither emotionally nor mentally prepared for yet another disillusionment.
Was it wrong of you to want to live in an illusion for just a little longer, in case Dahye’s DM ended up being bad news?
Either way, regardless of your wishes, the nauseous feeling you got at the simple sight of her name and the way your mind was sent spiraling because of her text, could only serve as a reminder of why you weren’t ready for a new relationship yet.
Not even bothering to take your phone back with you anymore, you locked it and left it on the kitchen counter before going back to your room.
Once there, a smile curved up your mouth at the sight of Hyunjin. He was now lying on his back with his hands behind his head, and his eyes had been closed until he felt you cross the door and they inevitably focused on you.
Without a word, he opened his arms for you to go over there. And, without a second thought, you did just that.
Feeling his arms wrap ever so tightly around you as soon as you crawled next to him, you let out a contented sigh as you instantly felt at ease; right before you realised just how close your face was to his and you hid it in his chest.
“What” you daringly mumbled when you felt his chest tremble and his laugh reached your ears.
Instead of answering you right away, he took you by surprise by pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. “You’re adorable” he said, resting his chin on your head and tightening his hold on you.
“Just go to sleep already” you scolded him, in a way cuter voice than you’d intended, which had him laughing once again and mumbling something about how cute you were under his breath.
Feeling how nervous you got both by his words and by being that close to him again, and how you had clearly hidden your face in his chest to avoid having either of you possibly leaning in again, Hyunjin could only confirm that he had not imagined you staring at his mouth and leaning closer to it earlier that day.
Even though you were visibly nervous over it now, and although he could tell you didn’t feel ready just yet, just knowing that you were now beginning to see him in another light, just enough to look at him with longing and maybe even considering to kiss him, was enough for him to be on cloud nine.
He had come here because he needed to feel you close after Dahye planted all those doubts in his mind. He needed the reassurance that you didn’t see him the way she said, and he couldn’t be happier now that he had just confirmed that you were indeed able to look past the baby image you used to have of him.
In the end, he was right to tell her she knew nothing about your relationship, because she truly didn’t. She didn’t know how you acted around each other, how you talked to each other, how you looked at each other.
Only you and him knew how your relationship worked, and even when it came to the bits of it that neither of you were sure about, it was still only for the two of you to figure out.
He realised right then that he shouldn’t mind what outsiders —let alone Dahye of all people— had to say on your dynamics, and that he was actually okay with people not seeing the changes in the way you treated him as long as he was able to feel them.
After all, he was the one who almost got kissed by you when no one else was around.
Oh my, that was for sure one of the sweetest, cutest and fluffiest things I’ve read in a while and I looooved it oh so much! It felt so natural,so unforced, every second of reading it made me feel very warm inside. I had to hid my face in the pillow a couple of times too because it was just too sweet. These little shy ‘what’s is something I envision me and Hyunie doing irl. Oh my heeeeart 🥹
I wonder if we get a chance to read the continuation of this pretty story?
Hey i wanted to request a drabble from the prompt list you shared hehe ( you're doing a great job btw, the "scratch post" is my absolute favourite from now on )
So my request would be a bsfs to lovers fic ( or whichever trope that you feel comfortable writing ( I'm just a sucker for bsfs to lovers )) based on the prompts numbered 93,99 and 100. And my choice of characters would be bang chan x f reader :)
P.S : I love you and your work mwah
A/N: Probably came as a surprise months later heh. I apologize for taking this long, but hope you enjoy it nevertheless.
tape 1 · 「cayendo」
➥ Brother's Best Friend!Chris x Reader (f) — <1k
➥ The author chooses not to issue tags in this short. By continuing, you accept to read at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.
➥ Prompt(s) requested (March run)
· 93: Do you realize what that means?
· 99: This is wrong.
· 100: I love you.
➥ He's been falling for you for god knows how long, but he finally hits the ground at your brother's wedding.
It always feels like your feelings for him are flashing on your face when you’re in the same room. Tonight, maybe more than usual.
He’s the best man.
This is the very first time you see him in a suit. It may not even be his; you’re pretty sure he doesn’t own one. Late into the night, he is far from dapper, tie loosened up with buttons of his shirt undone, rioting curls all in disarray, laughing his ass off at the groom’s very drunk dance moves. You acknowledge this is in fact the dumbest your brother has ever acted with a quiet chuckle from the balcony. Halfway through his contagious laughter fit, his eyes find yours even from that afar. He calms down, shoves his hands in his pockets, and heads out into your bubble of night chill.
“Can’t believe he actually tied the knot,” he extends his hand to bum a cherry-flavored smoke, “I had good money running on his commitment issues.”
“Not everyone is sworn to the player lifestyle like you,” you light his cigarette with an overpriced Zippo, “Some people actually look to settle down, you know.”
The night is dark. The balcony is secluded. It’s a miracle he’s managed to spot you actually. The lighter flame casts a soft spotlight on his face, and you swear his dimples got even deeper from laughing so much. He takes a long drag without a care in the world, still smiling with his eyes.
“You think I’m a player?”
“I know you are one. I’ve never seen you with a girlfriend.”
“I’ve had a couple.”
“Were they all Canadian?”
He giggles. He likes it when you’re all sassy with him. He likes you.
He’s liked you ever since you threw your shoes at him in junior high.
It’s just paranoia, but he can’t help it. He always still feels like you can hear his pulse when you’re in the same room. But this isn’t a room. You can’t bust him. He hopes your ears are ringing just as much from the loud music inside just as an added measure.
“Is there something on my face?” you touch your cheek.
He’s overestimated the safety of darkness. He doesn’t even realize he’s staring. He’s enchanted.
He’s a bit drunk. He’s stupid.
He’s in love.
He flicks the cigarette away and grabs your waist out of nowhere like an intrusive thought. He presses his lips on yours, and his heart almost combusts. He can tell he’s caught you off-guard. You can’t even reciprocate for two seconds.
But then… you melt.
You melt in his arms. You melt in his lips. You melt under his touch when he puts his hands on your cheeks and pulls you closer.
The groom’s hearty laughter is so loud that it reaches all the way outside, and suddenly his wits snap back.
“I’m sorry!” he moves away in sheer panic, “I–I know this is wrong. I’ve had a few, and… and you’re so beautiful and I… I couldn’t…”
“Chris.”
His breathing is erratic. He looks like his entire life is at stake. You can definitely hear his pulse now.
“Do you… like me?”
The secluded balcony proves useless. He is so busted. He forgets his entire vocabulary. He is trying so hard to stitch some words together that will make sense but…
You don’t understand why he’s not denying it.
“Do you realize what this means?” you take one step closer.
He’s just gawking at you, utterly hypnotized. Your mere presence turns him into stone. Your heels click on the stone surface but it’s so quiet outside that it blares in his ears.
“Your fuckboy reign is so over, Bang.”
You yank on his tie and borrow his lips again, then keep pulling him until your back hits the wall. He melts. He melts on your tongue. He melts when you moan into his mouth.
He ceases to exist when you shove your hand inside his pants and palm him. You look right into his soul when you start stroking him, but he is quick to reciprocate. He sneaks a hand between your legs, slowly slides it up, and caresses your pussy. He shudders when he feels moisture on his fingertips.
“Make me cum on them,” you whisper against his lips.
His wrist works on command. He pulls his hand back, sucks on his fingers, then wraps one leg around his waist and shoves two fingers inside you.
You fucking lose it when he starts beckoning.
His lips are quick to find yours again. He can tell how many glasses of champagne you’ve had; he can taste the strawberries on your tongue. He wonders what it would be like if he smeared strawberries against your creamy cunt. He wonders how sweet it would taste when you feed it to him. He wonders if you would say yes if he asked to take you away this weekend to make you cum for forty eight hours straight. He wonders if he is drawing his last breath when you quietly moan his name while cumming all over his fingers.
Minho is going to kill him.
Eh. He’s had a good run.
You both smile at each other stupidly when your escapade comes to a full stop. Before heading inside, you touch his shoulder and ask somewhat hesitantly.
“Is it true? The like thing.”
“No,” he quickly responds.
Your heart falls from your chest. Your cheeks get flushed, but not because of the usual reason. He waits for a good five seconds until you fully believe in a false reality, then cracks up, endeared out of his mind.
“I really really fucking love you,” he seals his confession with a chaste kiss.
pairing: chan x reader ; hyunjin x reader | wc: 16.2k | genre: adult romance, angst | warnings: childhood best friends to lovers ; heavy angst ; death and grieving ; complicated feelings ; failed relationships ; explicit sexual content. the chapter contains heavy themes that could be upsetting to some. if you're concerned it might be an issue for you, please read the unabridged list of warnings, which also contains nsfw warnings. reader discretion is advised. this work is for adult audiences since it contains mature themes and explicit sexual content.
It had been such a long while, it seemed, since Chris had truly loved you. And you loved him in a desperate way, like trying to hold onto a knife not by its handle, but by its blade.
To be intimate with love, the true kind, also means being intimate with loss.
You grew up in a small enough town that most faces you saw, every day, were familiar ones. The employees at the grocery store saw you become a teenager and later, an adult. You were greeted by your first name if you stepped into the post office. You had become acquainted with specific trees, the twists of certain roads, or the lines of the mountains on the horizon. By no means did that make your life dull, not by your standards anyway. The town’s name is Stormhaven—named so by its founders because of the violent storm that raged the first night they established camp on this land. As grand and frightening as the storm was, it was equally beautiful. Something about the geolocation of the city or perhaps the fact that it’s located where the river melts into the sea makes it prone to storms, and they are, indeed, reputed to be gorgeous.
You did leave momentarily though, to pursue some major you had no great interest in, but it felt right to try and do something. You were the first of your family to go to college. You thought, foolishly perhaps, that you could teach English—you had always been one to read books and enjoy the intricacies of the language in them. To you, words were no different than pigment, sentences were the oil that made the paint, and books were the finished product, the saturated canvas. Now, here’s the thing—you liked English and you liked art, too, thanks to a book you found at the age of 9 on your uncle’s bookshelf. It was your first introduction to the Italian masters and their masterpieces, and you were a little too young to fully comprehend it, but that did not stop you from appreciating it.
You were the first of your family to go to college. Your parents owned a small general store on the north side of the city, where there’s more forest than city. It’s perfectly situated though—directly on the one road that leads to the good fishing spots.
The river is at its narrowest there, narrow enough that if one spoke out loud, they could be heard on the other side when people stood on the shore. There was another camping ground there, and cabins, and if the river was gentle enough, it wasn’t uncommon for people to go across it to make new acquaintances.
You grew up there, in this place loved by locals and tourists alike. Your family was friends with the family that owned the camping ground down the hill, and it helped make business good for everybody involved.
It also made your summers a lot less boring—you were an only child, with aloneness often forced on you. And it could have been awful if the owners of the camping ground didn’t have a son who happened to be the same age as you.
Chris was always ‘the good guy’, which, at times, rendered being his friend difficult. Because you had to live up to the standard. You had to deserve it somehow. Chris himself never made you feel this way, of course not, it was only fueled by your own compulsion to compare yourself to him at all times. Chris was a good kid, smart, funny, and nice, and he looked good. It made him very popular with the girls on the camping ground. You weren’t particularly popular with the boys. Or with the girls.
Aloneness forced on you. Defining you, almost.
Except Chris made sure you were never left out. He always introduced you as his best friend and brought you along even though his fangirls clearly didn’t appreciate you being around. Either Chris was oblivious to it or he just didn’t care—in any case, you spent all of your summers with him, from sunrise to sunset and sometimes after. Chris attended the private school in the next town over, so you didn’t see him a whole lot during the year. Still, your family visited his once in a while for dinner, and you and Chris would hang out in the basement to watch movies and eat potato chips. Life had been easy, once.
It would be a lie to say that everything went smoothly all the time with him. When both of you reached an age where hormones are raging, things got a little complicated. Chris got in a fight—a physical fight—with his best friend during a party. It was just before tourist season. Your parents had gone for a couple weeks for a long overdue vacation—they trusted you and Mrs. Bahng with the store, knowing you could handle it, especially since it wasn’t very busy yet. Of course, you threw a party—a low-key one, just a few people. Some guys from Chris’ school also came along.
By then, Chris was a handsome young man, charming without trying to be, with a dorkish laugh and a good heart. If somebody had asked you if you had a crush on him then, you would have said no, but you would have been lying to them and to yourself.
The party quickly took a turn when some of Chris’ friends pulled out the liquor they’d brought. It made you nervous. This was your house after all, and if something happened, your parents would never trust you again. You tasted vodka for the first time that night. First in a red plastic cup, mixed with some cheap lemonade, and after that, on the lips of Chris’ friend when he pulled you to a quiet corner to make out with you. His name was Liam. You saw him once in a while when he spent the night at Chris’ place or something. He wasn’t as popular with girls as Chris was and you suspected he was jealous of him, but then, who wouldn’t be?
However, Liam turned out to be a little too insistent, touching you in places, and whispering things to your ear. You made up some excuse and fled to your backyard where most people had come to enjoy a small bonfire. You sat with them but your mind was elsewhere, wondering if you ought to let Liam do to you whatever it was he wanted. After all, you weren’t popular, and nobody wanted to date you. Liam was the first guy who kissed you for more than three seconds and who touched you. There might not be one after, so perhaps you shouldn’t pass on that opportunity.
He did join you by the fire. Liam. He sat not next to you but behind you, his legs locking you in his embrace. It wasn’t even the worst PDA taking place in the group as one of your friends was heavily making out with one of the boys while the others talked. You participated in the conversation, not unaware of the glances Chris shot you a little too often. Maybe, after all, it wouldn’t be a good idea to have sex with his friend. Maybe that made him upset, and you could understand that—he had never pursued any of your friends and had always made it very clear he wasn’t interested in them. You figured he expected the same of you.
But Liam kissed the back of your neck. And then he touched you again and again—your waist, your back, your thighs. He held you in his arms and it birthed a distracting tingling sensation between your legs that you couldn’t blame on the vodka. “Come with me upstairs,” he said into your ear. And you did. You went.
He kissed you even more in your bedroom, his hands underneath your shirt, his mouth sloppy and wet, too wet. It all happened very fast—you were on your bed and then he was on top of you and he was very hard. It happened so fast, too fast for you to fully process it. It only lasted a few seconds—two thrusts, no more. In between the first and the second, it occurred to you that you hadn't used a condom. And then Liam whimpered pathetically and it was over.
It made you want to throw up, or maybe it was the vodka. Or, maybe, it was just the smell of him—sweat and cheap cigarettes and his musk, which was rather unpleasant in your nose.
You slid from underneath him, visibly dazed, and it made him upset. Years later, you realized he was mostly upset at himself and ashamed of his premature... conclusion. Still, it was at you he lashed out, maybe for not looking like you had just gotten the dick of the century.
“Don’t be like that,” he told you, shoving his small, softening cock back into his pants.
His sour tone, paired with the soreness between your legs, brought tears to your eyes. It made him more upset even. "What's EVEN the problem anyway?" He raised his voice at you, and whenever someone did that, it always made you cry.
Unfortunately for him, Chris had made his way upstairs, suspecting something wasn’t quite right. He tried to open the door but it was locked. “Let me in.” His voice was unrecognizable, to the point that it frightened you almost. You still felt weird between your legs, sore and empty and full all at once. And above all, unclean. Dirty. You wanted nothing more than showering and washing Liam off you.
“Fucking let me in.”
Liam was very drunk. Instead of post-nut clarity, he had been hit by a strong dose of dopamine that rendered him even less coherent than he had been before. “What is it, Bang? You upset I jumped your virgin friend before you could?”
It occurred to you at that moment that you had never seen Chris angry before, except for fun like when he was playing video games. But something in his voice let you know that the situation was very serious.
And then he smashed the door open using his shoulder. What happened next would always remain a bit blurry in your memory, but it never left either. Chris grabbed Liam by the collar of his shirt and slammed him against the wall. And then they fought. It was nasty. Liam was taller and bigger than Chris, but he was also drunker—Chris, on the other hand, was quick and properly pissed off. Before you knew it, Liam was pinned to the ground under Chris’ weight, being punched repeatedly in the face. Years later, you would admit this to Christopher—that it felt good to see his fist sink into Liam’s face, to see his lip split open, to hear his whining. Still, you knew it was wrong. Something within you, that night, knew that Chris could seriously injure Liam if he didn’t stop, so you stopped him.
You stopped Chris, too, when he threatened to reprise his attack as Liam was stirring up. You just wanted everyone gone so he made them leave. You heard more shouting from outside but paid it no mind and just went into the bathroom and turned the shower on.
You stood underneath the water, keeping it as hot as you could, scalding your skin, rubbing soap all over yourself as hard as you could using various tools—a washcloth didn’t really cut it, and neither did your loofah or even your nails. In the end, it was your exfoliating cloth that you used to cleanse your body, emptying your bottle of shower gel, steaming up the entire bathroom. But you washed and washed and washed and rinsed and rinsed and rinsed. You did so until you could no longer feel Liam between your legs, only your skin made sensitive from all the scrubbing.
Chris was waiting for you, sitting on the floor in the hallway. You had wrapped a towel around your body but it was dark and you didn’t care. You could walk naked outside for all you cared.
That night, Chris took your face in his bloody, shaking hands and asked you if you were okay. You felt strangely okay, like you should have been sobbing or afraid but you were neither of these things. He, on the other hand, didn’t look too good with bruises and cuts on his face and even more on his knuckles. “Your mom will kill you,” you pointed out. The Bahngs preached pacifism. They were some of the nicest people you had ever met.
That night, you put on some comfortable clothes and made Chris sit in the bathroom while you cleaned his wounds. He insisted he could do it and you knew he could but you wanted to. You needed to do something, something useful if at all possible, and he let you, apologizing the whole time for letting Liam come here, and for being his friend in the first place. “He wasn’t like that before,” he assured you.
People change. You didn’t know what to say. There was nothing to say.
That night, Chris tucked you in bed but you asked him to stay, so he stayed, holding you in his arms.
You spent that summer working both at the general store and at the campground. You worked a lot and when it raised suspicions in your parents, you simply said you were saving up for college so they didn’t question it. Chris knew, however, that you just needed to keep your mind, and body, busy. So, when there was no work for you to do, he took you on hikes. Hours-long hikes where neither of you really spoke. You just walked side by side. The more summer advanced, the farther you went.
You started talking again at one point, for no reason at all. It just happened. Chris told you about his upcoming school year and how he still wasn’t exactly sure what he should be doing with his life. That he felt bad he wanted to leave Stormhaven, that he knew his father expected him to take over the business. You felt the same way. You were scared of the future because you didn’t know what you were supposed to do with your life. When you mentioned it, Chris assured you he thought you’d be a great teacher. You returned the compliment, telling him he would be at home in business school, and that it didn’t mean he had to take over the camping ground. He could do something else.
It’d be great if we went to the same college, he said, and you agreed. It would, indeed, be great. By now, Chris had become something to you that couldn’t quite be defined by words—a best friend? Yes, perhaps. But it was more than that. He took care of you in a way that was so beautiful and so deep, you knew you could never repay him, that you would always be in his debt.
You loved him. And maybe you knew he loved you, too.
You worked a lot that summer, even picking up shifts at a gardening center in town, owned by one of your friends’ dad. You didn’t think your absolute need to remain busy had anything to do with Liam. You were over it in the sense that few girls get to experience a wonderful and romantic ‘first time’ and that it hadn’t lasted very long anyway. You were over it, too, because Chris was there for you.
You were over it because both you and Liam were drunk and stupid and young.
It wasn’t what troubled you really. The problem was that it felt good to be desired for once. You had wanted Liam to touch you, and you had been flattered to feel him through his pants when you sat between his legs. It had even aroused you. The problem was that you didn’t really want to fuck Liam but you let him do it even though you knew deep down that it was a stupid thing to do. Because it was still better than being unwanted, than having aloneness forced on you.
And you felt disgusting for thinking that way.
You worked so much it made you ill—one day, when you were helping Mr. Bahng and Chris clean up a few campsites, you had a dizzy spell so intense you momentarily passed out, waking up a few seconds later, laying on your back on the soft soil. It was particularly hot that day, especially considering the summer was ending and you were returning to school the week after. Mr. Bahng made you drink water while Chris cooled you down, pouring water into his hands and pressing them on your neck and face. When you regained some color, he was instructed by his dad to take you home—not on foot, of course, on the company’s ATV. It was almost like a walk of shame when Chris dropped you at your place. You kept telling him you were fine but it didn’t exactly feel like it. You just didn’t want him to go out of his way for you.
Your mother was home and she already knew everything because Christopher’s dad called her. She made you go to bed, saying she would make you a good meal with broth. But you couldn’t stomach the sandwich she made. Or the broth.
There was a storm that night, quite strong. Chris stayed with you even though you asked him not to. He said he liked you even though he saw you throw up, and tried to make jokes about it. He made you laugh that night, and it was your most heartfelt laugh in a while. You weren’t scared when the power went out because he was there.
By then, you knew that you loved him in a special way. It made you feel a lot of things when he held you in his arms or when he kissed the top of your head.
You kept a small battery-powered light in your bathroom, especially for nights like these. You reached for it in the drawer it had always been, and instead of the light, your fingers wrapped themselves around something else, something innocuous, an everyday item. An unopened box of tampons.
Your whole world collapsed around you, except it was you who fell to your knees, suddenly completely unable to carry your own weight. Your heart ran marathons in your chest and you froze. It was how Chris found you. He looked at you, then at the tampons, and at you again.
Then he was on his knees too, wrapping his arms around you. The storm outside matched the one in your heart. You had never been as scared as this in your whole life. You didn’t even cry—you just sat in bed, all night, watching the lightning over the river, staring at the stormy sky, thinking, thinking, thinking. You went through every possible scenario you could think of, and in none of them did it make sense to remain pregnant.
Chris, once again, was there the whole time, not leaving your side that night and taking responsibility for you the next morning. With his brand new driver’s license—not his learner’s—he took his dad’s car and drove both of you two towns away so you could purchase a pregnancy test. He was the one to go into a store and buy three of three different brands. “To make sure,” he told you. You did the first test and it came out positive.
The second also. You didn’t need to do the third, so you discarded it. You did cry then, in the not-so-clean bathroom stall of a mall you weren’t familiar with. Just a few tears. What went through your mind was this—that just because you had been greedy, just because you wanted to feel desired for one night, you were going to destroy something beautiful.
Chris was there for you. He held your hands while you made appointments. He drove you two hours away from home just to make sure nobody would know where you went, telling his parents he was taking you to some event you had never heard of. A two-day event, so it would require the trip to be an overnight one. They bought it. They didn’t even care that you would share a hotel room. Your parents trusted Chris. On the first day, you had a lot of tests done. On the morning of the second day, they proceeded to the abortion. It took about five minutes, then it was over. You stared at the ceiling as the doctor was ridding your body of the consequence of your impure greed. During those five minutes, you reflected on how selfish you were.
Chris stayed with you while you rested at the clinic. You shared some juice with him. Sometimes the cramps hurt you so bad you couldn’t talk, but it only lasted a few seconds. He held your hand. When you were free to go, he drove you two back to the hotel and you took a nap after having a small dose of the painkillers they gave you. It was over but it had never truly begun, and it felt strange. You felt empty. While you were sleeping, Chris went to the nearest drug store and bought just about every type of maxi pad he found. You bled a lot, and it hurt a lot, too.
Chris ordered pizza but you weren’t hungry. You made yourself eat a few bites and showered in very hot water. That night, he tucked you into bed but you asked him to stay, which meant you wanted him by your side and not on the other bed. He looked at you like he was hoping you would say that.
Christopher kissed you on the lips. Just a kiss, lips on lips, almost chaste, and you knew then that you would marry him someday. He kissed you again on your forehead and you buried your face into his neck.
“I never thought I wanted children before,” you admitted to him. “What if it was wrong to get the abortion?”
“There’s still time,” he promised you. There was a long silence after that, but he added, “You made the right decision for your future. We’ll have a baby someday, okay? You and I.”
You believed him. And you were happy that year, when you realized, finally, that you had let Liam do this to you because you wanted Chris to do it, and you did not think he could ever feel the same way.
You weren’t accepted into the very renowned university Chris was going to, but your college was just an hour-long drive away so it wasn’t too bad. You saw each other as often as you could during the first semester, but things got complicated as time went on. He was more and more busy and you were less and less enthusiastic about your studies. It turned out, English and teaching English were two very different worlds, and you did not belong in the latter. You couldn’t believe you were being tested on some supposed ‘ways’ to teach certain things to students. There was no such thing for you—every person is different, so how could one even explain another’s learning process?
You dropped out on your second semester, leaving in the middle of a particularly boring and arduous English Grammar class, heading directly to the parking lot where you had left your car. You drove all the way to Chris’ apartment, which he shared with two other students. He wasn’t home, but one of his roommates, Changbin, informed you he should be back soon and let you in.
Chris was there for you. It made you feel inadequate. You were always somehow in need of him or of something, but him most often. You were constantly in his debt.
He soothed your tears and promised you that your parents wouldn’t hate you if you dropped out, but he suggested thinking about another major. “There’s still time,” he said. He often said that.
You got a job at a coffee shop and worked there the rest of the year while weighing your options. You visited a lot of places—parks, various attractions, art museums. The museums were your favorites—there was no museum in Stormhaven, obviously, so to have several options to choose from now was quite the upgrade. You spent countless hours wandering in galleries, observing, learning, feeding your soul, after which you went to the library and gathered some books related to whatever you had just seen. Chris joined you sometimes, but it was really just to be with you and you knew it. He didn’t hate art, it just wasn’t for him. It didn't reach his soul like it did yours. You went to concerts with him too, which he liked a lot more.
He suggested you try applying into art history for next year, and of course you would love that. Only, you were the first of your family to go to college, and you knew that your very practical parents, aunts and uncles would find an art history major rather pointless. An absolute waste of time. Chris insisted though—he went as far as mentioning it during winter break when both of your families sat to share a generous Christmas dinner. As expected, the response was underwhelming.
But what are you gonna do after? There can’t be enough jobs.
Can’t you read and learn all that stuff in books or on the internet? What’s the point?
Are you sure? Or are you going to drop out again because it turned out it wasn’t for you?
You couldn’t hold it against them. Your family. They weren’t even wrong.
You took more shifts at the coffee shop, and in the summer you returned home to work at your parents’ general shop. Chris came to spend some time home too, and it was good to be back there together. He was doing great in business school and you were going nowhere though, so as days passed, your mood darkened. He didn’t let you close yourself off, making you tell him the things that were on your mind just to prove you wrong.
“What do you mean, not enough? I loved you before you went to university, so I’ll love you regardless. So don’t say that. I forbid you.”
You stopped saying it, you just didn’t stop thinking it.
The year after, you moved in with Chris and his two roommates. The plan was to find a place for you two but to be together in the meantime. You didn’t mind, really—Jisung and Changbin were good guys, and Jisung told you about a job opening at the bookstore he worked at. You liked this job a lot. You visited all the museums in this new city, too.
For your birthday, Ji and Changbin even got you an art book. It was a long essay on one painting in particular, an oil painting titled Loss. The painting depicts a lone woman sitting on a wooden chair in a neutral-colored room, almost reminiscent of a Vermeer, but with bolder colors. The room appears empty except for the corner of a bed on the right, and a window on the wall near which the woman sits. She is looking at the ground, but others say she is looking at her hands which are intertwined, holding nothing. The true direction of her gaze is disputed, but her expression is intricate, complex, unreadable. Depending on the viewer’s mood, she sometimes looks simply pensive. Most of the time she appears deeply sorrowful, almost desperate. To some, she shows no emotion. Thing is—art historians cannot agree. Everyone is right. Everyone is wrong.
The true magic of the painting resides in the sunset filtering through the window—it illuminates the room intricately, the shadows created by it adding to the mystery around the woman's expression. The light is accurate in a way that makes it look so real, yet more beautiful than reality. Its painter produced less than fifteen paintings and is yet considered a pioneer solely based on Loss.
One of the most fascinating things about Loss is that it is… lost. It was stolen in the 90s while it was transported to a museum in New York, where it was meant to be temporarily exposed for a special exhibition. Nobody knows who did it or where it went, or if it still exists even.
The book mentioned this and so much more, like how the descendants of the painter had been the primary suspects in the case, based on the fact that they had requested a few times that the painting be given back to them. There had been lawful contracts signed though, yielding it to an art society, binding Loss to museum collections for yet another hundred years at least. Since it was an ongoing case, however, details couldn’t be made public.
You had never seen it in person—and you never would, obviously—but Loss had become your favorite painting. You didn’t need to describe with words the emotions inhabiting her, the woman on it, you just knew you shared them. What you didn’t know, however, was that you would share them even more someday.
Seeing how interested in it you were, Chris took you on a trip for your two-year anniversary—a museum in Seoul was in possession of three paintings by the same artist and one in Japan had two. You visited both locations and he stayed with you as you stood before the canvases, all of them saturated with light. One of them was a lake, as still as a mirror, on which the sunrise reflected so beautifully you shed a few tears.
At the very end of the trip, Chris took you on an evening walk around a vast park. That’s when he got on one knee and asked you to marry him. He did it in a way that was so proper, so cliché, that it made you laugh and cry at once. You said yes, of course you said yes. It made sense, didn’t it? Growing up together, growing closer. Falling in love and not even feeling it, just waking up one morning and realizing it’s always been there.
You and Chris made love all night in your hotel room, your bodies close and warm and beautiful. He fucked you hard, desperately, confessing how he had been in love with you since childhood. You had long conversations between rounds as you recovered. “Do you ever regret hurting Liam like that?” you asked him, your head resting on his stomach. Many years had gone by since the event, yet neither of you had forgotten it.
Chris pulled you up so he could look into your eyes. “No,” he said. “I only regret not going after you earlier. I guess I was hurt that you wanted to be with him and not with me. In retrospect, it was stupid. I should have confessed my feelings as soon as I became aware of them. I should have followed you upstairs.”
You kissed him then, deeply, slowly, your heart feeling like it might burst. You found something rather poetic about all of it, and also fair. It was your hidden love that had pushed you in Liam’s arms, and Chris’ repressed feelings also had played their part. You wanted to forget that night and yet you could not, as though something deeply important had happened, important enough that it was still on your mind tonight, merely a few hours after your boyfriend proposed to you, as you climbed onto him to straddle him, never breaking the kiss, his cock growing hard under you, for you.
It was as though that night had sealed something, putting both Chris and you on a path, and neither of you knew what the destination was. You didn’t mind going in blindly, not if he was by your side. He had always been by your side anyway, and you couldn’t imagine your life without him.
It felt easy.
Too easy.
The wedding took place the summer after Chris graduated. Half of the campground had been reserved for it. Friends and family alike came together to celebrate this union that apparently more than half the town had seen coming anyway. It was a beautiful wedding, underneath a blue sky and then the stars. The air smelled like the freshly grown leafage and the soft breeze carried the scent of the ocean, too. You danced and laughed all night, catching up with former high school friends, people you hadn’t seen in so long, introducing them to your and Chris’ new friends. Jisung’s speech was particularly popular—both very funny and moving, it was clear he had spent a lot of time writing it.
Some time between very late and early morning, you made your way with Chris to the small but cozy cabin you had rented for the occasion. Both of you sat in silence at the kitchen table in your wedding attire to drink some water and eat a few snacks. Chris glanced at you with a knowing smile, reaching for your hand over the table. You smiled at him, too.
You showered together after slowly undressing each other, and you knew that you would never forget your wedding night. You sucked his cock in the shower and he gently played with your clit, kissing and nibbling at your neck, calling you sweet things. You started fucking on the bathroom counter then moved onto the bed where Chris ate your pussy until you came, and then he fucked you. And when he came, you kept fucking him until he got hard again. You would never forget this and you knew it. That night, you felt loved and desired. You knew it was much like a drug—those were feelings one gets easily addicted to. But you didn’t care. You felt more beautiful, more important then than you ever had.
When both of you collapsed, spent, satiated, panting, Chris held you in his arms as he so often did, and yet you never grew tired of it. He kissed the top of your head. “Let’s stay here,” he told you.
“Good news then, we rented it for a week, you pointed out with a chuckle.
“No, I mean Stormhaven.” He shook his head. “We don’t have to if you’d rather go back to the city, but it feels at home here, with you.”
You felt the same. So you stayed.
You bought a house in the northern part of town, in the same neighborhood you two had been raised in. As the procedures took place, Chris and you also pondered over the careers you may or may not want. The city’s hardware store was for sale—you could take up a bigger loan and make it yours, you and him. Then Chris’ parents mentioned they were thinking about retiring, and now that their son was back in town, they would be more at peace to do so.
So, instead, they gave the campground to both of you. That year, your parents decided to sell you the general store too, and for a very low price. They even sold their house and bought an RV with the objective of being on the road and seeing as many things as they could.
Those years were good ones. Even though you feared things would slow down with Chris, they didn’t. Business was good, life was even better. One night, as you two were getting into bed, Chris watched you as you opened a new box of birth control pills. He took it out of your hands, looked at you, and asked, “Do you still want to have a baby with me someday?”
You thought about it for a few seconds. You had discussed this prior to the wedding, of course. The conclusion had been that you weren’t sure you could be a good mother, so you couldn’t be sure you wanted to be one. Chris understood, but couldn’t see how you would be a bad parent. He wanted kids, and this was something you knew before even dating him.
Here’s one of the ugliest truths in life—sometimes, you want something. Other times, you want to want something. The two are very different concepts except the human mind, when driven by the heart, is completely unable to distinguish them. It is an excessively shameful thing to admit to it.
You didn’t know at the time. What you wanted and what you didn’t want. It sounded nice, idyllic even, the idea of it—raising a child with Chris, your high school sweetheart, in this house that you made your home in, in the town that saw both of you grow up. It felt right, like life coming full circle, except grander than before.
You didn’t know at the time. You only knew that you loved Christopher more than anything, and that if you were going to have a baby with somebody, it would be him.
You didn’t take your birth control that night.
A poet might say that one can only see light if there is darkness. And he would be right, but you would also tell him to fuck right off.
Your mother died when you were six months pregnant. A hidden heart condition. She died in her sleep—your father found her in the morning when he woke up. It traumatized him.
One day many months prior to that, you found out you couldn’t stomach onions anymore. In fact, the scent of them gave you nausea. It was then that you realized you hadn’t had a proper period in a while. When you mentioned it to Chris, he took your hand and guided you toward the car. “Do you want to buy the test here or in Blue Harbor, like the good old times?” His smile was playful, but a little nervous. Truth be told, if you were indeed pregnant, you didn’t want anyone to know yet, so you made your way to Blue Harbor’s mall, just like you had years ago.
The mall had changed a little but you found a drug store, and Chris insisted he would go get the tests. But you needed other items so you went in anyway.
You saw Liam as you were shopping for shampoo. He was wearing the store’s uniform. It looked like he was a manager of some sort, by the way he was talking to the girl behind the cash register. You froze, your breath and heartbeat coming to a halt. For some reason, you remembered him with a bloody face. He looked very normal that day. A little thicker than he used to be, just like the rest of you.
He saw you, too, and color drained from his face. He seemed stuck between wanting to go see you and running away.
You waited for the pain to hit. You waited for tears, even—you had cried so much after the abortion that you assumed you were scarred for life. But you felt nothing, which almost frightened you. You ought to feel something, right?
You took one step toward the cash register, then another. It wasn’t to go speak to Liam. It was to be there when Chris would go and pay for his purchases.
Liam saw Chris and actually recoiled. Chris stopped in his tracks, speechless, getting visibly pissed off. But you didn’t want him to be angry. You didn’t want a scene to take place. You wanted the memory of Liam to have as little weight as possible in your life.
You took a deep breath. “Let’s hurry,” you said to Chris. “I’m getting tired.” It wasn’t even true.
Chris blinked, staring at you for a few seconds before putting three pregnancy tests on the counter. You added some toothpaste and shampoo, pretending Liam wasn’t there while the other employee rang your items.
You made sure to flash your wedding ring and took Chris’ hand in yours. It felt good to make sure Liam saw it. So he would know you carried no parts of him with you. So he would know he didn’t really matter, not in your life, and not in Chris’.
You spoke very little on the way home. You kept your gaze on the horizon, processing everything. You knew the tests would come out positive. You could feel it within you, this life that was growing. It had a weight to it, light for now, but still very much there. You just knew it.
You peed on a stick. Then another, and both were positive. You discarded the third test, and Chris cried with you. Before that day, you thought you knew what unconditional love was, but you had been wrong. This—this beautiful burden, this miracle inside you, that was as unconditional as anything could be.
The shock of losing your mother was so great that it sent you to the hospital, and you were scared to lose your baby, too. Your little girl, who you loved so much already, who already meant the world to you. Chris and you hadn’t been able to find a good enough name yet but that wasn’t important. She was healthy, the doctors assured you of it—it was you who was in distress, and you needed to get a grip before it affected your unborn child.
None of it was easy. The funeral, then the burial. Supporting your father through it was the worst, though.
But Chris was there for you. He always was.
He was the perfect husband, the perfect friend, and he would be the perfect father. You could feel it in your bones. There was no way in hell you deserved him and yet he remained by your side. He moved his home office to the basement and painted the upstairs room in pretty shades of green, applying a leaf-patterned wallpaper on one of the walls, turning the room into the loveliest of nurseries. Jisung and Changbin came to help with it, and having them in the house helped you a lot. Your father was there too. The house was too full but sometimes it’s how things have to be. Or else, aloneness would be forced upon you.
You woke up in the middle of one night with your whole lower body feeling like it was being split in two—it was then that you realized you were just about to give birth. You panicked and yet Chris remained calm. He grabbed the bag he had packed for you and he drove you to the hospital, talking you through the few contractions that overtook you, not blinking an eye at your nails digging into his skin as you held onto him. When it got a little worse, he realized that none of what he was saying helped, so he made you talk.
He asked you about art.
You hadn’t been in a museum in entirely too long, but you kept your books and the memories of all of it in your heart. Chris asked if you picked up an interest in a particular art movement these days. He asked you if you had discovered a piece of art that you especially liked recently. You told him that while you hadn’t discovered anything, you had read an interesting article about Artemisia Gentileschi’s most iconic work—Judith Slaying Holofernes. Explaining to Chris the analysis of the art historian you had read helped you get through the worst of the contractions so far.
It also led both of you to agree that your baby’s name would be Judith.
As you got into Blue Harbor, it felt, a little, like a fire was catching inside you and like it was trying to exit between your legs.
You begged Chris to drive faster, but it was winter and he didn’t want to risk anything on the slippery road.
So he asked you to talk to him about your favorite painting.
Loss.
Few things were known about this painting. It had been painted in Italy by a man who came from Asia to study Venetian art, but also visited France, the Netherlands, England, and more. He brought with him his wife—the woman in the painting, or so the stories said. They had a son, and soon after, a daughter.
The daughter became ill, and she died.
Maybe it was fate, or something much darker, but it was as you remembered the woman’s sorrowful gaze that you realized something was wrong. Chris assured you it was just the contractions but you knew it wasn’t. You could feel it in your bones.
You could feel it creep in, approaching, lurking—aloneness.
They proceeded to an emergency C-section but it wasn’t enough to save Judith. She had been dead inside you already, they said. They said it wasn’t your fault.
Forced upon you. Aloneness.
Loss.
You never really get over it. Loss.
Some voids cannot be filled, they are meant to remain wastelands, barren, contaminated.
Judith was that to you. And to Christopher.
You’d swear he fell out of love for you the moment he saw his daughter’s tiny lifeless body being pulled from inside you. For the first time in your whole entire life, he couldn’t be there for you. You couldn’t even be there for him either. It was the beginning of the end, only, you didn’t want to let go.
You had dreams, terrible ones. In some, Judith was alive and well, in which case it made waking up the most difficult thing. In other nightmares, though, you were giving birth to her and she wasn’t much more than blood and flesh pouring from between your legs, yet you loved her nonetheless.
One night, you dreamt that Liam came into the general store while you worked and stabbed your pregnant belly.
You went to therapy—separately, then together. It did nothing. Some voids cannot be filled. You both made efforts to appear happy, maybe in the hopes of faking it until you made it. Chris took you on dates, and you took him on dates. You hired a handful of employees for the store and the campground so that you’d have more time, but in the end, that also did nothing. All it did was give you more time to be sad at home instead of being sad at work.
Chris had it worse than you, or maybe he just couldn’t hide it as well as you. He ate very little and slept even less. He went on long hikes and usually came back after dusk smelling like sweat and like the forest. You’d ask where he went, if he had a good hike. He’d give you responses but nothing else.
One day he didn’t come home at all, and his phone went straight to voicemail. You tried to rationalize it, to remind yourself that most trails didn’t have great coverage anyway, and that he knew his way around the forest. You didn’t sleep that night. You couldn’t sleep. When you heard the front door at four in the morning, you flipped your pillow so that he wouldn’t be able to feel how damp it was. You wiped the tears off your cheeks and buried your face under the covers. Chris didn’t stop by the bedroom—just a minute later, he was in the shower.
You missed him. And it felt wrong to miss someone whose scent permeated the bedsheets you lay on. You were losing him, too, and you knew it because aloneness was drowning you even when he was standing right next to you.
That night, you joined Chris in the bathroom. You sat on the counter, observing him. Condensation was gradually covering the glass of the shower but you saw him in a different light—skinnier, with bruises here and there, acquired on his long hikes, no doubt. He saw you but he didn’t acknowledge you.
There were thoughts weighing you down, and you knew that speaking them out loud wouldn’t help, but you had to anyway.
“Chris, I think it would be easier for you if you admitted to yourself, and maybe even to me, that you hate me.”
He turned to you then, water rolling down his shoulders. “I don’t hate you. I’m just sad. My baby is dead. Can’t I be sad?”
“You can be sad, of course.” You stood, making your way toward the shower, sliding the door open. You would never not be moved by him, his naked body. You felt a tumble in your belly. “But you also resent me.”
He had the grace not to deny it this time. He averted his gaze. “I don’t want to. I know it’s not your fault. I’m sick in the head.”
You thought it must feel somewhat the same to be stabbed in the chest. Not even in the heart, no—immediate death would be merciful compared to this. Instead, Chris had pushed a serrated blade just two inches away from the organ, sparing you, hurting you more.
“Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe it is.” Some truths are meant to remain unspoken, but you loved Chris enough to believe he deserved to know it anyway. “I wasn’t sure at first. That I wanted a baby. Up until the moment I saw the little + sign on the first pregnancy test, I wasn't really sure I wanted to be a mother. I just wanted to be with you.” You gulped, swallowing your tears. “All these years, I felt like I should have kept that first baby. I don’t know why, it just felt like it. Mind you, I didn’t feel that before the abortion, only sometime after. Almost like I knew it would come back and haunt me somehow. Well, it did. Life punished me.”
Chris took a step toward you, cupping your face in his warm, damp hand. Water rolled down your neck and onto the t-shirt you slept in. “That’s not how it works. You didn’t manifest Judith into a stillborn.” He lowered his face close to yours, kissing you, kissing you like he meant it.
He pulled you into the shower, kissing you deeper, and you wrapped your arms around his neck. “I love you,” Chris said, pulling your shirt off you. And you knew he did. But he also resented you. The two weren’t mutually exclusive.
He pinned you to the wall and kissed you, guiding himself at your entrance. You felt him grow hard inside your cunt as he fucked his despair into you. “Fuck me like you hate me,” you begged him. “I deserve it.”
He pulled away at that, only to wrap your legs around his waist, picking you up. He carried you to your bed, leaving a trail of soapy water behind. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, burying himself inside you again.
He fucked you hard, harder than he ever had, holding you by your throat or sometimes by a fist in your hair. He fucked you from behind, then flipped you over to look into your eyes as he pounded into your soaked pussy. You hadn’t known a life without Christopher and without his love and his comfort. You wondered how you would keep existing without it. You wondered if you would be able to live without managing to pay off your debt to him. Even as he spilled himself into you, filling you with his sorrow, you wondered how you would cope.
Even with Chris toppling over you, his weight on your body, his cock softening in your cunt, you felt alone.
Jisung turned to the rest of the room. “Does anyone want more cake?”
A few hands shot upright, accompanied by enthusiastic statements. The ghost of a smile appeared on your lips as Jisung began his distribution of dessert. This was how you liked your house best—when it was crowded with people you loved. On other days, it felt empty, bleak, too quiet.
Next to you, Chris shifted his weight on his seat, glancing at you. You stared back at your husband as he forced a smile on his lips.
You leaned toward him, a frown on your brow. “Are you tired?”
He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, almost out of habit, and pulled you closer. “I’m just drunk,” he whispered into your ear, eliciting a faint chuckle from you. “Are you tired?”
You were tired, but then you had been tired for years, it felt like. You simply shook your head, knowing it was good for Chris to see people—you didn’t want him to put an end to the festivities on your behalf. Besides, they were celebrating your birthday, so you would feel bad to throw people out.
You watched as Jisung went around the room with the cheesecake leftovers. Chris kept his arm around your shoulders and you let it comfort you a little, even though he didn’t really mean it. It was muscle memory.
Those who didn’t grab cheesecake were now pouring more wine into their glasses—you handed yours to Arina—Jisung’s fiancée—and she filled it again, and Chris’ too.
“I heard on the radio that they forecast a particularly sunny summer,” Felix said, speaking to you and Chris specifically, although most guests were also paying attention. “I reckon business will be good for you guys this year.”
“I hope so,” Chris responded, squeezing your shoulder as a public testimony that he still gave somewhat of a shit about you. Maybe this was why you liked your house best when your friends were here—because your husband had to pretend he still loved you when people were around. “We’re thinking of hiring a couple more people, actually.”
“That’s awesome!” Felix flashed a bright smile at you. “I’ll have to try and make time to come visit. It’s been so long since I actually walked around the campground.”
You knew he meant well, and you knew Felix wasn’t even lying—he had been friends with Chris in high school and he knew the area well despite having moved away a while ago. You knew that at this moment, Felix genuinely wanted to come again later, during the peak of summer season, to see the area at its most beautiful and lively, but you also knew he wouldn’t. Because that’s just how life was. Difficult. He would be busy somehow. And when he wouldn’t be busy, he would want to relax. Or go on a date. Or watch a movie. And you didn’t hold it against him. It had been at least a year since you went over to his place anyway.
“Man, you really should!” Chris nodded, raising his glass at Felix. We expanded a little, to accommodate for trout season. It was too crowded last year.”
You were about to comment how it was a good problem to have, only you saw at the other end of the table Changbin and his girlfriend, Naomi, exchange a long, quiet stare, then turning to Arina and looking at her wine glass, which was still full.
Something stirred within you. You knew what was about to happen, and you knew it was probably within your power to stop it. Only, you lacked the strength to do so, and words eluded you anyway. Or will, perhaps.
“Say, Ari,” Naomi told her friend with a mischievous smile on her face. She spoke at low volume, not trying to overpower the main conversation, in which Chris was telling Felix about the sudden and unexpected rise in trout population in the area. “I don’t think I saw you take a single sip of that wine.”
You knew for sure then, by the way color drained from Arina’s face before she turned crimson in half a second, and from the way Jisung almost dropped the cake as he went to put it back on the countertop.
You couldn’t tell what hurt most—the way Arina’s gaze looked for you but how she dared not look you in the eyes in your own home, or the fact that she was pregnant at all.
Naomi reached over her boyfriend to give Arina the gentlest nudge. “Girl!”
Changbin took Naomi’s hand in his, pulling it under the table quickly, pushing his own plate of cheesecake in front of her. “Want some? I don’t think I can eat all of it after all.”
Not saying it was worse. Jisung stared at Arina, then at Changbin, avoiding your eyes at all costs. Meanwhile, the discussion between Chris and Felix was coming to an end as they realized that something was happening around the table.
You couldn’t hold it against Naomi—she was the latest addition to your friend group, after all, and she didn’t know. Or didn’t know a lot about it all anyway. And even if she did know... You still couldn’t hold it against her. There was no reason for the rest of the world to remain stuck in the past the way you and Chris were. There was no reason for the rest of the world not to be happy at such a joyful prospect.
Chris let his arm fall back, freeing your shoulders. You felt very alone then.
You knew it had to be you. It had to be you who said something or else the situation would get even more embarrassing and awkward. There had been many moments like this in the past few years, so you knew your way around them by now, no matter how unpleasant. It had to be you. It always had to be you.
“Ari, is it true then?” The thing with sorrow is it often turns people into excellent liars. You didn’t like this about you, but you could be very convincing when you had to be. You looked very happy when you needed to. “Is it really true?”
A timid smile reappeared on your friend’s lips. After a quick glance at Jisung, she nodded gently. “Yes, it’s true.”
As the table erupted in congratulations and a full-on interrogation—How long have you known? How far along are you? Oh my god can it really be true?—you plastered a smile on your face and remained in your seat. There was something else about lying—you had to learn not to overdo it. Proper dosage was essential to how believable you were. You couldn’t jump in place and clap and sing because your friend was pregnant, then people would look at you weird. They would know you’re faking it. They might even deduce that you have been faking it for a long time.
The ghost of Chris on the chair next to you disappeared when he pulled away, as expected. You recognized your own rehearsed smile on his face.
“I really didn’t want…” Arina began, then stopped mid-sentence as she was searching for her words. Or rather, as she was thinking of the least hurtful way to remind you that your baby had died inside you. “We really didn’t want to crash the party with the news. We wanted to wait.” This, she said to you.
“It’s alright,” you lied. It was not alright. You hadn’t had a happy birthday in a long time but this one had just turned into a genuine nightmare, as you felt yourself fall into a pit of darkness. Or rather like you were becoming one. “I’m very, very happy for you.”
“It’s such great news,” Chris chimed in. “Let us know if there’s anything we can do, yeah?”
But of course, they wouldn’t want you to come near their beloved child, and you understood that. Because you were cursed.
The news indeed put an end to the party, which you knew was justified by people feeling awkward. Or maybe they just didn’t want to see the color of your grief. Arina was the last to leave—she stood with you in the doorway while Jisung and the other guys were chatting by their cars. She spared you from another apology but she held you in her arms. “It’ll be your turn soon,” she assured. People said those things sometimes, and it was to alleviate their guilt.
Chris joined you in the kitchen as you were putting empty cups in a trash bag. He grabbed some plates and began rinsing them in the sink.
You knew you had to say something. You knew it had to be you, no matter how unpleasant.
“The cake was really good,” you commented.
“Right?” Chris put a little too much enthusiasm into his response. “Mrs. Allen makes the best cakes.” Mrs. Allen owned the only bakery in this part of the city, and everybody feared the day she would decide to retire. Most of her income came from locals purchasing her goods for special occasions or simply because they craved something sweet.
“She does,” you agreed. “Thank you for the birthday party, and for my gift.” He had offered you a hydroponic garden system, something you had mentioned being interested in but weren’t quite sure it would fit in your kitchen.
“No problem.” He spoke at low volume, now loading the dishwasher. It seemed, for a few instants, as though he was about to say something meaningful. But he finished clearing the countertops. “How about I run you a bath?”
You accepted his offer, half hoping for something that couldn’t be true, which was that he would join you. Except he wouldn’t and you were well aware of that fact. Most nights, he pretended to fall asleep on the couch so he wouldn’t join you in the bed.
Last week, he saw the notification on your phone. According to your calendar, your peak fertility window begins now and will end in twenty-four hours. You still kept the fertility app. Maybe out of habit, but certainly not out of hope—Christopher had never truly said he wanted another child. Maybe it didn’t really matter either. You hadn’t gone back on birth control and there had been absolutely no pregnancy scares. Not that you had been particularly active… Except that now, you were certain Chris wouldn’t touch you for a long time. Because last week, after seeing the notification, Chris kissed you like he hadn’t kissed you in a while. He lay you in bed and undressed you and touched you and you touched him, too. But he couldn’t make love to you. He tried.
He really tried. Until tears were staining his cheeks. You took him in your mouth. You got on top, hoping he would grow hard inside you. But he didn’t. He apologized profusely but he didn’t need to. You had learned to discern the hints life left behind. Some things were meant to be and some weren’t.
How unfair though. How unfair was it that you and Chris weren’t actually meant to be if you loved him this much? If you had loved him all of your life?
He did run you a bath, with all of your favorite things in it—jasmine oil, candles all around, piano music playing from a small speaker. It didn’t stop you from hearing him locking himself in what had been the nursery. In what still was the nursery—absolutely nothing had changed. Not one thing had been moved. The door just remained closed. Always.
Could you have been wrong all this time? What if it wasn’t Chris who was meant for you, but aloneness? What if the withering of your heart was your own fault? After all, Judith had been inside you when her heart stopped beating. It had nothing to do with Chris, or with anybody else. Still, it was all he saw in you—the place in which his daughter died.
He was right. It was all that you were. A coffin, a graveyard, a tomb. All at once. And it was all that you would ever be, for as long as you would live.
A crackling sound coming from the walkie-talkie on the counter made you jump. You inhaled sharply, looking away from the laptop screen to offer an apologetic smile to the two clients who were checking into the campground.
You weren’t supposed to be here today—usually, on Fridays, you operated the general shop, and Chris the campground. Mostly because even though they were now under the same business, you were both more used to those specific establishments, having been raised into them. Only, it was the campground’s big summer opening and Chris was overseeing the event. There would be a concert tonight, by a local band who played covers, and games and other activities were offered during the day.
Since food was involved, it was less likely for people to stop by the general shop tonight—so you left it in your most trusted employee’s hands, knowing Jeongin would be more than able to handle himself there. He was probably going to sell sunscreen and hats all day—it was stunningly sunny.
You grabbed the walkie-talkie, walking a few footsteps away to listen carefully. It was Jeongin’s voice that came in.
“Boss,” he said, and you still didn’t know who he was talking to because he called both Chris and you like that. “There’s someone here asking if we sell paint, and I’ve just been looking everywhere and…”
A faint click followed Jeongin’s question, indicating that Chris had joined the conversation. “Paint?” he repeated. He could barely be heard over the music playing over there. “Paint?”
You returned to the clients who had finished filling out their security forms while the other two chatted over the radio. You handed them their keycards to unlock the gate and various other spots on the site. You didn’t need to go too in-depth with them—it was the third summer they came here. “Thank you for choosing us again,” you told them with a smile. “If you have issues or an emergency, do call the number at the bottom of the map and someone will come to you.”
The couple—a man and a woman in their 70s—thanked you warmly and returned to their RV outside. They had rented a space for two weeks. They reminded you a little of your parents. Had they looked this happy when they were on their trips?
The debate over the walkie-talkie distracted you before you could tear up, even though you missed your mother terribly.
“Not spray paint, boss,” Jeongin insisted. “Like, just paint.” You heard a voice speaking inaudibly behind him, and then the young man added, “Not wall paint or spray paint. Paint for art. Watercolor?” He said the last word as though he was only repeating it while being wildly unsure about it.
Everything clicked into place then as you finally understood what they wanted. You grabbed your radio and joined the discussion again. “I didn’t have enough time to stock up the kids’ section,” you explained. It was a mistake on your part, caused by your sleep troubles as of late. After all, it wasn’t uncommon at all for parents to grab a few toys for their children before entering the campground. “Most of the stuff is still in boxes in the back store. I know where it is, I can guide you.”
Jeongin’s line cut abruptly—he had let go of his Talk button. “Jeongin?” Chris asked.
He came back almost immediately. “He says no, boss. He’s asking if we sell real watercolor, not children's stuff.”
You suppressed a laugh and heard your husband do the same. While nobody in the area understood the importance of art more than you, you couldn’t help but find it humorous that someone would stop at a very rustic-looking general store on the side of the road of a small city to ask for legitimate art supplies.
You looked at the beautiful landscape out the window—the river, the shore, and behind it all, the mountains. As pretty as a painting.
“Please apologize on our behalf,” you told Jeongin. “We don’t carry art supplies of the sort. Offer them a discount on their purchase.”
“Thanks, boss.” And Jeongin tuned out for good, leaving you and Chris alone on the line.
You let a few seconds pass. “How are things over there?” you asked, either to make conversation or because you desperately wanted your husband to speak to you. About anything. Anything at all.
“Pretty good actually. They’re loving the lemonade.” You two had made many batches of it early this morning. Quietly. In your kitchen. Squeezing lemons and then weighing sugar and making raspberry syrup, for the pink lemonade. Alone. “How are you holding up in there?”
“It’s fine. Every time I’m here, it reminds me of those mornings my mom would have your mom babysit me, and she’d drag me here and put me to work.” The Park Office had been renovated since then, but it smelled the same as it used to. Like cedar and pine, with faint salt undertones. “Should we start carrying art supplies?”
“Man, I don’t know.” Chris laughed and he sounded like he meant it. It made a burst of light appear in your chest, even if it was only temporarily. “Oh, I gotta go. We need ice.”
“Let me know if I can do anything.” But Chris was already gone.
Your life had reached a point where you doubted that any ice was actually needed. You imagined Chris just wanted to find a good enough reason not to speak to you, just you. He fared well enough—and so did you—in the presence of others, as though they motivated him to pretend better. The first night he didn’t come back home, you thought he was cheating on you. In the end, the sound of his shower woke you up at six in the morning. When you asked him where he’d been, he said he worked on some repairs at the camping ground.
It happened more and more often. Then some of his clothes disappeared from inside his drawers. It happened over weeks, so it gave you time to prepare. To form some sort of shell to brace yourself from the impact of it. By then, he rarely slept in your bed anymore, preferring the guest room or the living room. But when he did, you barely recognized your husband. It did not feel like him, that person under the sheets.
During your sleepless nights, you pondered over it a lot. You were well aware that Chris hadn’t brought up divorce because it would feel like a failure for him. Like he had failed this marriage and you. You knew there was also the whole issue of the Riverside Campground and Riverside General Store, now become one. The legal problems that would surface during the divorce would be awful, and you knew it. Neither of you had felt the need to get a prenup or anything of the sort.
Honest to god, you had thought you would be with Chris for the rest of your life. And maybe he had felt the same, and it was why he was so reluctant to leave you.
Sometimes, you wanted to tell him that it was okay. If he was seeing another woman. He wasn’t going to keep fucking you, was he? Not when you were a graveyard. You couldn’t force him to love you either. He had stopped loving you a long time ago—it just took him a while to come to the realization. You wanted to hate him. To resent him. But all that you could do about Chris was love him, no matter how broken, how misaligned that love had become.
There was this unspoken agreement that at work and around your friends, you made it look like everything was okay. You hadn’t told a soul about your marital problems and you assumed Chris probably hadn’t either.
Every day you woke up with the clear intention to sit down with Chris and to talk. To make him say that this—all of this—made no fucking sense. That you had to get a divorce, no matter how cumbersome it would be. Nothing could be worse than this anyway.
And as the coward that you were, every day, you found ways to avoid that conversation.
A car coming down the road caught your attention, pulling you out of your deep thoughts. The darkness lingered within you, but you appreciated every occasion to be distracted from it. Even work.
The car—a black Jeep Patriot that looked like a rental—stopped at the designated parking space for check-ins. Noticing that, you made sure that none of the tears that had tickled your eyes had messed with your mascara. Unfortunately, it was a little smudged in one place, but you managed to mostly fix it just in time to welcome the customer.
A man that you supposed was in his mid-20s entered the park office looking a little confused yet resolute. He had hiking attire—dark green cargo pants, a generic t-shirt, and a lightweight jacket. Holding his phone and often looking at it, he made his way to the counter slowly.
“Hello,” you said before he had even reached you, prompting him to look up. He was, by all standards, pretty, with feline-like eyes and gentle traits. “Will you be checking in with us today, sir?”
He responded to your smile with a polite one. “Yes. I made the reservation a while ago. Under Lee, Minho.”
You typed his name into the laptop, quickly pulling up his reservation file. You raised your eyebrows as you looked at it—it was the first time you saw it really, Chris was the one who took care of this stuff usually.
“I have it here,” you told him, double-checking to make sure you had read everything right. “You made an extended stay reservation for two adults in one of our RVs?”
The campground welcomed RVs on one side and tents on the other, also offering to rent either installation for those who needed them. Renting a fully equipped, luxury RV was by far the most expensive booking option you sold, and he had requested it until the end of the season. From the first day to the very last.
“Yes, that’s me.” His smile became a little more comfortable, and a little warmer, too. “You seem surprised.”
“Oh, I’m just not used to it—usually, it’s the cabins on the other side of the rivers that get this sort of clientele.”
You took the credit card—black—that he handed you without you having to ask. You actually had nothing against Pineview Cabins. People who wanted a cabin wanted a cabin, and those who wanted something else came to you. Besides, the owners were a mother and her son, and they were lovely.
“Cabins are for tourists,” Lee Minho said jokingly.
You finished entering his information in the system and gave the card back, finding it a bit easier to smile in his laid-back presence. No matter how long you had spent enduring it, you had never been very good at aloneness.
“There is a form we require guests to fill—for security purposes,” you explained to him, sliding on the counter the form in question, secured on a clipboard. You shot a glance behind him, looking at his car through the front window, where you could see that there was someone in the passenger seat. “Both of you will have to fill one,” you added, pulling out a second clipboard. “I can go and hand this one to them while you fill yours if you’d like.”
The man shook his head, the corner of his lips curving up. “Nah. Let me call him. He can sulk about paint sometime later.”
It clicked into place then—this man, and whoever was in his car, had been the ones who, just moments ago, were at the general shop asking for watercolors.
“It was you!” You bit your lip. “I’m really sorry we couldn’t accommodate you better. I’ll—”
Minho, who had just finished typing a text on his phone, put the device back in his pocket and grabbed one of the pens to start filling out his form. “No need to apologize. I don’t know why he expected to find some legit watercolors here.”
“Ah, artists.” You spoke in a tone that was clearly sarcastic but not offensive.
“This one is something, for sure.”
As if on cue, the front door was opened by the man beckoned by Minho through a text and a little voice inside your head said, Yes, this one is something indeed. He was tall, holding himself straight with a perfect posture and yet in a totally nonchalant manner. Still, he was graceful. You saw it in the way he pulled the door open, in the way he took off his fancy designer sunglasses to put them on his head, in the way he adjusted his half ponytail right after.
If Minho was dressed as though he was heading out for a three-day hike, this one, the artist, was the complete opposite. A loose white graphic tee hung on his broad shoulders. With it, he wore oversized jeans, and he even had another shirt tied around his waist, as though he had expected the weather to be cooler. A multitude of jewelry pieces adorned his body—a few silver necklaces around his dainty neck, many bracelets on his wrists, and rings, too. The ensemble screamed intentional chaos.
The more seconds passed, the closer he was to you and the counter, and you were utterly unable to take your eyes off him. Not just because he had just entered the room and it was a normal thing to look at someone who approached to check-in. But because you had never seen anybody like him before.
He was beautiful, and there was no other way to put it. His face was seemingly perfect—his big, dark eyes were scanning his surroundings as though to evaluate the potential dangers. The rounded tip of his nose complemented his cheekbones well.
He had a pretty mouth—his lips were obscenely plush. Rosy red. Enticing. With a velvety quality to them. Skin like honey-coated satin. Hair like silk soaked in black ink.
He was the kind of person who just oozed charisma. Effortlessly. The kind of person whose presence changes the whole vibe of the room. The kind of person everybody notices without them trying. Often, without them wishing for it at all.
There was a point where you realized you should say something—he was just a few steps away now, close enough that Minho had turned to him. Close enough that you could smell him—he carried with him a strong yet not heavy scent reminiscent of amber and roses with woodsy and musky undertones. You took a deep breath but it wasn’t even to brace yourself to be in his presence. It was to inhale more and more of this alluring smell. It took everything in your power not to immediately ask him what his cologne was.
“There you are. Here.” It was Minho who spoke first in the end, sliding the second clipboard and another pen toward his friend. Or brother. Or cousin.
Or boyfriend, maybe.
You had to say something. “Hello.” Simple. Ordinary. A skeleton key of greetings.
He briefly looked away from the clipboard to acknowledge your presence. “Hi.”
He didn’t seem thrilled about having been called in here and you felt bad about it for some reason, even though you had been asking guests to fill out a security form for years now.
“Sorry about this. It’s for security purposes,” you explained.
“It’s no problem at all,” Minho assured. He was already halfway through his form.
You gave him a quick nod. “And sorry about the watercolors, too,” you added.
At this, the handsome man reacted a bit more. He straightened up from the counter to face you. It felt, a little, like the air had been kicked out of your lungs. Being face to face, so close to him, felt like falling from a high place.
He spoke to you softly, almost timidly, like he wasn’t sure he ought to speak at all. “The airline lost my art supplies bag and sent it to the wrong destination. I just wanted to have something while they manage to send it to me.” His voice was pleasant. Smokey and warm, it had a strangely comforting tone.
You barely understood the words he said, not because it was a difficult concept to comprehend, but because of the intonation in which he spoke as well as his pronunciation. It was so unique it demanded your whole attention. As if the placement of his lips at any given time, and the movements of his tongue as he spoke, came together as an orchestra that played an elegant symphony.
“We actually put in the address of the campground,” Minho interrupted as if he had just remembered that detail. “I hope it’s okay? They should be sending the bag here sometime next week.”
“Or the week after,” the artist sighed, rolling his eyes before returning to his form. His handwriting was small and neat.
“It’s not a problem at all.” It occurred to you then that you had things to get done to check them in, so you returned to your laptop to get to work. “We’ll let you know as soon as it gets here.” You bit your lip, torn over your curiosity and your pulse quickening so fast it frightened you. “Do you exclusively paint in aquarelle?”
You reported your attention to your screen as soon as you asked the question, regretting it immediately. Like sending a risky text. Warmth spread at the back of your neck, reaching your cheeks and even your ears. Get a fucking grip.
He was handsome, yes. He was the kind of beautiful that nobody could ignore, yes. To blush a little when he looked into your eyes was one thing. But to be entranced by this stranger like this, to have your heart threatening to jump out of your chest, for your breathing to turn shallow in his presence… That was something else.
At first, you blamed your many sleepless nights—you had a lot of accumulated fatigue, so it would be normal not to be in your right mind. Then you blamed your lingering heartache. The sorrow you carried with you anywhere you went. The wedding ring on your finger that felt like it weighed a ton while meaning so little anymore.
Then shame crept up from somewhere deep within you, tugging at your heart.
No matter how painful the state of your marriage was, you remained married. And there was nothing wrong with finding somebody else attractive, of course, but this felt different. It felt like you ought to take several steps back and internalize that no matter how hot and interesting this guy was, it wasn’t even for you to take notice of it. He painted. So what? He was insanely hot. So what? He wasn’t the first handsome dude you met during your marital life. He smelled good. Okay? He had pretty lips, but who cares?
GET A FUCKING GRIP!
You figured it was your brain trying to save you. You had known for a long time that your marriage was over and that nothing could save it. It had been such a long while, it seemed, since Chris had truly loved you. And you loved him in a desperate way, like trying to hold onto a knife not by its handle, but by its blade.
Your thought process only took about two seconds, but they felt like two very long seconds. In the end, none of this mattered—even if Chris divorced you, and even if this young god had any interest in you, which was impossible, you would still not do anything about it. If you hadn’t even been able to trust in your life-long conviction that you would grow old with Chris, then you were certainly not going to open your heart to anybody else. Ever.
The man stared at you like he was thinking about his response before saying it. Minho was done with his form and handed it back to you.
“He does a lot of things,” he said in the artist’s place. “I bought a painting from him. That’s how we met. It’s watercolor and oil, right?” He turned to the handsome man, who nodded.
“Yes, and encaustic paint,” he added, his voice suddenly a little smaller. “It’s made of—”
“Yes, wax. Hot wax.” You cut him off before he could finish his sentence, feeling a little bad that he felt compelled to explain everything, considering how he looked like he didn’t want to talk to you at all. He was most likely an introvert. It used to be difficult for you, too, to talk to strangers. But you became used to it through this place over the years. Or maybe in a desperate attempt not to be alone.
He stared at you with his eyebrows raised just slightly. “Do you paint, too?”
You couldn’t help a nervous laugh from escaping your lips. “God, no. I wish though. I just… appreciate.”
“Then I’ll have to show you his stuff. Brilliant.” Minho gave his companion a not-so-gentle slap on the back.
“I’d love to,” you replied, taking the signed form from the artist. “We’ve actually been looking into buying a piece for the main lodge, where we hold some events, activities, shows, stuff like that. We did a few renovations last year, and there’s a wall that’s just so empty and bland. Maybe we—”
Two things happened at once then.
Out of habit—and because you had to as it was literally your job—you let your gaze trail down the form you were now holding. You also realized that you were overdoing it with the conversation, talking a little too quickly just to make up for the fact that you were a nervous wreck. The guy had checked in using a black card. There was about no chance for you to be able to afford anything this young god painted, right?
Then your brain processed the words it was reading.
Full name: Hwang, Hyunjin
Hwang, like Hwang Naro, the painter behind Loss, the artwork that had been fascinating you for years. And he just happened to be a painter, too. For some reason. Loss dated back to the 1850s after all, so there was no correlation to be made. Hwang Naro. Hwang Hyunjin.
Immediately, you reminded yourself that many people shared a last name in Korea after all, so it was only a minor coincidence. Painting was a common hobby, wasn’t it?
“Uh, is there a problem, Miss?” Hyunjin inquired, leaning in closer to also look at his form to double-check.
It wouldn’t have felt any different if you had been kicked in the solar plexus. His scent invaded your nostrils and then your lungs, and it was so violent that you had to hold onto the counter. When he looked up again, you noticed more details on his face. The mole under his eyes. The faint lines on his lips. The other mole on his jaw. The shape of his eyes, perfect, intricate, elegant. Their shade deep enough that you could drown in them.
You remembered the book Jisung and Changbin had given you for your birthday once, the essay about the painting. One of the chapters contained various interviews and letters from people who had known Naro—he signed his paintings without his family name. One of the interviews had been conducted in the late 1880s, by an author who would later publish it in a journal in the early 1900s. He had spoken to Cornelia, a maid who had worked for the Hwangs during her youth while the family resided in Leiden, a small city in South Holland.
Everybody in town knew that Mr. Naro was handsome and kind. He liked to visit the botanical gardens to practice his colors and florals, and some visitors went there to watch him, too. He would sometimes carry with him small pieces of canvas and hand out sketches to children. Mr. Naro was fond of children, and he loved his only son very much, more than I have ever seen a father love anything before. The women envied his wife and the men envied him, for he was a proper gentleman and loved by all. He and his family lived modestly despite the money he made selling his paintings and giving art courses.
He summoned me to the courtyard of the house one afternoon. He was painting the sky, which was blue and beautiful. Mr. Naro told me he freed me from my employment. When I panicked, he said, “Fret not, Cornelia, it has nothing to do with your abilities. I am most content having you under my roof.” Mr. Naro looked me in the eyes and said I should take some time to visit places and fall in love, either with the world or with a man, or a woman even. He assured me I would be welcome to return after my trip if I wished, and that if he happened to be gone by then, he would ensure the University hired me.
He gave me money, more than I had ever seen in my life, and a bag for my travels. I refused yet he insisted, no matter how immense the gift, disproportionate to what I thought I deserved. He said my heart’s color was Alizarin Crimson, with a just drop of Naples Yellow and another of Ultramarine, all of those softened in Flemish White. As he spoke, he mixed the colors on his palette, right in front of my eyes. The final result was a gorgeous pink that reminded me of the carnations that used to grow in my grandmother’s garden. He used that pink to paint a stunning bird in the sky, shading it with black and blue, defining the feathers also with white. He gave me the painting and said, “This is your heart. Do you want to keep it caged up here?”
I heard he had similar interactions with other maids and even students. I traveled to France where I met my husband and became a dancer. I never forgot Mr. Naro. I never forgot Mr. Naro’s eyes, so dark they were more black than brown, yet soft, gentle, and sad. I wanted to be a painter so I could accurately blend paints to recreate that color, just to see it one more time.
The painting, titled Cornelia’s Colors, was now at home at Musée d’Orsay, and you had been lucky enough to see it with your own two eyes a few years ago, during a short European trip with Christopher. It had been given to the museum by the maid-turned-dancer’s descendants.
But it was not the intricacies of the painting that were on your mind at that moment, not even the expert blending of the colors on it. It was the shade of Hyunjin’s eyes. So dark they were more black than brown, yet soft, gentle, and sad.
You shook your head faintly, as though chasing away the thoughts invading it.
“Did I miss something?” Hyunjin asked again, glancing at his sheet.
“N—No, it’s all good.” And yet, by the way they were looking at you, you were very much aware that your reaction must have been noticed. For a split second, you wondered what would be weirder—if you mentioned something or if you just moved on. “It’s just, your name,” you said before you could even really think about it. “You have the same family name as the artist who painted my favorite painting. And you paint too. So I thought it was just a nice coincidence.”
Something in Hyunjin’s already somber eyes shifted, worsening the darkness in them. His body language changed in a matter of seconds as he stood straight up again, keeping his shoulders straight. He removed the sunglasses from the top of his head, ready to put them on his nose again.
Minho stared at him, and then at you again. “It’s not really a coincidence, is it?” he told Hyunjin.
Hyunjin rolled his eyes so faintly you almost didn’t catch it. He took a deep breath, the exhale ending with a sigh—in the dictionary, under Bored, a picture of him at that very moment could serve as a definition for the word. You felt so bad you wanted to hide under the counter like you used to when you were little.
“Guess not,” Hyunjin said with a shrug. “He’s my great-great-grandfather.”
Too many seconds passed before you reacted—before the information even made it to your brain.
You were standing in the presence of Hwang Naro’s direct descendant. You were breathing the same air as him, you were looking upon his divinely sculpted face. You were hearing his voice, coated with amber and honey.
“Oh my god,” was all you managed, whispering under your breath, a frown digging itself between your brows. “I’m so sorry, I—”
Hyunjin waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not important.”
Not important. Except his great-great-grandfather had been the artist behind the painting that you had always favored. The painting that had turned out to be prophetic, for you at least.
“What are the odds though?” Minho, contrary to Hyunjin or you, seemed very enthusiastic about all of this. “I knew it was a good idea to drag you here, Hwang.”
By the look on Hyunjin’s face, you could tell he felt very differently. It triggered your brain back into place though, as you became excessively self-conscious. Of yourself. Of your reaction. You could understand why your mind latched onto any good or interesting thing it saw, because your life had become bleak and empty. Yet it was stupid to care about any of that. To this man, the painting meant nothing, and it didn’t appear that his ancestry mattered much more either. He was clearly annoyed with you anyway.
With trembling hands, you reached for the keycard printer, collecting the two cards you had just printed. You slid them into their protective sleeves, which were attached to lanyards with the campground’s name on them.
“Here,” you managed, also trying your best to smile. “These will give you access to everything you need—the entry gate, your RV, the laundromat, and the showers. If you lose them, just call this number here.” With that, you handed them maps of the campground, as you did with any new guest. “We’re here. Your site is right there with the other RVs.” You showed them with your index finger, but you felt your insides disintegrating into nothingness. “Just get past the gate and follow Pinecone Lane, you can’t miss it. You have a parking space at your site.”
“This place is huge,” Hyunjin commented—not to you, but to Minho.
“Bigger than I imagined,” Minho conceded, but he was speaking to you.
You nodded. “Yes. This is the tent camping site,” you explained. “Here is the main lodge, with the pool. This is the RV site. There’s walkable beach land all around this part too, and you can rent a boat or kayaks here.”
“Jesus Christ, that’ll be the best summer of my fucking life,” Minho said with a sigh. “I need this vacation. I’m here to fish, I got a permit for it.”
You couldn’t shake the feeling that Minho had picked up on your unease and was trying to distract you from it. It did manage to slow your heartbeat a little.
“Ah, fishing!” This prompted the smile on your lips to become more genuine. “Of course. Lots of fishing to be done around the estuary. I love striped bass, I haven’t had any in too long.”
Your father used to love fishing and he would often take you with him. He would cook the bass on a fire with ingredients he gathered in the forest. Those were some of your most precious memories. You’d usually fall asleep by the fire and wake up at the back of the car as he was driving you home. These days, your father’s arthritis was preventing him from enjoying his fishing trips, so he just stopped going. And every year, you told yourself you ought to go fish by yourself, catch a bass, and cook it for him. You never found the time. Or the courage. Or the courage to find the time.
“I’ll make sure to save some for you if I catch any,” Minho promised.
“Please don’t. Really.” You pressed your lips together, wondering what to say next. Hyunjin’s sunglasses returned before his eyes and they grabbed their card and map. “I hope you have a wonderful stay. Don’t hesitate to call or visit here, the main lodge, or the general store if you need anything.”
“Except paint,” Minho remarked with a clearly sarcastic and humorous tone, sending both you and Hyunjin into a hysterical fit of laughter.
You laughed so hard you had to lean against the wall behind you with a hand over your mouth while Hyunjin clapped and called Minho a fucking dumbass. You hadn’t laughed this much in a long time. In fact, you couldn’t remember at all when the last time was. You wiped the tears at the corner of your eyes, waving at the two men as they walked out. Minho exited first, and Hyunjin lingered in the door frame, hesitating.
He turned to you. You couldn’t read his expression, not with the sunglasses, but his posture was more relaxed than it had been. “Just curious,” he started. “What is it? Your favorite painting?”
Your laugh came to a halt the same way a delicate crystal glass would shatter into pieces if someone closed their fist around it.
“It’s Loss.” You wanted to say more, but your voice remained stuck in your throat. And what would you have said anyway?
He stared at you for a few seconds and nodded slowly before leaving.
There were still tears on your cheeks, but they no longer tasted like laughter—instead, they had the bitter yet familiar taste of aloneness.
... to be continued.
Note: I feel like I say the same thing over and over—but thank you. I could say it a million times and it wouldn't be enough. Thank you to my readers who not only put up with me, but encourage me as well and motivate me to keep trying to improve and to find my voice.
This story was, once again, extracted from the depths of my heart. It is with the utmost humility that I present it to you—when I started writing it, I did so with the intention, specifically, of not releasing it to the public. It's too personal, I told myself. And then I realized that every story I released contain other parts of my soul, and that this one was no different.
So, here it is. The ramblings of a woman who feels like she graduated at the school of Alone and earned a PhD in Loneliness.
Thank you for your support, and for your love. You guys are the best readers. You know this, right? Love y'all.
Welcome to Stormhaven 🤍
** please note that I will soon be restarting my permanent taglist from scratch as I only wish to keep active readers on them in an effort to put my time in the right places, considering the effort and love i put into what i release.
by active readers i mean readers who interact at least a little with my content. i do not expect you to read every single thing i put out or to comment all the time. it's really just that there are many fully inactive/silent readers on the list!
if you wish to stay on the list or be added to it, please reach out to me. ask is ideal because I can then tag your ask & return to it, but you can DM me as well! thank you for your understanding. **
When I first saw the story, the warnings and that very personal answer to the ask of yours I was really hesitant whether I wanted to read this story. Because it felt too personal to me, too. Unfortunate or not, far too many things that I’ve been through are mentioned in this story and I wasn’t sure if I am ready to face it. But I know that whatever you wrote, not reading it would be a huge miss. Your stories never disappoint. They emerge the desire to live. So I waited until the right time comes. And it eventually did.
You know, one thing I like most about your works is that they are very deep and personal and hit you with the emotions and events right to the core. It’s not about ‘he fucked you 10 times and made you come 16’, no. It’s about true life and mature experiences. It’s about depth, true feelings, realizations, often quite hurtful. Hard decisions. Real life. One can see how much thought and reflection, as well as your heart you’ve put into what you wrote.
And this one is no different. It’s very mature. A reader lives through a pretty long life of a character, goes through several life-changing events, and the main plot hasn’t even started yet. But we get to see the full picture of the character, why everything has led to where we are now. And reading that was not easy, I should say, it made me reflect on some aspects of my life that I probably wouldn’t come across any other time.
It genuinely makes me sad that the MC and Chris didn’t get the chance to grow old together, but in reality, how many of us really do? Falling out of love is very common, it is extremely painful, scary and emptying. I wish neither me nor anyone in the world would go through this, but it is the course of life. And sometimes this is really for the better.
I am starting to read chapter 2 right now and am very much looking forward to how the story will unfold.
Thank you Mari, as always🩵
P.s. I’ll just drop here three citations that hit me most while reading and made me thing a lot.
You couldn’t force him to love you either. He had stopped loving you a long time ago—it just took him a while to come to the realization. You wanted to hate him. To resent him. But all that you could do about Chris was love him, no matter how broken, how misaligned that love had become.
———
And you loved him in a desperate way, like trying to hold onto a knife not by its handle, but by its blade.
———
You never found the time. Or the courage. Or the courage to find the time.
you thought to yourself. you sat on the floor in a dimly lit room in a frat house getting ready to play a game of spin the bottle. your best friend had dragged you out of the dorms, for this? you’d rather be anywhere else right now, especially after making eye contact with him. Hwang Hyunjin.
you two didn’t like each other - that was putting it lightly. He was annoying, arrogant, and everyone worshipped him. you hated that, and he hated you because you didn’t, or at least that’s how it seemed.
after a few spins, the bottle landed on you and …him. your friend laughed, knowing the lore between the two of you, and this round the chosen were to play seven minutes in heaven. was this the demon lord’s doing? someone had to have had it out for you.
you rolled your eyes, but you didn’t wanna cause a scene, you wouldn’t, so you went willingly, Hyunjin leading the way.
after a few minutes, you were already sitting in a cramped closet, very cramped. you were sitting opposite of him, your knees almost touching, though you were trying your best to keep even that from happening. while he looked at you with a cold expression, “well?” he spoke.
you huffed, coming off bored. “i’m not doing anything with you.” disgust laced in your tone, “i’d rather swim with sharks.”
“please,” he scoffed, “it’s not like i want to be here with you either.”
“this is hell.” you sighed.
he smirked, “it’s just 7 minutes.”
“7 minutes too long.”
he leaned over to you, “stop whining. it's gonna pass very quickly.”
you shot him a glare.
“asshole.”
he chuckled at your insult, then proceeded to purposely click his knees to yours.
“calm down. It’s not my fault the bottle fell on you.”
you were clearly not amused with any of this. how he was so calm was beyond your comprehension. you looked up, a warm light hung above, doing little to nothing. he was fidgeting with his rings on his nimble fingers. the shadows casted shaping his perfectly sculpted features whilst loose strands of hair framed his face, his honey skin glistened and lush as ever. it was aggravating how perfect he was.
he must’ve felt you staring because he looked straight up at you. a sly grin appearing on his face.
“are you checking me out, princess?”
fuck. that’s exactly what you were doing.
“no.”
“seemed like it.” he slurred his words, he even sounded hot.
“just because everyone else finds you attractive, doesn’t mean i do.” a lie. “and don’t call me that.”
he tilt his head to the side, brows furrowed and holding his bottom lip between his teeth. he spoke again, his tone deep and low, inching closer on into your side of the closet. your back sank into the wall behind you, you had no where to go. like a mouse caught in the cat’s mouth.
“no need to lie to me. i can see right through you, princess.” he whispered.
your breath caught as he closed the distance between you even more, he was enticing, daunting, was this a test? he rendered you near speechless, your cheeks were burning up, and you hoped he couldn’t tell. you held your ground, wanting to be just as intimidating (failing). though his black eyes were pulling you in further, his expensive cologne clouding your thoughts. you liked all of it, and you couldn’t admit it, or more like, you were choosing not to.
“this is a game for you, im not stupid Hyunjin.” you whispered, your brain felt fuzzy, your eyes hung low, and were draped with lust induced curiosity. your tone not nearly as serious as you words. maybe you even batted your lashes, and stole a glance at his lips, not that.. that meant anything, or whatever.
he smirked once more when you whispered his name. he was enjoying the way you looked at him, your lashes casting shadows that met the blush on your cheeks. he’d gift you the world if you asked him to in this moment, that’s how awestruck he was in your presence. and the way you said his name, he usually only heard insults from you, he knew he was getting somewhere if that wasn’t the case now. he placed his hand on your knee, pushing them down and slowly dragged his hand along your inner thigh, seeing just how far you were gonna let him go.
his eyes were low, focused on his own movements, as you watched, your heart now pounding against your rib cage.
he spoke in a low, calming tone, “im not playing a game. you’re just obvious.”
you scoffed, “and you’re just delusional.”
you attempted to remove his hand with your own, but when your hand met his, something shifted. his hands were much larger than your own, your eyes lingered on them for a moment, they could swallow your own hands whole. you began to wonder how they would feel wrapped around your-
your smile slipped as you came to terms with your situation, locked in a closet with the campus it boy, mr.prince himself. anyone else would kill for this opportunity, not you though, right?
shit.
when he realized you weren’t gonna move his hand, his grip tightened and he edged even closer. he was now sitting between your legs.
he loved the way you couldn’t look away from his eyes now, the way your smile faded. he could see the wheels turning in your head and he held your gaze, but admiring all of you. “if i am, tell me to stop.”
you were able to come up for air for a moment.
“you just want me to fall into your trap.”
and if it was working? then what? but he knew the answer to that, jerk, you thought.
“you’re so use to just getting what you want… i’m not that easy.”
your words were hollow, yet they stung. he held the close proximity anyway, and you didn’t try to change that, rather, your body didn’t, no matter how much your brain fought against it. your eyes flickered between his eyes and his lips, they looked soft… were they?
he held back a smirk, he noticed your glances, swooned in silence. he knew deep down you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. his hand still rested on your thigh, moving it from time to time to make you feel more and more needy for him. he enjoyed that you weren’t as unaffected as you tried to act. “i know you aren’t. you’re the most difficult person i’ve ever met.”
a truth.
you weren’t begging for his attention like others did, he didn’t want you to. he liked the back and forth, he had to admit. though, he had long coveted for you, you despised him, yet here you two were, and at a mere coincidence. you had him in the palm of your hand and you were all but aware of it. he edged closer, risking it all until his lips were hovering dangerously close to yours.
“Hyunjin….” you whispered, a warning. he was winning, but you were too far gone to do anything about it.
Hyunjin’s breath caught as he heard you say his name in a soft voice. you were driving him insane. he wanted to lean in and kiss you, but he held himself back. he needed to tease you a bit more. “yeah, princess? can’t think of anything to say?” his lips hovered over yours as he spoke.
“you’re the one giving it up so easily.” you gave one last bite with your words, shaking your head while your tone and body gave in.
he could sense it all, how your body and tone completely changed. his body was nearly pressed against yours.
he chuckled against your neck and spoke, “just shut up.” he placed small kisses on your neck and collarbone. His hand went up higher on your thigh until it reached your waist, pulling you into him even more.
you held your breath as his lips hit your skin, your nails found their way into his hair, tugging softly. you whispered his name again, your tone needy and desperate. you mentally scolded yourself, what the fuck was that?
he could hear the desperation in your voice, you needed him and it was clear as a day, his name sounded heavenly out your mouth, he wanted to make you say it over and over again. it made him want to do more, to do so much more. he spoke against your skin in a soft, hungry voice. “princess…”
“kiss me already.” you spoke through gritted teeth.
Hyunjin pulled away from your neck slowly when you spoke out those words. he looked at you for a moment, observing how you looked with your eyes full of lust. he didn’t need to hear you beg twice. he crashed his lips against yours and captured them in a heated, hungry kiss. savoring the feeling, and the taste. you were so delicate and soft. he adored it. his tongue slipped in between your lips as his hands grabbed your waist and pulled you on his lap suddenly, his back hitting the wall.
you let out a soft whine into his mouth as he pulled you on top of him, his strength taking you by surprise.
he smirked at that, melting under your pretty little whimpers. as you straddled him, his hands were firmly on your hips, he began to grind you gently on his, in rhythm with the kiss.
and he held you close, like he would lose you at any second, he couldn’t get enough, both your chests pressed against each other, he could feel how hard it was slowly becoming to breathe.
he wore jeans and you could feel everything, the rough fabric easily getting you off already. this was so fucked, yet you were drowning in all of it. the way he held you, the way his hands were slipping under your shirt to squeeze your skin, how he kissed you like he was starving. you couldn’t help it. your hands cupped his face, deepening the already intense feeling between the two of you. you pressed yourself down against the fabric, growing needy for some type of release.
Hyunjin let out a moan quietly as he broke the kiss. he looked at you, breathing heavily, he spoke in a low, dark voice, “(y/n).” he started to run his hands down your waist and thighs, his touch getting more firm and dominant. his gaze was murderous.
he brought his lips to yours again, meeting for a moment but not connecting. you chased them, meeting his again. he kissed you with, if not more, hunger than the last. this one was more merciful, labored. melting every fiber of your being. neither of you could get enough. he pulled back to breath.
“we should stop…” you breathed.
he chuckled at your comment, he leaned in and placed gentle kisses on your shoulder as he responded. “oh really?” he continued giving you kisses up your neck, till he reached your jawline, he looked up at you and spoke, “still wanna stop?”
he was making this difficult, you couldn’t stay in here. someone was bound to catch you. but you really didn’t want it to end either.
“we’ll get caught pretty boy.” your nails traced up his neck.
he was well aware that someone could catch you, that you shouldn’t be doing this at all, but he couldn’t stop himself. he pulled away from your skin and spoke against your ear, “doors locked, we can be quiet?”
your hands snaked past his neck and down his back, underneath his shirt, he was so warm, you let your nails drag softly on his skin. “are you gonna make sure i stay quiet?” you whispered against his ear, leaving one gentle kiss just below it. you couldn’t believe what you were saying, but it was like word vomit, wether you meant it or not.
a shiver went down his spine as he felt your fingernails on his skin and your lips on his ear. he let out a small “fuck” and closed his eyes. he could feel the fire inside of him igniting more and more as your body was pressed against his, your lips on his skin. he didn’t let you speak once more and instead pushed his lips against yours in a voracious kiss. a moan escaped your lips.
Hyunjin grunted against your lips as you started to grind against him again, his hands that were resting on your waist were now fully grasping your hips, he took control. he was breathing heavily and he broke the kiss for a moment. he spoke against your lips in a hot, low voice, sounding very desperate now, “… you’re driving me insane.”
“oh, so you wanna stop?” you breathed out, you were almost out of breath from the heated kiss. your hands slid down his chest to his torso, and they landed on his belt. he watched you, studying your every move with an ardent gaze, he bit his lip, he couldn’t believe his eyes, all the times he thought of you, and now here you were sitting on his lap, teasing him. he took a deep breath, wanting this so badly, needing you so badly. he furrowed his brows, he took your hands in his, “are you sure you wanna do this?”
you stopped to think, all of this was happening so fast, you didn’t even recognize this side of yourself. Hyunjin… the boy who was always such a jerk to you, was gripping your hips and moaning curses in your ear in a tiny closet at some frat house. maybe you shouldn’t do this, what were you thinking? he didn’t actually like you, this was probably another regular friday night for him. he probably wanted this to happen so he could brag about come monday. he’d tell everyone how easy it was, how you were the whore who gave it up to him. but when you looked into his eyes, sincerity was all you could sense. you felt like an idiot, you wouldn’t fall for it, fall for him.
“i-“ you removed your hands, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear. you removed yourself from his lap suddenly and sat back in your original position, missing his warmth already. “i should go-“ you attempted to stand up.
Hyunjin felt his heart sink as you got up, when you tried to get up, he reached his hand out and gripped your wrist, “hold up…”
you could only look at him, wanting to cry now, awaiting his next words.
he was quiet for a few moments as his thoughts were entangled together, not knowing what words to use and how to say it without seeming vulnerable. he wasn’t even sure what he was doing himself. he just knew that he wanted you. he looked up at you, his tone soft, “don’t go.”
“that’s it?” you scoffed, “i’m not doing this with you. you don’t even like me outside of here… i won’t be made to look like another whore that got added to your roster.”
you yanked your wrist from his grasp and stood up, your hand resting on the door handle.
Hyunjin stood up, towering over you. your words stung, your assumptions weren’t true, he could say that, but you wouldn’t believe him. he wasn’t gonna defile you in a frat closet anyway, you deserved so much better.
“I don’t wanna do this here either. let me-“
you didn’t let him finish, “I don’t like you.”
your eyes were soft, your tone shattered. nothing he could say would change your mind. you hated him, you hated him so much, and yet you were getting lost in his eyes again. they were soft, solicit, lust-filled. your eyes trailed down to his lips, the ones just glued to yours mere seconds ago. why couldn’t you think straight? you felt pathetic.
Hyunjin inched closer, wanting nothing more than to touch you again, kiss you again. “i don’t want you like this. let’s get out of here.”
you were hesitant, “don’t-“
and then someone started banging on the door, you unlocked it and stormed out. leaving some very confused guys peering in, and Hyunjin behind.
pair. mechanic! chris x fem! reader genre. motel setting, romance, angst, smut warnings. use of pet names, flawed characters, smoking, explicit sexual content — read at your own discretion! word count. 3.7k
synopsis. fingers sink into the supple skin of your hip, the rest of him God knows where, impossible to tell as he ravages your sleek cunt, pistoling with the ferocity of a man unhinged, a man pathetic enough to think he can possibly carve a place for him inside of the body he wants to dominate more than anything else, against his greedy nature for the rest of the world and all it offers.
“I’m going to cut that motherfucker’s hands off next time he tries laying them on you.”
Chris was in deep shit.
Deep fucking shit.
You cross your arms over your chest, rubbing the skin, trying to keep warm. “You don’t have the balls.”
He smirks, chuckling to himself, and unlocks the door to his room for the time being, gesturing for you to get in first. “Watch it, angel. You might say something you’ll regret.”
You remain where you stand, stubborn as ever. Of course. Nothing’s ever easy when it comes to you, he should’ve known. So, why the fuck did he bring you here? What goddamn reason did he have for thinking you would, for once, once, do him the favor and comply with anything he requests of you?
Chris sighs. Drags a hand over his tired face, and scratches at his jaw, sensing his patience’s about to run out. Lucky for you. You’d probably love it. He thinks God must’ve put you on this Earth to get on his nerves and laugh mockingly as you watch him lose his fucking mind.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You prod, scoffing. Still not moving. “You get a hard-on every time someone tells you no.”
The mechanic growls, temper rising exponentially, and snatches you by the arm, shoving you through the door and locking it behind him, throwing the key haphazardly on top of the beaten down dresser with the cracked vanity and your lipstick stains from the previous night all over it. You don’t miss the way his biceps flex, all those delicious veins popping up the surface with the rough movement.
The one on his neck is constantly pulsing, angry and defined. You focus your gaze there, putting a hand on the bed’s mattress to keep from falling as you try to find your balance. Chris appears unbothered as he rids himself of the heavy biker jacket and rider boots. You contemplate pissing him off a bit more, just to get him where you really want him.
He really only ever chokes you out if you’ve crossed a line. You want him to go back to being familiar, to hatefuck you until you remember your place. You want to forget last night; how gentle his hands were, how softly he kissed you as he watched you two through the mirror, labored breath on your shoulder, fingers lightly wrapped around your bruised neck.
You didn’t want that—couldn’t want that. Violence is what you know. What you’re good at. Tenderness doesn’t last, it never does. Not with you. You’ll never deserve something like that.
Your hands move on their own accord, as you hear the click—four times—of his lighter. You smell the tobacco, see the smoke swirling and rising to the ceiling, with no escape.
He’s sitting on the rutty armchair by the TV, forearms propped on his knees, leaning forward, in nothing but a gray tank and unbuckled jeans, silver bracelet dangling as he taps his cigarette on an ashtray full of butts in front of him.
Your chest tightens at the sight of him. You bite your lip, and ignore the lump forming in your throat. You reach behind you to unhook the clasp of your bra.
“What the fuck are you doing?” He asks harshly, upon noticing your undressing.
He sounds exhausted. There’s a raw raspiness to his voice, hours of chain smoking and dealing with grease, yelling over loud motors, then cursing every fucker who dares harass you at the bar. You haven’t thanked him once for looking out for you in there. If it wasn’t for him, who knows what would’ve happened to you, where you’d be.
Chris has the annoying tendency to make you his business, to keep involving himself with you, and taking your bullshit in stride. A good man in an ocean of so many bad ones, and you’ve no idea how to treat him, what to do with him. So, you push him away, hope it’s enough, hope that someday he’ll prove you right and become just like the rest of them—that he’ll get sick of you, and—and dump you. Just like you deserve.
It’s been a year.
By everyone else’s definition but your own, you’re his girl.
You’re sick with emotion you’ve no name for.
“Are you going to fuck me or should I leave?” You ask, sounding bored, feeling terrified.
Being naked in front of him will never stop feeling like the very first time he ever saw you that way. Back then, he’d run a calloused hand over your thigh, all the way up to your breast, and then had proceeded to crush you to his chest and push his thick, hard cock inside you, in the gas station outside of town.
Other places—the women’s bathroom at the bar, the kitchens after hours, the back room of the auto repair shop, his car, his second car, the bike currently parked outside, the shower of the apartment you share with your coworker, up against the fridge, the balcony with the potted plants you forgot to water months ago—and all those times, in all those places and positions, and times . . . He never once looked away.
He faced you fully, unafraid, not as a problem, but as an answer, and perhaps he’d been waiting for you or you’d been waiting for him, because Chris has been the only man that’s ever willed to take you upon himself as he has. No one’s ever stayed this long and not ran for their lives at the first sign of crazy.
Which is what you are. What you offer to his humble responsibility and sense of duty.
He doesn’t answer for a long time, instead studying your body as if a map has unraveled in front of him, uncharted waters and unclaimed lands. All dips and dives and curves, rounded corners and mountain sides.
The tip of the stick in his mouth burns red, hands coming together, overworked fingers interweaving. Dark eyes obscured by even darker wispy locks, plump mouth set in a hard line, completely unreachable, impossible to read.
You’re defiant. You refuse to cave under the weight of that gaze. Why else would he bring you here at three in the morning? Why else would he sit on the bar counter nursing whiskey after whiskey, counting down the minutes till you closed so he can take you with him?
You’re not good at a lot of things.
“Do you want to leave?” He asks, finally, voice muffled around the cigarette. “Am I holding you from something?”
“Fuck you.”
He leans back on the chair, mansplaining, arms raised behind his head. The glint in his eye is mischievous, is teasing. You bite down on your tongue, and get on the bed on all fours, facing away from him, giving him a good view of what he could have if he quit fucking playing games—it works, you hear that sharp inhale you’d been looking for, the choking down, the teeth grinding—before you get comfortable on your knees, hands on your lap, turning back to face him properly, blinking innocently, stomach churning with anticipation.
“Maybe,” he contemplates. “Answer me, (Y/N).”
Your brows furrow. Was there an actual question? “Answer what?”
“If I don’t fuck you tonight, are you going to leave?”
Whatever had been building up inside you shrivels and dies. You freeze all over, a terrible shiver running from the top of your head down your spine. He cannot be serious. So many things bubble up to the top, words you’d never speak out loud; confessions and thoughts, pointless black prayers you’ve whispered in dark, empty rooms. None of it is the correct answer.
You don’t think you’ll ever be ready for what is the correct answer.
“Did you think I was going to stay?” You spew acid, instead, deflecting, refusing, ignoring.
Chris seems to have expected it. He smashes the butt on the ashtray and gets up slowly, running a hand through soft looking hair. You could’ve been tugging at it by now, following the snap of his hips as they dig into your sopping cunt, but instead, here you are, talking in riddles about complicated, stupid feelings that you’d rather never discuss, never bring up, ever again.
“Do you have to cuddle with me to have me now? Is that it? Have you gone soft, Chris?” You reach to grab your shirt from the foot of the bed, to get dressed as fast as you can, to leave this ridiculous room and this even more ridiculous man. “What are you going to say next—are you gonna domesticate me, too, perhaps, like a fucking cat? Would you like to make love to me, wash my hair and sing me lulla—”
It takes all but three strides to reach you. He has you on your feet in an instant, standing so tall in front of you you have to crane your neck, and even knowing this, you feel ashamed. His hands grab the sides of your face, burying into your hair, as he forces you to look into his bloodshot eyes.
Fully clothed to your embarrassing nakedness, and yet you feel the bulge in his pants as it brushes your lower stomach, ever growing and so very hard already. See, this is what we both know, you want to tell him, to scream at him. Why do you need to make it difficult? Can’t you tell I’m already yours?
“Do I?” He mumbles close to your lips, tobacco on his breath, his muscular scent enveloping you in blissful familiarity, the word home home home beating inside you loud and clear. “Do I, angel?” He repeats, searching for answers in your eyes, diving deeper, beneath your skin, to your heart.
“Do I have you?” As he presses his lips to yours, grabbing a fistful of your hair and holding you to him, your body turning liquid, pulverizing into a million tiny pieces begging to be found by him.
Your entire being is screaming for him, raging against the instinctual fear and the agonizing dread of being left alone after you’ve encountered something as forceful, as devastating, fucking obliterating as Chris, and what if he snatches it all away? What if he leaves you with nothing but the unbearable gaping hole you’ve made for him in your chest?
What he’s supposed to fill and fill—what if, one day, he chooses not to? What if he abandons the fortress, declares retreat? What if he never comes back? What then?
“Why can’t you just slip inside me and get lost?” You whisper in his ear, your hands on his massive shoulders, pulling down, wanting to fit as much of him as they can. “Why isn’t that good enough?”
His hands are on the move again traveling south—cupping your mound with one palm, cursing at the sensation of your hot pussy on his fingers. He presses one of them between your lips, feeling your slick, rubbing the bundle of nerves that sends you over the edge every time.
Your knees wobble. He keeps you steady, holds you around the waist. You let him suck on your neck, lick down to your collarbone, all the while his fingers work on you, juices making a mess on his jeans, a leg propped to keep your thighs open.
“You’re afraid, sweetheart,” he says hoarsely, taking your mouth in his again. You let him. You let him do everything. You moan and you writhe and you come apart, and he’s patient, so patient with you.
“Don’t know what the word means,” you retort, ever the hard headed woman he fell in love with.
He chuckles lowly, letting you unzip him, before throwing you on the bed, and climbing after you, his broad figure over yours, unspoken promises and so many fucking things he’s yet to do to you.
“Of course you don’t,” he says affectionately, staring into your soul. “Fear, commitment, obedience—lost fucking concepts.”
You hum, wiggling your hips so your cunt is level with his swollen erection. “Never stood a chance.” When you grab him in your hand, big, so, so big and ready for you, he hisses and clamps a hand over your wrist, stopping you.
“As much as I wanna bury myself into this tight little fucking pussy right now—” He brings that same hand that held his cock to his lips, kissing your open palm. You ogle, surprised, speechless. You’re leaking so bad you feel the covers soaking underneath you.
“Shut your mouth for a second,” he demands sharply, seeing you’re about to rebute. “I need to make fucking sure first—Do I have your full consent to try something new?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” You groan, aching with how empty you are, as you try to grab hold of his dick and shove it inside you, to end your suffering. “Chris, are you fucking—we’ve screwed fifty ways into the sun, now’s your time for this?”
He says nothing. He waits with a pained look, a sort of self inflicted wound, like he’s the one scared, like he’s risking everything here.
“Yes,” you let up. “Okay, yes.”
“I love you.”
He might've as well slapped you. It would’ve had the same effect.
“What?”
“I love you.”
“Chris, this isn’t funny.”
“I love you.”
You’re drowning. You’re going down under, sinking, sinking, filling up with water, and your lungs aren’t working properly, and there’s a solid case of hysteria twisting in your gut, and you’re suddenly very, very afraid of letting it get out, because if it does—if you crack open and it explodes—it’s going to ruin the perfect fucking quiet around the words the man on top of you won’t stop saying.
What is it that he’s saying again?
You can’t hear over the liquid in your ears.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, grabbing you by the hair and smashing your foreheads together. “You hear me? Forget about it. You’re mine, and I’d fucking eviscerate for you, and you have me. All of me, angel.”
His tip teases your entrance and you buck into him, delirious for friction, delirious for anything other than words you’ve no idea what to do with, words you’ve never been good at. He kisses you roughly, and bites your bottom lip, your cheek, your ear.
“I’m a pain in the ass,” you say way too loudly, maybe, and it comes out high pitched and dismayed.
Chris, attuned to you and your needs, buries inside your cunt to the hilt with one swift movement and stays there, elbows digging into the mattress on either side of your face. He’s smirking, and it reminds you—you hate his stupid, handsome face. So much. So much you can’t live without it.
“Very,” he agrees, and one of his big hands reaches down to cup your ass, squeezing savagely.
“You hate my hotheadedness.”
He shakes his head, working you up to a quick pace, just how you like it.
“I’d be a terrible—girlfriend,” you force the word out like it burns you. “I’ll drive you up a wall.”
Chris smiles, and hushes you. “Already done that,” he murmurs softly. “I’m beyond myself.”
Oh. “Which is why you’re talking crazy! Look, I can’t—”
His mouth is on you before you can get anything else out. It stays on you for a long time, just as his cock plunders you, the taking savage, selfish, like this—you, you—should’ve been his from the very first moment, completely, thoroughly, unreservedly, because he swears, he fucking promises—as soon as you entered the threshold of his shop, a wild and panicked thing looking for a person—him, him—to assist you and your smoking car, so goddamn clueless about motor oil and antifreeze fluid and their part on keeping a vehicle running—he’d been irrevocably, stupidly yours.
And now, as you are, naked and arching, and moaning under him, lost to your pleasure, he understands why he brought you here. That night, and all the nights after. You’re in possession of so much more than you think, so much more than he’s willing to lay bare in front of you. Not only his heart, the foolish thing he wears on his sleeve and has given away so willingly time and time before, no. Something vital, something that beats inside him similar to the drumming of the bleeding muscle, but which has no name, no etymology, just a vast sense of dreadful blackness that fills him with terror as the truth grips him—there’s absolutely not a single fucking thing he would not do for you, for your safety.
The dark, and the buried. The voice that wraps his hand around your pretty neck and squeezes, the voice that tells him you can take it, the thing that drives him over the edge, the very thing that turned deadly earlier at the bar when that man wouldn’t take the fucking hint. All his mortal, destructive tendencies—they’re yours to do as you please, to pull and tug and maneuver. You have the shadows of his mind dancing to your whims, obeying you like a rotting dog would a master.
And you have no fucking idea, do you?
Fingers sink into the supple skin of your hip, the rest of him God knows where, impossible to tell as he ravages your sleek cunt, pistoling with the ferocity of a man unhinged, a man pathetic enough to think he can possibly carve a place for him inside of the body he wants to dominate more than anything else, against his greedy nature for the rest of the world and all it offers.
He’d rather stay here, in this ratty motel room, wasted on you, until he can remember nothing but your name and how good it feels on his lips.
“Chris . . .”
“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles against your open mouth, a hand coming to push away strands of hair from your eyes, the touch raw, tender, like a self inflicted wound. “So damn beautiful . . .”
You meet him halfway, your face wide with a feeling that twists like a knife inside him.
He fucks you slow then, his cock moving torturously unhurried, deliberate, a sedation you can’t help but fall into, a lulling pace, something dangerously close to—
“I’m scared,” you let yourself admit, your forearm falling over your face, embarrassed, overflowing with dread for what you promised yourself you were never going to succumb to, the emotion red and pumping and terrifying, terrifying.
Chris grabs the arm obscuring you from him and pins it above your head, measuring you with steady eyes, determined to make you see, to make you understand.
“I know,” he says, and it sounds a lot like: me too.
There’s no stopping the tears now, and he won’t even give you a second, not a single moment—he’s still burying you alive, wrapping you in his scent and his words and his coffee eyes, warm warm warm, scalding, and your body betrays as it always does, because you—because it’s—
“You could hurt me,” you whisper. “You could hurt me really badly.”
“Never.” His arms wrap around your waist and bring you over him, on his lap, the change of position delightfully unbearable, his entire length so incredibly deep, so much deeper than before. “It took me a long time to find you, angel, to bring you here.” You move against him, falling against his shoulder, and he holds you, he lets you do whatever you want. “Never, you hear me? (Y/N) . . . fuck, baby.”
“I’d let you,” you continue, sadly. “I’d let you do anything.”
He shushes you, leaving a kiss on the top of your spine, and leans back on defined muscle, arms flexing under his weight. When he focuses on your body and how it arches on his dick, watching you ride him, swallowing him deep in your folds, grabbing onto his thighs for support—he loses it.
“You’ve no fucking clue how you look right now, baby girl . . . Fuck on me, c’mon, that’s it, that’s it, you’re almost there, let me see you . . .” There’s a high you’re chasing like no other—no one’s ever been able to give it to you like the man opposite you, coaching you to your release. It’s unbelievable how blind you’d been; to accept what he offers, meant accepting this too, letting it in, a flash flood endangering everything you’ve believed, tearing through and down your walls, demanding, never angry, yet somehow always horrific.
His rough hands grab your hips and slam you on his rock hard cock, determined to finish this, to show you there’s no room to regret, to backtrack and run off the minute it’s done—because you might, because he knows, because he’s not going to let it happen and you’re a little more grateful every time he meets your eye with glorious belief that this, you you you, can become something else, something more, something potentially wonderful.
If you let him. If you allow.
Nothing but your labored breathing and the sound of skin on skin, then—a growl, raspy and guttural, as his body stills and he shudders inside you, hot semen spilling down your thighs, where you meet. It’s hard to swallow but you manage, as your own heartbeat sounds erratic, your own release mixing with his, the smell musky and erotic. His chest collides with yours, sweaty, ripped, and you blush, despite yourself, refusing to curl in his arms how he wants you, how he’s trying to have you.
His mouth is everywhere, peppering open mouthed kisses on your shoulders, your neck, your hair, and his hands, that intoxicating touch that silences you every time, it climbs to your cheek turning your head so his lips can find yours. You try really hard to find it in yourself to stop acting like this; like you’re under his spell with no escape, but it’s a weak argument and an even weaker case.
Something changed. Something changed and you let it.
“I don’t have to hear it back,” he murmurs in your ear, content to just have you as close as possible, if you’re not willing to face him fully yet. “All I want is you.”
“You deserve better,” you argue numbly, staring at the point where he ends and you begin. “This is—”
“—whatever you want it to be,” he finishes for you, reassuring you.
You shake your head.
He sighs, patient.
“Got on your nerves already?” You ask, a bitter smile stretching your features.
Chris fists a handful of your hair and smashed his mouth on yours, rough and heated. You gasp into him and melt almost immediately.
“Every—single—day,” he rasps, in between breaths. “Fucking torment me,” and then, manners an afterthought, “Please.”
It was sooo freaking good! So much passion and tenderness in the words, the way you managed to embed all the feelings in it. Absolutely fantastic! I’m absolutely in love with your writing
Synopsis: To help you moving on from your break-up, Chan takes you out for a night. However, he doesn't expect you will find a potential new love in someone else. (9,5k words)
Author's note: Here's one you've been asking for. Please tell me what you think about it! Nevertheless, enjoy x
"I think we're done for the day, huh?" You sigh in relief after dumping the dirty towels into the laundry bag and tossing it to the back room.
"No, actually, someone just walked in and wanted a haircut," your co-worker says while holding a stack of clean towels in front of her.
"Keem can have it," you resolve, you've finished all of your appointments for the day, and you're tired and ready to go home.
"Yeah, that's the problem. He specifically asked for you," your co-worker answers, putting the towels into the shelf full of them.
You plant your hands on each side of your waist and shoot a puzzled look at your coworker, "Huh?"
Is this customer aware that the salon is about to close and there's another hairstylist on duty? That exciting feeling of getting home soon is slowly fading as you head in to meet this customer who specifically asks for you.
The second you walk in, Keem, the other stylist, grabs your elbow and then leans into your side to whisper, "He's so cute."
Hearing it doesn't lift your mood at all, you just want to get it over with and go home.
"Where?" You ask as you put on your apron.
"He's right there," she whispers, pointing to the middle seat hidden behind the big mirror then detaches herself off you to go back behind the counter.
For a customer who chooses an awful time to get a haircut, you put on a phony smile and shove your hands into the pockets of your apron as you greet.
"Hi, what can I do for... You!" The infliction in your voice changes as you see who that customer is.
It's the shit-eating grin, the stupid dimples on his stupid face and
"It's enough torture to have you as my neighbor and now I have to you see at work too," you say as you cross your arms together in front of you.
"Oh, wow, is this how you treat your customer?" He says with a fake concerned look.
"Only the select few," you say with a sinister smile.
"I made it on your list of honors? Is this because we had sex—"
You hurriedly cover his mouth with your hand and make sure no one is seeing what you're doing to him, or worse, letting them acquire that piece of information.
"What do you want?" You scold him with a piercing glare.
He takes your hand off of his mouth and dramatically gasps for air, "I want a haircut," he simply answers.
With a huff, you swivel his chair to face the mirror and grab the cape for him, putting it around his neck, then clip it together. You put on a phony smile as you look at him through the reflection in the mirror.
"So, what do you want me to do with your hair besides setting it on fire?" You sarcastically ask him.
It's amazing how his grin doesn't wear off even just for a second, "We don't need to cut much, I guess just the tip," he says.
"Just the tip," you repeat, "Is that the title of your sex tape?"
Chan cracks a sonorous laugh, "That's a good one!"
Once you hear the sound of the scissors snipping away the hair, you get in the zone. You focus on giving his hair a nice shape that accentuates his strong jawline and makes his facial features more prominent.
"Don't talk much, huh?" He asks, slightly turning his head to the side.
You grab the nape of his neck and forcefully turn his head back to the front, "just here trying my best not to snip you somewhere else," you calmly mutter.
"Ooh, chills!" He responds with a shudder.
You switch your scissors with a hair clipper and it starts buzzing as you turn it on, you're holding it in his hand as you look at him and say, "You're going to regret coming here and allowing me to be this close to you with a sharp object."
Seeing you bringing the hair clipper close to his face, he reflexively closes his eyes so tightly and you hold the urge to not laugh at it.
"Oh, okay, I regret it now," he says like a frightened child left alone by his parents.
You gently place your hand on his jaw, "Stay still," you warn him.
He obeys you, keeping his head still and his eyes closed as you're carefully trimming his sideburns. You suddenly find yourself admiring his face and his beautiful features of a long, big nose and voluptuous lips.
For a split second, you so badly want to run your thumb on his lips and feel how soft they are. You did feel it once with your lips but you were too sad to notice and now you realize how much you regret it.
Before the temptation returns, you turn off the trimmer and put it away, then proceed to help brush the hair on his face and around his neck with a soft brush.
"You're all done," you announce, taking the cape from around his neck.
Chan stays on his seat as you brush the excess hair off the nape of his neck and make sure they don't stick to his skin. You put all of your equipment on the cart next to you and anticipate his reaction to your haircut.
Not trying to brag here but you did a good job here because he looks even more attractive with a fresh cut.
"Aren't you going to tell me how handsome I am and then kiss me on the cheek?" He asks while blinking his big eyes at you.
"I'm not your mom," you reply with a plain smile.
"I'm waiting for you."
When you think you already got rid of him after giving him a haircut, you see him lounging around the counter and putting on his charms for Keem. You plan on keeping it a secret that you know each other but if he starts flirting with your co-worker, then there's a possibility you'll see her walking out of his apartment the next day and it only gets messy from there. You come up to him and tug at the sleeve of his jacket, then pull him to the side.
"Why are you still here?" You ask through your gritted teeth and keeping your volume low.
"Why?"
"Because we're going out tonight," he answers.
"We?"
"And no, my panties are not in a twist," he says with a teeth-baring grin, "You can check it yourself if you want."
"Ugh. No!" You groan in refusal.
What is it about him anyway that makes the girls go crazy for him? If you're thinking with your depraved, brutal, and cavewoman brain, it must be the body that is inexplicably electric and sexually charged, braced with heavy muscles, and injected with a high dose of testosterone. In other words, he's hot, and it's hard not to be biologically attracted to him. But if you're thinking progressively and in the 21st century way, you know you should avoid this fuckboy at all costs.
"Ugh. Okay," you groan in agreement this time.
"If you don't want to go then I'll just take Keem," he says, secretly threatening not only you but also your workplace dynamic.
"I'm sure she's keem for it," he makes a pun.
And then, there's something called human error.
-
At first, Chan thought that you have that stoic expression only whenever you're around him but he was wrong. He learns that it's just your default expression and you wear it like a defense mechanism to keep the predators at bay. At least, he shouldn't worry about leaving you alone in the bar as he's working the DJ booth.
Once he's done with his set, he ignores the calls for his name and walks up to you, seeing you rather unimpressed by what he just did. What did he expect though? You're not most girls.
He taps the table, signaling the bartender to come and tend to his order, "The usual, please?"
The bartender nods and is about to turn away to make his drink when he calls for him again, "And one more for this nice lady," he adds, gesturing at you and flashing you a sly smile.
Chan turns around to face the dance floor and leans his back against the counter, "So, what do you think?"
"It was good," you answer after sipping your drink.
"You have a filthy expression on your face," he teases you and gently elbows your side, "go on, tell me what you're really thinking."
"Strangling you with my bare hands," you answer without a beat.
Chan leans in close enough that he can get a whiff of the smell of your shampoo, "so that's your kink?"
"Only when I see fear in your eyes," you answer with a wicked smile.
"Wow. You know how to excite a guy," he praises, not entirely lying about it because he gets a little excited from your snarky comments.
The bartender comes with both of your drinks and you hurriedly finish your previous one to go ahead with the next. He watches as you take a small sip and then waits to see how your nose scrunched at the bitter aftertaste.
"You're single now and maybe it's time for you to get out there, you know, find a new love," he says, secretly hoping that you'll find it in him when he looks at you.
"Hey, Chris," a girl comes and without hesitating, placing a kiss on his cheek, "Great set!"
"Thanks, Alicia," he says to the tall lady with beautiful braided hair.
"This one is on me," she says as she gives him a drink from the ones she ordered.
"Cheers then!" He says, clinking his glass with hers with his charming smile on.
The lady leaves to take the drinks away and is soon engulfed by the crowd. Chan notices that you remain calm about that interaction, and again, what did he expect?
"At least, one of us has no problems getting some tonight," you take a jab at him.
"I'm taking you out so we can have fun tonight and enjoy yourself—"
"The only way I can enjoy myself is when I'm alone."
"Oh?" He gasps and gives you a wild glare.
You roll your eyes and sigh once you realize he's taking it the wrong way, "I just want to go home and binge my favorite show and sleep," you finish your sentence with a big gulp of drink and he gets to see another nose scrunch from you.
The intention was to take you out of the apartment and perhaps, he can get you to loosen up a little bit, making this getting to know each other thing a little easier for him. It seems like he's forcing it on you and maybe it wasn't a good idea after all.
"Okay, then, we'll go home after this one," he says, lifting his glass close to his mouth.
"Or you can just stay here and do your thing, and I'm going home," you suggest a better idea after finishing your drink and you grab your bag as if you just can't wait to get out of here.
Chan is quick to grab your arm and stops you from leaving, "Hey, at least, let me finish my drink first," he protests.
"You don't have to leave with me. I can go home myself," you say to him.
"Just wait for me," he squeezes on your arm and adds, "Please?"
You consider it for a moment and then say, "I'll wait for you outside."
Since he's done a gig here, Chan has to make a proper exit out of the club, he greets a few people who work there and grabs his backpack of equipment, carrying it in his hand as he walks out of there. He finds you leaning against the street lamp and the light casts a glowing halo on your head, making you look like an angel... with a stoic expression.
He grins when you notice him coming, "Okay, I lied, there's another thing we have to do tonight," he says.
"Goodness, Chris, just bag a lady and call it a night," you groan in complaint.
Both of his eyebrows ratchet up at your words, "It has nothing to do with that."
"What is it then?" You cross your arms together in front of you.
"Only the best part of the night," he answers with a cryptic smile.
Chan knew he should have started the night with food. He can see that your mood gradually elevates with every bite you take from the delicious kebab he recommended to get after a boozy night out.
By the time you both arrive at the apartment building, you get all quiet like a drowsy child after a day out at the park and he finds it cute, especially with the way your lips slowly jutting out and you keep widening your eyes to stay awake.
"How about next Friday night we're doing it your way?" he suggests as he keeps the elevator door open for you with his back.
"If that means you'll leave me alone then yes," your eyes turn small as you politely moan into your hand.
"We're going to stay in and binge-watch your favorite show and sleep," he lists everything you mentioned earlier and an idea pops into his head.
"We'll have a pajama party!" He announces along with a poor imitation of tooting horns.
"No!" You flatly reject the idea.
"I'll bring the snacks," he offers.
You steadfastly shake your head.
"Then I'll keep knocking on your door until you let me in," he annoyingly moves into your side until he's rubbing elbows with yours.
"Then I hope you get abducted by aliens," you come out with an absurd wish and it cackles him.
"You would miss me," he confidently remarks with his signature grin.
"Doubtful. Very doubtful."
"Why?"
"I know I'd get to see you again someday—"
Chan can't help himself from smiling but little does he know, you're not done with your sentence yet.
"— in hell."
That wipes the smile off his face, "but I'm a good person. People like me," he says while making an innocent face.
"Because they don't know you, if they did, someone would have kicked your ass already."
"They'd try," Chan easily says with a nonchalant shrug, and at the same time, you both burst out laughing.
This is not flirting and he's aware there's something wrong with this interaction but you know what? He likes every bit of it.
Chan's heart sinks when it's time for the two of you to part ways and before you get to slip away from him, he tugs at the strap of your bag.
"Hey, can't wait for our pajama party," he says.
You pull your bag until the strap slips out of his hand and head to your apartment door.
"No response," he points out, "it's as a yes then."
"No!" You shout.
"So... it's a no?" He asks in confusion.
You push the door to get inside your apartment and lingers by the doorway, facing him.
"No," you cheekily respond and then close the door, leaving him with a different kind of thrill for what comes next.
-
From the way this person treats your door like a tambourine, you can safely guess that it's Chan knocking on the door for the so-called pajama party.
Ugh, why did you agree to it in the first place? It's so unlike you to let someone in on your space but it doesn't matter whether you let him or not, the boundaries have been crossed so many times that there's no such thing as personal space anymore.
Before letting him in, you check through the peephole, and just as you expected, he comes undressed, literally. He's standing on the other side of the door wearing nothing but gray sweatpants hanging low around his hips.
"Please have mercy on my eyes and put some clothes on!" You shout through the door with your hand holding the knob.
"I don't wear pajamas. This is what I wear to sleep," he responds and you can hear him faintly laughing with your ear pressed on the door.
"And what makes you think you're going to sleep at my place tonight?"
"I don't know. A hunch," he playfully responds.
"Pajama party is officially canceled!" You say through the peephole.
"Okay, okay, I'll put some clothes on," he sighs in defeat.
You watch through the peephole to see if he's really going to his apartment to change. With his broad shoulders, all hunched up, he walks back to his apartment and doesn't even bother to close the door, he grabs whatever lying close to him and puts the dark t-shirt over his head. Even under the poor lighting, the ridges of his muscles are visible and inviting you to feel it with your touch.
As though he knows he's being watched, he looks your way and then trudges his way back to your door. The first thing you see after you open the door for him is his big grin that sends his dimples sinking deep into his cheeks.
With a glare at his empty hands, you ask, "And where's the snack?"
Chan puts his arms on each side of the doorframe and leans in close, towering you with his big figure, proudly he answers, "Ma'am, I am the snack."
Can't tell if he's trying to charm you, intimidate you, or both, doesn't matter because he failed at all of them.
"But you promised!" You can tolerate people when they make jokes about anything but you can't accept when it involves food.
Chan takes his phone out of his pocket and shows it to you, "It's being delivered. See?"
Your jaws unclenched in a second and you open the door wider for him, "You may come in!" You sweetly say with a curtsy.
"Thank you, Your Majesty!" He says with a bow before steps into your apartment.
It's ironic how you prepared everything despite you were grudging it, you set the sofa, put some cushions and since he said he was bringing the food, you bought drinks for tonight.
"I have juice, soda, and beers," you list everything you have in your fridge as you're looking at it.
"We'll have the soda for now and beers for later," Chan strategically plans.
The food he ordered only lasts for two episodes and from there, you both run on beers and chips while sitting on opposite sides of each other on the couch with your feet touching.
"I like seeing white stockings on women," Chan comments after seeing the female character wearing it under her dress.
"This is why I hate watching with a man," you say in a condescending tone.
"I'm not even saying anything about her body," he defends himself and playfully rubs his foot with yours.
"Just shh..." you hush him, getting back at him by tackling his foot with yours.
The whole time the TV show is playing, your attention is on him, you're merely curious if he's genuinely invested in it or just wants to annoy you with his presence. From your observation, it seems like it's the former but the jury's still out.
"Wait, is that it?" He asks as the first season has just ended and the credit title rolls down the screen.
"That's the end of the first season," you say, starting to gather the trash on the table and put it into a plastic bag.
"But there's another season, right?" He says, looking distressed that the show ends with a cliffhanger.
"Yeah," you answer.
"Then let's watch it!" He says with a grin and slowly blinking his eyes at you.
"No, Chris, it's late," you show him the time on the screen on your phone that it's close to midnight.
"But I want to know what happens next and I need to know now," he speaks like a spoiled little brat.
You get up from the sofa to get rid of the trash, "You can watch it on your own."
Grabbing the back of your sweater, Chan pulls you hard until you plop down onto the sofa next to you then he puts his arm around you to keep you down.
"Let's just party all night, eh?" He persuades you as he leans in close to the side of your head you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek.
You leer to the side at him and ask, "I can't make you leave, do I?"
"Not a chance," he shortly answers.
Seeing that there's no other way to make him leave but to fulfill his wish, you give in and sit back down on the sofa as Chan hits the play button.
With your stomach full and the exhaustion from the day, and you feel snug on the sofa wrapped in your blanket, you're getting drowsy as the night gets late. You manage to stay awake for two episodes but not long after that, your eyes get really heavy and you can barely keep them open anymore.
Going to rest my eyes for a bit, you tell yourself in your head but close your eyes, slowly drifting into deep slumber.
-
It's not new that Chan wakes up not knowing where he is, he lifts his head and looks around, taking in his surroundings to give him clues of his whereabouts. One look at the TV screen that shows a question whether he's still watching or not, he immediately recalls where he is, what he's doing here, and—
"Owh!" He lowly gasps as you accidentally elbow him on the ribs.
There he is, lying next to you on the sofa, your back pressed close to his chest he can feel every rise and fall of your body as you're breathing. He doesn't know how it comes to this and he's not complaining though, if anything, it's an opportunity for him to admire you up close.
Cautiously, he removes the hair covering your face to the side and takes an intimate look at your facial features, first at your eyes with your eyelashes fanning out so beautifully, he runs his fingertip down your nose and eventually at your lips which he dreams of kissing.
Do you know that you're so beautiful yet so unaware of it?
Chan gently buries his nose in your neck and inhales your heavenly scent that gets him intoxicated, putting himself in a test of restraint that he'll be likely to fail. All of a sudden, you stir in your sleep and nuzzle closer as if you're seeking warmth from his body heat.
What did he just put himself into? He frustratingly asks in his head.
Soon enough, he can feel your body start to mold against him and it feels nice, you're fulfilling his need for this closeness but unfortunately, he can't control how his body is reacting to this as it wants to do more than just being pressed close to yours.
Chan carefully places his hand on your hips and quietly, he tries to push you away to make a safe space between your bodies even though he has to suffer the loss of your warmth against him.
As if your body knows what he's trying to do, you push back even further and the curve of your ass sits right on the bulge growing inside his sweatpants, putting him at a greater risk.
"Fuck!" he mouthes in distress.
If it wasn't for the TV light that casts a hazy glow on you, he wouldn't notice that your eyes are open and you're waking up to him with his hand on your hips which he's afraid only giving you the impression that he tries to pull you close instead of the opposite.
"I—" he can't say anything without sounding like he's lying because he knows that a greater part of him wanted it, wanting you.
In the next moment, he finds your hand reaching for him and unexpectedly, you put your fingers across his lips, asking him to stop talking as you bring his head close until your lips touch. He doesn't dare to do anything but when you stroke his lower lip with your tongue, his instincts take over.
To no one's surprise, Chan claims your mouth like a starved man.
However, Chan doesn't plunge right into it, he's starting the kiss with innocent brushes of his lips on yours and teasing licks before taking your mouth once again in a deeper kiss.
When he draws back, your lips are parted on soundless gasps of desire. It takes a moment for your eyes to clear enough to focus on him and with a low voice, he says, "I couldn't resist it."
He can't waste a second without kissing you so he indulges in another dizzying kiss, "I thought about kissing you all week."
Days, weeks, months, it comes to a blur to him but he learned the agony of waiting so he counts the time until his lips can reunite with yours again, hopefully, once and for all.
"Now, I can't seem to stop," As he speaks, he threads his fingers into your hair and angles your head back. He trails kisses along your jawline, nips your chin, and kisses the corner of your mouth.
A murmur humming in your throat as he kisses you yet again and your hand flies into his hair, fingertips lazily scratching at his scalp. You suddenly pull away from the kiss and gaze into his dark eyes, "Then don't stop."
So Chan hasn't been the only one, after all.
Planting his mouth on yours again, he twines his tongue with yours, and oh... this taste, this softness, your hand in his hair, kiss after kiss after kiss.
He allows himself to run his fingertips down the length of your arm and smiles when goosebumps ripple outward. Nuzzling your neck, he breathes in the soft scent of your skin and kisses the sweet spot just behind your jaw. Your lips are calling him, but instead, he sucks on your earlobe and bites it, startling a shaky sigh from you.
He allows himself to explore more by running his hand along the length of your body, cupping the curve of your breasts, and even through the layers of fabrics, he can feel the firm buds of your nipple. He so badly wants to pinch it, love on it, but there is too much fabric in the way. He simply resolves it by slipping his hand under and he finds your soft mounds in a second, not wasting another second to fondle on it.
As he kisses you harder, and you arch into his body, you're undulating your hips against the aching bulge inside its confine, forcing him to bite back his groan.
Oh, he hasn’t wanted someone like this in... Has he ever wanted someone like this?
He reels himself back to the present, glancing down at his pale hand and your nipple caught between his fingers, it's an erotic sight indeed that he can't resist pinching it and enjoying your sharp intake of breath.
"Chris..."
The sound of his name falling from your lips is just as unexpected as it is hot. He sees you breathe through your parted lips that's swollen and glistening wet from all the kissing, and then at your wide, lustful eyes that tell him you're ready for more.
An impatient hand glides down your stomach and slips beneath the waistband of your shorts, his gentle fingers caress you with slow strokes. He is touching you there, right where you need him and you shiver, then burrow closer to him as more goosebumps dotted your skin.
"My God, you're drenched," he says and with each syllable, his lips grazed your ear.
Your body clenched hard, clenched even harder when he presses a finger deep into you, filling you. He massages your clit with lazy swirls of his thumb, making you start trembling against him.
He lowers a kiss on you again, tongue and teeth invading your mouth and that's all it takes to send you climbing quick and sharp toward your release.
His mouth finds your ear and with his hot breath tickles you, he lowly asks, "Does it feel good?”
There's no answer but you sink your teeth into your bottom lip as you throw your head back, inhaling sharply. Chan can feel tiny muscles fluttering around his fingers, and he knows you are close.
He doesn't need to see to know the answer, he can feel it with his hand, "You’re drenching my palm," he whispers again.
With your hand in his hair, you bring his head close and peck his lips, "Chris, I want it," you mutter as you pull away.
You lightly nod, "Mmh-hmm."
"It?" He asks to confirm if you're thinking of the same thing and he's not taking the wrong sign.
"Condom?"
"No need," you shortly answer, "I'm on the pill."
A jolt of excitement surges all over his body just from the thought that he'll be inside you with no layer of protection and it utterly exhilarates him that he needs to calm down for a minute. He uses the time to remove your shorts and then his sweatpants next without taking his other arm from around you.
Once he settles himself behind you, he puts his hand between your legs, lifting a leg and putting it over his hips, allowing his hard member to get between your legs. It feels a whole lot different to feel how wet you are on every inch of his length.
"Feel that?" He asks you with his mouth nestled close to your ear and his swollen cock rubbing between your folds, "I'm aching for you."
Chan kisses your mouth, your jaw, your neck as hard flesh prodding at your sex, making you stop breathing for a moment and you feel nothing but a sensuous stretching that goes on and on until he seated himself fully inside you and oh, he fits perfectly.
"It's too good. You feel– oh... I'm going to lose it," he can't comprehend what he's feeling right now.
The heat, this tightness, so perfect for him and his body asks for nothing but more and more and more of you.
Responding to his body's needs, he withdraws and then thrusts back into you, soon enough, he sets a steady pace. His free hand slides down to your bundle of nerves, touching you there for added stimulation. You grip his wrist, seemingly intending to pull him away, but your hand refuses to cooperate.
The twin assaults of his fingers and his cock that fills you full kindle a flame inside you that spread all over you like wildfire. Your mouth is parted open but all that comes out are gasps and sighs of pleasure so instead of words, you communicate how you feel through your body. You spread your thighs wider and writhe to match his thrust for thrust.
There's nothing but the sounds of his hips slapping your ass and his cock that incessantly slipping in and out of you, and he likes how he finds peace despite his body being in pure chaos.
With his mouth lingering close to your ear, he knows you hear every shudder of his breath to the lowest of his sultry moans slipped out of his mouth, and honestly, he would have been embarrassed if it weren’t for your hand tangled in his curls and keep pulling him for a kiss, before finding his hand that rests on your chest and hold it.
"Perfect..." the word tumbles out of his mouth as your fingers slip right between the spaces of his fingers and lace it together.
"Ah, ah, ah," more moans fall out of your lips as you arch into him, and through it all, your eyes locked in a gaze with his, letting him see the pure pleasure that builds up inside you.
Chan has slept with a handful of people, but he’s never been so in tune with someone's body. He’s never been so desperate to please or so elated when he hears you cry his name as you cum around him.
The high takes you over and also your ability to move, speak, and think. You curl up, making you feel smaller against him. The hand interlaced with his tightens as he speeds up the motions of his hips and with one last deep thrust, he joins you in falling apart.
Using this tender moment to pour his affection for you, he's whispering your name and kissing you softly, then slowly, he eases out of—
"No, don't!" Your hand grabs at his hips, hard, nails digging into the flesh, "Stay."
Obeying your words, Chan holds you close, limbs to limb, skin to skin, hearts lying so close to each other with mere flesh and bones in between. He doesn't know what this was, but it sure as hell was not fucking. He kisses you hard and soft to find out.
It's when he pulls away and looks into your eyes that he figures out the answer as the most incredible feeling of being loved washes over him.
-
When Chan wakes up the next morning. He registers the sunlight on his face, the distant barking of a neighborhood dog, and the delicious smell of buttered toast and coffee, it's all around him and—
It just hits him that he's waking up on your sofa and he burrows into the blanket with a happy sigh once he recalls everything that happened last night to the tiniest details, summoning the butterflies to flutter around in his stomach.
The sound of your footsteps forces him to get out of his daze and he scrambles to get up when you walk past the sofa on your way to the kitchen.
"Morning!" He cheerily greets you while covering his naked lower half with the blanket.
Without looking and with your hands tying your hair, you fainty reply to his greeting, "Morning."
You didn't reply to his level of enthusiasm but that's okay, he just doesn't expect you to be this stoic this early in the day. Instead of searching for his sweatpants, he wraps the blanket around his hips like a towel and waddles his way to the kitchen.
"You're up early," he says, noticing that it's barely seven and he knows you usually leave for work a little after eight, sometimes close to nine.
"Early appointment. Have to do a client's hair. Wedding," you concisely explain as you quietly sip your coffee from a big red mug.
It's strange, the way you speak and how your eyes are looking anywhere but in his direction. For now, he's going to think that you're just tired and not fully meeting your dose of caffeine yet
"Okay, so what's for breakfast?" He asks, excitedly tapping the dining table with his hands and grinning at you.
"Toast and coffee," you say while standing on your toes to get a glass from the top cabinet.
"Anything but coffee, please?" He politely asks, watching you walk the other way to get a carton of orange juice out of the fridge.
It's a sunny day but the room shares the same temperature as the glass of orange juice you pour into his glass. He observantly watches you, searching for any clues whether this is how you are in the morning or something is actually off with you.
There's one way to know, first, he takes a small sip of his juice to help with his dry throat and then jabs around the topic, "Last night was fun, don't you think?"
There's no answer and he can't see your reaction toward it when you're standing with your back facing him and he begins to think that it's the latter.
"I'm thinking we should do this again next Friday but I'll get to pick what we're going to watch and you bring—"
"Chris, I'm sorry but..." You swiftly turn on your feet and check the time on the clock, "I have to leave now."
"Sure, yeah, you can't be late for a wedding," he playfully says while keeps searching for your eyes to make you look at him.
You walk around your apartment to gather your things, your phone, and your wallet, stuffing them into a purse. You grab another bag which he guesses is one you usually carry for work and that only confirms that you're indeed leaving for an appointment.
"You can stay for breakfast and use the spare keys to lock the door when you leave," you say those things in a hurry as you drag your bag to the foyer.
He turns on his chair to look at you as he jokes, "We've only slept together twice and you're already giving me your apartment keys?"
Unfortunately, the jokes fall short as he hears nothing but the sound of the knob turning and you're getting out of the apartment.
"Have a great day at work!" He shouts at you but all he gets in response is the door closing and then clicks in place.
Chan can't tell anymore if you're leaving for work or you're leaving him, but it feels like he's getting his karma for always being the one leaving in the morning.
-
It's wedding season and that explains why there are a lot of scribbles on your calendar, you have a lot of appointments to do this month, and you get so busy that he's hardly seeing you lately.
Work is one thing he can understand but you can't possibly work 24 hours a day without a day off, right? At one point, he should have caught you leaving or coming home from work, whichever it is, the chance never comes to him, not even once.
Chan begins to wonder if you're avoiding him, he knows because there's a slight difference to it and it's in the purpose. You've been purposely doing things to avoid him.
With an excuse prepared in his head, Chan comes knocking on your door the next Friday night. He's been keeping your spare keys and can easily let himself in but that would be impolite, he needs to be on your good side to earn your trust.
After a few times knocking with no answer, he lets himself in but not because he has the spare keys, the door is unlocked so he figures you must be at home and doing something that makes you unable to get the door.
"Anyone's home?" He shouts into the void in your living room and hesitantly walks further inside.
Hearing the loud humming of a hairdryer, he walks to your bedroom. Unexpectedly, you're coming out as he's about to walk in.
"Oh, God!" You gasp in surprise as you hold the front of your bathrobe together, "What are you doing here?"
In contrast, Chan laughs seeing your shell-shocked expression in his presence. He then crosses his arms together and leans the side of his body against the doorframe, not forgetting to wear his grin as he answers to you, "Just checking to see if my neighbor is alive."
"Well, I'm alive," You're talking as you're taking dresses out of your closet, "and I need your help."
Looking at your mood and the way you talk normally to him, he concludes that the thought that you've been purposely avoiding him was just a silly thought after all. Other than that, you need his help and he likes being needed by you.
"I'm at your service," Chan says, permitting himself to step into your bedroom and sit on the end of your bed.
You're standing in front of him, holding up two dresses in your hands, one is a white line dress with a v-neck and the other is a body-hugging velvet dress in a deep burgundy color. Both will look good on you but he needs to know one thing before he gives his vote.
"Are we going out tonight?" He playfully asks, feeling a buzz of excitement filling him.
You turn around to face the full-length mirror while holding the dress in front of you in turn to give you ideas on how it will look on you.
"I have a date," you tell him.
Hearing that, the excitement in his body vanishes in a second and is replaced by a cold shudder of panic. He tries to laugh it off in denial.
"A–a date?" He stammers.
"Uh-huh," You end up settling the dress situation yourself by choosing to go with the white linen dress, "Can you get out of my room so I can change?"
His subconscious has the tendency to obey you, he gets up from the bed and walks out of your room, and he lingers there by the door, contemplating whether he should push the conversation or not.
"With who?" He doesn't want to know but curiosity gets the best of him.
"A guy I met at one of the weddings," you share from inside your bedroom.
"Is this—" he pauses to swallow air, "Is this your first date?"
"Yes and I'm excited," your voice grows louder and soon, the door cracks open and you reveal yourself to him, "Now, tell me I made the right choice?"
He takes a staggering step backward and asks, "On the date or the dress?"
You take a look at yourself on the round mirror hanging on the wall, "Is it too casual? No?"
For a second, Chan forgets about the direness of the situation and takes a good look at you, the dress compliments your shape so well, the hem flares up like a blooming flower and the v-cut neckline offers a modest cleavage, perfect for a first date. If he has to be honest, even without the dress, it won't make you less comely but he hates that you look this good and it's not for him.
"You look... good," he tries to make it sound like your appearance doesn't make any impression on him.
You wipe the excess lipstick on the corner of your mouth then look over your shoulder, "And the date?"
He doesn't expect you to give him the chance to say something about it and obviously, he's going to try his best to intercept your plan.
"Don't you think it's too soon?" He follows you as you head back to your bedroom then stops at the doorway as you enter the bathroom after, "To get on a date."
You take off the hair rollers nestling on the crown of your hair and your hair flows down like big springs, then brush it down with your fingers.
"You told me yourself that I should get out there and find new love," you return his words to him.
That feels like he's just slapped himself in the face. Why did he tell you that? Oh, yeah, that's because he wants you to start opening up so he can let himself in and fill that position.
"But that's not– I just didn't think..." his words trailing off as he can't exactly explain the reason why he said it, not now at least.
You put all of your hair to the front then flip it all together to the back, you're shaking the end with your fingers, sending the sweet smell of your shampoo flying around in the room.
"Didn't think what?" You curiously ask as you apply a fresh coat of lipstick on your lips, the shade is bright red like a flamethrower.
"When I said you should start finding a new love, I was hoping that you could finally see me and..." he can't find another way of telling you without saying it out loud, "perhaps, you can find it in me."
That makes you stop whatever you're doing and turn around on your feet, leaning against the bathroom counter, you look at him in eerie silence, and then out of nowhere, a laugh bursts out of you.
"Chris, stop playing!" You brush past him on the way out of the bathroom.
He's trailing behind you as you pick up a purse from a collection of them in your closet, "I'm not playing," he assures you.
"Okay, yeah, I trust you," you half-heartedly respond, heading out and going to the foyer to pick your shoes next.
"Can you please look at me?" He pleads as he waits for you to make up your mind with your choice of shoes.
"Just look at me, please?" He begs again, desperately.
You take your chosen shoes and hold them in one hand as you hold his gaze, "Okay, I'm looking at you."
In those fierce eyes, Chan finds the courage to assess his feelings and tries to fathom them into words. He inhales air before letting it out in a long, low sigh.
"Don't go on that date," he demands.
"Why?"
"Because I want you here."
"Chris, that's not a good enough reason," you say with a low laugh.
He gently places his hands on each of your elbows and tenderly stares into your eyes, "Then go ahead, ask me that one question."
"What question?"
"Ask me what are we," he steadily holds your gaze even though he feels a whirlwind in his head and chaos stirring inside his chest.
You brush it off with a laugh, "Why should I ask you—"
"Just ask me the question!" He accidentally raises his voice at you and immediately lowers his voice after, he looks down to take a breather before looking back into your eyes, "Ask me what are we!"
It feels like an eternity waiting for you to ask him that but he has the patience and an answer to that, he only needs you to ask him that.
You drop the shoes onto the floor and take a step forward, you hold his gaze as he holds his breath. Deep down, he knows that you'd have to be blind to not see the light of affection in his eyes.
To his dismay, you unexpectedly retreat and pick up everything with you toward the door. With your back turned to him, you say, "I don't want to be late for the date."
-
It's been an hour since he came back from your apartment and he's still stuck in the denial stage. He's lying in the dark and stares at the ceiling of his bedroom, ignoring his phone that's been tirelessly blaring with notifications.
It's not a rejection if you don't give him a definite, abundantly clear answer, right? Besides, there's a chance that the guy blew the date and you can see that he's the better man. Is he though? Is he any better?
There are two ways to handle this situation. One, he can try to forget all about it, hit call back on one of the girls contacting him right now, get out of here, and distract himself with a physical release. Or two, wait because there's something in him that tells him to wait just a little longer.
But wait for what? Wait until you return from your date? Wait until he sees it happens, you with your new beau, all lovey-dovey next door?
It seems like he's finally progressed into the next stage: anger.
Every thought that crosses his head right now is not nice and he needs an outlet for this anger. He shoots up from the bed, he starts pacing back and forth in the room, hands balled into fists, he gets this urge to punch something, he wants to— No, he can't wait with this ugly feeling slowly taking over him and driving him insane.
"Fuck this," he curses out loud into the void in his apartment, he picks up his phone and texts someone about meeting up tonight.
While typing a text, knocking comes on his door, and whoever it is, they'd better not piss him off or— the knocking comes again, he exhales air out of his mouth to calm down and walks in heavy steps to get the door.
It seems as if his anger wasn't there in the first place, the second he opens the door and sees you, all of those nasty thoughts vanish into thin air.
You're carrying your shoes in one hand and the other is holding one side of the doorframe. You look at him with a smile ever so softly blooms on your face, "So..."
See? It wasn't a rejection. He just needed to wait a little longer and God, he was glad he did.
"So...?" He asks back, holding the urge to smile back at you.
You daringly stare into his eyes as you take a step into his apartment, "So... what are we, Chris?"
It's crazy how your magnetic field is so strong that he can't stand being this close to you and not touching you, his hesitant hands are reaching for you, they retreat and give, doing it for a while until you drop everything off your hands and put your hands around his shoulders. Indirectly permitted him to put his hands on you.
"What are we, mmh?" You ask again with your eyes flickering like they hold stars in them.
"We are..." he considers to let the truth out but what's the fun in that? He needs to get back at you for making him doubt everything earlier, "Neighbors."
"No," you shake your head in disagreement, "You're definitely going to say something else."
Luckily, he's strong enough to hold you steady as you put your whole weight against him, leaving not even an inch of gap between your bodies.
"Someone still has her panties in a twist," he playfully responds with his charming grin on, dimples and all.
"Shame on you because I don't have any panties on," you say with your small smile turning into a broad one.
His eyes widen in slight shock, and his hand automatically glides downward, landing a caress on the curve of your ass and slipping under the hem of your dress to check whether your words are true or not. His fingers edge at the lacy fabric of your underwear and it turns out to be the latter.
"Ugh, you're lying!" He groans in complaint but it doesn't make him less happy, he's elated, and his heart is about to burst.
"Partly."
"How so?"
"Because you're about to take them off," you shamelessly say.
Chan wants to let go of all the things that hold him back. He brings both of your lips together, he kisses you like you're oxygen and he's short on air. He runs his hands down your back to your hips, cupping your sweet ass, and pulls you even closer. You struggle to get closer as he kisses you deep and hard your head tilted to the back, you weave your fingers through his hair as you pour yourself into the kiss.
Everything that happened before this is in the past now, all he knows now is your taste and the hot sighs of your breath, and then this irrepressible want to devour you.
"I'm going to carry you to bed," Chan's plush lips brushing yours as he speaks.
The idea of carrying you to bed is highly appealing to him at the moment. He likes holding you and as messed up as it was, he wants to throw you onto the bed, in the most respectful way.
"Then what are you waiting for, kangaroo boy?"
A sharp gasp escapes your mouth as he swoops you into his arms and carries you in the direction of the bedroom. You have your arms looped around his neck to hold onto and place kisses along his jaw all the way to his bedroom.
Instead of throwing you onto the bed like he planned, he throws both of you onto the bed and it quakes, he immediately props an elbow against the mattress to not put his weights on you.
"God, you're so beautiful," his sigh tells how overwhelmed he is by what he's seeing and what a privilege that he's able to place kisses on such beauty.
When you try to gasp a mouthful of air, he breathes it into you with his hand resting on your jaw, you look up at him, and a starburst of emotion expands inside him. He thinks you see it in his eyes because you softly smile at him.
Giving you time to breathe, he shifts his focus elsewhere, he kisses and sucks on your neck, all the while his hands are keeping your body closely pressed against him, making you aware of the firm flesh prodding your crotch through his blue jeans.
The next thing is his mouth searching for the source of the heat and your body goes into total system failure as his mouth inches closer to where you want him. Between your thighs, you flush and tingle with wanting.
"This smell..." he hums as he buries his nose in your clothed sex, making you able to feel every sharp intake of air he inhales through his nose.
He pries his mouth open and plants it on your heating wetness, not caring about the lacy fabric that blocks him from tasting it raw.
"Mmh..." he deeply hums again, almost like the low roar of a wild animal hunting at night, "I want this smell all over me."
The intensity of your desire frightens and embarrasses you at the same time, you need a little control but control is gone when Chan tugs the waistband of your underwear between his teeth and begins to pull it down your legs.
He places his hands on the back of your thighs and slowly, lifts both of your legs upward as he keeps biting your underwear. You're watching as he tries to take it off of you with such determination.
Once he succeeds, he grabs the underwear from between his teeth and holds it up to show you his latest conquest, "Twisted panties no more," he says with a sly grin.
Instead of tossing it aside, he puts the underwear into the back pocket of his jeans, "I'm keeping it."
There are so many layers of clothing keeping him from feeling your skin but he can start by removing his t-shirt, having no problems showing you his taut muscles and his pale skin that reddens around the chest, neck, and both ears.
Next, Chan grabs your knees, he pulls them apart to bare your sex to his eyes and his chest expands on a sharp inhalation. The look on his face tells it all, he wants you, he wants you so bad that he swallows air, sending his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.
It's the first time that he gets to see it open and bare, gushing with essence, tantalizing. He leisurely takes his time to admire it while plotting things he wants to do to it.
He rubs his hands down the sides of your thighs and lowly sighs, without his eyes straying away from the sight between your legs, he says, "You have the prettiest little—”
He thinks he's imagining it but he's not the only one hearing knocks on his apartment door. Sensing someone else's presence, your legs instinctively shut and you pull the hem of your dress down.
"Chris, are you expecting someone?" You ask with your forehead wrinkled in question.
"No," he shortly answers, he doesn't want you to think that he's waiting for someone else other than you, "I don't—"
The knocking comes again a while later, a little too aggressive that both of you can't ignore it anymore.
"Someone is knocking on your door," you say.
"Yeah, but I swear, I don't—"
You place your hand on his waist and look at him, "well, then, get the door and find out."
He'd rather have someone sawing him off of you than having to voluntarily get away from you, whoever this person is will be responsible for what's not going down at this moment.
"Only if you promise you won't change your mind," he tells you with a sly smirk.
"If you don't hurry and get the door, I might," you say back.
"Stay still. Don't move. Not even an inch," he pecks your lips for every warning with both hands cupping your face. He plants another long peck on your lips before dashing toward the front door and thinking of just sending this person away so he can get back to you.
This is where he makes a mistake. He doesn't check through the peephole and opens the door right away, having the faintest idea that catastrophe awaits on the other side of the door.
"Ah, there you are!" The girl says, jumping at him and immediately locking lips with him.
It happens so fast that by the time Chan registers it, the girl pulls away but keeps her arms looped around his shoulders.
"I came here as soon as I received your text," she grabs his chin and kisses his slacked-open mouth, "I hope I didn't make you wait long."
On the other end of the room, he hears your footsteps coming and soon, you come into his sight. You look so calm and he'd prefer a raging sea because with calm water, he never really knows what he's dealing with.
With an enigmatic smile, you look at him and say, "You know what, Chris? I change my mind."
-
Support my works by reblog, comment or consider tipping me on my ko-fi!
pairing: witch!hyun x f!reader | wc: 51.9k | genre: adult/dark romance | warnings: angst ; religious bigotry ; severe parental abuse ; occult sciences/magick ; coming-of-age chapter ; suicidal thoughts/themes of suicide ; death and mourning, and more. This work contains explicit sexual content and is strictly for adult audiences. ⚠️ caution: this chapter contains sensitive topics and (very) dark themes. please read the full list of warnings if you suspect such content could upset you. another, less exhaustive list of warnings is also available if you would rather not be spoiled. please visit the series content warnings to access both. Reader discretion is advised.
The water was so close that Hyunjin could hear the ripples of the waves in detail but it was too dark to see it—when he looked past the tiny building, it looked like he was just staring at a vast empty space, which is to say, it felt just like staring into a mirror.
When Hyunjin was twelve years old, he found a little puppy in a back alley as he was coming home from school, but that is not where his story begins.
His story also doesn’t begin when he was born or something like that—he would say that few things, not even his existence, actually mattered before he met Hye Sun.
Hyunjin was nine years old when the Juns moved into his neighborhood and were welcomed into their church. He had many friends already, as Hyunjin had always been a lively and outgoing child, but he didn’t mind making more. The church would throw a big party whenever such an event took place, so it was with hands sticky from ice cream and many glasses of sweet lemonade into the afternoon that he was introduced to Hye Sun.
“This is Hye Sun. She is the Juns’ daughter,” his mother told him, standing in between him and the new family. The party took place in the courtyard behind the church and the weather was nice. “Since the other children are a little older than you two, I assured the Juns that you would keep an eye on her and introduce her around.”
Hyunjin looked at the little girl standing in front of him. She was holding a mostly melted ice cream cone and wore a bright pink t-shirt, a blue skirt, and blue tights. She had pigtails and the elastics in her hair had little tigers on them.
He looked at his mom—it wasn’t the first time she asked such things from him. Hyunjin might have been young but he knew why she did that, and it was because it made her, and Dad, look like they were kind and considerate people. Like they had raised their son not just right, but better than other people raised their children.
The other kids were a few years ahead of him but Hyunjin was wise for his age, so he got along with them just fine. “Hi,” he told Hye Sun, waving at her. “I’m Hyunjin.”
The little girl was shy. She tried to hide behind her mother, but she was pushed forward. “You go now, Hye Sun. They’ll be your new prayer group, so you have to get to know them.”
Hyunjin couldn’t remember having been shy but he could understand how she felt. He would probably want to hide too if they took him out of his bedroom, his house, his city and his church and threw him in an entirely new place.
He extended his hand for her to take. “Come, I’ll show you my secret spot and no one can bother us there.”
Hye Sun stared at his hand and his face alternatively, once in a while looking at one of her parents. Ultimately, she took a step toward him, then another, and took his hand, not minding that it was a little sticky.
They didn’t talk much at first. The secret spot was a narrow space between the church and the fence surrounding the courtyard. There was a dense forsythia at its end, offering cover. Nobody really bothered Hyunjin when he was here, and that day was no exception. He asked if she wanted lemonade or something and she said no, sitting near the bush, inspecting every branch carefully as if her life depended on it. Hyunjin gave her space, sitting on the other side, near the fence, watching the party through it.
Some time passed, during which Father Yeon made an unofficial speech to a small group—which included Hyunjin’s and the girl’s parents—as to why it was important to create bonds between each other. Hyunjin wasn’t sure he understood everything he said—he was too young to comprehend those things, but old enough to know he would understand them someday. Father Yeon spoke of keeping an eye on each other but not in the sense Hyunjin would have thought. He couldn’t understand, but he was almost sure their priest was asking prominent members of the church to snoop on others.
Because sin was poison, and poison spread quickly—should it unfortunately leak within them, the stain would be difficult, perhaps impossible, to wash away. So it was best to eliminate the threat of it before it happened altogether.
» Read the full chapter on ao3.
(you don't need an account to access it, just click the link!)
author's note: Where do I even begin? I suppose I should say thank you. It's always the first thing that comes to mind when I talk to my readers, whether it's individually through reblogs, asks, or DMs, or when I speak to all of you. Thank you for keeping my stories in your hearts like that. I feel a little stronger thanks to you guys.
This chapter is very different than other things I've written. I'm becoming very close to writing in a 100% Unadulterated Mari™️ way and it makes me as excited as it makes me frightened! I do hope that despite all of this, you will find things to like in the chapter. At the very least, it should answer some questions.
To no one's surprise, I'd like to extend a very heartfelt thank you to @cb97percent who has been an incredible help with this beast of a chapter, and who doesn't let my brain go in certain places. Thank you miss cb.
So just that. Thank you. For keeping my stories alive with your hearts and your kindness.
if you wish to be removed from my permanent taglist, be comfortable contacting me. I understand & will ask no questions. I am noticing I'll probably need to redo my entire taglist as so many blogs listed in this one no longer read my blog, which means new spots will be open, just in case anyone is interested 🤍
This has taken me much longer than it should have. I read the chapter a few days after its release but it got so deep under my skin that i had to take time to process it in order to be able to formulate anything coherent (hopefully) rather than just screaming in caps lock.
When you left us shocked on a sheer precipice of chapter 3 I couldn’t even imagine what hell of a rollercoaster we will have to go through together with Hyune and Sunnie. Everything these two had to go together is so heartbreaking, I don’t think I’ve ever read or seen something even close traumatic and dramatic as this. It was painful to read every sentence and every word felt like a bee bite, because to be fair you combined all the things I was (and still am at some point) afraid when I was a teen. Like I’m still scared of teenage pregnancy, even though I’m 28 fucking years old, and reading the characters go through that almost had me have a panic attack.
None of them deserved to go through all this pain. To suffer so much because of their parents mistakes. It is heartbreaking to even think about how easy it is to ruin someone’s life. I wish I could hug both Hyun and Sunnie and take all their pain away.
What Sunnie’s parents did is absolutely terrifying and crazy. These two were ready and were willing to raise a child which is so rare and they didn’t even give them the chance. What a waste of air for people like them. I feel so sorry for the kids. What’s the point of giving birth when you don’t hear your children at all? Honestly it’s absolutely heartbreaking.
I cried so hard reading the part where he called his parents for the first time. It’s so painful and so filled with regret. That everyone poured some water in the jar of this mistake.
And when it turned out that Huynjin also picked Four of Wands…and Four?? He knew it was the Mc from the very start 😭 he just had to wait until he was ready to open his heart and for her to be ready. And he was equally terrified of Loving and being Loved too.
The way you managed to transfer all the pain and hardships the characters had to go through is really astonishing. I was listening to ambient music while reading and that also added so much atmosphere to the story. There are a couple (of many, I swear my notes are just the endless citation of the story) that really got deep into my head, id love to point them out:
It was a temporary relief. Like walking in a desert and finding a lone tree that would provide shade—the sun would move around it, slowly exposing him to the heat again, and the air remained warm despite it all anyway.
- Wow. What a way to put the words together and depict the emotion. Just wow!
Changed. In order to attain its ultimate form, the caterpillar had to go through destruction first.
- so out boy is a caterpillar too.
Love can become hatred. Or maybe you can love yourself a little more instead.
- what a thought!!!
Anyways, I came back to writing this when it started to hurt a little less and I and just immensely grateful to you for letting feel a part of this amazing story.
As always. You are crazy talented, Mari. Thank you for being here and continuing to create your wonderful worlds. Love you always!
