୧ ׅ𖥔 ۫

sunghoon' gf (real)

[sungkyoo]

bandidas estoy harta ya saquen los fics de el malilla x el amor de dios

[lac4ygal]

FUCKED BY AN… IDOL?

── IN WHICH you accidentally have sex with an idol in the bathroom of a club

➛ 3.8k / 3,835

✧.* ( 박종성 ) idol AU, alcohol usage, semi-public sex, fingering, penetrative sex, r ough, praise kink, dirty talk, multiple orgasm, overstimulation,

✧ now playing: Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon ┃ masterlist

laceys note ; idek where I went with this I just though this was FUNNT ASF, anyway the writing is kinda bad but I hope yall like anyway! (kinda left yous on a cliff hanger sorry lol x) comments, reblogs and feedback means so much, plsss don’t be a silent reader cause ily all babies! pls enjoy 😚

Jay had not come to London to fall victim to a pretty face.

He’d come to perform — four nights, sold out, every seat filled with people who knew every word to every song. He’d come to give everything he had to a crowd that gave it right back, to stand under lights so bright they bleached the world white, to feel that particular kind of electric that only existed on stage.

He had not come to get distracted.

Yet.

The club was Heeseung’s idea — we have one night left, we’re in London, we are going out — delivered with the kind of finality that left zero room for arguments.

So here Jay was, drink in hand, bass vibrating through the soles of his shoes, surrounded by his members in a dark corner booth that their manager had quietly secured. No fanfare. No announcement. Just seven boys finally, finally exhaling after months of controlled chaos.

He was happy. Genuinely. The kind of loose, warm happy that only came after weeks of adrenaline finally releasing its grip on your nervous system.

He was also, apparently, very easy to distract.

Because that’s when he saw you.

You weren’t doing anything extraordinary. That was the thing that got him.

You weren’t performing for the room the way some people did — no extravagant hair flips, no eyes scanning for attention, no body angled that said look at me.

You were just — there. Present. Laughing at something your friend had said, head thrown back, completely unbothered by the hundred of sweaty bodies pressing in around you.

You were wearing something that made his mouth go dry but that wasn’t even the thing that got him. It was the way you occupied the space around you. Like you owned it without trying. Like the club had been built specifically to frame you and you alone.

Jay noticed everything about you.

“You’re staring,” Heeseung said into his ear, without even looking up from his drink.

“I’m observing,” Jay said.

“At a specific person.”

“At the area.”

Heeseung finally looked up, followed his eyeline across the dancefloor, and made a sound of quiet understanding. “Ah.”

“Don’t.” Jay said.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Heeseung smiled into his drink and said nothing. Which was somehow worse.

Jay looked back at you. You’d moved slightly, swaying now to whatever the DJ had shifted into, your friends forming a loose orbit around you. Still laughing. Still completely unaware of him staring at you like you’re a goddess.

The thing was it was usually him being looked at — cameras, crowds, eyes tracking his every move from pit to balcony. People looked at Jay Park. That was just a fact of his life, as constant and unremarkable as breathing.

You weren’t looking at him and it was driving him insane.

He drained the rest of his drink in one gulp, set the glass down with a quiet click. “Back in a bit,” he said.

Heeseung didn’t even look up. “Sure you are.”

Jay was already moving.

The thing about London clubs was the heat. Thick and immediate, the kind that soaked into your skin the second you stepped onto the floor. You’d stopped noticing it an hour ago, too caught up in the music, in your friends, in the freedom of a night with nowhere to be and nothing to do but exist in it.

Your friend had said something about drinks and disappeared toward the bar. You’d stayed, unbothered, moving easily to the bass line currently vibrating through the floor, through your bones, through everything.

You didn’t hear him coming over, though you wouldn’t have — the music too loud, the crowd too thick. The first thing you registered was warmth. A presence behind you, close but not touching, giving you the choice.

You turned your head slightly. Just enough.

He was tall. Dark eyes catching the strobe light for just a second before the room plunged dim again. Sharp jaw, pretty mouth curved at the corner like he already knew something you didn’t. He smelled expensive — cedar and something warmer underneath, something that made you want to lean in to identify it properly.

A stranger. A very, very attractive stranger.

You faced forward again and didn’t move away. That was all the answer he needed.

His hands found your waist — light at first, barely there, a question more than a statement. When you didn’t pull away he settled them properly, warm and sure against your hips, and moved with you.

He was a good dancer. Effortlessly, annoyingly good. His body found your rhythm without fumbling for it, hips rolling slow and deliberate against yours, chest warm against your back. Not aggressive. Just — assured. Like he had all the time in the world and intended to use it.

You relaxed back into him by degrees, almost without deciding to. His lips found the curve of your ear.

“You’ve been ignoring this whole room all night,” he said, voice low, cutting clean through the noise like it was meant only for you. A trace of an accent you couldn’t quite place. “How come?”

You tipped your head back slightly against his shoulder, glancing up at him from the corner of your eye. “Maybe the room wasn’t worth paying attention to,” you said.

The smile that pulled at his mouth was slow and devastating. His grip on your hips tightened — just slightly. Just enough. “And now?” he asked.

You turned in his hold then, fully, facing him for the first time.

Up close he was even more disarming — something almost familiar about his face that you couldn’t place, like a word on the tip of your tongue. You let your hands rest against his chest and felt the warmth of him through the fabric.

“Jury’s still out,” you said.

He laughed. Low and genuine, surprised like he hadn’t expected that. Like most people didn’t say that to him.

“Jay,” he said, offering his name like something casual. Like it cost him nothing and this case, it didn’t.

You gave him yours. He repeated it back to you once, quiet, testing the shape of it — and something about the way he said it made your stomach pull tight.

The song shifted. Heavier. Slower in a way that wasn’t slow at all.

Jay’s eyes dropped to your mouth for just a second. Came back up.

“Dance with me properly,” he said. Less a question, more like inevitability. You did.

He knew exactly what he was doing — every movement deliberate, every shift of his hips calculated to make your brain short circuit. His hands roamed with confidence, never rushed, tracing the curve of your waist, your hips, the small of your back — like he was learning you by touch alone and intended to be thorough about it.

You’d stopped thinking about your friends approximately four songs ago.

The music was filthy — bass so heavy it felt physical, the kind of track that gave everyone on the floor permission to stop pretending. Bodies pressed in around you both, hot and close, the air thick with sweat and perfume and the particular electricity of a room full of people who’d decided to stop caring.

Jay’s chest was flush against your back, one hand splayed flat across your stomach, the other gripping your hip hard. His mouth was at your ear, your jaw, occasionally brushing the side of your neck without quite committing to it — just enough to make you acutely aware of exactly where his lips weren’t.

You rolled your hips back against him deliberately. His grip tightened. A sharp exhale against your neck.

“Don’t start something you’re not finishing,” he murmured, voice dropped low and rough in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with the noise around you.

You turned your head, mouth close to his jaw. “Who said I’m not finishing it?”

The sound he made was barely audible over the music. But you felt it — a low noise in his chest, something unravelling at the edges.

His mouth found your neck properly then and your eyes fell shut for a second, fingers curling into the hand he had splayed across your stomach.

He turned you around in one smooth motion, hands cupping your face, tilting it up. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, all that easy confidence stripped back to something more urgent underneath.

“Tell me to stop,” he said. Giving you the out.

“Jay.” His name in your mouth for the first time, and the way his jaw tightened when you said it — god. “I’m not telling you to stop.”

His thumb traced your lower lip. Just once. “Good,” he said quietly.

He took your hand.

The crowd swallowed you both as he navigated through the bodies with practiced ease, one hand firm in yours, pulling you toward the back corridor of the club where the noise dimmed by degrees — still audible, still thumping through the walls, but muffled now. Distant. Like the rest of the world had agreed to give you both a moment.

The bathroom door. He pushed it open, checked it was empty, pulled you in after him. The lock clicked behind you.

And then he turned around and looked at you in the dim light of the single overhead bulb — chest rising and falling, hair slightly dishevelled from the dancefloor, mouth curving into that same devastating smile from earlier.

Except closer now. So much closer.

“Hi,” he said softly. Almost like he was seeing you properly for the first time.

Something about it made your breath catch.

“Hi,” you said back.

He kissed you.

He kissed different to how you expected. Slower. More deliberate. Like he was in absolutely no rush despite the fact that you were in a club bathroom and the bass was still thumping through the walls like a second heartbeat. His thumbs traced your cheekbones while his mouth moved against yours, drawing you in deep and unhurried until you were gripping the front of his shirt just to have something to hold onto.

He pulled back just enough to look at you. Eyes dark, chest rising and falling, that insufferable almost-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“You have no idea,” he said quietly, “how long I’ve been thinking about doing that.”

“You saw me forty minutes ago,” you managed.

“Long forty minutes.”

You laughed despite yourself and he swallowed it, kissing you again — deeper this time, hungrier, one hand sliding from your jaw into your hair while the other traced the curve of your waist, your hip, the hem of your skirt.

His mouth dropped to your neck. Open and warm, tongue dragging slow across your pulse point while his fingers toyed with the waistband of your underwear — not pushing in yet, just tracing the elastic, back and forth, until you shifted your hips toward him without meaning to.

He noticed. Of course he noticed. “Tell me what you want,” he murmured against your throat.

“Jay—”

“Tell me.” Not harsh. Just certain. Like he had all the time in the world and intended to use every second of it.

“Touch me,” you breathed. “Please.”

The please seemed to do something to him — jaw tightening against your neck, a low noise in his chest. “Good girl,” he said softly. “Was that so hard?”

His fingers slipped beneath the fabric. The sound you made when he made contact was immediate and mortifying — a sharp gasp that you muffled against his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

He stroked through your folds slowly, gathering the slick heat of you, and made a sound himself — low and reverent, like he’d been handed something precious.

“God,” he breathed. “Already?”

“Don’t,” you started.

“I’m not teasing.” He pulled back to look at you, completely sincere, eyes dark and blown wide. “That’s — you’re incredible. You know that?”

You didn’t know what to do with that. With the way he said it — not performative, not practiced. Just honest.

He pressed a single kiss to the corner of your mouth and then sank two fingers inside you. Your head dropped back against the wall.

He worked you open with devastating patience — fingers curling, pace building slow and deliberate, heel of his palm grinding against your clit while he watched your face with an intensity that felt almost like too much. Like he was cataloguing every micro-expression, every caught breath, storing them somewhere.

“Let me hear you,” he said quietly. “Don’t hold back.”

“People will—”

“Let them.” His fingers curled harder and your argument dissolved into a moan that you couldn’t have swallowed if you tried.

“There.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “There it is. Just like that.” He did it again. Deliberately. Just to hear you repeat it.

“Jay—” His name breaking apart in your mouth, thighs trembling around his hand, the wet obscene sound of his fingers working you open loud in the small tiled space. “Jay, I’m — god, I’m going to—”

“Yeah you are,” he said, almost conversationally, eyes fixed entirely on your face. “Come on. Let me hear it. Want to hear you say my name when you come.”

It hit you like a current — rolling deep and devastating, your whole body shuddering, his name tearing from your throat exactly like he’d asked for it, fingers clenching around his wrist to hold him there while he worked you through every aftershock with merciless patience.

“Perfect,” he breathed, almost to himself. “Absolutely perfect.”

You were still shaking when he withdrew his fingers, brought them to his mouth without breaking eye contact, and sucked them clean. Your brain simply ceased functioning entirely.

“Jay.” Your voice came out wrecked. “If you don’t—”

“I know.” He was already reaching into his back pocket. “I know, I’ve got you.”

He rolled the condom on with steady hands, pushed your skirt up properly, and then his hands found the backs of your thighs and hoisted you up against the wall in one clean motion — your legs locking around his waist automatically, his forearms braced either side of your head.

He looked at you for just a second. Hair wrecked, lips swollen, holding your entire weight like it was nothing. “Still good?” he asked.

“If you don’t move right now—”

He pushed inside.

The stretch was immediate and overwhelming — thick and deep, splitting you open on a slow relentless slide until he was fully seated and you were gasping open mouthed against his jaw, nails marking into his shoulder skin through the fabric of his shirt.

He stilled. Just for a moment. Forehead dropping to yours, jaw tight with the effort of it. “Fuck,” he breathed. Genuine. . “You feel — god, you feel unreal.”

Then he moved.

Long, deep strokes that drove the air from your lungs completely — his hips snapping up into yours with a precision that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing and had zero intention of pretending otherwise. The wall creaked behind you. Your sounds were swallowed by the bass through the walls but barely, barely — every thrust punching a noise out of you that you couldn’t contain.

“Louder,” he said against your ear, low and rough. “Come on. Want to hear you.”

“Jay—”

“Louder.” His pace intensified, one hand gripping your thigh so hard you’d see it tomorrow, the other braced against the wall. “Let me hear how good it feels. Need to hear it.”

You stopped trying to muffle yourself.

The noise that left you was unrestrained — his name, fragmented and desperate, and the effect it had on him was instantaneous. His rhythm stuttered, a rough groan against your neck, hips snapping harder and more erratic.

“Yeah,” he breathed, strained. “Yeah, exactly like that, you’re doing so — fuck—”

He shifted suddenly — lowering you, turning you, bending you forward over the edge of the sink with a gentleness that contradicted the urgency of it entirely. Hands smoothing down your spine like he had all the time in the world while you gripped the porcelain edge and caught your own reflection in the mirror — wrecked and flushed, Jay behind you, jaw set with concentration.

His eyes found yours in the mirror. Held them. “Watch,” he said quietly.

He pushed back inside from this angle and the sound you both made simultaneously was obscene.

Deeper like this. Meaner. His hands gripping your hips, pulling you back onto him with each thrust, the slap of skin loud and rhythmic and filthy. But his eyes never left yours in the mirror — watching every expression cross your face, drinking it in, that same focused intensity like you were the only thing worth looking at in the entire world.

“Tell me how it feels,” he said, breathless now, composure finally fraying at every edge. “Tell me.”

“So good,” you managed, barely. “Jay — god — so good, don’t stop—”

“Not stopping.” His jaw was tight, pace relentless. “Not even close. You’re—” He exhaled roughly. “You’re unbelievable, absolute—”

The second orgasm hit you without warning — sudden and total, clenching around him so hard your vision fractured white, his name coming out of you in a broken keen that echoed off the tiles.

He followed immediately — burying himself deep with a rough groan muffled against your shoulder, hips grinding slow and deliberate while he spilled into the condom, shuddering once, twice, then going completely still.

Silence. Just breathing. And the muffled bass through the walls. And both of you wrecked and trembling and not quite ready to move.

He pressed his lips to the back of your neck. Soft. Unhurried. Like a full stop. “You okay?” he murmured.

“I don’t know what I am,” you said honestly.

He laughed quietly against your skin. Steadied you as he withdrew, disposed of the condom, smoothed your skirt back down with careful hands like you were something worth taking care of.

You turned around. Faced him in the dim light.

His hair was destroyed. His mouth was swollen. His eyes were soft in a way that felt wildly at odds with the last twenty minutes and somehow made it worse.

His phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Three times. Something shifted in his expression — almost imperceptible, there and gone. He glanced at the screen and something complicated moved behind his eyes.

“I have to go,” he said. The words landed soft but final.

You blinked. Searched his face. “Right now?”

“Right now.” He looked genuinely pained about it, nothing like you’d have expected from a stranger in a club bathroom. Just — sorry. Actually sorry. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to.”

You studied him for a moment. Believed him, somehow, in a way you couldn’t entirely explain. “Okay,” you said quietly.

He stepped forward, cupped your face in both hands with a tenderness that felt wildly disproportionate to the last twenty minutes, and kissed you — slow and soft and thorough, like he was committing something to memory.

When he pulled back his eyes stayed closed for just a second longer than necessary.

“You were incredible,” he murmured against your lips. “Truly.”

And then he was gone — door swinging shut behind him, footsteps disappearing into the noise of the club, swallowed immediately by the crowd like he’d never been there at all.

You stood in the dim bathroom light. Chest still heaving. Lips still warm.

You didn’t even know his last name.

—

“Why am I here,” you said, trying and unsuccessfully to dig your heels into the pavement to stop Ava from dragging you. “You know I don’t even listen to them.”

“That’s exactly why you need to come,” she shot back, not slowing for a second. “Character development.”

“This is not character development, this is kidnapping.” She ignored you completely, flashing your tickets at the staff and pulling you inside before you could protest further. Trapping you unfortunatly.

The noise hit you immediately — screaming bleeding through the walls, that loud screeching kind that only existed at concerts. You grimaced. “I feel underdressed for this level of commitment.”

“You’ll survive.”

“I might not.”

“You will. And you’re going to thank me later.”

“Unlikely.”

She finally stopped once you were inside, turning to face you with a look that said she was entirely too pleased with herself. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I’m being honest. Why didn’t you just bring Mei? She actually likes them.”

“She bailed.”

“Convenient.”

“Also,” your friend added, narrowing her eyes slightly, “you need to get out more.”

You let out a dry laugh. “I go out.”

“Hooking up with mysterious strangers in clubs does not count as social enrichment.”

Your stomach dropped. Just slightly. Just enough. You forced your expression to stay neutral (you’re almost certain you failed to do so though). “That was one time.”

She wasn’t listening to you anymore, instead she was shoving further through the crowd, hand around your wrist and dragging you with a lot more force than earlier. “Move, move—oh my god, move!”

“Ava—” you stumbled as she yanked you forward again, nearly knocking into a group of girls already screaming near the front. “Ava, we’re going to be squashed.”

“We are not standing in the back like losers,” Ava snapped, squeezing between people with zero shame. “I did not fight for these tickets just to see them as tiny little pixels with my own eyes.”

“You’re going to kill me.”

“Worth it for a banging view.”

You barely had time to argue before she finally stopped—right up against the metal barricade, hands gripping until her knuckles were white like she’d reached salvation and was clinging to it. “Oh my god,” she breathed, eyes wide, already completely gone. “We’re so close.”

You looked around, slightly stunned. She’d actually done it. “You’re insane,” you said.

“And yet—” she shot you a grin, breathless, “—you love me.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond the lights cut. The screams that followed felt like they could tear the roof off the building. Ava grabbed your arm instantly, her nails marking crescents into your skin. “THIS IS IT.”

You winced. “You’re yelling directly into my ear.”

“Shut up, they’re coming—”

They walked out. Seven of them. You weren’t really paying attention at first — just shapes, movement, noise — until Ava started yelling next to you, gripping your arm harder now.

“That one—” she shouted over the music, pointing. “That’s Jay, I told you about him—”

You followed her finger. And everything in your body went completely still.

No.

No, that—

That’s not—

But it was.

Same face. Same eyes. Same mouth. Just under stage lights now instead of a dim bathroom light.

Jay. The same Jay that fucked you in a bathroom last night and called you ‘good girl’ and made you come until you saw stars was now standing on stage in front of thousands of people. Singing and dancing like it was normal.

Like he was normal.

Your hand flew to Ava’s sleeve and your grip tightened unconsciously around it. “That’s—” you started, but your voice didn’t come out right.

“What?” she yelled, not looking at you she’s too fixated on them (you couldn’t blame her anymore). “Isn’t he insane?”

You couldn’t breathe properly. He moved closer to the front of the stage and for a split second—

His eyes swept across the crowd. Until they locked right at the barricade. On you.

It was brief. So brief you could’ve convinced yourself you imagined it. Except—

His expression changed. Just slightly, almost barely notable until the glow of the stage lights but you noticed. It was that same flicker you’d seen in the bathroom when his phone buzzed.

Recognition.

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

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[mssishipi]

OUT OF LUCK— SJY

Money, sex, and a lifetime of feeling like luck was never really on your side—until the universe decided to fuck with you in the most inconvenient way possible. What started as simple coexisting turned into something more when you paid a little too much attention to your quiet, awkward, painfully responsible roommate—who, on paper, is a complete fucking loser. But, hey, he’s not that bad! In which Sim Jaeyun becomes the only genuinely good, unfairly lucky thing that’s ever happened to you… and just like everything else in your life, good things have a way of slipping right through your fingers. So now you have to figure it out, fix it, or risk losing the only thing that ever felt right before you run Out of Luck.

2: FORTUNE'S FAVOR

content tags and warnings: roommate au! romantic comedy, jake is an engineering student x volleyball varsity player reader, light angst, angst and fluff and fluff and a happy ending! complicated feelings, mentions of SUPERTITIOUS BELIEFS, tarot reading, luck, fate etc! 10k wc of reader avoiding jake and the rest will be jake 's pov (he yap and yap), mentions of social anxiety and self harm, jake is such an awkward introverted baby he needs a hug i swear, jake is yearning :(, embarassment, 2nd hand embarassment, public confession, awkward erm moments, jake is secretly a simp and he's pathetic, slice of life, kissing hehe. ft. heeseung as jake's best supportive friend, 02z as jake's hs friend, kazuha as jake's ex gf, karina, ryujin, other kpop idol as reader's volleyball team, robots and fish as side characters. mild smut: masturbation, still MDNI! (WC:34.6K)

Fate is a power believed to predetermine events, some unavoidable bullshit that people love to hold onto when things go wrong. A little explanation so they don't have to admit that sometimes things just fall apart because people make stupid choices, or because shit just happens for no good reason at all.

And right now? You think fate is complete fucking nonsense.

If fate was real, then maybe you wouldn't have been dumb enough to let things spiral the way they did. Maybe you would've stopped yourself before crossing the line.

Maybe if people weren't idiots, if they just paid attention for one goddamn second, things wouldn't end up worse than they needed to be. Like, for example—if someone didn't decide to throw a basketball straight to your fucking face like they had zero brain cells to work with.

Geez. Fate. Luck. Doom. What kind of bullshit logic even ties those things together? The more you think about it, the more it just pisses you off. People are so fucking dumb sometimes, acting like everything is written in the stars when half of it is just bad decisions stacked on top of each other.

"Hehe... I'm so sorry."

You glance at Karina from where you're sitting on the bench, an ice pack pressed against your already bruised nose, your face still sore from everything that's happened over the past few days. Her hand hovers mid-air, like she wants to check on you but isn't sure if you'll snap at her or brush her off.

She just got back from Japan and of course, Ryujin had already filled her in. Not just about how, three days into recovery of your accident, some dumbass from the basketball team managed to add another bruise to your already fucked-up nose during practice like it was some kind of sick joke.

But also that you got your heart broken. Well. You didn't want to tell her. You didn't want to tell anyone, if you were being honest. Saying it out loud makes it real in a way that just thinking about it doesn't. It turns it into something people can react to, something they can pity, something they can talk about. And you're not in the mood for that shit.

So you just exhale slowly, leaning back a bit, eyes drifting away from her. "It's fine," you mutter. Karina doesn't look convinced. She's not stupid. But for once, she doesn't push immediately. Thankfully.

She lowers her hand slowly, sitting down beside you, her shoulder brushing lightly against yours and you know exactly what she's trying to do—comfort, soften the edges, make it easier for you to crack open and talk. But you don't. You just let out a quiet sigh, leaning back slightly as if nothing about this is affecting you. You let her stay there because it's easier than pushing her away and dealing with the questions that would follow. You've always been good at this anyway—pretending. Acting like you're fine.

And weeks pass like that. Quietly. You make it a point—no, a fucking mission—that you and that man-who-shouldn't-be-named never cross paths.

You adjust your schedule, leaving earlier, coming home later, avoiding the living room at certain hours, listening for any sign that he's around before stepping out of your room. It's exhausting, honestly, but you do it anyway because the alternative—seeing him, talking to him, pretending like nothing happened or worse, acknowledging it—feels ten times worse.

You even considered moving out at one point, scrolling through listings late at night, checking dorm prices, calculating your budget over and over again like maybe the numbers would magically change.

They didn't.

Because you're broke. Like, actually fucking broke. Rent is insane, dorms are worse, and on top of that, your training for regionals has been eating up your time and energy like crazy. Your appetite has doubled—no, tripled—and now you can't go a day without stuffing yourself full or you start feeling like shit. And all your money? Gone. Straight into food. Food, food, and more fucking food.

You click your tongue in annoyance just thinking about it, dragging a hand down your face. Fuck this. Why did that man even cook for you so much before? Why did he set that stupid standard? Now your body's used to actual meals, and you can't even go back to your old habits without feeling like you're dying. It's irritating. It's inconvenient. It's— NO. You cut the thought off before it goes somewhere else.

You swore you wouldn't like anyone anymore. That shit is done. Over! Finished!

And honestly? All those stupid things people made you believe in? Complete bullshit. The grapes you ate during New Year's for luck? Fucking scam. The bracelet they made you wear in February because it's supposed to bring love or whatever the hell? Garbage. You should've thrown it away the moment you got it. And that horoscope reading? "2026 will be your year"—yeah, right. Biggest scam of them all!

"I miss you, please don't be angry at me!"

Karina wraps herself around you from behind, her arms locking tight around your shoulders. The impact makes you jolt forward slightly, your whole body stiffening as irritation immediately flashes across your face. You try to pry her off, fingers digging into her forearms.

"What's with you? I'm not angry, the hell?" you scoff, twisting your shoulder and swatting at her arm, but it does nothing. If anything, she tightens her hold, pressing her cheek against yours.

"I know you would say that," she whines, dragging every word out dramatically, completely unfazed by your resistance. Her voice softens just a little as she nuzzles closer. "But there's some kind of tension you have with me. I can feel it. I promise I'm not gonna push you with some other guy again, just talk to meeee."

"Karina!" you snap. You twist harder this time, trying to break free, your voice rising with both annoyance and disbelief. "I am not angry, what the—?!"

But she doesn't let go. "Really?" she shoots back immediately, her tone shifting to show she's not buying your shit. Her arms stay locked around you as she leans her chin on your shoulder, peeking at your face. "Then why won't you talk to me?"

"I'm not talking to anyone because I'm broken-hearted!" you fire back with sarcasm. You stop struggling for a second, your hands dropping uselessly to her arms as you huff out a breath. "Of course it's normal to be this way! You're the one who pushed me, remember?"

"Huhuhu, I'm so sorry!" Karina immediately wails, completely switching gears as she stomps her foot against the ground while still hugging you. The movement jostles both of you, but she doesn't loosen her grip. "Promise, I'll help you get over him. God, I hate him!" Her voice sharpens, her real irritation slipping through. "Do you want me to sabotage his project?! I heard his club is organizing some event with Architecture. Just say it. I'll definitely do it!"

You finally manage to grab her wrists and yank her arms off you, turning around to face her fully with a look that screams what the fuck is wrong with you. "No—what the fuck?" you snap, staring at her like she just suggested arson instead of whatever the hell that was. You roll your eyes, dragging a hand through your hair as you try to calm yourself again. "I just want to focus on Regionals. Just... don't mention him anymore." Your voice drops a little. "It's better to move on when I don't have updates or news."

Karina watches you for a second, her expression softening as she processes that, then she nods slowly. "Soooo... are we good?" she asks, immediately looping her arm around yours again.

You click your tongue, glancing at her from the corner of your eye. "Of course we are always good. What's with you?"

"You sure?" she presses, squinting at you like she's trying to catch you slipping.

"Yes."

"Then I have a gift for ya!" Her mood flips instantly again, energy shooting back up as she lets go and starts digging through one of her paper bags.

You watch her with mild suspicion, arms crossing over your chest as you wait—and then your expression completely breaks when she pulls out a clear plastic bag filled with water... and a tiny fish swimming inside.

"What the—"

"My guppy gave birth and I don't have a tanks anymore!" she beams proudly, holding it up like it's the best gift in the world. The fish wiggles inside the bag. "Take this as a gift for ya. It will help you clear your mind!"

"No. What the fuck?!" you hiss immediately, recoiling slightly. Your brows knit together in pure disbelief, staring at the tiny creature. "Karina, I'm not taking responsibility for a living thing right now—are you insane?!"

But she just grins wider, already trying to shove the bag toward you anyway.

And that was how you ended up bringing a fish

You are absolutely, undeniably, one hundred percent going to fucking kill Karina.

You stand in the middle of the kitchen, one hand gripping the plastic bag with a tiny fish inside, while your phone is awkwardly wedged between your shoulder and your ear. You open cabinets with your free hand, shoving things aside in search of anything that could pass as a container. It's 3:00 in the fucking afternoon, the heat pressing down on you like you are in hell, sweat already forming at the back of your neck. The aircon hums uselessly somewhere behind you, doing absolutely nothing. Why the hell is it not cooling? Is it broken? Did someone mess with it? Did he— NO.

"The fuck?!" you snap out loud when the call suddenly drops, the silence hitting immediately after Karina's last words—calm down, guppy don't need oxygen——before cutting off completely. You pull the phone away, glaring at the screen. No signal nor an Internet.

Of course! Jake is the one assigned to the internet payment. You remember clearly—you left the damn money on the center table days ago where he couldn't miss it. And now this? No connection, no help, no fucking instructions on how to keep this tiny living thing alive.

"God! The worst roommate ever!" you mutter under your breath, shoving your phone onto the counter with more force than necessary. Worst roommate! Worst fucking roommage! Not paying that damn internet, overheating the air conditioner since he was the one who is staying so damn long in the living room, rejecting your feelings— Hold on. Stop. Moving on remember?

You exhale sharply, like you're physically pushing the thought out of your system, and look back down at the plastic bag in your hands. The tiny fish wiggles inside, completely unbothered by your internal crisis, its small body flicking through the water.

"How am I supposed to know how to build your environment?!" you hiss at it. You let out a long breath, shoulders dropping slightly. "Okay... okay..." you mutter to yourself, trying to calm the fuck down. It's just a fish. A tiny, stupid fish. People take care of these things all the time. You can't be that incompetent.

You finally grab a glass jar from the cabinet, a clean one, at least, and set it down on the counter. It's not ideal, probably, but it's better than leaving it in a plastic bag forever like some kind of moving takeout.

Your eyes wander, and they land on that stupid little robot sitting lifelessly on the edge of the table. An idea sparks, ask Bumble for help! Of course! Jake's little tech toy could totally—well, theoretically—make this easier. You lean down, plastic bag in one hand, glass jar in the other, carefully lowering the fish into the water. The liquid sloshes around, tiny ripples forming, and the fish flicks its tail nervously.

Your fingers hover over the robot, hesitating a moment because the thing looks impossibly flat and dumb, and yet... Jake had somehow made it work before. How? How the fuck did he do that?

"Bumble, open," you command. The robot doesn't move. Not a single servo whir, not even a twitch. You frown, crouching lower to get a better look at it, poking at the flat surface with your fingertip. Nothing. You blink at it, confusion mixing with irritation as the anger starts to simmer back up again, fueled by the memory of that stupid, infuriating boy who made it work so effortlessly. His stupid braces flashing whenever he smiled, that crooked, perfect grin, his stupid, clueless, nerdy self who somehow made everything look so easy. Stupid boy.

You can't help it. You shake the robot lightly, as if your rage can transfer through it, make it activate, make it do something other than sit there mocking you.

"Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" you hiss under your breath, frustration bubbling past the point of reason.

You can almost feel the heat of your blood rising in your cheeks, your heart hammering faster than it should over a stupid fish and a stupid robot. And yet, beneath all that —why are you this bitter? NoOOo! It's valid! He's a fucking idiot. That robot is a fucking idiot. And yet—and yet—you can't stop thinking about him, about the way he made you laugh, the way he made you feel, the way he lingered in your thoughts like a permanent ghost.

"Stupid, useless robot," you mutter under your breath, your grip tightening around Bumble. You shake it again. "Why the fuck won't you open? What, are you trying to act like your owner too? Just shut down and ignore people?"

The sudden creak of the door makes your whole body jolt. You stiffen instantly, your heart jumping straight to your throat as your head snaps toward the entrance. Jake was frozen in place, just a few steps inside, like he didn't expect to see you either. His hand is still on the doorknob, the other clutching his bag loosely. His eyes flicker—first to Bumble in your hands, then to the jar on the counter with the fish awkwardly floating inside, then finally to you. And when his gaze settles on your face, it stays.

You see it happen in real time—the shift. His eyes widen, and it pisses you off. He takes in the fading bruises along your cheek, the slight discoloration near your nose, the healing cut on your chin with its visible stitch. His brows knit together, concern flashing across his face so quickly it almost looks painful, like he doesn't know what to do with it. "W-What happened?" he asks, voice stumbling over itself as his hand lifts halfway, like reaching toward your face before stopping mid-air.

That—that right there—makes your chest twist wrong.

You straighten up immediately, forcing your expression to do it's own neutral controlled thing, dropping Bumble back. You avoid his eyes like they burn, turning your attention back to the fish. Geez. Two fucking weeks. Two weeks of silence, of avoidance, of pretending he didn't exist—and now he wants to ask questions like he still has the right? Like nothing happened?

"When are you planning to pay for the Wi-Fi?" you cut in flatly. You keep your back partially turned to him, fiddling with the jar, adjusting the plastic inside even though it's already fine. "I already left the payment."

There's a pause behind you. You can even feel it without even looking — the hesitation, the shift in his breathing, the way he probably opens his mouth and then closes it again like he always fucking does.

"Uh... I was actually busy... that's why..." he answers as he steps further inside and lets his bag drop to the floor.

You let out a small, humorless scoff under your breath, still not looking at him. Busy. Of course he was busy. Bet he was also busy avoiding you.

"Right," you mumble, eyes fixed on the water in the jar, watching the fish move in slow, careless circles.

"Are you... okay?—"

Your head turns sharply, eyes locking onto him with a glare. "Why the fuck do you even care if I'm not?" you shoot back. But just as quickly, you feel that ugly edge, that bitterness creeping. Shit you hate it. You hate how it makes you sound. You hate how it makes you feel like the one who's losing control.

So you pull back. You look away first, breaking eye contact and reach for your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. The jar with the fish inside the plastic crinkles softly as you pull it close to your chest. "Just..." you click your tongue, your jaw tightening as you force your tone back. "Pay that damn Wi-Fi."

You walk past him without waiting for a response, your shoulder brushing the air near him but never quite touching. Your hand grips the doorknob of your room, pausing for just a second before you push it open.

You inhale deeply, and without turning back, you add, "and fix the AC." Then you step inside and shut the door behind you.

Silence follows immediately. You lean back against the door, eyes squeezing shut. "Stupid boy," you mutter under your breath, your voice cracking just slightly despite your effort to keep it together. You drag a hand down your face, exhaling sharply, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on you. You really wish you could rewind everything. Back to when things were simple. When you were just minding your own damn business, not expecting anything, not hoping for anything. No stupid feelings.

Because what the hell were you even thinking? A fairytale? Really? You let out a dry, almost bitter laugh, shaking your head as you push yourself off the door and move further into your room. "What could possibly go right with a man disguised as a loving prince?" you mutter. "They're all the same. Fucking villains." You huff, running a hand through your hair. "Witches, even. Pretending to be kind, then dragging you down, poisoning you—"

You stop mid-step, blinking at yourself like you just caught your own bullshit. "...Why the fuck are you thinking about fairytales again?" you mutter, almost annoyed.

And you need to place this fucking fish outside your room!

You threw yourself into training as though it was the only thing keeping you from completely losing your shit.

Regionals wasn't just some school-level game anymore, you carried your city's name on your back whether you liked it or not. The drills were stricter, harsher, less forgiving. Coaches didn't care if your legs were shaking or your lungs felt like they were about to collapse; they pushed anyway, barked orders like you were machines instead of people. It was exhausting, and so brutal, kind of relentless—and somehow, you welcomed it. Because every second your body ached, every moment your mind focused on the game, it left less room for him.

Unluckily—luckily—you weren't stuck in one place either. The team moved from city to city, different courts, different environments, different faces. New people, new opponents, new distractions. You met players who were just as aggressive, just as desperate to win, some even worse. It forced you to stay sharp, forced you to adapt.

At night, when your body finally gave out and you collapsed into unfamiliar beds, there was barely enough energy left in you to think. Barely enough energy to remember anything, and yet... somehow, in those quiet moments right before sleep took you, your mind still slipped. Back to him.

One night while packing your things for another early call time, your hands moving automatically as you zipped your bag. Your thoughts drifted. What is Jake even doing right now?

You frowned, shoving your clothes harder into your bag like that would shove the thought away too. Before you left the apartment earlier that week, the fridge was nearly empty. Barely anything inside except leftovers that didn't look touched and random shit that didn't make sense together. It's not like you were cooking. Hell, you barely ate at home anymore. You never even did heathy groceries in the first place. That was always—

You stopped.

Is he eating properly now? Is he still organizing everything like some obsessive little nerd? Or did he just... stop?

Oh, dude. What the actual fuck! You shake your head, physically rejecting the thought. Why the hell do you even care? Why does it matter if he's eating or starving or turning into a complete mess? He made his choice.

"...Yeah, right," you mutter under your breath.

Because the truth is simple, and it pisses you off more than anything—you still like him.

Despite everything. Despite how he looked you in the eye and said he didn't feel the same. Despite how fucking humiliating that moment was. The feeling didn't just disappear. It didn't magically shut off like a switch. It stayed, always clinging to you no matter how much you tried to drown it out with training, exhaustion, or distance. It's normal. Feelings don't just go away overnight. You're not broken for still thinking about him.

...Are you crazy?

Not really. You've always been like this—your mind drifting back to things you once liked, replaying moments like they meant more than they probably did. You remember those stupid, simple days when it was just a harmless crush. When you'd catch yourself staring at him across the room, noticing the way his braces flashed when he smiled, how his eyes would light up behind his glasses whenever he talked about something he liked. It was easy back then. It was safe... nothing is complicated

And yeah—fuck it—you're not blind. He's not ugly. Not even close.

But the moment that thought settles, your expression twists, your own bitterness creeping back in like a bad habit you can't shake. Your mood shifts so fast it almost gives you whiplash. One second you're remembering something soft, the next you're clenching your jaw, your hands curling into fists. "God, how I hate nerds..." you mutter. "Stupid, fucking... face." You let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through your hair as you lean back, staring at the ceiling.

Because no matter how good he looked, no matter how nice he seemed—You still kind of want to punch him. Hard.

"This card represents the burning love that you have right now. The two of you will communicate well, and maybe in the near future, both of you will not take the same path—but it will not be a reason for any separation. Either way, the fire around you will ignite and make your relationship stronger."

"Awww."

A chorus of coos makes your eye twitch. Rei actually sniffs, her hand hovering over her chest as her eyes glued to the three cards laid out in front of her. You stand there, arms loosely crossed, staring at the whole thing with a thinly veiled cringe, your lips pressing into a line as you take in the scene. The setup is just a small booth with a cloth-covered table, a deck of worn-out cards. It's part of the open house happening around Decelis, booths were scattered everywhere — whatever. You only ended up here because your coaches had some sudden emergency meeting, leaving you all with a free hour to waste. And somehow, this is where your team decided to spend it.

"Is that legit-legit?" Winter asks, wiggling her eyebrows as she leans closer to the table. The rest of your teammates crowd around too, forming a semi-circle, their attention completely hooked. You can already tell this is about to go south for you. They look too entertained.

"Take what resonates, leave what doesn't," the tarot reader replies calmly. You bet she said that line a hundred times already today. "I am just reading the cards and interpreting what it says."

"Well then," Winter grins, clearly already plotting something, "I'll pay three dollars and read my friend's love life!" Before you can even react, she drops the money into the jar and without hesitation, shoves you forward into the seat right in front of the table.

"Huh—?"

You barely get the chance to protest before hands are suddenly everywhere. Winter, Giselle, Ningning, and Karina are all close in, clapping their hands over your mouth, pushing you down into the chair as they giggle. "Don't ruin it!" "Just sit!" "We're curious!" they whisper loudly over each other, completely ignoring your muffled protests.

You glare at them, trying to pry their hands off, but they're annoyingly persistent. The tarot reader raises an eyebrow at the display but doesn't comment. Instead, she calmly begins shuffling the deck, her eyes flicking toward you for a brief moment—like she's assessing you, reading more than just your face. The cards slide smoothly between her fingers. Eventually, your teammates let go, though they stay close, practically leaning over your shoulders, their eyes glued to the table like.

Three cards are drawn and placed carefully in front of you. Two upright. One reversed.

You finally manage to sit properly, rubbing your jaw where they had covered your mouth, shooting them one last annoyed look before your attention drifts—despite yourself—back to the cards. You don't even believe in this shit.

"I see..." the girl starts, she leans slightly forward, studying the spread. Her brows knit together just a little, like something caught her attention. "Your partner is a very loving person... with genuine feelings."

Your nostrils flare almost immediately, your lips parting as your face twists into disbelief and annoyance. You don't even bother hiding it, and the way you can already feel the shift around you too—the girls who were leaning in with excitement just seconds ago are now deflating, their interest dropping as fast as it came. There's a collective sigh, obvious with disappointment. Of course. Because what partner? You don't have one. Everyone here knows that. This is exactly why you don't believe in this shit. It's all vague, all bullshit.

"The images around the cards represent someone who pays close attention to you... someone who puts in a lot of effort," the girl continues, unfazed by the obvious shift in energy. Your teammates exchange looks but no one interrupts her. Not yet. Well, there's still that tiny thread of curiosity keeping them quiet.

And then, unexpectedly, she pulls another card.

"Is your partner a Scorpio?"

"Hm." You respond flatly, barely even thinking about it, your attention already drifting as you inspect your nails.

"Right..." she murmurs anyway. "You're lucky. He is intensely passionate and deeply loyal to you—incredibly loyal and devoted. The kind of person who gives everything, but expects the same level of commitment in return."

You let out a short, dry snort at that, the word lucky hitting your ears wrong. Lucky? Yeah, fucking right. Every person who reads zodiac signs, tarot cards, whatever the hell this is—they always say the same shit.

"As expected with this reversed card," she continues, tapping the last one lightly, "it also reflects your partner's nature. Hesitant to open up. Someone who tests potential partners before fully letting them in... That's all!"

"God, I can't believe I wasted my three dollars," Winter mutters under her breath, already turning away with an annoyed huff. "She doesn't even have a boyfriend."

There's a ripple of agreement, the group starting to lose interest completely now, the moment clearly not living up to their expectations. One by one, they begin to shift away from the table, their attention already drifting to the next booth.

You don't move right away. Your eyes stay on the cards, before snorting. You push yourself up to the chair, breaking whatever stupid spell you almost fell into.

"Hope you had a long, healthy, happy relationship. Both of you deserve it. Thank you!" the girl chirps, already reaching for her jar. You watch her fingers flick through the bills. You huff under your breath, shaking your head as you step away.

Loving? Effort? Loyal? Hesitant? And what the fuck was that—Scorpio? You roll your eyes hard enough it almost hurts. You don't even know someone who's a Scorpio. Not a single one. The whole thing was a scam, and somehow people were eating that shit up like it was gospel. Good for them. Couldn't be you.

Your attention shifts fast—thank fuck!—dragged away by something actually worth your time. Wagyu barbecue. Your eyes light up, stepping closer like you're being pulled in. "Holy shit," you mutter under your breath, staring at the display, the marbling on the meat, the way it sizzles on the grill. And then you squint slightly. "That's a black sausage?" you mumble, half-confused, half-intrigued.

Food. At least food makes sense. You shift your weight, already pulling out money, already thinking about how that three dollars should've gone here instead of that tarot bullshit. You take a bite of something you bought, chewing absentmindedly, letting the flavors comfort you.

"What's with ya booth?" you ask casually as you drift along with your team, your voice blending into the noise as you hop from one stall to another, not really caring about anything except eating and not thinking. You clutch your food, biting, chewing, swallowing, moving. The others are loud, curious, energetic, and you are actually keeping up with them, as long as you have your food.

"Oh! The Civil Engineering Booth! What's the catch?!" Winter suddenly calls out.

Your drink goes down the wrong pipe, your throat burning as you cough, eyes watering as you bend slightly forward, one hand clutching your chest. "Shit—" you rasp, trying to breathe,  but it's already too late. Because when you look up, he's there.

Jake was standing right there!

Your mouth falls open slightly, breath catching again but for a completely different reason this time. He looks... different. Not drastically, not in a way that anyone else would probably point out, but you see it. Of course you fucking do, duh. His hair's a bit longer now, falling just slightly differently around his face, softening him in a way that makes your chest tighten. He's wearing this gray long sleeve under a blue polo, something that looks weird, considering the hot weather... Of course it is weird! But it doesn't. On him, it just works. It always fucking works. There's a camera slung over his nape too, resting against his chest.

Fuck. Your heart stutters. It actually fucking stutters. God, why is he so handsome, you wanna cry — STOP!

"Uh... we now have some kind of, you know... furniture and displays around your house?" Jake says, voice a little shaky, and you can hear it even from where you're standing. You hate that you can still recognize every little change in his tone. His eyes flick around, scanning the group, pausing briefly on jerseys, on faces—getting closer, closer—

And when you realize he's about to look at you— You turn your back, shoulders stiffening as you stare straight ahead. Your grip tightens around your food, knuckles whitening slightly as your heart starts pounding like it's trying to break out of your chest.

Stupid. Why the fuck did you turn your back? Your jersey has your surname printed on it! Dumb bitch!

You squeeze your eyes shut for half a second, internally cursing yourself out. Great. Fucking great. Out of all the booths, all the places, all the fucking timing—this is where you end up. You can feel it crawling under your skin, that restless, suffocating awareness that he's right there, that if you just turn your head a little, you'd see him clearly.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Karina whispers beside you. Her eyes are on you and it pisses you off a little because it means you're not hiding it as well as you thought. You don't answer immediately. You just stare ahead, blinking and forcing your breathing to even out.

"—Wow! A zodiac sign bracelet?! Where did you bought it?!" Winter suddenly blurts out, loud as hell. Just like that, the attention shifts, your teammates swarming forward like curious idiots, drawn to something shiny and new.

Jake attention is split. He's opening his lips to answer but his eyes keep dragging back to your turned back.

"I-It's fine. We had an agreement that we stick together so when we go back we don't have to message those who is missing—" you whisper back to Karina quickly. It sounds reasonable. It is reasonable.

"Uh... my friend from the Art Major booth, gave it to me..." Jake answers, still looking back and fourth to you.

"What sign is this again?" Giselle asks, reaching out to touch his wrist and raising it up to observe the bracelet.

"It's a— uh... a Scorpio." Jake replies.

"It's so obvious, babe! God, you are such a dumb sometimes." Ningning snorts.

"Shut it, girls! Well, Mr. uhh..." Rei cuts in, she squints down at the tag clipped to his shirt, leaning just a little too close. "Jake! Mr. Jake," she repeats with a grin, clapping her hands. "Can you take a picture of us as a team? We're off to Regionals in the next few weeks! And we look so fresh. Maybe we could use it for the journalist page if they upload a good luck post!"

Jake's attention was being dragged away again, redirected, and forced into your teammates again.

"Uh... sure..." Jake answers, his voice hesitant, or maybe it's just you hearing it differently now.

You don't turn. You don't dare turn. But you can imagine him nodding slightly, adjusting that stupid camera strap on his shoulder, probably pushing his glasses up out of habit.

"Great! Are you gonna upload it on your page?" Rei continues without missing a beat, already hyped and already moving.

"...The creatives are..." he starts, clearly trying to explain.

"That's great!" Rei cuts him off anyway, not even caring about the details, and turning her attention back to the group.

When is this gonna fucking end?

You shift your weight, foot tapping against the ground in small, impatient movements to distract you from the other thing—the bigger thing—you're trying so hard not to face. God! You can feel your teammates moving, adjusting, forming some kind of formation.

"Hello?! Number 9?!" Rei suddenly calls out, her voice snapping directly at you.

Fuck you! You want to curse out loud.

You inhale slowly, forcing your neutral expression before turning to move, not fully facing him yet, not looking at him, just stepping into position.

You settle at the side, arms crossing loosely, trying to make yourself smaller, less noticeable—

"Stop— what are you doing?!" Winter hisses immediately, grabbing your arm and dragging you without hesitation. "You should be in the middle! You're a libero and you had a different color of your jersey!" She pushes you right into the center.

Your feet plant as your body going stiff for a split second. You're right in front now, visible and now exposed. You were absolutely going to kill your teammates.

You don't look at him. You keep your gaze forward, somewhere just above the lens.

Jake bites his lip awkwardly, adjusting his stance behind the camera, fingers fumbling just slightly as he brings it up.

"Okay... uhm..." he mutters, trying to gather everyone's attention. "Just— stay still..."

Your chest tightens. You don't know why this feels harder than confronting him. You've faced him before. You've yelled at him. You've cried in front of him!

Standing here, pretending like nothing happened while he looks at you through a lens— God, this feels worse!

"Smile," he says.

You let yourself look straight at the camera, at the lens, at him behind it. Your lips lift automatically, forming a smile you've practiced a thousand times for games and pictures.

One second. Two. Five. Ten.

There's this weird stretch of silence beneath the noise, like something's off, like the moment isn't ending when it should. You don't move at first, still holding the pose out of habit, but then your brows knit slightly, your smile starting to falter at the edges. He's not lowering the camera. He's just... there. Watching through the lens like he forgot what he was supposed to do next.

"Uh... is it finished?" Ryujin finally asks, confused, a little impatient as she shifts her weight beside you.

That's when Jake seems to snap out of it.

"Oh—... sorry. Yes, we'll just upload it later," he says quickly, his voice stumbling over itself as he lowers the camera in a rush. He doesn't look at anyone because he turns his back almost immediately.

Your smile drops the second the camera is no longer pointed at you.

"Thank you!" your teammates chorus, already moving on, already distracted, their attention bouncing to the next booth.

"He looks so familiar, right? Had he participated or watched on VIP?" one of them asks absentmindedly as they walk.

You glance at Karina, and she's already looking at you. There's a split second where neither of you say anything. Her lips press together, holding it in, not saying shit for once, and you mirror it, your own mouth tightening as you look away first.

You bury it.

You bury him under the loud whistle of your coach that keeps ripping through the air and it's trying to split your skull open. Training hits harder than usual, or maybe it just feels that way because you're forcing yourself not to think about anything else. Your body moves on—run, receive, dive, stand, repeat. You're tired.

The coaches don't give a shit.

"Again!" the whistle blows, and you barely have time to straighten your back before another ball comes flying at you. Your arms sting from the impact, your knees burn from the constant drops, and your breathing is uneven, chest heaving as you try to keep up. They said you already had your break. One whole hour earlier, like that was supposed to be enough to carry you through the rest of this hell. Fucking hell.

You try to sneak a second to grab your water because your throat dry as shit, your hand already reaching for the bottle. You tilt it, barely getting a sip—

The coach slowly called out your name. You freeze mid-action, glancing up slowly. He was staring at you with his arm crossed, an obvious disappointment carried in his eyes.

You lower the bottle immediately, swallowing hard, your shoulders straightening as you put it down. "Sorry," you mutter under your breath, even if he didn't ask for it, even if he didn't say shit. You already know.

You're fucked.

"Oh my God! I can't imagine what will be the training if we actually win that and proceed to National. I'm gonna die," Ningning whines later as she collapses onto the bench like her soul just left her body.

You barely respond. You're sitting there, hunched slightly, pressing an ice pack against your bruised arm, then your thigh, then somewhere near your ribs where it hurts the most. The punishment was stupid. Straight up stupid. The coach made the team aim at you like you were some kind of target practice, all because you slipped up.

Dull throbs spreading under your skin, your body overly aware of every ache, every sting. It's not unbearable. But it's a lot.

"I'm so sorry," Karina says. She wraps her arms around you carefully, her hand hovering before gently touching one of your bruises.

You huff quietly, shifting a little but not pulling away. "It's okay," you mumble with your tired voice. You adjust the ice again, pressing it harder this time. "I just want to go home."

God, your body feels like absolute shit. Every step on the way home feels heavier than the last, like your muscles are dragging behind you instead of actually working with you. Your shoulders ache, your thighs burn, your arms feel like they've been beaten raw—and honestly, they kind of have. All you can think about is food. Then sleep—eight hours minimum, ten if the universe suddenly decides to stop screwing you over with morning classes. Maybe even a massage, yeah, that sounds fucking perfect, you'll drag Karina and Ryujin to a spa, waste money you probably shouldn't, just to feel human again.

By the time you get back to the apartment, your brain is running on fumes. You don't even bother turning on all the lights, just enough to see where you're going before you drop your bag onto the sofa with a dull thud. It's already 7:45 PM, you don't make it any further than the living room before you just... collapse. Your body gives in immediately, sinking into the couch, your head tilting back as you stare blankly ahead.

That's when you see it the jar. It was sitting there on the table like it's been waiting for you this whole time.

"...Oh, shit," you mutter under your breath, pushing yourself up just enough to look at it properly. The guppy swims lazily inside, existing in its own tiny world while you've been out getting your ass handed to you for days straight. You slide down from the couch to the floor, dragging yourself closer until you're sitting there, elbows on the table, your head almost resting against it as you stare at the fish.

"You're getting fat," you mumble, eyes half-lidded as you watch it move in slow circles. Your finger taps lightly against the glass. "Are you eating well?" you ask again, like it's actually going to answer you. You let out a quiet, tired laugh, shaking your head slightly. "Who's feeding you? That nerd is feeding you?"

You keep staring, your gaze softening despite yourself. "You better not have some kind of attachment issues," you add, "or you'll end up swimming in the river." Another quiet huff of laughter leaves you, but it's weak, fading quickly as exhaustion starts to take over again.

Your eyes slowly close. You don't even notice the small movement behind you. Bumble moves slowly, navigating its way toward you. It bumps lightly against your leg.

Bump. You don't react. It pauses, tilting slightly, then nudges you again, a little firmer this time, its rounded head pressing against your calf like it's trying to get your attention.

Bump. Still nothing. Your breathing has already evened out, your body too tired to respond, your mind slipping somewhere between awake and asleep.

"Hi?" it chirps. It waits patiently its little frame angled toward you like it expects something back. But you don't move. Not even a twitch.

After a few seconds of nothing, Bumble shifts, turning its body slowly toward the hallway, toward that door—the one that isn't yours, then it starts bumping into it. Soft, repetitive taps against the wood. The sound blends into your half-conscious state, like it's happening underwater.

The door creaks open.

And everything after that feels... wrong. Or maybe not wrong... just unreal. Your body feels too heavy, like it's sinking or like gravity suddenly decided to double its pull on you. Your thoughts drift in fragments, slipping away before they can form properly. Did you pass out?

It feels like a fever dream. Like you're floating, but also not. Like your body is there, but your mind is somewhere else entirely.

Cold. It's cold. There's something cold against you. It presses gently, carefully, and your body reacts before your brain does, leaning into it without hesitation. Your eyes try to open but they can't. Your limbs are now unresponsive, but the sensation continues, there was something so smooth brushing against your skin. It moves along your hair first, fingers...no, something like fingers—threading lightly through it, pushing it away from your face. Then your temple. Then your cheekbone.

Good. It feels good. You let out the faintest breath, your body instinctively leaning closer, chasing that touch without even realizing it. Your head tilts slightly, giving in, surrendering to the sensation. You need more.

When you wake up the next morning, the first thing that hits you isn't confusion—it's just this dull, heavy awareness that your body still fucking hurts. Your eyes crack open slowly, light slipping in through the curtains, and you blink at the ceiling like you're trying to remember something important... but nothing comes. There's no clear memory of how you got here, no moment of climbing into bed, no dragging yourself under the covers. You just... woke up here. Lying flat on your back, blanket half-thrown over your legs like you'd been placed there instead of settling in yourself.

You stare at it for a second. Then you shrug it off.

God, you don't even have the energy to question it.

What matters is—you actually slept. Your muscles still ache, your bruises still sting when you stretch, but it's manageable. "Fuck... I could've slept more," you mumble under your breath, dragging a hand over your face as you sit up slowly, joints protesting but not as violently as yesterday. You swing your legs off the bed, feet hitting the floor, and just sit there for a moment, letting yourself exist before the day starts kicking your ass again.

Routine pulls you out of your room without much thought.

You end up in the living room, eyes automatically landing on the jar sitting on the table. The guppy swims lazily inside, completely fine. You crouch down, tapping the glass lightly before feeding it, watching it dart toward the food.

"Geez, you're greedy," you mutter, a small huff leaving your nose.

Your gaze shifts slightly—to the side, and there you saw Bumble.  Sitting there quietly beside the jar, completely still.

You stare at it for a second. "...Weird," you mumble under your breath, brows pulling together slightly. Your shoulders lift in a small shrug, brushing it off. "Whatever."

You stand up, grabbing your things, pushing the thought aside as quickly as it came. There's no point overthinking stupid shit this early in the morning.

"Morning!" Rei greets the second you step into the court, her voice bright despite the early hour as she stretches her arms above her head.

"Morning... what's for breakfast?" you ask lazily, dropping your bag onto the bench before stretching your arms out.

"Hm?" Rei glances at you, thinking for a second before her face lights up. "I think 7/11 just restocked their Spam Kimchi Fried Rice, want to get some?"

You pause mid-stretch, considering it for half a second. "Okay... that's tolerable," you say with a small nod. "Let's grab some after stretching."

More of your teammates trickle in, chatter overlapping, energy building as you all go through warm-ups. By the time you finish, the decision is already made—food first.

The convenience store is crowded as usual, cold air hitting your skin the second you step inside, a welcome contrast to the heat outside. You grab a slurpee almost immediately, sipping from it as your teammates scatter around, grabbing whatever they want, talking over each other like always.

"Oh!" Karina suddenly exclaims, pointing toward a standee near the entrance. "They got Park Jongseong standee!"

You glance over briefly, unimpressed, sipping your drink. "Who the fuck is Park Jongseong?" you mutter, already looking away.

Karina gasps. "God, are you that outdated?! Park Jongseong is a rising actor! He's studying in Decelis and about to graduate!"

"Good for him," you mumble, clearly not giving a shit, taking another sip.

"Oh—look, the Engineering posted our photos!" Rei suddenly says, grabbing your attention as she waves her phone around.

All of you crowd around her immediately, squeezing in, shoulders bumping as you lean closer to see. The group photo pops up first. When Winter swipes to the next photo, her thumb dragging across the cracked screen with zero care, Karina gasps. Your brows knit together immediately.

"What?" you mutter, stepping closer, leaning in just enough to see the phone without fully committing to caring. But then you do see it—and... the fuck?

Ningning whined, completely missing the shift in your expression. "It's so unfair! How come you're always the favorite of photographers and sport journalists?!" she complains, nudging your shoulder.

You didn't even answer at all. Your eyes stay glued to the screen, locked onto that photo. It's you. Just you. Not the team, not the formation, not even a candid group moment—it's fucking you. Zoomed in. Cropped so tightly that Karina's arm is barely visible at the edge, Ryujin completely gone. You're smiling in it, relaxed, unaware. It's not a stolen blurry shot either—it's clear, it was focused... Intentional.

"What the fuck..." you breathe out.

Karina leans closer, squinting. "The man who took our photo isn't even a photographer or a sports journalist," she mutters, more to herself now, her voice dropping as her brain starts connecting dots you don't even want to acknowledge. "Oh God..." Her head slowly turns toward you, eyes widening.

"Don't start," you cut in immediately, your glare snapping to her before she can even open her mouth properly. You already know. You fucking know what she's about to say, and you're not in the mood for it.

But of course, Karina being Karina, she doesn't stop. "He likes you!" she blurts out anyway, her finger practically stabbing toward the screen.

Your jaw clenches so tight it almost hurts. "Are you fucking serious right now?" you snap, heat rising up your neck, not even sure if it's anger or something else. "I told you. He literally said he doesn't feel the same. Did you forget that part or—"

"Who likes who?" Giselle suddenly cuts in, sliding into the conversation, eyes bouncing between you and Karina with interest.

"Wait... so you had a talking stage but it failed? Tell us more!" Winter jumps in right after, leaning forward with way too much excitement, completely missing—or ignoring—the way your expression tightens.

Your mouth falls open, but nothing comes out at first. It's like the questions start stacking too fast, overlapping, tangling together until you can't even grab one to respond to. The noise builds again—voices piling on top of each other, reactions, assumptions, teasing—and suddenly it feels too loud for something that should've stayed quiet.

"So that guy who took our photo was the one you said that won't talk to you?" Ryujin adds, her brows lifting as she studies your face more carefully, like she's trying to confirm something she already suspects.

"...Wait," another voice cuts through. "You know Jake?" Yunjin asks with confusion as she looks at Ryujin first, then shifts her gaze to you. There's a pause, a beat where her expression sharpens slightly. "You know Jake?" she repeats.

Your mouth goes dry instantly. That name, coming from someone else, hits different. Your thoughts trip over each other, questions forming faster than you can process. How does she know him? Why does she sound like that? Why does it suddenly feel like you're missing a part of the story?

"Who's Jake?" Giselle tries to jump back in, but Ningning immediately slaps a hand over her mouth, eyes wide like she just realized this isn't just casual gossip anymore.

"J-Just... my roommate," you manage to say, the words coming out more stiff than you intend, your grip tightening around your drink again.

"So you know the guy that took our photo and didn't say anything about him?" Karina presses, throwing her hands up in disbelief.

Before you can even respond, Yunjin lets out a short, disbelieving scoff, stepping in. She raises her brows, one hand lifting slightly as she gestures midair. "It's so random to bring him up, duh?" she says in a mocking tone. "And he's boring as hell. What do you want me to say? How he dated one of my best friends in high school and completely turned into a distant asshole with zero emotional intelligence?"

"Ohhhh," the girls around you gasp almost in sync at the gossip.

Your stomach twists, you remember that conversation the way he mentioned he dated someone before, how it "didn't work out." He didn't elaborate. You didn't push. It felt unnecessary back then.

"Oh my," Yunjin continues, shaking her head like she's already over the topic, even though she's the one who dropped the bomb. "I didn't know you'd fall for that whole nerdy, quiet, introverted charm thing too." Her lips press. "He's a good guy, sure. I'll give him that. But he's not a good partner."

Your fingers loosen slightly around your cup. You find yourself staring at nothing—some random spot past Rei's shoulder, past the glass doors, past everything—because your mind is already somewhere else. Back to the quiet moments, the stupid small things, it pisses you off, because it shouldn't matter this much. It wasn't even anything official. It wasn't even real, right?

"It was just like a one-time thing," you say, forcing your voice to come out normal. You shrug one shoulder, like it's nothing. "He's just my roommate." Your lips stretch into something that resembles a smile. "I didn't like him that much. Don't worry, girls."

The silence that follows lasts barely a second before it gets filled again. "Well, you better not like him!" Ningning cuts in quickly, narrowing her eyes at you. She nudges your shoulder, then slaps your back lightly, the others chiming in with similar reactions. "With Yunjin's side story background, he's not a perfect match for you!"

"Yeah, seriously," Winter adds, shaking her head like she's already made up her mind about him. "We don't support bad decisions."

You nod along anyway, letting them have it, letting them believe it. It's easier that way.

But Karina doesn't let it go. "Wait—no, that doesn't make sense," she hisses, leaning closer to you. "It was obvious that he likes you!" Her finger taps against Rei's phone again, like she needs to remind you of the evidence sitting right there. "I mean, look at that picture alone! That's not normal!"

You roll your eyes. "It's just a picture, Karina. Stop overthinking—"

"And what if he does?" Ryujin suddenly cuts in. She flicks Karina's forehead lightly, making her hiss in protest. "Stop pushing her again if it's just going to hurt her more."

Karina frowns, rubbing her forehead, but she doesn't argue back immediately. Ryujin's gaze shifts to you. "It doesn't matter if he likes her or not," she continues. "He already caused enough damage." She pauses for a second, like she's choosing her words carefully, but the bluntness is still there. "He's not man enough to stand by whatever the hell he's feeling right now."

You let out a small breath through your nose, shaking your head like you're brushing it all off, even if it doesn't actually go away. Whatever. They're right. All of them, in their own loud, messy way—they're right. You shouldn't be this stressed over something that was never even labeled, never even defined. It wasn't a relationship. It wasn't anything serious. It was just... something that happened. Something that ended. That should be it.

He made his point right there, standing in front of you. It shouldn't matter anymore after that. It should've killed whatever stupid hope was growing inside you before it even had the chance to become something real.

So why the fuck does it still hurt like this? You're just lonely. That's it, right? That's the easiest explanation. You got used to him being there—his presence, his voice, the small routines you didn't even notice forming until they were gone. You got used to someone paying attention, even in his awkward, quiet way. Of course it's going to feel empty now. Of course it's going to sting.

It doesn't mean it was love. You're just lonely.

Feed the fish, eat a lot of protein, train until your legs feel like they're about to give out, drag yourself to class, pretend you're listening, go home, sleep like you're dead. Avoid Jake.

Feed the fish, eat a lot of protein, train harder, push through the soreness, ignore the bruises blooming under your skin, keep your head down, don't think too much. Avoid Jake.

Feed the fish, eat a lot of protein, train, study, sleep, avoid Jake.

"I know you're busy but the... uh... water bill payment is due..."

Oh. Right.

Bills. Responsibilities. Actual life shit that doesn't revolve around your messy, unresolved feelings. Not everything is about you spiraling over some guy who couldn't even look you in the eye after fucking you.

You click your tongue softly under your breath and bend down to tie your shoelaces, using the motion as an excuse to avoid looking at him. Your fingers move quickly,  even if your chest feels tight again just from his presence being this close. Without thinking too much about it, you reach into your wallet and pull out crumpled bills, extending your hand toward him without lifting your gaze.

"Here," you mutter, handing him the fifteen dollars.

There's a split second where your hand lingers midair, and you mentally curse yourself for even noticing it. You pull back immediately, wiping your palm against your shorts. Your eyes drop back to your wallet, flipping it open again out of habit—and that's when it hits you. It's fucking empty. Well, not completely empty, but close enough. You stare at it longer than you should, your brows knitting together slightly. All that extra food, all the random shit you've been buying just to distract yourself—it adds up.

You don't even realize Jake's looking at it too. When you finally glance up and catch him staring, your expression shifts instantly. You snap the wallet shut and clear your throat like you've been caught doing something embarrassing.

"That would be enough, right?" you say nonchalantly, like you didn't just expose how broke you are. You sling your training bag over your shoulder, adjusting the strap. "I mean, I'm mostly at the city meet anyway. I didn't even use water for, like, almost two weeks."

Jake blinks behind his glasses. His gaze flickers from your face to your bag, then back again. "Y-Yeah... sure," he answers.

You're the one who looks away first. "Okay," you say quickly, already stepping back. "I'll get going." You turn slightly, ready to leave.

"Actually—"

His voice stops you mid-step. You pause, slowly, you turn your head, glancing back at him over your shoulder, one brow lifting just slightly, your expression already guarded like you're expecting something you won't like.

"N-N-Nothing," he stutters, the word tripping over itself the second your eyes meet his.

He folds into himself again. His shoulders draw inward, his posture shrinking like a snail going back to it's shell. His gaze drops almost as quickly as it met yours.

You purse your lips, holding back whatever reaction tries to surface, and give him a small, absent nod instead. For a brief moment, his eyes linger on your face, like he's searching for something in your expression that isn't there anymore. That's the part that hits him the hardest—that look you used to give him when things were still normal, when you were still figuring each other.

Are you... okay now?

The door shuts behind you. Jake doesn't move right away. He just stands there, staring at the empty space where you were a second ago.

Then suddenly, like something inside him snaps, he steps back and lets his head hit the wall. His breath comes out uneven, his fingers curling into fists before loosening again, like he doesn't even know what to do with his own body. Then he does it again. And again. And again. Each impact a little harder. Why can't he talk? Why the fuck can't he just say something when it matters?

His jaw tightens, teeth grinding as frustration builds in his chest. He pulls back once more and this time hits the wall harder than before, the sting shooting through his skull—and that's when it hits him. A flash of memory flodded into his mind.

Suddenly, he's not here anymore. Suddenly, he's back at high school.

"I know I'm not like the best partner either," Kazuha says. Jake's mouth goes dry as he stares at her, his brain lagging behind the moment like it's refusing to process what's happening.

It's a random Tuesday. And yet here she is, standing in front of him, ending something he didn't even realize was breaking.

"You're a good guy, Jake," she continues, her hands clasped together in front of her. "I appreciate and love every moment we spent with each other. Thank you for that..." She pauses. "But it's better if we part ways."

Her words just... float there, Jake goes completely still. His shoulders draw in, shrinking instinctively, an action he always do if he's trying to make himself smaller. His eyes flicker away from her for a second, scanning the space around them—the hallway, the passing students, the distant chatter. What if they were listening?

His fingers start fidgeting again, restless, rubbing against each other over and over. His heart is beating too fast. His head is too loud. There are too many thoughts forming all at once, piling up, overlapping, choking each other out before they can even become words.

"Are you..." Kazuha starts, her brows pulling together slightly as she looks at him. "...not gonna say anything?"

Jake looks at her then. Her eyes are glossy—not crying, not yet, but close enough. Waiting. Expecting something. Anything.

And fuck, he wants to say something. He wants to ask why. Wants to understand what he did wrong. Wants to tell her he tried—that he followed everything right, didn't he? He carried her bag, walked her home, remembered dates, bought flowers during monthsaries, gave her chocolates even when he didn't know if she liked them. He paid attention. He listened. He stayed. He liked her. Wasn't that... enough?

The words pile up in his throat, pressing, pushing, demanding to be let out—but when he opens his mouth, nothing comes. His mind goes blank.

Completely, fucking blank. Jake swallows, his hands starting to sweat, his fingers twitching uselessly at his sides. Panic creeps in, tightening around his chest as the silence stretches too long. He knows he should speak. He knows this is the moment. He knows if he says nothing, it's going to end like this.

And still, he can't. His lips part slightly, but instead of words, all that comes out is a shallow breath. His gaze drops, unable to hold hers any longer, and slowly, almost helplessly, he shakes his head.

Not because he doesn't care. But because he doesn't know how to say that he does.

"Bro, you fumbled a baddie so bad. Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Sunghoon's leaning back on the bench. The ice rink behind them glows under harsh white lights. It's normal. Everything is normal.

Except Jake. He's sitting there, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the ground. Jay walks in not long after, still dressed from whatever commercial shoot he just wrapped up, dropping his bag beside them. He takes one look at Jake and already knows something's off, his brows pulling together slightly before he exhales.

"You don't even try to chase her?" Jay asks. He leans forward a bit. "You know girls like that. If you show any effort, she might come back."

Jake doesn't respond. His gaze stays locked on the floor. His fingers twitch again, restless, picking at nothing, repeating the same useless motion over and over.

"Actually..." Sunghoon cuts in, shifting his posture as he glances between them. "You know ballet and figure skates train together, right? I overheard something..."

Jake's fingers pause for a second.

"...like uh..." Sunghoon continues, scratching the back of his neck, "she said you don't initiate anything. Like—holding hands, saying stuff... you're just too quiet." He glances at Jake briefly before looking away again. "She said she doesn't feel the 'love'." He even does the air quotes, emphasizing the word.

Jake's chest tightens, but he still doesn't move.

"I mean, I can see you putting in effort," Sunghoon adds quickly, like he's trying to balance it out. He leans over and throws an arm around Jake's shoulder, giving him a brief squeeze. "You do shit. You're there. That counts." He exhales, shaking his head. "Social media standards are ruining relationships, I swear."

"No, don't say that," Jay glares at Sunghoon. "Of course women are sensitive. Sometimes they just... misunderstand actions if we don't say anything. That's normal."

"Yeah, but that's what they call 'words of affirmation', right?" Sunghoon scoffs, pulling his arm back. "What if our Jekjek here just sucks at that? Not everyone's built like that." He shrugs, leaning back again. "They should accept that too. We're not all gonna be talking sweet 24/7. That shit's exhausting."

"Yes, we can," Jay replies without missing a beat, "If we love our girl, we can." His eyes flicker to Sunghoon briefly. "You're just saying that because you're not in a relationship."

"Hey—"

Ever since he was a child, Jake already knew there was something off about the way he spoke—or more like, the way he couldn't. It wasn't that he didn't have thoughts. Fuck, his head was always loud, always full of things he wanted to say, things he wanted to ask, things he wanted to explain. But the moment it had to pass through his mouth, it got stuck somewhere in his throat, tangled, choked out before it could even become words.

He remembers it too clearly, standing in front of the class, small hands clenched at his sides, his teacher smiling patiently while the rest of the room just... waited. Five minutes. A full five minutes of silence just because he couldn't say his own name. He could feel their eyes on him, hear the faint shifting of chairs, the quiet whispers starting to build. His mouth opened, closed, opened again—but nothing came out except shaky breaths. It felt like drowning without water.

And yet... he wasn't bullied.

That's the part he always comes back to. He was lucky. Somehow, he was lucky. The kids didn't tear him apart for it, didn't laugh in his face the way he feared they would. Some of them even waited for him, awkwardly, patiently, like they didn't mind the silence as much as he did. He carried that with him growing up—that quiet kind of relief. By the time he reached high school, he even managed to find people who stayed. Friends who filled in the gaps when he couldn't speak fast enough, who didn't push him too hard when he shut down. He had Sunghoon. He had Jay. He had... something close to normal.

And somehow, somehow, he even got lucky enough to have a pretty girlfriend. Pretty, warm, expressive—everything he wasn't. Someone who chose him despite the way his words always came out broken, incomplete, late. It felt unreal. Like he had somehow skipped steps, like life handed him something he didn't fully know how to hold. But he tried, he really did. In the ways he knew how.

He remembers the Art Therapy sessions clearly too. The therapist had a soft voice that didn't rush him, didn't pressure him into speaking when he couldn't. If you can't say it, they told him once, show it. There are other ways to communicate. And Jake held onto that.

Now it feels like a fucking lie. Because if that was enough... then why does it keep ending like this?

Maybe out of all things, love was the most unlucky thing he'd ever stumble into. Everything else in his life had eventually fallen into place—his academics were solid, his routines were structured, his small circle of friends stayed consistent. He knew what to expect, knew how to function, knew how to exist without fucking things up too badly. It wasn't perfect, but it was stable. He was content with that kind of life, the kind where nothing felt too overwhelming, where nothing demanded more from him than what he could actually give.

And somewhere along the way, after high school, after that quiet, unresolved breakup that still lingered in the back of his head, Jake made a decision without really announcing it to anyone.

He wasn't going to fall in love again.

Not because he didn't believe in it but because he clearly didn't know how to do it right.

"And with that, Number 9 saves the day with her vampire speed! Decelis Academy earns another point!"

Jake remember he was 18, on his 12th Grade. The gym was loud that day, packed with students, and huge energy that Jake wasn't used to being around. He didn't even plan on being there. Jay practically dragged him along, insisting it would be "good exposure" or whatever reason he came up with as the school ambassador. Jake didn't argue. He just followed, sitting stiffly on the bleachers, hands resting awkwardly on his knees as he tried to ignore how overwhelming everything felt.

Until he saw you.

It was sudden. Like his brain just locked onto you without asking for permission. A beautiful you in a white jersey and short shorts.

You were already in motion when his eyes found you, your body low to the ground as you received the ball. Your movements were sharp but fluid, fast in a way that made it hard to follow. One second you were on one side of the court, the next you were diving—literally throwing yourself onto the floor without hesitation, arms stretched out, saving a ball that should've been impossible to reach.

Jake blinked. Then leaned forward slightly without realizing it.

You got back up like it didn't hurt. And then it kept happening. You ran. You slid. You split just to receive the ball with your foot, and the crowd lost it. Your teammates shouted your name, your energy feeding into theirs, your presence pulling the entire court together like you were the center of it all. There was nothing hesitant about you. Every move you made had purpose, had confidence, had this raw, fearless intensity that Jake couldn't even begin to understand.

You looked... unreal. Not just pretty. Not just attractive. You looked alive in a way he had never seen before.

Your hair stuck slightly to your face from sweat, your jersey clinging just enough to show the strain of your movements, your legs marked with faint bruises like proof of how hard you played—and still, you kept going. You jumped, arms raised, eyes locked on the ball like nothing else in the world mattered in that moment.

Jake couldn't look away. It's just admiration. Nothing more. The kind of thing people feel when they see someone good at something, someone... bright in a way that makes the rest of the room feel dimmer. That's all it is.

Jake had no plans to actually talk to you. No plans to get closer.

Because it was funny, almost ridiculous, to even imagine it. You—this gorgeous varsity player everyone seemed to orbit around—talking to him? Someone who usually blended into the background unless someone actively looked at him.

When the game finally ended, the noise of the crowd didn't immediately fade. Jake followed Jay down from the bleachers toward the court level. People were already gathering around, phones out.

And there you were. Right in the middle of it.

Jake remembers that part clearly—not just seeing you, but watching you. The way your eyes moved around like you were trying to process the sudden attention instead of expecting it. You looked slightly confused, as if you didn't fully understand why everyone was crowding you. There was a faint awkwardness in the way you smiled, rubbing the back of your neck as people kept approaching.

"Can we take a picture?"

"Just one more!"

"Hey, great game!"

And you didn't refuse any of it. You just... accepted it. Laughing awkwardly here and there, nodding too quickly sometimes, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as your teammates got pulled into other groups of students. You weren't dismissive. You weren't annoyed. You didn't act like it was a burden. You just went along with it, like it hadn't fully registered yet that this level of attention was normal for you.

Little kids tugging at your sleeve. Students from other schools calling your name. Boys—more boys than Jake expected—hovering nearby, waiting for their turn like it was something they had to earn.

Jay nudged him. "Want to take a picture with her?" he asks casually. Jake's eyes almost widen immediately. His entire body stiffens for a second. Heat creeps up his neck as he quickly shakes his head.

"H-Huh?" he stutters, voice cracking slightly, before he shakes his head more firmly this time. "N-No."

Jay just grins at him like he already knows. "Come on," Jay says, tapping his back lightly, dragging him forward with easy confidence. "Let's take a picture. She might get famous internationally one day. Did you see her skills?"

Jake doesn't answer. But his feet still move. His eyes—no matter how many times he tries to pull them away—keep drifting back toward you. It's frustrating in a quiet way, like his focus is being stolen without permission. Every time he looks away, he ends up looking right back again.

"Hey, my name is Jay. Nice game, by the way."

Jay steps forward first as he approaches you, holding out a hand. Jake lingers half a step behind him, suddenly aware of everything—his posture, his breathing, the fact that he probably looks like he doesn't belong anywhere near this interaction. You turn toward them, still slightly flushed from the match. Even like this, even when you're clearly tired, there's something about you that doesn't soften. Beautiful. God, you were do damn beautiful.

"Hi, Jay. Thank you? I guess?" You give a small smile, polite but slightly awkward.

Oh God. Up close, it's worse. Not in a bad way—no, not even close. You're intimidating, so fucking pretty! Jake can feel himself shrinking without moving. It doesn't make sense logically—he's taller than you, standing right there, physically closer than most people in the crowd—but mentally, he feels small, your presence fills the space too easily. Like there's no room left for him to exist normally inside it.

"Mind if we take a picture?" Jay asks again, gesturing lightly between the three of you.

"Sure."

Jay immediately shifts closer, guiding the position. And then it happens, you lift your arm and swing it around Jake's back as you settle into place for the photo.

Jake freezes for half a second. Your hand is warm through the fabric of his shirt, you're completely unbothered. But to him, it feels like something entirely different—like a switch being flipped inside his brain. His posture stiffens immediately, shoulders locking up, breath catching slightly as he tries very hard not to react in a way that would make this weird.

But you don't seem to notice. You're just standing there, in the middle of them, smiling naturally now as the camera is raised. Jay is talking about angles or something, adjusting positions, but Jake can barely process it. His mind is too focused on the fact that you are there. Close enough to touch. Close enough to hear breathe. Close enough that if he turned his head slightly, he would be looking directly at you instead of trying not to.

And somehow—completely out of character for him—Jake finds himself smiling.

The camera clicks.

And for a fraction of a second, everything feels suspended—like the world pauses just long enough for him to exist in that moment without overthinking it.

Afterward, Jay steps back, already shifting into casual conversation again, but Jake stays still for a beat longer. His eyes flick briefly toward you again, then away, then back again like a broken reflex he can't fix.

This is nothing. He will eventually forget you. He is sure of that. This feeling—whatever it is—temporary.

Years passed, and Jake ended up exactly where everyone expected him to be—Engineering, decent grades, still had a stable routine. He had a scholarship that eased the financial pressure on his parents. His life, for the most part, had become structured in a way he could actually manage: classes, assignments, study sessions. His parents were still supportive, calling every now and then, reminding him to take care of himself.

Sunghoon was still skating, still grinding through competitions under Decelis. Jay, on the other hand, had started shifting into modeling, acting, random opportunities that slowly turned into actual industry attention. It was strange watching them all move forward in different directions while still somehow staying within reach. Jake stayed in touch with them.

The only thing that didn't quite fit into place was the dorm situation inside Decelis.

It was strict. Too strict in some ways, and ironically not strict enough in others. There were rules—curfews, schedules, restrictions—but somehow the environment still felt messy. People breaking curfew, doors opening and closing late at night, voices echoing down hallways when he was trying to study. His sleep schedule was constantly getting disrupted, his focus breaking at the worst possible times. He couldn't properly revise after a certain hour, couldn't rest when he needed to, couldn't even sit in silence without someone disturbing it in some way.

The only dormmate he had ever managed to properly communicate with was Heeseung.

They weren't close in a dramatic sense, but they understood each other in a way that made living together tolerable. Same academic field, similar mindset—a little detached from the noise around them. Heeseung was the kind of person who could spend hours building something without feeling the need to fill the silence with unnecessary conversation.

"Apartment complex on the streets of the Avenue," Heeseung said one afternoon, barely looking up from the small robot he was dismantling on his desk. "There's a lot of listings for people looking for roommates. Pros—two to three rooms, so you can have your own space."

Jake listened quietly from his bed, one hand resting on his notes, the other scrolling lazily on his phone without really absorbing anything. He tilted his head slightly at the explanation, already interested at the idea.

"Cons," Heeseung continued, pausing to adjust a tiny wire, "it's expensive. And there's like a ninety percent chance you end up with a girl roommate."

Jake blinked. Then looked up properly. "What's wrong with having a girl roommate?" he asked, genuinely confused, like he had missed a very important piece of information somewhere in the logic.

Heeseung finally glanced at him, expression flat, like this was obvious information that didn't need elaboration. "Tension will be too high," he said simply, shrugging one shoulder as he went back to his work. "You might fuck and then everything gets complicated emotionally."

Jake stared at him for a second."...What?"

Heeseung didn't even react much, just continued tightening a screw. "It happens."

Jake leaned back slightly, processing that in the most literal, disconnected way possible. His brain tried to compute it like a formula—input, output, consequence—but it didn't really connect to anything in his actual life experience. He had never thought about roommates in that way. Never even considered that possibility as something that could happen just because two people shared a space.

All he wanted was simple.

A place where he could breathe. A place where no one slammed doors at midnight, where he could actually study before eight without interruptions, where silence wasn't something he had to fight for. The gender of the roommate didn't matter to him.

"Isn't it better than five guys in a dorm anyway?" Jake muttered after a moment, more to himself than to Heeseung. "At least it's quieter."

Heeseung gave a short hum in response, still focused on the robot in his hands. "Probably."

Oh boy—Jake should've listened to Heeseung's cons.

Because the moment he signed the roommate application, everything somehow spiraled into something wayyyyy more complicated. Peace was all he wanted. That was all it was supposed to be. But then reality hit in a way he didn't calculate for, because he didn't know—he genuinely didn't know—that the roommate he'd been assigned was you, until the interview.

And the worst part was how his eyes kept betraying him. He'd look away too late, glance too long, get caught in places he shouldn't be looking at all. Your body, it was like how visible everything felt to him. And yeah—your ass included.

God, you looked different. It was accumulation. Your arms—stronger, more defined, muscle sitting tight under your skin. Your back was broader, posture solid, like you were always mid-motion even when you were just standing there reaching for something in the kitchen. It made sense. You were an athlete. This was normal. Of course, you train, you look like that. That's just how bodies works.

Every interaction made it worse, not better. There was no adjustment period, no gradual easing into comfort, he was stuck being watched even when you weren't looking at him.

The day you walked into the living room and caught him sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by scattered Lego pieces, he felt the spike of embarrassment that didn't fade. You didn't even say anything weird, just paused, looked, maybe a little curious. But to Jake, it meant too much.

Same with the time your eyes drifted over his Hot Wheels lined up on the shelf. It wasn't judgment, not really, but his brain filled in the gaps anyway.

And then the conversations—if they could even be called that. Something as stupid as the water bill turned into a full-body experience for him. Words sticking, fingers twitching, shifting his weight like he couldn't find a stable position to stand in. He'd rehearse sentences in his head and still mess them up the second they came out. And every time, without fail, there was that lingering thought afterward: You thinks he's weird. Or worse—you knows he's a loser.

No. People could think whatever they wanted; it didn't change anything... But this didn't sit the same way. Not when it came to you. Because for some reason, he didn't want you filing him away like that, reducing him to the guy sitting on the floor snapping LEGO pieces together or lining up Hot Wheels. There was more.

If he could just say it properly, without his words tripping over themselves, he could explain it. He could tell you about his grades, how he ranked near the top without making noise about it, how he could cook actual meals. He could show you something real.

But instead, all of that stayed stuck in his head, piling up into this silent, useless argument that never reached his mouth. And —why did it even matter enough for him to sit there mentally listing reasons like he had something to prove to you?!

"Wow, lucky you."

Heeseung's mouth literally dropping open as Jake pointed toward the massive tarpulin hanging across campus with your face printed on it.

"She's my roommate."

Heeseung looked back at him, then at the tarpulin again. But Jake... Jake didn't react the same way. His posture straightened just a little. His expression shifted without him realizing it, mouth pulling into something that edged too close to pride—almost arrogant, like he had some kind of claim. He didn't even notice it happening. Didn't catch the way the idea of being linked to you—even in something as basic as living in the same apartment—make him feel good.

"So, did you two fuck?" a question that exactly the kind of thing Heeseung would throw out without thinking twice. And just like that, whatever expression Jake had dropped instantly.

"N-No, what the—?!" Jake voice cracking slightly as his face heated up in seconds. The flush spread across his cheeks, down his neck, his brain short-circuiting in the worst way possible because his thoughts betrayed him, flashing something he didn't ask for. He physically flinched, hand coming up to smack the side of his own head like he could knock it out. "What the hell are you even saying?"

"I embarrassed myself because she caught me messing with Whitey," he added quickly as he shot Heeseung a glare, redirecting the conversation to something else. The robot sat unfinished in his mind.

Heeseung didn't miss a beat. "Okay," he snorted, shaking his head with a grin, "good to know you are never gonna get fucked by that girl."

Of course not.

You were intimidating—still intimidating in the exact same way you were the last time he saw you a year ago, except now it felt worse because you were closer. It wasn't just that you were attractive. It was the way it came with presence that made it hard to relax around you. Your eyes didn't help either— too easy to get lost in if he looked too long. And that was the problem. He wanted to look, to hold it for more than a second, to prove to himself he could act normal—but every time he tried, something in him pulled back too fast.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" You ask him too blunt as he just handle you the advance payment.

"H-huh?" His face went red almost instantly, color blooming across his cheeks as he fumbled with the fabric of his pajama pants, wiping his hands over and over. "I—I don't have..." he said quietly, trailing off as if the sentence itself embarrassed him.

Wait—why would you even ask that? Followed by another question. Are you... interested? Or just curious? That didn't make sense. There was no reason for you to be interested. He barely talked to you, barely functioned normally around you. So why ask? Unless it didn't mean anything. Unless he was reading into it again. It was random. You weren't even that close, barely past basic conversations....

Jake tried not to think about it, tried to force his attention onto anything else, but you cut straight through that fragile effort by suddenly starting another conversation, casually asking what you both should order for dinner while he adjusted Whitey. You were so fucking close. It is overwhelming, scrambling his thoughts. Oh fuck. You were too close—it was going to make him lose his goddamn mind, and all he could think, over and over, was how you smelled—sweet, distracting, pretty, pretty, pretty.

He was barely breathing, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder like looking at you directly might short-circuit him. "Uh... I already ate," he repeated, voice dropping smaller.

"Oh."

Before you could say something, he stood abruptly, movement jerky, still refusing to meet your eyes as he pointed vaguely toward his room. "I—I need to, uh... I have something to do," he said, bowing slightly out of pure habit before retreating.

The moment the door shut behind him, Jake nearly let out a broken whine, his hands went straight to his hair, fingers gripping hard. He exhaled shakily, trying to calm himself, but it wasn't working. His dick was fucking hard— it got fucking hard!

And the third time you initiated something, Jake swore he was probably seconds away from going completely brain dead. He'd been crouched over another half-disassembled robot that Heeseung had dropped off earlier. You appeared again, stepping into his space. Jake would never forget the way you set the ramen down beside him with those pretty smile, and how easily you started talking about your life like none of the tension from before had ever existed.

"Sometimes I wish I was smart instead of just... sport-inclined," you admitted with a half-laugh, slumping your shoulders for emphasis. "Like, what the hell am I supposed to do after I decide I'm done with volleyball?"

Jake wanted to respond. He wanted to tell you that being sport-inclined wasn't something lesser, that there was nothing wrong with it, nothing lacking or incomplete about who you were. He wanted to say he envied you, in a way—your strength, the way you moved through things without hesitating, how you seemed fearless and independent in ways he couldn't quite reach. He wanted to tell you that if you ever got tired of volleyball, there were still so many things waiting for you, paths you could take without losing yourself—but when he opened his mouth, nothing came out.

"I'm done for now," you said abruptly, when you notice he isn't talking, you clacked your chopsticks against the plastic before snapping the lid shut, forcing a smile that felt stiff on your face. You stood, shoved the ramen into the fridge with more force and retreated to your room, closing the door behind you.

Jake stayed exactly where he was, staring at nothing, and again, he let out a frustrated exhale, dragging a hand down his face.

When you stopped talking to him, Jake felt it like something collapsing inward. The last time you asked him anything beyond the bare minimum was when he'd come out of the shower early, and you'd only glanced his way long enough to ask if he was done. And after that... nothing. You slipped back into your usual colder distant self—only asking about rent, keeping your eyes anywhere but on him, cutting off any chance for conversation before it could no even start.

"Well, what do you expect?" Heeseung scoffed from across the room, not even bothering to look up at first as he leaned back in his chair, one leg stretched out while he worked on programming the robot in front of him—Bumble, Jake's old Grade 12 project that he'd decided to mess with again. "She's basically just talking to a wall, you want her to keep trying? You think you're that special?" He finally glanced over then, eyebrow raised, unimpressed.

"No! I—I understand her," Jake shot back quickly, his shoulders slumping almost immediately after as if the effort alone drained him. His hands fidgeted uselessly in his lap, fingers curling and uncurling as he struggled to keep his thoughts from tangling. "I just... I wish I could talk about things too... you know... like, actually say stuff... share..." His voice trailed off toward the end, shrinking.

"Booo," Heeseung dragged out mockingly, not missing a beat as he tilted his head back with exaggerated disappointment. "Stop wishing and actually try for once. Jesus, it's not that deep." He flicked a small tool across the desk toward Jake, though it stopped short, clattering uselessly against the surface. "You're just making excuses at this point."

"Why would I?" Jake asked, stubborn in a way that felt more defensive than confident, his gaze dropping to the floor. "It's better this way."

Heeseung's eyebrow lifted slightly at that. And the truth was, Jake had already accepted it—accepted that talking, is... super hard . His social anxiety had settled into him so deeply that the people around him had just adapted, learned to expect less, learned not to wait for him to say anything. Sometimes he wished it wasn't like that, wished he could just... function normally, speak without overthinking every word—but wishing didn't change anything, and he knew it.

So who the hell was he kidding? Himself, apparently.

Because the moment he started working on improving Bumble—adding a small camera, linking it directly to his phone so he could control what it saw and how it moved—he found himself doing something he couldn't even justify. Sitting on his bed, phone in hand, staring at the screen like an idiot while waiting for the front door to open. It was 7:30 PM. You usually got home around that time. The second he heard the faint click of the lock, he straightened up instantly, heart kicking a little harder as his eyes locked onto the live feed.

The door opened, and there you were—stepping inside, unaware and Jake immediately triggered the robot.

"Hi," he said softly into his phone, knowing the word would come out through Bumble in that slightly distorted.

He stayed hidden where he was, safely out of sight, using the robot as a shield between him and you. On the screen, you paused, your expression shifting into confusion as you looked down at Bumble, clearly not suspecting anything, because why the hell would you? To you, it was just a small, harmless robot—not him.

Jake let out a quiet, breathy giggle, biting down on his fist to keep himself from smiling too wide as he watched you respond. Sometimes you greeted it back, and other times you crouched down, kneeling in front of Bumble as your fingers gently brushed over its surface. And every time you did, you ended up looking straight into the camera without realizing it—your eyes filling his screen so suddenly it made his chest tighten. God, your eyes were so fucking beautiful. You were so beautiful. He kicked his feet lightly against the edge of his bed, barely containing the energy buzzing through him, his grin hidden behind his hand as he watched you a little longer than he probably should have.

One time, Jake watched you through his screen as you stepped into your room and quietly closed the door behind you. He lingered there for a moment, thumb hovering over the controls before he slowly guided Bumble away, sending it rolling through the hallway in slow, absent circles.

He kept moving, turning corners, drifting past furniture with no real direction. But then your door creaked open again, and Jake reacted instantly, fingers tightening as he jerked the controls, turning Bumble around so fast it almost tipped before he steadied it and followed you.

The movement was too uncoordinated—he wasn't paying attention to anything except you—and his phone slipped right out of his hand, dropping straight onto his face with a sharp, painful smack.

"Nghh—!" he choked out, the impact rattling his teeth as one of the brackets on his braces snapped loose, sending a jolt of pain through his jaw. But he barely had time to even react, because the screen was still on, angled just enough for him to see.

You were in the kitchen now, dressed in short shorts and a loose crop top that rode up just enough when you moved, exposing more than he'd ever seen before.

You bent slightly over the counter, focused on your phone while absentmindedly eating snacks, completely unaware of the tiny camera pointed in your direction. From that angle—he could see the curve of your body so clearly it made his head spin, the fabric of your shorts riding up just enough to reveal the soft outline of your ass.

"No..." he breathed, his chest tightening as his eyes stayed glued to the screen.

His gaze flickered downward for a second, and that only made it worse, because his body had already reacted before he could stop it. His dick was hard. Fucking hard.

"No—no, no..." he muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a second like it might erase the image that was already stuck in his mind. His face throbbed where the phone had hit him, his teeth aching from the loose bracket he knew would cost a shit ton to fix, but none of that compared to the way his body refused to calm down.

"I'm sorry," he whined under his breath, almost desperate as he grabbed his phone again with shaky hands. He didn't even look properly this time—just caught a brief, blurry glimpse of you still there on the screen before he fumbled with the controls and shut Bumble off completely. The feed cut to black instantly, leaving him staring at his own reflection instead, wide-eyed and flushed, breathing unevenly.

Jake's hands moved quickly, tugging his pajama pants down in a rush. He hadn't even bothered with boxers, and the cool air hitting his skin only made everything feel more intense than it already was. His toes curled against the sheets as his hand wrapped around himself, eyes squeezing shut like that might dull the image burned into his head—but it didn't, not even a little.

If anything, it made it worse, the memory replaying in fragments, the way you bent slightly, the way your body looked so fucking sexy.

His breathing turned uneven until it was harder to control as his grip tightened on his cock. The thought of grabbing his phone again, to open Bumble, tempting. But it feels morally wrong, of course he has a conscience!

A quiet whine slipping out as the image of you catching him—actually realizing what he'd been doing with Bumble—flashed through his head.

"Oh God," he breathed, the words breaking unevenly as his stomach clenched hard at the thought. Why is he getting off at the thought of being caught?! Now he really felt like a fucking weirdo.

His hand stilled for a second before he reached blindly for his phone, unlocking it with clumsy fingers as he opened his messages with Heeseung. His friend had always had this habit—sending pictures of you from games, from practice, from random moments on the court. Jake used to ignore them, but now, he was actually looking, thumb dragging slowly across the screen as he took them in one by one, most of them taken by sports journalists and reposted on the university page.

He kept scrolling faster now, a restless feeling building under his skin as his patience thinned, his hands are getting faster until his eyes landed on one that made him stop completely.

A selfie. He didn't know where the hell Heeseung got it, but there you were, up close, biting lightly onto your medal with a small, tired smile, sweaty and hair slightly messy like it had been taken right after a game. Jake stared at it longer than he should have, his chest rising and falling unevenly, his fingers working through the tip, spreading the precum. God. He wish you could also bite him, everywhere, his neck, his lips, his nippl— bite WHAT?!

His head tipped back slightly, eyes fluttering for a second as he exhaled through his teeth. "Haaa..." he whispered again, his gaze locked onto the screen as everything else faded out around him.

After a few uneven breaths and one last helpless glance at your photo, his body finally gave in to the overwhelming tension he'd been holding onto for too long, his dick keep twitching as it spurts continous cum on his stomach.

He was slumped there in silence, staring at the screen like he didn't know what to do with himself anymore.

heeseung | lol why'd you ❤️ react now to the picture i've sent 2 months ago????

heeseung | that sweaty picture haha nice taste😏

heeseung | you're welcome

Jake's entire face flushed instantly, the heat crawling up from his neck to his ears. It felt wrong, no it's actually wrong! You and him barely even talked, what the fuck is he thinking?! Jake let out a frustrated groan before tossing his phone across the room without even looking, the device hitting the floor near his desk.

It's just attraction. You were pretty—that wasn't something he could deny, not even if he tried—and his body reacting like that... it wasn't unusual, not really. He knew that. He knew it was a normal response!

Jake grew restless as the days dragged on, a quiet agitation settling into him that he couldn't shake no matter how hard he tried to distract himself. He kept checking the time without realizing it, his focus slipped whenever he tried to work on anything else. But also, it didn't still change the fact that he is looking forward to one specific moment every night.

Well, greeting you through Bumble had turned into a routine.

But one day, that routine cracked without warning. The second Bumble rolled into the living room and the camera adjusted, Jake's small, anticipatory smile faded instantly, his entire expression dropping. You were sitting there, not moving the way you usually did, not reacting the way he expected.

You were crying. His hands lifted slightly toward the screen without thinking, fingers hovering uselessly in the air, as if he could do anything at all from where he was.

You leaned back against the sofa, your body sliding down slowly until you were sitting on the floor, shoulders slumped, exhaustion written all over you. "Everyone has someone," you whispered. "Why... am I such a fucking loser?" you let out a short laugh after that.

Jake just sat there on his bed, staring at his phone.  He watched you like this without knowing how to respond.

He wanted to tell you it was okay, that you weren't whatever you thought you were in that moment, that you didn't have to sit there alone like that. He wanted to apologize too—for all the times you tried to talk to him and he shut down, for how absent he must've seemed, how useless he felt now thinking back on it.

Most of all, he wanted to tell you that you had him.

Action speaks louder than words, right? If you thought you were lonely, then he'd prove you wrong—not by saying it, because he clearly couldn't, but by doing something, anything that might reach you in a way his words never could. So he started small, practical, something he could control. If you were hungry, then he'd cook.

"I—I always... uh... cook food f-for dinner..." he managed to say when you walked in. His heart was pounding so loudly it made it hard to hear himself think. He saw the way you paused mid-step before turning your head just slightly, not fully facing him. Jake's gaze dropped instantly, locking somewhere near the floor, his fingers twitching uselessly at his side.

"I-If you want to eat," he added quickly, the words stumbling over each other in his rush to get them out before he lost the nerve entirely, "uh... it's on the table..." His voice faded at the end. He didn't wait for your response and before you had the chance to say anything, he turned and walked off quickly.

By the time he reached his room, he was practically speed-walking, shutting the door behind him a little too fast before leaning back against it with an exhale. "No..." he muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to calm himself down, his pulse still racing from something as simple as speaking to you. He paced once, twice, restless energy buzzing under his skin, before grabbing his phone. The familiar motion steadied him a little as he connected to Bumble again, pulling up the camera feed with shaky anticipation.

The moment the screen lit up and he saw you sitting at the table, actually eating eagerly, without hesitation—something in his chest loosened all at once. A wide smile spread across his face. He leaned forward slightly, eyes fixed on the screen. He had spent hours researching what athletes usually ate, scrolling through articles and videos, and seeing you enjoying it without knowing any of that, made it feel worth it in a way he hadn't expected.

Jake kept cooking for you after that. Sometimes you came home later than usual, the house already dark and settled, and he'd just leave the food covered on the table without saying anything. And every morning, when he stepped into the kitchen and saw the empty tupperware neatly rinsed and the dishes cleaned and set aside, something in him eased just enough to carry him through the day.

"Sooo, you're not actually talking? That's lame," Heeseung said one afternoon, watching Jake from across the scattered parts on the floor. "You're seriously not even gonna try talking to her?" he added, tilting his head slightly, like he was waiting for Jake to say something less disappointing.

Jake paused mid-motion, the screwdriver hovering awkwardly in his hand as he stared down at the loose panel he'd been working on. "Uh..." he started, hesitating as his eyes flicked up briefly toward Heeseung before dropping back down just as quickly. He shifted his shoulders in a small shrug. "I think it's okay...? People don't need conversations all the time," he said.

Heeseung made a face immediately before he pushed himself forward and sat down next to Jake on the floor. "Are you even hearing yourself?" he asked, brows raised as he nudged one of the scattered tools aside with his foot. "You'd rather just... what, keep cooking for her like some silent fucking ghost? That's it?" He leaned back on his hands, glancing at Jake from the side. "Why don't you try something normal for once? Like eating together at the table?"

"I-It's not needed," Jake replied quickly, a bit too defensive as his grip tightened slightly around the screwdriver. "What are you even pointing at?"

"I swear that girl likes you," Heeseung said, sitting up straighter now. "You literally told me she asked if you had a girlfriend, right? People don't just ask that shit for no reason. She wouldn't even bring it up if she wasn't interested."

Jake just stared at him, his mind spinning in slow, uneven circles as he tried to process what Heeseung was saying. It didn't line up cleanly in his head. His lips parted slightly like he was about to respond, but nothing came out, instead, he reached for the water bottle beside him, unscrewing the cap just to have something to do.

"For you to even sit at the same table, you need to ask her to eat dinner with you," Heeseung continued. "And to do that without fucking it up, you need courage—and a script. Yeah, a script," he added, nodding to himself. His fingers tapped lightly against his knee as he spoke, already thinking steps ahead while Jake was still stuck at the starting point.

Jake paused mid-sip, the bottle hovering awkwardly in the air as he slowly turned his head to look at him, eyes narrowing just slightly in confusion. Heeseung, meanwhile, looked completely serious.

"Let's practice some, okay?" he said, already shifting closer. "But when you say it, don't mumble like that—say it straight, no stuttering, and looook..." he dragged the word out, lifting a finger for emphasis, "at the person's eyes when you're talking. That part is important."

Jake swallowed slowly, nodding once. He lifted the bottle again, taking another quick drink but then Heeseung reached out suddenly, grabbing Jake by the shoulder and pulling him just enough to face him directly. "Practice it with me," he said, eyes locking onto Jake's with zero hesitation.

Jake barely lasted a second.

The moment their eyes met, something in him short-circuited completely. The water he'd just taken in stayed in his mouth for a split second too long before it came spilling out in the worst possible way—right onto Heeseung's face.

"You fucker," Heeseung hissed, he wiped his face with the back of his hand, water dripping down his jaw and onto his shirt. He lunged forward, grabbing Jake by the collar and immediately hooking an arm around his neck, choking him.

The next day, Jake decided he should've just ignored everything Heeseung said. All of it. The advice, the assumptions, the stupid "script"—it all felt ridiculous now that he was actually thinking about it on his own. It wasn't necessary. He didn't need to prove anything, didn't need to suddenly change how things were going between you and him. Things were... working, in their own quiet way. He had his routine, you had yours, and there was no risk of him messing it up as long as he didn't push it any further.

He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face as he tried to settle into that thought again.

Sigh.

You were so fucking pretty.

He clicked his tongue softly in frustration, shifting his weight where he stood in the kitchen. Maybe... maybe inviting you to eat together wouldn't be that bad. He swallowed, his chest tightening slightly as he stared down at the food he'd already prepared, his fingers flexing at his side like he was trying to gather whatever courage Heeseung kept talking about.

"H-Hey."

The word came out before he could stop it. You had just gotten back from practice, heading straight toward your room without really looking around. Jake set the plate down carefully on the table. Eye contact, he remembered. Right. His shoulders tensed slightly as he forced himself to look up when you paused.

And for a moment, he actually held your gaze. Really held it.

The way your eyes locked onto his without hesitation, clear and focused in a way that made his chest tighten instantly. You were even prettier up close! And just like that, it became too much. His gaze broke, darting off to the side as his composure slipped, the brief confidence he had collapsing under the weight of it.

"Let's—I-I cooked dinner," he said quickly, the words tumbling over each other as he gestured vaguely toward the table, his hand a little stiff. "There's a-a lot, so l-let's share."

The moment you sat down and really talk. All of Jake nervousness and loud mind begun to be quiet.

Oh—and it really... felt nice.

Talking to you about random things—music, mostly—like Cigarettes After Sex, of all things, wasn't something he ever pictured himself doing out loud, but it just... happened. And then the next day, you came back holding a bottle of chocolate almond milk, setting it down in front of him, and he just stared at it for a second, genuinely thrown off. For him?! You bought it... for him? there was no way—you knew his favorite drink without him ever saying it!

And fuck, you were cute too. In the little things he kept catching himself noticing more and more. The way you reacted to food, especially the ones he cooked, wasn't something you tried to hide or tone down, and he liked that more than he expected. You weren't picky, didn't hesitate, didn't pretend—you just ate, genuinely, like you enjoyed it without overthinking it. And that smile you always had while eating. Damnnn. You were cute. You were really fucking pretty.

And somehow, without either of you pointing it out, things started to settle into something new. You and him eating together when your schedules lined up, sitting across from each other at the table. Conversations came easier now, sometimes you'd watch movies after, sometimes you'd just sit there, talking about nothing in particular. But most of the time, it circled back to the same thing—eating. You ate, and he cooked. Over and over again. He cooked, cooked, and kept cooking.

Well... of course, with everything he'd been doing lately, someone was bound to question it eventually—even if he hadn't properly questioned it himself yet. From the outside, the things he was doing maybe it didn't look that simple.

"And you're doing all of that because...?" Heeseung asked.

"Because... I'm a... good roommate?" Jake replied almost immediately, the words coming out before he had time to think them through.

"You mean you're doing all of that because... you want to be a good roommate?" Heeseung repeated, his eyebrow lifting even higher as he stared at him. Jake glanced at him briefly, then looked away, his gaze drifting upward like he might find a better answer somewhere above them.

"...Yes?" he said again.

"Dude?" Heeseung's voice jumped, he straightened up, staring at Jake like he'd just said something completely insane. "What do you mean you cook for her all the time, talk with her, watch movies with her—just because you want to be a good roommate? You're literally leading her on."

"Leading her on... on what?" Jake asked, his brows pulling together slightly, the confusion in his voice genuine as he turned back to look at him.

"Leading her on into thinking you like her," Heeseung shot back immediately, his hands coming up as he gestured. "Do you not like her at all?"

...

Jake didn't answer right away. His thoughts slowed, circling around the word. It felt too big, too defined. He knew you were attractive, that wasn't even a question. You were cool, confident in ways he couldn't replicate, and there was a part of him that looked up to you without fully realizing it at first. But stepping past that, into something more specific—it didn't come easily to him.

Was he actually leading you on?

Suddenly he remember his last relationship back in high school. The awkwardness, the pressure, the way everything had fallen apart in a way that left him feeling small, like he'd completely mishandled something he wasn't ready for in the first place. He remembered the expectations he couldn't meet, the quiet disappointment that followed—and how it all ended with him promising himself he wouldn't put himself, or anyone else, through that again.

Maybe that's why he rejected your invite to watch your finals game.

At the time, it felt like the right decision. It was better this way, it would stop you from expecting anything from him, stop things from becoming something more complicated than he could handle. If you didn't hope for anything, you wouldn't be disappointed.

Later that day, after class, when he stopped by to grab food for what he half-considered a small, quiet way to celebrate for you anyway, he saw the ticket. Crumpled in the trashcan . Jake paused mid-step, the takeout bag hanging loosely in his hand as he stared at it.

And just like that, the certainty he'd been holding onto didn't feel so...solid anymore.

What the hell was he even doing? Building you stupid little lego flowers, cooking for you almost every day, sitting across from you and actually talking—even if it took everything in him just to keep the words coming. What was the point of all that? What was he trying to get out of it? Good roommate? That sounds ridiculous!

A good roommate remembers details.

Because Jake remembered things—too many things. He hadn't cared much about sports before, never bothered to look into it beyond surface-level noise, but you... you were something else.

You were everywhere.

Articles, photos, interviews—your name kept showing up in places he didn't expect. A second-year student from Basic Education, sure—but that wasn't the part that stuck. It was everything else. The way sports journalists talked about you like you were something unpredictable, something hard to pin down. The libero who didn't just receive but shut down plays, you who managed to block one of the most well-known spikers from another university! And your high school team? Representing the region at nationals!

Because you never talked about it.

Not once. You never bragged and yet there it was, laid out in front of him in article after article. MVP awards, recognition, comments about your presence on the court—how your looks alone distracted opponents, how your movements were unpredictable enough to throw off entire plays, how you stayed focused on keeping the ball alive no matter what. With the school reputation, you were often called as a Decelis Vampire with your great speed and agility. It didn't sound like the same person who sat across from him eating quietly, smiling over the food he made!

Sports were complicated but you?

You were so fucking cool.

That's why he felt so fucking dumb—so unbelievably dumb for letting things get this far without stopping himself sooner. Every small thing he did stacked up until it stopped being simple and started turning into this mess he didn't know how to handle. Heeseung had warned him and Jake brushed it off as if it didn't apply to him—but now it all circled back.

Living with you, being around you like this, letting things blur—it created tension he wasn't equipped to deal with. Because if he let himself go any further, if he actually gave in to those impulses—to the urge of wanting more, to get closer, to touch, to kiss, to do things he knew he wouldn't be able to take back—he'd regret it. He knew he would.

So avoiding you felt like the only right decision left after having sex. He knows it wasn't fair but Jake has been good at avoiding things, especially confrontation, because he knew how those situations ended for him.

But he underestimated you.

Because of course you weren't just going to let it sit like that. Of course you were going to push, to corner him when he thought he could quietly slip away from it. And that was exactly the kind of situation he wasn't ready to face—the kind where there was no escape, no easy way out.

"Talk to me, fuck it!" you snapped suddenly, your voice breaking as it rose. Jake flinched hard, his shoulders tensing as the sound hit him that made his thoughts scatter even more. Why would you do that? Why would you push him into something he clearly couldn't handle?

Because the truth was—he didn't even fully understand what he felt.

"Sorry... Jake... please," you said again, your voice dropping, almost pleading in a way that made something twist in his chest. Your hands were still there to hold onto him but he moved them gently, guided them off him.

"I like you too much, is that wrong?" you asked.

Yeah.

It is wrong.

You shouldn't feel that way about someone like him, not when he knew he couldn't give you what you deserved. Jake didn't deserve you.

"S-sorry..." he said, shaking his head slightly, his gaze fixed somewhere else, anywhere but your face. "I—I... I don't think I feel the same way, that's why I—I feel guilty... about what happened... sorry."

That's what he felt.

That's what he told himself he felt.

The sound of plastic hitting the floor suddenly made him cut through his thoughts. You got those for him.

And before he could even react—before he could say anything—you were already moving, already turning away and walking out, leaving everything behind.

Jake stood there, frozen, staring at the scattered toys on the floor. His chest felt tight, his thoughts loud and empty at the same time, a heavy stone settling deep in his gut as though he wants to vomit.

Because it felt like his world just... crashed. And the worst part? It felt like he had just lied straight through his teeth...Even though he knew, somewhere deep down, he had tried to be honest.

"You're an asshole." Heeseung didn't even hesitate when he said it. Jake clenched his teeth immediately, his jaw tightening as his eyes shut, trying to ignore everything around him. But it didn't help. All he could see was your tear-streaked face and it kept replaying, over and over again.

Yeah. He knew.

He'd known the moment the words left his mouth, the moment you dropped those stupid fucking toys and walked out without looking back. Guilt stayed in his chest, making it hard to think straight without it twisting everything. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He told himself he was avoiding problems, preventing something worse from happening—but it felt like he just created something worse instead.

Maybe he should just switch buildings again. He was ashamed. He hurt you, badly, and he didn't even mean to—but intent didn't change shit.

But then—

If he left... who the hell would be there for you?

Who would take care of you in the small ways he'd gotten used to? Who would cook, who would notice the little things, who would sit across from you at the table? Would you just find another roommate? Probably. Someone better. Someone who could actually talk without shutting down, someone who wouldn't say the wrong thing at the worst possible moment... What the fuck is he thinking right now?

Did he... actually like you?

Jake frowned slightly, his brows pulling together. Did he like you because you remembered something as small as his favorite milk without him ever saying it out loud? Because you talked a lot, filling spaces he usually left empty, and somehow that didn't annoy him the way it should've? Was it because you were pretty and because people looked at you like you were something hard to reach? Or was it the way you balanced that—how you could be intimidating on the court, but still soft in these quiet, unguarded moments he got to see?

None of it felt... enough.

Or maybe it felt too scattered, too shallow when he tried to list it out like that. Because liking someone was supposed to be deeper than this, wasn't it?

"Hi! We are from Decelis Sport Management! We're handing out flyers to support the Women's Volleyball team—they're leaving the city next month!" A small group stood near the cafeteria entrance, passing out glossy flyers one by one. "If you want to be part of the VIP section with the Decelis Band, feel free to stop by our office!" one of them added, extending a flyer toward a passing student who barely hesitated before taking it.

Jake paused mid-motion, his hand hovering over his notebook as his attention shifted without him meaning to. His eyes locked onto the flyer in someone else's hand—the bold colors, the team name printed across it. Across from him, Heeseung noticed immediately, his brows lifting as he followed Jake's line of sight, then slowly leaned back in his chair, expression flattening.

"What?" Heeseung said, lips twitching just slightly as he tilted his head. "Interested in watching?"

"H-Huh?" Jake snapped out of it quickly, his head turning toward Heeseung as if he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't. He looked back down at his blueprint right after. "No..." he muttered.

"So are we watching Decelis vs. Isabella again?" a nearby student chimed in, leaning over slightly to look at the flyer with interest. "You gonna buy for Day 3?"

"Of course Decelis is making it to Day 3, have you seen their defense?" his friend shot back immediately, already slinging his bag over his shoulder as he stood up. "Come on, let's just grab tickets for all three days now before they sell out." He didn't even hesitate, already walking off with the flyer in hand.

Jake stayed quiet. His eyes flickered up again, catching another glimpse of the flyers being passed around. He doesn't care. He doesn't care.

He found himself standing in front of the Sports Management office later that day, stuck in the middle of a long, slow-moving line. Jake kept his head slightly lowered, shoulders tense, eyes avoiding anyone who might recognize him. Because if Heeseung found out about this he'd never hear the end of it. Probably get smacked in the head too.

"What am I doing..." he muttered under his breath, shifting his weight awkwardly as the line moved forward inch by inch.

To distract himself, Jake glanced toward the bulletin board nearby, his eyes scanning over the countless posters and printed articles pinned up in messy layers. Interviews, game highlights, team features—it was all there. Huh Yunjin—the captain. Aeri Uchinaga. Ning Yizhuo — middle blockers. Faces he'd seen in passing, names mentioned in articles he skimmed through,  most of it—

Most of it was you.

Photos of you mid-play, interviews where your expression looked calmer, more composed than he'd ever seen in person. It filled the space in a way that made it impossible to ignore, impossible to pretend you were just... normal, just his roommate. Jake stared longer, his chest tightening with every second he didn't look away.

Oh God.

Jake likes you.

The thoughts slammed into him, so hard and disorienting, like someone had cracked him across the head without warning— No... something did actually hit his head.

"—Oh! S-sorry!" a guy with glasses and messy brown hair blurted out, his voice pitching up in panic as his bag swung awkwardly and smacked straight into Jake's head, his hand coming up instinctively to rub the spot as he blinked a few times. The guy looked mortified, clutching his strap.

Every weak explanation he used to convince himself otherwise—it all crumbled in that moment. Because no matter how much he tried to deny it, no matter how many times he told himself it wasn't that deep.

It all fell apart the second he showed up here, standing in line like an idiot, pretending this was just curiosity.

It all fell apart the second he decided to go to your game, even though he didn't understand shit about volleyball, even though he had no real reason to be there—except you.

And it completely shattered the moment he saw you cry.

It fucking hurt.

"Y-You're bleeding?! H-How is that possible?!" the guy suddenly stammered, his voice jumping in panic as he pointed straight at Jake's face. Jake blinked, confused for a second before lifting his hand again, only now noticing the faint smear of red against his fingers. His brows pulled together slightly, still slow to react, while the guy behind him gasped loudly, grabbing onto his friend's shoulder.

"W-What the hell?! Did you put this in my bag, Keonho?!" the guy who hit him earlier yelped, frantically unzipping his bag and pulling out a chunk of stone that definitely didn't belong there. The guy turned to the other boy beside him, who immediately started denying it just as loudly. The two of them spiraled into a messy argument right there in line, drawing attention from a few others.

His focus had already drifted.

His eyes moved past them, scanning the rest of the line, taking in the small details he hadn't noticed before. People were talking excitedly about you—your last game, your plays, your reputation. The way they spoke about you wasn't just any casual conversation. It was admiration.

There were so many people here for you.

People who weren't awkward. People who didn't hesitate. People who would actually step forward instead of pulling back.

Jake's gaze drifted back to the boy in front of him, still panicking over the situation, completely unaware of the way Jake was staring right through him. Because even then, his attention wasn't fully there—

There were people better than him.

And wasn't that what you deserved?

Someone who would take care of you properly, not just in small, quiet ways but openly, confidently. Someone who would love you without second-guessing every word, someone who would cherish you without needing to hide behind half-efforts.

If you found someone like that... he'd step back.

He'd admire you from a distance, the way everyone else here probably already did, without expecting anything in return. And yeah, if that person hurt you, it would fucking hurt him too. But if that person treated you right—if they gave you everything... That would destroy him.

Because deep down, he knew—

He could've been that person too.

No—fuck that. He wasn't going to just stand there and accept that kind of ending! That felt worse—way worse—than anything else he'd been afraid of. Now that Jake knew, now that the feeling had a name, there was no way he could pretend it didn't exist anymore. Oh my God—he liked you.

Jake let out a sudden laugh, sound like a little unhinged as he stepped forward without thinking. The boy in front of him barely had time to react before Jake grabbed his shoulder, gripping it, his eyes a little too bright. "Thank you," he said, smiling wide in a way that didn't quite match the situation, ignoring the faint line of blood still trailing down the side of his face. "Fuck—thank you!"

The two guys stared at him like he'd lost it—and maybe he had, a little — Before they could even process what was happening, he reached out, snatched the ticket straight from the boy's hand who he saw at the ID was named as Juhoon, and stepped back.

He pushed through the line without looking back, ignoring the confused voices behind him.

Jake wasn't suddenly different.

He still struggled to talk. Still froze at the wrong moments. Still didn't know how to say things the way he meant them.

And even if he didn't know how to say it yet, even if the words never came out right—he wasn't going to just disappear and let things end like that. He'd have to face you again, one way or another, and deal with whatever came with it.

Not perfectly.

But honestly—this time, for real.

"Why is there always some kind of event in Decelis? And why the hell are we attending another seminar?" you muttered under your breath with clear irritation as you shifted your weight in line. The hallway outside the Audio Visual Room felt suffocating, packed too tight with bodies and noise, the air barely moving as heat clung stubbornly to your skin. You closed your eyes for a second, exhaling sharply through your nose, trying to ignore the way your shirt stuck to your back and how every inch of space felt invaded. Students around you fanned themselves with whatever they had—folders, papers, even their hands—but it barely helped. "For what?" you added under your breath, more to yourself than anyone else, your patience already running thin.

"Hey! Hey!"

You cracked one eye open at the familiar voice, already knowing who it was before you even turned your head. Karina stood a few feet away in the opposite line, somehow managing to look energized despite the heat, waving at you like she hadn't just walked into a human oven. Your lines moved in opposite directions, slowly dragging both of you closer until you met halfway. You gave her a look—half disbelief, half annoyance—because honestly, how the hell was she still that cheerful in this kind of weather?

"Did you see Ningning at the end of the line?" she asked immediately.

You blinked at her, unimpressed. "What kind of question is that? It sounds like we're not seeing each other later for training or something," you shot back with sarcasm as you wiped at the sweat gathering near your temple. Your mood had already dipped, and she wasn't helping.

Karina just laughed, completely unfazed, pointing at your face before pulling out her small turbo fan and aiming it straight at you. The sudden blast of air hit your skin instantly. "Come on, smile!" she teased, her grin widening as she watched your expression soften just a bit. "We're heading to Santiago next week! Aren't you excited?!"

You made a face at that, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, mostly because the heat was still unbearable and your patience was already gone. Before you could say anything else, your lines started moving again, pulling you apart just as quickly as you'd met. The cool air from her fan disappeared instantly, leaving you with nothing but the same suffocating warmth. You huffed again, this time breathing through your mouth as you tilted your head back slightly, trying to catch whatever little air you could.

"Oh my—hi! Hey—! That's the legendary vampire of Decelis!"

You groaned quietly, dragging a hand down your face as you already knew exactly who that was before even looking. Turning your head slightly, you spotted Ningning, Giselle, and Winter near the edge of the other line, all of them way too loud, way too energetic for this kind of environment. They waved like they hadn't seen you in years, calling out just enough to grab attention from people nearby.

"What the fuck did you all take to have that kind of energy?" you muttered under your breath as you stepped closer when your lines aligned again. Ningning immediately reached out, offering you a pack of gummy bears.

"The weather's so nice, what do you mean?!" Ningning said, completely serious, which only made you stare at her harder. "We saw the band earlier—I'm excited to see Karina do her serve with them!"

"D-E-C-E-L-I-S! GO! GO! GO! GO!" Winter and Giselle suddenly broke into the university chant, and completely unbothered by the stares they were getting. You looked at all three of them with a flat, unimpressed expression, not even trying to match their energy.

"Come on, have a little life! Fix your face!" Winter said, pointing directly at you before reaching over to wipe the sweat from your forehead. "What if someone confesses to you and you look like that? They'll remember that face forever."

You scoffed lightly, brushing her hand away as your line started moving again, pulling you forward inch by inch with the rest of the crowd. "Then they should've picked a better time," you muttered, rolling your eyes as the heat continued to cling to you. By the time you finally reached the doors of the AVR, your patience was hanging by a thread. But the second you stepped inside, the cool air hit you all at once and you almost groaned from relief. You and your classmates didn't waste time, quickly settling at the back near the AC unit, claiming the best spot before anyone else could. It took a few long, dragging minutes before the seminar actually started.

You leaned your face into your palm, elbow pressed against the armrest as you stared blankly toward the front of the room. The spokesperson clicked through slides that looked painfully dull, filled with text that didn't even try to be engaging. Around you, the quiet wasn't peaceful, broken occasionally by soft whispers or the very obvious sound of someone snoring a few seats away. Your eyelids started to droop slightly, blinking slower as your attention slipped further away from whatever was being said. Your thoughts drifted elsewhere—like food. What would they even have after training later? Something decent, hopefully. Or maybe not. Then your mind jumped again, landing on what Karina said earlier—Santiago. Meals. You wondered what they'd serve there, silently hoping it wouldn't be bland, dry, or just straight-up disappointing. You missed good food. Real food. You exhaled quietly. God, you were so fucking bored.

"I guess all of us believe in horoscopes and luck, aren't we?" the spokesperson's voice cut through your thoughts. There was a scattered response from the audience—some murmurs, a few half-hearted replies—and she let out a small chuckle like she expected it. "I see some of us don't..."

You didn't move, your expression unchanged as you stared forward, barely processing the question.

"I guess we can say that fortune happens for a reason," she went on, gesturing lightly with her hands as she paced a little across the front. "It doesn't necessarily mean it's bad, right? Some people believe that fortune favors good people, or that you have to do certain things to gain luck..." She paused briefly, her smile softening just a bit. "But sometimes, what we call bad luck or misfortune—it's just a way of letting us make mistakes."

She let out a small breath, her expression calm as she looked over the room. "Because what is a person," she added, "without flaws or mistakes?"

God, this is so fucking boring. You shifted in your seat, jaw tightening slightly as you stared at the front, not even pretending to listen anymore. Your stomach twisted faintly—not even out of hunger at this point, but just the need to do something else. So you stood up, already preparing a half-assed excuse about needing to pee, not even caring if it sounded convincing. But instead of just letting you slip out quietly, one of the organizers immediately stepped in, lowering their voice as they gestured toward the side. "You can use the bathroom backstage," they said politely. You blinked at them, unimpressed. What the fuck? Why was everything so damn controlled here?

You let out a quiet huff, resisting the urge to argue as you turned and made your way toward the indicated path. The walk felt longer than it should've, your footsteps muted against the flooring as you passed behind the curtains, the noise from the seminar dulling slightly the further you went. You scratched your head absentmindedly, shoulders a little tense as you caught one of the organizers briefly watching you pass. You met their gaze for a second, giving them a look that said yeah, I'm actually going to the bathroom, relax, before looking away again. It felt stupid, the whole thing—like even stepping out for a second needed supervision.

The moment you pushed past the curtain into the backstage area, the atmosphere shifted. It was quieter here, less suffocating, the hum of equipment replacing the droning voice from the seminar. You immediately reached for your phone, already opening your messages and texting Karina without hesitation—how many fucking hours is this seminar again? Your thumbs moved quickly. You leaned against the wall, exhaling sharply as your thoughts spiraled again. Luck. Fortune. Fate. Why were people so obsessed with that shit?It just felt repetitive. Empty. You'd been unlucky most of your life—so what, was that the universe teaching you something? Letting you "grow"? You almost scoffed at your own thoughts.

"O-Oh."

The voice came out of nowhere that make you freeze mid-thought. Your body stiffened instantly, your head turning slightly to the side as your heart picked up faster than you wanted it to.

Jake was sitting near the technical setup, half-hidden behind equipment, like he'd been there the whole time and you just didn't notice.

"H-Hi," you said quickly, forcing your tone to sound casual, like your chest wasn't suddenly tight for no reason. What the fuck was wrong with you? You already knew how this went. You liked him—fine. But he didn't like you back. He made that clear. So why the hell was your heart still reacting like this? It was annoying! You looked at him for a second too long before forcing your gaze away, but it didn't stop your brain from noticing everything anyway—his messy brown hair, the way his glasses sat slightly crooked, those wide eyes that never seemed to know where to settle, his lips pressed together. Even the way his oversized white shirt sat under that black jacket—it all just... fit in a way that pissed you off.

You huffed quietly, trying to steady yourself as you pointed vaguely toward the other side. "I was about to use the bathroom," you said. "You part of the organizers?" Why the fuck were you even talking? You should've just walked!

"Uh... yeah..." Jake replied, eyes flickering toward you before immediately darting away again. "The whole Engineering department... we're volunteering." His words came out uneven, like he wasn't fully confident in them, and for a brief second, both of you glanced at each other—

—and looked away at the same time.

"Ah..." you responded, as you dropped your gaze back to your phone, your thumb moving aimlessly across the screen just to have something to do. You weren't even reading anything—just scrolling, unlocking, locking it again—anything to avoid looking at him for too long. The silence stretched awkwardly between you, uncomfortable in a way that made your shoulders tense slightly. You could still feel his presence there, just a few steps away, like it was pressing in on you even without him saying anything.

"D-Do you need a-anything more?" he asked, his voice hesitant, uneven, like he wasn't even sure if he should be speaking at all.

You let out a quiet sigh, shaking your head quickly without looking up. "No," you replied shortly, already done with whatever this interaction was supposed to be. There wasn't anything left to say—at least, not anything you were willing to entertain right now. So you slipped your phone into your pocket, turning slightly toward the curtain again, reaching for the fabric as you prepared to head back into the AVR. Walking away was always easier.

"W-Wait, please."

You paused, your fingers tightened slightly around the curtain as you stopped, your back still facing him, your body going still even as your thoughts immediately tensed. Shocked by the sudden call.

"I-I—..." he started, his voice catching on itself, like the words refused to come out properly. You heard the faint rustling of paper behind you, something unfolding, shifting in his hands. Slowly, you turned your head, then your body, just enough to look back.

Jake stood there, holding a folded piece of paper that he was now struggling to keep steady. His hands were shaking—actually shaking—as he tried to open it properly, his other hand repeatedly wiping against his pants like they wouldn't stop sweating. He looked... off. Nervous in a way that felt more intense than usual, like he'd been building up to this moment for a while and was now barely holding it together.

"I know I have treated you t-this badly and t-there's no such an e-excuse for that action..." he read, his voice stumbling over the words, each one forced out.

What... the hell was he doing?

Your expression didn't change. Not immediately. You just stood there, staring at him, your face flat, unreadable despite the quiet shock settling in your chest. It didn't match the situation—didn't match the way he looked, the way his hands gripped the paper tighter when he finally glanced up at you.

And when his eyes met your completely unimpressed expression—his fingers tightened even more around the paper, the edges crinkling under the pressure like he might just tear it apart without meaning to. For a second, it looked like he was going to keep reading, like he'd force himself through whatever he had written no matter how bad it got. But then something shifted. His jaw clenched, his grip snapped—and the paper crumpled in his hands. Your lips parted slightly, not quite a reaction, not quite indifference either—just caught somewhere in between as you watched him abandon whatever script he thought would save him.

"I'm sorry," he said. It came out raw this time, stripped of the careful structure he was trying to follow earlier. "I'm so sorry for pushing you away after...that," he continued, the words coming faster now, like he didn't trust himself to stop. "I'm so sorry for hurting you... and I'm so sorry for being a coward." His eyes stayed on yours this time, not darting away, not avoiding like he always did—and that alone felt off, enough to make you stay still without realizing it. But his hands betrayed everything else, wiping over his sides again and again, like he couldn't get rid of the sweat.

"I'm so... sorry for taking too long to realize my feelings for you."

You didn't move. Didn't speak. You just stared at him, your mind lagging a second behind everything he just said. It didn't settle right away—it couldn't. Not when it sounded like something you weren't expecting to hear again, not from him.

"I—I really don't know how to talk without fumbling," Jake continued. He dragged a hand up to his hair, scratching at it in frustration, his shoulders tense in a way that made it obvious how hard this was for him. "My thoughts..." he trailed off, almost whining under his breath, like he didn't even know how to explain what was going on in his head. And that's when you noticed his eyes were glassy now, the faint shine of tears building up faster than he could control.

"It's a lot," he admitted. "I—I wish... whatever my mind says every time you talk, every time you share something..." He sniffed, his nose scrunching slightly as he tried to steady himself, but it didn't really work. "I wish you could hear that instead." His fingers curled slightly at his sides, restless. "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."

"Because..." he swallowed, his voice dipping just slightly as his eyes stayed locked on yours, refusing to look away now. "I really like you."

Your breath caught immediately, the shift so sudden it almost hurt, your lungs stuttering as if they didn't know how to adjust. Your mouth opened on, ready to respond—ready to question, to say something—but he didn't give you the chance.

"I know it's sudden," Jake rushed out, panic bleeding into his voice as he stepped forward. "I know I hurt you—yes, I hurt you, I-I-I..." His voice faltered, catching on itself as his thoughts tangled, his mouth parting again before nothing came out for a second. He swallowed hard, forcing it through. "I like you a lot, please," he added, more desperate now. "I like you in a way that doesn't... shut up." And then he moved closer again.

"Jake—"

"I want to be your boyfriend!" he blurted out, louder this time, cutting straight through you before you could even finish his name. It was like he didn't even think before saying them. "I want to be the man for you!" he continued, his voice shaking but determined. "I know you're probably thinking I'm not in the right mind for wanting this after everything I did, after all of that—but those things, they just made me realize how much I actually... wanted to be there." His breath came uneven, his chest rising as he tried to keep going. "With you. Around you. Talking—even if I suck at it."

"Wait—"

"You're so pretty it hurts!" he cut in again. "I realized it even before all this—I like cooking for you, I want to be the only one cooking for you. I also like feeding your fish, I—" He paused for half a second, just enough for something worse to slip out. "I love staring at you through Bumble—"

"You're Bumble—?"

"—I love everything about you!" he rushed over you again, not even realizing what he just admitted, completely overriding your question. His face flushed deeper, his hands clenching as he stepped closer again without thinking. "I can be someone you need," he said as though he was trying to convince both you and himself at the same time. "I can take care of you properly, not just... small things, not just hiding behind stuff like cooking or fixing things. I can actually be there, I swear."

His voice cracked slightly, but he didn't stop. "I know I'm late. I know I already fucked this up once," he said, his breathing stayed uneven. "I-I don't have any experience in relationships. I don't even know what I'm doing half the time," he admitted. "But I know I can be someone who shows up to your every tournament—"

Your eyes widened immediately at that, the words hitting you harder than expected. You never told him that. "Jake, I think you need to shut up—"

"I can be someone who listens," he pushed on, cutting over you again, his voice desperate but weirdly hopeful at the same time. "Someone who wouldn't freak out when you're exhausted or pissed or quiet. Someone who'd talk to you through the hard days," he added, a shaky smile forming despite the tears still slipping down his cheeks, his hand coming up to wipe them away messily. "I can learn what you like, what you need—I can—" he stumbled again, words spilling faster again than his brain could filter them. "I'm not experienced at sex at all though, but I—I can learn! I can fuck you hard to knock those stress— I can do that!—"

You moved faster than him this time. Your hand shot up, covering his mouth firmly before he could finish whatever the hell he was about to say next. "Jake..." you said, your eyes locking onto his immediately.

He froze. Completely. His body went still under your touch, his wide eyes staring at you like you just put him in place, a soft and almost stupidly affectionate shining in his stare. And for a second, neither of you moved—your hand still pressed over his mouth, his breath warm against your palm.

"You accidentally pressed the speaker for the backstage, you idiot," you hissed. Your hand was still half-frozen in front of his face, your embarrassment crawling up your neck as the realization fully sank in. From the other side of the curtain, the sudden silence from the spokesperson had already been replaced by laughter, whistles, loud cheering echoing from the AVR like the entire room had just turned into a stadium. Your stomach dropped even further at the thought of everyone hearing whatever Jake had just been saying.

God, you were so embarrassed. Worse than embarrassed—this was catastrophic. You could still hear fragments of reactions outside, like people replaying the moment for entertainment, and it only made your face burn hotter. Jake, meanwhile, had gone completely still for a split second before abruptly pulling your hand away from his mouth like he'd finally rebooted.

"I like you," he said again, suddenly firm, like the embarrassment outside didn't even register anymore. "Let me? Let me prove my feelings to you?" He stepped closer again, not in a rush, but with intent. "Let me prove that I deserve a second chance?"

"Jake, aren't you embarrassed?" you whispered urgently, leaning in just enough to keep your voice from carrying, your eyes darting toward the curtain where the noise was still going. "Press that button and we'll talk later—just stop the audio first—" You were trying to salvage whatever dignity was left in this situation, your tone a mix of panic and disbelief. "It's a yes but press those buttons—"

"I like you!" Jake repeated suddenly, cutting through your sentence again—but this time he laughed right after, like the chaos outside somehow made everything lighter instead of worse. Your eyes shut for a brief second, overwhelmed by the sheer absurdity of it all, but you couldn't ignore the way your chest tightened at the sound. "I like you so much!" he added, louder than before, like he couldn't contain it anymore.

That was when the door to the backstage swung open.

"Sim Jaeyun." The voice was strict that instantly enough to kill whatever remaining chaos was left in the room. The dean stood there, eyes locking onto Jake like a warning shot. "Office. Now."

You covered your face with both hands, mortified all over again as the reality of everything hit at once. Jake, however, didn't look away from you—not even for a second. He stood there, biting his lip slightly, eyes still fixed on you like the dean wasn't even the main concern. You peeked through your fingers just in time to see it—him still looking at you like that, like nothing else mattered.

And somehow, against all, you smiled. Just a little.

Jake saw it immediately. His expression softened, a small, breathless laugh slipping out of him like he couldn't help it. But then the dean cleared their throat again, sharper this time, and Jake straightened instantly, forcing himself to move. Still, even as he turned to leave, his eyes lingered on you one last time before he finally followed after the dean.

The controversy of what happened spread faster than you expected, like someone had lit a match and thrown it straight into dry grass.

Your group chat blew up almost instantly, messages stacking, names tagging you repeatedly. Even Karina's name popped up more than once, her messages sitting there unanswered alongside everyone else's, but you didn't feel like responding to any of it. When you showed up for training later, you acted normal enough—smiling faintly, shrugging when people nudged you for answers, letting them complain when you stayed quiet. But it was obvious, even to them, that something had shifted in you. You weren't irritated anymore. If anything, you felt... lighter.

By the time you got back home, you slowly pushed the apartment door open, not expecting anything unusual, and paused the moment your eyes landed on him. Jake was in the kitchen, moving carefully between the stove and counter. Soft music played in the background—Cigarettes After Sex. For a second, it felt like déjà vu, like your life had looped back. But this time, it's more real.

"So you give him a second chance and it's all good?" Karina's words echoed in your head. Of course not. It wasn't that simple. It couldn't be that simple after everything that happened. You stayed still near the doorway for a moment longer, just watching him move around the kitchen like he wasn't even aware of how much your world had tilted in the past day. He didn't look up right away. He just kept cooking, focused.

But it wasn't "all good." Not yet.

You were still figuring him out again, piece by piece, like retracing steps you once ran through too fast. There was hesitation in it, still uncertainty. But now there was something else too. An understanding. He likes you. You like him. That much was no longer buried under confusion or denial.

Maybe it wouldn't fall apart the way you once feared. Maybe it wouldn't be as complicated as it looked from the outside. Or maybe it would be exactly that—and you'd still choose to stay in it anyway. The thought of horoscopes, luck, fate drifted back into your mind again. Fine. Maybe they didn't control anything—but they nudged things in directions you weren't always ready for. The universe didn't have to be loud about it. Sometimes it just placed people in your path and let everything else unravel from there.

Without needing certainty yet, you stepped inside anyway.

"Me Gustas Tu."

Jake always like the stars.

He found himself thinking about how they didn't need to be closer to matter—they just existed, shining anyway, without asking for anything back. It reminded him of how some things in life just... stayed.

He likes fire too.

Not the kind that destroyed things carelessly, but the kind that spread slowly, beautifully, like it had intention behind every movement. The kind that didn't just burn—it transformed, left traces, changed the space it touched. He thought about how it looked when it moved, unpredictable but alive, impossible to ignore once you noticed it.

He likes the sea. The rain. Things that never really stop moving.

And if he had to turn all of that into something—if he had to explain what it felt like when you were around—it wouldn't come out neatly. It would probably sound messy, like him. Maybe he'd say you were like the brightest star he couldn't stop looking at. Or maybe he'd say you were like fire—something that made him burn. Or maybe he'd compare you to the sea, endless and overwhelming in the best way, pulling him in even when he should stay back.

Silly Jake—he really couldn't stop thinking about you, could he?

It was almost annoying how constant it had become, like your presence didn't need you physically there anymore to take up space in his head. Every small pause in his day somehow circled back to you, as if his thoughts had quietly rearranged themselves. Realizing that even silence now felt different when you weren't part of it.

The Volleyball Team had already made their way to Santiago City for the Regional Tournament, and Jake found himself trailing behind the group with a distracted mind. He stared down at his phone more than once, rereading your message that said you had arrived safely at your destination. It was just a normal update—but he kept looking at it anyway. You two weren't anything official yet, not even close enough for anything sweet, still stuck in that uncertain thing of figuring each other out. And before you left, things had been awkward again, the kind of awkward that made conversations shorter than they needed to be. Still, despite all of that, he missed you.

And that was the part that frustrated him the most.

Did everything that happened recently make him more desperate, or just more aware? He didn't even know anymore. It was like the absence of you had made everything louder—his thoughts, his habits, even the smallest pauses in his routine. He found himself wanting things he didn't used to think about before, like hearing your voice without a reason, or seeing you just standing there. God, he sounded pathetic in his own head. A total loser, really, the kind he would've rolled his eyes at if it was someone else.

Jake was almost restless for the entire three days, like his body had forgotten how to sit still without thinking about you. At one point, he ended up just staring at your fish tank for nearly an hour, watching the small movements. It was ridiculous, honestly, the way his attention kept drifting back to anything even remotely connected to you. You were busy the whole time—training, interviews, constant schedules—only messaging him late at night right before you slept, and even then it was brief, tired updates. Your phone had even been grounded by your coach at one point, and Jake nearly dropped his own phone in the bathroom when it suddenly rang with your notification tone. Jake was pathetic, and he knew it.

By the time the university bus was heading to Santiago, Jake had already made himself the first one there, sitting far too early with a bag that he kept checking unnecessarily. He dragged Heeseung along too, who looked half-dead already, yawning nonstop while leaning against his neck pillow. The rest of the group was still boarding, but Jake didn't care much about that part—his mind was already elsewhere, looping back to you even as the city started fading behind the bus windows. The road stretched out ahead, scenery shifting in slow motion, but all he could think about was seeing you again in person. It made him sit straighter without realizing it.

Jake is a loser and Jake is pathetically in love with you.

"I-I heard there's a lot of strong offense on the other team," Jake suddenly said as he leaned closer to the window, watching the scenery blur past. "I'm actually worried about her... what if they hit too hard and she gets bruises again?" he added, already picturing things he had no control over.

Heeseung beside him just let out another long, tired yawn, slouching deeper into his seat. "It's part of the competition, Jake," Heeseung replied flatly, voice dry and uninterested, like he'd answered this kind of concern too many times already. (He actually did)

Jake didn't seem reassured.

"Do you think I can talk to her after one of the matches?" he continued anyway, ignoring the lack of enthusiasm beside him. "Do you think they'll let them eat properly? What if the food is bad? I packed extra food too, and a first aid kit—just in case, so I can help if her hands get worse." He said it all in one breath.

Heeseung only yawned again, louder this time, barely even looking at him. "The sports management already said we're not allowed to talk to the team, Jake," he said lazily. "Not even pictures unless they don't make it to Day Three—which, honestly, I doubt."

Jake's lips pressed together slightly, his shoulders sinking just a little at that. By the time the bus finally arrived at the hotel, Jake was already holding his phone again, thumbs hovering over the screen before he typed out a quick message telling you that the university cheering squad had arrived safely and would be ready for the match. The hotel itself was only walking distance from the stadium—close enough that just knowing you were somewhere nearby made his chest tighten stupidly all over again. But your reply never came. Jake stared at the unread message for a few seconds longer than necessary before locking his phone with a quiet sigh. Of course you were busy. It was your first match, your focus should be there. Still, it didn't stop the anxious feeling crawling around in him anyway.

"Stop fidgeting," Heeseung muttered later as they handed over their tickets to the organizers, watching Jake bounce his leg nonstop while they waited to be stamped in. The entire stadium already felt loud before they even reached their seats, filled with students, chants, instruments, and that made Jake's ears ring almost immediately. They ended up seated near the front together with the band and the cheering squad, surrounded by noise that felt overwhelming enough to swallow him whole. Jake rubbed at his ear absentmindedly, trying to adjust to the volume, but the second his eyes landed on the court—on you—everything else faded anyway.

"Dude, sit down! She's not going anywhere," Heeseung hissed under his breath after Jake practically stood up the second he spotted you. He grabbed Jake's sleeve and forced him back into his seat before he embarrassed himself further. Jake awkwardly fixed his posture, shoulders stiff as he looked toward the court again—and then your head turned in his direction.

For one terrifying second, your eyes met his. Jake smiled immediately, awkward, his braces flashing while his entire face heated up from the attention. You only gave him a small smile in return before going right back to stretching like nothing happened. That tiny interaction alone was enough to make his chest feel full.

Heeseung was right about one thing though—the university wasn't exaggerating when they invested so much into Decelis' Women's Volleyball Team. Jake barely understood the game itself, but even he could tell the difference in level almost immediately. The coordination, the defense, the sheer pressure your team put onto the other side. The match didn't even last an hour before it was over, the crowd exploding into cheers while Jake sat there stunned, staring at the scoreboard like he couldn't believe how quickly everything ended.

And then, just as fast as it ended— you were gone again.

The sports organizers immediately started ushering the cheering squads and students toward the exits before anyone could crowd around the athletes. Jake instinctively stood again, craning his neck over people's shoulders, tiptoeing just to catch one more glimpse of you. He spotted you briefly near the sidelines, shaking hands and getting congratulated by the opposing team before staff quickly surrounded your group again, escorting all of you away toward the restricted areas.

Jake's shoulders dropped immediately after. Jake is pathetic. And right now, Jake felt fucking miserable.

That was exactly what happened on Day Two. Jake barely even noticed Santiago City despite everyone else talking about how beautiful it was, how lively the streets were at night, how there were places they should visit before heading home. None of it stayed in his attention for more than a second because his eyes kept falling back to his phone every few minutes. You would appear at the court for a couple of intense hours, completely alive, and then disappear again. Jake wasn't even allowed to properly approach you. Not a greeting. Not a quick conversation. Nothing. He was expected to just sit there like a normal supporter and wait for Day Three like everyone else. But Jake already knew what would happen tomorrow too—maybe you'd win, the crowd would swarm, organizers would rush your team away again, and he'd end up watching your back disappear for another fucking day. The thought alone was enough to make him restless.

By the time they got back to the hotel that night, Jake looked like he was losing his mind slowly. He kept rolling around on the bed, flipping his pillow over, grabbing his phone every two minutes only to stare at the same screen with no new notifications. His leg bounced nonstop, fingers fidgeting against his stomach while his thoughts kept circling back to you again and again. Heeseung eventually got fed up with the constant movement and straight-up kicked Jake's ass from the other bed.

"For fuck's sake, stop moving!" Heeseung groaned, half-asleep and irritated as hell. "You're making the entire bed shake."

Jake only huffed under his breath, glaring briefly before grabbing his bag and quietly leaving the room instead. Staying still clearly wasn't happening tonight.

Jake was determined now. Tomorrow was the finals, and it was already 10:17 PM. There was no way your team was still doing heavy training this late, right? Maybe you were already asleep. Maybe not. Maybe you were still stuck in some team meeting or recovery session. Jake didn't know, and the not knowing was making him itch. So against all common sense, he made his way toward the other venue building where the sports organizers and volleyball teams were staying. He walked carefully, shoulders tense, sneaking around like he was committing an actual crime before crouching near the grassy area outside when he heard voices nearby. He stayed there awkwardly for almost ten whole minutes, slapping mosquitoes and insects away from his arms while trying not to make any noise.

"Did that bitch literally threaten you?" a voice snapped somewhere ahead. "Just because they won last year doesn't mean we can't beat their ass tomorrow!"

"Giselle," another voice sighed immediately after. "Be the bigger person."

Jake instantly lowered himself further into the grass, nearly flattening his face into the ground before carefully peeking upward. Your team!

His eyes immediately found you among them without even trying.

You walked quietly beside the others, wearing oversized training clothes while lazily eating from a cup of ice cream, your expression tired. You scooped another spoonful slowly before lowering it again, staring into the cup like your mind was somewhere else entirely. Even looking exhausted, even standing half-awake— Jake still thought you looked so so so pretty.

"No, because why the hell would they threaten Yunjin and then give you a dirty look too?" Winter complained loudly, pointing at you with disbelief still written all over her face.

You only shrugged one shoulder lazily, taking another bite of ice cream like it genuinely didn't bother you. "Probably because I stared back," you muttered flatly.

"That's not helping your intimidation allegations," Ningning snorted from the side.

Jake had to physically press his lips together to stop himself from smiling too hard into the grass like a complete fucking idiot.

"I can't wait to beat their ass tomorrow!" Rei shouted dramatically, pumping her fist into the air. Jake stayed crouched awkwardly near the bushes, trying to remain hidden while still watching you from afar like a complete creep. His knees were starting to hurt from squatting too long, insects still attacking him from every direction, but he ignored all of it because you were right there. Then, in the middle of shifting his weight slightly—

Crack. Jake accidentally stepped on a dry branch.

Your entire team immediately went quiet. Jake froze so hard he almost stopped breathing, eyes widening as every single head turned toward the dark garden area where he was hiding.

"D-Did you guys hear that?!" Karina squeaked instantly, grabbing onto Winter's arm dramatically while looking around in panic.

The girls started screaming over each other almost immediately, some backing away while others started speed-walking toward the entrance. Jake slapped both hands over his mouth to stop himself from making another sound, shoulders tense while he watched the group scatter in pure confusion.

"T-there's a bear!"

"Shut up, why would a bear be here?!"

"Then what the fuck was that?!"

Jake stayed completely still for what felt like forever after they disappeared inside, barely even blinking as he listened carefully to make sure nobody was coming back with security.

Then suddenly he heard a one pair of footsteps approaching slowly. Jake squeezed his eyes shut briefly, already preparing himself mentally for getting caught by some staff member or organizer.

"Jake," your voice called quietly through the dark. "Did you know that if you get caught, the sports organizers would probably ban you from joining tournament cheering teams forever?"

Jake's eyes immediately opened again. He slowly peeked his head upward from behind the bushes and found you standing there alone now, arms crossed loosely while staring down at him. He stood up quickly, brushing grass and dirt off his pajama pants awkwardly before giving you the most painfully guilty smile possible.

"H-Hi."

"Hi," you replied, a small half-smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

Jake scratched the back of his head immediately, avoiding your eyes for a second before forcing himself to look again. "U-Uh... I couldn't sleep," he explained quickly, stumbling over the excuse. "T-That's why I went for a walk... you know..."

You stared at him flatly for a second, eyes slowly moving over his messy hair, oversized hoodie, his bag, and pajama pants that still had grass stuck to them. "How did you even get inside?" you asked finally, brows raising slightly in disbelief.

Jake let out an awkward little laugh under his breath. "Heh..." He rubbed his neck sheepishly. "I... climbed the back gate."

Your lips twitched immediately before you burst out laughing. It caught Jake completely off guard. He stood there frozen, staring at you while your shoulders shook lightly. His chest tightened stupidly at the sight. God, you looked so good laughing at him. Honestly, if this was what it took, Jake felt like he'd climb ten more fucking gates just to hear you laugh like that again.

"Why?" you asked between laughs.

Jake bit the inside of his cheek, his face already turning red under the dim lights. "I..." He hesitated for half a second before forcing himself through it anyway. "I wanted to see you," he admitted quietly.

You blinked at him. "Eh?" Your laughter faded as you tilted your head slightly. "You saw me during the tournament though. Besides, tomorrow's literally the last day. What's the catch?"

Jake immediately started fidgeting again, rubbing his palms repeatedly against his pajama pants like he didn't know where to place his nervous energy. "I miss you," he blurted out quickly before he could overthink it. The second the words left his mouth, his entire face heated up even more. God, that sounded corny as hell. Jake felt like some pathetic high schooler confessing to his crush behind the gym after class.

You stared at him quietly for a moment after that. At the way he kept fumbling with his hands. At the way he couldn't stay still. At the way he looked so genuinely nervous despite already confessing to you in front of an entire auditorium days ago. Cute. So fucking cute.

Your gaze slowly lifted away from him afterward, drifting upward toward the sky above the hotel grounds. The night had settled calmly over Santiago, the stars faint but visible around the huge glowing moon hanging overhead. The breeze was cooler now compared to the daytime heat, soft enough to make the leaves around the garden rustle quietly.

"The moon is beautiful, right?" you asked suddenly, softer in a way that made Jake immediately straighten.

"Huh?" He blinked before quickly following your gaze upward. "Ah—yeah. Right." He nodded awkwardly, staring at the moon, trying very hard to process what was happening.

But while he looked upward, you looked at him instead. At the way the moonlight softened his features, the way his messy hair moved slightly with the wind, the nervousness still written all over his face despite trying to hide it. A small smile slowly formed onto your lips before you finally called his name again.

"Jake."

Jake turned toward you immediately, almost too quickly, eyes wide and attentive as if he'd been waiting for you to say something else.

"I miss you too."

Jake stiffened instantly before the biggest smile slowly spread across his face, so wide it almost looked ridiculous. He looked down for a second, biting his lip like he was trying to stop himself from grinning too hard, but it clearly wasn't working. Even the tips of his ears were red now. God, he looked so stupidly happy over four words.

Somehow, the two of you ended up sitting together on one of the benches in the garden afterward. The awkwardness was still there, but it no longer felt painful. You found yourself telling him random things about your day without even realizing it—complaining about the freezing showers in the athlete dorms, the way Giselle almost started a fight earlier, how your coach yelled at the team because someone forgot their jersey during practice.

Jake listened to every single word carefully.

And somewhere in the middle of your rambling, he suddenly started pulling snacks out of his bag one after another. "W-What?" he mumbled shyly when you stared at the pile forming beside him. "I thought... maybe the food here sucks."

"You packed this much?" you snorted, staring at the ridiculous amount of food. Chips, bread, bottled drinks, chocolate bars, even packed containers wrapped carefully inside towels to keep warm.

Jake only shrugged awkwardly. "I thought you might get hungry."

Now your legs were comfortably stretched across his lap while the both of you shared snacks. Jake sat there quietly rubbing mint oil carefully onto the bruises forming around your calves and hands after today's match, his touch gentle despite how concentrated he looked. His brows furrowed slightly every time his fingers passed over darker bruises.

"Does this hurt?" he asked softly at one point, thumbs carefully pressing against your calf.

"A little," you admitted honestly before shoving another chip into your mouth.

Jake immediately eased the pressure after that. The silence afterward felt comfortable enough that your thoughts wandered again, eyes lifting toward the dark sky while the cold minty feeling spread across your sore skin. "Do you think people lose because they don't train enough?" you asked suddenly. "Or just because that's their fate?"

Jake's hands paused briefly on your leg before continuing slower this time. You huffed softly, tossing another chip into your mouth while staring at the stars. "If we lose tomorrow... does that mean we didn't work hard enough?" you continued. "Or maybe fortune just doesn't favor us."

Jake hummed quietly under his breath, clearly thinking carefully before answering. His eyes lifted toward the sky for a second too before he looked back down at your legs again. "I..." He hesitated slightly. "I guess that's what life is?"

You turned your head toward him while he continued massaging your calf slowly. "Life is unfair," he murmured quietly. "But that's just... how it works sometimes. We don't always hold the fortune. We don't always hold our own fate either." His fingers slowed absentmindedly against your skin. "Some people work hard and still lose. Some people barely try and somehow still win."

The breeze shifted softly around the two of you, carrying the distant sounds of traffic somewhere outside the hotel grounds. You looked at him carefully for a moment before asking quietly— "Do you believe in luck?"

Jake paused for a moment. His hand slowed slightly on your skin before he gave a small shrug of his shoulder. "I don't know?" he admitted honestly. "Sometimes it makes sense, sometimes it doesn't." He glanced down at your leg again while continuing to massage it gently. "But I got my horoscope read once... they said luck favors me," he added with a faint, awkward smile. "Dunno if it's true though."

That familiar half-smile formed on his face again after he said it. You stared at him quietly while he focused back on your bruises, fingers pressing lightly in slow, careful circles. In that moment, something in your chest tightened again. It felt stupid and obvious all at once, like your thoughts had already made up their mind. An unlucky you sitting here beside someone who casually talked about luck like it followed him around. What were the odds of that, really?

Ooooh, you're foolishly in love with this boy.

You exhaled softly. "I guess I just need to stick with you," you muttered with a small, almost teasing smile

The stadium was completely packed, like the entire city had decided to squeeze itself into one arena just to watch this match. The energy felt heavier too, everyone already knew this wasn't going to be an easy game. Jake could feel his ears ringing nonstop from the overlapping chants, drums, and screams echoing from every direction. Compared to Day One and Day Two, today felt sharper somehow. Heeseung, sitting beside him, kept laughing at the absurdity of it all—especially how the Decelis band and Isabella's band had basically turned into competing sound systems, blasting music louder and louder just to outdo each other while waiting for the teams to arrive.

"Today we are here to witness another rough battle in the Region!" the commenator announced through the speakers.

The crowd immediately exploded into noise again, shaking the entire structure. Jake flinched slightly at the volume, but he didn't look away from the court even for a second. The introductions began, one team after another stepping into the court under flashing lights and roaring applause. When Isabella's team was introduced, something about the atmosphere shifted.

"It's them! It's them! Oh my God, it's going to start!" the cheering squad beside them squealed loudly, practically jumping in their seats.

Your team walked out. The moment you appeared with the rest of the players, the crowd somehow got even louder, people waving banners, shouting names, and snapping photos like crazy. You moved confidently across the court, waving casually at the audience.

The moment your eyes landed on his direction, Jake reacted instantly without even thinking. He yanked off his hoodie in one quick motion, revealing the shirt underneath that had your face printed on it. For a split second, the entire section near him went quiet in shock. Your mouth literally fell open on the court, frozen mid-step, while even Heeseung slowly turned his head toward him with disbelief.

Jake caught sight of your lips curling into a bright smile as you stretched on the court, rolling your shoulders and loosening your arms. Without even realizing it, Jake found himself smiling too.

The game started almost immediately after introductions. Isabella's team was exactly what everyone warned about, a way that made every rally feel like a fight for survival. The difference between the two teams was small on the scoreboard, but on the court it felt massive, like every point was being ripped out instead of earned easily. Jake could feel himself tensing up more and more with each exchange, leaning forward in his seat without realizing it, breath catching every time the ball flew too close to your side. And every single time you dove—actually threw yourself across the floor to save a point—Jake reacted like he was the one getting hit. Ouch!

He grabbed Heeseung's arm at one point without thinking, squeezing too hard as he watched you slide across the court to receive a brutal spike. "Oh my God—she's gonna break something!" Jake muttered under his breath. You just got up like it was nothing, brushing your hands off and getting right back into position like your body didn't even register pain the same way normal people did.

"D-E-C-E-L-I-S! GO! GO! GO! GO!" Jake and Heeseung shouted together every time your team scored. He barely even noticed his voice getting hoarse, or the way his hands kept clenching the balloon tighter every time you made a play. All he knew was that you were out there, and everything else in the world felt like it was moving too fast to matter except that.

In the middle of the match break, Jake stayed frozen in his seat, eyes locked on your back as you stood near the sidelines. The number nine on your jersey stood out clearly. Your coach was talking to you at a steady pace, gesturing toward the court while you drank water from your bottle, nodding along with full focus even though your attention still seemed half on the ongoing match. Jake noticed everything—the way your shoulders rose and fell with controlled breathing, the way your grip tightened slightly around the bottle, and especially the way your eyes kept drifting back toward his direction every few seconds.

Something about it made his entire body feel strange.

The atmosphere in the stadium was still heavy, but inside Jake's chest everything suddenly felt... lighter. He didn't fully understand it, just that his thoughts slowed down in the middle of all the noise, like someone had briefly turned the volume of the world down just enough for him to breathe properly. Even his grip on the balloon loosened slightly without him noticing. And then, just as you turned away from your coach and started walking back toward the court, you gave him a soft smile.

Outside of this moment, people might've laughed at him for it, told him he was just being stupidly emotional, maybe just too deep in whatever this feeling was. They'd probably say it was just excitement, or he was just being corny in love. But Jake knew it wasn't that simple. It didn't feel chaotic the way nerves usually did.

It felt like the universe was saying something without using words.

He watched you step back onto the court, adjusting your position, rolling your shoulders once like you were resetting yourself completely. The light caught your face again, the sweat, the focus, the calm intensity in your eyes that made you look even more unreal than before. Pretty wasn't even enough of a word for it anymore in his head—it didn't feel big enough. Jake swallowed slightly, and his chest still felt oddly calm despite everything happening around him.

If passing down luck was possible, he'd give it all to you without hesitation.

But then again... you didn't look like someone who needed it.

Jake leaned forward slightly again, eyes tracking your movement as the whistle signaled the return of play.

Because deep down, he already knew it. One hundred percent. You were going to win.

"Oh ho ho ho! The Decelis Vampire is everywhere!"

The commentator's dramatic voice echoed through the stadium the moment you made another impossible receive, earning an explosion of screams from the audience. Jake breathed out shakily from his seat, fingers tightening around the edge of the banner resting on his lap as he stared at the scoreboard again. The difference between the two teams was still small enough to keep everyone tense, but something had clearly shifted after the last timeout. The second the whistle cut through the court again, Decelis moved like a completely different beast—every point started stacking one after another until even Isabella's side looked rattled trying to keep up.

You barely even felt your body anymore at this point.

The ball flew toward your side again and your feet moved before your thoughts could catch up, reacting after nearly two hours of nonstop rallies. Your hips still throbbed from the brutal spike you received earlier. Your knees burned too. Your shoulders felt heavy. One hour and forty minutes of constant passing, diving, receiving, running—it was exhausting enough to make your vision blur briefly every time the whistle paused.

You wanted to lie down. Just for a little while.

You turned your head for during the rotation shift and your eyes immediately found Jake again in the crowd. He wasn't screaming now like the others. He was sitting there quietly, staring at you with that same soft expression that always made your chest feel strangely warm no matter how exhausted you were. His hoodie was gone, exposing that ridiculous shirt with your face on it while his glasses reflected the lights.

And suddenly, more than resting— you wanted to go home. Home with him.

God knew what Jake probably sacrificed just to be here. You knew how sensitive he was with noise, how he usually avoided crowds because they overwhelmed him too quickly. He probably already missed his strict eight o'clock sleep schedule too, and judging from the dark circles faintly visible under his eyes even from the court, he was definitely running on pure determination alone right now.

Your chest tightened briefly at the thought.

Then the ball came flying toward your side again.

You inhaled sharply through your nose and threw yourself forward immediately, diving hard against the court floor to receive it cleanly before it could touch down. The impact stung violently against your body, but the sharp whistle blowing right after mixed instantly with the deafening screams erupting around the stadium.

"With the score of 58 and 61!" the announcer shouted over the roaring crowd. "Decelis advances their way to Nationals!"

Your teammates screamed immediately, some collapsing onto the floor while others tackled each other into hugs near the net. But while everyone else got swept into the excitement, you pushed yourself upright almost immediately, one hand clutching your hip as the pain shot through your side. Your entire body ached violently now that the adrenaline was wearing off, but you barely paid attention to it. Your eyes were already searching through the crowd.

Searching for one person.

Jake froze in his seat the second he realized you were walking directly toward his section.

At first, he genuinely thought maybe you were heading somewhere else. Maybe toward the cheering squad. Maybe toward your managers. But then you kept coming closer, eyes locked onto him so directly that his stomach immediately flipped hard enough to make him dizzy. Jake stood up hesitantly, nearly fumbling the balloon in his hands in panic.

"H-Hey—what are you—"

One of the sports organizers instantly moved when they noticed you approaching the spectator bounds, clearly about to stop Jake from stepping forward too far. But before they could say anything else, Heeseung grabbed the organizer by the shoulder with a grin already forming on his face.

"About fucking time." Heeseung snorted.

Jake barely even processed any of it, because the next thing he knew— you grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him.

Hard.

The entire stadium around him exploded louder somehow, a mixture of screaming, cheering, and scandalized reactions crashing together while cameras immediately started flashing toward your direction. Jake's brain completely short-circuited on the spot. His eyes widened for half a second in pure shock before he melted into it almost instantly, hands shakily grabbing your waist despite how badly they trembled.

He kissed you back immediately. Like he'd been wanting to do it forever.

The kiss wasn't neat either. It was breathless and messy. Jake could barely think properly through the pounding in his chest, through the warmth of your lips against his, through the realization that this was actually happening in front of thousands of people. Somewhere behind him, Heeseung was screaming like a maniac while the Decelis cheering squad lost their minds completely.

The moment the kiss broke, reality crashed back into your body all at once. The sharp pain shot through your hips agin, forcing a quiet wince out of you as your hand immediately clutched at your waist. Jake noticed instantly. His entire expression changed from happiness to panic in less than a second, hands carefully moving to steady you before you could lose your balance.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately as he held you closer against him.

"I want to go home," you muttered quietly instead, your forehead falling against the side of his neck as your body sagged closer to him.

Jake's breath caught instantly. The simple weight of you leaning into him like that nearly made his heart stop despite the worry crawling all over him. He adjusted his hold carefully around your waist, supporting more of your weight without even thinking about it.

"Let's get your hips checked by the medic first," he said softly, already glancing around for staff. "Y-You landed hard earlier..."

But before he could keep rambling nervously, you whisper tiredly against his neck. "I didn't expect to feel this much for you, Jake."

Everything inside him went warm, so suddenly that he physically felt it in his chest, that overwhelming fluttering sensation exploding all over again until his stomach twisted painfully with it. Jake swallowed hard, blinking rapidly behind his glasses while trying to process the words properly. God, you were going to kill him like this.

Carefully, almost shyly now despite the public eyes around you, Jake leaned down and pressed a soft kiss against your forehead. "Me too...me too." His hand rubbed gently against your side afterward, thumb moving in slow comforting strokes while he silently lifted his other hand to signal one of the medics nearby for assistance.

EPILOGUE

It took you a long time to actually sit down and reflect on everything that had happened.

For years, you kept convincing yourself that luck was random—that some people were simply born under better stars while others just had to survive whatever scraps the universe threw at them.

Unlucky with money, unlucky in your love life, unlucky in your sex life.

Things never came easily for you. Even when people admired you—your skills, your looks, your confidence on the court—they never really saw the exhausting parts underneath it. The loneliness. The constant feeling that you always had to fight twice as hard just to keep your head above water while pretending you were doing perfectly fine. Maybe that was why you became so cynical about all those stupid talks about fate, fortune, and luck. Maybe it was easier to roll your eyes and call everything bullshit rather than admit that deep down, you were terrified the universe simply wasn't built in your favor.

But maybe luck wasn't random at all.

When you really thought about it, you had spent so much time expecting disappointment that you stopped recognizing the good things while they were happening. You focused too hard on what was missing instead of what stayed. Sure, being broke sucked. It absolutely fucking sucked. And no amount of positive thinking magically fixed empty wallets, bruised feelings, or difficult lives. But somewhere along the way, you realized you had also started carrying your own unhappiness like proof that life owed you something cruel.

Maybe you lacked optimism. Maybe you lacked faith in anything getting better because the universe kept throwing the same shit at you over and over again until you got tired of trying to hope differently. That feeling was valid too. You had every reason to become guarded after everything. Every reason to distrust happiness when it rarely stayed long enough before. But lucky people... they weren't always lucky because life was easier for them. Sometimes they were lucky because they allowed themselves to reach for things anyway. To risk failure. To risk doing something. Even when they are afraid. 

"Open! Open! Daily cleaning at 9:00 AM!"

A long groan dragged out of your throat as the tiny robotic voice echoed outside the bedroom for what felt like the tenth time already. The curtains were still completely shut, the blackout fabric drowning the room in soft darkness despite the late morning sun outside, and you had been enjoying every second of sleeping. The apartment was comfortable and so warm, and honestly, you would rather die than get out of bed right now. But the damn robot kept knocking itself repeatedly against the door with persistence, its tiny speaker chirping louder every few seconds.

"Jake," you mumbled sleepily, eyes still closed as you reached behind you to tap the arm wrapped tightly around your waist, his legs tangled carelessly with yours beneath the blanket. You felt him stir a little, burying his face deeper into the back of your neck while muttering something under his breath, but the knocking outside only continued. "Jake, make Mo stop," you complained softly, but instead of moving, he only tightened his hold around you and pulled you closer against his chest with a sleepy little sigh.

"Open! Open! Daily cleaning at 9:00 AM!"

"Jake, baby," you called again, dragging the word out this time while lightly smacking his wrist. He groaned lowly against your shoulder, clearly refusing to leave the bed, and his hand slowly slipped underneath your shirt just to lazily trace circles against your stomach. The touch made you exhale softly despite yourself.

Outside, the robot continued its relentless banging, but Jake ignored it completely, pressing slow kisses against the side of your neck instead. His morning voice came out quieter than usual, rough and soft all at once as he whispered, "Can I touch?"

You groaned again but gave him a small nod anyway. The second he got permission, his hand slid higher, squeezing gently at your chest while his lips continued wandering across your skin with lazy affection. You tilted your head back slightly, giving him more room, and he took full advantage of it immediately, kissing along your jaw before lifting his sleepy eyes toward you. His glasses were missing somewhere on the nightstand, his brown hair sticking out everywhere. "Kiss, please," he whispered lazily, already leaning closer before you could even answer.

You kissed him just to shut him up.

Jake immediately melted into it with a soft whine. His lips moved slowly against yours, still half-asleep, but it quickly deepened when his hand tightened around your waist and pulled you on top of him. The blanket shifted around your tangled bodies while the robot outside continued yelling about cleaning schedules. Jake kissed like he was addicted to it now, messy and affectionate and greedy all at once. Even after years together, he still kissed you with the same overwhelming softness that made your chest ache.

And honestly, both of you already knew one thing for sure. Jake absolutely loved kissing you.

"Open! Open! Daily cleaning at 9:00 AM!"

You groaned softly against Jake's lips before finally pulling away from the kiss, your forehead still resting briefly against his while you tried to gather enough energy to function properly. "Open the door for Mo," you muttered lazily as you pushed lightly at Jake's chest to make him move. Jake only huffed in protest, clearly offended at being forced out of bed, scratching messily at his hair before reaching around blindly for his glasses on the nightstand.

You stayed sprawled across the bed while watching him stand up with slow sleepy movements. His oversized white shirt hung loosely over his frame, exposing his legs beneath the thin black shorts he had thrown on before sleeping, and you couldn't help staring for a second as he shuffled toward the door. The moment he opened the bedroom door, Mo immediately rolled inside without hesitation, spinning once before beginning its programmed cleaning route across the floor.

"You seriously need to stop adopting Heeseung's robots," you complained while sitting up properly, stretching your arms above your head until your back cracked pleasantly. "We can literally clean by ourselves."

Jake yawned loudly while adjusting his glasses up the bridge of his nose, already turning around to drag himself back toward the bed with clear intentions of trapping you there again. Before he could grab your waist, you quickly stood up and reached for your shorts from the floor. "Jake, it's already nine," you reminded him while pulling them on. "Training starts at one. I still need to fix my stuff and prepare."

A long miserable whine immediately left his throat at that.

Jake had become even clingier than before. Not that you were complaining. Things had changed between the two of you. Jake no longer slept exactly at eight in the evening because most nights ended with both of you curled together on the couch watching movies until late, stealing kisses during slow scenes, or getting distracted halfway through and stumbling into the bedroom instead (sex). You did feel a little guilty sometimes since he used to be so strict with his routines, but Jake always brushed it off immediately whenever you brought it up.

Honestly, the man acted like a giant koala now.

The second you moved too far away from him, he would cling right back onto your side without shame. While you were fixing your hair in front of the mirror, Jake wrapped both arms around your waist from behind again, pressing his face against your shoulder while Mo continued cleaning nearby. "Stay in bed," he mumbled weakly against your skin, still sounding sleepy. You snorted softly at the feeling of him practically hanging his whole weight onto you, but your hand still reached up automatically to fix the messy strands of his hair away from his glasses.

"You say that every morning," you muttered.

"Because every morning you leave me," Jake replied dramatically, tightening his hold around your waist while you laughed quietly under your breath.

Your eyes drifted past Jake's shoulder toward the wall, landing on the collection of medals, framed certificates, and trophies lined neatly across the shelves. Some were old awards from high school, others were from university tournaments, and a few still had ribbons tangled together because you had been too lazy to organize them properly after Nationals. Jake had insisted on displaying every single one of them anyway, even the participation plaques you thought looked ugly. You smiled quietly to yourself before looking back at your boyfriend standing in front of you,. Sometimes it still hit you unexpectedly—how impossible this whole thing used to feel.

Who could thought? You had your six months of sharing an apartment with someone who barely looked you in the eyes.

Back then, you genuinely thought Jake would remain nothing more than the quiet engineering student that have an addiction to legos and hot wheels. And now? Now he stood in your apartment kitchen every morning half-asleep while cooking your meals, whining whenever you left the bed too early, kissing your forehead.

Jake became your person.

You stepped closer and pressed a quick kiss against his lips before walking past him toward the living room. Jake immediately followed after you without hesitation, dragging his feet lazily across the floor while scratching the back of his neck. You crouched beside the fish tank to feed your fish while listening to the familiar sounds of him moving around the kitchen behind you. Jake had developed this habit of cooking both your breakfast and lunch every single training day no matter how many times you told him he didn't have to. He always answered the same way too.

"I want to."

After feeding the fish, you returned to your bedroom to finish packing your things for training, tossing extra clothes and towels into your duffel bag while mentally checking your schedule for the day. You were halfway through folding your jersey when something bumped gently against your ankle. Looking down, you immediately recognized the small robot staring up at you with glowing blue eyes.

Bumble tilted slightly like it was waiting for attention, the tiny camera blinking while its mechanical voice chirped softly. "Hi!"

"Jake, the food," you called out immediately while staring directly at the robot's camera.

You heard his laugh from the kitchen almost instantly.

A few seconds later, Jake appeared in your doorway with that stupid soft smile on his face, walking straight toward you just to lean down and steal another kiss. He adjusted the whistle hanging around your neck afterward, fingers brushing gently against your skin before stepping back. "Ay yay, captain," he teased quietly, earning an immediate scoff from you despite the smile pulling at your lips.

Nationals still sat heavily in your chest sometimes.

Third place. Not first. Not the championship everyone had dreamed about during those exhausting practices and sleepless nights. It had hurt watching the seniors cry after the final match, hurt even more realizing that people like Karina, Winter, Ryujin, Yeji, and Yunjin were really leaving now that graduation had finally caught up to them. Every practice lately carried this strange emptiness that you still hadn't fully adjusted to. You missed them badly if you were being honest. No future teammates, no future victories, no future season would ever replace the bond all of you built together.

But endings did not always mean loss. That was something life had slowly forced you to understand.

After finishing your packing, you wandered out of your room and toward Jake's almost absent one out of pure habit. The door was slightly open already. It had honestly been a while since Jake actually slept here properly considering he spent nearly every night tangled in your bed instead. Still, the room looked painfully like him—organized in his own way and filled with little traces of the things he loved.

Your eyes drifted toward the transparent shelves mounted carefully against the wall. Hot Wheels lined up in neat rows beside completed Lego builds he had spent hours working on during stressful nights, some of them gifts from you, others things he proudly bought himself after passing difficult projects or exams. Mo sat charging quietly near his desk now beside scattered engineering blueprints, and one of your old volleyball wristbands was looped carelessly around its antenna. You smiled softly at the sight before dropping yourself onto his bed with a tired sigh, sinking into the familiar mattress while staring up at the ceiling.

It only took a few seconds before the bed dipped beside you.

Jake crawled in next to you without a word, immediately wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin rested against your shoulder while his legs tangled with yours. "It's honestly useless renting a separate room when you basically live in my bed now," you muttered with amusement while turning slightly toward him. Jake only hummed quietly in agreement, tightening his hold around you instead of denying it. "And both of us are graduating soon too... oh my God."

No more university tournaments. No more scrambling through deadlines and practices and late-night study sessions with Jake. Life was shifting again, slowly moving forward whether you were ready or not. For a moment the room fell quiet and when you looked back at Jake, you noticed him staring at you strangely.

You frowned slightly under the weight of his gaze. "Is there a problem?"

"I love you," he said immediately, without hesitation, like breathing.

The words came out so naturally now compared to before. No stuttering. No panic. No fumbling over syllables while avoiding eye contact. Jake said it softly but confidently, eyes fixed completely on yours. Your expression softened almost instantly, and you moved closer to wrap your arms around him properly. "I love you too, silly," you murmured while caressing his cheek gently with your thumb.

Jake leaned into your touch immediately.

"Remember when you told me before..." he started quietly. "About not knowing what to do after volleyball?" Your brows lifted slightly at the sudden topic change, but you nodded anyway while continuing to stroke his hair back from his forehead. Jake swallowed before continuing. "I wanted to say a lot back then. I just couldn't." He laughed weakly at himself before looking back at you again. "But you can literally do anything. You could teach, or coach, or maybe start some weird fish business—"

You snorted softly.

"Jake," you interrupted with a smile. "I already told you. I'm planning to continue volleyball professionally. I'm aiming for the league now. I'm not stopping."

"—Or maybe..." Jake suddenly cut in quietly.

His arms loosened around you.

"Live with me."

Your smile faltered slightly in confusion as you slowly pushed yourself upright on the bed. Jake followed your movement immediately, but instead of sitting beside you again, he slid off the mattress completely. Your eyes widened the second you realized what he was doing.

Jake was kneeling on the floor.

"Jake," you said slowly, staring at him in complete disbelief while your heartbeat immediately started climbing into your throat. He looked nervous all over again for the first time in years, hands visibly shaking while he pushed his glasses higher up his nose. His cheeks were already bright red, his breathing uneven, but he still kept looking directly at you despite how terrified he obviously was.

Then he reached into his pocket.

"Oh my God," you whispered instantly.

"I have a proposition to make," Jake breathed out nervously. His fingers shook so badly while opening the small velvet box that you were half afraid he was going to drop it onto the floor entirely. But the second the lid flipped open, your breath caught hard in your throat. A ring rested inside, and the sight of it hit you so suddenly that your eyes immediately started burning with tears.

Jake noticed instantly and panicked a little.

"I-I will support you through everything," he rushed out quickly, voice trembling while he looked up at you from the floor. "Your league, internationals, all of it. I swear I will. I-I'll keep loving you, deeply, openly..." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his own eyes glossy now behind his glasses. "I know you'll probably think this is too early—"

"Jake, no," you interrupted immediately, shaking your head so fast your vision blurred slightly. The tears were already slipping down your cheeks now, but he misunderstood the reaction immediately because of course he did. Jake's face fell for a split second, panic flashing all over his expression before he hurriedly continued speaking again.

"But it doesn't mean we have to do everything immediately," he said quickly, almost pleading now as he shifted closer on his knees toward the bed. "I just... I want a future with you... Live with me? Not as roommates anymore, but really with me. As my lover. My person." His voice softened shakily near the end, his eyes refusing to leave yours despite how emotional he looked now. "And someday... as my wife."

The room suddenly felt too small for your heartbeat. For a second, all you could do was stare at him kneeling there beside the bed—the same quiet boy who once could barely survive a single conversation with you now looking at you like you were the center of every future he wanted. Jake's hands were still trembling around the ring box while he waited, breathing unevenly, clearly trying not to completely spiral if you stayed silent too long.

A wet laugh escaped your mouth suddenly as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand. "You're so fucking unfair," you whispered shakily, which immediately made Jake look even more nervous. His lips parted like he was about to apologize again, but before he could spiral into another overthinking breakdown, you grabbed his face with both hands.

"Jake," you said softly.

He froze completely beneath your touch.

"You are already my home."

Jake's eyes widened so much it almost made you laugh again through your tears. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again uselessly while staring at you like he couldn't process what he was hearing. You smiled weakly before leaning down until your forehead rested against his.

"Yes," you whispered.

Jake blinked once. "...Yes?" he repeated weakly, sounding completely stunned.

"Yes, idiot," you laughed through your tears, and the second the words fully registered in his brain, Jake let out the most broken, overwhelmed noise you had ever heard from him before immediately grabbing your waist and pulling you into him. The ring box nearly fell from his hands from how hard he hugged you, his face burying against your stomach while his entire body shook with relieved laughter.

"Oh my God," he kept mumbling breathlessly against you. "Oh my God, oh my God..."

You buried your fingers into his messy hair while laughing softly yourself, overwhelmed and emotional and ridiculously happy all at once. Jake pulled back just enough to shakily slide the ring onto your finger, his hands still trembling the entire time. The moment it settled perfectly in place, he stared at it like he genuinely couldn't believe it was real.

Then his eyes slowly lifted back toward you again. "My fiancée," he whispered, sounding completely in awe of the words alone.

Unlucky with money, unlucky in your love life, unlucky in your sex life. The same "bad luck" that used to follow you around had somehow led you here anyway, step by step, mistake by mistake, person by person.

Those were bad luck. And bad luck is temporary.

You smile and leaned forward to press a gentle kiss against Jake's forehead. Ha, you're not out of luck either, aren't you?

You have Jake. Your good bestest luck.

And a good bestest luck lasted a lifetime.

NOTE: you reached the end, yay! thank you for loving the lucky family! (reader, jake, whitey, pinky, bumble, guppy and mo hehe) :) this is not really my best story but i definitely enjoy writing nerd jekjek and building their world! i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoy writing. love lots!!! - shi

[sungkyoo]

so good got me fighting sleep at 4:30 am

[sungkyoo]

im cooking 🍳

[junsfriend]

loyal puppy — sjy

SUMMARY: Ever since your boyfriend Jake transformed from his nerdy high-school self into the university's star football player, you've become everything you thought you’d never be. Jealous. Anxious. Clingy. But Jake really doesn't mind your newfound possessiveness. He encourages it, even. So when he defies expectations again to star in a musical with a stunning costar, you spiral. Now, the “lowkey” relationship you once insisted on gets jeopardized under the weight of your own insecurities.

PAIRING: popular!jake x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 26k+

GENRE: secret!relationship au, university!au, grumpy gf x sunshine bf (?), smut, angst, fluff, some toxic themes

WARNINGS: mdni, nsfw, porn with plot, tsundere!reader, lowkey crazy!reader, whipped!Jake, lowkey masochist!bf Jake, switch!Jake, emotional constipation, he want that cookie bad, jealousy, avoidancy, football = soccer, unsafe/unprotected sex, cursing, sweat, dacryphilia, storage closet sex, lots of biting/marking, 69, cumplay, jewelry play, begging, failed pull-out method, creampie, squirting, lmk if i missed anything

A/N: Not to pick a favorite child but… I loved writing this fic so much. 

a year ago.

It’s the last year of high school, on a relatively normal walk back home. The same cracked sidewalks, the same autumn breeze, the same shy boy matching his steps beside you like he always did. Just like any other day. 

Until he decided to ruin it.

“Do you wanna… like, date?” Jake asked suddenly, hands shoved deep into his uniform pants pockets, trying too hard to sound nonchalant. “You know… put a label on us. Or whatever.”

You remember almost running away out of pure instinct, soul escaping your body. But instead, you laughed. Because what the fuck was he on about?

You? Jake? Date?

The two of you were barely even supposed to be friends. He's a straight-A student teachers constantly compared you to, with those thick-rimmed black glasses glued to his face and unkempt bowl of hair. A striker on the football team who watched matches from the sidelines just as much as you did… and you weren't on the team.

And on the other hand, there’s you. Not-so-pleasant you. Considered a troublemaker because you always showed up late to class, talked back to ill-meaning adults, and picked fights with boys who catcalled too much. A rumor spread through school that your dad was a terrifying loan shark with gang ties. He’s a banker.

Assigned classroom cleaning duties was what brought you two together in the first place. It wasn’t fate. Nothing notable. You more or less picked him up on your shoulder and claimed him as a personal assistant. Someone who would fetch you water when you’re thirsty or give you answers to math problems when you were too lazy to solve them yourself. 

So why in the world did he think you two should date?

“Who put you up to this?” you wheezed between bursts of cackling. “I’m gonna beat their ass.”

Jake scratched the back of his head, clearly not amused.

“I mean… You and me?” you continued, tears of laughter blurred your vision. “We would make the worst couple ever—”

“I don’t think so.”

You froze mid-step. Jake had slowed his strides down a long time ago, but now he was completely still. You turned to find him a few steps behind, face flushed and hands by his sides. 

He’s holding something. A small, turquoise box. One that looked suspiciously like…

You felt like throwing up.

“I-I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he stammered. “What it’d be like if I were your boyfriend. If we… went on dates and stuff.”

Oh, hell no.

It’s like an immediate sense of panic overcame your body. And before your brain could process a single rational thought, you broke out into a sprint. Running down the street like a maniac. In hindsight, you probably should’ve known that you couldn’t outrun an athlete. But you weren’t really thinking, period. 

You feel a tug on your waist. Jake had already caught up to you. He spun you around, like the male leads do in those stupid romcoms, and pulled you into him. His face was close. Too close. His glasses slipped halfway down his nose, and a bead of sweat clung to his temple. And it wasn’t from running.

It was from you.

He looked nervous. Ridiculously nervous.

The ring box pressed into your back, and you put your palms sternly against his chest, trying to create some distance between you two. It wasn’t helping.

“Jake,” you warned. “Let go of me or I scream.”

He shook his head, his arms only wrapped tighter around you. “Only if you promise you won’t run,” he replied, a sort of desperation laced in his voice. “And that you’ll listen to what I have to say.”

You bit your bottom lip, suddenly too aware of his intense gaze and how they searched yours through those big, fat lenses. You gave a small nod, not trusting your voice to come out right. The moment his grip loosened, you broke your agreement almost immediately. Your feet moved on their own, like fight-or-flight, as you tried to rush out of his arms. But he was one step ahead of you, grabbing your wrist to bring you back right where you were.

“Really?” he asked, exhausted. “That’s not gonna work a second time.”

You glared, but your eyes betrayed you. They slid down to the turquoise ring box, still in his hand. Jake's eyes flickered in the same direction, clearing his throat awkwardly. 

“I can put it away if it’s freaking you out,” he muttered, slipping it back into his pocket. You almost let out a sigh of relief, but not when his large hand was still wrapped around your wrist.

“...Thank you,” you mumbled, eyes fixed on the ground. “Now make it quick.”

Jake's heart constricted. ‘The worst thing she could say is no!’ the internet had told him. This was a lot worse, actually!

“[Y/N],” he started sharply, and the sound of your name on his lips sent shivers down your spine. He released you, only to set both his hands on your shoulders, guiding your gaze up to meet his.

“I… I think—” He stopped, inhaling a deep breath. “No. I know. I… really… really… l-like you.”

His voice was as shaky as his hands, and for a brief second, almost every part of you wanted to knock him out with your backpack because your heart was beating too loud in your chest. It pissed you off. But you held back and just… stared.

Jake, ever the hopeless romantic, had fallen for you the moment you asked him to clean the entire classroom alone while you skipped duties to hang out with your friends. He said yes, only because he has a hard time saying no, especially to someone he found so pretty. But then you laughed and told him you were joking. Told him not to bend over backwards just to please other people. Spent time with him that day when usually, others paid him no attention.

He was enamored ever since. 

But the silence between you two was suffocating, heavy enough to stall his breathing. Jake’s palms were growing damp against the fabric of your uniform blazer, and his heart felt like it was ready to fall to the floor. Maybe this was a bad time to do it. Or maybe the ring really freaked you out. Was it too big a gesture? The WikiHow tutorial he consulted had told him to bring a gift, after all. 

“Hello?” Jake’s voice cut through your thoughts. He gave your shoulders a tiny shake, trying to pull you out of your entranced state.

“Hm? Sorry… say that again? I don’t think I heard you…”

Jake’s expression fell as he dropped his hands back to his sides in defeat.

“Okay,” he muttered, voice small. It wasn’t worth it. Everything went off script anyway. “Never mind. Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

He brushed past you, shoulders hunched, hands shoved deep in his pockets again. He was fidgeting with the ring box, wishing he could throw it into the nearest bushes. God, he felt dumb. So fucking dumb.

Of course you’d say no! He was nobody. Just Jake. Just some guy you latched onto at the start of high school so you could poke fun at him for the next few years and make him pay for your boba addiction. And you, with your cool-ass friends with eyebrow slits and really underground music tastes. You’re way out of his league—

“Jake,” you called out, surprised at how loud your voice could get if you were desperate. 

He turned around immediately, wearing such a pronounced pout even from a few meters away. Somehow, seeing his face again made your throat close up. He liked you. He really liked you.

“Say it again,” you demanded, arms crossed with doubt written all over your features. “I need to hear you say it one more time.”

You walked toward him until you stood close enough to see the nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth. Was this it? Would you actually give him a chance? Jake pressed his lips together and inhaled a deep breath to calm himself. 

“I like you,” he said as softly as a whisper. “Would you… Be my girlfriend?”

You looked at the ground, feigning a calmness when your mind was racing with thoughts too insane to vocalize. When you finally looked up again, your heart betrayed you. It skipped a beat at the way his gaze fell on yours, wide and hopeful. It almost hurt. He was too bright, too cute.

(Okay, so what if you liked him back. He didn’t have to know that.)

“Sure,” you said, forcing your voice to sound casual. Jake froze.

Then his entire face lit up. Suddenly, he was grinning from ear to ear, jumping in place like a dog begging for a treat. “Really? Like really? You’ll go out with me?!”

He took your hands in his, tenderly. Like he wasn't entirely sure the moment was real. You felt the dampness of his palms first, then the tug of his fingers intertwining with yours, like he had already rehearsed this part of his confession a thousand times in his head. Your cheeks warmed.

‘What a weirdo,’ you thought to yourself. It’s not like he’d just won the lottery. What was he so happy about?

“Just don’t make it weird,” you grumbled. “Keep it on the down low.”

Jake’s smile faltered, brows knitting together so tightly you were sure it’d leave a wrinkle on his cute face.

“Like… you don’t want people to know?” he asked, voice quieter now. You nodded, confused by his confusion. 

“Why would anyone need to know?” you asked genuinely. He frowned, his thumb gently rubbing the back of your hand, silently asking you to reconsider.

“Not even Sunghoon or Jay?”

You scoffed. “Especially Sunghoon and Jay.”

“Why not?” he groaned. You just shrugged.

“I don’t want our dynamic to change just ‘cause we’re dating,” you reassured him, letting go of his hands to ruffle his hair. Like you always do when you tease him. Like that would make it all better. “And all that coupley PDA stuff draws too much attention anyway.”

You’d spent years cultivating your intimidating persona, and in your mind, it was simple. No one else needed to know that you were vulnerable to something as cringe-inducing as dating. The other students would only use it against you. For what? Who knows.

But you could just imagine the teasing glances and whispers in the hallways. If Jake were really serious about dating you, surely he’d be understanding of your aversion towards embarrassment. Right?

He didn't seem entirely convinced. At all. “So… what would be the difference then? Between us now and before?” 

You sighed and stepped past him.

“It's what we'd do in private, you know?” you muttered over your shoulder. “Kissing and all that…”

You didn’t see it, how Jake’s ears completely reddened or how his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. His fingers twitched at his side, like he was already imagining what it’d be like to hold you properly. To touch you. To kiss you. Like real couples do.

“D-do you want to see the ring I got you?” he blurted out, catching up to you. “I swear it’s lowkey. It has a ‘J’ engraved inside the band. I got a matching one with your initial, too! No one would even notice if you wore it—”

And you feel your heart thunder in your chest, scaring you into another sudden sprint. “Get the hell away from me, weirdo!” 

Your joined laughter echoed down the street as he chased after you. And even though he could catch up to you, he let you have your fun, staying just a little out of his reach.

–

Jake is very good at obeying orders, always has been. Especially after the first few times you glared at him for accidentally reaching for your hand in the cafeteria. He learned fast.

He tried his best not to show affection publicly, no matter how badly he wanted to wrap his blazer around your shivering frame when you would nap during class. He forced himself not to linger near you when you were loitering with your fellow delinquents by the school staircase, laughing at a joke he didn’t quite understand. He suppressed the urge to defend you from teachers who reprimanded you out in the hallways. Tried not to look behind at you for too long during football games he never played in anyway.

Once, someone asked him about his love life, and he instantly turned into a blushing, mumbling mess. And they laughed it off. It was Jake. No one thought twice. He was always like this. Awkward. Flustered.

The parasites he calls friends, Jay and Sunghoon, would probably go into cardiac arrest if they ever found out how he doted on you in private. How soft he was. How gentle.

You pretended not to notice. But ever the observer, Jake sees how your defenses weaken, ever so slightly, each day.

You let him put his arm around you in dark movie theaters instead of yanking it away. Let him stay for dinner with your parents when he comes over to help you study (because lord knows you need it). You stopped flinching when he called you ‘babe’ in private, sometimes responding without even questioning who he was speaking to. It was baby steps, but to Jake, it was everything.

Was it awkward? Yes. The way his glasses got in the way when he finally kissed you for the first time. Your noses bumped together. Too much tongue involved. It was a mess. Still life-changing, nevertheless. 

He replays the memory often. The two of you on your bed, him holding your plushie hostage, you trying to rip it out of his arms. The way you fell on top of him with your lips accidentally crashing on his. He pretended like the make-out session that occurred immediately after didn't absolutely ruin him.

Jake edged past the warmer parts of you when no one was around to bear witness. And you both were so good at keeping secrets. No one would have believed it anyway. You’d made sure of that.

–

“You two are very strange,” Jay commented, maybe a couple of months into your secret relationship. Every senior was gearing up for graduation, choosing which universities to attend or which path to take in life.

And of course, Jay and Sunghoon found out that Jake and you would both be attending the same university. Not just any school. A top one. Yonsei. 

Jake had earned a full-ride scholarship after finally getting off the damn bench and scoring four goals in a single match against the best high school team in the nation. Jake could've gone abroad to an Ivy League, but he chose not to. Because at Yonsei he could visit family more often, save a lot of money, and… well, keep you close, most of all.

And by the will of a higher being (Jake’s relentless tutoring), you somehow made it in as well.

“I thought you said you wanted to go straight into the workforce,” Jay questioned you. “Now you’re telling me you somehow, in some way, got into the same school as Jake? This fucking nerd?”

Sunghoon chimed in with a smile he always wore before teasing you. “I didn’t even think you could get into college, honestly.”

You wanted to hit him so bad, but you stopped yourself. Your resolution for the new school year was to turn over a new leaf. And that comes with not hitting annoying boys over the head with your fist. You could get arrested for that from now on... So instead, you used your words.

“You’re mad I got in, and you didn’t,” you snorted, sticking out your tongue as Jake snickered beside you. You sat close enough to feel the warmth of his shoulder, but far enough apart to keep Jay and Sunghoon from noticing.

“You guys have no faith in her,” Jake sighed earnestly. “She’s really smart when she applies herself. She just needed a push, that's all.”

You glared at him, not sure if his comment was entirely a compliment. Yes, he played a role in your achievements. No, he could not credit himself for the hard work you put in to get that high-ass score on the college entrance exam. Even your teachers apologized for doubting you.

“Should’ve put those hours of tutoring her into me instead,” Jay groaned. “Now you’re gonna be all alone with no friends.”

Jake’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean? S-she’s my friend.”

He stumbled over the words, clearly thrown off by the ominous comment. You watched him, amused. God, he was so obvious.

Sunghoon just looked between you two, doubt etched all over his face. “Barely,” he scoffed. “Trust me, bro, you are getting left behind as soon as she finds another victim willing to pay for all her food.”

You can start your resolution next week. This time, you really smacked him, sharp on his bicep. Sunghoon yelped.

“Why are you always so aggressive?” he whined, rubbing the sore spot with his arm. You raised your hand threateningly again, but you stopped yourself short. 

At the corner of your eye was Jake’s soured expression, a flash of worry obviously overcoming him. But you couldn’t comfort him. Not now. You wouldn’t hear the end of it from these two.

“You never know,” Jay chirped, faking thoughtfulness with a hand on his chin. “Jake might be too cool for us once school starts.”

Jay and Sunghoon exchanged a look and then burst into laughter.

“Ain’t gonna happen!” Sunghoon cackled, putting his whole gut into it. You joined in hesitantly, though your eyes kept drifting to your sullen boyfriend. And he wasn’t amused. Not at all.

Because he never found it funny, the idea of you leaving him behind.

–

“Do you think I’m weird?” Jake asked one evening, with you curled up beside him on your bed. Your knee draped over his stomach, his glasses pushed up just enough to rest comfortably against your pillow. On his late-night visits, your parents would come in to check if you two were truly studying as you claimed. After Jake gained their trust, they learned to leave the two of you alone (when they probably shouldn’t have).

Your eyes were shut tight to prepare yourself for an oncoming nap.

“Yes,” you said quickly, not even giving him time to process the response.

“Like… bad weird?” he asked after a second. He’d been thinking lately, after the conversation with his friends, how different the two of you really were.

How easy it was for you to stand up for yourself. Go against the grain. How you don’t automatically default to nods as he does or lose your train of thought mid-conversation. How you hated being touched by most people but would smack someone’s shoulder when you genuinely found something funny. 

He wanted that, wanted to see the world the way you saw it. To move around without hesitation. Even when people called you a troublemaker. Even when teachers scolded you for wearing your uniform skirt shorter than the dress code. How was confidence so natural for you?

“Bad weird,” you teased, eyes still closed. “But it’s okay. I’m used to it by now.”

A small ache tugged at his heart. “You still like me though, right?”

You laughed. Jake loved to do this sometimes. Bait for reassurance. But you’re not that kind of fish.

“Who said I ever did?”

You said it jokingly, but a silence followed. You don’t quite catch it as you drift to sleep, the way Jake’s eyes dimmed.

“Oh,” he said disappointingly, staring at the ceiling.

Sometimes, he wondered if the reason you wanted your relationship to be private in the first place was because of him. If his inability to relate to your friends with secret tattoos and chains on their jeans made you embarrassed to be his girlfriend. 

Because you got along well with his friends just fine, could tease Jay and Sunghoon like you’d known them your whole life. But it was so hard for him to do the same with yours. To look natural when he joined that one karaoke hangout, where they looked at him expectantly because you had bragged that he could sing well.

You said it so proudly too, and he wanted to prove himself to them. That he was worthy to be in their presence. And then his voice had to crack.

“Should we get your friend some water?” someone joked, and the whole group laughed. With his cheeks red with embarrassment, Jake sat back down next to you, silent for the rest of the night. It was lame of him. Even he knew that. 

But even as he watched you defend him with all your heart, he couldn’t find himself to cheer up. Because in your world, he had always felt out of place. 

–

And so Jake did what he’s known to do best. Research.

He avoided WikiHow tutorials on how to ask out a girl and headed straight to the most honest part of the internet: Reddit.

‘makeover tips for guys’

‘how to gain more confidence’

‘how to be attractive enough that your girlfriend isn’t ashamed of you (serious responses only pls)’

He frequented the self-help section of the school library, took notes on everything from fashion advice to fixing his posture. He practiced eye contact with himself through the mirror until they watered, joined Sunghoon in the gym, and copied his weirdly intense routine.

Jake kept this process all to himself, much like your relationship. He learned to be good at that. Keeping secrets.

He would reinvent himself for university. Become someone you’d be proud to show off because he didn’t want to feel like this anymore. Like he would fall behind. And knowing you… he wasn’t sure if you’d bother to look back and see if your loyal puppy was still there trailing behind you. 

–

present. 

So that’s how your relationship’s been going so far. While Jake was on this great journey to undergo metamorphosis, there were no real complaints on your side.

So why was it like this now? 

Waiting for your very late boyfriend, who was making you miss the first minutes of the university’s freshman orientation ceremony. You almost text him a paragraph about how, usually, you're the unpunctual one in the relationship, but a stranger approaches you.

“BOO!” 

You almost let out a scream when you notice who it is. Or who you think it is. Is it who you think it is?

Because instead of wild, unruly hair hiding his eyebrows and big black frames resting on his nose bridge, your boyfriend looked like someone else entirely. His hair was styled in a middle part, framing his handsome features perfectly. Instead of his usual oversized hoodie with holes on the sleeves masking his athletic body, he’s wearing a varsity jacket and a simple white shirt that clung way too well to his muscular frame. You could even see the faint outline of contact lenses in the whites of his eyes.

Your eyelashes flutter in confusion. You literally just saw him yesterday. When did he find the time to get a haircut and invest in a new closet?

Jake steps forward with a small, hopeful smile and holds out a box of egg tarts. Did it add to his already late ETA? Yes, but he always thinks about you and what you'd like to eat. Could you blame him for getting you a sweet treat?

But that wasn’t the part you were really focused on.

“Who are you and what did you do to Jake?” you ask, fists raised like a boxer. He chuckles nervously, bringing the pastry box back to his side.

“Do I look weird?” he asks quietly, shifting his feet. The vulnerability in his voice made you lower your hands instantly.

“So…” you start, eyes looking him up and down. “This is on purpose? Like, Sunghoon didn’t put you up to this? Or Jay?”

He pouts. His mom practically screamed, “So handsome!” when he showed her his new look over video call. So, why was your reaction like this? 

“I just thought… new school year, new me! No?” he says, puffing up with pride.

You shake your head, moving your hand on instinct to ruffle his freshly styled hair. But he catches your wrist before you can touch him. You pull away, heart squeezing a bit, knowing that he dodged one of your rare bouts of affection. Or whatever you call it.

“It took me forever to get my hair to look like this,” he mutters, looking away. “Don’t want my hard work to go to waste.”

You click your tongue, trudging past him. Since when did he care about what his hair looked like? This was the same guy who showed up to graduation with a T-shirt and sneakers and got confused when the teachers asked him to go back home and change.

“Whatever,” you sigh. “No more standing around. We have to go—”

“Still not wearing the ring?” he asks, catching up to you. He noticed it earlier when he caught your arm. 

When Jake gave it to you just a year before, he set no expectation for you to wear it. He really hadn’t… But it has been a year. Wasn’t it about time? He wears his everyday…

You suck in your teeth and glare at him. “Why would I?” 

He flinches. And you start to feel guilt bubbling in your chest as his steps start slowing next to you.

“It’s just…” he mumbles. “It’s not like we’re in high school anymore. No one’s even gonna notice. And no one’s gonna care if we’re dating.”

You roll your eyes. You care. You still had a reputation to uphold. Maybe not as a troublemaker anymore. But still. Something about wearing your boyfriend’s ring for everyone to see and question seemed like your own personal hell. Who would want to be the center of attention as a university freshman?

“It’s the principle,” you say, not really knowing what you mean by it either. Because you are wearing it. Just not on your finger. It hangs around your neck, hidden underneath your blouse. But Jake didn’t have to know that.

You would rather die than give anyone the satisfaction of knowing you were smitten with this man. Soft, but only for him. Your biggest weakness.

“So are we always just gonna be a secret?” he sighs. You turn to face him, but you keep it pushing. It’s too much to explain right now. Or ever.

“Come on,” you insist. “We need to get to the orientation.”

–

Indeed, it wasn’t high school anymore. Because everywhere you turn, Jake’s name is being brought up.

“The hot guy on the football team—”

“He set the curve on the first exam and proved Professor Kim wrong on the board—”

“I saw him help a grandma cross the street. Soooo dreamy—”

It was enough to almost make you pull your hair out of your head. This was Jake they were talking about! The guy who was too shy to ask for no pickles in his damn burgers, who used to let Sunghoon copy off his homework and then rewrote his own just to make sure the teachers wouldn’t catch on. This was your Jake.

You take a moment to breathe.

You sound crazy. Deranged, even. It shouldn’t even matter. Jake was always good-looking! People just never noticed or took the time to appreciate him outside of his ability to decode the most difficult of physics equations.

“A couple of guys from the team think I’d look good with a sweatband,” he says, showing you a photo during a late-night walk. He’s shoving his phone screen to your face, and you pout at the sight. His hair pushed back, forehead glistening. A perfect view of his beautiful, dark eyes. 

“Nah,” you say dismissively, trying to push down the fluttering in your heart. He tilts his head, staring at the photo once more.

“Really?” he mutters. “I thought it looked pretty good.”

“Do you really wanna look like Jay in junior year? He’s gonna tell you that you copied him.”

He gives a small sound of acknowledgement. You could tell he’s taking your comment seriously, like you said something truly eye-opening.

“You’re right,” he nods. “Then, how do you feel about a lip piercing?”

Your brows furrow at the thought of metal against his pouty lips. The way his teeth would tug on it. The effect he would have on all of his newfound admirers…

“Absolutely not!” 

Yeah, you were losing it.

–

No, really, you might actually be going insane.

It was hard enough for you to create genuine friendships at Yonsei, full of stuck-up rich kids who only managed to get in through elite cram schools and expensive tutors. But after a few polite conversations, their masks fell to show their true intentions. You know now that you are being used as a shortcut to get on Jake’s radar. 

Because why do people you’ve never met before suddenly feel comfortable enough to ask you to introduce them to him? Why do they request to follow you on Instagram only so they can find his account more easily? And what pisses you off most—the question they always ask, without fail: “Is he single?”

And you know there's a quick answer you can give. A very simple solution to your eye-twitching problem. Because every time someone high-fives him in the corridors or bats their eyelashes flirtatiously in his direction, you have the overwhelming urge to just pounce on him. To wrap your arms around his middle and never let him leave your sight. 

But you can’t. Your pride is too big, your ego too fragile to admit that someone actually managed to slip past the cold exteriors of your heart. So instead, you're waiting impatiently for him to reply to your text.

He's not at practice. He's supposed to be on his way. So where the hell was he?

jake: sorry! study group went for a lil bit longer than I thought. everyone kept asking me for help haha. omw!

And then he sends a photo. It's a group selfie, with him in the middle. Three girls on his right and another two on his left, surrounding him like a piece of meat.

you: dont bother coming. im sick.

With envy, maybe. But you're perfectly healthy.

jake: im sorry babe :( you feeling okay? want me to get you anything from the store?

you: Nah.

You almost scream. There's so much you want to say and admit, but your fingers won’t type any of it. You really don't deserve him. He's so nice, and you're so… Fuck.

Why is it so hard to admit to your own boyfriend that you miss him?!

jake: ok :( I love you!

Your stomach flips.

Haha… You needed professional help. Really.

–

Jake was better at football than the bench in high school ever suggested. Senior hierarchy was everything at Yonsei. A starter as a freshman was practically unheard of before Jake. How he managed to level up from being a designated benchwarmer to being on the field at all times felt like whiplash.

Did he just have this in him this whole time?

I mean, you guess he looked kind of cool out there, all sweaty and serious-looking. Shouting call-outs to his team mid-game. Your legs squirm at the sight. He really needs to put on his damn glasses. (Though knowing you, that might only make things worse.)

You sit there, wearing the university colors of white and blue, holding onto a sign that says “Go Team!”

You would have made something with his name on it, but the thought alone sends shivers down your spine. You could not bear to give the stupid boys beside you the ammo of watching you scream Jake’s name and go crazy over his goals. So instead, you silently watch and admire as he steals the ball yet again.

Jay and Sunghoon, decked out in the rival school’s signature red for no reason whatsoever (they don’t even attend that university either), stood on either side of you with a level of passion you’ve never seen from them before.

“GET HIS ASS!” Jay screams. “Play the mental game! When Player 15 cries, he calls his mom first—”

Player 15 would happen to be Jake.

“The guy with ‘Sim’ in the back of his jersey loves to sing Celine Dion in the shower—”

You groan as heads turn, not enjoying the various glares and snide remarks from your surrounding schoolmates. You still haven't made any substantial friends yet at university. Being associated with these bozos would only make it that much harder. This would be the last time you sneak them into the student section. 

“Can you two please sit down?” you mutter. “We’re ahead by like four goals. Psychological warfare is not enough for Jake to lose.”

Sunghoon drops back into his seat with a huff, cracking his neck.

“This won’t do,” he mutters. “Jake’s gonna surpass me in Instagram followers if he wins this.”

Jay chuckles on your left side, still standing and selfishly blocking the view of everyone behind him. “If he wins, you think he’ll invite us to their celebration party after?”

Your brows furrow. “What party?”

Jay finally sits down when the opposing team calls a time-out, one eyebrow raised at your confused expression. “Isn’t that like a thing every school does? First big game of the year, there’s bound to be something.”

Sunghoon nods in agreement. “Yeah, that’s like common knowledge.”

You almost pout before catching yourself. Jake never mentioned anything about a party. 

So when the game ended and, of course, Yonsei won, the two boys could not help but ask. 

“So there’s a party, right?”

“And you’re taking us?”

Jake looks between the two of them, forehead glistening and hair damp with sweat.

“What party?” he asks, and you smile gingerly. That’s right! You weren’t crazy. He would’ve told you if there was—

“You have to go to the party, Jakey!” a voice chirps from behind you.

You recognize her. The team manager of the football team. Short hair and a cute button nose. Very pretty. Your eyes cut between Jake and her. Wait.

Jakey? Who the hell calls him that?

Jay and Sunghoon give each other some shifty glances and step aside, letting the girl join the conversation. You feel this weird inclination to move closer to Jake, but you suppress the urge. 

“Hm?” Jake finally replies, confused more than ever. “No one told me about a party.”

The girl giggles. What even was her name?

“Oh, Jakey! Since you’re a freshman, I’ll give you the rundown.” 

She scooches in between you two, pushing you slightly to the side. The boys don’t seem to notice, and you have half your sense not to shove the girl right back.

“Whenever we win,” she starts, “the whole school goes to En Bar nearby and takes it over! Free drinks and everything. You’re our star player, so you definitely can’t miss it. Your friends are invited too, of course.”

She looks between Jay and Sunghoon, not even sparing you a glance.

Jake scratches the nape of his neck. “Sorry, I’m actually feeling pretty tired—” 

“We’ll be there!” Jay and Sunghoon say instantly. You raise your eyebrow at them, and the two brush it off.

“We’ll make sure he comes,” Jay laughs, slapping Jake hard on the shoulder. Having gotten hit by the ball in that exact spot just an hour before, he winces.

“I’m not really—”

“Great!” the girl smiles, clapping her hands together. “I’ll see you all there then?” 

Of course, her back is fully turned towards you. Dumb and dumber nod in unison, and as the girl walks off, they push at each other excitedly.

“First college party,” they cry out in joy.

“Oh my god,” you mutter. “You two are pathetic.”

Jake nods slowly in agreement. “Well… you guys have fun. I think I’m just gonna head back to my dorm and shower…”

“And get ready, right?” Sunghoon says dangerously, wagging a finger at him. “Because you are coming, right?”

Jake shivers under his friends’ threatening glares. But what really scares him is when his eyes find yours. You look pissed. Fuck. What did he do this time?

“I mean… I guess I could pop in…” Jake says reluctantly. He sneaks in another glance in your direction and sees that your frown grows even deeper. Was that the wrong thing to say?

“Babe?” Jake calls after you as you stride across campus, shivering in your t-shirt and mini skirt. “Why are you walking so fast?”

It’s dark now, save for the dim street lamps. You stop abruptly, and he almost bumps into you. When you turn, your jaw is already clenched.

“Am I crazy, or did that girl just completely ignore me?” you ask genuinely, voice at the seams of losing composure. Because what the fuck was her problem?

Jake laughs nervously. “Choa? I thought she seemed pretty friendly?”

Your expression sours. “Yeah, maybe a little too friendly,” you say under your breath. Jake catches it.

“Wait,” he says with a shit-eating grin, leaning in. “Babe… are you jealous? Hm?”

Your cheeks heat up, arms crossing like a toddler. “Fuck off.”

He laughs now, twisting you around and guiding you forward with an arm around your shoulder. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, babeeee…”

He notices how you don’t pull away from his touch, when normally you would hiss something like, “people are watching,” or something like that. Jake bites back an even bigger smile. You just let him hold you.

The walk to his dorm was peachy for him, save for the fact that his sweaty arm stank up your shirt.

You! Jealous. This has to be a dream. When you reach his room, shared with a sophomore named Heeseung who never seems to be around, you sit on Jake’s bed, still reeling from the earlier interaction.

“Am I overreacting?” you ask him, not at all bothered that he was taking his jersey off. You’re well past the stage of pretending his bare torso flusters you. “Like… did it not seem like she wanted you?”

Jake laughs, wiping his underarms with a nearby towel. “Me? Babe, no. That’s out of the question. She's like four years older than us—”

You roll your eyes. “So where the fuck did ‘Jakey’ come from?”

He shrugs, catching his reflection in the wall mirror hanging on his door. His muscles flex in a way that makes your eyes travel down his well-toned back…

You snap your gaze back to the wall. No. Focus. You’re supposed to be mad.

“New year, new nickname?” he offers, teasingly.

You throw a pillow at his head. Like the athlete he is, Jake dodges it. He turns to you, laughing, amused by how sulky and adorable you look on his bed. Brows furrowed in contemplation, tugging your legs close to your chest. Your plush thighs in your pretty little skirt that would have gotten you dress-coded back in high school with your knee-high socks and…

Fuck. 

“It’s not like I care,” you mumble, unconvincingly. 

Jake huffs out something that sounds like a chuckle, but his thoughts are elsewhere. His mind (and eyes) are on the edge of your skirt. He places a hand on your thigh and rubs it softly. To you, it felt like reassurance, and it was. But he was also incredibly horny.

“Babe,” his words drawl. “Look at me.”

Your eyes meet his for a split second before he plants a wet kiss on your cheek. “Hey—”

He chuckles as he plants another on your nose. Then your chin. And then your other cheek. And now you’re trying to push him away, but he holds your wrists to prevent you from stopping his incessant attacks. 

“Jake—You stink—Freak!” You try to say as his lips find yours, while he’s giggling up a storm. So cute. You're so fucking cute. 

His next kiss is deep, drawing out your breath sharply. Your back is on the bed now with Jake on top, his hands still wrapped around your wrists.

Jake’s lips move against yours, your eyes fluttering shut. His tongue prods and pushes in, his taste so sweet and heavy as you breathe in his weirdly intoxicating scent. Like fresh laundry doused in the salt of his sweat. You clench his biceps as he comes up from the kiss to catch some air.

He looks at you, face flushed and mouth parted. 

“I’m hard,” he blurts out, and you smack him on his naked chest.

“What do you want me to do about that?” you mutter as you start to feel him press against your stomach. “Don’t you have a party to go to?”

He shakes his head, burying his face in your hair. He lets out a groan, grinding onto you just to feel any part of you against his football shorts. You let out a squeak, clenching at his toned muscles harder.

“You’re not coming with?” he asks, and you can hear the shakiness in his breath. You smirk, wrapping your legs around him and shifting up so that his tent could meet your core. Jake fit between you so snugly.

His head lifts to meet yours, pupils already so dilated.

“Why would I?” you say through hooded eyes, and you could visibly see him gulp. It almost makes you laugh. But instead, you tease him, moving your hips up to graze his bulge. 

“I have time,” he groans quickly. “For this. Or whatever you want to do. Like I’m really down for any—”

You roll your eyes, gripping the back of his head to smash him back down to your lips. Your movements are messy, tongues clashing at a feverish pace. He’s still sore from earlier, but like hell he would let this opportunity go. Not when you looked this fucking good. And angry too. (For him, these things aren’t mutually exclusive...)

With trembling fingers, he lifts your shirt and almost moans at the sight of your bare skin. While he wants to thank you for saving him the trouble of not fiddling with a bra clasp, you pat yourself on the back for leaving your necklace at home.

Knowing how frisky Jake gets after the adrenaline of a good win runs through him, it was the right call. You don’t think you could handle Jake seeing you so jealous while having his ring resting on your chest. Yeah, you’d probably die right in front of him.

His hands grab your tits softly, massaging them between his fingers. Jake dips down, swallowing a nipple in his mouth as he watches you sigh out in pleasure.

He’s confident in one thing when it comes to you, and it was this right here. He could make your tough exterior melt just as long as you were under him. Or over him. He has no preference.

His tongue circles your bud, tugging with his teeth lightly. 

“Jake—” When he hears you squeak, his dick twitches with anticipation. So pliant now. What happened to that dominance earlier? He’d like to see it come back…

He moves on to the other breast, licking and massaging so it doesn't feel too neglected. Jake loves your tits, could be buried between them for the rest of his life if you let him. But now isn't the time! He has a very mean and very jealous, but also very hot, girlfriend to please. And maybe some party to make it to, who knows.

Jake pulls his shorts down roughly, just enough so that he can take his dick out. Already so big, the bulbous tip weeps with desire for you. He’s palming himself, relishing in how your eyes shut tight, lips parted open as his wet, pink muscle traces circles over your sensitive skin.

He’s nipping the top of your breasts now, careful not to leave marks in visible areas. Jake knows how you get about that sort of thing. 

His fingers drag your white, damp panties off your legs, but keeps your skirt on. And the knee-high socks for good measure. His hand meets your core, pushing down on your clit with a heavy pressure he knows you like.

You gasp, covering your eyes with your forearm. You’re so embarrassed. The noises you're making are unbecoming of you. All he does is laugh. Still so sensitive during sex after a whole year of dating. And he’s supposed to be the shy one.

His fingers drag slowly on your folds as he spreads your juices all over his digits. Jake might just cum in his pants with how soft your tits feel as he nestles his head in between them. 

He pushes two fingers in right away, and you draw out a sharp breath. You almost hit him on the shoulder. He has no idea how big his hands are. How sometimes you would eye them whenever he helps you with homework. Veiny, like his cock.

He’s moving his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace, wet squelches echoing through the room. 

“Ngh—Mmm—” you groan, arching your back to meet his movements. Impatient. You’re always so impatient.

“JAKE!” you cry out, when he rubs over a certain spot.

He looks up at you from his comfortable position between the valley of your chest, and with a teasing glint in his eyes, he says, “You mean Jakey?”

And it’s not an exaggeration in the least to say that you start seeing red. You grab his wrist, the pads of your fingers digging into his flesh. He stops his movements, looking at you with those puppy-dog eyes like he did something wrong. And he did. Something very. Very. Wrong.

“Sorry, I just wanted to tease—”

You pull his fingers out of you. With one swift movement, you grab him by his shoulders and push him down onto the bed. You’re hovering over him now, eyes dark.

Jake swallows nervously. Why’d you have to look so hot when provoked?

“Did I ruin the vibe or…”

“Shut up,” you growl, crashing your lips onto his. He tries to hold your waist to offer support, but you hold his wrists down onto the sheets. He could probably push you off very easily. But he doesn’t. Because he loves seeing you like this. Loves the urgency in your touch.

You want him! And you’re showing it! His heart is practically doing backflips in his chest.

Your tongue explores the inside of Jake’s mouth, licking the roof of it in a way that has him seeing stars. You’re so rough with it. Sucking on his, biting his lip, moving so desperately against him.

“Babe—” he tries to say in between your assaults on his mouth. But it comes out in a breathless whisper when he feels you grinding your slick pussy against him.

“I said,” you say through gritted teeth. “Shut. Up.”

He almost moans when his leaking tip hits your clit. Just the contact alone has the back of his head hitting the pillow roughly. But he forces himself to watch as you move against him as he offers no assistance. Your grip on his wrists moves to the sheets as you focus on grinding against his dick. Swiveling yourself on him back and forth. Rubbing and rubbing. But it’s not enough. He needs to be inside. Needs to feel you right now.

Your breath is on his neck now, riling yourself up at his stunt. Jakey? What grown woman calls someone that? Choa and her nice ass bob... Fuck her!

“Ngh—” he lets out as you suction an erogenous zone on his neck, sucking and biting him like a vampire. Your tongue lapping at his skin to soothe him from the brutal assaults of your teeth. You close your eyes to relish in his taste. So salty from sweat, but still so sweet. But you’re distracted now as Jake breaks free from your hold. He grips your ass with one hand, the other guiding his pulsing member to your slippery entrance.

“Wha—” 

He’s looking at you with pleading eyes. “Can I, baby?” Jake begs, cheeks tinged pink. “Please?”

You bite back a smile. What a fucking loser.

You push down on him, just slightly, just enough for his bulbous tip to slip inside. His grip on your ass is now slack. He doesn't even want to fight back, really.

“Fuck—” Jake’s mouth parts open, watching you with heavy-lidded eyes when you come back up. No longer inside you, he groans.

“Whyyy,” he whines. “I said I’m sorry—”

He inhales a sharp breath when you engulf his tip again, tightening around him just a little harder. 

“Do you like being called Jakey?” you question darkly. “Like it when other girls feel up on you?”

He shakes his head desperately. “No—Only you—” he says through pained groans.

And then you lift again, laughing at his pathetic form. “I don’t believe you.”

He’s practically writhing underneath you now, his mushroom tip pulsing against your folds. Your skirt hides it all from view, and he just wishes he could rip it off you. Give you a new one, much, much shorter, so he can see everything better. 

But only if you let him.

“You’re literally torturing me,” he whimpers, hips jutting up messily. He keeps missing your entrance, the one he desperately needs to be buried in. “Need to feel you right now—”

“What’s it to me?” you ask meanly, your thumb prodding at his bottom lip. His tongue comes out to lick at the pad of your thumb, sucking it ever-so-slightly. You enjoy this view. Him underneath you. Pleading. Whining. Like he's starving. 

“I’ll make you feel so good, baby,” Jake offers through the haziness of his lust. Not entirely conscious of how desperate he sounds. “You can use me however you want. I’ll literally do anything. Just please—”

And then you sink, so slowly that his eyes roll to the back of his head. The devil. His girlfriend is the devil.

“Babe—” You shut him up with another open-mouthed kiss. Messy, just how he likes it.

He grips his hands into yours as you suckle his tongue, intertwining your fingers together. You try not to wince as you sheath him fully, realizing now that you were overconfident in taking control before he could properly prep you.

Usually, sex was an hours-long ordeal with Jake. He likes to finger you, then eat you out, then repeat, until he can slip into your slick warmth with little issue. Sex is the only time you don’t deny him the pleasure of seeing you flustered over him. Over what he could do for you. What he could provide you if you let him tell everyone in the world that he’s yours. 

Regardless, Jake will always be long and thick, and he still stretches you out so deliciously. Your mouths clash against each other, swallowing back both of your moans as saliva pools at the sides of his bruised lips.

Depraved. That’s all you could think of when Jake bottoms out inside you. He’s so sweaty now, the scent so musky that it drives you insane. Do other girls smell these pheromones when he’s around? Or is this just you and your hypersensitivity to everything that involves him?

You’re moving up and down now, with shallow thrusts that do little to satiate the flame in your stomach. You don’t do this enough—take control enough. Your knees are already weak, wobbling, as you grind down on him.

But you push through it as you continue to impale yourself on his cock, gummy walls clenching him tightly with each thrust. You want to get him off like this, even if your whole body is trembling above him. 

And it’s not like Jake doesn’t notice. But like the little shit he is, he doesn’t feel like helping. Because he enjoys the feeling too much, of your breasts bouncing filthily against his chest. When you lift yourself from his lips so that you can focus on riding him, he finds it so endearing. How you put your hands on his abdomen to steady yourself, how you fuck yourself on his length. How much you struggle to take all of him in. Not sure what to do with yourself.

‘My poor baby,’ Jake thinks, chuckling at how tight your eyes shut just to feel him better. 

“Need help?” he hums, his hand drawing circles on your hip. You shake your head, teeth gritted.

“N-no,” you try to muster out, but it’s unconvincing. Your movements are stuttering, moans slipping out of your mouth too easily. He smirks. His little pillow princess. 

Jake, with his grip on your hips, pulls you down onto his cock. Hard. You gasp as his hips snap up with it.

“Ah—” you cry out, your nails now digging into his shoulder blades. He pounds into a spot that had you almost come undone at that very moment. How did he get so good at this?

Jake lifts you, all the way until his pink tip is the only thing in your wet pussy. Then, as harshly as he could, he pushes you down on him, his thickness grazing at your deepest parts. And he does this again and again until you collapse onto his chest from the roughness of his thrusts.

“I’m gonna—Ngh—Fuck—You—” you try to say through your moans, try to sound angry. But you love it. Love how tight he grabs your bum. Love the slight stretch of pain as he stuffs you full of him. Love that trickle of spit that falls out of his mouth as his back lifts off the bed to feel you better. Ugh, you hate him.

“JAKE—”

“Shhh, baby, ” he whispers, forcing your face into the crook of his neck. “Just take it.”

Jake plunges up into you, propelling your hips down with his harsh grip. He lifts a heavy hand, smacking your ass from behind as you try to match his timing. You scream. He does it again, massaging the tender spot. The pain mixes with the pleasure, as tears prick the corner of your eyes. You feel your climax building now as your lips find his neck again, sucking and biting. Marking him. Let everyone know that he’s yours. That you own him.

“Babe…” he whines, too lost in the suctioning of your tightness to really care. Because he’s close too. So fucking close. 

Jake’s arms move up to your back, caging you into a bear-like embrace. His feet plant themselves on the bed, as his dick shoves into you with newfound energy. He’s going so fast, you could practically hear the speed. Feel it too. The wet squelches of his balls slapping against your ass. You move with him, trying to sync your rhythm to his.

“Mmm—Ahh—” your moans jumble into each other. Your legs are trembling, even more than they were before. A searing feeling within you continues to build and build. A single, full thrust from him has you biting into his neck brutally, stifling your moans as your orgasm crashes through you in waves. 

“Shit—” he cries out, from both the pain of your teeth and the pleasure of your cunt's constricting grip. You grind down on him, whimpering into his skin, back arched to ease yourself through the sensitivity.

Jake’s dick twitches in you once, then twice. He pushes you off of him and onto the bed, harsher than he intended. But he doesn’t have a condom on, and... he likes the way you look in white.

He hovers over you now, his painfully hard length in his hand. He’s stroking himself with urgency, fist wrapped around himself with a panicked grip. He’s watching you intently as you splay out underneath him. So fucking pretty for him. Lips bruised and bitten so sensually. Legs opened with your juices glistening on the inside of your thighs. Maybe he should stuff his cock into your—

“Fuck—” he groans, mouth parting at the sight of his thick ropes of cum spurting out of him, coating your stomach and tits. He strokes slowly, pumping all that he’s worth onto your body. You welcome it, eyes drinking in his flushed demeanor.

“I love you,” Jake mutters as he comes down from his high. And you don’t say anything back, distracted as your fingers coat themselves on the sticky fluids on your skin. Such a mess, both of you.

You hear it then. Intense vibrations on his nightstand. Jake’s phone, very much neglected, is blowing up with texts and calls. Was it going off like that the whole time? Then his eyes go wide like saucers.

“Shit! The party—” 

Your eyes narrow. Before he can pick it up, you grab the nape of his neck to pull him down into another sloppy kiss. Your legs wrap around Jake once more, smirking as you feel him melt into you with little resistance.

“What party?”

morning after.

“You’re a bitchhhh,” Sunghoon cries out, over a FaceTime call that Jake was forced to pick up at nine in the morning. You were already gone by then, running late to your morning lecture. 

Heeseung, thankfully, still hadn’t returned to the dorm. Or else you wouldn’t have been able to stay over and let Jake devour you a few more times, but that’s besides the point. He starts humming happily to himself with the memories of last night still fresh in his mind.

“They wouldn’t even let me into the bar because I was wearing the wrong colors,” his friend continues to complain.

“I get it, I get it,” Jake replies, only half-listening. He’s fixing his outfit in the mirror, admiring how well a polo shirt fits him. It’s weird. He’s getting used to not looking like a dweeb all the time, just a few weeks into his big transformation, even with his glasses on right now.

“Yo, do you think these pants look better with a belt or nah?” he asks, not really sparing Sunghoon a glance. He adjusts his shirt’s collar slightly until—

“WHAT THE FUCK—”

Jake jumps, phone nearly dropping from the desk he sat it on.

“WHAT IS THAT?!”

“What? What?!” Jake snaps his head to look behind himself, like Sunghoon might have seen a ghost.

“Did you get eaten by a fucking lion?!” Sunghoon gawks. Jake’s cheeks turned a bright shade of red.

Damn, he forgot.

“W-what are you talking about?” he mutters unconvincingly, slowly coming out of frame. He strips the polo off in a panic, digging through his closet until he finds a turtleneck. It’s autumn anyway. This is fine, right?

“Our friendship is done,” Sunghoon deadpans at the camera. “You got fucking laid and didn’t tell me?! I mean, I understand Jay, he’d make it weird. BUT NOT EVEN ME?!”

Jake shakes his head, tugging the turtleneck on. He tries to roll up his sleeves to look more casual, but now he looks like Steve Jobs. Shit. He should put his contacts on.

“So who is it?!” Sunghoon presses. “Who’s the unlucky girl?” 

 When Jake doesn’t reply, Sunghoon gasps.

“Unlucky guy?!”

“Man, shut up!” Jake cries, snatching his phone off the desk and coming back into frame. “Please don’t tell Jay.”

–

“Okay, so he told Jay,” he blurts, shielding himself with his arm like you’re about to hit him. “Please don’t get mad at me.”

You almost asked why he was wearing a turtleneck in relatively warm weather when he tugged the collar down to show his neck. Absolutely purple and bruised. And yes. Maybe a dark, suppressed part of you jumped with glee. But the more rational part started cursing yourself out.

“I can’t believe you’d video call him the morning after,” you groan, massaging your temple with your fingers. “Ugh, I’m so stupid. What was I even thinking?!”

Jake gives you a sly smile. “I mean, I’m not complaining—”

You shoot him another icy stare, and he stops. 

“W-well, it’s not like they know that it’s you! They probably think it’s someone else…”

You inhale a sharp breath at the thought. Was he gonna tell them the hickeys on his neck were from someone else? Who? Choa?

“Whatever,” you mutter, whipping around as your bag purposely smacked his bicep. You walk off, fists clenched, ignoring Jake’s calls out to you. 

Fucking Choa.

–

A full week has passed since the disaster that was Sunghoon seeing Jake’s bruised neck. Your boyfriend only felt safe enough to see the two idiots once the marks faded, and even then, he was a little disappointed to wake up and see them all gone. 

“So run it through with me again,” Jay requests, leaning over the boiling hot pot broth. The boys sit in a dimly lit restaurant with a stage in the back. 

“Like, you were just walking back to your dorm and boom—you found a rando to hook up with out of nowhere?!” Jay questions, dropping tofu into the soup so aggressively that it splashes Jake’s wrist.

“Why are you making up fantasies in your head about my sex life?” Jake mutters, pushing his glasses up his face. He was too lazy to put his contacts on just to hang out with these two. “I plead the fifth.”

“Bro, I thought you were a virgin this whole time!” Sunghoon adds unhelpfully. “Excuse us for trying to be supportive.”

Jake rolls his eyes, struggling to grab an udon noodle with his chopsticks.

“Wait,” Jay says through the hot pot steam. “Weren’t you walking with [Y/N] that night?”

Jake gulps, throat bobbing as he fiddles with the noodle more to avoid suspicion.

“Right!” Sunghoon snaps his fingers, and for a second, Jake’s life flashes before his eyes. They know. They have to! Fuck, you’re gonna be so mad at him—

“Why don’t we just ask her who it was?”

Jake stares at them and breaks out into a nervous laugh. Never in his life was he happier to have a more idiotic set of childhood friends.

“Please do,” Jake smiles, wondering how you would weasel out of that conversation with them. “She knows her very well…”

A piercing sound of microphone feedback ricochets through the restaurant. The three cover their ears as everyone’s attention turns to the neglected stage.

“Who wants to sing?! It's open mic night!” the restaurant owner booms. When a deafening silence fills the air, Jay lifts Jake’s hand straight into the air without hesitation.

“This guy loves Celine Dion!” he cries out as Jake tries to yank his arm back down. He curses at his friend, but to no avail.

“Okay!” the owner shouts excitedly. “Come on right up, sir!” 

Jay and Sunghoon practically drag Jake up the stage, laughing themselves all the way back to their seats in the far back of the restaurant. Jake stands frozen as dozens of strangers stare at him, his heartbeat thudding in his ears. He takes off his glasses, shoving them in his pocket, and brushes his hair back. He couldn't bear to look at all these blank faces staring at him. Confidence. This is all about confidence.

When ‘My Heart Will Go On' starts echoing through the restaurant walls, Jake’s face flushes all the way red. This is exposure therapy; he tries to cope with himself. If he could do this, he could probably build up the courage to ask you about going public. So that his friends stop thinking he’s a loser. Maybe for you to stop thinking it, too.

He sucks in a deep breath. What’s the difference between this and a showerhead? Nothing. Absolutely nothing!

“Every night in my dreams, I see youuuu… I feel youuu…” he starts slowly, welcomed with a soft gasp from an audience member. Jay and Sunghoon’s laughter dies as Jake sings. Shit. He was actually doing it. And he sounded good, too. Like an angel. Was Jay crying?

Jake loses himself in the slow melody of the song, singing his heart out as he does in every postgame shower. ‘This one’s for you, babe,’ he thinks. Wherever you are… 

When the song ends and Jake’s eyes open, he’s met with a standing ovation. At a damn hot pot restaurant. Jay and Sunghoon are cheering the loudest, holding their hearts like their once-nerdy best friend was their child at a talent show. The owner comes up to the stage, sniffling.

“Give it up for this random kid!”

As Jake makes his way back to the table, he holds his head up high. He couldn’t have imagined doing this a year before, let alone ordering food at a kiosk without stuttering. It’s like taking off his glasses gave him super powers.

“Excuse me—” Jake turns around. A girl with long flowing hair stops him. 

“Are you Jake Sim? The freshman on the football team?” she asks, eyes bright. He nods. Does he know her?

“I’m Suji from the Dance department.” She bows slightly. “Your performance was incredible, by the way!” 

He nods, giving a small “thanks,” before he turns back around.

“Actually!” She calls after him. He stops again. “I just wanted to ask if you were interested in auditioning to be the male lead of our upcoming musical! It’s about a football player who finds passion in singing and dancing. I just thought it would fit you so well!”

Jake turns back to face the stranger. He ponders deeply. A musical? Him? He’d never thought about it before, but what the hell! He guesses he’s the type to try new things now. The power of a good haircut, maybe.

“I’ll think about it,” he says with a polite smile. 

Suji grins back. “Auditions start tomorrow. We’d love to have you.”

By the time Jake finds his way back to his seat, his friends are already geeking.

“You pulled another?!” Jay cries in anguish, biting his fist. “I should have gone up there. That should have been me! Damn it!”

“It’s not fair,” Sunghoon wails, leaning his head dramatically against the wall. “You had no play in high school. Like absolutely zero bitches—”

Jake snorts, scrounging for his glasses once more to slip them back on. “She was just asking me to audition for some musical.”

“I’m sure she was,” Jay says with a smirk. “I’m sure she’s staring straight at your back right now because she wants you in that musical soooo bad.”

Jake shifts in his chair uncomfortably, and sure enough, Suji is watching him. She shoots up her arm to wave. He looks back at his friends with a confused glance.

“Maybe they’re desperate?”

Sunghoon groans. “I’m gonna call [Y/N]. Let’s get her expertise on this.”

“Don’t!” Jake lunges, trying to grab Sunghoon’s phone as he takes it out of his pocket. But then flashes from that night start playing in his head. You above him. Riding him. Gripping his shoulders. Your lips on his neck, marking him until he whined and begged. All at the mere mention of Choa’s weird pet name for him. Jake clears his throat and sits back, not even trying to hide the shit-eating grin spreading across his face.

“...Yeah,” he says more casually. “Ask her.”

–

ma baby: Come over. Now.

Jake receives your text after Sunghoon’s impromptu call, bringing his hands together in a prayer position to the sky. Thank you to whatever higher being was watching over him.

When he reaches your residence hall, you’re waiting outside your door in pajamas, foot tapping impatiently against the carpet. You start glaring at his silhouette even before he comes into view. 

“So,” you start slowly, “you just let anyone talk to you these days?”

Jake’s already giddy. Yes… Be angry with him… Let him in your dorm room and reprimand him, while you’re at it…

“Babeeee,” he teases, his arms already reaching for yours. You dodge him. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” you reply flatly. “I’m just wondering when you started serenading restaurants and accepting invitations from random girls?”

“Just thought I could finally get some appreciation for my many talents,” he says teasingly, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“Are you saying I don’t appreciate you?” you ask, not at all amused by his playful gaze. “I tell you all the time that you’re smart!”

He chuckles. “Everyone and your mom knows that by now, babe.”

You narrow your eyes. ‘He’s learning how to fight back,’ you think sourly. 

“So you enjoyed that girl's appreciation, then?” you counter, knowing that you were riling yourself up by asking such a loaded question. Jake bites his lip to stifle a smile. There it is. 

He shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, pushing his glasses up. “I think I might actually consider auditioning!”

And this part is genuine. He’s always enjoyed singing. It could be a cool new experience, especially since he shied away from doing theater back in high school. Maybe now was his moment to shine... But when he notices how your expression darkens, he’s suddenly excited to audition for the musical for a whole different reason.

You look around the hallway, checking to see if anyone's coming by. Then you pull him by the collar and into your dorm room. The door shuts behind you two as you push him to sit on the bed. Jake looks up, eyes bright with pure anticipation as you climb onto his lap.

“What’s up, babe?” he asks, feigning ignorance. And you fall for it. Because your cute, nerdy boyfriend couldn’t possibly have ulterior motives… Right?

“You have class tomorrow?” you ask as you adjust yourself on him, legs encasing both sides of his thighs. His hands find your hips, pulling you closer.

“It depends,” he says, knowing full well he has an 8 a.m. physics lab. “Is your roommate coming back anytime soon?”

Oh yeah. Her. 

“Not tonight,” you mutter, already peppering his neck with small kisses. “She’s visiting her parents.”

Jake smirks, tilting your chin up so your eyes meet his. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip as the wheels are already turning in his head. He fakes a cough.

“You know… I think the musical is actually a romantic comedy.”

You’re on your knees, carpet harshly grazing your skin. 

“Fuck,” Jake groans, head thrown back as his hand clutches your hair. He’s pushing you down onto his cock, relishing in the way your cheeks hollow around him. How you take his whole length into your mouth without your usual snappy commentary. Look at you. Underneath him. So eager to please, but so in need of control. He bites his bottom lip at the view. It's addictive.

“Just like that,” Jake encourages, stroking your cheek so lovingly. Your tongue licks the underside of his thickness, careful not to have your teeth graze his sensitive skin. He’s so flushed above you, a darkness blooming in your heart. The sight of his glasses pushed so low on his nose bridge. So focused, so desperate for release.

‘My Jake,’ you think to yourself. ‘All mine.’

You bob your head up and down, your mouth plunging down to the base of his member with the help of his tight grasp on your hair.

“Y-yes,” he sighs, his hips coming up to meet your lips. Jake’s gaze never leaves yours, unable to tear his eyes from the tears forming in your eyes from just how much he fills you up. You always had something to say. Always rolling your eyes at him. Now, your eyes were rolling back for a different reason.

His mouth falls open. “F-fuck—” 

You smirk as his hips start to lose rhythm. You remember the first time you gave him head. Just like this, knees on the floor of his room back home, with his parents watching TV downstairs. Glasses perched and foggy. He came within seconds. You were proud, just a little, that he was able to last this long now.

“B-babe?” he tries to cry out. “I’m close—”

You pull away from him with a pop of your lips, teasing the slit of his tip with the flat of your tongue. He groans in frustration, but his hands don’t push you down to take him in again.

“Already?” you say, eyes batting up at him. “Why should I give you the satisfaction?” 

He whines, his grip on your hair tightening just a little. 

“Please?” he asks, not really sure what you want from him. It’s not like he asked you to just fuck him with your mouth! That was all your doing. Okay, yes, maybe he did provoke you. But did that mean he didn’t deserve to orgasm?!

You’re pumping him slowly with your right hand, gripping tightly and stroking enough so that he’s still edging close to his climax. But not close enough to actually reach it.

“I thought I was supposed to be showing you appreciation,” you say pointedly. “Take my time with you and all that.”

He shakes his head ferociously, his hips snapping up into your fist. 

“Babe—Please—I’m so—” he groans when he feels you slow your pace again. 

“So what?” you ask, feigning naivety. You really are the devil.

He shakes his head. He can’t speak. Can’t even think. Just frustrated with how your lips aren’t wrapped around his fucking dick anymore.

“I’m sorry,” he cries. “I’ll do anything, baby. Please—Just stop teasing—Please—”

His sobs are music to your ears. Your wrist’s pace on him quickens, as your mouth engulfs his swollen tip. Your tongue circles the head, pumping him up and down with all your strength and might. Jake’s hands are clutching the sheets, hips pistoning up into your sticky fingers. He feels his load threatening to spill over. 

“Fuck—Yes, baby—There—” He pulls your head back, hand encasing yours, pumping ferociously with you. Your mouth is wide open, tongue sticking out, eyes looking directly up at his. An invitation.

Spurts of his hot, white release coat your pink tongue. He unloads everything within him all over your features. Your cheeks. Your chin. Your cute ass nose. All covered in his milky cum. His mouth parts at the sight. So pretty. His girlfriend is so fucking pretty.

“I love you,” he whispers, as he wipes dribbles of his liquid off your chin with his thumb. “I love you so fucking much…”

You hum back in approval as he lifts you back up and onto his lap. Your face, still stained with his orgasm, comes up to kiss him. He grimaces slightly. You taste infinitely better than he does. He’s almost thankful you part ways with his lips so that you could pepper kisses down his neck.

And when you start sucking and nipping in the same way you did that game night, he smiles. His arms wrap around your waist as you suction his pulse point.

‘I could get used to this,’ Jake thinks.

The audition the next day went surprisingly easily. He truly was the only one trying out for the main role, while Suji was already pre-selected to play the female lead. Jake thinks it’s a bit unfair. What if other people wanted to audition too? But whatever. At least he got the part.

He finds you in between your lectures, holding out a boba for you in his hand. Jake’s not wearing a turtleneck this time, proudly wearing the battle scars of your teeth on his neck. No one’s brave enough to bring it up to him yet, to his dismay. Except you, who promptly smacks him in the arm for his shamelessness. 

“You look like a pervert,” you grumble, still taking the drink from him.

He chuckles at your cute expression. You say that like it wasn’t your intention to have him show the bites off. To show that he is very much occupied with someone else. Not Choa. Or whoever this other girl was.

“I was wearing my jacket the whole day,” he reassures. “Just took it off when I came to see you.”

He flexes slightly. “You think I’ve bulked recently?”

You roll your eyes and ignore his obvious fish for compliments. “So how’d it go? The audition?”

He smiles. “You’re looking at the male lead of Singing Striker,” he says proudly, hand to chest. “And before you ask, the name was not my choice.”

You scoff at the cheesiness. “Congrats,” you say through small sips of your gifted drink. “Break a leg.”

“Babe… when you say it like that, I feel like you mean it the other way.”

You shake your head, speaking robotically. “So who’s the female lead? It’s a romcom, you said?”

“The girl,” he starts, snapping his fingers like he doesn’t already know who she is. “Suji. From the restaurant. The one who recruited me.”

Your eyes morph into a squint, like you’re glaring at him. 

“...Interesting,” you say, willing yourself not to overreact. So Jake is hot now (always was). Girls just love to approach him with invitations to stuff. And he gets to act in a musical with someone that Jay described as “the baddest girl I’ve ever seen in my life.” Great! You love that, actually.

You bite down hard on the boba straw. “You know what… Are they casting for extras?"

And it's like a bad habit now. How you nip and scar his neck like you’re feeding off him every time a girl even so much looks in his direction. It’s easier than saying you’re jealous, easier than admitting that you have a sick sort of need to control who Jake interacts with.

You almost bent a metal spoon in the cafeteria when a girl asked for his number while you were sitting right in front of him. Granted, you did denounce being in a relationship with him pretty heavily the first few weeks at school. You knew she had every right to shoot her shot, but that didn't stop you from taking Jake right into a janitorial closet and making you eat him out as an apology.

“Fuck, baby,” he moans into the space between your thighs as your hands push him deeper into your wetness. “I've never even seen that girl in my life—”

You grit your teeth, angry that he even mentioned her.  “Did I ask?” you growl through sharp breaths. “Just shut up.”

He smiles against your clit, sucking harshly to elicit more of your beautiful noises. He hums into you. Happy that you're mad at him. Happy that he gets to do dirty things with you without having to practically be on his knees and begging. Well, really, he already was.

His tongue laps at your folds, thrusting in and out to prolong his stay in between your thighs. Maybe he is teasing, but really, he’s just taking it all in. Your addictive noises. Your sweet taste. The feeling of his fingers digging into your ass just to hold you up. The way you clench around his tongue when he arches it inside, real deep. Yeah, he needs you bad.

Jake is lapping at you, your legs constricting around him even tighter when he finds his way back to your clit. When he tugs on it with his teeth, you jolt.

“Jake—” He does not care. He nips again, flattening his tongue to soothe the slight pinch. You arch your back into him, riding his face until you stop yourself. You look desperate. Pathetic even. But Jake groans.

“Keep going,” he huffs. “Use me, babe. Use me like I’m your fucking toy.”

You tsk, wondering where he learned to talk like that. 

“Fucking pervert,” you mutter through harsh breaths. But your grip on him does tighten, and he whimpers at the feeling of you tugging on his locks.

“You like it when I'm like this, don't you?” You grit your teeth, pushing him in further. His nose is practically buried into your clit as he fucks his pink muscle into you at a merciless pace.

“Like when you get attention. Like when everyone fucking wants you.”

You're seething, practically riling yourself up. He tries to speak, but you clench around his tongue, trapping his voice. He hums into your folds instead, licking the roof of your warm hole as he finds the exact spot he's been searching for. You mewl.

“Fuck! T-there!”

You're grinding onto his face now, smothering him with your scent. Yes, he thinks to himself, please suffocate him. Tremors go through your body as you feel something intense build in the lower pit of your stomach. So close. So fucking close.

Jake’s grip on your ass loosens as he lets you do all the work. Your legs over his shoulder pump furiously into his face. Like, Jake is just a mere vessel for your climax. And he wouldn't have it any other way. He doesn't even nurse his own hard-on, one that's painfully stretching his jeans. 

You're fucking his tongue, whining with each thrust, eyes starting to roll back, fingers almost pulling Jake’s hair from his scalp. Your hips stutter and then—

“Fuuuck…” Your orgasm pulses through you in ways that have you screaming silently. Your legs are trembling as his mouth vibrates with his hums against your core. Jake’s lapping up all your juices with an urgency.

Everything. He wants to taste everything. When you gently push him off from the oversensitivity, he resists at first. He holds you in place until he gets his fill, until tears are threatening to spill over. But your legs finally find the ground as he looks up at you with half-lidded eyes.

“I love you,” he whispers, out of breath. 

‘Whore’ you want to say out loud, but you know that would only make him hornier. He’s weirdly into stuff like that. But you smile as you comb through his hair. He doesn’t have complaints about you messing it all up as long as you’re fucking him, huh?

Jake, still on his knees, looks up at you with a lick of his lips, savoring the remaining taste of you on it. You wish he could see how he looked. Flushed. Damp. Yours. You almost lift him up to kiss him when—Ding.

The loving gaze you two share is cut off by the sound of his phone. He finally gets up from his knees, checking the notification.

“Oh shit,” he mutters. “Suji says I missed the costume fitting. I think I need to head out soon—”

You smash your lips against his, interrupting his train of thought. You moan at the taste of yourself on his devious tongue. Jake smirks, wrapping his arms around your waist. Maybe you could add a few more hickeys to his collection before he heads out... Just for good measure.

jake: let’s go to jay’s together?

For one of your weekly hangouts. The nights you try to avoid because they always end with you ignoring the pile of assignments you’ve already been putting off. 

you: sure. wya rn?

You smack your forehead the second you realize how quickly you sent that text. You swear you weren’t waiting. It wasn’t like you were staring at the last message he sent five hours ago, ruminating over whether it was appropriate to tell him how much you missed him.

jake: meet me by the bleachers :D practice is ending soon.

The speed at which you change outfits is impressive, already heading to the damn field before you realize it. He’s there, dribbling with a couple of his teammates. You sit at the top of the stands, a bit out of his sight. He catches a glimpse of you anyway and waves. You shoot him a simple smile of acknowledgement that dampens almost immediately.

Because you also see Choa, handing him a water bottle. When Jake reaches for it, trying to avoid brushing her hand, she purposefully finds his fingers anyway. It’s enough for your stomach to sink.

Even though he’s just smiling politely. Even when it looks like their conversation lasts for two seconds. It doesn’t feel any less bad. Choa notices you staring, and she scoffs. “This is a closed practice—”

“She’s with me,” Jake corrects her immediately. “I told her to come. That’s okay, right?”

You lift an eyebrow, challenging her. Jake said it the nice way. If she had to hear you speak, you would have probably been escorted off the field by now. She coughs awkwardly and nods, instantly folding under Jake’s attention. Your boyfriend, by the way.

“O-of course,” she stammers. “Just make sure she doesn’t see the playbook.”

The guys continue playing, and you move down a few rows, keeping Choa in your line of sight. It’s like she feels the daggers you send her way because she whips around to glare at you.

“It’s kind of pathetic,” she starts. “How you cling onto him.” You squint at her, not sure if you heard her correctly. You turn around, too, to check if she really had the audacity to speak to a stranger like you in that way.

“You talking to me?” you ask, pointing at yourself mockingly. She clicks her tongue.

“Who else?” she bites back. “Do you even have a name, or do you usually just go by Jake’s guard dog?”

Your cheeks burn in anger. Oh, if you were in high school… She’d have been on the ground by now, makeup stained with turf and pebbles. But unfortunately, you’re trying to stick to your resolution. A reformed delinquent girl at a prestigious university—

“You mute too?” Choa adds in for good measure. You stand, and it’s like Jake’s Spidey senses tingle because he stops to watch, monitoring if he needs to step in.

“You know,” you say, voice cool and devoid of emotion, “you’ve got a lot to say for someone who has to talk like a baby to get a man’s attention.”

She snarls. “Excuse me?”

“Jake’s not gonna let you hit,” you mock, scanning her up and down with a disgusted face. You only say the next part just to piss her off. “You’re not really his type.”

“And you are?” She steps in closer. “You’re stuck in the fucking friendzone, acting like hot shit—”

Oh, if only she knew. The truth is sitting on your tongue, burning, begging to be spoken just so you can wipe that stupid smirk off her face. But you’re not that angry yet. Not enough to expose yourself.

“You seem like such a loser,” she continues, voice laced with malice. “Everyone already thinks you look like some stray puppy following Jake everywhere he goes. Don’t you have a life of your own? Any hobbies? Isn’t it sad showing up where you’re not wanted?”

Ouch. Jake was your puppy. He follows you around everywhere. 

She digs right into that ugly little fear in the back of your mind. That you look as pitiful as you feel. That you truly were just biding your time in this dumb university until Jake showers you with attention. Is this what a relationship’s supposed to feel like? Like you’re waiting for him, all the damn time?

You inhale a deep breath. You’re better than this. Better than catfights over someone that’s already yours. A man who sleeps on your chest almost every night... But you’re not above being petty.

“And did he tell you all that,” you ask with fake sweetness, “or are your delusions that Jake’s gonna fuck you starting to get to your brain?”

She opens her mouth, but you cut her off. “I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you,” you continue, sarcasm dripping in your voice. “Make sure Jakey knows exactly the kind of girl you are.”

Choa bites the inside of her cheek. “Not like I said anything wrong.”

“Oh, right.” You pitch your voice up to that grating baby tone she uses with Jake. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate you calling me a ‘fucking loser,’ since you care so much about what he thinks.”

You could laugh at her suddenly hunched shoulders, but you just drop back down onto your seat, fake scrolling through your phone. “Don’t you have a team to manage?”

Choa whips her bob around, stomping back toward the group and desperately hoping that no one heard. But Jake is already staring. He doesn’t look mad. Just resigned. 

“Choa?” he calls out, voice low and almost inaudible. He’s not smiling like usual.

“Yes?” she answers immediately, with that lilted tone that sounds like nails on a chalkboard. You don’t hear the conversation that takes place, so curious as to why Choa’s expression suddenly drops.

“Don’t ever talk to her like that again,” he says, and the entire team stiffens around them. 

“And next time,” he adds, walking past her, “Just mind your fucking business.”

–

You never, in all your years of living, thought you’d be sitting in an auditorium seat watching your boyfriend act like he was in love with another girl on stage. But here you are, leg bouncing and forearms itching from the irritation bubbling in your chest.

“But don't you get it?!” Jake rehearses, script in hand. His hands flail in fake exasperation. You cover your mouth to hide the wince forming on your lips. “How can I choose between the stage and football?!”

“You don't have to choose,” Suji steps in, acting much better than Jake, at least. “You can do both.”

Jake sighs, throwing his hands up in the air. He's facing her now.

She's pretty, you think. Really pretty. Probably one of the most gorgeous girls you've ever seen in your life. And Jake is staring right into her eyes. You can’t help but wonder if he thinks the same. You grit your teeth at the thought.

“But what would people think of me?” he sighs. Suji shakes her head, moving closer. Your brows knit. That's not part of the script.

“Who cares what other people think?” she says softly, resting her hand on his chest. Your expression darkens immediately. “If it feels like you're alone… Then I can be there to support you.”

Maybe Jake's character should care what other people think, especially if he’s gonna prioritize singing on stage with some pretty girl over his football career—

You slap your own cheek lightly. Relax.

“Cut,” the musical director calls out. “Great job, you two! After this is the dance scene. We can rehearse that tomorrow. I think that's all for the day.”

When the actors and stage crew finally funnel out, you watch Jake stay behind, chatting with his costars onstage. So radiant, smiling at them with his toothy grin and cracking jokes as he says goodbye. He never used to be like that. Used to be so painfully shy that Jay had to accept his academic awards for him in high school.

And yeah, you feel like shit when he's standing there, surrounded by people who have stars in their eyes when he talks, while you're grumpily waiting in a faraway seat with no real excuse to interrupt. You're just part of the stage crew, after all. Just one of the invisible people who move props in between scenes while Jake and Suji’s characters fall deeply in love with each other. Yuck.

But you’re not gonna do the usual thing of dragging him to the nearest secluded area and fucking his brains out. No—you’re better than that. You’re not a loser! You’d let this pass.

“Bye, I’ll catch up with you guys soon! My friend’s waiting for me.”

The word ‘friend’ digs deep into your heart. But that’s your own fault.

Jake walks toward you, and the quick smile he throws your way is cut short the moment he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He stops in front of you, forehead still glistening from the stage lights, eyes glued to the screen even as he talks.

“I have practice in like thirty minutes,” he sighs, scrolling through his calendar. “And then the crew wants to have, like, a group dinner later tonight.”

He cranes his neck to release some tension, finally looking up at you. “Damn. My character is lowkey right. It really is hard balancing the two.”

You roll your eyes and stand up. “The crew? Like Jay and Sunghoon?”

He shakes his head as he walks beside you, still a bit occupied with his phone. He's sending text messages to some massive group chat, text bubble after text bubble popping up.

“The main acting crew,” he says, emphasizing the second word. “I think they wanna run the lines at En Bar and get a couple of drinks.”

You almost stop in your tracks, but you force yourself to continue walking with him, arms crossed. Good for him, you think. And you mean it. He's adjusted so well to university life, while yours feels like it revolves around him.

What's Jake up to? Is his practice done? Who's he talking to? Is it Choa? Is it Suji? Is it every girl that makes eye contact with your newly socially adept boyfriend, who just so happens to have the most gorgeous face known to mankind?

You want to punch yourself real bad.

“Do you wanna come?” he asks when he notices you've fallen silent. He thinks it's cute when you're jealous. Sulking and pouty—when it’s obvious why you’re upset. Not when you're quiet. Not when you're creating distance between you two as he walks beside you.

“I can ask them if we can reserve more chairs—”

“It's fine!” you interrupt, but even you don’t convince yourself. “I have work to catch up on anyway.”

His lips part as if recalling something important, something he promised you. 

“I'm so sorry, babe!” he gasps. “I totally forgot that you needed help studying for your exam tomorrow!”

You shrug your shoulders. You’re a cool girlfriend. Super chill. Not crazy at all.

“No, it's okay,” you say, chain necklace feeling heavy on your chest. “I'll just go to the tutoring center. You're busy, I get it.”

His eyes are still laced with concern. You sound so disconnected, so not yourself. Did he do something wrong?

“I can come over tomorrow?” he suggests, but it almost comes out as a plea. “We can watch the new movie you wanted—”

“My roommate’s gonna be home.”

“Okay…” he says, voice fading. “What about my dorm?”

You shake your head.  “I'm not really up for a movie, I guess.” 

Jake’s expression sours. It feels like you’re shoving sheets of metal down his throat. He can take you angry. Can handle you screaming, kicking, crying, and calling him names. He can’t take whatever this is.

“I can just cancel,” he says quickly. “I’ll come over tonight!”

And Choa’s voice resounds in your ear.

“You seem like a fucking loser.”

You bite your bottom lip and stare at his wavering gaze. You wonder if he pities you. 

Has he noticed? How quickly you reply to his texts? How often you show up to his extracurricular activities? How you can’t seem to admit that you’re hurting, even when he’s right here in front of you? God, you hate this feeling.

“It’s okay,” you say, and it’s small like a whisper. “Need some alone time anyway.”

“Alright,” he breathes, relenting to whatever boundary you’ve set with him. He reaches out to brush a strand of hair from your face, but when you flinch, he retracts his hand instantly.

“I love you?” he tests.

You give him a small smile and nod, pushing past him. He moves like he wants to catch your hand and stop you. But as always, he lets you walk just a little too out of his reach.

Because you still don’t say it back.

–

So this is what it feels like to twiddle your thumbs and try not to scream as Jake misses yet another hangout... He’s busy with his daily practices and rehearsals. You get that. But it’s still physically torturous to sit through Jay and Sunghoon stoking the fires of your insecurities.

“He’s gotta be seeing someone,” Sunghoon sighs, reclining into the beanbag in Jay’s apartment. “Dude just abandons his friends without any pussy involved? There’s no way.”

You smash a throw pillow from the couch and into his face, and Jay throws another one for good measure.

“Why do you always think with your dick?” Jay mutters. “Just let Jake be. This is his moment. Not like he had much to work with in high school.”

Sunghoon sighs. “Yeah,” he mumbles, almost apologetic. “He was pretty lame back then.”

You never thought so. Maybe you joked about it, but you never really meant it. He was kind. A little shy. So eager to please and follow you around. And now that the roles were reversed, you weren’t sure how to feel anymore. Fuck. Why couldn’t you just be happy for him?

He has this amazing life outside of you now. Cool friends (not Jay and Sunghoon). Great prospects for the future. It’s like a bird leaving the nest. Your carefully cultivated nest.

You felt like a cloud raining over his head when you’re around him now. After Choa, you started to notice the whispers around campus a little more. How people avoid him when you’re around because you can’t carry empty conversations about upcoming exam scores the same way Jake can.

It’s just different. He is. And it feels like you are too. But not a good different. It’s the kind that makes you feel like this isn’t how you should be. That you aren’t who you want to be… Maybe Choa was right.

And now a pillow is thrown in your direction. You shoot daggers at Sunghoon with your glare.

“What?!” you yell. He pounces in fear.

“I asked,” he coughs. “Is college treating you okay? You making friends?”

You roll your eyes. “Are you my dad?”

Jay sighs. “We always talk about Jake. Sue us for wanting to know how you’re doing for once.”

The words linger. What are you doing?

–

You’re stewing in it, marinating in how lonely it feels to stand in a corner with the stage crew while Jake, Suji, and the rest of the main cast laugh amongst themselves. Whatever.

“Those two are so cute,” a girl beside you says. Gaeul. So sweet, so bubbly. So oblivious to how tightly you clench your teeth. “They’d be like the it couple on campus, no?”

When you look between Jake and his toothy grin and Suji with her sweet laugh, you can’t help the way your heart constricts. “Yeah,” you mutter in disgruntled agreement. “I guess.”

Jake sends you sneaking glances, ones you don’t notice despite your eyes lingering on him. 

You haven't been the most responsive lately. He texts you a lot in between practices and rehearsals. Whenever he has the chance. He asks to come over. Asks you to come over. And you’ve turned him down almost every time.

You didn’t attend his last two games, you’re skipping rehearsals that you used to sit through for hours, and Jay knows where you're holed up more than he does. He’s worried about you. Worried that you’re avoiding him. Were you avoiding him?

“I heard you two are really good friends,” Gaeul asks you with sparkling eyes. “He seems like such a catch. How’d you not fall in love?”

You shrug. What answer are you supposed to give? It’s not like you were resistant to his charm either. “He went through a transformation recently,” you admit. “We were both kind of outcasts in high school.”

“Me too!” she says excitedly. “I bleached my hair, and everything before uni started. What about you? Were you two like super shy?”

You shake your head. “Jake was. I was just a bad student. Got in trouble a lot. My parents literally laughed when I told them I wanted to go here.”

And your heart thuds in your chest from a memory. Because Jake believed in you. Sat through hours of studying, teaching you the difference between derivatives and whatever the fuck linearization was, just for the chance to attend the same university. So he could spend time with you, so he could be with you. And now you barely see him.

“Really? I’m not surprised, though. You seem like such a chill girl. Like you don’t care what other people think of you.”

“Trust me. I’m far from it.” You catch Jake’s longing gaze again, but you turn away.

“Starting to think it was a mistake joining this thing,” you mumble, “with how often everyone forgets their lines.”

She laughs. “I like how straightforward you are,” she says with a wide smile. “Don’t really mince your words, do you?”

You smile too, in what feels like forever. It felt free to talk about something—anything—outside of him.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know how to hold back what I say.” Which is a lie. Because you hold back a lot. More than you let on. 

“Alright!” the stage manager yells. “Let’s get in position for the final scene.”

The kiss scene. The one you’ve dreaded for so long. You and Gaeul move across the stage, setting up the mics and instruments in their right place. You move past Jake with your head down. He frowns. So you are avoiding him.

“Places, people!”

You watch, from the wings, as Jake pours his heart out into the lyrics. A song about breaking free from stereotypes and whatever other inspirational stuff this whole musical’s about. He’s good. Really good. He moves like a natural on stage, throwing Suji these soft, tender glances that look so painfully real. She glows under the lights, stars in her eyes. And as the song comes to an end, he picks her up to spin her.

Just like the script says. And you clutch your forearm at the sight.

“I feel like I can really be myself with you,” he says to her. “Like I don’t have to hide or pretend.”

Whatever.

“And you make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.”

The two stare at each other. A pause. Jake leans in. And so does she. Fuck.

You can’t do this. Can’t watch. You turn and walk out the back exit. Your chest is heavy, constricted with that ugly pang of envy.

Fuck this feeling. It hurt. Why did it have to hurt? You hate the tears that well up in your eyes, hate the shivering of your shoulders as you hug yourself in the parking lot of the stupid auditorium. You need to go back in. Save face. Show how little that kiss scene affected you because you’re supposed to be his friend in the eyes of everyone else.

You clutch your necklace through your shirt, fingers twisting the ring. Jake, who loves you. Who desperately wants your relationship to be public, to show you off. The same Jake on stage kissing another girl for a stupid musical you didn’t even want to be a part of.

He doesn’t deserve this. This monstrous version of you, who cares too much but gives too little. Overbearing to the point of suffocation.

So you walk back in, face steeled and tears wiped. He’s talking to the director with Suji, like nothing happened. Like all semblance of your self-esteem wasn’t just ruined a few minutes ago. But you need to stop. Because it isn't his fault. It isn't even Suji’s.

It’s yours. You hurt your own feelings.

Jake sees you and immediately lights up, calling your name as he jogs over. You don’t smile back.

“I have some time after rehearsals,” he says lovingly, his hand tugging your arm. “Wait for me?”

This would be the last time you would.

–

He tries to hold your hand on the walk back home to steady his heart rate. Opening night creeps closer and closer, and preparation alone won’t save him from the nerves. But when you pull away before his fingers can intertwine with yours, he flinches.

Maybe there are too many people around, Jake tells himself. You’re probably worried about being seen. And so he continues his merry yapping. He doesn’t notice the defeated glint in your eyes or the slow steps you take next to his. He’s still riding the high from rehearsal, still proud he finally made it through every line without stuttering or needing the script.

Maybe he’ll do well enough on opening night that you’ll let him kiss you afterward. Maybe you’ll walk toward him with flowers while he wraps you in his arms. He’d spin you around, brag to the whole world that you’re his girlfriend. Say it loud and proud in front of annoying ass Jay and Sunghoon, who got front row seats.

The thought pulls a grin onto Jake’s face, making him skip ahead a little. And you both keep walking toward the dorms. Just like any other day.

Until you ruin it.

“I’m dropping out of the stage crew,” you say, casually. He stops in his tracks. All semblance of a smile wipes from his face. The show is sold out. It’s too late to get you tickets. 

“You won’t be able to watch,” he says, panic laced in his voice. You’re at a standstill, in the middle of campus, surrounded by trees and concrete. “You should’ve told me! I can see if I can pull some strings—”

He’s already taking his phone out to text someone. Probably the director. He doesn’t even ask why. Just goes straight to problem-solving. Your Jake. Too good. Too kind. Too forgiving.

It’s too much.

“I’m not coming to watch,” you say, harsher this time, stopping him from sending the message. Guilt washes over you instantly. Because he looks at you with his brows knit together, eyes wavering.

“I don’t understand.”  You don’t want to come? You don’t want to support him?

Your mouth opens to say something. Anything. But your throat feels hoarse, shoulders too heavy. Shit. Don’t cry. You don’t cry in front of anyone.

“Jake,” you start, clenching your quivering hands open and closed. “I can’t do this anymore.”

His heart drops. 

“Do what anymore?” he swallows, his mouth dry. “I’m confused—”

“I think we need to break up.”

Numb. Everything is numb.

“W-what?” Tears sting Jake’s eyes before he can blink them back. “Don’t… don’t say that.”

You shake your head. “Jake,” you whisper, careful not to get too close. Careful so you don’t make the mistake of taking back your words. “I don’t think we’re good for each other.”

He inches forward. You take a step back.

“Do you think that? That I’m not good enough—”

“No,” you interrupt. But he isn’t listening. And he doesn’t want to. Because this feels like a fucked up joke, a prank on him that’s been taken too far. Won’t you stop?

“Because if it’s something I did, I can change,” he begs. And your heart breaks a little at how desperately he searches for a hint of emotion in your face. But you don’t relent. You can be the bad guy. You always are. 

“Please. We can talk this through.”

“I’m sorry,” you say, an unusual softness in your voice. “I don’t want to change my mind—”

“Why not?!” he asks, voice louder. The quiet that falls between you two is masked by the rustle of surrounding trees, orange and red leaves falling around you two. The cool, autumn air brushes your face. His eyes sting with redness. 

“Why don’t you tell me anything?” His voice cracks. The aching in your heart makes you want to give in, to take it all back. But you aren’t like Jake. You can’t adjust, can’t welcome change so openly. 

So as you look at him with his slicked back hair and sharp features, so different from a year ago, it feels like you've already lost something. The version of yourself who had more to give than hollow excuses and marks left on his skin.

You couldn’t admit to it even now. That you hate who you’ve become. “I’m telling you right now,” you gulp, bracing your own words. “That I want to break up.”

And the first semblance of tears falls down Jake’s cheeks as he lets out a bitter laugh. He doesn’t believe it. Can’t accept it. He won’t let this be the end.

“If it’s because of what Choa said—”

Your brows furrow. “You heard what she said?” 

His hands are in his hair, tugging at it with frustration. You seem angry, but he doesn’t know why. He never does.

“I told her to mind her business,” he explains quickly. “It doesn’t matter what she thinks. So if you’re breaking up with me just because she called you clingy or whatever…”

And he doesn’t know it, but the words trigger something in you. Something you’ve been pushing down over and over again. The feeling of seeming weak, of needing him. The need to monopolize. It sickens you.

“It matters what I think Jake!” you finally burst out. Frustration etched in your voice, shaky from the cold air and your wavering emotions. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

“All I ever do now is wonder who you’re with, why you’re with them, and I just… I just feel so fucking lonely.”

He reaches for you, but you push him away. Your grievances spill out of you before you can hold them back.

“I’m paranoid of anyone who talks to you. I couldn’t even fucking watch you do that stupid kiss scene,” you continue. 

“We didn’t even kiss!”

“That’s not the fucking point!” you scream, before you can stop yourself. You inhale sharply when he flinches. Calm down. This is not his fault. Why are you getting angry with him?

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, taking one more step back. He holds your wrist gently to keep you in place.

Jake stares at you with his lips parted, stunned. “So why can’t we just go public?” he pleads. “You wouldn’t have to feel this way if—”

“That’s not the issue either,” you scoff, but you can’t even convince yourself. Because isn’t this how it all started? Your unwillingness to be embarrassed, to seem vulnerable in front of others. Was this not the root of it all?

“Then what is?!” he cries, his grip on your wrist tightens, not to hurt you, but so that you don’t run. Because you’re good at that. Running.

“I get insecure too,” he reassures, but you look past him now. “But I tell you. I tell you when I’m hurt, I tell you when I’m down. Because I… I want you to understand me. I want to understand you too…”

He swallows hard before continuing. “So I don’t get why you would even bring up breaking up before we even try to solve the problem together—”

“Because I don’t want to solve it, Jake.”

His hold on you loosens instantly, arm dropping to his side. You feel colder as he steps back. Jake stares at you, hurt laced in his gaze. Like you stabbed him in the heart and twisted the knife in to marinate.

“...You're always like this,” he mutters under his breath. “Always saying hurtful things without thinking about how they make me feel.”

He feels his throat close up as he draws in some baited breaths. The tears come in more heavily, his cheeks damp as they roll down his pained face. 

“So you see what I mean?” you say, your own tears threatening to spill over without you even realizing. A part of him instinctively wants to wipe them away, to pull you close and make it stop. But all he feels is anger. Because you’re the one breaking up with him. You’re the one choosing to end things. What right do you have to cry? What right do you have to look shattered when he's the one in pieces?

“I’m horrible to you,” you let out with pained laughter. He shakes his head immediately. 

“No, you’re not—”

“I always pick fights—”

“You don’t—”

“I act like a fucking bitch—”

“Don’t call yourself that—”

"I feel like I’m insane when I’m around you,” you let out, before you can stop yourself.

“I don’t think that at all—”

“But I do, Jake,” you cry. “I hate how jealous I get when you’re surrounded by other people. I hate feeling like I’m holding you back. I hate what I’ve become since…”

And you can’t finish because his tears have stopped. He’s looking at you with a new kind of anguish. The kind that you don’t necessarily expect. The kind that feels like disgust. 

“Since you started dating me?” he says like he correctly finished your statement. But that’s not what you're going to say. Never that.

“Since you didn’t need me anymore,” you whimper. “I’m not a good girlfriend, Jake. You’d be so much happier without me. Everyone would think it if they knew.”

He stands in front of you, hollow. If they knew. He has to laugh. That’s the problem. No one does. You don’t want them to. It’s clear now.

“Fine,” he says, and the steadiness of his voice makes you shudder. Good. This is what you wanted. 

He’s staring at you, jaded like he had come to terms with it. He used to love how insistent you were about your point of view on things, how firmly you stood by your opinions. Used to envy it. But now, he detests it. That stubbornness. 

“Whatever you want,” he sighs, hands slipping in his pockets. “Let’s break up. Pretend we never happened.”

Your mouth parts. “Excuse me?”

Jake scoffs, hands tightening into a fist. They’re trembling, but he won’t let you see. He can do what you do. Act like he’s okay. Act like you didn’t just kill him. He’s gotten very good at that. Acting.

“I’m being honest, Jake—”

“You don’t love me,” he cuts in. And your heart sinks. “That’s all this is. You never show it. You never say it. And I’m tired of hearing you pretend like you’re doing me a favor when I’m practically begging you not to leave.”

His voice cracks, but he continues. “So fine,” he mutters. “Have it your way. You won’t ever have to admit that we dated, start a clean slate without me. Just like you want.”

He presses his lips together and gives you one last look before he takes his hands out of his pockets. He’s fiddling with the ring. His ring. The ring that matches yours.

“You know,” he starts, voice trembling and bitter, “when it was the other way around… when I felt like shit about myself…. I never once thought of leaving you.”

His gaze is on the ground. “Because I always thought I was better with you than without. Because you made me want to be better.”

His voice falters. He looks at you now, sniffling. 

“I tried to be better.”

And in one swift motion, Jake takes off the ring.  “...But you didn’t even want me enough to stay.”

“Jake, no—” 

But it’s too late. You see him throw it, the bushes rustling nearby. Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He shoves his hands back in his pockets and walks past you to the direction of the dorms.

“There,” he says quietly behind you. “Like we never happened.”

He doesn’t look back, doesn’t even spare you a glance. It’s only when he’s fully out of sight that you dig through the orange and red pile of leaves, through dirt and branches. Tears stream down your face as you sob, searching for it like a mad woman. Pathetic. So fucking pathetic. 

But you can’t find it. No matter how hard you try to find a silver glint in the greenery, there is nothing. And you clutch onto yours like it’s your lifeline. He threw it away. How could he throw it away?

And you wonder then if you made the biggest mistake in your life.

–

You thought the pit in your stomach would fade once you ripped the bandage, but the hole in your heart opened wider. And it’s only been a week.

Jake used to dodge questions about his love life, but now he admits to anyone with ears who walks by that he’s single. You have ears. And you walk by often. You’re not sure if he’s taunting you or if you just want him to be.

When your eyes meet his at the one lecture you still share, he’s the first to turn away. Jake used to sit beside you, shoulder brushing yours, tilting his laptop so you could keep up when the professor switched the slides too quickly. When you pass the football field, you try not to wince when you see Choa latch onto his arm like she belongs there. He used to always pull away. 

The worst part is that these stolen glances are all you have of him. He’s blocked you on everything, which feels weird to think about. Jake, who’s always gentle, always forgiving, always offering second chances—even to people who don’t deserve it. Maybe this time you’re one of them.

You have no right to be upset. Not anymore.

And so you wrap yourself in your studies, check out new extracurriculars, even try to make new friends on campus who know nothing about Jake. You try to rebuild, try to go back in time before that fateful day in high school when you met him. But it’s been far too long. 

He was a part of you, so deeply ingrained in your daily life. How could you act like you two never happened? Like your relationship never existed? How could he do it so well?

And then, you have to remind yourself. You'd already been doing that anyway.

–

“So what did he do?” Jay questions, tuning his guitar while Sunghoon and you sit in his living room. “Did he tell you he was done paying for your stuff or…”

“Shut up,” you grumble, already agitated enough as you scroll through Suji’s Instagram. You couldn’t even muster the energy to be jealous over a photo of Jake and her holding up peace signs next to each other. You just feel empty. “Nothing happened.”

Jay rolls his eyes. “He’s usually texting one of us to get you to answer his messages by now. It’s been crickets from him for the last two weeks.”

You swallow hard. He used to do that?

Jay’s gaze flickers toward you and sighs as he fiddles with his guitar strings. “You know, I really don’t get the two of you,” he mumbles. “Like you already rejected him in high school, you’re practically just stringing him along at this point—”

You sit up. “Excuse me?”

He shakes his head, dropping the guitar onto his lap. “Jake told us,” he starts hesitantly. “That you ran away when he tried to confess last year.”

‘But that’s not the full story,’ you want to scream out loud. 

“Yeah,” Sunghoon laughs as if recalling a memory. “Dude! Remember in the summer when he started going to the gym with me?”

Jay cringes. “Yeah, and he told us it was because he’d be starting this season, but we knew it was just because you said you liked macho guys.”

You shake your head, ears warming at the thought. That’s insane. 

“Oh, and that stupid ass ring,” Sunghoon adds, clutching his stomach. Your hand instinctively clutches at your necklace, fingers brushing the chain. “His mom beat the shit out of him when she found out how much he spent on it.”

You twiddle with the ring through your shirt. You should've taken it off by now. He'd already thrown his away. So what use was it leaving him if all you were going to do was hold on?

“Why would he do all that for me?” you mutter, not realizing that you said your thoughts out loud. 

Jay shrugs. “Love makes you do stupid things.” And then he sighs. “Go easy on him, okay? You know how he is. Jake’s a sensitive boy. Especially when it comes to you.”

You look down at the ground, shame bubbling up in your chest. Jake loved you. He really did.

–

You smile from your view of the auditorium, even from the back, feeling like a speck of dust in the full house. A bouquet is in your hand as you nervously find your seat. Jake’s right. Everyone’s here to watch.

You could see Jay and Sunghoon’s tiny heads toward the front, pushing down the bitterness of not being able to sit as close as they were. It's not fair, you think. You had to buy a last minute ticket off a student who could no longer make it while they don’t even like musicals. You shake your head.

This isn’t about you. It’s Jake’s big night. 

The lights dim. Your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—steps onto the stage in a football jersey that looks almost exactly like his real-life one. The audience quiets at his entrance. As he delivers his cheesy opening monologue, you mouth the words with him. He’d practiced it so much in front of you. Pride wells up in your chest. He doesn’t stutter once. 

Even when Suji joins him on stage, even as they sing together during their characters’ first meeting, you couldn’t help but smile. 

The scenes blur as you lose yourself in the show. You watch the characters as they are and not as your ex and the girl you desperately wanted to hate. It was actually fun. The cheeky glances, the perfectly rehearsed dance scenes. The way the main character so seriously thought that singing was going to affect his football career. It made you laugh, made you tear up, made you suck in a deep breath when Jake leaned into her. 

And because you’re still you, and because the wounds still feel fresh, you close your eyes. You don’t have to know if he really did it or not. It doesn’t matter. It’s his moment.

‘If only I felt like this the whole time,’ you thought to yourself. Then maybe you wouldn’t have to psych yourself up to find him afterward and pour your heart out to him. You shiver at the thought.

But Jay had said it: love makes you do stupid things.

And you do. Love him. 

Enough to buy him flowers. Enough to admit that you’re done hiding. Enough to risk asking him to love you again—even if there’s a chance that he already moved on.

–

“Bro,” Jay starts, with tear-stained cheeks. “Don’t ever do that again. I can’t be crying like that in front of everybody.”

“Quit football,” Sunghoon says, patting Jake on the back with unusually red eyes. “Just focus on this musical shit. I swear you could make it big time.”

Jake chuckles, watching as the auditorium empties of guests. “Thanks, guys. I’m glad you two liked it.”

God, he wishes you were here. He could imagine exactly what you’d say when you walk up to him, with a small smile you try to suppress. Saying good job while ruffling his hair. Trying to act like you didn’t cry like everyone else. Jake smiles, quietly, at his own thoughts. It’s ridiculous, coming up with hypotheticals when you’d already made it clear. You don't want to be with him anymore. 

“Jake.” 

His heart instinctively skips a beat.

When he turns, the air in his lungs escapes him. You’re holding a bouquet so big it hides most of your frame, looking at him expectantly as you push it towards him. His eyes widen, unable to speak or even take the flowers from you. Is he dreaming?

“You did a good job,” you say, trying to sound as genuine as possible, wanting him to feel your sincerity.  “You killed it up there.”

“Thanks,” he says shortly, finally taking the flowers from your hands. He can’t help but stare. 

“I—” you try to push out, but Suji rushes to the stage to tap Jake on the shoulder.

“Hey.” She smiles up at him. “We're heading out soon for the celebration. Did you still want a ride with me?”

“Damn, even musicals got afterparties?” Sunghoon mutters to Jay, who attempts to shush him.

Jake returns a smile. “Yeah, just give me a second.”

And when he turns around to look at you, to finally hear what you have to say, your eyes are glossed over. Maybe you’re too late. Maybe this is idiotic after all. It's been weeks. There's no guarantee he'll even listen.

“I just wanted to say congratulations,” you mutter, though you've changed the words you meant to say entirely. It's supposed to be: ‘I’m so proud of you. Will you take me back? I’ll stop being so mean. We can tell everyone we’re in love—yes, even Jay and Sunghoon.’

But old habits die hard. And Suji—beautiful fucking Suji—crushed every ounce of confidence you had to come up to him in the first place.

“That's all,” you say, shooting him a small grin. It doesn't quite reach your eyes. He notices. Jake always does. Just never knows the reason why.

Before you can step back, he grabs your wrist, spinning you into his arms. Like the male leads do in those stupid romcoms.

“Don't,” he whispers. “Please… don't run away this time.”

You stare up at him, searching his gaze.

“Man, what the fuck is going on…” Jay whispers behind the two of you.

Sunghoon shrugs. “You think they finally…?”

Jake turns his head to give a disgruntled look to his two idiotic friends, and they shrink, making their way down the stage to finally give the two of you more privacy. He turns his attention back to you, wrist still in his hand, and gently moves it down to take your hands in both of his.

“I thought you didn't want to come,” he starts, licking his lips through the nerves. “Why are you here?”

Your cheeks heat up. Fuck. Where do you even start?

He draws circles with his thumb on the back of your palms. “Why?” he asks again, more confident this time.

It would be easy to act like your old self and push out a half-assed excuse. That you just want to be supportive, even after you’ve broken up. That you don’t miss him at all. But you're too tired to pretend like Jake's absence in your life didn’t feel worse than when you were with him. 

“Because…” you start, with a shaky breath. “Because I wanted to talk to you.”

His brows furrow. “About what?”

And you feel your heart pumping in your chest, your palms slick with sweat. This is harder than you thought.

“I wanted to—” You swallow, taking in a deep breath before continuing. “I wanted to apologize. With the ring. The one you threw away.”

You see Jake's ears turn a bright shade of crimson. “Actually—”

“But I couldn’t find it,” you cut in. “No matter how hard I looked. I tried. I really, really…”

You start to choke up. Because fuck. He'd gotten you that ring to confess to you. Spent all his pocket money so that he could get something he knew you'd love. Had it engraved with the letter J. Your Jake. Your handsome, talented, smart, and wonderful Jake.

“...really want to get back together,” you finally let out, eyes shining underneath the stage lights as tears threaten to spill over. “I'm sorry, Jake.”

His breath hitches, hands releasing yours so suddenly. Your heart clenches. “You broke up with me,” he mutters.

You nod. “I-I thought I needed to. To find myself. But… you were right. I was just running away from my problems.”

You swallow hard, correcting yourself. “Our problems.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “So is this the part where you expect me to forgive you?”

Your heart clenches. “I'm sorry,” you say again softly.

“You still haven’t even given me a reason,” he scoffs. “So tell me why. Why do you want to get back together when—”

It’s like slow motion, what you do next. You cup Jake’s face right into your hands, crashing your lips onto his. In front of Sunghoon. In front of Jay. In front of the whole cast and crew who were packing up to leave. The same people he’s had to make excuses to about why he suddenly looked so distraught these past few weeks. You pull back, breathless.

“Because I love you,” you say, loud enough to elicit gasps from your watchers. You don’t even have it in you to be embarrassed anymore. Because the words fall naturally from your lips, like breathing. And it's like music to his ears. 

“I fucking love you,” you repeat, hands still on his cheeks. His mouth parts open, breathless. He blinks. Once. Twice. And then he smiles, tears forming in his eyes. Jake swoops in, his lips finding yours again. His mouth moves against yours in tandem, slow and passionate. Your eyes flutter shut, soaking in the taste of him. You missed him so much.

When he pulls away, a shit-eating grin lights up his face. “Finally,” he whispers, cheeks flushed. “You finally said it back.”

You lightly swat his shoulder. You should've known he was trying to egg you on. Jake and all his damn questions.

“I love you too,” he mutters against your temple, squeezing you against him. “I love you so much.”

He peppers kisses all over your face, and you hear gagging on the sidelines.

“Don’t ever leave me again,” he mutters into your hair. “That shit fucking hurt.”

You smile sadly. “I promise—”

“YOU TWO WERE DATING?!” a familiar voice cries out. Of course. Nosy-ass Sunghoon. You resist the urge to drop kick him right then.

“I have a better question,” Jay pipes in. “Are we invited to this afterparty too or…”

Jake furrows his brows, turning to the idiotic duo. “What afterparty?”

Sunghoon and Jay bombard you with questions about your secret relationship, but mainly just start arguing about who was gonna call the taxi for the party they still desperately wanted to go to, since Suji had already left.

Running far away from the auditorium, Jake and you giggle as the two idiots try to chase after you. When you both reach his dorm, he doesn't waste one second after you close the door to lift you over his shoulder. You yelp as your feet lift off the ground, squeaking when your back hits the mattress with a soft bounce.

He sets the bouquet softly on his nightstand before hovering over your frame, and his knees sink into the mattress as he traps you underneath him. Jake strokes your cheek lovingly, his hand trailing down and down until it reaches the edge of your skirt. Still as short as ever. Thighs so pretty underneath the thin fabric.

“I missed you,” he sighs, hands trailing to the edges of your panties. He strokes your plush skin, sending shivers down your spine. You want to roll your eyes, deflect the warm stirring in your core as he scans your figure, eyes clouded with lust. But you’re supposed to be turning over a new leaf. Honesty and all that.

“Imissedyoutoo…” you mutter lowly, rushing through your words.

He moves closer, ear practically touching your lips. “Hm?” 

You lose patience, baring your teeth and nipping his helix. He flinches, glaring at you with a playful scoff.

“You said you weren't gonna be mean anymore…” Jake sighs, tone dripping in mockery as he pouts. And you want to say something more, but Jake’s hands land on your ass, giving you a subtle squeeze.

You know what. You'll humor him. Just this once.

You bring your lips to the ear you just bit, kissing it lightly. Steady hands trail down the fake football jersey he adorns, and to the painful bulge of his shorts. Jake sucks in a deep breath.  You chuckle, amused at how suddenly it hardens. So easy to arouse. 

“Sorry,” you whisper, licking his outer shell. He shudders against your touch, your breath on his neck triggering goosebumps all across his arms. You squeeze him through the fabric, his head falling to your shoulder. “I’ll stop…”

“Don’t,” he lets out through ragged breaths, as you stroke him languidly. You chuckle. He’s so cute. Cheeks tinged with pink. It makes you want to do worse things to him...

“Lie down,” you command, and he gladly takes your place on the bed. Your knees encase him now, tugging his stupid jersey over his head. “Let me make it up to you…”

His muscles are so well-defined, glistening under the light of your dorm room. You trail kisses down his chest, licking down his abs. Salty. Just how you like him. Jake squirms underneath you as you tug his shorts down, his dick slapping your chin on the way up as it springs free. Jake almost cums from the sight, tip flushed red and pulsing with need. To feel you. To be so buried deep inside you that he can feel the head poking through your stomach. 

When you move your head down to kiss his hardness, he digs his fingers into your shoulder. “No, baby,” he mutters. “Come up here, hm?”

You furrow your brows. Why the fuck was he trying to interrupt you during your apology?

“Wha—” 

Jake cuts you short, manhandling your waist as his fingers press into your hips. He positions your knees on both sides of his head, turning you around. He pushes your mini skirt all the way up to scrunch around your midsection. Yes, you might have an amazing view of his throbbing cock, but now you can't see his beautiful fucked out face. He breathes in the scent of your panties with hooded eyes, nose grazing your clothed folds. 

You pout. “I thought I was the one making it up to you—”

“You are,” he chuckles, interrupting you instantly. He pushes your ass down to his face with one hand, using the other to press your chest flush against his body. Your face inches closer to his member. Oh. That's what he's doing.

“Pervert…” you mumble, coyly reaching out for him. So thick and large that you need to use both hands to engulf him, pre-cum dribbling out of him as if on command. 

“I am,” he mumbles, pulling your panties low enough to give him access to your cunt, lying just below your knees. He licks a stripe up your drenched folds all the way to your puckered hole. You wither against him. “Call me whatever you want, baby. Just sit on my face when you do it.”

Your hips land down on him softly as your thumb spreads his liquid down his engorged length. This position was new to you, meaning it was also new to him. But Jake moves expertly like the quick learner he is. He plants open-mouthed kisses on your folds, pink muscle lapping at your labia like a man starved. Your tongue sticks out to offer kitten licks over his tip. 

But Jake hasn’t had you in weeks. And he knows what he wants. And it’s not the weak jutting you do against his face, or the shallow sucking you offer his engorged cock. No. He wants all of you. The sick part of you that would degrade him, that would rile yourself up like all those nights before. And he doesn’t want to have to mention a stupid nickname some stupid girl said to bring it out of you.

There were more healthy methods, he’s sure, to guide you right where he wants to be. And so Jake’s hands grip your ass, pushing you down on him harder. Forcing your hips to grind back and forth against his face at the rabid pace he sets, nose sticking in between your folds slightly as his tongue laps at your clit. Like this. Dirty. Raunchy. Aggressive. He fucking loves it. 

“Ngh—” you cry out, propelling him to push himself deeper in your mouth. You take a deep breath so his cock can slide through more easily, taking as much of him as you can to drown out your warbled moans. Your tongue finds the underside of his thickness, tapping him as you start to gag. And when Jake reaches the back of your throat, he gives you a second to calm yourself before he bucks his hips up into you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, remembering to hollow your cheeks as he shoots forward. But it’s hard to stay focused when his wet, pink muscle pushes into you. 

“Fuck—Taste so good, baby—” The squelching sounds that mix with Jake’s moans against your bundle of nerves are obscene, sucking and flicking his tongue with a fervor you try to match now. Your tongue curls up to meet the underside of his girth, bobbing your head up and down with ferocity. Anything to please him. 

“Mmmm—” you moan around him. Your mouth feels so fucking good, but your pussy on his lips was like actual heaven. He could eat you out all day. As a reward. As a punishment. Anything. 

And he breathes your scent in again, groaning once more. He pushes his nose closer to your folds, the tip of it engulfed in your wetness. You almost gag around his dick at the intrusion, saliva pooling at the base of his cock. You wrap your thighs around him tighter, bouncing on his face like he was nothing but a sex toy. Erratic. Desperate. Yes. Just like that. Fuck him like you never want him out of your sights again.

He knows you're close, knows by the way you start scratching at his thighs like an agitated pet. But, no. Jake needs it. Needs you to cum all over his face. Make a mess on him. Of him. His tongue plunges into you now, index finger coming up to play with your clit.

His cock pops out of your mouth with little resistance as your body goes slack with pleasure. You're just licking at his dick with a loose hand at this point, eyes rolling back from ecstasy. 

You whimper against the slickness of his sloppy mouth, drool continuing to fall out of the corners of your mouth through your slurred speech. “Ngh—No—Let me—Fuck—Jakeeee—” you try to say, but it all sounds nonsensical.

Jake understands, more than you know, as his heart constricts so deliciously. 'My poor baby,' he thinks. Just wants to make him feel good. Wants to make it up to him so bad. But you don’t know that the only thing that could make him happy right now is for you to choke him out with your sopping cunt. 

“Mmm—Ngh—Ahh—” He’s too good down there. Too fucking messy. Why does he do this? Why does he love making you sound like a fucking animal? Your toes curl, the grip around his shaft tightening as your back arches even more into him. 

You feel it. But it's different from usual. It feels like too much. Like an impending explosion. You claw at his thigh even more, all of a sudden panicked. “Jake—Let go—Jake—” 

When he shakes his head, his tongue swipes your clit left and right. His grip on your ass pushes his nose more deeply into your soaked folds. You whimper, cheek nuzzling against his length in desperation. 

“I'm serious….” you whine as you try to pull away. This is weird. You feel weird. You try to run away from it, that foreign feeling. But it's no use. Jake's too smart, too quick. He presses you down on him harder, hugging your waist, suctioning your clit, cheeks flushed from how quickly his mouth works against you. 

“JAKE!” you scream as your thighs clamp around him, hips shuddering uncontrollably. Like a hose turning on for the first time, a spray of your juices lands onto Jake's chin and neck, coating him in your dampness. He welcomes it, tongue sticking out to taste as much of it as he can.

You cry above him, tears landing on his dick that still rubs against your heated face. He laps up every last remaining bit of your climax desperately, like they’d dry up too quickly if he didn’t. You whine, grinding yourself on him to steady your heart rate. When he’s fully satisfied, Jake frees you from his clutches, lying you down on the bed so your head can finally rest on a pillow.

His cock is still incredibly stiff. And you're still in tears.

“You… fucking… dick,” you say in between sniffles, not believing you could ever climax that hard in your life. “Where the fuck did you learn how to do that?”

And he knows what’s going through your head. Because old habits do, in fact, die hard. And now you probably think he was out fucking anyone and everyone during the weeks-long hell that was your breakup. Jake chuckles, pulling your skirt down. He bites his bottom lip at the sight of your folds. Glistening with his saliva and your juices. He fists himself tightly. 

“Still so jealous, baby?” He smirks. God, please let him indulge in his pouty girlfriend at least once more.

“No, but be honest,” you mumble. “Did you—”

“Fuck other girls?” he finishes your sentence, scoffing playfully at the ridiculousness. Your eyes narrow.

“Well, did you?”

Jake spent almost every day crying, unblocking and blocking your number over and over again just to see if you'd notice. But he can tell you all that later. Because right now, you're giving him a death glare that only makes his cock throb harder. 

“No, babe,” he mutters, swiping his wet tip against your even more drenched folds. So puffy after all he's put it through. He peppers kisses on your shoulder. “You know I’d never.”

And you do. He’s only ever been with you. Will only ever be with you. You know that. But still. The wheels are already turning in your head. You know… you're usually the one worried about these things. Doesn't he deserve a taste of his own medicine?

“Imagine if I did—”

And he slams his dick into your plushness, eliciting a scream from you. He doesn’t even let you complete your evil plan.

“FUCK—”

“Don't finish that sentence,” Jake glowers, brows furrowed. You lick your lips deliciously. "That's not funny."

“See how it feels?” you whimper, as he delivers another harsh thrust, your shirt riding up your stomach from the impact. You arch your back off of the bed as Jake groans into your neck, licking a stripe up your jaw.

“All this just ‘cause I made you squirt,” he mumbles angrily, wincing as your pulsing walls squeeze his length into a tighter grip. “So fucking immature.”

You chuckle evilly. “Immature like who? Sungho—”

His childhood friend’s name doesn't even leave your lips when Jake clamps his teeth into your neck. Hard. “OW—”

A taste of your own medicine. But his skin grazes something then—a thin chain that he's seen before but never questioned.  You never wore it when you fucked. A circular hardness underneath your shirt that weirdly looks like…

He tugs on it before you can protest, and there on the chain is a ring. With J engraved on the inside. His gaze softens. And you become a blumbering mess underneath him, shy with embarrassment. “I can—Explain—Just—” 

Jake pulls out enough so his tip is the only thing suctioned in your folds before pistoning into you harshly once more. You whimper.

“Shut up and let me fuck you,” he mutters into your ear, before engulfing your lips in his. With a newfound energy, Jake pounds into you with urgency, pace brutal against your already sore pussy. His hand comes up to grab your tits, spilling over your bra from the impact of his movements. So rough. So mean. Damn, you were rubbing off on him.

You have this aching desire to flip him over and ride him back into submission, but the slapping of his hips into yours devolves your thoughts into unintelligible moans. 

“Ngah—Fuck—Oh my god—”

Jake’s mouth leaves yours as his eyes travel downwards to the piece of jewelry. He likes how it looks on you. Sitting so nice between your bouncing breasts. Maybe, he’d buy you a necklace next. A pretty Tiffany necklace to go with the pretty Tiffany ring on his pretty girlfriend’s pretty finger. Fuck. You’re so fucking pretty.

He brings the ring up to his mouth, biting down on the metal, before he lowers himself onto your lips once more. With the ring in between his teeth, he grabs at your jaw to open for him. Jake transfers it over to your parted lips as you catch the ring with your tongue, coated in his saliva. He dives down into you, your tongues battling as the coolness of the metal moves between your mouths. His thrusts are slower now, but you moan just the same.

Drool drips down both of your lips, the ring getting passed between you two in the movements of your open-mouthed kisses. He lets up, the necklace falling wetly onto the pillow. He admires the red marks the chain leaves on your neck. Maybe a Tiffany choker instead?

And his thrusts deepen, until your cervix repeatedly kisses his mushroom tip. He wished you could see your expression right now. So needy. So perfect. 

“Jake—Baby—” When the pet name leaves your lips, Jake lets out a deep, guttural groan. Like he'd been waiting his whole life for you to say it.

“Yes, baby?” He repeats after you, sweat beading down his forehead as he continues to split you open, pumping into your tightness with urgency. His hands are pushing your thighs open now, admiring how the ring sits sloppily on your neck as he jackhammers into you.

“I love you,” you moan out, your hands reaching for his face. “I love you so much.”

He looks at you with glassy eyes, soft and tender. He kissed you again, sweeter this time. 

“I love you too.” 

And he spreads you apart further, fucking you into the squeaking mattress with his pulsing dick, so big that it fills you everywhere you need him. He pushes in and out, evoking a new set of tears to stain your cheeks. “Baby,” you cry out. “I'm almost—”

“Wait for me,” he pleads, elbows falling to the sides of your head. He buries himself in the crook of your neck. “Can you, baby? Please—”

You try to nod as he's ramming into you as deep as he can go. He whispers sweet nothings into your ear, about how good you are for him, how pretty, how perfect, how he loves the marks you leave him, how he wants you to control him, how you’re the only one he’d ever be with in any lifetime ever.

“Ngh—” His hips snap forward with everything he can give. He feels it now, too. That coil that threatens to spill inside you. But he can't. No condom. No birth control. 

And when your hips rise, clenching around him, your orgasm hits you like a truck. You mewl out in pleasure, crying as Jake tries to pull out of you. But you suction him so well, too well, that it's a little too late. He twitches deep inside of your pussy. And his mouth falls open as the first spurts of cum spill, but nothing escapes his lips. 

“Fuck, baby,” he whines. He needs to pull out. But your cunt feels so damn good… So warm… So wet… And so much of himself has already spilled inside you… It's okay, right? To fill you up with all of it? But he has self-control. He swears it.

“No…” You whimper when he actually pulls away, his seed dribbling everywhere.

“...’m sorry, babe,” he groans, as his hand wraps around himself, stroking languidly. “I’m so sorry.”

Jake’s cheeks are flushed as he pumps the remainder of his climax on your drenched folds, painting your clit a milky white. He sees the first of his juices push out of you, his fluids like cream all over your puffiness.

“Fuck,” he moans, his fingers coming up to spread it all across your folds. But when you look down, all you feel is empty. All you feel is the need to push down against his fingers and take him all over again. 

Jake's eyes widen as he lets out a shaky breath. You look so desperate. For what? He's not sure. But he can't deny his baby anything. He can't deny himself either. He wants to see it just once. Seems like you do too. 

“Can I?” he asks in a low whisper, fingers spreading your folds apart to watch more of his load seep out of you. And you nod, shyly, relieved you didn’t have to beg for it yourself, already going through too much exposure therapy for one day.

And so Jake gathers the cum that's gushed over his digits, and with a shaky breath, he pushes them back into you. You tighten your grip on his biceps.

“Fuuuuck—” You cry out when he starts pumping them in and out, slow but still so fucking deep. His veiny fingers always know which parts to knead. 

Jake’s eyes are in a daze, obsessed with how his cum goes back in so easily—even when you’re still so tight and so sensitive. Everything feels so fucking drenched. And like this, he wants to see you come undone again.

“One more, baby…” he pleads in a low whisper, pressing butterfly kisses on your eyelids. He licks the tears that spill from your eyes. So pretty like this. “You want to make it up to me, right?”

You can only whine in response, hands shaking as they clutch onto him for dear life. 

“Hm?” He asks for confirmation, curling his fingers up to the spongy spot inside you. He grinds his palm on your engorged clit. Whimpering out a pathetic ‘yes,’ you let the pleasure overtake you once again. Your body feels like it's on fire. Too hot. Too much. But still, your back arches up into him, whimpering.

“Come on,” he whispers into your ear. Low and steady. “Give it to me.”

And you can practically hear the mess that his three fingers are creating as they pump into your folds, can feel the stickiness of your mixed juices coat your inner walls. But you shut your eyes, letting the warm tingling overtake your core. Yes—Right there—Fuck—

“I'M—” you screech, but it's no use. Your head falls back against the pillow as you sob. And Jake curses underneath his breath as you spray all over him once again, massaging your clit as he pulls his fingers out to watch. Your hips rise to meet nothing, just your body spraying so beautifully against his torso. His dick could harden once more any second now from the sight. He relishes in it, admiring his work as his cum pushes out of you again. Thick and creamy.

You look down too, seeing the fucked-out state he's put your body into. Maybe you would've been right to flick his forehead and call him every insult in the book for filling you up like that. But fuck. Could you ever have him cum outside of you again if it felt that good to have his cum inside you? No, you'd definitely need to get on the pill ASAP.

Jake’s gaze falls onto your face now, at your bruised lips and your dried tears. But the ring catches his eye once more, the one he hadn’t seen in a year. And his heart flutters.

“Babe?” he starts, lying softly next to you. He wraps you in his arms, not minding the dampness of the sheets below. He’ll clean you up later.

“Mmm?” You respond, on the brink of unconsciousness. Satiated. He touches your chain, the other hand wrapped around your stomach, giving a reassuring squeeze.

“How long have you been wearing our ring like this?” Your breath catches. You'd hoped that he'd forgotten, that the conversation could wait for the morning when your heart wasn't thumping so loud. It takes you a second before you respond.

“Since you gave it to me,” you admit, slowly. Jake can feel the warmth creep up to your ears. And he wonders how he's never seen it, how you seem to hide it so well after all the times he's undressed you before. But then again, you’ve always been good at keeping secrets.

Still, he smiles. Because even after you walked away, even when you said you were done, you still kept this piece of him. Wore it so beautifully around your neck, too.

Fuck—he’s never letting you walk out on him like that again. If you even hint at breaking up, he might actually end up begging on his knees and—

“Not like it matters anyway,” you cut through the silence grumpily. “You threw yours away.”

He lets out a surprised laugh and pulls you closer, squeezing you tight. You pout. What’s he so jolly for?

“What do you mean?” he asks cheekily. “That never happened.”

You turn around abruptly, facing him with furrowed brows. “I literally saw you—”

Your words are cut short when his mouth finds yours, one hand steadies your jaw as the other reaches blindly into his nightstand. A drawer opens. He pulls back just enough to show you the turquoise box, one eerily similar to the one you have in your closet, as he flips it open.

His ring. Silver and engraved with your initial. But how…?

“I guess I'm really good at pretending to throw things,” he answers before you can even ask. Thought I’d be a little dramatic that day…”

You smack his shoulder, but your hand massages the spot soon after, swallowed by the wave of relief that crashes over you. He didn't really let go like he made it seem. He was still yours, even when you thought you lost him. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you grumble, pinching his cheek. All he does is chuckle. 

In one smooth motion, Jake lifts your necklace and unclasps it, letting the ring unfurl out and into his palm. You don’t stop him. 

He looks at you for a second, as if asking for permission. You offer Jake your hand instead of speaking. He slips the piece of jewelry onto your ring finger, kissing your knuckles. Then he slides his own ring back where it belongs, to where he’s always kept it. Jake smiles up at you, planting another sweet kiss on your lips.

And you know you’ll wear it proudly this time. Without him having to ask. 

“I love you?” he says, gently, like he needs to hear you say it back just one more time. Just to make sure. And you kiss him again, warmth coating your features.

“I love you too.”

His heart clenches in the best way possible.

Damn, he could really get used to this.

epilogue

Jake runs to the benches, grabbing at his water bottle like it’s his last salvation. He gulps it all down in seconds, sweat seeping down his body. Practice was way too intense today.

“Oh my god, Jakey,” a lilting voice punctures through his ear. “You're literally dripping.”

His eye twitches as she enunciates the last word. 

“Choa,” he starts, shooting daggers at her. He's too exhausted to put up with this today. Or ever. She was graduating in a few months anyway. He might as well say his piece. “First of all, my name is Jake. And second of all, it makes me really uncomfortable when you say things like that.”

Choa pouts, tugging his sleeve like a toddler. “Why?” she giggles. “Do I make you nervous?”

“No.” He pulls away, not even bothering to look at her. “I just don't appreciate how you talk to me.”

She glowers, thrown off by his disposition. He's usually so sweet, so polite. What happened?

“It's ‘cause of your friend isn't it? You know she was so fucking rude to me—”

“My girlfriend,” he corrects immediately. Choa’s hands drop down to her sides. Jake pays her no mind, packing his stuff into his duffle bag instead.

“W-what?” she stutters out. “Since when?”

He shrugs, finally slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Since forever.”

“What?!” she screeches. “How come you never told—”

“Oh Jakeyyyy,” you sing out in an octave higher than your regular speaking voice. He presses his lips together to prevent the laughter that almost seeps through his mouth.

“Yeah, babe?” He calls out, looking past Choa. You're standing with your arms crossed, eyeing her down from a few meters away. A bright new necklace shining above your shirt. 

Your gaze flickers back to him, not bothering to waste your precious energy on the small, vicious girl. You tilt your head to the side, beckoning him over in a silent command. And he follows.

Your loyal little puppy.

Jake takes your hands into his just to really rub salt on Choa's wound, your matching rings clinking against each other.

“Do you remember Gaeul from the backstage crew?” you announce proudly, the bob-headed girl long-forgotten. “She wants to hang out with me tomorrow!”

Jake smiles, ruffling your hair. “That’s great!”

“She's throwing something at her apartment this weekend, too,” you slide in. “Maybe… we can go together?”

“Oh yeah, Suji told me—” And he stops himself. But it’s too late. You’re already frowning.

“Okay, so let me go ahead and take Jay instead…” And he pouts at your words.

“Not fair,” he mutters, but you see the smile he suppresses. 'What a freak,' you think to yourself.

You click your tongue, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “...I'm biting the shit out of you later.”

And if Jake had a tail, it most definitely would’ve started wagging.

“Promise?”

fin.

A/N: Don't save him, he don't wanna be saved.

Taglist: @missoxy @cutehoons02 @zohaaz @f4loveex @rianzysworld @tinastar13 @woniewonwon @starfallia @liaviva @lhspeachie @fancypeacepersona @sanasour @reasonablyminiatureandroid @tinyhrry @nyxphobia @aernx @soulskiu @shining-won @esoteric-eye @yohanabanana @jungwongfs-blog @starjoongie @yeeunlvr @gyu-luvs @ikeuster @not-aya @ppeachyttae @psyches-reid @moonxiiey @hueningsgirl @sylphjeong @mariegibeau @beaepa @jisiziu @aloveminsalade @ilovetimotheechalamet8 @vixensss @chyshiacat @chuuiehearts @heyinnnn @sparkcling @moonstrucksofie @snghon @nct-sticker-127 @fdzvie @synielve @honeyyjw @simj4k3 @petalsofink @axfyl

[sungkyoo]

[mssishipi]

OUT OF LUCK— SJY

Money, sex, and a lifetime of feeling like luck was never really on your side—until the universe decided to fuck with you in the most inconvenient way possible. What started as simple coexisting turned into something more when you paid a little too much attention to your quiet, awkward, painfully responsible roommate—who, on paper, is a complete fucking loser. But, hey, he’s not that bad! In which Sim Jaeyun becomes the only genuinely good, unfairly lucky thing that’s ever happened to you… and just like everything else in your life, good things have a way of slipping right through your fingers. So now you have to figure it out, fix it, or risk losing the only thing that ever felt right before you run Out of Luck.

1: AGAINST THE ODDS

content tags and warnings: roommate au! romantic comedy, jake is an engineering student x volleyball varsity player reader, ANGST for this chapter! profanities, jake has braces! hopeless romantic reader (she almost get off), internal conflict, jake is such an awkward introverted baby (he likes lego and collects hot-wheels), burning slowburn (slow pacing i swear), superstitious beliefs, lots of awkward erm moments, jake is secretly a simp, reader is pathetic, ft. karina, other kpop idols and robots as side characters. explicit content (smut): sub! jake, virginity loss, handjob, lots of kissing, grinding, unprotected sex. (WC: 35.2K)

Unlucky with money, unlucky in your love life, unlucky in your sex life too, which felt like a cruel fucking trifecta to kick off 2026.

As if the universe had taken one look at you and decided to stack the odds just to see how much you could take before cracking. You rang in the new year under the table eating grapes, promising yourself things would get better even though you didn't really believe it, because every year started the same way—broke, tired, horny, and stuck pretending you had your shit together when you absolutely didn't.

Well... this year, your varsity scholarship barely did more than keep you enrolled, covering tuition and some little allowance, nothing else, which meant every other expense came straight out of your pocket, and college was already draining you dry without rent, utilities, groceries, and all the other bullshit that came with trying to survive in the city.

You worked your ass off, trained until your muscles screamed, counted every dollar like it might disappear if you didn't watch it closely enough, and still it never felt like enough, the numbers never quite lining up no matter how careful you were. Living alone had been a nice idea, but it died fast once you actually looked at the prices, reality slapping you hard enough that you didn't bother pretending anymore.

That was how you ended up scanning roommate listings with a pit in your stomach, sitting through awkward interviews, nodding politely while doing mental math in your head, telling yourself you could deal with almost anyone if it meant splitting the bills and not drowning.

That was how you ended up with a roommate. Andddd your roommate was a boy named Sim Jaeyun.

"Is he like so handsome and hot?" Karina yelled as she spiked the ball straight at you, and you dropped to your knees on the covered court to receive it. "Most people fall in love with their roommates! Take it as a chance—remember when Coach made you eat grapes under the table during New Year's? They said you'd meet your true love within the year. It's a sign!"

No. What the fuck.

Because Sim Jaeyun was... different, and that was putting it nicely. Geeky was the first word that always popped into your head whenever you thought about him, followed closely by awkward as hell, because the first time you met him during that short, painfully quiet interview, he stuttered through half his sentences and wouldn't stop fidgeting with his hands like they had a mind of their own, tapping, twisting, pulling at his sleeves until you wondered if he was going to vibrate right out of the chair.

Still, annoyingly enough, he was better than most of the people who applied—clean record, stable background, no weird red flags on paper—which was how he made the cut despite the whole mess of nerves.

The first week really sealed it for you, though, because when you came back from training one night, you found him sprawled on the living room floor for hours, surrounded by Lego pieces, carefully snapping them together with this intense focus, and you just stood there for a moment, eyebrow twitching, face twisting before you could stop yourself. You weren't trying to be judgmental—at least that's what you told yourself—but watching a grown man play with Legos like that weirded you the fuck out, and the word loser lodged itself in your brain whether you liked it or not.

Sometimes you'd pass by his room and sneak a glance inside, catching sight of his tiny model cars lined up neatly on a shelf, perfectly arranged, and every time it made your stomach tighten with secondhand embarrassment, because this was the guy you were stuck sharing a space with, the supposed "true love" the universe was trying to shove into your life, and you already knew there was no fucking way.

"Come on, tell me more about this roommate of yours, why are you so quiet about it? It's been like five months," Karina laughed, and you couldn't help yourself as you spiked the ball straight toward her face, irritation snapping through your arm, only for her to catch it effortlessly and fling it right back at you like it was nothing.

You scoffed as you received it, rolling your shoulders, already annoyed at how easily she brushed you off.

"It's nothing special like you're trying to romanticize, okay?" you shot back. "All I know is he's an engineering major with this weird-ass Lego and tiny car obsession, and whenever he actually talks—which is rare as hell—it's always about practical shit like the rent, the electricity bill, or some absentminded 'hi' if we happen to cross paths at the exact right second."

"Oooh, a nerdy type?" Karina teased, eyes lighting up as she bounced on her feet, clearly enjoying this way too much. "So he's not that talkative? Why don't you try asking him more?"

"Why would I?" you shot back, eyebrow lifting just as the shrill sound of the coach's whistle cut through the air, making both of you snap your heads toward the court as he signaled for a break.

You grabbed your towel and water bottle, walking alongside Karina toward the bench, sweat clinging to your skin while she kept running her mouth like she always did.  "Because it's for the thrill," she continued, lowering her voice only slightly, hands hovering in the air as if she were pitching some grand idea. "I mean, you literally told us you want to get laid but you don't do hookups, so hello? The opportunity is right there in your fucking apartment. Grab it. So you don't have to masturbate all the time."

"Jesus, no," you muttered, unscrewing your bottle and taking a long drink, water spilling down your chin as you scoffed. "I bet that man is a fucking virgin," you added without hesitation, already pushing off the bench and heading back toward the court as the break ended, trying to leave the whole conversation behind with your towel tossed over your shoulder.

"And what if he was?" Karina shouted after you. "Are you not curious at all? You're not even talking about it, and it's a man. It's a big deal!"

You clenched your jaw as you took your position, telling yourself to shut it out, to focus on the ball, the court, the rhythm of your body moving the way it always had, but her words slipped under your skin anyway.

It wasn't like Sim Jaeyun—Jake, as he awkwardly introduced himself—was unattractive, and that realization annoyed you even more, because technically, objectively, he had the kind of face people trusted without thinking twice. Innocent-looking, pale skin that never seemed to tan no matter how much time passed, a pointed nose, plump lips that curved into an almost shy smile, and those stupid braces flashing whenever he talked about something painfully mundane like daily water consumption, as if that was the most important thing in the world.

And fuck, speaking of masturbation, that thought made you shift uncomfortably because you did it—a lot—at least you used to, but somewhere along the line it had stopped, and you couldn't even pinpoint when or why. Maybe it was the brutal training schedule, the constant exhaustion, your body collapsing into bed every night without energy for anything else, or maybe it was the fact that you were now living with a boy, his quiet presence seeping into your routines in ways you didn't want to think about too closely... wait NO, you were not going to let Karina's words worm their way into your head, not when you had bigger priorities, like finally getting some long-overdue "me time" with your own body. You'd barely had the space to breathe, let alone touch yourself properly, and now there was the added complication of sharing an apartment with a guy.

Thin walls, shared spaces, the constant awareness that someone else existed just a few steps away made everything feel awkward and exposed, like privacy had become this fragile thing you had to tiptoe around. But then... why the fuck were you letting his weird shy-boy aura control what you did with your own body in your own apartment? Get a grip. It was 2026, for fuck's sake, and women didn't have to shrink themselves or pretend they didn't have needs, didn't want pleasure, didn't get horny. It wasn't embarrassing to want it, to crave it, to take care of yourself, and you refused to feel guilty about it. You decided right then that you were masturbating tonight, no excuses, no letting some awkward roommate situation dictate your life.

When you got home, you dumped your bag by the door and locked yourself in your room, kicking off your shoes and collapsing onto the bed, trying to force your muscles to relax and your mind to shut the hell up.

Jake was just some innocent presence in your thoughts, nothing more, but... maybe he really was some timid little virgin. He was so damn quiet, so careful, that doing something dirty under the same roof almost felt wrong, like you were corrupting the space just by wanting it. And of course, the more you tried not to think about him, the more firmly he lodged himself in your head, sooo stubborn and intrusive.

"Shit," you breathed, shifting on the bed as your fingers slid between your thighs, touching yourself slowly. "Stop thinking, stop thinking, fuck," you whispered, eyes squeezing shut, but the moment you did, your brain betrayed you, flashing an image of him sitting in the living room, hunched over his stupid Lego sets, completely absorbed and unaware.

Your eyes flew open when you felt how wet you were getting, heat pooling low in your belly, because suddenly the idea of getting off in the same space where he always sat, that couch where he spent hours building his little towers, started to turn you on. You imagined yourself sprawled there instead, hand buried between your thighs, touching yourself openly while he sat just a few feet away, quiet and focused, oblivious or maybe not, and the image sent a dirty thrill through you that made your breath hitch. What the fuck?!

"Weirdo," you thought, jaw tightening as your fingers moved faster. You're a fucking weirdo, and yet you didn't stop, didn't pull your hand away, because your body didn't give a shit about shame.

You let out a soft, broken sound as your hand finally slid where the tension had been coiling all night, nudging your underwear aside, your pulse spiking when your brain betrayed you again with the idea of him noticing, of him catching you in the act, the possibility alone pouring gasoline on an already reckless fire. You couldn't stop imagining his reaction if he walked in and saw you sprawled on the couch, touching yourself without shame—eyes blown wide, jaw slack, stuttering over some useless apology while his ears burned red—or worse, the thought that he wouldn't even realize what you were doing, that he'd sit there beside you completely oblivious while your body unraveled, sent an uneasy shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with pleasure.

Dude? You barely even talked to him. You shared a space, not a life, and your brain choosing this to fixate on made you feel unhinged in the most irritating way.

"Shit," you muttered out loud, dragging yourself back into reality when a sudden noise broke through your haze. Some kind of rummaging echoing from outside your room.

Your eyebrows knitted together in irritation as you shoved yourself off the bed, fixing your clothes, wiping your hands and padded across the floor. When you opened the door and stepped into the living room, the sight waiting for you, Jake was face down on the floor, his arms spread out. And circling nearby, bumping into his side, was a little round vacuum robot, whirring around.

This was it. This was the image your brain had been spiraling over all night. You stared at him for a long second, annoyance with disbelief, and the tension draining out of you in one sharp exhale. What a fucking loser.

"Uhh, hey," you said. You walked a little closer, looking down at him with your arms crossed. "Are you okay?" Your eyes flicked toward the robot, then back to him. "Where the hell did that come from?"

Jake pushed himself up on his elbows, his hair messy and sticking to his forehead, his glasses tilted crooked on his face. His cheeks were red—whether from embarrassment or just hitting the floor, you couldn't tell. "Ah... uh... my friend gave it to me," he muttered quickly. He didn't look up at you once, his eyes glued to the floor as if meeting your gaze would make him combust. "I-It's, uh... I fixed it. There's still an error but... uhhh, it would help us clean... you know."

You narrowed your eyes at the little robot, watching it bump clumsily against the leg of the table, circle around for a second, and then slam itself into the same spot again.

"Uh... I thought these things were supposed to, like, go the other way when they hit something?" You raised your eyebrow, arms folded as you leaned against the wall, still focused on the thing rolling around.

"It's still not fixed," Jake admitted under his breath, his tone shrinking down even more. He sat himself upright, knees bent, scratching at the back of his head. "W-Wait, I... I'll just turn it off."

You watched him scramble toward the robot, his movements frantic, It almost made you laugh, how hard he tried not to fuck up while he was clearly already fucking up. His shoulders were tense, his breath a little quick, and you could practically feel how badly he wanted this scene to end and you thought he was some kind of idiot.

The thing was, after that day, your eyes didn't really stop following him.

Okaaay, it was nothing, just the result of sharing the same damn space with another person, bound to notice shit when you lived under the same roof, and if anyone was to blame, it was Karina and her big mouth planting stupid ideas in your head. Still, it felt like some traitorous part of your brain had started recording him without permission, filing away details you had no reason to care about, noticing patterns you definitely didn't ask for.

In the mornings, when you dragged yourself out of bed half-dead and sore, there he was in the kitchen, quiet as always, pouring chocolate almond milk into a mug and sipping it like some kind of kid who never grew out of comfort drinks. No coffee, no energy drink, no caffeine-fueled desperation like a normal college student, just fucking chocolate almond milk, and it made you wrinkle your nose every time because who the hell does that and survives?

When you mentioned it to Karina one day during warm-ups, she didn't even hesitate. "Okay, I bet his cum tastes good," she said casually, and you stopped mid–jumping jack, staring at her like she'd lost her goddamn mind, heat crawling up your neck despite yourself.

That was also when you started noticing his schedule, because it was painfully predictable in a way that almost felt unsettling. Out of the apartment by eight, back by five, every single day, like his life ran on rails and deviation wasn't an option, and when you realized he actually went to bed at eight in the fucking evening, you nearly laughed out loud. Nobody did that. Nobody except him, apparently, which finally explained why the apartment was always dark and dead silent when you stumbled home late, and why that stupid little sign taped to the wall—Please don't turn the lights on—existed at all. He actually lived by that shit!

"Isn't he so cute and healthy?!" Karina cooed the second you mentioned it, pinching your cheeks between her fingers like you were some kind of toy, and you immediately scoffed, swatting her hand away with a slap. She laughed, completely unfazed, while you rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, already regretting ever opening your mouth in the first place.

You were absolutely going to blame her for all of this, because if she hadn't started running her mouth about your roommate like he was some kind of rare fucking specimen, none of these thoughts would've taken root. What was so malicious about having a boy roommate anyway? It wasn't a love story, it wasn't fate, it wasn't some goddamn porn plot waiting to happen— and you were getting real tired of your own brain trying to spin it into something bigger than it was, especially when you were flat on your back staring at the ceiling, hands resting on your stomach, forcing yourself to breathe like everything was normal.

"Uh... h-hello..." Three soft knocks landed on your door, followed by another quiet, hesitant "hi," and your chest tightened instantly, irritation floating with the fact that of course it had to be him, the very devil that had been squatting in your thoughts nonstop.

You sighed, staring up at the ceiling for a beat longer like maybe ignoring him would make him disappear, but then another knock came, a little firmer this time, and your eyebrow twitched as annoyance finally won out. You sat up with a sharp movement, clicked your tongue, and stood, swinging the door open hard, only to be met with Jake standing there with his shoulders hunched in that familiar way, back slightly scrunched, an awkward smile tugging at his lips.

"Hi..." he mumble as he scratched at the back of his neck, and your eyes dropped immediately, not out of kindness but because you didn't feel like dealing with his face yet, landing instead on his feet.

Dinosaur slippers. Bright, stupid dinosaur slippers, tapping softly against the floor as he shifted his weight.

"I-I wanted to give you the advance payment... u-uh..." he trailed off, fumbling with something in his hands, and you just stood there, watching him struggle.

He finally managed to hold it out to you, bills slightly wrinkled, that same awkward smile glued to his lips, and your eyes betrayed you by drifting up instead of staying where they should've been. Pointed nose, plump lips, the shine of his braces catching the light when he swallowed nervously—fuck, this was absolutely Karina's fault, because somehow, without warning, he looked more attractive than he ever had before.

"Jake," you said, scratching at your ear and straightening your posture, refusing to look directly at him as you took the money from his hand, your fingers brushing his for half a second too long, your heartbeat kicking stupidly hard at the contact.

"Hm?" he responded softly, and you bit your lip, finally lifting your gaze to him, your brain screaming at you to shut up while your mouth had other plans. Ask him something normal... just a question— casual, harmless question— because you were only... a little interested, and that didn't mean shit.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" The words slipped out before you could stop them, blunt and way too direct, and you mentally slapped yourself immediately, because great, now you sounded like the weird one.

"H-huh?" His face went red almost instantly, color blooming across his cheeks as he fumbled with the fabric of his pajama pants, wiping his hands over and over. "I—I don't have..." he said quietly, trailing off as if the sentence itself embarrassed him.

You pressed your lips together and looked away, nodding like that was nothing to react to, crossing your arms and staring down at the floor before glancing back up at him again. "You haven't had anyone?" Fuck, stupid, dumb decision! You cursed yourself again, because apparently you'd lost all sense tonight.

"Uh... I had one b-back in high school," he admitted, eyes still avoiding yours. "But it didn't work."

"Ah," you nodded, forcing a neutral tone you didn't entirely feel, shifting your weight as you stood there in the doorway with money in your hand, suddenly aware that what started as an annoying, harmless question had cracked something open, and now neither of you seemed quite sure how to close it again.

You weren't even sure how you managed to fall asleep that night, because the embarrassment clung to you heavier than exhaustion ever did, replaying the scene over and over until your head hurt. When morning came, you stayed in your room longer than usual, listening for movement outside, making damn sure he wasn't in the living room or the kitchen or anywhere you might accidentally run into him, because the thought of seeing his face after that made your stomach knot. You slipped out only when the apartment was quiet, grabbing your things and leaving like a coward.

Stupid. Idiot. So fucking dumb. You and him barely talked, and suddenly you were asking personal questions like you had any right to them. What the hell would he think? That you were weird? Desperate? Bored? You groaned to yourself, dragging a hand down your face as you walked, already hating how much space the whole thing was taking up in your head.

"This is all your fault," you snapped later, shoving Karina's shoulder as you told her what happened, only for her to burst out laughing.

"Admit it," she said, grinning wide. "You're interested. I mean, something pushed you to talk to him and even ask personal shit."

"It wouldn't be like that if you weren't planting ideas in my head," you hissed back, glaring at her, pointing at your head.

"Oh, dear, dear," she mocked, shaking her head as she leaned in and traced stupid little hearts over your chest with her finger. "You wouldn't be affected at all if it wasn't already there. Stop denying it and just accept it fully."

"Let's think about progress," she continued, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Next time, talk to him more. Ask what songs he listens to, what food he likes—"

"Shut up," you cut in immediately, heat crawling up your neck as you folded your arms tighter. "It's embarrassing."

"No. Listen to me," Karina said, grabbing your shoulder and physically turning you back toward her like she wasn't about to let you escape this. "He's single. And I swear I don't even know him, but from everything you've told me, he's perfect for you. When you see him, don't act all awkward and twitchy. Be confident. Stand straight. Shoulders back. Don't cross your arms like you're about to fight someone." She started counting on her fingers. "Maintain eye contact—even though he won't, that's your advantage. Smile a little. Ask him something normal, like what he's working on, or why he drinks chocolate almond milk, or anything. And if he stutters? Don't jump in. Let him finish. Let him drown a little."

You stared at her with your lips pursed, face twisted in pure secondhand embarrassment. "And why exactly should I listen to you?"

"Because I'm right," she said instantly. Then she tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Is he your type or not?"

You swallowed. "No. What the fuck."

She didn't miss a beat. "But would you fuck him?"

Silence, your brain running in useless circles while Karina just watched you like she already knew the answer. You exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging. "...Why... not," you muttered.

You hated how much her words stuck with you, hated how they pushed at something you'd been trying to ignore, because when you got home from practice later that evening, there he was in the living room.

Jake was sitting on the floor, legs folded awkwardly as he unscrewed the little vacuum robot, fiddling with its insides before setting it down and watching it.

The moment it rolled in your direction, you saw him stiffen, shoulders tightening before he forced that same awkward smile onto his face.

You paused, heart thudding harder than necessary, Karina's voice echoing in your head, and forced yourself to do exactly what she'd said. You lifted your chin, met his eyes even when he almost looked away, and spoke first.

"Hi," you said, steadying your voice as you held the eye contact.

"Hi," he replied softly, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed, hands hovering uselessly near the robot.

Your gaze drifted to the little vacuum circling around aimlessly, bumping once against the wall before correcting itself. "...So it's fixed now?" you asked casually, even as you swallowed the lump forming in your throat.

"Y-Yeah," he nodded quickly. "D-Don't worry, it's just a battery issue. It w-won't affect the electric bill."

Of course that was his first concern. You huffed internally, dropped your bag onto the table, and before you could overthink it, you walked straight over and sat down next to him on the floor. Close. He stiffened instantly, shoulders locking up as he subtly scooted a few inches away, trying—and failing—to make it look natural.

"Have you had dinner?" you asked, keeping your tone light, like Karina's voice wasn't screaming instructions in your head. "I was thinking of ordering something. You wanna check?"

Normal. This was normal. Roommates did this shit all the time. It wasn't weird unless someone made it weird.

"Uh—I already a-ate—"

"What about chicken?" you cut, sitting up straighter as you scrolled through your phone and angled it toward him, a poor excuse to lean closer. "Or burgers? Wait—shit, I'm actually on a diet right now. Are you okay with veggies?"

You waited, and... nothing. When you finally looked at him, you realized he was barely breathing, blinking like he'd forgotten how, eyes fixed somewhere over your shoulder like looking at you directly might short-circuit him. "Uh... I already ate," he repeated, voice dropping smaller.

"Oh."

Before you could recover, he stood abruptly, movement jerky, still refusing to meet your eyes as he pointed vaguely toward his room. "I—I need to, uh... I have something to do," he said, bowing slightly out of pure habit before retreating, the door opening and closing with a soft final click.

You stared at the door for a long second before letting your phone drop onto the table, sinking back with a long sigh. Fuck. That went great.

"Maybe he just got overwhelmed?" Karina said the next day, eyebrows raised as she watched you slump forward, elbows on your knees, retelling the disaster. "You did tell me you kind of talk a lot. Or he's just shy as hell."

"What if he thinks I'm weird?" you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face, trying to replay everything from his side.

"No," she said immediately. "Absolutely not. We will try again. Casual questions only. Like... ask about the weather. It's raining today, right?"

And you did. You actually tried. You walked fast all the way home, phone clutched in your hand as you kept checking the time, timing it just right for when Jake was usually in the living room. 6:39 p.m. You fumbled with your keys, nearly tripping over your own feet as you pushed the door open, breath a little too rushed, and thank fuck—there he was, sitting on the couch, eyes glued to the TV.

You pretended to stretch your shoulders as you stepped inside, rolling your neck like you were just another exhausted student coming home, your jersey lifting slightly and revealing more of your black shorts than necessary.

"It's so rainy, fuck," you complained aloud. "I didn't bring an umbrella, so I ran all the way from the university. God, my body hurts," you added, letting out a small groan with your eyes closed, even though it was a lie—you ran because training went overtime and because you didn't want to miss another chance to talk to him.

Silence.

When he didn't respond, you cracked one eye open, then the other, glancing toward him only to find him still completely fixated on the TV, posture relaxed, attention fully absorbed. Your mouth fell open slightly, irritation bubbling up, and when you drifted a little closer to your room under the excuse of passing by. That was when you finally caught what he was watching—some kind of documentary, planets and stars filling the screen, a calm narrator talking about galaxies, gravity, and shit you barely remembered from high school.

You paused, blinking. Seriously? This was his way of relaxing? Sitting there quietly, absorbing new information like it was entertainment? You scoffed under your breath, suddenly feeling stupid, because now talking about the weather felt painfully dumb in comparison, like small talk he wouldn't even care about. Without another word, you turned and went into your room, shutting the door a little harder and dropping onto your bed before forcing yourself to open your notes and study for quizzes you barely cared about.

"Don't give up," Karina said firmly, gripping your shoulders when you sagged forward on the bench, this rare break finally giving you room to breathe after weeks of nonstop training with the city-wide university tournament looming over your head.

"He can barely look at me," you snapped, pointing at yourself, teeth gritted in frustration.

"Because you're too hot and beautiful," she shot back without missing a beat. "He's overwhelmed. He's probably thinking you're so so hot that his brain is literally short-circuiting every time you talk to him. Think about it—it's been a long time since his last relationship." She smoothed your hair like she was calming a feral animal, tone softening.

You both went quiet after that, and you stared off to the side, chewing on the thought despite yourself. Right. Maybe he really was just awkward because it'd been a long time. Maybe you were coming on too strong without realizing it. You needed to be subtle, calmer, casual, like you didn't give a shit even if part of you very clearly did. Play it cool.

That night, you came home with two cups of ramen swinging lightly from your hand, your chest rose and fell from the walk up the stairs, shoulders finally dropping in relief when you stepped inside and saw Jake in the living room. He was crouched on the floor again, tools scattered around him as he fiddled with another robot you'd never seen before, while the stupid circular vacuum from before rolled lazily around the room.

"Hi," you said, still catching your breath.

He looked up at you, eyes wide and innocent for half a second before that familiar awkward smile kicked in, forced and shy all at once, and fuck, the sight of it irritated you because he was unfairly cute in a way that made no sense. "Hi," he replied softly.

You lifted the two ramen cups and walked toward the table, setting your bag down as casually as you could manage. "I bought two," you said, shrugging like it was no big deal. "Got my daily sports allowance and wanted to treat myself... then I thought of you." You shuffled the plastic lids, pretending to be more focused on that than the way his attention locked onto you. "You're probably hungry, right?"

You didn't wait for his answer. You slid one of the ramen cups toward him and finally met his eyes, holding his gaze just long enough to make your point clear without saying it outright, your mouth curling into a small smile. "...Right?"

"U-Uh... t-thank you," he whispered as he shrank in on himself, shoulders curling forward while he opened the container. He flashed you that same awkward, almost childish smile again, and fuck, he's really really so cute.

You sat across from him at the table, the two of you eating in silence, the only sounds the soft slurp of noodles and the faint hum of the appliances around you. You poked at your ramen with your chopsticks more than you actually ate, stealing glances at him while he chewed, trying to find an opening that didn't feel forced, something that wouldn't send him running again. "Soo..." you started, dragging the word out like a test. "You're a scholar too?"

Jake nodded before he even spoke, eyes lifting briefly before darting away again. "Yes," he said.

You nodded back like you were genuinely interested, leaning your elbow on the table. "How much allowance do they give you?" you asked. "Or is it the same as mine? I heard academic scholars can apply outside the university too, like government stuff."

He nodded again, eyes flicking up to you for half a second before he went back to biting his noodles, slurping softly like that was easier than talking. You kept going anyway, because silence made your skin crawl. "Sometimes I wish I was smart instead of just... sport-inclined," you admitted with a half-laugh, slumping your shoulders for emphasis. "Like, what the hell am I supposed to do after I decide I'm done with volleyball?"

You looked at him, waiting, hoping, and the silence stretched out so long it felt loud, ringing in your ears until you swore you could hear imaginary crickets chirping in your head. Embarrassment crept up your neck, heat blooming as you realized this was it again—you talking, oversharing, filling space while he stayed quiet.

"I'm done for now," you said abruptly, clacking your chopsticks against the plastic before snapping the lid shut, forcing a smile that felt stiff on your face. You stood, shoved the ramen into the fridge with more force and retreated to your room, closing the door behind you.

Bitch, you thought, dropping onto your bed and staring at the ceiling. All you ever do is embarrass yourself!

The next morning, Sunday dragged itself, and the only thing on your schedule was volleyball training, which somehow made it worse. Your body ached in that familiar, dull way, muscles stiff and protesting as you forced yourself out of bed and into the living room to pack your bag, movements sluggish. You were halfway through shoving your gear inside when you realized the bathroom door was open, steam drifting lazily into the hallway, and you froze mid-motion when he stepped out.

Jake stood there with a towel slung over his shoulder, hair still damp and sticking up in odd places, dressed in his usual comfortable home clothes like it was any other morning, and for a split second your brain short-circuited. What the hell? It was Sunday. He never woke up early on Sundays!

The sight of him caught you so off guard that your mouth moved before your thoughts caught up. "A-Are you done?" you asked, forcing a stiff smile and immediately wanting to slap yourself for stuttering like an idiot.

He nodded, eyes sliding away from yours almost instantly, stepping past you with that small, polite bow he always did. The air felt weirdly tight after he passed, and you stood there for a moment longer than necessary, staring at the bathroom door.

By the time you were on the court with Karina, dropping your bag down beside hers and joining her for stretches. "I swear he's not interested," you muttered, brow scrunched as you stretched out your legs. "I might just give up."

"Wow," Karina replied dryly, glancing at you. "Good morning to you too."

You rolled your eyes and pushed into a half split, focusing on your breathing. "Everything is your fault," you went on, shifting your weight, arching your back to stretch deeper. "And yeah, okay, I admit he's cute and attractive and whatever, but—ugh." You abandoned the stretch altogether, dropping onto the floor and flailing your hands in frustration. "He won't even talk to me, no matter what I try or what you tell me to do."

"Maybe because—" Karina started.

"No," you cut her off immediately, rubbing your face. "I'm done. Why am I even doing this?" You weren't sure if the question was meant for her or yourself, and that uncertainty only made it worse.

You didn't even know what you wanted—maybe you wanted him in your bed, maybe you were just bored, lonely, horny, maybe you wanted a boyfriend, or maybe you just wanted something to break the monotony of your days.

Fuck, you honestly didn't know.You pushed yourself up to your feet with a sharp exhale, forcing your shoulders back as training began, telling yourself this was it, that you were un-crushing him, that whatever weird hold he'd had on your thoughts was gone. You just needed to focus, sweat it out, forget the way he'd looked that morning, forget the way your chest had tightened for no good reason, and move the hell on!

And so you went back to not caring about him—or at least you tried to. You kept things strictly transactional, clipped conversations that revolved around rent, water bills, electrical bills, and nothing else, the kind of exchanges that didn't require eye contact or emotion or the risk of awkward pauses. You timed your routines carefully, stayed in your room more, wore your headphones even when nothing was playing.

Somehow, though, the apartment got weirder instead of quieter.

At some point, there were suddenly two circular vacuum robots roaming the place, one pink and one white, bumping lazily into furniture like bored pets, and then there was a third one that made you pause the first time you saw it. This one had a small screen instead of a blank surface, animated eyes blinking as it rolled around the house, looping endlessly in wide, slow circles like it was patrolling its territory. It was unsettling in a way you couldn't quite explain, especially the way it behaved whenever you came home.

The first time it happened, you stepped through the front door, already halfway to your room when the robot rolled toward you, stopping just short of your feet. Its eyes widened slightly on the screen, focusing on you, and then a soft, robotic voice chimed, "Hi."

You stopped, stared at it, and after a second of confused silence, answered back without thinking. "Hi," you muttered, eyebrows knitting together as you watched it blink like it was pleased with the response. You shook your head and went to your room.

But it kept happening. Every time you came home after training at 7:30, without fail, the robot would find you, roll closer, look up at you with those stupid animated eyes, and greet you. "Hi." Over and over again, like some kind of programmed acknowledgment that you existed, and it annoyed you! Part of you wondered why a machine noticed you more consistently than the person who built it?

Whatever.

When tournament month finally hit, it felt less like a schedule and more like a slow, grinding punishment that refused to end. Hell week stretched into hell weeks, days bleeding into each other until your body stopped distinguishing between soreness and exhaustion, and your mind lived in a constant fog of drills, scrimmages, ice packs, and shouted instructions. Your team kept winning—somehow—defeating other universities one after another, which meant you qualified for the next rounds, which also meant more training, longer hours, heavier pressure. Victory didn't feel like relief anymore; it felt like another door slamming shut behind you.

After one match, you stood on the edge of the court, hands on your hips, chest heaving as you watched people filter out of the bleachers. Couples laughed, friends clapped each other on the back, families waved and called out names, and you wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to just be normal—to be a regular college student who watched sports for fun instead of bleeding for it, who cheered and went home without their knees screaming or shoulders burning. Would life be easier that way? Would you have more space in your head for things that weren't survival and performance and pushing yourself past your limits?

And then your thoughts drifted further. Would you have found a lover by now? If your life wasn't so wrapped up in training? Someone you met in a theory class, bonding over shared misery and late-night study sessions, or someone introduced through friends, a clean, easy connection that didn't feel so fucking complicated.

The idea made your chest tighten, and you frowned at yourself, annoyed. Why were you suddenly like this? Why so emotional, so restless? Were you really that lonely? What the hell was wrong with being single anyway? You'd been fine before. You had friends. You had people to talk to. You weren't isolated!

Except you knew it wasn't the same. You watched your teammates get swallowed into hugs after the match, hands squeezing shoulders, foreheads pressed together, quiet comfort exchanged even without words, and you felt it then—a sharp, stupid ache. While they leaned into someone else's warmth, you retreated to the back room alone, wiping sweat off your face, peeling off your jersey, changing in silence. Maybe this was just who you were—someone who got jealous not because you lacked people, but because everyone else seemed to have that person, someone to lean on when their body gave out, when the day finally caught up with them.

By the time you dragged yourself home, your limbs felt heavy, movements are sluggish as you kicked off your shoes and let the door shut behind you. The familiar hums filling the space as the robots whirled around the floor, doing their endless loops. One of them—the one with the animated eyes—rolled toward you like it always did, eyes blinking up at you before that same neutral voice chimed.

"Hi."

"Hi," you replied automatically. Normally you would've gone straight to your room, but lately Jake had been staying holed up behind his door, and the living room felt strangely empty without him.

You dropped your bag, pulled a beer from it, popped it open, and took a long drink before letting yourself sink down onto the floor. The robot lingered nearby, hovering like it was waiting for something.

You stared at it for a second, exhaled slowly, and shook your head. "Do you know how to say anything besides hi?" you asked it quietly.

The robot blinked, its animated eyes widening and shrinking in a way that almost felt intentional, and you huffed out a weak smile despite yourself. Your fingers hovered over its smooth, round surface, stopping just short of touching it. "I don't really know shit about these things," you muttered, gesturing vaguely at it, "but aren't you supposed to be, like... a comfort robot or something? The kind people put on their desks so they don't feel so damn alone." You tilted your head, squinting at it. "But you're round. And you roll. You're like... a vacuum with feelings."

The robot blinked again.

You took another sip of your beer, the bitterness sitting heavy on your tongue. "I think I'm so lonely I might cry," you admitted, voice cracking just a little as a hiccup slipped out of you. You set the beer aside and started peeling off your protective gear, fingers clumsy, dropping the pads onto the floor one by one. Bruises bloomed across your skin—dark, ugly marks layered over older ones.

"I don't want to be a libero anymore," you said flatly, staring down at your legs. "God, why am I not rich? Or smart? Or just... lucky for once."

You looked back at the robot, its eyes fixed on you like it was actually listening. "I wish I had someone," you continued. "Someone who'd hug me after games. Someone I could talk to when training's over and my body feels like it's about to give out." You scoffed and lifted a finger, pointing at it like you were lecturing. "You know my teammates? Let me introduce you, since apparently you're the only thing paying attention right now."

"So there's Karina," you said, holding up one finger. "She's our setter, loud as hell, always running her mouth, and yeah—she's dating the basketball captain." Another finger. "Rei's the youngest, dating some art dancer who comes to all her games and cries like a baby." Another. "Giselle's gay, she's in a relationship, and Ningning's with her. I swear they fight all the time, but it's kinda cute because they're both middle blockers and stubborn as shit." You kept going, listing names, relationships, connections, until your hand dropped back into your lap. "Winter—well, that's not even her real name. And Yunjin, Yuna, Yeji, Ryujin... all in relationships."

You leaned back against the sofa, sliding down slightly as you sat on the floor, staring up at the ceiling like it might have answers. "Everyone has someone," you whispered.

"Why... am I such a fucking loser?" you laughed, the sound is too loud in the quiet apartment, echoing for a second before it died out. The laugh collapsed in on itself, and you buried your face in your hands, shoulders shaking as tears burned behind your eyes. You didn't bother wiping them away when they spilled over, there was no one around to see you break—just a robot blinking back at you, silently witnessing everything you'd been holding in for far too long.

"I want someone," you choked out into your palm, the words are so ugly and bare, pathetic in a way that hurt to admit out loud. You dragged your hands down your face and looked at the robot again, eyes wet, vision blurry. "God, that sounded so fucking sad," you laughed weakly.

"Maybe you should ask your owner to build me one of those realistic human robots." You sniffed, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. "Ask him to make one for me, yeah? Since apparently I can't even talk to him like a normal person."

Your laugh came again, tears still sliding down your cheeks as you shook your head. You leaned back against the couch, staring up at the ceiling, words spilling out now that you'd opened the floodgates. "I want him to make me a boyfriend with high emotional intelligence," you said bitterly, counting it off in your head like a stupid wish list. "Someone who'd cook me healthy meals that actually fit my training, because finding decent food is a nightmare. Someone who'd show up to every tournament, even the shitty ones, and cheer for me."

Your voice dropped. "Someone who'd listen. Someone who wouldn't freak out when I'm exhausted or pissed or quiet. Someone who'd talk to me through the hard days instead of making me feel like I'm too much." You swallowed, chest tight, then let out a shaky breath. "And yeah," you added, snorting through your tears, "someone who'd fuck me hard enough to knock the stress out of my body and make me forget everything else for a while. How does that sound, huh?"

For a second, there was only the low hum of the apartment. Then the robot's screen shifted, animated eyes changing as a little emoticon popped up—round, pink, unmistakably blushing.

Your eyes widened. Then you burst out laughing, real laughter this time. "No fucking way," you said between laughs, wiping at your face. "Did you just blush at that?" You leaned closer, still grinning like an idiot through tear-streaked cheeks. "Are you programmed with PG-13 only or what?"

The robot blinked once, then shook its round body side to side like it was offended. You gasped dramatically, pointing at it. "Oh my god. You are judging me." You sniffed, then tilted your head. "Okay, smartass. What does the fox say?"

The screen flickered. Suddenly the robot's eyes morphed into exaggerated fox eyes, whiskers popping up on either side as its little screen started wobbling in place.

"Tingining-ngining-ngining."

You choked on your own laughter, hands slapping against the floor as you doubled over. "No—no way—stop," you wheezed, laughing harder as the robot kept dancing, completely unbothered. Tears streamed down your face again, but this time they were from laughing so hard your chest hurt.

You stayed there for hours after that, talking absolute nonsense to it, asking stupid questions, daring it to do random shit, reacting like it was some kind of miracle instead of a rolling piece of metal with a screen. At some point your words slowed, your body sagged, and without even realizing it, you slid down where you sat, head resting against the sofa, eyes finally drifting shut.

Morning came and you woke up confused, the first thing you registered being how soft everything felt. You were lying on the sofa, not the floor like you remembered, a blanket pulled up around you, tucked snugly enough. You blinked, staring at the ceiling, then shifted slightly and froze. Your skin felt... warm. Not sore in the usual way. When you pushed the blanket aside, you saw neat bandages wrapped around your bruises, carefully placed, clean, and faintly scented with something herbal that made your muscles relax just breathing it in.

"What the fuck..." you murmured, sitting up slowly. Your head wasn't pounding. You weren't dizzy. You definitely weren't drunk enough to forget doing this. You glanced around the living room, heart starting to thump harder as pieces didn't line up. The robot sat docked in its corner, screen dark. The apartment was quiet—too quiet.

You dragged the blanket tighter around yourself, staring at your own hands. Did you do this? No. You would've remembered bandaging yourself. And the smell, so warm, so clean, so comforting—it wasn't yours. Your chest fluttered uncomfortably. Of course you weren't stupid. You weren't that fucking oblivious. Someone had moved you. Someone had carefully lifted your dead weight off the floor, arranged you on the sofa, wrapped a blanket around you like you were fragile instead of a grown woman who could bench half the team. Someone had cleaned you up, bandaged your bruises, and let you sleep it off instead of waking you or leaving you there like a mess. And there was really only one person in that apartment who would've done it.

Jake.

Jake.

Heat start crawling up your neck as your brain started filling in the blanks you didn't want answers to. Why the fuck would he do that? You stared down at the bandages again, fingers hovering over them. You didn't remember waking up. You didn't remember him touching you. It was only a beer, sure, but you'd been emotional, rambling, spilling your guts to a robot like a lunatic.

God. What if you'd talked in your sleep? What if you'd laughed too loud, cried harder, said something you shouldn't have? Worse—what if you'd drunkenly confessed how fucking lonely you were, how badly you wanted someone, how much you'd been thinking about him without ever meaning to? The thought made your face burn. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You couldn't look at him after that. You didn't even try.

For the next few days, you turned into a ghost in your own apartment, timing everything around him without even meaning to. Training ended at 6:30, but you didn't go home until eleven, sometimes closer to midnight, killing time wherever you could—late dinners, extra stretching or workouts, pointless walks—until you finally started crashing at Ryujin's place in the next building over. Her couch became familiar, her fridge raided, her complaints ignored. Anything to avoid running into him in the living room, anything to avoid seeing that awkward smile and wondering what the fuck he knew about you now.

Your head wasn't in the game either, and it showed.

"You seriously need to stop pulling faces on court," Ryujin said one afternoon, shoving her phone in your face while you were still catching your breath. Sweat dripped down your temples as you squinted at the screen, instantly recognizing the photo—your body low in a squat, eyes sharp, eyebrow raised, jaw set like you were ready to kill someone. The sports journalist had caught you mid-focus, mid-intimidation, and it was already blowing up on the university page.

"What do you want me to do?" you snapped, irritated, pushing the phone away. "Smile at the other team?"

"At least look... approachable?" she said, shrugging. "I mean, that's your default face, yeah, but you know when I first met you, I thought you hated me."

You glanced at her, pausing.

"You didn't talk to me for weeks when I joined," she continued, stretching her calves casually. "I legit thought I pissed you off somehow. Then one day you just asked me to grab lunch with you like nothing happened, and that's when I realized you were actually nice. Just... intense."

You scoffed, rubbing the back of your neck. "That's just how I am."

Unfortunately for you, that day lined up perfectly with everyone else having a life. Ryujin had a date with her girlfriend, Karina was off doing couple shit with hers, and you were left with too much energy and nowhere to dump it. You went to the gym even though training had ended early, pushing yourself through another pointless workout just to avoid going home, until your muscles finally protested enough to force you to stop. By the time you dragged yourself back to the apartment, it was already 7:04 PM.

You unlocked the door and stepped inside, pretending to be deeply invested in your phone as you kicked off your shoes and slid them into the rack beside your roommate's. The apartment was calm in that familiar way, and right on cue, there he was— Jake was fresh out of the bathroom, towel slung loosely over his shoulder, wearing those ridiculous dinosaur slippers. Seven o'clock. Of course. You could already tell he was winding down, getting ready for his absurdly early bedtime.

Your eyes met for half a second. You looked away immediately, pulse kicking hard against your ribs. You walked past him like you didn't care, thumb scrolling mindlessly through takeout apps you weren't even reading, already reaching for your bedroom doorknob when his voice stopped you.

"I—I always... uh... cook food f-for dinner..."

You froze, fingers tightening around the knob as your brain scrambled to process what you'd just heard. You turned your head slightly, not fully facing him, afraid that if you did your face would give you away. He was standing a few steps behind you, shoulders tense, eyes glued somewhere near the floor.

"I-If you want to eat," he added quickly, words tripping over each other, "uh... it's on the table..."

Before you could say anything—before you could even decide what the hell you wanted to say—he retreated, practically speed-walking into his room and shutting the door.

You stood there in the hallway, hand still on the doorknob, staring at nothing. What the fuck was that?

You could order takeout. Obviously. That had been the plan. But this was the first time he'd actually initiated anything. Was this his way of talking to you? Of trying? Why were you even overthinking this? It was just food. Fucking food. "Get a grip," you muttered, yanking off your varsity jacket and tossing it over the chair. Curiosity won anyway. You walked toward the table and lifted the food cover, already telling yourself it was just about saving money, nothing else.

Your mouth watered instantly. In front of you was a Chicken breast that are perfectly cooked. Sweet potato, roasted just enough. Steamed broccoli, still bright green, not soggy, not sad. This is kind of meal athletes killed themselves. The kind of meal you'd complained about not having time or money to prep a hundred times. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me," you whispered. This was exactly what your body needed. You might've laughed if you weren't so close to crying. After weeks of exhaustion, shitty schedules, loneliness you pretended didn't exist, here was this quiet, nerdy, awkward roommate who barely looked you in the eye—coincedently cooking the perfect post-training dinner.

You didn't even bother pretending to be civilized about it. You dropped into the chair and dug in like you hadn't eaten in days, shoveling food into your mouth with zero shame, chewing fast, shoulders finally loosening as real fuel hit your system. The chicken was tender, the sweet potato was so soft, the broccoli exactly how you liked it, and you were too busy inhaling everything to notice the soft whirring near your feet.

"Hi," the robot chirped, rolling up beside your chair like it always did.

You waved it off vaguely, mouth full, head down, focused on the plate. It didn't even cross your mind then that the robot hadn't been greeting you lately when you came home past midnight, that it used to roll toward you every time. You were too hungry, too focused, too busy scraping the plate clean to notice anything beyond the food in front of you.

The next day, you came home a little earlier than usual, around eight. Training had been brutal, your legs shaking by the time you unlocked the door, and you were already mentally preparing yourself for instant noodles or whatever garbage you could throw together without collapsing. Instead, you stopped short.

Another meal sat on the table.

This time it was tofu stir-fry with rice, still covered, steam faintly trapped beneath the lid. The robot sat docked beside the table like it was guarding the food, screen dark, finally resting. You glanced toward the sink and noticed a single plate already washed and set aside—proof that Jake had eaten earlier. Your stomach growled embarrassingly loud.

You didn't overthink it. You just sat down and ate, quietly this time. God's perfect, it was convenience. Timing. Coincidence. That he probably cooked in bulk and didn't want leftovers to go bad. You definitely didn't think about how the portions were always just right for you, or how the meals lined up perfectly with your training load.

And then it kept happening.

The next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. Sometimes you came home early and ate while he was already locked in his room. Sometimes you came home late and the food was still there, waiting. You rarely saw him. You rarely spoke. But you ate. Every night.

Every night, no matter what time you came home, there was food waiting. Always balanced. Always exactly what your body needed, like someone had been paying attention—really paying attention—to what an exhausted athlete needed to survive. You stopped ordering takeout without even realizing it. Your fridge stayed full longer. Your energy during training didn't crash as hard. Your muscles recovered faster.

"You're gaining weight," your coach said one afternoon, flipping through his clipboard as he read off numbers.

Your heart jumped. "Huh? Is that a bad thing?" you asked, nerves creeping up your spine.

He raised an eyebrow, then snorted. "No. It's a good thing." He looked up at you, "I've been telling you to eat more for months. Looks like you're finally listening." He closed the clipboard and stepped closer, ruffling your hair roughly. "Finals are coming up. You need more muscle if you want to keep up your defense."

You laughed awkwardly, nodding along.  Don't think about it too much. Don't think about it too much. Don't think about it too much. It's healthy, right? That's all that matters. Your body feels better, stronger, steadier during drills. You don't feel like you're about to collapse halfway through practice anymore. Whatever you're eating is exactly what your body needs. Exactly what it's been begging for. And yeah—fuck—it's also exactly what your heart didn't know it was starving for, but you're not touching that thought. Not with a ten-foot pole.

"What if he's purposely cooking too much so you'll eat?" Karina had said earlier, lips curled into that wicked smile she always wore when she knew she was poking at something sensitive.

No. Absolutely not. You refused to let that sink in. You wouldn't let her words crawl under your skin and set everything on fire again. Roommates do this shit. People share food. People are nice without ulterior motives. It's normal. It's fucking normal. Just because you're a hopeless romantic doesn't mean you get to project that onto someone who's clearly just... kind. Assuming otherwise would make things awkward again, and you were done with awkward.

With training dismissed early that day, you stopped by the grocery store on your way home, wandering the aisles without much thought until something familiar caught your eye. Chocolate almond milk. The same brand. The one he always drank in the mornings. You stared at it for a second longer before grabbing and tossing it into your basket.

You got home at 5:30 PM sharp.

The smell of savory cooking hit you the moment you stepped inside. Jake stood in the kitchen wearing an apron, moving carefully between the counter and the stove. Soft music played in the background, Cigarettes After Sex, of all things.

When he noticed you, he startled like he'd been caught. His eyes widened, body jerking awkwardly as he took a step back, then forward, clearly unsure what to do with himself. "Y-You're h-here— wait—"

"Groceries," you said quietly, cutting him off before he could spiral, offering a small smile as you set the plastic bag on the table. You pulled out the carton of almond milk and held it up slightly. "I bought you this."

He stared at it, his mouth fell open just a little, eyes flicking from the carton to your face and back again, cheeks already starting to color.

"I've been eating your food for a week," you added, shrugging lightly, forcing your voice to stay steady. "Consider it a thank you."

"T-Thank you," he whispered, eyes flicking up to yours for half a second before he turned his back, shoulders hunching slightly as he went back to stirring whatever was on the stove.

You busied yourself with the groceries, unloading them one by one. Yogurts into the fridge. Vegetables in the crisper. Almond milk placed carefully on the shelf where you'd seen his before. When you were done, you grabbed your bag, already planning to retreat to your room and give both of you space, because that was safer.

"H-Hey." His voice stopped you mid-step.

You turned around slowly, heart doing that stupid stutter again, and found him standing by the table with two plates in his hands. He set them down carefully, and for a moment he actually held your gaze. Really held it. The eye contact made something like an electric flicker through you that you almost looked away first—but then he broke it, eyes darting off to the side like he'd just realized what he was doing.

"Let's— I-I cooked dinner," he said, words tumbling over each other. "There's a-a lot, so l-let's share."

Fuck. You swallowed, nodded, and quietly took a seat across from him before your mouth could betray you by saying something stupid. You both served yourselves rice in silence, the clink of utensils and the low hum of the music filling the space between you. The food was good and for a few minutes you just ate, letting the tension settle instead of fighting it.

"You listen to CAS?" you asked eventually, nodding toward the speaker.

He froze for a split second, shoulders tensing. "Y-Yeah," he said softly. "I... uh... it helps me focus. And... relax." He glanced up at you, then away again, fingers tightening around his chopsticks. "Y-You?"

"Casual listener," you replied, reaching for the rice bowl again without thinking, scooping out another generous serving and plopping it onto your plate. "I prefer loud music. Like, really loud." You shrugged, already chewing as you talked, words slightly muffled because that was just how you ate. "It helps me focus during workouts, especially during hard training days. Phonk music, mostly. Some of my teammates are into it, so I kinda adopted it." You rambled on, barely realizing how much food you'd shoved into your mouth, cheeks full, posture relaxed in a way you hadn't been around him before.

There was a brief pause, you were still chewing when Jake quietly leaned forward and placed the last slice of meat onto your plate. The movement made you stop mid-bite. Your eyes dropped to the food, then lifted slowly to him, finding him watching you with that same awkward concentration, lips pressed together before they curved into a small, uncertain smile.

"I-I listen to music similar to CAS," he continued, voice gaining a bit of momentum like he was warming up. "A-And wave to earth too, b-because it helps me calm my mind. Makes it easier to sleep early." He scratched the back of his neck, clearly rambling now, which somehow made it worse in the best way.

Your brain short-circuited. Fully. You stared at him for a second too long, then forced yourself to finish chewing, swallowing slowly as you tried to get your thoughts back in order.

"I—" you started, then stopped, laughing awkwardly under your breath. "Yeah. That... checks out." You gestured vaguely with your chopsticks. "I mean, I noticed you go to bed at eight." You let out another small laugh, embarrassment creeping in fast. "That stupid sign on the wall finally made sense."

His ears turned red almost instantly. "S-Sorry," he blurted out. "I didn't mean to be... annoying."

"It's not annoying," you said immediately, a little too fast, shaking your head like your life depended on clearing that up. The last thing you wanted was for him to retreat back into himself again. "It's just... different." You hesitated, then added more softly, "Kinda impressive, actually. Most college students have completely fucked body clocks and awful habits." You snorted lightly. "Speaking from experience."

He nodded, relief loosening his shoulders just a bit. "Uh... yeah. I-I try not to pick up bad habits," he said. "I-I value time a lot. What we do and what we eat affects how our body p-performs." He gestured vaguely at the table, at the food. "If I get sick, a-a lot of time gets w-wasted."

You stared at him, chopsticks paused halfway to your mouth.

Okay. What the fuck. This guy went to bed at eight, didn't drink caffeine, cooked balanced meals, and talked wisely about time and health. Made you want to smack yourself for ever writing him off as just some awkward nerd with Lego sets and robots. You could feel it now, that pull in your chest, that annoying curiosity digging deeper, urging you to peel back more layers you hadn't even known were there.

And God help you, he was talking. Actually talking. To you.

"Yeah," you said, finally swallowing your bite. "You're right." You leaned back slightly in your chair, lips twitching as you tried to play it off. "Teach me your ways, then. I clearly need your level of dedication." What the fuck are you saying?

He blinked, then let out a small, surprised sound that might've been a laugh. "I-I'm not that dedicated," he said quickly, waving a hand like he was swatting the idea away. "Just... organized."

"Sure," you replied, smirking faintly. "That's what all disciplined people say."

He ducked his head, embarrassed again, but this time it was lighter in the air. Less tension.

And it made it really fucking hard to pretend you didn't care.

The next day proved that. You didn't even linger after training like you usually did. No extra laps, no pointless cooldowns, no killing time just to avoid going home. You showered, changed, and headed straight back, heart thudding with a stupid mix of anticipation and denial. When you opened the apartment door, the familiar sounds of the soft whirr of the robot vacuums roaming the floor and the muted clatter of pans from the kitchen greeted you immediately. He was cooking again!

"I bought apples," you said, setting the bag down on the table.

Jake glanced over his shoulder, offered you a quiet, "Hi," paired with that same awkward smile that somehow felt less awkward every time you saw it. He turned back to the stove, setting down plates—rice, and vegetable soup. And yeah, his dinners were always exactly what you were supposed to be eating after training. Jackpot was an understatement.

"Is it okay if I eat with you?" you asked, already pulling out a chair and sitting down like you'd made the decision before finishing the sentence. "I mean, you cook for yourself."

"Of course... I-It's okay," he said quickly, nodding.

You watched him a little too closely, waiting, hoping he'd say more instead of retreating into silence. He hesitated, eyes flicking toward you, then away, lips parting as if he was debating with himself. "I-I've been cooking more these days," he admitted. "B-Because... uh... I was thinking of gaining weight myself, b-but I think my appetite c-can't really keep up."

"Ohhh," you said, snapping your fingers. "Yeah, that makes sense." You leaned forward, already getting animated without realizing it. "You're gonna need a loooot of protein for that. My coach never shuts up about it, especially for me. Defense needs muscle, apparently." You laughed lightly, rambling now, turning toward him with an easy smile as you scooped soup straight into your rice. "My budget's always shit though, so I rely on protein powders and gym meals."

He nodded slowly, listening, before going quiet again and digging into his food. Somehow, that quiet didn't feel awkward. It felt comfortable.

You didn't notice how relaxed you looked, how your shoulders dropped, how your expression softened as you ate. You didn't notice how naturally you mirrored his pace, slowing down, breathing easier. You definitely didn't notice the way your heart jumped when he picked up one of the apples you'd bought, peeled it carefully, and slid it onto your plate without a word.

Your pulse spiked, so stupid and fast. "Thanks," you murmured, suddenly very aware of him sitting across from you, of how close this all felt without crossing any lines.

God, don't read into it too much. You told yourself that firmly. He's just nice. He's your roommate. He cooks. He shares. He listens.

But fuck—how were you not supposed to like him when he made space for you so quietly, when being around him started to feel like rest?

"It felt nice," you sighed, sprawled flat on the court with your arms stretched above your head. Sweat cooled against your skin as the basketball players ran laps around you. Karina sat beside you, legs crossed, phone in hand, thumbs flying across the screen. She glanced down at you, eyebrows lifting slowly, curiosity sharpening her expression as she clocked how distant you looked.

"What exactly feels nice?" she asked, frowning. "Because it sure as hell isn't sharing the court with these fuckers. Our training schedule's been cut all week." She tilted her chin toward the far end of the court, where her boyfriend was jogging past, shirt clinging to him. She grimaced. "Look at him. I bet he smells like an ass."

You huffed out a weak laugh but didn't move, eyes fixed on the ceiling lights glowing overhead. "It just... feels nice," you repeated. Your voice dipped as the thought finally slipped out. "Am I really that lonely that I start liking someone just because they pay a little attention to me?" You swallowed, jaw tightening. "I mean, I already knew I was fucked the moment I caught myself thinking about him while touching myself, and we hadn't even had a proper conversation. Just you, planting bullshit ideas in my head like a menace."

"Oh my God," Karina gasped, dropping her phone instantly. She rolled onto the floor beside you, mirroring your position but turning onto her side to face you, eyes wide and way too excited for your liking. "Is this about your cute nerd roommate again?"

You didn't answer. You kept staring at the lights, blinking slowly, letting the words tumble out because once they started, it felt impossible to stop. "He cooks extra food without making it a thing," you said. "Like it's nothing. And I eat it. And sometimes I talk. Just starting dumb shit about my day. And that night I passed out on the floor, he carried me to the couch and wrapped my bruises, and I woke up with bandages that actually helped." Your throat tightened. "So what, Karina? Am I really that pathetic for feeling like this?"

Karina stared at you for a long moment, her teasing expression finally softening. She reached out and poked your forehead. "First of all, shut up," she said gently. "Second of all, you're not pathetic. You're human." She sighed and lay back, hands folded on her stomach. "You're exhausted. You train like a beast, you carry your team, and you come home to an empty room most nights. Of course small kindness feels huge right now."

You turned your head slightly, finally looking at her. "But what if I'm just projecting?" you asked. "What if I'm clinging to scraps because I don't want to feel alone anymore?"

"That's called being aware," she replied. "Not desperate." She nudged your shoulder. "And listen to me. You're not imagining things out of nowhere. He didn't have to cook extra. He didn't have to move you. He didn't have to take care of your bruises. Those are choices." She paused, then added carefully, "Does that mean he's in love with you? No. But it means you're not crazy for feeling something."

You exhaled slowly, chest easing just a little. "I don't even know what I want," you admitted. "I just know it feels... safe. And that scares the shit out of me."

Karina smiled softly. "Good. It should scare you a little. That means it matters. Lmao." She squeezed your hand. "Just don't rush it. Let it breathe. You're allowed to want someone. You're allowed to be taken care of sometimes."

You smiled faintly to yourself. Right. Don't rush. Go with the flow. Let it breathe. Jake probably had no idea what was spiraling around in your head anyway. You could keep this normal, no stupid fantasies. There was nothing to lose if you kept it like that... right?

"You can call them Whitey, Pinky, and Bumble," Jake said casually, gesturing toward the living room.

You followed his hand. The two vacuum robots were roaming around like usual, bumping gently into chair legs and correcting themselves. The pink one spun lazily near the couch, the white one hovered closer to the dining table, and Bumble—the one with the animated eyes—was docked near the TV, screen dimmed as she recharged.

You almost snorted. It was stupid how endearing it felt. Any other time, with any other guy, you'd probably be weirded the fuck out. But with Jake? It just slid into place too easily, like another quiet, odd piece of him you were already getting used to. White robot: Whitey. Pink robot: Pinky. And Bumble... because apparently it's soft blue glow reminded him of a bumblebee.

"That's... very on the nose," you said, lips twitching as Whitey rolled dangerously close to your foot. You shifted your leg, and the robot obediently veered away. "Does your course actually teach you this stuff, or are you just secretly a scientist?"

Jake let out a small, embarrassed laugh. "Uh... I'm a civil engineer," he said, rubbing the back of his ear. "B-But I have a friend. He's... uh... computer and electrical engineering." He hesitated, words tangling like they always did when he tried to explain himself. "We... sometimes make things."

You leaned back against the chair, listening.

"Bumble was... uh..." He paused, glancing toward the robot like he was checking if she could hear him. "She was supposed to be a vacuum robot for desks. It was for our Grade 12 STEM research. But our teacher said vacuum robots were too common, and we... didn't know enough about coding back then." He shrugged awkwardly. "So we just... continued it anyway. Changed her design. That's why she's small."

Oh.

You blinked. Of course he had friends like that. Smart, curious, building things just because they could. Of course he carried projects from years ago instead of throwing them away. And of course he called the robot she, like she was a person, or a pet, or something he cared about.

"That's actually kind of impressive," you said honestly, eyes flicking back to Bumble. "You kept working on her even after the project ended."

Jake's shoulders lifted slightly, then dropped. "I... didn't want to waste it," he said quietly. "Time, I mean."

And there it was again, that quiet, infuriatingly gentle way he treated time and effort, like both were fragile things you weren't supposed to waste or throw around carelessly. God, he was cute.

You hated how easily it slipped past your defenses, how your brain kept screaming don't read into it while your body already had its own stupid opinions. Still, you couldn't deny it anymore, not even to yourself. Something had shifted. Maybe a door cracked open, maybe you'd just stopped bracing so hard, but suddenly there was space between you that didn't feel awkward or tense. It felt... safe. Comfortable. Like you didn't have to perform or fill the silence for once. And the fucked up part was, what you'd said earlier was true.

It really did feel nice.

"I... cook for breakfast," he said one morning while you were tying your shoes, backpack already slung over your shoulder, half-awake and mentally preparing yourself to survive another long day. "D-do you want to eat before you go?"

You should've said no. You almost always grabbed coffee and whatever sad snack you could find on campus, ate standing up, rushed through everything like your life. But you just nodded, sitting at the table in the early morning light, eating something warm and balanced while he moved quietly around the kitchen, you realized your shoulders weren't tight for once. You weren't rushing. You weren't thinking about the next thing you had to do.

It felt nice. Way too nice.

Later that week, after a practice match wrapped up earlier than expected, you found yourself standing outside his door, heart beating faster than it should've over something so stupid. You knocked anyway. When he opened the door a minute later, one earphone dangling loose, hair slightly messy, that familiar awkward smile creeping onto his face, you almost chickened out.

"Am I... disturbing you or something?" you asked, forcing a casual tone that didn't quite hide the nerves twisting in your gut. He shook his head, and you felt the tension in your shoulders finally ease.

"Uh... I was just fixing my books," he said. "Why?"

You took a breath, then another. "I bought snacks. Chips and stuff," you said, holding up the bag. "I was just wondering if you... wanted to watch a movie with me."

Immediately your brain started spiraling, tearing you apart for how you phrased it. Too direct. Too demanding. You should've softened it, given him an out, made it sound like an optional, no-pressure thing. God, what if this was crossing some invisible roommate line? You braced yourself for rejection, already rehearsing how you'd laugh it off, how you'd pretend you weren't embarrassed if he said no. You told yourself it was fine. You hoped he'd be gentle about it if he did.

"Uh, sure," he said after a beat, smiling that shy, crooked smile. "Let me fix my things quick."

You ended up on the couch together, a polite distance between you, snacks spread across the table. 50 First Dates played on the screen, and even though some scenes were objectively funny, you found yourself holding back, afraid of laughing too loud. You were hyperaware of everything—your posture, the way you chewed, the way your knee bounced slightly with leftover adrenaline.

Then Jake laughed, mouth full of chips, a soft, unguarded sound that slipped out before he could stop it. You froze, turning to look at him, watching the way his shoulders hunched as he laughed, how genuine it was, how unfiltered. And fuck. Something loosened in you. You smiled before you could stop yourself, then laughed too.

It felt nice, and you weren't used to nice things sticking around without demanding something in return.

Jake wasn't some mystery anymore, not really, at least not on paper. Third-year Civil Engineering student, double scholar, university-funded and government-backed, the kind of résumé that made professors nod approvingly and parents brag to relatives. President's Lister every damn semester, GWA floating between 1.27 and 1.46. You learned these things not because he bragged—he never did—but because papers were left on the table, emails popped up on his phone screen when it lit up, certificates tucked neatly into folders he handled with care. He was impressive in a way that didn't shove itself in your face.

As a roommate, Jake was... steady. Organized without being controlling, balanced in a way that made you painfully aware of how messy your own routines were. He slept at eight, woke up early, moved through the apartment. You noticed small things you shouldn't have been paying attention to, like how he liked sour candy and kept a stash hidden in one drawer, how his fingers fidgeted when he was nervous or thinking too hard, how he couldn't leave broken things alone. A loose screw, a cracked hinge —he'd insist it was still usable, still salvageable, like throwing something away felt wrong to him on a fundamental level. Sometimes you wondered if that applied to people too, if he believed everything and everyone could be fixed if you just gave it enough patience.

You noticed more than you meant to. Jake liked stars, documentaries about space that played quietly in the background while he worked, liked the ocean even though he rarely talked about it, liked anything that revolved around science or math or systems that made sense. It was almost funny how predictable he was once you paid attention, how comforting that predictability became without you realizing it. You caught yourself syncing your schedule around his without meaning to, coming home earlier, lingering longer, listening for his footsteps like it mattered whether he was there or not.

It felt nice going home to someone, where the apartment didn't feel empty when you unlocked the door. Having someone to talk to, even if the conversations were simple and sometimes awkward, felt like relief after days filled with noise and expectations. Having someone prepare meals that actually made your body feel better instead of worse, someone who noticed when you were too tired to cook and never made you feel guilty for it, felt dangerously close to being taken care of. And doing nothing together—sitting on opposite ends of the couch, eating in silence, watching something stupid, sharing space without pressure.

"There's a typhoon coming up, and God help me with this heavy rainfall," Ryujin groaned dramatically, flopping onto the gym bleachers with her hands pressed against her temples. You could hear the rain hammering against the roof above. "My body is so fucking sore, finals are coming, and you're telling me I still have to endure a goddamn storm outside?" Her voice cracked at the end.

"You all act as if we're not aiming for nationals," Giselle said, bouncing the ball with an almost lazy precision, her eyes flicking sideways at the group of basketball players lounging at the edge of the court. They were obnoxiously loud, laughing and showing off, and Giselle's glare could've frozen them mid-air if that were even possible. She tossed the ball in your direction,  and you tightened your grip, flexing your fingers around the ball, feeling the familiar pressure in your palms that meant focus—control. You set yourself, crouched low, and spiked it with everything you had.

"They are already giving out tickets for the finals," Rei whined from the sidelines, dragging her towel across her shoulders as she leaned against the wall. "My boyfriend won't shut up because everyone is hyped about it. It's gonna sell out in like, five minutes." You snorted because, as usual, she was dramatic about everything, and as usual, you were the only one sitting there without someone to care or argue or plan with.

"Coach gave us tickets for our friends, right? Only two each! I need three for my boyfriend and his friends. Can some of you spare an extra?" Winter demanded, arms flailing slightly as she leaned toward Ningning and Giselle. "Giselle, give me yours! Ningning, come on, you're on our team!"

"No. We're giving them to our other friends," Ningning said sharply, slapping Winter's hands away.

"Not fair! I'll treat you to Taco Bell if you just give me one!" Winter snapped back. The rest of the team was clustered around, debating, negotiating, trading possibilities.

"Winter," you muttered, rolling your eyes even as you adjusted your feet and tossed the ball into the air, "just take my tickets. I don't have friends to give them to anyway." You tossed the volleyball up and down in your hands, practicing your set.

You could feel her gaze burning on you, even though you weren't looking directly. "Really?! Like, both of your tickets?" she pressed, a note of disbelief in her voice.

You barely had time to nod before the ball smacked you straight in the face, ricocheting sideways, and suddenly your brain betrayed you. Out of nowhere, an image of Jake popped into your head—his stupid braces smile, the one that twisted your stomach every time you saw it, the one that made you stupidly aware of your own heartbeat and that little thrill you always swore wasn't there. You blinked, flustered, and hit the ball again, flinching slightly as the team waited.

"Actually... just one," you said quickly, fumbling for a way to sound casual. Karina let out a sharp whistle behind you, and Winter's lips pouted in mock outrage. "I was... planning to give it to my... friend," you added, stumbling over the lie.

"Wow, suddenly you have a friend!" Winter exclaimed with mock indignation, "but fine, that's cool! You promise that one is mine, no taking it back, ha!"

If you asked him to watch your game... would that be too personal? It wasn't like you were asking him to cheer for you, or scream your name from the stands, or wait for you after with flowers and sweaty hugs like your teammates' partners did. It was just a game. An outdoor thing... Still, it felt like crossing some invisible line, like letting him see a part of your life that didn't exist inside shared rent. Letting him see you as more than just his roommate who ate his food and sat beside him on the couch.

You told yourself not to overthink it, even though overthinking was already happening at full speed. It was normal. He was your roommate. You talked now. You shared meals. Of course you'd invite him. That's what normal people did, right? That's what people who weren't emotionally fucked did.

The thunder cracked overhead and rain poured down by the time you got home, your clothes damp, your muscles aching, your head buzzing with too many thoughts, the familiar hum of the TV filling the space. Jake was on the couch, exactly where you half-expected him to be, watching one of his documentaries, posture straightening the second he noticed you. You dropped your bag onto the table and rolled your shoulders.

"Hi," he said softly, eyes flicking up to meet yours before darting away again.

"Hi," you replied, sitting down beside him with that same respectful distance you'd both somehow agreed on without ever discussing it. Your eyes drifted to the screen, absorbing nothing of whatever science-heavy topic was playing.

The silence stretched, like both of you were waiting for permission to speak.

"I made salad earlier—" "Are you interested in sports—"

You both stopped at the exact same time, voices colliding awkwardly in the air. You turned toward him, mouth slightly open, blinking in surprise, and he mirrored you perfectly, eyes wide behind his glasses.

"You first," you said, exhaling a short laugh to break the tension.

He cleared his throat, nodding toward the dining table. "I made salad earlier. If you want to... I didn't expect you to be here early, so I didn't get to cook dinner right away..." His words tumbled out unevenly.

"Ah," you leaned back, glancing down at your feet. "It's okay. Coach said we should go home early to relax anyway. I'll eat it later. Thank you." Your voice softened without you meaning it to.

Another pause settled in. The documentary kept playing, some distant narration about oceans or planets or whatever, but neither of you were listening anymore. "So..." he started, breath hitching slightly as he stared at the floor. "What were you saying?"

This was it. Your chest tightened as you inhaled deeply, bracing yourself, forcing the words out before you could chicken out. "Are you interested in watching the tournament finals on the 24th?" you asked, eyes flicking toward him before darting away again. "I have a ticket, and I figured I could give it to you... if you want to."

The seconds that followed felt cruelly loud. You could hear the clock ticking, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, the rain still hammering outside. You stared at the floor, then at him, then anywhere but his face, mentally preparing yourself for whatever came next.

"I'm—" he began, and you looked at him despite yourself. His mouth opened and closed like he was searching for the right words, hands fidgeting in his lap. Another beat passed, then another. "T-thank you," he said finally, voice quiet, apologetic. "But I'm not really into that... especially with big crowds. S-sorry." He squeezed his eyes shut afterward, like he was bracing for impact.

Oh.

Of course. It made sense. Crowds, noises, people—it was everything he avoided. You'd known that before you even asked. The game would start at six-thirty, probably end close to eight if it dragged on, loud and packed and overwhelming. Saying yes would've been completely out of character for him.

You forced a small nod, a smile you hoped looked convincing. "It's okay," you said quickly. "I figured. Just thought I'd ask."

And that should've been the end of it. You'd tried. You'd done the brave thing. That was enough. So why did disappointment settle in your chest anyway. Why did it sting more than you expected, like you'd been quietly hoping for something you had no right to hope for?

     You were considered lucky, at least according to every bullshit horoscope Karina ever forced you to listen to during some booth event you never even wanted to attend. Apparently, the stars loved you. Apparently, fate had a soft spot for you. She once read aloud that you were supposed to fall down a flight of stairs when you were four years old, crack your head open, ruin everything before it even began, but some divine intervention stepped in and said no, not today. You survived childhood without dramatic tragedy, without scars that people could point at and say, see, that's where it all went wrong.

Back in elementary school, during tryouts, you didn't even know what defense really meant. You just knew you were fast, stubborn, and didn't like backing down when something came flying at you. Everyone else flinched, screamed, covered their faces, cried when the ball hit too hard. When the coach spiked it straight toward you, you reacted without thinking, arms locking, wrists steady. The ball bounced back clean, and just like that, you were a libero. Just like that, people said you were lucky, like it wasn't your reflexes, your pain tolerance, your refusal to be scared that made it happen.

Because luck, real luck, was supposed to feel good, and most of the time it didn't. On the court, when you spiked and the middle blockers mistimed their jump and sent the ball out of bounds, earning your team the point, you didn't feel joy. You just reset your stance and waited for the next play.

When allowance day came and you counted your money and realized you had just enough left to afford ramen for the week, people called you lucky, joked about your budgeting skills. You weren't happy then either. You were relieved, maybe, but relief tasted nothing like happiness.

And when your teammates whispered about how lucky you were for hooking up with that handsome men's volleyball player, the one everyone drooled over, they didn't know he was gay and spiraling through an identity crisis, and they sure as hell didn't know how awkward and hollow the sex was. They envied you. You lay there afterward staring at the ceiling, feeling nothing but discomfort and regret, wondering how something everyone hyped up could feel so fucking empty.

You were unlucky in the kind of life you wanted but couldn't seem to reach, no matter how many points you saved, how many games you won, how many scholarships you earned. You worked hard, you pushed your body past exhaustion, you sacrificed sleep and weekends and normal college shit, and yet when it came to the softer parts of living, the parts people took for granted, you always seemed to come up short. Love didn't land where it was supposed to. Comfort felt temporary, like something borrowed that could be taken back at any moment.

"God, aren't they being misogynistic?" Karina's voice exploded through your phone, echoing slightly because someone else in the group call was yelling at the same time. It was already past 10:36 in the evening and the Viber group call lit up your screen, faces popping in and out, voices overlapping, screenshots being spammed into the chat. One of them showed the Men's Volleyball Team's group chat from your university, their messages dripping with mockery, acting like your qualification to the finals was some kind of joke. Saying you wouldn't survive Men's Volleyball, telling you to stop being egoistic, laughing about how you "wouldn't even win against them" if you played on their side.

You turned the volume down as you started packing your things for tomorrow. Your mind was tired, body sore, and halfway through, you remembered your other bag was still in the living room. You scratched behind your ear and stood, phone still pressed between your shoulder and cheek, listening to the call as you padded out of your room. You didn't turn on the main lights, already knowing Jake would be asleep by now.

"I mean, it's completely different when it comes to force, agility, speed," you said calmly. "But skills? That's not gendered. The best response is no response. Their egos are just bruised because they didn't qualify. With that attitude, I doubt they ever will." You sighed softly, ducking into the living room and kneeling by your bag. "God help those boys."

"Like?!" Giselle yelled through the phone, her face practically vibrating with rage on your screen. "They're being fucking misogynistic! Did you see their group chat? They're mocking you specifically for being fierce during matches! Look at this shit—'I can't wait for them to lose tomorrow, let's see if her fierce face stays then.' Bitch, I'm about to throw hands. Tell me to do something and I will."

You lowered the volume again, a small laugh slipping out despite yourself. Honestly, if you were being real, you didn't care that much. Not because it wasn't wrong, but because you were too damn tired to give their words any big deal. You started pulling unnecessary things out of your gym bag, tossing wrappers and old tape into the bin. Men talking shit was practically background noise at this point.

Then your hand froze. The ticket slipped into view between your fingers. You held it there, two fingers pinching the corner, staring at it like it might say something back. The girls were still yelling in the background, voices overlapping, insults flying freely now.

"They're giving small dick energy," Yunjin chimed in loudly. "I mean, it's obvious. There's literally no imprint when they wear gray shorts."

You barely reacted. Your eyes stayed on the ticket, chest tight, thoughts drifting somewhere else entirely. Jake's awkward smile. His quiet apologies. The way he'd shut his eyes when he said no, like he hated disappointing you even when he hadn't done anything wrong. Sighs, he is so cute.

Without letting yourself think any further, you opened the bin and dropped the ticket inside. You grabbed your bag, stood up, and walked back into your room, shutting the door behind you with careful quiet.

When finals finally rolled around, you found yourself moving in circles, literally and figuratively, as the coach herded you into a tight formation at center court. Everyone's hands were linked, fingers brushing, gripping just enough to feel grounded. The coach, in his usual way, told you all to close your eyes and "ask the universe for guidance."

You closed your eyes, not because you believed in any divine intervention, not really. You were too much of a realist for that. Still, it felt nice, comforting even, to pretend. To hope. To imagine the universe leaned in and whispered, Yeah, you can do this. You will win, but not because of luck—because you earned it. Your shoulders loosened slightly, the tension in your jaw softening as you let yourself breathe into the ritual, even as every fiber of your body screamed with exhaustion from training.

Around you, the girls were buzzing with energy, eyes closed but faces alight, humming a silent rhythm of anticipation. Their drive from yesterday had carried over—Karina's fist clenched in quiet determination, Giselle bouncing slightly on her heels, Winter rocking back on the balls of her feet like she was about to launch herself forward. You felt a twinge of envy—how easy it seemed for them to throw themselves into hope, to lean on belief, even if it was in some hokey pre-game ritual. You, meanwhile, were caught in this weird limbo between wanting to believe in the magic of it and knowing, deep down, that you relied on nothing but your own hands and legs to make anything happen.

Hm.

What else could tonight bring? Maybe a good meal after? You glanced at your teammates, at the VIP section with its flowers and loud supporters, thinking about how nice it would be if someone threw a bouquet your way too. Not that you deserved one—hell, your muscles were probably going to scream at you tomorrow regardless. You almost snorted at yourself. Ridiculous. Wanting someone to soothe your sore body, to run a hand over a knot in your shoulder, to be there after everything, like it was some kind of reward for existing.

You could picture the universe rolling its eyes if it were a person. Slapping you upside the head. Really? You want that too? Just for surviving a volleyball match?

The corners of your lips twitched into a small, ironic smile as you closed your eyes again. You tried not to think about Jake—the way he cooked extra portions, the way he smiled awkwardly when he handed them to you. Not that it had anything to do with the universe or magic or divine intervention. Not really. And yet, as your fingers brushed against the hands of your teammates, as your legs trembled in anticipation of the first whistle, a tiny, secret part of you hoped he was somewhere out there, watching or thinking of you, maybe even wishing for you in his quiet, careful way. Geez, so out of reach.

The whistle blew.

Finals was hell in the most honest way possible, finals dragged on longer than your lungs wanted and demanded more than your body should reasonably give. It was the most intense match of the season, not just because of the score, but because of what was hanging over everyone's heads. Regionals. You didn't just want it, you needed it. You had refused to back down this far. You were not about to stop now, not when nationals were just one brutal step closer.

The crowd roared every time you sprinted out of bounds, every time you threw your body after that fucking ball like it owed you money. You barely felt the sting when your chest slammed against the floor after a dive, only thinking it as something to deal with later. Adrenaline was pumping so hard your heartbeat felt louder than the whistles, louder than the screams. You pushed yourself up, sweat blurring your vision as you glanced at the other team, then back at your own. Everyone looked wrecked. Knees bent, hands on thighs, jerseys soaked through. You were all running on fumes and stubbornness at this point.

Your chest heaved as you sucked in air, the scoreboard flashing in the corner of your vision. Big mistake. Numbers swam in your head. Forty. Thirty-nine. Too close. Way too close. The noise pressed in on you from every direction, cheers crashing over your thoughts until it felt like your skull might split open. Fuck. Don't look. Don't think. You needed to make it into regionals. Regionals. You needed to make it—

Huh?

Your eyes flicked to the VIP section without meaning to, drawn by something that didn't belong. Someone stiff. Someone painfully familiar. For half a second, your brain refused to process it, like it was some fucked-up hallucination brought on by exhaustion. But no. He was real. Sitting there in a Type D university uniform, shoulders tense, posture straight like he didn't know what to do with himself in a place this loud, this crowded. Jake. Your nerdy, early-sleeping, crowd-hating roommate. And in his left hand, of all things, he was holding a blue balloon.

What the fuck was Jake doing here?

Your heart stuttered, not from the game this time, but from the sheer wrongness of it. It was past eight!

When his gaze finally met yours, it was like the rest of the gym dropped out of existence. He gave you that same awkward, painfully familiar smile, the one that always looked like it was halfway between nervous and sincere. Then, slowly, he lifted his hand and waved. The crowd was deafening, chants and stomping and whistles crashing over each other, but somehow you still caught it. His lips moved, barely forming the words, but you read them clear as day.

Bring it home.

Your throat closed. Championship. He meant championship. And fuck, you didn't know how something so simple could rearrange you from the inside out. People always said liking someone made you stupid, made you corny, made you weak. Maybe it did. Because suddenly your chest felt too full, like someone had plugged you straight into a charger you didn't even know you were running on empty from. You dragged your eyes back to the court, licked your dry lips, tried to flatten your expression—but it was useless. The smile crept up anyway. You were smiling. Inside the fucking court. In the middle of finals. Like an idiot.

The whistle blew again, and instead of dread, something hot surged through you. You felt full. Fueled. Like the last hours of exhaustion had been replaced with pure, reckless purpose. Your legs moved before you thought, sprinting, cutting, diving. You hit the floor hard, again and again, arms burning as you popped the ball up just in time. The pain was there, sure, but it didn't slow you down.

You got up grinning, clapping for your teammates, shouting encouragement you never fucking shouted before.

They stared at you like you'd lost your mind. Probably because you had. You never did this shit. You were the quiet one, the focused one, the one who saved the ball and moved on. But now you were smiling at them, slapping hands, nodding like yeah, we've fucking got this. And weirdly, it worked.

You planted your feet again, wiping your sweaty palms against your shorts, lungs burning as you bent into position.

For regionals. For your team. For the boy in the VIP section holding a blue balloon like an idiot, who had no fucking idea he'd just become your lucky charm.

The serve came flying toward you.

And you didn't miss.

Your arms burned as the ball ricocheted cleanly upward, exactly where it needed to go—and then the whistle screamed through the gym. For half a second, everything froze. Your lungs forgot how to work. Your legs locked like they'd finally decided they were done carrying you.

"And just like that, with the score of 50–43, Decelis Academy earns the champion title!"

The roar hit you like a fucking wave. It crashed into your chest, into your ears, into your bones. Your knees buckled, and if your teammates hadn't swarmed you immediately, you would've kissed the floor right there. Arms wrapped around you, lifting you up, spinning you, screaming into your hair. You screamed too hands flying to your face as tears spilled without permission. Your body shook, adrenaline still screaming even though the fight was over.

You did it. You fucking did it! The students from your university went feral in the stands, chants echoing, banners waving. Someone shoved a towel over your shoulders, someone else slapped your back hard enough to knock the air out of you. When they finally set you down, your legs wobbled like jelly, barely holding your weight. The trophy hadn't even been handed out yet, the awards still being organized, but your chest was already too full. Too loud. Too alive.

And then your eyes went to the bleachers.

He was standing. Not sitting stiff anymore, not hiding behind his shoulders—standing, gripping the rail. Your nerdy little roommate. Your heart did that stupid thing again, skipping like it always did around him. Without thinking, without waiting, your feet moved on their own, carrying you toward him.

"Hi," you said when you reached him, breathless, sweaty, grinning like a fucking idiot.

"Hi," he replied, and his eyes—God, his eyes—were shining. Bright. Wide. Almost overwhelmed. "Y-You looked so cool," he said, words tumbling out faster than usual. "With all the defense, and the jumps, and the spikes, and the serves—" His hands moved as he spoke, clumsy little gestures like he was trying to reenact the whole game at once.

Your heart softened so hard it almost hurt. You laughed. "It's already nine," you said, teasing, tilting your head. "You're supposed to be asleep."

He smiled and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "I couldn't miss something s-so cool," he admitted. "I don't know what other words to use, but... losing an hour or two of sleep is worth it." Then his brows pulled together, concern slipping in. "You dived really hard though. Does it hurt?" He pressed a hand to his own chest like he felt it too.

You laughed again, shaking your head. This—this was the longest he'd ever talked to you without tripping over himself, and fuck, it was endearing as hell. "It's no big deal," you said lightly, tapping your foot against the ground. "I'm trained for that." Then, quieter, more honest, "Thanks for watching. It... feels nice. Knowing someone out there was actually watching me."

You glanced away, embarrassed by your own sincerity, then looked back just as he reached down and pulled something up from behind his chair.

Your heart fucking stopped.

The universe had jokes, apparently. Personal ones.

"Uh... f-for you," he said, holding it out with both hands. "For bringing pride to the Academy. And for... being the coolest roommate ever." He let out a nervous laugh. It was a LEGO bouquet. Big colorful bouquet, wrapped in pink. Painfully thoughtful. Flowers that wouldn't die. Flowers that fit him perfectly.

Your vision blurred before you even realized what was happening. You didn't think and didn't hesitate. You just moved—vaulting forward, ignoring the metal barrier between the court and the bleachers, throwing yourself straight into him. Your face buried against his neck. You clutched the bouquet awkwardly as your other arm wrapped around him like you were afraid he'd disappear.

He froze at first, breath hitching, body stiff with surprise.

Then—slowly, carefully—his free arm came around your waist. It was hesitant in that painfully sincere way, like he was asking permission without words. His hand pressed flat against your back, warm through the thin fabric of your jersey, and after a second it began to move—small, slow circles that comforted you, that reached somewhere deep inside your chest and eased something you didn't even realize had been clenched for years.

"Thank you," you whispered, voice breaking despite your effort to hold it together.

The tears still came anyway. It felt nice—no, it felt right. You trained your body to take hits, to throw yourself into floors, to stand tall and hard and unshakable. But here you were, soft as hell for a boy who held you like you might shatter if he squeezed too hard.

You slowly pulled back from the hug, and the distance between you was barely anything. Too close. Intimate in a way that made your breath hitch. You noticed everything at once—how sharp his nose was up close, how full his lips were when he wasn't biting them, how his skin smelled clean and familiar. Your arms were still looped around him, your fingers resting against his back and you were staring at his face like your brain had short-circuited.

His cheeks were flushed red, eyes wide, frozen.

"S-sorry," you blurted, snapping back to reality and pulling away.

Before the silence could swallow you whole, your teammates shouted your name, waving you over, yelling about awards and photos and medals. You swallowed hard, nodding as you stepped back, heart still beating stupidly fast.

You hesitated, then handed him the LEGO bouquet. "Hold this for me?" you said, already half-turning away before he could answer.

As you walked back toward the court, you bit down on your lip so hard it almost hurt, trying to stop the grin that threatened to split your face open. You swung your arms back and forth like that might shake the feeling out of your system. It didn't help. Not even a little. You could already imagine Karina's smug, knowing smile from a mile away.

Sure enough—

"Care to introduce us to your companion?" Karina teased, nudging you with her shoulder as medals were placed around your neck.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning.

The celebration dragged on—photos, cheers, teammates getting swallowed by their partners, hugs turning into kisses, laughter spilling everywhere. When it finally became too much, you slipped away from the crowd.

And Jake was still there. Sitting on the bench. Waiting. Like he hadn't even considered leaving without you.

"Let's go home?" you asked softly, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder, suddenly very aware of how tired your body was now that the adrenaline was fading.

He nodded immediately and stood up, a little too fast. His gaze dropped to your bag, then back up to you, then away again. He gestured vaguely toward it, fingers twitching at his side.

You frowned slightly. "Hm?" you asked, lifting your head to look at him, confused.

"Uh..." He scratched the back of his head, lips pressing together like he was debating something internally. His ears were already red. Without waiting for your response, he stepped closer and carefully took the bag from your shoulder, sliding the strap off you and onto himself instead. He left you holding only the LEGO bouquet.

"Oh," you said, letting out a small, awkward laugh.

You glanced around at the lingering crowd, then back at him, then anywhere but directly at his face.  You swung your upper half just to bleed off the urge to scream, or laugh, or do something completely unhinged like grab his hand or kiss his stupid, careful mouth. Your heart was still racing, your muscles still buzzing, and now this—this quiet, domestic kind of care—was hitting you harder.

The silence between you stretched as you walked back to the apartment. It wasn't awkward, not really, but it was loud in its own way. You could feel every unsaid thing vibrating in the air. You wanted to say something—anything—but every possible sentence felt like a trap you'd fall into and embarrass yourself with. So you stayed quiet. Let your footsteps match his. Let the city noise do the talking for you.

When you finally stepped inside the apartment, you froze.

The table was covered in foil and containers—different shapes, different sizes, way more food than two people needed. And there, lined up neatly in the living room like little soldiers, were Whitey, Pinky, and Bumble, powered down, silent for once, which means only one thing. Jake had been here before the finals. Long before.

Your brain immediately went to war with itself.

Did he cook all of this before going to your game? Where the hell did he even get the ticket? How did he manage his time—his precious, carefully scheduled time—to cook this much? Did he order it instead? Was this planned? Was this normal?

Why did he watch your game?

You watched him set your bag down gently on the couch. He moved toward the table, fumbling with the food covers, suddenly clumsy again.

"Uh... y'know, I—I wasn't supposed to watch," he started, almost rushed. "I ordered a bunch of meals for you to eat after, but... I—" He stopped himself, staring at the food like it might give him the right words. He scratched at his ear, shoulders curling inward. "Uh... I..."

"Thank you," you said, cutting him off gently before he could spiral any further.

He looked at you with wide eyes, you smiled at him and nodded as you sat down in the living room, the tension easing just enough to breathe again.

As usual, you ate in silence. And as usual, you ate comfortably around him. Shoving food into your mouth, muttering little "mm" sounds between bites, nodding at how good everything tasted, even closing your eyes like you were savoring.

And God, Jake really was the best roommate you'd ever accidentally asked the universe for.

If you thought about it too long, he felt like the only lucky thing that had ever landed in your life without strings attached. How being around him made you happy. How you didn't have to plan your words or armor yourself up. How you could be tired, bruised, vulnerable, and still be met with care instead of judgment.

When you finally finished eating, you leaned back with a satisfied sigh. "Thank you for the meal!" you said brightly, reaching out and slapping his back in a burst of affection.

Jake arched forward slightly and let out a soft whine, clearly not expecting it.

"Shit—sorry!" you laughed immediately, panic and amusement colliding as you rubbed the spot you'd hit. "I forget you're not built like one of my teammates."

He huffed out a shy laugh, shaking his head, ears red again.

By the time everything was packed up and wiped down, it was already past eleven. There were no leftovers—of course there weren't. Your body had burned through everything like fuel dumped straight into a fire. You stretched your arms over your head and volunteered to wash the dishes, half-joking that it was the least you could do after eating like a starved animal. Jake protested at first,  shaking his head and mumbling something about it being fine, but after a bit of back and forth he gave in, hovering awkwardly nearby like he wasn't sure whether to help or get out of your way.

You worked side by side in silence, the comfortable kind this time. Plates clinking, water running. It felt domestic in a way that made you uneasy.

When you finished and wiped your hands dry, you crouched near Bumble, who was shut down and charging by the wall. It felt weird that it didn't greet you tonight. You had half a mind to flick it on just to hear that familiar robotic "Hi." You wanted to tell it everything—that you won, that you were heading to regionals, that you earned a title you'd bled for. That somehow—against all odds—you were developing feelings for its awkward, gentle owner without even meaning to. You snorted softly at yourself and patted Bumble's rounded top "I'll tell you tomorrow," you whispered, like it could hear you.

You grabbed a towel and headed to the bathroom. The hot water hit your skin and you hissed, muscles screaming in protest, bruises blooming darker under the steam. You leaned your forehead against the tile and let yourself breathe, replaying flashes of the night—Jake in the crowd, the balloon, the Lego bouquet, his arms around you. Fuck. You shook your head hard, rinsed off, and wrapped the towel around yourself before your thoughts went somewhere dangerous.

When you stepped back into the living room, hair damp and towel slung over your shoulder, you expected the lights to be dimmed and Jake to be long asleep like usual.

Instead, you froze.

He was still there, crouched near the wall, focused on powering down the vacuum robots one by one. Whitey and Pinky blinked to life, then began their slow, looping rounds across the floor, humming softly.

"Oh," you said before you could stop yourself. "You're... still not asleep."

Jake glanced up, startled, then pushed himself to his feet. "Y-Yeah," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "I... uh... I needed to shut them down properly. They, um... run better if I don't leave it for the morning."

You nodded and sat down on the couch, absently rubbing your hair with the towel, watching Whitey bump gently into the leg of the coffee table before redirecting itself. Your body sank into the cushions, heavy and spent, but your mind was still buzzing.

"Thanks," you added quietly, not looking at him. "For... everything. Tonight."

It suddenly sounded too intimate, too loaded, and you immediately regretted not cushioning it with a joke or some careless shrug. You could almost predict what would happen next—his shoulders stiffening, that polite little cough, the retreat.

Sure enough, you heard him clear his throat, footsteps padding toward his room, and you exhaled slowly. Do not be stupid about it.

The door clicked shut. You were already settling deeper into the couch, telling your heart to calm the fuck down, when the door opened again. You frowned, lifting your head just in time to see Jake step back into the living room with a small cloth in his hand. He didn't look at you right away. Instead, he moved to the refrigerator, rummaging around. You watched him with a crease between your brows, confused.

When he turned back around, your breath caught. He crossed the space between you without rushing, then knelt down in front of the couch. Your eyes widened as he gently took hold of your foot, so careful, his gaze fixed on the angry bruises blooming along your shin and ankle. Up close, they looked worse—swollen, and darkening.

"Wait—you don't have to," you blurted, heat rushing up your neck. You reached for him instinctively, fingers closing around his wrist as if to stop him, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was.

He shook his head before you could pull away. "J-Just... let me," he said quietly, his voice steadier than you'd ever heard it. "Please."

The word please was was sincere. Caring. Like this was something he wanted to do, not something he felt obligated to offer. Your grip loosened without you even realizing it, fingers slipping from his wrist as you gave a small nod, surrendering.

The cloth was cool when it touched your skin, and you hissed softly before the ache eased just enough to make you sag back against the couch. Jake worked carefully, dabbing, not pressing too hard, his movements slow like he was afraid of hurting you. You watched him from above, the way his brows knitted in concentration, the way his thumb hovered before every touch as if silently asking permission.

In that moment, with your legs aching and your heart doing stupid, hopeful things, you felt it clearly—like the universe had finally thrown you a bone. You swallowed, blinking back the sudden sting behind your eyes, and let yourself wish—just a little—that this wasn't the end of it. That maybe, if you were brave enough, it could become something more.

The rain was relentless, hammering down on the campus like it wanted to wash everything away. You weren't supposed to be here—technically, the university might announce a suspension for this one-day anniversary celebration, and yet, here you were, dragged into anywhere by your batchmates. Booths sprawled across the open field, tents flapping violently in the wind, people shouting over the rainfall, trying to make their sales, their events, their little festivals matter despite the downpour. Your mind was flying, your focus already zeroed in on the smell of food wafting through the air.

Your batchmates were bouncing around like hyperactive ping-pong balls, dragging you to every booth, explaining every club, organization, or activity. You smiled, nodded, occasionally talking back, but your attention was already elsewhere. You made a beeline for the food tents, because at least there you could indulge without pretending to care too much about the rest of. You handed over your allowance, little coins and bills disappearing faster than you could count, but it didn't matter. You were eating! You were alive!

"This is Caramelized Banana! It's a banana with melted sugar on top. We also have banana wrapped, no sugar, or with sugar, and you can dip it in our chocolate syrup! It's a recipe popular in the Philippines—" You nodded, intrigued despite yourself, and bought one, your teeth sinking into the warm sweetness. You didn't even mind the vendor's continued spiel, too busy savoring the sticky sugar sliding down your fingers.

"Nachos with a lot of melted cheese! Would you like that? Buy here, come!" Oh, cheese. You couldn't say no. You grabbed it, scarfed down the gooey chips, and licked your fingers. The crowd barely mattered, the wet grass barely mattered—you had your food and that was enough.

"Nasi Goreng, originated from Malaysia, and we also have Murtabak with curry dipping sauce—" One you hadn't tried before, hm, promising. You bought it anyway, letting the unfamiliar spice surprise you.

You wandered, hands overloaded with plates, cups, skewers, dripping food and drink. You smiled at familiar faces, waved at acquaintances, all without really stopping, just enjoying the simple pleasure of eating. But then, of course, you saw Karina, by the Engineering booth. And just like some magnetic pull, she was staring right at you, that big, wide, infuriatingly cheerful grin on her face.

Your first instinct was to turn on your heel and walk fast, hoping she wouldn't catch up. Ha. Of course, she did, slinging an arm around your shoulder and tugging you in the direction she wanted.

"Come on," she sing-songed, leaning heavily into you. "You're really not interested in the Engineering booths? That's wild." She grinned, nuzzling her nose against your cheek in that infuriatingly intimate way she had. "I saw your cute little roommate earlier, you know. Passing papers to the Grade 12 students. He looked all serious and responsible. Wanna say hi? Let's go say hi."

You huffed through the banana cue still in your mouth, your cheeks hollowing as you chewed. Three days had passed since the finals, three days of rest and light training, but your mind was still a battlefield. Thoughts of him kept creeping in, and the more you tried to ignore them, the louder they became. You wanted to avoid him—yes, goddamn yes—but at the same time, every fiber of you ached to see him, to be near him, to steal a moment that wasn't really yours.

Karina jabbed your side playfully again, practically dragging you forward, and you let yourself be led, cheeks flaming hotter with each step. Your stomach was twisting like a knot of nerves and excitement as she maneuvered you through the rain-slicked paths, past other tents, right to the Engineering booth where Jake was standing. Flyers were scattered across the table, little models of buildings precariously balanced on top, and he was carefully carrying one in his hands.

"O-Oh, hi," he stammered when his gaze landed on you. You forced a small, awkward smile and waved, trying to look casual, though your knees threatened to buckle under the intensity of your own heartbeat. His eyes flicked to Karina, who was grinning and waving energetically at him, and you could feel her elbows nudging you forward with impatience.

"Hi! I'm Karina, her friend!" she chirped, pointing at you. She looped her arms around yours in a sort of gesture, pressing her hip gently against yours, signaling you to do something—anything—so you wouldn't freeze completely.

"Hi, I'm Jake..." he said, his words catching slightly as he placed the tiny building models on the table with deliberate care, his gaze snapping back to you immediately. Karina squealed again, poking your side for emphasis, and you could barely focus on anything except the way his eyes met yours.

The past three days, he had been almost invisible in the apartment, buried in whatever work the booth had demanded. You had tried to cook dinner once, thinking maybe it would be a way to reach out, but you burned the rice, cursing yourself under your breath. After that, you'd stuck to ordering takeout, leaving it neatly on the table for him, only to be met with his quiet thanks and a promise to sleep early because of his busy schedule. Talking to him directly had always been this impossible thing, a wall of nerves and hesitation that you could never figure out how to scale.

"Uh..." you said finally. "What's around your booth?" You felt Karina pinch your back sharply, a mischievous jab reminding you to ask more, not less.

"M-Mostly, just models and blueprints of b-buildings. N-nothing special, sorry—our plan was to encourage the Grade 12 students to enroll in our c-courses... that's why..."

You nodded, staring at the mini-building he had just placed down, but your gaze inevitably wandered to his hands. White, slender, pale hands, veiny in the softest, most perfect way. Hands that looked like they could build worlds or crush them, delicate and capable at the same time. You swallowed hard, blinking, your mind wandering to impossible thoughts—holding those hands, wrapping yours around them. It was infuriating how unfairly perfect he was in every little way, how nothing about him seemed flawed, nothing you could grasp onto to stop yourself from melting quietly inside.

"The fuck are you doing? Ask him more!" Karina hissed into your ear, breaking through your daze and making you jump slightly.

"Uh... you want some food?" you blurted, holding up the banana cue you still had, dipping it in chocolate sauce with trembling hands. Your fingers shook as you offered it to him, locking eyes with his as if your courage depended on it. You could see the sudden widening of his eyes behind his glasses, a tiny flare of surprise that made your stomach twist. "It's a banana with sugar... I roamed around the area and ate all of their food. Haha..." You tried to laugh lightly, hoping it sounded casual instead of awkward.

Jake's hands were still slightly dusty from handling the models, and he rubbed them awkwardly on his pants. "Uh... D-Do you have alcohol wipes or—"

"It's okay, just take a bite. I'll hold it for you," you said quickly, forcing your voice calm even though your heart was hammering. Your feet tapped nervously against the ground as you leaned slightly forward, the tiniest tremor of excitement running up your spine.

Then he leaned forward, slowly, cautiously, and took a bite. Your fingers tightened around the stick as you watched him, the small tunnel of the booth around you fading until all you could see was him. Karina's muffled clap from the side snapped you briefly back, and you caught her giving you a sly thumbs-up, eyes closed in encouragement as if saying, Finally, you're doing it.

God, Jake is so handsome it knocks the air clean out of you. Your brain short-circuits in the dumbest way possible, every thought evaporating until there's nothing left but him—standing there, biting into your food. You watch his lips close around the banana, the faint shine of chocolate at the corner of his mouth, the way his jaw moves when he chews. He nods softly, murmuring a quiet thanks, his palm hovering over his mouth as if he's embarrassed to be seen enjoying it too much.

You don't move. You barely breathe. It's humiliating how sensitive you suddenly feel to everything—how close he is, how warm the air feels between you, how one small movement from him makes your stomach flip. Seconds pass, maybe minutes, you're not sure. Then Jake looks up and catches you staring, really staring, and your chest tightens painfully because fuck, you didn't even try to hide it.

Karina, bless her soul, steps in before you can combust on the spot. "Jake? Right?" she says brightly, already reaching out to clap a hand on his shoulder. He jumps a little at the contact, stiff as a board. "Actually, my friend Sangwon—you know Sangwon? Yeah? He's an engineer. He's gonna take over the booth with Leo in a bit." She gestures wildly behind her, where Sangwon and Leo are walking past with drinks in their hands. "What if you two just roam around the area? My friend here is a loner," she adds, squeezing your arm hard, "and it might be nice for you to walk instead of being stuck here all day, hmm?"

Jake freezes completely, eyes darting between Karina and you. Sangwon and Leo stop mid-step, staring at Karina. "Are you fucking with me?" Sangwon mutters, incredulous. Leo just blinks, mouth open.

"Shut up," Karina snaps without looking at them.

"Actually—" you finally manage to speak, like you just woke up from a dream. You clear your throat and glance at Jake, trying not to melt under the way his attention snaps back to you instantly. "I saw at the other booth... the sponsored one... they were selling Hot Wheels."

"Really?!" Jake's eyes widen so much they practically light up behind his glasses. The shift is immediate and endearing as hell, all his stiffness melting into pure, unfiltered excitement. "Like... the die-cast ones? Or the limited edition—" He cuts himself off, realizing he's rambling.

You smile before you can stop yourself. You don't even know what are the die cast or the limited editions but— "I think I saw some limited ones," you say. "Near the food stalls."

Karina grins, "see?" she declares. "Go. Walk. Talk. I'll handle the booth." She physically pushes Jake a step away from the table, then nudges you forward too.

Jake hesitates, fingers twitching at his sides, then looks at you like he's asking permission without saying it. "I-If... if you don't mind," he says quietly.

You shrug, pretending your heart isn't slamming against your ribs. "Yeah. I don't mind."

And just like that, you're walking side by side, away from the booth. Your shoulders almost brush, close enough that you're hyper-aware of it, but neither of you moves away.

"How do you know I like Hot Wheels?" Jake asks after a moment.

You shrug, like it's nothing, like it didn't take weeks of quiet observation to notice. "Dunno," you say casually. "Every time I talk about rent or bills and you open your door, I just... notice the tiny cars." You glance at him, then gesture vaguely behind you. "They're lined up. Organized. Very... you."

He lets out a small, embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. You continue before you can second-guess yourself. "But you kinda like everything, right? Stars. Oceans. Dinosaurs. All that science stuff." You pause, then add, "There's a lot of booths here that reminded me of you." The moment the words leave your mouth, you bite your lip.

"Really?" he says, stopping for half a second just to look at you properly. Not a quick glance—an actual look. His eyes search your face like he's checking if you're joking, if this is some kind of tease. When he realizes you're not, his ears turn red almost instantly. "Let's take a look then," he adds, a little brighter.

You nod, grateful for the excuse to look away, and guide him toward the booth you spotted earlier. The Hot Wheels stand is crowded with students leaning over glass cases, bright lights reflecting off tiny polished cars. Rows and rows of them—limited editions, old-school designs, racing models, cartoonish ones.

"Oh my God," Jake breathes. The words slip out before he can stop them, and you swear you've never seen him look so openly excited. He leans closer to the glass, hands clasped behind his back like a kid trying not to press his face against a window. "Th-This is— I've never seen this many in one place."

You watch him instead of the cars. The way his eyes light up, the way he rocks slightly on his heels, trying to contain himself. It hits you then—this is what it looks like when someone feels safe enough to be fully themselves.

"These ones are rare," you say, pointing at a row near the back, pretending you know more than you do. "I heard people were lining up early for them."

Jake leans in closer, his arm brushing yours accidentally. "Y-Yeah," he says, "I've only seen pictures of these online."

You're not even really looking at the cars anymore. You're watching him—how his focus sharpens, how his shoulders loosen, how this small joy pulls him out of his shell. Then, without thinking too much about it, he reaches out and lightly wraps his fingers around your forearm. "C-Come here," he murmurs, already tugging you a step to the side. "Take a look at this."

He points at a single car nestled among the others. "That one," he says, "It's a Super Treasure Hunt. See the 'TH' logo?" He leans closer to the glass, his grip on you tightening just a fraction. "They don't make a lot of them. People s-search for years sometimes."

"And... what about it?" you ask, heat creeps up your neck. Your cheeks flush, not just from the closeness, but from the way he's still holding you—thumb resting against your skin. You don't pull away. You don't want to.

Jake finally realizes what he's doing and stiffens slightly, his fingers twitching like he's about to let go. "S-Sorry," he starts, panicking, "I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay," you cut in quickly, turning your arm just enough that his hand stays where it is. You meet his eyes. "You're excited. I get it."

His mouth opens, then closes, then he lets out a small, breathy laugh. "I, uh... I just—" He swallows. "I think it's c-cool. When something small means that much."

You smile without thinking, slow and soft, nodding along. Yeah. Totally relatable. Your life has been built on small things that meant everything.

You and him end up roaming around the booths despite the shit weather, rain misting the air and soaking the edges of banners and tents. For once, you don't care. For once, you're not rushing, not counting time, not worrying about training schedules or what comes next. And really—this is the first time you see him like this. Not just Jake-the-roommate, or Jake-the-awkward-genius, but Jake letting himself exist out loud.

"It's my first time roaming around this much," he says, eyes wide as he takes everything in. His hand is still loosely wrapped around your arm. "Wow... I think there's a lot more compared to last year." His other hand is full of paper bags from the Hot Wheels booth.

You hum, letting him talk, letting him lead, and he really does. He points things out with this quiet excitement that sneaks up on you. The biology booth makes him stop dead in his tracks. "And that one—" he says, tugging you closer, voice lifting despite himself. "They're doing dissections. Look, that's a scorpion—see how detailed it is? And they patched it up themselves. That's so cool." His words tumble over each other, hands moving.

Then he's already dragging you again, apologizing under his breath but smiling all the same, pulling you toward a booth filled with wires, blinking LEDs, half-built machines. You figure it's IT or robotics—something adjacent to his world. His eyes light up immediately, pupils blown wide.

"This one—" he says, pointing at a small rectangular robot with tiny arms and legs. "It's an emo robot. Originally meant to sit on desks." He wiggles his finger in front of it, and the robot mirrors the motion, its digital eyes shifting expressions. Jake laughs under his breath, soft and fond. "I wanted one before, but it was expensive. So maybe Bumble can be an improvisation." He glances at you. "Someday... what do you think?"

You look at the robot, then back at him, then shake your head lightly. "I think I like Bumble more," you say honestly. "She greets me. Judges me silently."

He snorts before he can stop himself, clapping a hand over his mouth. And God—there it is again. That sound. That real laugh. It makes something warm bloom in your chest.

"Y-Yeah," he says, smiling openly now. "She does that."

And somehow, after that, everything loosens. The tension you didn't even realize you were carrying melts into the background as the two of you keep walking, drifting from booth to booth, laughing more than you expect to. It's awkward, yeah—there are pauses, stutters, moments where you both talk at once and then stop—but it's the good kind. He points at everything like a kid seeing the world for the first time, rambling about random facts, half-formed theories, things he read once and never forgot. And you listen. Really listen. Not because you feel like you have to, but because hearing him talk like this feels... comforting.

You catch yourself smiling for no damn reason, nodding along while he explains why certain materials work better in buildings or why he likes models more than finished structures. He talks with his hands, fingers fidgeting when he gets excited, eyes lighting up in a way that makes your chest ache a little.

"They said after this," you say eventually, glancing up at the sky, "judging by the weather, the government might suspend classes." The clouds above are heavy and gray, the wind sharp enough to bite through your clothes.

You're halfway through the walk back when the sky finally gives up pretending. Rain pours down all at once, soaking you in seconds. You both stop, startled, then look at each other like idiots before breaking into a run. Jake hugs the paper bags to his chest, trying—and failing—to shield them with his body.

"Oh no—!" he yelps, slipping slightly, and you grab his arm without thinking, dragging him forward.

You fumble with your keys at the door, hands slick and shaking, rain blurring your vision as you finally get it open. The two of you stumble inside, slamming the door shut behind you, breathing hard. For a second there's just the sound of rain pounding against the walls and your own uneven breaths.

Then you look at each other.

And you both lose it.

Laughter bursts out of you, echoing through the apartment. Water drips from your hair, down your face, soaking your clothes. Jake's curls are plastered to his forehead, his glasses fogged, his braces flashing as he grins and pushes his wet hair back with his palm.

God. He looks ridiculous. And beautiful.

Your chest feels warm, too full, as you watch him walk over and carefully set the bags on the couch like he's still worried about them, even now. He glances back at you, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, still smiling like this moment.

"We should immediately shower and change our clothes," he said, voice still a little breathless from laughing.

By the time you wrapped yourself in a towel and crawled into bed, your body finally gave in. The government suspension announcement came not long after. Continuous heavy rainfall. Classes canceled. City on standby. You stared at the window instead, watching water race down the glass in uneven lines, your mind is finally quiet. Just an unfamiliar sense of peace.

You didn't even realize how long you'd been lying there until a soft knock pulled you out of it.

It was too early for you to feel human again, too early to leave the bed—but of course, it was Jake. Standing at your door, holding a bowl with both hands. "Uh... I made b-breakfast," he said. "Porridge. With egg." He hesitated, then added, "If you're hungry."

God. You could live like this forever.

After washing the dishes together—your hands bumping once, both of you apologizing at the same time—you leaned against the counter, watching him wipe the table with careful strokes.

"Do you think it'll take weeks?" you asked, glancing at your phone. "Another typhoon's coming, right? Friday, I think."

He shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Dunno. Our profs already sent some online activities." He paused, then added, almost apologetic, "I still have to study."

"Sucks to be you," you said, grinning. "I just wanna be lazy all day. But also... being lazy gets boring fast."

He lifted his head then, eyes flicking up to meet yours. There was a brief pause, like he was debating with himself, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Wanna b-build a Lego with me?"

Oh fuck. Your heart did that stupid thing again—jumping, twisting. You nodded anyway, too fast, too eager. "Yeah," you said. "Sure. Why not."

That was how you ended up on the living room floor, legs folded awkwardly, backs against the couch, Lego pieces scattered everywhere. Jake sat close—but not too close—careful in the way he always was, knees tucked in, sleeves pushed up as his fingers worked with quiet focus. He explained things as he went, apologizing every time he thought he was talking too much, which only made you want to hear more. You kept stealing glances at him, the way his brow furrowed when a piece didn't fit, the little hum he made under his breath when he figured it out.

And it didn't stop there.

The next morning, the rain was still relentless, hammering against the windows with no mercy, wind howling. You were half-awake, wrapped in a blanket, when Jake hovered near the couch, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Uh... do you wanna watch a series?" he asked, holding his tablet. "I—I started it last week. It's... kinda long."

You agreed before your brain could catch up, again.

That's how you ended up watching a chess series together, bodies sunk into the couch, knees occasionally brushing. You didn't understand half of it, but you liked the way he watched—leaning forward, eyes sharp, fully absorbed. You pointed at the screen when the female lead pulled off some insane move, eyebrows raised. "I don't get how it works," you said honestly, "but she's cool as hell."

He smiled at that, a real one, eyes lighting up. "Y-Yeah. She is." He hesitated, then added, softer, "She's really smart."

Hours slipped by without either of you noticing. Episodes blurred together. You asked questions, most of them are dumb ones, sometimes ones that made him pause and think. When the character lost a crucial match, you frowned at the screen. "Why did she lose?"

Jake straightened a bit. "B-Because she got checkmated," he said gently. "There's... rules. A lot of patterns. Math, too." He leaned forward, pointing at the paused screen. "Her queen is trapped here. If she moves it, her king's exposed. No safe squares left."

You nodded slowly, pretending you understood more than you did, eyes flicking between the screen and him. He kept explaining anyway, hands moving as he talked, sketching invisible boards in the air.

Night fell without ceremony. The rain didn't let up. At some point, you realized your head had tipped onto his shoulder, your body was warm and heavy against his side. He stiffened for half a second, then relaxed, breathing evening. Neither of you said anything. The show kept playing. Your eyes drifted shut.

Another morning arrived with rain slamming against the windows like it was angry at the city itself. The wind howled, rattling the glass hard enough that it felt alive. Your phone buzzed with the announcement before you even checked the time: University Suspension — Classes Cancelled Until Further Notice. You stared at the screen for a second, then let yourself fall back against the couch with a breathy laugh. Trapped. Stuck. Whatever word people wanted to use. You didn't mind it. Not when being stuck meant him.

What surprised you most was him. Jake, who used to barely look at you without stuttering himself into knots, was the one filling the space now. He suggested things quietly but confidently—movies, games, stupid little activities that somehow filled the hours without feeling forced. He brought out board games you didn't even know he owned, set up playlists that hummed softly in the background. It was like once the outside world paused, he stepped forward like this was where he belonged.

"Wow," you said, staring down at the chessboard. "I can't believe we were just watching a chess series, and now we're actually playing." You picked up a random piece—no idea what it was—and shoved it forward. "This is unfair. I couldn't even comprehend a single rule."

You glanced up at Jake, expecting a laugh or at least a smug look, but he was focused—elbows on his knees, chin tilted down, eyes fixed on the board and cute as hell.

"You can't place it there," he said calmly, reaching out before you could protest. His fingers brushed yours as he lifted the piece you'd just moved, the contact brief but electric, like your skin had suddenly woken up. He shifted it to another square, "I can eat you."

You froze. He froze too. Then his eyes widened, panic flashing across his face as he realized what he'd just said. "Y–Your piece," he corrected quickly, voice dropping, ears turning red. "I mean. The piece. I'll take it."

You stared at him for a second. And then you laughed, leaning back on your hands as the sound spilled out of you. "Holy shit," you said, grinning. "Buy me dinner first, nerd."

He let out a strangled sound somewhere between a cough and a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand as his shoulders shook. "I—I didn't mean it like that," he muttered, mortified.

"I know," you said, still smiling. You leaned forward again, elbows resting on your knees, eyes dropping to the board like you were suddenly very invested in this stupid little war of wooden pieces. Your fingers traced the edge of a pawn absentmindedly. "But I don't mind..."

"Mind... what?" he asked, tentative, eyes flicking up to you and then away again like he was afraid of what he might see on your face.

You didn't even give yourself time to overthink it, you were just done pretending you didn't feel this pull. "You eating me." —and your mouth moved before your brain could chicken out. Fuck. You were flirting. You were actually, openly flirting.

Jake froze like you'd hit a pause button on him. His hand hovered over one of his pieces, then he snapped back to life and shoved it forward a little too fast, the wood clacking loudly against the board. You leaned forward too, mirroring him, reaching for one of your pieces and sliding it closer to his side of the board, deliberately slow, deliberately close. You lifted your eyes to his face, watching the way his blush deepened, spreading from his ears down his neck.

"My piece," you added quickly, lips twitching. "I mean." You pulled it back with a grin that told him you absolutely did not mean just that.

He swallowed hard as he moved again, taking your piece this time, fingers trembling just slightly. You caught the way his Adam's apple bobbed when he gulped, the way his jaw tightened like he was trying very hard to keep it together. God, he was cute like this—unraveled but trying, flustered but still playing, still sitting there with you instead of running for his room.

"I—I..." he started, then stopped, exhaling through his nose. "I know," he said finally, like he was bracing himself. "Your turn."

You didn't move right away. You just looked at the board, then at him, heart thudding harder than it had any right to over a chess game and a few words loaded with way too much meaning. Slowly, you picked up a piece and nudged it forward, smiling faintly to yourself as if you were enjoying how this felt far more than you should.

"Okie," you said lightly, then—just to be an asshole—you shoved another random chess piece forward. Jake scratched his head, blinking at the board.

"You can't move it from the back to the front, it's the Queen. You're exposing it," he said, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. You almost laughed at how serious he was, brows furrowed, already reaching out to fix your mistake.

The next few hours blurred into him lecturing you about chess pieces, strategies, positioning, endgames, openings—things you half-listened to while watching the way his hands moved.

It didn't shock you at all that most of your pieces were eaten, one by one, until the board looked pitiful on your side. He leaned back slightly, studying it, then glanced up at you. "You're cornered," he said, almost apologetic.

"Sucks," you muttered, staring at your lonely queen. You tilted your head, eyes flicking up to his. "But I'm facing your queen. Is it not a checkmate?"

Jake blinked. Once. Twice. Then he leaned forward again, squinting at the board, lips parted in concentration. You watched him closely, the way his shoulders tensed, the way he bit his lower lip without realizing it. After a long moment, he froze, realization dawning on his face. "...Shit," he breathed.

You grinned, resting your chin on your palm. "Guess I win."

"Y-You didn't even know what you were doing!" he said.

"Nah!" You clapped your hands loudly, then you pointed straight at him like you'd just defeated a final boss. "You lose, loser!" You stuck your tongue out without shame, leaning into the childish victory. 

You pushed yourself up from the floor and climbed onto the couch, ignoring the scattered chess pieces. You did a slow spin, arms swaying dramatically, hips moving just enough to be obnoxious. "Bow to your champion!" you declared, laughing at your own stupidity as you were trying to annoy him. But you stopped mid-twirl. 

Jake wasn't annoyed, he wasn't scrambling to defend himself. He was just staring at you. A wide smile stretched across his face, braces flashing. His eyes were bright, crinkled at the corners, completely unguarded. He looked at you like you were something entertaining and precious at the same time.

Your stomach flipped. The teasing energy drained out of you in an instant. You stepped down from the couch and sat back on the floor across from him, suddenly more aware of the space between you. The chessboard sat abandoned, pieces knocked over like the game didn't matter anymore. 

"So," you said, clearing your throat as you folded your legs under you. You tilted your head slightly, trying to keep the playful tone even though your pulse had started racing. "Do winners have a prize?"

Jake's smile softened immediately. He looked down at his hands, then rubbed the back of his ear, and right on cue, the tips turned red. He pressed his lips together, then bit the lower one gently like he was thinking too hard. His feet shuffled against the floor, restless, nervous energy buzzing off him.

At first, you weren't sure what he was thinking. Maybe he thought you meant snacks. Maybe he was calculating some logical reward system in his head. But the longer he stayed quiet, the more your mind spiraled. Is he thinking what you're thinking? Or are you just being delusional? Your heart pounded louder, drowning out the rain for a second. He kept biting his lip, glancing up at you and then away again. His fingers curled into the fabric of his sweatpants.

"I—" he started, then stopped. He inhaled slowly, steadying himself. "What kind of prize?" he asked.

You leaned forward just slightly, enough that your knees were only inches away from his. "I don't know," you said, watching his face carefully. "You're the one who lost."

His eyes lifted to yours, and this time, he didn't look away. The storm outside continued raging, wind howling, rain pounding relentlessly, but inside, everything was suspended in this quiet, dangerous pause. You could see the conflict in his expression—the nervousness, the want, the restraint. He swallowed again. "I can... cook?" he offered, almost shyly. "Or... d-do the dishes for a week?"

You stared at him for a second. And then you laughed softly, shaking your head. Of course he would offer something practical. Of course he'd default to taking care of you in the safest way possible. "You're such a nerd," you murmured.

He smiled again, uncertain. "Is that... not okay?"

You looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think about it. Your teeth caught your lower lip as your mind spiraled. If you say this, you're crossing the line. If you say this, you're not just flirting anymore—you're stepping over that invisible boundary that kept things safe. If you say this, you might lose the easy mornings, the quiet dinners — But then again... what the hell were you so scared of?

"What about a kiss?" you asked, finally looking back at him, forcing your voice to stay steady. You watched it happen in real time—the shift in his face. His eyes widened just slightly, then softened, then panicked. Color bloomed across his cheeks, spreading down his neck in a slow, undeniable flush. His lips parted like he was about to speak, but no sound came out. For a second, you regretted it.

"Forget it," you said quickly, nerves snapping at you. You moved to stand, heart racing, ready to laugh it off, ready to run before you saw rejection in his eyes. But you didn't get far when a firm hand wrapped around your wrist. It wasn't rough, but it wasn't hesitant either. It caught you mid-motion and pulled you back down with enough strength to surprise you. A small yelp escaped your throat, cut short when you felt his lips against yours.

Your eyes flew open. Jake's were closed, brows slightly furrowed like he was concentrating too hard. His lips were soft—warmer than you expected. He kissed you like he did everything else: carefully at first, uncertain. You could feel the inexperience in the way he tilted his head a little too abruptly, the way his mouth moved like he wasn't sure what rhythm to follow.

Your shock melted fast. You closed your eyes and leaned in properly this time, pushing the chessboard out of the way with a clatter of wooden pieces hitting the floor. Your hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping them, feeling the solid warmth beneath his shirt. He let out the smallest, breathy sound against your mouth, half a whine, half a gasp.

The cold wind outside rattled the windows, but the room felt like it was closing in, warm with the sound of your breathing mixing together. You moved your lips more deliberately, guiding the kiss, pressing closer. When you brushed your tongue lightly against his bottom lip—slow, asking—he froze for a split second before he opened up. A quiet, shaky moan slipped from him as you deepened it, tasting him, feeling the way his hands tightened around your waist. His fingers dug in just enough to make you aware of them.

Still kissing him, you shifted your weight and swung a leg over, settling onto his lap without breaking contact. He inhaled sharply into your mouth at the movement, his grip adjusting to keep you steady. You could feel how tense he was beneath you, how his whole body seemed lit up by every point of contact. Your hands slid from his shoulders to the back of his neck, fingers threading lightly into his hair. You pulled him closer, and this time, he responded without pause—kissing you back with more confidence. A sharp gasp escaped you when his grip on your waist tightened suddenly, pulling your body flush against his. The pressure of him beneath the thin fabric of his pajama pants was obvious. Your head spun so fast you didn't even think about pulling away for air. It felt like your bodies had turned into magnets, stuck together with a force neither of you had the will to fight.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

Your hips shifted slowly, a roll meant to test him. You refused to break the kiss, and when the heat between your legs pressed directly against the tense outline beneath you, a quiet moan slipped from your throat before you could stop it. The sound vibrated between your mouths. That was when Jake broke the kiss.

Your lips chased his, catching his bottom lip between your teeth before he could pull too far away. The separation was reluctant, both of you breathing hard like you'd just sprinted a mile. Your chest rose and fell rapidly while you stayed seated on his lap, fingers still tangled in his hair like you might drag him back if he dared move too far.

"What— why?" you asked, your voice still shaky and breathless.

Jake's face was flushed a deep red, spreading from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. His glasses had fogged slightly from the heat between you. For a second he just stared at you, then he shook his head once, almost frustrated, and pulled his glasses off. Without much care he tossed them somewhere toward the floor beside the couch where they landed with a faint clatter. Before you could even react, his hands returned to you and he leaned forward again, capturing your mouth in another kiss.

This one was different. There was nothing hesitant about it anymore. His grip on your waist was firmer, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt. A small squeal escaped you when he suddenly stood, lifting you effortlessly like you weighed nothing. The sudden movement made your arms tighten around his neck while your legs wrapped around his waist, locking you against him. The new position pressed your bodies together even closer, heat building fast between you as he carried you across the room without breaking the kiss for more than a second.

Your mind tried to catch up, tried to ask what the hell was about to happen next, but the thought dissolved the moment his mouth found yours again. Overthinking felt impossible now. The only thing that mattered was the feeling of his lips, the warmth of his hands, the way your pulse pounded in your ears. You had spent too long ignoring the tension between you, pretending it wasn't there.

Right now you didn't care about tomorrow, or consequences, or whatever awkwardness might follow.

Right now you just wanted him.

Jake's breathing had turned uneven by the time your mouth drifted away from his lips. Your kisses trailed along the corner of his mouth, brushing his cheek before moving down to his jaw. You nipped lightly at the warm skin there, feeling the way his body tensed beneath your hold. One of his hands slid up your back while the other steadied you against him, fingers flexing slightly like he wasn't entirely sure where to touch first. "Where?" he whispered.

The word barely made it out before your teeth grazed his skin again. You could feel his pulse under your lips. You didn't answer, instead, you dragged your mouth slowly along his jaw toward his ear, letting the silence stretch while his grip on you tightened almost unconsciously. Your fingers brushed through the hair at the back of his neck again, tugging making him inhale sharply.

Then you finally murmured your answer against his ear. "Your room"

Your cunt fluttered at the sound of your own words, heat pooling wet as a low, long whine escaped him. You barely had time to register the sensation before you were being carried again, the familiar weightless surge of being lifted making your stomach knot with anticipation and arousal. The world blurred around you, furniture and light flashing past as he moved. You tried to hold onto something, but there was nothing to hold onto except him. Every nerve ending in your body was awake, every touch of his hand, every movement of his body against yours, sending sparks you didn't even know you could feel.

When he finally lowered you onto the bed, it was gentle despite the desperation in his hold. His hands guided you, careful, cradling your head like you were made of something fragile he didn't want to break. The bed beneath you was soft, yielding under your weight, but somehow it didn't lessen the intimacy of the moment—the way he leaned over you, holding you steady, letting you both pause before the next wave hit. You froze for a heartbeat, just staring at him.

Seeing Jake without his glasses was like seeing him stripped bare in a way you hadn't noticed before. His eyes were glossy and brilliant, gleaming with something almost otherworldly. There was a kind of intensity in them, like the stars he loved to watch in those documentaries he'd obsess over, but alive, raw, and focused entirely on you. You could see a storm of desire and confusion, clarity and hesitation all tangled up behind those shining orbs, and even though you didn't understand all of it, it made something coil tight in your chest. 

You just leaned in, pressing your lips against him, trailing soft, hungry kisses across his nose, the tip of his chin, the curve of his cheeks, letting your hands wander freely over the hard lines of his triceps, feeling the muscle tense and flex under your touch.

"Still with me?" you whispered, your teeth grazing his jaw as you tugged lightly, testing him, teasing him, feeling the shiver roll down his spine. Your hands drifted to his, guiding them up your body, threading his fingers through the fabric of your shirt, pressing them to your chest. "Is this okay?" you asked, your eyes locked on his, searching, and needing him to answer without words.

Jake gasped sharply, chest rising and falling, his eyes wide, pupils blown, and the flush spreading across his face so deep it looked almost painful. His cock twitched insistently beneath his pajama pants. Every nerve in his body screamed for more, as if your hands on him had awakened something he had been holding back. You moved slowly, coaxing him, rubbing him through the fabric, kneading the hard length of him in small, teasing motions while letting your fingers drift over the edges of his hips and down the side of his thighs. At first, his hands hovered uncertainly, until he finally mirrored you, sliding over your chest, kneading your breasts softly, fingers gentle yet unsteady.

A shared whine broke through your lips almost without thought. You couldn't bear the waiting any longer. Your hands fumbled at your top, ripping it free along with the bra in one shameless movement. The sudden freedom of your bare skin against the cool air made you shiver, and you felt him lean closer immediately, drawing in your scent as if it intoxicated him. He found the confidence to follow your earlier movements, pressing his mouth to your jaw, nibbling in small, sharp bites that made you wince, pulling a low moan from your chest despite the sting.

"Pretty," he whispered in a way that made you question if you'd imagined it. "So... so, pretty." He repeated it, a breathless chant, before diving back into your lips with renewed hunger.

You lost track of time, swallowed whole by the rhythm of his mouth and the press of his body against yours. His arms wrapped tighter around you, fingers pressing against your back and shoulders. Your bare breasts brushed against the fabric of his shirt, and the friction made your stomach coil tight with heat. You wanted more—you wanted all of it—but you were afraid to ask, afraid that if you broke the kiss to say so, he would retreat into awkwardness and the fragile tension you'd built would shatter. So instead, you cut the kiss abruptly, pressing the back of his head against your chest, guiding him where you wanted without speaking.

"Nghh," you moaned, tilting your head back, arching your back, letting him explore freely. His lips closed around your nipple, sucking with the inexperience of someone trying to mimic what they thought they should do. It was awkward but it sent shocks through your body. You felt him adapt, he swirled his tongue over your areola, teasing, learning, feeling. You guided one of his hands into your other breast, holding the back of his palm against your skin as he kneaded gently, and your eyes closed, lost in sensation.

He seemed to catch every nuance in your reactions, every small gasp that slipped out of your mouth, every tremor that ran through your body when he touched the right spot. His tongue flicked slowly between your nipples while his thumbs moved in steady circles around them, rough pads grazing the sensitive skin again and again. The sensation made your breath hitch sharply, another helpless gasp leaving your throat as your fingers curled into his hair. Jake stayed there for a long moment, almost stubborn about it, alternating between sucking, licking, and pressing soft kisses against your chest.

Eventually he pulled away, his lips lingering for a second before he leaned back up to capture your mouth again.

Oh boy, Jake must really love kissing.

You dragged him closer, one hand gripping the back of his neck while your body shifted beneath him. Your hips rolled upward without thinking, pressing into him, searching for friction. The kiss quickly turned messy as both of you started moving at the same time, your bodies grinding together clumsily on the bed. Each time your hips pushed up you felt the hard pressure of him through the fabric between you, and the contact made a low sound rumble from his chest.

"Re... move," you muttered between kisses, the word breaking apart as your lips kept bumping into his. Your fingers tugged impatiently at his shirt, pulling at the fabric.

Jake let out another strained whine before pulling away. He fumbled with his clothes quickly, clearly not thinking about grace or neatness. His shirt disappeared first, tossed somewhere beside the bed, and then his hands went straight for the waistband of his pajama pants. In his rush he dragged them down together with his boxers, pushing the fabric down his hips in one impatient motion.

"Oh..." you whispered before you could stop yourself, your body shifting backward slightly against the mattress.

Jake stood there for a second, breathing heavily, chest rising and falling while he looked at you, trying to read your reaction. But your attention had already dropped lower. Your gaze locked on him, on the obvious heat and color of his cock, the flushed pink that leaned almost red under the soft light in the room. You could see the veins along the base, the damp shine at the tip where precum had already gathered. It looked almost angry, twitching slightly with each breath he took.

How the hell had Jake—your awkward, nerdy, always-overthinking roommate—been hiding something like that?

Jake noticed where you were looking. His shoulders shifted awkwardly and his hand moved as if he wanted to cover himself, the embarrassment creeping back onto his face. But before he could actually hide anything, you moved. You pushed yourself up onto your knees on the mattress and reached forward, catching his wrist and pulling it aside. Your other hand slid forward immediately after, your palm wrapping around his cock.

"No— ahh—" Jake's head tipped back the moment your hand closed around him.

You felt the warmth of it against your palm, and your fingers tightened slightly without thinking. His reaction made you reach up with your free hand, grabbing lightly at the back of his neck and pulling him down toward you again. Your lips crashed back into his before he could say anything else. The angle was awkward now, with him half leaning over you and most of his weight pressing down onto the mattress while your hand stayed wrapped around him. His hips kept shifting forward, brushing against your palm. You deepened the kiss, your mouth moving slowly against his while your hand finally started to move. Your grip circled him carefully at first, sliding upward and then back down in a slow motion as you tested the rhythm.

Jake's moan burst straight into your mouth. His entire body jerked in response, hips twitching sharply against your hand. His legs tensed, muscles tightening as if he'd been hit with a sudden wave of sensation he wasn't prepared for. The sound he made this time was even more desperate, muffled by the kiss.

And then you felt the sudden spurt against your hand, the unmistakable wetness as his body reacted faster than either of you expected. Your movement slowed automatically, your mind catching up with what had just happened.

Oh... Oh.

Jake pulled away from your mouth so suddenly, his breath ragged and uneven as he immediately buried his face into the crook of your neck. The movement was clumsy like he was trying to disappear somewhere inside you. His entire body collapsed forward, and you swore the air left your lungs for a second under the full weight of him. He wasn't holding himself up anymore—he was just draped over you, chest pressed to yours, arms braced awkwardly on either side of your shoulders. You could feel how hot his skin was, how fast his heart was pounding against you. One of his hands quickly grabbed your wrist and gently pulled your hand away from him. He didn't say anything. He just breathed hard against your neck, warm bursts of air brushing your skin while his body stayed tense.

A small patch of warmth spreading slowly against your neck. At first you thought it was just his breath, or sweat from how heated everything had gotten but — "Are you..." you paused, confused, one hand coming up to touch his back carefully, fingers brushing along his spine. "Crying?"

"Sorry I cum too fast," he whimpered into your neck, his voice muffled and shaking as he buried his face deeper against your skin. His head shook slightly as he said it, the motion rubbing his cheek against you.

Your eyes widened immediately. "Hey—no, it's okay, shhh, stop—" You started patting his back quickly, almost awkwardly, because the sudden shift in mood caught you completely off guard. His shoulders trembled under your hands as his quiet crying turned louder, broken breaths hitching against your skin. You didn't even understand what exactly had upset him so much — like, he was still hard, twitching against your thigh.

"Shhh, stop crying," you said again, your palm moving slowly up and down his back in an attempt to calm him. Your fingers traced small circles between his shoulder blades, trying to soothe him.

"So—sorry," he hiccupped, the word breaking apart in his throat. His arms slid fully around your back now, hugging you tightly.

"I told you, it's fine," you murmured, your voice gentler now. You kept rubbing his back while staring up at the ceiling, trying to piece together what the hell had just happened in the last few minutes. "It's really fine. You don't have to freak out about it." After a moment you hesitated before asking carefully, "Do you want to stop—"

"No."

The answer came out as a strained whine before you could even finish the question. His voice cracked around the word, his hips shifted again against yours, the movement dragging his still-hard cock against your thigh through the mess he'd already made. The mattress creaked softly beneath both of you as his weight shifted forward, his body clinging to yours. He held onto you tighter, arms wrapped around your back, face still buried deep in your neck like he couldn't bear the embarrassment of looking at you.

You stared at the ceiling for a second, processing the situation, then exhaled sharply and shoved at his shoulders. "Okay— move."

With more strength than he expected, you pushed him back, forcing him to roll off you so you could sit up. The sudden shift made him blink in confusion, his hair messy and his face still flushed as he stared at you. You tossed your hair back over your shoulder, chest rising and falling as you quickly reached down and tugged your bottoms off your hips. The fabric peeled away easily, damp where your arousal had soaked through, and you didn't even bother hiding it. Jake watched the entire thing, his chest still heaving as his eyes dragged over your body.

Swinging your leg over him, you straddled his hips and settled directly over his shaft. The moment your weight pressed down, he sucked in a sharp breath and shut his eyes tight, his head tipping back against the pillow. Your panties were still clinging to you, the wet patch obvious against the thin fabric as you slowly started grinding your hips down against him. The friction made your stomach tighten immediately, your clit dragging over his cock with every slow roll of your hips.

"First time?" you asked, like you weren't currently rubbing your soaked panties all over his cock. Your hands braced on the mattress on either side of his shoulders as you leaned forward slightly, adjusting your rhythm. You rolled your hips in small circles, testing different angles, letting the pressure build while watching his reactions closely.

Jake nodded quickly, eyes still shut. His hands moved to your hips automatically, gripping them tight.

Your movements sped up a little and the change in pace made him whine louder, the sound escaping his throat in a helpless, high note that made your stomach flutter. His fingers dug into your skin, nails pressing hard into the soft flesh of your hips, and you actually winced at the pressure. His entire body tensed beneath you, thighs tightening, his breathing breaking into uneven gasps.

And then it happened again. His hips jerked sharply upward with another loud whine, the movement uncontrolled as he came.

"Ahh— sorry! Sorry! Sorry! Please, please, please—" he panicked immediately, his eyes snapping open wide. Fresh tears were already shining in them again as his body trembled beneath you. His cock twitched visibly between your thighs, another small spurt of cum leaking from the flushed tip as he tried to catch his breath. The poor guy looked like he was having a full crisis.

Meanwhile, you just moaned. The friction hadn't stopped for you. Your hips had kept moving through his entire meltdown, chasing the pressure building between your legs. 

Your hands moved to push his hand away from your hips so you could pull back, assuming his frantic "please" meant he was getting overwhelmed.

But his hands didn't let go. Not even a little. Instead, his grip tightened. You blinked in confusion as he actively tried to guide your hips again, pulling you forward so your soaked panties slid against his cock once more. The thing was still hard—still angry and flushed and twitching despite the fact that he had already finished twice in less than a few minutes.

What the hell? How can this man cum so fast yet still not go soft?

"Please, please, please," he whined again, his voice breaking as he suddenly sat up. His arms wrapped tightly around you, pulling your body flush against his chest as he started guiding your hips with both hands. The motion forced your grinding to continue, your soaked panties dragging over the sensitive head of his cock again and again. Each pass made him shudder violently. His breath kept catching in his throat, little helpless sounds escaping him every time your hips rolled forward. The mattress creaked beneath you with every movement, the room filled with the mix of his shaky whining and your heavier breathing.

Still wrapped in his arms, you shifted slightly in his lap. One hand slid down between your bodies and hooked into the side of your panties, dragging the damp fabric aside.

The moment your bare cunt brushed against his cock, Jake's reaction was loud, a broken moan tearing out of him, you leaned forward quickly and kissed him hard to shut him up, swallowing the noise before it could get any louder.

If he kept whining like that—face flushed, voice trembling—you were pretty sure you'd lose control just from hearing him. Fuck. His mouth was warm and messy against yours, his breathing still shaking as your hips kept moving slowly against him.

Your hand slipped down to his cock, fingers wrapping around it again. He wasn't fully soft, not even close, but there was still a slight give to him under your palm. You pulled back from the kiss just enough for both of you to breathe, your foreheads almost touching while your breaths mixed together. Your eyes stayed locked on his as you guided him between your legs.

Slowly, deliberately, you started rubbing the length of him against your cunt, dragging the tip along your slick folds. Your hand moved with controlled rhythm, sliding him up and down, occasionally letting the head bump against your entrance before pulling him away again.

"Lay down for me," you murmured. You guided him backward onto the mattress, one hand pressing lightly against his chest until he sank into the pillows. Your own body hovered above him as you stayed straddled over his hips. You were painfully wet by now, your stomach tight with the need for friction that grinding alone hadn't been able to satisfy. Even so, you stayed patient with him. Your fingers brushed over his face, pushing some messy strands of hair away from his forehead before trailing down his cheek. You kept eye contact the whole time, your hand gliding over his chest.

Slowly, you lowered yourself. The first contact made your mouth fall open slightly. The tip of him pressed against you, and you paused there for a moment just to breathe. Your legs trembled faintly as you started easing yourself down inch by inch. Jake's whining came back louder than before, almost helpless as his hands shot up to grip your hips. His head spun with the sensation, ears ringing as the tight heat of your pussy slowly took him in. Meanwhile your breathing grew heavier the further you sank down, your body adjusting to the stretch.

By the time you were fully seated on him, he was hard again, completely, filling you while your thighs trembled on either side of his hips.

"F–fuck," you muttered under your breath, biting down on your lower lip as you braced your hands against his chest. You lifted your hips slightly, letting a little of him slide out before lowering yourself again in a slow, controlled motion. The stretch made your face tighten, your brows pulling together as you focused more on the building pleasure than the sharp edge of discomfort from his size. "Fuck... fuck, fuck!"

Jake looked like he was barely holding himself together beneath you. A faint vein stood out along his forehead, his teeth pressing into his lip as he tried to keep quiet. He was clearly trying to control himself, trying not to lose it too fast again. But your hips told a different story. The way you moved, the sight of your body rising and lowering on top of him, the expression on your face as you adjusted to the feeling—it all dragged him closer to the edge again.

"Wait— wait... ahh," he groaned suddenly. Your hands slid from his chest down toward his knees as you shifted your weight, adjusting your position slightly. The new angle changed the way he felt inside you, and Jake let out another broken sound the moment you started moving again. You rolled your hips carefully at first, searching for the spot that felt right, letting your body experiment with the motion until the pressure finally lined up the way you needed.

A loud moan tore out of you as your hips sped up without thinking, your body chasing the sensation as you kept hitting the same spot again and again. Jake reacted just as quickly, sitting up to distract himself, his mouth finding your chest as he pressed against you. His arms wrapped around your back while his tongue dragged over your nipples, the contact making your whining grow louder with every movement.

Your vision blurred slightly as the sensation kept building, the pressure inside your body tightening in slow, relentless waves that refused to ease up. It felt like sparks were going off behind your eyes, tiny bursts of light flickering every time your hips dropped back down onto him. You were riding him harder now without even realizing it. The bed creaked beneath both of you with every movement, your thighs burning as they worked to keep you balanced while your body chased the pressure building deep in your stomach. Each roll of your hips dragged another broken breath from your lungs, your fingers tightening against his shoulders as the heat between your legs kept climbing higher.

Jake suddenly bit down on your breast. The sharp sting hit at the same moment his body jerked beneath you. His cock throbbed hard inside you as he came again, another hot pulse spilling deep while his hips twitched helplessly under your weight.

"Shit!" you cried out, the sudden jolt of sensation ripping straight through your body.

Jake only answered with a muffled whine against your chest, his mouth still pressed to your skin, hot bursts of air hitting your breast while his teeth loosened and his lips dragged weakly over the spot he'd bitten. His shoulders trembled under your hands, and you could feel the way his body struggled to handle the sensation as it moved through him.

Your hips didn't stop moving even with his body shaking under you, you kept rocking against him, your body chasing the last stretch of the high that hadn't quite broken yet. The movement forced more small sounds out of him, soft whines and broken breaths that vibrated directly into your chest where his face stayed buried. The heat between you felt overwhelming, your bodies still pressed close together while the tension inside you continued to wind tighter and tighter.

"Little more... little more— please," you breathed out as the pressure finally climbed to the edge.

Your legs trembled where they were wrapped around his hips, muscles tightening as the feeling crested higher. Your arms slid up around his shoulders, pulling him closer into you while your body reacted, tightening around him as the sensation finally tipped over. Your hips stuttered slightly but didn't stop, still rocking against him as the wave rolled through your body.

For a moment everything felt hot and heavy and loud in your head. What almost made you laugh, though, was the fact that Jake still hadn't stopped. His cock was still twitching inside you while your body clenched around him, another weak pulse followed the last. It felt like you were still milking him dry while your body finished riding out the tail end of your own high.

"Hah..." you breathed out shakily, your hips slowed, your body still moving slightly while you tried to steady yourself. Your chest rose and fell unevenly, lungs dragging in deep breaths as the tension slowly drained from your muscles. The moment stretched out quietly around you, the room filled only with the sound of both of you breathing and the faint rustle of sheets under your shifting weight.

Eventually your strength gave out. Your body leaned forward, pressing closer to him as the last of the tension faded from your limbs. You tilted your head down and brushed a soft kiss against his lips. It lingered there for a second, both of you still catching your breath as his mouth responded weakly beneath yours.

As your body finally relaxed, you let yourself slump forward and collapse gently against his shoulder, your cheek resting against his skin while your chest rose and fell heavily. Jake stayed still beneath you, arms loose around your back as you feel the world around you collapsed.

Sometimes, the universe had a sick sense of humor. It let you taste something so perfect just long enough for you to believe in it, only to remind you the next morning that happiness wasn't something you were allowed to hold on to without consequences. Maybe that was the lesson life kept trying to shove down your throat. Not every good moment turns into a good life.

Luck was temporary, a fleeting thing people grabbed with desperate hands. It felt real when it happened—bright and full and intoxicating—but it never stayed long. Because every time the universe handed you something good, there was always that lurking feeling in the back of your head that a disaster was waiting right around the corner, ready to collect the price.

You woke up to the sound of wind slamming violently against the windows. The glass rattled in its frame, branches scraping somewhere outside like fingers clawing at the walls. You groaned under your breath and rolled onto your back, one hand dragging lazily across your face before scratching the back of your head. Your body felt heavy, muscles loose from sleep, your brain foggy as hell. For a moment everything felt blurry—your surroundings, your thoughts, the slow realization creeping in that something wasn't quite right. Then you stretched your arms above your head, arching your back slightly, and your eyes opened fully.

You weren't in your room. The ceiling looked different. Your stomach flipped when the memory from last night flickered somewhere in the back of your mind... And Jake wasn't beside you.

"Huh?" you muttered to yourself, the confusion hitting you all at once. You sat up quickly, the blanket sliding down to your lap as you scanned the room. His desk lamp was off, the room dim except for the gray light leaking through the curtains from the storm outside. That was when you noticed the small pill sitting neatly on the bedside table beside a glass of water.

You reached for it slowly, fingers curling around the foil packet as your eyes squinted to read the label. Plan B. You stared at it for a long moment, turning it between your fingers. You were still dressed in your own clothes—same shirt, same shorts from yesterday. The apartment was quiet except for the storm raging outside, and when you glanced toward the corner of the room, you noticed the power strip lights were dead.

No electricity. Ah...right. The storm. You rubbed your face with one hand and slid out of the bed, walking over to the window to push it shut more firmly. The wind was forcing cold air through the cracks, when you finished, you stepped into the hallway and padded slowly toward the living room.

"Hey," you sighed in relief the moment you saw him.

Jake stood near the kitchen counter, quietly cleaning up the snack wrappers and empty cups left behind from earlier.

Your shoulders relaxed instantly at the sight of him. You walked closer. "Just clean it in the morning. It's really dark in here. You could trip on something." Your hand reached out automatically, fingers brushing his shoulder in a familiar, comfortable gesture. "I mean it's like—what—11:45 PM? Let's just go back to bed—"

"Uh." He cut you off. Your smile faded immediately when he gently removed your hand from his shoulder without even looking at you. He tossed the trash bag into the bin, his back stiff as he turned slightly away. It felt like someone had flipped a switch.

No, worse. It felt like everything had reset back to the beginning.

"Jake?" you said carefully. You stepped toward him, but before you could say anything else, he brushed past you and walked straight down the hallway. The door to his room shut with a quiet click, and you were left standing there in the middle of the living room. Confused. Frozen.

"Jake?" you called again, your voice smaller now as you walked toward his door. Your chest tightened, questions crashing into your head all at once.

What did you do? Everything had felt fine. More than fine. You were laughing, he looked happy. You were happy. So what the hell changed?

Maybe he was just overwhelmed. Maybe this was new to him. Jake wasn't the type of guy who would just shut someone out after something that intimate... right? Right?

You rested your hand lightly against the door, staring at the wood like you could see through it. "I'll give you time," you said quietly through the door. "Just... talk to me, okay?"

But he never did. The next morning came, then the day after that, and then the days kept piling on top of each other. Every time you knocked on his door, there was no answer. Sometimes you tried the doorknob just in case, hoping maybe it had been left unlocked by accident, but it never was. Always locked. Always shut. You would linger in the living room longer than usual, pretending to scroll through your phone or watch something, just waiting for the sound of his door opening. It never happened.

When classes started again, the pattern became obvious. Jake would leave ridiculously early, long before you even woke up. His shoes would be gone from the rack by the door, his bag missing from the chair. Sometimes the only proof he'd even been home was the faint smell of his almond milk lingering in the kitchen or the clean plate drying on the rack. And Sundays—God, Sundays were the worst. That used to be the one day he was always around, fixing something in the apartment, tinkering with his stupid robots or cooking meals. Now you would wake up, step into the living room, and the place would feel hollow.

You never found him there anymore. And every night before eight, the same thing happened. His room stayed dark and empty. Is he avoiding you? Dumbass. Of course he is. How naive could you be to pretend you hadn't noticed already? The signs were right there! He wasn't busy. He wasn't overwhelmed. He was avoiding you.

You didn't fucking understand. That was the worst part. If he had said something—anything—you could've dealt with it. You could've argued with him, yelled at him, laughed it off if it turned out to be something stupid. But this silence? This cowardly disappearing act? It drove you insane.

You wanted to talk to him.

Hell, you wanted to curse him out.

After you had sex, that's it? That's fucking it? What the hell was going on inside his head? You kept replaying that night over and over in your mind, trying to find the moment where everything went wrong. The chess game. The teasing. The kiss. The way he had looked at you like he wanted you just as much as you wanted him.

You're n0t dumb, you refuse to be dumb. You are fucking sure he felt that pull too. You are not delusional, right? You felt it! You fucking felt it in your hands, in your body, in your soul.

"I had sex," you said flatly, staring into nothing.

Ryujin barely reacted at first, just giving you a quick side glance as she continued bouncing the  against the wall. It was the start of regional training, but your head was somewhere else entirely. Karina was off in Japan, living her best life, leaving you here dealing with whatever the hell this was. Figures. Of course she'd disappear right when you actually needed someone to scream at.

"Congrats?" Ryujin finally said, catching the ball and tossing it lightly in her hands. "What's with the long face?"

You watched the ball leave her hand again, hit the wall, bounce back in the same rhythm. You shrugged, forcing your shoulders to move like it didn't matter. "I don't know. He's not talking to me."

Ryujin's lips pressed into a thin line as she caught the ball again, this time pausing for a second before throwing it harder. "He?" she repeated, tone already shifting into something judgmental. "As usual. Men are usually like that. Don't expect anything from them, really—"

"He—" you cut her off. You exhaled hard, running your hand through your hair as your irritation flared up. "He is not like those other men." And the way you said it was defensive. You weren't letting her lump him into that category. Not him.

"I'm his first," you added, like you were trying to convince both her and yourself at the same time. "It must've been... awkward for him. I don't know. Maybe he didn't like it, maybe that's why he's avoiding me. I'm sure—"

Your hand pressed against your chest, fingers gripping your shirt like you could physically hold onto the feeling buried there. You turned to look at her fully now, your expression tighter, more serious than before.

"I'm sure he likes me," you said, voice lower, more vulnerable than you wanted it to be. "But... why won't he talk to me?"

Ryujin stared at you for a long second, like she was trying to figure out how deep you were already in before deciding how hard she needed to hit you with reality. Then she let out a sharp sigh. She crouched down in front of you, dropping the ball to the floor where it rolled a little before settling between her feet, forgotten.

"Look," she started, hands lifting and gesturing in the air like she was trying to physically piece her thoughts together. "I—I'm not good at this shit, okay? I don't do... whatever the hell this is." She paused, sucking in a breath before pointing straight at you. "I like girls. I don't deal with men and their bullshit. But you—" her finger jabbed lightly toward your chest again. "Did you seriously just let your guard down with a man because you think he's not like the rest of those fuckers?"

"You don't get it—" you tried to cut in, frustration rising immediately, your brows pulling together as your hands clenched at your sides, you had to defend Jake.

"I do not," she shot back just as fast, her voice is sharp as her words, it was cutting right through you. She straightened slightly but stayed crouched in front of you, her eyes locked onto yours. "I'm not the one who got fucked and then ghosted. That's you."

For a second you couldn't even respond. Your jaw tightened, your throat going dry, but she didn't stop.

"You're the one who knows him," she continued. "You're the one who keeps telling me all this shit about how he's different, how he's nice or whag." She exhaled through her nose, shaking her head slightly. "So yeah, I'm gonna say whatever the hell I want because you're the one feeding me all of that, and now you're sitting here confused like this came out of nowhere."

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening as her words started sinking in deeper than you wanted them to. Because she wasn't entirely wrong. Even Karina would say that to your face even though she started this all. Because,look at you. What the hell happen to you?

"But he's not like that," you insisted again, though your voice wasn't as strong this time. "He wouldn't just... use me and leave. That's not him."

Ryujin tilted her head slightly, studying your face like she was trying to decide if you actually believed that or if you were just desperately clinging to it.

"Then what is it?" she asked. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like that."

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, ready to defend him again—but nothing came out. Because you didn't know.

Your mind scrambled for an explanation, something that made sense, something that fit the version of Jake you had built in your head. The quiet guy who cooked for you, who stayed up to watch your games, who held you gently like you mattered.

That Jake wouldn't just disappear. Right?

"He's not... confident," you said finally, grasping at something, anything. "He overthinks. He gets overwhelmed. Maybe he just doesn't know what to do after... after everything."

Ryujin didn't immediately respond. She just watched you. "Okay," she said after a moment, nodding slowly. "Let's say you're right. Let's say he's just overwhelmed or confused or whatever the hell excuse you want to give him." She leaned forward a little, her gaze narrowing. "Then why isn't he talking to you?"

Right...

"Because if he actually liked you the way you think he does," she continued, "he wouldn't just leave you hanging like this. He'd at least try. Even if he's awkward. Even if he's bad at it. He'd try."

Your chest tightened again, your fingers curling into your shirt as you looked away from her, your thoughts spiraling.

You hated how that made sense.

"I'm not saying he doesn't like you," Ryujin added, exhaling as she picked the ball back up and held it loosely in her hands. "But liking someone and actually doing something about it? Two very different things."

Then she tossed the ball lightly toward you, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Talk to him," she said simply.

You blinked, catching it automatically.

"He's avoiding me," you muttered, the frustration creeping back in.

"Then corner him," she shot back without hesitation. "You're telling me you can chase down a ball flying out of bounds but you can't corner that one?"

Ryujin stood up fully now, rolling her shoulders before glancing down at you one last time.

"Stop overthinking what he feels," she added,"You're already doing enough of that for the both of you. Just get your answer straight from him."

She paused, then added— "And if he still runs? Then you'll know exactly what kind of guy he is."

Your steps were sharp and fast as you made your way back to the apartment. The towel hung loosely over your shoulder, damp from training, your hair still slightly wet from sweat, as your mind was too busy running in circles, replaying his silence, replaying that night over and over until it made your chest feel tight.

You weren't going to let this drag on anymore.

Your grip tightened around the plastic bag in your hand, the thin material crinkling loudly as your fingers dug into it. You inhaled deeply like you were preparing yourself for something bigger than just a conversation. Maybe this was it—the point where everything either made sense or completely fell apart.

You weren't even sure which one you were more afraid of.

You exhaled sharply and stopped in front of your door, staring at it for a second longer. You didn't believe in fate. But right now, you found yourself hoping—just a little—that whatever the hell this was would finally lead somewhere. That all this confusion, all this frustration, wouldn't just end in nothing.

You pushed the door open with another exhale and there he was.

Jake stood in the living room, slightly hunched over as he turned on the robots one by one. Whitey buzzed to life first, then Pinky, while Bumble sat near the TV, its faint light flickering on. The scene looked so normal, so painfully familiar, like nothing had changed.

Except everything had.

He froze the second he saw you. His eyes widened behind his glasses, his whole body going stiff. Your jaw tightened. Of course he looked shocked. You weren't supposed to be here this early. You were supposed to be at training, sweating it out, you had just ran away from your training when it was supposed to be a short fucking break.

Your gaze didn't leave him, watching every small movement as he scrambled slightly. His hand hovered awkwardly near the table, his body already shifting like he was about to move—probably toward his room, probably to shut the door again, probably to run.

Not this time. Before he could even take a full step, you moved.

Your feet carried you across the room in seconds, your hand shooting out to grab his shoulder and shove him back before he could react. His back hit the wall, the impact making him wince, a strained sound slipping past his lips as his body tensed. "H-Hurts..." he muttered, teeth clenching as his eyes squeezed shut for a second.

And yeah, for a split second, you felt it—that flicker of guilt in your chest. But it didn't last. Your hands pressed harder against his shoulders, keeping him there, pinning him in place before he could even think about slipping away again. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he stiffened under your touch, but he didn't push you off. He didn't try to fight back.

"Let's talk, Jake." Your voice came out firm, leaving no room for excuses this time.

His eyes opened slowly, meeting yours, and you saw it again. That same look. Conflicted. Overwhelmed.

"I—" he started, his voice catching immediately, like the words got stuck somewhere in his throat. His hands twitched at his sides, unsure, restless, like he didn't know where to put them or what to do with them.

You leaned in just slightly. "No," you cut him off, shaking your head. "You don't get to 'I—' your way out of this again."Your grip on his shoulders tightened just a bit. "You've been avoiding me for days," you continued. "Locked doors, leaving early, disappearing on weekends—what the hell is that, Jake?"

He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering away from yours for a second before snapping back, like he couldn't decide where to look. "I wasn't—" he tried again, weaker this time.

"You were," you cut in immediately, your expression is pained. "Don't lie to me. Not now."

Silence fell between you for a moment, filled only by the faint whirring of the robots moving around the floor like nothing was happening.

Your chest rose and fell with a deep breath before you forced the words out. "Was it a mistake?" you asked, eyes locked on him, searching for anything—any reaction, any sign that this wasn't all in your head.

The silence stretched for a second too long, and you pushed again, your voice tightening despite yourself. "Because if it was," you continued, "then just say it. Don't do this shit where you pretend I don't exist."

Jake didn't answer. He didn't even look at you.

His head stayed slightly turned away, his gaze fixed somewhere past your shoulder like you weren't even there. You watched his lips press together, then part slightly as he bit down on the inside of it, nervous and restless. His fingers twitched at his sides, fidgeting in that familiar way you used to find endearing—tapping against his thigh, curling and uncurling like he didn't know what to do with them.

Now it just pissed you off.

"Jake," you whispered, your voice dropping. Your hand moved without thinking, fingers brushing against his cheek, turning his face toward you despite the resistance. His skin was warm under your touch, his jaw tense, and when his eyes finally met yours, it only made your chest ache more. "Those things we did... was it just a mistake?" you asked again. "Talk to me. I— I thought we... we were going somewhere." Your voice faltered, breaking in the middle of your sentence. "Is it... just me?"

You hated how the quetion made you sound so small.

You didn't even realize you were crying until a tear slipped down your cheek, warm against your skin.

"I like you too much," you admitted, your voice trembling now, barely holding together. "Is that wrong?" You sniffed, your lips shaking as you tried to keep yourself from completely falling apart in front of him. But Jake—he still wasn't saying anything. He wasn't moving. He wasn't even looking at you properly anymore, his gaze dropping again like he couldn't handle it.

Like he couldn't handle you.

"Talk to me, please," you said again, more desperate this time. Your fingers tapped lightly against his cheek, not harsh, just enough to get his attention, to pull him back to you. You leaned forward until your forehead pressed against his, your eyes closing as your tears kept falling, your grip on his face tightening just a little like you were afraid he'd slip away if you let go. "Just... say something," you whispered, your breath uneven, your whole body tense with the wait.

Maybe he just needed time.

Maybe he wasn't good with words.

Maybe he just needed a push.

But how long were you supposed to wait?

"Talk to me, fuck it!" you suddenly snapped, your voice breaking as it rose, the frustration and hurt finally spilling over. Your hands dropped from his face back to his shoulders, gripping him again, harder this time. You felt him flinch under your touch, his body trembling slightly as he shook his head.

"Sorry... Jake... please," you muttered again, your voice dropping back down, almost pleading now. Your grip loosened without you realizing it, your fingers slipping from his shoulders as something cold settled in your chest. The moment his hands gently moved yours away—careful, hesitant, but firm enough to create distance—it felt like everything just... stopped.

Like the world paused right there.

"I like you too much, is that wrong?" you repeated, but this time it came out emptier. Your arms fell to your sides, your gaze dropping to the floor because you couldn't keep looking at him anymore. "It's pathetic," you let out a weak, humorless breath. "And I'm still here, choosing to be open about it, getting fucking desperate over you." Your fingers curled into fists at your sides as you forced yourself to look up again, your eyes glassy but steady. "Tell me... do I really not mean anything to you?"

You lifted your hand slightly, pointing at his chest, right over his heart.Your throat felt tight, dry, like every word you were about to say had to claw its way out, and still, you forced it. You needed to hear it. Needed him to say it straight instead of hiding behind silence. Needed something solid, even if it fucking hurt.

"S-sorry." He shook his head, not even meeting your eyes, and that alone felt worse than anything he could've said. "I—I... I don't think I feel the same way, that's why I-I feel guilty... on what happen... Sorry." The words stumbled out of him, broken and unsure, but they landed heavy, each one hitting you like a punch you didn't even try to dodge.

You were the one who dropped your head this time, your gaze falling to the floor as your mouth parted slightly, like you were about to say something—but nothing came out. Your ears started ringing loud, drowning out everything else. Everything blurred into this distant, muted noise while your mind tried to catch up, tried to process what the fuck he just said. It didn't make sense. It didn't line up with anything you felt, anything you thought you saw in him. Your chest tightened, breath coming in shallow, uneven pulls like your body forgot how to do something as basic as breathing.

"Sorry..." he said again, softer this time, like repeating it would somehow make it better, like it would fix anything. It didn't. It just made your vision blur more, tears spilling out faster than you could stop them, your face heating up with it as you stood there, stuck, unable to move forward or back.

"T-The things you d-did? T-The things w-we did?" Your voice cracked, stuttering over itself as you tried to piece together something that would make this make sense. But it didn't. None of it fucking did. Bullshit. This was bullshit. You were still denying it even as it was being shoved right in your face, because accepting it felt worse than anything else. What was he even saying? That it meant nothing? That you meant nothing? That all of that—every look, every touch—was just... what? A mistake?

"I-I just want to be a g-good roommate b-because I-I can't b-be vocal like a normal person... Uh... I'm sorry—" He kept going, stumbling through his explanation, but it only made your head spin more, your frustration bubbling up underneath the hurt. His words felt disconnected, like excuses that didn't match what actually happened between you.

"We had sex." You cut through it, your voice barely above a whisper, but it hit harder than anything else you said. Your eyes darted anywhere but at him—walls, floor, the stupid edge of the table—like maybe one of them would give you an answer, something to hold onto. But there was nothing. Just that same suffocating silence pressing in around you.

"I-I'm s-sorry, really. P-Please." His foot tapped nervously against the floor, the sound sharp and repetitive, grating against your already fraying nerves.

You shook your head slowly, the motion weak, almost disbelieving, as the plastic bag slipped from your hand without you even noticing. It hit the floor with a soft crumple before spilling open, the Hot Wheels cars tumbling out and scattering across the tiles.

Jake's eyes dropped immediately, widening as he stared at the mess, his chest tightening visibly. But you didn't follow his gaze. You couldn't. Your focus stayed unfixed, your steps already moving backward as your fists clenched and unclenched at your sides, your body didn't know what to do with all the shit building up inside you.

"Sorry." The word left your mouth, not even sounding like it belonged to you. It wasn't clear what you were apologizing for anymore—your feelings, your assumptions, yourself—but it was the only thing you could manage before turning away.

You walked out, leaving everything behind. The hallway felt narrow, too suffocating, like the walls were closing in the longer you stayed there, so you kept moving, one step after another, not even caring where the hell you were going as long as it was away. Your breathing was uneven, chest rising too fast, like you couldn't get enough air no matter how hard you tried.

You sniffled harshly, dragging the back of your hand across your face, smearing tears you couldn't seem to fucking stop. It was frustrating—annoying as hell—because you hated crying like this.

"Stop," you muttered under your breath. "Just fucking stop." But it didn't listen. The tears kept coming, blurring your vision until everything in front of you looked warped and unstable.

By the time you reached the stairwell, your steps had already turned sloppy, careless. You barely held onto the railing, your grip loose, your focus shot. Your eyes stung, your nose clogged, your head pounding with everything you were trying—and failing—to process. You took a step down, then another, too fast, too unsteady—

—and your foot slipped.

"Shit!" The curse tore out of you as your body lurched forward, your balance completely gone. You didn't even have time to catch yourself before you went down hard, your back hitting first, then your shoulder, then your face grazing against the edge of a step. The impact knocked the air out of you, an ugly sound leaving your throat as pain shot through your body.

For a moment, you just stayed there, sprawled awkwardly on the cold concrete, your body stunned. The pain registered slowly—your back aching, your limbs sore, your face throbbing—but none of it hit as hard as what was already twisting inside your chest. It was dull compared to that. Almost nothing.

You pushed yourself up slowly, wincing as your body protested, your hand pressing against the floor for support. Warm liquid dripped down over your lips, and when you touched your nose, your fingers came away stained red. Blood. Of course. You let out a weak, humorless breath, almost a laugh but not quite, your shoulders shaking for all the wrong reasons.

You just... gave up.

You dragged yourself to the side, leaning heavily against the wall, your body curling in on itself like you were trying to make yourself smaller, less visible, less there. Your palm covered your face, but it didn't do shit to muffle the sound that came out of you—a broken, shaky whine that turned into full-on crying before you could stop it. Your chest hurt, your throat burned, your head spun, and everything—everything—felt like too much.

It fucking hurt.

Not just your body, not just the sting on your face or the soreness creeping into your muscles.

You were that lonely, weren't you? A pathetic loser crying in a stairwell because she got rejected. Because she let herself believe something that wasn't even real to begin with.

You let out a shaky breath, your hand tightening against your face as if you could press the thought away. "I told you so," you muttered to yourself. You sounded fucking ridiculous. Delusional, even. Thinking it meant something. Thinking he meant something.

Of course you were the one who initiated it. Of course you were the one who crossed the line first. Sex in college was normal—casual, meaningless, easy to walk away from. People did it all the time!

You fucking hated it. Because you weren't built for that.

In the end, it all lined up, didn't it?

Unlucky with money. Unlucky with sex. Unlucky with love.

You let out a weak, broken laugh that dissolved immediately into another sob, your body curling tighter against the wall as if that would hold you together.

What were the odds?

You were still right where you started.

Alone.

[heetaki]

a girls amateur guide to chemistry

‧₊˚ ౨ৎ -- park sunghoon x fem!reader

synopsis: It was supposed to be a joke. a simple experiment after one too many 'but what if we could' questions. but now the college golden boy is convinced he's in love with you, and you have to figure out a way to remind him he's not. unless, of course, the experiment isn't the reason he can't seem to leave you alone.

wc: 22.1k

warnings: romcom, fluff, humor, hockey captain!sunghoon, a lot of chemistry nonsense that is not realistic or accurate, slow-burn (i did not mean for that to happen but it did so sorry), love potion (?), severe yearning, reader is a bit oblivious, reader is a woman in stem, reader AND sunghoon are down baddd, one scene inspired by “better then the movies” // p in v, fingering, oral f!receiving, multiple orgasms, soft dom!sunghoon, super sweet and giggly sex (they’re in love your honor), praise kink

ab thinks... i rewatched descendants and this came to me...so thank ben's rendition of "ridiculous" for this LOL. also the chemistry plot kind of got away from me towards the end but i promise the concept is there! this fic meant so much to me to write. it's one of the longest I've ever wrote, and i seriously think that despite how much i complained about writing this, it helped me fall back in love with writing. special thanks to @arischacco @ickbite @ewstain @heedimples and @clearlyhoonie for listening to me complain while also supporting all my ideas. ily guys ok?

the playlist: "black magic" - little mix / "if only" - dove cameron / "slut" - taylor swift / "supernatural" - ariana grande / "ready to love" - seventeen / “too close” - enhypen

It’d sounded like a good idea at the time.

But now, as you watch Park Sunghoon–campus golden boy and the boy you’ve been (secretly) in love with for three years–literally drink your experiment, you’re starting to think you might have messed up somewhere.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?

“Okay, but, like, what are the odds a person could make a real life potion? Or something like it?” Jungwon asks, eyes racing back and forth on the screen as Harry Potter brings back Cedric's dead body.

Yunjin shoots him a glare, her eyes brimming with tears. “Are you seriously asking that right now? Cedric just died!”

He blinks, eyebrows knitting in confusion. "We’ve seen this movie, like, a hundred times.”

“That doesn’t make it any less sad!” She scoffs, reaching for the throw pillow behind her head and tossing it at him.

It hits him square in the chest, but he barely reacts. Just lets it fall into his lap like it'd always been there. “I’m being serious, though!”

Beomgyu hums, popping another pretzel in his mouth. “I’m pretty sure you’re just thinking of chemistry.” 

Jungwon rolls his eyes, shifting in his seat so he can better face the three of you. “I mean like an actual potion. Like ones that make you fall in love or something dumb like that.”

You finally decide to speak up, tucking your feet under yourself and pulling your gaze away from the glowing screen. “You want to know if it’s possible to make a love potion?” You ask, voice laced with disbelief.

But Jungwon doesn’t laugh. If anything, he just looks ten times more serious. “Exactly.”

The three of you go silent, glancing between eachother like Jungwon might reveal he’s joking and he knows something like that isn’t possible. 

Right?

See, there's a lot of issues with being a Biochemistry major. Some of the more obvious being that you’re a woman in a male-dominated field–which is a problem in and of itself–and the other being that it’s extremely difficult.

But the one people don’t talk about is your extreme crave for knowledge. Even if that knowledge has to do with finding out whether or not it’s possible to make a fucking love potion.

And you should shoot the idea down as soon as it comes to your head, really, you should. But there’s that little flicker in the back of your mind, the one that usually gets you into trouble, that has you saying: “It wouldn’t hurt to try, right?”

(Newsflash: it really, really would.)

Three weeks. That’s how long it takes the four of you to work out numerous formulas, some which nearly exploded in your face, others that did nothing at all. It wasn’t until you suggested using a bit less magnesium does the whole thing seem to be less far-fetched.

Despite her initial scepticism, Yunjin was insistent on finishing it as soon as possible so that she could make Jay–her second situationship of the month–realize he was in love with her and finally ask her on a proper date. You couldn’t help but feel like maybe that was a little unethical.

Besides, you’d already agreed you weren’t actually going to use the substance on real people. You’d test it on rats, see if it worked, and then go to sleep feeling completely and utterly satisfied.

That was the plan, anyway.

You crossed your legs, pencil tapping against your chin as you read over the equations in your notebook. The experiment was nearly completed–but you just couldn’t figure out how to make sure its effects wore off. Beomgyu had suggested maybe substituting the sodium for something else, but you just weren’t sure what.

Jungwon groans next to you, letting his forehead rest against the desk. “Remind me again why electives insist on giving more work than necessary? Like, why do I have to write a 15,000 word essay on the history of the internet?”

You snort, shaking your head slightly as the eraser of your pencil rubs furiously against your paper. “Remind me again why you chose to take a class on the internet?”

He lifts his head up, glaring at you the entire time. “I wasn’t aware the curriculum included 15 page long think pieces on the significance of Damn Daniel.”

You really laugh at that, lips curling up in a cheeky smile. 

You and Jungwon usually had nightly study sessions at the campus library. It was a good way to unwind while also getting some work done. Well, more like you were getting work done and he was decoding Vine’s cultural significance. 

It’s hard for you to focus though.

Park Sunghoon is considerably the most beautiful man you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing, with raven hair and a smile that stops girls in their tracks, he has officially claimed the title of Campus Golden Boy and local heartthrob.

So how can you be expected to focus when he’s sitting in front of you, looking like that? 

He’s wearing glasses, something you weren’t even aware he needed, slightly hunched over his glowing computer screen with an adorable knit in his brow. The sight should be illegal, honestly. 

You don’t even notice you’re staring until Jungwon nudges your foot with his, a knowing smirk on his face. “If you keep staring at him like that he might think there’s something wrong with you.”

You immediately flush, forcing your gaze back onto your notebook and trying to ignore the fact that your ears have begun to burn something mean.

“I hate you.” You mumble, fully expecting Jungwon to reply with something witty, but it never comes. Instead, when you lift your gaze up, Sunghoon has left his table and begun to make a beeline for you.

Your eyes widen, throat already closing up and panic swelling deep in your chest. You’d definitely been caught and now he was going to confront you about your stalker-like behavior. You briefly wonder how long it takes for the police to arrive when they’re called, because he was definitely coming over to inform you that he’d done just that.

“Stop looking like your five seconds away from combusting.” Jungwon whispers, tone strangely serious.

You do your best to straighten your posture and make it look like there weren’t three-week-old eye bags under your eyes or a mysterious stain on your sweats, but it’s all futile when he flashes you that smile. The one he gave everyone when he was being friendly, something you’d been on the receiving end of before. But, for some reason, this time it feels different.

This time it feels like the start of something new.

He stops at the other end of your table, hand shooting up in a brief wave. “Hi,” He breathes out, “We have chemistry together.”

You blink. Once. Twice. Jungwon kicks your shin and you remember that you should probably reply. ‘Uh–Yeah!” Your voice cracks, tone pitching up higher than you meant it too. You clear your throat with a slight wince, doing your best to give him a smile. “Yes. Yeah. We do.”

He chuckles, bringing a hand up to run through his hair. And, wow, maybe Jungwon was right–you really are about to explode.

“I was having trouble with this last assignment,” He sighs, clearly exasperated, pointing a thumb back at his computer. “What are the chances you might be able to help me?”

Okay. This is fine. Amazing, actually. You’d finished that assignment the other night and you understood it pretty well, so helping him should be a piece of cake.

At least it would be if you didn’t seem to forget everything in his presence. Because you can definitely smell a bit of his cologne right now, sharp and clean, and you think you’re going to die. Yep. You’re going to pass away from cologne.

“Yes,” Jungwon answers for you, already ushering you out of your chair. “She can help you. Trust me, she’s crazy smart.”

Your eyes widen, staring at your friend in horror as he practically pushes you out of your chair and closer to Sunghoon.

“I know.” Sunghoon replies easily, tone light. Two words, but they’re enough to nearly send you melting into the floor.

You do your best to stay composed as Sunghoon leads you back to his table, but you aren’t entirely sure you’re even going to be able to think next to him. Which is definitely a little pathetic when you think about it, but seriously, look at the man. You are not ashamed in the least.

Jungwon shoots you two thumbs up, dimples showing as he smiles like he’s just won the fucking lottery. You don’t return the sentiment, instead shooting him a harsh glare. 

Sunghoon pulls out the chair next to his computer for you, and you sit down shakily. Your nerves feel completely shot, face on fire and your palms becoming uncomfortably moist.

He gestures to the problem on his screen, murmuring something about how he’d been stuck on it for the last hour.

You nod along, chewing on your bottom lip. The equation he was stuck on was thankfully something you knew how to do, so after taking a breath and reminding yourself that he is simply a boy and you are a very smart woman, you manage to explain it to him.

“You put a negative there, but the equations actually positive,” You explain, voice still shaking the tiniest bit, but stronger than it was earlier as you gain back some confidence. “You also wrote the wrong unit over here.”

Sunghoon listens as you explain everything to him, your hands gesturing wildly and words going a mile-a-minute. It’s obvious to anyone watching you that you’re passionate about the subject.

By the time you finish, he’s already fixing his mistakes and taking the steps needed to get the right answer.

He shifts closer to you, finger dragging over the paper with a light touch, “Is this right?” He asks, voice barely above a whisper. He says it loud enough that only you hear, eyes flickering over the side of your face.

You feel that familiar flush building when his knee brushes yours under the table, but do your best to swallow it down. “Uh, yeah. All you have to do now is figure out the correct configuration, which you’re pretty close to doing, and you’ll be good to go.”

He hums, leaning back in his seat and flexing his palms. “How are you so good at this stuff?” He asks with a laugh, eyes raking over yours like he’s trying to fully understand you.

You swallow, playing with your fingers in your lap. “It’s just always interested me, I guess. Like, the fact that we breathe in air and breathe out carbon? And the earth needs carbon to survive, so really we’re helping power the world. It’s all just so fascinating to me!” You’re smiling now, talking animatedly, “It’s difficult, yeah, but it’s also rewarding. Like, watching your experiment work is such a rush and I–”

You cut yourself off, realizing you’re rambling about fucking chemistry like you’re in love with it. He must seriously regret even asking.

“Sorry,” You mumble, nervous laughter bubbling out of you like a defense mechanism.

He shifts, leaning forward onto the table now, face turned so he’s still looking at you. “Don’t be sorry,” He reassures, eyebrows lifting slightly. “I was listening.”

Okay, wow. You are seriously either about to throw up and die or…yeah that’s it. There aren’t any other options.

By the time you make your way back to your table you’re practically shaking, breaths coming in shallow and rushed, your entire body on fire. You feel like you’re in some weird kind of fight or flight.

Jungwons bouncing in his seat, bottom lip sucked into his teeth. He practically pulls you down next to him, beginning to ask you a million questions, but you can’t see him.

All you can focus on is the subtle glance Sunghoon gives you when he leaves.

You should’ve known something was going to go wrong the moment Beomgyu called you. 

“I swear I’ve almost figured it out,” He sighs into the phone. You can’t see him, but you can tell his nose is scrunched up the way it always is when he’s thinking too hard about something. “I think we got the units wrong, but if we can figure out the correct ones it should work.”

You kiss your teeth, bumping your silverware drawer with your hip and letting it slide shut. Your phone rests snugly between your shoulder and ear, your head tilted uncomfortably to accommodate it. “Are you in the lab right now?” You ask.

Beomgyu hums, “Jungwon and Yunjin are here too, but I don’t really know why considering neither of them are doing anything to help.” He says sharply, and you can hear the subtle cries of retaliation from your two friends in the background.

You snort, rolling your eyes slightly. “Okay, well,” You sit on your couch, attempting to get comfortable and placing your plate of food in your lap. “I’m gonna eat this and then I’ll be over, okay? Try not to blow anything up before I get there.”

“No promises.” He groans, tone laced with annoyance, but you know it’s all out of love.

You get there twenty minutes later, hair thrown up and sweats hanging off your body. Very professional, you know.

When you push the metal doors open the first sight that greets you is one you’re quite familiar with. Jungwon and Yunjin fighting with each other over something stupid, and Beomgyu ignoring them like they're his children. Nothing says friendship quite like that.

Yunjin immediately shoots up when you enter, her eyes narrowed with anger. “Can you please tell him that Jay is in love with me before I kill him?”

Jungwon’s quick to follow her, knocking his shoulder with hers so that his frame blocks her from your view. “Can you please tell her she’s known him for a week?"

You roll your eyes and scoot past them, making your way over to Beomgyu. He’s diligently writing down formulas; bottom lip sucked between his teeth. He's giving off a mad scientist vibe right now. Or maybe just a stressed-out university student vibe. Both are interchangeable.

You nudge his shoulder to get his attention, but he barely even glances at you. Just continues mumbling out questions like he's expecting the universe to answer him.

“What can I help with?” You ask, throwing on your lab coat and snapping on a pair of medical gloves.

He groans, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He gestures lazily to the counter top, where a small gatorade bottle is sitting where the glass test tubes usually do. “Those two idiots broke the glass tubes I was holding the liquid in so now I have to use this janky bottle,” He mutters, throwing a glare at Yunjin and Jungwon.

Your experiment was currently sitting in a Blue Crush Gatorade bottle, floating around the bottom unsuspectingly. You snort at the sight, rolling your eyes slightly. “I think they have some extra next door,” You sigh, turning on your heel to go grab them.

But before you can even think about pushing the door open, Sunghoon reveals himself on the other side.

He’s still in his hockey uniform, helmet hanging from his hand and cheeks flushed a lively pink. You both stand there for a moment, blinking like you’re waiting for each other to make the first move. Jungwon and Yunjin even stop bickering, the both of them staring at you with wide eyes and cunning smiles.

Sunghoon clears his throat, gripping his helmet just the tiniest bit tighter. “Sorry for bothering you,” He murmurs, “I, uh, forgot something in here. Just stopping by to grab it.”

You’re silent for a moment too long, trying to string together a sentence without sounding it’s your first day on earth. It turns out, it’s a bit difficult to do that when Sunghoon is staring at you like that.

Like he’s trying just as hard as you are to not burst at the seams. 

“Can I scoot past?” he asks, tone small and light, a shy smile playing on his lips.

You swallow, managing a small nod and moving to the side weakly. His fingers brush yours when he scoots past, sending a cool shiver down your spine, one that shouldn’t feel as electric as it does.

He waves at Jungwon and Yunjin, who both give him polite smiles, but you can see the way their eyes shine at him. Like they know something he doesn’t–which they do–but still.

Yunjin hurries over to your side as soon as his back is to you, giving you the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen. She grabs your bicep with her manicured hand, squeezing it so tightly you have half the mind to think it’ll bruise.

“Oh my God,” She whispers, eyes flickering between you and Sunghoon, whose eyebrows seem to be narrowed in confusion as he looks for whatever it is he left. “Did you see the way he looked at you?”

You immediately flush, smacking her lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up.” You grumble.

“I’m being serious!” She defends, wiggling her eyebrows. “Even I got butterflies.”

You run a hand over your face, head shaking slightly. “Yunjin, seriously, stop talking.”

She laughs, but you can’t find it in yourself to laugh with her. Even if Sunghoon was looking at you a certain way, it didn’t mean anything. Not when Sophia was still around.

Sophia was the complete opposite of Sunghoon. A rude party girl who assumed the world revolved around her and her perfectly blown-out hair. And somehow, someway, she’d gotten the dark-haired man wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger.

Their relationship was constantly off and on, mostly because Sophia could never seem to make up her mind on what man she was interested in that week. And Sunghoon, poor, beautiful Sunghoon, always went back to her. Sometimes you wondered if she had some kind of blackmail on him. Or maybe he was just a secret masochist. Both answers were equally concerning.

They seemed to be on one of their breaks right now, but everyone knows it's only a matter of time before she's showing up at his games again. You hate that the thought of it fills your chest with green smoke.

You turn around on your heel to continue your walk to the classroom next door, but the sound of Beomgyu shrieking stops you.

You whip around, half expecting something to have exploded, but instead the sight you’re met with is worlds more alarming. 

Sunghoon, the campus golden boy and secret love of your life, is drinking your experiment. Literally. Lid to mouth, chugging it like it's water.

Beomgyu rips it from him, but it’s too late. Almost all of the liquid, aside from a few measly drops in the bottom, is gone.

The four of you freeze, watching Sunghoon like he’s grown three heads. But the boy in question just blinks at you with confusion. His tongue flicks out to lick a drop off his bottom lip, eyes flickering between the three of you. “What?

Beomgyu takes a cautious step towards him, arm held out like he’s worried Sunghoon might go rabid and lunge at him. “Do you feel anything…strange?”

Sunghoon swallows awkwardly, lips curving into a concerned smile. “Um,” he murmurs, letting out a nervous laugh. “Should I?”

You share a glance with Jungwon, who just shrugs his shoulders. The four of you are in different stages of shock, because why would somebody drink a mysterious liquid in a lab? What is the thought process behind that?

Yunjin looks like she's holding back a laugh, which isn't that shocking since she always laughs at the most inappropriate times. Meanwhile Jungwon looks nearly amused, like he'd known this would happen, and Beomgyu just looks pissed.

“Sunghoon,” Jungwon murmurs, circling the ravenette like he’s studying him, a hand on his chin. “Why did you drink out of that bottle?”

Sunghoon watches him, head twisting around his shoulder every time Jungwon makes his way out of his line of sight. “Because it’s mine? I left it here last night.” He answers casually.

Your eyes snap to Beomgyu, watching as his eyes trail down to the bottle in his hand. 

“You guys alright?” Sunghoon asks, tone laced with suspicion. Not that you can really blame him.

Yunjin’s the first to answer, a honey-sweet smile on her face. “Oh, yeah, we’re good! Just…deadlines. You know how people get.” 

Sunghoon nods, eyebrows knit together. “Right,” He mumbles, pursing his lips slightly. His eyes flicker between all of you once more, like if he stares at you long enough one of you might break. 

When his eyes land on you, he pauses. It’s just a moment, something you wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t paying attention, but something you aren’t quite sure how to place flashes in his gaze. Something far too real and confusing.

“I should, uh,” He swallows, gesturing lazily towards the door. “I should go.”

You nod, lips parted slightly as he slips past you. 

Beomgyu clearly wants to stop him and ask more questions, maybe try and keep him for observation, but you shoot him a look that tells him to let it go. Your experiment being gone sucks, yes, but if he seems fine then there isn’t any reason to scare him. And if he isn’t fine later then you can deal with it then.

Sunghoon glances back at you before he leaves, lips parting like he wants to say something more, but he decides against it. Instead, he pushes the door open and steps back outside, leaving the four of you to try and come to terms with what happened.

Theres a pregnant pause, mostly because you think nobody really knows how to approach the situation. How do you move on with your day after your personal campus celebrity drank your fucking experiment? It's seriously a valid question.

Yunjin clears her throat, arms crossing over her chest. “So... does this mean I can’t use it on Joshua?" She asks, expression completley serious.

Beomgyu lets out a large sigh, fingers squeezing the bridge of his nose like it might ground him. “Yunjin,” He murmurs, “Shut up.”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "It was a genuine question."

Your lips tighten, hand reaching out to give her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. "You weren't going to be able to use it on him anyway."

"You don't know that!"

You can’t help but feel on edge when you walk into your Chemistry lecture the next day, hands gripping your computer tighter than necessary.

Would Sunghoon be here? Would he be okay? Did he die sometime in the night and the campus just wasn’t aware? What if the police were waiting for you so they could question you?

What would you even say? Well, you see officer, he kind of drank my experiment. So sorry it killed him! Yeah, no. That wasn’t gonna work.

To your relief, there aren’t any police officers waiting for you in the lecture hall, and Sunghoon seems to be perfectly fine.

Except, he’s sitting in Yunjin’s usual seat right next to yours.

You immediately pause, heart dropping to your stomach. This has never happened, ever, and you already know it must mean bad news.

He’s writing something in his notebook casually, hair curling over his forehead in a way that makes him look hand-sculpted by the Gods themselves. Your mouth goes dry, eyes flickering across the room until they land on a sly looking Yunjin. She curls her fingers at you in a sultry wave, like she knows exactly what she’s done–which you’re sure she does.

And, conveniently, every other seat in the room is full. Which means you have no other choice than to sit by Sunghoon.

Which is perfectly fine. Yep. It’s fine.

You force yourself to make your way to your seat, feet dragging the entire way, head hanging so that your hair covers your face. Is it a little pathetic? Yeah, definitely. But you’re way past caring.

You try to sit down as incredulously as possible, making sure your body is conveniently facing away from him. And for the first few minutes it works! Sunghoon doesn’t glance at you when you open your computer and pull up the assignment, doesn’t even blink when you sneeze right next to his ear.

And when you think you’re finally in the safe–finally feel like you can let yourself relax–it happens.

Sunghoon turns to you, his cheeks flushed a strange shade of pink, eyes strangely bright and pupils blown, and says in a scarily serious tone, “How are you, beautiful?”

You don’t even register it at first. It feels so absurd, so out of reach that he could even be thinking about saying that to you, that you completely ignore him. You assume he must be on the phone with Sophia, because there is absolutely no way Park Sunghoon just called you beautiful. It just wasn’t possible.

But then his foot finds yours under the table, and he starts trying to play fucking footsie with you. You freeze momentarily, brain trying it’s very hardest to catch up with whatever the hell it is that’s going on right now.

You swallow, finally forcing yourself to look at him. For a moment you really wish you hadn’t, because he’s got this cheeky smile going on, like he’s content just being in your presence.

You clear your throat, looking around once more for confirmation that he isn’t talking to anyone else. Your pointer finger comes up to point at yourself hesitantly, voice coming out in a small whisper when you say, “Are you talking to me?”

His foot stops nudging against yours now that you’ve finally answered him, and his smile widens. “Who else would I be calling beautiful?”

You nearly choke on your own spit, hand flying up to your mouth as you fall into a coughing fit. Sunghoons hand comes up to rub soothingly on your back like he’s done it a million times.

“What are you talking about?” You manage between coughs, eyes wide like you’ve just seen a bomb go off. 

Well, this certainly feels like one has.

Your mind can't even make sense of what he's saying. It almost feels like he's speaking another language and you're using google translate to try and communicate with him.

Sunghoon laughs, head shaking as his hand travels up to ruffle your hair. “You’re so funny sometimes, really. Did you know that? Honestly, I’ve always thought you were the funniest girl I’d ever met. And the prettiest.” His eyelashes flutter, leaning his cheek onto his hand like he’s got some type of school-girl crush. “I want the whole world to know just how perfect you are.”

You’re too shocked to even respond, lips opening and closing while you rack your brain for anything to say. This is so out of character for Sunghoon. Not just because his admiration is aimed at you, but because you’ve gone to university with him long enough to know he doesn’t act like this.

And then it hits you.

The fucking experiment.

You are so screwed.

You clear your throat, glancing around warily. Your professor started lecturing a few minutes ago, but you were so busy with Sunghoon you had no idea what it was he was even talking about.

You suck in a shaky breath, “Okay, listen, I know you’re probably confused right now." You attempt, voice quiet as to not draw any attention to what’s going on. “But you drank something you shouldn’t have yesterday, which isn’t your fault! Me and Beomgyu just have to figure out how to reverse its effects! Unless, of course, it wears off by itself. That would definitely be ideal.” You mumble the last part, bottom lip finding its way between your teeth just like it always does when you’re thinking too hard.

Sunghoon watches you with a dopey smile on his face, clearly not caring about anything that you’re saying. The sight makes your heart stutter, which you know shouldn’t happen. Personal feelings about Sunghoon aside, he doesn’t actually feel anything for you. He just thinks he does.

“You’re so cute when you’re focused.” He murmurs, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your breath catches when the tips of his fingers brush against your cheek, the touch soft and intentional. He's gazing at you with so much love, so much genuine feeling, it breaks your heart the tiniest bit.

And you wonder for the briefest moment what would happen if you let yourself indulge in this. Even if just for a day. Would it be so bad?

He pulls away from you slowly, the tips of his ears pink and his lips curled into a shy smile. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs again.

You sigh, letting your head fall into your hands. “Sunghoon–”

He stands from his seat abruptly, his chair scratching against the floor obnoxiously. You wince, head whipping up to figure out what the hell it is he’s doing.

“Everyone!” He announces, voice booming through the lecture hall. You immediately scramble to stop him, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt to try and pull him back down. He just ignores you, instead choosing to continue to address the whole class like he’s giving some big speech.

“I’m in love–!”

Yeah, no.

You practically wrestle him into his chair, pulling on his arm so hard he nearly collapses into your lap. You push him into his chair, a shaky smile on your face.

The class stares at you with unamused frowns, all clearly annoyed at having the lecture interrupted by Sunghoons near-declaration.

You clear your throat, hands waving in front of you. “He’s just not feeling well,” You attempt nervously, a humorless laugh bubbling out of your lips like it might save you from embarrassment. It doesn’t.

Your professor fixes you with a stern look, one that you’d never been on the receiving end of until this moment. Now, you’re starting to understand why people say she’s so icy.

You murmur out apologies to the room, hoping to ease at least some ofthe growing tension between you and your peers. Yunjins looking at you with genuine shock, her hand covering her mouth like she’s hoping to spare you any kind of embarrassment. It doesn’t work.

You turn your attention back to Sunghoon, who’s giggling in his chair like he’d just witnessed the funniest thing ever.

“What is wrong with you?” You hiss, beginning to pack your stuff as well as his. You’d thought you’d wait until class was over to go find Beomgyu, but after that stunt you’re starting to think your social life might go down if you don’t figureout how to fix this ASAP.

Sunghoon shrugs, fingertips tapping against his thigh. “Is it a crime to tell people about the girl I love?”

You tense for a moment, but don’t stop gathering the rest of your things. “You don’t love me.” You manage out, voice cracking slightly. “You’re just confused.”

Sunghoon grabs your wrist and stops you from closing his notebook, his thumb hovering over your pulse point. “I’m not confused.” He insists, and, God, for a second you almost believe him. It’d definitely be easier to.

But you know he doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s confusing his emotions for you with something else—something that isn’t there.

Something that will never be there.

You pull your wrist out of his grip, a sad smile on your face. “C’mon,” You manage, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “Let's go talk to Beomgyu.”

The walk to Beomgyu’s apartment is filled with endless yapping from Sunghoon and mostly silence from you. You aren’t sure how you should reply to his advances considering he doesn’t actually know what he’s saying. You keep telling yourself to imagine he’s on some weird drug that makes him more open than normal. And ten times more flirty.

Beomgyus apartment is just on the cusp of campus, close enough that it wasn’t a long walk, but far enough to get some sense of individualism. You’d been there a thousand times, whether it was for a casual hangout or to catch up on homework, but never in a million years did you imagine you’d be knocking on the door with Park Sunghoon staring at you like you’d hung the moon and the stars.

“Stop,” You mumble, fist rapping onto the door again. You know Beomgyu’s home right now.

Sunghoon raises a brow, arms crossed as he leans against the wall next to you. “Stop what?” He asks, maintaining his false facade of innocence.

You shoot him a glare, hands gesturing at him wildly. “Stop looking at me like that!”

He just hums, like he’s amused at your reaction. And you know none of this is technically his fault–well, it is but it isn’t–but there’s a growing annoyance in your chest that you can’t seem to get rid of. If you were going to be subjected to another public embarrassment like what he’d pulled in your lecture you think you’ll die.

You huff, fist tapping against the door again. “I know you’re in there, Beomgyu! Stop trying to pretend you aren’t there so I’ll leave!”

There’s a momentary silence, and then the door clicks open and an unamused Beomgyu stares at you from the other side. He’s wearing a white stained shirt, hair sticking up in numerous places. 

He’s a sight for sore eyes, honestly.

“What?” He sighs, staring at you like you’ve interrupted his very busy schedule.

You point over at Sunghoon with your thumb, “We’ve got a massive issue.”

Beomgyu’s eyes trail towards where you’re pointing lazily, like you’re somehow inconveniencing him. He looks Sunghoon up and down, lips twisting into a frown. “I don’t see the problem.” He mumbles.

You sigh, running a hand over your face and letting it slap back down to your thigh. “It worked.” 

Beomgyu raises a brow. “What worked?”

You groan, “The experiment worked.” You hiss, nodding towards Sunghoon slightly. “And now he’s convinced he’s in love with me.”

Beomgyu blinks, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head as he processes what you said. He’s been your closest friend for long enough to know that under different circumstances, Sunghoon confessing his love to you would’ve had you over the moon. He knows you would’ve had a much different reaction to the one you’re giving now, at least.

He licks his lips, glancing around the hallway like he’s expecting someone to jump out at you, and then ushers the both of you into your apartment. Sunghoon tries to grab your hand when you go inside, but you pull away and shoot him a sharp glare. He just smiles back, like your annoyance is the most amusing thing in the world to him.

Beomgyu gestures to the couch, mumbling out a hasty sit before disappearing into his room. You sigh when you plop down onto it, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursued. 

You know it’s not Sunghoons fault. This whole thing was a complete accident. But…some part of you couldn’t help but feel like this entire thing was only going to end one way–with you getting hurt. Sunghoon doesn’t love you like he seems to think. The issue is, you aren’t sure just how long you’ll be able to resist him before you finally start believing him.

That’s why you need to figure out how to reverse this before it gets to that point.

And what about the effects it must be having on Sunghoon? Sure, you were taking emotional hits, but what if you had accidentally seriously messed him up mentally or physically? What if he never recovered and then you’d have to live with the fact that you’d indirectly messed him up for life?

Sunghoon sits down next to you wordlessly, hands shoved in his pockets. His eyes trail over the living room, eyes pausing on a framed picture of you and Beomgyu from highschool. In it, the both of you are laughing at something on the other side of the camera, your hands clenching your stomachs and wide smiles on your faces. You don’t remember what exactly had been so funny at the time, but your heart still melts all the same every time you look at it.

Sunghoon hums, nodding towards the picture. “You look happy.”

Even though you don’t mean to, and there's definitely no reason to do so right now, you crack a small smile. “Yeah,” You mumble, “That was a good day.”

The space between you isn’t uncomfortable, it never really has been despite everything, but it’s tense. Like there’s some sort of gravitational force pushing you towards him, and the harder you resist, the more it wants to persist. 

Sunghoon must feel it to, because his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his adams apple bobbing slightly. For the first time since this entire fiasco started, he looks almost unsure, like there’s something he wants to do or say, but he can’t.

You frown, hand instinctively coming up to rest on his bicep, “Sunghoon,” You murmur, eyebrows furrowing in concern. “Are you alright–”

“Okay, here's the plan,” Beomgyu interrupts, finally emerging from his room. He looks much more put together now and not like he’d just rolled out of bed. He points to himself, “I’m going to figure out how to fix…” He gestures to Sunghoon warily, “This as soon as possible. You,” He points to you next, “Are going to watch him while I do.”

Immediately, alarms go off in your head. You can’t watch over Sunghoon. You just can’t.

You sit up straighter, arms crossing in an X over your chest. “I can’t,” You blurt, heat rising to your cheeks. You slowly lean back again, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I have…plans.”

It’s a lame excuse, you know. And you know neither of them believe you. (Honestly, does Sunghoon even understand what’s going on?)

Beomgyu rolls his eyes, “Okay, first off, no you don’t. And if this is like, a one in a million time in which you actually do have something going on, cancel it.” He lowers his voice slightly, hand covering his mouth so Sunghoon can’t see what he’s saying. “He can’t be alone right now, and I’m guessing you’re the only person he’ll willingly go with. So, either take him or deal with the repercussions.”

You hate that he’s right. 

Maybe, if you had any energy left in you you’d fight with him on it. Or maybe you’d just deal with the consequences of sending Sunghoon out there on his own. But one glance at the man in question, and you immediately cave.

He’s gazing at you with hopeful eyes, his head tilted slightly to the side, like he’s hanging onto every word you say. It really shouldn’t tug at your heart strings like it does. It shouldn’t make you want to say yes until the word doesn’t sound like a word anymore.

You sigh, forcing your gaze to the ground. “Fine,” You huff, “I’ll watch him. Whatever that means.”

Beomgyu grins, glancing between you and Sunghoon cheekily, like he knows something you don’t. “Great,” He rolls his neck, letting it pop once. “Now get out so I can get to work.”

Campus is never busy on Mondays. You think it’s because most people don’t like the idea of morning classes on the first day of the week, which you can’t really blame them for. But that also means that it’s just you and Sunghoon on the street, and while it feels completely awkward for you—he looks like he just won a million bucks.

He’s smiling, as if the harsh winds blowing across your faces is anything to smile about. As if anything about this situation is something to smile about. 

And you know you shouldn’t be upset. Anyone in your situation right now would probably be ecstatic. The man you’ve been secretly in love with for the past three years is finally returning your feelings, even if they aren’t completely genuine.

But that’s the issue, isn’t it? He doesn’t really feel this way towards you, he just thinks he does. And it would be so easy to let yourself indulge in it–to let yourself forget that none of this is actually real.

But you can’t. You know you can’t.

Sunghoons arm brushes against yours, a complete accident, but you still flinch and pull away like he’s burned you.

He glances at you, eyebrows furrowing. His breaths coming out in uneven puffs of white fog. “Everything okay?”

You clear your throat, trying to act like the shiver that goes down your spine is from the frosted air and not because his smooth voice makes your body flush with heat. “I’m fine,” You murmur, “Just…hungry. Tired.”

He hums, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. “You know,” He drawls, trying to keep up a nonchalant front. “We could go eat. Together. Just me and you.”

You blink, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. Is he asking you on a date right now? If the past two hours hadn't happened, you probably would've been more surprised.

You sigh, shaking your head slightly, “I’m not going on a date with you Sunghoon.” The words nearly don't make it out of your throat, feeling more artificial and practiced than anything else. If you would've told yourself a week ago you'd be rejecting Sunghoon, you probably would've slapped yourself for even thinking about it.

He shrugs, eyes glinting with mischief. “Who said anything about a date?” He asks, looking at you like you've just uggested the craziest thing he's ever heard. “We're just two friends eating lunch together, right? Even if I am irrevocably in love with you.”

He throws the word love out like he's saying hello, not like he's pulling at the strings of your heart every time it leaves his lips. It almost sounds fucking natural, like he'd been saying it to you for years, which makes it even worse.

You pause in the street, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Okay, I get that your brain isn’t in the right place right now, but stop saying things like that.”

His head tilts slightly to the side, eyebrows raising in amusement. “Why?” He asks, tone innocent, but you know better. You know he’s finding this funny. It’s frustrating and annoying and your heart fucking stutters every time he looks at you like he knows exactly what makes you tick.

You stumble over your words, hands gesturing wildly in front of you. “Because It’s annoying! And weird! How would Sophia feel if she knew you were saying all of this?”

The air goes still at the mention of Sophia, like the thought of her is enough to push away the sun. Sunghoons expression hardens, his jaw tightening for a moment before he releases it. It’s almost like the sound of her name has sucked all of the joy out of him. “Why would I care what she thinks?” He mutters.

You blank, unsure of how to respond to that. You know the two have always had a more than toxic relationship, but you’ve never seen him have so much distaste towards her before. You’ve never seen him have so much distaste towards anyone before.

“I don't know, maybe because she’s your girlfriend?” You attempt.

His eyes harden as he looks away from you, like he doesn't want to point his annoyance towards you. “She’s not my girlfriend.” He mumbles.

Your neck cranes up so you can look at him, arms crossing over your chest in a silent defense. “Besides,” He continues, taking a small step closer. “Why would I care about her when you’re right in front of me?”

You feel that familiar heat rush up your neck, the one you know you have no right to feel. And it’s strange how something good on the surface can cut you so deeply. How something you hoped to hear from him for years can suddenly feel like the biggest insult.

But, you are hungry–you weren’t lying about that, and Beomgyu has already assigned you to practically be his babysitter anyway, so might as well get something out of it, right?

You let out a breath, kissing your teeth as you do. This is a very bad idea, and you know it. “We can go to lunch as friends, but that’s it, okay? And no more flirting.”

His lips curl into a grin, eyes flashing like he’s just won a prize. “Perfect, because I already made a reservation for us off campus.”

Of course he did. 

You open your mouth to argue, or really say anything, but his hand makes its way onto your lower back so he can lead you away and you suddenly forget how to speak. Because, yes, you’re still a strong woman who would rather die than ever be rendered speechless by a man–but Park Sunghoon is an exception. One that you know you shouldn’t indulge, but doesn’t it feel oh, so good when you do?

That’s how you find yourself thirty minutes later in the nicest restaurant in a fifteen mile radius, wearing jeans and an old ratty t-shirt. You cross your legs, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in your stomach at being so underdressed.

Sunghoon doesn’t look the least bothered by it though, reading over the menu with sharp eyes and a slight furrow to his brows. He asks you your opinion occasionally, mumbles about calories and his protein intake. All things you’d never really felt the need to look at yourself before. Maybe hockey people have to worry about that stuff? You’d always assumed it was just wrestlers and weightlifters.

“Do you like Alfredo sauce or marinara? I like both, but I want you to be able to pick off my plate.” He mutters, saying it so casually. Like ordering his own food based on what you like is just common sense. If any of this was real, he would make the perfect boyfriend.

It makes you wonder again how Sophia could just let him go so easily.

Your eyes flicker up from your own menu, heart stuttering in your chest. “Just get whatever you want,” You sigh, “You don’t need to ask me.”

He’s silent for a moment, the gears in his head turning. He slowly sets his menu down, and then plucks your own from your fingers.

Your eyebrows furrow as you go to reach for it, “Sunghoon—“

“Why are you so set on rejecting me?” He asks, keeping his eyes on yours. The eye-contact nearly makes your throat close up from how intense it is. “I know you think none of this is real or whatever—“

"Because it isn’t.” You interrupt. You wish you understood how this experiment worked, because then maybe you'd know how to get it through his thick skull that none of this was real. You run a hand through your hair before continuing, “You drank an experiment, Sunghoon. Everything you’re feeling—everything you think you’re feeling—it isn’t real.” Your voice cracks slightly, like it’s a manifestation of your own hurt. 

Sunghoon, for the first time since this entire thing started, goes silent. His jaw ticks, breathing going slightly uneven. The air crackles between you, tension that neither of you really want to admit is there.

And then, without even so much as a stutter, he says, “I’ll prove it then.”

You falter, lips parting as a laugh bubbles out of your throat. You don’t mean to laugh, really, you don’t, but Sunghoon's insistence is almost admirable. And, unfortunately for you, his stubbornness only makes you fall for him the tiniest bit more.

“Why are you so set on this?” You ask, mimicking his question from earlier. 

He shrugs, leaning forward and placing his chin in his hand. “Does it matter?”

Yes, it does matter. But you know there’s no way you’re going to get an actual answer from him, so you won’t push anymore. So, instead you just shrug, fingers tapping against the table. “I guess not.”

Sunghoon grins, his tongue poking against his cheek slightly. “Atta girl.”

You should drag him out of the restaurant and back to Beomgyu’s apartment after that. Should refuse to even speak to him until Beomgyu figures out how to reverse this whole thing. Should protect your heart from the hurt that you know is coming.

But you don’t do any of that. Instead, you laugh along to his jokes. You don’t protest when he pays for your food. You let him walk you home like he’s your boyfriend and try to ignore the deep ache beginning to bloom in your chest every time he looks at you like he loves you.

And when you lay in bed that night, sheets tucked to your chin and green glowing stars shining on your ceiling, you let yourself believe that all of it was real. That all of it meant something.

Even if that was only true for one of you.

You aren’t sure what you’re expecting the next morning, but it certainly isn’t sunghoon at your door with a jersey in one hand and hockey stick in the other.

You blink at him, still in your pajamas with leftover mascara flakes covering your cheeks. You’re sure you look the picture of attractiveness right now. You sigh, rubbing your eyes with your knuckles. “What are you doing here?”

Sunghoon holds the jersey out to you, and it’s then that you realize it’s his. Or, at least, one with his number and name on it. “This is for tonight.” He says casually, like you’re supposed to know what that means.

Your eyebrows furrow as you cautiously take it from him, inspecting it like it was a bomb and not a piece of fabric. “Uh,” You chuckle humorlessly, “What’s tonight?”

The jersey is your size, but the only other people you can think of who wear these are family members, die-hard fans, and…girlfriends. 

But there’s no way that’s why he’s giving this to you. Besides, you’d seen Sophia wear the same exact thing enough times to know what wearing it would mean--to know what it would make you, as well as everyone else on the campus, aware of. 

That you were Sunghoons.

That is not happening.

He leans against your doorframe, arms crossed against his chest. His hockey stick pokes out from under his armpit awkwardly, and the sight nearly makes you crack a smile.

“For the game,” He says, “You’re coming.”

You immediately shake your head and attempt to shove the jersey back into his arms. “Yeah, no, I’m not going to that. Thanks for the offer though.”

You turn on your heel after forcing him to take back the shirt, and while you know you should tell him to leave, you let him follow you into your apartment.

He trails behind you like a lost puppy, a slight pout twisted onto his features. “You have to go,” He insists, “You’re my girlfriend–”

You whip around and glare at him, “I am not your girlfriend.”

His lips curl up into a shy smile, a hand coming up to brace the back of his neck. “That’s a technicality.”

You give him a look before finally turning back around and continuing your walk to your bathroom. He tries to follow you in, but you quickly shut the door in his face. You half expect that to finally be the hint he needs, but of course it isn't. Instead, he just keeps talking to you through the door. “Okay, fine, you’re not my girlfriend.” He sighs, voice slightly muffled. You just roll your eyes and throw your hair up, grabbing your toothbrush from its place in the barbie cup on your sink.

“But you said I could prove to you how serious I was,” He continues. You can hear his body slide down to the floor, and you assume he’s sitting with his back against the door. He’s silent for a moment, before mumbling out so quietly you nearly don’t hear him, “Let me do what I said I would. Please.”

You are a weak, weak woman. You’ve always known this. When it comes to school and things of that nature you’d always known you excelled. But, people? That was something that was way out of your league.

Your mom used to call you a people-pleaser. Said it’d end up in you getting hurt if you didn’t learn how to step away from things before they got out of hand. And you thought you had.

But maybe you hadn’t.

You sigh, finishing up brushing your teeth and washing your face. By the time you're finished the ends of your hair and the sleeves of your shirt are soaked, but you don’t care. He wouldn’t care what you looked like right now anyway. His brain is all jumbled up and you doubt you looking like a hot mess is the thing that'll fix it.

You open the door cautiously, and just as you’d expected he’s sat on the other side with his knees tucked into his chest. He looks so small here, so boyish. Not like the Park Sunghoon you’d seen from the spotlight, not like the school's star player and pride and joy. From here, he looks like a boy trying to find himself in a world too big for him.

You tug your bottom lip into your teeth, eyes choosing to look everywhere but at him. “I’ll go,” You finally mumble, voice smaller than you wanted it to be. “But I’m not wearing the jersey.”

He smiles, shoulders sagging in relief. He tilts his head up so he can see you. “Jersey?” He smirks, crumbling up the fabric and shoving it behind his back. “What jersey?”

You grin despite yourself and nudge your foot into his lower back. “Whatever. Go home so I can get ready.”

He stands, knees popping as he does. He grabs his hockey stick from where it leans against your wall, fingers wrapping around it and giving it a firm squeeze. “Six pm, alright? I’ll get you and your friends a spot up front.”

You shake your head, “You don’t have to do that–”

He grins, and before you can even think about swerving him, leans in and places a gentle kiss at the crown of your head. You freeze, body flushing and eyes going wide.

His lips are softer than you thought they’d be, coated with a scentless chapstick that you’d seen him carry around with him for years. He pauses for a moment, his spare hand lingering at your waist. He never touches you directly, doesn’t even attempt to. But you can still feel the slight heat emitting from his hand, and it almost feels more intimate than if he'd just taken that final leap.

He swallows, taking a step away from you. There’s a slight pink blush dusting his cheeks, like he’s shocked by his own actions, but he’s quick to clear his throat and pretend like there was nothing out of the ordinary about what he’d just done. Like the entire thing was a regular occasion for the both of you.

“I’ll see you there, okay?” He mutters, raising a brow. Like he needs more reassurance that you’ll stick to your word and show up.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lips for a moment, eyes searching for any indication that maybe he understands what he did. That maybe the experiment's effects are starting to wear off. But when you look at him, you see the same exact thing you’ve been seeing since yesterday morning.

Pure, unbridled, love.

You suck in a breath, nodding your head slightly. “Yeah,” You manage, though your voice comes out low and breathless. “I’ll be there.”

He smiles, mumbles out a soft goodbye, and then leaves you in the middle of your hallway, body flushed and mind jumbled.

Yunjin, to your dismay, comes over as soon as you ask her too.

She looks ecstatic. You’d called her last night and explained the entire situation, but she, of course, couldn’t see how it was a very bad thing.

“Why are you so upset?” She’d asked over the phone. You didn’t have to see her face to know she was practically beaming. “The guy you’ve been secreltey obsessing over like some kind of stalker is in love with you! That sounds like a complete win to me!”

You’d winced, bottom lip tugged between your teeth. “Yeah, It sounds great! But he doesn’t…” You swallowed uncomfortably, “He doesn’t actually feel that way for me. He just thinks he does.”

You heard her take a drink of something before she sighed out, “How do you know that?”

You went silent, unsure of how to answer. What did she mean how did you know? It was obvious. Sunghoon accidentally drinks a love potion and now thinks he’s in love with you. That’s what had happened.

You tucked your legs under you and adjusted your phone against your ear. “I think that’s obvious, Yunjin.” You murmured.

She hummed, “I don’t know, [Y/N].” She said, tone strangely teasing. “Maybe he’ll surprise you.”

So, when you’d called her and asked her to help you get ready for tonight’s match, she was ecstatic. And you appreciated her support, of course, but you weren’t sure she really understood what was happening here.

You and Sunghoon are nothing. When all of this was over, you’d go back to being two strangers who sometimes smiled awkwardly at each other out of obligation. And you needed to be able to be okay with that. You had to be.

“Okay, I think you should wear something super sexy so that Sunghoon’s knocked on his ass.” Yunjin quips, scouring through your closet and inspecting everything you own like it owes her something.

You sigh from where you lay on your bed, staring up at the stars on your ceiling like maybe they’ll save you. “We’re going to his game, Yun. I don’t want him to fall on his ass.” You chuckle, throwing up air quotes around the end of your sentence.

Yunjin rolls her eyes and throws another pair of jeans onto your desk chair. “I don’t mean literally. I just mean maybe it wouldn’t hurt to wear something different."

You sit up, bracing yourself against your elbows. “What's wrong with my usual clothes?” You ask, eyebrows raising teasingly.

Yunjin pauses, cautiously turning around so you’re face to face. “There’s nothing wrong with it," She attempts, lips twisting thoughtfully as she tries to come up with the softest way to say it. “But I don’t think a pair of sweatpants and some random shirt you got in middle school is quite the look we’re going for.”

You scoff, flopping back down onto your bed and pushing the palm of your hands into your eyes until white dots fill your vision. You don’t think there’s anything wrong with what you usually wear, even if it isn’t the nicest clothes ever.

But you can’t lie and say there isn’t a part of you that wonders how Sunghoon would react. Would he even care? If he did, would it even be real?

“I think that you’re blowing this way out of proportion.” You mutter, letting your arms wrap around yourself.

Yunjin snorts and tosses a shirt at you. You cautiously inspect the fabric–a blue long sleeved top with a deep neckline that you’d bought to make your ex-boyfriend jealous and then never wore. You scrunch your nose slightly at it and then toss it back at her. 

“There’s no way I’m wearing that.” You snort.

Yunjin nods, grabbing a pair of dark jeans from your closet. “That’s what you think.”

The hockey arena, to no one's surprise, is full to the brim with die hard fans and half-way drunk college students. You, personally, have never been to a game before. Mostly because you know what they consist of, and you’d rather skip watching men fight over a puck on ice when you could be doing much more important things. Like rewatching New Girl.

But, alas, you, Yunjin, and Jungwon all find your seats right at the barricade. Beomgyu had chosen to skip so that he could keep working on some kind of fix for your current situation, but you had half the mind to believe it was because he simply didn’t want to come.

Jungwon takes a sip of his fountain drink, letting the red straw rest on his lip. “So, you’re telling me that Sunghoon drank the experiment, thinks he’s in love with you, and invited you here because he wants to prove to you that it’s real?”

You nod, shrugging your jacket off and laying it across the back of your seat. The players are warming up in front of you, their skates scratching against the ice as they yell instructions at each other. You can see Sunghoon talking to another boy with a serious expression, his hands moving admittedly as he does. You can tell he’s being stern with him, but the boy doesn’t look upset or scared in the least. If anything, he’s taking his lecture with pride–like getting told off by Park Sunghoon is a privilege.

And you think that goes into show just the kind of person that he is. He's kind, and funny, and defientley doesn't deserve what you're putting him through.

"Um," You sniff, adjusting yourself in your seat. “That’s pretty much it, yeah.”

Jungwon hums, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “Is it weird that that isn’t the strangest thing that’s happened to us?” He asks.

You furrow your brows, “What could possibly be weirder then that?”

“Remember freshman year?” Yunjin chimes in, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. “There was that full two weeks where Beomgyu was stained pink.”

“Oh,” You draw out, chuckling at the memory. “I do remember that.”

You giggle at the memory. Beomgyu had had a rouge experiment blow up in his face--literally--and spent two weeks looking like he'd just stepped out of the Barbie movie.

Jungwon shrugs, “I would argue that seeing Beomgyu walk around campus like a real-life monster high doll was definitely weirder than this.”

You don’t respond, instead turning your attention back towards Sunghoon. He still hasn’t noticed you–which you’re mostly grateful for, but it also makes you anxious for when he does.

While you’ve never been to one of the matches in person, you have seen them online. You know that they can get heated and violent. You’ve seen Sunghoon walk into class with the occasional black eye or scabbed over knuckles.

It makes worry build in your stomach, thick and strong and nearly overwhelming. And you know you shouldn’t care. Sunghoon isn’t your boyfriend, even if he seems to think he is. But, still, the thought of him getting hurt makes you want to throw up.

You lean back in your chair, leg bouncing anxiously, and then you see it. It’s a subtle movement from the corner of your eye, but you catch it nonetheless.

Two seats down from you, Sophia sits down with her friends, all of them looking like they just stepped out of fucking vogue. And Sophia, with her perfectly blown-out hair and sickly sweet smile, is wearing Sunghoons jersey.

Your heart drops, stomach becoming an endless pit as you stare at her. You’d assumed they broke up, but what if they hadn’t? That was the only explanation you could think of for why she was here wearing that. What if you had accidentally ruined her relationship with Sunghoon?

Not to say that their relationship wasn’t already on the brink of disaster, but still.

You nudge Jungwon with your elbow, forcing your gaze onto the rink. The other team has come onto the ice now, and you can see Sunghoon's jaw tick. But he isn’t watching the other team, no, he’s searching the stands.

Searching them for you.

You suddenly feel a wave of guilt at what you’ve done, even if it was an accident. You’ve inadvertently forced yourself into the middle of a relationship that was never any of your business. Does this make you a homewrecker?

“Jungwon,” You mumble, “Tell Yunjin we’re leaving.”

“What?” He asks, eyebrows knitting together. “The game hasn’t even started.”

You sink into your seat as you watch Sunghoons gaze get closer and closer to you. “Sophia’s here.” You say through your teeth, “And she’s wearing his jersey.”

Jungwons gaze shifts past you, lips parting when he spots her. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” You murmur, “Oh.”

Jungwon turns and tells Yunjin, and you watch as her head pops out from behind him, her lips pulled into a frown. “Oh, this is so fucked.”

You cover your face with your hands and groan, “I’m a homewrecker!”

“Okay, no,” Yunjin scoffs, still eyeing Sophia like maybe if she stares at her long enough she’ll disappear, “This is all just a really small misunderstanding.”

You groan again, dropping your hands to your lap and looking back onto the rink. Sunghoon finally spots you then, a smile curling onto his lips as he skates over. Your stomach churns, letting yourself steal a glance to Sophia, who is also smiling at Sunghoon. 

You sink further into your seat.

“Y/N!” He calls once he approaches, placing a hand in the glass separating you. You can practically feel Sophia’s gaze burning into your skull, and for once, you can’t even be mad that you’re on the other side of her icy glare.

“Um,” You manage, clearing your throat and cocking your head as subtly as possible towards Sophia. “Sunghoon, you should probably go say hi to your girlfriend before you say hi to me.”

You can feel Jungwon and Yunjin holding their breaths, like they’re scared any sudden movement will set off some kind of bomb. But Sunghoon either doesn't notice the tension, or he’s actively choosing to ignore it.

He cocks his head to the side, smile faltering a bit. “What are you talking about—”

“Hoonie!”

There’s something very distinct about Sophia’s voice—just the right amount of feminine to be cutsey, but still bordering on the edge of nails on a chalkboard. Normally, the sound of it would make you roll your eyes and resist the urge to pull your hair out, but now it just makes you feel sick with guilt.

Sunghoons expression immediately shifts, his smile curling downwards, eyes narrowing slightly. When he spots Sophia, he almost looks bored. Like the sight of her is nothing special.

She climbs over the people next to you, a mom and her toddler, both of whom she doesn’t apologize to when she steps on the tips of their shoes.

“Hoon,” She sighs, adjusting her skirt. “I missed you.”

She doesn’t even spare you a glance, which you’re partially thankful for. But, you also can’t help but wonder if it’s because she doesn’t even see you as a threat.

Which, you’re not—but still. It’d at least be nice to be considered one.

Sunghoons jaw ripples, gaze icy and nearly angry. “What’re you doing here Sophia?” He asks. His gaze falls downwards, onto the blue jersey she wears proudly across her chest, and scoffs. “And why are you wearing that?”

Sophia doesn’t even flinch at his tone, if anything she seems to revel in it. “Why wouldn’t I be here, silly?” She giggles, “I’m supporting my boyfriend!”

Jungwon glances over at you, but your eyes stay on the floor. What are you supposed to say? Actually, you’re boyfriend thinks he’s in love with me, so sorry! You’d just sound crazy.

Sunghoon leans closer, voice lowering an octave. “Are you forgetting that I caught you fucking my roomate last weekend?” He spits, gripping his hockey stick so hard you’re convinced it’ll break. “Or am I supposed to just get over that like everything else?”

You can’t help the gasp that leaves you. A small sound, but it’s enough to catch her attention. She whips her head around, dark eyes catch yours, nose scrunched like she’s staring at the trash on the side of the sidewalk and not a person.

You half expect her to apologize for having such a private conversation in front of you, but she doesn’t do that. Why would she? Instead, she barks, “Can’t you see we’re having a conversation? Go somewhere else.”

You blink, lips parting as you try to come up with something to say. But, Sunghoon beats you to it.

“Don’t talk to her like that.” He defends, eyes blazing something nearly protective. It makes your heart flutter and heat fill your stomach for all the wrong reasons.

Sophia takes a moment to process, but when she does, you would’ve thought Sunghoon had just told her he’d made out with her mom.

“Why are you defending her?” She asks, letting out a humorless laugh. She really takes you in then, eyeing you up and down. You sink into yourself instinctually, arms wrapping around your stomach like a shield. “Don’t tell me this is my replacement?” She chuckles, like the thought of you even being near Sunghoon is amusing.

You shake your head, hands shooting out in front of you. Even though she doesn't deserve it, you don't want to be the other woman. “No, no, that’s not—”

But Sunghoon doesn't let you finish. “She can’t be a replacement when there’s nothing to replace.” He mutters, tongue leaking venom.

Sophia, for what you’re sure is the first time in her life, is rendered speechless. Her glossy lips part, eyes widening a fraction. “Sunghoon—”

He turns to you then, completely ignoring her like her prescense isn’t even a blip on his radar. His eyes soften, cheeks flushing the lightest shade of pink. “Meet me after the game, okay?” He mumbles.

A buzzer sounds, and both teams on the ice skate over to their respective coaches to get ready for the game. Your lips part as you wrack your brain for a response, but it’s hard when Sophia is sneering at you like you’d just said the dumbest thing she’d ever heard.

Sunghoon sighs, throwing you a final glance before pushing off the glass and beginning to skate towards the rest of his teammates.

His jaw ticks once, throwing Sophia an icy look over his shoulder. “Go home, Sophia.” He mumbles.

Sophia doesn’t say anything else, just shoots you a glare and then stomps back to her waiting friends. They all look sympathetic when she tells them what happened, shooting you not-so-subtle death glares. As if you did something. Well, you did—you unintentionally home wrecked her relationship, but still, it was all accidental!

Yunjin lets out a low whistle, crossing her leg over her knee and clasping her hands around it. “Can we make more of those love potion things?” She asks with a chuckle. “This is reality tv kind of entertainment.”

Jungwon nods, “Rivals love island, honestly.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and squeeze your eyes shut, “This isn’t a reality tv show.” You mumble.

Yunjin shrugs, popping a piece of candy into her mouth. “We know, but it might as well be. Or maybe the plot of some super bad fanfiction.”

And, well, you can’t really argue with that.

But you’d never been good at confrontation, and Sophia keeps looking at you like you’d owe her something. Her lips pulled tightly together, friend whispering in her ear like she knows your deepest darkest secrets.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, there’s a subtle prick of insecurity. One that forces you deeper into your seat and into your own head.

The game goes by in a blur, one that you barely pay attention to. It’s not that you don’t want to, but it’s a little difficult when Sophia keeps glancing over at you and laughing with her friends.

You aren’t stupid. You’ve been laughed at before--been the victim of bullies who thought they had the upper hand for whatever reason. But that had been in high school, never in college. And even though you try to push it away—try to block it out—those awful thoughts still crawl their way from the depths of your mind. Thoughts that you hadn’t had since you’d sat alone in a chemistry classroom in tenth grade, back before you’d met Beomgyu.

So, when the game is over (Sunghoon led the team to victory of course, because why wouldn’t he?), you don’t hesitate shrugging your jacket back on and climbing your way over people to get to the exit.

Yunjin and Jungwon stumble behind you, calling your name in an attempt to get you to slow down, but you don’t. Can’t, really.

You didn’t sign up for any of this. Didn’t sign up to be the target of Sophia’s stares, didn’t sign up to be the girl Sunghoons convinced he’s in love with.

You just wanted to go back to your life before. When you were still just in the background with your select circle. You wanted to go back to watching Sunghoon from afar—to being the girl he’d never look twice at.

Because this? This was too much for you.

And you know none of it is his fault, but that almost just makes it worse. He has no idea how much all of this is really hurting you. How much it breaks your heart every time he looks at you like you mean something to him.

The wind hits your face when you step outside, neon lights of the stadium lighting up the parking lot around you. You finally let out a breath, eyes glassy and lips chapped. Maybe you’re being dramatic, but you really don’t care.

“[Y/N]!” Yunjin calls, jogging slightly to catch up with you. Her jackets hanging off her arms awkwardly, purse dangling from her elbow. “Where are you going?” She presses, grabbing your bicep gently and forcing you to a stop. “What’s going on?”

You force your gaze to the ground, shoving your hands in your pockets. “I’m going home,” You tell her, voice raw. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come. If I had known he was still with Sophia—”

“Woah, hold on,” Yunjin interrupts you. Jungwon approaches then, his blonde hair blowing over his forehead awkwardly. “Did you not hear Sunghoon? They’re broken up.” 

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “They’re always broken up.”

Yunjins lips pull in tight, annoyance flashing in her eyes. “Is this because she was here?” She asks you, tone serious and deadly. "You know you don't need to care about whatever it is her and her friends think."

It’s rare for her to speak to you so seriously, always the one looking towards humor to lighten up situations. So when she does, you tend to listen.

“Sophia is a bitch, plain and simple. Sunghoon is not. And he’s actively trying to prove to you that he wants you, and you’re not letting him.” She insists.

You pull your arm from her grip at that, eyebrows knitting together. Does she seriously think anything Sunghoon is doing he actually means? If that were the case, you wouldn't even be in this situation.

“Yunjin, he doesn’t know what he’s doing!” You spit, tone harsher then you mean it. You don’t mean to aim your anger towards her, but she just keeps pushing and pushing until you finally explode. “Don’t you get it? He doesn’t feel like that towards me.” Your voice breaks, eyes brimming with tears. “He doesn’t feel anything towards me.”

Jungwon swallows, his eyes downcast. He was usually good in situations like this, usually the one to take the lead and get you laughing again, but now he can’t even meet your eyes.

Yunjin reaches for you again, sympathy written all over her face, but you pull away. You don’t want her comfort right now, even though you know it comes from a place of love.

You suck in a shaky breath, forcing your gaze onto the sidewalk in front of you. The pavement is wet from rain earlier in the day, collecting in small puddles below your feet. “I’m just going to go home, okay? Tell Sunghoon I’m sorry.”

“[Y/N]…” Yunjin mumbles, but you’re already walking away, arms wrapped around yourself and bottom lip trembling.

Is it pathetic to be crying over a stupid boy and a mean girl? Maybe. But you also know that having feelings is human, and sometimes, when the time is right, it’s okay to cry.

And you think right now is one of those times.

You don’t cry hard. Not full, chest-heaving sobs, just occasional hiccups—a steady stream of tears flowing down your cheeks that you stain your sleeves with every time you wipe at them.

Your apartment is cold when you enter, the air brushing harshly against your face. You shrug your jacket off and toss it onto the couch, padding over to your room with exhaustion sinking into your bones.

You peel off your clothes–the top Yunjin had insisted you wear for Sunghoon suddenly feeling suffocating and tight. It isn’t often you let yourself wallow in self-pity like this, but tonight was going to have to be an exception.

You change into a stained t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants with a rip in the knees and collapse onto your couch. You wonder if Sunghoon said anything when he noticed you weren’t there. Was he disappointed? Or had he finally realized it wasn’t you he should be chasing after?

Your heart hurts at the thought, aching and heavy in your chest.

It isn't fair to him that you feel like this. It isn't fair to you that he's unknowingly playing with your heart. The entire thing is a bad dream you wish you could just wake up from.

You barely register the knock at your door at first, too stuck in your head while trying to pretend you’re paying attention to whatever sitcom’s playing on the TV.

But then it comes again, not harsh, just louder. More insistent. Like whoever’s on the other side is desperate to see you.

You roll your eyes, wrapping your blanket around your shoulders and forcing yourself to pad over. “Yunjin,” You sigh, clicking the lock and swinging the door open. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

But it isn’t Yunjin standing on the other side. It’s Sunghoon.

His black hair is a mess, bangs covering his eyes in a way you know can’t be comfortable, a pair of black-rimmed glasses resting against his nose. He’s not wearing his jersey anymore, but the black compression shirt he wears under it is still there, a pair of gray sweatpants laying dangerously low on his hips.

He looks dangerously handsome without even trying.

Your breath catches before you can stop it, gaze falling down his body like you’re commiting it to memory. You’re both silent, just staring at eachother, waiting for the other to cut through the tension first.

It shouldn’t hurt seeing him right now as much as it does. You don’t have any claim on him. He loves Sophia, you’ve known that from the start.

So why does it feel like tonight was just one big slap in the face? Like the universe was reminding you of exactly what your place with him really is?

Sunghoon swallows, eyes shaky as they try to search your own. You don’t let him though. You know if you look him in the eye right now, you’ll break, and that’s the last thing you want him to see.

“You left,” He whispers, tone low. You can hear the hurt seeping through his voice, but it’s masked by a weird kind of warmth. Like even though you hurt him, he can’t physically be mad at you.

You think that’s probably a side effect.

You shift your weight uncomfortably, twiddling your thumbs in front of you. You can’t look at him—too scared of what you’ll find if you do.

“Sunghoon,” You start, voice trembling. “You don’t want me.” You don't say it like a question, instead it's a statement.

His fingers tighten into fists at his sides, knuckles going pale. “Why do you keep assuming you know what I want?” He asks.

You shake your head, “You’re just confused—”

“Stop,” He interrupts, taking a small step towards you. “Stop saying that when I know I've never been more clear headed in my life.”

You stiffen, unsure of how to respond. You know for a fact he has no idea what he’s doing or talking about. And that’s what makes it hurt the most. He genuinely believes he loves you, and fuck, you’d give anything for it to be real.

His hand reaches out, but he hesitates and drops it back to his side. "Let me prove it to you, okay? Just like I said I would. No games. No Sophia. Just me and you.”

You force your gaze up then, eyes narrowed. You shouldn’t say yes, not when your heart is already on the brink of collapse. But Sunghoons staring at you like he’ll break into pieces if you say no—like the thought of you rejecting him is too much to handle.

You lean against the doorframe, lips twisting slightly. “I don't know,” You attempt, “it’s already so late and I look a mess—”

“Please,” he breathes out, voice wrecked. “Stop thinking so hard and let me show you how much you mean to me.”

Your knuckles tighten until your fingernails dig into your palms, forming little crescent-shaped marks into the soft skin. Everything inside of you is telling you to say no. To tell him to go home and lock himself in his room until Beomgyu figures out how to fix this.

But there’s still that small part of you—the part that wonders if maybe he really did mean every sweet word that fell from his perfect lips. If maybe, just maybe, all of this was real.

And that part of you wins.

Sunghoon doesn’t let you change—just ushers you into your jacket and leads you with a hand on your lower back out of your apartment and back towards the rink.

You don’t notice that’s where you’re heading at first, not until the lights outside the parking lot come into view. Your stomach twists at the memory of your last conversation with Yunjin and Jungwon, but you push it away. You’d fix things tomorrow.

“Why are we here?” You ask, glancing up at the raven-haired boy. His palm hasn’t left your back since you started walking, almost like he was staking his claim there. Imprinting the shape of him into your skin like it’s second nature.

He shrugs, mischief flashing in his smile. “You’ll see.”

You’ve never seen the stadium empty before, but now that you are, it makes you realize just how daunting it really is. The lights pointed at the rink are still on, reflecting off of the ice and glinting across its surface. You can see the slight scuff marks and dents from numerous skates, small puddles forming in their wake.

Sunghoon jogs in front of you, pulling out a set of keys and opening the gate that the hockey players use to get onto the rink. He holds an arm out to you, gesturing for you to come over to him.

You do so cautiously, arms wrapped around yourself. The ice from the rink makes the air frigid, crawling up your spine like a garden snake. Menacing, but not dangerous.

“I don’t have any skates.” You mumble.

Sunghoon smiles, reaching out and wiggling your hand out from where it rests under your arm, “That’s okay,” He says softly, intertwining your fingers. His hands are large, this is something you’ve always known. It’s hard not to notice when he makes his pencil look like a fucking mini-brand every time he writes down his notes—but now you realize just how much they dwarf your own. “We don't need them.”

He pulls you onto the rink then, and feet immediately slip on the slick ice. You yelp when you feel your foot begin to slide from beneath you, back arching and spare arm flinging to your side, but Sunghoon grips your hand and pulls you to his chest like he’d been expecting it.

You huff when your face meets his chest, heat crawling viciously up your neck from embarrassment. Sunghoons chest vibrates with laughter against your cheek, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your head and pull you closer to him.

“Finally falling for me?” He teases.

If only he knew.

You scoff and cautiously step away from him, tightening the muscles in your legs so you don’t slip again. “You wish.” You say, meaning for it to come out harsh, but instead it sounds soft. Playful. Everything it shouldn’t be.

He rolls his eyes and drags you to the middle of the ice, careful not to tug too hard or walk too fast, instead matching his pace with yours.

You look around at the thousands of seats surrounding you, the blinding lights on the ice. There isn’t even anyone here, and you still feel slightly intimidated. It makes you wonder how he’s able to deal with all of it so efficiently.

He stops suddenly, forcing you to as well. For a split second, you think he almost looks nervous. 

He sucks in a breath, brown eyes finding your own. You just raise your brows, staring at him expectantly. You assume he must’ve brought you here for something—it’s just whatever that is that puts you slightly on edge.

“Do you remember that glass duck you carried around at the beginning of the year? The one with the weird monocle and pink jacket?” He asks, releasing your hand and shoving it into his coat pocket. You can see something round in there, you just have no idea what it is.

You frown. You do remember that duck. You’d found it on your trip with Yunjin to Europe over the summer in some rundown antique shop. It was stupidly overpriced and honestly kind of ugly, but you’d fallen in love with it for whatever reason. Maybe because it was a little different then the other ducks, with a weirdly shaped beak and slightly bigger beady eyes. But it was perfect to you.

At least, it was until Jungwon accidently broke it on Halloween weekend. He’d drunkenly slammed into you and knocked it loose from its place on your bag, and it ultimately shattered as soon as it hit the floor. You remember you’d been devastated and refused to talk to Jungwon for a week after, but that was it. You hadn't really thought twice about it for a while now.

But, how did Sunghoon know about it? Why was he asking you? You’d never talked about it with him—hell, you barely said two words to him back then.

Your chin lowers slightly in suspicion, “I do, yes. Why?”

He swallows, and you can see his free hand twitch. “Well, I saw it break at that party on Halloween. And you looked so sad. And…I really hated it. So,” He takes a breath, finally revealing whatever it was he had in his pocket. “I fixed it.”

You blink. Once. Twice. He’s holding out the duck to you, cracks from where it'd shattered all over its little glass body but ultimately put back together.

It takes you a second to fully process what’s going on, but once you do your lips part in a gasp and you take it from him. You hold it up to your face, cradling it in your hands. “How did you—what? Why? I-I don’t understand—” You’re talking so fast you barely even understand yourself, but Sunghoon just laughs, and you notice the way his shoulders slowly relax in relief.

He shrugs, like this is any other day and he didn’t just reveal to you he’d fixed your most prized possession. “I didn't want you to lose it,” He admits, taking a careful step towards you. “You don’t deserve to lose things you love.”

You glance up at him then, and you realize just how close he really is. The last time you’d been in this position he’d placed a soft kiss on your hairline, and although your heart feels like it’s skipping a beat, it’s not out of fear this time.

It’s something more dangerous, something you shouldn’t be allowing yourself to feel. Not with his condition. You glance back down to the glass duck, hesitation gnawing at your stomach. 

Ultimately, you know that what you feel for Sunghoon is not returned. But this... this changes things. He’d taken the time all those months ago, before the experiment was even thought of, and fixed something you’d deemed unfixable simply because he didn’t want you to be sad. Usually, you’d think that meant something.

But isn’t that also just the kind of boy he is? Kind, golden-hearted Park Sunghoon. Campus golden boy. Star hockey player. Everything you could never have.

“Sunghoon,” You breathe out shakily, still holding the duck in your palm. “Thank you.”

Although you're feeling conflicted about where he really stands with you, you know you're overall grateful. You've never had someone do something so kind for you simply because they can.

He doesn’t respond, just gives you a shy smile. It’s the first time you’ve seen him look so bashful. It’s cute. “It wasn’t any problem.”

You hum, tapping your nails against the duck's glass tail. “Can I ask why you needed to bring me here to give me this?” You question, a teasing lilt to your voice.

He shrugs, “It’s more romantic here then in the middle of your living room.”

You laugh aloud at that. For once, the mention of romance with him doesn’t make you want to throw up and die all at the same time. Instead, it leaves you feeling warm and fuzzy and all the things you know are going to hurt you in the end.

Because while this entire illusion is going to be over at some point, right now, in this moment, Sunghoon is in love with you. And you’re starting to wonder just how wrong it’d be to let him.

Your heart is heavy in the morning as you fidget with the duck. It’s hanging off your purse again, safely locked into place with a keychain. You’d asked Jungwon and Yunjin to meet you for coffee so you could talk, and both had agreed easily.

You guys never really did well with bad blood. Any arguments you had were always resolved fairly quickly, because otherwise it would simmer until you thought too hard about it and ended up doing something you regretted.

And you know you owe them an apology–Yunjin, especially. She’d only been trying to help, and you’d spat venom at her like she’d done something wrong. You didn’t want to be like that, and it was important to you that she knew how sorry you were. That they both knew.

They arrive together, steps slow as they approach the table you’d saved. You shoot them a sad smile, unsure of just how angry they were.

They sit next to each other across from you, sharing a glance that makes your stomach churn. You suck in a breath, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry,” You start, choosing to skip the awkward pleasantries and getting straight to the point. “You guys didn’t deserve that. At all. And I–”

“Stop,” Yunjin sighs, not letting you finish. Your heart drops, immediately assuming she's about to end your friendship. But she doesn't--instead, she points between herself and Jungwon and says with a quiet finality, “We should be the ones apologizing.”

You raise a brow at that, spine straightening in your seat. “What? No–”

“Yes,” Jungwon interrupts now, his eyes full of concern. “You were rightfully upset with everything going on, and we pushed it aside simply because we didn’t understand how you were feeling.” He sniffs, head tilting to the side slightly. “I didn’t realize how hard this must all be for you. Having the guy you like constantly telling you he’s in love with you, and then not even know if he means it? It’s unfair to you.”

You’re silent, a wave of relief and guilt crashing over you at once. You’re relieved that your emotions are being validated, but you also feel guilty that they think they need to apologize to you when you yourself are struggling with what you should feel. Before last night, you would've agreed with them wholeheartedly, but now you weren’t sure. You glance down at the figurine hanging from your bag once, heart filling with so much warmth you think it may burst. 

“You’re right,” You murmur, leaning back in your chair. “It is unfair, but I’m starting to wonder if maybe…maybe I was wrong.”

Yunjin’s eyes widen, confusion written all over her face. “What?”

You smile softly, reaching for your purse and spinning it around so they can see the once-broken glass duck. They both study it for a moment, and you watch as recognition flashes in their eyes.

Jungwon frowns and looks back at you. “I thought I broke that ugly thing?”

“It’s not ugly,” You scoff, snatching your bag back and carefully unclipping the little duck from where it hangs. You place it in the middle of the table with a small shrug. “He fixed it.”

The three of you stare at it, studying the cracks the run along it’s surface.

“What do you mean he fixed it?” Yunjin asks.

“I mean,” You sigh, “He saw it break on Halloweekend, and took it upon himself to fucking glue it back together.”

A beat. And then, “Are you serious?”

You don’t laugh, even though you want to. It is entirely ridiculous, but it happened. You’ve spent the last twelve hours mulling it over in your mind, and you can only come to one conclusion. 

Maybe Sunghoon noticed you more than you thought.

And if that were true, what did it mean now?

You manage a soft smile, picking at the skin around your fingers mindlessly. “Yep,” You hum, popping the P. “Gave it to me last night.”

Yunjin squeals, gripping Jungwon's bicep and shaking him. He huffs and rips his arm from her grip. “Quit!” He hisses.

Yunjin just ignores him, her full attention on you. “I know I shouldn’t be feeding into this anymore, but that,” She gestures towards the duck, “That is more than some stupid experiment.”

You sigh, voice small when you say, “I know. I just…I don’t know what the right thing to do is anymore.” 

And for the first time, you’re starting to feel like you’re finally being honest with yourself.

“Well,” Jungwon shrugs, leaning back in the booth. The waitress comes around and drops off three milkshakes, vanilla for yourself, and chocolate for Jungwon and Yunjin. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to try it out.”

Your eyebrows furrow, “Test it out?” You repeat, taking a small spoonful of whipped cream and stuffing it into your mouth. You'd always been a sucker for ice cream.

Jungwon nods, “There’s a party tomorrow night to celebrate the hockey team's win last night. Sunghoon will obviously be there, and maybe you can test out what he does when it’s not just the two of you.”

Yunjin sucks in a sharp breath, “But,” She draws, “Sophia will be there too.”

Jungwon snaps his fingers, “My point exactly.”

You aren’t really understanding where he’s trying to go with this. “So what?”

Jungwon continues, “We don’t really know if he’s still under the influence of the experiment,” He explains, nodding towards the duck, “that changes things. So, I think we should see if his feelings are real or not at the party.”

Your lips twist in thought, “How do you plan to do that?” You push. It's not that you don't understand what he's trying to say, it's just hard for your head to fully wrap around it.

He smiles then, that same mischievous smile he’d given you all those weeks ago when he’d initially suggested this whole disaster, and it’s then that you know you shouldn’t listen to anything that comes out of his mouth. 

“Simple,” He shrugs, taking a sip of his milkshake. “We ask.”

Your lips part to respond, but your phone ringing in your pocket interrupts you. Beomgyu’s name flashes across the screen, bold white letters that usually bring you comfort, but strangely are now doing the opposite.

You clear your throat, “Hello?”

Beomgyu’s voice sounds from the other side, exhausted and groggy, but he’s got that spark he always does when he says, “I did it.”

You glance up at Yunjin and Jungwon, stomach twisting low. “Did what?”

“I figured it out,” He swallows, “I’ve got the cure or whatever we’re calling it.”

And while it should be relief that floods your chest, instead what you’re met with is a cold pinch of disappointment.

You’d never been one for parties. Even now, dressed in some slim black dress Yunjin picked for you, a vial of something you aren’t even sure works in your purse, you’re reminded just why you don’t like them.

They’re overcrowded, filled with college students all looking to either pass out drunk or find someone to fuck until they forget why they were even there in the first place. It wasn’t your crowd, and you’d found peace with that a long time ago.

And yet, you're still here.

Beomgyu nudges your shoulder, eyes searching around the crowd of sweaty bodies. He wasn’t one for parties either, but when you explained to him just why you were coming, he insisted on joining. Of course, Yunjin and Jungwon had been ecstatic and you had to explain to them that you were not coming just to have a good time.

You were coming to find out the truth, and that was it. 

“Are you sure he’s here?” Beomgyu asks.

You nod, “He texted me earlier and invited me. Said he’d meet us here.”

Sunghoon had been slightly surprised but happy when you confirmed you already planned to come. He’d told you he might get a little busy with people trying to talk to him, but he’d make sure to try and come find you at some point. You'd scoffed, in disbelief that you seemed to have to schedule a time to talk to him. You knew he was popular, but people here seriously treated him like some celebrity and not a normal college student.

Yunjin smiles next to you, plucking a drink from the countertop. She tips it back against her mouth and chugs it, wiping off the small droplet that spills from her lips.

Beomgyu makes a disgusted face, “You don’t even know where that came from.”

“Does it matter?” She asks, grabbing another one and shoving it towards you, “It all ends up in someone's stomach.”

You push her hand away and take a cautious step back. “I’m good, thanks.”

She just shrugs like she’d been expecting that and hands it to Jungwon, who happily accepts it. “Suit yourself.”

You don’t respond, instead unknowingly floating closer to Beomgyu. Your eyes rake along the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of a familiar head of black hair, but instead you’re met with the one person you didn’t want to see.

Sophia is wearing a soft baby pink skirt and a white top that make her look like the picture of innocence, lips red and tempting. The guy she’s flirting with clearly isn’t immune to her strategy, because his eyes keep falling down to her soft neckline like he’s hoping he’ll suddenly develop x-ray vision.

Normally, the sight of her wouldn’t bother you. It really shouldn’t considering you haven’t interacted with her at all outside of the hockey incident. But, for some reason, all you can see when you look at her is Sunghoon.

Sunghoon looking at her like she’d hung the moon and stars. Sunghoon dragging her to his games. Sunghoon fixing things for her simply because he didn’t want her to be sad. Sunghoon telling her he loves her.

You have no right to feel it, but jealousy curls deep in your stomach. 

You recognize the boy she’s talking to. Jay, The hockey teams co-captain, and Sunghoons roommate. The same roommate who you’re assuming slept with Sophia. 

You don’t know any of the details–never thought it appropriate to ask, really. But you do know that if Sunghoon saw this, he’d probably be pissed. You wonder if that’s why she’s flirting with him so openly, because she wants Sunghoon to see. You wouldn’t put it beneath her.

The night continues like that, with you and Beomgyu hanging around awkwardly while Yunjin and Jungwon drink until their vision goes blurry. You keep catching glimpses of Sophia, and each time she’s talking to a different guy. A different pawn, actually.

You haven't even seen Sunghoon once, which is kind of strange considering this party is kind of for him. You’d even texted him, a quick "you here?" and had gotten no reply. 

The antidote feels heavy in your purse for reasons you can’t exactly explain. You were going to give it to him tonight no matter what, you’d already decided that. Even if you found out that this entire thing meant more to him then you thought it did, you were going to give it to him. Your heart flutters in your chest at the thought, forcing yourself to bite back a smile.

You know you shouldn’t get your hopes up, but it’s hard. The duck had to be proof that this whole thing wasn’t just a massive fuck up–maybe it was exactly what you’d needed to finally lead the both of you to each other.

And then, as if it’s fate throwing it in your face, you see Sunghoon.

He’s laughing at something someone's saying, his cheeks flushed and hair falling over his forehead like he’d deliberately placed it there. He looks good–but when does he not? 

You nudge Beomgyu (Yunjin and Jungwon are too busy on the dance floor) and nod your head towards the black-haired man.

Beomgyu exhales lowly and grips the strap of your bag. “No matter what he says, he has to drink this.” He insists, “I know it might be easier to keep up with the lie–”

“I know,” You interrupt, placing your hand atop his. You give it a light squeeze, “No matter the outcome, he has to drink it.”

Beomgyu physically exhales and then shoots you a small smile, “For what it’s worth,” He murmurs, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Yeah,” You reply, “Neither do I.” And you really mean it.

Sunghoon doesn’t notice you approach at first, not until you push past one of his friends—Heeseung, you think his name is—and his attention snaps to you.

The look he gives you isn’t one you’re used to seeing from him. It’s softer. Like light rain on a warm day. Like the beginning stages of a love that lasts a lifetime.

Every other time it’s been strong. Fierce. Like a house fire at its peak. But now…now it makes your heart melt just like it did when you’d seen him for the first time three years ago.

“Hi,” You breathe.

“Hi.” He replies.

His friends have dispersed now, leaving just you and him in the sea of bodies. The moonlight filters through the windows, reflecting across his face in a way that really should be illegal.

“You came,” He says after a moment, but he doesn’t sound surprised.

“I did.” 

The air crackles between you in a way it never has before. Real and raw and entirely strange. It should scare you—it does scare you—but you lean into the feeling. Because if there’s one thing you’ve learned the past couple of weeks, it’s to embrace the fear.

You reach into your purse and pull out the vial. It’s small, with a few drops of a see-through pink liquid that you don’t think anyone should ever be drinking.

“I need you to do something for me,” You tell him, voice shaking slightly. Embrace the fear, you remind yourself. “I need you to drink this.” You say, pushing the vial towards him.

His eyes flicker down to it, and then back up to yours, and for a moment you think he looks guilty.

“Look, [Y/N]—”

“Hoonie!” Your blood feels like it goes cold. Sophia approaches from behind you, shoving past and making her way in front of you like weren’t even there. 

“I got your text,” She grins, voice sweet. But you know she knows what she’s doing. You know she’s doing it on purpose to upset you, but you’re not going to give her that satisfaction. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you came to your senses.”

Oh.

Your eyes widen slightly, something mean twisting in your stomach. Your heart feels heavy in a way that physically hurts. Of course. The experiment must’ve worn off, and he was trying to figure out the best way to tell you that he hadn’t meant anything he’d said. That’s why the air between the two of you had been so different.

You look at the antidote in your hand, and suddenly it feels pointless. Beomgyu did all that work just for it to wear off on its own. But you’d promised that you’d get him to drink it no matter what, and you weren’t planning on breaking that.

Sunghoon shakes his head, “Sophia, that’s not why I texted you.” He practically spits, “Stop trying to spin this into something you know it’s not.”

She looks genuinely taken aback for a moment but recovers swiftly. “I’m not trying to do anything,” She laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re the one who asked me to meet you, yes?”

His eyes flicker to yours, like he’s begging you to hear him out before you jump to conclusions. “I did, but—”

“Then what else am I supposed to assume? Unless,” She turns back to you then, finally acknowledging the fact that you’re there. The sneer on her face when she looks at you is nearly enough to make you feel small. “You didn’t want to say it in front of your rebound.”

Sunghoon visibly bristles, “She’s not—”

But you've heard enough. “It’s fine,” you say, not letting him finish. You manage a small smile, but it feels like poison against your skin. “I just need you to drink this so we can make sure everything goes back to normal without any hiccups.”

You push it back towards him, but he refuses to take it. “[Y/N], just let me explain.” He begs.

“You don’t need to explain to me.” You reply, and you mean it. You’d done the exact thing you’d been afraid of since the beginning, and that wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t his fault that you’d taken everything too seriously despite knowing it was all manufactured by your own hands. He’d just been an accidental victim. “Just drink it and then we can pretend none of this ever happened.”

When you let your eyes meet his, it hurts so bad you think you’ll collapse right there and then. He looks genuinely devastated, eyebrows pulled taut and lips parted. But you can’t for the life of you understand why. He was getting what he wanted, right? He was getting Sophia back. He was getting his life back. And so were you.

So why does it feel like nothing will ever be the same again?

He looks like he’s going to protest again, but holds back. Whether it’s for his own sake or yours, you aren’t sure.

He takes the vial from you with shaky hands, unscrewing the cap and swallowing it down in one gulp. He doesn’t make a face, even though you’re sure it can’t taste pleasant.

Once it’s done, you don’t bother saying bye. You just nod at him and turn on your heel, ignoring the smirk you can practically feel growing on Sophia’s face.

Sunghoon got what he wanted. So did you. That’s all that should matter.

But you still can’t stop the tears from flooding your eyes.

You don't look for your friends, you just get out of there as fast as possible. You knew this would happen, it was exactly why you'd been so worrued at first. And you did exactly what you said you would, you got too involved. You let his words seep through the cracks in your walls instead of strengthening them.

And now you weren't sure they'd ever be fully put back together again.

You spend the next few days locked away in your dorm. You skip class, even though you know you shouldn’t, and spend your time watching reruns of New Girl and eating bowls of Lucky Charms.

Usually, hiding away for a few days and letting yourself marinate in your ugly helps. But it’s been days since the party, and the ache in your chest hasn’t subsided at all.

Sunghoon tried to text you once, just to check up on you since you hadn’t shown up to class, but you didn’t respond; just shut off your phone and shoved it in between the couch cushions.

You’d known this would happen when it started. Knew you’d end up hurt, and the worst part was that it wasn’t even anyone’s fault. There was no one you could shift blame onto; no one you could justify being angry with.

It’d all just spiraled out of control before you could fix it.

The following Monday you finally decide to suck it up and go to class. You weren’t going to let a boy get in the way of your schooling, even if the thought of seeing him made you sick to your stomach. (Also because Yunjin had threatened to call your mom if you didn’t show up again, and you really didn’t want to have to deal with that.)

Your feet drag when you get there, head hanging low. You’re expecting Sunghoon to have gone back to his spot before, but when you look up, he’s still in the chair next to yours. He looks different. Tired, almost. Like he hasn’t gotten proper sleep in days. You doubt you look any better.

You approach cautiously, hoping and praying that he won’t try and say anything to you. Does he even remember everything that happened? Was memory loss a symptom? You weren’t really sure, and you weren’t that interested in finding out.

You feel his eyes on you when you sit down, pulling out your computer and crossing one leg over the other. You’re hoping you look the picture of casual, not like your heart was just unknowingly crushed by the boy next to you.

Sunghoon, for what its worth, doesn’t talk to you for the majority of the lesson. Just shakes his leg anxiously and sneaks not-so-subtle glances your way. He keeps biting his bottom lip like he wants to say something, but stops himself before he can. Truthfully, it takes everything in you to not look at him. It’d be so easy to look into those brown eyes and remember everything he’d said–to remember every almost-kiss and every i love you that spilled from his lips like oil spilling into an endless clear blue sea.

It’d be so easy to pretend that nothing had changed between you. That the last two weeks had never happened and things were still how they were before–when he was the moon and you were the star blinking just for him, hoping for just a sliver of attention.

But, you know things will never be the same. 

You barely even register the lesson ending, not until you feel Yunjin at your side. She must’ve known you’d need her support right now, and that much you can appreciate.

“You good?” She mumbles, glancing over at Sunghoon. The lecture hall has begun to clear out now, only a few stragglers remaining. Everyone must be ready to get out of this weather.

You nod, but it’s not sincere. “Yeah,” You manage, stuffing your laptop into your bag. It clinks against the glass duck softly, and your heart twists again. “I’m all good.”

Yunjin gives you a look that says she doesn't believe you, but she doesn't push. You stand, starting to make your way down the stairs and finally away from him–but he stops you.

“[Y/N].”

You almost don’t hear him at first, but you’d recognize that tone anywhere. The same one he’d used when he asked you to come to the rink with him. Insistence teetering on the edge of pleading, but there's something that underlines it. Something you’ve been recognizing within yourself a little too much lately.

You make the mistake of turning to look at him, and your breath catches in your throat. That look in his eyes is one you’ve seen before, the same one you’d convinced yourself meant nothing.

Pure, unfiltered, love.

Except now there isn’t any experiment to fall back on.

“Can we…” He glances back at Yunjin and clears his throat. “Can we talk?”

Everything inside of you screams at you to say no–to turn around and ignore the way your body feels like it’s being pulled towards him. Like the world has tilted on its axis and he is your only source of gravity.

Against your own will, you hear yourself say, “Okay.”

You’ve only ever felt genuine fear three times in your life. 

That time in the second grade when your dad thought it’d be funny to take you on a roller-coaster despite your fear of heights, and you’d cried so hard you ended up throwing up onto the lady in front of you. Then, there was the time you’d accidently switched up a water bottle and literal acid your freshman year of college and watched as your professor drank one of the liquids (It’d been the water, thank God). And, of course, the time you watched Sunghoon drink your experiment.

But now, standing in some empty corridor with Park Sunghoon, you think you might have to add this to the list.

Embrace the fear, you remind yourself.

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, just stares at you with this unreadable look in his eyes. His hands are shoved in his coat pockets, posture slightly slumped. He doesn’t look like the put together golden-boy you’d fallen in love with. He looks more vulnerable; more like a person instead of an idea. 

He sniffles and juts his chin towards the duck hanging off your bag, “You aren’t scared it’ll break again?” He asks softly.

You glance down at the cracked glass, reaching out and holding it between your fingers. “I guess I wasn’t worried,” You mumble, “Because last time it shattered someone put it back together.”

You hear his breath catch at that, and he takes a small step towards you. He’s close enough now that you can smell his cologne, can feel the ghost of his lips on the crown of your head.

“Do you know why I fixed it?” He asks.

You swallow, having to lift your head slightly to see him. “Because you’re a nice person, Sunghoon.” You murmur, forcing yourself to take a small step back. Enough distance that his presence doesn’t feel like it’s consuming your very soul. “You would’ve done it for anyone.”

He breathes out a disbelieving laugh, “That’s not true.”

“What do you mean?”

His eyebrows knit together, “I know you’re smarter than that.” Even though his words are harsh, his tone is soft. Like he can’t even conceptualize the concept of being upset with you. Like it's an emotion he’s never even experienced.

He’s right, you are smarter than that. But last time you let yourself believe, you’d ended up exactly where you knew you would be–with a broken heart and tear-stained cheeks.

“You don’t understand,” You manage, voice breaking slightly. “You don’t feel that for me. I know you don’t.”

“How do you know that?”

You pause, bottom lip finding it’s way between your teeth. “You’ve been with Sophia for so long, and I’m just-just me. She’s beautiful and popular and I spend more time watching fucking Harry Potter with my friends then I do actually socializing and–”

Sunghoon cuts you off, voice level. “Exactly.”

You blink. “What?”

“Sure, Sophia is popular and objectively beautiful, but she isn’t you.”

It takes you a moment to fully process what he’s saying. But still, all you can find in yourself to manage is a quiet, “What?”

He takes another step closer, enclosing in on your personal space like he's always belonged there. “She isn’t you.” He repeats.

You’ve only felt genuine fear four times in your life. But only once has it ever melted into something so genuine–something so raw and real that your heart has felt like it was bursting at the seams.

“That night Jungwon shattered your duck, you said something. Do you remember what it was?”

You shake your head softly. All you remember from that night is how upset you’d been that it’d happened and trying to find it in yourself to forgive Jungwon.

Sunghoon’s lips twitch softly, “You said you loved it because it was different. You said you didn’t care that it was a little strange on the outside, because you knew it had a good heart.”

You don’t even remember those words coming out of your mouth. Honestly, you don’t even remember Sunghoon being close enough to hear them. 

“I think that’s when I fell in love with you,” He admits quietly. “I didn’t know it at first, but it was there. Everytime you sat down in class and tried not to laugh at something Yunjin said, everytime I saw you and Jungwon studying at the library, I felt it.” He sucks in a breath, “And then I drank the experiment.” 

You shudder at the memory, lips twisting slightly in discomfort. You’re expecting him to say that it made him realize his feelings for you weren’t actually there–that this was all just an elaborately cruel way to reject you.

But then, without even blinking, he says, “But it didn’t work.”

Your world stops for a moment. There’s no way that’s possible. You’d seen him with your own two eyes acting like a fool to get your attention. Constantly following you around, texting you late into the night, tucking your hair behind your ear–all things he’d done because the experiment gave him the confidence to. But, if that wasn’t true and the experiment hadn’t worked then that meant that all of it had been real. There’d never been any pretend. There’d never been any accidents. 

It’d all been real.

Your eyes widen, hands gesturing in front of you. “But that doesn’t make any sense.” You insist, “You were acting like you…” Love me. The words linger in the air, like mistletoe teasing you.

You think at first, part of you still didn’t believe that he loved you even with him standing here pouring his heart out to you. It just didn’t make any sense in your head. But now it was undeniable. It was a burning truth that had forced its way into the light without so much as apologizing.

“Because I do,” He murmurs, “And maybe it was stupid to go about it this way. I won’t argue with you on that. But, can you blame me? Do you know how hard it was to approach you?”

You scoff, “Me? What about you? And what about Sophia–”

He shakes his head, “That’s done. Has been for a long time now. That’s why I texted her at the party, I wanted to make sure she finally got it through her head that there was nothing there.”

“Oh.”

Sunghoon chuckles, voice deep and soft. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “Oh.”

You look up at him now, into those swimming pools of chestnut. His pupils are slightly dilated, light reflecting off of his irises in a way that looks serene. The air around you fills with a soft tension, one that you’d have to focus on to even really notice.

You don’t miss the way his eyes glance down at your lips, silently asking for a permission you’d given him years ago.

He leans in closer, breath warm against your lips. “I really want to kiss you right now,” He murmurs. Your skin tingles when his fingers brush the apple of your cheek, before cupping it softly.

You lean into him, reaching a hand up to cover his own. “What’s stopping you?”

He smiles, a big toothy grin that shows off his canines, and then leans forward slowly.

It isn’t really a kiss at first, more like he's just lingering there, letting your breaths intermix. His hand travels from your cheek to the side of your neck, gently holding you in place.

And then he surges forward, mouth moving against yours like he’s trying to memorize you. He’s gentle, holding you like you’re something fragile—like he’s terrified you’ll disappear if he pushes too hard.

He pulls away slowly, grinning from ear to ear like he’s just won the lottery. “You have no idea how bad I've wanted to do that.”

You giggle, heat crawling up your stomach and swirling around your cheeks. “Maybe you should do it again just to make sure it sticks.”

Sunghoon doesn’t hesitate then. His hand finds your waist and pulls you into him, lips colliding with yours in a way that makes your head spin. You think colors swirl behind your eyes, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“I love you,” Sunghoon murmurs against your lips, “I love the way your nose scrunches when you’re focused,” He kisses the tip of your nose. “I love how kind you are even when people don’t deserve it,” Another one to your cheek. “I love that you’re unapologetically you.”

Your heart stutters, laughter bubbling out of your chest uncontrollably. 

“You sure it isn’t because you accidentally drank a love potion?” You tease, reaching a hand up to tangle in the baby hairs at the nape of his neck.

He huffs, finally pulling away so he can get a good look at you. “I don’t think I’d need a love potion to find my way to you.” He says, voice so sincere it nearly makes tears spring to your eyes.

So, yeah. The thing about Biochemistry is that it’s extremely difficult and sometimes shows you that maybe you should let your curiosity remain exactly that—curiosity.

But sometimes, if you’re lucky, it can lead you to exactly where you’re supposed to go.

Sunghoons hand traces down your arm until it finds your hand, and he easily intertwines your fingers like he was always supposed to fit there. “Let me take you home?”

For the first time, you see no reason to argue. No reason to protect your heart or turn him away. So, without a single protest, you say, “Okay.”

You aren’t sure exactly how it happened. One minute Sunghoons walking you home, smiling like a kid in a candy store, and the next he’s kissing you like he’ll die if he isn’t touching you. Your apartment door shuts softly behind you, leaving just the two of you in your space.

You remember the last time he’d been in here, how he’d kissed the crown of your head with tender care. He’d seemed nervous then, like the action was scandalous. Now, it was nearly the opposite.

He isn’t rough, no, he’s deliberate. Fingertips tracing across the curve of your waist, teasing against the hem of your shirt. He kisses you like you’re the oxygen he needs to survive, like he's an addict and your lips are his fix.

It steals your breath away and breathes the air into your lungs all at once.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He grunts against you, hands tugging at your waist and pulling you closer against him until you’re flush against his body. 

“Sunghoon,” You gasp when you feel the growing bulge in his pants brush against your thigh. “Don’t you ever stop.”

That’s all it takes before he’s tapping your thigh once and lifting you into his arms. His hands take up half your thighs, kneading the skin as he carries you to your bedroom. You’re giggling the whole way there, hearts in your eyes and cheeks flushed.

He places you down on the bed gently, your hair fawning out around you like a halo. He sucks in a breath and crawls over you, eyes trained on your face. His knuckles brush your cheek, and you lean into it on pure instinct.

“You’re so beautiful,” He murmurs, voice tender. “Can’t believe you’re letting me love you.”

You smile, bringing a hand up to cup his cheek. “There’s no one in this world for me except for you, Park Sunghoon.”

He grins, burying his face in the nape of your neck like he’s embarrassed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” You answer, not even having to second guess yourself. “I’m so in love with you it hurts.”

He whines at your words, lips tracing across the skin of your neck, the length of your jaw, the space behind your ear, tongue darting out occasionally to mark you as his.

He tugs gently at your shirt and you arch your back so he can pull it over your head and toss it across the room, but it gets stuck on your elbow and he has to tug it loose. You laugh when it finally comes off, your hair falling in places it isn’t supposed to.

Sunghoon giggles and pecks your lips. “You’re making this difficult," he teases.

You just shrug and settle back down, ignoring the way his fingers trail over your bare stomach and pop open the button of your jeans. “I have to make you work for it.”

He smirks, devilish and no longer with any of that boyishness he’d had earlier. “Yeah, baby?” He whispers, voice husky. “Want me to beg you to let me taste you?”

Your breath hitches, bottom lip finding its way in between your teeth. Suddenly, nothing is funny anymore. 

He unzips your jeans and slowly drags them down your legs, tossing them to the floor and out of sight. “Want me to beg you to let me fuck you?” He continues.

You whimper, the sound escaping you without your permission. You’d be lying if you said the idea of Sunghoon on his knees for you doesn’t make something burn deep in your belly, but the thought of admitting that to him make your nerves spike with embarrassment.

He chuckles, sinking down to his knees until his face is level with your cunt. You can’t help but squirm in place, because even though your panties still cover you, you feel completely exposed. If you would’ve known this was going to happen today, you would’ve worn something much cuter. Not your days of the week pantied and an old bra that was a pathetic excuse for lacy. 

Sunghoons breath ghosts against your growing slick, and you know your panties are already damp. “You gonna let me touch you, baby?” He asks.

You nod your head insistently, hips searching for any kind of relief. He just chuckles and places a hand on your tummy to hold you down. “Need to hear you say it.” He murmurs. You can feel his lips brushing against your core, his nose nudging in the junction of your hip. He’s so close to giving you what you want, but he won’t. Not until he hears it coming from your own lips.

“Please,” You gasp. Your own voice sounds so needy, completely foreign to your own ears. “Wan’ you to touch me, Hoon.”

He groans, but immediately obliges. He doesn’t devour you at first, just lets his tongue lick small little kitten licks over your panties. You jump at the feeling, but he uses his spare hand to grip your hip and hold you down. 

He’s messy with it, even when he’s being gentle. He licks you open until you’re teary eyed and your panties are so drenched they look nearly see-through. He just sighs dreamily, like he’s enjoying some five-star meal and not like he’s eating you out like his life depends on it.

Pretty soon though you get over feeling everything without actually feeling it, because yes, it feels fucking insane–but you want to actually feel his lips against your bare folds. Want to feel him suck against your clit while his fingers get you ready to take him. It’s just actually admitting that that’s the hard part.

“Sunghoon,” You whine, hips stuttering slightly. “Stop teasing me.”

He pulls off of you, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “I’m not teasing you, baby.” He chuckles, thumb rubbing soothing circles on the skin of your hip. 

You huff, “You are.”

He raises a brow and begins to stand, and your stomach immediately drops. “You want me to stop then?”

“No!” You cry, shaking your head furiously. “God, no, don’t-don’t stop.”

He nods slowly, finding his place on his knees in front of you once again. “Then be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

It shouldn't be as embarrassing as it is. You’re a twenty-something year old woman with a sparkling GPA and enough experience under your belt that asking for something like this should be easy. But Sunghoons looking at you so tenderly, his hair a slight mess and eyes fucked out without even having been touched, and you’re finding it difficult to get the words out.

“I want…” You suck in a shaky breath, forcing your gaze to the ceiling. “I want you to eat me out. Properly.”

He grins and presses a chaste skin to the inside of your thigh. “See?” He hums, “that wasn’t so hard was it?”

You don't bother giving him a response, because he’s already pulling your panties off your legs and plunging back in like a man starved. His lips wrap around your clit and suck the bud into his mouth, causing your back to arch and a loud moan to fall from your lips.

He doesn’t stop after that, licking and sucking with such expertise you wonder how Sophia could ever want anything else. She had all this and genuinely thought she was going to get better? What a fucking joke.

“S-Sunghoon–” You gasp, fingers tightening into fists in his hair. He groans when you tug lightly, and you swear you see his hips roll against nothing. 

The hand on your belly travels down until he reaches your fluttering hole, gently pushing his middle finger inside of you. The stretch isn’t intense, more like just a subtle pressure between your hips, but it’s drowned out by the stimulation against your clit.

His fingers aren’t abnormally large, but they are long. So long he finds your g-spot with ease and curls his finger against it until you swear you’re seeing stars. You let out a choked whimper, hips stuttering against him.

He seems to take that as a good sign because he’s slipping another finger inside now, intensifying the stretch and making your eyes roll back. His fingers move in tandem with his tongue, licking and thrusting until your vision starts to blur at the corners. You’re close, you know it–can feel it tightening deep in your stomach.

“Gonna-gonna cum, fuck, m’cumming–”

Sunghoon hums, and the vibrations are exactly what you need to reach your peak. Your back bows off the bed, mouth falling open and eyes squeezing shut. You release with a silent cry of his name. He fucks you through it, and you can feel his eyes on you as he does. Watching the rise and fall of your chest, the way your legs shake slightly with aftershocks. He’s studying this image of you, fucked out and empty-headed, like he’s committing it to memory.

When he finally pulls away your vision is slowly starting to come back to you. You barely register him maneuvering to come up next to you until you watch him rid himself of his shirt and you come face-to-face with the hard plains of his chest. His skin is soft and milky, the soft lines of his abs rising and falling as he takes in breaths of air. 

You reach for him and he complies, falling over you until you’re chest to chest. You don’t waste any time before you’re kissing him again. You can taste the saltiness of your own slick on his lips, but you don’t care–instead, you kiss him deeper.

His tongue slips until your mouth, brushing against your own. It’s wet and gross and fucking perfect. “Sunghoon,” You manage between pants, “Fuck me.”

A beat passes as his eyes find yours, “Yeah?”

You nod, and that’s all the answer he needs. He wastes no time ridding himself of his pants and lining himself up with your entrance. He pushes in slowly, taking in every expression you make like he’s scared he’ll hurt you. And, yeah, he’s big. Like, bigger than anything you’ve ever taken. But the stretch is also perfect, filling you so completely your eyes nearly roll back.

“Fuck, you’re warm,” He mumbles, words slurring together. He sounds drunk on you. 

When he bottoms out, you swear you’re seeing soundwaves and hearing colors. His tip nudges against that spot in you perfectly, curved at just the right angle.

He takes a moment to let you adjust, but you can tell he’s holding himself back. His fingers drip the sheets with effort, bottom lips in between his teeth. You roll your hips once, testing the waters, and the pleasure that floods through you forces a moan out of the both of you.

“Don’t do that,” He says breathily, voice on the verge of collapse. “Fuck.”

It takes a second, but his hips slowly start to push into yours. His thrusts are shallow at first, just little pushes that help you to accommodate his size, but it’s not long before they turn rougher.

He pulls out halfway just to slam back in, and your breath actually gets ripped from your lungs. Stars swim behind your eyes as he finds his pace, “Fuck,” You breathe.

Sunghoon gasps, burying his face in your neck. “I love you,” He groans, “Fuck, I love this pussy. I love the way you sound. Love the way you fucking feel. You’re perfect,” He babbles.

You part your lips to reply, but all that comes out is a sob when he thrusts particularly hard. You tighten instinctively around him, and he falters for a split-second before he’s finding his tempo again.

He fucks you like you’ve been denying him for years, like he’s spent every night dreaming of this. Tears of pleasure begin to streak across your cheeks; each he kisses away without so much as a hum.

It’s so intimate, so perfect, so full of love that you don’t even notice you’re approaching your climax until it crashes over you.

“Fuck, just like that,” Sunghoon whimpers, reaching down and rubbing light circles over your clit. “You’re so perfect. Such a good fucking girl. My good girl.” And then he’s releasing inside of you, hot spurts of cum painting your insides.

He stays inside of you after he comes, both of you panting hard, sweat and fluids leaking from your bodies. He eventually pulls out and lays down next to you, his arm across your middle.

You’re silent for a moment, collecting your thoughts. You just had Sex with Park Sunghoon. Not only that, but Park Sunghoon is in love with you. He’d said it enough times tonight for you to finally really believe it.

“You okay?” He asks softly, reaching up and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. The gentleness in which he treats you now is such a stark contrast to the brutalness of which he just fucked you that you nearly laugh.

“Yeah,” You hum, voice a bit raspy. “I’m perfect.”

Sunghoon grins and pulls you into him. He kisses you again, but there aren’t any intentions behind it. Instead, it’s slow and sweet, like he’s hoping to convey every emotion he’s ever felt into the kiss.

“Good,” he says, pulling away slightly. “Because I’m going to remind you of how much I love you as much as I can.”

You laugh, “Are you asking to fuck me again?”

He shakes his head, “No,” He whispers, “I’m asking if I can make love to you again.”

And it doesn’t take much for you to say yes.

You’ve been dating Park Sunghoon for nine months and fourteen days. Nine months of hockey games, late night study session, and weekly dates (all of which he insisted he pay for). Nine months of surprise gifts, of sweet words, and daily reminders of just how lucky you are to have him.

Yunjin groans next to you, typing away furiously on her phone. “I can’t believe this is happening again!” She whines.

“I told you that a man you met on snapchat quick add wasn’t going to end up the love of your life.” Beomgyu sings knowingly, shoveling popcorn in his mouth.

“For what it's worth, he really wasn’t even that cute.” Jungwon adds.

She shoots him a glare, “Shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Jiung was fucking beautiful and now he’s ghosting me!”

You shiver slightly, watching Sunghoon glide on the ice. He’s instructing his teammates to do something; you aren’t really sure. He’d tried to explain the rules of hockey to you months ago, but your brain was very clearly made for science and not sports.

“Try not to worry about it, Yunjin,” you say sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on her back. “You just haven’t met your person yet.”

She scoffs, gesturing at your shirt. “Easy for you to say when you’re already practically married to, like, the most perfect guy on the planet!”

You glance down at what you’re wearing–a blue jersey with the number 23 sprawled in the middle. Sunghoons hockey number.

You would argue with her, maybe try to make her feel better, but your eyes lock with Sunghoons across the rink for just a moment, and you stop yourself.

Because, well, she’s right. You did get lucky. You glance down at the duck hanging off of your bag, the very thing that had unknowingly started this entire thing.

“Yeah,” You shrug, “You’re right.”

And when you go home that night, listening to Sunghoon ramble about scoring the winning goal, you know that there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

thank you guys so much for reading 🥲 this story took everything out of me but i’m mostly happy with how it came out. ily guys <3

taglist: @chyssly @hoonarchives @hearteubeateuxz @yufawnz @areikii @wobblymug @rikipepitos @jk5t4r @somieverse @nishimurasona @psychicdazestrawberry @isa942572 @lawjakesim @mae-f1 @12e45 @wichujunseo @holacsh @vissnipherwifeey @enhypenlovre @karynnoona @yenienha @tessa365 @kristynaaah @min9lam7 @tombraiderjones2505 @livonianmaia @betagalactose @lac4ygal @enhainurheart @tiramisuhn @caratcakemoa @teenagecheesecakereview @filthxyy @dr1diot @mcwilla @jaeyundazed

sorry if i missed anyone in the tag list!

[paarksunghoon]

we are living through mass psychosis

[heejamas]

➞ GIRLFRIEND SIMULATOR ♡ ; lee heeseung

♡ when heeseung agrees to test jungwon’s new dating sim game, girlfriend simulator, he expects a dumb, half finished game, until he boots it up on his switch, the screen glitches, and he’s dragged straight into the world he just created. the “girlfriend” character, you, isn’t scripted at all; and heeseung has to figure out how to get out while accidentally developing feelings for a girl who inconveniently does not exist in real life.

♡ pairing: heeseung × fem!reader | ♡ genre: fantasy; romcom; fluff; comedy; light sci fi; college au; game simulator; slow burn; smut (mdni) | ♡ playlist: gameboy - katseye | jellyous - illit | super shy - new jeans | i am shampoo - bibi | turn it up - pinkpantheress | sun and moon - aespa | ♡ wc: 37k

!! warnings: fantasy elements / game-world reality bendin, light sci fi, mild language, flirting, minor sensory distortion (lights flickering, glitch effects), slow burn dynamics, petnames, smut, piv, unprotected sex?? kinda, oral sex, cum eating, dom!heeseung, light spanking & choking, light anal play, fingering, finger sucking, hair pulling, rough sex, praise kink, breeding kink

♡ ronnie notes: hi guyssss!! hope you enjoy this fic 🫶 i wanted to make this as a little celebration for hitting 4k followers here hehe i’ve been writing this for a while and i lowkey think it’s about to become my little favorite / comfort fic around here!! i’ve always wanted to write something with a gaming theme because i am a gamer (derogatory) so huge thank you to my sister @iyoonjh and @hoonieyun and @jayflrt for helping me with everything league of legends related because yeah i was dumb enough to write league scenes without ever having played that shit myself lmaoo anyway i really hope you guys like girlfriend simulator

HEESEUNG'S FAVORITE PART OF ANY GAME WAS THE DIALOGUE OPTIONS. Little boxes that told you exactly what to say and exactly what would happen after. Real life should've come with that feature. would've saved him a lot of trouble. He wasn't completely hopeless, though. He had friends, he could hold a conversation if he had to. But there was always this gap between what he meant and what came out, or worse, between what he said and how people reacted to it. Like everyone else had gotten a patch update on social interaction and he was still running on the default version.

Maybe that's why dating never quite worked for him. Every time he tried, he felt like he’d missed a tutorial somewhere. He could talk, sure, and he could be funny when he wanted, but halfway through a conversation he always drifted, like thinking about assignments or projects or that interesting research thread he'd meant to look into. People would smile at him politely, the kind of smile that told him they’d already made up their mind: sweet guy, but not for me.

The last time he'd tried going on a date, he’d barely made it through an hour. He’d checked the timestamp afterwards and realized he’d spent exactly forty eight minutes pretending he wasn't thinking about a bug he’d found in his graphics project. He’d texted Jungwon: "bro i think i fumbled bad." Jungwon had sent back a voice note where he laughed so hard he hiccuped. Comforting, in its own way.

Jungwon was one of like three people Heeseung could be around without keeping a mental checklist of normal things to say. They’d been friends since first year when they got paired on a project and realized they both worked better at two in the morning with no one else around. Jungwon was quiet in the same way Heeseung was, but also completely unhinged when it came to code. He’d get an idea and just lock in for days. So one afternoon, while Heeseung was in the lab pretending to fix code he’d actually broken on purpose because he didn’t want to admit he didn’t understand it, Jungwon walked in with that mischief look. He sat down next to him, opened his laptop, and said, "ok, don’t make fun of me, but I made something."

Heeseung didn’t look up. "Is it stable this time?" which was generous, because Jungwon’s projects were never stable.

"Define stable," Jungwon said, clicking through a folder that had way too many warning icons. "Anyway, it’s a dating sim."

That finally made Heeseung look. "A dating sim? Why?"

"Research." Jungwon always said that when he’d clearly done something for fun and wanted it to sound academic. "It’s called Girlfriend Simulator."

Heeseung stared at him. "That’s the worst name I’ve ever heard."

Jungwon didn’t even blink. "Yeah, I know. But I need someone to test it, and you're the only person who’ll actually give me notes instead of lying to make me feel better."

Heeseung wanted to argue, but he was tired and they had a midterm coming up and honestly he didn't care enough to fight. So he sighed and pushed his chair closer. "Fine. Show me." Jungwon grinned like that was all he’d wanted since morning. He opened the build file, and the screen filled with placeholder art, branching choices, and a character slot labeled "y/n_default." And Heeseung, who was too distracted to think twice, just shrugged.

He had no idea that saying yes to that stupid looking game would end up being the most disastrous decision of his entire academic life.

He only agreed because Jungwon wouldn't shut up about it, and because even with all his complaints, he had this soft spot for him that made it hard to say no. Also, he didn’t have anything better to do on a friday night; the rest of their friends were out, and he wasn't in the mood to socialize. And, honestly, he liked games where he could pretend to be slightly less single than he actually was. It was pathetic, sure, but it wasn't like anyone needed to know.

So later that night, Heeseung sat on his bed with the lights off and his switch on max brightness, which was probably not great for his already questionable sleep schedule but whatever. Jungwon had sent him the build file with a message that just said "lmk if it crashes :)" which was not exactly confidence inspiring, but Heeseung had agreed to this so he couldn't really back out now.

The game booted with this weirdly soft 8 bit lullaby that sounded like it was trying to hypnotize him. The title screen was clean, minimalist, just the words "Girlfriend Simulator" in a font that looked expensive. Heeseung snorted. Jungwon had definitely spent more time on the typography than the actual game mechanics, which tracked. Character customization loaded next, and Heeseung had to admit it was smoother than he expected. The interface was intuitive, the options were detailed, and the hairstyle physics were suspiciously good for something Jungwon had supposedly coded in his free time between problem sets.

He made his character half heartedly. Messy hair because that's what he had in real life and he wasn't creative enough to imagine anything else. A hoodie because hoodies were safe. He picked "student" as his class, and when it came to stats, he maxed out "humor" because he genuinely thought he was funny, even if nobody else seemed to agree. Then he looked at "emotional intelligence" and left it at zero. Honesty was important, right?

The loading screen that followed was surprisingly elegant. Just a slow fade to black with some text that read "Your First Meeting" in delicate script. Heeseung settled back against his pillow, expecting the usual dating sim fare: a classroom, a coffee shop, maybe a cherry blossom tree if Jungwon was feeling cliché.

And then the screen flickered. Just once, quick enough that Heeseung thought maybe it was his eyes. But then it happened again and the lights in his bedroom pulsed in sync, like someone had wired his lamp to the game's framerate. "What the hell," Heeseung said to no one. 

The switch started vibrating in his hands. Not the normal rumble feature, but something harder, more insistent, like the controller was trying to shake itself apart. On screen, a figure materialized. The girlfriend character. For a second Heeseung just stared because the sprite work was genuinely impressive. The lighting was too good, the shadows moved wrong. Everything felt almost real in a way that made his skin prickle.

And then the girlfriend, you, turned around. Slowly like you already knew he was watching. Your face came into view and Heeseung's brain did this weird stutter because you didn't look like a game character, you looked like a person, with the kind of detail you didn't get from placeholder art. Heeseung felt this uncomfortable twist in his stomach like he was the one being observed.

Then you spoke. Not with a text box, not with that awkward text to speech voice that indie games always used. Actual audio, clear and warm and way too close for his own good. "You're here!"

Heeseung's hands went cold. The voice didn't sound small or synthetic or compressed. It sounded like someone was standing directly behind him in his dark bedroom, breath on his neck, words in his ear. He whipped around so fast he nearly dropped the switch, but his room was empty. Just his desk and his dying succulent and his pile of laundry that he'd been meaning to deal with for a week. "What the—"

Before he could finish the thought, before he could even process what was happening, the lights in his room popped, like every bulb had blown at once. The screen went pure white, so bright it hurt to look at, and the controller in his hands went from cold to burning hot in the span of a heartbeat. He tried to drop it but his fingers wouldn't move, locked in place like the plastic had fused to his skin. The air pressure in the room shifted. His ears popped like he was in a plane taking off, and he felt this pull, this hook behind his ribs, yanking him forward with a force that didn't make any physical sense. He tried to pull back, tried to let go, tried to do anything, but the world was already dissolving.

The last thing Heeseung managed to think before everything shattered into pixels was that he was going to kill Yang Jungwon.

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that the world was too bright. The grass beneath him looked like high definition fairy dust, each blade catching light in a way that grass absolutely should not. The sky was blue in that aggressive unnatural way that only existed in concept art. Everything was sharp and vivid and wrong. Heeseung sat up slowly, head spinning, and looked down at himself. His clothes had changed. Instead of his worn out hoodie and sweatpants, he was wearing the outfit his avatar had been wearing. The same hoodie he'd picked in character customization but real now, solid and heavy on his shoulders. His hands looked like his hands but also didn't. The proportions were slightly off, the lines a little too clean.

"What the fuck," he said out loud, and his voice sounded normal, which was worse. Everything else was strange but his voice was still his.

"You made it!"

Heeseung's head snapped up. You were someone standing a few feet away, watching him with this expression that was hard to read. Amusement, maybe, or curiosity. Like you'd been waiting for him and was pleased he'd finally shown up. except you weren't a sprite anymore. You were real, or at least as real as anything else in this place. You looked exactly like the character on screen but with dimension now, depth, the subtle movements of someone actually breathing. Your hair moved slightly in a breeze he couldn't feel. You were wearing something casual but put together in that effortless way that Heeseung had never managed to pull off.

You smiled at him, and he felt something weird in his stomach. "Hi," you said, like this was completely normal, like he hadn't just been ripped through a screen into a video game that shouldn't exist. "Nice to meet you!"

Heeseung opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. His brain was doing this thing where it tried to process too many things at once and ended up processing nothing at all. "What," he finally managed, which wasn't even a complete sentence but it was all he had.

"Sorry I'm late," you said, but you didn't sound particularly sorry. "Jungwon said you might be running behind. He's the one who set this up, by the way. Said we'd get along."

Heeseung blinked. "Jungwon... set this up?"

"Yeah, the blind date?" You looked at him like he was being slow on purpose. "He said you needed to get out more. His words, not mine."

And that was such a Jungwon thing to do that Heeseung almost believed it. Almost. Except he was still processing the fact that the world around him looked like someone had turned reality into a video game filter. "This is insane," he muttered under his breath. "This is the most realistic game I've ever—"

"Game?" You interrupted, and your smile faltered just slightly. "I'm not playing games with you."

The way you said it made Heeseung freeze. It wasn't defensive or annoyed, it was sincere like you genuinely meant it, like you had no idea what he was talking about. And that's when it hit him: You could hear him. Not just the dialogue options he was supposed to pick. Everything. his actual thoughts spoken out loud. "Wait," he said slowly, "you heard that?"

"Heard what?"

"Nothing. Never mind." Heeseung cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together. He could freak out later. Right now there was a person in front of him — a very real feeling and cute person — and he was being weird. "So. Blind date. Right. Jungwon's idea."

He really looked at you then. You were pretty, in this approachable, comfortable way that made him think maybe he could actually talk to you without saying something catastrophically stupid. You had this ease about you, like you weren't trying too hard, and your eyes had this spark that suggested you were probably smarter than you let on.  Basically, you were everything he'd ever put on one of those hypothetical "ideal type" list.

"So," you said, cutting through his thoughts. "Jungwon mentioned you're into games?"

Heeseung tried not to laugh at the irony. "Uh, yeah. You could say that."

"Me too." You brightened, and it was genuine, not that polite interest people usually faked. "I've been replaying persona 5 royal for like the third time. I know, I know, it's excessive."

"No, that's— that's actually really cool," Heeseung said, and he meant it. "Most people don't get the appeal of replaying stuff."

"Right?" You gestured as you talked, animated in a way that made him want to keep listening. "Everyone's like 'you already know the story' but that's not the point. It's about the experience, the details you missed, trying different builds—"

A notification sound chimed softly in the air between you. Heeseung jumped. You didn't react. In the corner of his vision, barely perceptible, text appeared: romantic interest +5. common interests discovered.

Oh. Oh no. This was a dating sim. An actual, literal dating sim. And he was living it.

"You okay?" You asked, tilting your head slightly.

"Yeah, totally fine," Heeseung lied. "Just thought I heard something."

You nodded, accepting this easily, and then said, "Do you want to walk? There's this spot by the lake that's really nice."

"Sure," Heeseung said, because what else was he going to say?

You started down a path that looked hand painted, every stone deliberately placed, every flower color coordinated. You reached the lake, which was absurdly picturesque, and sat down on a bench that looked like it had been placed there specifically for this moment. Probably because it had. Heeseung sat next to you, not too close but not weirdly far either, and tried to act like this was normal. "Oh," you said suddenly, looking up. "Look at that." Heeseung followed your gaze. There was a flower growing on a low hanging branch, except it wasn't growing so much as hovering there, pulsing slightly with a soft golden glow. It bobbed up and down in a loop, the universal sign of an interactive object. You didn't seem to notice anything weird about it. "That's pretty," you said. "I've never seen a flower like that before."

Heeseung stared at it. The glow intensified slightly, like it was trying to get his attention, like it was waiting for him to do something. Oh god. This is a prompt. He was supposed to pick the flower and give it to you, that's how this worked. That's how you earned affection points or route progression or whateverJungwon had programmed into this thing. So he stood up. "I'll get it for you."

"You don't have to—"

"No, I want to," Heeseung said, and he meant it, which was somehow worse. He reached up and plucked the flower from the branch. It came away easily, and the moment his fingers closed around the stem, the glow faded into something softer, more natural. It looked real now. I mean, it felt real. He turned back to you and held it out, suddenly aware of how much this looked like a scene from every romance movie he'd ever suffered through, not that he suffered through many. "Here," he said.

You took it, and your fingers brushed his for just a second. You looked down at the flower, then back up at him, and your smile was so genuinely happy that Heeseung forgot for a moment that this was supposed to be a game. "Thank you," you said. "That's really sweet."

romantic interest +15. key item obtained: first flower. achievement unlocked: classic romantic gesture.

The notifications stacked in his peripheral vision, and Heeseung felt something between triumph and existential dread. "It's just a flower," he said.

"Maybe," you said, twirling it between your fingers. "But it's the thought that counts, right?" And the worst part was that you seemed to actually believe that. You weren't reading from a script or following programmed responses. You felt real, real enough that Heeseung was starting to forget why that should scare him.

You tucked the flower behind your ear, adjusting it carefully, and Heeseung had to physically stop himself from saying something embarrassing about how that was probably the prettiest thing he'd seen all week. He sat back down on the bench, leaving what he hoped was an appropriate amount of space between you. "So," you said, tilting your head. "What do you do for fun? Besides picking flowers for girls in parks."

Heeseung felt his face get warm. "I don't— that's not a thing I do regularly."

"Shame. You're good at it." You were grinning now, clearly enjoying his embarrassment. "Come on, tell me. What's your thing?"

"Uh. Games, mostly. I play a lot of games, like Jungwon said."

Your eyes lit up immediately. "Oh yeah! What kind?"

"Mostly League. Some RPGs. Anything competitive, I guess." He expected the usual response, the polite nod and change of subject that he got whenever he mentioned gaming to people.

Instead, you leaned forward, genuinely interested. "Wait, you play League? What's your main?"

Heeseung blinked. "You play League?"

"Obviously. Answer the question."

"I mean, I play mid usually. Zed, Leblanc, that kind of thing." He was still processing the fact that you not only knew what League was but apparently played it. "What about you?"

"Support. I'm a Janna main and i'm not ashamed of it." You said it with this defiant pride that made Heeseung want to laugh. "I know, I know, support is boring or whatever, but someone has to keep the ADC alive and it might as well be me."

romantic interest +10. shared interests discovered: league of legends.

Heeseung felt something shift in his chest. He'd never met someone who got it like this. Who understood that games weren't just mindless button mashing but actual strategy and skill. "What rank are you?" He asked.

"Plat 2. I was almost diamond last season but then I had finals and kind of gave up on the grind." You made a face. "What about you?"

"Diamond 3." Heeseung said, oddly proud of himself but pretending he wasn't.

"Oh, so you're actually good." You looked impressed, which made Heeseung feel ridiculously more pleased with himself. "We should play together sometime."

"Yeah, definitely," Heeseung said, and then remembered that this was a game and there probably wasn't a 'sometime' outside of this moment. The thought made something in his stomach twist uncomfortably. You shifted on the bench, getting more comfortable, and somehow ended up closer to him. And just like that, you were off. Heeseung found himself talking more than he had in weeks, and you had opinions, strong ones, and you weren't afraid to argue with him when you disagreed. But it wasn't hostile or competitive, it was fun. At some point, you started talking about other games too. You mentioned playing Stardew Valley when you wanted something relaxing, getting unreasonably invested in Hollow Knight, rage quitting dark souls three times before finally beating it. "I'm not good at souls games," you admitted. "I panic dodge. I know you're supposed to learn the patterns but my brain just goes 'roll roll roll' and then I die."

Heeseung laughed. "That's valid. I did the same thing my first playthrough."

"Really? You seem like you'd be one of those people who does no hit runs for fun."

"Absolutely not. I died to the tutorial boss in Elden Ring."

You gasped, mockingly scandalized. "No you didn't."

"I really did. it Took me like fifteen tries." You were laughing now, the kind of laugh that made your whole face light up, and Heeseung felt ridiculously proud that he'd caused it. There was something about making you laugh that felt like winning.

romantic interest +8. humor appreciated.

You kept talking, jumping from topic to topic with the kind of ease that Heeseung had only ever experienced with Jungwon or Jake at best. Except this was different because you were looking at him like everything he said was interesting, like you actually wanted to hear his thoughts on whether the Death Note ending was satisfying or if Eren from Attack on Titan was justified. The sun was properly setting now, painting everything in warm colors. there were fireflies starting to appear, floating lazily through the air in a way that was definitely too perfect to be natural. Heeseung watched one drift past your face, and you reached out to let it land on your finger. "Pretty," you said softly, watching it glow.

Heeseung was looking at you, at the flower still tucked behind your ear and the way the sunset caught in your hair and the small smile on your face as you watched the firefly. "Yeah," he said. "Really pretty." You glanced at him and caught him staring. For a second, Heeseung thought he'd made it weird, but then you smiled, almost shy, and looked back at the firefly.

romantic interest +15. moment shared.

The firefly flew off, and you watched it go before turning back to him. "Hey, can I tell you something?" He nodded so you kept going. "I wasn't really sure about coming today. I almost canceled, actually." You pulled at a thread on your sleeve, not quite meeting his eyes. "I'm not great at the whole meeting new people thing. I always feel like I'm going to say something weird and scare them off."

"You're not weird," Heeseung said automatically.

"You literally just met me. I could be extremely weird."

"Okay, but like, good weird. The kind of weird that's actually interesting." Heeseung ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain it. "Most people just want to talk about surface level stuff, you know? But you actually have things you care about."

You looked at him for a long moment, and Heeseung couldn't read your expression. Then you smiled, soft and genuine. "You're really nice, you know that?"

"I'm really not," Heeseung said, but he was smiling too.

"Yes you are. You're nice and you're a good listener and you have good taste in games." You counted off on your fingers. "That's like, three whole good qualities. Most people don't even have one."

romantic interest +12. compliments appreciated. emotional vulnerability reciprocated.

There was a moment of comfortable silence where you just sat there, watching the fireflies multiply in the growing dusk. Heeseung thought about how easy this felt, how he wasn't checking the time or looking for excuses to leave. How he kind of never wanted this to end.

You turned your head to look at him. "So do you want to do this again? Like, another time?"

Heeseung's heart did a weird jump in his chest. "Like another date?"

"Yeah. If you want. No pressure or anything." You said it casually, but Heeseung could see the hint of nervousness in the way you weren't quite meeting his eyes. "I just think it'd be fun to hang out more. Maybe we could actually play League together or something."

Every logical part of Heeseung's brain was screaming that this was a bad idea. That he should figure out how to exit this game and go back to real life and deal with the fact that he'd just spent hours in a virtual reality dating sim. But the less logical part, the part that was currently winning, wanted to see you again. Wanted to hear you laugh more. Wanted to keep talking about stupid stuff that mattered to him and apparently mattered to you too. "Yeah," he heard himself say. "Definitely, yeah, I'd really like that."

Your smile was so bright it could've competed with the fireflies. "Okay. It's a date then."

romantic interest +20. second date confirmed. route progression: 15% complete.

And then, without any warning at all, the world started to blur at the edges. The colors bled together, the sounds got muffled and distant, and Heeseung felt that same pulling sensation from before. Like someone had hooked a line to his chest and was reeling him back. "Wait— " he started to say, reaching out instinctively. You were looking at him with concern, mouth moving, but he couldn't hear what you were saying anymore. Everything was dissolving into static and white light and that horrible feeling of falling. The last thing he saw before everything went black was your face, still worried, still perfect, with that flower tucked behind your ear. Then he was gasping awake in his dark bedroom, switch controller still hot in his hands, his heart racing. The screen showed a save menu: progress saved. continue tomorrow?

His hands were shaking. "What the hell," Heeseung said to his empty room.

And he barely slept that night. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the park, the fireflies, your smile. he kept reaching for memories that felt too solid to be from a game. By the time his alarm went off, he'd already been awake for an hour, staring at his ceiling and trying to convince himself that he hadn't just experienced the most elaborate hallucination of his life.

He found Jungwon in their usual spot in the computer lab, hunched over his laptop with his headphones on, nodding along to whatever he was listening to. There were three empty energy drink cans next to him, which meant he'd probably been there since before sunrise. Heeseung dropped his bag on the desk with more force than necessary. Jungwon jumped, pulling his headphones down. "Jesus, dude. Learn to announce yourself like a normal person."

"We need to talk about your game," Heeseung said.

Jungwon's face lit up. "Oh my god, you played it! what'd you think? Was she cute? Did you get to the part with the—"

"Jungwon." Heeseung sat down, leaning forward. "What the hell did you put in that thing?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean it was way too real." Heeseung ran his hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain something that sounded insane even in his own head. "It felt like I was actually inside the game."

Jungwon frowned. "Wait, you used a VR headset or something?"

"No, I just played it normally! On my switch, in my room." Heeseung could hear how crazy he sounded but he kept going anyway. "But it wasn't like regular gameplay. It was like the game pulled me in. I could smell things, Jungwon."

Jungwon stared at him for a long moment, then slowly took a sip of his energy drink. "Bro. You got that invested in it?"

"I'm not— that's not what I'm saying."

"You literally just described sensory immersion that doesn't exist yet." Jungwon was grinning now. "Holy shit, you're actually down bad. You played a dating sim for like two hours and now you're having full vivid memories about it."

"It wasn't like that," Heeseung insisted, but even he could hear how weak it sounded.

"Dude, you need to get an actual girlfriend. Like, a real one. Made of flesh and blood and everything." Jungwon was trying not to laugh and failing. "Look, I'm glad you liked it. Genuinely. But maybe we should set you up with someone real before you completely lose touch with reality." Heeseung slumped back in his chair. Maybe Jungwon was right. Maybe he had just gotten way too into it. Maybe his brain had filled in details that weren't actually there because he was that desperate for connection. "I'm not judging! Okay, maybe I'm judging a little bit, but I'm also proud. My game is so good it's causing psychological breaks from reality." Jungwon looked genuinely pleased with himself. "Okay, but if you're playing tonight, there's something you should know."

"What?"

"The second date has a mini game. Like, a fight sequence."

Heeseung blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"A fighting mini game."

"Why the fuck does a dating simulator have a fighting mini game?"

Jungwon shrugged. "I thought it'd be fun. Adds variety and keeps things interesting."

"That makes absolutely no sense. What am I supposed to be fighting?"

"You'll see," Jungwon said, and his smile was deeply suspicious.

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer you're getting. I'm not spoiling my own game." Jungwon turned back to his laptop. "Just make sure you've been keeping up with your stats. You're gonna need decent strength and agility."

"I maxed out humor and left emotional intelligence at zero."

Jungwon turned around slowly. "You what."

"What! I was being honest about my abilities!"

"Heeseung. My guy. My dude." Jungwon looked pained. "You're supposed to actually try to build a good character."

"My character is fine."

"Your character is going to get his ass kicked." Jungwon pulled up something on his laptop, clicked around for a second, then shook his head. "Okay, you know what? It's fine. You'll figure it out. The game has adaptive difficulty anyway."

Heeseung really looked at Jungwon. "Adaptive difficulty in a dating sim."

"In the fighting portion, yeah. The dating part is all you, buddy. That's pure skill based."

Heeseung wanted to argue that there was something deeply wrong with Jungwon's game design philosophy, but he also kind of wanted to know what the hell happened on the second date that required combat stats. "Is she going to be there?" He asked. "During the fight thing?"

"Obviously. It's her date." Jungwon was smirking now. "Why, you worried about impressing her?"

"No."

"You're totally worried about impressing her. A girl who doesn't exist."

Heeseung threw a pen at him. Jungwon dodged it without even looking up from his screen. And the rest of the day dragged. Heeseung went to his classes and took notes and nodded at the appropriate times, but his brain was somewhere else entirely. He kept thinking about the park. About the way you'd looked at him when he gave you the flower. About how easy it had been to talk to you. He knew it was just a game. He knew you were just code, just a really well designed character or whatever that Jungwon had somehow made feel real. But knowing that didn't stop him from wanting to see you again.

By the time he got back to his dorm that night, he'd already decided he was playing regardless of how pathetic it made him look. He grabbed his switch, plugged in his headphones even though he hadn't used them last time, and loaded up the save file. The screen flickered once. Twice. Here we go again, Heeseung thought. And then the world tilted, and he was falling forward into light. When the world stopped spinning and Heeseung's vision cleared, he wasn't in a park this time. He was sitting in a desk chair, his own desk chair. In what looked exactly like his dorm room, except cleaner, way cleaner. His laundry wasn't on the floor and his desk wasn't covered in empty energy drink cans. His monitor was on, displaying his league of legends home screen, and his keyboard had that soft RGB glow that looked way more expensive than his actual setup.

"Okay," Heeseung said to the empty room. "This is new." His phone — or the game's version of his phone — buzzed on the desk. He picked it up and saw a discord notification.

you: you're online! finally you: i've been waiting like ten minutes you: i was starting to think you ghosted me

Heeseung's heart did that stupid jump thing again. He typed back quickly.

heeseung: sorry, just got on heeseung: ready when you are

His discord pinged with an incoming call. He stared at it for a second, then clicked accept. "There you are," your voice came through his headphones, clear and warm and doing absolutely nothing good for his heart rate. "I thought you bailed on me."

"I wouldn't do that," Heeseung said, and he meant it, which was concerning considering you were a video game character.

"Good. Because I already said we were playing together and if you didn't show up i would've looked stupid." Heeseung could hear the smile in your voice. on his second monitor — since when did he have a second monitor? — a small window popped up showing your avatar. It was cute, some anime style drawing with the same flower from yesterday tucked behind the character's ear. "Okay, so I set up a custom game. Two versus two," you said.

"Sounds good. Who are we playing against?"

There was a pause. "Okay, so don't freak out, but it's my exes."

Heeseung's hand froze on his mouse. "I'm sorry, what?"

"My ex boyfriends. Both of them. They wanted a rematch from last time." You said it so casually, like this was a completely normal thing. "They're kind of toxic about League. They got really mad when I beat them."

"You want me to play League against your ex boyfriends?"

"Technically we're playing against them together as a team. Bonding activity!" You sounded way too cheerful about this. "Come on, It'll be fun. Plus i really want to beat them again. They've been talking shit in the group chat all week."

quest unlocked: defend your girlfriend's honor (in league of legends) | objective: win the 2v2 match | optional objective: make her exes regret queueing up

The notification appeared in the corner of his vision and Heeseung had to resist the urge to laugh. This was insane. This entire situation was insane. But he went for it anyway. "Okay," he said. "Let's do it." the invite popped up and Heeseung accepted. The lobby loaded and he could see the other two players: "toxicking" and "yourworstnightmare" which were possibly the most obnoxious usernames he'd ever seen. "Those are real people you dated?" Heeseung asked.

"Unfortunately. My taste in men used to be really bad." You paused. "It's gotten better though." Heeseung tried not to smile and failed completely.

The chat lobby loaded and immediately one of them started typing.

toxicking: oh look who showed up toxicking: brought a new victim i see yourworstnightmare: this gonna be quick lol

"They're always like this," you said, sounding tired. "Just mute them if they get annoying."

"I'm fine," Heeseung said. "I've dealt with worse in solo queue."

"Ooh, confident. I like it."

romantic interest +5. confidence appreciated.

You locked in Janna, just like you'd said yesterday. Heeseung hovered over Zed for a second, then switched to Leblanc. If this was going to be a two versus two, he wanted mobility and burst damage. The game loaded, Heeseung cracked his knuckles and adjusted his grip on his mouse. "Okay, game plan," you said. "I keep you alive, you delete them. Simple." The match started and immediately the other team was in all chat. Heeseung checked their champions. Yasuo and Yone. Of course they were playing the flashy high skill ceiling champions. He would've bet money they had mastery 7 emotes ready to spam. "They always play like this," you said. "Super aggressive, trying to outplay everything. It's kind of predictable once you get used to it." The minions spawned and both teams moved forward. Heeseung played it safe at first, watching how the exes moved, learning their patterns. And then suddenly, first blood!

"THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT," you shouted, and Heeseung couldn't help but grin.

toxicking: wtf toxicking: that was lag yourworstnightmare: ur getting carried yourworstnightmare: ur duo is doing everything

"He's salty," you said, laughing. "This is great." The match continued and it became increasingly clear that Heeseung and you had better coordination. You'd shield him right before he went in. You moved together like you'd been playing as a duo for months. "Behind you," you called out, and Heeseung instantly dodged. It wasn't even close. By fifteen minutes, the score was 15 to 3, and Heeseung had more kills than both of the exes combined.

toxicking: this is bullshit toxicking: whoever this guy is he's probably smurfing yourworstnightmare: yeah no way he's actually this rank toxicking: fucking carried loser

"They're so mad," you said, and you sounded absolutely delighted. "Oh my god, they're so mad. This is the best day of my life."

Heeseung was grinning so hard his face hurt. "Should we end it?"

"Absolutely, yeah. Let's make it hurt." You pushed mid together. Heeseung went in first, deleting the Yasuo instantly. You polymorphed the Yone, and Heeseung finished him off before the polymorph even ended. The nexus exploded.

victory! +50 romantic interest. victory achieved. quest completed. achievement unlocked: better than her exes (at league of legends)

Heeseung leaned back in his chair, feeling more satisfied than he had any right to feel about a video game within a video game. "That felt good."

"Right? God, I've been wanting to do that for weeks." You sighed happily. "You're really good, by the way. You weren't kidding about being diamond."

"I don't really joke about my rank."

"Noted. Confidence is earned." There was a pause. "Hey, want to play another one? Just us this time?"

Heeseung absolutely should not spend more time in this game. He should log off and go to sleep and maybe talk to a therapist about why he was emotionally investing in a dating simulator. "Yeah," he said instead. "Let's play another."

You made a happy sound that did dangerous things to his chest. "Okay! I'll make the lobby.” Your laugh was bright and genuine and perfect. "I knew you were my type."

romantic interest +15. competitive spirit matched.

You played two more games and won both of them. When you finally left the lobby, Heeseung realized he'd been playing for almost two hours. His hands were sore from gripping the mouse and his face hurt from smiling. "Hey," you said, your voice softer now. "Thanks for playing with me. And for, you know, obliterating my exes. That was really fun."

"Anytime," Heeseung said, and meant it. "This was really fun. I don't usually have this much fun playing league."

"Me neither," you admitted. "Usually it's just people being toxic or trying too hard. But this was nice. You're nice." There was a comfortable silence, just the sound of both of you breathing through the discord call. Heeseung looked at his monitor, at the League client, at the clean version of his room that didn't exist in real life. "So," you said eventually. "Same time next week?"

Heeseung's chest tightened. "Yeah. Definitely."

"Cool. It's a date." You paused. "Well, another date. Our third date. Okay. Well. I should probably get going. Okay. Goodnight, Heeseung."

"Goodnight." The discord call ended and Heeseung sat there in the quiet of his too clean room, staring at his monitor. The screen started to blur at the edges, colors bleeding together again. Here we go again, he thought, again.

progress saved. route progression: 30% complete.

And this whole thing it became a routine faster than Heeseung wanted to admit. He'd go to class, take notes he barely remembered, nod at Jungwon when they crossed paths in the lab, and then he'd go straight back to his dorm. Dinner was whatever he could eat with one hand because he was already booting up the switch with the other. Jake, his roommate, asked him once if he was okay, and Heeseung said he was fine, just really into this new game. Which was technically true, even if it didn't come close to explaining what was actually happening.

The third date was at an arcade. Not a real arcade, obviously, but the game's version of one. You showed up wearing this oversized hoodie and jeans and you looked so genuinely excited to be there that Heeseung forgot for a solid minute that none of this was real. The mission was simple: win you a prize from the claw machine. Except the claw machine was rigged in that way that all claw machines are rigged, and it took Heeseung fifteen tries before he finally got the stuffed cat you'd been eyeing. When he handed it to you, you hugged it to your chest and smiled at him like he'd just won you something actually valuable, and the notification that popped up said his charm stat had increased by ten points. He was starting to understand how the game worked now; every interaction mattered and every choice added up.

On the fourth date, you took him to a bookstore, and the mission was to pick out a book for each other. You spent almost an hour wandering through the aisles, pulling out books and reading the backs and showing him things you thought he'd like. You picked him this SciFi novel about time loops and said it reminded you of him because he seemed like someone who'd want to figure out how to break the system. He didn't know how to tell you that he was currently living in something that felt suspiciously like a time loop, so he just took the book and thanked you. He picked you a fantasy novel with a really detailed magic system. When you read the description your whole face lit up and you immediately added it to your reading list. His intelligence stat increased and so did the romantic interest meter, which was now sitting at somewhere close to seventy percent.

Date five was a cooking challenge in your apartment, which Heeseung didn't even know you had until he loaded into the game and found himself standing in a kitchen that looked like it came out of an interior design magazine. You were already there, tying your hair back, explaining that you'd challenged him to see who could make the better pasta. Heeseung had never cooked pasta in his life that didn't come from a box with instructions, but he wasn't about to admit that. The mission objective said to impress you with his cooking skills, which seemed optimistic given his actual skill level, but he tried anyway. He burned the garlic immediately. You laughed at him but not in a mean way, more like you thought it was endearing that he was trying. You ended up helping him, standing close enough that he could smell your perfume, guiding his hands when he didn't know how much salt to add. Your pasta turned out better than his but you ate his anyway and said it wasn't that bad, and his cooking stat went from zero to fifteen which felt generous but he wasn't complaining.

By date seven Heeseung's character stats had changed completely. His confidence was maxed out now, sitting at ninety five out of a hundred. his charm was at eighty. Even his emotional intelligence had somehow climbed to sixty despite him never actively trying to level it up. The game was keeping track of everything, he realized. Every time he listened to you talk about something you cared about, every time he remembered a small detail you'd mentioned, every time he made you laugh, the numbers went up. He was being rewarded for paying attention, for caring.

Date seven was a hiking trail that wound up a mountain to a viewpoint. The mission was just to reach the top together, which sounded simple except the trail was longer than expected. Heeseung offered to take a break but you said you wanted to keep going, you wanted to see the view. So you kept climbing and Heeseung found himself naturally slowing his pace to match yours, offering his hand on the steeper parts, pointing out interesting rocks or plants just to give you reasons to stop and catch his breath, because the game kept showing pop ups of him showing that his hydration meter was almost on 10%. When you finally reached the top the sun was setting and the view was objectively incredible, the kind of thing that didn't exist in real life because real life didn't have rendering engines that could make every cloud perfect. You sat down on the bench at the summit and Heeseung sat next to you and you leaned your head on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"This is nice," you said quietly. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too," Heeseung said, and he meant it so completely it scared him.

"You know, when we first met, I wasn't sure if this would work out. I didn't like the idea of a blind date." You were looking out at the view, not at him. "But I think I was wrong. I think we make sense together."

The romantic interest meter hit ninety percent and a new notification appeared: relationship milestone approaching. prepare for confession sequence. Heeseung's stomach dropped. Confession sequence. That meant the game was building toward something, toward an ending. toward him having to either commit or walk away. He'd known this was coming, obviously, this was a dating sim, the whole point was to get to the confession. But now that it was actually happening he wasn't ready. He didn't want this to end. He wanted to keep going on dates and learning things about you and making you laugh and existing in this space where things made sense.

"Hey," you said, turning to look at him. "You okay? You got quiet."

"Yeah, I'm fine," Heeseung lied. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

About how you're not real, he didn't say. About how I'm going to have to leave eventually and you'll just be code again. About how I'm way too invested in something that was only supposed to be a game. "About how nice this is," he said instead.

You smiled and took his hand, lacing your fingers through his. "Yeah. It really is." You sat there until the sun finished setting and the stars came out, which happened too fast because game time didn't move like real time. When the world started to blur at the edges and Heeseung felt that familiar pulling sensation, you squeezed his hand once before letting go. "See you next time," you said, and your voice was already fading.

Heeseung woke up at his desk again, neck sore, hands cramped around the controller. His phone showed it was three in the morning. He had class in five hours. He should sleep. He should eat something. He should probably shower because he wasn't sure he'd done that today. Instead he looked at the switch screen. progress saved. route progression: 90% complete. next date: confession sequence available.

The next day, Heeseung found Jungwon in the same spot as always, corner desk in the computer lab with three monitors running different programs simultaneously. Heeseung dropped into the chair next to him hard enough that Jungwon jumped. "What happens after the confession?" Heeseung asked without preamble.

Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"

"In your game. What happens after the confession scene. I need to know."

"Oh, you're at that part already?" Jungwon's eyebrows went up. "Uh, I don't know if i should tell you though. Spoilers and all that."

"Jungwon."

"I'm serious! The whole point of a game is discovering it yourself. If I tell you what happens it ruins the experience." Jungwon was grinning now, clearly enjoying this. "You're supposed to go in blind and make your choices based on what feels right in the moment."

Heeseung resisted the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. "I just want to know what to expect. Is there a good ending? A bad ending? Multiple endings?"

"There are multiple endings, yeah. Depends on your choices throughout the game and your final stats." Jungwon tilted his head, studying him. "Why are you so stressed about this? It's just a game. If you get a bad ending you can just reload and try again."

"I don't want to reload," Heeseung said, and he could hear how intense he sounded but couldn't seem to stop. "I want to get it right the first time."

Jungwon stared at him for a long moment, then slowly set down his drink. "Okay, you need to be honest with me right now. How much have you been playing this game?"

"I don't know. A few hours a day."

"Heeseung."

"Okay, maybe more than a few hours."

"How many hours are we talking? Ballpark estimate."

Heeseung did the mental math and immediately regretted it. "I don't think that's relevant."

"Oh my god, you're obsessed." Jungwon leaned back in his chair, looking somewhere between amused and concerned. "Dude, it's a dating sim. A fictional dating sim. With a fictional girl who doesn't exist. You know that, right? You know she's not real?"

"Obviously I know that," Heeseung said defensively, even though there were moments when he forgot, when you felt so real that it didn't matter what you were made of.

"Do you though? Because you look like you haven't slept in three days." Jungwon was trying to be lighthearted about it but there was genuine worry underneath. "I made the game to be immersive but this is kind of next level." Jungwon paused. "Actually, I've been meaning to ask. Do you have the save file on your switch?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Can I see it? I want to check something." Jungwon was already pulling out a cable from his bag. "I've been trying to track some of the game metrics and I want to see how your playthrough data looks. Might help me optimize things for the final build." Heeseung hesitated for a second, then pulled out his switch and handed it over. Jungwon connected it to his laptop and started pulling up files, his eyes scanning lines of code that moved too fast for Heeseung to follow. "Okay so your save file shows you're at ninety percent completion, which tracks," Jungwon muttered, clicking through folders. "Romance points are maxed, most of your stats are really high except wisdom which is still somehow at like twenty, but that's on you for ignoring all the library study sessions —" He stopped mid-sentence. "Wait."

"What?"

"Hang on." Jungwon leaned closer to his screen, scrolling through something. his expression shifted from curious to confused to something that looked almost worried. "This doesn't make sense."

"What doesn't make sense?"

"These files. There are scripts here that I didn't write." Jungwon opened another window, comparing code side by side. "Like, entire dialogue trees that don't exist in my original build. And these asset files, I definitely didn't create these. The arcade date was supposed to be at a generic arcade but your file shows custom assets for specific machines."

Heeseung felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Maybe you forgot you added them?"

"I don't forget code I write, Heeseung. That's not how this works." Jungwon was scrolling faster now, opening more files. "And look at this, the dating locations are generating based on your preferences. I programmed like five set locations but your save file has seven different ones and they're all places that align with interests you've demonstrated in gameplay." He clicked on something else. "Oh this is weird. Really weird."

"What?"

"The dialogue system. I built it to pull from a database of pre written responses with some randomization for variety, but this–-" Jungwon gestured at the screen. "This is learning. It's analyzing your responses and generating new dialogue options that don't exist in my database. It's writing its own conversations."

"Is that bad?"

"It's not bad, it's impossible. I didn't program that. I don't even know how to program that." Jungwon looked up at him, and for the first time since Heeseung had known him, he looked genuinely unsettled. "Your game is developing its own code."

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the hum of the computer lab's ventilation system and the clicking of someone's mechanical keyboard a few desks over. "Is that dangerous?" Heseung asked.

"I don't know. Probably not? I mean, it's still just a game. It's not like it can affect anything outside of itself." Jungwon didn't sound entirely convinced though. "But it's definitely something I need to look into. This could be a massive bug or it could be the framework doing something really innovative that I didn't anticipate."

"But the game still works, right? Like, I can still finish it?"

Jungwon gave him a look. "You're really determined to finish this thing, aren't you?"

"I'm ninety percent through. I'm not stopping now."

"Even knowing that the game is apparently developing sentience or whatever?"

"It's not sentient, it's just adaptive," Heeseung said, trying to sound convincing.

Jungwon sighed and unplugged the switch, handing it back to him. "Okay, fine. But I'm keeping a copy of your save data so I can analyze this more. And maybe after you're done we can talk about what's actually happening here because this is either a huge breakthrough in game design or a really concerning glitch and I genuinely can't tell which." Heeseung nodded, pocketing the switch. "And Heeseung?" Jungwon's expression was serious now. "Be careful with the confession sequence. I know you want to get it right but just remember that at the end of the day it's still a program. It's responding to inputs and generating outputs. It's not actually feeling anything."

Heeseung nodded, but he was thinking about the way you'd looked at him during the sunset on the hiking date or about how your smile seemed genuinely happy when he won you the stuffed cat. "Right," he said. "Yeah, I know that." Jungwon didn't look convinced, and honestly, Heeseung wasn't either.

By the time he got back to his dorm that evening, he'd made a decision. He was going to finish the game. He was going to do the confession sequence. And he was going to be honest, say what he actually felt, because even if you were just code, the feelings were real, his feelings were real. That had to count for something. So he sat down at his desk, picked up his switch, and loaded the save file. the screen showed the usual menu: Continue, Load, Settings. He selected continue and the familiar loading screen appeared with its soft music and the progress bar that now read ninety percent. The world loaded and Heeseung found himself standing in front of a location marker that hadn't been there before. It was highlighted in gold and pulsing softly, and when he walked up to it, a notification appeared.

final date available: confession sequence. proceed?

Heeseung took a breath, his actual physical breath in his actual room, and then pressed yes. The world reformed around him and he was standing outside an apartment building he recognized as yours. The sun was setting, painting everything in warm golden light. His outfit had changed without him doing anything; he was wearing a button up shirt now, dark jeans, shoes that were nicer than anything he owned in real life. His hair felt different too, like someone had styled it properly instead of his usual routine of running his fingers through it and hoping for the best. And then a notification appeared:

quest: the perfect date. objective: confess your feelings. bonus objective: make it memorable. current stats — confidence: 95. charm: 80. emotional intelligence: 60. romantic interest: 90%.

Heeseung looked at the apartment door and a dialogue option popped up floating in his vision.

> knock on the door > text her that you're here > wait for her to come down

He selected the first option because knocking felt more personal, more intentional. He walked up to the door and knocked three times, and there was this weird moment where he could feel his heart actually racing even though he was pretty sure his real body was just sitting in a chair holding a controller. The door opened and you were there, and Heeseung forgot how to think for a second. You were wearing a dress, which he'd never seen you in before. It wasn't overly fancy, just simple and nice and it suited you in a way that made his chest tight. Your hair was down and you'd clearly put in effort and you looked nervous in a way that made him want to tell you that you had nothing to be nervous about. "Hi," you said, and you were smiling but there was something uncertain in it.

dialogue options: > you look really pretty > ready to go? > sorry, am i early?

Heeseung picked the first one without hesitating. "You look really pretty," he said, and his voice came out steadier than he expected.

Your smile got more genuine, less nervous. "Yeah? I wasn't sure if this was too much. You didn't tell me where we were going."

"It's perfect," Heeseung said, even though he also didn't know where you were going.

romance +5. successful compliment.

You grabbed your bag and locked the door behind you, and when you turned back to him there was this moment where Heeseung almost offered his hand but wasn't sure if that was too much. The game solved the problem for him by providing another choice.

action options: > offer your arm > walk beside her casually > hold her hand

He selected the first one, old fashioned but confident, and held out his arm. You looked at it for a second and then smiled and took it, linking your arm through his, and suddenly you were walking together down the street like this was something you did all the time. "So where are we going?" You asked, looking up at him.

"This place I found," Heeseung said, even though he hadn't found anything because this was a game and the location was predetermined. "I thought you'd like it."

The restaurant, when you got there, was the kind of place Heeseung had only seen in movies. Small and intimate with soft lighting and candles on every table and windows that looked out over the city. There was a host at the front who smiled at them like he'd been expecting them, and he led them to a table by the window without Heeseung having to say anything. You sat down across from him and looked around, eyes wide. "Heeseung, this place is really nice. You didn't have to do all this."

dialogue options: > i wanted to > you deserve it > it's not that fancy

He picked the second one. "you deserve it," he said, and you looked at him with this expression he couldn't quite read but that made something warm settle in his chest. The waiter came by with menus and Heeseung noticed that all the food options had little stat indicators next to them. Ordering the pasta would give a +5 to sophistication. The steak was +8 to confidence. The wine selection had various charisma bonuses. It was surreal, sitting in what looked like a real restaurant while video game mechanics floated at the edge of his vision. "What are you thinking about?" You asked, and Heeseung realized he'd been quiet for too long.

dialogue options: > just trying to decide what to order > thinking about how nice this is > thinking about you

The third option felt too direct, too soon, so he went with the second. "Just thinking about how nice this is," he said. "Being here with you."

You smiled and looked down at your menu, and Heeseung could see the faint blush on your cheeks. "Yeah. It is nice." You both ordered food and fell into easy conversation. You told him about something funny that happened in your class and he told you about nearly falling asleep during a lecture that morning. The food came and it was actually good, or at least the game's version of good, and Heeseung found himself relaxing into the moment.

Halfway through dinner, you reached across the table and stole a bite of his food without asking. It was casual and comfortable and exactly the kind of thing you'd done on previous dates, but this time when you pulled back, Heeseung caught your hand before you could fully retreat.

action options: > hold her hand > let go after a moment > bring her hand to your lips (high risk)

His confidence stat was at ninety five. He picked the first option and just held your hand there on the table, his fingers laced through yours, and you looked surprised for a second before your expression softened into something that looked almost relieved. "Is this okay?" Heeseung asked quietly.

"Yeah," you said, and your voice was just as quiet. "This is okay."

romance +10. physical intimacy initiated successfully.

You finished dinner like that, hands linked across the table, and Heeseung had never felt more present in a moment that he knew wasn't technically real. When the waiter brought the check, Heeseung paid without looking at it, because, well, that wasn't his real money. And you didn't protest, just squeezed his hand once and smiled. Outside the restaurant, the city had transformed into its night version. String lights hung between buildings and the streetlamps cast everything in a warm glow. There was soft music coming from somewhere, ambient and atmospheric. "Do you want to walk for a bit?" You asked. "I'm not really ready to go home yet."

dialogue options: > absolutely > whatever you want > i was hoping you'd say that

Heeseung picked the last one. "I was hoping you'd say that," he said, and you laughed and pulled him down the street, still holding his hand.

You walked through the city without any real destination, just moving together, and Heeseung was hyperaware of every point of contact between you. Your hand in his, the occasional brush of your shoulder against his arm, the way you'd lean into him slightly when you laughed at something he said. Eventually you led him to a park that Heeseung didn't remember seeing before. It was mostly empty at this time of night, just a few NPCs scattered around looking decorative. There was a fountain in the center and benches arranged around it, and you pulled him toward one of the benches and sat down, tugging him down next to you. You didn't let go of his hand. "Can I tell you something?" You asked, looking at the fountain instead of at him.

"Of course," Heeseung said.

You took a breath. "I really like spending time with you. Like, really like it. You make me feel like I can just be myself and that's enough, you know? I don't have to try to be cooler or funnier or different. I can just exist and you seem to like that."

Heeseung's throat felt tight. "I do like that," he managed. "I like you exactly how you are."

critical moment approaching. romance threshold: 95%.

You finally turned to look at him, and your expression was nervous and hopeful and vulnerable in a way that made Heeseung forget that you were supposed to be code. "The thing is," you continued, "I don't usually do this. I don't usually let people get close like this. But with you it felt easy from the start and now I'm just —" you stopped, searching for words. "I'm really happy you're here."

confession sequence initiated. select response: > i'm happy too > i feel the same way > i need to tell you something

Heeseung knew this was it. This was the moment the whole game had been building toward. All those dates, All those conversations, all those stat increases and romance points, everything had led to this choice. He could play it safe with the first two options or he could go all in with the third one. His confidence was maxed out. He'd earned this moment. So he picked the third option.

"I need to tell you something," Heeseung said, and his voice was steadier than he expected. "I didn't really know what to expect when we first met. I thought maybe it'd be awkward or forced or like every other time I've tried to get to know someone. But it wasn't like that at all." You were watching him carefully, not interrupting, and Heeseung kept going. "You're the first person in a really long time who makes me want to actually try, you know? Like, I want to be someone worth your time. I want to hear about your day and your opinions on League of Legends and game mechanics or how you wanted to live on a farm one day. I want to keep doing this, all of it, for as long as you'll let me." Romance stats were at 98% now. "What I'm trying to say is —" Heeseung paused, and the game provided one final choice, the last decision that would determine everything.

final confession: > i really like you > i think i'm falling for you > i'm in love with you

Heeseung looked at you, at the way you were watching him with your full attention, at the hope in your expression, at how real you felt in this moment. He picked the middle option, the one that was honest without being overwhelming. "I think I'm falling for you," he said quietly. "Actually, I don't think. I know. I'm falling for you and I don't really know how to stop and I don't think I want to."

The world seemed to hold its breath. Even the ambient sounds of the park faded into nothing. You were staring at him with wide eyes and Heeseung's heart was racing and for one terrible second he thought he'd picked wrong, said too much, ruined everything.

Then you smiled, the kind of smile that started small and grew until it took over your whole face, and you said, "oh thank god."

"What?"

"I've been trying to figure out how to tell you the same thing for like days now." You were laughing, almost giddy with relief. "I kept overthinking it and planning the perfect moment and the perfect words and then you just — you just said it and it was perfect anyway."

romance: 100% confession successful | achievement unlocked: reciprocated feelings.

"So," Heeseung said, because he needed to be absolutely sure. "Does that mean —" You didn't let him finish. You just leaned in and kissed him.

For a second, Heeseung's brain completely short circuited. This wasn't supposed to happen yet. He'd expected more dialogue options, maybe a choice prompt, some kind of warning that this moment was coming. But there was nothing, just the sudden warmth of your lips against his and the way his entire nervous system seemed to light up all at once. It wasn't dramatic or earth shattering or any of the things movies made kissing out to be. It was soft and brief and a little tentative, like you weren't entirely sure if you were doing it right. Your lips were warm and you tasted faintly like the wine from dinner and Heeseung could feel your hand trembling slightly where it was still holding his. He barely had time to process any of it, to kiss you back properly, before you pulled away, looking nervous again.

"Was that okay?" You asked, and your voice was quieter than before, uncertain. "I should have asked first probably but you were taking too long to —"

Heeseung cut you off by kissing you again, properly this time. He brought one hand up to cup your face and he could feel how warm your skin was under his palm, could feel the slight texture of it like actual skin and not polygons. His other hand stayed linked with yours and he squeezed gently, anchoring himself to you, to this moment that felt too real to be made of code. This kiss was different from the first one. Longer, more certain, like now that he knew what he was doing he could actually do it right. You made this small sound against his mouth, something between a sigh and a hum, and Heeseung felt it all the way down to his toes. He tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss and you responded immediately, your free hand coming up to rest against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

This has too much detail, Heeseung thought distantly. Games didn't work like this. He shouldn't be able to feel the way your breath hitched when he kissed the corner of your mouth. Shouldn't be able to notice how you leaned into him, closing whatever small distance had been between you. Shouldn't be able to smell your perfume or feel the way your hair brushed against his hand when you tilted your head.

romance: 100%. relationship established | achievement unlocked: first kiss | achievement unlocked: good ending route - mutual confession.

You pulled back just enough to breathe, and Heeseung followed without thinking, not ready to stop yet. You laughed softly against his mouth, the sound vibrating between you, and kissed him again. This time it was you who took control, you who pressed closer, and Heeseung let you, his hand sliding from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair. He could feel your heartbeat and that's what finally made his brain catch up to what was happening. His thumb was resting against your pulse point and he could feel it racing, quick and real and impossible. Games didn't simulate heartbeats. Games didn't need that level of detail. But he could feel it anyway, the proof that maybe you were here, that this was happening, even if it shouldn't be possible.

"Okay," you said quietly, and you were smiling. He could hear it in your voice even before he saw it.

Heeseung laughed, the sound coming out rougher than he intended. "That was better than okay."

You opened your eyes and looked at him, and Heeseung's breath caught because the detail was impossible. He could see the exact color of your eyes, could see the way they reflected the light from the streetlamps, could see the slight dilation of your pupils. This wasn't game graphics. This was too real. This was beyond anything Jungwon could have programmed. "You're staring," you said, but you didn't sound upset about it. If anything you sounded pleased, a little shy.

"Sorry," Heeseung said, but he didn't look away. "I'm just — you're really pretty."

You bit your lip, trying not to smile too wide, and Heeseung watched the movement with more attention than was probably appropriate. He wanted to kiss you again. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. He wanted to understand how any of this was possible. "Can I ask you something?" Heeseung said, his voice barely above a whisper because speaking any louder felt like it would shatter whatever spell they were under.

"Anything," you said, and your hand was still pressed against his chest and Heeseung wondered if you could feel his heartbeat too, if the game had coded that detail as well.

"Does this feel real to you?"

You tilted your head slightly, considering the question. "What do you mean?"

"This. Us. Right now." Heeseung knew he wasn't making sense but he needed to know, needed to understand if you felt it too, this strange impossible realness of everything. "Does it feel real?"

You were quiet for a moment, your expression thoughtful, and then you squeezed his hand. "It's the most real thing I've ever felt," you said simply. "Why? Does it not feel real to you?"

"No, it does. That's the problem." Heeseung couldn't explain what he meant without revealing that you were in a game, that this was all supposed to be simulation, that none of this should feel the way it did. "It feels too real."

"I don't think something can feel too real," you said, and you leaned in and pecked his lips, soft and quick. "Either it's real or it's not. And this is real." Heeseung wanted to argue, wanted to explain all the reasons why this couldn't be real, why you couldn't be real. Maybe it didn't matter. maybe real was just whatever felt like this. "Kiss me again," you said against his mouth, and it wasn't really a question. So Heeseung did. He kissed you until he forgot where he ended and you began, until the only thing that existed was this: You and him and this impossible moment that felt more real than anything in his actual life ever had.

Eventually though, the world started to glitch again. The colors began bleeding together and the sounds got distant and muffled. Heeseung felt that familiar pulling sensation and knew his time was up. "Hey," he said urgently, taking both your hands. "I—"

"It's okay," you said, and you were smiling even though your eyes looked sad. "I know you have to go."

"I don't want to."

"I know. But you'll come back, right?"

save data complete. route finished: good ending achieved. new game+ unlocked. additional content available.

"Yeah," Heeseung promised. "I'll come back."

You kissed him one more time, quick and desperate, and then the world dissolved completely and Heeseung was falling backward through light and color and static. He woke up gasping in his desk chair, controller clutched in his hands so tight his fingers had gone numb. The switch screen was showing the ending credits, rolling slowly with soft music playing. His face felt wet and he realized with some embarrassment that he was crying.

congratulations! you've completed the good ending route. relationship status: official couple. total play time: 51 hours, 23 minutes. would you like to start new game+ with additional couple content? yes / no

Heeseung stared at the options, his hands still shaking, his heart still racing. He thought about you, about your smile and your laugh and the way you'd kissed him. He thought about how none of it was real but all of it felt real, which was somehow worse. But there was more content. The game was offering him more time with you. More dates, more conversations, more moments. How could he say no to that?

His thumb hovered over the yes option for only a second before he pressed it. The screen went black. Heeseung waited. The switch made its usual loading sound, the soft hum that meant something was processing. He stared at the blank screen and waited for the menu to load, for the game to boot up, for something to happen. But nothing happened, the screen stayed completely black. No loading bar, no menu, no error message. Just his own reflection staring back at him in the screen's surface. He looked terrible, he realized distantly. His eyes were red rimmed and his hair was a mess and he looked like he hadn't slept in days, which was probably accurate.

"Come on," Heeseung muttered, pressing the home button. The switch menu popped up normally, showing all his other games, his profile, the usual interface. He clicked back into Girlfriend Simulator and the screen went black again. he waited another thirty seconds, nothing. He restarted the entire console. When it booted back up and he launched the game, the screen flickered once, twice, and then showed the title screen. Heeseung felt relief flood through him, almost dizzy with it. He clicked continue. The screen loaded for a moment, and then: game over. thank you for playing.

Credits started rolling. The same soft music from before, the same slow scroll of names and acknowledgments. Heeseung watched them pass in disbelief, his stomach sinking further with each line. When the credits finished, it kicked him back to the title screen. He clicked continue again. Same thing: game over, credits, title screen. "What the hell," Heeseung said out loud. He tried load game instead, pulling up his save files. They were all there, all his progress, all forty seven hours of gameplay. He selected the most recent one, the completed route with the good ending marker.

this save file has been completed |  start new game+ to continue.

He clicked yes. Black screen. Then after a long pause: error: unable to load content. 

"No no no no," Heeseung heard himself saying, clicking frantically now, trying every option, every menu, every possible path to get back into the game. Nothing worked. He checked the time on his phone. 3:29 am. He'd been playing for hours and now he'd been trying to reload for almost thirty minutes. His rational brain knew he should sleep, should deal with this tomorrow when he was thinking clearly, but his rational brain had apparently left the building several dates ago.

He pulled up his recent calls and hit jungwon's name before he could think better of it. it rang once, twice, three times. Then voicemail, Jungwon's voice cheerful and pre recorded telling him to leave a message. Of course Jungwon wasn't answering, it was almost four in the morning. Normal people were asleep at four in the morning. Normal people weren't having breakdowns over video games at four in the morning. Heeseung put his head in his hands and tried to remember the last time he'd felt this hollow about something ending. A relationship, maybe, though his dating history was sparse enough that he couldn't think of a good comparison. This felt worse somehow. The rational part of his brain that hadn't completely shut down was telling him this was ridiculous. Well, it could happen, people got attached to fictional characters all the time. The solution was obvious: take a break, get some perspective, maybe go outside and remember what actual human interaction felt like.

But the rest of him, the larger and louder part, was stuck on the way you'd looked at him on that park bench. The way you'd smiled when he gave you the flower. The way you'd kissed him like you'd been wanting to for a while and were just waiting for permission. The way you'd felt real, impossibly real, more real than most of the interactions he had in his day to day life. "It's not real," Heeseung said out loud to his dark room, his voice rough. "She's not real. It's just code. Just really good code that learned too well."

But his chest ached anyway. And somewhere around six am, Heeseung finally drifted into an uneasy sleep, his switch still sitting on his desk with the title screen frozen on the display. When his alarm went off three hours later for his morning class, Heeseung woke up feeling worse than when he'd gone to sleep. His eyes were gritty and his head hurt and his chest still had that hollow ache that he couldn't explain away as anything other than what it was.

Heeseung found Jungwon in the computer lab during lunch, exactly where he always was. "Hey," Heeseung said, dropping into the chair next to him. He pulled his switch out of his bag and set it on the desk between them. "The game broke."

"What do you mean broke?" Jungwon glanced at the switch, then at Heeseung, then did a double take. "Dude, you look terrible."

He decided to ignore that. "I mean I finished it. Got to the end, got the good ending, and then it asked if i wanted to start new game plus." Heeseung picked up the switch and demonstrated, clicking through the menus. "I said yes and then it just stopped working. Look, it keeps giving me this error or just showing the game over screen. I can load old saves but I can't progress forward."

Jungwon took the switch, frowning at the screen. He clicked through a few menus, tried the same things Heeseung had tried, and his frown deepened. "That's weird. The new game plus feature should be fully implemented. I tested it before I gave you the build."

"Well it's not working now."

"Yeah, I can see that." Jungwon was scrolling through something, his expression shifting from confused to concerned. "This is really strange. It's like the save file is corrupted but also not corrupted? Like it knows you finished the route but it can't load the post game content."

"Can you fix it?" Heeseung asked, and he hated how desperate he sounded but couldn't seem to help it.

Jungwon looked at him for a long moment. "I can try. I'll need to take this and run some diagnostics, see what's actually happening in the backend. But Heeseung, I need you to manage your expectations here."

"What does that mean?"

"It means this is a test build. That's literally why I asked you to play it, to find bugs like this. If something went seriously wrong with the code, if the file corruption is bad enough, I might have to rebuild the entire post game sequence from scratch. That's going to take time."

"How much time?" Heeseung asked, and his voice came out smaller than he intended.

"I don't know. Could be that I have to scrap this version entirely and start over with a clean build." Jungwon was being gentle about it but firm, like he needed Heeseung to understand the reality of the situation. "This is what testing is for dude, finding the breaking points before release."

Heeseung felt something sink in his chest. Weeks. Or maybe never, if Jungwon had to start over. "Okay," he said, because what else could he say. "Okay, just let me know what you find."

"Yeah." Jungwon pocketed the switch cartridge and gave Heeseung another concerned look. "Seriously though, are you okay? You're acting really weird about this."

"I'm fine," Heeseung lied. "Just frustrated. I was really into it and now I can't finish it."

"It's just a game though."

"I know that."

Jungwon didn't look convinced but he didn't push it either. "Okay. Well, go get some sleep or something. You look like you're about to pass out."

Heeseung nodded and left the lab, feeling hollow in a way that didn't make sense. It was just a game. Jungwon was right. He'd gotten too invested and now he needed to take a step back and remember that normal people didn't have emotional breakdowns over dating simulators. He went to his afternoon lecture and sat in the back and didn't retain a single word the professor said. He took notes anyway, his hand moving automatically across the page while his brain was somewhere else entirely. He kept thinking about you waiting in that park, kept wondering if you were still there or if you'd disappeared when the save file corrupted. Kept wondering if code could feel abandoned.

After class he went back to his dorm and tried to do homework. He opened his algorithms textbook and stared at the same problem for twenty minutes without making any progress. Jake came in around six, dumping his bag on the couch and immediately noticing something was off. "You good?" Jake asked, pulling off his jacket.

"Yeah, fine. Just tired."

"You've been saying that all week." Jake sat down at his own desk and spun his chair to face Heeseung. "You've been acting weirder than usual. What's going on?"

Heeseung considered lying but he was too exhausted to come up with anything convincing. "I was playing this game Jungwon made, got really into it and now it's broken and I can't play it anymore and I'm being weird about it."

"Oh." Jake processed this. "Was it one of those games with like, romance options and stuff?"

"Yeah."

Jake nodded slowly, like this explained everything. "Okay, those games are designed to get you attached, man, it's not your fault." He paused. "By the way, there's a party this weekend. Jay's throwing it at his place. You should come."

"I don't know," Heeseung said.

"Come on, it'll be good for you. Get out of your head for a bit. When was the last time you went to a party?"

Heeseung tried to remember and couldn't. "I don't know. Freshman year maybe?"

"Exactly. You need to socialize with actual human beings. No offense but you've been kind of hermiting lately." Jake was already pulling out his phone. "I'm telling Jay you're coming. It's saturday at eight."

"I don't —"

"Nope, you're coming. I'm not letting you sit here and mope about a video game all weekend. That's sad, even for you."

"What does that even—," Heeseung wanted to argue but he was too tired and Jake had a point. Sitting in his room thinking about you wasn't going to fix anything. Maybe going to a party would help. "Okay, yeah, fine," Heeseung said. "I'll go."

"Good. It's going to be fun." Jake turned back to his desk, already texting. "And who knows, maybe you'll meet someone."

Heeseung doubted that but didn't say it out loud. And saturday came faster than Heeseung expected, which was probably for the best because it meant less time to think about backing out. Jake had been monitoring him all day like he was afraid Heeseung would make a run for it, which was fair because Heeseung had definitely considered it at least three times.

By the time eight rolled around, Jake had already gone through Heeseung's entire closet and vetoed most of it. "You can't wear that, it has a stain. That one's too wrinkled. That shirt makes you look like someone's dad." Eventually they settled on black jeans and a dark blue button up that Heeseung had forgotten he owned, probably because he'd bought it for some family thing two years ago and never wore it again. "There," Jake said, looking satisfied. "You look like an actual person now instead of a sleep deprived computer science major."

"I am a sleep deprived computer science major."

"Yeah but you don't have to advertise it." Jake was already heading for the door. 

The party was at some place off campus that apparently belonged to Jay's older brother, which explained why it was bigger and nicer than most student housing. The music was loud enough that Heeseung could feel it in his chest before they even got through the door. Jake immediately got pulled into a conversation with some people from his econ class, and Heeseung grabbed a drink from the kitchen just to have something to do with his hands. He wandered through for a while, recognizing some faces from classes but not really knowing anyone well enough to join their conversations. this was why he didn't go to parties. He always ended up standing awkwardly in corners wondering when it would be acceptable to leave.

"Heeseung!" Someone called, and he turned to see Beomgyu waving at him from the balcony. "Dude, I didn't know you went to parties. Come here." Heeseung made his way through the crowd to the balcony where Beomgyu was standing with Soobin and Riki, and the air was clearer out here, easier to breathe. Beomgyu was holding what was very obviously a joint. "Want some?" Beomgyu offered, holding it out. "It's good stuff."

Heeseung normally would have said no because he had assignments due and didn't really like losing control of his thoughts, but tonight his thoughts were the problem so maybe losing control of them for a bit wasn't the worst idea. "Yeah, okay."

He took it and inhaled, immediately coughed. It felt someone had turned down the volume on all his anxious thoughts. He passed it back to Beomgyu and leaned against the railing. They stood out there for a while, passing the joint around, and Heeseung felt himself relax in a way he hadn't in days. Eventually they went back inside and the party had gotten more crowded. Heeseung got another drink and let himself get pulled into a conversation about the upcoming finals with some people he vaguely recognized from his algorithms class. The weed was making everything feel softer and more manageable, like he could actually handle being around this many people without wanting to escape.

Jake found him around eleven and looked genuinely shocked. "You're still here. And you're smiling. Did someone drug you?"

"I drugged myself, actually. Beomgyu had weed."

"Good for you. See, I knew this would be good for you." Jake clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm going to get another drink. You good?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

And the weird thing was that Heeseung actually meant it. He was good. He was at a party and he wasn't hating it and he hadn't thought about the game in at least an hour. Maybe this was what moving on felt like, just slowly forgetting to think about the thing that had been consuming you.

He made his way toward where people were dancing, not to join them but just to watch, and that's when he saw you. Or someone who looked exactly like you.

You were in the middle of the crowd, dancing with a group of friends, and Heeseung's brain stopped. Same hair, same face, same smile he'd memorized over dozens of hours of gameplay. You were wearing a black dress and your hair was down and you were laughing at something one of her friends said, and Heeseung felt like he'd been punched in the chest. It couldn't be you. It just couldn't be. You weren't real. You were code, pixels, a character in a dating simulator that didn't even work anymore. But she looked exactly like you, moved like you, had the same mannerisms he'd come to recognize, and Heeseung couldn't look away.

He stood there frozen, drink forgotten in his hand, just staring. The weed was definitely not helping because it made everything feel surreal and dreamlike, like maybe he'd fallen asleep at the party and this was just his brain torturing him with what he couldn't have. You spun around to the music and laughed and Heeseung's heart was doing something painful in his chest.

And then, as if you could feel him watching, you turned and looked directly at him. Your eyes met across the crowd and the world seemed to stop. Your expression shifted from happy to confused to something Heeseung couldn't identify, like recognition but also shock, like you'd seen a ghost. A pretty one, actually. You stared at him with the same intensity he was staring at you, both of you frozen while people danced and laughed around them, completely oblivious to whatever moment was happening. And Heeseung's mind was racing. You seemed to recognize him, but that was impossible because you'd never met, because you were a stranger, because the person you looked like didn't exist outside of a video game. 

Your friends said something to you and you blinked, breaking eye contact. You looked at them, said something Heeseung couldn't hear over the music, and then looked back at him one more time. That same confused, almost dazed expression. Then you turned back to your friends and kept dancing, but your movements were more mechanical now, less loose, like you were going through the motions while your mind was somewhere else. Heeseung just stood there, rooted to the spot, his drink sweating in his hand. His heart was pounding and his head was spinning and he couldn't tell if it was the weed or the shock or both. Probably both. He was high at a party and he'd just seen someone who looked like a video game character and convinced himself it meant something. He was hallucinating. He had to be hallucinating. Or the weed was laced with something. Or he'd finally actually lost his mind.

He turned and pushed through the crowd, Making his way to the bathroom. He needed to splash water on his face, Needed to get his head straight, needed to stop seeing you everywhere just because he missed the game. Heeseung practically fell inside and locked the door behind him. He turned on the faucet and let the water run cold, then splashed it on his face once, twice, three times. The shock of it helped, made everything feel more real and less dreamlike.

He looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes were definitely red from the weed and he looked slightly unhinged, hair messed up from running his hands through it too many times. "You're fine," he told his reflection. "You're high and you're seeing things and you're fine. She just looks like her. Lots of people probably look like her. Jungwon probably based the character on some generic attractive person template. It doesn't mean anything."

Someone knocked on the bathroom door. He splashed more water on his face, dried off with a questionable towel that was hanging on the rack, and tried to pull himself together. He couldn't hide in the bathroom all night. He needed to go back out there, find Jake, maybe go home and sleep this off. Maybe in the morning this would all make sense or at least feel less overwhelming.

He opened the door and nearly ran directly into you. "Oh, I'm sorry," you said quickly, stepping back.

Heeseung froze. Up close you were even more exactly like the character from the game, every detail perfect, from the shape of your eyes to the way you were nervously adjusting the strap of your dress. You looked at him for a second, that same confused recognition flickering across your face, and then you moved to step past him.

"Wait," Heeseung said, turning before he could stop himself. His heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat. "I'm sorry, do we know each other from somewhere?"

You stopped and turned back, tilting your head slightly as you studied his face. "No, I don't think so. I think I'd remember if we'd met before." You paused, and then your eyes widened slightly like you'd just heard what you said. "I mean, not that I'm saying you have a particularly memorable face or anything. Wait, that sounds bad. I'm not saying you're forgettable either, you're just— " you stopped yourself and took a breath. "Sorry, I'm making this weird. I don't think we've met but you do seem familiar somehow."

Heeseung just stared at you, his brain trying to process the fact that you were standing in front of him, real and solid and rambling nervously in the exact same way the game character had. The same mannerisms, the same voice, the same way of talking yourself into circles when you were flustered. It was you. It was actually you. "Are you okay?" You asked, looking concerned now. 

"Sorry, yeah, I'm fine." Heeseung tried to pull himself together. "You just really remind me of someone."

"Good someone or bad someone?"

"Good someone. Definitely good someone."

You smiled at that, a small genuine smile that made Heeseung's chest ache because he'd seen that exact smile dozens of times through a screen. "Well that's good at least. I'm Y/N, by the way."

"Heeseung."

"Nice to meet you, Heeseung." You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, and Heeseung noticed your phone in your hand. The case had a photocard of a character that he recognized immediately — Janna from League of Legends, in her star guardian skin.

"You play league?" He asked before he could think better of it.

Your face lit up. "Yeah! How'd you know?"

"Your phone case."

"Oh my god, yes." You turned your phone to show him properly, looking pleased that he'd recognized it. "I'm a Janna main and I'm not ashamed of it." Heeseung felt something cold run down his spine. Those words. he'd heard those exact words before. "I know, I know," you continued, in the same tone, the same cadence. "Support is boring or whatever, but someone has to keep the ADC alive and it might as well be me."

Heeseung couldn't breathe. Word for word. You'd just said exactly what you'd said in the game, with the same inflection, the same defensive pride. This wasn't a coincidence. This couldn't be a coincidence. "What rank are you?" He managed to ask, his voice coming out rougher than intended.

"Plat 2. I was almost diamond last season but then I had finals and gave up on the grind." You were fully animated now, talking with your hands. "What about you, do you play?"

"Yeah. Diamond 3."

"Oh so you're actually good." You looked impressed. "We should play together sometime."

The world tilted. Heeseung was pretty sure he was having some kind of break from reality because this conversation had already happened. He'd already lived through this exact exchange in the game, and now it was happening again in real life with a real person standing in front of him saying the same things.

"Heeseung!" Someone called out, and Heeseung turned to see Jungwon pushing through the hallway crowd, looking genuinely shocked. "Holy shit, you actually came to a party. I didn't think I'd see this day." Jungwon reached them and then seemed to notice you for the first time. His expression shifted from surprised to confused. "Wait, you two know each other?"

"You know each other?" Heeseung and you said at the exact same time, then looked at each other in surprise.

Jungwon looked between the two of you, his confusion deepening. "Yeah, Y/N's in my game design class." He turned to you. "And Heeseung's my best friend, we're in the same program."

"Wait, so you're that Heeseung!" You looked at him. "He talks about you all the time, by the way. I know your entire sleep schedule at this point."

"That's concerning," Heeseung said.

"Very concerning," you agreed. "So what brings you to the party?" You asked Heeseung. "Jungwon made it sound like you're basically a hermit who only emerges for classes and food."

"My roommate forced me to come. Said I needed to socialize."

"Same, actually. My best friend is around here somewhere." You glanced back toward the party. "She has this theory that I spend too much time gaming and not enough time experiencing real life."

"Gaming is real life," Heeseung said.

"Exactly! That's what I told her." You seemed genuinely pleased that he understood. "But she's on this whole thing about how I need to make more friends and go out more and whatever. So here I am, at a party, making friends." You gestured between yourself and Heeseung. "Look at me, being social."

"You're doing great," Jungwon said, sounding amused.

"Thanks, I'm trying." You checked your phone quickly. "Speaking of my roommate, she's texting me asking where I went. I should probably get back." You looked at Heeseung. "But seriously, add me on league. I meant what I said about playing together."

"Yeah, I will," Heeseung said, and he meant it even though his brain was still trying to process the fact that you were real and standing in front of him.

"Cool. See you guys around." You smiled at both of them and headed back toward the party, weaving through the people in the hallway.

The moment you were out of sight, Heeseung grabbed Jungwon's arm and pulled him toward the front door, outside where it was quieter and they could actually talk without shouting over music. "Dude, what the hell," Heeseung said the moment they were on the sidewalk. "You used her to make the character in the game?"

Jungwon blinked at him. "What? No. What are you talking about?"

"The character in girlfriend simulator. She's exactly like Y/N. Exactly like her, Jungwon. Same face, same personality, same everything."

Jungwon's confusion seemed genuine. "Heeseung, the character customization is completely random for each player. I'm still working on implementing a proper character creator but I ran out of time, so right now it just generates a random appearance based on some base parameters. I didn't use anyone specific as a model."

"That's impossible. She looks exactly like her."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah! I spent fifty one hours with that character. I know what she looks like." Heeseung could hear how unhinged he sounded but he couldn't stop. "And it's not just appearance. The way she talks, the things she said— it's all the same, like, word for word."

Jungwon was quiet for a moment, his expression shifting from confused to concerned. "Okay, I think you need to calm down for a second. I think maybe you played the game too much and now you're seeing patterns that aren't there. Like, you spent all week interacting with this character and now you meet someone who has some similar traits and your brain is making connections."

"Jungwon, I'm not making it up."

"I'm not saying you're making it up, I'm saying your brain might be filling in similarities that aren't actually there." Jungwon pulled out his phone. "Look, I don't even really know Y/N that well. We work on projects together but we don't like, hang out or have deep conversations. I definitely didn't use her as a base for anything."

Heeseung felt something cold settle in his stomach. "Then how do you explain the game knowing things about her? The league stuff, the personality, all of it?"

"The game generates dialogue based on common interests and gaming culture. Lots of people play league. lots of people main support. It's not that weird that there'd be overlap." Jungwon looked genuinely worried now. "Heeseung, I think the game messed with your head more than I thought it would. Maybe we should scrap it entirely."

"No," Heeseung said quickly. "No, I just — I need to understand what happened."

Jungwon sighed. "Look, I actually gave the game to Y/N to test too. A while back, before I gave it to you."

Heeseung's head snapped up. "You what?"

"There's an option in the loading screen. You can choose to play as the protagonist or as the girlfriend. I thought it would be cool to have both perspectives, make it more replayable." Jungwon was scrolling through his phone now. "You didn't see that option?"

"No. There was just a loading screen and then it started."

"Weird. It should have given you a choice." Jungwon pulled up what looked like a message thread. "Anyway, I gave Y/N a beta version to test like a month ago. But she gave it back to me after one day. Said it was too realistic and kind of freaked her out."

"What do you mean too realistic?"

"She said the immersion was too intense. She said it made her uncomfortable how real the boyfriend character seemed." Jungwon looked up from his phone. "Which, now that I think about it, is basically the same thing you've been saying about the girlfriend character."

Heeseung's mind was racing. "So she played it. She played the game from the other perspective."

"Yeah, but just for a few hours. She didn't finish it or anything." Jungwon pocketed his phone. "Why does that matter?"

"I don't know. It just — " Heeseung stopped, trying to organize his thoughts.

Jungwon was watching him carefully. "You look kind of freaked out right now."

Heeseung leaned against the wall of the building, suddenly exhausted. "I just spent a week falling for someone who I thought was just code. And now I find out she looks like a real person and I've been talking to her for the past fifteen minutes like a normal person and I don't know what to do with that information."

"Well, she gave you her discord. You could message her. Play some League together. Get to know the real her instead of the game version." Jungwon paused. "Unless that's too weird for you."

So when Heeseung was ready to leave the party, Jake and Jungwon looked almost disappointed but didn’t argue. They made their way through the crowd toward the front door, and that’s when Heeseung saw you again. You were standing on the sidewalk with two other girls, you were bent over laughing, that genuine kind of laugh where you forget to be self conscious about it.

Heeseung slowed down without meaning to, and Jake nearly walked into him. But then you looked up, like you could sense someone watching. your eyes met Heeseung’s across the sidewalk and you smiled, a smile that felt almost conspiratorial. Like you two were in on a joke that nobody else knew about. Which was insane because you’d met like half an hour ago and had one conversation in a hallway. One of your friends said something and you broke eye contact, still smiling, and climbed into the back seat of the car. Through the window Heeseung could see you saying something that made your friends crack up again. The car pulled away and you didn’t look back, but Heeseung kept staring at the taillights until they disappeared around the corner.

“Okay, what was that?” Jake asked.

“What was what?”

“That whole…” Jake gestured vaguely. “Moment. You guys were having a moment.”

“We weren’t having a moment.”

“You were definitely having a moment. Who was that?”

“Just someone I met. Friend of Jungwon’s.” Heeseung started walking toward their dorm and Jake followed, still looking suspicious.

“You met someone and had a moment with them? At a party? Did I slip into an alternate dimension?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious, this is unprecedented behavior from you. You don’t do moments with strangers.” Heeseung didn’t know how to explain that it hadn’t felt like meeting a stranger. It had felt like running into someone he already knew, someone he’d been thinking about for days. Which was objectively insane but that didn’t make it any less true.

When they got back to the dorm, Jake immediately went to take a shower, still talking about the party through the bathroom door. Heeseung sat down at his desk and opened his laptop, pulling up discord before he could talk himself out of it. He typed your name into the search bar. There were like fifteen results but he scrolled through until he found one account that matched your username, with a profile picture that matched; a cute drawing of what looked like a cat in a witch hat. He clicked on your profile and immediately started going through your connected accounts and activity like some kind of creep, but whatever, that’s what public profiles were for, right?

Steam account: 847 hours in League of Legends, which was honestly rookie numbers compared to his own. Recently played Roblox, which he wasn’t going to judge because he had his own embarrassing game collection. He’d been growing a garden in Grow a Garden for like six months now and his sunflowers were thriving, thank you very much. Stardew Valley with 234 hours, which was extremely respectable and also adorable. Unpacking with a lot of hours, which he’d never played but had heard good things about. And The Sims 4 with an amount of hours that suggested you had a serious problem with simulation games. Which, to be honest, he kind of had it now too.

Your Spotify was connected too and he could see you’d been listening to a lot of bedroom pop and indie stuff. Your about me section just said “life ain't cookies n cream lil fella,” which made Heeseung chuckle. You had a sense of humor, which is something he kind of already knew, even though he only knew the game version of you.

Heeseung realized he’d been sitting there scrolling through your profile for like ten minutes and definitely needed to actually send the friend request before this got any weirder. He clicked add friend and then immediately closed his laptop like it might explode. He tried to do other things. He checked his phone. He looked at his algorithms homework and immediately closed that because absolutely not. He reorganized the pens on his desk. He considered making ramen but wasn’t actually hungry. Until his laptop pinged. Heeseung lunged for it so fast he almost his water bottle off the desk. He opened discord and there it was: you accepted his friend request. His heart was doing something stupid in his chest. It was just a discord notification, normal people didn’t have heart palpitations over discord notifications. But Heeseung wasn't normal anymore.

But before he could stop himself, before his brain could catch up with what his hands were doing, he opened the dm and typed hey and then, because apparently he was determined to embarrass himself, he sent the little waving robot sticker that discord suggested unintentionally. He stared at what he’d just done in absolute horror. The waving robot. He’d sent you the waving robot sticker. “Oh my god,” Heeseung said out loud to his empty room. His fingers were already flying across the keyboard.

heeseung: sorry lol heeseung: idk why i sent that heeseung: the robot i mean heeseung: anyway hi

He watched the three dots appear that meant you were typing. they disappeared. appeared again. Disappeared. Heeseung was going to have a heart attack.

you: no the robot was cute you: very welcoming you: really set the tone

Heeseung couldn’t tell if you were making fun of him or not.

heeseung: the tone being what exactly heeseung: desperate? you: i was gonna say endearing but sure we can go with desperate

Heeseung laughed out loud, an actual laugh that made Jake yell “You good?” from the bathroom. Heeseung didn't answer. 

heeseung: cool cool cool love that for me heeseung: starting strong you: you’re doing great you: so did you add me just to apologize for an emoji or was there something else

Heeseung stared at the message. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He could play it cool, say something casual about League or whatever. Or he could be honest, which was terrifying but also the weed was still kind of in his system making everything feel less scary than it probably should.

heeseung: honestly i just wanted to talk to you more heeseung: the conversation in the hallway was cool

The thing was, Heeseung felt bold saying that. Actually bold. This was probably the most direct he’d been with someone (in real life) in years, and he half expected you to think it was weird or too forward or whatever. But you didn’t. You just said “aw that’s sweet, me too!” with a smiley face and kept talking, and Heeseung felt something in his chest unclench. And you talked for hours. About games mostly, because that was the safe territory, the common ground. You told him about how you had been completely consumed by Pokemon Legends ZA, playing it every free moment you had. He admitted he’d loved Arceus when it came out but hadn’t gotten around to ZA yet, and you immediately started telling him everything he was missing out on, your messages coming in quick bursts of enthusiasm about the new mechanics and the Kalos region and how you’d already put in like sixty hours.

You asked him what his favorite games of all time were and he gave you his top five, and you had opinions about all of them, good opinions, the kind that made him want to keep talking just to hear what you’d say next. Somewhere around 1am you sent: “btw you seem really cool hee. we should play something together sometime if you’re down” and Heeseung stared at that message for long enough. You’d called him hee. You’d given him a nickname. And you wanted to play games together. His fingers hovered over the keyboard and he could feel his face getting warm, which was stupid because you couldn’t even see him, but his body didn’t seem to care about logic.

heeseung: yeah definitely heeseung: i’d be really down for that

You sent back a heart emoji and said you had to sleep, and Heeseung said goodnight, and then he just sat there for a minute staring at the conversation like if he looked at it long enough he could figure out what was happening to him. He was down bad, really down bad. Which was insane because he’d been down bad before this even happened, down bad for a video game character that turned out to look exactly like you, and now he was down bad for the actual real you, and his brain couldn’t quite process the overlap. It felt like two separate situations that had merged into one extremely confusing situation that he didn’t know how to handle.

When he finally went to bed that night, he had that specific feeling you get when something really good has just happened and you’re lying in the dark replaying it in your head. That flutter in your stomach, that slight buzz of excitement, that sense that you’ve just met someone who’s probably going to matter. Someone who’s going to take up space in your life in a way you can’t predict yet but can already feel coming.

And he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t spend the entire next week looking for you on campus. Not in a weird way. Or maybe in a weird way, but he was trying to make it not weird. He’d just happen to walk past the design building between classes. He’d just happen to take a longer route to the dining hall that went by the areas where Jungwon said you usually hung out. He’d just happen to check the game design lab when he was meeting Jungwon, looking around all casual like he wasn’t actively scanning for your face.

Monday: nothing. Tuesday: he saw someone with similar hair from behind and did a weird half jog to catch up only to realize it was absolutely not you and he’d just chased down a complete stranger for no reason. Wednesday: he sat in the campus coffee shop for two hours pretending to do homework but really just watching the door. Thursday: more nothing. By friday Heeseung was starting to think maybe you were a figment of his imagination, maybe the whole party had been a fever dream, maybe he’d made you up entirely. So by afternoon Heeseung had given up. He was going to the library to actually do the algorithms homework he’d been ignoring all week, and he was going to stop being a weird person who wandered around campus hoping to accidentally run into someone.

Except then he walked into the library and saw you. You were tucked into a corner on the second floor, the quiet study section where people went to actually focus. Your laptop was open in front of you, headphones on, and you were doing that thing where you chewed on your pen cap while reading something on the screen. There were books and papers scattered around you in what looked like organized chaos, and your coffee cup said something in sharpie that Heeseung couldn’t read from where he was standing like a creep behind a bookshelf.

Okay. Okay, this was fine. This was a normal situation. You were here, he was here, both of you were in a library because that’s what students do. He just had to walk over there and say hi. Simple. Easy. Not weird at all. But what if you were in the zone? What if you were working on something important and he interrupted and you got annoyed? What if you didn’t actually want to see him and had just been being polite when you said you should play games sometime? He could just sit near you, not like right next to you, but in the general area. That would be natural. He needed to study anyway, it made sense to sit in the quiet section. So he picked a table that was close but not too close. Close enough that you might notice him but far enough that it didn’t look intentional.

He sat down and pulled out his laptop and his textbook, arranging them very carefully, very normally. Then he just sat there, staring at his algorithms homework. Not doing it, just staring. But five minutes passed and you hadn’t looked up. Heeseung opened his laptop. Closed it. Opened it again. He was being ridiculous. He should just get up and go say hi because that’s what normal people did. Normal people didn’t stage elaborate accidental meetings, they just walked up and said hello. He stood up, sat back down, stood up again. And then you finally looked up. Heeseung froze, half standing, half sitting, in the most awkward position possible. You pulled off your headphones and your face went from confused to surprised to happy in the span of like two seconds.

“Heeseung?” You said, keeping your voice library quiet. “What are you doing?”

“Studying,” Heeseung said too quickly, and then realized he was still in that weird half crouch position and sat down properly. “I mean, I was about to. study. I’m here to study.”

You smiled and Heeseung’s brain stopped for a moment. “Oh cool. Me too, obviously.” You gestured at your chaos of books and papers. "Working on this project that’s slowly killing me.”

“Do you want company?” Heeseung asked, and then immediately wanted to take it back because what if you said no, what if you were here specifically to study alone, what if—

“Yeah, actually that’d be nice.” You started clearing some space on your table, moving books and papers around. “I’ve been here for like three hours and I’m losing my mind. Could use a distraction.” So Heeseung grabbed his stuff and moved to your table, trying very hard to look like this was a normal thing he did all the time, sitting with people in libraries, being a person who had casual study sessions with other people. “So,” you said, once he was settled across from you. “What are the odds we both ended up in the same random corner of the library?”

“Pretty low, probably,” Heeseung said. “Weird coincidence.”

You agreed, and there was something in the way you said it that made Heeseung think maybe you knew it wasn’t really a coincidence, maybe you’d seen him doing his weird laps around the second floor, but you were being nice about it. You settled into studying, or at least Heeseung pretended to study while you actually did work. You’d put your headphones back on but kept one ear uncovered, just in case he needed to ask you something about something, which he definitely wasn’t going to do because he wasn’t actually reading anything on the page in front of him.

Instead he was watching you, maybe in a weird way, but he couldn’t help it. Because sitting there across from you, seeing you up close in the quiet library light, Heeseung was hit with how much you looked like the character from the game. It wasn’t just the face, though that was uncanny enough. It was the mannerisms and the little things, like the way you bit your bottom lip when you were concentrating, eyes narrowed slightly at your screen. The way you’d tuck your hair behind your ear every few minutes even though it would just fall back. The way your nose would scrunch up a little when you read something confusing. He’d seen all of this before, dozens of times, in the game. I mean you had done all of these exact things, in the game.

You looked up suddenly and Heeseung’s eyes immediately darted to his textbook, pretending he’d been reading the whole time. He could feel you looking at him for a second before you went back to your work, and Heeseung let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. This happened like four more times. Very smooth. Very natural. Definitely not obvious at all.

Then you checked your phone and made a small sound of surprise. “Oh shit, I have class in ten minutes.” You started packing up your stuff quickly, shoving papers into your bag without any real organization. “I totally lost track of time.”

“Yeah, me too,” Heeseung lied, because he’d been very aware of every single minute.

You stood up, slinging your bag over your shoulder, and then you leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. Just like that. Casual and quick. Your lips pressed against his cheek for maybe half a second before you pulled back. “Thanks for keeping me company,” you said, smiling. “See you later, Hee.”

And then you were gone, weaving through the tables toward the stairs, and Heeseung just sat there frozen. His hand slowly came up to touch his cheek where you’d kissed him, like he needed to confirm it had actually happened. His face felt hot. His brain felt scrambled. You’d kissed him on the cheek. People did that, right? That was a normal friend thing? Except you barely knew each other so were you even friends? And why did his cheek feel like it was burning? And Heeseung realized he was just sitting there touching his face like a complete idiot and forced himself to put his hand down. He should pack up, he should go to his next class. He should do literally anything except sit here having a crisis over a cheek kiss. But he didn’t move, he just sat there, staring at nothing, replaying the moment over and over. 

“You good, man?” Heeseung’s head snapped up. Jungwon was standing next to the table, looking at him with concern and also amusement, which was a terrible combination.

“When did you get here?”

“Like two minutes ago. You were very deep in thought.” Jungwon sat down and then casually tossed something onto the table. The switch cartridge, the Girlfriend Simulator cartridge. Heeseung stared at it. “I fixed the game.” Jungwon leaned back in his chair, looking proud of himself. “You can keep playing from where you left off. It was easier to fix than I thought it’d be, just had to rebuild some of the backend routing for the post game content.” Heeseung picked up the cartridge, turning it over in his hands. "The save file's intact," Jungwon continued. “All your progress is still there. The new game plus should work now. I tested it on my switch and it loaded fine."

"Thanks,” Heeseung said, and his voice came out quieter than he meant it to. He shoved the cartridge into his bag and stood up. “I’m leaving."

“Don’t you have that lecture in twenty minutes?”

“Don’t care. Bye.” He left Jungwon sitting there chuckling and headed straight out of the library, across campus, back to his dorm. Jake wasn’t there, which was good because Heeseung didn’t need any more people commenting on his alleged vibe. He sat down at his desk and just looked at the cartridge for a minute. He should think about this. should consider whether playing the game again was a good idea now that he knew you, the real you. Now that things were getting complicated in a way that made his head hurt. But he wasn’t thinking. He was just plugging in his switch, loading up the game, watching the title screen appear with its soft music and clean typography.

continue from last save? yes / no

Heeseung pressed yes immediately. The world materialized around him in that same disorienting rush, colors bleeding into focus, sounds filtering in like someone was slowly turning up the volume. When his vision cleared, he was standing exactly where he’d left off at the park. The fireflies were still drifting lazily through the air like they’d been paused mid flight waiting for him to come back. And you were still sitting on the same bench, looking at him with an expression that made Heeseung’s chest tight.

“You’re back,” you said, and your smile was so genuinely happy it hurt to look at. You stood up and walked over to him, and Heeseung noticed the way the game rendered every detail. The way your hair moved, the exact shade of your eyes, the slight flush on your cheeks. “I missed you.” The words hit him harder than they should have. Heeseung opened his mouth and closed it, trying to figure out what to say. In the game, no time was supposed to have passed. He’d left right after your confession, after the kiss, and now he was back and theoretically it should feel like seconds had gone by. But for him it had been days. Almost a week. A week where he’d met the real you, talked to you, sat across from you in a library, felt your lips on his cheek.

Dialogue options appeared: > i missed you too > sorry i was gone so long > it feels like it’s been forever

Heeseung picked the first one because it was the most honest. “I missed you too,” he said, and he meant it in a way that felt complicated and confusing.

You stepped closer, close enough that Heeseung could see the individual pixels that made up your irises, except they didn’t look like pixels at all. “I was worried you wouldn’t come back,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “After everything, I thought maybe you’d just… disappear.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Heeseung said automatically, and then felt weird about it because he kind of had done that, he’d been gone for days even if the game didn’t register it that way.

romantic interest: 100% | relationship status: committed | new content unlocked

You reached up and touched his face, your hand warm against his cheek, and Heeseung’s brain short circuited a little because he could feel it. the texture of your palm, the slight pressure of your fingers. This level of detail shouldn’t be possible. “I really like you,” you said, looking directly into his eyes. “Like, a lot. Is that okay?”

Before Heeseung could pick a dialogue option for that, you kissed him. It wasn’t like the first kiss, this was different. Your hand slid from his cheek to the back of his neck and you pressed closer, and Heeseung forgot for a second that this was supposed to be a game. His hands found your waist automatically, pulling you against him, and you made this small sound that he felt more than heard. When you pulled back, you were breathing harder and your eyes had this look in them that Heeseung recognized from somewhere, that slightly dazed expression people get when they’re thinking about something they want. “Do you want to come back to my place?” You asked, your voice lower now, and your hand was still on the back of his neck, fingers playing with his hair in a way that was extremely distracting.

quest update: relationship progression available | warning: mature content ahead | proceed? yes / no | action options: > yes, i’d like that > maybe we should slow down > are you sure?

Heeseung stared at the options. What the fuck. What the actual fuck. This was new, this was definitely new. The game had never had anything like this before. Jungwon had mentioned adding post game content but he definitely hadn’t mentioned adding this kind of content. “Heeseung?” You said, tilting your head slightly. “You okay? We don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought—”

“No, I want to,” Heeseung said, picking the first option before he could overthink it. “I definitely want to.”

Your smile turned into something that could only be described as pleased, maybe a little mischievous. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You took his hand, lacing your fingers through his, and started walking. The park dissolved around you in that smooth transition the game did, colors bleeding together and reforming into a new location, your apartment, and it looked different now, with softer lighting, more intimate somehow. There was music playing quietly from somewhere, something ambient and atmospheric. You let go of his hand and walked further, then turned to look at him. “You can sit down, you know. You don’t have to just stand there.” Heeseung moved to the couch and sat down, hyperaware of every movement, every detail. His hands felt sweaty and his heart was racing. This was insane, this was absolutely insane. He was about to have virtual sex with a video game character that looked exactly like a real person he’d just met and had a weird complicated semi crush on. You sat down next to him, close enough that your thigh pressed against his. “Can I ask you something?” You said.

“Sure.”

“Why did you come back?” Your expression was serious now, searching his face. “I mean, you finished the route. You got the good ending. You didn’t have to come back.”

dialogue options: > i wanted to see you again > i wasn’t ready to say goodbye > because i care about you

Heeseung picked the third option. “Because I care about you,” he said, and it felt true even though it shouldn’t, even though you were code, even though this wasn’t real.

“I care about you too,” you said quietly. Then you leaned in and kissed him again, and this time Heeseung didn’t think about the game mechanics or the dialogue options or any of it. He just kissed you back. Your hands slid under his shirt and Heeseung gasped slightly at the sensation, the feeling of your fingers on his skin. It felt real, too real, like impossibly real. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes dark. “Is this okay?” You asked, your hands still under his shirt, warm against his stomach.

action options: > yes > this is more than okay > [pull her closer]

Heeseung picked the third option and pulled you closer, and you made this satisfied sound and kissed him harder. You shifted in his lap so you were straddling him, and Heeseung’s brain was trying very hard to process the logistics of what was happening. This was a Nintendo Switch game. This was running on a console made for Pokemon and Mario Kart. There was no way this level of content was actually programmed in here. You smiled and kissed his jaw, then his neck, and Heeseung felt his brain dissolve into static. Your teeth grazed his skin lightly and he made a sound that was probably embarrassing but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

intimate scene progression: 45% | continue? yes / no current comfort level: high | romantic tension: maximum |achievement unlocked: relationship deepening

The notifications kept appearing in his peripheral vision and Heeseung tried to ignore them because they were extremely distracting and also kind of killing the mood, if a video game could have a mood, which apparently this one could. “Hey,” you said, pulling back to look at him. Your face was flushed and your lips were slightly swollen and you looked devastating. “You’re thinking too hard. I can tell.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

dialogue options: > nothing’s wrong > this feels really intense > i’m just overwhelmed > i keep forgetting this isn’t real

Heeseung wanted to pick the last option but that felt like it would break something, some unspoken rule about the game. So he picked the third one. “I’m just overwhelmed,” he admitted. “In a good way. You’re just really… a lot. In the best way possible.”

You softened at that, your expression shifting from concerned to affectionate. “You’re sweet, you know that?” You kissed his cheek. “We can slow down if you want. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“No, I want this,” Heeseung said, and he did, desperately, even though he knew he probably shouldn’t. “I’m just trying to figure out how this is even possible.”

“How what’s possible?”

“You. This. All of it.” Heeseung knew he wasn’t making sense but the words kept coming anyway. “You feel so real. More real than anything I’ve experienced before. More real than most things I've experienced in actual life, honestly."

You looked at him for a long moment, something unreadable in your expression. Then you said, very quietly, "Maybe that’s because I am real.”

The world glitched. Just for a second, so quick Heeseung almost missed it. The lighting flickered, the textures of the room seemed to shift and resettle, and there was this sound, like static, like interference. You didn’t seem to notice. You were still looking at him with that same expression, waiting for him to respond. error log: reality sync mismatch detected | warning: boundary deviation exceeding normal parameterssystem status: unknown variable introduced

“What do you mean?” Heeseung asked, his voice coming out strained.

“I said maybe I’m real. Maybe this is real. Does it matter?” You touched his face again, gentle. "Does it change anything if I'm real or not real? You’re here, I’m here, this moment exists. Isn’t that enough?”

dialogue options:> yes, that’s enough > no, i need to understand what’s happening >i think something’s wrong with the game > [kiss her to avoid answering]

Heeseung stared at the options, his heart pounding. Part of him wanted to pick the second or third option, wanted to understand what was happening, wanted to figure out why the game was doing things it shouldn’t be able to do. But another part of him, the larger part, just wanted to stop thinking and exist in this moment with you, real or not real, code or person or whatever you were. So he picked the fourth option. His hands moved before his brain could catch up— one sliding to the small of your back, the other cupping your jaw  —  and he pulled you in, kissing you like the question itself might disappear if he just didn't let go. You made a soft, surprised sound against his lips, but it melted into something needier, as you kissed him back just as fiercely.  His hands slid up your thighs, over the soft fabric of your dress, until his fingers found the hem. He tugged lightly, a silent question, and you answered by pressing closer, your body rolling against his in a way that pulled a rough sound from his throat.

action options: > pull her closer > slide hands under her dress > grip her waist and guide her hips > [kiss her neck]

Heeseung didn't even look at the options properly this time. He picked the third one instantly, fingers digging into your waist as he pulled you flush against him, guiding the slow, deliberate grind of your hips. You gasped into his mouth, nails scraping lightly down his chest through his shirt, and the sound you made was needy and it went straight through him. "Heeseung," you breathed, breaking the kiss just enough to look at him. your cheeks were flushed deep, lips swollen and wet, dress riding up slightly from the way you were moving in his lap. "You feel—"

He didn't let you finish. He kissed you deeper, harder, tongue sliding against yours like he needed to taste every part of you. One hand stayed firm on your waist, keeping the rhythm, while the other slipped higher under the hem of your dress, tracing the bare skin of your thigh. You shivered, thighs tightening around his hips, and he felt you press down harder, chasing the friction. You pulled back suddenly, just far enough to grab the bottom of his shirt. Your eyes locked on his, asking. He nodded once, barely, and you tugged it up and over his head in one smooth motion. The second it was gone, your hands were on him again, palms sliding over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle like you were mapping him out. "Better," you whispered, voice rough now, and then your mouth was on his collarbone, kissing down his chest, teeth grazing just enough to make him hiss. Heeseung's head fell back against the couch for a second, eyes squeezing shut, before he surged forward again.

action options: > pull the straps of her dress down > flip her onto the couch > trace her back and pull her even closer > [let her take control]

He picked the third, hands sliding up your back under the thin straps of your dress, fingers splaying wide as he pulled you impossibly closer. Your chest pressed against his, skin on skin now except for the flimsy fabric between you, and he could feel your heart racing just as fast as his. You moaned softly against his neck, hips moving faster, more desperate, and Heeseung matched the rhythm, guiding you with his grip on your waist. Every roll of your body against his made his breath catch, made the heat coil tighter low in his stomach. Your hands were everywhere — his hair, his shoulders, nails dragging down his back— and he was losing it, completely losing it.

action options: > slip the straps down her shoulders > lift the dress over her head > tease the hem higher > [kiss her while undressing her]

He picked the first one, sliding the straps down slowly, watching as the dress loosened and slipped lower, exposing more of your skin. You didn't stop him, instead, you arched your back slightly, helping it along, your eyes locked on his with a look that dared him to keep going. The dress pooled around your waist, and Heeseung's breath caught at the sight of you, bare from the waist up, the soft curve of your breasts rising and falling with each breath. "God," he muttered, voice barely audible, and then he leaned in, mouth finding the sensitive spot on your neck. He kissed there first, open mouthed, then grazed his teeth lightly, sucking just enough to leave a faint mark. You tilted your head back, giving him better access, a low moan escaping your lips that vibrated against his skin. Your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, and Heeseung felt that coil of tension wind tighter, his hips bucking up instinctively to meet your rhythm. The friction was maddening, too much and not enough, and he could feel himself hardening against you, the thin layers between you doing nothing to dull the sensation.

intimate scene progression: 92% | arousal level: peak | system warning: immersion threshold breached

A faint static hum buzzed in his ears for a split second, the room's edges blurring like a bad render, but it passed as quickly as it came. You didn't notice, or if you did, you didn't care — your focus was on him, on the way his mouth moved down your neck to your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You pulled back just enough to look at him, your face flushed, eyes glassy with want. "Heeseung," you said, voice husky and breathless, "Do you want to take this to the bedroom? We can… get more comfortable."

The action wheel popped up: action options: > carry her to the bedroom > pull her up and walk together > push her down on the couch instead > [deepen the kiss and decide later]

Heeseung picked the first one without a second thought. In one fluid motion, he stood, arms wrapping around your waist to lift you effortlessly. You yelped in surprise, legs wrapping around his hips instinctively. the sudden shift made you cling to him, arms around his neck, and Heeseung kissed you hard as he carried you, tasting the salt on your lips from the heat of the moment. The transition was seamless, the game dissolving the living room around you in that familiar bleed of colors, reforming into your bedroom. Soft lighting from a bedside lamp, sheets rumpled like they'd been waiting, the air thicker somehow. Heeseung lowered you onto the bed gently, following you down, his body covering yours as he settled between your legs. You looked up at him, hands sliding down his chest to his waistband, fingers teasing the edge. "Now where were we?" You whispered, pulling him closer.

Heeseung lowered you onto the bed gently, the mattress dipping under your combined weight as he settled between your legs. Your dress was already bunched high on your thighs, and the air between you crackled with anticipation. You looked up at him through half lidded eyes, hands tugging at his waistband, pulling him closer until his hips pressed against yours. The heat of you through the thin fabric was driving him insane — his hands braced on either side of your head, breath ragged as he leaned down to kiss you again, deeper, hungrier.

But just as his fingers brushed the hem of your dress to slide it off completely, everything froze. The world glitched hard; colors inverting for a split second, a low error chime ringing in his ears like a nintendo switch low battery warning. You froze mid motion, lips parted, eyes wide and unblinking, like a paused cutscene. The music cut out. Notifications exploded across his vision in a pop up that took over half the screen:

kink compatibility survey | new content unlock: personalized intimacy  | please select preferences to optimize experience (this will not affect main storyline) > time remaining: 30 seconds

Heeseung blinked, staring in horror as a massive form materialized, checkboxes scrolling down like some deranged tinder profile from hell:

> light bondage (ropes/silk)  > dirty talk  > praise kink  > edging/teasing  > oral focus (giving)  > oral focus (receiving)  > spanking/light impact  > roleplay  > sensory play (blindfold/ice)  > vanilla only  > [custom: type here] slider: intensity (1-10)  | save & continue

His face burning hotter than the tension from seconds ago. "What the fuck is this?" His thumbs mashed the joy cons frantically, heart pounding from equal parts embarrassment and urgency. Thirty seconds? He wasn't even thinking straight — he just spam clicked the safe ones to get it over with. Checkmark on praise kink. Oral focus (both). Dirty talk (why not, he was already losing his mind). Slider cranked to 7 because... yeah. No bondage — keep it simple, game. Vanilla only stayed unchecked because apparently this freakshow had layers.

preferences saved! | compatibility: 92% | resuming scene...

The pop up vanished with a cheerful ding. You unfroze instantly, blinking like nothing happened, your hands resuming their path down his chest. "Hee?" you murmured, voice soft and teasing, thighs parting wider beneath him. "You okay?"

He swallowed hard, brain still reeling. "Yeah, yeah." You smiled, wicked and knowing somehow, and pulled him down into another kiss. His hands finally obeyed, pushing the dress the rest of the way off your hips, sliding it down your legs until you were bare except for your underwear. The sight of you all spread out hit him. He trailed kisses down your chest, mouth closing over one nipple, sucking gently as you arched into him with a gasp. "You feel perfect," he whispered against your skin, the praise slipping out naturally, and you shivered, fingers threading into his hair. His hand slid lower, between your thighs, fingers brushing over the damp fabric of your underwear. You moaned his name, hips lifting eagerly, and Heeseung pressed harder, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that had you writhing. "So wet for me already," he murmured, voice rough with want, testing the dirty talk, and god, it worked, because your breath was hitching beautifully.

You tugged at his pants impatiently. "Off. Now." He obliged in a blur, shedding them along with everything else until there was nothing between you. He hooked his fingers into your underwear, pulling them down slowly, eyes locked on yours as he tossed them aside.

action options: > taste her first > enter her slowly > tease with fingers > [let her guide]

He picked the first, Heeseung's mind was a haze of want and disbelief as he settled between your thighs, your legs parting wider for him like an invitation he couldn't refuse. The sight of you — bare, glistening, so ready —made his mouth water. This is a game, he reminded himself, heart pounding. Just a fucking game. I can do whatever I want. Things I'd never have the guts to try in real life. No judgment, no consequences. Just you, writhing under him, and the freedom to indulge every filthy thought he'd ever buried.

He hooked his arms under your thighs, pulling you closer until his face was buried between your legs. His tongue flicked out experimentally at first, tasting you, sweet and tangy, like nothing he'd imagined, but better. You bucked against him with a sharp gasp, and that sound flipped a switch. Heeseung groaned against you, the vibration making you whimper, and he dove in deeper, tongue flat and broad as he licked a slow, deliberate stripe from your entrance to your clit. "Fuck, you taste so good," he murmured, voice muffled against your skin, dirty words spilling out because why the hell not? In real life, he'd be too shy, too careful, but here? He could be filthy. "So wet for me already, dripping down my chin. You like that, huh?"

You moaned louder, hands fisting the sheets, then tangling in his hair to pull him closer. "Yes god, Heeseung don't stop." Your voice was wrecked, breathy and desperate, and it fueled him. He sucked your clit into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it in circles, then flicking fast and hard, alternating with long, sloppy licks that had you trembling. His fingers dug into your thighs, holding you open, spreading you wider so he could bury his face deeper, nose pressing against you as he devoured you like he was starving.

action options: > add fingers > suck harder > tease her entrance > [talk dirtier]

He picked the fourth mentally, because fuck it, this was his chance to let loose. "Tell me how good it feels," he growled, pulling back just enough to blow cool air over your slick folds, watching you shiver. "Tell me you want my tongue fucking you deeper."

"Please," you gasped, hips grinding up toward his mouth, chasing the contact. "Heeseung, your tongue— fuck, it's so good. Deeper, I need it deeper."

He plunged his tongue inside you, thrusting it in and out, mimicking what he wanted to do with his cock later. His thumb found your clit, rubbing firm circles while he tongue fucked you, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. You were soaking him, face, chin, and he loved it, lapping it up greedily, humming in approval at how messy it was getting. "You're gonna come on my face, aren't you?" He taunted, voice rough and low, pulling back to suck your clit again, harder this time, teeth grazing just enough to make you cry out. "Do it. Come for me, show me how much you love my mouth on this pretty pussy."

You arched off the bed, a broken moan tearing from your throat as the orgasm hit, waves crashing through you. Heeseung didn't stop, licking you through it, drawing it out until you were oversensitive and twitching, begging him to ease up. only then did he pull away, lips shiny and swollen, grinning up at you with a wicked, satisfied look. "Good girl," he praised, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, though he didn't really want to, part of him liked the mess, the evidence. you were panting, eyes hazy as you reached for him. He crawled back up your body, capturing your lips in a kiss that let you taste yourself on his tongue, another thing he'd never dare in real life, but here it felt right, hot. "You taste yourself? So fucking dirty," he whispered against your mouth, positioning himself at your entrance. "Ready for more?"

"Yes please," you begged, nails digging into his shoulders, your voice a needy whine that made his cock twitch against you. You were so wet, slick from his mouth and your own release, and Heeseung could feel the heat radiating from you, pulling him in. But before he could thrust forward, the game intervened again again: 

position selection: customize your intimacy  > missionary (classic connection)  > doggy style (deeper access)  > her on top (let her ride)  > against the wall (intense standing)  > [spooning (gentle side entry)]  

Heeseung stared at the options, a mix of arousal and exasperation flooding him. Jungwon, you pervert, he thought, adding a fucking position menu? He timer was ticking— 15 seconds — and you were frozen mid breath, eyes locked on his with that desperate, submissive Gaze that made him want to wreck you. He picked the third option fast, because fuck, the idea of you riding him, taking control but still under his command? Yeah, that was it. The menu vanished with a satisfied beep, and the scene resumed seamlessly. You blinked, as if nothing happened, but your hands were already pushing at his chest gently, urging him to lie back. "Let me... let me ride you," you murmured, voice soft and obedient, like you were reading his mind, or the game's script. "Please? I want to make you feel good."

Heeseung grinned, dark and dominant, shifting onto his back and pulling you with him until you straddled his hips. His hands gripped your thighs hard, fingers digging in possessively as he looked up at you, flushed, eager, completely at his mercy. "Yeah? You wanna ride my cock like a good girl?" He growled, the words coming easier now, dirtier, because this wasn't real life. No holding back. 

You whimpered, hands bracing on his chest, your hips grinding down instinctively against his length, coating him in your wetness. "Please, Hee... I need you inside me so bad. I'll be good."

Fuck, he thought, she's so subby, so perfect. The game's kink sync must've kicked in, amplifying everything — your voice trembling, eyes wide and pleading, body arching like you were made to submit. Heeseung's hands slid up to your hips, guiding you, lifting you just enough to position himself at your entrance. "That's my girl. Sink down on me slow— let me watch you take every inch." You obeyed instantly, lowering yourself onto him, the head of his cock pushing past your folds, stretching you open. It was agonizingly slow, and Heeseung groaned low in his throat, feeling the tight, wet heat envelop him inch by inch. You were so fucking real, hotter than any game should allow, clenching around him like velvet, your walls fluttering as you took him deeper.

"Oh god you're so big," you gasped, head falling back, eyes fluttering shut as you adjusted, a shiver running through you. It felt too real, the stretch, the fullness, the way he throbbed inside you, every vein and ridge pressing against your sensitive spots. Heeseung could feel it all, amplified, like the game had cranked the sensitivity to max. Sweat beaded on his skin, your thighs trembling around him, and for a second, he forgot it was code — this was you, real you, riding him.

intimate scene progression: 98% | dominance level: high | submission sync: optimal | warning: haptic feedback overload

A faint glitch rippled through the air — the lamp flickering, your moan echoing with a digital edge for a heartbeat — but it only made him thrust up harder, hands gripping your ass to pull you down rougher. "Ride me, baby. Bounce on my cock," he commanded, voice gravelly and demanding, slapping your ass lightly to spur you on. "Faster, come on."

You moaned louder, hands on his chest for leverage as you started moving up and down, hips rolling in circles that ground your clit against him. "Like this? Fuck, Heeseung it feels so good— you're so deep." Your voice broke on a whimper, body obeying his every cue, riding him harder, faster, tits bouncing with each thrust.

Heeseung bucked up to meet you, thrusting deep enough to make you cry out, one hand sliding up to wrap around your throat gently. "That's it, take it all. You're mine in here, aren't you? My perfect little girl, creaming all over my cock." You clenched tighter, nodding frantically.

"Yes—fuck, Heeseung, I love it. You're so deep, so big...." Your voice was breathy, submissive, breaking on moans as you submitted completely, body moving exactly how he wanted, faster when he slapped your ass, slower when he pulled you down hard.

action options: > thrust up harder > put a finger in her mouth > choke lightly > [pull her hair]

Heeseung picked the second without hesitation, his thumb tracing your lower lip before pushing it into your mouth. You sucked on it immediately, tongue swirling around it like it was his cock, eyes half lidded and locked on his, so obedient it made his dick twitch inside you. "That's it, suck it like a good girl," he rasped, your wet lips wrapped around his finger, drool starting to drip. "Imagine it's my cock in your mouth while I fuck this tight pussy. You'd take both, wouldn't you?" You moaned around his thumb, sucking harder, hips stuttering as the added sensation pushed you closer to the edge. Then, in the corner of his screen, a new notification flickered: partner preference update: increase roughness? yes / no | affinity: high for dominant play

She likes it rougher? Heeseung thought, a smirk tugging at his lips as he mentally selected yes. Wow, this is way easier than in real life. The game adjusted instantly, your moans turning needier, body arching more desperately as he ramped up the intensity. "You want it rougher, huh?" He taunted, pulling his thumb from your mouth with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting it to your lips. He grabbed your hips hard enough to bruise — if this were real— and thrust up sharply, slamming into you with more force. "Beg for it then. Tell me how bad you want me to wreck this pussy."

"Please—fuck me harder, Heeseung," you cried out, leaning forward to brace on his shoulders as you rode him faster, chasing the roughness.

intimate scene progression: 99% | climax indicator: approaching for both | options: prolong / climax now / switch position

The bar flashed red in his peripheral, both your arousal meters pulsing near max. He could feel it too, the coil tightening low in his gut, your body starting to tense and shake. But Heeseung wasn't ready to end it. He selected prolong and switch position, flipping the script. He rolled you both over, pulling out just long enough to maneuver you onto your side, spooning behind you. His chest pressed to your back, one arm wrapping around your waist to hold you tight, the other lifting your thigh high. "Not yet," he whispered hot against your ear, nipping the lobe. "Gonna fuck you like this now." You nodded weakly, pushing your ass back against him. Heeseung thrust back in from behind, the angle hitting deeper, his cock dragging against your g-spot with every slow, rough pump. His hand slid between your legs, fingers circling your clit fast and hard, while his other arm pinned you close. "That's my good girl," he growled, pounding into you now, the spooning position letting him grind deep. "Taking it so well." Your moans turned into desperate sobs, body arching back into him.

Heeseung's thrusts were relentless, his cock dragging deep inside you with every slow, powerful snap of his hips. You were a whimpering mess against him, back arched, ass grinding back to meet him as his fingers worked your clit in tight, fast circles. "Fuck you're so tight like this," he growled, teeth grazing your shoulder, leaving a mark that made you shiver.

intimate scene progression: 99.5% | climax indicator: critical for both | options: prolong / climax now / switch position

The meters were flashing urgently now, his own arousal bar teetering on the edge, but Heeseung still wasn't done — he wanted more, wanted to push the limits of this insane game until it broke. One more switch, he thought, selecting prolong and switch position again. The game responded instantly, a soft chime echoing as he pulled out, flipping you onto your stomach with rough hands. You gasped at the sudden movement, face down on the bed, ass up as he positioned himself behind you, knees spreading your thighs wide. "On your stomach, baby— ass up for me," he commanded. He slapped your ass hard, the crack echoing, your skin blooming red under his palm, and you cried out, pushing back eagerly like the subby little thing the game had turned you into. "That's right, take it. You love being fucked like this, don't you?"

You nodded into the sheets, voice muffled and needy. "Yes—god, yes, Heeseung." The game's encouragement popped up in his vision — dominance boost: activated | roughness level: max | achievement: total submission unlocked — and it spurred him on, like the system was egging him to go further, deeper into the filth.

He thrust back in from behind, burying himself to the hilt in one rough stroke, the angle hitting even deeper, making you scream into the pillow. His hands gripped your hips bruisingly, pounding into you with brutal force, skin slapping loud and obscene. "So fucking wet, dripping all over me," he snarled, spanking your ass again, harder this time, alternating cheeks until they were stinging red. You arched higher, offering more, moans turning into sobs of pleasure. He tangled one hand in your hair, yanking your head back to expose your neck, lips brushing your ear as he growled, "look at you, taking my cock like a good girl. Beg for more — tell me how much you need me to ruin this pussy."

"Please—ruin me, Heeseung," you begged, voice breaking. The game flashed more incentives — rough play affinity: 100% | continue for bonus immersion — and Heeseung lost it, spanking you in rhythm with his thrusts, pulling your hair tighter to arch your back, fucking you rougher, faster, the bed shaking under the force. Glitches were hitting harder now, but it only made him thrust deeper, the hyper real sensations overwhelming: the sting of your skin under his palm, the tight ripple of your walls around him, your sweat slicked back against his chest.

intimate scene progression: 99.99% | climax indicator: imminent | warning: system overload detected

He was right there, teetering on the edge, cock throbbing inside you, but you twisted slightly, looking back at him with glassy, desperate eyes. "Heeseung — cum inside me, please," you implored. "Fill me up, I need it."

For a split second, his brain stopped. Wait, cum inside? What if— but then reality (or unreality) hit him comically hard. It's a game, dumbass. Pixels can't get pregnant. He almost laughed mid thrust, the absurdity breaking through the haze, but he shoved it aside, diving back. "Yeah? You want me to breed this tight pussy?" He growled, slamming into you harder, spanking one last time for good measure. "Beg for it louder—"

"Yes—fuck, Hee!" You cried, clenching around him desperately, body trembling on the brink. "Cum inside me, please— breed me, make me yours!" That did it. The climax hit like a wave, crashing over you both at once. Heeseung thrust deep one final time, groaning loud as he spilled inside you, feeling the hot pulse of his release mix with your own orgasm, walls milking him dry. You screamed his name, body convulsing under him, the shared peak amplified by the game — sensations exploding, vision blurring with pleasure and glitches alike.

As your body shuddered through the aftershocks, Heeseung collapsed beside you, pulling you close against his chest with a gentleness that felt worlds away from the roughness just moments ago. His arms wrapped around you protectively, one hand stroking your hair softly, fingers threading through the tangled strands like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. The room was still glitching faintly, but he ignored it, focusing on you, on the way your breaths synced with his, slowing down together.

intimate scene complete | aftercare mode: activated | relationship bond: unbreakable | achievement unlocked: emotional intimacy peak

Heeseung pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then your temple, his voice dropping to a whisper, sweet and caring, laced with concern. "Hey... you okay? I got carried away back there. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

You looked up at him, eyes soft and hazy, a small smile tugging at your lips as you snuggled closer, head resting on his chest. "No, Hee... I liked it. A lot. It was perfect." Your fingers traced lazy patterns on his skin, voice turning playful, like the dynamic lingered just a bit. "You made me feel so good. Don't apologize."

He chuckled quietly, relief washing over him, and he hugged you tighter, hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. "Good. I just... want to take care of you now." The game prompted options in his vision, soft and glowing: aftercare options: > hold her closer > kiss her gently > whisper sweet nothings > [offer water/snack] -- he picked the third, leaning down to murmur against your ear, "you're amazing, you know that? So beautiful, so perfect for me. I could stay like this forever." You hummed contentedly, body relaxing fully into his, the contrast hitting him. The glitches were fading, but notifications kept pinging: comfort level: maximum | post intimacy glow: active | save progress? yes / no

You shifted slightly, looking up at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. Affectionate, but something deeper, almost knowing. "Heeseung..." your voice was quiet. "See you out there."

He blinked, confusion creasing his brow. "What do you mean?" He sat up a little, heart picking up again, but before you could answer — or before the dialogue wheel could pop up — the world started dissolving. colors bled out, the room flickering violently, static roaring in his ears like a system crash.

error log: forced logout initiated | reality sync: restored | session terminated

Everything went black. Heeseung jolted upright in his chair, the Switch still clutched in his sweaty hands, the screen dark and powered off. His room came into focus: the dim light from his desk lamp, posters on the wall, the faint hum of his pc in the background. His heart was racing, breaths coming fast, and then he felt a sticky, warm mess in his pants, soaking through his boxers. "What the—" he muttered, voice cracking as the full reality sank in. His face burned hotter than ever, cheeks flaming red as he shifted in the gaming chair. He'd actually cum inside his pants. For real. Not just some weird dream or an asleep fantasy — no, full on, pants ruining orgasm from a Nintendo Switch Girlfriend Simulator game. "Holy shit."

Heeseung stared at the dark screen in his hands, the console now completely powered off, innocent looking with its cute joy cons and pastel buttons. It looked so harmless sitting there on his lap, like it hadn't just mind fucked him for hours and then physically fucked him back. He finally set the switch down on his desk, pushing it as far away as the cords allowed. He groaned, dropping his face into his hands.

After cleaning himself up in the bathroom — which involved avoiding eye contact with his own reflection because he couldn't handle the judgment he knew he'd see there — Heeseung collapsed onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. His body felt loose and tired in a way that should have been relaxing but instead just made him feel deeply, profoundly embarrassed.

The worst part was that he wanted to do it again. That was what really got him. Not the fact that it happened, but the fact that his brain was already thinking about when he could play next, or well, when he could fuck you next. He felt like a teenager who'd just discovered something he definitely shouldn't have and was now completely obsessed with it.

He'd spent most of his Sunday in his room alternating between staring at his Switch and telling himself he absolutely was not going to play it again, which had been moderately successful except for the part where he'd picked it up four different times before forcing himself to put it back down. So on that week, he started walking across campus toward the engineering building, head down and hoodie up because he felt like everyone could somehow tell what he'd done just by looking at him, when he saw you. You were sitting on one of the benches outside the library with your laptop open, clearly working on something, your hair pulled back and you were wearing an oversized hoodie that had some game logo on it he couldn't quite make out from this distance. Heeseung immediately changed direction. 

He took the long way around the building, added an extra five minutes to his walk, and showed up to lecture slightly out of breath. He was very deliberately not thinking about the fact that he'd just actively avoided you. Which was ridiculous. You hadn't done anything, you didn't even know what had happened. You probably hadn't thought about him at all since that day at the library, were probably just sitting there doing homework like a normal person while Heeseung was having a complete psychological breakdown over a video game.

The problem was that every time he thought about you now, his brain immediately supplied images from the game. The way you'd looked at him, the way you moaned, the sounds you'd made, the way you came, the way it had felt so impossibly real that his body had reacted like it was actually happening. And now he couldn't separate that from the real you, the person he'd met at the party who'd been nice and funny and way too easy to talk to. The rest of the week continued like this. He saw you everywhere now, which was ironic because before the party he'd never noticed you once and now you were apparently in every building he entered. Tuesday you were in the coffee shop in the student center. Wednesday you walked past him in the hallway between classes. Thursday he saw you in the library again, this time on the second floor, and he'd actually turned around and walked back out.

His switch was on his desk, fully charged, basically taunting him. He'd managed to avoid playing it all week, had told himself he was being responsible and mature about the whole situation. But he couldn't stop thinking about it. Every time his mind wandered, it went right back to that night, to the game, to you. And his body was betraying him too, which was mortifying. He'd be sitting in lecture and think about the game for half a second and suddenly he'd have to adjust his laptop to hide the fact that he was getting hard in the middle of algorithms class. It happened during study sessions, during meals, during completely random moments when his brain decided to remind him that the game existed and he could play it whenever he wanted.

He felt disgusting. He was kink shaming himself, which he didn't even know was possible, but here he was, lying in bed at two am feeling like a creep for being attracted to a video game character who happened to look exactly like a real person he'd met. But he also couldn't stop thinking about playing again. About whether it would be like the first time or if there were other features, other scenarios. His brain kept supplying possibilities and his body kept responding and he felt trapped in this cycle of shame and want that he didn't know how to break.

And then on friday afternoon, Heeseung was in his dorm trying to focus on an assignment that was due monday when someone knocked on his door with the kind of aggressive persistence that could only be Jungwon. He considered pretending he wasn't home but Jake had already opened the door before Heeseung could say anything. "Oh hey Jungwon," Jake said. "He's here but he's been weird all week so good luck."

"Thanks for the warning," Jungwon said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He went to Heeseung's room and looked at him, who was very deliberately staring at his laptop screen. "Okay, we're going to Five Guys. Get up."

"I'm busy."

"No you're not." Jungwon grabbed Heeseung's hoodie off his chair and threw it at him. "Come on. We're getting burgers and you're going to tell me why you've been ignoring me all week."

"I haven't been ignoring you."

"You answered my texts with one word responses and you've avoided me on campus. That's ignoring me." Jungwon crossed his arms. "So either you come willingly or I'm going to make a scene. Your choice."

Heeseung knew Jungwon well enough to know he absolutely would make a scene. "Fine. But I'm not hungry."

"You're never not hungry. Let's go." And twenty minutes later they were sitting in Five Guys with their orders, the place mostly empty since it was that weird time between lunch and dinner.

Heeseung had been hoping the walk would give him time to figure out what to say to Jungwon, but instead he'd just spent it thinking about the game and feeling more and more uncomfortable. Because the thing was, if Heeseung had done what he'd done in the game, that meant Jungwon had programmed it. Jungwon had sat at his computer and coded in all those options, all those scenarios, all those very specific and detailed features that Heeseung had discovered. Which meant either Jungwon was way more perverted than Heeseung had ever given him credit for, or something else was going on.

"Okay, you're doing it again," Jungwon said, interrupting Heeseung's spiral. "You're being weird and quiet and you won't look at me. What's going on? Is it about the game? Did something break again?"

Heeseung knew he had to say something because this had gone too far. Because if the mature content was intentional, then they needed to have a very different conversation about boundaries and warnings and maybe Jungwon's concerning lack of shame. And if it wasn't intentional, if this was some kind of glitch or malfunction, then that was somehow even worse because it meant the game was doing things beyond anyone's control. Either way, Heeseung couldn't keep avoiding this. Jungwon was his best friend. If he couldn't talk to Jungwon about this, even if it was mortifying, then what was the point of having a best friend? So Heeseung admitted: "Yeah, it's about the game."

"Okay, so tell me." Jungwon looked at him.

"Look, you could've just... you could have warned me that it had adult content." Heeseung forced himself to look at Jungwon. "Like, explicit that I wasn't expecting in a dating simulator."

Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"

"I'm just saying, a heads up would have been nice. I know you're trying to make it realistic but I wasn't prepared for how detailed it was going to get."

"Bro, what are you talking about?"

And then it all came out like Heeseung couldn't stop himself. "I'm talking about the fact that the game has very explicit scenes with very detailed options and I don't know if you've ever actually looked at what you programmed but it's intense, Jungwon. Like the dialogue options were insane, I could say basically anything and the character would respond and some of those options were really freaky. And the action options were even worse, there were so many of them and they were all very specific and very detailed and I'm not going to list them but oh my god and then there was a whole section where it asked me about preferences and kinks and I thought that was just for character building but no, it actually used that information! And there were position suggestions. Position suggestions, Jungwon! With fucking diagrams, man. Why did you add diagrams?! And the whole thing was just very immersive and very realistic and I had a physical reaction that I'm not going to elaborate on but I think you can figure out what I mean and I've been avoiding you all week because I didn't know how to have this conversation without wanting to die of embarrassment."

Heeseung finally stopped to breathe and realized Jungwon was staring at him with an expression of complete bewilderment. "Heeseung," Jungwon said slowly. "I didn't add any of that content."

"What."

"I didn't program explicit scenes. There's no adult content in the game. It's a dating simulator not a porn game. The most intimate it gets is like, hand holding and maybe a kiss at the end if you get the good ending." Jungwon set down his burger. "What are you talking about dude?"

"Don't fuck with me right now."

"I'm not fucking with you, I'm being completely serious." Jungwon was looking at him, shocked. "I didn't add any of that stuff. I wouldn't even know how to program half of what you just described. Like what the fuck is even a kink questionnaire?!"

Heeseung felt cold. "Then how did I experience it, man?!"

"I don't know!" Jungwon was still shocked. "But this actually makes sense now. Y/N's been avoiding me too this week, even more than you have. She won't answer my texts and she literally ran away from me in the hallway yesterday. I thought maybe she was mad at me about something but what if she experienced the same thing you did?"

"What do you mean?"

"Okay, last Friday, remember when you were studying in the library and Y/N left suddenly? I texted her right after she left asking if she wanted to try the updated version of the game and she texted back immediately saying yes and that she was coming to get it right then." Heeseung remembered that day, your phone had buzzed and you'd looked at it and your whole expression had changed, you'd packed up your stuff so fast, muttering something about being late for class even though Heeseung was pretty sure you didn't have class at that time. "She took the game and left," Jungwon continued. "I didn't hear from her after that until she texted me the next day saying she was returning it and that she didn't want to play anymore. And now she won't talk to me."

"What time did she take the game?" Heeseung asked, his voice sounding distant to his own ears.

"I don't know, maybe around four? Four thirty?" Jungwon paused. "Why?"

Heeseung felt like the world was tilting. "I picked up the game from you around four forty five. Remember?"

"Yeah, so?"

"So we both had the game that night. We both played it that same night." Heeseung's mind was racing, putting pieces together. "And you're saying there's no adult content programmed into the game. But we both experienced something intense enough that we're both avoiding you. And we both played it at the same time."

Jungwon's eyes widened. "Oh my god."

"What if—" Heeseung stopped, because what he was about to say sounded insane. But everything about this situation was insane. "What if the game connected us somehow? What if when we both played it at the same time and it put us in the same… I don't know, session?"

"That's not possible because I didn't program any multiplayer features."

"You also didn't program explicit content but I definitely experienced it, man!" Heeseung put his head in his hands. "Jungwon, the character in my game looked exactly like Y/N, exactly like her. And you said the character customization was random."

"It is random. I didn't—" Jungwon stopped. "Wait. She actually said something similar. When she gave the game back she mentioned that the boyfriend character looked really realistic, like someone she could actually know."

Heeseung felt like throwing up. "Did she say who?"

"No, she just said it freaked her out how real he seemed."

Heeseung was pale now. His brain was doing that thing where it tried to process too much information at once and ended up just kind of spinning in place. You had played the game, you had seen a character that probably looked like him. You had found it so realistic it freaked you out. And then you'd played it again last friday, the same day he did, probably around the same time. And Jungwon was sitting here swearing he hadn't programmed any of the content that Heeseung had definitely experienced. Which meant one of two things: either Jungwon was full of shit, which didn't make sense because why would he lie about this, or the game had somehow done something it wasn't supposed to do. Connected two players who didn't know they were playing together, made them interact without telling them, let them do things with each other while both of them thought they were just playing a single player game with really good immersion.

And if that was true, if you'd actually been playing together, then the character Heeseung had been with wasn't just some algorithm. It was you, making choices and responding to him. Doing all those things that he'd been replaying in his head all week. Which meant you'd been doing those things with him, or with a version of him, and you probably had no idea it was real either. So Heeseung stood up so fast his chair scraped against the floor. "What's Y/N's dorm?"

Jungwon blinked at him. "What?"

"Her dorm. Which building is she in?"

"Uh, west campus. Building C, I think? Room 304, why?"

"I gotta go." Heeseung was already grabbing his hoodie.

"Ho where? Heeseung, what—" but Heeseung was already walking, he heard Jungwon call after him something about texting him later but he wasn't really listening. His mind was too busy spiraling through everything he needed to say to you, everything he needed to ask, everything that didn't make sense.

The walk to west campus took fifteen minutes but it felt both longer and shorter than that. Heeseung's hands were shaking and he shoved them in his pockets. He tried to figure out what he was going to say. Hey, so I think we accidentally had virtual sex through a Nintendo Switch last week and neither of us knew it was real. Yeah, that would go over great. Or maybe, hi, remember how we both played that game? Turns out we were playing together. Surprise! Yeah, also worse.

By the time he got to building C, he still hadn't figured it out. Heeseung stood outside the door and realized he couldn't actually get in without a key card or someone letting him in. He was standing there trying to figure out his next move when the door opened and two girls walked out, laughing about something on one of their phones. Heeseung caught the door before it closed and slipped inside. Probably not his finest moment in terms of dorm security, but he was past caring about minor rule violations.

He stood in front of your door for a solid thirty seconds, hand raised to knock, unable to make himself actually do it. This was insane, he was insane. He should turn around and leave and text Jungwon and let Jungwon handle this because Jungwon had made the game and this was technically his responsibility. But he didn't leave, he knocked. And nothing happened for a long moment. Heeseung was starting to think maybe you weren't home, or maybe you were home but ignoring the door, when he heard movement from inside. Footsteps and then a pause. Then your voice, muffled through the door.

"Who is it?"

Heeseung's mouth was dry. "It's Heeseung."

Another pause, longer this time. He could picture you on the other side of the door, probably frozen, probably panicking, probably wondering why the hell he was at your dorm right now. Then the lock turned and you opened the door. You were pale, like actually pale, but you smiled anyway. "Hi Hee. Is… everything alright?"

Heeseung looked at you. You were in pajamas, soft looking sweatpants and an oversized hoodie with some faded band logo on it. Your hair was up in a bun that was more mess than anything else, strands falling out around your face, no makeup. You were standing there at your door at five pm on a friday looking comfortable and real and so pretty it made his chest hurt. He knew he was down bad already. Had been since the game, since the party, since the moment you'd turned around in that park with a flower behind your ear that he'd picked for you except it hadn't actually been you, or maybe it had been, he didn't even know anymore. But looking at you now, in your actual dorm with your actual face and your actual voice saying his name like that, soft and a little worried, he realized the game version hadn't even come close. This was better because this was real.

"Well, yeah, I mean, technically no," he said. Then stopped. "I mean yes. I mean, I need to ask you something and I don't want to sound crazy but I'm probably going to sound crazy anyway so I don't know how to do this without sounding crazy."

Your expression shifted. Something in your eyes changed, like you knew exactly what he was going to say but didn't want to believe it. You stepped back and pulled the door open wider. "Come in."

Heeseung walked into your dorm and tried not to look around but he couldn't help it. The space was small but you'd made it yours, there was a Janna poster on the wall near your desk, the star guardian skin, same one you had on your phone case. Next to it was a persona 5 royal poster that looked like it had been put up carefully. Your Switch was sitting on your desk next to your laptop, the joy cons that soft pink and blue that came with the Animal Crossing edition. Your bed was unmade, blankets pushed to one side like you'd gotten up in a hurry. There were books stacked on your nightstand, a pair of headphones tangled on top of them. A stuffed cat that looked old and well loved sitting on your pillow. It was so much like the apartment in the game that Heeseung felt dizzy. The colors, the vibe, the way things were organized. But also different and better because it was lived in and messy in ways the game couldn't replicate. 

"Do you want water or something?" You were standing by your mini fridge, hand on the door, looking at him with that same careful expression.

And then Heeseung opened his mouth and everything just came out. 

"Jungwon gave me this game to test Called Girlfriend simulator and I thought it was stupid, like, the most desperate thing I could possibly do, like an actual certificate that I'm way too single for a guy my age. But I played it anyway because I can't say no to Jungwon and also because I was curious and I went on this date with this girl and she liked League of Legends and I had to pick this flower that was glowing and she loved it, and this firefly landed on her hand and she smiled at me like and then we played league together and destroyed her ex boyfriends, and we cooked pasta and she helped me because I was burning the garlic and the game kept giving me dialogue options but then I started just talking and it kept responding like it knew what I was going to say. And then things got really intimate, like really intimate, in ways I'm not going to describe because I'll die of embarrassment but you can probably guess what I mean. And the girl, she... she looked exactly like you. Not kind of like you, exactly like you. same face, same voice, same everything. and i talked to jungwon today And he said there's no adult content in the game, that he never programmed any of that, and that you played it too, last friday on the same night I did. And I think we were playing together and I think we were in the same game, in the same session or server or whatever, and I think the characters we were playing with weren't just game characters and I think they were each other. So I need you to tell me right now, does the boyfriend character in your game look like me?"

You were staring at him. Your hand was still on the mini fridge door but you weren't moving. Your face had gone from pale to flushed and your mouth was slightly open like you wanted to say something but couldn't figure out what. Heeseung's heart was pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat and his hands were shaking and he'd just word vomited the entire situation at you without taking a single breath but he couldn't take it back now. You closed the mini fridge. Didn't get water, just stood there looking at him like you were seeing him for the first time. Your eyes were moving across his face, his hair, his shoulders, like you were checking something or maybe confirming something.

"Yes," you said finally. Your voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

The word hung in the air between you. Heeseung felt something in his chest crack open, something between relief and panic and a feeling he didn't have a name for.

"Yes he looks like you," you continued, louder now. "Exactly like you and I thought I was going crazy and I thought Jungwon had somehow used photos of you without telling me, or that I was seeing patterns that weren't there, or that I'd just completely lost my mind. But it was you."

Heeseung took a step closer without meaning to. "You played it last friday."

"Yes."

"Around six thirty."

"Yes."

"And things got—" he stopped, couldn't say it.

"Intense." You finished for him. Your face was completely red now. 

"So it was real." Heeseung's voice sounded strange. "We were playing together. We were with each other and we didn't know it."

You were breathing faster now. He could see your chest rising and falling under your hoodie. "So when I— when we—"

"Yeah." The room got quiet after that. You looked at him and he looked back and there it was again, that pull from the game, except now there was no screen between you. Just him standing in your dorm with his messy hair and that hoodie you'd seen in the character creator, and you knowing exactly how his hands felt even though you'd never actually touched him before. Your breath caught. His did it too, you saw his chest hitch. Neither of you said anything, you both just moved, like someone had pressed play at the same time. He leaned in, you tilted up, and your mouths met in the middle.

You kissed at the same time.

His mind was racing: this is real, this is actually happening. No reset button, no save file, and he could not stop it even if he tried. Your lips were soft and moving against his in a way that made his hands come out of his pockets and find your waist, pulling you in a bit. You felt his fingers press into the fabric of your hoodie, and you responded by sliding your hands up to his shoulders, gripping the soft material there.

The kiss deepened, his tongue brushed yours lightly, exploratory, and you leaned into it, your back arching off the mini fridge as he stepped closer, bodies pressing together now. A small sound escaped you, not a moan exactly, but something involuntary, and Heeseung reacted by tilting his head more, his hand moving up your back under the hoodie, fingers splaying against your skin, warm and calloused a little. His hands shook a little on your hips, and thank god there were no pop up flashing with options like "kiss deeper" or "pull away," and no dialogue tree to pick from. 

You broke for air just a second, foreheads touching, both of you breathing hard. "this is way better than the game," he muttered, voice low and rough, with a tiny grin pulling at his lips.

You huffed a laugh, your hands still on his shoulders. "Shut up." 

You pulled him back in before he could say anything else. This kiss was different, harder, more sure. Your teeth caught his bottom lip and he made a noise he'd be embarrassed about later. His hand came up to your face, thumb against your cheek. Your fingers tangled in his hair and tugged and he pressed you back against the fridge hard enough that the door rattled. He kissed down your jaw, taking his time, and you tilted your head to give him room. Your breathing was coming in short bursts. He got to your neck and stayed there, face buried against your skin, breathing you in. You made a sound that kinda sounded like a purr and that did something in him. In his head, he was scrambling, piecing together bits from the game, like the survey thing, where things got rough, when he knew you liked it rough. But now? No way, he wanted this slow, careful, the way you deserved. He slowed his kisses on your neck, his thumb tracing small circles on your side under the hoodie. Don't rush, idiot, his brain nagged, you're not on a timer here. 

He pulled back just a bit, forehead against yours, and said, "Sorry, this was kinda... out of nowhere."

You shook your head, still trying to catch your breath. "It wasn't."

He looked at your mouth, then back up to your eyes. "If this is weird for you though. With everything. I can stop."

"No." You said it fast, then quieter. "I want this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." you paused, then added quieter, "I haven't stopped thinking about it. Or… you. I can't stop thinking about you."

His brain glitched hard at that. wWait, she what? Holy shit, okay, don't screw this up. And he leaned in again, kissing you deeper now, hands sliding up your back, pulling you flush against him. He nipped at your lip, testing, as things heated back up, his pulse loud in his ears. You pushed him back gently, hands on his chest, guiding him across the room step by step until his back hit the wall with a soft thud. The kiss turned messy then, tongues clashing, breaths mixing in quick gasps, neither of you holding back anymore. Your lips moved to his jaw, nipping lightly, then down to his neck, sucking at the skin there.

He let out an uncontrolled whine, his hands tightening on your hips. That sound made you bolder, so you slipped one hand under his hoodie, fingers tracing the warm skin of his stomach, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. You pulled back up to kiss him again, fast and urgent, teeth grazing his lip. He bent his knees a bit, hands sliding down to your thighs, and lifted you up in one smooth motion. Your legs wrapped around his torso automatically, and he spun you around, pressing your back against the wall now. No action option popped up in his head, no prompt telling him what to do next — he'd done it all on instinct, and that made a quick flash of pride hit him, like he was finally off script, just going with it.

Between kisses, you murmured against his mouth, "Hee, you feel so good."

"You too, god" he breathed back, voice rough. He pressed in closer, his body flush against yours, the bulge in his pants obvious now between your legs. You let out a quiet moan, your head tipping back against the wall. He kept you pinned there against the wall, his hips rolling slow against yours in a rhythm that matched your breaths, each grind pulling a small gasp from you. His hands slid up under your hoodie, fingers spreading wide over your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra as he kissed you deeper, tongue sweeping in like he couldn't get enough. You arched into his touch and nipped at his earlobe, then soothed it with your tongue. He shivered, a low groan escaping him, and you felt him harden more against you, the friction sending sparks up your spine.

He lowered you slowly to the floor, knees bending as he guided you toward the bed, never breaking the kiss. You tugged at his hoodie, pulling it over his head in one messy motion, his hair falling wild as it came off. His skin was warm, flushed, and you ran your hands over his chest, thumbs circling his nipples until they peaked under your touch. He laughed softly, a little breathless, as he peeled your hoodie off next, tossing it aside. His fingers traced the strap of your bra, slipping it down your shoulder before leaning in to kiss the exposed skin.

You pushed him back onto the bed, climbing onto his lap, your thighs straddling his as you ground down slowly, feeling his erection press right where you needed it. His hands gripped your hips, guiding the motion. As his fingers worked the clasp of your bra, letting it fall away, Heeseung's mind clicked into place: this was infinitely better than any simulator. In the game it was all presets, like surveys and options that guessed at what you liked, scripted responses that felt good but flat. Here, he could watch your reactions for real, feel the way your body tensed or relaxed under his hands, discover the spots that made you squirm without a pop up telling him what to do. No algorithms dictating the pace; just trial and error, his lips on your skin, learning from every shiver, every moan. Why settle for a program when he could map you out himself, piece by piece?

Things picked up then, his mouth closing over one of your nipples, tongue flicking slow at first, then sucking harder when you arched into it, your fingers tangling in his hair. "Hee, yes— like that," you breathed, grinding down firmer, the wet heat between your legs soaking through against his sweatpants. He switched sides, hand cupping the other breast, thumb rolling over the peak. He helped you take your sweatpants off, and then his free hand slipped between you, fingers pressing over your clit through your panties, rubbing in tight circles that had you moaning louder, hips bucking. You reached down, palming him through his pants, feeling the outline of his cock twitch under your hand. "You're so hard already," you said, squeezing gently, watching his face contort. He thrust up into your touch, a whine slipping out as he pulled you in for another kiss, messy and deep. 

His fingers dipped under your waistband now, sliding through your slick folds, one dipping inside you slow, curling just right. "So wet, fuck," he whispered, adding another finger, pumping steadily as his thumb found your clit again. You rocked against his hand, breaths coming faster, and tugged at his sweatpants, freeing him enough to wrap your fingers around his length, stroking slow from base to tip, thumb swiping over the precum beading there. He bucked into your grip, groaning into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you. "Keep going," he panted, fingers speeding up inside you, hitting that spot that made your toes curl.

You sped up your strokes, matching his rhythm, the slick sound of your hand on him mixing with the wet push of his fingers in you. He dropped his head to your shoulder, mouthing at your neck, teeth grazing skin as his free hand gripped your thigh hard enough to leave marks. You rolled your palm over the head on every upstroke, spreading the precum down his length, and he thrust into your fist harder, a low whine catching in his throat. His hips stuttered, thrusts into your hand getting erratic, and you felt him swell thicker against your palm. Suddenly he grabbed your wrist, stopping your movement, chest heaving. "I can't— fuck— I'll cum so fast like this."

"Yeah," you breathed, nodding quick, "Fuck, okay." He kissed you hard once more, then pulled his fingers out slow, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean while looking right at you. You bit your lip, heat rushing lower. You shifted back a bit, still catching your breath. "You got a condom?"

"Oh shit," he muttered, eyes widening. He reached down to his sweatpants, still tangled around one thigh from your handjob. And dug into the pocket, fumbling for his wallet. You leaned in, kissing along his neck slow, tongue flicking the spot that made him shiver earlier, just to keep him distracted. He huffed as he finally pulled out the foil packet. He glanced at it, then chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. In the game you didn't need this shit — couldn't exactly knock up pixel pussy. 

He tore the packet open with his teeth, rolling it on quick but careful, hand stroking himself once to settle it. Then he nudged you back onto the bed, settling between your legs as you lay on your back. He kicked off the sweatpants fully, nearly tripping when they caught on his ankle, and you both grinned at the awkward shuffle. He hovered over you, one hand bracing by your head, the other guiding himself, tip brushing through your folds once, twice, coating in your wetness. "You okay?" he asked, voice low, eyes locked on yours.

"Yeah, fuck, please," you said, wrapping your legs around his hips, pulling him closer.

He pushed in slow, the head of his cock breaching you first, that initial stretch making him grit his teeth; tight, wet heat wrapping around him like a vice, slick from all the buildup, but still enough resistance that he had to ease forward inch by inch. His breath caught sharp in his throat, eyes squeezing shut for a second as the sensation hit him full force: warm walls fluttering around him, pulling him deeper, the condom dulling it just a bit but not enough to hide how perfectly you fit, how your body gave way but clung at the same time. He bottomed out with a low groan, hips flush against yours, and stayed there, pulsing inside you, the fullness making his thighs tense.

This was miles better than the game. In the sim, it was all smooth, predictable friction, coded to feel good but always a step removed, like jacking off to a video. Here, though, buried deep in you, he felt every twitch, every squeeze of your cunt around his cock, the real heat radiating through him, the way your wetness coated him completely, Making each tiny shift send sparks up his spine. It was messy and raw, just the obscene reality of how soaked you were, how his balls pressed between your thighs, heavy and tight, begging for more. He started moving then, slow pulls back and thrusts in, the wet slap of skin filling the room as he found a rhythm. You arched up to meet him, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving red lines he could feel stinging already. "Fuck, you're taking me so well," he muttered, voice wrecked, as he snapped his hips harder once, watching your tits bounce with the impact. He leaned down, mouth latching onto your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise while he ground deep, cock dragging along your walls, hitting spots that made you clench tighter around him.

Your legs tightened around his waist, heels pressing into his back, urging him faster, and he obliged, thrusts turning rougher, the bed creaking under you both. He could hear the squelch each time he buried himself balls-deep, your pussy gripping him. "So fucking wet," he groaned against your skin, one hand sliding down to grab your ass, pulling you onto him harder. You moaned louder, fingers tangling in his hair, tugging as he pounded in, the angle shifting so his pubic bone ground against your clit with every thrust.

He flipped you over suddenly, hands on your hips yanking you up onto all fours, and slid back in from behind in one smooth push, deeper this way, his cock curving just right to make you gasp. He started railing you, skin slapping loud, his balls smacking against you with each brutal thrust. You pushed back against him, meeting every snap, your walls fluttering around him, milking him tighter. He reached around, fingers finding your clit, rubbing messy circles while he fucked you harder.

His mind flashed back to the game then, that kink survey popping up, how you'd picked options that leaned heavy into rough. He wondered if it carried over, if real you craved that edge too. Testing it, he drew back a hand and landed a smack on your ass, not too hard, just enough to sting and make the flesh jiggle under his palm. The sound cracked through the room, sharp over the wet slaps of his thrusts. You moaned low, pushing back harder against him, your pussy clenching tight around his cock like a reflex. That reaction lit him up — okay, she likes it — and he felt bolder, the dom side kicking in without overthinking. "Yeah, you take that so good," he groaned, rubbing the spot he smacked, soothing the heat before landing another, a bit firmer this time, watching your skin pink up. 

He kept pounding in, deep and steady, the angle letting him hit that spot inside you that made your knees buckle a little. Reaching forward, he grabbed your wrists, pulling your arms back and pinning them at the small of your back with one hand, your chest dropping lower to the mattress. It arched your ass higher, letting him drive deeper, his free hand gripping your hip hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh there. The restraint made everything tighter, your walls hugging his cock obscenely, slick dripping down his balls with each thrust. "Fuck, I can't take it anymore," he panted, voice breaking as he felt you flutter around him, the build-up coiling tight in his gut.

"Hee—close, I'm so close," you gasped, face pressed into the sheets, hips grinding back desperate now. He picked up the pace, thrusts turning frantic, skin slapping louder, his balls tightening as he railed you harder. "Come on, let go for me, you feel so good clenching like that," he muttered, leaning over you, breath hot on your back. The friction built fast, your moans turning high and broken, and he felt you shatter first, your pussy spasming hard around his cock, milking him in waves, wetness gushing out and coating his thighs. That pushed him over, his hips stuttering as he buried deep one last time, groaning loud as he came, pulsing inside you, the condom catching every thick spurt while your bodies locked together, shaking through it.

You both stayed like that for a minute, chests heaving, sweat cooling on your skin, the room thick with the smell of sex. He was still buried inside you, pulsing faintly with aftershocks, but he didn't want it to end yet. Slowly, he eased out, the condom slick and heavy as he tied it off and dropped it on the floor beside the bed. His hands loosened on your wrists, letting your arms fall forward as you collapsed onto your stomach with a soft groan. He leaned down, lips brushing the small of your back, tasting the salt there, then lower, kissing along the curve where your spine dipped. His teeth grazed the swell of your ass, biting just hard enough to make you twitch, then soothing it with his tongue. You pushed back slightly, thighs parting on instinct, and he took the invitation— hands spreading you open as he dragged his tongue slow from your asshole down to your entrance, lapping up the mess you'd both made. The taste hit him full: tangy, musky, mixed with the latex from the condom and your arousal, thick and real coating his tongue. He groaned into you, diving deeper, tongue pushing inside your pussy, curling to scoop out more, nose buried against you as he ate you out sloppy from behind.

Your hips started rocking back, muffled moans into the pillow, fingers gripping the sheets. He kept going, alternating broad licks up your slit with flicks over your clit, then back to spearing his tongue inside, feeling your walls flutter again. His face was soaked now, chin dripping, lips swollen, as he sucked your clit into his mouth, humming low. You tensed hard, thighs shaking, and came again with a broken cry, pushing back against his face, wetness flooding his mouth as he licked you through it, not stopping until you sagged limp.

He pulled back finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand but mostly just smearing it, face shiny and wrecked. He flipped you over gentle, onto your back, and just looked; your cheeks flushed deep red, hair stuck to your forehead, neck and thighs dotted with fresh bruises from his mouth and grip, chest rising fast. You looked completely fucked out, eyes half lidded, lips bitten raw. His gaze dropped to himself: cock half hard again already, hanging heavy, the used condom on the floor bloated with his load, cum visible through the latex. This was nothing like the game. There, everything reset clean, no mess, no lingering taste on his tongue, no actual bruises blooming on skin. Here, he could smell you on his face, feel the ache in his jaw from eating you out, see the evidence of how hard he'd fucked you. Way better. Infinitely better.

He crawled up beside you, collapsing half on top, one leg tangled with yours, hand resting on your stomach as you both caught your breath again. The air was still thick, sheets twisted around your ankles, and Heeseung shifted a little closer, propping his head on one hand to look at you. He picked up your hand, fingers tracing over your knuckles before bringing them to his lips, kissing each one slow, like he was checking they were real. "Hey," he said soft, "was is... good for you?"

You glanced away for a second, cheeks heating up again, then nodded. "Yeah. Really good." Your voice came out quieter than you meant, thumb brushing his wrist. He smiled small, relieved, and pressed another kiss to your fingertips. You swallowed, still coming down, and mumbled, "want some water?"

"Yeah I'll get it," he said quick, already pushing up. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, then paused mid step, one hand going to his lower back with a quiet "Ow—shit." He stretched a bit, wincing. Last time he'd moved like that was... well, in the game and pixels don't pull muscles. He huffed a laugh at himself and shuffled over to the mini fridge, the floor cool under his feet.

He grabbed two bottles, cracked one open for you first, and came back, sitting on the edge of the bed close enough that his knee bumped yours. You sat up a little, taking the water, and he reached out, fingers threading through your messy hair, smoothing it back gently while you drank. His touch was light, almost absent minded, but steady. You lowered the bottle and just looked at him— hair sticking up, lips swollen, a faint red mark on his neck from earlier. You let out a soft laugh, nose scrunching. he raised an eyebrow, grinning. "Hi."

"Hi," you said back, still smiling.

He tilted his head, thumb brushing your cheek. "You need to pee."

You snorted, covering your face with one hand. "Yes, I know." He didn't even hesitate, just slid his arms under you, one behind your back, the other under your knees, and lifted you up like you weighed nothing. You yelped quietly, arms looping around his neck on reflex. "Hee—"

"I got you," he muttered, carrying you across the room to the bathroom door, stepping carefully around the clothes scattered on the floor. He set you down gentle inside, kissed your forehead quick, and pulled the door almost shut behind you. "Take your time." You heard him flop back onto the bed with a dramatic groan, probably rubbing his back again, and couldn't help smiling to yourself in the mirror.

When you came back, he was sitting on the edge of your bed, boxers pulled on, knees apart, elbows resting on his thighs. He looked up as the bathroom door opened and gave you this small, lopsided smile, half awkward, half couldn't-hide-it-if-he-tried glad. His hair was still a mess, sticking up where your fingers had been, and he rubbed the back of his neck like he didn't know where to put his hands now. You walked over and sat next to him, close enough that your thighs touched, the mattress dipping a little under both of you.

For a second neither of you said anything, just the quiet hum of the mini fridge and the faint rustle of sheets when you shifted. He glanced at you sideways. "So... that happened."

You huffed a small laugh, pulling your knees up. "Yeah. It did."

He was quiet for a moment. "Was it—" he stopped, started again. "I don't want you to think that's why I came here. Or that I expected—"

"I know."

"Because we don't really know each other. Like, actually know each other. And I don't want you to feel like this was too much or—"

"Don't we though?"

He looked at you. "What?"

"Know each other." You tucked your hair behind your ear. "I lived all of it with you. In the game."

"Yeah but that wasn't—"

"The date in the park," you said. "You picked that flower for me. The one that was glowing.” Heeseung was very still now, watching you. "And we played League together," you continued. "Destroyed my exes, even though they don't even exist in real life. Also, you were so smug about it, kept emoting after every kill, I thought you were so cute. And then we cooked pasta at my place and you almost burned the garlic and I had to help you and we ended up just—" you stopped, smiled a little. "It felt easy and natural like I'd known you forever. And the dates after that. Like the arcade, that hiking trail." You were looking at your hands now. "And then the park again at night. You told me you were falling for me. I remember it all too well. It was the most real thing that's ever happened to me." You finally looked at him. "And when I met you at the party and realized you were an actual person, I freaked out. Because how was I supposed to deal with the fact that I'd already fallen for you before we'd even met?"

"You—" his voice cracked slightly. "You fell for me?"

"Yeah." You said it simple, like it was obvious. "In the game. I didn't know it was you, but I felt everything. And then when Jungwon texted me about the update, I couldn't — I had to play it again. I had to see you again, even if it was just in the game. I thought it was just the game being really immersive and really realistic and I didn't think you were actually there."

Heeseung let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "I thought the same thing but I couldn't figure out what else it could be."

"And then we both avoided each other for a week." You laughed, dropping your head against his shoulder. "We're idiots."

"Complete idiots." He leaned his head against yours. "But like, in our defense, how were we supposed to know we were accidentally having virtual sex through a Nintendo Switch?"

You snorted, shoulders shaking with laughter. "Please never say that sentence again."

"Which part, the virtual sex or the Nintendo Switch?"

"Both. That whole thing."

He was grinning now. "But it happened."

"Ynfortunately yes."

"And it was—" he stopped.

"Really good," you finished.

He pulled back a little, just enough to look at you, his fingers sliding up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered, thumb brushing your cheek. "Yeah. It was. But this way is better." You smiled, he did too. But then he paused, and said quieter, "We don't have to figure it all out right now, you know. The whole... what this means. But," he swallowed, hand dropping to lace with yours on the sheet. "If you want to. If you're down... I'd really like to try this for real. Like, dates that don't require a Switch cartridge. Real hiking and a real arcade. And the boring real stuff too."

You turned your hand over, squeezing his fingers. "Boring real stuff sounds good."

"Yeah?" His smile went soft, relieved, and he shifted closer, knee bumping yours. His free hand came up to your waist, pulling you gently until you were half in his lap, legs tangled again. He kissed you slow then, nothing rushed, just lips moving soft, his hand splaying warm on your back. You kissed back, fingers threading through the hair at his nape, tugging lightly when he deepened it a bit. He pulled away just enough to breathe, lips still grazing yours. "This okay?"

"More than okay," you murmured, chasing his mouth for another quick kiss. He smiled into it, then another, hand sliding up your spine, thumb tracing lazy lines. You broke apart for air, but stayed close, foreheads together. "So," you said, poking his chest. "First real date. You picking or me?"

"I owe you that glowing flower," he said, fingers playing with your hair. "But like, from an actual field this time."

You laughed softly, kissing the corner of his mouth. "Deal. But you're still helping with the garlic."

He groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the pillow and pulling you with him so you landed half on his chest. "Fine. But no emoting when I burn it."

You settled there, ear over his heartbeat, his arms wrapping loose around you. "We'll see."

And you did see, because you saw him burn garlic three more times over the next month, and you emoted every single time, just to watch him get flustered and defensive about it. And the dates weren't like the game. There were no perfectly timed sunsets or fireflies that landed on cue. 

Your first real date was at a diner near campus at two in the afternoon because that's when you both had free time between classes. He ordered pancakes and you stole half of them. The syrup was too sweet and the coffee was burnt and it was perfect anyway. You went to an arcade on a Tuesday night because you both thought it would be funny and all the good machines were broken. Heeseung spent twenty bucks trying to win you a stuffed cat from the claw machine and failed every time, just like the game. You ended up buying one from the prize counter with your own money and he carried it around for the rest of the night looking mildly offended. The hiking trail he took you on wasn't the picturesque mountain path from the game. It was a local trail that was mostly flat and next to a highway. You could hear cars the entire time. He tripped over a root and almost took you down with him. But he held your hand the whole way and pointed out a bird he thought was cool, and when you sat on a bench to rest, he kissed you and it tasted like the granola bars you'd been sharing.

You learned things about him that the game had never shown you. That he was grumpy in the mornings and needed at least ten minutes of silence before he could form coherent sentences. That he had a specific way of organizing his desk and got stressed when things were out of place. That he laughed at his own jokes before he finished telling them and it was the most endearing thing you'd ever seen. Meanwhile, he learned that you talked to yourself when you were concentrating, narrating your own thoughts out loud without realizing it. That you had strong opinions about which anime openings were skippable and which were sacred. That you stress baked at midnight and would show up at his dorm at one am with cookies that were still warm and slightly misshapen.

You played League together and he actually did run it down once and you flamed him for fifteen minutes straight. He took you to his favorite boba place and you hated the drink you ordered but drank it anyway because you didn't want to admit you'd made a mistake. He noticed and switched cups with you without saying anything.

And the domestic stuff was better than any game could've captured: grocery shopping together and arguing about which brand of ramen to buy; him falling asleep on your shoulder during study sessions in the library; you stealing his hoodies and him pretending to be annoyed but leaving them at your place on purpose. The way he'd text you random memes at three am just because he thought you'd find them funny. The way you'd save the last bite of your food for him without thinking about it. It was real and messy and nothing like the perfect dates the game had generated. It was so much better.

Three months in, Jungwon decided he wanted to do a pizza night at his place. Make-your-own-pizza, he'd said. It'll be fun, he'd said. He'd assigned everyone tasks and you and Heeseung got stuck with grocery shopping because apparently you were the only ones who could be trusted not to forget something important. Which is how you ended up in the pasta sauce aisle of the grocery store on a Saturday afternoon, having an increasingly heated debate about pizza sauce. "This one has basil already in it," Heeseung said, holding up a jar.

"But that one's too sweet. We need the plain one so we can add our own seasonings." You grabbed a different jar.

"Nobody's going to taste the difference."

"I'm going to taste the difference!"

"Yeah, that's because ou have the most specific opinions about things that don't matter."

"Excuse me, pizza sauce matters. This is important." He looked at you, standing there in your hoodie and jeans with your hair falling out of your bun, holding a jar of pasta sauce like it was a matter of life and death, and he felt something in his chest shift. You'd been arguing about groceries for ten minutes. Before that it had been flour — he'd grabbed all purpose and you'd insisted on bread flour even though Jungwon probably wouldn't care. You had strong opinions about olive oil brands. You'd spent five minutes reading the labels on different types of cheese. It was so mundane and domestic and real and he was so gone for you it was ridiculous.

Heeseung caught your wrist and pulled you back. You turned, surprised, the jar of sauce still in your hand. "What?" He just looked at you for a second. The fluorescent grocery store lighting was terrible and someone's kid was screaming two aisles over and the store radio was playing a compressed version of some pop song from five years ago. Nothing about this moment was romantic or special or anything like the game would've generated.

"You know," he said, "if this was a cooking game, you'd be picking all the wrong action options right now."

You laughed. "What?"

"The wrong sauce. Insisting on fresh garlic when the jarred stuff is right there. Making this way more complicated than it needs to be." He was smiling now, pulling you closer. "You'd be failing the efficiency route."

"Good thing this isn't a game then."

"Yeah." His other hand came up to your face, thumb brushing your cheek. "Good thing." You were looking at him with this soft expression, waiting for whatever he was going to say, and Heeseung realized he'd been waiting for the perfect moment for weeks now. The right time, the right place, the right words. But standing in a grocery store on a random Saturday arguing about pizza sauce felt more right than any perfectly rendered sunset could've been. "I love you," he said.

You went very still. "What?"

"I love you." He said it again, steadier this time. "And I want to finally beat fuck ass Girlfriend Simulator. Make it official."

"Heeseung—"

"I want to complete the Girlfriend Simulator route," he continued, and he was grinning now because he could see you trying not to smile. "Get the good ending. Unlock the girlfriend achievement."

You laughed. "You're such a nerd."

"Yeah, I know. so?" He squeezed your hand. "Will you be my girlfriend? For real this time?"

You set the jar of sauce down on the nearest shelf, not even checking if it was the right spot, and kissed him. Right there in the middle of the grocery store with terrible lighting and screaming children and elevator music playing overhead. His arms came around you and you could feel him smiling against your mouth. When you pulled back, you were both grinning like idiots. "Yes," you said. "Obviously yes.” 

And you kissed him. His arms came around you and you could feel him smiling against your mouth. You pulled back just a little, hands sliding up to rest on his chest, fingers curling into his shirt. The kiss turned slower then, softer, your lips brushing his again and again like you couldn't quite stop. He made this quiet hum, one hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, thumb stroking the skin there while the other stayed firm on your waist, keeping you close. Some lady pushed her cart past you both, wheels squeaking on the linoleum, but neither of you moved.

When you finally broke apart, foreheads still touching, you were both breathing a little harder. "I love you too," you said, voice low but steady. "Obviously. And I'm really glad I beat Boyfriend Simulator."

He laughed soft, nose bumping yours. "Wait." His face went serious all of a sudden, eyes narrowing. "That was the name of your game? Boyfriend Simulator?"

"Yeah." You bit your lip, trying not to grin too big. "Jungwon said it was different from Girlfriend Simulator because this one has a multiplayer option."

He shook his head slow, arms still around you, holding you there in the aisle like he wasn't planning on letting go anytime soon. You both just stood there, wrapped up in each other between the shelves of pasta sauce, carts rumbling by, some kid yelling about cereal in the distance. Heeseung stared at you, processing, then let out this quiet groan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "I'm going to kill Yang Jungwon."

You laughed into his hair, fingers threading through it at the nape of his neck. "Get in line."

[GAME COMPLETE] GOOD ENDING UNLOCKED: REAL LIFE ROUTE ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED: GIRLFRIEND.EXE NEW GAME+ AVAILABLE: THE REST OF YOUR LIVES

taglist: @rairaiblog @nqdirr @iyoonjh @saeris-world @jayparked @solonenova @izzyy-stuff  @gh9sty @xoenhalover @bambiens @hoonsocks @jaeyunflix @yvampyr @wonmuse

© all rights reserved @/heejamas — do not repost, copy, translate, or modify my works without explicit permission. these are works of fiction and are not meant to represent real-life actions, thoughts, or personalities of any public figures

[dawngyu-deactivated20251022]

THE SLOW SURRENDER

Pairing: chaebol husband choi beomgyu x wife chaebol fem!reader

summary: The fear that you’re losing something you never truly had. Your own ring, now too heavy in your palm. A ring that should have meant forever.

Your deepest fear. Your husband.

warnings: reader discretion is advised. infidelity, arranged marriage, slow-burn, angst, toxic dynamics, emotional attachment, miscarriage!, misunderstandings, lovelorn, alcohol!consumption, guilt, repentance, rectification, accident, DUI(pls don't), anxiety!, panic-attack, implication of postpartum!depression, used different idols as ocs. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything.

smut-warnings: MDNI, dubcon, explicit!descriptions, different smut-scenes. guilt-ridden!smut,beomgyu begging and crying while doing"it".

wc: 24k — playlist here.

notes: may this story tear you apart, and somehow, when it’s over, stitch you back together piece by piece.

a big thank you to my beta reader.

How is it that your own wedding makes you want to flee?

"To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

His voice is strangely distant—the words belong to someone else, rehearsed and repeated.

The ring slips onto your finger, its cold touch startling against your skin. You can’t tell if it’s the chill of the metal that makes you shiver—or the way his voice carries an indifference that seems to sit deep in your chest, pulling your breath with it.

The wedding dress—tailored from the finest silk, adorned with labyrinthine details—feels like something borrowed. Isn’t this supposed to be every girl’s dream? The happiest day of your life? The moment where everything begins—the start of your own family, your own story?

None of it feels like it. Not when he hasn’t said a single word to you since you arrived. It plagues your mind. And all you want to do is kick off the heels that bite into your feet, rip off the tiara that feels like a crown of lead, and run.

You let out a shaky exhale, the breath trembling in your chest when the ring settles on your finger. Your hands slip from his grasp, falling limply to your sides. The vows are done, the words spoken, but all you feel is an overwhelming urge to escape.

Your head turns, seeking the one person who feels safe. Your unsteady gaze finds Soobin, his worried eyes already fixed on you. He gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, the kind only he would know how to give. All you want is to fall apart—to let the tears come, to crumble into the silent comfort of his eyes, whispering it’s okay.

The pastor’s voice pulls you back, and your soon-to-be husband cups your face with a tenderness that feels reluctance, almost calculated. Hands warm but the eyes that meet yours, cold.

He leans in, and you close your eyes. His lips brush yours, soft, landing just shy of your bottom lip.

“And now, I pronounce you husband and wife,” the pastor declares, the words echoing hollowly in your ears.

Everyone claps.

It's official.

He is now your husband.

"Can you at least smile?" your mother’s sharp voice cuts, gaze fixed on you with her usual expectation. Her lips press together in disapproval. "I don’t want you embarrassing us, honey," she adds, eyes narrowing.

You force a small, strained smile as another guest offers their congratulations. The words feel hollow, and meaningless.

"Mother." Soobin’s voice interrupts, his equally sharp gaze lands on her, and without waiting for her permission, he steps closer, hand brushing your elbow. "We have friends over there. I’ll take Y/N for a bit."

Your mother opens her mouth, distaste printed on her face. "I could go with her—"

"It’s just our friends, Mother," Soobin interjects, his words clipped but polite enough to stop her in her tracks. "Nothing that requires your attention. Besides, I believe Miss Park was trying to get your attention earlier."

Before she can argue further, Soobin’s hand slips into yours, and he gently tugs you away. The grip is reassuring, steady—something to anchor you in this mess.

The crowd seems endless. More congratulations, more empty smiles. Your eyes wander, scanning the room, searching for the one person who should be at your side. But he isn’t there. He isn't… here.

Your husband is nowhere to be found. He vanished as soon as the ceremony ended.

Soobin doesn’t say anything as he leads you into a quiet, empty room. Once inside, he shuts the door firmly behind you, sealing out the noise of the party.

The second the door clicks, his hands are on your face, cradling you like you might break. And you do.

"Soobin," you choke out, your voice trembling. Hot tears stream down your face, and he pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

"Shh," he murmurs, his voice shaky, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back. "It’s okay. Let it out."

The tears come in waves, carrying with them all the weight you’ve been holding in—every forced smile, every empty thank yous, every aching reminder of your husband. That today isn’t what it should be.

"It hurts me," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "It hurts me that my dearest, sister had to go through with this." His words tremble, just like his hands that hold you tightly.

You can’t bring yourself to reply. Instead, you cling to him, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his jacket—making his heart clench. "Where the fuck is he anyway?" his voice betrays his frustration.

"I don’t—I don’t know," you whisper through your sobs. "How am I supposed to do this, Soobin? He wouldn’t even look at me." And beneath it all, the deeper truth haunts you. It isn’t just his absence or his coldness that hurts.

It’s the undeniable, unspoken reality that settles into your bones and refuses to leave: Choi Beomgyu doesn’t love you—not the way you love him.

The echoes of your wedding vows dance in your ears. For better or worse, you hear. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health.

Until death do us part.

Three families—known as the Choi Enterprises—dominate the landscape of your country.

Names synonymous with power, wealth, and control. Together, they form an empire that touches nearly every facet of life, businesses towering over the economy like unshakable pillars.

Untouchable.

The first family commands the skies. They own the nation’s largest airline, a fleet that spans lands, with Choi Yeonjun, the celebrated heir, poised to inherit it all.

The second family shapes the skyline with their sprawling malls, and colossal structures that symbolize luxury and excess. Choi Beomgyu, their only son, is the face of it.

And then there’s your family, the architects of indulgence. You own the most prestigious hotels in the country, five-star havens that host the rich, the famous, and the powerful. Your brother, Choi Soobin—the prodigy, the golden child who has been groomed for this role his entire life.

And then there’s you. The second child. Since young, you were conditioned, moulded—not to lead, not to build, but to belong to someone else. To be a wife. One whose marriage would serve a purpose, a bargaining chip in a deal that you have no voice to protest.

Every day since you came of age felt like walking on thin ice, never knowing when it would crack beneath you. You lived with the constant dread that your father could announce your engagement at any last moment. If you were lucky, perhaps it would be someone whose face you recognized, or someone whose name didn’t sound foreign on your lips.

The three families have stood side by side for decades, their ties intertwined by history and convenience. With the heirs of each family so close in age, it was inevitable that you all ended up in the same place: a ridiculously expensive university your families could buy their way into.

It was no surprise that you had known Choi Beomgyu since you were children. And that you've loved him since.

Though you could never quite pinpoint when it began.

Your nine-year-old eyes scanned the room, overwhelmed by the sea of adults towering over you. Too many big, tall people, too many unfamiliar faces. It was the first time your dad had brought you along, always choosing your older brother instead. Never you.

“Would you like something to eat, Y/N?” your nanny asked. You shook your head, distracted. You were trying to find your brother, the one you’d begged to follow today, only to lose him. You had thought this place would be exciting, but now, you would have preferred serving tea to your dolls.

This place wasn’t fun at all.

When your nanny got busy with a conversation, you seized the chance to slip away. You weaved through the crowd, ducking under tables when the adults became too dense. You spotted Soobin ahead, standing with his friend—Yeonja? No, Yeonjun. The one who teased you mercilessly whenever he visited your house. They were too far away.

Giggling with excitement, you ran towards them, eager to finally reach your brother. But your foot caught on the edge of a rug, and you fell hard. “Ow.” You whimpered, face smacking the floor. A sharp, stinging pain in your mouth made your eyes well up. You wiped at your lips and froze when your fingers brushed against something small and hard.

Your front tooth had come out. “No. Soobin, Daddy!” you wailed, embarrassment creeping in as people started to stare. You were about to shout again when a boy appeared, no taller than you, holding out a handkerchief.

“Use this,” he said.

“No,” you mumbled.

“Huh?”

“I said I don’t want it.”

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Do you want everyone to think you’re ugly?” His words made you pause, his brown eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and something else—something protective. The way he stood, it was as if he was shielding you from the judgmental eyes around you. “If you keep crying like that, everyone will think you are.”

The bluntness startled you, and it worked. Your mommy doesn't like it whenever you're crying anyway. She says it's unsightly. You grabbed the handkerchief, sniffling as you dabbed at your mouth. He watched you stand wobbly, one brow raised in quiet observation.

“Soobin?” he asked, recognizing your brother’s name.

You nodded, surprised that he knew.

He nodded back, taking your pinkie in his small hand and leading you across the yard, toward your brother safely.

That day was the day you first met your husband.

"Hey, have you heard? Choi Beomgyu and Park Ji-won broke up for the fourth time this semester," Jake, one of your batchmates, announces with a grin, his voice cutting through the chatter of your little group. The names make you freeze mid-conversation. "It’s hilarious, bro. Ji-won was literally stomping her feet like a kid."

"You little scandalmonger," Ryu-jin quips from beside you, rolling her eyes. "Why are you so invested in them? They’re a batch ahead of us. We don’t even cross paths with them."

You won’t encounter Choi Beomgyu often. The last time you had a proper, civil conversation—one forced by your parents—was when you were fifteen, and even then, your brother had been there too. That was five years ago.

During your first year, Choi Beomgyu was in the second. He got a girlfriend, Park Ji-won, the queen bee of their batch. Beomgyu was already famous, and their relationship quickly gained a reputation of its own, known for its ups and downs, the drama playing out like a spectacle for everyone to watch.

“Uh, h-hi, Y/N.” A boy stammers nervously in front of you. You look up, surprised to see him holding out a small box of chocolates. “I… I made these for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

A soft smile forms on your lips as you reach out to take it. “Thank you, Hanbin.”

The way his name rolls so easily off your tongue catches him off guard. His eyes widen, and his face flushes a deep shade of red. He stammers out something that might be “you’re welcome” before ducking his head in a quick bow and practically fleeing the scene.

As he disappears into the crowd, Ryu-jin lets out a low whistle, her grin mischievous. “Oh-ho, my ever-charming and impossibly kind Y/N,” she teases, pinching your cheek in a way that makes you laugh and bat her hand away.

You hold the box of chocolates out to her, and without missing a beat, she takes it with a delighted, “Don’t mind if I do!”

“Why do you always know everyone’s names?” Jake asks, leaning over to snag a piece of chocolate before Ryu-jin can stop him. He pops it into his mouth, then gives you a mock incredulous look. “There are way too many people trying to win you over. If I were you, I wouldn’t even bother keeping track.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I don’t really try to memorize their names, Jake,” you explain, your voice softening. “But when someone puts themselves out there like that—when they go out of their way to do something kind for me—even if I don’t feel the same, the least I can do is acknowledge it. Knowing their name… it’s just part of respecting the effort they made.”

Jake leans back, arms crossed, pretending to look unimpressed. “You’re way too nice for your own good, you know that?”

The rest of the conversation became a blur. The details didn’t matter—they never really did. Choi Beomgyu had gotten back together with her again. That’s how it always went, didn’t it? Still, your mind dawdled on him, as it often did, bonded to a memory from so long ago: the boy with sceptic eyes and a hand who had guided you safely to your brother.

You couldn’t explain it fully, this quiet pull you felt toward him.

Maybe it was the way he kept to himself at gatherings, speaking only when necessary. His words always carried a weight your mother would later describe as "intelligent," her tone laced with rare approval. It could’ve been his eyes, dark and warm, matching the soft chaos of his hair. Or perhaps it was his low voice, that left a faint shiver dancing along your spine without warning.

Life had always been laid out for you, each piece polished and placed neatly on a silver platter. Nothing ever seemed truly exciting, not when you could have anything you wanted with minimal effort. You’d never been particularly interested in dating, either. Why chase something when the pursuit itself felt dull?

Choi Beomgyu was… different. He wasn’t even someone you could simply talk to. Maybe that’s why he fascinated you so much.

He's impossible to ignore.

"He's sick again… ugh."

The words grated on your nerves, cutting through the hallway like nails on a chalkboard. You were at your locker, minding your own business, stacking books into your bag. Ji-won’s loud voice, drew the attention of everyone within earshot.

You were ready to walk away from the nauseating cheap fog of their perfume, when her next words stopped you cold.

"Beomgyu's sick," she continued, tossing her hair back like it was some grand inconvenience to her. "We went shopping yesterday, and he lent me his umbrella when it rained. Now he's sick. Honestly, such an idiot move."

How could she talk about him like that? Here, in front of all these people, where anyone could hear?

"And I told him not to play basketball today," Ji-won added with a careless shrug. "I mean, it's not like some game is more important than my plans."

Some game? The basketball match wasn’t just some game—it was one of the biggest events of the year, something their team had poured weeks of practice into. And she expected him to ditch it for her whims?

The sharp clang of your locker shutting ripped through the air, louder than you intended when you closed it. The hallway fell silent. Ji-won flinched, startled by the sound, then turned, ready to snap at whoever dared interrupt her. But when her eyes met yours, the words died in her throat.

Your stare pinned her in place, unwavering. The entire hallway seemed to hold its breath, watching, waiting. Everyone knew better than to cross you—Choi trinity’s princess.

After a few long seconds, you broke eye contact, turned on your heel and walked away, each step of your Valentino sandals echoing with you.

As much as you wanted to speak, as much as the words burned at the back of your throat, you couldn’t. Because no matter how much Ji-won infuriated you, no matter how carelessly she spoke about him, this wasn’t your battle to fight.

You had no right to.

Beomgyu wasn’t yours to defend.

You body moved without thinking, pulling your phone out to call your driver. Medicine. Ingredients for a recovery soup. You listed everything quickly, your voice brisk to mask the slight shake in it.

Cooking had always been something you loved. There was a comfort in its simplicity—a recipe was just steps to follow, a methodical course that brought things to life. You liked how it could make someone happy, how it could bring warmth, even when words couldn’t.

When the ingredients arrived, you made your way to the university’s cooking room. It was meant for culinary students, but a single request to the club president had granted you access.

You tied your hair back, rolled up your sleeves and got to work. The familiar motions of chopping, stirring, and seasoning steadied you. The savoury aroma filled the room, spilling over into your senses. When the soup was done, you ladled it into a glass container, the warmth radiating through your hands. Perfect for the chilly wind outside.

It's no surprise that he got sick.

You packed it carefully, along with the medicine, into a small bag, and made your way toward his classroom. Sunghoon had told you where Beomgyu’s seat was, promising to keep it quiet. No one could know about this.

Not even Beomgyu himself.

The classroom was empty when you arrived, just as you’d hoped. Rows of desks stretched before you, soaked in the soft, dim light of late afternoon. Your steps faltered when you unexpectedly spotted him. You were about to turn around when you noticed he was asleep.

There he was, slumped over his desk, his head resting on folded arms. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, his face flushed with fever.

You swallowed hard, the sight tugging at something deep inside you. His eyelashes, dark and delicate, brushed against his cheeks, and for a moment, he looked so unguarded, so unlike the version of him you were used to seeing.

Slowly, you approached, placing the bag on the desk beside him with the utmost care, as if any sound might disturb him. But as much as you tried to stay quiet, the pounding of your heart seemed impossibly loud in the silence.

You stood there longer than you should have, your gaze lingering on the soft lines of his face. His fever-reddened cheeks, his slightly parted lips—he looked so vulnerable, so human in a way that made your chest ache.

Your breath caught as you turned to leave. It was hard to breathe in this room, hard to ignore the charm he had on you, even now. With one last glance at his sleeping form, you turned and walked out.

It felt like you were leaving your heart with him.

Beomgyu stirs awake, his body aching and cold, as if the chill had seeped into his skin. His head feels heavy, but a faint warmth near him pulls him in. He blinks sluggishly, there's—a container of soup resting on his desk. Soup?

Confused but drawn to it, he sits up slowly, the movement making his head spin. His fingers tremble slightly as he uncaps the container, and the smell that greets him is like a hug he didn’t know he needed. His stomach rumbles in response.

His gaze drops to the items beside it: medicine, utensils, carefully placed. Whoever left this thought of everything.

He picks up the spoon, dipping it into the golden broth. Bringing it to his lips, he tastes it. His eyes widen, a soft sound escaping him—surprised. It’s incredible.

It reminds him of his mother’s cooking, back when she still had time to make him meals. A strange fullness settles in his chest as he takes another spoonful, the warmth spreading, chasing away the numbness. He can’t stop eating—it’s too good.

“Babe?”

The sound of Ji-won’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks up as she walks in, holding two water bottles. Her eyes land on the container in his hands, her expression flickering with something unreadable.

“Oh,” she says casually, stepping closer.

Beomgyu smiles, his lips curving softly, his voice lighter than it’s been all day. “Did you make this?” he asks, hope threading through his tone. “It’s amazing. Seriously, it’s… it’s so good. Fucking delicious.”

Ji-won blinks, startled by his enthusiasm. He was grumpy and on edge all day because of his fever. Who left this? she wonders, panic flickering beneath her composed exterior, her gaze darts to the container again, then back to Beomgyu, who’s looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, yeah—yeah!” she blurts, forcing a bright smile. “Of course, I made it.”

Beomgyu tilts his head, surprised. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Anything for my boyfriend,” Ji-won replies, stepping closer as she places the water bottles on his desk. Her smile feels tight, but she pushes through. “That’s how much I love you.”

He chuckles softly, eating a spoonful again. “Well, I love it. Thank you for this. It made me feel so much better.”

That wasn’t the last time.

You told yourself it would be. Swore it, even. No more going out of your way for him. No more small, secret gestures. But every time you thought it was over, you found yourself pulled back in, like some invisible thread tying you to him.

It started with the soup. The day after you left it, you saw him. His face, pale and tired the day before, was flushed with warmth again, life returning to his features. Sunghoon mentioned, almost offhandedly, how Beomgyu wouldn’t stop bragging about the meal, how he raved about it like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

And something about that stuck with you.

From then on, it became quite a bad habit. Throughout college, whenever you heard he was sick, you found yourself leaving small comforts behind. A bottle of tea on his desk, sweets slipped into his lockers during a lecture. And it didn’t stop there.

One time, Beomgyu forgot something important—a book, a charger, you don’t even remember now. You lent yours to Sunghoon, pretending you didn’t care, pretending it wasn’t just another way to help Beomgyu without him knowing.

Because you didn't want anything back.

When rumors spread about him sneaking around with his girlfriend, you stepped in before it escalated. His father will be angry about it, so you talked to that person who caught him, not for his sake but for your own, because the thought of his world unraveling in front of him was something you couldn’t bear to witness.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It wasn’t for him. It couldn’t be.

It was for you.

The way your eyes scanned every room at social gatherings, always searching for his familiar face in the crowd. The way you couldn’t relax until you caught sight of him or the way your heart jumped whenever you spotted him, even if he didn’t notice you.

It was an addiction. One you couldn’t seem to break, no matter how many times you promised yourself you’d let go.

Were you in love with him for those four years? Or was it more than that?

"As you already know, this is Y/N, son," Beomgyu's mother announces, her perfectly manicured hands resting lightly on your shoulders. Beomgyu’s gaze meets yours. His hair is longer now, sitting at the edges of his sharp jawline, almost to his shoulders—much different to how you remember him last, on his graduation day. A whole year has passed since then. And you've graduated now too.

His suit—a dark blue so deep it could pass for black—fits him perfectly, exuding quiet sophistication. In contrast, your white Balmain dress feels almost too bright, too bold, clinging to you in a way that leaves no room for subtlety. You feel exposed under his probing eyes.

This morning, your mother had insisted—no, demanded—that you wear an elegant dress. You hadn’t understood why, but now the reason stands clear.

Beside you, your brother Soobin sits rigid, yet observing. He’s always been offensive, and tonight is no exception.

The two Choi family heads are deep in conversation, their voices low but purposeful, like they’re planning something big. It’s just the two families here tonight, seated at an impossibly long table in an equally expensive restaurant. The grandeur of the setting only amplifies it—the entire floor of this lavish place reserved just for this dinner, the emptiness around you making it feel more like a stage than a private meal.

“Your marriage will take place at the end of the year,” Beomgyu’s father declares. The words snap you out of your daze, and your head jerks toward him in shock. A soft gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“What?” Beomgyu’s voice is sharp. His jaw tightens when he leans forward, composure beginning to crack. “You made me end things with Ji-won last week, and now you’re telling me I’m engaged?” He practically spits the words, hands curl into fists on the table. “To someone I don’t even know?”

Ji-won. You flinch involuntarily, hands dropping to your lap. You start picking at your nailbeds. The air feels thick—too thick to breathe.

“Who is that?” Beomgyu’s father demands, his tone filled with disdain. “I told you not to mention that whore again.” His words are venomous, and you barely have time to register the insult before the sound of Beomgyu’s chair scraping against the polished floor reverberates through the room.

Everyone flinches as he rises, his movements full of suppressed fury. Your heart pounds. He stands there seething, glaring at his father, everyone staring, daring for him to do something before he turns on his heel.

You bite your bottom lip, trying to hold yourself together. The sting in your chest is undeniable. Disappointment wells up, as Beomgyu's actions fill the silence you can’t bear to break, your gaze fixed anywhere but the head table. Soobin’s hand suddenly moves into your line of sight, prying yours apart gently—stopping you from further tormenting your hands. His fingers curl around yours, tight.

Beomgyu's retreating footsteps echo, each one louder than the last, leaving a charged silence in their wake.

The next time you see him is on your wedding day.

You didn’t think it would happen like this. You truly didn’t. You’d clung to the faint hope that he’d at least show up before the ceremony—just once. You went to the fittings alone, picked out the rings by yourself, and stood in bakeries surrounded by couples, as you chose the cake flavour on your own. A conversation, even a brief one, might have eased the unease that had settled in your chest like a stone.

Maybe, when the time comes, you’ll work up the courage to ask him if he can at least try to be casual with you.

But every assurance came from his parents—empty promises that fell on ears too tired to process anymore. Your parents clung to those words, desperate for this union. A necessary marriage, they said. A solution.

None of it reassured you. How could it, when the groom himself was nowhere to be found? You never saw him. It was as though you were preparing to marry a ghost.

When he finally sees you, it’s as you walk down the aisle, dressed in a gown that feels heavier than it should. His gaze lands on you, a one-second glance that’s gone before you can even register it. He doesn’t look at you again. Not during the vows, not during the ceremony, not even as you both stand side by side, bound by words you barely believe.

And now, instead of his arms around you, you find yourself sobbing into your brother’s shoulder. Soobin holds you tightly. The irony was funny—it was Soobin, the whole reason to why Beomgyu was introduced to you all those years ago.

Beomgyu, the boy who returned you safely to your brother that night, the one who left a permanent mark so indelible it stayed for years. The same mark that now hurts you, refusing to fade no matter how many years passed.

It's cruel.

Happy 26th birthday baby girl! xoxo

You smiled faintly at Ryujin's text as you stirred the pancake batter you'd made from scratch. The comforting smell of vanilla and butter filled the kitchen—your kitchen.

As much as you endured your parents' endless whims, you had to admit, you loved the simplicity of domesticity. There was something grounding about it. It made you feel useful, capable—like you could create something perfect, even in a life that often felt far from it.

"Y/N." The sound of your name broke your focus. You looked up, catching Beomgyu standing at the doorway. He was already dressed in his usual impeccably tailored suit, his fingers fiddling with the knot of his tie. "I'm heading to the office early today,"

"Again?" Your voice was softer than you'd intended. "At least have breakfast before you go. I can finish this quickly."

"Thank you," he dismissed, gaze shifting away. Avoiding yours. Reminding you the line that's stretched between you cannot ever cross. "But I'll eat at the office. I don't want to be late. I might be back for dinner later. Maybe."

He adjusted his tie one last time, nodded in your direction, and walked out without another word. The soft click of it closing behind him felt louder than it should have.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. It was fine. You were used to this. Not because he left early again, but because it was an important day for you. A day you’d spend, once again, without him. Another day spent in the quiet of this too-big penthouse, with no one but yourself for company.

Two years into your marriage, you had learned to temper your expectations. Love was never meant to be part of the deal, and you had told yourself, over and over, that you didn’t need it. But no amount of reason could stop your heart from aching, from yearning—for Beomgyu to see you. Not as a piece of some agreement or a cog in the machinery of alliances, but as a person. As you.

Maybe even as a friend.

He wasn’t unkind. Not once had he raised his voice or shown you disrespect. But in some ways, his indifference stung more. He was here, yet not here—like a shadow that lived in the same space but never touched yours.

And sometimes, you wished that he would be mean to you, he would shout at you or he would hurt you—at least then, there would be something to feel. You hate that you gave him power over yourself.

You told your mother about it—you never saw your parents love each other, not in a way that felt real, not in front of you. She offered one thing that made sense to you.

Someday, you'll have children, and your child will give you a new purpose. You wanted to push back, to argue, but the next words stopped you cold—“Because if being an invisible wife isn’t enough, your children will see you.” You didn’t want to bring a child into this—into a life painted in shades of grey. An innocent child shouldn’t have to bear it. A child born not out of love? The thought made your chest tighten.

And yet, in the darkest, most desperate corners of your mind, another voice whispered something wicked. A voice that insisted maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

You sighed, finding the courage to pick up the spoon to eat, imagining a child sitting across from you, soft brown eyes mirroring his.

Alone, but somehow, it felt a little less lonely.

"Boss, there's a party later. It's Mr. Yoon's farewell dinner."

Beomgyu glanced up from his laptop, his secretary’s voice pulling him from the post-meeting haze. Mr. Yoon—one of his father’s most loyal employees, someone who had been with the company for years. Letting this occasion go unnoticed wasn’t an option, not for someone like him.

Later that evening, Beomgyu arrived at the resto-bar, the space already alive with the hum of laughter and conversation. As soon as he stepped inside, heads turned. Employees greeted him with a mix of respect and warmth, but his smile, though polite, didn’t reach his eyes. It was business, like always. When someone announced that the night’s tab was on him, a wave of cheers erupted, but Beomgyu barely reacted. He offered only a nod before grabbing a beer and retreating into his thoughts. Are you asleep—

"Omg, Beomgyu?"

The familiar voice jolted him. He turned his head sharply, and there she was—Ji-won. Her platinum blonde bleached hair gleamed under the bar lights, her lips curved into a playful smile. She looked almost the same, except more polished. She hadn’t changed much, down to the way her manicured fingers grazed her cheek as she tucked her hair behind her ears.

"It's you! I haven't seen you in what, two years? Almost?" she said, her tone bright, her lashes fluttering in the way she knew he once liked.

"Yeah," Beomgyu replied curtly, his voice neutral. "Nice to see you here." He grabbed his beer and took a long sip. Her laugh rang out, light and infectious, the same laugh that used to feel like heaven to him. She knew exactly what to do, exactly how to pull him in.

Beomgyu raised his beer and took a long sip again, letting the alcohol burn its way down. He probably should go now. Her friends surrounded them, teasing and nudging, playful comments flying back and forth. He stayed composed, answering in clipped sentences, trying to keep his distance. He just needs to find the time to excuse himself.

But at some point, her friends drifted away, leaving her behind—drunk and alone, leaning heavily against the table. Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could have left her there. Maybe he should have. But instead, he found himself walking over.

"Come on," he said quietly, offering his hand. "Let me take you home."

She looked up at him, her eyes glassy but soft, and smiled. It was a smile that used to mean so much more.

Her warm hands envelop his.

The drive to her address was heavy with silence. Ji-won kept glancing at him, her eyes longing, but Beomgyu stayed focused on the road. Her address glowed faintly from his phone’s GPS. When they arrived, he got out, rounding the car to help her. She wobbled slightly, her drunken state evident, but he steadied her without a word and walked her to her door. She didn’t let go of his arm.

As they reached her doorstep, she turned to him, her voice trembling, raw. “Did you forget all about me already?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly. “Because… because I haven’t. It's still you, Beomgyu. I still love you.”

The words stopped him cold. He looked at her then—really looked at her. The faint blush on her cheeks, the way her hair fell messily over her shoulders, and that familiar scent of her perfume. Memories flashed. The way she’d cried when he said goodbye. The way she’d begged him to stay, her arms wrapped around him like she could keep him forever. He remembered the way he had talked to his father—looking for any chance. Only to be met with a no. A hard, unrelenting no.

It was too much. She's too familiar. He's too close.

And then, she leaned in.

Her lips touched his, soft just like they used to be. He shouldn’t. But when the small of her hands gripped the lapels of his suit, pulling him closer, he kissed her back.

It wasn’t gentle—it was desperate, messy, like trying to reclaim something lost. Her body pressed against his, and the sound of her soft moan made him grip her arms. He presses her against the door. Her hands tried to open the front door for them to go inside. It felt like a reunion, a fleeting taste of something they weren’t supposed to have.

But then she whispered against his lips, “Do you think we’d be married now if your father hadn’t stopped us?”

The word married—hit him, made him open his eyes, freezing in place.

He pulled away, his breath ragged, staring at her. His lips still burned with the sin of hers. What the hell was he doing?

Ji-won stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “Beomgyu—” she started, but he shook his head, taking another step back.

“I… I can’t,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked away, his steps hurried and uneven. She reached for him—called his name, voice crying, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

All he could see was your face.

At home. Waiting for him. Leaning to the countertop with your stupidly sweet unnecessary smile. The crinkle by your eyes. It flashes over and over, drowning out everyone, and everything else.

Beomgyu gets into his car, his hands trembling as he fumbles with the keys. The engine roars to life with an urgency that matches his racing thoughts.

His grip tightens on the wheel as the image of Ji-won flashes in his mind. Her words. Her touch. The kiss. His stomach churns. What the hell was he thinking? Did he still love her?

The elevator ride to your floor feels agonizingly slow, every second stretching endlessly. He can barely hear his own breathing over the pounding of his heart. When the doors open, he steps out hesitantly, his footsteps dragging as he approaches the front door.

He pauses in the entryway, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you.

He sees you.

You're curled up on the couch, your head resting on a pillow, a blanket draped loosely over your legs. His eyes dart on the kitchen, there sits a plate of untouched food, now cold. Dinner.

His chest tightens. You waited for him. Despite everything—despite the fact that he’d made no promises, despite the countless nights like this—you still waited.

How? he thinks, his mind reeling. How could you wait for him, when he hadn't given you anything to hold on to?

He glances at the clock on the wall. 6 a.m. His jaw clenches. He hadn’t even noticed the time had passed. He’d been so caught up at the party, so lost in the haze of old memories and poor decisions, that he’d forgotten about you entirely.

He steps closer, his gaze softening as it falls on your face. You look peaceful, your breathing even, your features illuminated by the dim light filtering in from the window. There’s something unfamiliar stirring in his chest.

The urge to reach out, to touch you, is overwhelming. But as his eyes fall to your lips, a shameful reminder washes over him—he knows that his lips had been with someone else only minutes ago.

It would be cruel to let it stain the divine of your skin.

“Come here,” Beomgyu spoke, which made you look at him through the mirror for a couple of seconds before seeing him beckon you over. You walked towards him, about to sit on the edge of the bed, when he grabbed your arm and sat you between his thighs.

“What is it?” you asked softly. You felt his arms tighten slightly around you, his fingers brushing the fabric of your robe. He hadn’t spoken to you all day, hadn’t so much as looked at you too. You just got out of your shower when you saw him sitting in your bed. And now, here he was—unexpected, yet demanding this closeness.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his lips pressed against the curve of your shoulder. You could feel his breath, warm against your skin. His hand slid slowly from your waist to your side, tracing the outline of your frame. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. You knew what this was. What he wanted. What he was about to do.

This was the pattern you had grown to recognise. The times he came to you like this, seeking the comfort your body could offer. The way his touch made you feel seen. And when morning came, like always, he would retreat—pulling away, storms behind his eye, leaving you to wrestle with the hollow ache in your chest.

Nights like this made it hurt more.

“Nothing.” He says. You felt his hand caress your thigh as he kisses your shoulder. He turns you around. He licked his lips before letting it explore the inside of your mouth, making you moan. He grunts in your mouth as his hand snakes to the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh.

He pushes his clothed crotch to your heat. He removes the top part of your robe, his lips easily finding themselves on your nipple, kissing around it before hungrily latching his mouth on it. The feeling of his wet tongue circling your bead and the growing tent on his pants rubbing on you made your body heat up.

You should push him away.

But then he looked up into your eyes, almost begging. It's soft, glassy which makes you wonder if you're ever going to see it other than like this. At that moment, the truth hit you: this was all he could offer. This collision, the press of his skin against yours—this was all you’d ever have of him. The pain intensified. He goes up and captures your lips again.

“I want to be inside you,” he murmured against your kisses. Fine, you thought. Just this once more—one last time. You placed your hands on his chest, pushing him back gently, turned around and got on all fours. You arched your back, pressing your head onto the mattress. Your ass was in the air, and you were exposed to him. Hearing him move behind you made you close your eyes.

Beomgyu was shocked. For you to offer yourself like this, so quickly, caught him off guard. He blinked, taking in the curve of your back, and the way you presented yourself.

You felt his tip rub against your folds and swollen clit, making you whine. He pulled your legs farther apart before plunging two fingers to make sure you were ready to take him.

You moaned, feeling his long fingers massage your walls. Your wetness trickled on his hand, and it only made him harder. He sucked his fingers when he pulled out. You felt every inch, his cock reaching places that made your body arch instinctively beneath.

It burns, and it burns so good.

“You're always fucking tight.” He kneads your ass cheeks, thrusting slowly at first before gradually increasing in speed. You felt so full as he pushed into you. He reached for your clit as you buried your face into the pillow. “Y/N…” His hard cock reaches the deepest parts of you. Beomgyu flipped your body without warning, and your arm immediately flew to your face. You turned your face away from him, not knowing that he’s been observing you.

You’ve been hiding your face the whole time as much as you can. Seeing his eyes felt unbearable. Because meeting his eyes will make you want him. To want him more than this. Something he will never be able to give.

“Y/N…I want to see your face.” He grabbed your hand to move them away, and Beomgyu felt a pang in his chest when he saw your swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You were sobbing underneath him.

“Please…” Your voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Just make me cum. Okay?”

You were breaking your own heart, chasing his own. And as he stared down at you, his indifference, the wall he’d built so carefully around himself, was killing you.

“What's wrong?” He urges you. His thrusts are unceasing as tears continue to fall down from your eyes. “Y/N…” Your orgasm hits you hard. Your toes curled as you cried out his name. Your walls were squeezing his cock. He grunts at how tight you feel around him. His hands were gripping the back of your knees as his hips stuttered, about to reach his own climax.

Even as he continued to move, his pace sloppy and desperate, your quiet sobs filled the room, uncontrollable. Beomgyu stilled above you, his heart twisting painfully at the sound. He hated himself—hated the way he’d reduced you to this.

You feel his hot cum inside you. When he finally pulled away, he collapsed beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. His unsure eyes drifted to you, curled up in the blankets, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle your cries. You moved your whole body under the sheets, clung to the fabric like it was the only thing holding you together.

Hiding. Hiding from the one who was supposed to be your other half.

The sight of you like this made his throat tighten, his chest heavy with something he couldn’t put into words. He had never wanted to hurt you, yet here you were.

That night, Beomgyu lay unable to find sleep, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of your bedroom walls. You were an angel, one he had broken with his own hands.

You wake up, heart racing.

Your hands instinctively move to your face. It’s that dream again. The same one that’s haunted you night after night. The memory of him. That night. The last time Beomgyu touched you. It’s been just over four weeks.

Even in sleep, he doesn’t let you go.

You blinked, your surroundings blurry in the faint light of your room. How did you get here? You were sure you’d fallen asleep on the couch. The question barely settles before an uneasy twist in your stomach pulls you back to the present. A wave of nausea rushes through you, sharp and sudden.

Your hand flies to your mouth as you scramble out of bed, your legs barely keeping up as you dart to the bathroom. You made it just in time, collapsing onto your knees as your body seized itself forward. The bitter taste burned your throat, each heave leaving you weaker than the last. You sat there, gripping the cool edge of the toilet, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

You pushed yourself up, legs still shaky, and made your way to the sink. The cold water was a welcome distraction, splashing against your skin and dripping down in rivulets. You scrubbed at your face harder than you needed to, as if the water could somehow rinse away more than just the sweat clinging to your skin.

Grabbing a towel, you patted your face dry, letting your gaze drift to the untouched box of tampons sitting quietly on the shelf.

“Y/N?” The knock on your door startled you. Tossing the towel aside, you stepped out of the small bathroom and crossed the room to open the door.

There he stood, his dark eyes locking onto yours the second the door opened. He scanned your face. “Are… are you okay? I heard a loud thump.” His voice was uneven, like he wasn’t sure he should even be asking.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. You moved to step past him, but the moment you did, he took a cautious step back, his body shifting as though he couldn’t bear to be too close.

It stung, but you didn’t let it show. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” he replies, eyes darting to the vases on the table. “You got flowers?” Beomgyu’s stares on your face. The way your face softens at the mention of them—he notices it instantly. He doesn’t like it—not one bit.

“They were given to me.”

“Two dozen?” he presses, “By who?”

“Soobin,”

“And?” he asks again, though there’s no need. He already knows who.

“Yeonjun,” The name lands heavy between you.

His jaw tightens. “He dropped them off here yesterday? Why did—” His words tumble out quickly, too quickly.

Because it's your birthday.

“He was with Soobin, Beomgyu,” you interrupt, brushing past him toward the refrigerator. Your steps feel heavier than they should Blinking, you try to push the swelling emotions back down. Normally, you’d brush this off. So why does it feel so different today? Why are you getting emotional? You pull out a bottle of water, taking a long sip to steady yourself before asking, “What time did you come home yesterday?”

Silence.

You drink slowly, giving him time to answer, but he doesn’t. The room feels stifling in the stillness, the hum of the refrigerator suddenly too loud. You set your empty glass on the table with a dull thud, your eyes drifting back to him.

He’s standing there in his usual morning look—white shirt hanging loose, black pyjama pants slightly wrinkled. His hair is a mess from sleep, and his skin looks paler in the soft light. There’s something about how vulnerable he looks in the mornings that always catches you off guard.

He's painfully beautiful.

“Around the morning,” He's hesitant. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t meet your eyes, and the tightness in your chest only grows. There’s an ugly nagging feeling at the edges of your thoughts.

“I’ll go get ready for work,” he says, shutting the conversation before it even has a chance to go further.

It doesn't surprise you anymore.

You step into the opulent glow of the five-star Skyline Restaurant, the clink of fine china and hushed laughter swirled around. Fingers gripping your white Dior purse, you scan the room, heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Your eyes sweep over faces until a familiar one stops you in your tracks.

“Pretty girl.” Ryujin’s voice called out, smooth and warm. She raises a hand in a poised wave, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. You mirror her expression, weaving your way toward her. Heads turn as you pass, your perfume—delicate yet potent.

“How are you?” she asks as you reach her, gaze soft yet probing.

“I’m okay,” you reply, sinking into the plush couch across from her. The tension in your shoulders eases, if only slightly. “Thank you for the gifts, by the way. And I’m sorry I couldn’t meet up with you yesterday, like you wanted.”

“I understand.” Her reply is casual, but her eyes betray her. They flicker to the dark crescents under yours, the ones you’ve tried to conceal but can never quite hide. “It’s always him, isn’t it? At the end of the day.”

Your fingers wrap around the porcelain cup in front of you. The tea is hot against your palms, and you take a tentative sip. It tasted faintly of jasmine, soothing and bittersweet. The silence between you stretches.

“Y/N.” Her voice pulls you back, insistent. Your eyes meet hers, and for a moment, you can’t look away. “He’s the reason you’re like this. It doesn't have to be, but he made it this way. You see that, don’t you?”

"I know."

Ryujin’s eyes flickered with hesitation, the way someone falters before delivering a blow. Eyes darting between you and the untouched tea in front of her. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she began, her voice soft but unsteady. “But I… I heard something.”

Her words made your heart clench. “What is it?”

“I mean, I’m not completely sure, but it came from someone I trust and—”

“Ryujin,” you snapped, sharper than you intended. Your chest tightened as dread crept in. “Tell me.”

She hesitated, her lips parting slightly before closing again. “Did he spend the night with you yesterday?”

You felt the world shift under your feet. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Your silence was enough.

He wasn't.

Ryujin’s expression softened, pity creeping into her features, “I—there was a party,” she said, her voice quieter now, hesitant. “One with Beomgyu and Ji-won.”

The name made your stomach drop.

“They were together all night,” she said, her words rushed, like she wanted to get them out before she lost her nerve. “And someone… someone saw them. Beomgyu practically carried her into his car. They left together.”

Your vision blurred for a second, the edges of the room fading as her words registered. You forced yourself to blink, to breathe. “Oh,” you whispered.

Ryujin stood abruptly and moved to sit beside you, taking your trembling hands into hers. “Confront him,” she urged. “Find out if it’s true.” She squeezed your hands. “I’m so tired of seeing you like this. Always giving and giving while he takes whatever’s left of you.” Her voice cracked. “Loving him silently. Loving him so hard isn’t going to make him love you back.”

You didn’t even realise you were crying until the tears started dripping onto your lap, soaking into the fabric of your dress. Ryujin hated it. She remembered you in college—how you laughed so freely, how your eyes sparkled. But now, that light she admired so much was dimming, as if someone had reached inside you and quietly stolen it piece by piece.

Ryujin swallowed hard, blinking back her own tears as she watched yours fall. How hurt must you be to cry like this—without a sound, without even a gasp? Just the quiet, stream of tears slipping down your face, carving paths of pain?

She hated seeing you like this—hated how one person had managed to turn the full-bloomed, radiant version of you into a shadow of yourself, a bud closed off to the world. That someone can easily break you, when you spent years building yourself.

You're waiting.

It's 10 p.m. The hours have crawled by since you drove back here. You look around. This space, where you are supposed to build a family, where love is supposed to be—is nothing but a cold place to you.

You're sitting on the couch, the same couch you’ve spent countless nights on, staring at the clock, waiting for him. Your hands rest in your lap, trembling slightly, though you don’t realise it. With nothing but fear, the fear that you’re losing something you never truly had.

Your phone buzzes again. Two names alternate, calling over and over. You don’t pick up. You don’t even look. You can’t.

Because the truth is, you don’t know if you’ll make it through the night without hearing from him. Your husband.

The elevator dings softly, and Beomgyu steps into the penthouse. His tie hangs loose around his neck, his hair tousled and far from his usual pristine self. He looks tired, distracted—like he’s been anywhere but here. His eyes met yours.

"Why are you still awake—"

"Do you think I don’t know what you’ve done?" Your voice cuts, trembling. You see his eyes widen, just a fraction. It’s so small you almost missed it.

"Ji-won." Her name burns as it leaves your mouth, bitter. His eyes flicker toward you for just a second—a split second, just long enough to know that he heard—but there is nothing in them. Nothing.

He moves with calculated slowness, setting his bag down on the table, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Time ticked. He doesn’t even try to explain. Doesn’t even look at you long enough for you to find a trace of the man you once thought you knew. His thumb brushes over his ring like it’s something he’s forgotten. A ring that should have meant forever.

"I can handle it all, Choi Beomgyu," you say, your voice firmer now, though your hands tremble at your sides. "I’ve handled it all, haven’t I? I didn’t say anything when you kept talking about her—days after we got married—on our honeymoon, or right in front of your family."

His back stiffens, his hands gripping the edge of the countertop. Beomgyu swallows the lump in his throat.

"Not once in these two years did I tell you how small you made me feel, how you made me feel like I didn’t belong in your world. Like I was a stranger in my own marriage." Your voice cracks, but you keep going. "I stayed silent, And after all of that—after everything—I stayed. I stayed because I thought… maybe it was enough. And yet, you still chose to cheat on me?"

You’re shaking now, and your voice rises despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "If you had just come to me and said you didn’t want this anymore, I would’ve let you go. I would’ve walked away, Beomgyu. Because everything I’ve done—every single thing—has been for you. For this marriage. For our families."

His head finally lifts, and his eyes meet yours. You hate how you feel small under his gaze, how his silence feels like a condemnation of your own vulnerability.

Beomgyu swallows hard, his jaw tightening. "That’s not what happened, Y/N."

"That you didn’t go home with her? That you weren’t with her on my fucking birthday?"

Your words hit him like a punch, and his eyes widen, the crack in his composure visible now.

"What?"

"You heard me." The burden festering inside you for so long is finally out. It feels small, inadequate even, but you don’t care anymore. You can’t. You can feel his eyes on you, and it's your turn to refuse to meet them. You’re done searching his face for answers that will never come.

You rise from the couch, your movements sharp, fueled by hurt and exhaustion. Steps are quick, your breaths are shallow as you reach your room. The door slams shut behind you with a force that echoes behind. Your hands tremble as you swipe on your phone. Tears blur your vision, falling onto the screen as you scroll, fingers fumbling to find the number you need.

You don’t think. You can’t. The tears are hot and relentless, burning tracks down your cheeks as you press the call button.

The line clicks immediately.

Outside your room, Beomgyu stands in the hallway, pacing back and forth. His footsteps are uneven, restless. The truth is, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know where to begin. Every time he tries to form the words in his head, they fall apart before they can leave his lips.

How can he explain it? How can he make you understand? He never thought it would come to this—never thought he’d have to say it out loud. He’d always believed he could keep it buried, that you’d never find out.

He presses a hand to his forehead, exhaling sharply. He hasn’t spoken to Ji-won since that night. Not once. She tried to reach out—texts, calls, even showing up unannounced—but he shut it all down. He shut her out.

The irony isn’t lost on him. He, who once was hopelessly in love with her had turned his back on her entirely. What surprised him the most was how easy it was. All it took was thinking of you.

And the sight of your tears now terrifies him.

Beomgyu has always been a confident man. He was raised to be one. It’s who he was taught to be—the man who could command a room, close deals, deliver speeches without a stutter. But none of that matters now. Standing here, in front of your door, he feels small. Helpless. Negotiating with the world is one thing; facing the pain in your eyes is another.

He sighs, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. His chest feels tight, his mind racing. He should knock. He knows he should try—should say something, anything.

He lifts his hand to knock, but the door swings open before he can. Your eyes meet his—red, swollen, glassy with unshed tears—and it feels like the air is knocked out of him. Beomgyu's chest tightens painfully, and then his gaze falls to the suitcase in your hand,"Where are you going?"

You don’t answer. Instead, you step past him, avoiding even the smallest brush against him. The sound of your suitcase wheels echoes in the hall. His heart stutters, his feet frozen in place.

"Y/N," he pleads, reaching for your wrist. His eyes flicker down to your hand, and the absence of your ring feels like a blow he wasn’t ready for.

"Beomgyu," you say quietly, pulling your hand away from his grasp."I’m going to stay with my brother for a while."

You don’t wait for his response. You can’t. If you stop now—if you meet his eyes again—you might change your mind. You walk toward the elevator, heart pounding, and breaking, but you don’t look back. When he doesn’t follow, when he doesn’t try to stop you, it cracks a little more.

The elevator doors begin to close, you think that’s it.This is the end. But then, his hand darts between the doors, forcing them open. You glance up in surprise. You've never seen him this unsure, or nervous before.

"At least let me see you out," he says softly. "Please,"

He stares at you. You nod, stepping aside to make room for him. Neither of you speaks, and the distance between you feels impossibly wide, even in the small space.

"Call me if you ever want to talk again," he finally breaks the silence, eyes fixed on the ground, "I’ll wait for you," You don’t respond, your throat tightening as you stare straight ahead, willing yourself not to cry.

Perhaps, it is his turn to wait for you.

It’s the longest elevator ride of your life.

In the parking lot, your brother is the first thing you see—tall and imposing, his glasses doing nothing to soften the sharp frown etched across his face. His eyes sweep over you, landing on the suitcase in your hand before darting behind you. The worry darkens instantly into anger when he sees Beomgyu trailing a few steps behind.

"You fucker," Soobin spits, brushing past you to square off with him. His voice is cold and furious. Beomgyu doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, even as your brother towers over him.

"I gave you the benefit of the doubt," Soobin growls. "I thought, at the very least, you’d treat my sister with the respect she deserves. But you—"

"Soobin, stop!" You step forward, your hands desperately reaching out to hold your brother’s fists clenched at his sides. "Please, let’s just go."

He hesitates, jaw tightening as he swallows his anger. With a final, scathing glare at Beomgyu, Soobin turns away. He reached for your suitcase, grabbed it without a word and shoved it into the trunk of his car. Then he opens the passenger door, his expression softening ever so slightly as he looks at you. "Get inside."

You slide into the car, your hands trembling as you clutch them in your lap. Soobin slams the door shut behind you, the sound shouting in the empty parking lot like a final warning.

Beomgyu stands there eyes never leaving your form, unmoving, as the car engine roars to life. His chest feels like it’s caving in as he watches Soobin pull away, the tyres screeching against the pavement. It’s almost insulting, the way the sound seems to echo his own turmoil.

His eyes follow the car until it vanishes from sight, leaving nothing but silence and the crushing weight of knowing you’re gone.

Beomgyu steps back, dragging his feet to somehow delay the reality settling in around him. Every few steps, he glances over his shoulder, the faintest flicker of hope burning in his chest. Maybe you’d be there. Maybe you’d come back.

Maybe this was just a nightmare he hadn’t woken up from yet.

But you didn't.

The elevator doors slide open, and he strides inside, his mind blank and racing all at once. He walks, heading straight to the kitchen for water—something to soothe the dryness in his throat, the tightness in his chest. But as he passes the living room, his eyes catch on the portrait hanging above the mantel.

The wedding photo.

It hangs on there, just as it always has, but tonight it feels unbearable. His eyes lock on your face, and he falters. How could he have missed it? The slight redness in your eyes, the way your smile looks stretched too thin. How can a bride look so unhappy? How did it take him this long to realise how beautiful you looked that day—despite everything? How could he have failed to tell you?

How could he have been so blind?

He wasn’t the only one hurting that day. You had to stand there, dressed in white, while he grieved for someone else. On the day that was supposed to be yours, his mind had been somewhere else, tangled in memories of a woman who wasn’t you. And he never talked to you about it—not once. He never told you what you needed to hear. That it wasn’t your fault. That none of it was your fault.

He blinks hard, his vision blurring. The cracks were always there, weren’t they? Small at first, almost invisible, but they spread, creeping through everything until you were barely holding on. And he didn’t see it. He didn’t see you. Now, he stares at the picture like it might give him some kind of answer, some kind of clue to undo it all, but all it does is make the ache in his chest grow sharper.

He wished he had known. He wished he had known that the hurt consuming him would fade. He wished he could’ve said it all sooner, when the chance was still there. To tell you the truth. That he indeed had kissed her. That it was a mistake. He should have fallen to his knees and begged you to forgive him.

Would it have made a difference? Could one moment of honesty, one action, one choice have been enough to hold you here, to make you stay?

"Fuck," His voice was unsteady, tears stinging his eyes—tears he didn’t even know he was capable of. He can’t remember the last time he cried. Maybe he never has. He never cried. His hand moves on instinct, reaching for the cabinet, but instead of a glass, his fingers close around the neck of the whisky bottle. Water won’t cut it tonight. He twists the cap off, letting it fall to the counter with a hollow clink, and takes a long, burning sip.

It doesn't dull anything. Not yet. So he drinks.

It’s only been an hour—barely even that—since you left, but it feels like his world is already collapsing.

You wake up groggy, your head spinning and eyes feeling heavy. You can’t remember when you fell asleep or even how. You shift on the bed—Soobin must have carried you here.

Right. You’re at his place now.

"Y/N, you awake?" your brother’s voice carries down the hall, accompanied by the mouthwatering smell of bacon. Your stomach growls unexpectedly. You drag yourself out of bed, splash water on your face in the bathroom, and head out of the room.

“Good morning,” you mumble, stepping into the kitchen. The sight of Soobin setting down a plate of pancakes and Yeonjun grinning at you makes your chest feel warm.

Yeonjun stands and strides over, wrapping you in a tight hug. His hugs are always the warmest. He’s your brother’s best friend, someone who’s been in your life long enough to feel like family. He's known you since you were children, and you see him as your own brother.

He rests his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the table as the corners of your lips tug into a soft smile you can’t seem to hold back. You sit down, and Soobin begins piling food onto your plate.

"Do you have any plans today?" Soobin asks casually, his focus still on divvying up breakfast.

“None, really,” you reply, your attention entirely on the bacon in front of you. Your stomach practically growls in anticipation, and without waiting, you dig in.

A little too eagerly, apparently. You choke, coughing as you try to swallow too quickly.

Yeonjun’s reaction is immediate—he’s already filling a glass of water before you even finish coughing. He places it in front of you and grabs a few napkins, sliding them your way with a concerned look. “Slow down, Y/N,” he says, his tone gentle but firm.

“Sorry,” you croak out, taking a sip of water to soothe your throat.

Last night, when you arrived, your brother didn’t ask for explanations. He didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, he pulled you into a hug, letting you collapse into him, tears soaking into his shirt as you broke down.

You heard him curse, his voice tight with restrained anger, but he didn’t say anything else. He just let you cry. His hands rested firmly on your back.

He didn’t ask because he knew. He knew that words wouldn’t help—not now. And maybe, he was afraid that asking would only deepen the pain already spreading through you.

It’s the reason Soobin hasn’t married yet. He’s had plenty of offers—proposals that would benefit his business, alliances that would make sense on paper. But none of it feels right. Not when he knows what you’ve endured.

He can't forget the look on your face on the day of your wedding. He keeps his distance, telling himself he has no right to fall in love or build a life of his own. How could he, knowing the choice was never yours? How could he allow himself to stand in the light of his own happiness, knowing it would only cast a longer shadow over you?

It would be unfair. Unfair to chase his own happiness.

He’s afraid. Afraid that loving someone, finding joy in his own marriage, would feel like betrayal or it would mean abandoning you to face your burdens alone.

"How are you?" Yeonjun asks, his gaze lingering on the dark circles under your eyes. His frown deepens.

"I'm… better," you say, the words catching in your throat as you force them out. It’s a lie, and you both know it. You’re far from better. Not when the image of Beomgyu standing in the parking lot, staring at you as you left, keeps haunting you. He looked… You shake your head, forcing the thought away.

You can’t go there—not now.

“There’s a party this weekend,” Yeonjun says, trying to sound lighthearted as he takes a bite of his food. “Some kind of school reunion. I think it’s three batches combined. You should come with us.”

"Yeah," you mumble, poking at your plate. "Ryu-jin’s been bugging me about it. Since Jakey won’t be able to make it—he’s overseas right now."

But the words falter on your lips as the thought you’ve been trying to avoid pushes its way forward. You don’t have to say it out loud; it’s already there, written on your face. Beomgyu. He might be there.

"He won’t be," Soobin says firmly, it's almost as if he read your thoughts. "I made sure of it. And if, by some chance, he shows up, I’ll stick by your side all night."

Your eyes flick over to Yeonjun, and he gives you a slight nod, his expression softening. "I’ll be there too,"

The days pass in a haze, each one blurring into the next, but this time, you’re not navigating them by yourself. You lean on your brother more than you ever thought you would, and somehow, he never seems to mind.

Soobin, who skips work without a second thought, pulling you out of the house when he sees you sinking too deep into yourself. He drags you to museums, to quiet cafés, or even just for drives with no destination.

And then there’s Yeonjun. No matter how busy his life is, he keeps... showing up. When Soobin’s tied up, Yeonjun is there, knocking on your door with his humor pulling reluctant smiles from you when you least expect it.

It’s not perfect—it’s still hard. Some days, you still lock your doors and don't come out no matter how many times they knock. There are days you don't even utter a single word. But they’re there, both of them, holding you up when you can’t do it yourself.

For the first time in two years, you don't feel alone.

“He’s not on the list, don’t worry,” Ryu-jin’s voice crackles through the speaker of your phone. You grip the steering wheel a little tighter, your eyes fixed on the road ahead. Soobin’s car leads in the lane in front of you.

"It's fine," you say, "It's not like I'm going for him, anyway."

"Okay. See you there," Ryu-jin replies before hanging up. You swallow hard, trying to push down yet another nausea rising in your throat. You focus on the road.

When you arrive, you walk alongside Soobin toward the entrance. Heads turn, whispers ripple through the crowd. The two of you—the university’s so-called power siblings—command attention without even trying. People smile, greet you, and their eyes linger on your Dior dress, but you barely notice.

“You’re finally here,” Yeonjun’s familiar voice calls out as he approaches, his warm smile cutting the tension in your chest. He grabs your arm gently, pulling you closer. “I’m glad you came,” he says softly, his eyes holding yours before focusing on Soobin.

"You're early." Soobin exchanges a quick greeting with him, heading off briefly to grab drinks for the three of you.

“Y/N!” Ryu-jin throws her arms around you, grinning as her eyes sweep over you. “Why do you always have to look this good?” she teases playfully. You laugh softly, a flicker of warmth in an otherwise heavy evening. The four of you settle at a table, waiting for the event to begin.

The night feels… okay. Not great, not life-changing, but okay. A simple glimpse of normalcy.

The week leading up to tonight lingers in your mind. Beomgyu’s messages. The flowers left at Soobin’s door. The missed calls that filled your screen, each one a reminder of everything you’ve been trying to forget.

You ignored them all. You had to.

Even now, standing here among friends, the memories creep in when you least expect them. Every time you close your eyes, you see them. You see her. And you see him.

And all the things that could’ve happened between them.

No matter how hard you try, the ghosts cling to you, refusing to let go.

You scrub your hands under the cold stream of water, the scent of soap mingling with the sterile air. The sound of the bathroom door creaking open doesn’t register at first—not until you hear her voice.

“Hi, Y/N.” You freeze, your stomach twisting before you even turn around. Through the mirror, her face appears behind you—Ji-won. The last person you wanted to see.

“What do you want?” Your reflection betrays the tension in your jaw. Your stomach twists violently. You don’t want to do this. Not here. Not now.

“Look, I just… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About what happened between you and Beomgyu.” Her words falter, her tone weak, as if that soft voice could somehow soften the blow. “I—I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she continues, “It just… it just happened. We didn’t mean it.”

You know what hurts more than being cheated on? It’s the sickening realization that the person they chose is better than you in every way. Prettier. Maybe even smarter. More… everything.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to speak, “Stop, Ji-won.” You glance at her through the mirror, your chest tightening painfully. “I get it. I can see why.”

She looks startled, her brows drawing together. “Y/N, I’m really sorry. I know you know we had… unfinished business—”

“Unfinished business?” You spin around to face her, and the words tumble out before you can stop them, “With someone else’s husband?”

“That’s why I came to apologize,”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head as your chest burns with a mixture of anger and pain. “Well, I don’t need it. Did you expect me to hug you?” You let out another laugh, this one harsher.

“Congratulations, I guess.” You step closer, each word laced with venom. “But don’t you ever come near me again. If you do, I’ll press charges. It will be really ugly. Do you understand?”

Ji-won nods stiffly, her expression crumbling under the weight of your stare. Without another glance, you turn on your heel and walk out of the bathroom, your steps hurried, the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

By the time you’re in the hallway, your breath is coming in short gasps. Your chest feels tight, constricted, like you’re drowning in your own emotions. You press a hand to your chest, forcing yourself to keep walking, but your vision blurs with unshed tears.

You can’t breathe.

The alcohol should’ve been enough. You thought it would drown everything out—the ache, the gnawing in your gut, the weight pressing down on your shoulders. But the pain is relentless, carving its way through you, burning and cold.

It starts in your chest, spreading like wildfire, suffocating your lungs, and crawling up your spine until it feels like you’re being pulled apart from the inside. It’s sharp, chaotic, like a bullet ricocheting through your body, tearing apart every fragile piece it touches.

You hear Ryu-jin’s voice calling your name, faint and distant, but you don’t turn around. You can’t. No. The crowd around you feels stifling, every laugh and every cheer scraping against your raw nerves. You’re barely holding it together, and you know that if you stay even a second longer, you’ll shatter in front of everyone.

You just need to go. To get away. Anywhere but here. Because right now, in the middle of this party, you feel like an open wound, with no place to hide.

“Where the hell did she go?” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath, panic creeping into her voice as she scanned the hallway outside the bathroom. She had only stepped away for a minute, grabbed what she needed, and when she came back—you were gone.

She storms back to the table, her heart racing. “Soobin, did you see Y/N?”

Soobin looked up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “She was with you, wasn’t she?”

“I lost her,” Ryu-jin admits, held up her phone, frustrated. “I’ve been trying to call, but her phone’s not connecting.” The worry on Soobin’s face mirrors her own, and for a moment, neither of them speaks.

“I’ll check outside,” Soobin says, already rising to his feet, his determination written all over his face. Yeonjun appears at the table just as Soobin leaves. “I’ll go with him.”

“Ryu-jin? Hey, long time no see.”

She turned to see Jay standing there, his familiar easygoing smile not quite registering in the chaos of her mind. “Jay,” she said, forcing a tight smile. “Hey. Yeah. Long time.”

Jay tilted his head. “Surprising. Where’s Choi’s golden girl? Isn’t she usually glued to your side?”

Ryu-jin hesitated, her smile faltering. “They… stepped out for a bit,” she lied, tone distracted.

Her gaze drifted across the room, and that’s when she saw her. Ji-won. Sitting with her group of friends, laughing, carefree, as if she hadn’t done enough damage already. The sight of her felt like a slap to the face. “The audacity…” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath.

Jay follows her line of sight, his eyebrows raising when he spots her. “That’s Ji-won, right?” he asks, his tone laced with something between curiosity and disdain. “The one who’s always been weirdly obsessed with Y/N?”

Ryu-jin’s head snapped toward him. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” Jay continues, shrugging, “back in college, she had this… thing. Like, she couldn’t stand it whenever someone said Y/N was pretty, which was often. It was kind of insane, honestly. Everyone knew Y/N was the prettiest girl back then, and Ji-won hated it. Like, visibly hated it.”

Ryu-jin chokes on her drink, coughing as she shakes her head in disbelief. Her fingers twitch with the urge to march over to Ji-won and give her a piece of her mind, but before she can act on the intrusive thought, Soobin reappears. His face is pale.

“She’s been in an accident,”

You got into an accident.

Beomgyu was sitting in his office when the call came. Everything around him blurred, the world spinning out of focus. It felt as if time had stopped for him, while the Earth kept spinning mercilessly. His body froze, but his mind was spiralling.

Y/N. Accident. The words replayed on a loop in his head, loud and cruel. He couldn't process them, couldn't let them sink in, because doing so would mean accepting that something terrible had happened to you.

You got into a car accident. Something terrible happened.

His throat tightened as he gripped the phone with trembling hands. "Wh-where… which hospital?" he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might shatter.

The answer came, muffled like it was coming from underwater. The call ended before he could fully react. The phone slipped from his hand onto the desk as he staggered to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him.

Somehow, he made it to his car, though he couldn’t remember how. His chest heaved. With shaking fingers, he dialled another number, desperate for more answers.

“Don’t bother coming here, Choi Beomgyu.” Soobin’s voice was sharp and breathless when he answered. It sounded strained, furious even, and it only made Beomgyu’s heart sink further.

“Is she okay?” Beomgyu whispered, his voice barely audible. The question felt like it would break him. His chest felt like it was caving in, the pain clawing at him as he braced himself for the answer. He bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, his free hand digging into his hair as he fought to stay grounded.

“She’s…” Soobin’s voice faltered, and that hesitation was enough to send Beomgyu spiraling further. “They’re trying. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

It wasn’t enough. Those words, those pitiful attempts at reassurance, did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside him. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as panic surged through him. If Soobin couldn’t say you were okay, it meant you weren’t.

Beomgyu floored the gas pedal.

His mind raced as fast as the car, every thought more horrifying than the last. What if he was too late? What if he never got to see you again? His breath hitched at the thought. His hands gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles pale.

He had to see you. Alive. Breathing.

Anything less would destroy him.

Beomgyu bursts into the hospital, his heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the sterile beeping and muffled voices around him. He barely registers the nurse’s directions to your room. All he knows is that he has to see you. His feet carry him faster than his thoughts, and when he spots the door, he doesn’t expect the two familiar figures standing outside.

Ryu-jin sits on a chair, her face buried in her hands as her shoulders shake with sobs. Yeonjun is pacing, his expression tight with worry, his hands clenched into fists.

The moment Yeonjun sees Beomgyu, he stops dead in his tracks. His gaze hardens, sharp and unyielding, as he steps forward and blocks the door with his arm.

“She wouldn’t want to see you,” Yeonjun snaps, his voice low and venomous. “Get the fuck out of here, you piece of shit.”

Beomgyu freezes for half a second before anger flares in his chest, red-hot and uncontrollable. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he shouts, shoving Yeonjun hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “I’m going to see my wife!”

Yeonjun doesn’t back down. If anything, he looks even angrier.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Ryu-jin’s voice cracks as she looks up, mascara streaked down her tear-stained cheeks. She doesn’t bother wiping it away. Her hands tremble as she points at the door. “Visitors aren’t allowed until tomorrow. She’s in surgery, Beomgyu. And it’s not… it’s not a minor one.”

Those words hit him like a freight train. The fight drains out of him, leaving only fear in its place. He stumbles back a step, his hands running through his hair as he struggles to breathe. “Surgery?” he whispers, his voice breaking. “What kind of surgery?”

Yeonjun glares at him, unmoving. “And now you come running,” he spits, his tone bitter. “After all this time? Now you care?”

Beomgyu clenches his jaw, meeting Yeonjun’s fiery gaze but saying nothing. Because he knows Yeonjun’s right.

Yeonjun’s shoulders sag, and his voice softens, “You don’t even know,” he says, eyes on the floor. “You don’t know what a fucking queen your wife is.”

The unexpected shift in tone stops Beomgyu in his tracks. He stares at Yeonjun. His words—they're spoken with such devastation that it leaves him frozen. He sees the sullen look on Yeonjun's face. After all, Yeonjun has always been soft when it comes to you.

So soft that it terrifies Beomgyu.

"Beomgyu." Soobin's voice cuts through the heavy silence, pulling Beomgyu out of his spiralling thoughts. He turns toward him, barely able to focus. "Let's talk here."

Beomgyu nods silently and walks over, his legs feeling heavier with every step. He follows without a word, leaving Yeonjun and Ryu-jin standing alone near the door.

Ryu-jin watches Yeonjun out of the corner of her eye. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a single word since his last bitter remark to Beomgyu. He stands there, staring at the floor. His hands clasped together.

The silence stretches uncomfortably, and she can’t help herself. “Yeonjun…” she starts hesitantly. “You’re not… in love with her or something, are you?”

Her words made Yeonjun’s head snap up. His eyes meet hers, and for the first time, Ryu-jin sees it—really sees it. The glassy sheen in his eyes, the way his lips part but no words come out. The heartbreak painted so clearly on his face that it makes her chest ache. “You idiot,” she whispers, her voice soft with pity.

Yeonjun lets out a shaky breath, his gaze dropping again as if he can’t bear the weight of her sympathy. “She’s… my best friend’s little sister,” he murmurs, his voice raw and quiet. “I didn’t think it was possible. Not for me. Not for her.” He doesn’t answer directly. He doesn’t need to. It’s all over his face.

Yeonjun was in love with you, ever since he first saw you.

Beomgyu sat across from Soobin, his hands clenched tightly in his lap as he listened. Soobin’s voice was calm but firm as he explained what the doctors had said—stress was the last thing you could handle right now. “I’ll let you know if it’s okay for you to see her."

The words didn’t settle easily. Beomgyu didn’t understand why no one would tell him anything about your condition, why every detail was kept from him. But knowing you were stable, even for the moment, was enough. He swallowed his frustration and nodded, agreeing to Soobin’s terms.

Still, he couldn’t help himself. As Soobin turned to leave, Beomgyu’s voice cracked, raw with desperation. “Please,” he begged, “Let me see her. Just once… before I go.”

Beomgyu felt like his heart was clawing its way out of his chest, beating so erratically it left him breathless. It begged to escape, just as he begged silently to be allowed into the ICU. His hands trembled, numb and unsteady. He flexed his fingers, forcing a crack to echo through his knuckles, before gripping the cold metal of the doorknob.

On the other side of this door was you—the woman he hurt.

The thought made him pause, the ache in his chest spreading to his throat, tightening it like a noose. He wasn’t sure he could face you—not like this. But he couldn’t stay away, not anymore.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and his heart stuttered at the sight of you. Your face was pale but peaceful, your eyes closed, your breaths slow and steady. The sound of the machines around you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

He stepped closer, each movement hesitant, his guilt weighing heavier with every inch he bridged between you. When he finally reached your bedside, he froze, staring down at your hand—fragile and adorned with IV needles. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. They were soft. Warm. And just that small, simple touch made him breathe again—really breathe—for the first time in days.

“Baby,” he whispered, the word breaking in his throat.

He sank to his knees beside you, clutching your hand to his face. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over before he could stop them. They fell onto your skin, warm and unrelenting, a silent apology for every mistake he had made. He pressed his lips to your hand, shoulders shook as he cried.

The past few days without you had been unbearable. If he ever had doubts, or worries, if he ever hesitated—those thoughts were gone now. It's you. He’d thought about every little thing you did that he had taken for granted. All of it. And he realized, how much it all mattered.

How much you mattered to him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, whispers to your skin as he continue to kiss your palm. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

The tears wouldn’t stop, and neither would the words pouring out of him. “You mean everything to me. I didn’t see it before, but I see it now. I love you. God, I love you so much.”

He squeezed your hand, hoping—praying—that somehow you could feel him. That even in this fragile, unconscious state, you could hear the desperate beating of his heart, could feel the truth in his touch. “I’ll do better,” he whispered, “I’ll be better. If you’ll just… if you’ll just give me another chance. Please.”

He didn’t know if you could hear him. He didn’t know if you’d ever forgive him. And he hates himself how it took him this long to figure it out.

Beomgyu’s heart was in his hands now, fully exposed and vulnerable, waiting—you could somehow feel it. He rested his forehead against your hand, tears pooling on the stark white sheets. If you gave him the chance, he’d spend the rest of his life proving that his love is real. He was finally here, standing in the world where you had once stood so heartbreakingly alone. And that his heart was yours, completely yours.

He would spend forever making up for what he had done. Even if it kills him.

“Where were you?” you asked, reaching over to grab the strawberry from the basket on the kitchen table. Beomgyu’s chuckle filled the room. “I went drinking with Taehyun. Just a light drink,” he said casually, his hand brushing your shoulder as he passed behind you to grab a plate.

“Why? Did you miss your husband?” he teased, carefully plating the food before setting it down in front of you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You wish.”

He chuckled, handing you a spoon and fork before moving around the kitchen. A tall glass appeared on the table next to your plate and he poured you water.

“Did he miss me too?” Beomgyu’s voice was soft, almost tentative, drawing your gaze upward. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you were caught in the tenderness there. It made your heart ache in that way only he could.

“He?” You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you swallowed. “What makes you so sure it's a boy?” Your hand instinctively brushed over your stomach as a quiet smile softened your face. The thought of your little one—boy or girl—filled you with a warmth you couldn’t quite put into words.

“I just feel it,” A small smile flickered across his lips, “What if we get twins?”

You looked down, your thoughts wandering to tiny clothes, little shoes scattered across the floor, and pastel-painted walls filled with light and laughter. “That would be… amazing,” you murmured.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Beomgyu pulling out the chair beside you. He sat down at first, but then, almost as if drawn closer by some unseen force, he shifted. You felt his gaze before you saw him—soft, unwavering, and filled with a kind of awe that made your chest tighten.

“That sounds nice, two little you running around.” he breathed, his voice almost a whisper. His hand reached out slowly, brushing against your stomach. You set down your utensils, giving him a soft nod as you shifted slightly, allowing him more access.

Beomgyu lowered himself onto his knees in front of you, his large hands resting gently on either side of your growing belly. He glanced up at you, his eyes searching yours for a brief moment before he let out a long, steady breath. Then, with a tenderness that made your throat tighten, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against your stomach.

“Mommy and Daddy love you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. He sounded so vulnerable, so small—like all the pain he had been carrying had finally spilled over. His lips pressed softly against your stomach. And then, without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face against you.

Your hand moved instinctively, threading through his soft hair with slow, soothing strokes. He pulled you closer, as though being near you could quiet the storm in his heart. Your fingers trailed down the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back.

And then—it shifted.

In your dream, you were cradling a baby to your chest, its tiny body safe in your arms. Beomgyu leaned down, smiling widely as you do.

You woke up, panting.

You were dreaming. It shattered as reality came rushing back. Pain coursed through you, sharp and unrelenting, pulling a small, involuntary sound from your lips.

The memory hit next, as vivid as the moment it happened. Driving through the night with tears blurring your vision, your hands trembling on the wheel. The sound of your ragged breathing, the pounding of your heart. You were speeding, desperate to outrun the ache inside. Then the impact—another car colliding into yours, the violent spin before your vision went black.

“Hnn,” you whimpered, barely able to get the sound out. Your throat was dry, parched, and every part of you ached. You needed water.

"Y/N," a voice broke through the haze of your awakening. You turned your head to see your brother, Soobin. His face paled as he dropped whatever he was holding and rushed to your side. “I—I—”

“Water. Please,” you rasped, your throat dry and raw.

Soobin nodded quickly, his hands trembling as he reached for the water bottle on the nearby table. He uncapped it, holding it to your lips as you drank. Relief was fleeting; the ache in your chest outweighed the dryness in your throat.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice a little stronger now, though your hands still shook.

“You got into an accident,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. His voice was low, almost fragile. “A surgery was performed. You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

You nodded, trying to process his words, but his silence that followed unsettled you. ou looked at him, noticing the way his eyes darted away from yours, how his lips pressed together like he was holding back something he didn’t know how to say.

“What is it?” you pressed, your chest tightening with dread.

Soobin hesitated, his hands fidgeting in his lap before he reached out to take yours. “Let me call the nurse first, okay?” You nodded, though the fear in his voice made it hard to breathe.

You nodded, your anxiety growing as he stepped out. Moments later, the nurse arrived, and then the doctor, their voices calm and professional as they began explaining the details of your condition. But their words blurred together—a haze of medical jargon that barely registered—until one sentence shattered everything.

“You were in your first trimester when the accident occurred. The baby didn’t survive. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Your world tilted. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, it felt like your heart had stopped.

“A baby?” you whispered, the word foreign and fragile on your lips.

The nurse and doctor offered their condolences before quietly excusing themselves, leaving you alone with Soobin. Your hands trembled as they instinctively moved to your stomach. “I was pregnant?” Your voice cracked, disbelief and anguish bleeding into every word. "Soobin?"

“Y/N…” Soobin’s voice was choked with emotion.

“I mean… they’re saying I was…” You stopped, the reality sinking in with a force so cruel. “Oh.”

“I didn’t even know,” Tears blurred your vision as the enormity of it all crashed down on you. You lost a baby. A life you didn’t even know you were carrying. A piece of you that was gone before you ever had the chance to feel it, to know it, to love it.

Did you have to lose your child too?

The sobs came hard and fast, wracking your body until you could barely breathe. Your hands covered your mouth, trying to hold in the grief that spilled over anyway. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant.” you choked out, your voice breaking. “And now… they’re gone.” Your hands clutched at your stomach as if trying to hold on to something that was no longer there. "It's all my fault."

Soobin wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest as your cries tore the room. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice shaking. He held you tightly. The only thing that kept you from falling out.

Your cries grew louder, as the loss consumed you. The one you saw in your dream, so warm in your arms. You had held them, hadn’t you? You could still feel the weight of their tiny body in your arms.

Your baby.

All you could do was mourn for the life that had slipped away before you even knew it existed.

It’s been a week since Soobin made his last call to Beomgyu. A week since you opened your eyes in the hospital. And yet, Beomgyu has heard nothing.

Every day, he drags himself to the hospital. But every time, the answer is the same: no. On the fourth day, he arrived—you’d been discharged. You were gone.

Still, every morning, Beomgyu wakes up with that same aching hope that refuses to let go no matter how much it hurts. He gets through the day somehow, clutching at the thought of seeing your face again. But by night, when the world quiets, he’s left with nothing but his tears, falling asleep with the weight of your absence pressing down on his heart.

He’s distracted, eyes fixed on the same line of text glowing on his computer screen. It’s been minutes, maybe longer, and he still hasn’t moved past the first sentence. His mind is elsewhere—adrift—when a knock on the office door pulls him back.

His secretary peeks in, face filled with cautious expression. “Sir, I’ve been calling your phone. Someone’s here to see you—Park Sunghoon.”

Beomgyu blinked, confused. Sunghoon? His old batchmate, someone he’d shared classes with years ago. They hadn’t talked in forever. He nodded slowly, signalling her to let him in.

The door opens fully, and Sunghoon strides in. His pale complexion contrasts starkly with the black polo shirt he’s wearing, and Beomgyu notices the glasses perched on his nose—something he didn't have before. Sunghoon doesn’t look quite the same as Beomgyu remembers.

“Beomgyu,” Sunghoon said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Sunghoon,” Beomgyu responds, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What brings you here?” He gestures toward the seat across the desk, and Sunghoon takes it. The frown etched into his brow didn’t escape Beomgyu’s notice. “Is everything okay?”

Sunghoon exhales, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on his knees. “You know I’m close with Jay, right?”

Beomgyu narrows his eyes, unsure where this is heading, but he nods. “Yeah. And?”

“Well…” Sunghoon hesitates, the words seemingly heavy in his throat before he finally speaks. “I heard about Y/N. That she got into an accident recently.” The sound of your name halts Beomgyu.

“I couldn’t ignore it anymore,” Sunghoon continues, voice quieter. “I made promises to her, you know? But lately… I don’t know. It’s been eating me alive.”

Beomgyu runs his hand to his hair, "Sunghoon…”

"I didn’t think it was my place to say this," Sunghoon begins, "When I heard you two got married, I thought maybe she’d tell you. Maybe you already know. But I came here personally, just in case. Because you deserve to know. And if I don’t tell you now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life."

He exhales deeply before continuing. “Do you remember how you used to talk about Ji-won? How you’d brag about her cooking for you, leaving little things for you—sweets, medicine, hot packs. Or the cold water she’d always leave at your bench during those grueling practices under the sun? Do you remember how she saved your ass that time you forgot your assignment, staying up late just to finish it for you? You told us all those things, over and over, like she a gem.” Beomgyu feels his chest tighten as Sunghoon meets his nervous gaze.

“All of that, Beomgyu… it wasn’t Ji-won,” Sunghoon says carefully, “It was Y/N. Every single one of those things. I know because… she asked me to help her sometimes. She didn’t want you to know. She didn’t do it for recognition or because she wanted anything back. She just cared about you. I even told her once—maybe she should tell you how she felt, and even if you didn’t feel the same, at least it’d help her move on. But she wouldn’t. She told me… her love for you wasn’t about getting something back. It wasn’t about her. It wasn’t selfish.”

Beomgyu’s hand trembles under the table, his knuckles white as he clenches his fists. His throat feels tight, each word hitting his ears.

“At first, I couldn’t understand her decision—I even judged her for it, thinking she was only making... things harder on herself,” Sunghoon admits, voice softening. “But over time, I realized—none of us have the right to judge someone else’s pain. You can’t measure someone else’s actions by your own standards. What might seem small or insignificant to one person could be earth-shattering to someone else.”

Beomgyu had been in love with the idea of Ji-won all along.

Those moments—the little gestures, the care, the comfort—they had become the foundation of his attachment to her. How he remembered her. They were the memories he clung to, the ones burned so deeply into his mind that letting her go had felt impossible. She was, in his mind, someone who cared for him. Someone who truly knew him.

But it wasn’t her. It was you. It had been you all along.

He thinks about Ji-won, the girl he once believed was willing to stand by him no matter what. She made him think about defying his parents, about running away from everything—his responsibilities, his future, his entire life. Ji-won was the one who fueled his anger, who stood beside him as he cursed the world and everyone in it.

And then there was you.

You, who never let him go too far. You didn’t encourage his anger—you challenged it. Even when it meant standing against him, because you wanted him to understand—not everything could be run from. It was you who reminded him that his obligations weren’t a prison but a part of him, something he couldn’t just abandon. It was you who helped him rebuild the bridge to his parents when he didn’t even realise it had been burned.

It’s suffocating now, the truth. To realise that the very actions that made him fall for Ji-won—the moments he thought defined her love for him—were never hers. They were yours.

Ji-won had been nothing but a mirror to his rebellion. This truth, made him want to see you more.

“Pour me another,” Beomgyu muttered to the bartender he leaned heavily on his forearm. The man hesitated, his concern written all over his face. Beomgyu noticed but didn’t care. “I said, pour me another one.”

With a reluctant nod, the bartender slid another drink in front of him. Beomgyu downed it in one go, the burn in his throat doing nothing to drown out the ache in his chest. He fumbled for his phone, the screen glaring back at him as he typed out messages he knew you’d never read.

I miss you, baby. Can I see you? Let’s talk, please. Are you not going to see me? Forever? Ok. I understand. I don’t deserve forgiveness. No. Please. Give me a chance. Just one chance to see you. To talk to you, please. I can’t go on another day without you. Please Y/N.

The messages sat there, unanswered.

Stumbling out of the bar, his legs unsteady and his vision blurred, he barely noticed the bartender calling his driver. He collapsed onto the pavement outside, his head in his hands, phone still clutched in his trembling fingers.

As he opened it again, ready to type another desperate plea, his screen lit up with an incoming call. His heart skipped, hope flickering briefly before seeing another unfamiliar number.

“When are you going to stop calling me, Ji-won?” he shouted into the phone, his voice hoarse with frustration and alcohol. “I’ve said it more than once—we don’t need to talk. Not ever again.”

“I just wanted to know how you’re—”

“Please!” he cut her off, his voice breaking as tears streamed freely down his face. He was shaking now, his words spilling out in a desperate sob. “Please, Ji-won… I know everything. I know what you did. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.”

He pressed his palm against his mouth, trying to muffle the sound of his own cries. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible through his tears. “Just let me be.”

The line ends.

Ji-won freezes, her fingers trembling as the line goes dead. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.

She exhales shakily, forcing air into her lungs that suddenly feel too tight. Her phone slips from her hand, landing softly on the bedspread. Hot tears well in her eyes, blurring the room around her. She had let herself believe—naively, foolishly—that Choi Beomgyu could still be hers.

Even after everything, she had convinced herself that there was still a piece of him that belonged to her. But now, hearing his words, she knew. She had already lost him.

The tears came harder as her mind betrayed her, pulling her back to the moment it all began. The moment her hatred for you took root.

“Beomgyu,” she had chirped, plopping down beside him on the couch. He had been immersed in a book, his brow furrowed in concentration, but she didn’t care. She wanted his attention, his reassurance. She always did. “There’s this talk going around about… Y/N,” she said, the name leaving a sour taste on her tongue. “People are saying she’s the prettiest girl on campus.” Her voice dropped, tinged with an edge of insecurity.

“But that’s not true, right? She’s not that… pretty.” She trailed off, squeezing his hand, her smile faltering as she waited for the words she longed to hear. She wanted him to say, there was no competition—that she was the most beautiful girl in his eyes.

Beomgyu was half hearing her words because he was engrossed in the book he was reading. So instead, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a hint of confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “It's true. I think she’s beautiful.”

It was on that day Ji-won began to hate you with every fiber of her being.

The kind of hatred that wasn’t born overnight, but nurtured by her insecurities, fed by the way you walked through the world without a care—dragging every boy’s eyes in your wake as if it were effortless. And the worst part? You didn’t even seem to notice. You didn’t have to notice.

Jealousy festered in her chest, growing heavier each time she caught a glimpse of you. It didn’t help that you and Beomgyu—her Beomgyu—shared a world she could never truly enter. The Chois. The big families. A legacy. Something she wasn’t, something she could never be.

The announcement of your engagement felt like the final blow. She couldn’t understand how the universe could be so evil. You, the girl she couldn’t stand, were being handed the one thing she clung to the hardest. It wasn’t fair. And as jealousy morphed into bitterness, she let herself simmer in the injustice of it all, until it burned hot enough to ignite a plan.

Ji-won thought of everything. She knew Beomgyu would be there at the party, and she knew what she had to do. She chose the kind of dress he used to love. She styled her hair the way he used to run his fingers through, practised the words he used to adore hearing spill from her lips. She even reached for the used perfume he once said he liked.

It wasn’t an accident. None of it was. Ji-won walked into that room not as a guest, but as someone determined to remind him of what they once had. It didn’t matter that he was married.

You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You destroyed it. Please, just let me be.

She swallows hard, the lump in her throat refusing to go away. The realization settles over her like a heavy fog, a fog that turns clear—she is nothing more than a wall. A futile obstacle standing in the way of two souls who are meant to be together.

She opens her phone, booking a flight—any flight—to anywhere but here.

“It’s here,” Soobin says softly, his hand resting gently on your back as he guides you forward. His finger points to the glass grave in front of you.

Gone, but forever in our hearts. Moon.

Your Moon. The name you gave your baby—a name as delicate and luminous as the child who never got to see the world. You thought long and hard about it. It had to be beautiful, just like him. A name worthy of all the love you poured into his short, fleeting existence.

You pull out your handkerchief, wiping at the thin layer of dust that has settled on the outside of the glass. Your fingers tremble as you do, as though clearing the smudges could make it hurt less. But it doesn’t. It never does. Your brow furrows as you fight the ache swelling in your chest. He’s in there—inside that small, delicate bottle. And this is all you can do for him now.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the words leave your lips. Soobin stands beside you, his smile soft but heavy with sadness. “Do you think I would’ve been a good uncle?” he asks, his voice barely louder than the wind.

You glance at him, your heart aching at the question. He kneels to place the small flowers you’d brought together, arranging them with the utmost care. There's an unfamiliar flower resting beside it. Someone must have wrongly placed it.

“Yes,” you manage to say, your throat tight with emotion. “I think the two of you would’ve been close.” You force a smile, though it wavers, your words choking you as they come out.

He reaches up and smooths your hair, a comforting gesture that almost makes you break. “He’s up there,” Soobin murmurs, his eyes lifting to the sky. “With no pain. Watching over you.”

You nod, swallowing hard, willing your tears to stay back. You can’t cry. Not here. Not now. If you cry, your baby might worry. You’ve convinced yourself of that, even if it doesn’t make sense.

The week after your discharge was unbearable.

You clung to Soobin like a lifeline, your hands gripping his. Your parents moved you back into their house without question, simply knowing you needed them.

Your mother—the strongest woman you’d ever known, the one who never faltered—cried with you when you broke the news. She held you in her arms like you were a child again, her tears falling silently against your hair as you sobbed into her chest. Your father walked with you every day, leading you to the garden where you could sit in the sunlight, as if the warmth could somehow seep into the cracks inside you. They cooked your meals, cleaned your space, and did everything you couldn’t bring yourself to do.

Tonight, you find yourself staring blankly at the walls of your old room.

The quiet feels suffocating, pressing against your chest. Sleep won’t come, and before you even realise it, tears are slipping down your cheeks. You didn’t even notice you were crying until the dampness touches your skin. You sit up abruptly, your chest heaving as if the air refuses to fill your lungs. The stillness of the bed feels unbearable, so you push yourself off it, your feet meeting the cool floor.

Pacing back and forth, you feel the tears come harder now, unchecked and unexplainable. You don’t even know why you’re crying. It’s just there—this ache, this heaviness. You were about to go out, to get Soobin or your parents.

But then your eyes caught the window.

It glows. The moon.

It’s full tonight, impossibly bright, casting a soft, silvery glow across the room. It feels like it’s staring back at you. You stand there, frozen, the phone slipping from your hand. The moon’s reflection shimmers faintly in your tear-filled eyes, and for a moment, you forget the heaviness pressing against your chest. It’s as if the moon is speaking to you, telling you to breathe, to let go, to just be.

Your breathing steadies. You stand there, bathed in its light, feeling the faintest glimmer of peace. And the storm inside you begins to calm.

It’s been six months since you woke up.

Six months since you returned to your parents’ house, where the familiar walls offered some sense of safety. Ryu-jin and Yeonjun visit almost every weekend, their presence a small comfort. Soobin stays, too, refusing to leave your side.

It’s been almost seven months since you last saw Choi Beomgyu.

Seven months since everything fell apart.

Choi Beomgyu, who, for six months now, has spent every single day driving two hours to your parents’ house. He shows up like clockwork, no matter the weather, no matter the time. After work, he makes the trip, arriving at the big gated doors with a bouquet of white roses in his hands. Every single day.

He doesn’t make a scene or beg to be let in. He just waits, bouquet in hand, a fragile hope flickering in his eyes. White roses. Always white roses. They used to be your favourite.

His parents send gifts, too. Packages and handwritten letters arrive, carefully chosen and delicately worded, but you can’t bring yourself to open them.

And every day, you hear the knock at the gate. Every day, you peek from the upstairs window, watching him wait, white roses clutched in his hands like a lifeline. And every day, you stay hidden behind the curtains, your feet stay rooted to the floor, your heart too bruised to carry you to him.

But today is different. Today, it has to be.

The papers are in your hands. Unsigned divorce papers. You tell yourself it’s just paper, just ink, but the trembling in your hands betrays the truth.

You walk to the building you once called home, each step echoing in your chest. The elevator hums softly as you press the button, your reflection in the mirrored doors a stranger to you. When it finally dings open, you step out into the hallway that once smelled of comfort and familiarity. Now it feels like a mausoleum.

Your hand hovers over the doorbell of your home—no, his home. The space you used to share feels distant. The ring in your other hand feels impossibly heavy, its cool metal biting into your palm.

You’ve tried to get rid of it before. Once, you even threw it in the trash, convincing yourself it was the right thing to do. But then came the panic. You tore through the garbage, hands shaking, the stench clinging to you as you clawed through. It didn’t matter that you ruined your clothes or that your mom’s voice cracked as she begged you to stop.

You just couldn’t let it go. Maybe, you should return it properly.

You take a breath and press the button. And then you wait.

When the door swung open, Beomgyu’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything froze. His eyes widened in shock, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. You felt your chest tighten painfully, the sight of him unravelling something inside you. He looked… so different. His hair, longer now, fell to his shoulders in messy waves, unkempt like he hadn’t bothered to comb it. His skin was pale, almost sickly, and his eyes were rimmed with red, like he’d been crying—or hadn’t slept in days.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand gripped the edge of the door like he needed something to steady him, his heart hammering so loudly he swore you could hear it. Was this real? Were you really standing there? He let his gaze trail over you, taking in your thinner frame, the hollow tiredness etched into your face. He wanted to say something, to invite you in, but the words caught in his throat.

You didn’t say a word. Instead, you stepped past him, the sharp click of your heels against the floor filling the suffocating silence. Each step echoed like a countdown, louder in his ears than it should have been. Beomgyu turned to watch you, his hand hovering uselessly at his side, aching to reach out but too afraid to try.

He closed the door softly behind you.

Your eyes scan the room, and it hits you all at once—everything’s a mess. Clothes are strewn carelessly over the couch, an empty chip bag crumpled on the kitchen counter, dishes piling up in the sink. The air feels heavy, stagnant, like the windows haven’t been opened in weeks.

And then your gaze shifts—to the open door on the right. Your room.

Your breath catches as you take it in. The bed is unmade, the sheets tangled in a way that’s unmistakable.

He’s been sleeping there. Beomgyu. In your room. In your bed.

"Uh," Beomgyu starts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, it's… kind of a mess."

You nod stiffly, not meeting his eyes. "It's okay."

The sound of your voice makes him freeze. It’s been so long since he’s heard it—too long. His chest tightens, but before he can savor it, your next words come like a knife to his heart. "I'm not going to be here for long anyway."

His brows furrow, panic flashing across his face. "Wh-why?" he stammers, his voice breaking. "I mean—"

You cut him off, extending the envelope toward him with trembling hands. "Let’s…" You swallow hard, forcing the words out despite the lump in your throat. "Let’s get a divorce."

Beomgyu stares at you, his mind reeling. The hope that had bloomed in his chest when he saw you standing at his door clashes violently with the reality of your words. His lips part, but no sound comes at first. Finally, he whispers, "Why?"

He can’t stop himself. The panic is overwhelming. "I went to your house every day," he says, his voice breaking. "Every single day, Y/N. I wanted to make this work. I—I sent you messages, I tried everything. Do you…" He swallows hard, his throat tight. "Do you not love me anymore?" He knows he sounds pathetic, but he doesn’t care. The speeches he’d rehearsed in his head dissolve into nothing, overtaken by the fright clawing at him.

Your breath hitches, and when you speak, your voice is cold, trembling with barely contained emotion. "I don’t care if I love you, Beomgyu. I don’t care if it feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest, or if it feels like I’m dying inside." You take a shaky breath, your grip tightening on the envelope. "I want a divorce. And when it’s done, you’ll never see me again."

Beomgyu flinches like you’ve struck him, his knees nearly buckling. He shifts uncomfortably, his hands shaking at his sides. "Is this still about Ji-won?" he asks hesitantly, and the way you flinch answers him before your words can.

He swallows hard, his voice growing more frantic. "It’s true, Y/N. It’s true, that I cheated. I kissed her, but as soon as it happened, I pushed her away." He presses a trembling hand to his chest. "It didn’t mean anything—it was a mistake, a horrible mistake, and I hate myself for it every single day. But please…" His voice cracks, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Please, give me a chance."

You shake your head, a sob breaking free despite how hard you’re trying to hold it together. "It’s too late, Beomgyu," you whisper, your voice trembling as your hands shake. You open your hands, and try to give the ring back. "Too much has happened. We can’t go back."

Beomgyu doesn’t take it. He just stands there, staring at the ring in your palm, tears streaming down his face. He knows. If he takes it, it’s over. If he takes it, you’ll be gone for good, out of his life forever.

"I can’t," he whispers, his voice broken. "I can’t take it."

He won’t take the ring, so he takes your hand and pulled you to him, kissing your lips fervently and enduring the slam of your fists against his body and chest. It was all him; it was all his fault. He is an emotional wreck who doesn’t know what to do and how to contain his feelings.

“Beomgyu—” you gasped, your voice breaking as you pushed at his chest. He didn’t let go, his hands cupping your face, fingers brushing against your jaw like you were something fragile and sacred. His touch was shaky, his breathing uneven as his hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer.

His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress—his mattress now, the one that carried his scent.

“Wait—,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve. But even as you pushed against him, your lips didn’t stop moving from kissing him back. His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word until he declared his love for you through kisses. You let yourself melt under his touch.

Your hands, which had been pushing him away moments before, now found his shoulders for balance as he pressed you back into the bed. The mattress creaked beneath you, and you hated how your body still remembered him—how it responded to him like no time had passed at all.

His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours, hungry and desperate. You had missed him—every part of him. That truth burned inside you as your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.

He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with something between adoration and hunger as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world.

“Don’t leave me…” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of. You trembled beneath him, gasping and crying out as he whispered confessions into your skin.

His mouth was poetry, speaking without syllables. His kisses, his touch—every movement of his lips and tongue—proclaimed what he hadn’t said out loud. Your body gave in, melting under the weight of his devotion, your mind consumed by him.

“Don’t leave me again, please,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He missed you so much that he's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—apologies, regrets.

"Please," His touch was gentle, even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s always been you.”

“I love you…” he murmured, capturing your lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist, and he repeated the words softly into your ear, like a prayer he needed you to hear.

"Beomgyu," You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw. When he noticed your tears, he wiped them away without hesitation, his touch careful and soothing.

“Shh, angel,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head, and his hand moved in calming strokes up and down your back. “I’m sorry… for everything.”

You had come here to end it. To finally say the words that would close this chapter for good. You’d rehearsed it in your mind, telling yourself you’d leave with your head held high.

But all of that clarity blurred with every kiss he gave you, every whisper of your name that fell from his lips. Every I love you, over and over again, spoken like a spell meant to undo you. And it did. The walls you had worked so hard to build these past seven months—brick by painstaking brick—began to crack and crumble.

And when he pulled you closer, his arms tightening around you like he couldn’t bear to let go, you felt yourself falter completely. Because no matter how much resolve you thought you had, it was never enough when it came to him.

Two fractured bodies came together, love-making to each other to chase away all the scars and time passed.

The papers meant to sever—to declare the ending—lay discarded on the floor, forgotten.

The brightness of the room stings your eyes as they flutter open. You blink, disoriented, your chest tightening with a familiar weight. Panic creeps up, sharp and unforgiving. He must have left. He must have slipped out of bed again, leaving you to wake up alone.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Beomgyu’s voice is soft, tinged with concern as he gently cradles your face in his hands. He had woken up before you, the morning light spilling across the room, but leaving the bed felt impossible. Not when you were curled so closely against him, your bodies still tangled under the warmth of the sheets.

He stayed, wrapping himself around you, his chest pressed to your back, his arms holding you. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the faint scent that now feels like home. It was quiet—so quiet—until he felt the faint tremble on your body. His grip tightened instinctively, his voice barely above a whisper as he called out to you again. “Y/N,"

You blinked, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. Turning your head, your eyes met his—heavy-lidded and soft with sleep. His arms tightened around your waist. A shaky breath escaped your lips, your chest tight as tears welled in your eyes. You tried to hold them back, but they came anyway.

Beomgyu’s thumb brushed against your cheek, catching the first tear as it slipped down. He didn’t miss a thing. His gaze traced every flicker of emotion on your face. He opened his mouth, ready to ask what was wrong again, but you spoke first,

“You finally stayed.”

Your words made him froze. Guilt settled heavy in his chest, as he pulled you impossibly closer. His forehead pressed against yours, lips hovered so close to yours.

“I won’t ever leave. Every day, you’ll wake up, and I’ll be here. Right by your side.”

Beomgyu was different—so different it made your heart ache in the best way.

He was there, every single step, helping you out of bed like it was second nature. You had to practically fight for the simple dignity of showering alone, and even then, he lingered just outside the door, making sure you were okay.

And when it was his turn to ask for something, “Please cook for me again,” he’d said, his voice begging.

So you did. You made the soup—the very first one you’d ever cooked for him back in college. As the soup simmered, Beomgyu started to talk. He told you about Ji-won, about his unexpected interaction with Sunghoon, and how he’d rejected Ji-won long before he even knew the full truth. He spoke with an honesty that left no room for doubt, his words meant only for you.

When your mind wandered, when your eyes drifted away, Beomgyu noticed. He always noticed. His fingers would gently close around yours, pulling you back to him. He’d press soft kisses to your palms, his touch saying more than words ever could: Stay with me. I’m here.

“This is too good,” Beomgyu groaned after his first sip of the soup, you know see his face lighting up like what Sunghoon told you about. His hands cradled the bowl, and you couldn’t help but notice the glint of his ring—the one he refused to take off. It made you looked down at your own hand, there it was—your ring, the one Beomgyu fought for last night.

You took a small sip, letting the warmth spread through you. But it did little to settle the weight in your stomach. There was still something left unsaid, something you hadn’t found the courage to tell him yet. “Beomgyu,”

He squeezes your hand—the one he hasn’t let go of, even while eating. His arm stretches across the table to hold yours, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hmm?” he hums.

“Back in the hospital…” you begin, your voice trembling with of what you’re about to say. You feel his gaze shift to you, “I had a… I had a miscarriage.” You swallow hard, forcing yourself to continue. “I lost our child.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your eyes fixed on the half-eaten soup in front of you. The warmth in his hand disappears, and your heart sinks. When you hear the sound of his chair scraping against the floor, dread floods your chest. He’s walking away.

But then he’s there—beside you. He pulls out the chair next to yours and sits down. When he leans forward to pull you into his arms, it’s like the air returns to your lungs. He guides your face to rest against his shoulder. His arms come around you, holding you close.

“I know,” he whispers, “Soobin told me.”

Your breath catches, and your chest feels both heavy and light at the same time. “I went to him every day, you know,” he continues, his hand running soothing circles on your back. “It’s hard not to. I couldn’t stay away. He… he got me.”

You exhale shakily, your body relaxing into his. The faint memory of flowers on your baby's grave—ones you couldn’t remember bringing yourself—floats to the surface. It all makes sense now. Beomgyu had been there, mourning as you did.

Your hand never leaves Beomgyu’s as he drives.

The road feels both too short and too long, leading you to the place you’ve come to know too well. It’s green here—peaceful and impossibly beautiful in a way that feels both comforting and heartbreaking. He parks the car, steps out, and circles around to open your door. His hand finds yours again as you step out, and together, you walk the path you’ve walked before.

In your other hand, you hold the small bouquet—a gift for the little one who rests here now, your little angel. You kneel gently, placing the flowers at the grave. Beomgyu crouches beside you, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the stone.

Beomgyu’s voice breaks the silence, trembling as he whispers, “Daddy’s here with Mommy now, just like I promised you.” His words catch in his throat, and he pauses, his head bowing slightly as he tries to gather himself. “I told you I could do it,” he continues, his voice shaking, raw with emotion. “Daddy’s so sorry for everything. I promise I’ll take care of your Mommy. I’ll take care of her, I swear. You just play up there, okay? Don’t worry about us. Mommy and Daddy love you more than anything.”

Your heart aches at his words, and you press closer to his side. His arm finds its way around your shoulders, holding you tight. You cling to him just as fiercely, your bodies leaning into one another, trying not to fall apart in front of the greatest what-if of your lives.

I can’t wait to see you, wife. Almost there. I love you.

The corners of your lips tugged into a smile as you read your husband’s text. It had been a week since you decided to reconcile. And in those seven days, he had kept every promise, showing you with quiet consistency that he meant every word.

Reaching for your perfume, you lightly spritzed it onto your pulse points. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric of your dress, a small flutter of nerves in your chest.

The past still lingered—it wasn’t something that could just disappear. There were nights you woke up gasping, caught in the grip of nightmares. But the smoke always seemed to lift the moment you heard his voice, the way he whispered comfort like he could chase away the darkness with nothing but his presence. It was a start.

You spent the weekend at your parents’ house. When you told them you were giving your marriage another chance, their eyes had softened, and they gave you their support. And now, here you were, waiting for him—your husband—who was on his way to take you on your first date.

Married for almost three years, and are going out for your first date. The date he’d practically begged for, pouting for hours until you finally agreed, because he said he wanted it.

A beginning.

You make your way down the stairs. When you reach the bottom, your eyes land on Yeonjun, lounging on the couch, his fingers absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t notice you at first, but the moment he does, he sets it down without hesitation.

Walking over to him, you don’t give him a chance to say anything. Your hands gently cup his face, and before he can react, you press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Yeonjun,” you say softly, standing in front of him now, your gaze grateful. “Thank you. For everything.”

Your words seem to light him up. A smile spreads across his face, and he attempts one of his signature winks—a clumsy one at that. It’s so bad it makes you both break into laughter, the sound echoing warmly in the room. “Anything for you, Y/N,” he replies, he stands up and asks for another hug from you.

"Take care, always, okay?" You nod to his shoulders. Grateful to this man who did things for you, without asking anything back.

After saying your goodbyes to Yeonjun, you step outside, your eyes sweeping across the open space in front of the large doors.

Beomgyu leans casually against his sleek black velvet car, the deep color almost absorbing the light, while Soobin stands beside him, mid-conversation. There’s a quiet ease between them, the kind that makes you pause. When they notice you approaching, Soobin pats Beomgyu’s back, their exchange winding down as they mutter their farewells.

They look like... brothers.

The sight tugs at your heart. When you told Soobin about Beomgyu’s promises, you weren’t sure how he’d react, but it felt like he already knew. “He’s the only one who doesn’t realise how much he loves you,” Soobin had said, his voice certain. “I saw it—starting back at the hospital. It was all over his face.”

Now, as you reach him, you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug that speaks more than words ever could. “I love you, Soobin.” you say, the words soft but full of conviction.

Soobin holds you for a beat longer than usual, his hand resting lightly on your back. He feels nothing but peace in his chest.

Maybe now, he can start chasing his own happiness too.

Beomgyu watches silently as you pull away from Soobin, his gaze never leaving you. When your eyes meet his and a soft smile spreads across your lips, his chest tightens. You’re beautiful. So achingly beautiful that it feels like his heart might splinter under your stare.

When you reach him, he leans down without a word, brushing a quick kiss against your lips. He knows he needs this. He knows he needs you.

Because without you, there’s no him.

The day felt like stepping back in time, a snapshot of a younger, simpler you.

It started with the movies, where Beomgyu would lean in for quick, stolen kisses during the darker scenes, his grin impossible to resist. Then came the arcade—a chaotic mix of flashing lights and laughter. He was relentless in his mission to win you a comically oversized teddy bear, to the point of nearly bribing the poor guy running the booth. When he finally succeeded, he held it up like a trophy, his smile as wide as the bear itself. For a moment, it felt like you were back in college, like this could’ve been one of your carefree dates from those days.

Now, you’re crammed into a photo booth together, squishing shoulder to shoulder as the timer counts down. Two grown, married adults pulling silly faces at the camera like teenagers. The faint hum of the machine is drowned out by your shared giggles, and you can feel the curious stares of actual teenagers nearby. They’re probably imagining your life is perfect, the kind of love they dream about. If only they knew how far from perfect it’s been—how much work it’s taken to get here.

When the photo strip finally slides out, Beomgyu grabs it first, holding it up with a burst of laughter. “Look at you, sweetheart,” he says, pointing to one particularly goofy expression you made. His laughter is infectious, and soon you’re both doubled over, bumping to each other as you cackle uncontrollably.

Beomgyu—who always seems so composed, so maddeningly serious—looks nothing like that version of himself when he laughs. He’s wide-eyed and carefree, his joy as pure as a child’s, and it’s beautiful. It heals you. Every day with him feels like this—a discovery, a new layer to peel back, something new to fall in love with.

“God, I love you,” he says suddenly, making your heart flutter.

“I love you too,” you whisper, the smile on your face softening as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. The squeals from the teenagers outside are instant, and you roll your eyes, laughing as you glance at them—your accidental audience, swooning over the two of you like you’re straight out of a rom-com, like they’ve just witnessed something magical.

And maybe they have.

It doesn’t matter if it’s slow, or if it took longer than it should have. Life isn’t perfect, and neither are people. Everyone deserves a second chance—just like the one you gave your marriage. Just like the one it deserved. It may have started off messy in ways you couldn’t imagine fixing, but that didn’t mean it had to end the same way.

The road ahead still feels long, but you’re learning to let go. Of the doubt that whispered you’d never make it. Of the pain. Of the mistakes and the past that clings to you. Even the scars—the ones you thought would never fade. Letting them go is the only way forward, the only way to move on. Only then can you begin again.

You glance at Beomgyu, his fingers laced with yours, his grip gentle as he leads you out of this place. His head tilts slightly as he looks back at you, and there it is—that boyish, cheeky smile that has the power to make your heart skip.

All you have to do is surrender.

This surrender is not in defeat, but in trust. Trust in him. Trust with his promises. Trust in the hope of something better.

Trust in yourself.

You’ll be okay.

THE END.

taglist: I love you @.beombunni @.lovingbeomgyudayone @.virtaideen @.hyukascampfire @.fancypeacepersona @.bamgeutori @.lilbrorufr @.beomieeeeeeeeeeees @.soobinbunnie5 @.pagelets @.yoseicour @.baekberrie @.blossommi @.younbeanz @.soohashits @.brrytears @.shycreationdreamland @.notevenheretbh1

[jakesimfromstatefarm]

fine line ── l. hs

↳ summary ── heesung's got two problems: (1) he can't sleep, and (2) he's addicted to the 1AM combo of instant ramyeon and coffee milk from his favorite convenience store around the corner. the only thing more consistent than his insomnia? his nightly visits for his beloved snacks (and maybe to glare at the new night shift employee, too). & pstt, spoiler alert: you're the said new night shift employee. and you don't know what's worse: his weird food choices or his apparent superiority complex. either way, if you have to watch him inhale another bowl like it's his last meal ever, you might lose it. but hey, you know what they say—there’s a fine line between love and hate...

↳ pairing ── heeseung x f!reader

↳ genre ── idol!heeseung, e2l!au, strangers to lovers!au, convenience store worker!reader || angst hehe, crack, eventual fluff

↳ ✎ᝰ 15.4k (gasp, she kept it under 20k????)

↳ contains ── so much bickering and banter, reader is kinda sassy and a lil crazy, heeseung is a lil weirdo at first, CRACK (this entire fic revolves around EXTRA HELL FIRE RAMEN PLS), angst, both heeseung & reader can't communicate their feelings & are stubborn as hell, tension tension tension! , deep conversations about life choices lol, cursing

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── IM ALIVE (barely) ! i survived a global expedition (one 12 hr flight) just to come back and face an apocalypse (i got a bug infection and a cold) but dragged myself out of my deathbed (my comfy bed) to finish editing this because i told yall i would and bc i felt bad ghosting everyone for a week LOL apologies (if anyone cares,,,pls tell me u do or i'll cry rn) anyways i hope yall enjoy this one,,,this one was fun to write, it felt very sitcom-y and was lowkey based off of backstreet rookie vibes (only bc it's set in a convenience store). i hope you all enjoy & pls let me know what you think :') thank u for the support & love always <3

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

It’s simple, really. 

Customer service voice on, a smile plastered on your face, greet the customer, scan the item, take their money, bag said item, throw in a half-hearted ‘Have a good night!’

And repeat. 

Well, most of the time. 

Occasionally, there’s the fun of kicking out a few drunk teenagers looking for a bathroom that you definitely don’t have (yes you do). But otherwise, this graveyard shift at your local corner convenience store? 

Total dream job. 

You get paid—as in actual, legit money—to sit behind a counter, scan snacks, and feast on your personal holy trinity of microwavable cheesy ramen, peach juice, and potato chips. What could possibly go wrong? 

At least, that’s how the manager sold it during your interview. And by interview, you mean the three-minute conversation that went something like: 

“Can you work nights?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cool, you’re hired.” 

No background check, no follow-up questions, not even a glance at your resume. A broke college student with insomnia and schedule flexibility? You were the perfect candidate. 

And it’s not like you’re picky. You needed cash, and this seemed like a pretty solid deal. What can you say? College is expensive, and someone’s gotta fund your caffeine addiction and deeply specific (and yet completely necessary, you would argue) habit of playing at every single claw machine game you stumble across. 

So yeah. Easy work.

At least, that's what you thought.

Because on the night of your first shift, exactly at 1:09AM, the doorbell gives its friendly little ding, and in walks...something.

Someone?

Whatever it is, it's a walking shadow. Oversized hoodie. Baggy pants. A baseball cap shoved under the hood. A black face mask covering whatever’s left of his identity. You think it’s either a ninja, a celebrity in disguise, or—more likely—a vampire who hasn’t seen sunlight since the Joseon era (you’re leaning more towards vampire).

But more than the wild theories running around in your head, something else piques your curiosity.

Because unlike the other weirdos that usually shuffle in at these ungodly hours, this one moves with true purpose. He beelines straight to the ramen aisle, snags something off the top shelf (most likely the ultra-spicy soup one because, of course, you already have the shelves memorized), and then grabs a bottle of coffee milk from the cold drinks section without even so much as glancing at it.

No hesitation. No second-guessing. Like he’s done this a thousand times before and is now on autopilot mode.

You watch, intrigued. And then—horrified.

Because who in the right mind pairs volcanic spicy ramen with coffee milk? Is that even legal?

You’re barely recovering from your own appalled thoughts before he’s already at the counter, placing his borderline apocalyptic snack combination on the counter in front of you with the same eerie precision he has.

You fail to keep your poker face on when you scan his items, your face scrunching up in disgust.

“Uh,” you shake it off, forcing yourself back to reality, “That’ll be—”

But before you can even finish your sentence, he’s already fishing out the exact amount—three crisp bills—out his back pocket and holds it out for you.

There’s a beat of silence.

You stare down at the money in his hand for a second too long, suddenly convinced this guy practices his convenience store interactions in the mirror or something.

When you don’t show any further signs of moving, he eventually gives up, placing the money on the counter with a quiet sigh, grabbing his ramen and coffee milk, and striding off to the self-service corner like he personally owns the place.

All of this. Without. A single. Thank you.

Wow. Okay. So tonight’s customer is potentially a vampire with a side gig as a professional jerk. Good to know.

You internally scoff at the entire interaction, but—unfortunately for you—you can’t look away. Because this guy? This walking shadow?

You’re weirdly intrigued. Like when you accidentally click on a pimple-popping video and immediately regret it, but still end up watching five more.

It’s a curse.

Out of the corner of your eye (because obviously you’re not staring, you’re just…hyper-aware of your surroundings), you watch him execute his ramen-and-coffee-milk routine with the precision of a man possessed.

Step one: Hot water in the ramen cup.

Step two: Ramen into the microwave.

Step three: Wait for exactly one beep before yanking the microwave door open with alarming speed, as if he's scared to even give the second beep the chance to ring.

Step four: Peel the lid back in slowly—so painfully slow you're about to march over there and do it yourself.

Step five: Insert the straw into the coffee milk—of course, perfectly right in the center. Bullseye.

Honestly? It's all kind of impressive. Horrifying, but impressive.

And, of course, just when you think you might finally look away, because out of sight, out of mind—he slides onto one of the bar stools by the window, right in your direct line of vision. The perfect spot for you to get a pristine view of his back, which, spoiler alert, is completely unhelpful in your personal mission in trying to see even a glimpse of what this guy looks like.

Maybe if you squint hard enough, you can make out his face in the reflection of the store window. Maybe. Just maybe—

Nope.

All you catch is a brief glimpse of his eyes—barely visible beneath his excessive hoodie and hat combination. Even his mask stays glued to his face and you wonder how he even plans on eating his outrageous meal.

But even so, you still can’t look away. What even is that color? And why can’t you look away?

Whatever. It’s just eyes. Totally normal. Everyone has them. Not noteworthy at all.

Except it is.

Because you catch yourself still squinting, hoping the glare of the fluorescent lighting against the window hides your not so subtle mission from him. You’re probably risking retinal damage at this point with how hard you’re trying to decode this guy’s entire identity from literally just his eyes.

You catch another short glimpse of his eyes as he shuffles in his seat and just as you’re trying to piece together why his eyes look oddly familiar—

He looks up.

His eyes catch yours in the glaring reflection of the store's windows, and you freeze.

Abort mission. Now.

You cough—loudly, dramatically—and your eyes immediately dart elsewhere, your hands shuffling on the discounted candy bars displayed on the counter top, pretending to look busy and silently praying he didn't catch you looking for too long.

When enough time passes by, you risk another quick glance back at him, to see he’s now digging into his ramen, head tucked so low you can’t even see his eyes anymore. He’s gone full turtle mode.

You lift a brow.

Weirdo.

A weirdo with an ego. Slurping and sipping away at his crime-against-humanity meal as if he owns the building.

Maybe he's mute. Or a people-hater. Or a cryptid who thrives on ramen and coffee milk instead of human interaction. Maybe I'm being pranked?

You shrug it off, because no matter how hard you try to figure him out, one thing is glaringly obvious: he does not want to be bothered.

And you're not sure if that makes him more intriguing or more annoying.

You’re in the clear. At least, you think you’re in the clear. 

After your first weird encounter with Mr. No-Name-No-Face—spicy ramen enthusiast and potential vampire—you’ve begrudgingly adjusted to his nightly visits. 

He shows up at 1:09AM like clockwork, grabs his neon red Extra Spicy Hellfire Ramen (yes, that’s the real brand name, and yes, your soul dies a little every time you even have to think about it), and parks himself in the window seat across from your counter like it’s a Michelin-star ramen bar—and not your humble convenience store with a health inspection rating of B+ (don’t ask). 

By night three, you’ve downgraded him from potential murderer to mildly annoying ramen connoisseur. 

By night four, you’ve decided he’s your own personal karma sent by the universe. 

It starts off with the door chime. You don’t even flinch. 1:09AM. Right on schedule. 

You don’t look up from the colorful juice pouches you’re restocking. You’re halfway through creating a perfectly symmetrical pyramid display—color-coded, of course—because, clearly, you’ve peaked as a human being. 

Behind you, footsteps head straight to the ramen aisle. And sure enough, you peek over your shoulder, and there he is: drowning in black hoodie layers, hood up, mask on, the patron saint of please don’t perceive me. Same old routine, same old—

Wait. 

He freezes, mid-reach for his usual ramen on the top shelf, his hand hovering in the air. And then, horrifyingly, he turns. 

And looks directly at you. 

Your face heats up—probably not as red as the hellfire ramen he was about to grab, but it’s close, you imagine. You find yourself clutching onto the random juice pouch in your hand as if it’s your lifeline before you clear your throat, “Uh—is something wrong?” 

He glances from you and back to the shelf in front of him, and for the first time in…ever, he speaks. 

Gasp. 

So we can cross mute off the list. 

“They’re out of my flavor,” he says. His voice is deep, which isn’t surprising to you, given he’s the literal human embodiment of the color black, but it’s also serious. So unnecessarily serious that you almost laugh. 

Almost. 

Because his tone isn’t just serious—it’s accusatory. As if you personally raided the ramen aisle and hid his favorite flavor for entertainment. 

Excuse me? 

Your mouth opens then closes, flopping like a fish that now deeply regrets every life choice. The fire rising in your chest is about two seconds away from erupting into a full-blown lecture on how supply chains work, but you keep it in, deciding getting fired on the fourth day probably doesn’t look good on your resume. 

Instead, you plaster on a flat, unimpressed look. 

“Uh..yeah, it looks like it,” you deadpan, inching closer to where he’s standing to investigate the shelf. 

Leaning up on your toes, you scan the shelf for any hidden Hellfire cups, hoping some miracle will save you from continuing this interaction. 

Nope. It’s empty alright. Emptier than your will to entertain his dramatics. 

“Tragic,” you glance back at him, strategically avoiding eye contact, and settle on offering a shrug. “There are plenty of other flavors. Maybe try…the regular spicy?” 

You grab the flavor below his usual one and hold it up as an olive branch, but he cuts you off with a tone that even convinces you that you’re deranged. 

“No.” 

You blink. 

“No?” 

“It has to be Extra Spicy Hellfire.” 

You blink again. 

You wait for the punchline.

It never comes. 

This man is dead serious. 

You’re standing in the middle of a fluorescent-lit ramen aisle, at your minimal wage night-shift job, at 1:12AM on a random Tuesday, and this guy is dead serious. 

And he’s staring at you like this is a life-or-death situation. And judging from the look in his eyes, it’s looking like you’re facing death. 

But then, you really notice his eyes. And for a split second—just a split second—you’re derailed from your rising anger. 

They’re brown. But not just any brown—the kind of brown that makes poets write bad metaphors. Cinnamon swirls. Autumn leaves. Possibly falling in love in a Hallmark Christmas movie. 

But then you blink again, hard, snapping yourself out of whatever ridiculous moment your sleep-deprived brain just conjured. This is not the time. You’re literally staring at, like, three inches of this guy’s face. 

And he’s a jerk. Get a grip, Y/N. 

“Uh, yeah,” you clear your throat, trying your best to sound professional through your disbelief. “Sorry. We probably put in our shipment request late. But I’m sure you won’t implode by going one night without it?” 

You tack on a small laugh and smile at the end of your sentence, hoping to lighten the mood. 

He does not smile back. 

Not even a flicker. 

Instead, he continues to stare at you like you just suggested he eat plain, untoasted bread for the rest of his life. 

You want to bury yourself into a hole. Maybe getting fired on the fourth day won’t be so bad afterall. 

“I’m sure the regular spicy one is just as good. What’s the worst that could happen?” you offer weakly when he makes no sign of saying anything, and you really hope this guy doesn’t explode in front of you—mainly because you’re not confident in your own ability to explain that situation to your manager. 

“I’m not risking it,” he finally deadpans. 

Your jaw drops slightly. 

“You’re not ris—” you hesitate, debating whether you want to ruin your night further. But you’ve come this far. “You’re being…serious?” 

The question lined with your clear judgement hangs in the air between you two, and no amount of fake customer service can mask the expression of disapproval on your face. 

His eyes narrow at you as he scoffs, “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Oh, I understand,” you tilt your head, your annoyance slowly reaching a boiling point, throwing all professionalism out the window. All you wanted was to enjoy your juice-sorting in peace, not babysit this walking ramen manifesto. “I understand that you’re just picky.” 

At that, his eyes flash—sharp, unreadable. “I’m not picky.” 

“You won’t eat a perfectly fine ramen just because it’s not named after the ninth circle of hell.” 

Silence. 

He stares at you with the intensity of someone about to write a strongly worded online review. 

Finally, with an exaggerated sigh, he finally mutters, “Fine. I’ll take the mild one.” 

You blink at the flavor in your hand—the one that’s clearly labeled in giant, blazing-red, font: Regular Spicy. Then you look back at him. 

“You mean regular spicy.” 

“Right. Whatever. Same thing.” 

He grabs the ramen cup from your hand and stalks off to grab his usual coffee milk, leaving you stranded in the middle of the ramen aisle, questioning every life choice that brought you here. 

Before you’re about to mentally spiral, his voice cuts through the store. 

“Hello?” 

Oh. Right. Your job. 

You scramble back to behind the register, quickly moving your hands to ring him up and get him out of here as soon as possible. 

He hands you his three crisp bills, and before you hand him his glorified ramen and godforsaken coffee milk, you hesitate, pulling them back slightly. He freezes, his hands hanging in the air between you two. 

“You know,” you narrow your eyes as you look up at him, “some people would say thank you for the recommendation.” 

His brow arches—or at least, you think it does. It’s hard to completely tell under his stupid hat. Then he fires back—

“And some people wouldn’t forget to restock the ramen.” 

Your mouth falls open, your words failing you as he grabs his goods from your hands, heading to the self-serve station to continue his nightly noodle worship as if he didn’t just verbally body-slam you. 

Yeah. It’s going to be a long night. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic. 

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore? 

Between back-to-back choreo sessions, recording tracks at hours that shouldn’t legally exist, and navigating the emotional and physical minefield of constant shows, interviews, photoshoots—you name it—nothing about his life is consistent. 

However—

There are two things—two sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness. 

The first? 

Insomnia. 

Not by choice, of course. He doesn’t love being awake at 3AM, staring at his ceiling and waiting for sleep to take over. But it’s a loyal companion, like a stray cat that keeps showing up at your house no matter how hard you try to shoo it away. Heeeseung’s insomnia is always there for him, night after night, ensuring he gets exactly only four hours of sleep—with a side of existential dread. 

And the second? 

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk. 

Yes, it’s a weird combo. 

No, he doesn’t care. 

This unlikely pairing is Heeseung’s personal slice of heaven he can actually control and choose in a life otherwise ruled by the rest of the world. 

Every night, he drags himself to his favorite corner store, grabs his fiery ramen and sweet, creamy coffee milk, and plants himself in the window seat to enjoy his culinary masterpiece in peace. 

Then—and only then—can Heeseung catch a few hours of sleep, the spice-induced euphoria lulling himself into a temporary state of calm. 

Does he have a problem? Absolutely. 

Is he addicted? Without a doubt. 

Does he care? Not in the slightest. 

Because in a world that demands he change at the drop of a hat, this little routine of his is the one thing that stays consistent. 

Well, except for last night. 

Because last night, someone dared to disrupt the cosmic balance of his existence. Someone failed to restock his precious Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen. 

He had stared at the empty spot on the shelf, the betrayal hitting him like a personal attack. He went home last night only a quarter satisfied from the mild spicy ramen he had settled with. 

And the worst part? 

He couldn’t stop thinking about the someone responsible. 

Now here he is, stepping into the corner store at 1:09AM, ready to make up for last night’s disappointment of an outcome. 

Heeseung steps into the brightly lit store, the familiar ding ringing behind him as he enters right on time. He continues his familiar route to the ramen aisle, but not before shooting a quick glance from below his hat toward the counter. 

Yup, there she is. 

You. 

The new graveyard shift employee. The one who dared to challenge his sacred ramen ritual and stared at him like he was a walking poor life choice. 

You’re here again. This is five nights in a row. Heeseung wonders if you 1) are insane, 2) have no life, or 3) are purely here just to spite him. 

But tonight, he’s prepared. His focus is razor-sharp, his mission clear: Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk. Nothing will get in the way tonight. 

Heeseung looks up, exhaling in relief when he spots the fiery red packaging of the Extra Spicy Hellfire sitting innocently on the shelf. There you are. 

He grabs the cup (with too much excitement that it should honestly embarrass him), cradling it like a long-lost love, before he makes his way to snag his coffee milk. 

Perfect combo. Perfect routine. Perfect night. 

Except—

Except, of course, you’re watching him. Again. 

He doesn’t even need to look up to know it. He can feel your judging eyes burning into the back of his head like you did the other night—like you’re seconds away from filing a report against his own taste buds. 

He doesn’t get it—what’s so strange about ramen and coffee milk? It’s not like he’s dipping the noodles in it. Why you’ve made it your personal mission to antagonize him, he has no idea, but it’s really throwing him off his ramen zen. 

Heeseung sighs to himself as he steps up to the counter, making sure you hear the sheer misery in this voice—because, of course, fate has cursed him with yet another encounter with you.

“So…do you actually enjoy these together, or are you just trying to destroy your stomach lining?” 

He freezes. Great, you’re talking. So much for a perfect night. 

He adjusts his cap to peer at you and that same unimpressed, judgmental look sitting on your face as you lean against the counter behind you. “What’s wrong with my choices?” 

Your eyebrows shoot up, “What's right with them? This combo screams, ‘I have unresolved issues I’m trying to boil away with spicy and sugar.’” 

Okay, ouch. 

Heeseung narrows his eyes, trying to ignore the weird pinch in his chest at how quickly you read him, whether he likes to admit it or not. 

“I like them. That’s all that matters,” his voice drips with a certain sharpness, hoping the edge in his tone is enough to make you back off. 

You, however, seem entirely unfazed.

“Just trying to help,” you shrug as you scan his items, “looking out for your poor taste buds.” 

For a moment, Heeseung considers firing back, but then his gaze catches yours for a millisecond too long as you take his cash and, immediately, he’s wondering—for the hundredth time—if you know. 

Do you recognize him? 

The thought has been gnawing at him since the first time he stepped into this store and saw you sitting there five days ago. Sure, he’s got his identity pretty much concealed under his borderline clinically insane hat-mask-hoodie combo, but still—most people at least give him a double take, a lingering glance. Something. 

But you? Nothing. No flash of recognition. No curiosity. Nothing to indicate you know you’re talking to Lee Heeseung—part idol, part insomniac, 100% ramen enthusiast. 

And for some reason, that both annoys and intrigues him. 

“Thanks for your concern,” Heeseung mumbles dryly, quickly grabbing the ramen cup and cold drink from your hands. 

“No problem,” you chirp just as sarcastically, an annoying smile on your face. “Enjoy your…uh, gourmet meal.”

Heeseung throws you one last glare before shaking his head and stalking off to the self-serve station. He puts the cup down on the counter with a little more force than necessary and pours boiling water over the noodles, glaring into the steam as your voice rings in his head. 

What’s wrong with ramen and coffee milk? He scowls. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I definitely don’t have unresolved issues. 

But as he steals a glance back at the check-out counter and catches you sorting bills like nothing happened, a weird unease settles in his chest. 

He looks down at this ramen, then at the coffee milk. 

For the first time ever, he feels…self-conscious. 

And now you’re in his head. 

Great. 

By night six, you don’t know whether to pity the guy or stage an intervention.

The ding of the automatic doors announces his arrival, as usual, at exactly 1:09AM. You know it’s him—Ramen Guy. The guy who you’re convinced single-handedly continues to keep the Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen business float. 

You lean against the counter and subtly watch him make his usual pilgrimage to the ramen aisle, internally scoffing to yourself at the weird moment he picks up his ramen like it’s his newborn child.

He’s so weird. 

You wonder what kind of person he is outside this convenience store. Does he always make such objectively strange choices? Like, does he wear socks with sandals? Does he mix his cereal with orange juice instead of milk? 

Your haunting thoughts are interrupted by the sound of his usual unholy pair of snacks hitting the counter in front of you with a soft thunk. You look down at the items before glancing back up at him with a skeptical look on your face, “You ever think about switching it up?”

Ramen Guy, clearly expecting the snark, doesn’t miss a beat, “You ever think about minding your business?” 

“Not really. Boredom makes me nosy,” you shrug. “And at this point, you’re the only thing keeping me entertained at this hour.” 

He rolls his eyes so dramatically you’re mildly concerned he might sprain something. 

“And I’m starting to think you like judging me a little too much.” 

“Wrong. I like judging everyone equally,” you scan his items, then tilt your head. “But maybe you’re a special case. With issues.” 

To your surprise, he snorts. Like, an actual, out-loud laugh. 

“Says the girl who voluntarily works the night shift.”

Your smirk falters for half a second. He catches it.

Ramen Guy raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against the counter. “What? Too close to home?”

You shift in your spot, “Bold of you to assume I have issues.”

He shrugs, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

You shift the attention back to him. “What about you, then? Why do you keep showing up here, huh?”

At that, something changes. The words in the air, and for the first time, you notice a slight shift in his demeanor—the slight awkwardness in the way he shifts his weight. 

Then, after a brief pause, he meets your gaze and throws the question right back at you.

“Why do you keep working the night shift?”

You freeze, putting his items back down on the counter, caught off guard by the reversal. "Touché. But I asked first."

There's hesitation again for a moment, his fingers tapping the edge of the counter impatiently—nervously?

"I like the peace and quiet,” he finally says, and for the first time tonight, he meets your eyes.

For a split second, you’re startled by the sincerity in his gaze and sudden shift in tone—it’s almost distracting. But you shake yourself out of it just as quickly.

"Nothing about Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk sounds peaceful or quiet," your voice softer now but still teasing.

"Okay, Miss Graveyard Shift," he fires back, leaning a little closer over the counter. "Why are you here every night? Do you have a thing for fluorescent lighting and cleaning up after drunk customers or something?"

You don't miss the faint challenge in his voice as you narrow your eyes at him.

Then, you settle for a shrug and take a breath, answering honestly.

"It's flexible. Pays well enough," you start, before looking back at him, and add, almost as an afterthought, "...and I like the quiet too."

It’s an honest answer, one that seems to hang in the air between you two for a beat too long. His gaze softens ever so slightly, and you swear you see something shift underneath that stupid cap of his, but before you can dwell on it, he straightens up.

He places his three bills on the counter, grabs his items, and pauses.

“So,” he starts, his lighter tone breaking the silence, “do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Graveyard Shift Girl?”

You raise a brow, amused, as you start putting his bills away, “Do you have a name, or should I just keep calling you Ramen Guy?”

For a split second, you think you see something flicker in his eyes—something smug, something entertained. And you don’t know it, but under his mask, his lips twitch, fighting back a faint smile.

“Touché,” he murmurs, echoing your earlier words before stepping back from the counter, items in hand, but lingers just a moment longer than necessary—like he wants to say something else.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he turns towards the self-serve station, falling back into his regular routine.

And you should do the same.

You try to do the same. But as you go back to your usual tasks—wiping down the counter, restocking shelves, pretending to be productive—you find yourself sneaking glances out of the corner of your eye toward his window seat.

He just sits there, just like he always does, stirring his ramen absentmindedly as he stares out into the empty street. And yet, tonight, something feels…different.

It’s nothing. You tell yourself it’s nothing.

Just curiosity. Natural, given how he keeps showing up every night, breaking up the monotony of your shift with his weird food choices and even weirder personality.

And yet—

No matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to stop thinking about him—the way he looked at you earlier, the way his demeanor shifted even slightly.

It’s nothing.

Still, your gaze flickers back at him, catching the way his fingers tap lightly against the table, lost in thought. You wonder what kind of things keep a guy like him up at night.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re starting to find his weird little habits endearing, too.

The faint sound of the store’s music plays in the background, the clock ticks, and eventually, he finishes his ramen, tosses his trash, and makes his way toward the door.

And then—he hesitates.

Just for a second. A small pause, a barely-there moment where he stops, glances over his shoulder just slightly—just enough to look at you.

“See you tomorrow, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

You blink, caught off guard, and for a moment, all you can manage is to stare at him. Then, as you fail to ignore the weird blooming feeling in your chest, your words slip out almost on instinct:

"Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

The next night, you do something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—you take your cheesy ramen, peace juice pouch, and bag of potato chips and plop yourself down right next to Ramen Guy and his usual window seat. 

He pauses mid-slurp. Keeping his head low, he turns to you slowly. Suspiciously.

“What…are you doing?” 

“Having dinner,” you say matter-of-factly, popping open your bag of chips. 

His gaze drops to your meal, and then back to you. “It’s almost 1:30AM.” 

“Okay? Dinner, early breakfast, midnight snack, call it whatever you want,” you shrug, unbothered as you continue unwrapping your meal. 

Ramen Guy exhales through his nose, shaking his head to himself like he’s just accepted his fate. Without another word, he turns back to his own meal and resumes eating. 

A surprisingly comfortable silence follows—the only sounds filling the empty store the quiet hum of the store’s playlist, the buzz of the lights above you, and the synchronized slurp of two insomniacs with poor diet choices. 

Then, without thinking, you tilt your bag of potato chips, holding it out between you two, “Want one?”

He stops mid-motion, as if he’d almost forgotten you were still here.

Almost.

A glance into your bag, a small shrug, and then, just like that, he grabs a chip and pops it into his mouth, moving so fast you barely catch a glimpse of his face without the mask.

“Thanks,” he mutters before taking a sip of his coffee milk, still keeping his head low.

You hum in response, your fingers drumming against the counter before your curiosity wins the best of you, “So…what kind of life leads you to seek peace and quiet in a convenience store?”

It’s a question that’s been on your mind since last night’s conversation. What can you say? You’re a creature of curiosity.

Ramen Guy shrugs next to you, “What do you mean?”

“Like…you’re here every night. Why at night? Why not during the day?”

He lets out a short chuckle. “You want me to leave?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Sure sounded like it.”

You exhale sharply, your fingers now absentmindedly swirling the noodles in your bowl. “Look, I’m just saying—most people are asleep at this hour.”

He smirks. You can hear it in his voice without even looking. “You’re here too, aren’t you?”

“That’s different, this is my job,” you scoff, amused, before pointedly gesturing at this meal before him, “Unless you want to call your weird habits a job. Which, honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if someone was paying you to subject your tastebuds to that every night.”

And he laughs. It’s small, barely there, but you catch it. Then, with a quiet exhale, he finally answers, “It’s like I told you before, I like the quiet at this hour…I don’t get a lot of that.”

You stop twirling your noodles, the air shifting into that same unspoken understanding from last night. Faint, but unmistakable.

Something unsaid hanging between the two of you, something that tells you this guy is more than just an insomniac with questionable food choices.

You tilt your head. “So, what, you got a bunch of loud roommates or something?”

A small, almost knowing smile tugs at his lips. “Something like that.”

You raise a brow at his vague answer but don’t press. Instead, you nod towards his food. “And your criminal meals? That part of the quiet too?”

He huffs, “Maybe I just have superior taste.”

“Right, totally,” you laugh, the tone in your voice almost testing him. 

Ramen Guy finishes up his meal, wiping his mouth quickly with a napkin before putting his mask back on and finally turning to face you fully.

He narrows his eyes at you, “You think you have me all figured out?”

You mirror his actions, facing him fully for the first time tonight, folding your arms, “Oh, I do have you all figured out, Ramen Guy.”

“Oh yeah?” He leans forward slightly. “Alright, go on. Tell me who I am, Graveyard Psychic Girl.”

You roll your eyes but accept the challenge, leaning back in your seat.

“You’re a creature of habit, clearly. You like consistency. Probably because your life is very inconsistent otherwise.”

Ramen Guy doesn’t react, so you continue.

“You’re a night owl, but not by choice. You want to sleep, but your brain won’t let you.” Your eyes flick down to the coffee milk. “So, instead, you drink this, even though it probably makes it worse.”

Still no response.

“So now, you just keep showing up here because it’s predictable,” you finish with a small shrug. “And maybe…‘cause you’re kinda lonely.”

That makes him pause.

You immediately regret saying it. Because…what was that?

That was too much. Too deep. Too intrusive.

But to your surprise, he doesn’t deflect. He doesn’t scoff, or roll his eyes, or peer them at you the way he does a million times a night.

Instead, he tilts his head slightly, eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

“…Not bad,” he says finally, reaching for another chip from the bag in your hands.

You blink. “Wait, really?”

“I mean, kinda harsh, but…mostly true.”

“Oh,” you don’t know what you expected, but it wasn’t that.

A beat of silence passes before Ramen Guy speaks up again, “So basically, you’re saying we’re the same.”

You let out a snort, “Not even close.”

“We both work weird hours. We both like the quiet. We both eat the same convenience store junk food.” He holds up the bag of potato chips before eating another one.

“You just started eating those,” you deadpan. 

“Yeah, but I’m still eating them, which means my taste is obviously elite.”

“You literally eat coffee milk with nuclear ramen.”

“Okay, you’re the one who made it weird.”

A mischievous smile starts forming on your face as you snatch your bag of chips back from him, “So you agree your food choices are weird?” 

His smirk falters as a small giggle rises out of you. 

“Whatever you say, Graveyard Shift Girl.” 

The next night, Heeseung does something completely out of character, entirely unprovoked, and maybe just a little bit unhinged—he’s late. It’s 1:30AM, well past his usual 1:09AM show-up time, and the store is Heeseung-less.

He blames late-night dance practice. He also blames Ni-ki for stealing his usual black hoodie—forcing him to spend an extra thirty minutes looking for another one. Not that the hoodie matters, he would argue (yes, it does).

When he finally steps through the door at 1:32AM, the familiar ding barely finishes echoing before—

“Wow,” you drawl from behind the counter, arms crossed. “Tragic. Unbelievable. I was starting to think you found a new place to bother.”

Heeseung snorts, making a beeline for the ramen aisle, “You wish. Wouldn’t want you to get bored without me.”

You let out a dramatic gasp, “Wow. Thoughtful and self-aware. Who knew you had layers?”

Heeseung tries to ignore you, moving to grab his coffee milk. But his lips twitch under his mask, and he’s glad it’s hiding the way he’s failing to fight the smile growing on his face.

When he finally reaches the counter, you push off from where you were leaning against the counter, hands settling on your hips. “Okay, be honest. Outside of this, do you have anything else going on in your life?” 

Heeseung raises a brow, completely caught off guard. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the past few nights, it’s that you’re incredibly nosy. And for someone who claims to like working the night shift because of the quiet, you’re absolutely terrible at keeping things that way. 

“Excuse me?”

“You mentioned that you work weird hours yesterday,” you gesture vaguely at him. “So, spill.”

His stare remains blank, debating if he can distract you by handing you his three bills of cash (he can’t).

“I do…stuff.”

“Stuff,” you repeat, “Quite riveting.”

Heeseung exhales, “Why do you care?”

You shrug, taking his cash and putting it away. “You must do something interesting. You’re too weirdly confident for a guy who just bums around convenience stores at night.”

Heeseung scoffs. "Weirdly confident?"

"Yeah, like—" You wave around you. "You walk around like you have some big, mysterious purpose. But all I ever see you do is glare at instant noodles and sip milk like a sad Victorian child."

Heeseung shakes his head, letting out a breathy laugh. "Maybe that is my purpose."

Then, he simply shrugs. But there’s something in his gaze—something unreadable, like he’s deciding exactly how much he wants to say.

"It’s hard to explain,” he finally says. “I just…have a weird work schedule.”

"Weird how?"

"Weird as in, I don’t really get normal hours. Always moving, always working. Makes sleep kinda impossible."

You pause, taking in his words. Then, you shift slightly, crossing your arms. "Sounds exhausting."

Heeseung exhales a laugh, leaning against the counter. "You have no idea."

For a moment, a familiar and warm quiet fills the air as the two of you linger, as if waiting for the other to say something more.

And he doesn’t know why, but his chest feels a little too tight—like he’s let you stumble into a part of him you weren’t supposed to see yet.

“Well,” you say quietly, your lips curving into a soft smile that sends a weird jolt through his body that he chooses to ignore. “I’m honored you’ve chosen this fine establishment as your official sanctuary.”

He scoffs, reaching for his items. "Don’t let it go to your head, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

He then turns to head to his usual corner when—

“Y/N.”

Heeseung pauses, turning back at you like an awkward child lost in the middle of a store.

“My name,” you clarify, casually returning to sorting the register’s bills. “A lot easier to say than Graveyard Shift Girl.”

Heeseung gives you a slow nod, something unfamiliar and unplaceable twisting in his stomach as he turns back around.

And when he finishes his meal and leaves that night, he calls out—

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

And, this time, he doesn’t fight the smile under his mask when he hears your voice, a little softer, call back out:

“Goodnight, Ramen Guy."

It happens the moment he steps inside.

Heeseung doesn’t even make it past the threshold before a familiar melody drifts through the weak convenience store speakers and to his ears.

Familiar because he’s heard it a thousand times.

Familiar because it’s literally his voice singing the line.

His stomach drops.

Instead of his usual beeline to the ramen aisle, Heeseung turns towards the counter where you’re idly tapping on your phone, oblivious.

The hum of the melody continues, and Heeseung is suddenly too hyper-aware of how loud his own voice sounds in the otherwise dead-silent store.

Panic creeps up his spine.

He moves fast, crossing the store in a few long strides, slamming his hands down onto the counter that divides the two of you.

You jump in your seat.

“Geez—” you clutch your chest, wide-eyed as you take in his very sudden, very urgent presence. “What the hell?”

Heeseung ignores you, pointing above him, “Did you put this on?”

Your brows furrow as you put your phone down, glance up at him, then at the speakers he’s pointing at. You barely register the song before recognition flickers across your face.

“Oh—this? Nah, it’s the store’s playlist,” you gesture towards the iPad behind the counter, currently playing a Current Hits playlist on shuffle. “It’s some group’s new song. Pretty catchy.”

Heeseung just stares at you, mind racing.

You don’t recognize it.

You don’t recognize his voice.

The realization sends relief crashing over him, but he quickly snaps out of it with a brand-new problem—because now he has to decide what the hell to do with this information.

Does he tell you? Drop the act and lay it all out? Would you believe him? Would you even care?

“You okay?” Now you’re staring at him, suspicious. “Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

Heeseung clears his throat, realizing his stance is way too conspicuous, and slowly removes his hands from the counter to stand up straight, attempting to sound normal, “No reason.” 

You squint at him.

Then—

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes suddenly lighting up. “Wait.”

His heart stops. Oh, shit. She figured it out. This is it.

“Are you a fan?” you blurt, leaning forward in your seat eagerly.

Heeseung blinks.

…What.

“Oh, you totally are,” you continue, completely missing the way his soul is currently leaving his body. “You came straight to the counter like a man on a mission. Oh my god. Are they, like, your favorite group or something?”

Heeseung has never wanted to laugh and cry at the same time more than he does in this moment.

“Something like that,” he mutters, bringing a hand to rub this temple, because no way this is happening right now.

You beam brightly from your seat, “That’s cute. Who’s your bias?”

At that, Heeseung does laugh—because this is now officially the most ridiculous thing that’s ever happened to him.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

There’s a long pause.

And then—after a deep breath, a long and heated internal debate, and one last glance at your innocent, completely oblivious face—he finally exhales, looking you straight in the eye.

“This guy,” he says as he hears his own voice ring out through the store. “Because that’s me. That’s my voice.”

Silence.

You stare at him.

You blink. Once. Twice.

Then, after what feels like an eternity—

“…Huh?”

Then you tilt your head. "I'm sorry—what?"

Heeseung watches as your expression cycles from confusion to skepticism to outright disbelief. He braces himself.

"My name is Lee Heeseung," he repeats slowly. "From Enhypen."

Another beat of silence.

Then—because you’re you—

You burst out laughing.

"Okay, Ramen Guy," you snort, crossing your arms. "Very funny.”

Heeseung sighs, "I knew this would happen."

"Because you’re delusional?"

"Because you don’t pay attention."

You roll your eyes, "Oh, I’m sorry, but when in our thriving relationship have you ever given me a reason to believe that you’re actually a famous idol and not just some guy who has concerning dietary habits?"

Heeseung groans.

He regrets everything. He regrets this entire conversation. He could have lied. He could have said literally anything else. But no—he had to be honest. And look where that got him.

"I’m serious," he insists, leveling you with a look.

You stare back at him.

Then, something seems to click in your brain, because you suddenly lunge for your phone.

"Oh, we’re doing this," you mutter, fingers flying across the screen as you type in his name. "Let’s see if—"

You stop.

Heeseung watches as your eyes widen, scanning the images in front of you. Then you look up at him. Then back down at the phone.

Then back at him.

“Take the mask off,” you mutter quietly, slowly holding your phone up next to his face.

With an exhausted sigh, Heeseung does what he’s told and pulls it down for the first time in front of you.

You scan him. Then the phone. Then him.

"You've gotta be shitting me," you breathe.

Heeseung shrugs, "Told you."

You gape at him, your mouth opening and closing.

You don’t know what shocks you more—the fact that a literal celebrity has been standing in front of you this whole time, or the realization that the once-random stranger you used to relentlessly tease has, somehow, always been this ridiculously good-looking all along. 

"So…you’re famous?"

"Something like that."

"Something like that?" You shove your phone toward him, your screen now displaying the group’s Instagram page. "You literally have fans. Like, millions of them."

Heeseung cringes, "Okay, you don’t have to say it like that."

"Like what? Like you’re a superstar and I’ve been treating you like a regular guy who can't cook for himself?"

"Because that’s exactly what I am?"

“Unbelievable,” you scoff, shaking your head. “So you sing. You perform. You—commit crimes against humanity with your ramen choices each night.”

Heeseung groans. “Oh my god.”

“Oh my god,” you echo, standing up from your seat behind the counter. “So you’re telling me that every night, an actual, real-life idol has been showing up here, inhaling a week’s worth of sodium, and I—” You pause, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Are you even allowed to be eating this garbage?”

“And are you ever able to mind your own business?” Heeseung counters, now fully regretting this entire conversation.

“Absolutely not, Lee Heeseung, because this is literally the plot of a drama,” you wave your hands in disbelief. “Mystery insomniac convenience store guy turns out to be a world famous pop star—”

“Okay, let’s not get carried away.”

“—and I, the unsuspecting cashier, unknowingly roast him every night like he’s just some sleep-deprived college student instead of a millionaire with talent. Wait—” you then pause again, placing your hands on your hips, staring at him with a newfound judgment. “—you’re loaded, aren’t you?”

Heeseung pinches the bridge of your nose, exasperated, “Why is that your takeaway from this?”

“You are!” you exclaim, your smile widening as you ignore his suffering. “You’re rich and you’re out here eating instant ramen every night!”

Heeseung groans again, dropping his head onto the counter in front of you, “Oh my god.”

Grinning, you bend down to this level. “So this whole time, you’ve been lying to me?”

He lifts his head just enough to glare at you. "It’s not lying. It’s…selective honesty.”

You scoff, straightening up just as Heeseung does, meeting his gaze with an accusatory squint. “That’s literally the definition of lying.”

“Look, it’s not like I planned to make a habit out of this,” he gestures to the store around him. “I came in one night, and then I came back, and suddenly, I had a thing going. Then you showed up and started running your mouth, and—”

“And you kept coming back anyways,” you finish, crossing your arms, a slow, amused smile tugging at your lips.

Heeseung freezes. His mouth opens. Then closes.

“…Yeah.”

A silence stretches between you—charged, almost personal—until you decide to cut through the tension with a smirk.

“What if I play your group’s music over the speakers every night?”

The look on his face is deadly. “You wouldn’t.”

Your grin grows, “Wouldn’t I, though?”

“This is the worst night of my life,” Heeseung drags a hand down his face and turns towards the ramen aisle. “I’m leaving.”

“Aww, c’mon,” you tease, calling out after him and delighting in his suffering. “Also can we talk about how you literally just said you’re your own bias?”

“Shut up.”

You’re still laughing when he returns to the counter thirty seconds later—Extra Spicy Hellfire and coffee milk in hand, cheeks tinged pink.

“Alright, serious question,” you say, leaning in slightly from your seat at the window barstools. “If you had to give up either Extra Spicy Hellfire or coffee milk for the rest of your life, which would you choose?”

Heeseung immediately stops chewing, his chopsticks frozen midair as he turns to you with a look that says you just personally offended him.

“That’s straight evil.”

“You must choose, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “You can’t just throw life-altering hypotheticals at me like that.”

“Choose.”

He stares at his ramen. Then at this coffee milk. Then back at you.

Then back at his ramen.

Then back at you.

“I hate you, you know that?”

“Aw,” you flash him your sweetest, most infuriating smile. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me. Like, ever.”

Heeseung shoots a glare at you, “I hope your regular spicy ramen tastes like disappointment.”

“Oh, it totally does,” you look down at your own ramen in front of you and take an exaggerated slurp, “It’s just so awful.”

Heeseung’s lips perk up into a smile at your weirdly endearing antics before shaking his head, “You’re a lost cause.”

You giggle to yourself, taking a sip of your own juice when you hear Heeseung, barely audible, suddenly mutter:

“…I’d give up coffee milk.”

It’s quiet. It’s barely there.

Your jaw drops.

“I know, okay?” He rubs his temples as if the decision is actually hurting him. “It’s like choosing between two children. But at the end of the day, ramen is ramen.”

You nod along, pretending you understand the gravity of his heavy decision (you don’t). But still, you smile—because you were the one who got him to betray his beloved coffee milk.

Heeseung takes a sip of it anyway, groaning as he swirls the bottle in his hand. “I hate that you made me think about this.”

“You should be thanking me. Y’know, character growth and all that.”

“More like character damage.”

You grin, victorious, and he just rolls his eyes before pausing for a second to think, then—he nudges his ramen cup toward you.

“Here. Try some.”

You recoil immediately and look up at him with a look that tells him he’s absolutely psychotic.

“Absolutely not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why? You scared?”

“No, Heeseung, I just have these things called taste buds.”

He scoffs, shoving the bowl between you two closer. “Just one bite. C’mon, Graveyard Shift Girl, live a little. For me.”

You hold his gaze, suspicious but faltering, because—damn it—he’s looking at you like that. All smug and teasing, head tilted slightly, and it affects you.

And then he moves. 

He picks up his chopsticks, twirls them in the bowl, and catches a perfect bundle of noodles before leaning forward, holding them up between you two. He waits.

Your breath hitches. Your eyes flicker to the steam curling from the noodles, twisting in the air between your faces, fragile and fleeting.

Heeseung doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

It’s ridiculous, really. I mean, it’s ramen. But the way the space between you suddenly feels thin, the way his grip on the chopsticks stays steady, his fingers just inches from your lips, the way his dark eyes stay locked onto yours, watching you with something unreadable flickering beneath the usual teasing glint—it feels like time slows down.

You blink rapidly, clearing your throat. It’s fine. It’s cool. You’re overthinking.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, watching. Waiting.

You let out an exaggerated sigh and slowly lean in to take the bite.

Your lips brush the chopsticks as you close your mouth around the noodles, and for a split second—one charged, unspoken, split second—neither of you move.

Heeseung is so close.

So close.

You can see the soft curve of his mouth, the way his gaze flickers over your face, the way his breath catches slightly like he just realized something.

You’re suddenly painfully aware of the close proximity and it sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. Panicked, you pull back quickly and settle into your seat like nothing happened.

But then you start chewing.

And that’s when you realize—

No, wait. Wait. That heat in your cheeks?

Oh.

Oh no.

Yeah. It’s definitely not because of Heeseung (well, maybe a part of it is). 

Because the second you swallow down the bundle of noodles—the embodiment of heat, pain, and suffering all slams into your mouth instantly.

You freeze.

Your brain short-circuits.

And then—

“Oh my GOD—” you choke, slamming your hands onto the counter, your body shaking as the spice courses through your veins.

Your throat ignites, your sinuses clear, and you swear you can hear colors.

Heeseung? Heeseung loses it.

His laugh bursts out of him—loud, unguarded, and completely delightful. He clutches his stomach, nearly hiccuping from how hard he’s laughing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, dimples deep in his cheeks.

If you weren’t literally physically dying in this current moment, you’d probably be absolutely too flustered to function at the sight.

“No way—” he wheezes through his laughter,“—are you actually struggling right now?”

“WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE, HEESEUNG?!” you glare at him through the tears forming in your eyes as you desperately flail your arms around, searching for your juice pouch. “You eat this voluntarily?!”

“Every night, baby.”

“You’re sick.”

“And you’re dramatic.”

Your hands finally find your drink and you gulp it down as if it’s your lifeline, eyes still watery, throat still burning, lungs barely breathing. But somewhere in the middle of your suffering, you catch yourself staring.

At Heeseung.

At the way he’s still smiling, like he just had the best meal of his life. At the way his eyes sparkle when he laughs, his dimples peeking out like his own hidden secrets, the way his nose scrunches slightly when he’s amused—

Weird.

You blink the thoughts (and your tears) away, shaking it off, and blame the spice, the delirium, and sheer trauma of what just happened.

You clear your throat, sitting back with a desperate huff.

“I hope,” you catch your breath, gesturing to his bowl, “that when you come in tomorrow, we’re all out of this horrid flavor.”

Heeseung smirks, leaning back in his chair as he gives you a knowing look.

“You’d still restock it for me, though.”

Damn it.

Your shoulders slump, and both of you know you’re defeated.

He knows you know you’re defeated. 

Heeseung just grins, then, without a word, slides his coffee milk toward you in a silent truce.

You stare at it. Then at him.

His smile grows.

And you accept it.

Begrudgingly.

It’s 1:20AM when you find yourself behind the counter, surrounded by half-unpacked boxes of instant noodles and bottled drinks. The store hums with its usual white noise—lights buzzing above, soft music humming overhead, the low whirr of the coolers. 

And Heeseung? 

Heeseung is across the counter, perched on a barstool he dragged from across the store, doing absolutely nothing to help. 

For the nth time tonight, he flips a soda bottle into the air. 

And for the nth time tonight, he fails to land it upright, the bottle clattering onto the counter.

“You’re supposed to be helping me restock,” you remind him, tossing a pack of chips at him. 

“I am helping,” he argues, dodging the bag in time and letting it fall flat onto the ground. Great. 

You cross your arms, scoffing, “Oh yeah? What category does sitting there and flipping Diet Coke fall under?” 

Heeseung finally puts the bottle down on the counter and hums, tapping his fingers against the counter like he’s deep in thought. Then, he flashes you a meek smile, “Moral support?” 

You roll your eyes playfully, turning back to unbox another package from the pile stacked in front of you. 

Another silence falls between you and Heeseung watches as you go back to your job before he breaks it—

“How do you do this every night? Does it not get…I don’t know, tedious? Boring?” 

You freeze in your spot, caught by surprise at the question.

“Hm,” you turn to him, head tilted as you think.

Heeseung glances up at you, intrigued. The way your lips purse slightly, how your fingers fidget absentmindedly with the torn edge of a cardboard box. 

You exhale, leaning back against the counter, “Yeah, the hours suck, pay is…alright. And—” 

You hesitate. Your gaze drifts toward the floor, fixating on a dent near the register, “—and I think, at some point, I thought I felt stuck.” 

Something in Heeseung’s expression shifts. 

“I mean, I’m a college student, for god’s sake,” you continue, a small, humorless laugh escaping you. “And I spend my nights serving cigarettes to barely legal teens and cleaning up after ramen spills. It kind of felt like I was just…watching life pass me by, you know?”

Your voice quiets and it’s just the soft hum of the store again. You pick at the box without thinking, fingers grazing over the worn edges, and Heeseung watches you.

Because he gets it. 

He gets it in a way that makes his chest ache a little.

Because despite the differences in your lives—despite how he’s constantly moving while you feel stuck—you both know the feeling of watching life slip between your fingers, of wondering if you’re ever going to feel like you belong in it.

Heeseung holds the soda bottle between his hands, rolling it back and forth, murmuring, “Yeah, I get that.” 

You glance up at him, making eye contact, but you don’t push. 

“But then,” you say quietly, “I started seeing this place differently. Instead of somewhere I was stuck, it became more of a…break. An escape from everything. A breath of fresh air from expectations and routine.” 

And that—that makes Heeseung look up. 

Because deep down, that’s exactly what all of this has become for him too. 

He doesn’t know when it happened—if maybe it was the first night he found the store, maybe whenever you showed up, maybe all the sarcastic exchanges, or somewhere in between all of that—but these late-night visits, these stolen moments in a world that demands from him, have become something steady. Something his. 

And he wonders if maybe…maybe you’re the reason for that. 

Maybe you’ve been keeping him grounded in a life that never stops moving. 

And maybe he’s been keeping you from feeling stuck. 

Just maybe.

It’s late. Way later than usual. And Heeseung is still here. 

And you don’t know how, but you’ve both abandoned your usual spots—his self-proclaimed window seat and your stool behind the register.

Instead, you’re both sitting cross-legged on the floor behind the register counter, backs pressed against the shelf of over-the-counter medications that you just re-organized, with a laptop and plenty of empty snack wrappers sitting between the two of you.

“See this is exactly my problem with this movie,” you point at your laptop screen, your voice slightly muffled by the gummy bears in your mouth. “One idiot makes one bad decision, and suddenly everyone’s dead! Like, be so for real.”

Heeseung scoffs, leaning back on his hands, “It’s a movie, Y/N. It doesn’t have to be realistic.”

“And I don’t have to pretend this isn’t garbage,” you shoot back as the credits roll, unimpressed. “This is objectively the worst thing I’ve seen.”

“I think I just have an acquired superior taste,” Heeseung quips, his eyes teasing. “Just like with my food choices.” 

“Right,” your voice drags out. “Superior delusion, maybe.”

Heeseung shoves your shoulder with his own, and you laugh, the sound natural, unfiltered, and totally at his expense.

As you shut your laptop and start gathering the remains of your late-night snack feast, the conversation quiets for a moment into an easy, warm silence. It’s the kind of quiet that feels good, the kind that’s been happening more lately—something you never would’ve expected that first night you ever saw him enter the store. 

Then, Heeseung exhales, stretching his legs out in front of him as he leans back against the shelf, “You know, this might be the longest I’ve sat and relaxed in months.” 

You glance up at him, brows raised, “What, you don’t get to laze around on the floor surrounded by junk food with your favorite convenience store worker on a regular basis?”

“Unfortunately, no,” he huffs a laugh. “But I thought a lot about what you said the other night. And sometimes it’s like…”

He pauses and tilts his head back, his eyes following the way the light fixture above him flickers in and out, “Like I’m moving so fast I forget what it’s like to just…be.”

Something in his voice makes you pause in your actions, your hands putting down the miscellaneous wrappers between you.

“Is it hard?” you ask quietly.

He lets out a breathy chuckle from beside you, “It’s…a lot. You’re always being watched, always expected to be on. And even during breaks I’m already thinking about the next thing. The next schedule, next performance, next practice.”

You watch him for a moment, watch the way his fingers tap absentmindedly against his knee, something you’ve started to notice over time whenever he’s lost in thought. 

“But there are moments that make it worth it,” he continues, a small smile playing on his lips. “The music, how fun it is to be on stage, the fans. The feeling of performing and knowing people are there because they love what you do. It’s unreal.”

Your own smile unconsciously appears as you listen to him reflect, taking in his words. You never stopped to really think about his life in-depth before—and it does sound like a lot. Like something people dream of but don’t realize the weight of until they’re carrying it themselves. 

You nudge his knee lightly with yours, “For what it’s worth, I think you deserve to just exist sometimes, too.” 

Heeseung turns to look at you, and for a moment, his expression is unreadable.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, reaching into the closest bag of gummy bears to you and tossing one to him. He catches it easily, popping it into his mouth with a grin.

“See, this is why I keep coming back,” he says, chewing. “Gourmet snacks and free therapy.”

You roll your eyes. “Unbelievable. I take it back. Suffer.”

Heeseung laughs, popping another gummy bear into his mouth, before his fingers start tapping his knee again. Then, after a beat—

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

When you look up at him, he’s already looking at you with a new…something. A newfound sincerity, maybe. Or uncertainty. Or both.

Your eyes meet, and suddenly, he visibly hesitates—shifting almost awkwardly in his spot, as if he both rehearsed what he’s about to say and yet has absolutely no idea what he’s doing. He clears his throat, breaking eye contact.

“I—um,” he swallows hard. “I’m sorry? For, y’know, being kind of a jerk when we first met. I think I was pretty…” He trails off awkwardly. “Jerk-ish.” 

You don’t move for a second. Slowly, one brow arches.

Heeseung thinks he regrets everything.

Then, a smile—slow and sweet—curls at your lips.

And suddenly, Heeseung realizes he doesn’t regret a damn thing.

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, nodding along dramatically. “You were a menace. Like, an insufferable, grumpy, little menace.”

Heeseung lets out a noise that lands somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Okay, I get it.”

“But,” you continue, locking eyes with him again, “I guess I should apologize too.”

Heeseung perks up, now his brow lifting, “For what? Finally admitting I was right about—”

“For judging you and your still…very questionable choices.”

“Ah, there it is.”

You giggle, nudging him with your elbow before pausing. 

“But seriously…you’re, like…” you dramatically draw out the moment as if the words physically pain you to say.

Heeseung smirks, leaning in slightly, waiting for you.

“…pretty cool, I guess.”

A slow, satisfied smile spreads across his face, “I’ll take it.”

“Don’t let it get to your head,” you scoff. “You’re still a ramen-addicted jerk.”

Heeseung hums, still smiling, “Might be too late.”

Then, he tacks on, without thinking twice, “You’re pretty cool, too, I guess.”

You laugh at the hesitancy in his voice, “Okay, that sounded almost sincere.”

He rolls his eyes, but his smile softens, “No, but seriously, it’s…nice. Having someone I could talk to outside of…you know, my whole chaotic life.”

The sudden shift in the air quiets you for a moment as you look at Heeseung, noticing the slight drop in his shoulders, the way his fingers continue to drum against his leg. When you don’t say anything, he continues.

“I don’t…really talk to people like this,” he quietly says, as if admitting something to himself more so to you. Then, after a pause, he glances back up, eyes searching your own. “Now like how I do with you. Like…I could tell you anything and everything, really.”

Your breath catches, but you keep your expression neutral, “Oh?”

Heeseung shifts, looking down at his hands before exhaling a quiet laugh, “Sorry. Too serious?”

You find yourself quickly shaking your head. Because although, yes, most of your interactions with Heeseung are filled with jokes and teasing, the serious conversations or shared warm silences in between recently—have started to mean something more. They’ve become an outlet, a quiet escape from reality. It’s like the moment he steps through the store’s doors, the door rings, the outside world fades, and for a few hours, it’s just the two of you in this shared space.

A space that feels safe, untouched by expectations, where both of you can just be.

“No,” you say, softer this time. “Not at all.”

You hesitate for a beat before adding, “I…really like talking to you too. It’s—” you let out a small laugh, “almost unnaturally easy, actually.”

Heeseung doesn’t respond right away. He just nods, and then looks up at you from the ground and his eyes are serious—no teasing, no usual smugness, just something…real. Vulnerable.

Something that makes your heart beat a little too fast.

You should say something. Something light, or something sarcastic, or something normal.

But you don’t.

Because you’re too busy looking at his face.

Then, without thinking, his lips.

And he’s looking at yours.

You don’t know who leans in first, but suddenly, you’re close. He’s close. Too close. Close enough to hear his quiet inhale. To see the way his lashes flutter. To feel the space between you two thinning into something dangerously nonexistent.

You should move. You should break the moment before it turns into something neither of you can take back.

But you don’t.

And he doesn’t.

And then—

Ding.

The sound of the automatic doors sliding open shatters the moment.

You both jolt apart like a pair of teenagers caught guilty, and your heart is practically breaking out of your ribcage as you scramble to your feet, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants, your face burning as you appear from behind the counter to greet the customer that was blissfully unaware of whatever was definitely not about to happen behind the counter. 

You clear your throat as you look down at Heeseung, who’s still frozen in his spot and trying his very best not to lose his mind, “I should—um. Go back to work.”

Then, suddenly, Heeseung stands too, nodding quickly as he runs a hand through his hair, his face slightly pink, very much not looking at you, “Right. Yeah. Work.”

Right when you turn back to the counter, the customer is there, waiting for you to ring them up. You plaster the most normal smile you can muster, scan their snack, take their cash, and hand them their change—all while pretending you don’t feel Heeseung’s presence still lingering behind you.

You don’t turn around, and he doesn’t move.

And despite the complete lack of physical contact, you still feel his warmth. The same amount of warmth as when he was only mere inches away from your own face.

The door chimes as the customer leaves.

Then, finally—Heeseung clears his throat.

Hesitantly, you turn around, bracing yourself.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, avoiding your gaze before forcing out, in the most casual voice he can manage—

“So, uh—same time tomorrow?”

You blink.

Then, finally, you let out a small laugh, “You’re so weird.”

The tension in the air cracks just enough, and Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, “And yet, you’d miss me if I didn’t show up, wouldn’t you?”

You open your mouth, ready to argue, except—nothing comes out.

Because, unfortunately, you know he’s right.

And he knows he’s right.

So, naturally, instead of admitting defeat, you suddenly grab a rag from behind the counter and start aggressively scrubbing at a perfectly clean surface.

“Go home, Ramen Guy.”

Heeseung just grins, shoving his hands into his pockets as steps out from behind the counter and backs away. “Night, Graveyard Shift Girl.”

When he’s finally gone, you’re left standing there, staring at where he just was before you.

And finally, when the reality of what just happened fully settles in—

You groan, dropping your head against the counter.

Because now he's in your head.

Great.

The clock above you ticks, a sound that usually fades into the background and becomes a part of the store’s white noise. But tonight? 

Tonight, it’s your biggest freaking nuisance. 

You think if you have to hear it tick one more time, you’re taking the ladder from the backroom, climbing up there, yanking that thing off the wall, and tossing it right into the dumpster. 

Why? 

Because, it’s 2:21AM. 

2:21AM, and you’re alone. Stuck in this sad, empty convenience store with nothing but your own annoying thoughts and the snacks laid out in front of you with no one to share them with. 

Same time tomorrow, my ass, you think bitterly, aggressively straightening a stack of receipts near the register that don’t even need straightening. 

Heeseung’s voice from a few days ago still rings in your head—completely, and unfortunately, uninvited.

You don’t even know why they’re stuck in there, his words looping around, constantly taunting you.

The worst part?

His words had been entirely untrue.

Because it’s been three days.

Three full days since Heeseung has walked through those automatic doors, plopped down in his usual seat, and proceeded to either a) annoy you, b) argue with you over his food-related crimes, or c) make you laugh against your will.

And you don’t know why it’s bothering you so much.

Frustrated? Yeah, you’re frustrated. But the real question is—at what, exactly?

Frustrated that he just disappeared without so much as a heads-up? No warning?

Or maybe you’re frustrated at the very fact that you’re even thinking about this at all.

It’s not like he owes you an explanation. It’s not like he belongs to this store…or to you.

So why does it feel like something’s missing every time you glance at the entrance, half-expecting to hear the ding of the doors and see him stroll in with his stupid hoodie and even stupider smirk?

You shake your head, trying your best to snap yourself out of it.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

You don’t care.

You don’t care so much that, for some reason unbeknownst to you, your brain—your traitorous, overthinking, hardworking brain—itches with a thought.

A stupid, ridiculous, subconscious thought.

And before you can fully even process what you’re doing, your fingers are already unlocking your phone, your thumbs moving on autopilot as you do something you swore you wouldn’t.

You search up his name.

It’s pathetic. It’s sad. Even you’re disappointed in yourself. 

You told yourself you wouldn’t associate Heeseung with his job, with the persona that everyone else sees. Because to you, Heeseung is just…Heeseung—the insomniac who bickers with you every night, who somehow turns every conversation into an argument he has to win, who sits cross-legged with you behind the register eating spicy noodles and giving objectively bad movie recommendations.

And to him? 

Well. You thought that to him, you were just you. Just some convenience store worker he happened to befriend. Someone outside of his world, outside of the blinding lights. Someone he didn’t have to be anyone around. 

His words echo in your mind as you think—just a person he could tell anything and everything to. 

You push the thought along with their feelings down as you continue scrolling—quick, desperate, your fingers flying over your screen, swiping through posts, comments, anything that could explain his sudden absence—

And then. 

You see it.

A tweet. 

Tagging his group, followed by a message. It’s short. Sweet. Simple. 

Yet entirely soul-crushing. 

“Can’t believe they’re leaving for tour already tomorrow! So excited to see them in a few days!!” 

Your breath catches. 

Your eyes flicker over the words again.

And again.

Leaving. For tour.

Tomorrow.

Your stomach twists violently as you scan for more confirmation, your hands gripping your phone with a newfound frustration as you tap through articles, fan accounts—anything to tell you this isn’t real. That there’s some mistake. That you didn’t just foolishly spend three days waiting for someone who was never going to show up.

But there it is. Everywhere. Right in front of you.

Confirmed dates. Cities. Posters.

Heeseung is leaving. Tomorrow.

And he didn’t say a word.

You don’t know how long you sit there, staring at your screen. The words all blur together, but the sinking feeling in your chest is sharp, clear, and undeniable.

And you hate it.

You hate that you feel like this. You hate that your first instinct wasn’t to be happy for him, or proud, or even remotely understanding.

Instead, you’re angry. Upset. Hurt.

And what you hate the most?

You know exactly why you feel this way.

And just as that realization settles in—just as the blur of your feelings finally sharpens into something unmistakable, something you can no longer ignore—the familiar ding of the automatic doors cuts through the quiet store and the screaming thoughts in your head.

You almost don’t look up.

Almost.

But then you do, and your stomach drops.

Because there he is.

You blink, because at first you think maybe you’ve been drowning in your thoughts for so long that you’ve started hallucinating him—manifesting his presence out of sheer frustration towards him.

But, no.

Heeseung stands there, at the entrance, hands shoved into his hoodie pockets, looking at you like nothing’s changed.

Like he hasn’t been gone for days, like he hasn’t left you suffering with your own emotions—like he hasn’t been the only thing on your mind even when you really, really, didn’t want him to be.

“Hey,” Heeseung nods at you casually, walking over to his usual stupid aisle, grabbing his usual stupid Extra Spicy Hellfire, then reaching for his usual stupid coffee milk—all like clockwork, all like he never left.

You don’t respond.

Instead, you busy yourself—wiping the spotless corner of your counter, smoothing out a crumpled receipt, pretending you’re looking for something in the shelves beneath you.

Anything to keep yourself from looking at him.

And you might actually lose it.

Because if you have to stand here and pretend like you’re fine, that these past few days haven’t felt like an eternity for you—you might actually lose it.

Heeseung finally walks up to the counter, places his things between you, then pauses before repeating, tilting his head, “Hey?” 

He shifts slightly, waiting for you to acknowledge him.

You don’t.

A beat passes. Then another.

“You mad at me or something?” he asks, his head still tilted, his voice light, hesitant.

You inhale, your fingers subconsciously tightening around the edge of the counter.

Then, you let out a quiet laugh—an empty, humorless scoff.

“Should I be?”

Heeseung frowns, clearly confused, “What?”

You finally look at him. And you think it was a mistake. Because the second you meet his gaze—uncertain, searching, so annoyingly familiar—you feel your throat close up.

He looks the same. Same stupid hoodie. Same messy hair. Same tired eyes that you’ve somehow come to find comfort in.

And that makes you hate this even more.

“Is this because I haven’t been showing up?” Heeseung tries again, a small, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Damn, I didn’t realize you’d miss me that much. Sorry, Graveyard Shift Gi—”

“When were you going to tell me?”

Your voice is quiet, but he doesn’t miss it.

And he stills.

There it is.

He shifts in his spot again, his eyes now darting down to where his fingers are tapping against the counter.

“What?” he says again, but this time, it’s different. Careful.

You swallow, forcing down the lump forming in your throat, forcing yourself to look at him.

“When were you going to tell me you were leaving?”

It’s soft. Barely above a whisper. But lined with something raw, something vulnerable, something hurting.

And Heeseung hears all of it. He feels all of it.

He doesn’t answer. He just stares at you, lips pressing into a thin line.

Somewhere in the background, the clock continues ticking, the lights overhead buzzing, a song from the speakers humming.

And Heeseung stays silent.

“You weren’t,” you murmur, the words caught in your throat. “Were you?”

Heeseung exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair, “I—” 

He stops. Starts again. 

“It’s not—it wasn’t—”

You cross your arms tightly, more so to ground yourself more than anything.

He lets out a quiet, frustrated laugh, shaking his head.

“Look,” he gestures vaguely, between you, at the store, at the shelves, at the space you’ve unknowingly carved out for him here. “This—this is the only thing that’s felt normal for me in a long time.”

Your stomach twists.

“Everything else—my whole life, it’s all…chaos. But this?” He swallows, his eyes finally looking up to meet your gaze, his voice quieter now. “You?”

His eyes flash with something new, something softer, something that lingers in the way he looks at you. The same way he has over late-night snack feasts, whispered movie nights, conversations that blended into the early mornings. 

“You’re the closest thing to normal I’ve had.”

And somehow, that makes it worse.

Because you get it. You know him, so you understand.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he was going to leave without telling you.

You inhale slowly, your heavy gaze holding his.

“So what?” your voice is still quiet, but now edged with a new sharpness. “You thought if you didn’t say anything, it wouldn’t have to be real?”

Heeseung presses his lips together. “I thought maybe if I didn’t say it, I wouldn’t have to lose this yet.”

Your breath catches.

You want to laugh. You want to cry.

Heeseung didn’t tell you because he didn’t want to ruin this.

Whatever this is.

Whatever the two of you had built over the weeks between instant noodles and snacks, between arguments over food choices, between all the unspoken moments that made you feel like maybe, maybe, this was something more.

You let out a wavering breath, shaking your head, “That’s not fair, Heeseung.”

“I know,” his voice is rough now, like he’s tired of saying it. Like he’s already told himself a million times and accepted it. Like he wants you to just accept it and move on.

But you can’t.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I didn’t know how!” His voice rises in frustration, an exasperated sigh slipping out. “Because you—this—whatever this is, it started feeling real. Too real. And I just didn’t want to fuck it up, alright?”

The words knock the air out of your lungs.

Because suddenly, everything you’ve been trying so hard to ignore, every feeling you’ve been trying to convince yourself wasn’t there, is suddenly painfully undeniable.

And worse than realizing how real this is?

Knowing that Heeseung knows it, feels it, too. 

But heavier than that realization is the anger.

Not just at the situation.

Now, at Heeseung.

“So you thought it’d be better to just disappear instead?” Your voice shakes, biting down on the thick emotion rising in your throat. “You didn’t even think to tell me.”

Heeseung steps closer, and for the first time tonight, you see it—his own frustration bubbling beneath his surface, the barely restrained emotion.

“What does it matter, Y/N?” his sharp voice cuts through the heavy air lingering between you. “What difference would it—would you—have made? It’s not like this was ever going to change anything.”

Your heart stops.

At that, you falter, and Heeseung sees it.

He sees the way your eyes move away from his. He sees the way your posture suddenly deflates, as if his words physically hurt you.

Because they do.

Because you know what he’s saying.

He’s leaving. And you’re staying.

And no matter what, no matter the amount of realness, no matter what either of you feel—that was always going to be the reality.

“Right,” you finally say, your voice dangerously close to giving out. “Because it’s not like any of this really meant anything, right? At least not enough for you to acknowledge.”

Now your words hurt.

Heeseung winces. His jaw tightens. His fists clench.

Then finally—

“…I don’t know,” he mutters.

The final crack.

You let in a sharp inhale, nodding once, your lips pressed into a straight line. “Got it.”

Heeseung clenches his jaw, like he wants to take the words back, like he wants to fix whatever just broke between you.

Instead, he exhales, stepping back from the counter, “I should go.”

This time, you don’t stop him.

You don’t say anything at all.

Heeseung hesitates for a half second, like maybe—just maybe—he’s waiting for you to say something.

But you don’t. 

Not when you feel so utterly lost in everything you’re feeling that you can’t even begin to put into words. 

So he nods once, shoving his hands back into his pockets, turning away.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting you.

Cold air rushes in.

And then—he’s gone.

And you?

You’re left at the counter, staring at his abandoned cup of ramen, untouched coffee milk, and the ghost of something that never got the chance to be.

Heeseung doesn’t think. 

He wasn’t thinking four days ago, when the space between you two had grown impossibly small—when he was this close to you, when the air felt thick with something unspoken, yet undeniable, something that made his pulse race and his breath hitch. 

He wasn’t thinking when he let fear creep in, when the weight of him realizing his own feelings sent him running, keeping him from stepping foot into the store at all. For three days. 

He wasn’t thinking when he looked you in the eye last night and told you this didn’t matter. That none of it ever did. 

He wasn’t thinking when he walked out of the store, leaving you to think that you didn’t matter to him. That you never did. 

And he definitely isn’t thinking now, when he’s supposed to be leaving for the airport in an hour, but instead—his feet pound against the pavement, tearing through the empty, quiet streets like a man possessed, like maybe if he runs fast enough, he can outrun the regret clawing in his chest. 

The cold air stings against his face, streetlights flicker overhead, and the city hums all around him—but none of it matters. None of it even registers. 

Because all Heeseung knows, all he cares about, is getting to you.

Because Heeseung?

He can go months on tour without his Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen.

He can go months on tour without his coffee milk.

He can go months on tour without those, even if it means braving his insomnia.

But what he can’t go without?

Heeseung can’t—he won’t—go months on tour knowing you think you meant nothing to him. That you didn’t bring him relief after the longest days, laughter when he forgot how to find it, comfort in a world that never slowed down for him.

That you weren’t the one thing that felt real in a life that so often didn’t.

And if there’s even the smallest chance to fix this—to make sure you know—then nothing else matters.

The neon glow of the convenience store sign comes into view, and Heeseung’s heart lurches in his chest as he approaches, his staggered breathing visible in the cold air in front of him, his hands clammy.

He stumbles through the sliding doors, the familiar ding barely registering in his mind as his eyes dart around—only for his stomach to drop.

The counter is empty. The soft sound of your absentminded humming, the teasing lilt of your voice, the annoyed glare in your eyes—it’s all missing.

And all wrong. Too quiet, too empty, too…not you.

Instead, some guy he’s never seen before glances up from behind the register, staring at the way Heeseung just lingers frozen near the entrance.

“Uh,” Heeseung swallows thickly, his voice strained from his sprint. “The girl who usually works nights. Is she here?”

“Oh, Y/N?” the worker raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, she called off tonight.”

Heeseung stills.

You’re not here.

You’re not here.

And it’s his fault.

Because last night, you were here—waiting, hoping, and he walked out on you.

“Oh,” is all Heeseung can manage before he feels the words getting caught in his throat.

His jaw clenches, his stomach twists. The weight of regret settles deep, heavy and unrelenting.

“Right. Okay. Thanks,” he mutters, nodding absently, then turns towards the door.

The automatic doors slide open.

The ding rings, taunting him.

Cold air rushes in.

And just as Heeseung steps out—

He sees you.

You.

Right there, walking towards the store, hands shoved into the pockets of your coat, face buried into your scarf.

You stop.

He stops.

For a moment, neither of you move. Neither of you breathe.

The neon glow of the store’s sign reflects off your face, casting a shadow over your widened eyes. A car honks in the distance. A gust of wind blows past.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Heeseung says without thinking, almost breathless.

A small laugh escapes your lips, airy and uncertain, “Yeah, well…neither are you.”

You’re right.

He should be on his way to the airport. Bags packed, schedule set, moving on.

But instead? Instead, he’s here, standing in front of the only person who has ever made him hesitate.

Heeseung takes one step forward, “I was looking for you.”

You tilt your head, your lips pressed together like you’re weighing something in your mind.

Then you take a small step forward.

“And now you’ve found me.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry.”

It comes out all at once and rushed, but utterly honest. Honest and heavy, the way it’s been aching in his chest—and he can’t hold it in anymore.

You blink, unmoving.

“I’m so sorry,” Heeseung says again, stepping closer. His voice is steady, gentle, but nervous, scared you won’t believe him. “For everything. For not telling you. For leaving like that. For being a completely fucking idiot about—”

He stops. The look in his eyes is vulnerable, genuine. Longing.

“About this. Us.”

You don’t say anything right away, just watching him carefully.

Heeseung runs a hand through his hair, letting out a dry laugh as he realizes he’s about to lay everything out bare.

“I think I was scared,” he admits. “Of what it all meant. Of what you meant to me. I kept telling myself none of it was real, that it didn’t matter. But then I walked out yesterday and, I realized—”

He swallows hard, looking at you and the way your eyes soften with something unreadable.

“It does. You do. So, so much, Y/N.”

Another pause.

Then, you let out a soft exhale, shaking your head, as if something’s finally clicking into place, “I’m sorry too.”

Heeseung’s eyebrows burrow in confusion.

“For not—,” you sigh, your hands now fidgeting with the ends of your scarf. “For not saying something sooner. Because the truth is, I’ve been denying it too. I didn’t even realize how much I—how much you meant to me until I saw you last night and…”

You trail off, your cheeks warming. Then, with a deep inhale, you take another step closer, meeting his gaze from an arm’s length away.

“I was just so angry and upset, but I think…I realized it’s only because I like you, Heeseung. So much.”

Heeseung swears his heart stops. It feels like his whole world has just shifted, and all his thoughts are tangled up in the way you’re looking up at him now.

“And…I should’ve been more understanding,” you add softly. “I shouldn’t have held it against you like you owed me something. I was just hurt, and I didn’t know how to handle it, honestly.”

Heeseung doesn’t say anything right away, not when his thoughts are running wild and his heart is beating like it’s about to fully grow legs and escape.

Then, he exhales a breath of relief.

And lets out a quiet laugh to himself.

You blink at him.

“We’re both idiots,” he says finally, shaking his head softly. 

A small, knowing smile dances on your lips, your eyes locking onto his, “Yeah. Looks like it.”

The tension eases. Just a little.

Heeseung takes a small step closer, close enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off of you, despite the cold air surrounding you both. 

“So now what?”

You tilt your head as you look up at him, eyes searching his, “Aren’t you supposed to be catching a flight soon?”

Heeseung’s breath hitches.

Because he knows he should say yes.

That’s what’s been planned all along. That’s the reality.

But, for the first time—

He hesitates.

“Maybe."

Your eyes narrow slightly, a playful glare sparking in them, "Maybe?"

Heeseung exhales a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair, his fingers lingering at the nape of his neck. "Yeah. Maybe."

The warmth in his chest spreads when he sees the way you bite back a smile, the way your weight shifts just the tiniest bit closer—like you're testing the space between you.

Then, you reach into the tote bag slung around your shoulder and pull something out. 

“Here.”

You press a small bottle of coffee milk into his hands.

Heeseung stares at it in his hands.

Then at you.

And you’re looking at him with something gentle—something that makes his chest tighten in the best way possible, something that makes the world feel just a tiny bit warmer.

“Just in case you need a reminder,” you say, your voice light and grounding. “Of what’s normal.”

Heeseung stares at you for a moment, and suddenly—everything makes sense. 

The missing piece clicks into place as the static in his mind all fades away, leaving only this—only you. 

You, standing here in front of him, looking at him with that small, steady smile, and Heeseung knows. 

He's never been more sure of anything in his life.

A laugh escapes him before he even realizes it, soft and breathless, bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest, where warmth curls all around it, wrapping around his own heart like a quiet, undeniable truth. His heart races and his fingers tighten around the bottle in his hands—slightly trembling, not from nerves, but from the realization of something so much bigger. Something so much realer. 

And then, without even thinking, he steps forward like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and closes the small space between you before wrapping his arms around you. He pulls you in, slow but certain, with a gentleness that catches you by surprise. 

You freeze, breath catching, but only for a second. Because then—like a reflex, you melt into him, your own arms tightening around him.

Holding onto him just as much as he’s holding onto you.

Neither of you say anything.

There’s a quiet calm between you two—no need for words, just the rhythm of your heart beating against his own. Steady, calming, like it’s syncing with his, like they’ve always known each other’s pace.

Like they’ve been moving in tandem all along, even when neither of you realized it. 

And in a way, maybe that’s just how it’s always been with you two—balancing on the fine line between pushing and pulling, between sharp words and lingering glances, between pretending you didn’t care, yet feeling everything all at once. 

So easy to cross, so easy to blur, so easy to mistake for something else. 

Maybe you spent all this time thinking you were standing on opposite sides, only to realize you were always moving toward the same place.

And now, as one of his arms moves across your back, the other threading gently through your hair, holding the back of your head against his chest like he never wants to let you go, his heartbeat still steady against yours, you know for certain—

You were never meant to stay on one side. 

You were always meant to cross it. 

Life is unpredictable, uncontrollable, and chaotic.

Lee Heeseung’s life? Heeseung’s life is that times ten, with an extra sprinkle of what-is-even-happening-anymore?

However—

There are three things—three sacred constants—that keep Heeseung from spiraling into total madness.

The first?

Insomnia.

Not by choice, of course.

The second?

Extra Spicy Hellfire ramen and coffee milk.

Yes, it’s a weird combo. And no, he still doesn’t care.

And the third?

You.

And honestly?

You’re the only one he really needs.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the end! if you made it to the end, i'll ship u some extra spicy hellfire ramen & coffee milk rn ! <3 luv u mwahmwahmwah !

<3, addie

m.list here!

tag list pt.1 (luv u all):

@xylatox @vivimura @leehsngs @puma-riki @lezzleeferguson-120 @enhaprettystars @laurradoesloveu @sievenderz @somuchdard @kristynaaah @heejamas @jiyeons-closet @sagegreenhairclip @betda @ineedsomezzz @motherscrustytoenailclippings @bussolares @soobnuuy @deluluscenarios @chrrific @vvenusoncasual @rairaiblog @mwahvvis @lveegsoi @desssss-0 @hoonkishoe @sunhyeswife @ilovbeshotaro @dearestdreamies @starry-eyed-bimbo @planetmarlowe @lovialy @ambi01 @elairah @therealmrsbahng @lov4hoon @hollxe1 @lovenha7 @ilovhoonie @coqhee @i03jae @letwiiparkjay @manuosorioh @mintysunoo @amiraazzz @renaishun @enhadd @ikeulove @starniras @heartheejake @zaycie

(bolded didn't let me tag, sorry :( )

[heejamas]

WAITING ROOM ──★ ˙

꒰ ‎﹒ pairing: heeseung x fem!reader ... ﹒ friends to lovers, fluff ... ﹒ w/c: 21k synopsis: for three years, you and heeseung have hovered between friendship and something more—stolen glances, late-night car rides, hands brushing under tables. but when the waiting finally ends, you realize you were never just friends to begin with. ꒰ ‎﹒ warnings: smut, mdni! explicit sexual content, petnames, unprotected sex (dont do it!!!!) not proofread 💿 % (◠﹏◠ ✿) #nowplaying: waiting room - phoebe bridgers

Three years ago, you met Heeseung at a Halloween party. And, in a way, he never really left.

You remember the night in sharp, neon clarity, the kind that only exists in memories warped by time and too many cheap drinks. The bass of the music was rattling against the walls, distorting into something unrecognizable by the time it reached your ears. The air was thick, humid with the breath of a hundred strangers crammed into an apartment too small to hold them. It smelled like spilled alcohol, synthetic fog from a cheap smoke machine, and the faintest trace of cinnamon, probably from some idiot who thought Fireball was a good idea.

You were standing in the kitchen, gripping a plastic cup half-full of something blue and questionably sweet, when you felt it. The warmth of someone moving too close. The press of a shoulder against yours. And then—disaster.

A smear of green, across your arm, your ribs, your stomach.

You stared at it, confused. It looked like paint. Wet, sticky, and clinging to the fabric of your skeleton costume like it belonged there. You blinked once, twice, before dragging your gaze upward, locking eyes with the culprit.

“Oh, shit.”

He was green. No, really, he was covered in it, from his jawline to his collarbone, down his arms, streaked across his hands. He was, in fact, one of the Ninja Turtles.

“Are you radioactive?” you asked, because that felt like a genuine concern at this point.

Heeseung—though you didn’t know his name yet—blinked at you, then looked down at his own arm as if just realizing that, yeah, maybe painting his entire body for a costume wasn’t the best idea. “I, uh—fuck, I didn’t think—”

“Didn’t think what?” you repeated, glancing down at your once-pristine skeleton costume. “That maybe body paint takes a while to dry?”

“No, see, I thought it was dry. I waited, like, an hour before putting the costume on.” He sounded both defensive and regretful, like someone who had just now realized the full extent of their mistake.

You sighed, poking at the stain. “Well, congrats. You’ve officially made me the first skeleton in history to die of green slime exposure.”

He let out a breath of laughter, then scratched the back of his neck—a habit you’d later come to recognize as his go-to nervous tic. “On the bright side… at least now you match me?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

“Not even a little.”

A slow grin spread across his face, lopsided and teasing. “Damn. Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

And he did.

That was the beginning of it, you suppose. A stupid mistake, an even stupider conversation, and a boy painted green who somehow managed to wedge himself into your life like he belonged there. You didn’t know then that he’d become your best friend. That in three years, you’d be sitting next to him in a car at two in the morning, singing along to songs you didn't really know. That you’d learn the exact way he liked his coffee, the rhythm of his breath when he fell asleep next to you on your couch, the way he always looked at you like he was on the verge of saying something important but never quite did.

No, back then, all you knew was that he was an idiot. And that, somehow, against all odds—you kind of liked him anyway. But you and Heeseung became friends by accident.

It wasn’t an immediate thing, not like some cosmic force snapped its fingers and tied the two of you together. No, it was slower than that, more like a series of small collisions, a gradual intertwining of orbits. And most of it had to do with Yunjin.

You and Yunjin had been friends since the beginning of college. One of those friendships that happens fast, like flipping a switch. One day, you were just two people forced into the same group project, and the next, you were sneaking snacks into late-night study sessions, texting each other memes at 3 a.m., and laughing until your stomach hurt over things that weren’t even that funny. She was the kind of person you felt like you had known forever, even though it had only been a few years.

But somehow, despite all that time, you had never actually registered who she lived with. You knew she had a roommate—she’d mentioned him in passing a few times, usually accompanied by an exasperated sigh or an eye roll—but you had never put much thought into it. The guy could’ve been a faceless NPC for all you cared. Just a background character in the world of Yunjin’s apartment. Until one fateful Tuesday afternoon.

You had gone over to Yunjin’s place to work on a mind-numbing, soul-draining research paper, and the two of you were sitting cross-legged on her living room floor. The atmosphere was calm, quiet—at least, until the front door swung open with the force of someone dramatically entering a scene in a sitcom.

“YUNJIN,” a voice rang through the apartment, loud and excited. “I JUST BOUGHT ZELDA: BREATH OF THE WILD. I NEED TO PLAY IT IMMEDIATELY.”

You barely had time to process before the source of the chaos came bounding into the room. A guy, slightly breathless from what must have been a very passionate journey home, clutching a Nintendo Switch game case like it was the most important thing in the world.

And he was green.

Well, not literally—he wasn’t still covered in body paint—but your brain made the connection instantly. The excitement, the unfiltered enthusiasm, the slight air of someone who had been making questionable life decisions since birth.

It clicked.

“Oh my god,” you blurted. “You’re the Ninja Turtle guy.”

Heeseung froze mid-step, eyes flickering to you like he was only now realizing there was another person in the room. For a second, he just stared, lips parted in muted shock, like you had just caught him committing a crime.

Then, in a tone that was both confused and slightly mortified, he said, “Oh. Uh. Yeah. That’s me.”

You squinted at him, taking in the full picture—the messy hair, the slightly wrinkled hoodie, the expression of someone who had absolutely not been expecting to relive his Halloween mistakes today. Then, you turned to Yunjin.

“You live with the Ninja Turtle guy?”

Yunjin, who had been watching this interaction unfold with barely concealed amusement, grinned. “I guess.”

Heeseung cleared his throat, regaining some of his composure. “For the record, my name is Heeseung.”

“Really?” you said, nodding slowly. “I thought your name was Donatello”

He looked mildly offended. “Excuse me?”

“Well,” you said, gesturing vaguely, “I feel like I at least deserve to know which turtle was responsible for my suffering. I thought it was Donatello.”

Heeseung rolled his eyes but played along. “Leonardo. Sunghoon was Raphael, Beomgyu was Michelangelo, and Jake was Donatello.”

You considered this for a second, then turned back to Yunjin. “I can’t believe you live with Leonardo.”

Yunjin, deadpan, replied, “Trust me, I can’t either.”

And that was the second collision.

You didn’t know it then, but this was how it would always be with Heeseung—dramatic entrances, loud declarations, and an energy that burst into the room like an unexpected firework. You had met him twice now, and both times, he had been the human embodiment of chaos. But for some reason, that chaos felt a little less like a background character now. And after that day, Heeseung stopped being just Yunjin’s roommate.

You started seeing him everywhere. Not because you were seeking him out—not at first, anyway—but because he had a tendency to appear in your life like some kind of recurring side character in a sitcom. You’d be minding your own business in Yunjin’s apartment, and he’d burst through the door, ranting about how someone stole his favorite study spot in the library. You’d go to grab coffee before class, and there he’d be, dramatically arguing with the barista about why oat milk was a scam. He just kept showing up, like the universe had decided that, for better or worse, he was part of your story now.

And then, you found out you had a class together. It wasn’t a real class. Not in the sense that it required effort or critical thinking. It was one of those ridiculous elective courses that the university offered purely to fill up credit requirements—something slapped onto the catalog as an afterthought, designed for students who were too lazy or too exhausted to take anything serious.

You had signed up for it without even reading the description, choosing it solely because it fit into your schedule and had a reputation for being an easy A. Heeseung, apparently, had done the same.

That was how the two of you ended up in "The Philosophy of Memes and Internet Culture."

The class was exactly as stupid as it sounded. The professor was a guy in his late 40s who still said things like “epic fail” unironically. The syllabus included assignments like “analyzing the impact of Vine on modern humor” and “writing a 500-word essay on the evolution of the Rickroll.” It was the kind of class that could only exist in a university desperate to appear progressive and relevant, and you were 90% sure the school administration had no idea it was happening.

It was, in short, the best class either of you had ever taken.

You and Heeseung immediately became the worst students in the room. Not because you weren’t paying attention, but because you were paying attention too much—finding everything so absurdly hilarious that neither of you could take it seriously. Every lecture felt like a fever dream. Every assignment was an excuse to see how much nonsense you could get away with before the professor caught on.

And then, of course, came the group project. It was a simple assignment: pick a meme, trace its origins, and present its cultural impact. Most people chose something predictable—Doge, Grumpy Cat, Distracted Boyfriend.

You and Heeseung, however, chose Shrek. More specifically, you chose Shrek’s cultural legacy as an ironic meme figure.

It was supposed to be a joke. A way to entertain yourselves in a class that was already ridiculous. But the further you got into your research, the more serious it became.

Somewhere along the way, you and Heeseung stopped just pretending to care and actually started caring. You spent hours deep-diving into obscure Shrek forums, analyzing the rise of “Shrek is Love, Shrek is Life” discourse, debating whether or not the character’s internet resurgence was fueled by genuine appreciation or detached irony. You became scholars of the Shrek Renaissance.

The night before your presentation, you were in Yunjin’s apartment, sitting on the floor with your laptops open, surrounded by a mess of half-empty snack bags and unfinished slides. The clock blinked 2:37 AM, and neither of you had any business still being awake.

Heeseung was slouched against the couch, staring at his screen with the expression of a man who had seen too much. “I think I know too much about Shrek,” he said, voice hollow.

You let out a dramatic sigh, rubbing your temples. “Yeah. We flew too close to the sun on this one.” There was a beat of silence.

Then, Heeseung slowly turned his laptop around, revealing a slide titled ‘Shrek and the Post-Ironic Era of Internet Humor: A Critical Analysis.’ And for some reason, that was it. That was the moment you broke.

Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the fact that you had just spent the past three hours watching deep-fried Shrek memes with Gregorian chants in the background. Maybe it was just the sheer, stupid absurdity of the entire situation. But suddenly, you were laughing.

Not just laughing—cackling. The kind of breathless, full-body laughter that made your stomach hurt. That made you feel like you were going to die right there on Yunjin’s living room floor, lost to the void of Shrek academia.

And Heeseung—poor, equally sleep-deprived Heeseung—was right there with you. He doubled over, gasping for air, his head nearly colliding with your shoulder as he choked out, “We’re never recovering from this.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You turned to him, trying to catch your breath, and found him already looking at you. His eyes were crinkled at the edges, his cheeks flushed from laughter, his whole body still shaking slightly from the aftermath. And for a moment—just a moment—you thought, this is nice.

Not just the laughing. Not just the inside jokes and the chaos.

But him.

You pushed the thought away before it could settle.

Because, at the end of the day, Heeseung was your friend. Your dumbass friend who still had green body paint under his fingernails two weeks after Halloween. Who got irrationally angry at mobile game ads. Who had just spent the last six hours dissecting Shrek memes with you like it was a matter of academic integrity.

And that was all he was.

Right?

Heeseung, on the other hand, wasn’t sure when it started. That feeling.

That weird, stupid, barely-there feeling. The one that sat quietly in the back of his mind, like a notification he refused to check. Like a waiting room. A vague, almost imperceptible awareness that he enjoyed your company a little too much—that your laugh had started to feel like background music in his life, something he didn’t know he needed until it was gone.

Not that it meant anything. Obviously.

He liked lots of people. He was a social guy. He made friends easily, enjoyed being around them, and—despite Yunjin’s many accusations—was not emotionally repressed. He just… liked the things you liked. That was normal.

It was normal that he started watching that terrible reality show you always talked about, even though he swore he hated it. It was normal that he got a random impulse to buy you a weirdly specific snack he saw at the store because “it just screamed your vibe.” It was normal that he sent you voice notes every time he saw something even remotely related to Shrek, even months after your presentation.

That was just friendship. Which was why, as a friend, he invited you to an arcade.

It was one of those places that felt like it had been stuck in time since the 90s—neon lights, sticky floors, a vague smell of burnt popcorn in the air. The kind of place that probably hadn’t passed a health inspection in years, but had an undeniable charm to it. You were too good at skee-ball.

It was honestly annoying. Heeseung had challenged you three times, and each time, you had obliterated him without breaking a sweat. It wasn’t even close. “You’re cheating,” he accused, arms crossed as he watched you land another perfect shot.

You grinned, tossing the last ball effortlessly. “You’re just mad because you suck.”

“I don’t suck,” he argued. “This game is just—rigged. The physics are all off.”

“Oh my god. Did you just say ‘the physics are off’ in a skee-ball game?”

“Yes,” he said, completely serious. “I am a man of logic and reason.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Sure. Okay. Man of logic and reason. If you’re so smart, let’s see how well you do at Dance Dance Revolution.”

Heeseung froze. “I—uh—what?”

“Come on,” you said, already dragging him toward the machine. “Let’s see those skills.”

Here was the thing about Heeseung: he was good at a lot of things. He could play video games for hours without blinking. He could talk his way out of almost any bad situation. He could even recite the entire “All Star” lyrics from memory.

But he could not dance. At all. And that became painfully clear the second the game started.

Heeseung missed every step. Every single one. While you moved effortlessly, barely even glancing at the screen, he was flailing. His feet weren’t in sync with his brain. His arms kept jerking awkwardly, and he could hear you laughing beside him, and somehow, that made it worse.

By the time the game ended, Heeseung was defeated. He doubled over, hands on his knees, gasping dramatically. “I think I died,” he announced.

You patted his back. “You fought bravely.”

He looked up at you then, about to retort, but the words got lost somewhere in his throat. Because you were smiling at him—really smiling. Your eyes were crinkled at the edges, your face still flushed from laughing. The neon lights flickered against your skin, casting everything in shades of blue and pink, making you look—

Well. Heeseung swallowed. That weird, stupid, barely-there feeling? Yeah. It was there.

But you were just his friend.

So, when Beomgyu casually mentioned, in the most offhanded, unbothered way possible, that he thought you were cute, Heeseung should’ve just let it go. But he didn’t.

“You think she’s what?”

Beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “Cute. You know, in a hot way.”

Heeseung felt something in his chest twist. It was irrational. Objectively, completely irrational. Because, yeah, you were cute. That wasn’t news to him. He had eyes. He was aware. He had just… never thought about the fact that other people might also be aware.

Heeseung almost laughed. It was a knee-jerk reaction, the kind of dry, disbelieving scoff that came when someone said something so absurd it didn’t even process at first. But then, Beomgyu kept talking.

“I was thinking of asking her out.”

And Heeseung felt it. That twist, low and tight, in the pit of his stomach.

He blinked at Beomgyu, waiting for the usual rush of banter to kick in, for the easy teasing to roll off his tongue. But for some reason, his mouth felt dry. Beomgyu liked you. Beomgyu thought you were cute. Beomgyu wanted to date you.

It wasn’t that wild of a concept. People liked you all the time. You were funny and charming in that effortlessly chaotic way, the kind of person who made friends in the span of a single conversation. It made sense that Beomgyu, out of all people, would look at you and go, Yeah, she’s my type.

And it wasn’t like Heeseung had a say in the matter. So he shrugged, leaning back against the couch, and said, “Yeah, good for you, man. Good for you”

And that should’ve been the end of it. Except. Beomgyu actually did ask you out. And the worst part? You said yes.

At first, Heeseung didn’t think much of it. He was fine. It was fine.

So what if you had gone out with Beomgyu last Friday and came back looking kind of flushed, kind of happy? So what if, the next time he saw you, you had that soft, secretive look in your eyes, the one that said you were thinking about something that made your stomach twist in the good way?

So what. You weren’t dating. You weren’t his. And he sure as hell wasn’t jealous. Except then it wasn’t just one date. Because you went out again. And again. And again. And suddenly, Beomgyu wasn’t just one of Heeseung’s friends anymore—he was the guy you were seeing. And that, for some reason, was so much worse.

The thing about Beomgyu was that he was annoying. Like, Heeseung had always known this, but now, for the first time in his life, it felt personal. “Dude,” Beomgyu groaned, stretching his arms behind his head as they sat in their usual spot in the campus lounge. “Y/N is so fun, bro. Like, actually so fun.”

Heeseung clenched his jaw. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s, like… different.” Heeseung made a face. “No, I’m serious,” Beomgyu whined. “She’s not like other girls.”

I’m gonna walk into traffic, Heeseung thought.

“No, like—” Beomgyu hesitated, looking off into the distance. “She’s just cool, you know?”

And Heeseung didn’t know why that pissed him off. Maybe because he knew that already. He had always known that. He had known it before Beomgyu, before any of these dates, before whatever the hell this was.

He had known it since the night he met you. Since the moment you called him Donatello when he was, in fact, Leonardo. Since the first time you said his name with that teasing edge, like you were permanently in on some joke he didn’t even realize he was making.

So, yeah. Maybe he didn’t like hearing Beomgyu say it like he had discovered it first.

But whatever. Heeseung let it go. Because it wasn’t like this was going to last forever. And then, it didn’t.

One day, you walked into Yunjin’s apartment, kicked your shoes off in a way that sent one flying across the room, and threw yourself onto the couch with all the weight of someone carrying a great and terrible burden.

Heeseung, sitting on the floor, scrolled mindlessly through his phone, pretending he hadn’t immediately noticed you. But then, you sighed. A deep, world-weary, existentially exhausted sigh.

Yunjin looked up from where she was painting her nails. “Jesus,” she muttered. “What.”

You groaned, stuffing your face into a pillow. “I think I’m over it.”

Heeseung’s thumb froze mid-scroll. Casual. He had to be casual. So, without looking up, he mumbled, “Over what?”

Another dramatic sigh. You rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to life itself. “Beomgyu.”

Heeseung blinked. Okay.

Yunjin, who had been the biggest advocate of this whole thing, frowned. “Wait, what do you mean? You were literally texting him heart emojis yesterday.”

“I don’t know.” You stretched out your legs like the weight of your own existence was exhausting you. “I just… don’t feel like it anymore.”

Yunjin gave you a look. “Like, what? He’s a hobby you got bored of?”

“No! It’s just—” You hesitated, pressing your lips together. “Like, I liked the idea of him. And at first, it was fun. But then, the more time we spent together, the more I realized… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

You exhaled, shutting your eyes. “I feel like I was trying to make myself like him the way I was supposed to. But it just wasn’t working.”

And that was when Heeseung’s grip on his phone tightened. He forced himself to keep his face neutral, tilting his head slightly as he looked at you. “The way you were supposed to?”

You turned your head towards him. “Yeah. Like, Beomgyu is great, okay? He’s funny, and he’s cute, and he’s nice, and I should like him.” You paused, expression softening. “But every time he kissed me, I just…”

You trailed off, lost in thought. Heeseung swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He wasn’t sure why.

Yunjin made a gagging noise. “Okay, ew. Please don’t get all sentimental about kissing Beomgyu on my couch.”

You laughed, pushing her half-heartedly with your foot. “I’m just saying—it’s not clicking. You ever get that? Like, you try to like someone, but no matter how much you do, it just doesn’t fit?”

And the way you looked at Heeseung when you asked that—like you expected him to understand—made something in his chest tighten. Because yeah. He knew exactly what that felt like. He just… couldn’t say it.

So he swallowed, rolling his shoulders back, and forced a small smirk. “Damn,” he said, voice light. “Tough loss for Beomgyu.”

You let out a soft huff of laughter. “Yeah.” Then, a pause. “Guess I’m single again.”

Something in Heeseung’s chest lurched. But he just nodded, keeping his expression neutral, easy, unfazed. Like it didn’t mean anything. Like it didn’t change everything.

A few weeks later, Heeseung showed up at your apartment. It was raining that day.

Not in a dramatic, cinematic way, but in that soft, half-hearted drizzle that made everything look just a little bit duller. The sky was gray, the streets were damp, and Heeseung had definitely stepped into at least two puddles on his way up to your place.

Which, in his opinion, was already way too much effort just to fix your stupid kitchen cabinet.

“Okay, I just wanna say,” he announced as soon as you let him in, dragging his slightly-wet socks across your floor, “I don’t know how the hell you managed to completely detach a cabinet door, but honestly? I’m kind of impressed.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping aside to let him in. “Are you gonna help me or are you gonna make fun of me?”

“Oh, I’m definitely gonna make fun of you.” He grinned, toeing off his shoes before making his way to your kitchen. “But I’ll fix it after.”

You followed behind him, crossing your arms as you watched him inspect the broken cabinet. It wasn’t like you had meant to break it. You had simply been existing in your own kitchen, minding your own business, when the handle somehow got caught on the sleeve of your hoodie—one tug too strong, and suddenly the door was in your hands instead of on its hinges.

“I literally don’t understand how this happened,” Heeseung muttered, crouching down to assess the damage.

“Okay, handyman,” you shot back. “Can you fix it or not?”

Heeseung snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, let me just—” He held out a hand. “Pass me my phone.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“My hands are kinda full,” he said, nodding towards the cabinet door that he was currently balancing on one knee. “Look up how to fix this real quick.”

You huffed but grabbed his phone from the counter, unlocking it without thinking as you leaned against the kitchen island. You didn’t love the idea of looking up a YouTube tutorial like some kind of DIY newbie, but considering that Heeseung was already physically here fixing your problem for you, you figured you could at least meet him halfway.

So, with one hand holding his phone, you typed "how to reattach cabinet door" into the search bar—

And then, your thumb froze. Because right there, at the top of the screen, was a notification. A message. From Chaewon. Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know who Chaewon was. Of course, you did. You weren’t stupid. Chaewon was his ex.

The one he never really talked about. The one who had, at one point, been a name you’d only heard in passing, just a piece of his past that you had no real reason to care about. Except… you did.

Because now, here she was. On his screen. Texting him. And suddenly, you felt fucking ridiculous. Because why were you even reacting like this? It wasn’t like he was your boyfriend. It wasn’t like he owed you an explanation. So, then… why did it feel like this?

You forced yourself to look away from the message, pressing the YouTube link on the screen as if nothing had happened. But something had. Because when Heeseung glanced at you, waiting for your next words, you just… couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes.

“Uh.” You cleared your throat, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your voice didn’t sound normal. “It says you need a screwdriver.”

Heeseung raised an eyebrow at your abrupt shift in tone, but he didn’t question it. “Okay,” he said slowly, getting up to grab one from his bag.

You took the moment to shove his phone back onto the counter, clenching your jaw as you crossed your arms tighter over your chest. It was fine. You were fine.

“Hey.” His voice cut through the air, slightly muffled as he rummaged through his bag. “Can you hold this while I—”

“No, it’s fine.” The words came out too fast, too stiff.

And Heeseung noticed. He glanced at you, pausing with the screwdriver halfway in his grip. “You good?”

You forced out a laugh. “Yeah. Why?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, tilting his head. “You just got all weird all of a sudden.”

“I didn’t.”

“You definitely did.”

You exhaled sharply, schooling your expression into something that wasn’t betrayal or insecurity or whatever dumb thing was currently buzzing inside your head. “I’m just tired.”

It wasn’t a total lie. Heeseung didn’t look fully convinced, but he didn’t push. He just hummed under his breath, turning back to the cabinet as he started working again.

And maybe it was stupid. Maybe it was irrational. But you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The notification. The name. The way your stomach had twisted on instinct before you even had a chance to tell yourself it didn’t matter.

Because maybe… Maybe it did.

The next time you’re at Yunjin’s apartment, Heeseung isn’t there.

It’s not intentional, not entirely. Maybe there’s a small, petty part of you that’s relieved when Yunjin mentions he’s out, like the universe decided to grant you a break from the exhausting push and pull of whatever this thing is between you. But mostly, you’re just here because you always are.

There’s an old episode of some dating reality show playing in the background, and Yunjin barely glances at it as she paints her toenails a shade of red so deep it’s almost brown. You pick at the hem of your sleeve, casual, too casual, before finally asking, “Does Heeseung still see Chaewon?”

Yunjin snorts, like it’s the dumbest thing she’s heard all day. “God, I hope not.”

Something in your stomach untwists just slightly, but you don’t let the relief settle. You just raise an eyebrow, feigning indifference. “What happened with them, anyway?”

Yunjin pauses, her brush hovering mid-air. She gives you a look. The kind that says she sees through you. The kind that makes your skin prickle with the discomfort of being known. But then she sighs, leans back against the couch, and says, “They burned out.”

You blink. “That’s it?”

Yunjin tilts her head. “You ever leave a candle burning too long?” She dips the brush back into the bottle, shaking her head. “They were good until they weren’t. And when they weren’t, it was obvious. Chaewon got tired of waiting for him to catch up.”

You frown. “Catch up?”

Yunjin shrugs. “She loved him first. And she wanted him to love her back just as fast, just as much. But Heeseung…” She sighs, blowing lightly on her nails. “Heeseung takes his time. He doesn’t fall in love all at once, he kind of… eases into it. Like the dumbass that he is.”

Your chest tightens.

Because you think about the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not watching. About the way he always notices when you’re cold before you even say anything. And then you think about the way he doesn’t say anything. About the way he’s always on the edge of something, always almost.

Yunjin is watching you. You can feel it. And you know, you just know, she’s about to say something that’s going to ruin you.

So you get up, stretch your arms above your head like you can shake the weight of this conversation off your skin. “Right. Well. That was fun. Thanks for the gossip.”

Yunjin smirks. “You’re so fucking obvious.” You ignore her, grabbing a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table. But before you can shove it in your mouth, she says, “Heeseung’s not stupid, you know. He just doesn’t like to move until he’s sure.”

You pause. And because you’re you, and because this is Heeseung, and because everything about this whole thing is a goddamn waiting game— You pretend you don’t hear her.

And then it’s 2:14 a.m. when your phone buzzes.

You’re half-asleep, curled up in bed, the glow of your screen slicing through the darkness. You squint at it, groggy, before reading the message.

heeseung: you awake? heeseung: also. do u want mcdonalds

You blink. Then again. You type out a response with fingers that still feel half-dead from sleep.

you: is that even a question heeseung: valid. be outside in 10

And just like that, you’re stepping into your slides, and slipping out the door like this is the most normal thing in the world. Because with Heeseung, it kind of is.

The streetlights cast long, tired shadows across the pavement, and the air is that weird mix of crisp and stale that only exists at this hour, like the city itself is pausing, caught between the last breath of night and the first inhale of morning.

Heeseung’s car rolls up exactly nine minutes later, music already playing low through the speakers. When you slide into the passenger seat, he barely even looks at you before reaching into the back and tossing you his hoodie.

“You’re gonna get cold,” he says simply.

You huff, but you put it on. It smells like him—faint detergent, something vaguely woody, and the unmistakable scent of McDonald’s fries from however many late-night runs have preceded this one.

Heeseung pulls out onto the street, the familiar hum of the engine settling between you. He’s got one hand lazily resting on the steering wheel, and there’s a soft shadow of exhaustion under his eyes, but he still looks… at ease.

It’s quiet for a while. Comfortable. The kind of silence that doesn’t feel like it needs filling.

Then, as he turns onto the main road, he says, “You ever think about how weird time is?”

You glance at him. “That’s an insane way to start a conversation.”

“I’m serious,” he laughs, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “Like, right now. It’s 2:30 a.m. for us, but somewhere else, it’s a normal afternoon. Someone’s getting lunch, someone’s going to work. And here we are, about to eat McNuggets in a parking lot.”

You hum. “I feel like this is your way of convincing me that time isn’t real.”

He nods solemnly. “Nothing is real.”

“Except McNuggets.”

“Exactly.”

A beat passes, the soft rumble of the tires against the road the only sound for a moment. Then, quieter, more thoughtful, Heeseung asks, “Where do you think you’ll be in a year?”

The question catches you off guard. You tilt your head, thinking. “I don’t know,” you admit. “I mean, I have plans, but… life never really goes how you expect it to, does it?”

Heeseung exhales a small laugh. “No. It really doesn’t.”

You hesitate before adding, “Where do you think you’ll be?”

He takes a moment. His grip on the steering wheel tightens just slightly, like he’s holding onto the words before letting them go. “I don’t know either.” He pauses, then glances at you with something unreadable in his eyes. “I just hope I’m somewhere that still feels like home.”

You feel something shift. A small, almost imperceptible weight settling between the two of you.

And maybe it’s the hour. Maybe it’s the fact that your brain isn’t fully awake yet. Or maybe it’s just him—this version of Heeseung that only exists at 2:30 a.m., the one who speaks in half-truths and unspoken things. But you suddenly feel like you understand exactly what he means.

The McDonald’s drive-thru is basically empty when you pull in. The girl at the window looks like she hates her job, and Heeseung, being Heeseung, makes it his personal mission to get her to smile.

“Are McFlurries still a scam?” he asks solemnly.

The girl raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “You mean, is the machine broken?”

“Yeah.”

“Obviously.”

Heeseung sighs. “I knew it. A tragedy, really.”

Her lips twitch—just barely—but he sees it. He shoots you a triumphant look as he pulls forward.

With the food secured, he parks in a near-empty lot. There’s something about eating fast food in a car past midnight that makes it taste ten times better—something about the way the city is so still, like the world has shrunk down to just the two of you and the glow of the dashboard lights.

For a while, you just eat in silence, the occasional rustle of a fry bag or the quiet click of a sauce container the only noise. Then Heeseung says, “If you could live in any movie, which one would it be?”

You think for a moment. “Probably something stupid and fun. Like… a rom-com where everything works out in the end.”

Heeseung snorts. “Yeah? You want to be the main character that badly?”

“Obviously.”

He grins, dipping a fry into his BBQ sauce. “You’d be the chaotic best friend, though.”

You throw a fry at him. He catches it in his mouth.

“What about you?” you ask, popping a nugget into your mouth.

Heeseung leans back against the seat, thinking. “I don’t know. Something small. Quiet. One of those movies where nothing really happens, but it still makes you feel something.”

You tilt your head. “Like a waiting room.”

Heeseung turns to you. “What?”

“A waiting room,” you say, like it’s obvious. “That’s what those movies feel like. Like something is about to happen, but you don’t know what, and maybe it’s okay if nothing does.”

He stares at you for a long moment. Then he smiles. And it’s not his usual grin, not the teasing, lopsided smirk. It’s something smaller, softer. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “Like a waiting room.”

Neither of you say anything after that. The city hums in the background, neon lights bleeding into the darkness, the last remnants of fries sitting forgotten between you.

And then, a party. Not the kind you remember from three years ago, not the one where you met a boy covered in green body paint who changed your life without even meaning to. But still, a party. The music is just as loud, the air just as thick with heat and laughter, the night just as full of things waiting to happen.

You’re not sure why you came. Yunjin had begged, of course, had stood in your doorway with her most dramatic expression, wailing about how you never do anything fun anymore. But even then, you could have said no. You could have curled up in your apartment, wrapped yourself in something soft and safe, ignored the way your stomach flipped when you thought, what if Heeseung is there?

But you didn’t.

And now, you’re here, standing in the middle of someone’s too-small living room, holding a lukewarm drink, feeling like a puzzle piece that doesn’t quite fit. And then, you hear your name.

It cuts through the music, through the laughter, through the static in your brain. It pulls you toward the kitchen, toward the familiar lilt of a voice you know better than your own. And there he is. Heeseung.

Standing in front of the fridge, cracking open a beer, wearing a faded t-shirt and jeans that hang just right. His hair is a little messy, his eyes a little bright, and when he sees you, he grins—that same lopsided, teasing, dangerous smile.

"Look who finally decided to show up," he says, raising his drink in a mock toast.

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of whatever’s in your cup. "Don’t make a big deal out of it."

Heeseung hums, leaning against the counter. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

But he’s looking at you like it is a big deal. Like maybe he’s been waiting for you all night. Like maybe he always is.

Hours pass, the party moves around you—people spilling in and out of rooms, music shifting from one song to the next—but you and Heeseung stay where you are, orbiting around each other.

At some point, someone suggests a game. Cards, or maybe something more ridiculous—something designed to make people confess things they wouldn’t say otherwise. You should say no. You should step away before you find yourself caught in something you can’t get out of.

But you don’t. You sit next to Heeseung on the floor, close enough that your knees touch. The game starts, questions fly, people laugh. And then—

Jake turns to you. "Alright, Y/N. Who was your first college crush?"

You blink. "What?"

The group whoops in unison. Jungwon throws an arm around your shoulder. "Come on, don’t be shy."

Your throat goes dry. Your eyes flicker to Heeseung, just for a second, but it’s enough. His smirk twitches—just barely, just enough to be noticeable—and suddenly, you know you have to get out of this.

You clear your throat, reaching for your drink. "I think I’ve blocked it out," you lie.

A chorus of boos erupts, but the game moves on. The moment passes. But beside you, Heeseung is watching you, his fingers tapping against his knee, like he’s putting something together. You pretend not to notice.

Later, when the party has blurred into something soft and distant, when most people are drunk or half-asleep, when the night has stretched itself out into something too fragile to hold forever, Heeseung finds you on the balcony.

You’re leaning against the railing, breathing in the cool air, staring out at the city lights. "You hiding from me?"

You don’t turn around. "You think everything’s about you, don’t you?"

He laughs—soft, amused, something warm threading through the sound. "It usually is."

You roll your eyes, but then he’s beside you, resting his forearms on the railing, close enough that you can feel the heat of him even through the night air.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The music inside is muffled now, the party nothing more than background noise. The city stretches out before you, endless and alive, full of people who have no idea that this moment is happening.

And then, quietly, Heeseung asks, "You really don’t remember your first college crush?"

Your fingers tighten slightly around the railing. You exhale. "I remember."

A pause. "Yeah?"

You glance at him. He’s watching you, expression unreadable, something deep and knowing in his eyes. You swallow. "Yeah."

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, and for a second, you think—Is he going to ask? Does he already know? But he doesn’t.

He just nods, looking back at the skyline, and says, "Me too."

And somehow, that’s worse. Because you think—no, you know—that he’s not talking about some early college memory, some long-forgotten infatuation.

He’s talking about you.

And for the first time, you wonder if this thing between you—this waiting, this almost, this three years of something unspoken—has been more obvious than you thought. You wonder if maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one waiting.

One month later. The thing about time is that it moves whether you’re ready or not. It stretches, it folds, it carries you forward even when you feel like you’re standing still.

And ever since the party, things with Heeseung have been… different. Not in an obvious way. Not in the way that people would notice, not in the way that Yunjin would tease you about over breakfast. But in the small things.

In the way his eyes linger just a little too long. In the way your stomach flips when he says your name. In the way every conversation feels like it’s balancing on the edge of something you can’t name.

Because you and Heeseung have always been close, always been drawn together like something written into the universe itself. But now? Now, it feels different. Like someone turned up the volume on something you didn’t even realize was playing in the background.

And the worst part? Neither of you are talking about it.

Instead, you’re doing what you do best—pretending. Pretending that nothing is different, that things are still light and easy, that three years of something unspoken aren’t finally starting to spill over the edges.

Until one day, when you’re sitting on Yunjin’s couch, your phone rings. It’s your mother. You hesitate before answering, already bracing yourself for whatever she’s about to say.

And the moment you put your phone down, you groan, collapsing onto the couch, like the weight of the conversation is physically pressing down on you. Heeseung and Yunjin are both looking at you expectantly, their attention fully on you in a way that makes you regret opening your mouth at all. But it’s too late now, so you just exhale, pressing your fingers against your temples before muttering, "My mom called."

Yunjin snorts. "Yeah, we got that much. What did she want?"

You roll your eyes, but the annoyance in your chest is directed at yourself more than anything else. "There’s a wedding. My cousin’s. Next weekend."

Heeseung, who had been absentmindedly rolling a bottle cap between his fingers, finally glances up, eyes curious. "You going?"

"Yeah." You sigh again. "Didn’t really have a choice. If I said no, she would’ve found a way to guilt-trip me into oblivion."

Yunjin grins knowingly. "Classic mom move."

You hum in agreement, then hesitate, picking at the hem of your sleeve. "And then she made it weird," you mutter.

Heeseung raises an eyebrow, shifting slightly on the couch so he’s facing you more fully. "How weird?"

You pause for a second, then groan, throwing your head back. "She brought up the fact that I’ve never brought a boyfriend to anything."

Yunjin cackles. She actually leans forward, hands on her knees, cackling. "Oh my God," she wheezes. "That’s so embarrassing for you."

You glare. "Thank you, Yunjin, for your endless support."

But Heeseung doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tease. He just tilts his head, watching you with an unreadable expression. "She said that?"

You nod, rubbing your temples. "Yeah. She was all, ‘You can bring someone, you know,’ and then just immediately went for the ‘You’ve never brought a boyfriend to anything,’ like I don’t already know that."

Yunjin wipes a fake tear from her eye, still far too entertained. "Damn. She really called you out like that."

"Okay," you deadpan, "I think we’ve established that this is humiliating for me. Can we move on?"

But Yunjin grins, her eyes practically glowing with mischief, and that’s when you know you should have never said anything at all. "Well," she says, stretching out the word, "if it bothers you that much… you could always bring Heeseung."

Silence.

You feel it immediately—the way the air shifts, the way your stomach twists, the way your breath catches for just a second too long. You don’t look at Heeseung. You can’t.

Instead, you scoff, shoving her shoulder. "Oh my God, shut up."

"I’m serious!" she laughs. "It makes sense, doesn’t it? You need a date. Heeseung’s around."

Heeseung is silent. And that—that’s what makes your chest tighten. Because Heeseung is never silent.

You finally force yourself to glance at him, just a flicker, just to see how he’s reacting to this. And when you do, you find him already looking at you—his expression unreadable, his fingers stilling where they had been absently playing with the bottle cap.

Something tightens in your throat. Because it’s one thing to laugh it off. It’s one thing to pretend this isn’t something charged, something delicate, something that feels like standing on the edge of something too big to name.

But Heeseung isn’t laughing.

When you open the door on the wedding day, Heeseung is already leaning against his car, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks, looking entirely too good for someone who is supposed to be doing you a favor. His hair is neat but still has that slight, careless tousle to it, his sleeves are pushed up just enough to reveal his forearms, and his black dress shirt is criminally well-fitted.

You try very hard not to notice any of that. But Heeseung is looking at you like you just stopped time.

It’s not obvious—he doesn’t say anything right away, doesn’t let his jaw drop like some kind of movie cliché—but his fingers twitch slightly where they’re resting in his pockets, and his throat bobs as he swallows. His eyes move over you in a way that isn’t just admiration but something deeper, something heavier, something that makes your chest feel too tight.

You pretend not to notice that, either. Instead, you lift an eyebrow, shifting your weight onto one foot. "You gonna open the door for me, or are you just gonna stand there?"

Heeseung blinks, snapping out of it. He clears his throat, pushing off the car, his usual smirk creeping back into place. "Right, yeah. My bad."

You roll your eyes, but your face feels warm anyway. The ride starts out easy. The hum of the road fills the space between you, the occasional comment about the directions or a song playing on the radio breaking the silence.

"You, uh," Heeseung starts, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. "You sure your mom’s gonna be cool with me coming?"

You blink. "What? Yeah, of course. I already told her."

He raises an eyebrow. "You told her?"

"Yeah," you say, adjusting the hem of your dress. "I mean, I talk about you all the time, so it’s not like it’s weird or anything."

Silence. You don’t notice it at first, but when you glance over, Heeseung is staring straight ahead, gripping the wheel a little tighter than before.

And the thing is—Heeseung is not someone who gets flustered easily. He doesn’t trip over his words, doesn’t get all weird when people talk about him. But now, he’s sitting there, completely silent, like his brain just blue-screened.

Because you talk about him all the time. To your mom. His ears burn at the thought.

Because it’s one thing to be close. It’s one thing to be your best friend, to be the person you go to for late-night McDonald’s runs and life-altering conversations on balconies. But it’s another thing entirely to know that he exists in your life even when he’s not there.

That when you’re on the phone with your mom, when you’re recounting your day, when you’re talking about the people who matter—he’s there. And it’s so stupid how much that does to him.

He coughs, forcing himself to sound normal. "Oh. Cool. Yeah. That’s cool."

You snort. "I told her you’re my friend, and that’s it."

Heeseung hums, tapping his fingers on the wheel again. "Yeah. Right."

But for some reason, the word friend doesn’t sit right in his mouth.

The wedding is beautiful. Not in the over-the-top, fairytale kind of way, but in the way that feels real. The ceremony is held outdoors, the late afternoon light draping everything in gold, the air carrying the soft hum of laughter and clinking glasses. There are flowers on every table, music drifting lazily through the air, and a warmth that lingers beneath the chatter of distant relatives catching up.

And you almost forget that you’re here with Heeseung. Almost. Except—you can feel him.

You can feel him next to you at the table, the warmth of his presence settling into your skin. You can feel the way his hand brushes against yours when he reaches for something, the way his eyes flicker toward you when he hears you laugh.

And the worst part is that he looks good as hell.

It’s almost unfair, the way he carries himself. The way his sleeves are still rolled up, the way his shirt is slightly undone at the collar, the way he leans back in his chair, legs stretched out, watching everything unfold like he belongs here.

And for the first time in a long time you don’t know where you stand with him.

Because this is Heeseung. The boy who sends you Shrek memes at 2 a.m. The boy who once argued with a barista about oat milk for a full five minutes. The boy who makes you laugh until you can’t breathe.

But right now? Right now, he’s something else, too. Something that makes your stomach flip. Something that makes you forget how to breathe.

The music shifts. It’s not immediate—not some grand, dramatic moment where the world slows down—but you feel it.

The moment the first notes of the song drift through the air, you feel it in your chest. Like something tightening. Like something pulling at a thread you don’t want to unravel. Because you know this song. Of course you know this song. And so does he.

You don’t even have to look at Heeseung to know he recognizes it too. That he knows exactly what’s playing, that he knows how much you love her, that he knows you’ve played this song before—in his car, in your apartment, in the quiet spaces between friendship and something else.

You know he knows. And yet, he still turns to you, his voice a low murmur beneath the hum of conversation. “Phoebe Bridgers,” he says.

You swallow. “Yeah.” Heeseung hums, watching you carefully. His fingers drum lightly against the table, slow and steady, in time with the beat of the song. Then, after a second—

"You should dance with me."

You blink. You blink again. Your stomach twists. “What?”

Heeseung shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t mean anything. “You love this song.”

Which—okay. That’s true. But this is not a song you dance to. This is a song you listen to alone, in your room, in the quiet, when it’s too late and you’re too restless and you’re thinking about things you shouldn’t be thinking about.

This is not a wedding song. And yet, Heeseung is still looking at you like that, like this is a dare, like he’s waiting for you to say no, to call him out, to pull away before it’s too late.

And yet, his hand is outstretched, waiting, patient, warm. And yet— You take it. You don’t think, you just do it, just let yourself be pulled. And Heeseung holds you like he’s afraid to press too hard.

One hand on your waist. The other clasping yours loosely, like he’s letting you decide how close to be. Like he’s still waiting for you to laugh and push him away and say, ‘This is so stupid’.

But you don’t. You just breathe. You just exist here, in this moment, with him.

If you were a waiting room, I would never see a doctor I would sit there with my first-aid kit and bleed

Your throat tightens. Because God, this song.

Because you know every lyric by heart, because you know what it means, because there’s something about it that always makes you feel like you’re standing in the middle of something you’ll never quite have.

And now, here you are, dancing to it with him.

Heeseung exhales softly, tilting his head toward you. “You ever think about that?”

You blink. “Think about what?”

His fingers twitch slightly against your waist. “How music reminds you of people.”

Your stomach flips. Because of course you do. Of course, you think about it. Of course, this song, this moment, this whole damn night is going to be tied to him now, forever, no matter what happens after.

You nod. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “I think about it.”

Heeseung hums, like that makes sense. Like he already knew what you were going to say. Then—

"Does this song remind you of me?"

Your breath catches. The air between you thickens.

Because that shouldn’t be a question. Because he already knows the answer. Because you’re standing here with him, swaying to a song that makes your chest ache, and you know, you know he hears the lyrics just as clearly as you do.

I wanna be the broken love song that feeds your misery.

You clear your throat, forcing yourself to sound normal. “Maybe.”

His lips twitch. “Maybe?”

You narrow your eyes. “Don’t push it.”

Heeseung laughs, soft, breathless. And God, you hate him.

You hate the way he makes everything feel like a game, like he’s always hovering right at the edge of something and waiting for you to push him over. You hate that it’s working.

And when broken bodies are washed ashore—who am I to ask for more?

You shiver. Because this is the part of the song that gets to you every time. Because who are you to ask for more?

Who are you to ask for something that maybe, just maybe, was never meant to be yours? But then Heeseung, of all people, says “I think this song reminds me of you, too.”

Your heart stops. You look at him, and he’s already looking at you, and suddenly this doesn’t feel like pretending anymore.

This doesn’t feel like something you can laugh off. Because Heeseung is serious.

Because his hand is still on your waist, his fingers still brushing against the fabric of your dress, his breath still warm against your cheek, and you don’t know how to go back from this. You don’t know if you want to.

Heeseung shifts slightly, his grip tightening for just a second. “You ever think about it?”

You blink. “Think about what?”

Heeseung hesitates, his eyes flickering over your face. His jaw tightens—just barely.

"Us."

Your stomach drops.

Because he says it so simply, like it’s nothing, like it’s a passing thought, like he hasn’t just destroyed your entire world in one syllable. Us. The word sits heavy in the air between you, impossible to ignore, impossible to pretend you didn’t hear.

Heeseung doesn’t move, doesn’t look away, doesn’t do anything to make this easier for you. He just keeps holding you, keeps swaying with you, keeps waiting—like he has all the time in the world.

You want to say something.

You want to throw your head back and laugh it off, tell him he’s being ridiculous, tell him to stop playing with you. You want to scoff and roll your eyes and pretend that the thought of you and Heeseung has never crossed your mind, that it hasn’t been haunting you for years, that it hasn’t been living under your skin since the first time he looked at you like you were something worth remembering.

But you can’t. Because this is Heeseung. Because he knows you too well, because he’d hear the lie in your voice, because there is nowhere left to hide when he’s looking at you like this.

So instead, you stall. You breathe in, slow and careful, and say, "What about us?"

It’s a cheap move. A pathetic attempt at deflection. And Heeseung knows it.

He exhales, the ghost of a laugh slipping past his lips, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on your waist. "You know what I mean."

You glance down at your hands, the way your fingers are still laced together with his, the way your other hand rests so easily on his shoulder, like this is something you’ve done a thousand times before. And maybe you have.

Maybe you and Heeseung have always been dancing around each other like this. Maybe you’ve just never let yourself notice. The song keeps playing, keeps taunting you, keeps threading its meaning between your ribs, pulling you closer and closer to something you don’t know how to name.

I wanna make you drive all night just because I said, maybe you should come over

You let out a slow breath, forcing your voice to stay steady. "We’re friends, Heeseung."

He hums. "Yeah. We are."

But he doesn’t let go.

He doesn’t move away, doesn’t drop his hand from your waist, doesn’t step back into the safe distance you’re used to. He stays. And that’s the part that gets you.

Because if he really believed that was all this was, he wouldn’t be holding you like this. If he really believed that was all this was, he wouldn’t have asked the question in the first place.

You glance up at him again, searching, waiting for him to say something else, to give you an out, to change the subject, to laugh and let it go. But he doesn’t. He just watches you. And suddenly, you feel exposed in a way you never have before.

Like every late-night conversation, every half-smile, every almost has been leading here, to this moment, to this song, to this feeling that you don’t know how to escape. You force yourself to swallow.

"Why are you asking me this?" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Heeseung tilts his head slightly, considering you, considering his words.

"Because I think about it, too."

Your breath catches in your throat. Your fingers tighten against his shoulder. Your heart slams against your ribs.

You feel like the whole world has shrunk down to just this. To the space between your bodies, to the way he’s looking at you, to the fact that he thinks about it, too.

Heeseung’s fingers twitch slightly against yours, but he doesn’t let go. He’s watching you with this careful intensity, like he’s waiting for something, like he’s giving you the chance to decide what happens next.

And that’s the problem.

Because you don’t know what happens next.

Because you’ve spent years existing in this strange, untouchable place with him, in this in-between, in this waiting room of a relationship that never moves forward but never lets you leave either.

And now, suddenly, here you are. Standing on the edge of something irreversible.

She'll be the best you ever had if you let her

Your heart stumbles. Because this song knows too much.

Because this song feels too much like the two of you, like something ripped from your ribs and put into lyrics, like a truth you weren’t ready to confront. And maybe—just maybe—Heeseung feels it, too.

Because he leans in. Just a little. Just enough.

Not enough to cross the line, not enough to destroy the thing you’ve built, but enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath, enough that the scent of him—clean soap, something faintly woodsy, something entirely him—wraps around you.

Enough that you could close the distance if you wanted to. And God, you do.

But you don’t. Because you’re afraid. Because you don’t know what happens when you let this become real.

Because Heeseung is still looking at you like that, like he could ruin you if he wanted to, like he’s giving you the chance to ruin him first.

I know it's for the better

You exhale, too shaky, too uneven. And Heeseung notices.

His gaze flickers, barely, to your lips, to the space between you, to the way you haven’t moved away from him yet. And then his jaw clenches.

Like he’s just realized how close you are. Like he’s just realized this is about to happen if neither of you stop it. And that’s the thing, neither of you stop it.

Not immediately. Not when his fingers tighten slightly on your waist. Not when your grip on his shoulder trembles just a little. Not when the air between you stretches so thin it might snap in half.

Not until you hear, Know it’s for the better…

The song starts to fade. The moment fractures. And just like that, you both pull away.

Not much. Just an inch, a breath, a single second too late. But it’s enough.

Enough for reality to settle back in. Enough for the noise of the wedding to come rushing back, for the chatter and laughter and clinking glasses to remind you where you are, who you are, what you almost did.

And Heeseung, he knows it, too. You see it in the way his throat bobs, in the way he blinks hard, in the way he forces himself to take a step back, to drop his hand from your waist, to roll his shoulders like he can shake off whatever just happened between you.

The song ends. And neither of you say a word.

And three months later, silence.

At first, it’s subtle—just a missed text here, a conversation that doesn’t last as long as it used to, an inside joke that no longer lands the way it should. But then it becomes something else. Something colder. Something that feels less like a pause and more like a choice.

And that’s what happened to you and Heeseung.

You didn’t stop talking completely. That would have been too obvious, too final, too much like admitting that something had shifted beyond repair. You still sent the occasional meme, still ran into each other at Yunjin’s, still had conversations that skimmed the surface of what they used to be.

But it was different. The late-night McDonald’s runs stopped. The effortless teasing felt strained. The ease of being around each other—the one thing you never questioned—was suddenly gone.

Neither of you did anything about it. You let it happen. Because it was easier that way.

Because acknowledging it meant admitting that something had changed, that you had gotten too close, that something had almost happened that night at the wedding. And you weren’t ready to admit that.

You weren’t ready to ask if Heeseung had almost kissed you, or if you had almost kissed him, or if you had both just been caught in some stupid, fleeting moment that meant nothing at all. So, you didn’t.

And now, three months later, all that’s left is silence.

The rain comes down in sheets, heavy and relentless, drumming against the windows of your apartment. You sit curled up on your couch, blanket wrapped around you, phone abandoned on the coffee table. The storm had rolled in an hour ago, sudden and unforgiving, and now the whole city feels swallowed by it, the streetlights barely visible through the downpour.

Then, there’s a knock at your door. You weren’t expecting anyone. It’s too late, too stormy, too much of a nothing kind of night for visitors.

But something in you knows—before you even open the door, before you even take that first breath—that it’s him.

And it is. It’s Heeseung.

Standing in your doorway, soaking wet, hair plastered to his forehead, breathing unevenly like he just ran here.

You freeze. "Heeseung?"

His eyes flicker over your face, searching, desperate, wild in a way you’ve never seen before. His clothes are damp, sticking to his frame, his hands clenched at his sides. But it’s his expression that gets you.

Like something is breaking inside of him. Like something has already broken.

“I can’t—” His voice catches, hoarse and raw, and then he shakes his head, like words are failing him, like they’re too small for what he’s trying to say.

Your heart is pounding. “Heeseung, what are you—”

"I can’t stop thinking about you."

The words crash into you like a wave, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stare.

Heeseung swallows hard, shaking his head like he’s trying to clear it, like he’s trying to find a way to make you understand.

"I’ve tried," he continues, voice shaking. "I really, really tried. But you’re always there. You’re in every song I hear, in every dumb inside joke, in every single thing that happens to me. I see something stupid and my first thought is always, ‘Y/N would think that’s hilarious.’ I go to text you and then I stop because I don’t know if I’m supposed to anymore. I—"

He lets out a sharp, frustrated laugh, dragging a hand through his wet hair. “I thought if I just gave it time, it would go away. I thought I could just—move past it. But I still feel like I’m standing in that damn Halloween party with you, waiting for something to happen.”

Your throat is tight. “Heeseung—”

“I miss you,” he interrupts, pushing forward, stepping into your space like he’s afraid you’ll shut the door on him if he doesn’t. "I miss you so much it’s making me lose my goddamn mind."

Your pulse is roaring in your ears. You should say something. You should do something. But you can’t. You just stand there, staring at him, your body frozen in place. And Heeseung just keeps talking.

"I don’t know how to be your friend anymore," he admits, wrecked, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t know how to sit next to you and act like I don’t want more. I don’t know how to look at you and pretend that you’re not the first person I think about when I wake up and the last person I think about before I fall asleep. I don’t know how to listen to that fucking song without remembering the way you looked at me that night."

The air is too thick. Your vision is blurring.

Heeseung breathes out a shaky, desperate laugh, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "And the worst part?" He meets your eyes, and it destroys you. "I don’t think I want to stop thinking about you."

And that’s it.

That’s what breaks you. That’s what makes you move.

You don’t think. You don’t hesitate.

You step forward, grab the front of his stupid wet shirt, and kiss him.

The storm rages outside. And for the first time in three years, neither of you pull away.

The moment your lips crash into his, Heeseung stumbles back a step, caught off guard, but then he’s pulling you closer, like he’s been waiting for this forever.

His hands cup your face, fingers threading into your hair, holding you like you might disappear if he lets go. And you grip the front of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you standing, like if you let go, the moment might shatter around you.

Heeseung sighs into the kiss, like he’s relieved, like this is something he’s needed more than breathing itself. He tilts his head, deepening it, and you melt into him, the heat of his mouth sending shivers down your spine.

It’s surreal, familiar and foreign all at once, like stepping into a dream you’ve had before but never been able to hold onto. Because this is Heeseung. The boy who has always been by your side, the boy who has spent years making you laugh until your stomach hurts, the boy who has always been a constant in your life.

But now, he’s something else too. Now, he’s the only thing you can feel. And that’s the strangest part, how utterly consuming this is. Because your brain is struggling to keep up, still caught in the absurdity of it—Heeseung is kissing me, I’m kissing Heeseung, this is happening, this is happening.

And then he moves forward, stepping into the apartment fully, finally, his hands still tangled in your hair, still refusing to let you go. The door clicks shut behind him, the sound almost lost beneath the roar of the storm outside.

Heeseung doesn’t hesitate. His lips find yours again, his hands skimming over your waist, like he’s memorizing the shape of you, like he’s trying to make up for all the time he spent pretending he didn’t want this. And you can’t breathe. Because this isn’t like any kiss you’ve ever had before.

You’ve kissed people you liked. You’ve kissed people you thought you could love. But you have never, never felt this. This heat, this ache, this impossible, indescribable pull. Like your entire life has been leading up to this moment.

Like every other kiss you’ve had before this was just a poor imitation of what it was supposed to feel like. And that’s terrifying. Because how do you go back after this? How do you pretend this doesn’t mean something?

Heeseung exhales against your lips, his breath uneven, his fingers tightening just slightly against your waist. Like he’s thinking the same thing, like he’s struggling just as much as you are to make sense of this.

You should stop. You should pull away, take a breath, process. But you can’t.

Because he tilts his head, kisses you deeper, and suddenly, you’re walking backward without realizing it, your body moving on instinct, your hands clutching at his shirt as if he’s the only thing keeping you steady. Heeseung follows, one hand sliding down to rest against the small of your back, guiding you without thinking, without hesitation.

Your legs hit the couch. You stumble slightly, your balance faltering for the first time, and Heeseung, on pure reflex, catches you. His hands tighten instantly, pulling you against him, steadying you before you can fall.

But the movement leaves zero space between you. You can feel everything, his chest rising and falling against yours, the heat radiating off of him, the way his fingers twitch slightly where they’re curled into the fabric of your shirt.

His breath brushes against your lips, his nose bumping against yours as you both hover, just for a moment, just long enough to realize how close you are, just long enough to make it worse.

Before you can stop yourself, before you can think, you kiss him again. This time, it’s slower. This time, it’s deeper. This time, it’s not about the rush, the adrenaline, the storm raging outside. This time, it’s about everything else.

About the way his hands move carefully now, like he’s trying to remember every single detail, about the way he tilts his head slightly to fit his mouth against yours like he’s done this a thousand times in his head, about the way he lets out a soft, wrecked sound when you slide your fingers up into his still-damp hair. And you’re drowning in him.

You fall back onto the couch, pulling him with you, and he follows without hesitation, bracing himself with one hand on the cushion beside you, the other still gripping your waist, his fingers trembling just slightly against your skin.

His lips leave yours only for a second, just long enough for him to breathe, just long enough for his eyes to flicker over your face, like he’s trying to memorize you at this moment.

And then, so softly you almost don’t hear it—

“Tell me you want this.”

Your breath catches. Because God, you do. You do. You always have. So you don’t say anything. You just pull him down and kiss him again.

The weight of him settles over you, his body pressed against yours, his hands everywhere and nowhere at once—on your waist, your ribs, twitching like he doesn’t know where to hold you first, like he doesn’t want to stop touching you long enough to decide.

It's overwhelming. His warmth, his scent, the soft, unsteady breaths he exhales between kisses, the way his fingers slide under the hem of your shirt just slightly, just enough to brush against bare skin. It’s careful. Hesitant. Like he’s testing something fragile.

Heeseung groans softly, his grip tightening, his lips parting against yours in a way that sends a full-body shiver down your spine. His hands move up your sides, down to your hips, fingers pressing into the fabric of your clothes like he wants to commit this exact moment to memory. You arch just slightly, chasing his warmth, and the movement makes Heeseung suck in a sharp breath, his forehead pressing briefly against yours.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters.

You laugh, breathless, hands sliding up into his hair, tugging just enough to make him shudder. “That’s dramatic.”

His lips graze yours again, barely there, just enough to drive you insane. “You have no idea.”

And you could stay here forever—wrapped up in him, in his weight, in the way his lips brush over your jaw, the corner of your mouth, like he’s learning you one kiss at a time.

He shifts just slightly, pressing more of his weight into you, his thigh slipping between yours, and your breath catches. Heeseung notices immediately. You feel it in the way his body tenses, in the way his grip on your waist tightens, in the way he exhales shakily against your cheek.

You don’t move. He doesn’t move. The air changes. Slows. Thickens. And suddenly, it’s not just kissing anymore. Suddenly, it’s so much more than that. It’s every feeling you’ve been ignoring, every second of the past three years, every single moment leading up to this one catching up to you all at once.

And Heeseung feels it too. Because he pulls back, just a little, just enough to look at you properly, his expression wrecked. His fingers brush against your cheek, light, careful, like he’s waiting for you to tell him to stop. Like he’s scared of what happens if you don’t.

You stare up at him, breathless, your pulse pounding in your ears, and— God, he’s beautiful.

His hair is still damp from the rain, strands falling over his forehead in a way that makes him look softer. His lips are kiss-bruised, parted slightly as he catches his breath, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

You exhale slowly, one hand sliding down his chest, feeling the way his heart slams against his ribs, and he shudders. You know what this means. You know there’s no going back after this. So you whisper—soft, shaky, everything all at once—

"Heeseung."

And that’s all it takes.

Heeseung exhales—a shaky, uneven breath, like he’s barely holding himself together. His fingers tighten slightly where they rest on your waist, his body still hovering over yours. Then, softly, barely above a whisper—

"Say my name again."

Your stomach flips. You don’t, not at first. Because you feel lightheaded, because this is Heeseung, because what the hell is happening right now?

But Heeseung isn’t impatient. He doesn’t push. He just watches you, his gaze flickering over your face—your lips, your eyes, the way your breath catches in your throat. And then, carefully, deliberately, he grabs your wrist.

Your breath hitches as he lifts your hand, as he guides it slowly, until your palm is pressed flat against his chest. You can feel it. His heartbeat. It’s slamming against his ribs, too fast, too unsteady, completely out of control.

You stare at your hand, at where it rests over his racing pulse, at the way his skin burns beneath your touch. Heeseung swallows hard.

"You feel that?" he murmurs, his voice low, rough, wrecked.

And you do, because it’s all you can feel, because it’s like his entire body is responding to you, and you nod, your fingers twitching slightly against his shirt.

Heeseung lets out a breath like he’s relieved, like he needed you to know this, to feel this, to understand what you do to him. Then, slowly, carefully, giving you every chance to stop him, he leans down, brushing his lips against the curve of your jaw. You suck in a breath, your eyes fluttering shut as he moves lower, pressing the softest, slowest kiss to the side of your neck. Your fingers curl against his shoulders, your pulse hammering beneath your skin, and he feels it.

“Heeseung,” you breathe, and it’s embarrassing how it comes out, a little too soft, a little too needy, like you’re already losing yourself in him.

He shudders, letting out a sharp breath. “Fuck—”

Then, his teeth graze your pulse point, and you gasp, back arching instinctively into him. Your hips shift beneath his, your hands moving without thinking, fingers grasping at the hem of his hoodie, your skin itching for more of him, more warmth, more of everything.

Heeseung lets you. He lets you push the fabric up, lets you brush your fingers over the bare skin of his stomach, lets you feel the way his muscles tense under your touch. He exhales a groan, head dropping to your shoulder like you’ve just taken the breath right out of him.

He murmurs your name, voice strangled, his fingers digging into your waist as if you’ve completely unraveled him. You suck in a breath, your hands still fisting his hoodie.

“I want to hear you,” he admits, so quietly, like he almost wasn’t planning to say it out loud. “I want to—”

He cuts himself off with another soft groan as you push the hoodie all the way up, your fingers skimming over his bare chest before you finally tug it over his head. It hits the floor with a soft thud, but you barely register it.

Because Heeseung is above you, half-naked, breathing heavy, flushed, and looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that exists. You don’t know what to do with yourself. So you just stare up at him, breathless, waiting. And then, finally, you whisper—

"Heeseung, tell me what you want."

Heeseung exhales sharply, his breath warm against your skin, his fingers still pressing into your waist like he’s trying to ground himself, steady himself, like he’s trying not to lose his mind completely.

His hand slides up, fingertips grazing your ribs, slow and deliberate, and you shudder beneath him. His thumb brushes the fabric of your shirt, his touch gentle but knowing, and he meets your eyes, and God, he looks ruined.

"I want—" He starts, but then he laughs breathlessly, shaking his head like he can’t believe himself, like this is too much, like you are too much. His hands are still moving, still exploring, still teasing at the fabric of your shirt, still making your body burn in ways you’ve never felt before. "I want all of you."

Your stomach flips. Because he’s not even touching you properly, and yet it’s the way he says it, the weight of his voice, the truth in it, that makes your pulse stutter.

And then, before you can respond, before you can tease him for how wrecked he sounds, his hands move, slow and deliberate. Fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt, pushing it up, knuckles skimming over your stomach, over your ribs, over every single inch of skin he reveals as he goes.

Your breath stutters, your body arching up into his touch. His jaw clenches, his lips part, and then he’s leaning down, pressing his mouth to your collarbone, trailing featherlight, open-mouthed kisses along your skin as he slowly tugs your shirt over your head.

And then, finally, your shirt joins his hoodie on the floor. And suddenly, you’re both bare and breathless, staring at each other like you don’t know what to do next, even though you both know exactly what’s about to happen.

"Heeseung," you whisper, and his eyes flicker, dark, burning, like your voice alone is enough to unravel him.

"You’re not making this easy," he murmurs, his fingers skimming up your sides, his thumb brushing along your ribs, his body pressing down just slightly, just enough to feel how perfectly he fits against you.

Your breath catches. "Good."

And that ruins him. Heeseung groans, low and deep, and then he’s leaning down again, lips trailing along your jaw, down your neck, to your collarbone, soft, open-mouthed kisses, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every single second. His voice is strained, thick with something raw, something undeniable.

"You feel so good."

You whimper at his words, your nails digging into his shoulders, and Heeseung reacts immediately, his hips pressing down, his body slotting perfectly against yours, his breath catching as he feels you, all of you, right there beneath him.

"Shit," he mutters, his head dropping to your shoulder, his hands gripping your waist like he needs something to hold onto. You’re both breathless now, bodies pressed so close there’s no space left between you, every single movement sending heat crashing through your veins. "You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this."

Your heart stumbles. Because neither of you were supposed to say it. Neither of you were supposed to acknowledge it. But now—it’s out there. And there’s no taking it back.

And then Heeseung looks at you, really looks at you. His eyes, dark and hooded with something deeper than just desire, trace every inch of your face, your parted lips, the flush spreading down your neck, the way your chest rises and falls, rapid and uneven beneath him.

“You’re…” He swallows hard, his voice thick with something close to reverence. “God, you’re so beautiful.”

His hands move lower, squeezing your thighs before dragging up again, pushing your legs further apart beneath him. Heeseung exhales sharply, his pupils blown wide as he takes in the way you look beneath him, flushed, needy, completely and utterly his for the taking.

“Fuck.” His voice is raw, thick with barely restrained need. “You’re perfect.”

His mouth finds your collarbone, lips hot and insistent as he moves lower, tasting, worshiping. His tongue flicks over the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing lightly before he sucks, leaving a mark. His fingers dig into your skin as he rolls his hips down against yours, pulling a sharp gasp from your lips. He watches, fascinated, as your body reacts to his, as your fingers clutch at his arms, as your lips part with another breathy whimper that shoots straight through his bloodstream.

“You like that?” he murmurs, dragging his lips up to your ear, his voice nothing but a low rasp. “Like feeling me this close?” You nod, but it’s not enough. Heeseung needs to hear you say it. “Tell me,” he demands, his fingers tightening just enough to make you squirm.

“Yes,” you gasp, your voice barely more than a breath.

Heeseung smirks against your skin, the sound of your desperation fueling the heat building between you. “Good.” His lips trail back down, kissing, tasting, exploring every inch of you. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Heeseung hovers over you, his breath warm against your skin as his hands trail lower, fingers grazing the waistband of your pants. His fingers toy with the fabric at your hips, teasing. His voice, when he speaks, is deep and laced with restraint.

“Can I take these off?”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and the sight of him like this—his lips swollen, his gaze dark with barely contained desire, sends a shiver down your spine. Your stomach tightens, heat curling low in your belly as you whisper, “Yes.”

And the second the word leaves your lips, Heeseung exhales sharply, like he’s been holding back this whole time. His hands move with deliberate slowness, sliding under the waistband, his fingers warm and firm against your hips as he starts to pull your pants down.

His hands guide your pants lower until they slip past your thighs, pooling somewhere near your ankles, and he takes his time, his lips pressing slow, reverent kisses along the soft skin of your lower belly, just above the edge of your underwear.

He groans against your skin, his voice husky. “You have no idea how good you look right now.”

His hands splay over your thighs, his lips follow the same path, pressing kisses, biting gently, dragging his tongue across the warmth of your skin as he moves lower. You let out a shaky breath as he spreads your legs just a little more, his fingers gripping, massaging, his lips marking every inch of your inner thighs as he inches closer to where you need him most.

Heeseung hums against your skin, his breath hot, teasing. “So soft,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with admiration, with hunger. His hands squeeze your thighs, his fingers digging in just enough to make you arch slightly. “So perfect.”

His lips brush dangerously close to the edge of your underwear, his nose nuzzling against the sensitive skin just beside it, inhaling deeply like he wants to drown in you. His grip tightens. His lips part, and he looks up at you.

The sight of him between your legs, hair messy, lips swollen, his dark eyes filled with something you can’t quite name—it’s almost too much.

His voice is thick, teasing but affectionate. “You’re shaking,” he notes, his thumb brushing the inside of your thigh in slow, soothing circles.

Your breath catches. “Because of you.”

Heeseung groans softly, his hands gripping tighter, his lips trailing higher again, back to your hip, back to your stomach, his teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin there. “You have no idea how much I love hearing that,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Slowly, he starts to move up. His fingers slide up to cup your face, his thumb brushing softly over your cheek, like he needs to feel every part of you, like he’s grounding himself in your presence. He exhales sharply, his forehead resting against yours for the briefest second, like he’s gathering himself, like he’s trying to hold back.

“I need to taste you,” he murmurs, his voice nothing but a raw, desperate rasp. “Please.”

Your breath stutters, your fingers gripping onto his arms, feeling the tension coiled tight beneath his skin. You swallow hard, trying to steady yourself, but the truth is, you want this just as much.

“I need to hear you say it,” he murmurs.

Your pulse is a pounding rhythm against your ribs, your whole body thrumming with heat, but somehow, you manage to find your voice.

“Yes,” you whisper. “I want it. I want you.”

Heeseung groans, his grip tightening for just a second before he’s moving again, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, your chest. His hands slide back down your body, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of you.

And then he’s sinking back down between your thighs, his eyes never leaving yours, his hands parting your legs with a reverence that makes your head spin.

Heeseung grips the hem of your underwear between his fingers, his breathing ragged, his hands slightly trembling as he looks up at you. His eyes search yours, dark and full of something raw. “Can I?” His voice is hushed, reverent, like a prayer whispered into the silence.

Your chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, as you nod. “Yes,” you murmur.

Heeseung exhales, almost like he’s relieved, like he was afraid you’d stop him. Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he slides the fabric down your legs, his fingers grazing your skin as he does, his touch both featherlight and electric.

And then he sees you. His breath catches in his throat, his hands tightening slightly around your thighs as he takes you in. His gaze, hooded and heavy with admiration, rakes over you like he’s trying to commit every inch of you to memory, like he can’t quite believe you’re real.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, his voice almost disbelieving.

The way he’s looking at your body, so intense, so completely captivated, sends a flush of heat racing up your spine. Your instincts kick in, your legs twitching slightly as the urge to close them overtakes you. But Heeseung doesn’t let you.

His hands move quickly, firm but gentle as he grips your thighs, keeping you open for him. “Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs. “You’re fucking perfect.”

Your breath hitches, your whole body thrumming under his touch. Heeseung leans in, lips ghosting over your inner thigh, his breath hot against your already burning skin. He looks up at you again, his eyes locking onto yours, and what he says next sends a sharp pulse of anticipation straight through your core.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he promises, his voice low, edged with something sinful. “So good that you’ll never forget me.”

And then he dips down. The first press of his mouth against your clit is enough to steal the air from your lungs. Warm, wet, hungry—Heeseung doesn’t just touch, he devours. His tongue moves slow at first, tasting you, savoring every single reaction you give him.

You gasp, arching against him, your body already trembling from the sheer intensity of his touch. Heeseung groans against you, the sound vibrating through your core, sending shockwaves up your spine. His grip on your thighs tightens, his fingers digging into your flesh as he keeps you exactly where he wants you.

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he murmurs, voice muffled against your heat. “Just like I knew you would.”

Your moans come freely now, breathy, desperate, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as Heeseung works you open with his mouth. He hums against you, pleased, lost in you, whispering praise between every stroke of his tongue. “So good for me.” Kiss. “So fucking perfect.” Lick. “You’re mine.” Suck.

And when you whimper his name, broken and pleading, Heeseung only grips your thighs tighter and pulls you even closer, determined to ruin you completely.

Heeseung groans against you, the vibrations sending a shiver up your spine as he keeps his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking, licking, savoring you like he’s starving. Then, slowly, he moves one hand between your legs, his fingers tracing a teasing path through your slick folds. You shudder, your hips instinctively bucking at the sensation, and Heeseung chuckles, a low, rough sound against your skin.

“So wet for me,” he murmurs, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh before glancing up at you through dark lashes. “So fucking perfect.”

And then he presses a finger inside you. The stretch is slow, deliberate, his touch both gentle and utterly devastating as he sinks into your heat. You gasp sharply, your walls fluttering around him, and Heeseung groans, low and guttural.

“Fuck,” he hisses, watching the way you take him in. His finger curls inside you, testing, feeling. “You’re so tight, baby.”

The words send another wave of heat crashing through you, your body tightening at the sheer hunger in his voice. Heeseung doesn’t stop, he eases his finger in deeper as he continues working you open, his tongue never once leaving your clit. Your back arches, your fingers tangling in his hair, and Heeseung groans again, the sound muffled as he devours you, the heat of his mouth sending you spiraling closer to the edge.

“Heeseung—” His name slips from your lips, breathless, desperate.

Heeseung growls against you, deep and possessive, and you swear you can feel the sound reverberate through your entire body. His grip tightens, his pace quickens, his finger thrusting deeper, curling, coaxing pleasure out of you with every calculated stroke.

And then he adds a second finger. Your body tenses, the stretch just enough to make you whimper, and Heeseung groans at the way you clench around him.

“You’re taking me so well,” he praises, his voice thick, raspy, dripping with admiration. “So fucking perfect for me.”

His lips wrap around your clit again, sucking hard, and your body seizes, heat curling so tight inside you that you can’t hold back any longer. Heeseung feels it, and he sucks harder, pumps his fingers deeper, his other hand pressing down on your stomach to keep you still as your moans turn into cries, your body trembling beneath him.

“Cum for me,” he murmurs against your skin. “Let me feel it.”

And you do. The pleasure slams into you all at once, stealing the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping as your body locks up, your thighs trembling around his head. Heeseung doesn’t stop, he keeps licking, keeps sucking, drawing every last drop of pleasure from you as you fall apart beneath him.

Your body shudders, aftershocks rippling through you, and Heeseung finally slows, his touch turning soft, reverent, as he presses one last lingering kiss to your sensitive clit before pulling back.

He looks up at you then, his lips glistening, his pupils blown wide, his breath ragged. And then he smirks, his voice low and utterly wrecked.

“Told you I’d make you feel good.”

You smile softly, but before you can even reach for him, he moves, fast, precise. A startled gasp escapes your lips as he manhandles you, lifting you effortlessly off the couch, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips, his hands gripping your thighs with a possessiveness that sends a shiver through your entire body. His hold on you is strong, unwavering, his fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s afraid to let go.

You cling to him, your arms locking around his shoulders as he carries you with ease, moving through the dimly lit apartment. Your lips find his neck, tasting the warmth of his skin, inhaling his scent. The closeness, the heat between your bodies, makes you whimper softly against his throat.

And Heeseung groans. A low, deep sound that rumbles in his chest as he grips you tighter, his pace quickening like he’s growing just as desperate as you are.

Because this isn’t just anyone. This is Heeseung.

The boy who has been stitched into your life for years, who has laughed with you, argued with you, known you in ways no one else has. This is the person you love most in the world—and you’re finally having him like this for the first time. The thought makes you cling to him even harder, your lips trailing messily along his jaw, your fingers gripping at his shoulders, needing more, needing all of him.

When Heeseung reaches your bedroom, he doesn’t hesitate. He kneels onto the bed with you still wrapped around him, letting your back sink into the soft mattress as he gently lays you down, his body hovering over yours.

His breath is heavy, his chest rising and falling as he looks down at you, his gaze deep, searching. His Bambi-like eyes, so wide, so full of something tender, something real, hold you in place more than his body ever could.

His hands, still gripping your thighs, slowly loosen, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your skin. Like he’s memorizing you. Like he’s realizing, holy shit, this is happening.

And then, without breaking eye contact, he reaches for his belt. The soft sound of the buckle unfastening fills the space between you, followed by the quiet rustle of fabric as he pushes his pants down, revealing his bare skin, the strong lines of his toned body, every inch of him that you’ve never seen before but already crave more than anything.

You exhale sharply, your eyes dragging over him, admiring the way the soft glow of your bedroom light casts shadows over his sculpted stomach, the definition in his arms, the sharp cut of his hips. He’s breathtaking. And every second that passes, the ache inside you grows, the need twisting tighter and tighter.

You swallow hard, your voice soft but certain when you finally whisper, “I didn’t know I needed you this much until now.”

Heeseung stills. For a moment, his breath catches, his fingers twitching where they rest against your skin. The flush that spreads across his cheeks, blooming down his neck, his lips part slightly, his eyes flickering between yours, something breaking, something giving way inside him.

Then he looks down at you again. And this time, his gaze is molten. Dark, intense, filled with something raw and unfiltered as he leans down, his lips hovering just above yours.

“I think,” he whispers, his voice low, breathless, “I’ve always needed you like this.”

And then he kisses you. Deep, slow, pouring everything into it, every ounce of longing, every unsaid word, every moment spent waiting for this. His hands roam, tracing the curves of your body, feeling, memorizing.

The moment you feel him, thick and hard against your aching core, you let out a soft, needy moan against his lips. Heeseung still has his underwear on, but the heat of him, the way his hips press down, grinding slowly against you, makes your body arch instinctively, chasing the friction.

Heeseung groans into the kiss, deep and guttural, the sound vibrating against your lips. His teeth catch your lower lip, tugging gently, before he soothes the sting with a slow, lingering kiss.

Your hands wander, trailing down his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin, the firm ridges of his toned stomach, lower, until your fingers reach the waistband of his underwear.

Your breathing is ragged, your body thrumming with anticipation as you whisper, “Please, take this off.”

Heeseung curses under his breath, his body tensing above you. He doesn’t want to tease you, doesn’t want to drag this out. He wants you just as much, he needs you just as badly. Without hesitation, he pushes his underwear down, freeing himself completely. The air between you thickens, the weight of the moment settling in as his bare body hovers over yours, his skin flushed, his muscles taut with restraint.

You lean in, hands splaying across his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath. Your fingers trace every inch of him, his collarbones, the defined lines of his stomach, the dip of his lower abdomen, moving lower. But before you can go further, Heeseung catches your wrist. His grip is firm but gentle, his breathing heavy, his eyes dark and searching as he looks at you.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “I need to ask you…” He swallows hard, his thumb brushing slow circles against your wrist, like he’s grounding himself in your touch. “Are you totally sure?”

Your chest tightens at the rawness in his voice. His expression—so open, so vulnerable—makes your heart clench.

“Because once this happens,” he continues, his forehead nearly touching yours, “I’m not ever letting you go.”

And there it is. The unspoken truth, finally laid bare between you. This isn’t just a night of pleasure. This isn’t just a long-overdue release. This is everything.

Your lips part, your throat tightening with emotion, and for a second, you can only stare at him, overwhelmed by how much he means to you, how deeply you feel this. Then you whisper, with more certainty than you’ve ever had about anything in your life:

“I’ve never been so sure about something before.”

The moment the words leave your lips, something shifts in Heeseung. His entire body tenses for a beat, then he exhales shakily, like he’s been holding his breath this whole time, like he’s just now letting himself believe this is real.

And then he kisses you. It’s not slow. It’s not careful. It’s hungry, possessive, filled with all the pent-up emotions neither of you ever dared to voice until now.

His hands slide up your arms, capturing your wrists, pinning them above your head as he presses you deeper into the mattress. His body presses against yours, skin to skin, warmth melting into warmth.

And then you feel it, the tip of his cock, hot and heavy, pressing against your entrance, so achingly close. Heeseung breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breath uneven. He looks down between you, his jaw clenched, his grip tightening just slightly on your wrists as if this is the moment he’s been waiting for all his life.

His voice is nothing but a hushed rasp when he says: “Tell me if it hurts.”

Heeseung lets go of your wrists, his hands sliding down your body with a deliberate slowness, like he’s savoring the feeling of your skin beneath his palms. His fingers find your hips, gripping them gently before one hand moves lower, wrapping around the base of his cock.

He watches you carefully, his gaze dark, hungry, yet filled with something soft, something almost reverent, as he presses the tip against your entrance. He doesn’t push in just yet. Instead, he rolls his hips slightly, dragging himself against your slick folds, teasing, his length brushing against your clit in slow, deliberate strokes. The sensation sends a shiver through you, a breathless whimper escaping your lips as your fingers dig into his biceps, your body tensing in anticipation.

Heeseung groans, his grip tightening around himself as he watches the way your body reacts to him. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice wrecked. “You’re so wet… so fucking perfect for me.”

Your nails sink deeper into his skin as he finally begins to press inside, the stretch slow and steady, filling you inch by inch. The feeling is overwhelming, him, thick and hot, splitting you open so exquisitely that all you can do is moan softly against his shoulder, your body trembling beneath him.

Heeseung curses under his breath, his forehead dropping to the crook of your neck as he stills, letting you adjust. His hands slide up your sides, fingers grazing over your ribs, your waist, gripping you firmly like he’s afraid to let go.

“You feel so good,” he rasps, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “So fucking good, baby.”

His words send another rush of heat straight through your core, and you can’t help the way your hips shift slightly, taking him even deeper. Heeseung groans at the feeling, his lips parting against your skin.

He lifts his head, searching your face, his eyes filled with both need and restraint. “Is this okay?” he murmurs, his thumb brushing softly over your hip. “Can I move?”

You nod quickly, breathless, your fingers tracing over the muscles of his arms, his shoulders, needing him closer. “Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

Heeseung exhales sharply, his grip tightening on your hips as he begins to move, rolling his hips in slow, deep thrusts. Your breath stutters, a moan slipping from your lips, and Heeseung loses it.

His movements quicken, his hips snapping against yours, his grip turning bruising as he holds you in place, thrusting deeper, harder. His breath is ragged, his chest heaving, and with every stroke, he sinks further into you, like he’s trying to become a part of you.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice rough against your skin. “You’re taking me so fucking well. So perfect for me.”

His lips find your jawline, tracing a path down your neck, his tongue flicking against the sensitive skin before he sucks, leaving a mark, claiming you in every way possible. Your moans grow louder, your body arching against him, and Heeseung groans, loving the way you respond to him, the way you cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

His lips travel lower, over your collarbone, down to the valley between your breasts. He kisses, licks, nips, worshiping every inch of you as he keeps thrusting into you, each movement deep and unrelenting.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice wrecked, possessive. “Only mine.”

His grip on your hips tightens as he pounds into you, his pace growing desperate, wild, his body completely losing control in you. And all the while, he praises you. “Tighter than I ever imagined.” Thrust “So fucking beautiful.” Kiss “You feel like heaven, baby.” Groan.

His words, his touch, his everything push you closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling beneath him as the pleasure coils tightly inside you, ready to snap. And Heeseung feels it. He knows you’re close. And he’s not stopping until he sends you over the edge.

Your body trembles beneath him, pleasure curling tight inside you, hot and overwhelming. Your fingers cling desperately to his skin, your legs wrapped around his waist, trying to ground yourself against the way he moves, deep, unrelenting, perfect.

“Heeseung—” Your voice is breathless, wrecked. Your nails dig into his back as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. “God, you feel so good.”

Heeseung groans at your words, his hips stuttering for just a second before he leans in, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he rasps, voice dripping with praise, with something darker, something possessive.

And that’s when you snap. The coil inside you tightens dangerously, winding so tight you know you’re seconds from breaking. But you don’t want to break, not yet.

So, with the last shred of control you have left, you grab Heeseung by the side of his neck, your fingers tangling in the damp strands of his hair, holding him in place. “Let me ride you,” you plead, your voice thick with desperation. “Please.”

Heeseung growls. A deep, guttural sound that sends a shiver through your entire body. His fingers dig into your hips, his thrusts faltering for a moment as your request sinks in. Then, he moves. In one smooth motion, Heeseung shifts, rolling over and pulling you with him. The world tilts, and suddenly, you’re on top, straddling him, his cock still buried deep inside you.

A sharp, choked moan leaves your lips as you feel him fully, the angle changing, the sensation making your entire body tremble.

“Fuck,” Heeseung groans beneath you, his hands flying to your waist, holding you steady as his eyes drag over your body, your heaving chest, the flush painting your skin, the way you’re clenching around him, barely able to contain yourself.

His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, his entire expression wrecked with need. “You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice thick, reverent.

His hands move, Heeseung slides them up your torso, fingers splaying across your ribs before catching your breasts in both hands, squeezing, worshiping. His thumbs flick over your nipples, and the sensation sends another jolt of pleasure straight through you, making you whimper.

“You’re so delicious,” he groans, his thumbs circling your hardened peaks, his hips rolling up slightly into you, making you gasp.

Your head tilts back, your hands bracing against his chest, your body arching into his touch. The heat between you is unbearable, your body already on the edge, but you refuse to let this end too soon.

You start to move, slowly at first, rolling your hips in a deliberate, teasing rhythm, feeling every inch of him stretch and fill you completely. The sensation sends a shiver up your spine, pleasure pooling deep in your stomach as you watch Heeseung’s reaction.

Heeseung groans, his grip on your thighs tightening, fingers digging into your flesh like he’s trying to ground himself, trying not to lose control too soon. His head tilts back for a moment, his chest rising and falling with deep, uneven breaths as he tries to contain himself.

“Fuck,” he grits out, his jaw clenching as his eyes squeeze shut, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. His hands flex on your thighs, squeezing, like he’s trying to hold back, like the feeling of you around him is too much.

But then he opens his eyes, and the second his gaze locks onto you, dark and hooded with raw, unfiltered hunger, your whole body burns. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, sweat glistening along his collarbones as he watches you move above him, taking him so perfectly, so effortlessly.

“You’re fucking unreal,” he groans, his voice rough, biting down his lips, barely above a whisper. “Just like that, baby. You feel so fucking good.”

His words send a jolt of pleasure through you, making you clench tighter around him. Heeseung feels it, and his breath hitches, his fingers twitching against your skin.

One of his hands moves from your thigh, sliding up your body, tracing along your stomach, your ribs, before finding the back of your neck. He grips you there, firm but gentle, and pulls you down until your foreheads almost touch, your breath mingling with his.

His other hand stays on your thigh, stroking, soothing, before he snaps. A deep growl rumbles in his chest, and he picks up the pace, his hips rolling up to meet yours, his hands guiding your movements. The pleasure intensifies, your thighs burning with the effort, but Heeseung doesn’t let you slow down.

His hands slide to your hips, gripping hard, his fingers pressing into your flesh as he takes control. And then he slams into you. A sharp, broken moan escapes your lips as he thrusts up, driving deeper, harder, filling you so completely that you swear you might lose your mind.

“That’s it,” he groans, his grip unrelenting as he pounds into you, chasing the feeling of you wrapped so perfectly around him. “Take it, baby. Take all of me.”

His voice, deep, rough, dripping with praise, sends you spiraling, pleasure building, your body trembling under his relentless pace. His mouth finds your jaw, then your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your skin between ragged breaths. His tongue flicks out, tasting the salt of your sweat, and then his teeth graze your pulse point, his lips closing around it as he sucks.

Your fingers claw at his shoulders, your body arching against his, your moans coming faster, higher, completely overwhelmed by the way he’s taking you.

Heeseung doesn’t slow down. His thrusts stay deep, hard, relentless, his grip unyielding as he drives into you, chasing the pleasure building between you both. His hands remain at the back of your neck, keeping you close, keeping you exactly where he wants you, his breath hot against your skin.

He groans, voice wrecked, rough. “Fuck—baby, you feel so good. So fucking perfect.”

His words send another wave of pleasure crashing through you, making your thighs tighten around his hips. You’re close, you can feel yourself unraveling, your body tightening as the coil inside you threatens to snap. And Heeseung knows. He feels it.

His fingers tighten against your skin, his movements growing desperate, erratic, as his own release begins creeping up on him. His forehead presses against yours, his breath uneven, his voice nothing but a strained rasp.

“Cum for me again, baby,” he pleads, his words like fire against your skin. “Let it go.”

The command, the way his voice drips with authority and adoration, is what finally undoes you. A sharp, broken moan rips from your throat as your body tenses, pleasure surging through you like wildfire. Your walls clench around him, pulsing, milking him, and Heeseung loses it.

A deep, guttural groan escapes his lips as he thrusts into you one last time, burying himself deep, his entire body shuddering as he lets go, his release spilling into you. The pleasure crashes over both of you at once, your moans mixing together, filling the room, raw and unrestrained.

And then, stillness.

Your body, still trembling, collapses against his chest, your forehead pressing into the slick heat of his skin. Your breaths are ragged, uneven, matching his as he tries to catch his pace, his chest rising and falling beneath you.

Neither of you speak for a long moment, the silence filled only with the sounds of your slowing breaths, your racing heartbeats.

Heeseung moves his hands, still firm but now gentle, slide down to your lower back, his fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles against your damp skin. His touch is tender, reverent, like he’s memorizing you all over again, like he can’t believe this moment is real.

His lips brush against your hair, barely a whisper of a kiss, before he exhales shakily. And then, he murmurs—soft, breathless, like a vow.

“I’m never letting you go.”

Your chest tightens at the raw emotion in his voice. His arms wrap tighter around you, holding you impossibly close, his hands never stopping their slow caresses against your back. His lips press against the top of your head, again and again, each kiss softer than the last.

“Never,” he whispers. “Never, never, never…”

His words sink into your skin, into your bones, into you. And as you melt further into his embrace, letting the warmth of him envelop you completely, you realize: You never want him to let go.

You slowly lift your head, your breath still uneven, your body still thrumming with the remnants of pleasure.

You meet his eyes, his Bambi-like, doe eyes, wide and full of something so deep, so undeniable, it makes your chest tighten. They glimmer under the dim light of your bedroom, reflecting every unspoken word, every silent confession hanging thick in the space between you.

You let out a breathy, almost disbelieving smile, your gaze sweeping over his face, his flushed cheeks, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, the soft sheen of sweat on his skin. He looks wrecked. He looks perfect.

And he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

Heeseung mirrors your smile, soft and hazy, his expression filled with something tender, something so Heeseung that it makes warmth flood your entire body. His hands find your face, large and warm, his knuckles grazing your cheeks in slow, delicate strokes, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you.

You lean into his touch, nuzzling against his palm, and the way he exhales, soft, shaky, like he’s feeling everything too, sends a shiver down your spine.

Then, barely above a whisper, you say, “I…”

And suddenly, you stop yourself.

Because the weight of what you were about to say hits you all at once.

Your lips part slightly, your throat tightening. The words are right there, sitting heavy on your tongue, aching to spill out. But there’s fear too, fear of what this means, fear of how much this changes everything.

Heeseung notices. His fingers pause against your cheek, his brows twitching just slightly, his gaze flickering between your eyes like he’s searching, trying to read you.

But then, he smiles. Soft, knowing, patient. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, his touch featherlight, his voice a quiet murmur in the space between you.

“I know,” he whispers.

Your breath catches. Because you believe him.

Heeseung has always known you better than anyone, always understood you in ways that no one else could. And right now, in this moment, with the way he’s holding you, looking at you, you realize you don’t have to say it.

Because he already knows.

Heeseung leans in, his nose brushing against yours, his lips hovering just above yours, waiting, giving you the choice. And when you press your lips to his in the softest, most deliberate kiss, you’re telling him everything you couldn’t say in words.

Heeseung sighs into the kiss, his hands sliding down your back, pulling you closer, pressing you against his warmth, his heartbeat steady beneath your palm.

And when you finally pull away, when you rest your forehead against his and breathe him in, you realize: You were never afraid of loving Heeseung.

You were afraid of admitting that you always have.

But now, with his arms around you, his lips brushing against your temple, his heartbeat syncing with yours, you don’t have to be afraid anymore.

Because he’s never letting you go.

And neither are you.

That’s why he stays at your house the next day. And the day after that. And for the few days that follow, until time becomes a blur and neither of you think to question it.

Because how could he leave, how could either of you go back to a world where you weren’t tangled up in each other like this?

The first morning, you wake up wrapped in Heeseung’s arms, your head tucked against his chest, his fingers absentmindedly tracing soft, lazy circles against your back. Neither of you move for a long time. Neither of you want to.

His lips press into your hair, a silent good morning, and you melt into him because it feels natural, because this is Heeseung, your best friend, the boy who has always been a constant, and yet, now, everything is different.

And it’s better. He doesn’t leave. You don’t ask him to.

Instead, you spend the morning like you have a thousand times before: lounging on the couch, talking about nothing, watching movies you’ve seen a hundred times. Except now, there’s a new rhythm, an unspoken understanding.

His fingers brush yours absentmindedly. His arm finds its way around your waist without hesitation. His lips press against your temple between conversations like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Because maybe, it is.

The second night, he kisses you in the kitchen while you’re making dinner, stealing a taste of the sauce on your lips, grinning when you roll your eyes. The third night, you fall asleep with your fingers intertwined, his breath warm against your neck, his hand resting over your heart like he’s afraid you might slip away in the night. By the fourth day, he’s using your shampoo, leaving his clothes in your drawers, stealing your socks because he swears they’re more comfortable than his own.

By the fifth, you don’t even realize he never went home. Because this is home now. Not the walls. Not the bed. But this. Him. You. Together.

One night, a week after everything changed, you find yourselves in your living room, curled up against each other, laughter spilling into the quiet air.

It feels surreal, how easy this is, how natural. And yet, when you look at him, really look at him, you realize this was never sudden at all. This wasn’t a moment. This was a lifetime in the making.

It was in the late-night phone calls when you both should’ve been asleep. It was in the way he always kept your favorite snacks in his kitchen without thinking. It was in the stolen glances, the inside jokes, the nights spent shoulder to shoulder, pretending you didn’t feel the weight of something more. It was in every single thing before this.

And now that the truth is out in the open, now that you know, you don’t ever want to live in a world where you don’t wake up next to Heeseung. And it doesn’t feel real.

Not because you don’t want it to be—but because it still catches you off guard. The quiet way Heeseung reaches for your hand without thinking. The way his presence in your space isn’t something fleeting, but something constant. Something permanent.

It’s been two weeks since everything changed, and somehow, the world didn’t shift to match it. The sun still rises the same way. Your friends still send memes in the group chat. Life moves on, but now, there’s this.

This is Heeseung pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder when he wakes up before you. This is him playing with your fingers absentmindedly when you’re watching something together. This is the way he still teases you the same, still makes fun of you the same, but now he kisses you after like he can’t help it.

Yunjin is the only one who knows.

She had her suspicions, she always had her suspicions, but it became painfully obvious the moment you showed up at her place wearing a hoodie that was at least two sizes too big, one she distinctly remembered seeing Heeseung wear last week.

Which is why, at her birthday party, there’s this lingering tension in the air. It’s subtle, the way you and Heeseung hesitate just slightly when you’re around the others, the way you don’t know if you’re supposed to act like you always have or like something’s changed.

Because something has changed. But the world doesn’t know yet.

You and Heeseung sit at the dining table, pretending everything is normal, pretending that you’re not constantly aware of the warmth of his body next to yours, the way his knee brushes yours every time he shifts.

And then, under the table, he takes your hand. It’s subtle, careful, the warmth of his palm slipping against yours, his fingers threading through yours in a way that makes your stomach flip. Heeseung doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge it, just holds your hand beneath the table, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Finally,” Sunghoon mutters, watching Heeseung with a knowing smirk.

Heeseung freezes. You both turn to see Sunghoon leaning against the chair next to him, arms crossed, eyes flickering down to where your hands are intertwined beneath the table.

“I was wondering when you were gonna stop being a coward,” Sunghoon teases, nudging Heeseung’s foot under the table. “Took you long enough, man.”

Heeseung groans, dropping his head back against the chair. “Jesus, Sunghoon.”

Sunghoon just grins, clearly enjoying this way too much. “Nah, I’m happy for you guys. But also, I knew you two had something going on.” He points a lazy finger at you. “Your whole ‘we’re just friends’ thing was so fake.”

The table erupts in laughter, and you sigh, shaking your head. But then, Heeseung squeezes your hand, and when you glance at him, he’s already looking at you. Soft. Quiet. Certain. And you realize, this feels right. Being here. Being together. Being this.

The night winds down. People leave. And you end up in Heeseung’s car, the windows slightly fogged from the cold air outside. The soft strum of Waiting Room fills the quiet, the melancholic chords settling deep into your chest.

You watch Heeseung, his hands gripping the wheel loosely, his face relaxed, bathed in the glow of the streetlights.

“Wanna go to McDonald’s?”

You blink. “What?”

Heeseung smirks, eyes flickering to you before turning back to the road. “You heard me.”

A beat of silence. You laugh. “Yeah. I do.”

You order fries and ice cream and talk about the dumbest things. about how Niki's new girlfriend is the worst, about how Jay got too drunk, about how Jake still doesn’t know how to properly pour a drink.

But somewhere between the laughter, somewhere between the way Heeseung licks salt off his fingers and tosses fries into your mouth, somewhere between the way you lean against his shoulder in the drive-thru line.

Heeseung sighs. And then—

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

You still. Your fingers tighten slightly around your drink, your breath catching at the quiet, vulnerable way he says it. And when you turn to look at him, he’s already looking at you, soft, so soft, his gaze deep, searching.

Your chest tightens. “Heeseung…”

He smiles, a little shy, a little unsure. Then, he reaches out, sliding his fingers over yours, his thumb brushing your knuckles.

“I just—” He swallows, then exhales. “I think I’ve loved you this whole time.”

Your breath catches. And in that moment, in the soft hum of the radio, in the glow of the streetlights, in the taste of salt and ice cream and the warmth of Heeseung’s fingers against yours, you know.

“I thought maybe it would go away,” he continues, his lips quirking slightly, like he’s laughing at himself. “Like—it’s just Y/N, right? My best friend.”

You hold your breath, watching him, the streetlights casting soft shadows across his face, making his eyes look even softer, warmer.

“But then,” Heeseung shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “Every time I thought I had it under control, you’d do something stupid, like wear my hoodie and refuse to give it back, or make me watch Shrek 2 for the tenth time, or grab my hand in a crowded room like it was nothing.” He swallows, his voice dropping to something even softer. “And I’d realize—I was never going to stop feeling this way.”

Your chest tightens. Because it’s always been like this, hasn’t it? The quiet kind of love. The kind that slips into the cracks of everyday moments, unnoticed until one day, it’s too big to ignore.

You feel the words sitting heavy in your throat, pressing against your ribs, and when you finally speak, your voice is barely a whisper.

“Heeseung.” He looks at you, his brows lifting slightly, like he’s bracing himself. You take a slow breath, steadying yourself, then squeeze his hand. “I think I’ve loved you this whole time, too.”

The tension in his shoulders dissolves instantly. His lips part, his eyes searching yours like he wants to make sure he really heard you right.

And then, he smiles. Not the teasing kind, not the smirk he throws at you when he’s making fun of you, but something real. Something deep. The kind of smile that says, I know. I knew before you even said it.

You shift closer, your forehead brushing against his, the warmth of his breath mixing with yours. “I don’t know why it took me so long to realize it,” you murmur. “But I do now.”

Heeseung hums, tilting his head slightly. “You sure?”

You laugh softly, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Good.” He squeezes your hand, his nose nudging against yours. “Because I would’ve had to spend another three years waiting for you to catch up, and I don’t think I could survive that.”

You groan, shoving his shoulder lightly, and he chuckles, his arms wrapping around you as he pulls you in, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of your head.

And just like that, it’s easy again. The way you tease each other, the way you fit against him, the way you fall back into the rhythm of your friendship except now there’s no pretending.

Now it’s all out in the open. And it’s better.

As Heeseung drives you home, the song still playing softly in the background, your mind drifts back. To three years ago. To that stupid Halloween party where you met, you in your skeleton costume, him in that ridiculous Ninja Turtle onesie.

To the late nights spent working on that Shrek project, arguing about PowerPoint transitions like it was life or death, only to laugh until your sides hurt. To the wedding where he spun you around on the dance floor, looking at you like he already knew, like he was just waiting for you to catch up. To every car ride, every inside joke, every time you almost realized what he meant to you.

Your fingers tighten around his, and Heeseung glances at you, his eyes flickering between you and the road.

“What?” he asks, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You shake your head, but you’re smiling too. “Nothing.”

Because you understand now. Because Waiting Room plays softly in the background, and the lyrics echo in your chest—know it’s for the better.

You do. You know now that keeping Heeseung in your life like this, is the best thing you’ll ever do.

And when Heeseung looks at you, his grip on your hand tightening like he knows too, you realize.

For you, it was worth waiting.

my masterlist 🧦 ☆★ // previous fic

author's note: hey guys! this is my first long fic about heeseung, the first one i've ever written, and i hope you liked it! i know 21k+ words is a lot, but i had so much fun writing it. thank you for reading! <3

[paarksunghoon]

resignation (sunghoon) | masterlist

SUMMARY: For the last six years, you’ve dedicated your career to ensuring Park Sunghoon never misses a day of work in his life. But you’re tired of endless days that seem to blend together, and seeing him living his fun, luxurious lifestyle makes you think about what else you might be missing out on. When Sunghoon finds your resignation letter on his desk, he does everything in his power to convince you to stay.

NOTES: loosely inspired by what’s wrong with secretary kim. there will be irregular updates as this story progresses. thank you for reading! :)

SERIES PLAYLIST

WARNINGS: angst, fluff, and smut (details in each chapter).

MAIN MASTERLIST

please reblog and leave a comment (or two) and let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters!

***

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

[its-alittleobsessed]

It’s me and that one fanfic i’ve read fifty fucking times against the world

[hoonvrs]

21st CENTURY GIRL — p. jongseong

PAIRING jay x fmr

SYNOPSIS where jay 'claims’ he has a girlfriend but none of his friends believe him because how are you a girl in the 21st century and don't have any social media, right? and if you and jay continue to let them think your relationship is fake for entertainment purposes, nobody has to know.

GENRE smau, fluff, est. relationship, crack

FEATURING (enha) all

WARNINGS swearing, kys/kms jokes, friendly bullying, sex jokes, nobody believing jay ( more will be added if necessary )

STATUS complete

TAGLIST ( CLOSED )

S. NOTE this is planned to be a short smau since the idea isn’t really suitable to be long but i hope u enjoy anyways mwah

also please don’t spam like as it shadowbans me and lessens engagement <3

PROFILE lightning mcqueefs

CHAPTERS

01 okay piss boy

02 galentines*

03 wtf bro

04 did the voices tell you that

05 fuck WHAT

06 brick tennis with tt a cat

07 be fucking for jinja

08 fowl play :3

09 crazy? i was crazy once…

10 no YOU have attachment issues

11 knee moan ya

12 don’t worry about it

13 cuh dey bord

14 je suis le bug de l'an 2000 whiz whiz

15 sacrificial lamb duh

16 nurse he’s out again

17 OUR girl

18 oh my bad gang

19 now break up.

20 tie my laces bitch

↳ extra: random

copyright © hoonvrs 2023 all rights reserved

[boigyu]

in which you have a crush on beomgyu and one day you get paired up with him on a project and accidentally send him a presentation on why he should date you

the presentation

[blue-jisungs]

texts with bf!beomgyu

author’s note. the last one is real events inspired however i did not end up getting guacamole because for a fact i do not have beomgyu as a bf 💔

soob ver, tae ver — rest of members tba

masterlist <3

taglist. @primoppang ,, @mirxzii ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @mon2sunjinsuver ,, @ocean-minho ,, @eternalgyuuu ,, @haecien ,, @nonononranghaee